Author's Notes: Written for Lolaaaa's Last Kiss Competition on the HPFC forum.

Pick a pairing and write about their last kiss.

Takes place just before the Battle of Hogwarts.

Enjoy the Bellamort, friends!


"A moment, if you please, Bellatrix."

The words, spoken in the Dark Lord's usual clinical tone, sent Bellatrix's heart pounding. She froze while the rest of the Death Eaters filtered out, then turned slowly to meet her Master's gaze.

"Yes, my Lord?"

He was silent, and Bellatrix was quite sure her heartbeat was audible. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw breath into her lungs, her mind swimming from the adrenaline that the battle was filling her with.

"Come closer," the Dark Lord said at last, and Bellatrix was all too eager to comply. She hurried forward, standing just in front of him and meeting his eyes for a moment, then dropping her head respectfully.

"My Lord."

Another long silence, then he said, "You have been a most faithful Death Eater, Bellatrix."

"I am most honoured that my Lord thinks so," she murmured immediately, keeping her eyes upon the ground.

"Look at me, Bella."

The use of her pet name startled her, and she flushed with pleasure when she looked up to meet his brilliant, glowing eyes.

"A most faithful Death Eater," he repeated. "You have served well… when so many others abandoned…"

"You flatter me, my Lord," she told him. "There is no greater honour than to serve you… no greater pleasure…"

"So you have said to me in the past," the Dark Lord breathed. "And I ask once more, as I have in the past – no greater pleasure?"

"None that I could possibly hope to desire, my Lord."

"So, then,' he said, and his lip curled into a slight, delicate sneer, "when you imagine me – as you like to think of it – making love to you, it is not a desire? That would not be a higher pleasure than your service to me?"

Bellatrix flushed crimson. How much did he know, she wondered, of those secret passions that she kept locked in the deepest corners of her mind? If he knew enough to know how tenderly she often thought of the act…

"I– I apologize, my Lord," Bellatrix said, voice wavering. "I… I overstep my boundaries with such thoughts, and I beg your forgiveness. They are not true desires, only ill-conceived fancies–"


She looked up to him, eyes swimming with mortified tears.

"Do not be so ashamed," he told her, and there was an edge of impatience in his voice now. "It is hardly unexpected, after all. You are only human… and so susceptible to such desires."

"That does not excuse–"

"Oh, but it does…" Was it Bellatrix's imagination, or had he moved closer to her? "It is to be especially expected of a woman… and one who threw her girlhood away so soon, who gave herself so readily… in so many ways…"

Bellatrix could have cried. It had been years – decades, since before Azkaban – since anyone had reminded her of how she first gained entry into the Dark Lord's ranks. Many had known it, and many more suspected – why else would the Dark Lord take on a mere girl, unless she was bedding him? But people had forgotten once she proved that she could fight, and the Dark Lord – it had seemed – had forgotten most completely of all.

Since she had been freed from Azkaban, he had called her to his bedchamber only a handful of times, always leaving Bellatrix yearning for more. It stung badly, yes, but oh, being reminded of what a whore she had made of herself, and in the midst of the battle, too…

"It would be a pity," the Dark Lord said softly, "if you were to die tonight, and be left in this state… wanting…"

"P– Pardon, my Lord?"

His pale, spidery hand moved to touch her cheek ever so lightly. "I have been neglecting you, have I not, Bella? I have not been… seeing to it that you were pleased…"

"I– I am happy to serve you in any way I can, my Lord; I require no compensation…"


Bellatrix's breath caught. He was leaning closer to her now, gazing at her intently, his crimson eyes holding hers so that she could not have looked away if she wanted to. And then his mouth was on hers.

For all the times Bellatrix had been in his bed, she had been kissed by him upon only a handful of occasions, and that made it all the more wonderful. His lips felt firm and cool against hers, his fingers knotting in her hair, and for just a second, she forgot that she had every chance of dying in battle that night.

And then he pulled back. He hesitated for a second, then stepped away.

"You have been a fine servant, Bella," he told her.

"And it has been a pleasure to serve you, my Lord," she replied softly.