Lucius Malfoy stirred fitfully in his sleep. He was dreaming, dreaming of snakes and signs and masks. He dreamed he knelt before a man with eyes like blood and skin like snow. Bellatrix was there. She laughed and called him her brother, then exclaimed "Crucio!" and laughed harder as he writhed in agony on the floor. He felt as though he had screamed and struggled for hours when the pain was finally relieved. She knelt and drew him into her lap as though she was his mother and not his tormentor, and kissed the sensitive skin of his left forearm with her moist, blood-red lips. His arm burned like fire until a mark appeared. A dark mark…
He sat up in bed, cold sweat dripping down his naked body.
Bellatrix Black. The Dark Mark. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…
Malfoy did not believe in Prophesy, but he believed in the power of persuasion. And slowly but surely, he was being persuaded into becoming a member of the Dark Lord's Army.
He had avoided the call until now. All of his friends and acquaintances had accepted the call, and he alone waited. He wanted to be certain he was a part of the winning side. For while he wholeheartedly supported the eventual extermination of the mudbloods, he knew the consequences of failure. And consequences were not something Lucius Malfoy dealt with much.
He steadied his breathing and looked over at the sleeping form of his wife, her pale and exposed back elegantly curving until it disappeared beneath the sheets. He was glad he had not awakened her. She was a fine wife, and a suitable wife. He admired her, respected her, enjoyed her company. Not to mention the fact that she was exquisitely beautiful and he desired her as was to be expected. He did not love her. She was his partner. No more. Perhaps someday she would become more, but not yet.
He slid from between the satin sheets and threw on a robe of black satin. He was troubled and sitting still in bed would not conquer his restlessness. His mind seemed to echo with a snake's hissing that penetrated his thoughts and make him wander, wander as a man wanders when he is in search of something, something hard to find but existing in his own flesh.
Would he become a death eater? His time was running out.
He headed down the sweeping staircase of the manor, his quilted slippers scuffing on the steps, but when he reached the bottom step he stopped in confusion.
Someone had lit a fire in the drawing room.
Lucius looked around the foyer for his walking staff, which doubled as an instrument of punishment. His wand lay on the bedside table upstairs.
"I'll beat the senses out of that house elf." He angrily muttered to himself, striding into the room.
But Doby was not who he found there.
Sitting on the floor, curled up with a fire poker like a common servant before the fire, was Bellatrix Black.
Lucius was not deceived by her demure positioning. Bellatrix tapped her wand musingly to her lips, with the expression of a woman choosing between lilies or roses, though Lucius knew she was choosing between Imperiusing him into roasting his own limbs in the fire, or Crucioing him until he wept for her mercy. She looked up at him with her onyx eyes and smiled like a cobra to a mouse. "Good evening, dear brother."
Lucius couldn't help but shiver at the reminder of the dream. "Bellatrix. To what do I owe the pleasure of this…uniquely timed visit?"
Lucius was terrified of her, to be sure. But something about her stirred him strangely. Merlin, she was beautiful. Not beautiful like Narcissa, who was like a Grecian statue in winter, beautiful, cold, and aloof, no, Bellatrix was alive. She had a predatory gleam in her eyes, firelight in her hair, and passion in her body. Where Narcissa was ice, her sister blazed like a forest fire. Wild. Incredible.
Completely out of control.
She rose smoothly to her feet, and Lucius realized how short she was, especially compared to her sister, who almost matched his own six feet. She looked up at him calmly, smiling with her lips but snarling with her eyes.
"Can't a woman visit her own family? Besides, it is not that late, Lucius. We are creatures of night, are we not?"
Lucius felt a desperate longing for his wand.
Bellatrix knew his thoughts as he nervously flexed his long fingers. Her eyes narrowed. "What is the matter, dear brother? Don't you trust your own kin?" She pointed her wand down at him, straight between his eyes.
"Muffliato." She intoned.
Lucius dove toward her in a panic, but she sidestepped him with the ease of practice. "Bellatrix, NO!"
"Crucio."
There it was, the pain like a thousand hot knives, peeling the skin from his muscles, ripping the flesh from his bones, crushing the tissues inside his skull.
He screamed and twisted, doubling himself up against the pain, though he knew it didn't make any difference. He thought of the muffling spell, preventing Narcissa from waking, and suddenly he felt a surge of hatred for his bride, sleeping soundly as he suffered…
Then abruptly the pain stopped. The only sound was his tortured breathing as he came back to reality. He was looking at a pair of red stilettos that fit on dark, shapely legs that disappeared into the red skirt of her gown. Lucius realized suddenly that she had not changed from the wedding reception.
"Stand, Malfoy."
He obeyed, struggling, and met her wicked gaze.
"Feeling different about the ancient house of Black, are we?" She said softly, daring him to suggest otherwise.
Lucius looked down at her. He had not seen her very closely at the ceremony or the celebration that followed. Bellatrix had made herself known, but took no pains to speak to the happy couple, only doing what was required of her. She had no love for her sister. She had no love for anyone. That Lucius could understand. Her hair was loose now, she had most likely let it down while enjoying the spectacle of her vengeance, and it flowed like black water around her face. She was like the antithesis of Narcissa. Where his wife was thin, she was strong and curved the way a woman of thirty should be, and she was dark as Narcissa was fair. Her eyes were heavy and thickly lashed where Narcissa had pale lashes over her light, icy blue eyes, and the power with which she carried herself, in Merlin's name…
Lucius felt numb with shock, realizing how strangely alike he and this woman were, no matter how different they appeared.
"Tell me Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Have you ever loved?"
