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31_days2006-05-14 11:14 pm
alyxbradford.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-05-14 11:14 pm
[14 May] [Harry Potter] Composure
Title: Composure
Day/Theme: 14 May - the finely detailed insanity you've come to expect
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Her laughter rings to the four crisp corners of the marble ceiling, and her head is thrown back. Her black curls should be tumbling, should be in their usual cascade, but they've been pressed into one long, tight braid. "Cissy, precious," she drawls, looking more amused than anything, "do you really think I'm going to get time off for good behaviour?"
Narcissa doesn't fidget. Someone else might, but not cool, composed Mrs Malfoy. Not even with the strain in her chest, the aching compression that's settled beneath her sternum, not even with the sting of tears plucking at the back of her eyes, not even then does she show distress. "It couldn't hurt, Bellatrix."
The good cheer fades; Narcissa couldn't say whether it had been feigned to begin with or not. "I'm not going to pretend to show remorse, Narcissa."
"Not remorse, just..." Narcissa's head dips momentarily as she forms her next thought. "If you behave, Bellatrix. If you behave, they might be easier on you."
"No." Her lips, curling into a faint smile, aren't much lighter for the lack of carmine.
"Bellatrix." A note of pleading enters Narcissa's musical voice. "If there's even a chance, any chance at all, you need to take it. You need to."
"No."
Narcissa drops her gaze again, this time looking at the glowing blue line down the center of the room, separating her from her sister. "You could have a life, Bellatrix. Children. Freedom." When she raises her eyes again, Bellatrix is shaking her head.
"No, Cissy." She smiles again, and starts to move forward, bringing her hand up as though to stroke Narcissa's cheek or hair, before she remembers the dividing line. There is no sorrow, no regret in her shining face.
Narcissa nods, slowly, then turns in a soft swirl of black silk, and leaves.
She is surprised at how long Bellatrix remains quiet during the sham of a trial. But when she speaks – virtue resplendent in her voice, an almost holy glow of conviction surrounding her, beautiful with fanatic rage – the crowd delights in it, as she knew they would. Bellatrix gives them the show everyone expected from her, the fireworks. It is an excellent performance. The same oratorical skills that called her peers to such superb action enflames the righteous mob, but even when they start calling for her blood, they cannot drown her out. Bellatrix has always known how to make the grandest spectacle of herself.
Narcissa watches, silent and tearless.
Day/Theme: 14 May - the finely detailed insanity you've come to expect
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Her laughter rings to the four crisp corners of the marble ceiling, and her head is thrown back. Her black curls should be tumbling, should be in their usual cascade, but they've been pressed into one long, tight braid. "Cissy, precious," she drawls, looking more amused than anything, "do you really think I'm going to get time off for good behaviour?"
Narcissa doesn't fidget. Someone else might, but not cool, composed Mrs Malfoy. Not even with the strain in her chest, the aching compression that's settled beneath her sternum, not even with the sting of tears plucking at the back of her eyes, not even then does she show distress. "It couldn't hurt, Bellatrix."
The good cheer fades; Narcissa couldn't say whether it had been feigned to begin with or not. "I'm not going to pretend to show remorse, Narcissa."
"Not remorse, just..." Narcissa's head dips momentarily as she forms her next thought. "If you behave, Bellatrix. If you behave, they might be easier on you."
"No." Her lips, curling into a faint smile, aren't much lighter for the lack of carmine.
"Bellatrix." A note of pleading enters Narcissa's musical voice. "If there's even a chance, any chance at all, you need to take it. You need to."
"No."
Narcissa drops her gaze again, this time looking at the glowing blue line down the center of the room, separating her from her sister. "You could have a life, Bellatrix. Children. Freedom." When she raises her eyes again, Bellatrix is shaking her head.
"No, Cissy." She smiles again, and starts to move forward, bringing her hand up as though to stroke Narcissa's cheek or hair, before she remembers the dividing line. There is no sorrow, no regret in her shining face.
Narcissa nods, slowly, then turns in a soft swirl of black silk, and leaves.
She is surprised at how long Bellatrix remains quiet during the sham of a trial. But when she speaks – virtue resplendent in her voice, an almost holy glow of conviction surrounding her, beautiful with fanatic rage – the crowd delights in it, as she knew they would. Bellatrix gives them the show everyone expected from her, the fireworks. It is an excellent performance. The same oratorical skills that called her peers to such superb action enflames the righteous mob, but even when they start calling for her blood, they cannot drown her out. Bellatrix has always known how to make the grandest spectacle of herself.
Narcissa watches, silent and tearless.