Cruel

When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity on me . –Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel's Dart .

The two women are quiet as they hurry away from the house in Spinner's End. When they have traveled a respectable distance, Narcissa Malfoy pauses to tilt her head towards the night sky, her long blonde hair free and whipping around her face as it is caught in the wind. Her recent tears glitter on her skin but she makes no move to wipe them off. They have served their purpose, and she is not ashamed of them.

Narcissa smiles as she stares at the stars above, hands pushing her hair from her face with a negligent gesture. She might not have been given a celestial name as is family custom, but her ambition and cunning is just as cold as the light that shines down from the heavens, and her desire to save her family burns just as hot as any star. She has what she wants, Snape's promise to fulfill Draco's unattainable vow, and she fights back the urge to howl in triumph.

Bellatrix catches up with her, giving her a look from those heavy-lidded eyes that are still beautiful. “That went well,” she says, and her voice is both amused and a tad irate. Bellatrix does not trust Snape and never will. “The crying was a nice touch. Don't know that I like my sister falling and begging at any man's feet, though.”

Narcissa looks at Bellatrix and smirks, looking remarkably like her husband. She turns her attention back to the sky above. I want to be there, Lucius, at your side, when you see the stars again.

“There is nothing I would not do to save my son and my husband, Bella,” she says. Her voice has lost the quiet desperation she displayed in front of Snape, and it is firm and defiant in her resolve. “Nothing.”

“Groveling at Snape's feet? Yes, I believe I got that impression,” her sister drawls. Bellatrix looks up at the stars in companionable silence, and Narcissa wonders if all that wide, open sky frightens her.

“My methods are not the point. What is important is that I've successfully saved Draco from certain death. Now, I will find a way to save my husband.” She gives Bellatrix a fierce sort of smile. “I will cry tears enough to fill an ocean if that is what I must do, Bella.”

Narcissa pulls the hood of her cloak up to cover her hair, to cover its brilliance as it reflects the light. She cannot resist the chilly smile and the taunt before she leaves. “Perhaps you are just jealous, as you've done nothing to save Rodolphus.”

The sharp indrawn breath lets her know her well-placed barb has hit her mark, and Narcissa presses her cold lips against Bella's flushed cheek, wanting Bellatrix to know this quarrel between them will never destroy the love that is stronger. “I'm leaving. I have things to attend to before Draco departs for school.”

Her sister does not say a word, merely stares heavenward. “It's been a long time since I've seen the stars,” Bellatrix says. Narcissa stares at her, long and hard, then Disapparates without response.

****
Bellatrix lingers, feeling the sharp sting of anger at her sister's words. Her sister is precious to her, but her words cut all the same.

“As you've done nothing to save Rodolphus…”

At night in the bed they shared for such a short time before the disastrous raid on the Ministry, she holds his pillow to her as she falls asleep. There is the slightest trace of his scent on the pillow, and it is more than she had for fourteen years in Azkaban prison so she sleeps, though it surprises her that she does. Her dreams are filled with him, with his rough hands and his cruel smile.

The urge to rush in to free him is strong, oh, the temptation of it nearly kills her. She feels it the most after she awakens from her dreams, when Rodolphus' face is burned in her mind like a brand.

Snape calls my time in Azkaban a gesture, does he? I wonder if he knows what it has taught me. How I have learned to bide my time.

That is what she does for Rodolphus; she tempers her burning desire to kill those who took him away from her, after so long apart. She waits for the opportune moment, when she can safely free him and bring him back to her.

Besides, I cannot free Rodolphus and leave Lucius there to rot—much as I might want to, the incompetent fool. No, I am not suffused with charity enough on his behalf to free him, so let him share my fate for a little while, at least.

Rodolphus will understand why I have not come for him immediately after his recapture. He has always understood me.

So she will wait, and she will scheme. She will torture and kill on the Dark Lord's orders, and the space where Rodolphus should be beside her will remain empty. When the time is right…

If they thought the Longbottoms were the best we had to offer…let them see what we have become. What they have made us, in their prison, with their cells and their Dementors. Let them see the beautiful horror they have crafted.

In her younger days, she might have attempted to free Rodolphus without a single thought to the consequences. Azkaban has taught her many things, and the most deadly of them is something she has always lacked; patience.

Bellatrix Lestrange smiles in the darkness and pulls her wand to Disapparate. When the time is right, she will unleash her rage and save her beloved, and in his name they will commit atrocities more terrible than any in their blood-soaked past.

I will be what they made me. Oh, they have seen nothing of Bellatrix Lestrange, not yet. They expect madness, but that is not what I shall give them. Fourteen years of screams. Fourteen years of blood. That is what they shall have from me.

Her heart races at the thought, and Bellatrix feels herself burning with a desire for pain so sharp and bright she fears her body will one day break free from the strain of holding it inside.

Patience, Bellatrix.

She Disapparates away to the low, mournful cry of an owl, her mind dancing with images of utmost horror, and cruelty comforts her where love cannot.

Patience.