My response to the otp challenge at The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Form. Warning the ending is not pretty. It is dark, disturbing and not at all pleasant. It also a forced abortion. It is not meant to reflect my views, but that of the characters. I am really surprised how this turned out. I am not sure if I like it, but this is the end result. It is especially strange as it features two of my most hated things to read it bellamort fanfiction (the other which is NOT featured is Voldemort being able to love. Do not worry that definitely does not make an appearance). Enjoy, this is one of those fics I would really love to read people's opinion of.
Bellatrix Lestrange was never someone who ever doubted her own actions. Determined and too sure of herself to harbour misgivings, if she did something, she never looked back: The past was the past, it never mattered. She did not regret marrying Rodolphus, despite her displeasure towards the match, and she especially did not regret caring on an affair with the Dark Lord for almost ten years.
However, for the first time, she was having reservations about her decision.
Resting against the window, her dark eyes settled over the Parisian skyline and she sighed loudly before turning around. She supposed it was beautiful, her sister certainly would have exclaimed that, but she had not seen her for moths. She had not seen anyone for months, ever since she had fled.
To her, cowardice was the greatest crime. Loyalty and bravery were vital and she had always displayed those traits, at least until now. Turning swiftly on her heel, she slammed her foot into the bed post, but, the only thing it achieved was for pain to shoot up her foot and for the bed to shake slightly.
It certainly had not eased her anger...or sorrow.
Before she could help herself, she collapsed onto the bed, water flowing freely from her face. It should not have been like this! She did not cry, she did not run away and she certainly did not disobey or betray her Lord, though, somehow, she had!
It was all thanks to this bloody thing inside of her! Her eyes darted down to her bloated stomach that, now, even the baggiest robes she wore would not conceal. Like always, she barely resisted the urge to slam her own fist into her stomach and end the mess she created. It was difficult, very difficult.
The only reason she could control herself was the reason why she had acted in the first place. There was a reason, even if it was becoming harder to accept.
It had happened nearly seven months ago. She had been having an affair with her Lord for years, something that had always filled her with joy. Her Lord had once mentioned that his pursuit of immortality had meant it was likely impossible that he was fertile. As such, they had never been too careful about conception.
It was why, when she discovered she was pregnant 7 months ago, when she had not touched her husband in months, that she had almost collapsed in shock. For hours, she had remained rooted and frozen to the spot at the thought of what was inside her.
Her first instinct was to go to her Lord, but, somehow, she did not. Every time she had moved to see him, she froze. She had known her Lord would order her to get rid of it. It normally would not have bothered her, it should not have, but, somehow, it did. It was not just some child within her, it was her Master's. To her that meant something: To carry a part of the person she adored most in herself around with her. She could not allow that to be removed, so, she never told him. Instead, she left a letter explaining her actions and fled from all her problems.
It had been months since that day. She had felt the mark burn more times than she cared to remember, but she had ignored it. It had caused her more pain than she ever thought possible, most of which was not physical. However, she had resisted.
Cursing under her breath, she collapsed face first on the bed, pushing the dictionary she had idly flipped through before, beside her. At least lying down, even at such an uncomfortable angle, it gave her some momentary relief from her aching back.
However, it would only be for a moment. She supposed she must have drifted off, as, the next thing she remembered, she awoke to the familiar feeling of something hard and wooden digging painfully into her back.
"Bella," a cool voice sounded behind her. Her entire body, despite the fact she was still half asleep, tensed.
She knew that voice. She adored that voice, but no amount of love would halt the fear surging through her veins. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, her eyes looked around desperately for some form of protection, but, all she saw, was her wand five feet away on a desk and a dictionary beside her on the bed. She doubted it would be any help to attempt to beat her Lord with a dictionary.
Slowly and cautiously, she turned to face him. He was the same as she remembered: Waxy skin, ruby eyes, but they were contorted into such a furious expression that she was almost taken aback. Now, on her back and facing him, she was about to push herself up, but, the wand that was once on her back, was now pressing into her pregnant stomach.
"Do not move," he snapped with authority and unyielding anger.
She could not help but shudder, despite that, she opened her mouth to speak. She had to.
"But please, my Lord! The child is yours! Your heir! Your own blood! Please, Master, I only fled because I knew you would ask me to get rid of it, but I knew you were-" she exclaimed passionately, hey eyes wide as she fisted her hands in the sheets on the bed, attempting to resist the urge to reach for him. However, as she spoke, she faltered. This was not something she thought she could say, but, she eventually managed to gather the confidence. "Wrong. Master, I should not have doubted you, but I just thought once you had seen the child, your heir, you would see how useful it would be."
Her Lord did not answer. His eyes were focused on her stomach, studying the obvious bump.
"You say I was wrong, Bella," he murmured silkily, his eyes still trained on her stomach, but all too suddenly, that changed. Pressing his wand harshly into her stomach, he leaned forward and clenched his hand around her jaw, harshly. "I am not wrong you foolish girl. I did not want the brat. I will never want the pathetic brat."
She supposed she should have been intimidated. His presence was meant to do so and the grip on her jaw was painful, though she was not. Longing for him for so long, she could not dislike his presence, no matter in what way.
"He is your own flesh and blood, my Lord! Family, my Lord, to carry on the Slytherin line," she murmured with more confidence than she felt. Leaning into him a little, she stared into his red eyes imploringly. "He will be your best follower, Master. I swear that to you."
The Dark Lord tightened his hold of her chin, causing her to gasp and what felt like blood to dribble down her throat.
"Do not presume you know anything! I will not have all of my work undone by some child!"
"But, Master you need not worry! Blood is thicker than water! Your child would never betray you! He would only assist you! Please, Master!" she begged desperately. For the first time, she gave into temptation and reached up and gripped his robes, attempting to pull him closer. "Please, my Lord, I only ever desire the best for you. I have only ever wanted what is best. Please!"
Her Lord reacted automatically; releasing her chin he wrenched her hands from his robes and slapped her hard across the face.
"You think this is a game! It is not a game! I came here and, when I left, I swore one life would be ended tonight."
Her heart was racing but she attempted to control it.
"Master, please," she begged once again. "Please, my Lord."
However, this was the wrong tactic. Mercy had never had an impact on the black heart of Lord Voldemort. He struck. A jet of light escaped his wand aimed directly at her stomach. Bella let out a blood curdling scream as the life inside her was extracted. Her body writhed and flailed, though he was not impacted ,even when he was quickly covered in his servant's blood.
He stood a few moments later, his red eyes roamed the body of what had been his most loyal servant and his unborn son with a detached expression. The aim had been to kill the child. Her survival had never been guaranteed, but, for her crime, she deserved to die. She may have been useful, but, with her act of disloyalty, her usefulness had disappeared.
Casting one last glance over her, he left. Blood might have been thicker than water, but it did not mean it had a use for him.