Post by trickibee on Apr 19, 2008 6:38:07 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Private Pleasure[/glow]
Summary: There is one thing that never fails to please the Dark Lord.
AN: I can't tell you where this came from without giving it away! It's a fairly common structure, though; even if some of the syntax is a little non-standard.
Hope you enjoy and get a giggle!
I've never written humour before, so hold onto your wand, it could be a bumpy ride ahead!
Bellatrix sat outside, her back against the impenetrable stone wall, her head turned skywards. She couldn’t stand being outside their bedroom anymore, not hearing a single thing, so she had turned to the stars for company; or maybe for comfort. Of course they weren’t nearly as engaging as the man whose bed she shared, but for now, while she had been cast away, they were her best option.
Thus she gazed at them questioningly, and silently begged them for answers – What could he possibly be doing in that bedroom that was more entertaining than her? – and she fought prangs of depression – Why wouldn’t he tell her? – and pain shot through her like a cruciatus curse – Was there someone else?
Deep down she knew she really had no right to claim him; he was, after all, the most powerful wizard on the planet. Sharing a home with him, a bed with him, a life with him did not make him hers. Nevertheless, she still liked to believe he was.
Bellatrix didn’t even bother with occlumency anymore. He was stronger than her, even if it wasn’t by a great deal. In her own right she was an incredibly strong witch, but when he didn’t want her to find out what was going through his mind she stood next to no chance.
It was this knowledge that led her to wait, for she had no better option; and she did so often – too often for her liking.
Initially she hadn’t worried, she’d merely sat in the lounge by the fire, waiting for him come to her, to stand before her and reach for her hand, or lean down for her lips. Then she knew she could return to their bedroom, the only room in the house that was unquestionably her domain – even if she wasn’t always the master when within its walls.
Now she questioned this sense of security. Had she been foolish? Hasty? She didn’t know anymore, and she hadn’t for some time.
After her waiting sessions became more frequent, she had sat outside the room, rather than in the lounge, trying to hear something that would alert her to what was occurring in her bedroom {Yes, her territoriality did tend to come out where he was concerned}.
Of course she was given no clue; again, he was the most powerful wizard on the planet. This was no surprise to anyone, least of all her.
There was a silencing charm cast upon the room, and if anyone was coming or going they would apparate into the room.
How she wished he would allow her to block apparition on their grounds. Maybe this was why he wouldn’t?
Satan, she was losing her mind - HE was going to make her lose her mind {Well, make her more mad than she already was}. She resented him for it. But she resented him about a million times less than she loved him. She loved him so much it almost caused her a physical pain.
She was the definition of devotion.
All this was the reason she hadn’t walked, and the indirect reason she sat outside her own house, her back against the cold stone wall, her knees pulled to her chest and her mind coming up with scenarios worse than her wedding Harry Potter.
It had all started after the strangest month. Voldemort had discovered some insightful, mysterious, fantastical muggle weapon, which he had proceeded to steal, regardless of how many muggles he had to kill {all those whose help he had enlisted to get said weapon ‘operational’, but she was eternally sworn to secrecy on this point, as it could not be known that he had needed a muggle’s help for anything}.
She was not entirely sure what it was, where it was, or what it did {beyond it would help him return to power}, knowing he would tell her when he was ready. Could she really be certain of that after all that was going on? She wasn’t so sure.
Little more than a week later, Lucius’ cane – and therefore wand – had gone missing. Several days after that Voldemort had made another mysterious excursion, but this time she wasn’t sure where, or why.
All she knew was that he had returned late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, with an odd shaped package and slid nonchalantly – a little too nonchalantly – into bed beside her after stowing it somewhere. He had pulled her into his arms, believing her to be sound asleep, but had realised she wasn’t when he felt how tense and stiff she was. Still, each had continued with their charade, even though they both knew that was all it was.
This was the beginning of these odd periods of isolation, and they seemed to occur mainly when he’d had a bad day.
Today was no exception. He’d woken early – even earlier than usual – and pried himself out of Bella’s grasp; already she could feel that he was irritable. She had pretended to stay asleep, knowing that her questions, or offering of company would only aggravate him further. Through barely opened eyes she had watched him sweep out of the room silently but dramatically, his black cloak billowing out behind him. She didn’t know what made him so appealing when he moved like that, but something did.
He’d walked briskly around the grounds {which were rather immense}, his rhythm relentless, in the hope of clearing his head. It didn’t work. And his Death Eaters - his useless bloody Death Eaters had tried to convince him to look for Potter in the yellow pages! What had possessed them? Words could not describe his fury. Even his Bella had cowered at his tirade.
He had injured her the other night, worse than he’d ever done before, yet she never said a word. He almost smiled at the thought of her as he swept around his territory wildly. She was a good woman {of course not in the literal sense}, and he did love her – despite what he told the rest of the world – but his form of love would not properly equate to anyone else’s. Bella did not object to this, however; and that was all that really concerned him on this particular point.
He hadn't meant to cause her such harm, but passion and anger had a bad habbit of becoming confused by him, and so the small, pleasurable doses had escalated and led to a very battered Bellatrix Lestrange.
As much as he hated to admit needs, after a day as horrible as his, he needed something to ease his tension. Before his discovery, Bella would have been more than sufficient, but now he was addicted - sickeningly addicted - to this muggle contraption.
How was it that one thing could cause so much pleasure? Have so many talents? He doubted there was anything it didn't know, aside from occasionally forgetting song lyrics.
It astounded him, enthralled him, entertained him, engaged him, intrigued him, compelled him.
Most of all it entertained him. And entertainment led to pleasure.
It had taken him some investigation, some rather fortuitous discoveries, but after some time learning how the machine worked, what made it perform for him, he had landed on a metaphorical gold mine.
So after finding it, after days like these, the Dark Lord locked his Lady, his Queen, out of her domain and cast a silencing charm to hide the shameful activity – because he knew it was shameful, embarrassing, and beneath him, but most of all it was disgracefully muggle.
Nonetheless, he watched in awe as the mystical machine before him beheld a prophecy that gave him immense pleasure, and at his favourite moment, he placed a top hat on his head and picked up Lucius’ cane....
That was it! Bella had had it! What in Satan’s name was he doing in that bloody room? She stood up, blood pressure at a dangerous level and turned on the spot, apparating into their bedroom.
What she saw was more shocking than anything she had mentally concocted. The man she so adored, the man she had loved and worshipped for the best part of her life stood with his back to her her, staring at some odd glowing object that was reminiscent of those muggle telephones - no, that wasn't right... televisions! - wearing a black top hat and gesturing grandly with – Was that really? It was! Lucius’ cane!
Her eyes widened exponentially as he began to sing:
“Voldemort, Voldemort, ooh Voldy-Voldemort!”
Why hadn't he let her block apparition?
If that made no sense, go watch the Harry Potter Puppet Pals: Mysterious Ticking Noise on Youtube!
Hope you enjoyed!
xx
Very well-written, and the bits of humor were fun to read. Looking for Harry in the yellow pages... too funny!
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. Read over it again and I think you were talking about: "How she wished he would allow her to block apparition on their grounds. Maybe this was why he wouldn’t?"