It had been two months since his resurrection and she was bored. Oh, it had been fun letting him run about, causing havoc within the unsuspecting wizarding world with his old cronies, but she'd rather get down to business now. She sighed and stretched languidly and watched the scene as it played out before her, as she sat, invisible in the shadows. Voldemort was torturing a former death eater, his wand was making quick work of the man, and he was a sobbing, blubbering mess, his skin a mass of oozing wounds, sores and puss. The man lived for a few more minutes before Voldemort tired of his incessant crying and used the killing curse. He fell over dead and the death eaters all smiled, some of them even laughing.
"Do you not see? This is was the man who chose to stop believing in our cause. But all of you-," a look passed upon his twisted face in a way that was supposed to mimic a smile, "You never stopped believing. Never dared to stop practicing the very thing that ties us together."
Voldemort paced a moment and held his wand still a bit and then sighed. "This man consorted with all manner of muggle and muggle born, sought redemption, in their pathetic eyes and do you see what it has cost him? Us? No. We must stay true to the path."
He turned and the crowd of death eaters, some of them older members and others—the newly initiated gathered around Voldemort as he continued speaking.
She rolled her eyes. Such melodrama. How insipid were these death eaters that they followed a man who spoke of purity when he himself was only a half-blood? She would never understand humans. They were a stupid lot.
Voldemort quickly dismissed them all and they filed out of the doors and Bellatrix strode to Voldemort's side and smiled.
"We've missed you, my love," Bellatrix purred.
He nodded absently then stepped away to pace. It was then that she stepped from the shadows, clad in strips of leather, all strategically placed to convey both modesty and indecency, her long legs swathed in high heels boots that scraped her thighs and an ancient crown intertwined atop the fall of ebony curls about her head.
She walked—no—glided across the floor, nearly as effortlessly as Nagini had ever done, and yet there lay in her stride the promise of sex—and beneath it all, there was the promise of certain death, but it lay hidden beneath the smell of her, the intoxicating scent of skin and clean sweat.
Voldemort eyed her as she came to stand in front of him, his expression not of deference but a strange mix of defiant impassivity.
"Voldemort," she said, her lips wrapping around each letter in a way that would have curled a lesser man's toes, but instead Voldemort felt—well, he wouldn't admit the tingle of fear that coursed through him, he had never been afraid of anyone in his entire life or otherwise, and he wouldn't start now. No—he hated this—thing. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of her.
"You have disobeyed me. I was very displeased to hear that you attacked Diagon Alley in search of the girl. Do not touch her. She is mine."
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and his face darkened a moment before smoothing and he tilted his head to the side a bit, calculating, then said,
"Why would a being such as yourself have need of a mudblood like Granger?,"
She shrugged elegantly and then remarked, "I have my reasons."
"As I said you are not to touch her," she repeated.
She then turned and crossed the floor to the delectable spread of food in the middle of the cavernous room and popped a grape into her mouth. She moaned and her pleasure seemed almost sexual as she chewed.
"I am the Dark Lord. It is my destiny to destroy those who would seek to ally themselves with mudbloods and traitors. I will usher in a new world, a new era-,"
She was back in front of him in a flash, so quickly that Bellatrix, who had been standing silently the entire time watching the exchange, blanched and stepped away from Voldemort. Even in her crazed condition she worried more for her mortal self than Voldemort's hide. The—thing that had been Hermione had a look on its face that promised something like violence, but not the kind that she had seen before displayed in the Manor, no—this was different and it was tinged with a darkness even Bellatrix couldn't fathom. Bellatrix began backing away and maneuvering towards the door.
"Close the door when you leave Bellatrix. And see that no one comes near this room for the next ten minutes."
Bellatrix nodded and squeaked out, "Yes—master," and then ran out hastily, yanking the door closed behind her.
Voldemort's expression turned dark and he gripped his wand tightly as he stood beneath her gaze.
"Would you like all your little friends to know exactly how you were resurrected? Would you like them to know exactly how indebted you are to me?"
"I have no debts."
"Ah."
She began pacing about him in a tight circle and came to face his once more.
Her face then changed, morphed and for a moment she looked almost vampiric, except her eyes had turned inky and black.
She pressed her lips onto his and he resisted at first, and then stood still as stone as she bit his lip and drew blood with her sharp teeth.
She moaned and licked her lips. "Such dark, dark, blood. You have a very dirty heart Voldemort. Don't misbehave again. I'd be tempted to devour it."
She pushed his face aside and ripped his robe a bit to reveal a vast expanse of neck, whose creamy pallor allowed translucent veins to be seen. She threw her head back and then struck fast like a snake and managed to pull a scream from his throat. She continued to feed from his neck and body for the next few minutes and Bellatrix stood outside the door, listening to the former Dark Lord beg for mercy.