Summary: Bellatrix feels bored in her marriage with Rodolphus and starts to think about how it could be.
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, mentions of Lucius and Narcissa; Bellatrix&Rodolphus
Genre: Romance-ish, maybe?
Rating/Warnings: PG, I guess.
Word Count: 1345
She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, pretending to read. Trying not to be caught watching her husband, who was sitting in his big armchair, staring at the chimney. She liked to watch him, quietly, liked to see his eyes reflecting the fire. To see into his motionless face.
He did not even seem to realize that she was looking at him. Maybe he didn’t care, or simply was not willing to talk to her, but he kept on sitting there, doing nothing. Sometimes, Bellatrix even wondered if he was still breathing. But to be honest, it would not make much difference to her if he had stopped.
She knew that trying to talk to him would be pointless. He had never replied, so why would he now? He had never been extraordinarily interested in her, nor had he ever had the desire to speak more than three words per day. Even his proposal to her was more a quiet decision to get married than an actual suit.
Why exactly he had married her was a question Bellatrix had not been able to answer herself until today. Probably because of the seam reason why she had chosen to accept his proposal – the need to marry someone appropriate.
And, by Merlin, Rodolphus was appropriate. He was a Lestrange, member of a family, almost as ancient and pure as the Blacks. It was an honour to marry a Black, and he was very much aware of it. Hearing him show off in front of his friends almost made her smile.
They had married in summer, only a few weeks after their graduation from Hogwarts. Bellatrix had looked incredible in her long, black dress, made of tulle and lace, with necklace and earrings in Slytherin’s colours: Silver and pure emeralds, shining on her ivory skin.
It was supposed to be the happiest day in her life, but it had just felt ordinary. Like one of her parents’ parties where her and her sisters had always been forced to be present.
Sometimes she wondered how it would be if they had married for love, like Lucius and Narcissa. If Rodolphus would have looked at her differently on their wedding day, if his kiss would have been more passionate... Or if he’d talk to her from time to time. Mayb he’d even know how she felt, would recognize sadness or joy in her eyes...
But only the bare imagination of being loved made her laugh. How could she be so foolish to think she’d be lucky enough to...
“What’s so funny?” he suddenly asked, all of a sudden, interupting her thoughts. “Nothing,” she replied, a little too fast and frowned, realizing that he had just spoken. Had he really spoken? Talked to her? He usually did not notice her presence, would probably not even notice her if she died right before his eyes.
Would he care if she was gone? If she left him, forever? Would he miss her? Probably not. But it was alright. It was fine for her, she did not care about him either.
If it would be him, leaving, she asked herself the question, would she miss him? Would she worry about him? Her mind said no, but her heart...
She needed to talk to Narcissa. Immediately. She’d surely have answers to her questions, like she always had answers. “Of course I know what’s wrong with you,” she’d say, smiling at her as if she were a child, “you love him. You have clearly fallen in love with him.”
Rubbish. She was not in love, she’d knew if she were in love... Would she? Yes, she definitely had to talk to her sister. Now. She did not care if it was midnight or not. Also, why should she bother being polite? Narcissa was her sister, not her mother or a friend. And this was an emergency.
Bellatrix closed her book, the bookmark still located at the same page as before, and rose. She did not bother telling her husband that she’d leave, that she’d be back in a few hours; he wouldn’t notice anyway.
But even if he did, she would not want him to know everything about her, or every step she took. She needed her freedom.
“Where are you going?” he’d maybe ask, and she’d reply: “Out.”
Out. Nothing more. But why... Why would he ask? Would he maybe went her to stay here, with him? Would he want her to not go out this evening? And, more importantly, how would she react? What would she do, would she say yes, spend the evening with him, instead of visiting Narcissa? What would she do if he really asked?
She turned around and left the house, quietly as a ghost. How often had she already thought about going. About leaving him, leaving him forever. About how she would feel, free again, free to do anything she liked. Would she even like the feeling? Would she enjoy her liberty, or would she just feel lonely, already too used to Rodolphus’ silent presence. She did not know, and, to be honest, she wouldn’t bother trying. It’d just make things worse, for everyone involved.
The night was cold, windy, and of course she had forgotten to take her cloak with her. She always forgot about those things, too lost in her thoughts. Narcissa did too sometimes, but she had Lucius to remind her. Would Rodolphus too... Of course he wouldn’t. Why should he? He had to worry about other, more important things than his wife’s absentmindedness. Bellatrix laughed, a silent, husky laugh, amused by her own foolishness. She’d probably go crazy if she didn’t get to talk to Narcissa immediately. She closed her eyes for just a second, turned around... and disappeared with a silent pop.
Rodolphus rose, with a quiet sigh. Bellatrix had left the house two hours ago and would probably not return before four or five in the morning. He was quite sure she’d gone to visit Narcissa, like she often did latley. But of course she had not told him where she went. Had not even told him that she was planning to go out so late, but she talked to him about her plans. He had wanted to talk to her, to ask her to stay, to tell her to at least take a cloak with her, because she often forgot taking cloaks with her. But once again, he had remained quiet. Quiet, because he knew that speaking would be pointless. She lived her own life, and probably this was best for both of them. Sometimes, though, he asked himself if she ever thought about him.
He did, yes he did think about her if she was gone, and even if she was sitting on the floor right in front of him. He liked to watch her, liked to make her believe he’d be staring at the wall, lost in thought, although he was secretly looking at her while she pretended to read. She did not know, of course, that he was aware of her being too absent-minded to read, and he would not be willing to let her find out. She seemed to be hiding behind her books, as if they were a wall to protect her, a shield that wouldn’t let anyone in. He wouldn’t embarass her, telling her he knew.
He’d never dare to admit that she was not only a means to an end to her, would never dare to admit that that he actually cared about her, but he did. Yes, he did, although he had been trying to tell himself the contrary for years. But how could he tell her, if she didn’t?
Probably they both were just too proud to stand up straight, to look at or to talk to each other. They’d just continue living their lives, separately, instead of going on together as a couple. They’d stay stay strangers to each other forever, if none of them would be able to finally break down their pride. And he knew, they wouldn’t.