Obsession

Chapter 9

Of all the concessions Lord Voldemort was willing to make to accommodate Bellatrix, being clingy was not one of them.

Therefore, he kept himself from her entirely for five days, focusing his mental energies on the political machinations that would help him ascend to authority. Finally, on the sixth day after waking up beside her, he Summoned her to Malfoy Manor, waiting patiently in his office with a file folder on the stout wooden desk before him.

"Enter," he said smoothly when he heard knocking on his office door. Bellatrix came walking in looking drawn and tired, but she forced a little smile as he gestured to the chair opposite him. He gave her a rather pleasant look by his own standards, but he could sense sadness and anger radiating off of Bellatrix in waves. Voldemort frowned deeply when he saw the fingerprint-shaped bruises along the sides of her neck. He cleared his throat roughly and said,

"I've called you here on business."

She nodded wordlessly, and Voldemort scowled more deeply than ever. He pushed the file folder toward her, and Bellatrix silently picked it up and opened it. Voldemort watched her eyes, usually brilliant but dull today, as they scanned over the papers inside.

"Willow Freightman," Bellatrix finally said in a soft voice. She nodded. "She'll do perfectly, Master. Lives alone in a little cottage in Yorkshire, a long-time employee in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. The widow of a Muggle, the mother of a grown Half-Blood who married a Mudblood. She's an ideal target. She'll go quickly, smoothly. Without a trace. When?"

She was so matter-of-fact, just like always, but as Bellatrix raised her face to Voldemort, he made a little observation.

"You've been crying."

Bellatrix sniffed a little and shrugged. "Willow Freightman. When shall I eliminate her for you, Master?"

He licked his bottom lip and said, "Not for a few weeks. Malfoy really did make quite an error in casting the Dark Mark. The Prophet has been trying to solidify public opinion against us. We've finally got the associate editor Imperiused, but we need a little more downtime before anything that people will suspect has been done by us. I'll notify you as soon as it's time. You should have all the information you'll need so you can move quickly and effectively."

Bellatrix nodded and held up the file. "May I keep this, My Lord?"

"Yes." Voldemort folded his hands on his desk, feeling his irritation well up beyond his ability to control it anymore. He stared again at Bellatrix's neck and demanded, "Where did those bruises come from?"

Bellatrix touched her knuckles to her neck and said in a self-conscious mumble, "I used Butterfly Weed Balm; I hadn't thought they'd still be visible."

"Oh, I can see them just fine," Voldemort snapped quietly. He narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"

Bellatrix sighed and lowered her eyes, dragging her fingernails over the file in her lap. "Rodolphus and I... it's so childish. We were duelling."

"Duelling," Voldemort repeated, his stomach churning for some reason. "I assume you were not engaged in a friendly practice session?"

"No, Master," Bellatrix admitted, keeping her eyes down. "We were arguing."

Her breath shook a little then, and Voldemort waited for her to make eye contact, her gaze glazed and sorrowful, and he thought, Legilimens.

'You're fucking him and you begrudge me one night spent in the company of another witch?' Rodolphus demanded, flying up from his armchair. Bellatrix crossed her arms.

'No, I don't blame you, Dolph; I just want to ensure you're being careful because he -'

'You hypocritical whore.' Suddenly Rodolphus sent a ball of white light hurtling from his wand toward Bellatrix. She cast a rapid, nonverbal Shield Charm and scowled. When Rodolphus opened her mouth again, she Silenced him, but it wore off quickly, and he used his wand to send a nearby lamp sailing across the room. Bellatrix swatted it out of its line of fire, but it crashed against the wall, and she mumbled,