Bellatrix stared at her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom. Malfoy Manor, she'd been told. This giant place was called Malfoy Manor. It belonged to the Malfoy family. She was from the Black family, and she'd married into the Lestrange family.
Married.
She combed through her damp curled with the wide comb that had been in the cosmetics kit her husband Rodolphus had sent over for her. All of her 'usual things,' Rodolphus had said, and it made sense. She had curly hair, and this comb was perfect for her curls. She liked the look of it, too, with its inlaid mother-of-pearl. Had Rodolphus bought her this comb?
Bellatrix gulped and tied her hair into twin braids, pulling a white nightgown over her head and then a heavy velvet dressing gown around herself. She tried not to feel afraid. She was a soldier, they'd told her. She was a fighter who'd been attacked in a battle. Her mind had been wounded by an enemy. She was brave, they'd said, so she must be brave now.
She walked out of the bathroom and froze, for the man she now knew to be Lord Voldemort was standing in the burgundy bedroom where she'd spend the last two nights. Sir, she'd been told to call him, or better yet, My Lord. He was very important, Rodolphus had assured her. He was the leader of a movement to restore Pureblood supremacy, and both Rodolphus and Bellatrix were soldiers for him. Death Eaters. Bellatrix bowed her head as she walked out into the bedroom, and Voldemort said to her,
"I have come into possession of a device called a Pensieve through an old acquaintance of mine - a man who procures rare items. Do you know what a Pensieve is?"
The word sounded familiar, but Bellatrix blinked quickly and felt very stupid all of a sudden. She felt a wisp of something, a professor at her school, Hogwarts, saying something about a Pensieve. She couldn't quite place it. She opened her mouth, struggled for a moment, and finally admitted,
"No, sir. I don't know. I'm sorry."
"It's all right," he assured her. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "A Pensieve is a device used to store and review memories. I can not restore anything to you that I myself do not not know. I can inform you about your sister Andromeda, but I can not give you back memories of your childhood with her. I can tell you that you spent seven years in a Slytherin girls' dormitory, but I know nothing of what happened there. What I can give you are the memories I have in common with you, to try and build up your life as a Death Eater again."
"Oh. That sounds helpful," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort gestured to her, and she followed him through the bedroom and out into the suite's sitting room. As they walked, Voldemort said,
"Rodolphus can repeat this process, though his memories with you are personal, and mine take precedence in restoring you as a soldier."
"I understand… erm… My Lord," Bellatrix said, and he smirked at her as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Quick learner." He sat on a sofa and gestured for her to sit opposite him, and she was awed by the basin on the low table between them. It was a shallow bowl carved with glimmering silver runes. Inside was a glistening, rippling material that seemed lost between liquid and gas. It was a silvery substance, and Voldemort informed Bellatrix,
"Today we will be revisiting your wedding day. I feel it is important, because you remember scraps of it. You recall seeing yourself in your gown. You remember dancing with me. It will allow me to show you names and faces, and for you to see your family. So… let us go there. Lean down."
"What?" Bellatrix was confused, but she watched Voldemort descend, dipping his face into the Pensieve, and she hesitantly followed suit. When she did, she felt like she was tumbling, whirling, spiraling through a heavy emptiness. Then, suddenly, she seemed to have landed in the middle of a scene.
The colours were a little washed out, and nobody seemed to have noticed the way that a girl in her dressing gown and a middle-aged wizard had landed smack in the middle of an elaborately-decorated gothic ballroom. Bellatrix looked around and whispered,
"Can they not see or hear us?"
"No. This is a memory," Voldemort said simply. Bellatrix nodded and studied the arched rafters, the banners that read Black and Lestrange. She nodded.
"This is Castle Lestrange," she guessed. "This is where I live."
"Right," Voldemort nodded. "Your parents live in a fine home in London, but the wedding was far too grand for a place like that. There are your parents over there. The ceremony's already happened; I arrived afterward. I never like to watch the ceremony. It's too maudlin."
"That's my mum and dad?" Bellatrix asked, walking toward them a little. She tipped her head, studying the stout man with his thinning hair, the thin woman with bobbed black hair whose face so resembled hers. There was a twiggy blonde girl beside them, and a slightly taller, bored-looking brunette. Narcissa, the baby. Andromeda, the one Bellatrix couldn't remember at all.
"Bellatrix!"
She whirled around to see someone giving her - the her wearing a bustled, beaded white gown - a warm embrace. It was an older woman, and Voldemort plugged in,
"Your grandmother, Irma Black."
"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, and for a while, she just watched the wedding happen. Voldemort pointed out people in his own conversations. There were some fuzzy spots in his memory, some entirely blank spots, and then things got sharp again when Bellatrix and Rodolphus took the floor for their first dance. Bellatrix watched herself smile up at Rodolphus, who was tall and handsome, and she asked Voldemort plainly,
"Do I love him?"
"I have no idea," Voldemort replied, his voice bland. "How would I know?"
She stared up at him, at his face that seemed tired and nicked and pulled. He was handsome, too, but he looked beleaguered by some sort of conflict Bellatrix didn't know. She found herself watching him instead of herself, until she finally tore her eyes onto the memory of her sharing her first dance with her husband. She studied her own face and finally shook her head.
"I don't love him," she said. "I can see it in my own eyes. I'm fond of him. Friendly with him. But I don't love him."
"All right," Voldemort shrugged from beside her, sounding entirely unaffected. But then the song ended, and the shadow of Lord Voldemort stepped up in his tuxedo robes and took the next dance from the bride. Bellatrix's breath hitched as she watched him sweep her into his arms, and suddenly he told her,
"I think we've seen enough."
"Wait, please." Bellatrix watched him sway with her as other couples joined them on the dance floor. Rodolphus was dancing with Bellatrix's mother, Druella. Bellatrix was smiling up at Voldemort, nodding. He was staring down at her with an odd look in his eye. Sorrow? Regret? It wasn't a happy look, though he was forcing a tiny smile onto his lips.
"Enough," he whispered from beside her, but Bellatrix just studied their faces, taking a few steps toward them. From behind her, Voldemort snapped, "Enough, Bellatrix."
She knew why he wanted her to stop staring. But why had he brought her to this memory? Had he not realised the way he'd been staring at her? Had he not realised the way she'd been staring at him? She hadn't look at Rodolphus with anything resembling this sort of -
"I said enough."
Bellatrix coughed and sputtered as she was yanked up and out of the Pensieve. She glared at Voldemort across the little table and demanded,
"If you didn't want me to see the memory, then why did you take me to it?"
"You saw plenty, little girl," he snarled, and he ordered her, "Go to bed."
"I'm not tired!" Bellatrix scoffed, and he shrugged.
"Go read a book, then."
"No, thank you." Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest, and Voldemort's eyes flashed as his cheeks reddened. He spoke through clenched teeth then as he reminded her,
"I am your master. Do as I say."
"Right now, you're just rather an arse," Bellatrix informed him, and then she gasped, for he'd flung her onto the ground with wandless magic. Bellatrix glared up at him from where she lay, from where he'd tossed her off her chair, and as she scrambled to her feet, she shook her head and insisted,
"Well, I don't know what that silly little bride was so enamoured with. You're a right git, you know that?"
She stomped into the burgundy bedroom in which she was essentially being held prisoner, slamming the door shut behind her and deciding that this man, this Lord Voldemort, would have to earn it if he wanted her to call him Master.
Author's Note: I was able to get one more brief chapter up tonight! Woo hoo! So, Voldemort's not only going to have to get Bellatrix back in fighting form and working order; he's going to have to earn back her Death Eater-level loyalty. Uh-oh. As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing.