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[15 Aug 2004|11:51am] [ mood | irritated ] So it would seem that my esteemed widdle Nephew has disgraced his mother, father and House once again, and only in the respect of being less-than subtle on the subject of his whereabouts. The Dragon's Back Inn, you say, Draco dearest? And even if you aren't right there, I'm sure, with a little persuasion, that the inn-keeper would be delighted to divulge your little secret. Has the child lost all dignity he gained in the years of being a Malfoy Black heir and a Slytherin? Practically begging for something, though perhaps he may have some right to it, isn't becoming in the slightest; in fact it's downright repulsive. Letters such as he sent me make me want to laugh at his imbecility and vomit at what he's become. He'll be sleeping with Mudbloods, next, and then he'll certainly have to be eradicated. And then we will definitely have to pay a visit to London to fulfill our duties as Loving Aunt, won't we? But in much better news, the List we're creating is coming along quite well, as well as the plans to head to France. Again. But with an aim, this time, rather than just hiding. And we won't be hiding soon, no. I hate to have to bring a free birdy home and put him in a cage, poor, sweet, darling ickle Julien.

you shut your mouth. [22 May 2004|04:10am] [ mood | tired ] I’ve been thinking. Too hard. I don’t want to think like this anymore, but every time I close my eyes she’s there. Sort of floating, but always scowling. I need something to occupy my mind that isn’t my sister. My only sister. The dead one. The dead girl that everyone liked. Staring at me with those cold eyes of hers, the very same ones that used to look at me expectantly when we were children, chastisingly sometimes so that I didn’t get in trouble with Mother, but only with her version of... no, I can’t say it. I don’t want to say it, I don’t want to cry again. She loved me. I failed her, I let her die. But I couldn’t have saved her. She was a casualty, and she died... nobly. I hope. I only know that I’ll find out who did it and they will die a Muggle’s death. Every time she’s there, I can’t help but clench my teeth and let the tears come, and I don’t want them to. I can’t let them, I don’t want them to, and it’s horrible. I just want to sleep without her there beside me, or maybe someone to take her place, but I can’t talk to him again. He thinks I hate him and I do. No, I don’t. I can’t. I... I still love him. I think. He’s there, too, the other one that I’ve lost but at least I have a chance of redeeming him, of taking him for myself again. He knows I wronged him, and perhaps I really didn’t. But he’s still here. And she’s not. And every time I see Lucius I think of her, and I want to kill him for having hair so blonde, for his grey eyes, for looking, though our lines haven’t crossed for centuries, like her. If I had her back, I could be me again. The one that used to play hide and seek with her at. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

[08 May 2004|09:19pm] [ mood | bored ] It's been blissfully silent lately. I think I'm going to have to owe that to the fact that Rabastan and his Cure Work are now comfortably two hallways away from me. Then again, everything's two hallways away from me. I've picked the most secluded room in the entire estate at the very back looking over the forest, and, even though it's been quite nice, not even Rodolphus has tried to speak to me ever since he kissed me assisted me three weeks ago. Not that I care to speak to him, of course. We've done nothing but wait for our prime chance to attack Hogsmeade, and they are, indeed, fixing up the gardens at the back of the Estate for me. I suppose it's a nice gesture, but I've been extremely wary of venturing outside ever since Rafael found the Muggle (May the Gods stir his pathetic, filthy soul.) wandering around in the brush. It's only precaution, of course, because if a Muggle can somehow break through the wards, then what else might get through? Of course, I don't think that the less-clueless and more-ward wary Wizarding Folk would be able to... it must have been just a fluke. Or at least that's what I'll keep telling myself.

23 April 1999 [23 Apr 2004|12:08pm] [ mood | melancholy ] I’m going to go mad. Incessant papers wrinkling and scratching of quills. It’s all I hear every day as soon as he wakes up. If he doesn’t find that Cure soon, I’m going to make sure he never does by gouging out his eyes. He’s starting to act strangely around me as well, coming too close and speaking in hushed tones. I’m starting to regret letting him stay here, I should have just made him go back to the estate with Lucius and Rodolphus and then maybe it would be quiet again. Too quiet, as I haven’t heard from Chang lately, or Greengrass. Salazar, even Lucius has been avoiding me not that I care for him to speak to me, but we do have an operation to be planning. But I suppose that they have their fronts to keep up and can’t stick around this hellhole at all hours of the day as I’m suffered to do. I do know that the development with the warding of the Notts’ estate is coming along nicely. Perhaps then we’ll be able to get out. I do rather fancy a walk in a garden, provided that they have one. If not, then they will have to acquire one. I remember being small with Narcissa and even Andromeda, playing amongst Mother’s roses, and I even remember the day that I found that they had thorns. I’d grabbed onto the bush and pricked my hand in the center. I cried, I must have been only five, the summer before Andromeda left for Hogwarts, and Narcissa came to me, saw what happened, and licked my hand, an odd look in her eyes that in retrospect was the same look she gave Draco when he was first born, and I remember what she said: “You mustn’t spill that, Bellatrix.” I hadn’t... and haven’t. Perhaps even I’ll let my husband come along, I should let him speak to me more often, but then he should make the effort to see me more often. I used to love him more than anything, I used to lie awake at night just staring into his eyes and when he fell asleep just watching him breathe, but now I’ve laid awake several days wondering whether I still do. I miss him. I gave everything in my life to Voldemort only to have him murdered by a mere boy, who will suffer for my loss before I die, and I’m sure Dolph hates me for that, hates me for not giving him an heir, hates me for avoiding him for so long, but I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t let My Lord down, and I know that if I saw Dolph in that sort of light again too soon after I came into My Lord’s service, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to stay away. I had to, and he hasn’t forgiven me for that. I can’t say it’s not justified. I don’t hate him, but I don’t regret it, either. My Lord’s will be done, whether he is around to see it or not.

[31 Mar 2004|10:49pm] [ mood | moody ] Whoever killed my sister is going to die a long, slow, and more than painful death. May it be a warning for anyone who might know who did it. You may want to start hiding now. I am coming for you, regardless of if it takes me until the end of the world to find and eradicate you. Lucius should consider himself lucky as well, as should Lupin. Two beings that have escaped my Avada Kedavra in one day. One evening, even. Am I slipping? I shouldn't have let Lupin get away. Stupid whore of a man. Speaking of whores and men, I was able to speak to Rodolphus this evening. I think he tried to convince me of staying there, but he should know that I'll do what I please. I didn't please to stay there. But seeing him again... I don't know. I find it odd that they were trying to find us a safe haven in Albania. Endearingly sweet, but faithless in the cause. Ah well, at least I have something to look forward to. Lucius and I have planned a little... surprise, if you will, for the Army. I do hope they appreciate it. It'll do them well.

This is what a girl's dreams are made of. [19 Feb 2004|02:48pm] [ mood | good ] Back home! Could I be anymore happy? The air is fresher, the food actually has a taste, and the Muggles are ripe for the killing. Of course, I’ve had to stay in this disgustingly plain room since I’ve been back, which has been possibly the best six days of the past sixteen years of my life. Well, with the exception of the fun times that were to be had during the war. And then there was the breakout in 1995. This girl Chang is quite an interesting plaything. I tell her I wanted mineral water and salads, she brings them. I told her I wanted Italian cheesecakes, and she brings them. I told her I wanted my old blanket that I’ve had since my sixteenth birthday... and she brings it. How she found it, I’ll never know. Nor will I ever care, really. Perhaps I might send her on hunts for the rest of my things, but I don’t want her looking suspicious. The things that I owned are possibly being watched closely by the ministry. Especially this wonderful toolset that Rodolphus gave to me on the night of our engagement. I charmed it, of course, so that it burns my initials into the palms of whomever’s hands pick any of the seventeen tools up, so woe to the unlucky bastard that’s found that. I do miss the scalpels, forceps and bone saws that were inside, though. Barehanded torture is sometimes so much more gratifying than say, the Cruciatus. The blood on one’s hands is almost an aphrodisiac of sorts. AH! That’s what I’ll ask Chang to find me. Surely it won’t be hard to trace. My silver knife with the ebony handle. I believe it’s got an emerald embedded at the tip of the handle. It’s not charmed, but it’s definitely beautiful. This survivor’s group is an interesting eavesdropping subject. One would be surprised at how many people are blaming the Ministry for their troubles, rather than the Death Eaters or even My Lord. I suppose they believe us of no threat, and therefore find no real reason to blame us for anything, as they’d rather have a more tangible scapegoat. Little do they know, the imbeciles. We’ll have them under our thumbs soon. I’m still itching to make a surprise visit. Do you think that they’d believe me real? That the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange would show up, unnoticed before now, in the middle of the room, smirking down at all of them? I’d have to kill them all, of course, and then we would have no one left to play with. So, I sit by idly and do nothing at all. I’ve taken up painting, though, and that’s served to pass the time. Landscapes mostly. I’ve always been horrible at painting portraits.

[12 Feb 2004|01:24pm] [ mood | jubilant ] [ music | Inane quabbling in the hallways. ] It is rather easy to pack one's belongings when most of the lot have been either auctioned or taken into custody by one's government at the time of one's incarceration. It is rather a shame, most of my lovely silver hair combs were in my home when it was overturned. Narcissa never could carry silver as a colour, so raiding her jewelry boxes wouldn't prove productive at all. I think my meeting with Lucius went rather well: composed myself like a proper lady, spoke my piece, allowed him his opinion, and told him that I would not be swayed. I find it comical that he still believes himself the leader of our little group. He will have a rude awakening on the subject soon, but we must let him believe that he is in charge, do not want to hurt his masculinity too badly just yet. Here I am, my suitcase in hand (well, not mine, rather one that I took from the closet here, has an odd PP on it, so I am assuming that it belongs to the owners of the estate. They won't miss it.) ready to go. Now all I'm waiting for is the Portkey to be activated out of here, as I do not believe myself able to Apparate so far a distance without leaving some part of me behind. That might not be such a good thing, when it comes down to it. He's already given me a task, albeit one that won't be so hard to execute. I'm to break through Hogwarts' security. This shouldn't prove such a problem, as I've been told that there are only mere wards around the castle. That, and I have my little Daphne to help out, should a public appearance for the cause be needed for this little project. Only a few more hours, Bellatrix. Then, the world will be ours once more.

[26 Jan 2004|02:02am] [ mood | determined ] Complications? How in Merlin's name did her potion give her complications? Unless of course... but no, she's not that stupid. Though, I suppose one never knows. Let this be a lesson: never leave even simple potionmakings in the hands of mere children. I'm leaving. I've made up my mind and I'm on my way to tell Lucius of this glorious news right now. I'll be back in England before the week's out. I simply can not wait. It does, however, break my heart that I still have to be in hiding. I'll have company in my apprentice, Miss Greengrass, but I've never spent extended amounts of time with the girl, and do not know how long it will take before she causes me to... become upset. I can only hope that I won't have to stay in her home, and therefore in hiding for long. I suppose that Lucius will insist that someone come with me, as well, as though I'm a small fragile child that can not take care of herself. I thought I proved myself quite capable on many occasions, but I suppose not in his ever scrutinizing eyes. Fucking Bastard. I can't imagine who he'll try to send.

I'm in this mood because of scorn... [16 Jan 2004|01:43am] [ mood | bored ] [ music | Couperin - Les Baricades ] Sometimes, I wonder just how I got by without this lovely dog-eared journal of mine. But then I think back to those wonderful nights, pregnant with delicious torture; those nights that I clawed at the cell walls in prison and know that I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything relatively exciting to put in it, and since I’ve spent quite close to half my lifetime behind bars and under close guard of dementors… I’m glad I can finally let it all out, perhaps even amuse myself with this quill. I expect the latter pages of this to be filled with blood and slashes, delectable gore and sweet triumph. Because, in reality, the more powerful will win. It is no longer a fight between good and evil. Besides, what is evil? It’s all relative, really. For example, I think that what that Potter boy did to my Lord is the most evil thing that he could have possibly ever done to anyone, ever. How would he like it if I... Oh wait... I already did murder the one he loved, didn't I? Excellent girl, Bellatrix. I have dreams about maiming, ripping a certain very favourite halfblood apart. Yes, that would be quite lovely, don't you agree? Yes, quite. This place is just as bad as Azkaban. Parkinson Estate, they say. Lucius says we’re safe here; I don’t want to be safe. I can’t do anything constructive and it’s making me restless. Cabin fever, they’d say. They've given me bottles with ornate stoppers in, full of liquors. Sedation, perhaps? I've never been very much of a lush, unlike my dear, stupid deceased sister, but I might let my hair down and try some. I've always been wary of myself when around these sorts of potent liquids. They might make me a bit... odd. I don't want that. I like to have a clear mind, yes I do.

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