Bellatrix Black was ready to be married. The vaulted hall was ready, tall candles casting shadows into the folds of the rich plum velvet wall-hangings, polished mahogany chairs with silver name plates neatly set in rows, and the two stone steps at the front polished and waiting for their actors to take centre stage.
Bellatrix Black was ready to be married. The guests were milling about, finding their seats. The elderly wizard who would perform the ceremony stood, stone-faced at the front, overlooking them all. Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan, both in severe black formal dress robes, were waiting for their cue. Narcissa, the maid of honour, showed the last guest to his seat before taking her place at the front.
Bellatrix Black was ready to be married. She checked her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in antique robes of deepest violet; velvet, silk and lace. Her mother had been married in these robes. No cheap Muggle white for her. Heavy opals glinted at her throat and wrists; her glossy black hair was wound in a thick smooth coil on her head. Her eyes flashed as she left the room.
Bellatrix Black was – almost – ready to be married.
She found him easily enough. Slipping through the darkness of the trees, the chill wind raised gooseflesh on her exposed collarbone. He was waiting for her, leaning languidly against a tall elm in the depths of the forest. She was barely out of school, but he was older, and already the years since graduation had started to take their toll on the handsome Head Boy.
She was tall, but he stood easily a head above her. The whiteness of his skin hurt her eyes, and his jet black hair was longer now. There was a hollowness, a sharpness in his features that hadn't been there before and his eyes seemed different, somehow. He was dressed in plain black robes.
"You came," he said.
"Master," she whispered. "I could never stay away."
"Now, now Bella," he chided, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. "It doesn't do to talk like that. It is your wedding night after all."
"My Lord," she gasped, gazing at him wide eyed. "My Lord, just say the word and I will leave it all. You know that this – all of this – is nothing to me. I only marry him because you wish me to. You know that."
"I do not doubt your loyalty Bella." He paused. "Or your true feelings."
She said nothing, merely waited. Waited for him to pull her closer, or push her away.
"Oh Bellatrix," he whispered, reaching out one long finger to trace the line of her jaw. She shuddered. "Whatever will I do when you are married?"
She closed her eyes, struggling to regulate her breathing. "You know that is no obstacle."
He did not smile. "I know."
He moved without warning, turning her and pinning her against the treetrunk without really seeming to touch her. His hands held her wrists above her head as he bent his mouth to her neck, biting till he drew blood. He let it trickle down, staining her pure skin.
"Do you want me, Bella?"
"Yes," she breathed.
Slowly, so slowly, he licked the blood away, savouring the iron tang on his tongue. His mouth and hands were their only point of contact.
"Will you-" his pelvis ground against hers so violently she almost cried out in pain "-serve me, Bella?"
"Y-yes, Master. Always."
"Will you give me full control over you?"
He was leaning into her now, the full weight of his narrow frame pressing down on her, nearly suffocating her. He was deceptively heavy.
"Master," she managed. Her eyelids were fluttering, her breathing ragged. "I am already yours."
He narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on her wrists so that his pointed nails dug into her flesh.
"And what of your-" he spat the word. "husband?"
"He is nothing but a pawn, my lord. He means nothing to me. You are all I need, mind, flesh and soul."
She ignored the pain, the blood running from her wrists in rivulets now. For a few moments, neither moved.
"Look at me."
It was a direct command, sharp and forceful. She could not, would not, disobey. She looked at him.
Their eyes locked, and in that moment she was laid bare. Never, not even when they fucked, had she felt so naked before him. She was always the one who lost control. She had never seen him climax.
For the first time that evening, he smiled. He released her and stepped back, allowing her to right herself and cast a glamour on her wounds. She would not heal them; no, they would serve as reminders throughout the night to come.
"Come, Bellatrix. I must give you your wedding present."
She went to him, unsure what was coming, but he held out his hand for her left forearm. He grasped it, taking a moment to examine the Dark Mark already imprinted there, a writhing design the colour of dried blood. It moved like a living thing. He took out his wand then, and gently- so gently- touched the tip to her tattooed skin. The mark suddenly stilled, and lines of scarlet light started to snake around it. Bellatrix bit her lip to stop herself crying out as the lines of light seemed to force their way into her skin, intertwining with the intricate Dark Mark, scrawling new, unfamiliar paths across its surface. As suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. He let her go.
"There Bella. Take a moment, examine it carefully. Understand."
She did as she was bidden. At first glance, her mark looked the same as it always had. But then she saw. Where before there had been a single snake springing from the maw of the skull, there were now two, so closely intertwined it was hard to tell them apart. One (her original snake, she realised) had all but hidden its head behind the head of the other. This new snake had scarlet eyes.
Awestruck, she met her master's gaze. He gave her a thin-lipped smile, and then disapparated. Slowly, Bellatrix walked back to the hall, revelling in the knowledge that the vows she would soon make to Rodolphus Lestrange, her husband, could never compare to the binding power of the vows she had just made to Lord Voldemort; her lover.
Bellatrix Black was ready to be married.