It had been months since Bellatrix began her training sessions with Voldemort — two months that had transformed her. The woman who once trembled under the weight of Azkaban's horrors was gone. In her place, stood someone sharper, fiercer, and more powerful than ever.
Her spells flowed with an effortless precision that she hadn't thought possible. Every incantation carried a depth of magic that crackled in the air, her wand responding to her command as if it were an extension of her will. Voldemort's praise — rare, yet deliberate — was a balm to her spirit, feeding her insatiable desire to please him.
The training sessions though, had become more than just an exercise in regaining her strength. They were their sanctuary. Behind the closed doors of the chamber, the formality of master and servant blurred into something far more intimate. What had started as fleeting touches and stolen glances had grown into a smouldering connection neither could —or cared to — deny.
Each session was a delicate dance. He would push her, demanding perfection, his gaze never leaving her. She would respond with all the fire and intensity he drew out of her, their magic sparking like lightning in the charged air. And then, when the tension reached its peak, when words were no longer needed, their moments would spill into passion that consumed them both.
Bellatrix had never felt more alive. Her powers surged within her, stronger than they had ever been, and the dark magic she wielded felt like a natural extension of herself. She revelled in the way Voldemort looked at her now, not just with authority, but with desire. Their moments together had become a world apart, where the boundaries of who they were to the outside world no longer mattered.
For months, this rhythm carried on: power, passion, and secrecy. Bellatrix found herself living for the moments they shared, the quiet understanding that neither would speak aloud, but both felt deeply. And if others noticed the change in her — how her steps carried more confidence, how her magic burned brighter — they didn't dare question it.
Here, in the quiet of the night, she was more than a servant, more than a tool in Voldemort's arsenal. She was his equal. And for that, she would give him everything.
The dim light of the chandelier cast long shadows over the table in Malfoy Manor's grand drawing room. Bellatrix stood at the edge of the meeting, a figure of commanding power, her dark eyes gleaming with the thrill of purpose. It had been years since she felt this sharp, this alive. The training with the Dark Lord had restored her not only physically, but mentally. Her spells were sharper, her instincts keener. For the first time since Azkaban, she felt invincible.
Narcissa sat beside her husband, her lips pressed into a thin line, masking her internal conflict. Her gaze flickered to Bellatrix, admiration and relief evident. Seeing her sister standing tall again was a blessing, but the news of Bellatrix training Draco weighed heavily on her heart. A mother's instinct gnawed at her — her baby boy wasn't ready for the dangers Bellatrix might expose him to. She struggled to shake the image of Draco's carefree childhood, now replaced by the heavy expectations placed upon him.
- What do you think? - she whispered to Lucius, leaning closer.
- He must be prepared. - Lucius said coolly, though his voice carried a tinge of unease.
Narcissa's brow furrowed as she looked down at her clasped hands, wishing for a reality where her son was far from all of this.
Across the room, Rodolphus Lestrange leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly drumming against the carved armrests. His eyes followed Bellatrix's every move, drinking in her presence with equal parts awe and suspicion. This was the woman he had married — ferocious, untouchable, and radiant with dark magic. But her brilliance now felt more distant than ever.
She was back to her best, he thought grimly. Yet, for months, her victories and triumphs seemed shared not with him, but with the Dark Lord. Every whispered word, every closed-door session… what had once been his privilege now belonged to someone else. He knew her well enough to sense the undercurrents between her and Voldemort, and it made his blood boil.
- Bellatrix, - Voldemort's voice drew the room's attention. His cold yet commanding tone left no room for distraction. - You will lead your first mission since your return.
Her eyes lit up, a twisted grin spreading across her face.
- Anything, my Lord. - she said fervently, her voice dripping with devotion. - The prophecy, - Voldemort continued. - It lies in the Department of Mysteries. You will retrieve it.
A murmur rippled through the gathering. Even Rodolphus straightened in his seat, alarm flickering across his features.
- The prophecy? - he asked, his voice carrying a note of concern. - Shouldn't we send...
Voldemort's crimson gaze silenced him instantly.
- Are you questioning my judgment, Rodolphus?
- No, my Lord. - he muttered, bowing his head, but his fists clenched at his sides. Bellatrix didn't spare her husband a glance. Her focus was entirely on Voldemort.
- It will be done. - she said, her tone resolute.
As the meeting dissolved into strategic discussions, Rodolphus sat in silence, his mind churning. Bellatrix's powers were unmatched—he could see it in the way she carried herself. So why was she spending all her time with the Dark Lord? His jealousy was no longer just suspicion; it was a gnawing certainty that their bond had changed, shifting into something far more intimate.
Rodolphus lingered in the shadows after the meeting had adjourned. His eyes followed Bellatrix as she spoke with Narcissa and Lucius, her voice animated, her sharp laughter echoing through the room. There was an air of confidence about her now — a confidence that bloomed in Voldemort's presence and wither when she was with him.
The thought festered like a wound. She had been distant for weeks, offering him little more than perfunctory touches and the occasional indulgent smile. He convinced himself at first that her focus on regaining her strength had consumed her energy. But now, with her magic restored and her old vigour returned, the distance between them only widened.
Rodolphus gritted his teeth. He had tried to be patient, to remind himself of what she endured in Azkaban. He had told himself that her devotion to Voldemort was nothing new — she had always revered the Dark Lord. But this was different. It was no longer just loyalty; it was something deeper, something that excluded him entirely.
Back in their shared chambers, Rodolphus paced like a caged animal. His mind replayed the meeting: the way Bellatrix lit up under Voldemort's gaze, the way she didn't even glance his way when she accepted her mission.
He poured himself a glass of fire whisky, the sharp burn doing little to dull the gnawing resentment in his chest. She was his wife. He was supposed to be the one who saw her at her best, the one she sought for support. Instead, she gave her loyalty, her time, and perhaps more, to the Dark Lord.
Bellatrix returned to their chambers later that night, her mind still abuzz with the details of her mission. She barely registered Rodolphus sitting in the corner, a half-empty glass of fire whisky in his hand.
- Why did you take so long? - he muttered, his tone filled with fake caring. Anyone could see.
- Oh Merlin! Didn't see you there, I thought you were downstairs still. - the witch answered like she didn't notice his tone.
- You didn't answer.
- I was speaking with Narcissa. - she replied absently, shedding her cloak and moving toward the mirror to unpin her hair.
Rodolphus' eyes darkened as he watched her.
- Narcissa or the Dark Lord? - he said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Bellatrix felt like she had frozen, her hands still for a fraction of a second.
- What are you implying? - her tone cool.
"Time to play the offended wife", she thought.
- Do you think I don't see it? - he rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. - The way you look at him. The way you disappear for hours at a time with him. You are my wife, Bellatrix.
- Rod… - she turned to him, lovingly touching his shoulders. - We were training…
- Don't come with that shit! - he screamed and held her hands strongly. - How come all you say is that you need Him?
Her patience snapped, "What the fuck is he doing?".
- Let me go! - she screamed back, pulling her hand. - What of it, Rodolphus? You knew me when you decided to marry me! You knew where my loyalties lay. Don't play the wounded husband now.
Her dismissive tone was the final blow to his fraying composure. His jealousy and frustration surged, twisting into something dark and dangerous.
- Your loyalty must lay in me, and me only. You're mine, Bellatrix. - he approached her, pressing her against the wall. - I'm done with you acting like you don't have a husband.
"He knows."
She had never seen Rodolphus like this before, she didn't realize it was even possible for him to be that scary… to her. Bellatrix didn't quite know how to react, so she took a deep breath, pushed aside her fear and answered.
- You can do whatever, you won't be between me and my Lord.
- You mine, Bellatrix. I don't need to stand between anyone, I just need to put you back in line. - he was holding her tightly. - You live by my rules now, don't dare to test me.
- Or what?
He slapped her face. Strong, fearless. And slowly walked away.
- It will get worse, Bellatrix. - he said and slammed the door, locking it from the outside, leaving his wife alone with a burning cheek.
The silence in the room pressed down on Bellatrix like a suffocating weight, thicker than the shadows pooling in the corners. Her cheek throbbed where Rodolphus's hand had struck her, the skin hot and pulsing with betrayal. She raised a trembling hand to the burning spot, almost expecting to find something tangible—something to explain what had just happened. But there was only her own skin, tender and whole as if the moment hadn't just fractured everything inside her.
She stood frozen in the centre of the room, her back still against the wall. Her wand hung useless at her side, fingers slack around it. The thought struck her like a curse: "Why didn't I react?"
Bellatrix Lestrange, the witch who could bring grown men to their knees with a flick of her wand, had done nothing. She had stood there and taken it — taken him. And in that stillness, she felt the ugly tendrils of fear curling around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Her knees buckled before she could stop them, and she sank to the floor, her palms pressing into the cold stone as if grounding herself might stop the trembling in her body. But it didn't. The tremors came anyway, spreading like fire through her arms and chest until her breaths grew short and shallow. Her wand clattered to the floor beside her, the sound echoing in the too-quiet room.
She couldn't stop shaking.
She hated herself for it—hated how the fear had taken hold of her. Not just fear of Rodolphus, but fear of what his attack had done to her. She had spent months rebuilding herself, regaining her strength, reclaiming the power that Azkaban had stripped away. And yet, one moment of violence had unravelled her, left her cowering on the floor like a broken thing.
Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists, trying to will herself back together.
"You are Bellatrix Lestrange," she told herself fiercely. "You are the Dark Lord's most loyal. You are strong. You are untouchable."
But even as she repeated the words in her mind, they felt hollow. Her strength meant nothing now, not when she hadn't used it. She hadn't raised her wand and hadn't even screamed a curse in retaliation. Instead, she had let him hurt her. - him, the man who was supposed to love her.
Her breath hitched at that thought, and she bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste blood. She wouldn't cry. She refused to cry. Crying was a weakness, and she would not be weak. Not again. Not after Azkaban.
But the tears burned anyway, hot and unwelcome, blurring her vision as she tried to stand. She stumbled, her legs unsteady beneath her, and pressed a hand to the wall for support. Her mind churned with half-formed thoughts, none of them coherent.
"Would anyone believe me?"
The question sliced through her, sharp and brutal. Who would believe that Bellatrix Lestrange, the infamous Death Eater, could be overpowered? Who would believe that her husband—the man she had once called her equal—had struck her? No one. They had seen her marriage as perfect once, hadn't they? Even she had thought it was perfect, back in the beginning, when Rodolphus had been her partner in everything.
Her lips curled into a bitter sneer, more at herself than anyone else. Perfect. She almost laughed at the word now. She had been blind— so blind to what had festered beneath the surface.
A sickening wave of nausea rolled through her, and she gripped the edge of the desk, steadying herself. Her mind darted to Narcissa, unbidden. The thought of her sister's soft voice, her gentle touch, was like a salve on her raw nerves. "Could I tell her?" The thought flickered, fragile and tentative.
But it was immediately crushed by doubt. Narcissa would ask why—why Bellatrix, so powerful, so untouchable, hadn't fought back. And how could she explain it? How could she explain the way Rodolphus's rage had turned her into something small and helpless, someone she didn't recognize?
The truth was simple and ugly: she hadn't reacted because she hadn't known how.
Her whole life, Bellatrix had wielded power like a weapon, but this was something else entirely. Rodolphus's betrayal wasn't a duel or a battle to be won. It was intimate and invasive, and it made her feel exposed in a way no enemy ever had. It made her feel… weak.
Her hand flew to her throat as a sob clawed its way free, breaking past her lips before she could stop it. The sound startled her, raw and unfamiliar, and for a moment she thought she might shatter under the weight of it. But she didn't. Instead, she pressed her back against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself, holding her own shaking body as if that could keep her from falling apart entirely.
The Dark Lord's name drifted into her mind like a lifeline, and she latched onto it with desperate fervour.
"He would understand. He would see. He always sees."
But even as the thought soothed her, it twisted with guilt. She couldn't go to him. Not like this. Not broken. Not weak. He would look at her the way Rodolphus had, with that awful mix of disappointment and anger. And she couldn't bear that.
Bellatrix's eyes darted to her wand, still lying on the floor. Slowly, she reached for it, her hand trembling as her fingers closed around the familiar wood. The weight of it steadied her, and she let out a shaky breath.
She would not break. Not for Rodolphus, not for anyone.
But as she straightened, wiping the tears from her cheeks, she couldn't shake the quiet, insidious thought that whispered in the back of her mind: "What if this is only the beginning?"
Bellatrix lay on the bed but she couldn't sleep, she would move around trying one thousand positions but her eyes just wouldn't close.
She heard some keys trickling and instinctively searched for her wand with her hands, ready to react now.
- You're still awake? - Rodolphus said entering the room. She didn't respond. - Where are your potions?
"Is he going to pretend like nothing happened?"
- It's nice that you're finally understanding your place, Bellatrix. But I don't like being ignored.
- Why you're being like that?
- You're cheating on me. And so I'll make you mine again, my way.
- I was taking care of myself, as you told me to! - she raised her voice a little. - I didn't cheat! - she lied.
- Stop screaming. The truth is that it doesn't matter: if you did cheat, you're going to regret it. If you haven't already, you'll be too afraid to try it.
- I don't understand it, Rod. - she softens her tone. - You asked me to take care of myself, and you said that you wanted me at my best. Now that I'm back, you're acting crazy!
- Don't turn this against me! You did it to yourself! - he screamed. - You'll be on my terms now, my love.
She didn't find the strength to fight back, "He's drunk and stupid. He'll regret it tomorrow".
- Good night, Rodolphus. - the witch went back to trying to sleep, hugging herself tightly around her wand.
As the morning rose, Bellatrix could feel how the slack of sleep would make the day hard on her. The night gave her a lot of time to think of what happened and what to do. She would tell Lord Voldemort what happened and he would send Rodolphus to a way worse destiny than she could think of.
Bellatrix found that the only thing holding her back from falling apart was the anger she was feeling towards her husband for making her feel so powerless.
She looked over her shoulder and saw that Rodolphus was waking up at that moment. And so an urge to run away washed over her.
- Good morning, my love. - his voice reached her before she could run.
- We should go, we have an early meeting, remember?
Rodolphus rolled his eyes.
- You're dying for it, what a surprise. When will you understand that now you'll do things on my terms?
- Rodolphus, please. We'll be together, you're acting crazy.
- You hadn't seen crazy.