Sequel to 'Night Tears': She was not weak, but they both knew she was broken. She could still smile to him, but her heart was torn apart. All she wanted was his night kisses to heal her…
AN/ I AM BACK. And I am back with a sequel for "Night Tears"! *me is so very excited :DDD* I know, I said I would not do a sequel, well, I said I would not do one yet. But, obviously, I simply could not keep myself from attacking the keyboard and start writing this… I tried, but I couldn't… "Night Tears" was my all time fav to write, and I just couldn't leave it like that… I hope you understand… XD So, this is picked from where "Night Tears" stopped. That is, poor Rod's death… So obviously, this is not going to be like "Night Tears" (I mean, there will not be the whole Bella/Voldemort/Rod triangle thing, since Rod is, well, dead), it is going to be much more Bella/Voldemort. Bellamort will be increasing along the way, but it starts from where their relationship was at "Night Tears" (yes, yes, that is Voldemort having acted like a jerk towards Bella, and Bella being a wreck because of him). The first chapter is pretty short, and I apologize for that, but it's some sort of prologue to the story.
Even if you have not read "Night Tears", I do believe there will be no problem with reading this, I think you'll understand what's going on, but still, I recommend that you read it. If you want, of course.
So, enough with me making you think "will she EVER stop with this f****ng Author's Note!", off to the fun part! Of course, I own nothing but the plot. Everything is the property of the brilliant JK Rowling.
Please, hit that button below and tell me what you think!
I'm sorry for blaming you for everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you
Some days I feel broke inside but I won't admit
Sometimes I just want to hide 'cause it's you I miss
You know it's so hard when it comes to this…
~Christina Aguilera, "Hurt"
Lord Voldemort had never been genuinely worried for someone. His deatheaters got injured more often than not, and many times it took weeks for them to recover; some times it had been the Dark Lord himself who had caused his followers to stay out to recover for so long, mostly as a result of disobedience or failure.
Bellatrix had been injured and wounded during battles many times in the past, and she had also gone through many particularly brutal punishments for having disappointed or disobeyed Voldemort. He was used in seeing her being tired, exhausted, wounded, and he had never worried, since he knew she would soon be perfectly fine and ready to serve him once more, with more eagerness than anyone else in his ranks.
But now, now he truly did not know what to think of her state. It had been less than two days since he had met her at his door, finding himself looking into a pair of empty black eyes. A small faint smile was spread across her face, even though it was clear that it was no sign of joy or amusement, and she looked paler than usual. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her wand was still at hand.
He had allowed her to get inside then, and he had immediately understood that her state had had to do with the punishment she had received earlier that day by him. This had confused him, though; it was not the first time she had been tortured by him, and certainly not the most painful punishment she had received.
He remembered her throwing herself on one of his couches, seeming not to care about formalities; she had let her wand slip from her hand and he had not made a move to pick it up from the floor for her. It would have been a useless thing to do.
Then she had looked at him, her eyes still blank, her small empty smile still spread across her pale face. He had raised an eyebrow and had asked her what had made her think she was welcome in his manor, after the events that had taken place there.
And her bitter smile had not yet left her. He had sharply ordered her to explain herself, and she had done so.
"I am not weak, master," she had told him, and he had truly been confused. Then he had remembered his words when he had been torturing her earlier that day, and his face had once again turned cold and emotionless.
"What makes you think that, Bellatrix?' he had questioned coolly, but she had not flinched, she had not cried, she had not begged like she had done while getting punished.
"I did what you wanted, master," she had replied, and she had smiled again. But her smile had still held no joy.
He had raised an eyebrow again.
"I killed him. "I killed Rodolphus. Are you not satisfied now, my lord? I am not weak, as you said, I proved I am your most faithful!"
She had killed him. This had surprised Voldemort. Yes, he had ordered her to do so, but he had never really expected she would do it. He knew Bellatrix didn't love her husband, she would have never been so stupid, but he was aware of the bond between the married couple, and, despite punishing her and calling her weak, he had thought she would never do it. He had been planning to do it himself, since he could not rely on Bella for this.
"You killed him," he had repeated icily, as if not believing her, even though he had been positive she was telling him the truth.
He had not known if he should praise her for being a good servant, if he should simply acknowledge her obedience and then tell her to leave, or punish her again for taking her so late to do something so simple. But before he could do anything of these, she had cried.
He had seen her crying before; when pleading him, when wanting to manipulate Rodolphus, when being angry. But never because of being desperate. Never because of being broken.
She had collapsed, right in front of him, sobbing, uttering words that had seemed like "I am sorry" to him. And then she had fallen unconscious at his feet, not being able to handle the stress and desperation.
Two days had passed since that incidence, two whole days, and she had still not woken up from the state she was in. he had never seen anything like that, someone being unconscious for no reason, for so long.
Lord Voldemort was now sitting in his study room, knowing that Bellatrix was still laying on the bed in one of the bedrooms of his mansion, covered with the thick blankets, being alive and yet lifeless. He had no idea why he had decided to keep her in his own manor, and look after her, when he could have simply left her under the care of a medi-witch and wait until she was healthy and ready to fight for his cause again.
Of course, he could have done that and keep his mind free of having to look after someone, but he had kept her here. He didn't know why; perhaps it is because he wanted to know what had caused this, he told himself. Of course he wanted Bellatrix to be healthy and well, she was perhaps his best dueler and extremely devoted, and could not afford to lose her. She also was extremely good at pleasing him and always eager to do so.
She was also always the first one to volunteer for a dangerous task that had to be completed, always the one who would do anything for him without hesitation. Now that this had occurred, he merely wanted to find the reasons why and make sure Bellatrix would be able to return to her prior activities. Nothing more.
Bellatrix opened her eyes, for the second time that day. She was glad her master did not know she was awake; for the last couple of days, she had been drifting in and out of consciousness, before finally losing all her senses and recovering them again that day.
She did not want him to step in the room and start asking questions. She did not want to talk to him. She did not want to talk to anyone. All she wanted was to stay in that bed for as long as possible, alone, away from reality.
Suddenly, she felt dizzy and sick once again. She threw her head back on the pillows, and inhaled deeply. Perhaps that was a bad idea; she coughed for quite some long seconds after that attempt to get air into her lungs.
Her head hurt. Her whole body hurt. Her eyes hurt. She was dizzy. Her vision was blurry. Everything spun around her.
A hand flew to her forehead, and she gasped when she sensed how high her temperature was. It could have been because of the extremely thick blankets, but she knew she must have had a fever.
She was a mess. And the memories of what had happened two days before didn't help at all. She growled as she felt her head hurt once again, and this time the pain truly was terrible; it felt as if someone was hammering her forehead from the inside.
She closed her eyes again, and struggled to force herself back to sleep. It did not work; her mind stubbornly refused to relax, while the memories of what she had done invaded her mind. She bit her lower lip, and desperately tried to repel them, but with no luck.
She thought she would cry again, but she surprised herself when she didn't; apparently, there were no tears left to spill. Her thoughts were abruptly ceased though, when she heard footsteps from outside the room. Her weak fingers clenched on the blanket that was wrapped around her, and she fixed her now wide open eyes at the door.
It did not creak as it opened, and Bellatrix held her breath as a man's tall figure entered the room, struggling to keep her eyes focused on him, as the pain on her head became worse.
She opened her mouth to speak, but realized that she could not utter a single word. Was she too weak even to talk? She closed her eyes; her head was killing her.
"Bellatrix? You're awake," a familiar voice acknowledged, and she sighed. She could not face her master now… Not now…
She allowed herself to fall back on the mattress, as the pain became almost unbearable. She felt her master sit on the bed next to her, and a cold hand touched her forehead.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, and she wholeheartedly hoped that what she had traced in his voice was a sign of care, but she knew this could not be. His voice was as cold and emotionless as ever.
Once again, she tried to answer to his question, but no sound came out. Before she could try again, everything went black.