Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, I'd be rich, and I'm not, so there you go.
Poisonous
At ten o'clock in the evening on a cold winter's night, Spinner's End was deserted, save for a stray dog scavenging in a dark alley. Most of the houses—shacks, comprising the labyrinth of worn brick were completely dark, except one. Severus Snape's home, or temporary place of residence, as he preferred to think of it, had one light on, and his visitor took this as a good sign. The hooded figure walked silently up the path leading to the door, which had once been painted a dark red. Long fingers peeled off a shard of paint, let it crumble into flakes before wrapping slender fingers around the heavy brass knocker. She rapped once, twice as an afterthought. Bellatrix Lestrange was not one to be kept waiting.
She heard footsteps approaching the door, and pulled the hood of her clock up high. Recognizing the Death Eater's mask as she knew he would, Severus Snape unlocked his door.
"Crucio!"
The curse hit him hard, and completely caught of guard, he fell to the ground, writing in agony. Bellatrix stepped over him and admired her handiwork. Smiling, she held her wand over his face, watching his eyes plead with hers. "Finite Incantatum."
Supporting himself on the arm of a threadbare sofa, Snape shakily got to his feet and looked at his assailant. With the hood removed, he realized who had cursed him, for no good reason, in the threshold of his own house: her black hair was parted in the middle and hung like curtains, lankly framing her pale face. Black eyes burned under darkly lined lids, but her lips were as full and red as the last time he'd seen her, thirteen years previously.
"Hello, Trixa. To what do I owe this…" he sneered, "pleasure?"