The Darkness Within: Voldemort/Hadria Potter

The Haunting of Hadria

Bellatrix lay in the dim light of dawn, her eyes fixed on the man beside her. Voldemort, the formidable man who ruled over the wizarding world, rested nearby...his very presence a stark reminder of the grand future she had envisioned, where his heart would beat as ardently for her as it did for their shared cause. Yet, reality proved harshly different. Voldemort was meant to be captivated by her, utterly devoted. That was her expectation. Despite his declarations of love, their nightly encounters, and his constant proximity, his affections felt hollow, devoid of true tenderness...the stark truth revealed itself in the chill of her bed at night, shared with a man whose heart seemed as distant as the unreachable stars.

His demeanor often turned aggressive, veering into moments of cruelty...devoid of the gentle touch that would make her feel cherished. The way he gazed at her lacked the intensity he had shown towards Hadria, and he stubbornly withheld even the simplest intimacies, like sharing his room or showering with her...it was exasperating. Suppressing her frustration, she knew any display of jealousy or discontent would only stoke his ire. She had experienced his wrath before when she dared question him about saying Hadria's name in his sleep...a nightly occurrence that never failed to unsettle her. Sometimes, he would wake and storm off to the lounge in a fury, seeking solace in drink; other times, he would remain in a dream-laden slumber, his nocturnal visions a locked mystery he refused to share. She wondered when this would all finally dissipate.

Bellatrix, nestled in the hushed dawn, found herself startled by Voldemort's gruff voice. "Why are you awake?" inquired the Dark Lord, his tone laden with menace. A firm grip on her hair followed, forcibly turning her away from his cold gaze as his cold touch pushed up her gown.

She stammered her response, "I don't know... I just couldn't sleep any longer," as her body betrayed her by responding to his touch with an unwanted arousal. A tempest of emotions swirled within her—anger at his callousness, a longing for love and affection, and above all, a desperate craving for his approval—all while trying to hide the turmoil underneath her calm exterior. He had been increasingly volatile and ill-tempered lately, and she had no desire to provoke him further.

His lovemaking was aggressive, lacking the warmth or intimacy she yearned for. He would take her from behind, unyielding and raw, his gaze averted, leaving her feeling unsatisfied and unseen. Her heart ached to know that he did not care for her own pleasure, content to view their encounters as her service to the Dark Lord. Yet, she would willingly submit, grasping for any semblance of connection with her master, while silently praying he would one day reveal himself to her, that time was what he needed for a deeper more open connection.

He pulled down her panties and wet his hand, stroked his cock ensuring he was ready before pressing into her with a moan of pleasure. With each thrust, pain mingled with desire, her whimpers drowned by his own animalistic growls and the sinking of his teeth into her shoulder. Her eyes squeezed shut at the biting intensity; still, she whispered softly, "My lord..." Hoping for a semblance of tenderness or concern, she merely earned a sinister laugh and a cruel grip tightening around her throat.

Her body arched up to meet his brutal rhythm. Blood dripped from his pale nails as he dug them into her hip, drawing a gasp of pain from her lips. But she didn't care about the pain; all she craved was his validation.

"Please...tell me you love me," she begged, her voice hoarse from their previous encounters. She longed for him to whisper those three words against her skin, to look into her eyes and say them with sincerity. But he never did. Instead, his breath whispered hot against her ear as he growled, "Such a needy witch aren't you? You know that I love you...why do you always need to hear it?"

His grip tightened around her throat, choking her slightly as his thrusts became faster and deeper. She couldn't respond, couldn't even gasp for air as he took her with such force. But still, she couldn't help but yearn for more. She knew he cared for her, that he valued her loyalty above all else. But his actions spoke louder than his words, leaving her feeling used and unfulfilled...but still...he was hers...she had won...and so she endured. She would never let him go.