Author's Notes: Written for the girls (and boy) of the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum. Dedicated to TuesdayNovember, Mrs Bella Riddle, ThisLife103.7 and Fortuna Mirth.
Bedwetting, in addition to animal cruelty and obsession with fire setting, is part of the (much debated) "Macdonald Triad" or "Triad of Sociopathy", which links these three tendencies to violent (and especially homicidal) behaviour.
I couldn't quite decide whether this was really squicky and needed an M rating, or really not and just deserved a K plus…
Bellatrix was curled in bed, fast asleep, when she felt a lurch somewhere deep inside her. Her eyes snapped open immediately, before she woke up. For a minute she was confused and disoriented, still half in her dream, feeling like she was floating or paralyzed. Then, eventually, a clear sensation came through.
Wet. She felt wet.
She shifted a little. Her nightdress was damp below the waist, and her inner thighs had that prickly feeling of liquid drying on them.
Bellatrix's stomach twisted nervously. Had her period started? No, she had finished not two weeks ago. Had she managed to spill something in her sleep? She glanced at her nightstand and saw her glass of water still standing there. No, she couldn't have. So…
Feeling ill, and frightened of what she knew she was going to find, Bellatrix pulled back the blanket.
Tears of shame and humiliation welled in her eyes when she saw the damp stain spreading across the sheets, smelled the familiar, slightly acrid scent in the air. Biting her lip hard, Bellatrix looked around quickly, grateful that her sisters were both asleep.
It had been months since the last time this had happened.
Grabbing her wand, Bellatrix aimed it shakily at the sheets to clean and dry them. There had been a time when drying the sheets after… this… had been a nightly occurrence, so much so that Bellatrix had scarcely needed to wake herself up to perform the spell. But that had been ages and ages ago, when she was only eleven, and since then, it had been getting less and less frequent…
Bellatrix stood and tiptoed to the bathroom, opening the bedroom window on her way to erase any traces of the smell. She closed the door, stripping off her nightdress and throwing it aside – she would clean it later, she told herself – and turning the water on.
The pale light of one lamp made Bellatrix look weak and sickly in the mirrors as she stepped into the bathtub as well. She pulled her knees up to her chest, the hot water nearly scalding her pale skin, and buried her face in her hands.
After years and years of waking up in the middle of the night to damp sheets, being afraid to go to sleep, living in terror that the other girls in her dormitory would find out despite her efforts, Bellatrix had thought it was finally over. That she had grown out of it.
What kind of sixteen year old still wets the bed?
Hot tears prickled Bellatrix's eyes. She hated this, hated feeling so childish. This didn't happen to Andromeda! It didn't even happen to Narcissa, and she was only eleven! Neither of them had wet the bed since they were practically still babies. And Bellatrix – brave Bellatrix, proper Bellatrix, who they looked up to so much…
She sat in the bath for hours, the sound of running water hiding her humiliated sobs.