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What have I told you about persisting in calling me that? It's for family and friends. You're neither.

Because I have no reason to call you things that annoy you. None at all.

[ Have a cocky smirk at that Bella. ]

And to annoy me, you can do no better than mild impropriety?

Shouldn't you be shamed by such familiarity? I would have thought you'd want to distance yourself from your past, as much as possible. Calling me that — reminiscing — won't endear you to the filthy rabble you've chosen to associate with.

They'll think you miss me.

Well, I never said I couldn't do better. You might recall you were the one to bring up me calling you that.

My filthy rabble is more then aware of what I think of you and what you did to those poor rats that lived under your house.

Missing you would be like missing a house fire.

Bring you up? [Not the sequence or meaning of his words at all, but that's what she takes away from what he said. She's already a bit fanciful in the brain-tank. She still sees herself as the good example he utterly failed to follow.] I did no such thing. I would've done a better job of it, with all due respect to Aunt Walburga. I would have taken a heavier hand, and I wouldn't have strained my voice with all that yelling.

Doubtless someone else told you how to address me. I never corrected you. [That's her version of events and she's sticking to it.]

You're awash in ignorance. You know where I found some meager practice, but don't think that means you know what I'm capable of... Or do. Be that foolish. See where it gets you.

Have you ever tried to make something — or brew a potion, say — and used too many parts? Too many ingredients? The best thing you can do is cut off the unfinished bits, fish out the excess, and call the rest done because there's not anything unnecessary hanging there anymore. Understand that, and you begin to understand how I miss you.

Edited 2013-04-28 22:44 (UTC)

Bella.

Barty.

[It's telling that she isn't remotely bothered when he does it. Be flattered.

The gang's all here - well, the passionately useful part. Rodolphus and Rabastan have a tendency to drag their feet a little bit.]

What was that you were saying? You'll brand Black's corpse? Mightn't that pleasure be better reserved for someone he's personally betrayed?

[He's so flattered. It's because they worship the Lord together, isn't it?]

There'll be a lot of skin he won't use once he's dead.

You can brand him when he's alive. I'll watch.

[Well, yes and no. There are certainly Death Eaters she holds in lesser esteem. Popularity is not chief among her concerns. The perilous atmosphere of their Lord's service fosters competition more than camaraderie.

He's especially loyal. She likes loyal. It strengthens them as a whole (and as of this moment, it's no threat to her).]

Very well; agreeable terms.

He's a little thorn twisting in my side. I hope circumstance affords us the luxury of taking our time with him.

[Maybe one day this will be different. He wants to be the most loyal. He's rather determined to stand out above the others. But Bellatrix is a very useful ally, however double-faced this camaraderie might be.]

It will be as the Lord wishes. But it would be fun.

[Yay, torturing blood traitors! Bonding exercise.]

Edited 2013-04-28 18:16 (UTC)

[They're similar in that way. She wants nothing less for herself, but the Cause itself is more important than anyone's vying for the Dark Lord's personal favor. She would suffer anything to be faithful. She aches to distinguish herself — above the others, as Barty put it — but she doesn't need to distinguish herself. If it was all she could be, she would be mediocre. It would gall her, but she'd suffer even that. Her very willingness is a credit to her, to say nothing of any other quality.]

Of course, as will everything. [Fortunately for Bellatrix, "as the Lord wishes" doesn't often preclude her cruelty.]

If my husband asks how you are, what shall I tell him? [She doesn't care enough to ask for her own sake, you see, but she reserves the right to accuse someone else of harboring curiosity.]

[There might be more ambition behind Barty's conviction - he is still his father's son after all. (Much as he'd like to deny it.) He wants to be the best, the only servant that matters in his Lord's eyes and he doesn't shy away from any challenges or sacrifices that might bring. Willing to do anything his Lord wants and willing to do all that is necessary to ensure him a space near the top.

That is a very fortunate thing. Although Barty couldn't tell whether his own cruelty is fired by his sadism or if said sadism is simply a result of his admiration for the Dark Lord.]

Your husband? If he asks that, just tell him that I'm more capable of pleasing you than he is.

[Would you look at that double-entendre? How did that end up here?]

[It's for Barty to discover whether such ambition is admirable, or even wise. Bellatrix survives the Dark Lord's tutelage — if it isn't too generous to call it that — by quieting her enthusiasm as best she can. A devoted servant should be sparingly curious. If their Lord ceases to teach, she wisely ceases to learn. Her Occlumency is the perfect example. Regardless of how she means to use it, it's impossible to refine one mental skill without gleaning something of the opposing art, and yet, she's almost wholly undeveloped as a Legilimens. She has, instead, a keen sense of intuition, undermined somewhat by her haste to judge. The Dark Lord shapes her ignorance as well as her knowledge. She's aware of this. Before improving herself, she questions whom it will benefit. She doesn't do so selfishly. Her sadism, on the other hand, is sincere. Inflicting pain is her dearest and most personal indulgence.

As for the nature of Barty's cruelty: she might know before he does.]

That you'll have to tell him yourself. [She shoots him a chiding look, but there's no strong reprimand behind it. He's seen the manic intensity in her eyes when she has a real grudge, and this is nothing. Still, which Lestrange was his remark designed to offend? Not her, by the most direct interpretation, but Barty risks being impudent in order to hit the other target from afar.]

You make it sound as though I insist on being pleased. I can please myself.

[It will have nothing to do with her, if the boys have a spat. She reasons that it would be a simple matter of clashing egos. They might end up dueling just because Barty's obviously not afraid to duel, and Rodolphus would make some stupid effort to put the fear—or respect, or whatever—into him.]

I suppose you think you're the stronger wizard. [She phrases it as an observation, not a question.] So bold.

[Barty, searching for a father figure he actually wants to accept and he is actually accepting by projects quite a lot onto their Lord, something that Voldemort is without a doubt more aware of than Barty is himself, feeding it by entrusting him with knowledge about his own father that most aren't aware of. To Barty it's a sign of their special connection. Cunning and intelligent as he is, it's almost as if he chooses to be blind to his chosen Lord's manipulation of him. Delusions can be strong enough to make for convictions.]

I had no doubt about your abilities in that area.

[Not quite a smile but a flicker of tongue. He cares little for Rodolphus, looking down at him much as he looks down on most anyone. Another weakness of his, the awareness and exaggeration of his own greatness.]

There's no need to suppose, Bella. I am the stronger wizard. I doubt you mind the truth. Or the boldness.

[Barty bears no fault for that, or no more fault than the rest of the inner circle. They are all willingly blind, to some extent, and each enticed by a unique manipulation. Voldemort perceived her truest self and spoke to that: the inner tempest, the restless violent creature that no amount of learned decorum could contain. Supremely proud though she is of her family and blood, her temperament's ill-suited to the role and expectations that naturally follow. The Dark Lord resolved that dilemma for her. Where others saw elegance, he claimed to see power. To be valued for a quality with value. What more could she ask?

It's a grand deception, making each of them think what they wish to think: seeming to give them precisely what they want. Their master's greatest talents are the ones they'll never be aware of.]

No, by all means, say what you will. You'll know very quickly when I mind.

[At best, Rodolphus is her ally. At worst, he's a concession to the life it would kill her to lead. She's only discussing him this far because it's indirect. It really has more to do with Barty. Her tone is matter-of-fact.]

His opinion differs, naturally. He thinks you're a little boy. Told me so.

[Now this is a game she's only half-heartedly playing. There's nothing in it for her. What'll happen will happen whether she fans the flames or not. She's fanning them just because.]

Edited 2013-04-29 01:19 (UTC)

[The thing is, Barty is observant. Barty knows people. He noticed their habits, their quirks, their weaknesses, stores it all up for the right moment to use it against them. Looks down on them for letting their Lord manipulate him. Yet he is blind for it himself. Perhaps an extension of how aware he is of his own intelligence, perhaps it's because of how very willingly he turns a blind eye to it, clinging to the beliefs that feed his devotion.]

I have no doubt you'd let me know. I'll watch my tongue.

[When he's not doing that weird tongue thing with it, at any rate.]

I think he's a useless dolt, so we are about even.

[It's her word choice that irks her more than anything else about this. Little boy. Might as well be junior. There's heat over that, alright, because he does have a temper and a dangerous one at that. But he also knows how to keep it in check, how to only let it explode when he has use for it. He'd be of no use to his Lord without self-control.]

What do you think?

[And he steps closer to meet her eyes. Not wary of her as most others might be.]

Clever.

[Nothing wrong with the weird tongue thing. He wouldn't seem like himself without it.]

That's fair.

[Knowing how to keep his emotions in check is a great advantage, not least over her. Bella's self-control is a finite and exhaustible resource. Sooner rather than later, it will run dry. She can manage for now, only for now. Her restraint will soon crack, along with her sanity, and then she'll act on impulse — she'll be unsubtle at all times. She'll make a show of her every feeling, whim and prejudice. It's going to be exhausting, actually, for many of the witches and wizards around her.]

Why should it matter what I think?

[It's inexplicably so proper to resist the question when she does; so ladylike. She's made it sound as though he flatters her, by lending her opinion such gravity. It's a lie she tells with her whole body, but there's sharp musicality in her voice, which hints that she's delaying only to taunt him.]

Not a boy, Barty. More than that, but less than you'd like.

[And then she looks away, exposes her profile; harmlessly rakes her nails through her hair. No attention whatsoever on him. Completely unafraid that he might respond in anger, as though she's invulnerable.]

It certainly matters more than any of Rodolphus' thoughts ever did.

[He doesn't pay much mind to her mock coquetry, seeing through it, clearly. She might be a lady, but she's also his senior, a powerful witch, high in their Lord's esteem. Her opinion of him has to matter, not that he'd openly admit just how much it does.]

Not a boy anymore, no.

[Although he's still young, very young. Much younger than her and in some ways kept younger in his mind still by first his father and now his Lord, while at the same time his bitterness has aged him above his years.]

As long as I'm enough for him, it should be enough for me as well.

[And enough for her, although he doesn't voice that part.]

[She won't thank his compliment. That's a sign of her own arrogance, but also an inevitable consequence of her upbringing. She wasn't raised to receive praise with humility. She turns her head, restores eye contact; makes things as they were before.]

You resent being treated and spoken to like a child.

[An obvious fact, but it's unusual for her to acknowledge someone else's feelings like this. It's especially rare that she makes an effort to discuss them, or to change her own behavior accordingly.

Barty isn't wrong about himself, or anyway she doesn't think he is. It's a fine and correct thing he's said out loud. He shouldn't be discouraged by the fact that her reply is somewhat contrary.]

What is ever enough for him?

[That's not bitterness, it's reverence. If she could, she'd hand her master the world, then ask — the very next moment — what else he wants.]

How much more does he deserve than his loyal servants can ever provide?

[Likewise, albeit for entirely different reasons, nothing is enough for her. Nothing she can ever hope to have. She's unmanageable, impossible. Without meaning to, she'd make anyone miserable who sought her approval. Narcissa's only immune because she earned her eldest sister's affection years ago, when it was more readily given.

They are permitted to make their own assessments of each other, distinct from their Lord's opinion — provided, of course, that their Lord's opinion is the one they act upon. His judgments are less fallible. Or infallible, more likely.]

Who doesn't?

[But of course Bella is right, so he doesn't argue. It's a bigger thing for him than for most. Wanting to be grown up, his own person. He has such potential, he feels it, and no one has truly recognized it until the Dark Lord found him.]

Nothing ever should be. But we can strive.

[And he does strive. For his Lord's approval, now, more than anything. For punishment of those he considers beneath him. For notice, finally, for dread in his father's eyes. All things this path will give him, or so he thinks.]

If I could give more than all I have, I would.

[There is a reason that Bella and Barty do understand each other, in a way.]

[She shrugs, as if to say she wouldn't mind. In point of fact, it would agitate her, but she doesn't know that. She has no strong memory of being spoken down to by her own parents. Those memories have passed into oblivion. The treatment she most resents came after childhood. Some archaic traditions are inseparable from purist ideology. Boys are the legacy of the father, girls are the vanity of the mother. When her politically like-minded male friends ceased to be friends and became her prospects, it was hard not to feel sold.

But it's not something she would've shielded her sisters from, obviously. Andromeda's forgiven for nothing.]

A child has the freedom to do many things without ever being suspected of having done them.

[She's feeling generous.] If it will satisfy you, I'll suspect you of everything. [Like a grown up. Like he wants.]

It's our task to wring more out of ourselves, and give that too.

You would, wouldn't you?

[He doesn't have to answer. On her part, this is a simple acceptance of a mutual truth. She has no tolerance for empty vows and platitudes. If he proves less than equal to his declaration, she'll hurt him in every way. That's what comes of speaking to her. She holds everyone to everything, and permits no change.]

[His own family, well, the situation is complicated. His father does't trust him, would barely let him leave the house if not for his mother's protests, and how would it look for his father's career if his son ended up marrying into the wrong family? Pureblood, but not wanting to become attached to the wrong family, in such difficult times.

He was supposed to be his father's legacy, but he had been rejected as not cut out for it, not for anything deemed proper, long before he had grown enough to prove that judgment right and now he might be his mother's treasure, still, but he has grown beyond caring for that. He doesn't think about family, not the one he has and not of starting one of his new one. All he wants is to further his Lord's goals any way he can. If he asked him to take a wife, he would, but only then.]

The freedom? I've never been that kind of child then. [Reverse it and it might be closer to the truth.] I'll gladly take that satisfaction.

[He answers the question, but with just a nod and no words. It's not needed, he knows she understands.]

And if you know a way to wring out more of me, I might embrace it.

[Barty's off the hook then, because there's no reason to order such a thing. Worst case scenario, his relative eligibility might be remarked upon in passing; made the subject of a little group joke.

A child suspected of many things, without ever having the freedom to have done them? Yes, that fits much better. He'll have to forgive — she knows who he is, but she doesn't appreciate fully what that means. She doesn't care, either. Not any more than Barty would care about her life. They're preoccupied, invested in more important matters, and proud of it. They can hold a conversation, but that's all it is. No sharing-learning-bonding sentimentality.]

Pity.

[That's a dreadfully powerful understatement. Bellatrix was born vicious; even as a child, she had to appease that and make frequent little offerings. There's how and why she abused her freedoms. It was nothing like rebellion, which would've been stamped down.

She trembles a little with muted laughter. It's a shrill and unpleasant sound at any volume.]

Think I'd tell you, if I knew the way? You, first and above all others? Why give you that chance and no one else?

Ask me again when I owe you a favor — if I ever.

[He inclines his head in acceptance of her 'pity'. Not much else to add to that and he knows how little she actually cares one way or the other. He likes to understand the others, just as their Lord does, to know them inside out and to perhaps be able to use them to his advantage. But care? No, this isn't the place for that. It's not friendship that binds them, it's a common goal, common methods and the Dark Lord.]

Yes.

[Her laugh bothers him, like nails across a blackboard. Goosebumps along his spine, but he doesn't show a reaction otherwise. His tongue flicks out to wet dry lips and he shrugs, as if she doesn't intimidate him at all.]

If we can help each other out, Bella, I see no reason why you wouldn't ask me. How many of the others are deserving and capable?

[The same as anyone, she laughs when she's amused, or when she means to mock; often deriving a laughing kind of pleasure from the act of mockery itself. It's immaterial, whether the sound disquiets and sends shivers. She cannot speak as to his sensitivities. He's doing well to hide them.]

Help.

[The word escapes her mouth in such a tentative and testing tone, as though she's never heard it before, and she has no idea what it might mean.]

You think highly of yourself.

[Or little of the others, whichever. It's another plainly apparent observation, but at least she's paying attention. Hasn't bored her to death yet.]

I shall have to consider it.

[She doesn't deal in polite or gentle discouragement. She wouldn't pretend to weigh something that wasn't worth thought, and definitely not to spare his pride. She'd have no qualms about rejecting this outright, if that was what she wanted. Hence: yes is yes, no is no, and later truly does mean later. He won't have anything from her, if he insists too soon. She's asserting her superiority a little.]

The IC Anon Fanmail Meme

assuming threadjack privileges because I know where you live.

AH. Oh. Right.

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threadjack privileges because it's my thread.

ah, touche. (that wasn't my devious plan at all. ahem.)

gasp! I never thought you might be capable of deviousness

shocking, I know. I bet you're the picture of innocence, yourself.

Why, how did you guess?

Intuition. Pieces from the same box of Lego, you and me.

Clearly we are going to click, then. (That pun was terrible. I'm not sorry.)

Good, never be sorry. It was dreadful and I loved it.

I see we'll get along splendidly.

Best threadjack. You're encouraging my bad habits. Gold star.

Bad habits? You? Surely you kid.

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busy days~

I know how that goes. You're always worth the wait, yourself.

As are you, naturally! And... Merlin help me, I ship it.