Descent into Darkness (The Story of Bellatrix Lestrange)

Descent into Darkness (The Story of Bellatrix Lestrange)

Chapter 2


September 1, 1982

Though the dementors are angry, Fudge has granted the prisoners one small allowance. We get to write in a journal for one hour a day. I was disgusted with the idea at first, and half of my allowed hour has already past. But now that I have started writing, I find that the power of the dementors is less overwhelming while I am focused on my next words. And now that, for one hour a day, I can think clearly, I can devise the best way to get out and find the Dark Lord. For I refuse to believe that he has died. I am one of the few people who know his greatest secret. He trusted me over all others to hide one of his objects. And now my only thought is to get back to him, because it is my only hope for survival. I can still remember my life before entering into the Dark Lord's service, even though I try my hardest to forget. Every time the memories begin to float to the surface, I beat them back, forcing them to the dark recesses of my mind and locking them securely there. But they never stay. Because every once in a while, I will catch the lightest hint of sandlewood and soap in the air. Or I will turn my hear and catch just a glimpse of shaggy, light brown hair and a flash of green eyes, and the memories of...him...come flooding back, try as I might to supress them.

And now that I know the date, the memories refuse to fade to the background, because it was 20 years ago today that I first met him, boarding the hogwarts express.

I remember my mother, standing stiffly behind me as I loaded my trunk into a compartment. My younger sisters are standing on either side of her, watching the scene with mixed sadness and anticipation for when they can join me. I am already wearing my brand new black robes and my new wand, walnut and dragon heartstring 12 and 3///4 inches, held loosely in my right hand. When I turn back to my mother and sisters, my mother is practically cringing as kids and their parents brush against her.

"Filth," I hear her whisper venomously.

That is my mother, anyone who is not a Black is unworthy of her attention, and heaven forbid they not be pureblood. If they aren't pureblood, they would be better off dead.

"The train is going to leave mother," I say quietly and her dark gaze zeros in on me.

"You watch who you associate with Bellatrix. And remember, your green tie and your patch are in your trunk," says my mother. There was never any doubt as to which house I would be in.

"Yes mother. I will see you at Christmas," I tell her and she nods stiffly before patting my shoulder less than lovingly.

"Make sure to write," she says and I know that is the best goodbye I will get. So I just nod and turn to my sisters. They each hug me quickly and then return to my mother's side.

"Have a good time Bella, we will miss you," says Cissy and Dromeda nods her agreement. And with that, my mother turns and strides briskly away, my sisters scurrying to keep up. And I am left standing alone, that is until he slams into my shoulder, knocking me to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry," says the boy, stopping in front of me. He has dark green eyes that are shining with excitment as he stares down at me. His light brown hair is long enough to brush the collar of his shirt. His tan, young face is full of mischief and his lips are pulled up on one side in a slight smirk. He is already in his robes as well and judging by the lack of tie or patch, he is a first year like me.

"That's alright," I mumble and start to get up. But he quickly holds out a hand towards me. I hesitate for a moment but then I place my hand in mine. His fingers close tightly around my hand and he pulls me to my feet.

"The names Adraxian Fold, nice to meet you," he says, shaking my hand which is still gripped tightly in his vigorously up and down.

"Bellatrix Black, the pleasure is mine," I respond, remembering the manners my grandmother pounded into my brain.

"Well you had better get on the train, its going to be leaving," he says releasing my hand.

I nod and then he sprints off, back to his family. I brush the dirt off my new robes and board the train. I search the train and slip into an empty compartment. A few minutes later the train begins to move and the sight out the window blurs. Then four other kids walk into my compartment and sit down. Two of them have short messy hair and though one looks a few years younger than the other, it is obvious that they are brothers. Another is a boy with long, pale blonde hair and a pale, sharp face. That last is obvoiusly the leader of their small group. He has dark hair and a very handsome face. As soon as he sits down across from me, his gaze locks on me.

"A first year," he says in an attractive voice. It is not a question or an accusation, just a statement of fact, but I nod anyway.

"What is your name?" asks the handsome boy.

"Bellatrix Black," I answer quietly.

"Black, I have heard of your family. They are good wizards. I am Tom Riddle. These are Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and this is Lucius Malfoy," Introuduces to boy.

That was the first time I saw the Dark Lord and I have never forgotten. Nor have I ever forgotten the green eyed boy who helped me up. I was one of the forst to be sorted that day, and like I knew I would, I was placed immediatly in Slytherin. I joined my table and watched the rest of the sorting, waiting anxiously to hear where the green eyed boy, Adraxius, would be placed. I practically held my breath as he strode confidently up to the stool and shoves the hat on his head. He still had the half smirk on his face. And then, the house shouted GRYFFINDOR and my stomach fell. That meant he was what my mother would call undesirable filth. And I would no sooner be allowed to speak to him than to a filthy troll.

But my hour is almost over and I am reluctant to stop, though the memories hurt. I can see his face as clearly as that first day. It is those dark green eyes that haunt my dreams and now my waking nightmares as the dementors feed on what little I have left to offer. Maybe if I could escape them, I would be able to forget, to let the memories fade. But as it is, I can't escape those eyes, not even in sleep. And now, as I put down my quill and close this book, I know the terrors awaiting me, and I know it won't be long until I can no longer supress my screams of horror as I re-live the horrors of my past, including the day my life ended.

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