Challenge for Thanatos Angelos Girl's NaNoWriMo Challenge on xoxLewrahxox's Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum. The challenge was to write 20,000 words in a month. I struggled originally, but once the plot bunny got into my head it was all smooth sailing.

Just some quick notes. This is set in December 1991 in a world where Voldemort killed all of the Potters on Halloween and has been in power for about ten years. He continues to expand further than Britain and this is where the story takes place. Rest assured there is always a reason for Voldemort's actions and this will be revealed over time. As well, please be aware that Bella is not the most reliable narrator so the reader will originally gain a very negative opinion of an OC (to the extent she does not even refer to her by name), but there is more to her than meets the eye.

Enjoy!

No, Bella. Do not, Bella. Do not think that way. You have no right to think that way. You know this. You know you have no claim. It is not about you. Only him. It is not what you want. Be happy for him. Just him. You know this is for the best. You know the reasons. It means nothing, even if it did, it is not your business. Stop doubting him, okay. You can do that can you? Of course you can. Yes? Yes? Yes?

No, Bellatrix concluded as she slammed down her now empty wine glass with enough force and noise to cause the few people at her table to turn and stare. However, they were swiftly frightened away with a well practised knife like stare. She did not care about the opinion of anyone on her table, at least now the Dark Lord had left. Now, all that remained was a bunch of cowardly Frenchmen, brownnosing English bureaucrats and probably, most irksome, of all (at least at the moment) her darling husband.

"Are you alright?" Rodolphus leaned over and whispered. She eyed his hand that was stretching dangerously close to her own. It was the only way she looked at him. "You seem a little-"

"I'm fine," she snapped, cutting him off and probably speaking loud enough for the others to hear, but she did not care. Her eyes finally flicked to his, though the fiery glare she met him was the opposite of the concern shining in his sky blue eyes. "As I have told you a hundred times, so stop damn well asking me."

He did not say anything else. She would not have listened to him, even if he did. Ignoring him, she leaned back on her chair and slid a glass of wine off the tray of a passing waiter. She half expected Rodolphus to comment, but she supposed he must have realised the futility of the action. She did not care if he thought she had enough. She had not had near enough. She did not care that this was a formal diplomatic conference. She would not be happy until she had drunk enough to forget why she was here in the first place.

However, it was not so simple. Her mind never strayed off the topic for long.

Still leaning back in her chair, it was easy to just turn her head a little and eye the subject of her thoughts.

The Dark Lord stood near the grand entrance door, a short distance from the last of the tables. A small group gathered around him, though he seemed to only be paying attention to a few. Bella surmised the rest were just there to bask in his presence like the leeches that they were.

Actually, she thought the same thing about all of them, even those he was talking to. Well into his 60s, with neatly cropped silver hair to show for it, the French monarch, King Ludovic, stood speaking seemingly animatedly to the Dark Lord. A tall man himself, the King was still a head shorter than her Lord and always managed to disgust Bella, perhaps it was due to his gluttonous frame or his decisions. Either way, Bella would have liked nothing more than to order her Lord's army to strip this pathetic nation from his grasp, but no, her Lord did not have that plan in mind.

More repugnant was his simpering wife and to her right and, closest to the Dark Lord, was the one Bella truly wanted to strangle. She was quite proud of herself that she had not even cursed the pathetic brat nor had her Lord even needed to tell her to restrain herself! However, it had not stopped the many, many fantasies that the thought of doing so which had materialised.

At 20, she was more than half Bella's age. Bella had no respect for her. She only saw her as naive, an air head and someone who had no place in this world, especially anywhere near her Lord. Yet, that was not the case. Blessed with locks of silky blonde hair, full red lips and a pretty round face (though she was substantially shorter than Bella and like a stick in her mind, thank Merlin) it was only made worse with her status as Heir Presumptive to the French Throne.

These were all facts Bella could live with. Despite the fact that she had celebrated her 40th birthday this year and her face had started to show some hints of age, the Black looks had never left her. Bella had never doubted that. She knew she was an attractive woman. She was well aware of her place in society so she certainly had no reason to be jealous of a blonde twig of a girl, even if she was a French Princess.

Well, she had thought that way. Now she only had feelings of built up fire (which many would attribute to jealousy, though Bella was not quite ready to admit that yet) when she thought of the girl.

It had been nearly ten years since the Ministry had fallen and her Lord had finally been able to declare himself Minister. Britain had finally been restored to its glory days with mudbloods finally at the bottom of society and in almost servitude. She could accept this, after all, as her Lord put it, they needed someone to clean up the garbage. There were minor disturbances, but, in general, there was peace.

However, as she had always known, there was more to this game than just Britain. The shores of her home land were only one piece of the puzzle. She believed completely in her Master and knew there was always more to it than one nation. No, it was only right that other places were liberated from the position they had been placed in. Great Britain was the way society should be and others should be transformed to be the same, if that was by war or peace she did not mind.

In fact, she had a distinct preference. Once the Ministry had fallen, Bella had been blessed and honoured when she had been granted a high ranking position as one of her Lord's top advisors and assistants. In practice, it meant she performed tasks that were not worth his while and those he did not trust others with. She had liked to see herself as Deputy Minister, though she never voiced that title since her Lord had never officially referred to her as such.

It only lasted for a while. After five years and society had settled down, her Lord had announced a fighting force to aid in greater internal security, provide livelihoods for the unskilled and increase Britain's prestige. Despite the fact it was never originally called such, Wizarding Britain had its first army since the 1950s and she was placed at the helm for her Lord would not trust anyone else with such a position.

However, life as the nation's top general was not as interesting and as entertaining as she would originally have thought. There were no decisive overseas battles, but only mere 'peacetime' operations, whenever there was disturbance in European nations to assist the side that was worthy.

Though, her Lord had said war would be soon and she had believed him whole heartedly. It was assisted by the fact that he normally murmured it into her ear after she had never fully recovered from the high that intercourse with her Lord always brought.

"Soon, my Bella," he would murmur, his cool thin lips trailing from her ear lobe to her throat and his long fingered hands massaging her body at just the places that he knew would make her squirm. "Soon, I shall unleash you as my warrior once again and all shall fear our names. No opposition need be tolerated even if they are on or off Britain's shores."

Breathless and husky, she would reply, her mind only partially concentrating on her words, "Of course, Master, of course! I do not doubt you!"

Even now, she still did not like to question him, even in her mind, though she doubted her Lord's decision. A few years ago, because of their hesitations and apparent sympathy for her Lord's enemies, death and invasion was all that France deserved, but now they were hosting a ball celebrating their alliance since her Lord was-

The slightest slither of a wordlessly hiss escaped her lips as she once again finished her glass and gracelessly dropped it on the crystal on the table. This time her companions were wise enough to not even shoot her a glance. She did not look at him or her husband, even when he tried to grasp her arm. She avoided it and, instead, strode across the hall, picking up another glass of wine as she did so. All the while, she concentrated on staring straight ahead and not anywhere to her right where her Lord still was with the leeches.

Taking a long breath, she inhaled the cool winter air as she stepped onto the balcony. Blissful solitude, finally.

Making her way to the rail, she leaned over, dangling her glass from her manicured fingers. She was left alone just as she was meant to be. She supposed she had Rodolphus, but when did he count? She never wanted him. There was only one person she wanted, though he was always the one person she could never have.

She was not drunk enough to start sobbing in public, but her gaze was wistful and solemn as she gazed down at the fountain above, thinking, wondering, wishing.

He had been her first. At the tender age of eighteen, she had been swept up into her Lord's ranks, marked as his own and given the immense honour of being personally taught by the Dark Lord himself. He had taught her everything so, by the time she married Rodolphus, she was not as virtuous as she should have been, but she had never cared. No, she had loved him for it.

For more than twenty years, she had carried on the affair with her Lord through her marriage, the war and their victory, despite the fact she knew he had other woman he could turn to. She suspected he did from time to time and, it did irk her occasionally, but she knew she was his favourite and that was enough for her to forget every other whore who might enter his bed.

Yet, this was different. This little brat was taking the position she could only have dreamed about in her most ridiculous and farfetched imagination. Though, she had never seriously considered it. No, she knew her Lord would never want a wife.

Until now.

Polishing off glass number...she could not even remember, she allowed it to slid from her hands and fall until it crashed and shattered on the path below her. She wondered what would have happen if it would have hit someone, if it had hit her.

The French had never wanted to trust in an alliance with Britain. They had believed her Lord could not be trusted: That he was a mere murderer. French beliefs on blood purity might have been similar, though they did not want to go to the measures Britain had.

Yet, the threat of war was rising and, instead of standing by the words they had sworn by, they showed themselves as the weasels that they were. The diplomatic processions had started. First as only minor efforts than larger and finally a deal was put on the table by the king: Marry my daughter, marry my heir then Britain and France can be united in a glorious dynasty and you can have France's loyalty, army and anything you desire.

Bella had been at the meeting. She had been beside her Lord as a sign that the threat of the military and the power of Britain was always there. She had to restrain herself from snorting at the King's proposition. She had legitimately thought her Lord would have brushed the idea off the table, but he had not.

"I think I can agree to those conditions, Your Highness," he had said simply, a cool smile forming over his thin lips.

To Bella she could only fall. Watch as everything fell away and assume that she had misheard. She had not. She thought her Lord would change his mind, but he had not. No, he had declared it was a good compromise. The Princess' hand would keep France's allegiance and the nation would always belong to him.

It had been only a few days since then. Tonight had been designed as a show of the unity of the two nations and to announce the impending nuptials. She had listened dutifully through all the speeches and announcement, but having been positioned at the table of the Dark Lord and his fiancé she had to listen to congratulations after congratulations. It had not been long before she had consumed more and more of the alcohol that surrounded her.

In fact, she wondered, as she stared down at the remnants of her glass and attempting to maintain a steady focus, it might be time for another. She considered if she could signal a waiter to deliver one to her out here. She did not know if she could survive going inside and having to listen to the pathetic giggling of that girl.

However, before she could even move, she felt a hand grasp to top of her shoulder. Her first (second, third, fourth and fifth) thought was that it was her Lord. He had probably come to scold her for her behaviour. She knew he did not appreciate when others behaved like fools when it could not impact him. Clearly, on a celebration of British and French unity, the head of his army behaving like a drunken fool was a detriment to him. He would scold her, but any attention from her Master was a blessing. It could only be a positive that her Lord had left the side of that bratto talk to her.

Though, she would be prepared. She would turn around (attempting to steady her slurring voice). She would insist the girl was a whore and probably spread her legs for the entirety of the French Court or was a simple, naive, brat who had no idea about anything and could never please him (she was not sure which option she would use, but she was sure she could tell one to her Master).

It was a splendid idea, yet, even with her alcohol soaked brain, she could not pretend for too long that the hand gripping her shoulder was not cool not thin, but warm and muscular.

Spinning on her heel, she had to touch her husband's chest to steady herself, before she pushed him away.

"Do not touch me! I thought I made that clear! Now piss off!" she screamed at him in a distant slur. If she was sober, she would have understood why Rodolphus had closed the door behind him.

Her husband's calm expression did not even flicker and, instead, he stepped towards her and, despite her protests, he gripped her flailing arms in his stern but painless grip.

"Come on, Bella. That is enough. I think it is time we go."

"No!" she bellowed back at him, attempting to wrench her arms from his grip but to no avail. A little while ago, leaving would have been tempting yet, since Rodolphus had suggested it, she did not want to follow. All she wanted now was another drink. After, she though she should go and talk to the Dark Lord. He might not have come to talk to her, but she was sure he would enjoy her presence rather than that slut. "I am staying here! I am not going anywhere!"

"Though really, what is the point of being here? The ball is all but over and all that is left is unpleasantness that neither us would enjoy," he murmured soothly in complete opposite to the shrieks of his wife. "Wouldn't it be better to go home? You can avoid all the people I know you hate so much."

She had stopped struggling. Actually Rodolphus' words did make a lot of sense. She really did want to leave these fools behind, but there was one factor that would ensure she did not leave, yet.

"But that Dark Lord!" she urged in a substantially calmer tone which seemed more like a whine. "I cannot go now! The Dark Lord is still here so I should stay. Yes, I would not go before him. It is best to stay."

"He has gone Bella. He left only a few minutes ago."

"Really? He did not seem ready to leave before."

"I can assure you he left. I saw with my own eyes."

"Oh," she said rather bluntly biting her lip a little, still tasting wine. If she had been sober, she would have realised that it was unlikely her Lord would have left, but at the moment, it seemed logical to her.

Loosening her arms from his grip, Rodolphus instead moved to hold her hand and lightly tug her to the stairs that led down onto the grass. Wordlessly she followed, but halted for a moment her eyes suddenly spouting fire again.

"He did not go with her, did he?" she spat her words making it clear her disgust with the prospect.

If Rodolphus felt aversion with her wife's sentiments towards another man, he did not show it, likely as he had experienced it for nearly twenty years. "No, he did not. He left by himself."

Satisfied Bella did not say anything. She merely walked silently beside her husband until they returned to the guest room inside the palace. After being undressed by her husband, she fell straight to sleep.

That unpleasant day was over.

It just would not be the last.