Death By Underwear
Written for Lamia's Daily Speed-writing challenge
Prompt - someone dies
Everyone knew that Bellatrix was in love with Voldemort. It was no secret that she favored him over her husband, that she would leave Rodolphus in a heartbeat of only she could get with her beloved Dark Lord. She thought about him all the time, occasionally calling out his name while in bed with her husband.
She wanted him. There was no denying it. But the sad reality was that he could never be hers, because a man so twisted and tainted by the stain of evil was too wicked to love someone. However it didn't stop Bellatrix from trying, as she batted her eyelashes at him during meetings, smiling and putting on every once of charm she had, hoping desperately that some day he might notice her.
Bellatrix loved him so much that she decided she wanted a piece of him to carry around with her. Her first thought was that she wanted a lock of his hair. But since he was bald, that wasn't really an option. Her next thought was that she wanted something more personal, and her dirty mind settled on a pair of the Dark Lord's undergarments.
Not even Professor Quirrell had been fortunate enough to obtain a pair of Voldemort's underwear. He had gotten a fragment of Voldemort soul. Which, based on the rumors Bellatrix had heard, was being flung around at every random object the Dark Lord saw. No, she wanted something special. Something no one else had. She wanted his underwear to love and treasure for the rest of her days.
She waited until Voldemort had left on one of his missions, sneaking in his private chambers and tip toeing past the sleeping snake that lay coiled on the bed. She rummaged around through his dresser drawers until she found exactly what she was looking for - a pair of the Dark Lord's underwear.
Unfortunately for Bella, this particular pair of underwear hadn't been washed since the time before his near death experience in October of 1981. In fact none of his clothes had been washed since then, because he didn't feel the need to wash something he hadn't worn in over a decade. And the moment Bellatrix buried her face in Lord Voldemort's moldy shorts and took a sniff, the smell was so awful, so unimaginably putrid, that she fell over and died right there on his bedroom floor.
If only Voldemort had known that the best object he could have used to make a horcrux was a pair of his filthy shorts. No one would have wanted to touch that. And the only person who did was now dead and being looked over by a hungry, twelve foot long snake.