Release
Disclaimer- JRK own-th all
A young boy is sitting on a bed with a raggedy coverlet, straining to hear the voices on the other side of his barely-closed door.
"Have you heard of a Dr. Freud, Mrs. Cole?" asks a voice. The boy recognizes it as the psychiatrist who had just come in to talk to him. What was his name? Dr. Johnson? Jackson? It doesn't matter.
"Yes, doctor," replies Mrs. Cole, director of the orphanage.
"You know of the ego, then?" There's a slight pause. "Well, I suspect that young Tom's ego is, well, there's something wrong with it. He'll need to be looked after. I shall send someone 'round in the next few weeks to pick him up then, shall I?"
"If that's what the doctor orders!" Mrs. Cole replies, sounding a little too happy about it for the boy's sake.
What's to become of me? The boy wonders.
Voldemort awakened in the middle of the night with a hiss; he hadn't had that dream in years. Sickening! There was nothing Voldemort hated more than being reminded of Tom Riddle, the boy he once was, the boy he had worked so long and hard to destroy. Once in a long while, memories of his former self reared their ugly head within his dreams. What the Dark Lord needed now was a… distraction.
"Bellatrix!" he whispers in a commanding voice, one that he knows echoes inside of the darkest parts of her head. "Come."
On the other side of Malfoy Manor, a dark-haired woman sat up in bed.
"Master!" she whispered. Careful not to disturb her sleeping husband, Bellatrix Lestrange climbed out of bed and stalked towards the door.
She slipped silently into the hallway and strolled out of the family wing, her sights set on the Dark Lord's lush quarters.
He opened the door right as Bellatrix was about to knock. She stood framed in the doorway, a nocturnal vision made stunning by contrasts. Black silk nightgown atop white skin, crowned with black hair- Bellatrix is a beauty, conceded the Dark Lord, though he had precious little use for it.
He knew that she was devoted to him, more so than any other. And like any other man, he had needs. He used Bella's devotion merely as a vehicle for his own release.
"May I enter, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked in her deep, sultry voice.
"Shut the door behind you, Bella." As she turned from him to close the door, Voldemort raised his wand, waiting until turned back around so he could see her eyes.
She slowly twisted back around. She spotted his raised wand and her eyes grew wide in fear. Voldemort's face twisted into an evil smile. With a flash of light, Bellatrix was on the bed, tied down and gagged. Voldemort was suddenly on top of her, pushing the gown up above her waist. He cared little for her pleasure- but then, he did not care for his own either. All he needed was the release- then, it would be over.
He entered her roughly and without foreplay, working only enough to get himself off. Reading her mind through her black eyes, he knew she would orgasm only because of who he was- her Master, her Lord, her… fantasy. He did not understand this romantic infatuation Bella had with him; he did not understand romance. But he did not need to understand to use it as a tool to his advantage.
He bent over to whisper in Bellatrix' ear. "You are my most trusted servant, Bella. Only you can assist me in stamping out those filthy Mudbloods!" Voldemort felt her tighten around him. He watched as her eyes rolled back in head, felt her pleasure roll through his mind, and it caused him to feel the release he'd needed.
Although it was occasionally necessary, Voldemort hated sex. The dependency on another he could stand- it brought him powerful allies like Bellatrix. No, it was the orgasm, the crucial release he despised. In his youth, he came across a minx from Beauxbatons who called it, "le petit mort."
Little death! He climbed off Bellatrix and spat on the floor. How he absolutely loathed the term. He picked up his wand again and flicked it, vanishing Bella's bonds.
"Go back you your beloved husband," Voldemort ordered with malice.
"But My Lord!" she cried. "You know I would gladly stay."
"Go, Bella. I have no interest in your protestations. Leave me!"
Bellatrix returned to her room. She settled back into her bed, smiling with the wicked assumption that the Dark Lord trusted her above all others. Caressing the Dark Mark on her left arm, she fell asleep dreaming of her Master.
Pacing back and forth in his room, Voldemort was sure of Bellatrix. He wondered, though, about the loyalty of Lucius and his family. What to do about them? He pondered. What indeed?
Voldemort sat down in a chair that stood before the hearth. With a swish of his wand, a fire appeared. Severus is coming in the morning, Voldemort thought. Not needing any more dreams of his horrid childhood, the Dark Lord resolved to stay awake until his servant came to him with the information He needed.
A/N- So I was watching Sweeney Todd and got morbidly inspired. I've never written anything like this before, and as I'm not sure how I feel about it, please let me know what you think (wow...This is my first time asking for reviews). Also, while I do have a healthy respect for your intellect, I feel inclined to inform you that this takes place at about 3AM on the morning before Deathly Hallows.