She was the Devil's daughter. And she had come to play.
[This is set during The Half Blood Prince. We open the evening after Bellatrix and Narcissa have visited Severus at Spinners End. I'm not sure yet how far after the book I plan to take this, but this story details the events of HBP from the side of Lord Voldemort and his followers.
There will be blood, torture, probably sex and all manner of dark, incestuous debauchery. You have been warned. This is a dark story. ]
Chapter one.
The night was still. The air held remnants of ice, moving silently over the grass verge and down into the valley. Beside a moss-covered rock, a red fox paused, one foot frozen misstep as ears twitched rapidly, frantically listening for sounds of life. For a moment, none came. The grass froze, the fox held a breath.
Then a scream pierced the night.
The fox bolted. Half a metre down the slope a white flash hit it head on. A strangled yelp, a gasp – then, blood.
Silence fell once more.
A moment passed. The wilted carcass pumped streams of blood, black as night, onto the grass. It dripped like a perverse waterfall, avoiding the sharp blades of grass.
A step and a broken twig cracked through the night. A figure bent down. Long, dark, feminine curls dipped in the animals life for a moment as the figure observed the dead. Another whimper, and the woman turned abruptly, returning her attention to the place she had ventured from.
Feet away from the fox stood a large oak tree, branches leafless and bare from the autumn passed. Bound to the tree was a young woman, her fair hair melted to her face by sweat. When the hooded female approached, she gave another moan of fear, squinting blood shot eyes as though sheer will could wish her free.
The cloaked woman laughed, guttural and perverse. She leant down, forcing the young woman's face up at an awkward angle, straining her neck. "I will ask you a final time," she hissed, voice rich with unrestrained fury. "Is he a spy?"
Beneath the binds, the woman shook. "I don't know, I swear I don't know." Sobs wracked her body and she was unable to speak, resigned to the knowledge no amount of promises would spare her fate. In a flash, a sharp dagger pressed into the soft skin of her neck, slicing it just shy of the artery. Blood pooled in her collar bone, the warmth little contest to the ice that was prevalent in her torturers eyes.
"You will answer me." It was an order, an expectation, rather than a statement. "Do you know who I am? What I'm capable of?" Best she could, the blonde nodded. "Say my name. Say it!"
"Bellatrix Lestrange," came the strangled reply. "Please, I swear I –" A red flash hit her chest and she screamed for a moment before blackness enveloped her.
Panting from exertion and arousal, Bellatrix released her hold of the woman, letting the dagger catch a drop of blood as she pulled away. She sneered at the woman, knowing all too well what she was capable of doing to her. It was always more fun when they were conscious.
Behind her, a tell-tale 'snap' marked an arrival, and she knew who to expect before she turned to him. Fenir Greyback could smell traitor-blood a mile off. As he approached, she brought the dagger up to her mouth, tongue darting out to lap up a drop of the thick fluid. It coated her full lips and she knew he'd be watching. It was the game they played.
"She's a pretty one, Bella," he growled, the animalistic quality he retained even in human form was always darkly arousing to her. "Or was before you got started."
Quietly, she tutted. "Blood can be… stimulating," Bellatrix offered, the corners of her lips pulling up as she watched his eyes dart from the battered female to her and the droplets of red that adorned her chest and neck.
Fenir simply grunted an approval.
"Besides," she continued turning to the bound girl, "she almost looks like Cissy." And with that, Bellatrix dipped her head, pressing her lips to the woman's neck, tasting the blood and sweat that lingered by her pulse. "Tastes like scum, though. You can have her." A smirk was flashed up at the werewolf and she felt the woman stir a little beneath her.
"Heard you paid Snape a visit this afternoon," Fenir said, voice dark and gravely in the silent air. "Pettigrew told me. Eavesdropping is his only talent. Didn't know you kept such company, Bellatrix."
She glared, fingers tightening around her wand. Abruptly, she stood, marching towards him without lowering her eyes. "You know full well how I feel about that half-blood. It was purely business." Hatred burned within her. "He has his uses. If he wants to play the willing sacrifice, so be it. But I'm not going to celebrate his attempts at bravery like Narcissa."
Fenir laughed. "You sister was a fool to go there. And you, following her, risking the favour of your dear Master." Again, he let out a grunt as a spark formed at the end of her wand. "Found you heart have you, Bella? You always would do anything for your sister and her boy, but risking the dark lord's cause?"
"You are not in a position to be judging me, half-breed," the witch spat, flicking her wand up to rest at his breastbone. "The only reason my master has not killed you yet is that I told him of your service and assistance. You'd do well to remember that."
Fenir backed down, though anger radiated from him. Around them, the air fell still as thought fearing the dark witch's temper. "What's she for?" he asked, finally, gesturing to the captive.
Distracted from her rage, Bellatrix turned back to her victim, smiling slightly at the sight. "I don't trust Snape," came her only explanation. "Is he still at the manor?"
"No, he left when I did. The Dark Lord is telling Draco his orders. Marking him."
"Jealous?" she asked, referring to the mark she knew he didn't hold.
Fenir ignored her. "You should go. Tonight is a big night for him."
With a snap, Bellatrix apparated into the courtyard of Malfoy Manor, savouring the cool crispness of the night that seemingly followed her everywhere. The stone statues and figurines cast eerie shadows over the grass and paving, and the witch glared at them silently, as though daring them to step up and challenge her. Since her escape from Azkaban, she spent as much time as she could manage outside, free with the elements. It was common for her to take victims and people of interest to isolated meadows and remote lakes to experience the thrill of the outdoors and relish in the screams that could radiate so freely.
It was revitalizing.
The thought of returning to Azkaban was frightening, though she wouldn't admit that. The memories of her time there played on her mind almost constantly. There was little release. She longed for a quiet mind.
Taking a breath, she pushed the hood of her cloak down and moved towards the big oak door north west of the largest statue. A smell of smoke and wine met her, and she anticipated a large crowd.