Chapter Six

Playing With Fire

I think everyone around me was under some kind of false sense of happiness, because I couldn't understand how anyone could be so damn happy. I had never been happy, even before my years as a Death Eater. I should have been happy as a child, with a mother who loves me and a step father and sister that could have passed as my own blood family.

My wand was being twisted in my left hand. It felt like an extension of my arm; like it belonged there. It spun lithely in my fingers as though it had a mind of its own.

"Blood hell, woman!" Nymphadora exclaimed loudly, causing many people to turn our way. I cast her a bored look, slightly surprised that she had gone out of her way to talk to me. Especially when her new husband was standing a mere foot away looking more lonely than I.

"I swear, you should have learned to play an instrument or something," my sister chuckled, staring at my hands – which had paused their mindless spinning. I smirked up at her and conveniently left out the small fact that I could play the piano. It was a trait that seemed to be mandatory for all pureblood females, because each that I associated with had at least a basic knowledge for the instrument. I myself was absolutely terrible at it – I had initially only learned because my aunt had been going on about the unkemptness of my poor, pureblood soul, and how it should be rectified as quickly as possible. ...That had been back when I'd moved out of my mother's home during seventh year.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked, when it became obvious that I wasn't going to reply to her previous statement. I glanced at her, and she seemed to realize how rude she sounded. She hurried to amend herself, "I mean, you don't usually come to every meeting – "

I shrugged, and Nymphadora fell silent as she regarded me. Finally, I spoke, though my words sounded groggy and vague, "I just...needed to do something."

Because lately I've been doing nothing. I'd apparate here and there during the day. Sometimes I'd go meet with Dolohov and talk about our assignment with him; sometimes I'd go see if Severus was home and annoy him for a while if he agreed to grant me entrance to his home. But later on, after busying myself as much as possible, I'd return home feeling just as awful as I did when I'd left that morning. I do my normal routine – throw something together for dinner, take a shower while it cooked, and eat it in front of the stupid Muggle TV that I should have despised. Then after I was done, I'd try and convince myself that I did despise it, because it was a Muggle product, and in the end I'd only realize I was fooling myself and go to bed early. Usually I'd get lost in nightmares during the night, though after five years, I was used to it.

Nymphadora gave me a pitying look and I, in turn, glanced away.

"Maybe...you'd like to come see our new apartment? We're refurnishing it right now, but it's nearly done."

By 'our', I figured she meant Remus and her. I did not miss the look she sent toward her new beau, and felt myself sinking deeper into the biting guilt that was tearing me apart. I knew I could not trample upon anyone else's good mood. I shook my head and gave her a whisper of a smile – the largest one I had managed since I could remember. I was about to say something when I realized the mark on my forearm was itching dreadfully. I had come to understand it's strange powers over the last few years, and knew that the fact that it was itching was not a good thing. I jerked from my seat, enclosed one hand instinctively over my clothed mark, and didn't even remember to send my sister a look as I muttered, "Got to go...owl you later..." before I was off with a loud pop, being my characteristic, mysterious self once again.

When the Dark Mark was bothering me, it was either because the Dark Lord was experiencing a sudden and immense bout of sadistic pleasure, or a sudden and intense bout of terrifying hatred. Which was why I was a tad bit relieved, for only if the Mark was wiggling was there any cause for alarm...or eminent death. Anyway, another power of the Dark Mark was that it conveniently apparated us Death Eaters to the place we were needed. Which was why, not ten seconds later, I found myself careening forward into a room that I was quite familiar with.

Malfoy Manor was a scary place at night, but in a way, it was even scarier during the day. I knew what I'd be handling during nighttime hours – I knew what was expected of me, and how I should act. But during the afternoon, it was like there was a mask shrouding everything, and I wasn't positive it I should be play the part of the gentle pureblood aristocrat or the callous Death Eater. I tried to find a middle ground and began looking around.

I was in the foyer of the manor, which was in and of itself, absolutely grand. It was like a museum. For anyone else, I'm sure they would have stopped and stared. But I already knew that the gold on the staircase railing was real, and that the paintings above the fireplace were bought straight from the Louvre. My eyes slid over everything as quickly as I could before I realized that there was no one here. That sent up the red flag.

I reached into my cloak and produced my wand, gripping it tightly in my left hand as I stepped forward. My footsteps were muffled as I walked. I'd just gotten to the doorway of the sitting room when something made a grab at my neck, and my wand was being thrown forward in intrinsic deftness.

My breath caught in my throat when I realized that I had my wand pressed against my uncle's throat, and that he was leering at me from the mere three inches of space between us. A scowl began dominating my face, but it washed away as quickly as it had come when a cold voice spoke up.

"You see? She's as quick as a snake. A fitful bride, for any man," he claimed, drifting his gaze over me taut figure with a raised brow, "Though I suppose Belladonna could use some refining still. That's where you come in."

My eyes snapped to the man whom he was speaking to. By now, Rodolphus had stepped back, and my wand fell uselessly to my side, fingers still clutching it tightly.

The man was sitting very straight. His eyes were turned toward me, studying me from my shiny black shoes to my tangled mess of black curls. He was pale, and blonde. I wondered if he was related to the Malfoys somehow, for he seemed to have the same frigid eyes as they did.

"Come into the room, Belladonna," the Dark Lord drawled, and I did. I stepped toward the pair, only just noticing that there were a few others in the room as well. Bellatrix was standing beside her husband, glowering at me. There were a few others, but that was it. My face remained impassive as I stopped beside Voldemort.

"This is Silvius Couteau. He intends to marry you."

Shock immediately bolted through my system. I turned to stare at Silvius, and decided that any man would love to be wed to him. He was handsome, with high cheeks and a straight nose. But his eyes...his eyes were cold, as though there was an ever present barrier between him and everyone else. His lips curved into a sneer.

"I suppose you'll do," he said curtly, and turned away from me to address Voldemort. I did not like how he brushed me off, but refrained from doing anything violent to the man. After all, I was not very surprised about my newest predicament. Bellatrix married very soon after she graduated from Hogwarts, as did Narcissus and my own mother. Pureblood women got married, and that was final. I decided that it didn't matter that much anyway – I was going to die soon, so who cared whom I was married to? As long as he was handsome and left me alone, I could live. And it seemed as though Silvius had both those traits, for he was now conversing with the Dark Lord and ignoring me completely.

"Silvius, you say?" I callously interrupted, and inwardly smirked as the man straightened his back and sent his glacier eyes to glare at me. I walked toward him, circling his chair and studying him up and down, just as he had done to me, "Well...I suppose you'll do as well."

My snarky comment made him scowl, but the Dark Lord didn't seem very angry – for which I was relieved. Voldemort chuckled, and at the sound of it, Silvius calmed.

"Yes, well, a bit refining will do her good," he sniffed, and turned away. I was immediately reminded of a small child who didn't get his way, and had to fight down a smirk as it invaded my face.

This Silvius would be fun to play around with, but I had no intention of letting him become more than just the face of a man who happened to live with me. After all, being a husband and a lover were two completely different things – two things that I didn't think I'd achieve before I died.

"Silvius Couteau, hmm?" Severus asked, standing beside me on the Quidditch pitch. Players were zooming around above our heads, quaffles were being thrown here and there, and overall it was a rather distracting and dangerous area to be having a private conversation.

But since I hadn't spoken to my old professor in weeks, he decided to drop by and go over some last minute plans with me. They all centered around the distant yet frightening annual Ministry Ball that was coming up. Granted, it was still months away, but it was such a large event that it needed to be addressed and planned out ahead of time. And for Severus Snape, one could never be too early.

"Mmhmm. He's the most stuck up prat I've ever met. Well...maybe besides Lucious Malfoy," I added for good measure, and leaned back on my spot on the bleachers. My face was transposed in an all too familiar scowl that Severus knew well.

Snape made a noise and I turned my scowling face in his direction. He glared right back at me, "I remember hearing that surname before. His family is from Southern France, and he's a very influential man. A very bad choice to cross paths with him. Be careful."

I waved his warning off with one lazy right hand and sighed. My gaze drifted to the flying yellow and blue streaks, and landed on one particular man who was guarding the goal hoops with an intensity that made my head spin.

"Whatever," I muttered, turning away from Oliver before anyone could see.

I had a feeling Snape already knew of my short infatuation with the Quidditch player, though, because he followed my eyes and sneered, "Don't tell me you – "

I interrupted him before he could make any false and presumptuous comments, "Anyway. The wedding's scheduled about half a year from now. I figure it'll be long enough. The battle that's surely coming will hopefully take place before then."

We both knew where the end of my sentence was going. I meant to say 'hopefully I'll be dead by then'. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes.

There was a sudden shout coming from above us. Something about a foul. I glanced up in curiosity and Severus stiffened as players began flying to the ground to talk it out.

"I don't know how you can stand this," he said, and I looked at him from the corner of my eye, "it's bad enough to see all these old students and knowing that they recognize me."

I grinned then, but it was far from joyous as a grin should have been. Turning my spiteful gaze toward Severus, I let out a soft laugh that sounded more like a cackle, "Feeling nostalgic, Severus?"

He merely glared fitfully at me, and I once again disregarded him to say, "It's not so bad. It takes my mind off things."

It went quiet once again, and we both stopped to watch as the captain – that Reynolds guy – began instructing the beaters to use some strange feint I've never heard of. They were back up into the air before I could blink.

"You'll promise me something," I said suddenly, turning my gaze to Severus. It seemed to catch him off guard, for discomfort slid across his face for a split moment before going back to its normal sneer.

"I want you to promise me that if you get the chance during the battle, you'll end my life."

I don't think I'd seen Severus' face more shocked. He turned to stare at me in surprise and this time, didn't even manage to regain his composure, "...I'm not going to promise you anything, Black."

He made to walk away, but I lurched from my seat and grabbed the sleeve of his cloak. I had a feeling I looked rather out of character, for my face was pleading and wishful and even a little hurt. Some of that terribly hidden pain leaked out into my expression, and Severus turned to stare at me, a little miffed.

"Please, Severus."

He promptly turned away, and now he looked like he was fighting with himself. He slowly responded, "You're making a scene, Belladonna. Don't blow your cover."

I glanced around and noticed that I was, indeed, making a scene. There were a few players staring at us in shock – probably from the pitiful expression on my face. I immediately stiffened and pulled back, letting my hands drop uselessly at my side.

"There is no guarantee that I'll even be alive during the Battle, much less that I'll even see you at all. You can't possibly ask me something like that," he softly told me, and I was taken aback at his gentle tone. I took a step back, face hardening into its usual cold mask, and nodded.

Severus didn't say another word as he apparated away. I was left alone on the pitch, with those bloody Quidditch players flying above me and completely over looking the pain that was eating away at my heart.

HP 7, pt 2 comes out soon~ =D I'm very excited, especially because Oliver's apparantly going to be in this one ^_^

Please let me know what you think of the fanfic - Personally, I enjoy reading fanfics with the main character as a Slytherin, or some such thing. So I guess my way of writing is a tad bit dramatic but ah well...~ Review if you'd like!