Drowning in Dark Water

“Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.”
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


What was happening in the clearing was nothing remarkable; a Marking, something she'd seen several times since entering the Dark Lord's service. It was memorable when it was her own, and she'd been slightly interested in watching Snape's, but was not terribly concerned with Rosier.

Well, hearing him scream was rather nice, but she didn't really need to watch for that.

Bellatrix kept her posture ramrod straight, hands clasped behind her like every other Death Eater in the circle. Her head was proud, unbowed— he did not require them to bow unless it was to him—and her black eyes wandered around the circle. There were several people she recognized even though they were all hooded and masked—Malfoy, for one, he was quite a bit taller than the rest, and she thought she saw a hint of white-blond hair peeking above his mask.

He was watching the scene unfold, and she knew his cool grey eyes would be blank, expressionless. She had no idea how he did that, or what her sister saw in a man so cold and remote. Torture made her eyes sparkle as if lit from within; it made her feel alive.

When the Muggle girls were brought in—reward for a job well done—Bellatrix slipped away quietly. It wasn't that she was horrified by the prospect of what would happen to the women—they were only Muggles, after all—merely that she had no desire to participate in their debauchery. Her disinterest actually almost bothered her; Bellatrix Black was usually into debauchery, in whatever form it happened to take.

She walked down to the river, and stared into the churning, rushing current. There was no moon, but the cold light from the stars filtered down to sparkle in the water. No doubt most people would find the sight peaceful, but Bellatrix found the river pulsed with a dark, frantic energy that was almost more effective in soothing her nerves.

I think I'm like the water in the darkness. Always moving, always trying to go somewhere else. I'm never content to be where I am. I make the light jagged, just like the water does when there is a moon, just like it does to the stars. She stood with her arms crossed and stared out of her featureless white mask that was meant to obscure, to hide.

The night was warm; underneath her cloak her body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. She pulled off the hood from her head, her dark hair unbound beneath, and twisted her hair up to let the air caress her neck. She took her mask off, taking a few gasps of the humid night air, and tossed it on the ground.

The screams started on the hill, and Bellatrix smiled.

She let the cloak fall to the ground and stepped out of her black knickers and walked like a queen down to the river's edge. The idea of swimming was appealing; the water would be cold and would soothe her flushed skin. But it also frightened her; something about the unknown lurking beneath the dark surface of the water chilled her in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

She stepped in, sucking in a breath at the cold and ignoring the flare of terror at whatever might be underneath the water. Slowly, she collapsed into the running river.

It wrapped around her like dark silk, pulling at her and taking her under. She spent a long moment luxuriating in the coolness of her flushed skin, in the feel of the water on her naked body, on the sight of the starlight in the water, broken by the waves. Bellatrix flipped on her back to stare up at the sky. Her hair spread out around her and her full breasts rose gently above the waves.

Her hands played gently over her body, caressing her smooth skin and moving to lock behind her head as she drifted. Her hair felt like wet, smooth ribbons as it floated next to her, brushing against her arms. Turning her head, she saw the sinister Dark Mark—the snake looked as if it were rising out of the dark water. She smiled at it, eyes heavy-lidded.

“Not interested in the party, Black?”

The voice caused her to flail a bit in the water, and she rolled over to peer up at the hill. A figure stood on the incline that lead down to the river, in a similar robe and mask. A Death Eater had left the party and followed her down here. Bellatrix stilled, her focus sharpening.

From the taunting voice, she knew who it was: Rodolphus Lestrange, bane of her existence. Something about him made her furious, made her insides churn like the river water enveloping her.

“I've seen it before,” she snapped. She was lightly treading water as she glared at him from the murky depths. Bellatrix cursed the impatience and ire in her tone, forcing her face to appear as smooth as the mask he still wore.

It was dangerous to admit that she was unsettled, dissatisfied. Lestrange would no doubt report that information back to the Dark Lord, and then Bellatrix would suffer. He'd do it, too—Lestrange hated her, liked to watch her suffer. The night she'd been Marked, she'd screamed from the pain and the rounds of Crucio he'd subjected her to as a test of her loyalty. When it was finished and the others had stepped up to embrace her as one of them, Rodolphus had hissed in her ear that her pain had aroused him, and had pressed her against his straining erection.

“I'll think of you screaming, tonight, when I'm fucking,” he had purred.

“You do that,” she'd whispered, voice trembling with ire and exhaustion. How she wished she'd been there when it had been him , she would have loved to have heard him scream…

A brush of something against her skin in the water brought her back from her memories.

“If you want to go and get me tortured for not being in the mood for a little fun with those women, then go ahead. I'm not going anywhere.” She motioned with her chin to the small pile of clothing on the hill—her robe, mask, and the knickers that were all she'd worn beneath. She liked the rough scratch of wool on her body, the feminine curves she alone possessed of all of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

“I've no interest in fetching the Dark Lord,” he said, and Bellatrix snickered. As if Rodolphus was brave enough to fetch Lord Voldemort…

“Why don't you want to play, Bellatrix? You've done so before.”

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking in a low, serious voice instead of his customary antagonistic drawl.

“Maybe that's why,” she said pertly, eyes narrowing. “I'm bored with the play I'm being offered. Why aren't you there? I've never seen you turn down a woman before.” She hated herself for watching him with them, but she did. He was quiet with them, he had not MacNair's flair for terrorizing with loud words.

He walked closer to the river where she swam, laughing softly. “Oh, Bellatrix,” he said, amused. “You're so determined to hate, aren't you?”

His continual use of her first name irritated her. “What are you talking about, Rodolphus ?” she sneered. He was not the Dark Lord, to call her that.

“Nothing,” he said, and an odd note crept into his voice. “Why'd you come down here? Malfoy refused a woman, you could have, too, if you weren't in the mood.”

“Malfoy is courting my sister, Narcissa would not touch him if word got back he sullied himself with some Muggle.” No, no, that would make her think of Andromeda… Bellatrix made a noise between a growl and a laugh at the thought. Her sister would have been the most vicious Death Eater of them all, if she'd had any desire to take his Mark on her skin. Bellatrix had a temper, but Narcissa did not. She'd inherited the same lack of conscious, though, making her far more deadly. Doubtless what drew the coldly sinister Malfoy to her.

“I like the river,” she said quietly, unsure why she answered him. Was it because thoughts of her sister's betrayal made her so miserable? She dug her nails into the skin of her arm, scissoring her legs to keep herself afloat.

“Never would have taken you for skinny-dipping type, Black,” he said, but his voice was still husky, infused with something she did not quite recognize.

She swam lazily closer to him, on her stomach. The water swirled around her and teased her body with its silky coldness. “Did you watch me?” she asked, staring up into that impassive face. Something about him gazing down at her from that white mask, enshrouded in funereal black, pulled at things low in her body.

The wind picked up, the trees rustling. “Maybe,” he drawled, hands at his side. The screams reached a fever pitch on the clearing above the hill; she heard wild laughter and saw bright flashes of green light up the sky.

The light from the Killing Curse was lovely when reflected on the water, looking almost like emeralds on velvet.

“Do you know what I like, Bellatrix?” Rodolphus asked, still in that same remote voice. “I like that I am standing here, in my mask, and you're naked and vulnerable there before me. Like a victim…”

Her breath sped up, increasing to pants. She slowly rolled over on her back; her breasts thrust proud up into the air, nipples hard from the cold water and the wind. Her eyes went to the water lapping at her Dark Mark, burned into her white flesh.

“Not quite…” she whispered, but he was right.

He pulled his wand out and muttered something, and she found herself floating still on her back, but unable to move. It was as if he had tethered her, as if an anchor grew from her spine to plunge into the soft mud of the bottom of the river.

“No, I think you are. My victim,” he purred, walking into the water, still in his cloak and mask. He stopped when the water reached his waist, as the weight of the cloak would drag him down if he attempted to come out where she was. He waved his wand and pulled her towards him, until her body was spread out on top of the water before him.

She felt like a sacrifice on an altar, and looking up into his fathomless eyes in the mask, she realized she liked it.

He raised his wand, and traced it over her body. Chills spread where he touched her. “Can you imagine, what it must be like, to see us? Silent, implacable…” His voice was sinister as he traced the tip of the wand around her nipples. “Entering your house, knowing why we're there, to bring pain and death…unable to escape…”

His fingers came up to trace her wet skin. “You can speak, you know,” he said, smug.

“I know,” she whispered, entranced. The water was warm beneath her, his fingers surprisingly soft as they skirted along the smooth skin of her abdomen.

She could not take her eyes from him; the Death Eater in the white mask, hood still up, standing now in water to his waist. Some charm held them in place, she was disoriented as the water sped past her and yet she remained firm, fixed under his gaze and his cold hands.

“Are you afraid?” Low, soft voice in the dark.

“Do you want me to be?” she asked, finding she could arch underneath his touch. She forced herself not to—no, not yet. The game had only begun.

“Yes,” he said.

“I thought so,” she said. “Give me a reason. Show me what you would do, if I were your victim…”

He sucked in his breath and placed his wand on her skin again. “ Diffindo ,” he murmured, watching cuts appear on her skin. She hissed at the pain, and watched the blood roll off her body and into the water.

One of his hands went to her hair, the long fingers wrapping in the wet strands. He pulled until her head went under the water; Bellatrix struggled to breathe. The sound of the churning river echoed in her ears.

He released her hair and she came up gasping, eyes narrowed. “You bastard,” she hissed, and he laughed.

“I can do whatever I like, Bellatrix. You're at my mercy, remember? My victim.” His hands tightened in her hair again, threateningly. “If I want to drown you, pretty Bella, I will.”

“I could always scream,” she said, hating the lust he was causing with his slow torture and his malicious words.

“You could,” he agreed, his other hand pulling lazily at her hardened nipples. “They'd probably think you were one of them , though. They saw me leave, they'd assume I dragged one of those women down to the river to drown her when I'd finished taking my pleasure of her.”

He leaned down towards her. “Perhaps I will,” he murmured, “drown you after all.”

And again, he pulled her under.

She left her eyes open this time, the darkness was everywhere.

When she resurfaced, she was writhing for his touch that was becoming harder, more intimate. His fingers had found their way down between her legs and were sliding inside her. He was silent as he rubbed her clit, fingers thrusting.

She was not.

She cried out, loudly, when she came, with his hand still wrapped in her hair. She laid spread out beneath him, a Death Eater robed and masked, her own Dark Mark forgotten. “Gods, yes,” she moaned.

He was silent, and that was part of the horror, the absolute deliciousness of it all. He was nameless, faceless, quiet and deadly. She wanted him inside her, and somehow she wanted him to stay in the cloak and the mask when he took her—like they did with the women on the clearing.

“I wanted you to be my victim tonight,” Rodolphus growled as she came, muscles pulling at his fingers that were buried inside of her, her clit spasming under his mercilessly rubbing thumb. “I wanted to hear you scream, see you naked and afraid.”

He removed his hands from hair and from her between her legs; the water rushed to fill the void, making her moan again.

“But you're not afraid, are you?” he asked, voice harsh. He was losing that cold, calm control that had so terrified and aroused her, but it did nothing to lessen her frantic desire for him.

“I will be, if you want,” she gasped, writhing on her bed of cold dark water.

“I want,” he choked out, tearing his mask off, “to fuck you. Right here. I want to hear you scream.”

She looked up at him, entranced. “I'll scream for you,” she promised, “if you deserve it.”

He growled, pulling at his clothes, until he was wearing nothing but trousers and a dark shirt. He used magic to levitate his clothes to the bank to fall next to hers; twin masks staring up at a pitiless sky.

He ended the spell on her, grabbed her legs and pulled her towards him in the water; she remained on her back, with her legs on either of him. He rubbed his hard erection against her sensitive clit, making her moan again. Fingers went underneath the water; she felt them brush against her as he freed himself from the wet fabric.

Grasping her arms, he pulled her up and her legs locked around his waist. She felt him hard and hot for a moment before he slid easily inside of her. “Merlin, you're so wet,” he moaned, and she laughed against his neck.

“I'm in the water,” she said huskily, nipping at his ear. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as she pressed her naked body against him his shirt was wet and chafed at her nipples. She liked it, and she rubbed them harder against him.

“I'm in you ,” he said, pushing inside again. His cock throbbed and she threw her head back, keening as he dragged himself over that spot inside of her that made her thighs tremble and tighten, made stars dance in the velvet darkness behind her eyes.

“Yes…god yes,” she panted, thrusting hips against him, water lapping around them as they moved together.

“I want you to scream, Bella,” he growled against her ear. “Scream for me. Come on my cock, and scream. Now .”

The pleasure threatened to kill her, as she trembled and gasped around him. She wanted to scream, she did, but she needed something else to push her over the edge. His name was a gasp as she trembled closer and closer to the final culmination, although still she did not scream.

He moved forward suddenly, until the water rose up around her, choking. He pulled up again, her dark hair clinging to her back, water in her mouth and running down her body. “Scream,” he hissed, cock thrusting, hands grasping. He dipped her forward again, but this time she was held on the top of the water by his hands. Her head thrashed in the water, her hair was a tangle of black.

“Scream for me, Bellatrix.” He was controlling her, pushing her into the water and pulling her out, mastering her body. She was drowning in the water and drowning in him, and the pleasure was too much.

She screamed as it took her, as the pleasure exploded. Her scream was pulled from lungs exhausted with the effort of sex and almost drowning; but it was loud enough to echo off the water. It pulled his own climax as he yanked her back up, hands pressing her to him as he spilled inside of her, and at the end, she bit him, hard, tasting the sweet copper of his blood. He gasped his pleasure, and it was her name. The sound was sweeter to her than if he'd screamed.

He was trembling as she was, legs and arms wrapped around him, head pressed into his neck, tongue lapping at the blood she'd coaxed from his skin. “Bella,” he whispered, her name reverent.

Her hand slid down to his, together their fingers found his wand that he had charmed to stay against his side. They raised their hands in tandem, until he was pointing his wand in the sky.

She licked his ear. “Cast it,” she murmured quietly, voice sleepy. “Go on, cast it. You've earned it.”

“ Morsmordre ,” Rodolphus murmured, and the sky lit up as the Mark shimmered in the air. Rodolphus stared at it in the sky above, whole and shining and fierce. Bellatrix watched its reflection in the water, the light was jagged and broken.