Bellatrix was in love.

The funny thing about love, she thought as she poked the tip of her wand into her victim's Adam Apple, was how small of a thing it was compared to how she felt right now.

"P-please," the sandy-haired man gasped out under her, "I-I have a wife, a family. Three kids. One is one years in another month, oh please please please -"

Bella watched the panic spread behind the swollen eyelids, felt the tremblings and shakings turn into spasms, and the pleading turn into screaming - she licked her lips. She raised her wand, turning it deftly between her fingers. The man's screams had reached an annoying pitch now, but Bellatrix wasn't even close to finishing what she had in mind for him.

"Cru-"

"Bella, are we playing with our food again? You know Nagini likes her meals just freshly dead, mostly whole." The Dark Lord stepped out from the shadows, and immediately Bellatrix threw herself onto her feet, giving the moaning dying Muggle a kick when he began spluttering again.

"My Lord," she said, a little breathlessly, "My Lord, I was just -"

"Oh don't mind me," a smile flickered onto Voldemort's pale face, "Carry on."

Bellatrix looked down at her toy, and looked back into the red eyes of her master. The Muggle's moans became louder.

"Please, My Lord," she muttered, bowing her head reverently, "Please do the honours of giving this filth here what it deserves."

"Please..."

Lord Voldemort swept into the dark clearing, drawing his wand from the folds of his cloak. The Muggle's eyes widened as the Dark Lord stepped into view.

"Oh my God..." he croaked.

"You may call me that," Voldemort said, before finishing off the filth.

In the centre of the flash of the brilliant green light, Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat. She saw her master standing tall and unmoving, the familiar look of intense satisfaction burning in those hypnotizing eyes - for a moment she felt that she could completely understand how he was feeling, that she too knew what that rush of killing felt like.

Ignoring the unmoving body on the ground, Bellatrix approached the Dark Lord slowly, almost in a dream-like daze.

"My Lord, that was... beautiful," she breathed. An expression appeared on his face, almost like a smirk.

"Of course it was Bella. And I am glad you understand what it is like to rid this world of its trash. You, out of all my servants, understand that the best."

Bella would've thrown herself at her Master's feet if he hadn't turned away at that moment.

"Of course, My Lord, of course. Thank you, My Lord."

It was this incident that flashed into her consciousness when Molly Weasley defeated her. Bellatrix looked around the ruined Great Hall desperately, and at the last moment, she caught those red eyes, staring back at her. She felt a tug at her chest, wondering, once again, whether that look in those red eyes reflected what Lord Voldemort really felt about her, or whether it was just her imagination, her desperate wanting for him to care about her as much as she did. That tug at her chest did not cease; instead it stretched and stretched and stretched until her whole consciousness was on the verge of tearing between a scream of pain and of a surge of her love for-