Disclaimer: I don't want JKR to send Bellatrix after me so I'm clearly stating I don't own anything!
ENJOY!
Mrs. Lord Voldemort
Her hair was long, just above the small of her back. Dark, shiny and thick swaying to and fro as she moved. Her steps were rhythmic, never faltering, completely focused. Her eyes were trained on her destination and she was going to kill whoever stood in her way.
There was no one in her way, and there wouldn't be. Not today. Bodies stood on each side, but none would protest. The silence in the hall pressed against all who were attentive. This was wrong. Everyone knew it. Seventeen was much too young to get married. Even in those days.
But Bellatrix Black was doing it anyway. Bellatrix was going to make her family proud. She was going to honor the Black name. Marry pure, uphold the family values. She had been wild and crazy, that one time at the Isle of Wight with the vampire, it was time to settle down, she was ready, and that was all that mattered.
Bellatrix smiled as she made her way to a dais at the front. She had something undeniably provocative about her. She was proud. And she would show the world, what it really meant to be pureblood, to belong among the worthy.
Her heart began to race. She knelt at the dais. A dark figure sat in a large throne like chair and nodded his approval. Bellatrix stood.
Her knees nearly stared knocking under her dress. She never wore dresses. And she never wore white. But today, she did both. It was the darkest white she could find, and it still glowed, lighting up the sparsely lit hall.
This was the moment. This was it. This was definitely going to be better than that weekend with the vampire. She blinked; a less important moment flashed across her imagination, her wedding. This was most definitely better than when she married Rodolphus. This was her induction, her unbreakable vow to her true love.
Voldemort stood, glanced at the room with a look of disinterest and distaste, always disappointing him. That would change, she would set them right.
His gleaming red eyes softened as they focused on the heavily lidded ones of Bellatrix's. She did not look away nor flinch. She simply inclined her head downward, ever so slightly, showing her complete submission and respect, but keeping his eye contact the entire time.
His fingers twitched. Bellatrix instinctively held out her left arm. Voldemort grabbed it, holding it tightly by the wrist. Bellatrix shivered at the touch of his flesh. It was cold and powerful, and commanding. And she wished he would keep his hand there forever. He delicately placed his wand on her forearm. Bellatrix did not blink. She stared into his eyes so hard, they began to water.
The wand tip rested motionless for several seconds. Voldemort just stared at Bellatrix. And then the wand began to move. It etched deep into the skin, burning and glowing red, threatening to draw blood at the slightest movement, as it looped and coiled. This was a painful process. Bellatrix never uttered a whimper.
The act seemed to take ages, and it was all Bellatrix had ever lived for. The moment the wand stopped, Voldemort removed his hand immediately. The tingling of his flesh on her wrist, gone as quickly as it had been there.
And like that it was over. She had signed over her life. She had taken on the most sacred vow, to be forever allegiant to live for her master. And she was and forever would be a Death Eater. His Death Eater. And the mark that burned on her arm told her all was well.
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