Disclaimer: Hardly any of this is mine. If I were J.K. I certainly wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
So I'm taking a bit of liberty with this, since we don't know when Bella and Roddie (as I like to call him) got married, and when they joined up with Voldemort. I'm going with the latter occurring first, since Rowling stated that Bella married him out of duty.
Rated for, what I consider, strong themes of sexuality. If you think you might not like it, don't read.
The Tells of Blood
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Rodolphus Lestrange had paced the floor of his quarters for what seemed like an infinite amount of time before realizing he was doing so. Every now and then, he took out his wand to extinguish the lights, thinking this would finally be the moment when he would lay down in the luxurious bed – the bed which would tomorrow become his marriage bed – and sleep would finally claim him. God knew he needed it. But he would only end up muttering the spell that would light the candles once more and continue pacing, for it was a habit he did when he was frustrated; and had caught himself pacing quite a bit in the last few days.
Bellatrix Black was, by all standards, an exquisite beauty; an exceptional witch; and a member of one of the oldest, pureblood families in the Wizarding community. She could have had any man she wanted, of any lineage. Of course, she was expected to marry another pureblood, and this was where he came in. He had to admit he'd had his eye on her for some time, since they were at Hogwarts together. When her sister Narcissa had married Lucius Malfoy the previous year, there had been increased pressure on Bella to also find a suitable husband; 'suitable' being the key word, since her family had enjoyed the scandal of Andromeda Black's marriage to a Muggle-born. When he'd asked permission from her parents, he could not miss the look of joy in their faces that at least two of their daughters would have acceptable husbands.
And he was more than acceptable. He looked down upon the dresser to see the ring he would tomorrow place on her finger; a large diamond dominated the center of the piece, with tiny, ornate rubies surrounding it. To Muggles and most Wizards, it would have been priceless. Not only could the Lestranges afford such a piece, but his ancestor had killed the goblin he'd commissioned it from, just to prevent the creature from enacting his supposed 'rights' of ownership over it. The ring, figuratively, had blood on it, which was a point of interest for people like them. Blood will tell, he thought. There was nothing more important than blood to a Slytherin.
By all reasons, he should have been happy; it was a good match, and both families were pleased with the prospects. She was beautiful, even, which was not always a common trait in some pureblood families, and at this thought he remembered the face of a female Goyle classmate. It was only because of a moment earlier that week that he paced now. One of the things he'd noticed most about Bella - that he couldn't have failed to notice – was that she seemed to always be aware of whether or not she was being watched, and acted accordingly. When he watched her through the doorway of a room, he would see her looking lovingly upon the ring he'd given her, stroking it like she would the head of a babe. Sometimes she would look up at him and smile, to let him know that she knew he was there. Sometimes not.
But it happened one day, as she was out walking on the grounds, and he watching her through a window on an upper-floor, that he saw her carefully remove the ring as she sat upon the grassy ground. He thought maybe she would be doing some activity that would get her hands dirty, as she also removed the white, dainty gloves, and she'd wanted to keep the ring in its pristine state; but instead, the attention that he'd seen her give to the ring was bestowed upon the dark skull tattoo on her arm. The ring sat forgotten in the grass, and she ran her fingers upon the tattoo like it was the very pulse by which her heart beat.
It was a short moment, and once she was no longer alone she quickly slipped the ring on her finger, fitting the glove on as Narcissa ran up to her in greeting. As though it never happened. And since then, he'd wished he hadn't seen it happen. Better to be ignorant and happy with his bride then to know her affections weren't completely his.
He threw back the covers, finally, and waved his wand to bring on darkness in the room; he didn't feel like sleeping and probably wouldn't for some time still. But tomorrow was important. Tomorrow would tell.
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The blood had told that night.
He got up from the bed almost as soon as she'd fallen asleep, and found a robe with which to cover his sweaty form. He turned around to look upon the naked form of his wife, asleep in his bed. The paleness of her body contrasted highly against the dark-green velvet of the bedcovers, which looked black with the lack of light. But even in this darkness, her body seemed to shine as though lit by a glorious flame within, and she looked more beautiful now than she had earlier that day.
He'd heard of the term 'blushing bride,' and before this night might have attributed it to his new wife. She had been a shy and humble thing during most of the ceremony; she spoke the vows perfectly and calmly, and kissed him so lightly that she might as well not have. But, of course, they were among their family and friends, and anything more than the most modest kiss would have been unacceptable.
When they were alone in his quarters, it had been different. Even though it was her first time, she acted without inhibitions, as though through some innate knowledge she knew exactly what to do and how to please him. Of course, to be fair, he had proven himself just as knowledgeable as her. One minute, he had her saying his name so softly that he wasn't sure he even heard it; the next, she was shouting it to the heavens, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the servants in the lower levels of the manor had heard it.
Throughout the entire day, she'd been perfect; the meek bride before their parents, and the passionate lover with him now. There was only one flaw, and it was so miniscule he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. During their lovemaking, for a fleeting moment he thought he'd heard the first syllables of his name cross her lips. But she caught herself, and promptly made sure to scream his name in ecstasy from then on. She, like most Death Eaters, was constantly on guard, and made sure not reveal any of her tells.
In sleep, though, she was unguarded, and unabashed. Lying starkly upon the bed, she did nothing to hide her nudity. She smiled sweetly in her sleep, and he noticed the tiniest motion as the finger upon which her wedding ring now sat lightly caressed the skull on her arm. Like earlier, though, he couldn't be sure if he'd imagined it or not. But the smile could not be missed, and he wondered if it were he that she dreamed of so fervently. He decided, after some time, that it probably didn't matter. She would never be with him, even if she wanted to. He valued her as a servant, not as a lover. It was not hard for him to decipher this fact.
Even Lord Voldemort has his tells.