Disclaimer: No, I'm not Jk.
Synopsis: Bellatrix goes to see her Lord for the final time before going into hiding to protect their unborn child.
He runs a cool, pale hand through dark layers of hair. His hand looks even paler against the darkness of the layers of soft threads, the moonlight reflecting his face into distorted shapes.
And she moves her red lips to a half smile, savouring the touch. "My Lord," she murmurs softly, moving her head to give him access to more of her hair.
"You are weary," he decides, watching her. "Have your missions exhausted you?"
"No, my Lord. I am merely sleep-deprived. Thinking of you, I fear, has thrown me to some form of insanity I do not yet understand." He chuckles softly.
"Bellatrix, my love, it does not do the heart and mind good to dream of things far beyond the knowing. Thinking is for the weak. It is acting that sets us apart from those who feel they should die to survive." She bows her head slightly.
"Yes, my Lord."
"You are a good pupil." He removes his hand, and presses it on her lower back, turning her to the large arch window. "It is a night such as this, that you first came to me, remember?" Bellatrix nods.
"Yes. It was a beautiful night."
"As it is now." The pair stand looking out onto the cloudless sky of black sheets, twinkling lights peering out between the layers, unsure of whether to hide. And in the middle, the round moon settles gently, whispering sweet nothings to the still winds.
"My Lord... I am forever in your debt. I offer you my life, my soul." The Dark Lord nods, scars on his face, moving. He is not a handsome man, nor a happy man. Nor is he unattractive. A person who has never known of him would think him ill and in desperate need of sunlight.
But any person would know to fear him.
Bellatrix Lestrange is one of those very few that wouldn't cower to him. Lucius Malfoy was the only other person; The Lord treated him as a brother – a brother he could depend on, and trust.
"And I, mine," he replies earnestly, though Bellatrix knows he could just as easily kill her. But no matter what she said, how she acted, he never did. "Are you happy, my dear?"
"Very," she tells him. "The blood is being pumped around my body, and I feel as though every inch of my skin is singing. I am on fire; I have never been happier."
"I am glad." Bellatrix turns to face her Master, her eyes shining. Gently, he kisses her. "I feel, that perhaps, tonight is a night for us."
Bellatrix nods slowly. Her husband always turned a blind eye. He feared his Master above all others and his wife didn't just belong to him. She was The Dark Lord's first. She belongs to the man who had cast the ugly scar of the Dark Mark into her arm. She belongs to the man that he detests above all others, the man he shows the utmost devotion to.
Though, he is merely a man anymore. He is a disjointed figure, a broken one whose abhorrence of others is one of the strongest found upon the Earth.
He seems no Earthly creature.
"But, my Lord," Bellatrix whispers, raising a finger to press against cold lips. "We must remember – the promise." He looks down, distastefully.
"Must you bring that up?"
"I must be cast free, Lord. Remember, it is your young heir we are saving." He nods and presses a hand to her stomach.
"Our heir," he reminds her. "Mine. And yours. Yours and mine. Tonight, our heir will become a living child. It takes one night, one spell and you and I can make the most powerful wizard to walk along oceans and fields. And you... you shall be free. But promise me, you shall hide well."
"I will hide in a place no one shall find me. Hold me, Lord. For tomorrow, we shall part." He pulls arms around her, and holds her close to him.
"Take care, sweet Bellatrix."
"Likewise, my Lord."