Forbidden Ecstacy ⋆│bellamort one-shots│⋆

capitulum IV: cataracta

𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢 (𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧) '

𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 - (𝚗) 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

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The Dark Lord stared at the piece a work before him, a long tattered document that held the locations of all of his horcruxes. Harry Potter's name was the last to be scribbled onto the parchment, and nearby it was writtien Location: Hogwarts; or at least he could hope. Then the parchment was crippled beneath his long spindly fingers before it was stuffed into scroll wap and thrown in a safe. A few waves of his wand and a protection spell was placed over the area in which the safe was held, and Voldemort, satisfied, walked away.

Now had begun one of his most powerful moments of weakness. Once the sun fades from the sky, he is alone with his thoughts. The Dark Lord is expected to require nothing from no one, so naturally, asking for company would be alien and uncomfortable. Voldemort sat rather quietly, his head in his hands. The voices of his past failures rearing their ugly heads at him while Wormtail was banging pots and pans in a sorry attempt to make dinner. He-who-shall-not-be-named could hardly even find it in himself to be hungry. He huffed, puffed, and sighed; uneager to eat but also unwilling to think about his nemesis. Potter, decades younger than he, had outsmarted him time and time again. Without fail, Voldemort was sure that the child was busy laughing while he was suffering and alone. 

The noseless villain stood; he had decided to take a walk around his estate. His satin robes swept against his feet as he stood, the slowed movements of his tired, aching body made him want to move even less. However, to engage in something that wasn't suffering, Riddle forced himself passed the threshold and into the hall. Once in the hall, he felt his gloomy mood lift ever so slightly, the scent of burnt chicken wafted through the air. Voldemort took his first few steps deeper into the hall, his padded feet barely making a sound. His breathing slowed and he continued, passing from enchanted door to enchated door (of course, all of his rooms were protected). Riddle had nearly approached the spiraling staircase when the glint of something shiny had caught his eye. His path had immediately veered towards his room of portkeys. A thought struck his mind and he was immediately filled with excitement, he knew exactly what to do to pass the time. His finger hooked around a familiar piece of chipped china, and he closed his eyes and spun away.

Without a second thought, Voldemort had sprung himelf onto the back lawn of the Lestrange household. He approached the cottage with a spring in his step, feeling like an excited child. He loathed these thoughts and forced them deep from whence they came, his walking now shifted to a slow shuffle. Volemort ever so hated that was now found himself excited to see her. He pulled open the wooden door, his forked tongue slipping between his lips to access the scent of the air. He had expcted food to be cooking, but the air smelt damp and bland. Much to his dismay Voldemort walked passed the kitchen and into their main living space. Again, to his disappointment the room was empty. It was highly unlike the Lestranges to keep their home totally empty, so He-who-shall-not-be-named continued on in search of one of the Lestranges, however of course, he had a bias.

He quietly stalked the cottage until he heard footsteps approaching, he withdrew his wand in preparation, however, he was met with exactly whom he had hoped for. Bellatrix neared the corner with curved wand in hand; a black gown, undergarments, and a towel in the other. A loud gasp left her lips when she met eyes with the Dark Lord, immediately she bowed her head and lowered her wand.