Sinope's Fiction: Silver and White

Title: Silver and White
Author: Sinope at (no spam!) gmail dot com
Rating: PG
Pairing: None (gen, with hints of Bellatrix/Narcissa)
Summary: For the Hallowe'en Masque, Bellatrix dressed up as a Slytherin.
Author's notes: Dedicated to (and betaed by) Arestel.
Disclaimer: This is an unofficial fan work. No profit was made; no ownership is implied.

For the Hallowe'en Masque, Bellatrix dressed up as a Slytherin. Silver threads in green silk traced subtle serpents that glittered in the torchlight, coiling and uncoiling. Above her emerald-masked face, a pewter snake had been charmed to writhe sinuously through the labyrinth of glossy black hair; on her ring finger, a silver snake curled in on itself, gripping a single white pearl between its teeth.

Bellatrix knew when she first met Lord Voldemort that white stood for purity. She showed him the ring that she had transfigured all by herself, back when she was only thirteen; by the time she found him, she was fifteen, tall for her age and fierce with conviction. Voldemort had laughed and reminded her that white was also the color of skulls and of death. "Isn't purity found most often in death?" she had replied. He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead with lips of snow.

The ring reminded Bellatrix of who she really was, beneath the green and silver that flattered Narcissa so well. Bellatrix was a Gryffindor, fire and passion and pure truth, and she often laughed at her cousin Sirius, who hated Voldemort because he ought to. She - only she - had the courage to support what was right.

"There never was a Dark wizard who didn't come from Slytherin, my dear," a voice - sultry, feminine, but disconcertingly masked by a charm - whispered in her ear.

The young woman beside Bellatrix stood slightly taller than she, clad in layered gray gauze that shimmered like eel-skin with each delicate breath. Pale skin was crowned by paler hair, and the eyes that glided surveyingly over her body were glacial blue. They rested on Bellatrix's hand, which the masked young woman drew up to her face, silky skin brushing over the pads of Bellatrix's fingers. "Not entirely dark, I see," she murmured, and Bellatrix's palm twitched at the warm puff of breath.

"You are very forward," she replied, withdrawing her hand firmly.

"Am I?" the woman said with a slight smile.

"You're also a Slytherin."

"Now, why do you think that?"

Bellatrix fixed her gaze on those icy eyes. "Because of the way you make my skin crawl."

"And yet you dress as one of us?"

"I wanted to see what it would be like." She rolled the silver ring with her thumb and did not say - Because My Lord was a Slytherin, and I don't understand how someone so pure and strong could come from somewhere so foul.

"Be careful then, little one," the other said softly. "Wear a snake's skin for too long, and even you will grow a forked tongue."

"I will never slink on my belly when I can stand in pride."

"I imagine," she drew so near that Bellatrix could feel the whisper of lips against her earlobe, "that those words would be very interesting to the one you call Lord, Bella."

Abrupt understanding jolted Bellatrix. "You may be my sister, Narcissa, and you may share my beliefs, but I am nothing like you. I can serve with pride - with pure, real faith - and I am a thousand times more loyal than you serpents could ever be."

Narcissa regarded Bellatrix calmly, then raised her hand as if to caress the other woman's face. Instead, she placed it against the styled hair, pausing until Bellatrix could see the pewter serpent curling down Narcissa's wrist and slender arm. A soft gasp escaped Narcissa's lips when the metal slipped through the pale crook of her elbow.

Bellatrix shivered. With some effort, she finally rolled her eyes. "When you're done with the dramatics, may I have my costume back?"

"Certainly." Narcissa touched one finger to the naked slope of her neck, where the snake was circling, waited for it to slither back through her fingers, and returned it to Bellatrix's hair. "Enjoy your evening of slumming it with the Dark side," she said coldly, and she turned away in a swirl of almond-musk perfume.

Bellatrix picked up a cup of punch from a nearby table, draining half of it thirstily and relishing the near-painful impact of citrus and fizz against her dry throat. There never was a Dark wizard who didn't come from Slytherin. Under her thumb, twirling her ring restlessly as she watched masked couples dancing, Bellatrix could feel the oily sheen of the white pearl. I am pure and strong, she thought, and I will never bow.

finis.