A/N: This is a giftfic for the lovely Sarah- xoxLewrahxox –who asked for "an unrequited Bellatrix/Voldemort" story including "a dramatic line of 'I love you' from Bellatrix." It was supposed to be about 1,000 words but, as you can see, it exceeded my outlined expectations… While the story itself is Sarah's, the characters and the songs belong to J.K. Rowling and Alanis Morissette respectively. I own nothing.

Warnings: This might make Rodolphus come across as- well, not a horrible person but not Bella's true love either. These songs are not Alanis' most popular, but they are my favorites and they do suit Bella.

I have written Bellamort before but my previous attempts make Bella come across as either a foolish young girl with a crush on her teacher (Victims of Love) or desperate and sexually motivated (Bella, Love and Phantasies). This is a slightly different spin than either of those and there's a lot about Rodolphus in the first chapter, but, trust me, there will be Bellamort. Everybody please review. Sarah, I hope you like it. Love. –Lia.

"She's obviously as bonkers as they come… And she's in love with Voldemort, really." –Helena Bonham Carter on Bellatrix. (July 2007. Entertainment Weekly).

"All I really want is some comfort; a way to get my hands untied. And all I really want is some justice..." –Alanis Morissette, "All I Really Want". (Album: Jagged Little Pill.)

"What's the harm in me just meeting Him?" I asked for what had to be the hundredth time. It was an argument that had lasted as long as our marriage. I certainly had no intention of relenting.

There were things I liked about Rodolphus Lestrange but, through our entire courtship, my eyes had focused on his tattoo more than anything else. I doubt he ever noticed that though, he himself had focused mainly on my physical features as well the task of keeping the hands and eyes of other men off me.

I tolerated his possessiveness because, just like him, I had some ulterior motives for this relationship. Of course, I knew about the Dark Lord, His growing number of followers, His Cause, and His power. I wasn't supposed to know about any of that. By my parents' expectations, and, apparently, Rodolphus' as well, I wasn't supposed to do anything other than hang on his arm, always be presentable, and, eventually, bear his children.

I was a girl- woman –and girls allowed for pureblood marriages of convenience. Aside from that, we might as well not exist. It didn't matter that I had ten OWLS and impressive scores on my NEWTs. It would have been positively scandalous for my future to hold anything other than marriage and children. Merely for the sake of keeping myself sane by seizing control of something, I pushed myself toward fruitless academic perfection.

I envied Rodolphus with every fiber of my being. As a relatively intelligent pureblood male, he could be anything he wanted. In spite of that jealousy- which I easily masked- I still stayed as close as possible to him, even before I was told to do so. We were childhood friends and he was actually pleasant company until puberty brought on the ridiculous "I'm a man, I must possess and protect you" attitude that he never let go of.

What we had was barely a step above an arranged relationship. We had dated- courted, to use the appropriate yet outdated term –during our time at Hogwarts. I slept with him- gave him my virginity- during his seventh year, my sixth. That was a mistake. It was at that moment he decided I was his and no one else's.

Had I been able to allow myself to forget the intertwined skull and snake design I'd seen on his left wrist that night, I might have told him otherwise. But I couldn't. I'd stared at it from the moment he pulled his shirt off. I knew Rodolphus wasn't clever enough to invent that sort of design on his own, so that was what I focused on: attempting to guess it's true origin and meaning in order to distract myself from the pain and uncertainty I felt as he deflowered me.

Whenever he repositioned that arm so I couldn't see the mark, I immediately pulled it back into my sight. He interpreted that desperate movement as participation in the act and an indication that I was enjoying myself and that he didn't need to be so gentle with me. I didn't bother protesting that, it would only complicate things, instead I stared at the design until I had it memorized then lay back and squeezed my eyes shut, mentally dissecting every detail and all the possible symbolism I could think of.

For the remainder of the school year after that night, Rodolphus scarcely let me out of his sight. Several times, I tugged on his sleeve, hoping for another glimpse at his tattoo. I was as curious about it as I had been about sex and I was as obsessed with analyzing it as he was with having me for himself. He always smacked my hand away when I tried to pull his sleeve up though, murmuring something about the inappropriateness of undressing each other in public. I never failed to roll my eyes in response.

I didn't really miss him after he graduated and I went back for my seventh year- with his repeated assurance that we were soul mates who should be married as soon as I left school, and, therefore, I shouldn't be sleeping with or even looking at any other boys. I heeded that request, not because I was the typical fearful and obedient pureblood woman, but because I had little time for anything remotely romantic.

The NEWTs were exactly what their abbreviation supposedly stood for: Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. I wanted- needed –to do as well on them as possible if only for the sake of my own self-esteem. Rodolphus sent me a subscription to the Daily Prophet, writing that I might find the fashion and style sections amusing. He was wrong, but I had other reasons for reading almost every word of the paper in my spare time.

One day, there was a picture on the front page. The exact image of the mark I remembered from Rodolphus' arm, this time it was a conjured image floating above a muggle house. From the caption beneath it, the article it accompanied, and a little more research through rumors and follow-up articles, I learned everything I needed.

I confronted Rodolphus about it when he visited me on a Hogsmead weekend that spring, demanding to know why he had been keeping such a wonderful secret from me. We sat down in the Hog's Head and he told me that his servitude in the Death Eaters worked simply to benefit our future children and it wasn't something I should concern myself with. I ignored that and asked where the term "Death Eaters" came from, what their leader was like, and how muggle-killing missions were organized and executed.

I excitedly voiced every question I could think to ask and commented on the strength, loyalty, and bravery he must have possessed in order to join such a group. Instead of replying or answering any of my questions, he grabbed my hand, keeping his facial expression calm so anyone watching us would interpret it as an affectionate gesture, but actually forcing my index finger backward to the point that I cried out in pain.

He repeated that it was none of my concern and kept pushing my finger for emphasis. I managed to keep myself composed- my voice and facial expression anyway- but then I heard a crack. My eyes filled with tears at the same time I let out a scream, capturing the attention of most of the other tavern-goers.

The dark glare on Rodolphus' face vanished immediately to be replaced by a look of loving concern. He said he didn't mean to actually break my finger; he was just trying to teach me a lesson. He offered to heal it for me.

I screamed, "Fuck you!" because I was beyond the point of caring about our reputations. It was the first time I'd said anything remotely unladylike aloud, let alone in his presence. For a moment I focused on that instead of the broken finger I was cradling in my other hand, and it felt incredibly satisfying. I ran away, half blinded by my pain and emotions, only to realize that I hadn't learned any bone repairing spells yet.

I somehow made it to the Hogwarts hospital wing. The hotel room Rodolphus had rented us for the occasion was never used and the incident was never mentioned again.

Our wedding was nothing special. It was grand, even by the rich pureblood definition, but it had no emotional meaning. I had never told Rodolphus I loved him and I had no intention of ever doing so. I supposed that I could have talked my way out of the marriage and ended up with another pureblood who would treat me about the same. I was too cynical to ponder the concept of any man accepting me as an equal.

I could have settled for the gentler sort instead, but they tended to be self-absorbed in order to compensate for their lack of domestic abuse. Lucius Malfoy was the best example of that- only fourteen and already strutting around with platinum hair longer than mine and sending glares of disgust at his few inferior peers. My sister Narcissa was set to marry him after her graduation and she had very few complaints against him. Then again, she had very few independent thoughts anyway.

I mentally scoffed at the thought and returned my focus to the present events. I followed the traditions and said and did as I was expected to, but I had never felt more miserable or pathetic in my entire life.

Our wedding night was very much like the first time I'd given myself to him: essentially meaningless yet somehow still terrifying. This time it wasn't the sex I was scared of: it was the entire concept of marriage and my delayed reaction to what it actually meant, the new expectations and limitations it presented me with.

Now, it was a few weeks later. I brought up the "Death Eater issue" again and he slapped me for it. I warned him that I'd been practicing curses on mice and insects I'd found around the house. He asked if I had mastered any Unforgivable Curses and I shook my head. I might have at least attempted them if I knew their incantations, but I obviously wasn't going to find them in old Hogwarts textbooks and our library's Dark Arts books only referenced the Unforgivables in theory. I had found no way to teach them to myself.

The look in my husband's eyes at that point confirmed that he knew them. I instantly forgot the slap from a few seconds ago and asked if he would teach me. He laughed at me.

"What about the Dark Lord, then?" I couldn't resist asking.

"What about Him?"

I shook my head again, this time finding it impossible to voice the wonder I felt for this mysterious yet immensely powerful Dark wizard.

"What's the harm in me just meeting Him?" I demanded finally.

He stared at me like he thought I was incredibly stupid. "You're just a girl, Trixie," he lectured, using the nickname I hated. "He has no use for you, bringing you to Him would merely waste His time. I doubt you'd want to delay the man who's in charge of the war for cleansing our world."

"I'm not just a girl, Rodolphus, you sexist, age-ist-"

"Age-ist isn't a word, Sweetheart."

I drew my wand and pressed the tip of it against his throat before he even had a chance to reach for his own. "I know the entrails-expelling curse," I hissed with boldness I hadn't used in such a long time. Almost as soon as I said that, I realized what would likely happen to me as soon as I lowered my wand, so I opted to negotiate more than threaten. "I'm not asking you to present me to Him or anything. You can just take me there, we'll say I grabbed on to your arm when you disapparated…"

"He'll know it's a lie."

"Really?" I exclaimed, smiling in awe of the thought.

He glared at me and gave no verbal confirmation. I tried a different approach. "All I'm asking is that you arrange a meeting, if you-"

"If I take you to Him," Rodolphus interrupted. "He's most likely going to laugh at both of us and probably curse you for not respecting your place."

"I don't care!"

"If I bring you to Him and He doesn't want you, which, He obviously won't..." He mused aloud, obviously planning some way to twist my determination to his advantage. "No matter what happens afterward, your obsession will end and you will stop asking so many stupid questions, understand?"

I nodded and slowly lowered my wand, hating relinquishing that control but knowing I'd never see the Dark Lord otherwise.