Forbidden Ecstacy ⋆│bellamort one-shots│⋆

capitulum I: Bellatrix

Bellatrix Lestrange.

sadistic, bloodlustful, beautiful.

a prestigious member of the notorious Black family tree.

the eldest daughter of Druella Black (neé Rosier) and Cygnus III

was and is the Dark Lord's most trustworthy servant.

and madly in love with the Dark Lord himself.

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Bellatrix had been sitting inside her damp cell, hidden behind the thick, depressing walls of Azkaban Prison.

She was highly underfed, the bones of her ribcage would be obvious if she had not been wearing a flowy prison gown. Her hair, extremely wiry, tangled, and dirty because of the conditions. Worst of all though, she enjoyed this treatment.

Even second she spent, suffering as her every happy memory was ripped from her body forever, she laughed- hysterically. For she knew that the Dark Lord would one day return, and she would be liberated- praised with his thanks after all her loyalty and she would once again see his pale, gorgeous face.

Today's the day, Bella, today's the day.

She thought. Bellatrix could feel the Dark Mark searing, which indicated the thing she had been waiting years for- the Dark Lord was once again in power.

She elegantly lifted the sleeve of her prison gown, staring at the black tattoo on her burning skin. Immediately, the devoted Death Eater burst into a fit of laughter- the halls were soon ringing with her cackles.

The Dark Lord, her Dark Lord, was back- and stronger than ever.

It was a matter of months until Bellatrix would smell the fresh air, which was free of the lingering smell of decay and death.

Every morning she awoke with an opportunistic approach, smiling at every Dementor even though she knew full well that they couldn't see her.

Whenever she was offered the little drink she was allowed, she would first stare into the liquid, fixing her hair and smiling- making herself presentable for her Lord.

It was a dark, gloomy day in Azkaban Prison, almost like most others. Bellatrix had been admiring her newly deepened Dark Mark with such admiration she could have kissed it. Her breath slowed as she routinely imagined freedom and the new, stronger body of Lord Voldemort- a guilty pleasure that she had resurrected from her old days.

It was then, as she imagined his bare body head to toe, twisting her hair as she thought, that the entire building shook. Bricks were falling above her, and Dementors were speeding past her cell, obviously preoccupied.

Bellatrix sat up on the hardened floor and crawled towards the hole from which her food trays came, and peeked cautiously into the Azkaban halls.

She couldn't believe what she saw, the prison-hardened feet and prison robe hems were speeding past her door and it was then that she tried to make her escape.

She stuck her hand out of the door, trying to grab at the cobblestone floor and pull herself through the food tray entrance. Her calloused hands were being trampled, and she kept her screams in and continued to claw at the floor, catching and then losing her grip.

Her nails had managed to gift her the grip she needed to begin to pull herself into the hallway, which now had become less populated.

Much to her dismay, her shoulders kept her from escaping through the doorway, and she screamed, bawled even, out of anger, her hair sprawled over the floor underneath her.

Her fist had begun bleeding as she pounded the floor with anger, her tear-stained face had become ice-cold, and her screams had become ear-splitting. Yet, no one came.

Bellatrix tried to put a bloody hand to her throat, which was prickly and dry from her screaming, but she couldn't reach. She had begun to feel crestfallen when a swift chill dripped down her spine.

Walking down her hallway, in all of his draped, pale, and silver beauty was The Dark Lord.

She screamed for his assistance, begging for his sympathy, and just as she had met the hem of his robe was her door flung off of its hinges.

Bellatrix lifted, kneeling as he continued to walk past. A small, whiny man was trailing after him, his round figure and wispy hair giving him away, Wormtail.

She lifted now, nearly gliding over the cobblestone floor towards her Lord.

As she sped to his right-hand side, she could have sworn she noticed a small flicker of a grin in his pale face and she was humbled.

Him, smile in her presence. Smile. She was sure she was unworthy of this rare treat, and yet here she was.

The trio led themselves calmly towards the hole in which Voldemort had created upon his entry, the Death Eaters that were liberated were all standing on the outside, praising his name.

Voldemort turned, his serious, flat face was gleaming over Bellatrix and he held his spider-like fingers suspended in the air.

Like gleaming strands of silk, they laid themselves under her jaw and Bellatrix was lost in his gaze.

“ Bellatrix, ” he spoke, “ you have successfully proved yourself loyal. And for that, I will reward you. ”

His white hand lifted away from her jaw and onto her hand that had been bleeding. With a swift flick of his free hand, the wand in it let out a soft wisp of white and her hand was perfectly bandaged.

“ That should do, for now, Bellatrix. Until we meet again. ”

He gave her another swift smile, which no one else seemed to have noticed.

She wished to dwell at this moment forever, she easily would have if her husband, Rodolphus, had not joined her side and had begun to lead her away.

He had already kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe and expressed his thanks when he grabbed her, leading her away to a home where she'd rather not be.

Bellatrix turned, a desperate attempt to lock eyes with her Lord once again, she could still feel his cold, slender fingers under her jaw.

Rodolphus pulled her off again, excited to be headed back home. Bellatrix rather found home- she felt, and it had been, for a few aching seconds, underneath her jaw.