Author's Notes: Written for Round Three of The Original Horcrux's Last Ship Standing Competition on the HPFC Forum, with the prompts "falling", "worthless" and "glide".
Warning: Misogyny
)O(
"This is no place for a woman, Bellatrix."
She hovered about the Dark Lord's home, where she knew she was not welcome. She excused her presence by saying that she was waiting for Rodolphus, but she knew better than to believe she could trick the Dark Lord. She gazed at him – desperately, adoringly, hoping that he would notice, and, moreover, care – and when he looked back at her, she saw contempt on his face.
He took her aside one evening, one of the many that she spent wishing that he would take her aside just so. He closed a door behind them, and for a brief moment, a brief moment in which she and the Dark Lord were alone in a room together, Bellatrix allowed herself to believe that he was going to say what she had wished for so long that he would say to her…
"Why are you here, Bellatrix?" he asked, his voice neither interested, nor hostile, but merely resigned and perhaps the slightest bit impatient. "Surely a young Pureblood lady such as yourself can find far more suitable pastimes than lurking in the shadows while men discuss important matters."
She tightened her lips so that she could not show how he insulted her by acting as if she was nothing more than an ordinary Pureblood girl. Her sister could find more suitable pastimes – she could think of nothing she would sooner do.
"Your cause is one that interests me, my Lord. I desire the purification of the Wizarding world as much as any of the men here."
"But you can do nothing about it." Now he did sound hostile, and his eyes were narrowing, one corner of his mouth lifting into a small sneer. "Your appreciation for the cause is noted, but carrying out the necessary actions is something that you are incapable of."
"You do not know that." Her voice cracked and she cursed herself – how could she let herself appear emotional? That only proved what he already thought, that she was useless and foolish and incapable of fighting.
"I know a great deal about you," he told her. "More than you can imagine. I know that the purification of the Wizarding race is not your only reason for being here."
Bellatrix felt a flush rising slowly on her cheeks. "I beg your pardon, my Lord?" she murmured, but he didn't have to explain. She knew what he meant.
"Of course a woman would only want to give herself to a cause because she desired the leader…" He turned his head away, as if merely looking at her disgusted him.
"It is terribly proud of you to say so, don't you think?" Bellatrix demanded, the flush in her cheeks of anger now, more than shame. "Do you think yourself so desirable that the only reason I would wish to work for you is because I want to be in your bed?"
"Would I be incorrect in thinking as much?"
Bellatrix put one hand over her mouth to stifle the desire to say no, no, you wouldn't – I do want you.
But even if she didn't speak, he knew what she thought. There were several long moments of tense, unpleasant silence. She turned away to collect herself, and then she felt his body close against hers and his hand glided to her throat. He caressed the side of her neck gently with his thumb, then his fingers wrapped around her neck so they pressed firmly against her windpipe.
"Silly girl." His voice was low and soft in her ear, almost gentle, almost patronizing, instead of angry, as it should have been. "This is why you know that you have no place among my men. You cannot stand to hear the truth."
"If you would only let me–" she began, but his fingers tightened around her throat and cut her off. She wheezed for air, for breath which she could barely draw, not only because of the tightness around her neck, but because of the Dark Lord's presence. He was so close to her, closer than he had ever been outside of her fantasies…
But this was no fantasy. He would not sweep her into his arms and make love to her the way he would if this were her dream. He would not tell her that she was worth something, that she was worthy of him, the way she so wished for him to.
Stars began to pop around the edges of her vision as he tightened his grip ever more, until she could not breathe at all. She struggled against him, but without air, she could not think, could not fight…
He let go and she fell heavily to the floor, crumpling at his feet. She could have stood, but she didn't – she preferred to have her head down than meet his eyes. Her throat felt tight now from anger at herself for not being stronger.
"Speak to me again when you care more about purity than you do about who you can take to bed," he told her, and she had never heard so much scorn in a voice. "Speak to me again when you are as strong as a man."
)O(
Fin