She would never admit this to anyone, but Bellatrix Lestrange sometimes found herself feeling jealous of Narcissa.
Normally, Bellatrix found Narcissa extremely irritating, even though she was her sister. As a child, Cissy had been the perfect, innocent one, adored by every relative, family friend and teacher. Family usually turned their noses up at Bellatrix and Andromeda - they were far too alternative, in their utterly different ways - and both of them were always far too much for the teachers to cope with. But no, Narcissa was the traditional one, the quiet, obedient one. And now she was just the same: content to live as a devoted housewife, cooped up inside all day looking after that sickening baby of hers and waiting for her husband to return from doing all the important things. A husband who saw her as an object, a useless, but pretty, object.
Bellatrix shuddered at the thought of having a life like that. No, she was not jealous of Narcissa's life in itself. She was jealous of the fact that Narcissa was content, happy to be the person her society wanted her to be. It would make everything so much simpler for Bellatrix if she was like that. She would probably not have been in Azkaban at that very moment.
Why wasn't Bellatrix content? She had had an expensive manor house, a sizeable - more than sizeable - pile of gold in her vault, a husband who would do anything for her. Many people would give the world for that. But her life with Rodolphus could never have satisfied Bellatrix.
Rodolphus would do anything for her. Anything to try and make her love him. But nothing could ever be enough. Bellatrix felt nothing towards Rodolphus. Nothing. She was forced to marry him at seventeen. Seventeen. She was still a child, really, and tied down with an arranged marriage and a guaranteed life of boredom ahead of her. It made her so angry. Just because she was a girl, she was inferior; she had no choice in the matter. She hated being part of a society that made all her decisions for her, just because she was a woman, and therefore apparently incapable of making up her own mind. Bellatrix was ten times as intelligent and talented as half the boys in her year. And if she was a man, she wouldn't have had to get married if she hadn't wanted to. But for a woman of her status, it was the height of shame to still be single at age 25. Bellatrix hadn't wanted to argue with her parents. She hadn't wanted to be disgraced, like Andromeda. She wanted to show her mother that she was still a traditional pure-blood, that she was upholding their values. (Although her decision not to have children was one small victory. If you could call it a decision. She had refused to even consider it. She hated the things. Rodolphus and her mother had given up arguing after a while.)
No, she had never felt any attraction towards Rodolphus. He was simply there for convenience; she could tolerate him because he wouldn't argue with her. Rodolphus could never make her feel passion; fire; raw, all-consuming emotion.
Not like him.
The Dark Lord. She couldn't even think his name without it sending a shiver down her spine, through her entire body. Not because she was scared of him; she was too high in his ranks to be the sort that trembled at his feet in fear. Bellatrix had no fears. No, his name being so forbidden - holy, almost - made him all the more alluring. She couldn't help wondering what it would sound like if she said it out loud, what it would feel like to say it. Voldemort. The long, drawling sounds of the vowels, the harshness of the consonants, the curl of the 'l' on her tongue. But she never dared. Maybe she was kidding herself. Maybe she did fear him, a little. But he couldn't stop her thoughts, could he?
She wouldn't be surprised if he found a way. He was the Dark Lord, after all. He had a way of observing people who didn't know they were being observed, of noticing things people didn't even notice about themselves. It made Bellatrix's knees go weak, her mouth go dry, her heart race, to think that he could have been watching her like that.
Sometimes she fantasised about his feelings towards her. Were her feelings reciprocated in any way? Surely the Dark Lord wasn't capable of feeling something as human, as mortal, as love. He was beyond that. Mind you, Bellatrix wasn't even sure if what she felt for him was love. Attraction, lust, certainly, fascination, definitely... even obsession. Narcissa had, offhand, actually accused Bellatrix of worshipping him before. Narcissa would never understand that in fact, that was something close to what Bellatrix did do. She was attracted, almost like a magnetic force, to his power, to his dominance. Yes, although Bellatrix usually hated to be given orders, secretly she liked to be dominated for a change. There was something about the way he would snap, "Come, Bella!" It was like he owned her. And she adored that.
But what did he feel towards her? He knew that she was his most loyal servant, the most faithful and dedicated of all the Death Eaters. But was that all she was to him? A pet? No, she did not believe that to be true. She saw something in his eyes, every now and then. That look. His eyes would linger on her for longer than any of the others. Just for a split second. But it was long enough for it not to escape her notice.
But now it was all over. He was gone. She would never find out.
No. Bellatrix shook herself. She must not think like that. He was out there somewhere, she could sense it. She was his most faithful. She had to show him. It didn't matter how long it took; she would escape Azkaban, and be reunited with her master, if it was the last thing she did.
A/N: So I decided I'd disappear into Bellatrix's head for a while, and this happened. It is a horrible and wonderful place to be at the same time. This pairing has always fascinated me - let me know what you think of my take on it!
Written for the Black Sisters Prompt Competition on HPFC. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.