Not About Love

Bellatrix turned around, and found herself staring into the gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy. Puzzled, she smiled at him. "Yes, I suppose," she replied.

"Follow me," he said, turning in the other direction. "There are more intimate rooms we could use."

"More intimate, Mr. Malfoy?" she questioned, giving him a bit of a smirk.

"I only meant," he corrected unemotionally, "rooms more suited for a conversation between two people, rather than twelve."

He turned away, and lead her out not the back doorway, which descended into the dungeons from where she'd come, but through a paneled wood door which swung inwards to reveal a darkened hallway. He raised his arm and candlelight filled in the shadows. She followed him down this hallway, farther and farther back into the manor, past closed doors and leering portraits of Malfoys gone-by, until he finally lead her into a rather elaborate sitting room.

The wall to her left was covered entirely in bookshelves, each filled with hardbound, ancient-looking texts. To her right was a large, wooden desk completely devoid of paperwork of any kind. The wall facing the door was the most spectacular aspect of the room, comprised of sheer glass windows overlooking formal gardens and what appeared to be an enchanted hedge maze. As Bellatrix watched, the walls of the maze reorganized themselves, closing off pathways and opening new ones. She supposed it would be rather easy to be trapped in there forever.

He sat on a burgundy velvet sofa and motioned for her to seat herself in the armchair across from him. A part of her wanted to disobey and sit beside him on the sofa. She was not sure whether she just wanted to be contrary, or if it was something else. After a moment's silent deliberation, however, she obeyed his gesture and sat facing him.

She locked her gaze with his, studying his eyes for any trace of emotion, any clue as to why he'd brought her here, and finding none. Not that people generally find what they're looking for in such locations. "What did you want, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, taking a more direct approach.

"First off, call me Lucius," he said. She would have expected him to crack a smile, something complimentary to the first-name basis, but he did not.

"What did you want, then, Lucius?" she asked again, finding that, as intriguing as she found the man, he--like everyone else--could easily try her patience.

Without an answer, he slowly stood up again, and walked behind his desk. "Can I offer you a drink, Bellatrix?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," she answered. Bellatrix did not like the idea of being a woman who took whatever was offered, but decided she would rather seem as such than give away her complete lack of sophistication in matters such as these.

Lucius reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the bottle of twenty-year single-malt scotch, along with two small glasses. Finding comfort in the routine of carefully pouring the amber liquid, he spoke again. "What brings you to our cause at such a young age, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix was not sure whether his tone was reverent or patronizing, and dodged the question slightly. "I did not realize my age was the matter at hand," she responded, tersely. Was he impressed at her devotion so early in life, or did he doubt her capabilities? While she wanted very much to know which was the case, she did not dare let on that it mattered.

He replaced the bottle in the drawer, and walked back to the sofa, pausing to hand her the drink, letting his little finger brush against hers as she wrapped her hand around the glass. "It is impressive, that is all. Although I feel that our Lord has become more interested in recruiting younger followers, the two of us seem to be the first to fit that description."

"Really?" asked Bellatrix. She, in fact, had little to no idea who the rest of the Death Eaters were. Her interaction with Lucius that night was her first since he had been a distant seventh-year in her fourth year at Hogwarts, and she had no idea whose faces were concealed by the dark cloaks in the earlier meeting. The realization that her position entailed not only loyalty to her master and use of dark magic, but dealing with his other servants, was not a pleasant one. Other people, with their customs and ambiguities, were not something with which Bellatrix enjoyed concerning herself.

"Indeed, really. I had heard you would be joining us tonight. The Dark Lord speaks well of you."

Hearing this from him, she felt a new surge of confidence. Her voice seemed somehow steadier, more knowing to Lucius. "I'm not surprised by that."

"Is it true what they say then?" he asked

"That depends on what they're saying, now doesn't it?"

He lowered his voice to near a whisper and leaned in towards her. "That you learned the Dark Arts from the Dark Lord himself."

Bellatrix smiled back at him, and leaned backwards, slowly taking a sip of the bitter liquid. Never being given much more than a glass of wine at the table at home, and not being one for going out drinking, this was her first taste of the scotch liquor. She found it distasteful, but with a certain allure to it. Perhaps this was a taste she would acquire for herself. After a moment's pause she looked back at him, knowing fully the effect her words would have. "Didn't you?"

He put his weight against the velvety cushion. This woman had been the only one among them to receive training from the Dark Lord himself. They all knew that, had heard of it in the days leading up to her joining them; how she would excel where the rest of them merely served nicely. Without allowing his expression to change, Lucius consoled himself, reminding himself that he offered other things to the Dark Lord, and he too was invaluable to the cause. No matter who had trained this woman, she had yet to do anything.

"No," he said finally. "I have taught myself. Fortunately, the Malfoy family library contains many volumes on the subject."

She let her gaze drift above him to the wall behind him, scanning the spines of the books. "Dark Arts through the Ages," "Time-tested Curses and Hexes," "Forty-seven uses for Unicorn Blood." What she wouldn't do with free-reign over this study...

He watched her eyes scan the wall behind him, and finally cleared his throat. "I see my collection interests you."

She took another small sip of the scotch. "It seems fascinating."

"Yes, I thought you'd like this room." He stood, and walked over to the window. "Come here, Bellatrix." Slowly, she stood, and placed the glass down on top of his blotter. She walked over, and looked out the window. Although it was after ten o'clock, the grounds outside seemed oddly illuminated. "It's enchanted."

She turned and smiled at him. "You don't say."

"You can see that the maze moves. However, from ground level, its movements are invisible. Once entered, the maze can never be escaped unless I decide otherwise."

"You?"

"Well, this is my property."

"Not your family's?"

"My, you are very uninformed."

It was hard work to keep him from seeing that his comment had resonated. "I was away at school until just a couple of months ago," she responded, subtly reminding him once again of her what she had attained at such a young age.

"My father was killed by aurors two years ago."

"Oh." She paused. "I'm sorry."

"He was a lousy father and a lousy man. But at least he had his priorities in the right place. Unlike the ministry, which feels it can come into private homes, wands blazing. Since that happened, I've had several safeguards put up around the house."

"And your mother?"

"Ah, mother. She," he paused, looking her straight in the eye, "was the one who betrayed him, and our cause. Father was a most untrusting man, and his will allowed for such circumstances, so everything went to me. Mother was too proud of her treachery to feel any sort of loss for that, and while I cannot bring myself to do anything more to punish her for her infidelities, I have forbidden her to show her face here again."

While Bellatrix felt a certain sort of compassion for the loss of his parents, she concealed a guarded jealousy for the freedom he had, which she lacked. He had never had to come downstairs for family dinners, to care for younger sisters, or to make excuses in order to leave the house. Most importantly, Lucius never had to explain to his parents what he was planning to do with his life. She wouldn't tell him she envied him, of course.

"My father was a very close servant to Lord Voldemort," Lucius continued, interrupting her thoughts. "After his death, I was able to provide our Lord with many of the same resources he did." He glanced around their opulent surroundings, as if to guide her eyes around the impressive furnishings. "Material resources, of course, which are nearly unrivaled. I'd like to think that, considering my youth, I also bring a rather extensive knowledge of dark magic...But I seem to be trumped in that category."

He had handed that to her, and while she relished that, she also felt pressure to live up to those expectations.

"Why did he teach you, Bellatrix?"

His directness stunned her. "I... I'm not sure. He saw my potential, I guess."

Lucius leaned against the window frame and faced her, eyeing her up and down. "He didn't see anything else, then, did he?"

She slapped him. And she laughed. As he brought his fingers to touch the reddened skin of his cheek, he smiled along with her.

"Different line of questioning, then," he said.

"Is this an interrogation then?"

"I didn't say that."

"You certainly hinted at the idea," she pointed out.

"All right," he said, returning to the burgundy sofa. "Remain a mystery, if you'd like."

The thought of her as mysterious was odd. She'd never seen herself that way, after all, while she had secrets, she was not a stunningly exciting figure, and not even remotely enigmatic. She turned away from the window, facing him. "Would you like that, Lucius?"

"Like what?"

"For me to remain a mystery? Because I can." She started for the door, hearing the pewter hinges creak as she swung it open.

"No," he said sternly. This was not what he had wanted at all. In fact, it was the complete opposite of why he'd kept her behind. But she was gone.

--

It took Bellatrix twenty minutes to find her way back to the meeting room, and the stairway back to the dungeons, from which she was able to apparate home. She started slowly down the hall, carefully retracing the steps she'd taken earlier. She was in no hurry, most of her expecting him to follow. After all, she had made a very hasty departure. He surprised her by staying where he was, watching the candlelight flicker in his scotch glass.

Bellatrix tried to wrap her mind around what had gone on in Lucius's study. It seemed that what he wanted was information. He'd wanted to know why she had been taught by the Dark Lord, and why he had not. Yet, despite her sense that he had meant to glean information from her, she had learned quite a bit more from him. Perhaps this meant that he would find another way to talk to her, some other time. Because she doubted he wanted her to remain a mystery. Maybe, she told herself, she would even live up to that role.

First, however, she would have to live up to her responsibilities to the Dark Lord. She returned home, to her family dinners. Without the younger girls to watch after, she had more free time, but also more pressure from her parents to become what they wanted her to be. She had no answer for them. They wanted an aristocratic, respectable marriage and feminine hobbies, things she had little interest in providing.

Sometime soon, she knew, she would no longer be able to hide her true interests. Perhaps they would be proud that she had taken on so noble a cause, even if it contradicted their expectations. For now, however, she would wait. After four days of waiting, the pitch-black owl again appeared at her window. She let it in, and opened the envelope, eagerly reading its contents:

Bellatrix:

Ernestina Woolbright is to be met at her home at 19 Maple Cove this evening. Her husband will be away. Place her under Imperius and conceal yourself where you will be able to control her. She is to tell him that she is leaving him for another man and shall not return. Once she has packed and left the house, follow her until it is safe to dispose of all evidence.

Bellatrix fed the owl and sent it away. She set fire to the note, smiling as it burned. Putting on her cloak, she rushed downstairs, where she found her father sitting by the fireplace. In her haste to perform her duties, she had forgotten her parents were both home and awake.

"Where are you going, Bellatrix?"

She was far too full of adrenaline to bother with the niceties and deceptions she was used to giving her parents. "Out, Father."

"That seems apparent. You do have a destination, don't you?"

Bellatrix pursed her lips together. "I'm meeting some friends."

"When will you be back?"

"Later. Does it matter? I'm eighteen, I can take care of myself."

"As long as you're under my roof, it matters."

Bellatrix was almost able to appreciate the irony that she was having a very typical family argument when she was actually about to go out and perform crimes that, if discovered, could land her a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

"I'm meeting a friend... he works for the Ministry. I wanted to talk to him about his career."

"Very well, then. Please be quiet when you return. Your mother has gone to bed early."

"I shall, Father."

Rather than heading downstairs to disapparate, she walked out the door, hoping to appear less suspicious to her father. Fortunately he had not asked the name of the friend she was meeting, as she did not know the name of anyone who worked at the Ministry, and her father most certainly did.

When she was beyond line of sight from the house, she walked behind some bushes and vanished.

--

Nineteen Maple Cove was a small and well-kept house. Bright-colored flower-beds blanketed the front yard, and the house was painted a very pale, pleasant shade of yellow. Bellatrix quietly snuck in the front door, to find an old-fashioned kitchen stocked with copper pots, and a kettle sitting on the stove. To her left was a living room, furnished with a floral-upholstered sofa and loveseat. She heard a shower running upstairs.

The ceiling of the first floor was fairly low, and it was a quick climb to the second story, where Bellatrix opened a couple of doors, one to a study, one to the guest bedroom, before finally finding the master bedroom. The gentle patter of the shower was louder here, and a soft cloud of steam gathered under the bathroom door. Bellatrix found a closet opposite the bathroom door, and hid herself inside it. There, she was surrounded by Muggle clothes- patterned skirts and pastel blouses, as well as wizarding robes. This, Bellatrix thought with a slight twinge of disgust, was a household that was very friendly with Muggles.

"Perspicuus," she whispered and was able to see through the closet door into the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, the bathroom door opened, sending clouds of light and steam through the door, followed by a plain-looking woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, wearing a fluffy pink towel around her body and drying her hair with a smaller, blue one.

Bellatrix ended the charm on the door and stepped out into the room. The woman gasped, nearly dropping the towel wrapped around herself. Bellatrix looked at her with great distaste.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the woman asked. Her voice shook with terror, and Bellatrix's lips curled into a smile. She felt the smooth ebony of her wand at her fingertips and pointed it at the towel-clad woman.

"Imperio."

From this point forward, Bellatrix Black would have a life sentence on her head, but at the moment she felt too powerful, too fulfilled, too... happy... to realize that unsavory detail.