A/N: A series of Bellamort drabbles. This is my disclaimer so that I don't have to repeat again, I own nothing but my ideas.
There's nothing as tempestuous as the smell of a fire, in Malfoy Manor during midwinter. If I go outside, I'll surely freeze to death.
The cold bitter snow kissing my cheeks and getting lost in my tangles of hair. The way I know you never would, because you play to win, not for the sake of getting lost in the game.
I remember my first days in your service, seems too long ago now.
They all know I'm your favorite, you can see it in their eyes. They fear you, I admire you. Watching from as close as you'll allow it, still bearing some of the scars. Of nights full of your fury and your passion.
But, for some reason, I liked it.
I liked the pain, it showed that maybe you somehow cared, but sometimes this was all like a game of Russian roulette.
Turning tables on myself, for better or for worse, I do not know.