∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

BELLATRIX
1962 : First year
B L A C K, • B L A C K 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

THE MANOR WAS COLD AND DARK. Bellatrix preferred to stay in Grimmauld Place, where it was fragmented with specs of shared joyous moments with her sisters, her cousins and her family- when they had not indulged in dark business as deep. But she was not a male heir, nor the first-born son of Alphard Black, her grandfather, who had given the house to Orion and Walburga, whereas the spare, Cygnus Black was gifted the Black family manor and Estate. Bellatrix noted that hierarchy was an unequivocally important deal in prestige family lineages such as hers. And that was where Bella had learnt the importance of blood, family, and pride. She was not meant to carry legacy—just bear it. But Bellatrix had long decided she would carve her own name into the walls of history, if only with fire and blood.

She missed home. She missed her sisters and her baby cousins (who she deemed as her brothers): Andy, her sister who was only nine and spoke in foreign tongues of arts and history; and Cissy who was seven and loved everything pretty; Sirius who was eight and had the energy of a Quidditch's snitch with all that speed and ferocity; and a three-year-old curly-haired baby that Bellatrix prized so fondly of, Reggie.

A perk of staying at Grimmauld Place, meant that her parents were busy doing business and that her aunt and uncle were also busy doing business, and the house would be left in the care of the young scions of Black and their house-elves, occupying them with all sorts of mischief and magic managed inside a little habitat of space the imagination and creativity that flowed through any other child. 

In comparison to her home. Bellatrix hated the manor. Her mother was always busy being a porcelain doll of beauty and grace, who, behind closed doors, drowned herself in shallow glasses of wine and even shallower delusions when no one was looking; her father was always away for work, and his head dipped beneath the legs of multiple witches that weren't her mother; and when something went south, because it always did, the abuse her father inflicted upon her as a scapegoat was incorrigible and cruel, ruthless and dark.

Black.

The manor was black in its marble, black in its history, black in its silence. The lineage was undisputed. 

──────

To Knight,

You are, unfathomably, annoying and I detest of your presumptuous assumptions of me! I do not, and will not, for that matter, consider us friends. In fact, I don't even think we are anything as close to the toes of acquaintances at all! We simply write here and there and spill some measly little story every once in a while! Don't take the matter that I write to you as some charade of endearment I do for you, lousy cat!

Yours,

Jester

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

To Jester,

Alright, alright, ALRIGHT! I understand we aren't friends! So? There is no harm in making friends, I'll let you know Jester, that even HOGWARTS itself was founded because of four legendary witches and wizards that just so happened to be friends and agreed for a safe haven for their kind! See, everything good comes from having a few friends by your side! And good ones too!

I don't think you really HATE friends, I think you haven't grown used to it, that's all. the moment you do, you will DEFINITELY find yourself out there, laughing at jokes and crying at Quidditch losses together. I hope we can go to a Quidditch game one day together! Maybe when we're done with all this and we're grown up!

Signed,

Knight

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

To Knight,

Maybe when you've practiced riding your broom. Then we will have a deal.

Signed,
Jester

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTES!
short filler! forgive me