Author's Notes: Written for the love i think i deserve's Dabble in a Drabble competition on the HPFC forum with the prompt "deadly" and the pairing Bellatrix/Voldemort.

This is a present for my dear and wonderful friend, xx-His-Most-Loyal-Servant-xx, the Bellatrix to my Voldemort. My eternal love to you, darling.



Bellatrix was well acquainted with death.

One could not be in the service of the Dark Lord and not know every intimate detail of death. She knew what different sorts of people looked like when they were dying, the fear that ran through their eyes when they realised that it was imminent, the way they begged and pleaded with her as the reality that she was going to take their lives set in on them.

For a brief moment, while Bellatrix had her wand trained upon a poor soul whose life she was about to end, she was the master – mistress, more correctly – of death.

She adored the way that she could make someone scream and beg when she had them in her power, when she had death at her disposal. The power it gave her over them pleased her.

It was odd, therefore, how very much she enjoyed it when she was the one in that position, when she was the one in danger, when she was the one who could be dead at any moment without a hope of escape.

She was not foolish, she knew better than to allow such pleasures to interfere with her when she was fighting. She did not take chances against an enemy who had even the barest hope of winning against her.

The only situation in which she allowed her guard to drop, in which she allowed herself to be put in peril – revelled in putting herself in peril – was when she was with the Dark Lord.

"Don't test me, Bellatrix," he would hiss, his voice sharp, and he would raise his wand to brush against her cheek and she knew that he could end her life with two simple little words.

That was what she loved most about being with him.