Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Lord Voldemort found Bellatrix amusing.
She was a prized possession of his; many of his Death Eaters could quite easily be replaced, but she was one of the few who could not. From time to time, he appreciated her company when they planned raids into the early hours of the next morning, and for most of her ideas, he congratulated himself on finding her.
And she amused him.
She was mad. Insane, raving, crazed. Sometimes, she deluded herself into believing she understood him. Sometimes, he did not tell her otherwise.
She took his punishments wholeheartedly (so desperate was she to have his attention). She was quick to praise him, and she was everything a loyal servant should be.
When she was still his protegée, she had been full of adrenaline after a battle with a bloody lip, a bruised face and dishevelled hair and had asked him, 'Do you think I'm pretty?' When he chuckled, she snickered with him.
Once, when he was furious at a failure of a mission, he tortured all the responsible Death Eaters, calling them inept. He told them all to leave once he felt they successfully understood their Master's anger, but she stayed behind.
"Bellatrix," he had snarled, "are you asking for death?" To which she brushed her static hair out of her eyes, still panting, and croaked:
"I can't stand you being disappointed in me."
He had stared. Disappointment was an emotion for those deemed worthy of one's expectations due to fondness, admiration or compassion. Disappointment was an emotion Lord Voldemort had only ever known for himself. "I am not disappointed in you," he suddenly laughed sharply, with the icy remnants of his soul slicing through Bellatrix's heart. "I am disappointed that I ever believed you worthy of my faith."(i)
When he broke his loyal Death Eaters out of Azkaban, and the Lestranges were residing at the Malfoy's home, he looked into Narcissa's mind to try and understand why she had suddenly formed such resentment towards him.
He saw her love for her sister.(ii) He saw the cherished memories of a stable, young Bellatrix who giggled at the blonde's jokes, plaited her hair with gentle fingers and told her stories when she could not sleep. Memories upon memories of a person lost, but not to death. One fluent thought: she gave it all for you.
He smirked.
After the attack at the Ministry, Bellatrix wept at his feet. "Thank you, Master! Thank you, thank you..." she droned on and on, and he ground his teeth together as his eyes flashed so dark they were almost the shade of her hair.
She believed he had saved her for her own sake.
"I knew you wouldn't leave me," she whispered. "I- I kn-"
"You foolish girl," he chuckled.
Frowning, she looked up. "Please – Master-"
He kicked her out of the way, sneering at the wheezing whinge she made. Voldemort's life – cold, colourless, full of resentment and fury – held a little place for Bellatrix Lestrange. She amused him, whether intentionally or not.
FIN.
A/N: I probably shouldn't have posted this because I don't really feel that good about it, but I have a few plot bunnies bouncing about and it's been so long since I wrote that I needed somewhere to start! I used to write a lot and post quite often, but it's been a while and I don't use the email anymore (also my writing style has changed, as well as my take on certain characters). Hopefully someone reviews, because I could really use constructive criticism for when I write my other fics!
i I think Voldemort did trust Bellatrix as much as he could (you know with his whole inhumane emotions thing) by putting some faith in her because of how she was endlessly loyal to him.
ii I know Voldemort was incapable of love and didn't recognise it, but I think he would be able to tell when someone loved another when it was literally right in front of him when using Legilimency.
Oh, also I'm terrible at choosing names for one-shots so I dug deep into my French skillzzz and came up with 'amuser.' Which literally means to amuse/entertain. (Stealing words from the French. You can tell I'm English, right?)