Bellatrix freezes where she stands in the corner of the overly-decorated Malfoy ballroom. She could feel a change in the air, a presence arriving. He was here. She could sense him.

Bellatrix had spent the majority of the evening so far in a perpetual state of boredom. She hated balls. She hated this crowd of people, too. She had watched Narcissa from afar as she waited. Narcissa belonged in this crowd of people, it seemed. She blossomed in it. The cold exterior that normally dominated her little sister's face faded the moment they'd arrived. She wasn't like these other men and women- shiny shallow baubles there to reflect light. She was elegant, charming, and beautiful. Narcissa was royalty amongst peasants in this crowd. Perhaps, Bellatrix thought to herself as she saw her sister wrap her arms around Lucius's neck, smiling up at him, perhaps it wasn't the situation that made Narcissa shine. Perhaps it was the boy.

Eventually, she got bored spying on her perfect sister. Narcissa could do no wrong and sometimes it disgusted Bellatrix. She loved her sister, of course, but Narcissa was always such a precious little thing, with her light blonde hair and her trickling laugh and the way that boys would fawn themselves over her. Even teachers gave her special attention. The girl could get away with murder if she wanted. And yet all the same… Were Narcissa ever to commit murder, Bellatrix knew she would be the one to cover it up. Willingly, too. She loved the naive girl, even if she despised her at times.

At least the Malfoy's were generous with the alcohol and no one seemed to care that she was underaged as she helped herself to a glass of firewhiskey. She found a quiet corner and she tucked herself away in it. The night passed too slowly for her, but eventually she got that feeling, that shift in her atmosphere. She didn't know how everyone didn't immediately turn to the doors in awe and respect. How could they not sense it, this sweeping force of power? She rises to her feet, eagerly searching him out. She catches a view of his tall figure almost immediately. There was a rush of euphoria through her body upon seeing him. The Dark Lord. He wore dark, tailored dress cloaks that swirled out behind him as he walked. Each of his steps was powerful. Purposeful. He commanded the room from the moment he stepped in, his mighty gaze daring and all-consuming.

Keeping to the sides of the room, Bellatrix makes her way to him, a moth to a flame. Her footwork matches his steps as he fully enters the ballroom. Ministry men flock to him almost immediately, steering his attention. They were disgusting, the vultures; they picked and cawed at his attention with a black hunger in their eyes. Bellatrix scowls, stepping back. She was still close enough to hear his words, though, and that's all that mattered.

The Dark Lord's voice was soft, much softer than one would expect from his growing reputation or menacing stature. There was a venomous quality to his voice, but Bellatrix found something deeply seductive about the quiet danger in his tembre. He spoke of politics with the men, his voice trembling with a reserved passion. Bellatrix savored every word. She was nearly starved for the delicious quality of his language. She knew her eavesdropping was welcome, too, for even though the Ministry men never took notice of her observant ear, the Dark Lord would occasionally turn his chin a little farther, pointing out towards her and making sure Bellatrix could hear every crucial word or phrase.

Eventually, the Dark Lord breaks from the vultures, excusing himself out onto the balcony. Bellatrix seizes her opportunity, slipping out after him. The Dark Lord seemed dark against the inky night, although when he turns to face her, it's his eyes that somehow seem several shades darker. Bellatrix sinks to her knees, bowing her head respectfully. "Forgive me, my Lord, for intruding on your solace."

"There is no need for forgiveness," his slithering voice soothes. "I knew you would follow me."

Bellatrix looks up to him, beaming at his words. He looked like a dark god in front of her. The power radiated off of him in nearly visual swells. She could feel it washing over her in powerful waves. A god. This man was a god. She remains on her knees, looking up at him. "I have been following your exploits," she says.

"Have you, Bellatrix Black?"

"You know me?" The blood in every vein in her body warms.

"I know everyone I need to," he responds, "especially those who will be of use to me."

"I want to serve you," Bellatrix replies in eager response. "It's my purpose. I could be of use to you."

A flick of a smile crosses his face. It was a cruel thing, but Bellatrix longed for the approval that it held. "You will be," he promises. "There will come a time when I will call on you."

Bellatrix nods, hands clasped in front of her. She knew her idolatry was clear on her face, but she didn't try to hide it. She wanted nothing more in this world than to be of use to him.

"Until then, I must go back inside. I have work to do."

"They are vultures," she says in disgust. "They don't understand you. Your passion, your words… It's wasted on them."

"They have their purpose." He walks back to the ornate doors before turning slightly to her. "You may accompany me, Miss Black. There's no more need to hide in the shadows. There are things I would like you to hear."

Bellatrix nearly jumps to her feet, following after him as he strides back into the ball. She follows quickly after him, the party not seeming such an annoyance anymore. She keeps with him for the next hour, like a stoic advisor, listening to every word he says, savoring every syllable. He worked his way through the crowd, speaking to everyone there that was important. Each had something to say to him, a word of respect or a question to pose. Bellatrix was astounded by the intelligence and swiftness in which he responded to each of them.

It wasn't long into the night before Lucius approaches with Narcissa by his side. Bellatrix frowns at the confidence on Lucius's face- he walks to him with the cockiness of familiarity and Bellatrix scowls in annoyance. She was pleased to see a more contrite and respectful look on Narcissa's face. It appeared that her scolding from earlier had chastened her sister.

"My Lord," Lucius says, bowing his head.

"The young Mr. Malfoy," the Dark Lord nods.

"I'd like to introduce you to Miss Narcissa Black," Lucius says, guiding Narcissa out, a hand on the small of her back. He presented her almost as if to gain the Dark Lord's approval, showing off Narcissa as a new asset that Lucius had recently attained.

Narcissa bows her head, looking up to Bellatrix quickly and then back to the Dark Lord. "My sister has told me great things about you, my Lord." Her words quake with a lack of assurance, but Bellatrix nods in approval. "She has impressed upon me the importance of your cause."

The Dark Lord nods, appraising her quickly. His eyes were quick but scrupulous, sizing up her measure. "It is good to see that your family has produced at least two daughters of fine quality." His voice was cool and dripping, sinking into each of their ears.

A small, almost shy smile crosses her face.

"We know you are busy, my Lord," Lucius says, a brazen smile on his face. He looks to Narcissa with a hint of boasting pride in his face, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist. "But Narcissa was eager to meet you. We won't take anymore of your time."

The Dark Lord nods them off, moving to the next person. His eyes, however, trace back to Narcissa for the briefest moment as Lucius leads her away. Bellatrix catches the look and her whole body inflames in sudden feeling. The look was no more than a millisecond, too quick for anyone else to even take notice, but Bellatrix knew in her soul that the Dark Lord did nothing without purpose, not even the smallest gesture of a look. Jealousy flooded her body instantly. It shot through her like a fever, making her feel flushed and angry. Bellatrix quashes these feelings, not willing to let them distract her. This was her chance to listen to the Dark Lord, to ingratiate herself to him. That singular look meant nothing. Nothing. He had allowed her to sit by his side, to listen to his words, to be close to him.

The Dark Lord was no ordinary man. Bellatrix knew that. Where men and boys had often cast presumptuous or lustful looks towards Narcissa upon meeting her, the Dark Lord would not be so mundane and base. He wouldn't be suckered like other foolish men, tempted by the easy beauty of her younger sister. That isn't what his look meant. His look meant nothing. Nothing. It had merely been a fleeting thing. Seeing her off or some other matter. It had meant nothing. Bellatrix was the one who he had said would be useful. She had been the one he had spoken to, the one he had allowed to stand by his side, the one who he looked at now, his eyes quick to read her flushed face. His eyes, however, gave away nothing, and he moved on to the next guest, greeting them and beginning a discussion of ministry policy.

Bellatrix finds herself gritting her teeth, unable to simmer her jealousy. She forces herself to focus, however. She wouldn't let Narcissa ruin her opportunity. This was her chance to be close to the Dark Lord. Narcissa had everything, she wouldn't let her take this from her. The Dark Lord was hers.