Work Text:
Bellatrix Black knew everyone hated her. She knew it from the way the teacher had to assign her to a group for group projects, because no one wanted to work with her. She knew it from the way she walked around the halls and people wouldn't make eye contact, just let their eyes linger on her back. She knew it from the way that people only spoke to her when they were forced to. She knew it from the way she’d sat alone at the lunch table since middle school.
To be clear, she didn't begrudge them for it. She knew that their hatred was rooted partially in their fear. As her mother had always told her, "we only hate what we fear.” Her mother was always quick to remind her that as they feared her, she had the power, not them. It was hard to feel powerful, though, when she had no control over the situation. She couldn’t make them not hate her or not fear her.
It wasn't like they hated her without reason, either. To put it lightly, she was not a nice person. Her interests also tended a bit close to the macabre, and while there were a few friend groups that alleged to have those interests, Bellatrix felt in her bones that their liking was purely aesthetic, while hers was something more unsettling. While they liked bones and blood and spiders, perhaps enjoying Edgar Allan Poe or Halloween, none of them wanted to slice themselves open and look at their own blood under the microscope Bellatrix had gotten for her birthday. They didn't want to dissect the rats their family cats brought home. They didn’t love the crackle of crushing a cockroach with their bare hand. They didn’t want to go out into the woods behind their house and hunt animals, watching the blood drain out of them.
It was like in elementary school, when they'd all play werewolves and vampires, and pretend to bite each other (and sometimes accidentally would bite each other). Bellatrix would always take it too seriously and actually bite people, sometimes ripping out small chunks of skin. At first, the teachers, parents, and other kids thought it was an accident. After the third time, they all realized it was not.
It found her in the administration office, sitting in front of some adult Bellatrix didn't know the name or title of. The administrator had explained to her parents that “perhaps she should consider going to a different program, because she doesn't play well with others.” Her parents had been furious— mostly at the administration. They dug their feet in, and reminded the school how influential they were. Her mother was the president of the PTA. Their family donated liberally to every fundraiser. Surely the school wanted to keep the Black family’s children going there, and keeping the precious tuition and donation money rolling in. So they said Bellatrix could stay.
Without a doubt, everyone agreed that Bellatrix was distinctly strange. Teachers, classmates, parents. Even Bellatrix herself realized that she was a bit different. She didn’t understand why other people weren’t like her, why they got squeamish at the sight of blood and hated seeing pain and decay. To her, life was more fascinating the closer it got to death. She never felt more exhilarated than when she could see gore or suffering.
Still, school was incredibly boring without other people to talk to. She did well in her classes, not because she cared, but because there simply wasn't anything else to focus her attention on. Her days were spent trapped inside the school walls, without even recess to let her out.
That was how, on her first day as a sophomore, she found herself in the cafeteria, eating alone and resigning herself to another boring year. She stared down at her lunchbox as she ate the nutritionally balanced chicken wrap that her mother had made for her. (The family doctor had said that monitoring childrens’ nutrition would help them from having “hormone imbalances” and reduce Bellatrix’s mood swings.) The bland food was dry as she swallowed it.
Clatter . The sound of a lunchbox being dropped on the table.
Bellatrix looked up. A girl with medium length curled blonde hair was sitting in front of her. Maroon cat-eye glasses perched on nose. The glasses were strangely flattering, despite their antiquated style. Evidently she was a new student.
“Is it true you’re insane?” the girl asked, sitting directly in front of her.
“That’s a rude question to ask someone you haven’t even met.” She had no idea what this girl’s aim was, but even Bellatrix knew better than to immediately ask someone if they were crazy.
“I’m Rita Skeeter, your name’s Bellatrix Black, right?” Rita extended her hand, adorned with long acrylic nails. Startled, Bellatrix shook her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong. This was the first time she’d had physical contact with a non-family member in literal years.
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure how the girl had gotten her name. Perhaps they were in a class together? She was awful with faces.
“Excellent, now we’ve met each other. So,” the girl cocked her head to the side, “Are you insane?”
Bellatrix had the strange feeling she was being interviewed. “No,” she replied. She had no clue what the girl was trying to get out of this. She had a suspicion that Rita had been dared by others at school to talk to her as some sort of prank for the first day. It didn’t really matter to her that much. At least Rita was interesting. “Or well, only on Thursdays.” If she was going to be made fun of, she could at least have fun with it.
“Looks like I’m safe then, seeing as it’s a Monday.” Rita unscrewed the top of a thermos and unfolded a shiny metal fork.
“Why are you here?” Bellatrix asked, unable to hold in the question any longer.
Rita viciously stabbed her fork into her thermos. Bellatrix’s eyes fixed on the movement of the girl’s fingers as she drew the pasta into her mouth. “You looked interesting. A girl who doesn’t talk to anyone, but who everyone still pays attention to? Someone who everyone avoids, even though you’re clearly wealthy, so you’d be a helpful friend to have? A student who the teachers seem to be a little bit scared of?” Rita shrugged. “You seem interesting.”
It scared Bellatrix how much this new girl already knew about her. None of it had been particularly hard to figure out, but it hadn’t even been half of a day yet. “I see.”
“Also, they ,” Rita gestured with her fork toward another table in the cafeteria, filled with people who were taking occasional glances to look at theirs, “said you were an ‘insane psychotic bitch’ who should be avoided. Which seemed a bit redundant to me, but who am I to judge?”
Although it wasn’t a surprise that people thought that of her, it was still a bit of a shock to hear the words directly said to her. “So what, you were dared to come over here and talk to me?” she said with derision. She leaned in close over the table to Rita. “How do you know they weren’t right?” Her words were just above a whisper, loud enough to be heard over the cafeteria din, but not a decibel more.
Much to her surprise, Rita leaned in closer as well, angling her hair to speak into Bellatrix’s ear. Her green eyes pierced into Bellatrix, a smirk on her lurid red lips. “Maybe I want them to be.” Bellatrix’s hair fluttered from Rita’s words, tickling her chin. There was an odd feeling in her stomach, something not unfamiliar, but weirdly prickly. Rita leaned back, resuming her normal position at the table. “More interesting that way,” Rita resumed speaking at a normal volume and smiled, her grin wide on her face.
Bellatrix wasn’t sure how to respond. Her brain was still caught on the feeling of Rita’s warm breath on her face as she whispered the words to her, the shrewd look in Rita’s eyes, the angular cut of her lips. Rita had called her bluff, and it left Bellatrix unmoored. It felt like jumping off of a tall rock as she explored the woods with Andy and Cissy. There was the same exhilaration, and slight fear that something would go wrong. One thing was for sure— whether Rita hated her or not, this year would be interesting.