Retribution

Her breathing was fast and shallow, filled with anticipation and excitement. Nothing else could arouse her anymore - not after Azkaban.

How long had it been? She honestly didn't know. She had been there for centuries, it seemed. The Dementors had fed on her, on her memories. On the stream of pain which had once flown from her wand. But they had given her something back, to hold on to, to survive. Now it was all that was left of her. It would carry her for another day - another kill.

* * *

The Dark Lord had summoned them in the afternoon. That was unusual. It was not a problem for Bellatrix, but Lucius looked as annoyed as he would dare to show, when he Apparated. It seemed a sort of family business, just the two of them having been called. Could it have waited till evening, perhaps?

Nagini was coiled in front of the fireplace, all was peace and quiet. That's why he didn't have time to realize what was happening, to react, at least try to defend himself. It would have been futile, of course. Before he knew, he found himself firmly bound to a chair, his wand hopelessly stuck in the wooden frame of a window.

'I have a few questions for you, Lucius,' hissed Lord Voldemort, his high pitch voice colder than usual.

'I'm expecting that you will not be too cooperative and I would be surprised if you did not take any counter-potion to the Veritaserum all your long, busy and lies-filled life. So I will let Bella have a little fun with you, for starter. I will be back later, when you hopefully will be tired enough. Then we will talk.' He left them alone, in the warm and dim lit room, filled with smells.

Her Master had been very specific: he wanted answers from her brother-in-law; she would have to be careful, constantly remind herself of her Lord's wishes.

* * *

Relax - concentrate on something else - wait for it to be over.

Lucius was frantically forcing himself to think. Had he not be so exhausted, he would have fixed his attention on her bouncing gaze, restless, haunted by unseen ghosts.

In a corner of his mind he noticed that she had lost her touch, in a way, her care to subtle details, making up for it with a renewed ferocity. She would suddenly lose interest, as if not sure anymore of what she was doing, or why; as if she could not tell whether it was real or just a memory, just a dream - and then suddenly remember: her Master had ordered her to do that. Her Lord was the thread connecting her to the world outside. She knew he would return, never doubted that he would one day come for her and save her from them, from their hunger ...

It will be over soon. He will return, ask me questions. I will tell him what he wants to hear, and it will be over.

He was finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to a line of thoughts. He could have begun planning his revenge: it was a time as good as any. It was dark already, which was probably the reason why following her movements had grown so demanding.

* * *

Lord Voldemort had been observing them for a while, unseen. Disappointed, he took a mental note of how unreliable Bellatrix had become. In fact, even before, she had never been a model of restrain. One could admire how seasoned they both were, though: not a drop of blood, the whole time she had carefully avoided that he lost consciousness, and his pride had never allowed a moan, a cry to escape from his lips. All a bystander could have heard would have been her monotonous repetitions of the Curse and the cracklings from the tip of her wand, hiding in the peaceful popping of the fire.

It was time for one last conversation.

'Now you will tell me how you found out that Severus is betraying us, and when,' he asked without any preamble, briskly walking out of the shade.

Surprise, riding on a wave of what could have very well been defined panic. He needed time to think his way out. There had always been a way out.

'Maybe you have not had enough. I'm sure Bella would not mind to dedicate you a few more hours.' He was close, now, evaluating Lucius' conditions with the participation of a fisherman deciding whether or not it was time to pull his catch on board.

'No - my Lord - please - I am tired - enough,' Lucius heard himself saying. The only idea he had come up with was quite revolutionary: to tell the truth.

'My niece - Nimphadora. I sent her - to - Dumbledore.

'She told me - Severus -'

'A predictable move, to plant a spy. Anyone would think of it. Even I would,' he added with sarcasm, then continued: 'When exactly did you say you did it?'

His slit pupils were wide open, in the scarce light of the fire. Lucius should have been more prompt in answering. The beam hit him below the navel and he finally screamed, relieved, desperate.

'Was - summer -

'Two - years - ago.'

Voldemort looked mildly surprised, then turned to Bellatrix.

'Kill him. Drop the body at the Ministry. I want everyone to know what he was,' ordered Lord Voldemort while ripping off his left sleeve. Lucius noticed with curiosity that his Dark Mark was glowing for a General Assembly summon. Not that he could have picked up the slight discomfort, in the ocean of pain in which he was drowning.

'Then find your niece and bring her to the Assembly. She may be intelligent enough to make herself useful to us,' he finished.

* * *

They were alone again.

She stepped forward, to see him better, to savour the anticipation of her pleasure, to stretch the moment for as long as possible. He was still hysterically looking for a way out, his arrogance not yet allowing him to grasp the hopelessness of the situation.

Bellatrix leaned over him. He judged her excitement revolting: was she going to have an orgasm just by looking at him? Somewhere in the fog of his mind he had the intuition that this could be used to his advantage. Deliberately he licked the sweat over his upper lip. She took the bait. He kissed her, faking as much involvement as he could master. He bit her, tried not to vomit, stuck the tip of his tongue in the small wound. She did not respond, indifferent again, lost between dream and reality.

Then, suddenly waking up, she pushed away.

'Goodbye, Lucius,' she groaned, smiling, the blood flowing between her teeth, down on her neck.

'Avada Kedavra!'

A jolt, a cold flare of ecstasy, the pride washed away forever in the blank stare of his grey eyes, fixed onto the ceiling.

The restrains had undone themselves.

Sliding her left arm around, she lifted the body. In a flash she remembered the only other time he had laid in her arms, so long ago. She had frowned at the touch of his soft and silky hair: it felt like the hair of a child. She never liked killing children: the echo was wild and at the same time too weak - unpleasant, indeed. Of course there was no better way to get a message across ...

The light of the fire was playing tricks. Dancing shadows made her think he moved his head, limp on her shoulder, but that was impossible.

A big cat has some grace, when licking her antelope, after the kill.

She decided she was going to miss him, occasionally.