A/N: It seems that Bellatrix has some sort of multi-personality disorder. Or perhaps that is just me, since several of my multiple personalities partook in writing this one.
imbananasfordananas inspired me. Go check out her story, Voldy's a Hunk, because it is absolute awesomeness.
Oh. Just a random fact: I love imbananasfordananas quite a bit.
And another: I always have to sing some Gwen Stefani whenever I try to spell banana ... I cannot spell it without. Here is my attempt: babab I'll have another go: banaha
I give up.
No, just Tommy.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Voldie vs. Voldy
The Dark Lord
My Dark Lord
My Darkest Lord
Really Freaking Sexy
You know Voldemort?
Of course you do, he's the most attractive guy ever.
If he wasn't plastered across every single newspaper and magazine for killing muggles, killing witches, and killing wizards, I am sure he would be in the 'Sexiest Men Alive' category of every single juicy gossip magazine on the racks.
Seriously, what a hunk. Look at him. Just three seconds and you will turn into a puddle. Quite literally. He's so dreamy! He has those incredibly sexy red eyes and that flat nose that makes snogging perfect; it can't get in the way since it's not there. His skin is that delectable pale color that makes him look like some sort of perfect marble masterpiece carved by a really hot Italian guy with abs. Oh, and Voldemort's abs... hunkylicious. So delicious.
Aside from the fact he's a total evil hottie, he is super boss. He doesn't need to play the guitar. He doesn't need a leather jacket. He is Voldemort. Why would he need anything to make him cooler?
"My lord," I timidly muttered. It was always like this whenever I tried to talk to to him – I lost my cool. All the time, I was awesome, since I killed people and maimed people and ruined families and yelled at people. But whenever I was in his presence, my voice was unable to work properly. My knees became weak and I had difficulty just supporting myself when he was simply in the same room as me.
"What?" he spat, not even turning to face me, instead intent on staring into the depths of the slowly dying fire. The warm glow gave an odd illusion on his back; I was used to seeing him outlined in cold blackness, but the red glow around him made him appear as if he was some sort of extremely sexy devil that had just jumped out of the seventh circle of hell to wreak havoc on the earth, to dominate it, and to have an amazing affair with me.
Unfortunately, he would never be my lover. I just knew that the man standing in front of me was something I had never seen before. It was an instinct: I knew he was different. And something else I could immediately decipher upon meeting him: he was not interested, in the slightest, in having any sort of romantic relationship with anyone if he had a world of opportunity.
And that included me. The realization completely baffled me. Never before had I loved a man who had not wanted me. So I devised a plan – even though I was definitely not into being Voldemort's little groupie, I went along with everything he said and became his most faithful and unwavering servant he could ever dream of.
I was devastatingly gorgeous, an attribute that is always a plus. How Voldemort did not just snog my face off every time I was in his presence, I had never worked out. I was undeniably faithful, something useful when he needed a little action. He only had to ring me or summon me via dark mark. Simple. And he could get some from a willing candidate.
Good looks and willingness to have a little one-on-one time with Voldy apparently was not enough for a relationship. Trust me – we had a lot of one-on-one time, but that wasn't cutting it for me. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have his evil babies. But he didn't want any of it. Come on! Wouldn't an evil serpentine baby be absolutely adorable? Just picture a cute mini-Voldemort in different stages of life. And there could be multiple. A Tom. A Tommy. A Voldy. A Salazar.
I had to hide my feelings from him – if he ever knew of my darkest desire – marriage and a family – he would kill me. So I decided to settle for whatever I could get.
And that was not a romance. That was not love. But I soon discovered that Voldemort could not love. He could not be my lover. He was mentally incapable of such a feat. Perhaps, then, I would play with the emotion I knew he had – jealousy.
My brilliant plan was to get it on with Severus Snape. It was too easy! A really attractive girl, like myself, and a hormonal teenager added up as a jealous Voldemort. And it totally worked. He confronted me, and told me that, unless I wanted to be killed, I should not participate with such endeavors with coworkers. Since there were several married couples who served Voldy, I knew he was jealous. He wanted me for himself.
Our 'relationship' lasted for two years before he dumped me. It sucked. Which brings me back to the present...
"My lord," I repeated, making my voice a bit louder and clearer than it was before. It was still immeasurably hard to concentrate on anything besides his intimidating and attractive figure. "How about I kill the boy for you?" I was always offering to do his dirty work for him; he seemed to enjoy not having to go and kill here, murder there, and destroy elsewhere.
"No," he replied icily. He might as well have shouted it – I felt immediately incompetent and useless. Someone of his immense sexiness should not have to listen to such a tosser like myself. But I wasn't a tosser. I was sexy. I was young. I was the best and most dangerous death eater. Without a doubt, people thought I was better than toe socks. And trust me on this one – toe socks are bloody awesome. And I was completely in love with this man. He should have been all over me! What had happened to those days where he would snog me senseless?
"I will kill the boy myself,"
And imagine my disappointment and devastation when, later that day, Voldemort's defeat was announced.
Accordingly, the baby brought about his downfall.
By all means, I would make sure the boy died.
I had to avenge my lover.
It kind of sucks when you're trying to avenge the apparently dead lover of yours when you're locked away in the highest security prison out there.
"My Lord!" I whispered, scurrying towards the clearing he had been pacing around for forty minutes. He looked absolutely dreamy from the back – it made me think of the happier times. The days before that infant had momentarily conquered him. When we had been, more or less, a couple.
I feared he didn't know how much I loved him. I feared that he never would. The night was almost over – what if something bad happened to him?
But he is Voldemort and is invinceble... Nothing bad can happen to him.
But it can to me. Rubbish. I rock toe-socks.
"Let me bring you the boy!" Perhaps, then, he would be able to stop pacing around, Harry would be dead, and Voldemort could be my lover. Sounded like a good idea to me. So that's why I offered to him. It seemed like it worked.
"Bellatrix," he hissed in a totally sexy way. Yeah, boy. He was coming on to me. Oh, Merlin, he was so hot. Hot to an exponential degree.
Then, he turned around, arms folded around his chest, and he gazed into my eyes with his beautiful slitted pupils.
"The boy is mine..." he breathed vaguely. What? Did that suggest he was gay with Harry? Did he not like me? At all?
For exactly thirty more seconds, I stood there, then trotted back out of the clearing, leaving behind my one and only true love.
That was where I belonged. Fighting right at Voldy's side.
It really is a shame that I died.
I was looking forward to defeating that stupid brat Harry Potter, creating a horcrux or two of of my own, and spending the rest of my immortal life with Voldy.
Harry Freaking Potter is still bloody breathing.
What the bloody hell is wrong with the world?