Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters are all property of J. K. Rowling, i.e. not mine.
Setting: Malfoy Mansion, some time between the end of OotP and the events of DH.
Characters: Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort.
Silent in the Night
She sits by the lake, staring across the water. Nothing… Nothing but the darkness here. Nothing but the darkness surrounding her… enveloping her.
It is quiet.
A cluster of stars emerges from the clouds - a brief glimmer of light, quickly disappearing again. She does not notice it. She sees nothing. She is lost in thought. Only once, for a moment, her attention wanders back to reality. She sees the crescent moon reflected. She contemplates it, and her eyes remain fixed on the spot long after its object is gone.
All is still.
She cannot sleep, so she seeks peace here; but peace is the other thing she cannot have. The first is… well… why dwell on the unobtainable? Of course, sometimes we just cannot help it.
She closes her eyes. Sometimes…
A distant clock strikes two.
A hand on her bare shoulder… not his hand… it softly glides down her back, caressing her skin… it is not his touch… a carefully placed kiss on the side of her neck… this is torture…he is not there… he is never there… she is alone… no, not alone… this is worse than being alone… she is not alone and she is not with him… "Bella"… it is not his voice calling her… "Bella, what is wrong?"... she should answer… answer something… "Bella?"...she turns slowly around, contempt written in her eyes… "Nothing is wrong"… blessed are the ignorant… "I am just tired"…she almost feels sorry for Rodolphus, almost… but she is too acutely aware of her own pain… She thought that she could bear it… this time… but she cannot… another failure…
She always comes to the lake after each such ordeal. She comes here to let free reign to her thoughts… She comes so that in the morning she can assume her mask once more… and perhaps in the evening test her will once more.
The morning… she will meet it here like she has done many others before: arms wrapped around herself, feet lightly touching the water… neither sleeping nor waking... Calm now, composed… strong… imperturbable – a work of granite as far as anyone, anyone but he, is concerned… and he is not concerned… She will stand up and glance at her reflection before returning to the house… she will leave her thoughts, her doubts, and her hopes here, with her mirror image – they can have no other place in her life.
For now she stays. She is not yet ready to return… inside her is a battlefield of thoughts in turmoil… inside she has yet to win control… inside there are silent screams and tears… inside is the agonizing pain that just will not stop, that is always there… always there…
He watches her. Night after night, he watches her at the lake. He can see through the darkness. He can see her stretching her hand forward longingly, then bringing it to rest – limp at her side, angry at herself for having imagined his shadow again. He can see her sitting perfectly still in the night.
He notices the stars and the crescent moon when it emerges from the clouds, but they do not interest him… his eyes remain fixed on her shape. He watches with great curiosity the tiny changes of expression on her face and their mirrors in her eyes.
He is still. His own expression does not change.
Why is he there? A fancy… He does not sleep, so he comes to the lake to watch her. It is a special amusement, almost an addiction… But what can one do? Sometimes we just cannot help it.
He smiles. Sometimes…
He counts the strikes of the clock.
He is tempted to touch her bare shoulder… to run his hand down her back... Her pale skin is stunning in the starlight… enticing in the dark… Temptation, temptation, temptation… Ah, but it would not do… Perhaps another time… He will have to think of some way to arrange it…
Later… it will have to be later… He has no time now… he must take care of that Potter brat… his days must be devoted to that… But the nights… there are things he must consider first, though… Perhaps… perhaps…
It is almost morning. He will meet it here like he often does: silent, still, concealed… watching her… watching her with the satisfaction of knowing that she can belong to no one but him, that she is his completely, and that she is wrong – the matter is of some concern to him, though she need not know that.
He is glad that she is growing stronger. With each day and each night she is growing stronger, and the stronger she becomes the more drawn she is to him… and he to her… There is much promise here… But we must be patient. It would be dangerous to rush things at this point… when such a delicate balance is at stake. No, better wait…
And so he waits… And he watches her… silent in the night, he watches her at the lake… with her arms wrapped around herself and her feet lightly touching the water, unaware of his presence… unaware of anything… This keeps him fairly content.
But of course if he desires her presence at any time, he need only call…
She waits for him to call… She waits for the moment when her heart will flutter and her eyes light up… For the moment when she will come alive once more…
She waits for the sound of his voice…
She waits for the sound of his voice to break the silence of the night.
Fin
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