Bellatrix and her Master

The Desired

February 1971

When Rodolphus entered the adjoining bathroom, he glimpsed through the thick steam his wife asleep in the water-filled tub. She was so beautiful that he couldn't help but admire her for a moment before waking her. Her usually wavy hair, now wet and smooth, was piled on top of her head, revealing the delicate features of the young woman: her straight, fine nose, full lips, large closed eyelids fringed by long black lashes, and dark brows, arching over pronounced brow ridges, high cheekbones, her proud chin, elegant neck, and slender, graceful shoulders. Below, a breast, its darkened nipple just peeking above the water's surface. Rodolphus couldn't imagine anyone remaining indifferent to his wife's beauty.

Lying there, she looked serene and calm, yet she could never be mistaken for fragile. She embodied the perfect image of a witch with pure yet sharply defined features – there had been no hesitation in the portrait of the eldest Black. Not a single flaw. Everything about her exuded iron will, brazen pride, and a hint of arrogance that she carried without shame. Bellatrix was beautiful, effortlessly so. Yet Rodolphus often thought she was unaware of the effect she had on men.

Since she'd joined the Death Eaters, Rodolphus had heard many murmurs. Some were condescending, others curious. The presence of a witch as outrageously alluring as her beside the Dark Lord had stirred the imagination of many. Most believed she hadn't merely offered her services as a Death Eater to their master. Rodolphus didn't like it one bit. Although he'd been surprised when Lord Voldemort had accepted Bellatrix into his ranks, he was no fool – he knew she was a powerful witch. He had no doubt that their master had noticed too. The very idea of Voldemort being involved with... his wife was utterly inappropriate. Absurd, even. Still, it was a non-issue. Bellatrix had been so scarred by her abduction in the autumn that she couldn't bear any physical contact.

Seeing her like this – sensual without meaning to be, breathtakingly beautiful – Rodolphus wondered how long he could last. He hadn't often had the chance to make love to his wife, but every time had been extraordinary. Desire coiled in his gut as he approached her and crouched beside the bathtub. Bellatrix must have sensed him, as her eyes flicked open immediately. Rodolphus watched with amusement as a glimmer of irritation appeared in her gaze.

"What do you want?" she whispered, not moving an inch, her large dark eyes fixed on him.

"I'm going away for a few days on a mission with Rosier," he explained.

"Perfect, give him my disdainful regards," the young woman replied, closing her eyes once more.

Rodolphus kissed her at the corner of her lips.

"Get some rest... You need it after all the raids last week."

Bellatrix had indeed taken part in several raids led by the Dark Lord across the country. Along with the other Death Eaters, Rodolphus had seen his wife more unleashed than ever before. She no longer merely killed – she now took her time, torturing her victims before finishing them off. It had brought a smile to Rodolphus's face. Bellatrix had never been like other witches. He had also noticed that their master seemed pleased. He had caught him watching her once or twice with a look of satisfaction. In a short time, Bellatrix had become the most relentless of the Death Eaters, and probably one of the most effective. Despite what the others thought, Bellatrix clearly deserved her place. Still, it would take time to convince those wizards so obsessed with order and tradition.

Rodolphus stood and made to leave the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, turning back to his wife.

"Bella... Do you think we'll ever make love again?"

Her eyes snapped open at once. Rodolphus had just enough time to recognise, with sadness, the flash of panic that crossed her face before it was replaced by her usual disdain.