I know that this moment is hardly likely to happen, but I've tried to keep it as realistic as possible. It's pretty obvious that Bellatrix, in some strange way, lusts after Voldemort, and I think he has a tiny soft spot for her too, so I thought this would be an interesting fic to write. Please tell me what you think.
Malfoy Manor was silent at this time of night. The Deatheaters had gone home or had left to pursue their assigned missions, leaving Lucius, Narcissa, and their son Draco to retire to their beds and attempt to sleep. Only two people remained awake in the vast, spectacular manor. Bellatrix Lestrange was sauntering down the halls like she owned the place, inspecting her sisters house and wishing how she had one like it. She passed the doorway to the drawing room and caught sight of a figure illuminated eerily by the light of the fire crackling in the grate.
"Master?" She whispered, stepping in to the room. Voldemort was sat in one of the velvet armchairs, his hands draped over the ends of its arms. His pale skin seemed to gleam in this light and he stared with an unnerving intensity at flames of the fire.
"Bellatrix," He said softly. Bellatrix was relieved that her presence seemed, if not completely welcomed, at least tolerated by her master.
"My lord," Bellatrix said gently, she walked around to the back of the arm chair and rested her arms on the back of it, letting her head droop on her arms so that it bobbed just inches above Voldemort's. Bellatrix knew that her closeness was risky but found that she could not resist such movement. "You seem tired," She said.
"Not tired, Bellatrix," Voldemort replied, "Simply weary."
"Weary of what, exactly, master?" Bellatrix asked. He wasn't objecting to her being there at all, and Bellatrix was enjoying the moment. There was nobody else around and she had him all to herself, and now, it seemed, the Dark Lord was about to confide in her.
"Of people. It seems that even the simplest of orders are near impossible for some to carry out these days," Voldemort sighed.
"I can help," Bellatrix said, her voice now pleading, "Tell me what it is you require, master. I shall see that it is done."
Voldemort laughed though there was no amusement in the sound, the laughter was cold and it echoed around the room. "Always so eager to please, Bellatrix. Tell me, what is it you are wishing to gain?" He asked.
And, without thinking, Bellatrix said the words that came to her mind, "Your love," She muttered. As soon as she said the words they seemed to hang in the air, ringing like bells, echoing like the laughter. She deeply wished that she hadn't said it all.
"Love," Voldemort repeated quietly after a while.
"Forgive me, my Lord," Bellatrix whispered. She threw herself to the ground beside the arm chair, bowing her head.
Slowly Voldemort reached out and his hand rested on hers. He skimmed his icy fingers across her smooth flesh, revelling in her softness and her warmth. Bellatrix didn't dare move, she was finding the moment too hard to comprehend. She had pictured a moment like this for so long, and now it was happening she was wondering if it was even happening at all.
"Love," Voldemort said again, as if he was hearing the word for the first time. His voice was barely a whisper now.
And then, just as Bellatrix was beginning to relax against his touch, he snatched his hand away and turned his head, waving his hand to banish her. Bellatrix immediately stood and walked from the room, her heart beating erratically against her chest.