Fic: The Only One
Title: The Only One
Author: dexstarr
Word Count: 1441
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: Written for deathly_contest Week #2: Blush
Characters: Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Lord Voldemort
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I do so love these three.
Disclaimer: HP and all assorted belong to JKR, and are not mine.
Summary: His last view of his wife was at their trial.
***
For the first time in five, or maybe six years - he’s not sure - Rodolphus is close enough to Bellatrix to see her.
Some Ministry official has decided that it would be crueler for the Lestranges to be able to look at each other but not touch, and has had the two moved accordingly.
Probably Crouch, he thinks. He blames us - mostly Bella - for his son’s involvement with the Death Eaters.
So now Rodolphus can see his wife - or at least glimpses of her through the iron and stone separating them - and it’s meant to break him. He’s still mostly sane, and knows this frustrates the Azkaban wardens. They do not like that one of their most infamous prisoners has not yet shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
His last view of Bellatrix was at their trial; he remembers her sitting so regally on the ‘defendant’s’ chair, chained like a prisoner queen. He’d held that image in his mind for the long, lonely years in the island prison.
Sometimes Rodolphus had wondered, idly, if the Dementors had affected his wife at all. Was she a lifeless husk, devoid of her frenetic energy? Did her voice join the chorus of pathetic screams at night?
But now he sees that Azkaban hasn’t changed her at all, and Rodolphus is relieved.
Bellatrix is draped over the stone slab in her cell as if it’s a chaise lounge, as if she were at home in their manor, reading the paper before breakfast. Her hair is wildly frizzy from the dampness of the nearby ocean, and she’s horribly filthy, covered in dirt and salt scum, but she still retains her noble bearing.
Maybe a bit too noble - she hasn’t even glanced across the hall, hasn’t even noticed that her husband is now housed a scant twenty feet away from her.
But it’s not like you really expected her to acknowledge you, Rodolphus tells himself. It’s not as if Bella has ever cried on your shoulder, or come to you for comfort.
In fact, he can only remember Bellatrix fully losing her composure once in all the years he’s known her. The memory of it angers him actually, but then, anger is a better emotion to feel than any other in Azkaban.
*** *** ***
“When are you going to take me?” She’s been after him for weeks, asking him to introduce her to the Dark Lord, and her fiancé has steadily refused to do so.
“Soon,” Rodolphus says, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.
Bellatrix slaps him, and he ruefully thinks that he should know by now she is impossible to placate. “If you won’t, then I’ll ask someone else. I’m tired of waiting. I’m sure Malfoy would --”
“You’ll do no such thing!” His roared words lack authority, however. They both know she doesn’t follow his commands, even though she is promised to him. She’s fiercely independent and listens to no one - but that’s one of the things he likes best about Bellatrix Black.
And really, it’s not such a bad idea that his fiancée wants to be a part of the group he is petitioning to join. Yes, it could be quite a good idea to have his future wife as his partner-in-crime - he’s sure they would be absolutely magnificent together.
Bellatrix sees the wheels in his mind turning, and knows Rodolphus is close to giving in. “Please,” she wheedles softly, rubbing a hand along his upper thigh; she knows how to play him.
“The next time he calls,” he relents.
~~~
An owl delivers a note at breakfast two mornings later.
Tonight. 10 p.m. Wear black. -R.
~~~
“My Lord,” Rodolphus murmurs, as he kisses the hem of the other man’s black robe.
“Who have you brought with you, Lestrange?”
“My betrothed, my Lord. She has been asking to meet you, and I feel she would be a worthy follower.”
“Do you now….” Idly twirling his wand in long, thin fingers, Lord Voldemort beckons. “Come here, Miss Black.”
Bellatrix is momentarily discomforted that this strange man - one she has heard wondrous things about - knows her name. But she masks her unease as she steps forward to copy Rodolphus’s movements. She bends on one knee and presses her lips to the robe hem; when she goes to rise, a rough hand on the back of her neck stops her.
“You’re too presumptuous. I didn’t tell you to greet me,” Voldemort hisses, but he isn’t angry. He is curious about this young woman, has heard of her family, the ancient and noble House of Black. “Why are you here, little witch?”
His snake-like eyes see heat limning her cheeks as she says, “I have heard great things about you, sir. That you believe in pure-blood superiority. That you want to exterminate Muggles and Mudbloods. That you have delved deeper into the Dark Arts than any one has ever dared.” As she talks, her voice grows in volume and fervor. Voldemort can hear uncloaked admiration in her words…and longing?
The Dark Lord has never considered a woman as a possible follower, but he is beginning to think this one may be worthy, just as her fiancé had so proudly stated. With her pure-blood lineage, Bellatrix would be a jewel in his crown….
He twines his fingers in her loose curls and pulls her head up. “Look into my eyes,” he commands, and Bellatrix does so without hesitation.
With a muttered Legilimens he slips into her mind, and is astonished by what he discovers there. This witch would indeed be a valuable Death Eater - he can see a history of dark thoughts and dark deeds, and extreme skill with the Dark Arts, especially for one so young.
Most of her is an open book, but Voldemort senses there is one memory she is desperately trying to hide from him, and he is intrigued. “Show me,” he purrs sibilantly, and her resistance crumbles like sand. He watches as she curses a girl that looks remarkably like her - a sister perhaps? - then sees a name being burnt off a tapestry. Oh yes. He has heard of Andromeda Black.
Voldemort leaves the young woman’s mind, and is amazed to find she is flushed with embarrassment at him viewing her most shameful memory. He cradles her face in his cold hands and says, “I understand how family can be a disappointment. You have nothing to be ashamed of; you reacted to her betrayal in the proper way. She is not your sister anymore, correct?”
“No,” Bellatrix whispers, her voice thick with humiliation. “I only have one sister now - Narcissa.”
He nods approvingly. “I have looked into your mind, Miss Black, and I find myself pleasantly surprised with the power and loyalty that lurks within you.”
Bellatrix starts to speak, but his fingers tighten painfully on her jaw, and she falls silent.
“Do you wish to join me?” He asks, already knowing what her answer will be.
“Yes!”
“Then rise and join Lestrange.” Voldemort releases her chin, and is pleased to see he has bruised her white skin. “If I continue to find you worthy, I will Mark you…permanently.”
She dips back down and kisses his robe before standing. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Do not disappoint me, Bella,” the Dark Lord warns, and his newest subject blushes pink at his use of the affectionate nickname.
When she rejoins Rodolphus, her fiancé is stunned by the light tint on her cheeks. He has never seen Bellatrix with any color on her pale face.
Bellatrix grabs his hand and says, “He’s glorious, Rodolphus.” Her future husband feels a twinge of jealousy in his belly, especially when she smiles as she touches the finger marks on her jaw.
*** *** ***
Rodolphus chuckles bitterly as the memory comes to a close. The Dark Lord was indeed the only one who could ever make Bellatrix blush, and could do so with a mere word or careless gesture. He had never been able to inspire that sort of reaction in his wife, and he’d always been envious of Voldemort’s ability to unhinge Bellatrix.
He regrets, sometimes giving in to her pleas and introducing her to their Lord. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have found her one true love. But, then, Rodolphus wouldn’t have had the joy of purifying their world with her.
I wouldn’t have it any other way, truth be told. Her heart belonged to him, but her body was mine. And if I couldn’t make her blush, well, I could turn her skin red in other ways.
And that thought makes him happy, even in Azkaban.
***
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Author: dexstarr
Word Count: 1441
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: Written for deathly_contest Week #2: Blush
Characters: Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Lord Voldemort
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I do so love these three.
Disclaimer: HP and all assorted belong to JKR, and are not mine.
Summary: His last view of his wife was at their trial.
***
For the first time in five, or maybe six years - he’s not sure - Rodolphus is close enough to Bellatrix to see her.
Some Ministry official has decided that it would be crueler for the Lestranges to be able to look at each other but not touch, and has had the two moved accordingly.
Probably Crouch, he thinks. He blames us - mostly Bella - for his son’s involvement with the Death Eaters.
So now Rodolphus can see his wife - or at least glimpses of her through the iron and stone separating them - and it’s meant to break him. He’s still mostly sane, and knows this frustrates the Azkaban wardens. They do not like that one of their most infamous prisoners has not yet shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
His last view of Bellatrix was at their trial; he remembers her sitting so regally on the ‘defendant’s’ chair, chained like a prisoner queen. He’d held that image in his mind for the long, lonely years in the island prison.
Sometimes Rodolphus had wondered, idly, if the Dementors had affected his wife at all. Was she a lifeless husk, devoid of her frenetic energy? Did her voice join the chorus of pathetic screams at night?
But now he sees that Azkaban hasn’t changed her at all, and Rodolphus is relieved.
Bellatrix is draped over the stone slab in her cell as if it’s a chaise lounge, as if she were at home in their manor, reading the paper before breakfast. Her hair is wildly frizzy from the dampness of the nearby ocean, and she’s horribly filthy, covered in dirt and salt scum, but she still retains her noble bearing.
Maybe a bit too noble - she hasn’t even glanced across the hall, hasn’t even noticed that her husband is now housed a scant twenty feet away from her.
But it’s not like you really expected her to acknowledge you, Rodolphus tells himself. It’s not as if Bella has ever cried on your shoulder, or come to you for comfort.
In fact, he can only remember Bellatrix fully losing her composure once in all the years he’s known her. The memory of it angers him actually, but then, anger is a better emotion to feel than any other in Azkaban.
*** *** ***
“When are you going to take me?” She’s been after him for weeks, asking him to introduce her to the Dark Lord, and her fiancé has steadily refused to do so.
“Soon,” Rodolphus says, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.
Bellatrix slaps him, and he ruefully thinks that he should know by now she is impossible to placate. “If you won’t, then I’ll ask someone else. I’m tired of waiting. I’m sure Malfoy would --”
“You’ll do no such thing!” His roared words lack authority, however. They both know she doesn’t follow his commands, even though she is promised to him. She’s fiercely independent and listens to no one - but that’s one of the things he likes best about Bellatrix Black.
And really, it’s not such a bad idea that his fiancée wants to be a part of the group he is petitioning to join. Yes, it could be quite a good idea to have his future wife as his partner-in-crime - he’s sure they would be absolutely magnificent together.
Bellatrix sees the wheels in his mind turning, and knows Rodolphus is close to giving in. “Please,” she wheedles softly, rubbing a hand along his upper thigh; she knows how to play him.
“The next time he calls,” he relents.
~~~
An owl delivers a note at breakfast two mornings later.
Tonight. 10 p.m. Wear black. -R.
~~~
“My Lord,” Rodolphus murmurs, as he kisses the hem of the other man’s black robe.
“Who have you brought with you, Lestrange?”
“My betrothed, my Lord. She has been asking to meet you, and I feel she would be a worthy follower.”
“Do you now….” Idly twirling his wand in long, thin fingers, Lord Voldemort beckons. “Come here, Miss Black.”
Bellatrix is momentarily discomforted that this strange man - one she has heard wondrous things about - knows her name. But she masks her unease as she steps forward to copy Rodolphus’s movements. She bends on one knee and presses her lips to the robe hem; when she goes to rise, a rough hand on the back of her neck stops her.
“You’re too presumptuous. I didn’t tell you to greet me,” Voldemort hisses, but he isn’t angry. He is curious about this young woman, has heard of her family, the ancient and noble House of Black. “Why are you here, little witch?”
His snake-like eyes see heat limning her cheeks as she says, “I have heard great things about you, sir. That you believe in pure-blood superiority. That you want to exterminate Muggles and Mudbloods. That you have delved deeper into the Dark Arts than any one has ever dared.” As she talks, her voice grows in volume and fervor. Voldemort can hear uncloaked admiration in her words…and longing?
The Dark Lord has never considered a woman as a possible follower, but he is beginning to think this one may be worthy, just as her fiancé had so proudly stated. With her pure-blood lineage, Bellatrix would be a jewel in his crown….
He twines his fingers in her loose curls and pulls her head up. “Look into my eyes,” he commands, and Bellatrix does so without hesitation.
With a muttered Legilimens he slips into her mind, and is astonished by what he discovers there. This witch would indeed be a valuable Death Eater - he can see a history of dark thoughts and dark deeds, and extreme skill with the Dark Arts, especially for one so young.
Most of her is an open book, but Voldemort senses there is one memory she is desperately trying to hide from him, and he is intrigued. “Show me,” he purrs sibilantly, and her resistance crumbles like sand. He watches as she curses a girl that looks remarkably like her - a sister perhaps? - then sees a name being burnt off a tapestry. Oh yes. He has heard of Andromeda Black.
Voldemort leaves the young woman’s mind, and is amazed to find she is flushed with embarrassment at him viewing her most shameful memory. He cradles her face in his cold hands and says, “I understand how family can be a disappointment. You have nothing to be ashamed of; you reacted to her betrayal in the proper way. She is not your sister anymore, correct?”
“No,” Bellatrix whispers, her voice thick with humiliation. “I only have one sister now - Narcissa.”
He nods approvingly. “I have looked into your mind, Miss Black, and I find myself pleasantly surprised with the power and loyalty that lurks within you.”
Bellatrix starts to speak, but his fingers tighten painfully on her jaw, and she falls silent.
“Do you wish to join me?” He asks, already knowing what her answer will be.
“Yes!”
“Then rise and join Lestrange.” Voldemort releases her chin, and is pleased to see he has bruised her white skin. “If I continue to find you worthy, I will Mark you…permanently.”
She dips back down and kisses his robe before standing. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Do not disappoint me, Bella,” the Dark Lord warns, and his newest subject blushes pink at his use of the affectionate nickname.
When she rejoins Rodolphus, her fiancé is stunned by the light tint on her cheeks. He has never seen Bellatrix with any color on her pale face.
Bellatrix grabs his hand and says, “He’s glorious, Rodolphus.” Her future husband feels a twinge of jealousy in his belly, especially when she smiles as she touches the finger marks on her jaw.
*** *** ***
Rodolphus chuckles bitterly as the memory comes to a close. The Dark Lord was indeed the only one who could ever make Bellatrix blush, and could do so with a mere word or careless gesture. He had never been able to inspire that sort of reaction in his wife, and he’d always been envious of Voldemort’s ability to unhinge Bellatrix.
He regrets, sometimes giving in to her pleas and introducing her to their Lord. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have found her one true love. But, then, Rodolphus wouldn’t have had the joy of purifying their world with her.
I wouldn’t have it any other way, truth be told. Her heart belonged to him, but her body was mine. And if I couldn’t make her blush, well, I could turn her skin red in other ways.
And that thought makes him happy, even in Azkaban.
***
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