"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" Bellatrix aimed her wand through the thicket of trees as a sheet of rain pounded down around her in Swilla Glen. The rain pinged on her silver mask, and through the holes around her eyes, she watched as her Exploding Charm rocketed forth from her wand with a golden hissing burst. It shot straight across the banks of the River Twiss and smacked with great force into the trunks of a few birch trees. They creaked and groaned and then crackled as they collapsed. Caradoc Dearborn and another of the Order of the Phoenix that Bellatrix had been fighting on her own, a dark-skinned young man she didn't recognise, dashed quickly away from the falling trees, yelling at one another. But the unknown man was quickly crushed, for Bellatrix's spell had hit with enormous fury.

"Aneirin!" shouted Caradoc Dearborn, his shoes squelching on the muddy forest floor as he sprinted back toward his fallen friend. He nearly dropped his wand and almost faceplanted as he slid on the soaked ground, for it was raining quite hard now. Bellatrix giggled at the sight of that, and she stalked slowly toward the banks of the River Twiss as she watched Caradoc crouch down. His friend - Aneirin, had the boy called him? - was moaning in agony at the way the fallen tree trunks had utterly crushed his spine and legs. Caradoc Dearborn was muttering that he'd help Aneirin quickly, that they'd be just fine, the two of them, that they'd get out of here in just a moment.

"Oh, no, you won't," Bellatrix laughed, bringing up her wand and aiming it straight at the two of them. She stared at them through her mask, standing on the opposite side of the little river from them. Off to her left, she heard an ear-piercing scream and then a loud explosion, and she chuckled as she shook her head and informed Caradoc, "Playtime's over."

"Let me get him out of here," Caradoc begged, gesturing to the way Aneirin seemed to be getting weaker. "Just let me get the trees off of him and Disapparate with him to a Healer. Come now; this is war. Have some semblance of decency and let me -"

"Yes." Bellatrix was grinning behind her mask. "This is war. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Bright green light exploded from her wand and jetted across the River Twiss, enveloping Caradoc Dearborn's crouching form and sending him toppling over until he lay still and motionless on his back with his legs crumpled awkwardly. His friend, Aneirin, the one who had been pinned by the trees Bellatrix had Exploded, whimpered helplessly, but Bellatrix just tutted and aimed a quick Killing Curse at him, as well. He stopped whimpering then, lying flat on the ground of Swilla Glen in the silence of death. Bellatrix tattooed the rainy afternoon sky with the Dark Mark to make note of what she'd done, and then she hurried off toward her left, to where she'd heard screams and explosions earlier.

It was late April now, and this was the second large-scale battle Lord Voldemort had waged since Rodolphus Lestrange had betrayed him in January. Since the time of Rodolphus' treachery, Voldemort had been progressing through spontaneous, unexpected attacks on Muggles and Mudbloods and targeted assassinations of high-profile enemies and Aurors. Those small-scale assaults and missions had actually proven themselves to be remarkably effective in sowing a sense of intense fear and intimidation into the wizarding world. But it hadn't seemed sufficient for the Dark Lord; he'd wanted, as of late, to force Dumbledore and his ilk into open combat. He'd told Bellatrix that this was because Voldemort's enemies were, by and large, cowards who were afraid to utilise Unforgivables to their full potential and were likely to flee rather than fully engage. He was right, Bellatrix knew. Even now, Caradoc Dearborn had pleaded for her to let him take his wounded comrade off the battlefield. She hadn't allowed it; she'd killed them both. This was how they would win the war, she knew. By giving Dumbledore no choice, by luring or imposing a full-scale battle where one side was more than happy to maim and slaughter, the Death Eaters would know victory. The Dark Lord would know victory.

Bellatrix shivered now as she stomped through Swilla Glen with her wand in hand, panting behind her mask, dreaming of the day when her master would be truly victorious.

Their last real battle had been fought less than three weeks earlier, a skirmish fought at Ugborough Beacon in Cornwall. Voldemort had been tipped off that there would be a gathering of Dumbledore's allies in the town of South Brent below. Voldemort had brought along a group of seven, keeping Bellatrix very close. He had engaged Voldemort directly, with the two of them launching boulders at one another and vaporising the stones in a rather spectacular show of duelling force. Bellatrix had killed two that day and tortured Moody, though, as always, the bastard had fled. Voldemort's forces had been victorious, and before leaving the area, they'd set more than a few Muggle dwellings down in South Brent alight.

So Lord Voldemort was riding quite the high these days. Bellatrix didn't mind that one bit; he'd been outright pleasant to be around. He would often wake before her in his buzzing eagerness, in the vigour that had taken over him as of late. It would sometimes not yet be dawn before she'd feel his kisses on her neck or shoulder, rousing her, and then his fingers toying between her legs to ready her for him. He was always hard in the mornings, and Bellatrix would ride him or take deep, lively thrusts from behind or gasp and whimper whilst he moved atop her. He would kiss her cheekbones and her forehead and murmur a playful little good morning to her before going to bathe, and Bellatrix would lie naked and tingling and smiling in bed whilst waiting her turn.

He'd have meetings during the day; sometimes Bellatrix would attend. They'd dine together, and they'd chat about all sorts of things. She'd told him anecdotes about her childhood and her school days that he seemed to find amusing, and he'd told her all manner of stories from his time on the Continent that Bellatrix found utterly thrilling - tales from his time in Albania and about learning necromancy and pyromancy, about spending a winter in northern Sweden studying Astronomy and practising Curses. The two of them killed Muggle after Muggle and made Mudbloods disappear, and they revelled in the work Voldemort's other followers did. They celebrated what happened in Cornwall. Voldemort kept teasing Bellatrix about the progress of the ring he was procuring for her from the wizarding jewellers in Rome; apparently, the bespoke piece was almost ready and he was very excited to give it to her.

Very often, there was more physicality before sleep took them over at night, though more often than not, it was simply kissing and touching, or Voldemort losing himself in his breeches whilst Bellatrix bathed, or something of that nature. It was the two of them doing what felt right.

It was all rather glorious.

Right now, though, Bellatrix heard fresh screaming, but this time, it sounded like two or three male voices shrieking as though in cataclysmic, tortured suffering. Bellatrix scowled and adjusted her grip on her wand as the rain falling in the wood around her began to lighten up a little until it was just a gentle mist. She padded forward a few steps and glanced around her, ensuring she wasn't being followed and that no one was nearby. Just to her right, the River Twiss rushed by. Bellatrix struggled to listen over the racing, thudding rapids, but she could still hear the few wizards up ahead screaming. Pain , Bellatrix thought. They were in pain. Someone was torturing them. She decided she needed to join in on what was happening. She'd killed Caradoc Dearborn and the other enemy, the one called Aneirin, but as far as she knew, there were at least four others present today.

Voldemort had received information that Lyonesse Ryan, an ally of Dumbledore and a Mudblood Ministry worker, was living in Ingleton in the Yorkshire Dales and that today several of Voldemort's enemies would be meeting at Lyonesse's cottage. Voldemort had brought Bellatrix, Abraxas, Yaxley, Avery, Nott, Rabastan, and Dolohov and had drawn the enemy out into the wood. Bellatrix had dragged her two opponents to the rocky crag in Swilla Glen, where she'd battled them ferociously until she'd managed the charged Exploding Charm that had crushed the boy… what had his name been? Aneirin. And now she needed to find the others, because they'd lose light quickly, and it was a bit harder to fight forest battles in the darkness.

Bellatrix picked up the pace of her steps, grateful for the attire she'd chosen today. She'd come to battle in flat, knee-high dragonhide boots, comfortable black woolen trousers, a black linen tunic with leather gauntlets, and a supportive leather bustier that laced up the sides. She'd bound her wild black curls back into a tight chignon at the back of her head, for it was windy and rainy, and she'd put her mask on. She looked ferocious, she knew. Her master had told her so, before they'd left Malfoy Manor.

You look like Death come for my enemies. Death come to kiss them with velvet green spells for me, he'd whispered onto her mouth before he'd put her mask onto her face. Bellatrix shivered again now as she started running faster through the wood toward the ongoing sound of screaming, the sounds of spells crackling and the distinct blast of a boulder blowing up. She sprinted as quickly as she could, but the craggy rocks that worked at a harsh angle at an angle down Swilla Glen from the wood down toward the bank of the river were slick with moss and rain. Bellatrix's dragonhide boots slid and skidded as she ran, and she stumbled badly. She fell hard onto her knees, landing with an ungraceful oof and crashing down onto the slippery stones. She only just managed to catch her wand before it went skittering down into the river, but she scraped up her palms and fingers badly. She huffed behind her mask and let out a few choice swear words before heaving herself back up to stand.

She started moving again, determined to get to the sound of the fighting ahead. Things had gone rather quiet now, though; it sounded like the battle was calming down. Bellatrix started to trot again, adjusting her hold on her wand. She looked ahead and watched as a crystalline emerald Dark Mark went rocketing up into the dark grey sky and shimmered into shape, tattooing the rainy heavens with the glittering symbol that murder had been committed in Lord Voldemort's honour. Bellatrix laughed under her breath, feeling a surge of triumphant excitement, and she began to run faster than ever, pumping her arms and legs as she felt an eager desperation to reach the others, to reach her master. She so fervently wanted, just now, to throw her arms around his shoulders and murmur to him about how she'd thrown slaughtered Caradoc Dearborn and the other boy - Aneirin, the one she'd crushed with the birch trees she'd Exploded. He'd be proud of her, she thought.

All of a sudden, though, the thrill coursing through her veins was cut short with a shocking jolt. Bellatrix's running steps came to an abrupt halt as she lost her footing and slipped on a mossy boulder, sliding all the way down the glen, unable to stop herself. She frantically tried to grab hold of the large stones that were angled steeply down toward the riverbank, but she couldn't get a firm grasp on anything. In fact, she felt at least one of her fingers painfully snap as she tumbled and skidded, as her body was dragged helplessly by gravity. Bellatrix cried out, from the pain and shock of it all, and also from the horror of watching the wand she'd lost hold of go careening away from her and disappear down into the churning, wild River Twiss. She gasped with panic and dread as the wand she'd had since the age of eleven vanished into the pale turquoise rapids and then was gone.

Then it was Bellatrix's turn to fall headlong into the river, and it wasn't until she'd plunged into the frigid, agitated water that she realised she couldn't swim properly because she'd badly injured her right leg whilst falling down the stony glen. Bellatrix had to work hard, struggling with all the strength she had in her little arms, to keep her head above the fast-moving water, and she winced and let out little noises of pain as she registered that her right knee and right ankle were grievously wounded. She could hardly move her right leg at all; it seemed like her knee and ankle were at least sprained or perhaps even broken.

It took all the energy, all the fortitude Bellatrix could draw forth from within her core to swim hard through the raging, chilled River Twiss to reach the rocky shoreline. She finally managed to drag herself up onto the large, dark grey rocks there, puffing out shallow breaths behind her Death Eater mask as her arms trembled weakly beneath her from the effort. She collapsed onto the rocks and lay on her stomach, dragging herself along but unable to pull her wounded right leg entirely out of the river. She lay her face down on a stone and just breathed for awhile, listening to her panting through the metal of her mask against the wet stone as the river rushed behind her. Her heart drummed inside her chest and her lungs burned like mad, and she fought hard not to cry.

She'd lost her wand, and she had no way of contacting her master. All she could hope was that she hadn't strayed too far yet from the site where she'd killed Caradoc Dearborn and the other enemy. She reached with quivering fingers, feeling the knuckles that seemed to have broken when she'd clutched at rocks when she'd fallen, and she peeled her mask off carefully. She set it down with a soft clink on the large, flat stone beside her and then managed to turn her head over her shoulder, feeling for the first time a sharp, awful ache in her neck. She blinked a few times and then her vision focused on the Dark Mark she'd cast into the sky above the murders she'd committed, and she was relieved to see that it wasn't so very far away. She hadn't managed to run too far, it seemed, and the river hadn't flung her too effectively. Bellatrix let out a shaking sigh and pressed her palms to the wet stone, swallowing hard and shutting her eyes. There was a long silence then, broken only by the sound of rushing water, that seemed to go on for a minute or an hour, but probably somewhere in between. Bellatrix was too exhausted and in far too much pain to know for certain.

"Bella?"

She jolted then, because that was his voice, her master's voice, and her eyes welled at once. She had not expected him to come looking for her at all at the end of this battle, whether she'd been hurt or not. She had been trying to sprint toward the action of the others; she'd been running toward him. But she could hear his voice, distant as it was, far off in the wood, somewhere up at the top of the glen, calling for her. She struggled to push herself up a bit, and with all the vigour and volume she could summon from her lungs, she yelled,

"I'm here! My Lord, I am here! D-Down… down here!"

"Bella? Bella?" She could hear the crunching steps of his dragonhide boots on the craggy ground above, could hear him getting closer, but she knew he could not yet see her where she was lying down beside the river. She let out a piteous, frustrated sound and desperately grabbed at her mask, banging it against the rock beside her a few times so that it clanged like a bell. She growled in irritation, and then she heard Voldemort's voice exclaim, from just above her, "What the blazes? Bellatrix!"

Suddenly, before she knew what was happening, he'd materialized down beside her on the uneven ground of the riverbank, his boots and breeches getting soaked. He looked her up and down where she lay, and the first things he snapped at her were,

"What the devil happened to you? Where is your wand? What happened? Are you hurt? I need to get you out of here."

"Master." Bellatrix huffed and tried to pull herself up again from where she was splayed, but Voldemort crouched down and seemed to be examining her as he demanded again,

"What happened to you? Where are you hurt?"

She met his eyes then and saw it. She saw fear, genuine fear and concern, and her heart seemed to flutter in her chest for just a moment. She also saw that he was absolutely covered in blood; there were streaks and streams of violently scarlet blood drizzling all over his face, dripping from his chin, and his woollen robe was ripped at the shoulder. Bellatrix's breath shook then as she asked him right back,

"M-My Lord, what's happened to you? "

"It's not my blood," he insisted distractedly. "I blew up Belphoebe Moore."

"Oh." Bellatrix actually smiled weakly at that; she knew the pretty blonde witch, and the idea of Voldemort Exploding her body to smithereens and getting covered in the detritus was rather thrilling. But as she laughed a little, her chest ached, and suddenly she realised she was far more hurt than she'd thought even when she'd been swimming hard in the River Triss. She shut her eyes and spoke aloud then as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

"I killed… Caradoc Dearborn and the one called Aneirin, My Lord," she managed, every breath taking effort. "Cast the Dark Mark into the sky. I started running… running to find you and the others, but I fell. I slipped and I fell down the glen into the river. I got hurt and I lost my… my wand…"

"No matter. We'll get you a new one," Voldemort said hurriedly. Bellatrix opened her eyes and looked at him again, and she was about to profusely apologise, but he said quite firmly, "You have done quite well, and I'm very proud of you. Two kills. Well done. The battle was a victory. The others have already gone home; I came to find you."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix croaked, glancing down at her injured leg, but Voldemort shook his head wildly. She raised her eyes to him, to his blood-soaked, torn robe and his crimson-streaked face, and her heart pounded as she tried to whisper for him again. He chewed his bottom lip a little and adjusted his hold on his own wand, and then he steadied his dragonhide boots on the uncertain footing between the steep glen and the riverbank. He bent down and gathered up Bellatrix's small, drenched form in his arms, cradling her as he lifted her. She reached frantically for her mask, looking around for her wand and then realising again that it had fallen into the river and washed away.

"Couldn't you Summon it?" she asked helplessly, and Voldemort blinked a few times as he shrugged and then extended his wand from underneath where he was holding her, murmuring,

"Accio Wand of Bellatrix Black."

They just stood there for a long moment, in silence except for the sound of the River Twiss rushing by them, as Voldemort held Bellatrix in his arms like a child, until finally a strange little dark mass came whizzing through the air. Bellatrix's stomach sank like a pebble in water when she reached up to catch what was left of her wand - a splintered, broken mess that had broken in three separate places. The wand had clearly been battered to bits as the river had agitated it through the gauntlet of its rapids, bashing it against underwater stones and tumbling it like dirty laundry. The walnut had snapped and fragmented, and the dried dragon heartstring core was dangling pathetically out from inside the wand. Bellatrix held up the remains of her wand and stared up at Voldemort's bloodied face, and he shrugged a little, sighing,

"That's what I was afraid of. We'll get you a new one."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix scowled. She tried hard then to ignore the intense pain in her leg, the way it burned like fire every time she breathed in. She tried to focus on today's victory. Before she knew what was happening, Voldemort had Disapparated from the Yorkshire Dales, taking Bellatrix with him by Side-Along, and they'd landed gracefully on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix felt a bit queasy, though she tried to ignore that, too. She would have insisted on walking of her own power into the manor, but she honestly didn't suppose she could just now, so she gratefully let her lord and master carry her through the gardens and up the large steps, through the main doors and up the marble staircase in the foyer. They passed Dobby, and Voldemort barked an order to the House Elf to send up a cart with service of Darjeeling tea to his suite.

The Dark Lord's strides were long and confident, even after the arduous, exhausting battle. Bellatrix could not help but notice that and be impressed by it. She could not help but notice the way his dark eyes stared straight ahead, the way his face and neck were covered in the drying red blood of the enemy he'd Exploded.

"You like what you see," Voldemort murmured at last, sounding vaguely amused, as they neared the spiral stone stairs in the corner, and Bellatrix shyly lowered her eyes as she whispered,

"It is impossible not to notice your allure, My Lord, when you're like this."

"When I'm made gory and weary by battle, you mean?" He smirked just a little, and Bellatrix knew he was enjoying this all just a little. She reached up with shaking fingers, fingers with knuckles that felt injured, and she whispered,

"Yes, My Lord. When you are made gory and weary by battle… a battle you have won."

"Hmm." He reached the top of the stairs, his breath a little shallow from the exertion of carrying her, and as they neared their suite, he said quietly to her, "You don't realise who you killed."

"I do," she said defensively. "I Exploded some trees and knocked them over. Caradoc Dearborn was there and I took him out when he was trying to rescue his friend, the one the trees fell on. Some young man who -"

"Aneirin Shacklebolt." Voldemort glanced down and gave her a very knowing look, and Bellatrix's lips parted in wonder. Shacklebolt. The family were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but half of them were egregious Blood Traitors. They were particularly known for producing loads of Squibs, Bellatrix knew. But others of the Shacklebolts, including some of the traitors, were immensely powerful enemies. One, she knew, was currently deputy headmaster at Uagadou, the wizarding school in Africa. Perhaps that was why Bellatrix did not know of this Aneirin Shacklebolt; he seemed right around her age, and he was apparently an ally of Dumbledore's, but she'd never seen him before.

"Well," Bellatrix said softly as Voldemort carried her into their sitting room and shut the door behind them, "He died with some birch trees crushing him, with Caradoc Dearborn begging me to let them both go. They both died by my Killing Curses."

"Yes," Voldemort affirmed in a low hiss, making his way through to the bedroom, "because you were Death come to kiss my enemies with the green light of your spells. Just as I predicted. Sweet victory is ours. Now. Come lie down so I can fix you up. My greatest warrior."

Bellatrix could hardly breathe then, for several reasons, as Voldemort set her down on the bed they shared. When he set her down onto the blue and silver blankets, the pain set in in full force, and she found herself wincing and struggling to take deep breaths. But also, she was looking up at an intimidating Dark wizard in battle attire that was ripped and soaked and scuffed, his face scraped up and streaked with the blood of Belphoebe Moore. She was overwhelmed, suddenly, with the totality of it all. She was overwhelmed with the life she lived, with serving him, with loving him, and she found her fingers curling around the embroidered blue blankets as her voice hissed through her clenched teeth,

"I love you, My Lord. So, so very much."

He let out a very long breath and just studied her for a moment, and then he brought his fingertips up to his face and mumbled,

"There isn't a Scouring Spell in the world that will rid me of this. But I need to get you… dried, and… splinted… you know I love you."

He looked almost distracted then, and he shut his eyes as he set his wand slowly on the bed beside Bellatrix. The next few minutes were a blur. Bellatrix squirmed when she needed to, flinching and grimacing and emitting small noises of discomfort, as Voldemort peeled off the still-wet layers of her black combat attire. Off came her flat dragonhide boots, down came her trousers and knickers. She felt her bustier get unlaced, and she shimmied until he could wrench it and her tunic over her head. He stopped at one point and bent to kiss her, and for some reason, she didn't mind at all that he was still bloodied. It wasn't his blood, she remembered. He wasn't injured.

She found herself naked and shivering just a little, lying there on the bed, with her master hovering above her in his own battle-damaged attire, his rough and calloused hands coursing over her skin as he touched his lips to hers. She reached up with trembling fingers that still ached from where she'd fruitlessly grasped at the rocks when she'd fallen in the glen, touching at his bloody jaw and moaning quietly against his tongue until he swept it over her bottom lip and then suckled there for a moment. Soon enough he was kissing her in earnest, and she nestled her fingers up against the back of his head and pulled him closer, desperate for more.

But it all hurt; her knee and ankle felt badly wounded and breaths in and out belied a slightly cracked rib. Bellatrix struggled not to wince as she kissed Voldemort, but he let out a low, knowing chuckle into her mouth and then pulled away a little, murmuring,

"Eager, frantic little vixen. You'd have me despite the pain, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, My Lord. I would. I always would," Bellatrix whispered, and when he pulled back just a little more to stare at her rather intently, he shook his head just a bit and confessed,

"You are the only one whose pain brings me no pleasure, Bella. So."

Her eyes seared like fire at that. She just kept stroking his jaw until he climbed off of her and stood beside the bed, and then he set to work on her, casting Ferula charms on her very evidently sprained ankle and knee. Bellatrix winced as the joints were set to rights and braced for healing; they wouldn't need long to become robust again, but it was annoying just the same to have been wounded in battle. She gestured vaguely to her aching chest, and Voldemort cleared that up quickly with some Healing charms and other spells that made Bellatrix screw her eyes shut as she felt the splintered rib mend itself. Her finger joints were soothed with gentle waves of Voldemort's wand and murmured incantations of the Allevio painkilling charm and the Sana Metacarpi spell designed to heal injured knuckles.

"You have a headache," she heard Voldemort say, his voice almost gentle, and when Bellatrix turned her face toward him, she shrugged a little and admitted,

"I do, I suppose, My Lord. I… it was the least of my concerns."

He eyed her for a little while, his throat visibly bobbing. The blood on him had dried by now, caking in maroon streaks and rivulets and patches all over his face and neck and shaved head. Bellatrix trembled as she imagined him blowing up Belphoebe Moore and being entirely unbothered by the carnage. She replayed the way she'd stood across the River Twiss from Caradoc Dearborn and Aneirein Shacklebolt, whom she'd pinned under Exploded trees before slaughtering the both of them. She remembered running, running, running and then falling into the water - the pain of it all, her wand disappearing into the churning cold water. She knew now, when she'd hit her head. She'd been tumbling down the glen, grappling futilely until her knuckles snapped, and her skull had banged roughly against a large rock. She winced now, recalling the sharp thud of the impact. She let out a little breath and admitted to Voldemort,

"I hadn't registered it, My Lord; I've been thinking of so much else."

"Mmm." He nodded down at her, giving her a crooked little half-smile and tipping his head. "Worse, I think, than if you'd had a few glasses of too-sweet wine?"

She huffed a little laugh at his jape and nodded. He reached then with his fingers, still dirty from battle, and dragged them around her temple and over her forehead. He kept eye contact with her as he did it, and Bellatrix's breath caught. Oh, but she loved him, she thought desperately. She was utterly, almost catastrophically in love with him. She felt suddenly like she was melting, like his touch was making her liquid, and she knew he was conducting wandless and nonverbal magic on her. He was so supremely powerful, she reminded herself, to be able to do things like this. Her headache dissolved like salt in water, and after a few moments, Voldemort asked her calmly,

"Better?"

"Yes, My Lord," she managed to choke out in response. He did not move his hand from her head for a moment. His eyes flicked toward the bathroom, and his mouth and jaw tightened. At last, he let out a long breath and said, not for the first time,

"I won't be able to get rid of all of this blood and everything with simple spells. I shall need to bathe."

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, but she watched his eyes run up and down her nude form, watched him shift where he stood, and he licked his lips as he whispered, just a bit hoarsely,

"I worried. When I saw you… lying down in the riverbed like that. I worried."

"Oh." Bellatrix's throat felt thick all of a sudden, and she shook her head as she reminded him, "I took care of Dearborn and the Shacklebolt boy, Master. I was trying to get to you. My injuries were minor. I would have been -"

"All I saw was the witch that I love facedown upon some rocks, apparently unable to move, and I felt vibrant pulses of pain from you through Legilimency," Voldemort interrupted in a sharp hiss. His fingers twitched on her forehead, and his facial features twisted a bit oddly. Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open as Voldemort slowly climbed back onto the bed, arranging himself very carefully above her. He was cautious in avoiding her injured areas that were healing, propping himself up on his arms, but as he bent down to put his bloodied face near hers, he whispered to Bellatrix,

"I had no doubt whatsoever that you'd played your part successfully in combat, Bella. You always do. I saw your Dark Mark. And you are my best soldier. I knew you'd had your kills. But I… I came dashing away from the others, came searching for you, because I felt a sort of… I felt a throb, a sort of alarm, inside my mind. It wasn't a call. It wasn't your voice. It was like a signal flare, red and vibrant, from my own consciousness, urging me… go to her. She is in danger. Go find her. "

Bellatrix could not speak properly then, which was just as well, since Voldemort decided to kiss her quite firmly directly on her lips and to let his breath mingle with hers for a moment before softly continuing,

"Once I'd determined the others could safely go, I dismissed them and I reached out for your mind. I sprinted through the forest looking for you, running toward your Dark Mark. I called your name, and finally, you answered. And then I saw you, lying on the riverbank, injured, without your wand, and I thought…"

He trailed off then, and Bellatrix was shocked to see him shut his eyes and kiss at her cheekbone and then whisper, so softly that she could hardly hear him,

" You bloody fool; why are you keeping her mortal when she is so very beloved by you?"

Then, without another word, Lord Voldemort climbed carefully off of Bellatrix's wounded body, reaching silently for the soft, cream-coloured blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and bringing it up around her nude form. He strode like a wraith away from her toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and Bellatrix was left to stare in shock as she heard the copper pipe shower begin to run.

You bloody fool; why are you keeping her mortal when she is so very beloved by you?

What had he meant by that? Bellatrix clutched the cream blanket up around her bare torso and just stared at the bathroom as the Dark Lord washed Belphoebe Moore's caked blood from his skin. She gulped and lay flat on her pillow, shutting her eyes and trying to relax. She had to trust him, she knew. He would explain it all eventually. He always did. Everything she needed to know, he would reveal in due time. Soon enough, there would be plans for more battles, and she would get a new wand.

For now, they would revel in their victory.