Author's Note: This is my first Harry Potter fiction of any sort. Just a short story I thought up while – painting my toe nails of all other things. No intentions of continuing, it's just a food-for-thought kind of short story.

And just for the record, I hate how Bellatrix is referred to as 'Bella' – it reminds me of Twilight, which consistently irks me off.

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It wasn't a particularly shaded day out – in fact, it was a happily sunny day – in the area in which the cloaked figure walked, hidden facially beneath a heavy hood . That in itself was enough to put a large spot light on the person, making it not only impossible to hide, but also overbearingly hot. If it wasn't a necessity this person might have preferred to just strip down into nothing; which still would have had the same apparel of 'look, I'm suspicious'. Or crazy. The latter was often a more common label for this particular person, as of late.

Crossing a not-so-busy street (actually a rather barren un-used street) the figure walked briskly towards the front doorstep of a very tall and remarkably cheery house. A feminine groan merged from beneath the hood as the figure glared up at the large mahogany door. It wasn't really the house itself – or the door for that matter – that had such an effect on the woman, but more so the reasoning behind why she was here, on this doorstep, basically attracting the surrounding world to her eerie appearance.

Raising a paled hand high in the air with the intentions of respectfully rapping at the door, the woman brought her fist down upon the wood with a hard repetition of bangs. Then she waited. And waited. Hissing through gritted teeth in an apparent of annoyance, the cloaked arm rose up again and brought a clamped fist down onto the door once again. Again, she waited. This time, however, her impatient mood had been swiftly shifted aside by the feeling of eyes bearing into the side of her hidden face. Glancing to the left the woman moaned impassively. Two pedestrians had stopped to stare at her, rather rooted to the ground in their frozen position. There had to be only a distinct difference of two things running through their minds; "What the hell is this crazy bimbo wearing?" or "DEATH EATER!?!?". Not really caring to stick around and find out which one, the woman mumbled something just above a whisper into the side of the door. The sound of a lock clicking open brought a sense of reassurance into her soul and she adjacently shoved herself into the cool air of the house in on quick sweep.

As soon as her feet had made it safely onto the flooring of the home the woman turned swiftly around and slammed the door shut with a bit more emphasis than she had originally anticipated. Flinching as the sound echoed throughout the house the woman turned around once more and was fully un-surprised to find the owner of the house standing just outside of the kitchen; a blonde woman with pink skin, who seemed to hold the puffy tension in her eyes that revealed a series of tears had fallen from them, recently.

For a moment the two just stared at one another. It had been a week since they had seen each other – a week since the two of them had snuck down an uncountable number of allies to the ugly mossy-smelling house that belonged to Severus Snape. The very remembrance of it caused the cloaked woman's nose to twitch; it certainly didn't smell like that in this clean home.

"Bella," the other finally said, her voice cracking up an octave. "What are you - "

"I don't particularly see the point in you locking your door." The cloaked woman said, finding it appropriate to push back the hood away from her placid face. The revealing was less than shocking to the opposite woman who stood awkwardly just outside of the kitchen, but if it were any different person who was anything other than used to this they would probably become overcome with fright. It wasn't like she had a pig nose, or had overbearing fangs that hung along her lower-lip line; it really was just more of the fact that she looked sadistically insane. However, that's what Azkaban did to you. That's what being a Death Eater did to you. That's what life – Bellatrix Lestrange's life – did to her. Shaking her frizzed and frazzled black hair back and forth atop her head, glancing towards the door behind her with emphasis, the woman continued. "Not when it's that easy to get in, at any rate."

The blonde woman pursed her lips and leaned heavily against the wall of her home, cradling her hands on to her hips. Her tired eyes glanced knowingly up a set of stairs that lead to the second story of the house and she paled. "Should I call him down?"

Bellatrix was in the middle of removing her heavy cloak. She paused mid-undress and twitched her eyes into the direction of her sister's glare, not at all on the same page. "Who?"

"Draco." Narcissa replied haughtily, digging her nails noticeably into her hips. "I know you didn't come here for tea!"

"Oh – right. Him." Bellatrix belt out a laugh. It's wasn't a friendly laugh. More cold than anything else. "No, I'll just go up and talk to him alone." With that, the darker-haired sister began to move towards the stairway, tossing her cloak around the railing.

"What - why? Is something wrong?"

Now she had done it. Sigh.

Turning slowly around on her heel, glaring the sun-light that streamed in through the window against the silver streak in her hair, Bellatrix took in the worry-swept look on her sister's face. This was something she would simply never understand; the protecting maternal nature. And, frankly, just from the way her sister had been acting lately there wasn't any renewed longing for that kind of possession. Never in her life had Bellatrix ever wanted children. She didn't like the idea of them any more than she liked the idea of owning an animal. And, really, she didn't want to get that close to Rodolphus, either, to even be put into the situation of ever considering a spawn. Overall, it was just something she would never be able to relate to with her sister – along with a hideously abused list of other things.

"Just talking, Cissy." She offered her sister a smile. It wasn't a very pretty smile, or the kind of smile that really made you feel happy, but it certainly put Narcissa to ease.

Bellatrix was just in the midst of turning back around – heading up the stairs – when Narcissa's voice rang out again as if her words would wrap themselves around her sibling and yank her back down. "Where's Rodolphus?"

This time Bellatrix did not pause or give Narcissa the advantage of seeing her face. Again, this was something that they would never see eye-to-eye on. Husbands. The very thought of her own caused Bellatrix to absentmindedly curl her lips back over her teeth and snarl. It wasn't that they didn't get off well; Rodolphus was actually the most compatible person for her. He kept to himself, he stayed away, he rarely ever commented on anything she ever did, and he loved her – well, loved her in whatever way he found fitting for himself. In truth, she probably loved him too, though she couldn't really bring herself to understand what that even meant. Their marriage was really just an escape for them both. They had known each other through Hogwarts and both mutually agreed in the same aspects of the Dark Lord. That being evenly spread out, their matrimony together just made sense... but the snarl was not really meant for him. More so, it was meant for the ideas that Narcissa held for them. Narcissa, holding the strangely affectionate personality that she did, could simply not wrap her pretty mind around the fact that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were simply not like her and Lucius. Narcissa loved Lucius. Lucius was a complete moron – but she still loved him. If Rodolphus had done half of the idiotic things that Lucius had done, Bellatrix would have killed him dead right in the middle of a children's playground if she had to.

"He's tending to his needs." She finally replied coolly, brushing away the rising urge to throw her shoes down around her sister's head.

"Oh." Was all that came in reply. It was obvious that Narcissa had taken the hint that it was something not worth attempting, and her mouth was shut for the remainder of Bellatrix's escape upstairs.

As she walked, light as a feather and quiet as a mouse, the female Death Eater scoped out the room of her nephew. A small annoying pang of guilt was trembling down at the bottom of her stomach, nagging the back of her mind. Usually she wasn't this short with her sister, nor was she in such a horrid mood when she was in this house; but that was mainly because it was not on her own accord this time. Today, on the most disgustingly beautiful day of the year, Bellatrix had been suggested – no, demanded – to come and speak with Draco. The Dark Lord was making one last check-in on him, in hopes that Bellatrix could give him – what? A pep talk? The whole situation in itself was ridiculous; he had chosen Draco for this, and he should have figured that punishing Lucius through his son was not the most intelligent way of going at it.

Bellatrix paused and smacked herself on the side of her head. How dare she think like that? He was the Dark Lord. Voldemort. The most intelligent and powerful wizard of all time. Stupid, stupid her. How could she even consider that his decision in sending a very young and very emotionally incapable boy to kill the second most powerful of all time was wrong? Oop, there she went again.

Bella began to repetitively smack herself in the side of the head, as if she was attempting to squish a swarm of wasps that had decided to nest inside of her hive-shaped hair.

"Ahem."

Pausing mid-swat, Bellatrix lifted her gaze onto the paled, tall and gangly body of her nephew. It had been a while since she had taken into account just how tall he was getting – and it was equally as alarming to see how much he resembled his father. And, yet, he also resembled his mother. It was so strange how that worked; as if the two had replicated themselves and then smashed those replications together with a hammer – and then, bam! There was Draco. The idea was inwardly amusing to her. Perhaps if creating children was really like that she would actually consider it.

Making a face she dropped her arms to her sides and broadened her shoulders as if nothing strange had just occurred. Draco's eyebrows arched high into the creases of his forehead and he dropped his jaw slowly. "What are you doing here Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix pointed a crooked finger at him accusingly. "That's Aunt Bellatrix to you." She then dropped her hand and sucked in a loud gulp of air. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you mad – I live here!" Draco said, sneering.

"Right." She shrugged stubbornly. Then, as if she hadn't just emitted the most obvious of ridiculous questions, she shuffled her feet quietly forward and ushered Draco back into his bedroom from when he had merged. "Come. Let's talk about death."

When they moved back into the room Bellatrix made a quick eye-sweep around it. The room was strangely bare for a boy of Draco's age, and there were only a few things adorning the wall such as a Quidditch award of some-sort from his past years of playing, and an unidentifiable animal cage sitting in the corner very out of the way. Other than that there was a bed and a wardrobe; but the wardrobe was long past empty at this point. Most of his belongings were most likely shoved into the suitcase that sat in the middle of the floor, shut tight.

Bellatrix sighed for the second time since being in the house. She could vaguely remember her years of packing and heading off to Hogwarts – though, in truth, it was all just a haze at this point.

"He sent you here to make sure I wasn't backing out, hasn't he?" Draco accused immediately, watching closely as his aunt ran her fingers along the edge of his bed.

For a moment Bellatrix was silent as if she was being thoughtful about her reply. The dark rings around her eyes gave her a very exhausted appearance, though she was far from it. If anything she was about as wired as a muggle on an entire pot of coffee. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, sweeping around the side of the bed as if she were dancing all by herself, Bellatrix tip-toed softly over to the nightstand beside the boys bed and – very out of place – slammed her fist down upon it. "Nobody backs out of the Dark Lord's word."

Draco slightly jumped at the sound that her fist had made atop the wooden stand, but he composed himself quickly. Not quickly enough.

Bellatrix eyed her nephew warily and exhaled heavily. "You're frightened." Her voice hissed just above a whisper.

"I am not." Replied Draco defensively.

"Oh, love," she said simply, cocking her head slightly to the left. Then, as if she were a cat, Bellatrix dropped onto her knees atop the bed and crawled across it very slowly as to cut off the gaping distance between her and her nephew. When she was close enough to touch him she did so. Wrapping her hand around the back of his head she pat the bright white hair behind the nape of his ear. "Don't be afraid."

Draco didn't move. His eyes stared into her – through her – as if he hated her very much. The strange smirk on his face was extremely misleading to the look in his eyes, but he didn't flinch. He didn't dare to move away from his crazed aunt. Swallowing heavily, bringing his hands flatly against his sides, Draco narrowed his eyes further. "I am not afraid."'

Bellatrix immediately brought her fingernails down around the boy's ear and clung to it painfully. He winced, but still didn't move. "You dare lie to me?"

"I'm not lieing. I'm not afraid. I'm just..." now he moved. And it wasn't just a soft slip-away, it was a very fast escape that brought him to the edge of his door, pointing out of it in a very demanding sort of way. Much like his father. And, much like his father, it would have the some power-lacking effect. "Get out."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes high up into her scull and groaned. Finding humor in the way he seemed to be intent on kicking her out she fell back onto the bed, flat onto her back, and sprawled her arms outwards as if she was the most comfortable person in the world. "You just think you can't do it."

There was silence.

Bellatrix pursed her lips but did not dare move. She stared up at the white ceiling with it's uneven grooves and dips. She stared deeper into the markings and found herself, slowly, falling into the same worry that her nephew was in. Of course he was worried. If he didn't finish the Dark Lord's wishes, what would he do to Draco? And, furthermore, if he didn't do it but Snape did – sure the deed would be done – but would the Dark Lord be as optimistic? He specifically wanted Draco to do this. If it were simply to watch the boy go slowly insane and hallow out much like his aunt and now his father was – well, then he was doing a very good job. But if there were other intentions... then Draco would simply have to do it.

Cringing, propping herself up onto her elbows so that she could further examine her nephew, Bellatrix shrugged. "It's kind of fun, killing."

Draco swallowed hard. "What will he do to me if I can't do it?" His voice was shaky now, almost instantly losing its stern demand from just moments prior.

Bellatrix removed her hand from behind her, supporting most of her weight onto one arm, and dug her fingernail deep into the middle of her teeth. Stalling. When she had finished picking at – whatever it was – she sat herself upright on the bed and teetered her head back and forth. "Kill you, probably."

Draco shifted his weight from one foot onto the other, leaning heavily into the open door he now stood aside. His eyes glared off of his aunt and onto the floor where they rested, looking now – more than ever - extremely worry swept. For a brief moment a feeling of empathy ran over Bellatrix's body, but it was gone no sooner than it had arrived. Pushing herself up off of the bed, walking closely to her nephew once again, Bellatrix clapped her hands respectfully behind her back and smiled. It was a crazy-looking smile, but it was once again an offering of reassurance. "You can do this, love." She then shrugged her scrawny shoulders upwards once again and passively swung her hand through the air. "I'll tell the Dark Lord you're more than ready."

Did she believe he was ready? No. Did she think he could do it? No. Did he look like he himself had any faith at all in his abilities in being able to do it? No.

Slowly the young man before her brought his eyes back onto her placid face and he sideways grinned. He didn't say anything, but the look on his face was obviously full of appreciation – at least, whatever ounce of appreciation Draco could muster. It was almost as if she had given him a tiny glimmer of hope that – just perhaps – he could actually pull through on this. For his father, for his mother, and for the Dark Lord.

And, really, that was all that she could give to him.

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Fin.

Thanks for reading.

Review it if you want. :)