This fic was written for the Fic Exchange challenge on xoxLewrahxox's forum. Basically, we each gave a prompt, which was given to someone, and then we had to guess who had written what ;)
I'm dedicating that fic to Riss313 and Xx Starlight-Moon xX (best guesser of all times ;D) who both recognized that fic as mine ;)
That fic is exactly 500 words long – actually, the first parts are 150 words long and the third and fourth are 100 words. If it isn't obvious, we switch between Bella's and Voldemort's point of view. And yes, I know, my mind is freaky.
Characters: Bellamort
Prompt: Set during the time they both stay at Malfoy Manor in book 7
Prompt giver: Mrs Bella Riddle
Prompt writer: Inkfire
He was there.
The night was ice, time suspended yet closing up on her. She was out of the world, it felt this way – even lying in her bed, in her sister's dainty Manor, even cold, uncomfortable and restless, utterly unable to let go, to forget, to close her eyes and sleep, even hanging to reality by her fingertips and so willing to relinquish that desperate hold, something else was there. Her reality, yes, this she couldn't escape – something else was there. Something she hadn't known or felt before – a weird sense of expectation that kept her eyes open wide, lying on her back, staring into the night.
He was there somewhere, her mere existence making her love-battered heart tremble. He was there – in her soul, in her mind, and elsewhere – he had gone out, he would come back, something was off, open, offered, possible – she didn't know.
She waited.
The night was white and pale, eerie like a crystal universe, a fairy tale he didn't want to acknowledge. He strode along the path, to the Manor. His snake had disappeared somewhere in that snowy landscape, and he strongly hoped that she would kill a few peacocks. Some-white peacocks – he longed for blood, for red flowers blooming in the snow, stained purity.
A scream was rising in his throat, yet he held it back. Potter – this was the blood he wanted to see, purity, innocence, love tainted and defeated, broken, back to the mud it belonged to. Potter lying with his eyes open in shock and forever unseeing, Potter broken under his snake's fangs, screaming –
He held the images back. He needed control.
Control.
Yet his mind ran wild, unleashed, and though he'd never admit it, scared. He kept seeing them, Potter's face and the thief's – where to go, where –
Soft though it was, the noise startled her, and yet she did not move. It was awaited, this sliding shadow in the darkened room, ever so slowly towards her... The half-drawn curtain like an invitation...
Her eyes were opened, and she did not turn her head, not yet; she stared up and saw nothing, and she could sense him, the silent, powerful presence, the magnetism he radiated and only she seemed to perceive. The familiar glow she longed to bathe in...
The yearning to see, to touch was becoming unbearable, and turning her head, she saw a flash of red.
Control was what he needed, to take, to possess, and she offered it to him, already his, always. Without a word he captured her lips; and the ferocious fire in his veins turned to passion, a fiery lust he allowed to take over... Control...was his power and yet his delusion, as he took from her what he most needed: to trust, even for a fleeting second, and to be trusted, without a second thought, the way she gave herself to him.
In the morning, he disentangled himself from her sleeping form, and quietly walked away. He had business to handle.