- Yes, my Lord. - she responded, waiting for the others to leave.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Bellatrix felt her entire body ignite, her heart racing in her chest. Her world narrowed to just one person. Him. Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fatigue that gripped her limbs nor the weariness of Azkaban's horrors still etched in her bones.
- What can I do for you, my Lord? - she said, her voice barely steady. She tried to keep her hands still, but the slight tremor betrayed her.
She clenched her fists tightly, trying to suppress the trembling that gave away her desperation. She couldn't afford to appear weak in front of him, not now. Not ever.
- You should sit. - Of course, he saw everything. He always did. His gaze moved over her, not just her beauty or the perfect contrast between her pale skin and dark hair, but also the power she carried, even in her weakened state.
His voice, though calm, sliced through the air with an authority that made her breath catch. She hesitated for a split second before obeying, sitting close to him by the fire. Their knees nearly touched—so close, yet worlds apart. Only Bellatrix could have him like this. No one else.
The flames from the fireplace danced in the reflection of Voldemort's cold eyes as he leaned back, observing her with quiet intensity.
- Bellatrix Lestrange, my most loyal follower. It's good to have you back. - His smile was subtle, but it pierced her, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in the library, just him and her. - I couldn't bear to think of losing you. You are the one I need to keep the others in line.
Her heart swelled at his words. He needed her. More than anyone else.
- You, scared? I've never seen such a thing, Master. - her voice trembled, despite her efforts to keep it even. She wanted to hold on to his every word, feel the warmth of his approval. - What mission do you have for me?
- For you to be at your finest. - Voldemort's gaze flicked to her trembling hands. - You just returned from Azkaban. I need you strong again.
Her breath hitched. The shame of her weakness clawed at her, but she forced herself to speak.
- Yes, my Lord. - her voice came out softer, almost hesitant. How could she, Bellatrix Lestrange, be this fragile?
Voldemort's eyes sharpened as he leaned forward slightly, his presence oppressive, filling the space between them.
- How are you to face missions now? I can't afford to lose you again. - His words were a blade, cutting into her deeper than the ones she had faced in Azkaban.
- Lose me? You've never lost me, my Lord! - her cheeks flushed, heat spreading across her skin. She was desperate to convince him—and herself. - I'll always be here for you, whatever you need. I'm fine, my Lord. All I need is my wand, and I will be ready.
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced herself to smile. She couldn't let him see how broken she truly felt.
Voldemort's eyes lingered on her, sharp and probing, as if he could see through the facade she had built so carefully.
- Are you certain? - His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but beneath it, there was a threat. - I don't want you to start lying to me now.
The weight of his gaze bore into her, and for a moment, her resolve nearly shattered. But she lifted her chin, defiant in her devotion.
- Iwould never lie to you. - The words felt like an oath, even though doubt gnawed at her insides.
He watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a slight nod.
- Very well. Tomorrow, Lucius will retrieve your wand, and then we will train together. Don't push yourself too far, Bellatrix. Not yet.
His tone held an edge of concern, an acknowledgment of her value to him. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding at the thought that he truly cared for her well-being—not just as a servant, but as something more.
He needed her. She was his strongest tool… or perhaps, his closest companion, though he would never say it aloud.
- After dinner, we'll meet here again. Me, you, and Lestrange.
- Yes, Master.
There was a pause, the silence thick with unspoken understanding.
- Would you do the honor of calling the Death Eaters? - His voice was softer now, almost indulgent, as though he were offering her a gift.
A smile curled her lips. This—this was what she lived for. To serve him, to be seen by him, to be useful in a way no one else could.
Without a word, Bellatrix performed the Potrean Charm, summoning the Death Eaters with a flick of her wrist. She didn't need to say anything. She didn't even need her wand.
As the magic rippled through the room, Voldemort's cold eyes flickered with something close to admiration.
"She's absolutely talented. Does she even know that?"
