Story written for OnyxRose13
Story guidelines as follows:
Prompts:
1. "Killing is making a choice" (full quote was used.)
2. The Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow monologue from Macbeth which reads:
"She should have died hereafter;
There would have been time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all of our yesterdays have lighted fools
This way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing"
(this was used as loose inspiration.)
Characters and Pairings: Voldemort. Bellatrix.
Likes: Symbolically heavy or abstract style, POV (No omniscience, only the bias of a single mind), meaningful sex and/or violence (sex and violence that actually say something about the story and the characters), layered depictions of characters, original scenarios, ornate dialogue, vivid imagery, original magic, AU, mentally incompetent (i.e. traumatized or crazy)
Dislikes: Dominant/ Submissive character depictions, tried and true scenarios (like the big offenders "Bellatrix gets off from torturing some one", "Voldemort hits it and quits it"), rehashing scenes from the books, shallow-surface level writing
Disclaimer: we own nothing.
Most Loyal
Lord Voldemort sat in darkness. But he was alright with that. He had grown up in darkness. After so many years it had become his only friend. Lightning flashed every now and again but Lord Voldemort didn't even acknowledge it. After years of living he had become numb to life. To be lost in his memories had become a blessing.
Lord Voldemort held the knife in his hand. It was a short knife made of silver with intricate patterns scattered around the blade, and shaped like a spearhead. He didn't quite remember where it came from or why it had been on the top of his desk. But he did know that one slip of the wrist and the knife would have cut an artery and the great Lord Voldemort would have been disgraced to a Muggle's death.
The knife reminded him of an old memory, one that had long been forgotten but was now clawing itself to the surface of his mind. It flickered by. He grabbed for it, clawed at it, refusing to let it go. It was sketchy, like a picture drawn by a child. Scribbles and dots but as he pulled the memory closer a woman's face become more visible.
As the face became clearer so did his recollection of her. She had been different, that much he was certain of. Lord Voldemort had never put much precedent over looks but even he had to admit she was indeed beautiful. The beauty… it reminded him of the Black family. Yes, that's where she had come from. She must have been one of his earlier followers. The Black family had died out long after centuries of inbreeding.
The woman's face was perfectly clear now and with that clarity came her name, Bellatrix.
He remembered now. She had been his first apprentice, fiery and sadistic but most importantly faithful. He had never found another follower quite as devoted to the cause as Bella was. She was his one true loyal follower. In all his centuries of living he had never found a follower with her combination of natural talent, intelligence, and loyalty.
Now that he thought back onto it he really had tamed a lioness's spirit.
A few centuries earlier a cold smile would have graced his thin lips, but he had lived too long for that to happen anymore.
Lord Voldemort twisted the knife along his fingers. The cold unfeeling blade pressed against his pale blue, almost translucent skin. Yes, she had been his most loyal. Even after he had conquered the world there was never another like her.
Many would be surprised to know that while Bellatrix had always been sadistic, when she was younger she had trouble with the killing curse. Maybe it was left over morals from when she was little or just a sliver of conscience that had gone unmaimed by his teachings, whatever the case she hadn't been able to cast it until several months after her training begun.
"Killing is making a choice," he had told her many moons ago. "When you kill it's you who's choosing whether they live or die. Their fate is entirely in your control."
He was right, killing was making a choice and time and time again she chose to let them live. It was infuriating.
He needed to make her forget about all those silly things she had been taught, that killing was never right. It would be a delicate process, which he knew for sure would work if done properly. If he were to be soft or too harsh with her all his hard work would be undone.
So he had brought her on a mission. It wasn't particularly difficult one; in fact it was far beneath him. But he needed to get her over this stump and he needed to do it now, lest she turn out to have been just a waste of time.
In the ranks of Death Eaters being taken on a mission alongside Lord Voldemort was considered an honor above all else. Something every Death Eater hoped for but not many got the chance to do.
They had entered the guarded library with ease. His ivory wand almost like an extension of his own arm. One by one he took his opponents out, several of them tried to escape, none succeeded.
The memory seemed to fog over slightly and he struggled to regain it. He remembered that they only had a short amount of time before the Aurors arrived. And he remembered that despite all of Bella's opponents being incapacitated they were still alive, although they probably wished they weren't.
She might not have been particularly gifted with the killing curse but the Cruciatus curse seemed to grace her lips without a second thought.
Big chunks of it were still missing though. His next clear memory of the ordeal was of the Aurors arriving. And once again curses were flying.
His young prodigy was easily taking on three Aurors at a time. "Good," he thought to himself. He wouldn't have taken her on if she had been anything less then gifted.
Lord Voldemort remembered little of the spells he used. He did know that he easily battled his way through the Aurors. As he spoke out his last curse he heard a woman scream of outrage before a single piece of green lightning whizzed past him, coming dangerously close to hitting him. But it didn't hit him, instead he heard a thud behind him. As he swiveled around he saw what had caused her outrage.
A lone Auror had tried to do the valiant thing and kill him. They had expected to catch him by surprise. And they might have if Bella hadn't intervened. To think how close he had come to losing his mortal body, well it was an unpleasant notion.
Lord Voldemort couldn't remember if they had found the text or not. Honestly it didn't matter. Bella had finally done it, she now belonged to him and only him, she had performed the killing curse. And most of all she had proven her loyalty. Granted it wasn't in the way he had planned but it had worked out nonetheless.
For the first time in years a smile formed around his non-existent lips, as more memories of his most faithful began to form.
Blood trickled down his wrists and splashed onto his wooden floor. Killing was making a choice and he had made his.