Power

Bellatrix

Even when they were little, it had always been Bellatrix who had wanted to be in charge. She had always been the one who directed their games, who decided what was going to be done. It was always Bellatrix who led the revenge when one of them was wronged by someone.

Sometimes her sisters were almost scared at how intimidating she could become when she wanted to—how that dangerous smirk of hers marked the plan as her own, and how, once it was carried out correctly, she seemed to be so wickedly satisfied with the result.

As they grew older, Andromeda and Narcissa noticed the aura that their sister had formed—she had the regality of a queen, great and beautiful, but terrible in her vengeance. For some reason it fit her: Bellatrix, the powerful empress of the wizarding world, who had reigned supreme in all of their childhood stories, and now held domain over all of their male acquaintances.

Because of their memories, neither of her sisters was very astonished when their darkly beautiful sister, always ambitious and power-hungry, joined the Death Eaters. Nor did they feel any surprise when she entered the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle. To them, it was just a continuation of Bellatrix’s desire for power, be it good or evil, so long as it was strong. She craved influence and authority, the ability to control and persuade. As her sisters watched her slip away from them, they saw the effect that it had on her. If Voldemort was the only one who could give power to their authoritative sister, then Voldemort was whom she would follow.

* * *

Andromeda

She had never wanted the same things that her sisters had wanted. Power…yes, it was nice, she supposed, but not the same sort of power that her sisters wanted. No, Andromeda’s definition of power was different: freedom. Freedom to live her own life, love the man she wanted to love, divest herself of the gilded chains of the perfect pureblood maiden and find her own way, her own path.

Power in and of itself had never attracted her. There was something about absolute control that reeked of decaying government and an authority that corrupted. She didn’t want to be a part of that—ever. So she used her reputation as the sweet, elegantly perfect Black sister to her advantage: no one would ever expect Andromeda to run away with a Muggle, because no one would ever expect her to do anything wrong.

Of course, that was because it had always been Bellatrix who was the leader of any grand scheme, who had come up with ways to get out of things that the sisters didn’t want to do, and who had taken the blame for those plots. So who would ever expect Andromeda? No one, which was why she was able to take control of her own life—the freedom she was given from that being the only power she had ever wanted.

* * *

Narcissa

As the youngest, Narcissa had quickly realized that power did not always come from what one did for oneself, but what others did that she was attached to. Often in the shadow of her sisters: brilliant, beautiful Bellatrix, and passionate, elegantly perfect Andromeda, both of whom were considered nearly faultless by wizarding society, Narcissa found that if she wanted to be known as something other than “Bellatrix and Andromeda’s little sister,” she would have to set her own standard, and make her own level.

Therefore, when she met Lucius Malfoy in school, she decided that he was her way to the power that she craved so greatly. He was Pureblood, so her family would be satisfied, and handsome—even Bellatrix couldn’t say anything about his looks. He was also intelligent, and if that intelligence led to danger, well…there wasn’t much she could do about that, anyway, and a little bit of risk always spiced things up a bit, in her mind.

So she played the sweet, innocent maiden around him, and his friends took bets as to how long it would take the pretty little Narcissa to win their blond friend’s heart, and it was no surprise to anyone when handsome, rich, Pureblooded Lucius Malfoy asked the Black family for the hand of the youngest daughter of the house. It was a relief to them, after Andromeda had run off with that Muggle, to marry Narcissa to someone appropriate. All of the younger generation hadn’t fallen on their heads, it seemed.

Years later, upon reflecting on the decisions she had made, Narcissa smiled. After all, she did have exactly what she wanted: she was one of the few Pureblood ladies left who wasn’t wanted for wrongdoing or dead in the Dark Lord’s service. Her sort of power was the important kind—the kind that lasted.