Author's Notes: Written for becausebonhamcarter for my two-year tumblrversary drabble giveaway. She requested Bellatrix/Voldemort
)O(
Bellatrix considered it a wonderful pleasure to be told by the Dark Lord to stay after a meeting. She hovered at the side of the hall, watching the other Death Eaters make their ways out, and then smiled to herself when the Dark Lord approached her. He stood behind her and both of them watched through the window while the other Death Eaters exited and dispersed.
"So many," the Dark Lord commented, so close to her that Bellatrix could feel his breath on the back of her neck. "There are so many of them, and yet they have so little integrity – so little use…"
"Many of them do not have enough dedication to you and your cause, my Lord," she said.
"Unlike you."
Bellatrix felt a little thrill.
"You have done well from your first day, Bellatrix," he said quietly, and she shivered slightly when she felt his hand brush against her waist. She kept her head up and stared straight forward, for if she looked at her Master, she knew that she would betray what she was feeling – the thrill it gave her to have him praise her, and to have him touch her.
"If my Death Eaters could all be half as skilled as you, the war would be long over," he continued thoughtfully. "If only, if only…"
"You flatter me, my Lord," Bellatrix murmured. "I can only strive to be worthy of such praise."
"There is no place for false modesty in my ranks, Bellatrix," he told her, and Bellatrix ducked her head, a blush rising on her cheeks. "You do not really believe yourself to be unworthy of my praise. Of course, no one of your upbringing would ever refuse such praise."
Bellatrix resisted the urge to pout. "You believe me too influenced by my family, my Lord. I am not only what they have made me into."
"Oh, but you are." He took laid one hand lightly on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Your family has crafted a young woman who will always believe herself superior to others by virtue of her blood line. Am I incorrect, Bellatrix?"
She lowered her head. "Well, p- perhaps not, my Lord."
"Good. Pride need not be a vice, Bellatrix, but to deny your pride is dishonest and serves no purpose." He put two fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head so she looked up at him. "Now, Bellatrix, tell me, do you believe that you are my finest Death Eater?"
"I do, my Lord," she whispered, her cheeks hot.
"Excellent. And do you believe yourself to be superior to those people who belong to families that are not so old or distinguished as the Blacks?"
"I do, my Lord," she repeated, rather grudgingly.
The Dark Lord looked amused, and he was silent for a moment, then asked, "And Bellatrix, do you believe that you are worthy of my bed?"
Bellatrix was so shocked by the question and how boldly he asked it that she could have swooned. She struggled for breath and barely managed to choke out, "I beg your pardon, my Lord?"
"Come, now, Bellatrix – you must know that I am aware of how you think of me…"
"I- I am not- I–" Bellatrix was lost for words. Of course she had had her share of fantasies about her Master – how could any woman help but think about a man of his sort? – but she had been so sure that she had kept her feelings secret, hidden…
"No," she managed at last. "No, I do not believe myself worthy of your bed. No, my Lord."
His hand dropped from her face and he stepped back. For just a moment, Bellatrix thought she saw something very like disappointment on his face, but then he collected himself and inclined his head.
"Very well, then, Bellatrix," he told her, and lifted his hand to indicate the door. "You may see yourself out."
)O(
Fin