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Lord Voldemort dined alone in a private but lofty room in whicever manor the Death Eaters happened to be staying in. His presence was welcomed by few in Malfoy Manor, as many were merely acting on his orders out of fear. Bellatrix Lestrange frowned upon the likes of these people, reaping every small and exhilarating pleasure from the presence of her Dark Lord. With every curt nod of acknowledgement to her, she felt her heart skip a beat, and at these moments, she realized that it had still been beating at all. She did, in fact, still have a reason to stay alive, besides all the exciting but superficial joys of Muggle hunting and rampages. She loved him unconditionally, knowing he would never love her in return, and in case she ever did want him to, even for a brief moment that could (and might be) her last, she had taken the necessary measures to ensure that this would be possible.

On rare occasions, Lord Voldemort would ask his most devoted lieutenant to dine with him, and during the time the Death Eaters were based at Malfoy Manor, he chose to invite her into the study where he would be eating. "My Lord," she gasped in gratitude, but he held up a silencing finger, leading her to the other side of the mansion and through a door, which he proceeded to lock.

At this point, most reasonable people would begin to suspect foul play, but Bellatrix, like anyone in love, was not a reasonable woman. She proceeded to accept the sickly-tasting, deep red wine he offered her with not so much of a wince. It had the color and consistency of blood and most people would revolt at the sight of it, but Bellatrix accepted, as she would accept anything from Lord Voldemort. The food was no better, dry and tasteless, and her goblet was refilled with what she suspected was snake milk, but again, she had no objection. The occasional, quieted utterance of "My Lord" issued across their table, and, finally, Voldemort looked up at her, penatrating her dark eyes with his own red ones, red for power, strength, and blood.

"Bella." She'd gotten what she wanted. The Dark Lord never spoke a word to her on their brief suppers together other than stating her name. She nearly hyperventilated; it was the most beautiful sound she could have heard. This time, however, there was not calm appreciation in his tone, but accusation, and what's more, he continued speaking. "My most faithful servant...never have you denied your loyalties." Bellatrix's expression was still one of glazed admiration, drinking in her master's cold voice like snake milk: it sounded like a threat was soon to come, but it was from him, and therefore she took it with appreciation, even obsession. "And would I be correct in saying that you, Bella, have never lied to me?"

At once, Bellatrix snapped into a state of alertness. "M-my lord -- n-never," she stuttered. "I work for your noble cause, I've devoted my life to you--"

"That's enough, Bella," Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix jumped in her seat as he rolled a vial of clear liquid toward her. "What is this?"

For the longest time, she was silent. She had never lied to her lord, and she wasn't going to start now, but she dared not reveal that the vial now laying before her contained a love potion. "Where--where did you--?" she stammered.

"Your quarters. Do not deny your cononsiderations of using this on me. Lord Voldemort always knows."

"I--" Bellatrix began to protest. Was it a sin to want to be loved, she wondered. Tears began to stream down her face, falling in heavy drops to the floor, to which her eyes were shamefully glued. "I might've considered it, yes," she choked out.

"I should torture you for this." Bellatrix's tears becams sobs, as she couldn't deny the truth of his statement.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she said with a tremor in her voice, sinking out of her seat and to her knees. "I've...I've failed you..."

"No." Voldemort said, the accusation in his voice slackening. He strode over to Bellatrix and tilted her head back into place so that she was looking him in the face by means of the Imperius Curse. Tears still poured from her dark eyes, and if shining black hadn't been forced to meet startling crimson, she couldn't have brought herself to look at him.

"Stop crying." Her sadness and disgust with herself remained, but with a fimal gasp her sobs cut off. "Lord Voldemort rewards his followers. You, Bella, have been faithful, you have never renounced the old ways...I don't beileve you would ever intend to cause me distress...tell me, Bella, what would you do if I performed the Cruciatus Curse on you?"

"Scream," Bellatrix replied shakily. Her voice was hollow now, her body becoming tense, waiting to be punished.

"Really?" Voldemort inquired. "This will not have been the final straw? You will not seek vengance? It will not turn you against me?" Bellatrix shook her head vigorously. "You are faithful. Lord Voldemort rewards his followers. Give me the potion, Bella."

Bellatrix gaped in shock. She couldn't be hearing correctly. Her eyes widened, unable to take in what she was hearing. Perhaps she was underestimating herself, she dared ponder: she was Voldemort's most faithful Death Eater, and the rewards he offered were great...

"Give me the potion," he repeated impatiently. "Imperio!" Her shaky hand was forced to drop the vial into the Dark Lord's hand. He strode over to his meal again and uncorked the vial, pouring its contents into his drink.

That evening was artificial, induced, fake. The Dark Lord would never love Bellatrix, though he kissed her passionately and whispered words of affection in her ear. She held him in return, responding to his needs, rather distraught by the reversing of power between the two. Before long, the two of them were lying on the floor and staring at the cieling, breathing hard and barely clothed. Voldemort cupped Bellatrix's hand in his own, letting her feel his warmth against her skin. It was rather uncharacteristic of him, and, without warning, Bellatrix began crying again. Something still didn't feel right: she would have accepted this, or anything, for that matter, from the Dark Lord, but this wasn't the Dark Lord she was sleeping with, but a product of a love potion.

He'd taken the potion willingly, she reminded herself. For her. As her crying ceased, she was grateful he hadn't noticed it and continued to run a hand along the side of her body. He'd done it for her. Maybe, dictated the most miniscule and feeble ray of hope, he did care for her after all.

A/N: Sorry for my prolonged abscence, everyone, I just started high school. Please review!