"If I am wrinkled, overweight, in need of help to walk and talk and unable to fight for you anymore, Bella, will you still see the man that you fell in love with?" Rodolphus asked it thoughtfully, carefully, waiting for her reply. She felt perfect against him, her naked skin tight to his own and god he loved her, loved her so much he'd kill for her, had killed for her, would give up his own life for hers in an instant. His fierce warrior. His little scorpion.
Bellatrix lifted her head from where it had been resting on his chest, they were in bed in the middle of the afternoon, the balcony doors thrown open letting in a warm summer breeze, blankets askew. Random sex in the afternoon was her favourite kind.
She stared at him for long silent moments, feeling his hand gently running up and down her back over the scars and ink on her skin, he was serious in his question and she wondered where it came from but didn't ask, only answered just as seriously. "I don't think you or I are meant to live that long, darling. I don't even think I'd want too."
He seemed pleased with her response and pressed a kiss to her lips, smoothing that stubborn curl from her line of sight. "No, neither do I, baby."
The heartbreaking thing was, neither knew he would live that long, growing old with only his memories of past deeds, but he'd do it without her. Bellatrix would die young and beautiful without the curse of age to taint her feared name.