Disclaimer: This applies to the whole story. Any recognizable Harry Potter characters, objects, events, places, scenes, quotes, et cetera do not belong to me. They belong to the wonderful JK Rowling and her associates. I am not making any profit through this piece and no trademark or copyright violation is intended. This story was made purely for the sake of my own amusement.
Summary: It was November 1st, the morning after what becomes the biggest regret of Bellatrix's life. Written for TuesdayNovember's "Times of Day" fic challenge.
A/N: Challenge #46 on xoxLewrahxox's Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum.
TuesdayNovember's "Times of Day" challenge: This fortnight's challenge is 'times of day' (or night). For this challenge, I want you to set or focus your fic at a specific time, be that either an exact hour (X o'clock) or something more vague, like afternoon. The time can be either a prominent feature, or just a subtle reference, as long as it's included. And, to return us to our challenge roots, so to speak, the word limits are either 100 or 500 words (give or take a few.)
Wikipedia: The blue hour comes from the French expression l'heure bleue, which refers to the period of twilight each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. The time is considered special because of the quality of the light at this time of day.
Exactly 500 words.
"The day breaks not, it is my heart." – John Donne
The Blue Hour
Their robes lay discarded around the bed.
The twilight blue of pre-dawn was the first thing she opened her eyes to as it dowsed the room's fixtures in its incandescent light.
'Only for a night,' was what she had said when he seduced her into bed with him. He had reassured her that it would be, but that night had turned into days of extended pleasure and countless nights of the air teeming with cries of ecstasy.
Bellatrix languidly turned her head towards her husband, breathing in his warm spice. His arm held a comforting weight around her waist, despite knowing she loved another man.
They had lost track of how long they had been cooped up in their bedroom, enjoying being cut off from civilization.
Looking back on the last few days, she reflected that if she were to do it again, she wouldn't change a thing. Rodolphus could be incredibly passionate, and for once it had been pleasant to accept his advances.
Her gaze slid past him to take in the masculine décor of the room. This was the first time she had ever really taken the time to notice it; the first time because she rarely spent her nights away from Him.
Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly when the sound of an owl's beak on the windowpane shattered the calm silence. Her eyes snapped towards it and she glared daggers at the bird.
It continued to persist so she slid out of Rodolphus' grip and made her way through the abandoned clothes to unlatch the window. The ruddy thing burst in and screeched at her fiendishly.
Rodolphus groaned and rolled over in bed, dragging her satin-clad pillow along with him. It landed atop his head and she could hear him muffle out, "Bella! Shut the bloody bird up already!"
She scowled at his muscular form and stunned the owl. Retrieving the newspaper it had carried, she levitated the unconscious owl out the window before shutting it.
A smirk worked its way lovingly onto her face as she spied the words 'HE-WHO-MUST–' printed on the fold facing her. Her Lord must have done something rather grand to have earned the full front page just for the title.
She unfolded it.
At first her mind refused to process what the Daily Prophet proclaimed, and then it hit her like lightning.
"No…" she moaned, hands beginning to tremble. She should have been there for Him. Instead, she had been fucking some other man besides her beloved.
Rodolphus lifted the pillow from his head. "What is it, Bella?"
She sneered at him. "Don't fucking call me that. Only the Dark Lord has that right, and because of you—He—" She screamed in rage and threw the newspaper at the man who had ruined her life. Grabbing her robes, she stormed out of the room.
He frowned in confusion at the sudden shift in mood. Lifting the paper from his lap, he turned it over.
'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED IS DEAD AT LAST!'
A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!
~Lira Veralily