C H A P T E R T W O.
Two brisk, barely audible knocks were harshly forced upon the door as Bellatrix's stone cold eyes scanned her surroundings uneasily, an expression which suggested Bella was indeed not prepared to be spotted.
It took a while for the door to open, the shrill creaking of the rusty hinges seemed to rattle through the whole road in a tremendous echo, which broke crisply the silence like the crack of a nut.
"Move it." Bellatrix's voice did not fail to express the sneer which would be undoubtedly spread across her face as she harshly addressed Wormtail. The horrible, plump man stooped almost immediately at the command. Severus had trained him well; of which had become justice considering his old meddling ways.
There was no hesitation as Bellatrix pushed past the door, sparing the backwards glance and she strode through the dark, dampened hallway.
"Severus."
"Bella."
Snape's drone seemed that of a comfort to Bellatrix, a voice of which held trust in one of the most absurd ways. Never before would she ever have considered even looking at the grease ball for anything, only was it a few weeks since she had argued her sister against even coming to the Wizard's home for anything, despite the desperation of which Narcissa held.
"You have been expecting me?"
Bellatrix held her tone strong, her painfully pale features glinting in the dim light which soaked through the rows of books forming the lounge of which the Potions Master awaited. His back was turned, facing into the fireplace which held succumbed coal beneath the slowly dying flames, occasionally flickering back to life as though hanging on to every inch of spare oxygen they could endure.
Bellatrix could only see Snape's pallor skin through the rounded mirror above the mantle, although his features reflected somewhat blurred and frosty under the blanket of dust which layered the glass.
"Dear Bellatrix… The signs of unease you have brought in your presence with the Dark Lord could not be in any inch clearer, if it was to be possible. I have a fair idea of why you are here, although my judgement… could be wrong."
Snape spoke quick, all in one sharp intake of breath as though every single work had been somehow rehearsed in heed for an impeccable speech. His dull tones seemed never changing, a blankness which held no visible emotion whatsoever, a monotone lifeless creature who merely held words as a replacement for soul.
"Severus, why don't you tell me why I am here?"
Bellatrix's tome was challenging, a sneer obvious as she awaited through the silence which followed.
"You are in denial."
"Denial of which, are you speaking Severus?"
The witches voice contained an unnerved tone, a weakness which seemed to linger deep under, awaiting its cue to streak through into her distraughtly pale expression any moment. Bellatrix would not allow her emotions over come her. Never, had she been one to show her true colours, her true self under the harsh and dark life of which she had lived serving the Dark Lord for as long as she could remember. Masking had come something of a second nature, it seemed absurd to even consider life in another perspective. Yet, such thoughts had become and absurdity of which Bellatrix had begun to grow fonder of.
"Denial…"
At this, Snape turned to face Bellatrix, his expression remained a blank canvas, a canvas of which the female could have painted any type of art, yet never to come to a incisive decision of which correct expression to choose.
"…Of the Dark Lord."
The words left Snape's mouth without even the slightest of twinge from his blue toned lips.
