I though I would write a little oneshot so here it is! I thought this could probably take place some time after Lord Voldemort has escaped from the Ministry with Bellatrix and he's angry with her for failing him but get's a little distracted in his thoughts. Feel free to review =)

He looked down at the wide-eyed wonder before him; her enthusiasm and devotion was most flattering yet she had failed him. Failed him in a way he had never expected her to. She had disappointed him and yet she dared meet his eyes – even if they were brimming with remorseful tears. This woman… This woman was a threat to his own personal beliefs and he loathed her for it, while at the same time she was his greatest asset in many ways. She had power over him that he refused to let her know and refused to admit to himself. He who claimed he could not and would not love. He knew that was what it must be and he hated her for it. But he could not hate her. She was his most obedient, his most loyal and faithful – to hate her would be foolish and to push her away would be insane.

But those large dark eyes gazing up at him tearfully… Beseeching, pleading, begging, longing. Oh he observed her flirtations and desires for what they were – they were shamelessly as clear as day on her face. That face he wanted to reach out to- NO. To do such a thing would be to imbue her with a power no other servant had or ever would wield. To love is a weakness. She was weak. His mother had loved and all that had come of her love had been an underhanded marriage ending in tears and her eventual death. What could love do for him? Nothing. Love was pointless and created weaknesses that were unnecessary.

But those wild curls, those gaunt cheeks that symbolized her sacrifice for him… How could he not appreciate the beauty before him? She was truly a force to be reckoned with. In her younger years she had certainly been a sight to behold; raven curls, a cunning smirk, a dainty figure, a laugh that was dark and wickedly contagious, an attitude and presence that had turned the head of every other Death Eater when she entered a room, the intoxicating strength of her arrogance mingled with an eagerness to commit deeds that seemed far too menial for one of such delicacy. She was certainly not a delicate soul, that would be a person's first mistake when looking at her.

He didn't want to admit to those desires that arose within him when her devilishly wicked grin swam into view, or when he observed the way she confidently strode in and out of a room. It was just lust. Lust is not love. You cannot have love without lust but one could have lust without love. Lust was allowed; lust was carnal, animalistic, wild, instinctive. She could be his. No one else need know and she would never tell if he ordered her not to…

The power he had over her… It was far more potent than that of any other servant in his inner circle. If he demanded she jump from a cliff, she would. But that only proved how weak love made a person, he had no use for such emotions. And yet… She allured him. She revelled in torture like no other servant, even going so far as to make it provocative- NO! He would not think such ridiculous thoughts. He would not be manipulated by the raven haired temptress on the receiving end of his piercing gaze.

And yet he still wondered how it would be to entwine his pale, skeletal fingers in those wild curls that fell about her so becomingly. How it would be to feel her heart hammering – as he knew it would – against his chest. To see just how passionate his most faithful could be…

He could find out, all it would take would be a word or two and the rest would follow like an innate instinct… But what if the seductive wench did more than fulfil that lust? What if she left him desiring more than her presence in his bed? What if she were to wordlessly force him to requite her love?

He could never risk her enslaving him in such a way. It was a weakness and he refused to be weak.