Bellatrix lives for the stolen moments, tucked safely away and hidden in darkness with her master. Only in the dark can she truly feel free. Here, there are no obligations to family, no Rodolphus, no illusions. There is only the Dark Lord and his most faithful servant.
Her master needs her. Perhaps he does not return her love, and perhaps he is incapable of the emotion. But being needed is the next best thing, and only Bellatrix can satisfy him.
She feels special. Only she has seen him like this. Face flushed, breathing heavy, eyes dark with desire- the closest he will ever come to be vulnerable, to being human. Only she has felt the caress of her master's hands- never gentle, always leaving delicious little bruises in their wake- and his rough, raw thrusts. She is his most loyal, his most trusted, and she belongs to him.
Rodolphus means nothing. Her silly vows to love and to cherish until death had been meaningless words. Their marriage is only a prop for the sake of appearances. Only the Dark Lord can truly have her. Only he can break her, can tear apart her control and leave her vulnerable.
OoOoO
"My Lord," the witch whispers, her voice almost pleading as her master rises to his feet.
Dark eyes watching his every move longingly, Bellatrix clears her throat. "My Lord," she tries again, her voice stronger now, but just barely. "I could come with you tonight to Godric's Hollow."
His eyes narrow, face hardening. "Do you think I can't take care of a traitor and his Mudblood wife?" he hisses. "Perhaps you have little faith in me after all, Bellatrix."
Her face heats in embarrassment. It hadn't been what she'd meant. As always, she yearns to be needed by him, to be near him. "Of course not, my Lord," she mutters, reluctantly tearing her gaze away from him and sitting up, the sheet falling and exposing her pale, bare skin. "I only wish to serve you."
Her master gives an almost smile and reaches out, touching her cheek. His hand brushes upward, pushing her dark curls out of the way. "You have served me well," he says, a rare note of pride in his tone. "And you will continue to do so, but not tonight. I need to go alone."
Bellatrix nods, keeping her gaze upon the bed so that he can't see the disappointment in her eyes. "Of course, my Lord."
He pulls away, and she can her the soft rustle of fabric as the Dark Lord begins to dress. "It's late. Rodolphus will wonder where you've been."
She wants to tell him she doesn't give a damn about her husband. The bastard can worry himself to death for all she cares. Of course, Bellatrix doesn't voice this. The observation is simply a subtle command for her to leave. Disobedience is not an option, even if obeying means that their time together has come to an end.
Her movements are slow. Even a few extra seconds are precious if it means she will be close to him just a little longer. Once dressed, her eyes find his, silently pleading for him to change his mind, to decide he does need her company at the Potters'.
Instead, the Dark Lord only nods, turning his back to her. "Until next time," he says, those three simple words crushing the last glimmers of hope she'd had.
OoOoO
The entire way home, she'd found herself quietly hoping that Rodolphus would be asleep by the time she arrived home. It's easier that way. During the rare nights that he waits for her, he always asks questions and touches her, insisting they need to make up for the time they had lost.
Their room is dark and silent when she shuts the door, and Bellatrix smiles. Letting out a sigh of relief, the witch moves forward, shedding her cloak and letting it fall to the floor. She makes sure to keep every other stitch of clothing in place as she lifts the sheets and falls onto the mattress. It's uncomfortable, but it's a necessity.
"Where were you?" Rodolphus asks. There is no edge of sleep in his voice, and Bellatrix realizes the fool has been awake and waiting the entire time.
"Our master needed me."
Silence hangs between them. Bellatrix knows he's waiting for her to elaborate, but she offers nothing. After a moment, he brushes his hand over hers, the touch making her skin crawl. "For what?" Rodolphus presses.
Bellatrix considers for a moment. Only she knows of her master's trip. Even if she doesn't know his reasons, she knows more than Rodolphus. It gives her power over her husband, makes her special because she is more worthy. "There is one last obstacle before the Dark Lord rises," she answers vaguely, her lips twisting into a triumphant smile.
She feels him shift slightly, and a moment later, he drapes his body over hers. His chapped lips graze over her neck, forming a grin against her skin. "Then we should be celebrating, my love," he murmurs, his hands bunching together the material of her dress.
Bellatrix hates his touch. Rodolphus his far too soft, too gentle, and he can never fully satisfy her. He is nothing. Beneath his Death Eater exterior, he is more of a mouse than a man.
Still, she never protests. There are certain expectations of married couples. Men talk, and should she seem frigid... Bellatrix has obligations to fulfil. This marriage is little more than an act, and she has a part to play, an appearance to keep up.
As she always does, Bellatrix closes her eyes and lets her mind drift away. She pretends that gentle hands are not caressing her body, and that rough hands are filling every nerve with painful pleasure. She pretends that it isn't her husband on top of her, but her beloved master.
"My Lord," she mumbles, grateful that it's too low for Rodolphus to hear.