Fire

Chapter 7
“I weep at mine unworthiness, that dare not offer/What I desire to give, and much less take/What I shall die to want.”—Shakespeare, The Tempest

“You didn’t. Tell me, Malfoy, swear to me you didn’t give her name to him.”

Rodolphus Lestrange stared at the blond wizard who was standing before him, wrapped in a black cloak, and the other man shrugged his shoulders before drawing the hood up over his white-blond hair.

“I did, Lestrange, because he asked me for it. Although I know not how, he knew of her already. What am I to do, refuse him?” Malfoy snorted, affixing the white mask to his face and staring at Rodolphus. It was a sinister image, Malfoy’s cold grey eyes staring out of that blank visage. Rodolphus, who was similarly attired, had never managed to affect that blank stare Malfoy was so adept at.

“She’s so unstable, we’ll all be in Azkaban before the summer’s out,” Rodolphus muttered, annoyed. He knew it was petty, but he could not help it, the thought of having her anywhere near this — it burned his blood, sparked his ire, and Rodolphus had his fill of rage lately. Between his wastrel father and his brother’s eagerness to join in with the others who surrounded Lord Voldemort, Rodolphus felt his temper was stretched thin enough without adding the infuriating raven-haired Black bitch to the mix.

I’ll probably kill her in a week, he thought, yanking his hood up to cover his dark hair. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he snarled. Malfoy’s grey eyes gleamed momentarily with something that might have been amusement, and Rodolphus remembered he’d had a brief fling with the brunette witch. Grateful the white mask covered his face, he flushed. Whatever else he was, Lucius Malfoy was in Voldemort’s inner circle, and if he wanted to join him there, Rodolphus had best moderate his outbursts in regards to Malfoy’s former lover.

“You’re not offending me, Lestrange,” Malfoy said, amusement in his cold voice, as if he could read the younger man’s thoughts. “Bellatrix Black is indeed completely mad, but I must say, she’s a delightful bed partner. Of course,” he said smugly, moving slightly off into the woods that surrounded the Bellefleur’s home, “you already know that.”

Rodolphus stopped, ire shooting through him and his dark black eyes narrowing angrily. He reached out and caught Malfoy’s arm — the blond was taller than he was and was moving quickly through the grove of threes — tugging sharply. “What in name of all the hells do you mean by that, Malfoy?” he growled.

Malfoy whirled on him, pushing him back against a nearby tree and putting his wand at Rodolphus’ throat before Rodolphus could blink. “Don’t touch me, Lestrange,” Malfoy hissed, eyes narrowed. “And you bloody well know what I mean. Miss Black told me all about how you and she had a moment in the Potions classroom. This is hardly the place to air old grievances, friend — we’re on his business here, not ours. I have no claim on Miss Black’s affections, and if you are cross with her for spilling such secrets, I’ll give you two a moment before we take her to the Dark Lord, and you may make her scream until her voice is gone if you like.”

Rodolphus held his hands up, surprised at Malfoy’s actions — he was not one for overly dramatic gestures, and having him pushed up against a tree was certainly that. “I mean no disrespect, Lucius,” he said, deliberately using Malfoy’s first name in attempt to calm him down. “That witch drives me insane with anger, even now, a year after we’ve left school.” Rodolphus shook his head in disgust. “I have no idea why, but the thought of being forced with her presence makes me irate.”

Malfoy snorted. “I see that,” he said and then dropped his wand and stepped back. Rodolphus brushed his hands down his black cloak and fixed the hood which had slipped off of his head in the altercation. Malfoy nodded to the house and said, “Let’s be off. The sooner we find Miss Black, the sooner we can be done with this.”

Rodolphus nodded and moved to continue walking. Malfoy’s voice came from behind him, as cold as ice as he said in a dangerously quiet tone, “Incidentally, Rodolphus, if you ever think to question my orders, I shall not hesitate to curse you. Just so we are clear,” he hissed, and Rodolphus rolled his eyes in the darkness but inclined his head. Malfoy’s temper was not something he cared to experience again.

“Of course, Malfoy, my apologies,” he said smoothly, irritated and aware the older man could plainly tell. They moved in silence towards the house, and Rodolphus found he was not at all looking forward to capturing their prey, even though he dearly hoped Miss Black put up a bit of a fight so he could curse her. His anger had been a bit dangerous lately. He’d almost killed the last man he’d been assigned to torture, which would have not gone well for him at all — Voldemort would not have been pleased to lose the man before he’d given up the information the Dark Lord had sought.

“How are we going to get her to come outside?” Rodolphus asked, curious, as they waited in the shadows staring up at the house. He could see the party was in full swing, couples dancing and standing about in groups talking. He was hot underneath his robes but watched silently, wondering if Bellatrix was dancing with some foolish young man who could not see behind her beauty to the dangerous soul that lived beneath.

“Nott. He’s supposed to ask her for a word and lead her outside. Lestrange, I know you despise her, but she is to be brought alive to Voldemort. Do try and remember that,” he said dryly, and Rodolphus inclined his head.
“Malfoy, trust me, it will bring me the utmost pleasure to see that bitch on her knees. If the Dark Lord wants her there, I’ll do my best to make sure she gets there relatively unharmed.”

Malfoy laughed, cold and dark, and Rodolphus thought he was forgiven for his earlier perceived disrespect. “I’m glad to hear it, Lestrange,” he said, and they fell silent as the doors opened on the garden-level patio and Thaddeus Nott appeared, dressed in his finery, escorting one Bellatrix Black out into the summer night.

The light from the torches placed around the patio flared and illuminated her face, and Rodolphus saw her for the first time since leaving school. She was still every bit as beautiful — heavy-lidded dark eyes, fair skin, raven hair lose over the shoulders of her blood-red robes — and she had the sneering expression he well remembered from school.

Obviously, whatever ruse Nott had used to lure her outside was not convincing the brunette witch to continue with him into the darkness where Malfoy and Lestrange waited.

“We best do something now, Malfoy,” Rodolphus said, amused. “I don’t think Nott is having much luck at all convincing Miss Black to accompany him.”

“Bloody hell,” Malfoy growled, “can’t that imbecile do anything correctly? Must I do everything myself?” He pulled his cloak and mask off, dropping them into a pile on the ground. Rodolphus arched a brow and grinned beneath his mask as he noticed Malfoy was as impeccably dressed as any of the guests beneath his cloak. That figured; Malfoy probably woke up in dress robes. “Wait here,” he growled, tugging his hair back into his usual queue and walking out of the woods, as if it were completely normal for a man to appear at a party in the woods surrounding the home rather than at the front.

I suppose all that money and breeding enables you to do whatever you want, Rodolphus thought, vaguely envious. Malfoy had generations of power and prestige — not to mention millions of Galleons — behind his name, and Rodolphus wondered briefly what it must be like to command such respect and attention. Not for the first time, he wondered what had drawn a man like Lucius Malfoy to the Death Eaters. He has everything I want already, Rodolphus thought in a moment of introspection. Voldemort promised me the kind of power Lucius Malfoy commands with his name alone. I wonder what the Dark Lord promised him for his service — what is it he could possibly lack?

He watched, amused, as Malfoy said something to Bellatrix and then took her arm, leading her over to the dark grove of trees where Rodolphus waited in the shadows.

As they approached, he heard her honeyed voice saying sarcastically, “I am so certain you have something to show me in here, Malfoy. Does this trick work for you often with women?”

“Only, apparently, when they are as easy as you, Black,” Malfoy said, and Rodolphus grinned as he watched Bellatrix’s eyes narrow as he pulled her into the shadows. Nott had fallen back, walking back towards the house, most likely to make Bellatrix’s excuses, since she would definitely not be returning.

“Let me go,” Bellatrix said, pulling at her arm, which Malfoy had tucked beneath his. “I should have known better than to listen to you, you silver-tongued bastard.”

“Yes, you should have,” Malfoy agreed, dragging her over to where Rodolphus stood in the shadows, his heart racing and his body strangely aroused at the sight of her struggling. Something about watching her in pain was causing an unbearable excitement within him. “Why on earth did you agree to go with me, then?”

“I’m bored,” she snapped and looked around. Rodolphus, still hidden, watched her take in her surroundings and shoot Malfoy an amused look. “What, you want another go round? Once more for old time’s sake? I didn’t know I was that good, Malfoy,” she purred, and Rodolphus found he was clenching his hands into fists, angered, although he did not know why.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Black,” Malfoy snapped, and motioned towards Rodolphus. “I’m here for an entirely different reason.”

Rodolphus stepped out of the shadows then, staring silently at Bellatrix but saying not a word. He wasn’t sure what he expected. He thought perhaps she might run or scream or try and curse him — but she did none of those things.

A flush crept on her high cheekbones, and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Oh,” she said, and there was an odd sense of suppressed excitement in her voice.

“Indeed,” Malfoy sneered, pulling his own cloak over his head. “You know what this is, I suppose?” He pulled the hood over his hair and was adjusting his mask, standing behind Bellatrix, who was still staring at Rodolphus.

He saw a brief flash of fear flare briefly in her midnight eyes. “You’re playing dress up, Malfoy?” she said insolently, masking her fear with bravado.

“Such bravery, Black,” Malfoy said. His voice had lost all hint of emotion; Rodolphus knew he was angered at her insolence. “That impertinent mouth of yours has no place where we are going, and it shall only get you hurt.” Malfoy was masked and robed now, and he looked towards Rodolphus. “Show her we are serious,” he said, and Rodolphus grinned like a shark beneath his mask.

“With pleasure,” he said, low, and before Bellatrix could move he backhanded her across the mouth. It was no light blow; her head snapped back at the force of his blow, and his hand stung. It felt very satisfying, although he noticed his cock grew hard as he struck her and wondered idly why hurting her gave him such a thrill.

She raised one black-gloved finger to touch her lip, which was bleeding slightly. Her eyes had closed reflexively when he had struck her, and when she opened them there was a gleam in her ebony eyes that disconcerted him and aroused him even further.

There was anger, certainly — it fairly sparkled on her, dancing around her skin like some invisible halo. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, and her breathing was harsh. However, that gleam in her eyes was pure lust, and when she licked the blood off her finger, she laughed in the darkness. Rodolphus thought he wanted to do nothing more than shove her on the ground and hurt her, wrap his hands on her throat and shove himself inside of her, to lick at the blood on her lip and bite her, hurt her, make her scream …

“Well, well. Hullo, Lestrange,” she said, interrupting his violent fantasy, her voice amused. “It’s been a long time.”

He reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling sharply as Malfoy shook his head and muttered something Rodolphus did not hear, as the blood was roaring in his ears. It then went straight to his cock, which was hard and aching in want for the vexing witch who stared into his eyes with lazy arrogance.

“Not long enough,” he snarled, and she laughed. He imagined her on her knees — except it was before him instead of the Dark Lord, and the thought did nothing to ease the ache between his thighs. He put his other hand on her waist to hold her so they could Apparate, waiting for Malfoy to join them.

I hope the Dark Lord hurts her and wipes that arrogant smile off of her face, he thought as Malfoy pulled out his wand to Apparate them away. I hope I can watch, as I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, he thought viciously, not noticing he was absently stroking her waist with his thumb, even as his hand tightened further in her hair.