Title: Well-Behaved Witches
Prompt: Well-behaved women seldom make history.
Characters/Pairing: Bellatrix Black, Druella Black
Warnings: secondary character death, dark themes
Word count: 497
Summary: Druella Black has many ideas of what a well-behaved witch should be like. Bellatrix doesn't always agree.
A/N: Written for deatheaterdrabs for the Bellatrix round. Surprisingly, it won.
“Bellatrix, well-behaved witches do not talk all the time. They must be seen, not heard.” Her mother’s voice was firm, unyielding. Her daughter opened her mouth to object, but Druella Black raised one finger.
“Seen, but not heard.”
Bellatrix glowered in the way only a six-year-old girl could glower. Someday, the pout would turn into a half-lidded look that would make grown wizards quail.
“Bellatrix, well-behaved witches do not hit.”
“But Mother, Sirius—” she protested.
“I do not care. You will behave like a lady. You will behave fitting to the name of Black.”
Bellatrix blanked her face. She had learned, as she grew, that minding Druella instead of fighting her was the best way to get what she wished. “Yes, Mother,” she replied, stepping forward to hug her mother.
Druella returned the gesture with the same mechanical formality it was offered before returning to her tea with her sister-in-law.
Bellatrix hid her smirk behind a curtain of hair as she fingered her mother’s wand, now neatly tucked up her sleeve. She wouldn’t hit Sirius this time…
“Bellatrix, well-behaved witches do not yell, scream, or curse. It is beneath us.” Bellatrix took a deep breath, pale face flushed ruddy with fury. “Even if provoked. You are a Black, and you are a young woman. There are your prospects to look toward now.”
Bella bit the inside of her cheek, tasted blood. This calmed her. “Yes, Mother. You are right.” She bowed her head, a dutiful daughter.
The next time that Mudblood Frank Longbottom tugged the end of her braid, Bellatrix turned to him, smiled, and cooed. “Oh, Franky-wanky, really! People will think you care about little-bitty me. Whatever will my parents say!” She said it in a sing-song voice. Perhaps it was the combination of smile and speech, but Frank backed away and didn’t bother her again.
Perhaps mother had something in this well-behaved business.
Bellatrix never needed to be told, like her sister Andromeda, that a well-behaved witches did not consort with Mudbloods, let alone marry them.
She did not need to be told that she must marry who her family chose, even if it was a Lestrange—a Lestrange who wasn’t the heir to the family fortune.
But her mother did feel the need to say, “Bellatrix, well-behaved witches do not join gentlemen’s societies. It is unseemly.”
Bellatrix thought of Tom Riddle, the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis. His charisma, his dark hair and looks—his power.
“The cause is righteous, Mother.” Fire burned in her dark eyes. In this, she refused to be told what to do.
This time, it was Druella who opened her mouth to protest. With one quick movement, Bellatrix stepped forward and thrust her athame, sitting on the counter for potions, into her mother.
“I don’t feel much like being well-behaved any more, Mother,” Bellatrix said softly, in the voice her mother had coached them many long hours to achieve. A witch should be soft spoken. “Not at all.”