So, today seems to be a day of me writing one-shots inspired by amazing drawings. This one in particular is a little plot bunny that grew thanks to some amazing art by marzipan-lady-art on Tumblr (seriously, I should never discovered Tumblr, first dressing up as Bellatrix and now getting distracted to all hell like this hahaha), anyway go check out the original art because it is beautiful.
As always, please read, enjoy and drop a review if you have a moment because I secretly adore hearing your thoughts.
The Purple Black
Her fingers drummed on the edge of the dressing table, staring blankly as she watched her talon-like fingernails causing the only sound in the room. Her body was numb, though her mind still racing with thought. She didn't care as her hair fell forward, her eyes flickering up to stare at her reflection in the mirror for a moment. Once a blindingly beautiful witch, of sharp wit and the ability to strike fear or respect into all that laid their eyes upon her—sometimes both—Bellatrix Lestrange looked a shadow of her former self. Yes, she could still strike fear into many a witch or wizard with a mere picture of herself, though she was not what she once was. Azkaban had addled her mind beyond repair, throwing her into fits of rage, insanity and empty still states with the drop of the hat. She would rebuild herself, she would have to for her Lord, though after being out of Azkaban for merely a week she still struggled to grasp the reality of her situation.
She bore her teeth and snarled at her reflection, convinced the image was mocking her as she grasped on to the near empty bottle of fire whiskey beside her. She disregarded the glass (partly because she had smashed the thing after her third glass and not bothered to clear the mess), snatching the bottle and necking a few gulps of the amber substance. She gasped for air and made a face at the burning sensation in her throat as she slammed the bottle back on the desk, not caring as the force caused its contents to slosh and spill onto the side. The woman sighed, looking to the small wanted poster her sister had brought her on her request, she wiped her hand across it to remove some of the spilt fire whiskey, a sudden fear shot over her.
"They want me . . ." Bella breathed, her mind taking her back to those cold nights in Azkaban, faceless monsters floating passed her as they threatened to take her very soul, "No . . . My Lord . . . I returned . . . He will protect me . . . I am faithful . . ."
Bellatrix gasped as she heard the sound of footsteps in the distance behind her closed door, turning on her stool so quickly that she lost her balance and fell to the floor. She hissed in pain, though drew her wand as quickly as she could. "Go away!" Bellatrix yelled, trying to stop her hand shaking as she steadied her aim at the door and scrambled to sit against the wall, "I'll curse you . . . I'll kill you . . . You won't have me . . ."
She glared ferociously, ready to make good on her word as she was convinced that some man or monster had come to drag her back to her prison cell. The door handle turned slightly, a sense of hesitation in the air before after a few moments the door swung open. Bellatrix was ready, she screamed at the top of her lungs, firing the first curse that came to her mind as she tried to knock her assailant away. Though they were quicker than she was and all she could do was let out a yelp of shock as her spell was rebounded to collide into the wall above her. She was ready to fire again, not looking too see who had come for her as she readied herself only to let out a scream of despair as her wand was taken away from her, the dark wood flying from her grip.
"No . . ." Bellatrix murmured, covering her head in her arms, "No . . . I won't . . . You can't . . . No . . ."
"Bella . . ." a cool voice echoed through the room.
Her eyes widened in shock, she had spent so long dreaming of that voice, spoken to him only once since her return from her own personal hell. "My Lord . . ." She breathed, looking up to the voice of her master.
He stood looking down at her with a curious air about him, looking just as powerful, just as regal, just awe-inspiringing as the day Bellatrix had set her eyes upon him when she still bore the name Black. He cast his gaze upon the room, taking in the messed-up sheets of her bed, the smashed glass on the floor, the near empty bottle of firewhiskey and the toppled stool. She was still cowering, shaking as her mad gaze spun around the room as if she could not quite accept the fact that they were alone.
"Bella," Lord Voldemort spoke the woman's name causing, as he knew it would, her gaze to focus only on him, "what is the meaning of this?"
"My Lord . . ." Bellatrix shook her head, her mind was so full and her thoughts so addled as if a tornado was swarming inside her very mind, she could not concentrate, "My Lord, I . . ."
"Narcissa was to bring you a calming draught, Bellatrix," Lord Voldemort mused, pursing his lips as he saw the still corked vial on the woman's bedside table.
"Poison . . ." Bellatrix shook her head.
"No," Lord Voldemort disagreed, "I will return when you have calmed yourself, Bellatrix. You are no use to me like this."
"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried out, rushing forward only to drop to her knees in front of her master again as she tried to grasp at his robes, gasping back at her threatening tears as he grabbed both of her wrists in each of his hands just in time to stop her, "My Lord." She whimpered, "Please."
"Bellatrix." Lord Voldemort curled his lip in distaste, unwilling to deal with the drunken mess of what was once perhaps his strongest warrior, "Bella, you're drunk. Go to sleep."
"My Lord . . ." Bellatrix hung her head, trying and failing to calm herself as she could still not grasp onto the escaping trendels of her sanity through her drunken overactive mind. She knew she was pathetic, knew that she was not worthy of the man before her as she could barely string together a fully formed sentence in her mind. "Why you do not love me . . ."
"Bellatrix!" Lord Voldemort hissed, he knew his servants thoughts for him, could not deny that he enjoyed revelling in her amusements on occasion but this was too much even for her. "Stop this madness!"
"My Lord, please . . ." Bellatrix cried, shaking her head, she clenched her fists in his grasp. She had crossed the line, he would disregard her if she could not come to her senses and serve him as she once had. She was nothing now, she was doomed to be thrown away like a broken wand that had no use in serving its master. She gritted her teeth, trying to bring some sense back to herself as she battled with her own mind.
A gasp escaped her as her master relinquished his grasp on her wrists, preparing herself to be left alone to fight those who wanted her back in her hell hole to rot. Though soon arms wrapped around her and she found herself drawn in to her master, pressing her head into his chest she grasped onto his robes as she had longed to do.
"Bella." His voice was somewhat quiet as he held the shaking witch, "Everything is fine."
She shook her head, fighting back tears as even in her masters embrace all she could think of was the Dementors and the memories they had twisted in her mind, she was worthless, she was nothing to him, she was easily replaced, he would punish her for her failure, she would surely die if she returned to Azkaban. "They are coming for me . . ." it was all she could comprehend well enough to voice as she gripped onto her Lord Voldemort as if she was gripping on to life itself.
"No." he said firmly, closing his eyes as he felt the witch jump slightly in his embrace, "You are mine."
He held the sobbing witch, letting her battle herself as she clung to him. He would destroy those who had put his Bella in such a state, who had taken away his faithful servant and returned her a maddened wreck. Though first, he needed to focus on repairing the broken witch before him. He would bring his Bella back to him.