A/N: This is going to be a collection of drabbles featuring various pairings for different challenges/competitions on HPFC. All drabbles will be 394 words exactly because... I said so. ;) The characters aren't mine; I just play with them.


The afternoon sun peeks through the curtains of Severus' dingy flat, and he throws his arm over his face, his elbow an effective barrier between him and his bedmate. Bellatrix isn't the sort of woman one would want to be pressed against. She's all sharp angles, usually hidden beneath billowing robes that are currently in a heap on his floor.

"You're bleeding," she observes, her thumb wiping a small cut on his chest.

"An apology would be nice," he says, for it's her doing. He is all too familiar with the bite of her fingernails against his skin and the way they leave comet trails of pink across the pale canvas of his chest.

"You like it though," she says lazily.

He supposes this is true. A glutton for punishment, she'd called him once. A true masochist.

"We ought to have kept working," Severus says, attempting to change the subject. "You feel too much."

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, getting up to reach for her robes.

"I mean it," Severus continues, sitting up. "You haven't been practicing. I can tell. Occlumency takes discipline. It's about time you learned some discipline instead of dishing it out on me."

"You've seen enough already," she says stormily. "I have a mind to stop coming 'round. You just want more things to use against me. It's sick the way you do that. I bet you don't want to teach me anything."

"And all you want to do is fuck," he retorts.

He's on his feet now, and she comes to stand before him. She is his equal in height and they are practically nose to nose. Her breath is hot on his cheek and he wants to turn away in disgust but he isn't one to back down. It's what keeps her coming back. She likes the challenge.

"I wonder what it's like," she says after a few moments and reaches out to trace the wound she inflicted earlier with her finger. "I wonder what it's like to not feel. To be like you. To be so... heartless."

He closes his eyes, hears her laugh on her way out the door, and it makes his skin crawl. He wishes it were possible to truly not feel, to not know the shame and humiliation of being called heartless by Bellatrix Lestrange of all people.

But Merlin knows he deserves it.