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The skies wept for Regulus Black.
Dark clouds swirled overhead. Rain pattered against the stone paths of the cemetery as mourners huddled beneath black umbrellas, their faces blurring behind the curtain of water. Bellatrix Lestrange stood beside her husband, her hand clutched around her wand beneath the sleeve of her crimson silk robes over which she wore a black cloak. She watched her aunt Walburga’s shoulders shake with silent sobs, the woman’s composure finally breaking after days of panicking about her son. No body lay in the ebony coffin — there had been nothing to bury — but the headstone bore his name nonetheless:
Regulus Arcturus Black, 1961-1979.
Too young, Bellatrix thought. Barely eighteen. Her cousin with so much potential. And now, gone.
The Black family had always commanded respect among wizarding society, but this was a sparse gathering. Bellatrix noted who had dared to stay away. She would remember, and so would the Dark Lord. She smelt rain-soaked earth and the faint sweetness of the white lilies arranged atop the empty casket.
Cygnus and Druella Black, her parents, stood across from her, her father’s face impassive while her mother dabbed at eyes that remained stubbornly dry. Narcissa stood with Lucius several paces away, her sister’s blonde head bowed. The Malfoys knew better than to keep their distance from the proceedings.
As the final words of the ceremony faded and mourners began to disperse, Bellatrix felt Rodolphus’s hand press against the small of her back.
‘Come,’ he murmured. ‘There’s nothing more to be done here.’
The cemetery sat on a parcel of land not far from Grimmauld Place — a private burial ground for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Generations of purebloods slept beneath the wet earth as she and Rodolphus walked the narrow path towards the exit. Their footsteps rang out against the stone, and Bellatrix kept her eyes fixed ahead, refusing to look back at the grave. Looking back meant acknowledging that Regulus was truly gone, and she wasn’t ready for that just yet.
‘What do you suppose happened to him?’ Rodolphus asked, his voice low enough that none of the other mourners could hear.
Bellatrix stared at the rain-soaked path, watching tiny rivers form between the cobblestones. ‘The Dark Lord said nothing of it.’
‘Suicide, then? As the elf suggested?’
‘Regulus was no coward,’ Bellatrix snapped, anger flaring in her chest. ‘Something isn’t right about this.’
The official story — the one the family had accepted with varying degrees of disbelief — was that Regulus had taken his own life. Kreacher had appeared at Grimmauld Place three days ago, nearly incoherent, able only to say that Master Regulus was gone, was dead. When pressed, when Aunt Walburga had grabbed the elf and demanded answers, Kreacher had simply shaken his head over and over, tears streaming down his face. Had anyone attacked him? Killed him? The elf shook his head no, but he wouldn’t — or couldn’t — say what had actually happened.
The family had filled in the gaps themselves. Without evidence of foul play, without any explanation at all, suicide seemed the only explanation that fit.
It rang false in Bellatrix’s mind. Regulus had been quiet, yes, and thoughtful in a way that Sirius never was, but there had been no hint of despair in him. The last time she’d seen him — only a week prior — he had seemed afraid, perhaps, but not suicidal.
They walked in silence for several moments, the only sound the gentle splash of their footsteps on the wet stone path and the patter of rain against their magical umbrella.
‘Aunt Walburga is devastated,’ Bellatrix said finally. ‘First Sirius abandons the family, and now this.’
She couldn’t help the bitter edge that crept into her voice at the mention of her cousin’s name. The rain grew heavier as they reached the cemetery gates, and Rodolphus cast a charm to strengthen the shield he’d conjured above them. Water fell down the sides of the invisible dome, creating a curtain that separated them from the rest of the world.
‘He didn’t even show his face today,’ Rodolphus remarked.
‘Did you expect him to?’ Bellatrix laughed mirthlessly. ‘He made his choice when he walked out.’
The memory rose unbidden: that hot summer night four years ago, just a few days before Narcissa’s wedding, when all the Blacks were gathered in Grimmauld Place. Sirius had packed his trunk and declared he was leaving for good. The shouting match between him and his mother was audible throughout the entire house. She remembered the look of fury on Orion’s face, the disgust on Regulus’s, and later, when the house had grown quiet, she remembered what she had done. She’d gone to Sirius’s room to make one last attempt to reason with him.
Bellatrix shut her eyes, willing the memory away. It was terrible enough that she’d done it; worse still that she couldn’t seem to forget it.
‘Aunt Walburga will never recover from this,’ she said instead. ‘To lose both sons…’
The loss of Sirius had been a blow to the family name, but at least he’d been alive, a fact they could comfort themselves with even as they blasted his name from the tapestry, but Regulus — good, brave Regulus — had been the hope of the Black line. The one who would carry forward their legacy. Now there would be no more direct descendants of that branch of the family. Unless…
She trailed off, her thoughts drifting back to Sirius despite her best efforts. The proud tilt of his chin as he’d declared he was leaving. The heated words they’d exchanged as she tried to talk him out of it. And later, much later, when she’d slipped into his bedroom…
Heat crept up her neck at the memory. She could still feel his hands on her skin, rough and impatient. His mouth, hungry and defiant as he kissed her. Her own whispered pleas for him to stay, to reconsider, interspersed with gasps as he’d pushed her against the wall, hiking up her robes, his fingers finding her wet and ready.
‘It’s for your own good,’ she’d told him between kisses. ‘The Dark Lord is rising. Potter and his blood-traitor friends can’t protect you.’
‘I don’t need protection,’ he’d growled against her neck.
She’d moaned as he entered her, hating herself for it, hating him even more.
‘Then stay,’ she’d whispered. ‘Stay and serve him. Stay and —’
He’d silenced her with another rough kiss, and she’d let him. After, he’d simply pulled his trousers back up, tossed her discarded knickers at her, and said, ‘Give my regards to your Lord.’
By morning, he was gone.
‘Bella?’
She blinked, turning towards her husband. Rodolphus was looking at her strangely, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Rain slid down the sides of their magical umbrella, distorting the world beyond.
‘You’ve gone quite flushed,’ he remarked. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Just…family matters.’
Rodolphus grabbed her wrist, his thick fingers curling around her slender arm with enough force to make her wince. ‘I know that look,’ he said. ‘That’s the same expression you wear when you’re thinking about him.’
Bellatrix yanked her arm free. ‘Don’t start, Rodolphus. Not today.’
She knew what her husband was implying. He had grown bolder with his accusations since spring, since that month she’d spent with the Dark Lord in the Balkans.
‘It’s always the same. Even now, at your cousin’s funeral, your thoughts stray to the Dark Lord’s bed.’
She went still. If Rodolphus ever learnt the truth, that it wasn’t the Dark Lord she’d been thinking of at all but her blood-traitor cousin, he would lose all respect for her. Perhaps he’d even tell the Dark Lord, and then…
No. She would not allow her thoughts to wander down that path.
‘I said don’t start!’ Bellatrix hissed, stepping away from him. ‘I’m in no mood for your jealousy.’
She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, no longer caring if the rain reached her. The coolness against her heated skin was a relief. What was wrong with her? Sirius had been gone for two years now. He was a blood traitor, a disgrace to the Black name. And yet, the memory of that night haunted her still.
She turned to leave, angry now, when a flash of red light caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She froze, suddenly alert, her hand flying to her wand. The cool wood was reassuring against her palm as she drew it from her sleeve.
‘Did you see that?’ she whispered.
Rodolphus frowned, drawing his own wand. ‘See what?’
They stood in the middle of the path as Bellatrix scanned the surroundings. The Black family cemetery was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, the metal twisted into elegant spirals and serpentine shapes. Beyond it lay an empty stretch of moorland, wild and untamed. The red light had come from that direction, she was certain of it.
Bellatrix cast a silent Homenum Revelio, but the darkness made it difficult to see if the spell had detected anyone. Her heart pounded against her ribs, blood rushing in her ears as she strained to see through the gloom. Years of service to the Dark Lord had honed her instincts; they rarely failed her.
‘Someone’s here,’ she breathed.
The Order of the Phoenix, perhaps? They’d grown bolder in recent months, striking at Death Eaters directly rather than simply responding to attacks, but how would they have known about the funeral? It hadn’t been announced publicly, and only family and close friends had been invited.
A rustling sound came from behind, and she whirled — too late. Something enormous and black struck her from behind, knocking her to the ground with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. She screamed, or tried to, but a heavy weight pinned her chest, making it impossible to draw breath. Rough, damp fur brushed against her face as powerful paws held her down.
A beast. Some kind of enormous dog, or perhaps a wolf, its features lost in the darkness. Its weight was crushing, and panic surged through her veins as she struggled beneath it. She caught glimpses of her husband’s fallen form nearby, his body crumpled on the wet path.
‘Rodolphus!’ she shouted, but the beast’s weight stole her breath and weakened her cry to a wisp of sound.
The creature growled. The sound was not canine, not even human, but something between. A hybrid threat that stopped her blood. Its paws pressed harder against her shoulders, claws digging into her flesh through the thick fabric of her cloak. It dragged her backward, away from her husband’s unconscious body, towards a small stone structure at the edge of the cemetery — an old mausoleum, she realised, rarely used and long forgotten. The Black family had stopped using it generations ago when the main cemetery had been expanded.
Terror gripped her as it pulled her inside. Her wand was gone, lost in the struggle, likely lying on the wet path where she’d been attacked. The beast’s paws were damp, stained dark with what she realised must be mud from the cemetery grounds. It released her once they were inside, backing towards the entrance as if to guard it.
Bellatrix scrambled to her feet, backing against the cold stone wall, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it was audible in the small space. The mausoleum door swung shut with a creak, cutting off what little light had filtered in from outside. Though connected to the grounds of Grimmauld Place, the small stone room stood far enough away that no one would hear her if she screamed.
Without her wand, she was vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been in years. She could do some wandless magic — the Dark Lord had taught her himself — but in her state of panic, she wasn’t sure she would be able to focus. Her hand flew to her left forearm, to the Dark Mark hidden beneath her sleeve. She could call him. The Dark Lord would come for her.
She tugged at her sleeve, preparing to press her fingers against the mark, when the animal changed. Its form rippled and expanded, limbs elongating, fur receding, until a man stood before her in the darkness.
A man with long, dark hair and grey eyes that glittered even in the dim light.
‘Hello, cousin,’ Sirius Black growled, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
Her wand hand twitched, magic sparking at her fingertips without being called. Her vision narrowed to his face, his throat, imagining her hands around it, and she lunged forward without thinking, striking him hard across the face.
‘How dare you!’ she snarled, hitting him again and again. ‘Your brother is dead, and you’re playing pranks?’
Her fists pounded against his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach. Sirius didn’t fight back, simply stood there as she pummelled him, his face impassive, almost bored. When her palm connected with his face a third time, he caught her wrists in his hands.
‘Enough,’ he growled, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. His body pressed against hers, holding her in place, and she was suddenly, acutely aware of every point of contact between them. ‘Be civilised, Bella.’
She laughed, though nothing about the sound suggested humour. ‘Civilised? You attack me and my husband, drag me into a crypt, and ask me to be civilised?’
His face was close to hers — too close. She could smell the rain on his skin, and beneath it, something else. Firewhisky, perhaps. Had he been drinking before he came? The thought made her even angrier.
‘I needed to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Privately.’
‘So you decided to ambush me? At Regulus’s funeral?’ Bellatrix struggled against his grip, but he held her fast, his fingers digging into her wrists. ‘Let me go!’
‘Not until you calm down.’
‘Did you kill Rodolphus?’ she demanded, fear spiking through her anger.
Sirius rolled his eyes, the gesture so familiar it made her chest ache in a way she didn’t want to examine. ‘He’s merely stunned. He’ll wake with a headache, nothing worse.’
‘Why are you here? You didn’t even attend the funeral properly. Just lurked in the shadows like a coward. I assumed you were some stray dog.’
He released her wrists and stepped back, and Bellatrix immediately missed his warmth. The thought shocked her, and she pushed it away, rubbing her wrists where his fingers had dug into her skin.
Sirius reached into his pocket to retrieve a small lantern, the movement causing his black leather coat to stretch across his shoulders. She tried not to notice the way it clung to his lean frame. With a whispered word, the lantern flared to life, casting a golden light throughout the small stone room.
‘I couldn’t face Mother,’ he said, setting the lantern on a dusty shelf built into the wall. ‘But I had to come.’
Bellatrix sneered, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Since when do you care about family? You abandoned us, remember?’
‘I abandoned her,’ Sirius corrected. He ran a hand through his damp hair, the strands falling back into place. ‘I need to know what happened to him.’
The audacity stunned her. ‘Two years of silence, and now you come demanding answers? As if family is a game you can dip in and out of whenever it pleases you?’
‘This isn’t about family politics.’
‘No? Then what is it about?’ Bellatrix tipped her chin up, meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘Please, enlighten me.’
He paced the small space, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. He couldn’t hold still. His shoulders rode high near his ears, his hands kept clenching and unclenching.
‘Regulus wouldn’t kill himself. Whatever Kreacher isn’t saying, whatever actually happened, it wasn’t suicide.’
‘For once, we agree,’ Bellatrix said, surprised to find she meant it. ‘But what makes you think I know anything?’
Sirius stopped pacing and turned to face her, his grey eyes boring into her brown. ‘Because you’re one of them.’ He spat the word. ‘And so was he, in the end. Wasn’t he?’
Bellatrix stiffened. The truth was, she’d been shocked when Regulus had decided to take the Mark. He’d been so young — barely sixteen — and though he’d understood what they all did about magical lineage and its importance, she’d never sensed the true conviction in him that the Dark Lord’s service required. Not the way she’d sensed it in herself, or in her husband, or even in Lucius, for all his preening.
‘You know nothing about it.’
‘I know enough.’ Sirius stepped closer. The lantern light fell across his face and made him look older. His eyes burnt in a way that reminded her, uncomfortably, of her aunt Walburga when she was in one of her rages. ‘Did your precious Dark Lord have something to do with his death?’
‘Watch your tongue,’ Bellatrix hissed. ‘You know nothing about it. Nothing about him, nothing about Regulus’s service —’
‘Don’t I?’ said Sirius quietly. ‘Then explain it to me. Explain how my brother ends up dead barely a year after taking your Mark. Explain why Kreacher won’t tell anyone what actually happened.’
‘The Dark Lord rewards loyal service,’ she said, but even as the words left her mouth she knew they sounded hollow, knew they didn’t address what he was actually asking. ‘If Regulus…if something happened, it’s because —’
‘Because he failed somehow?’ Sirius’s laugh was ugly. ‘Is that what you tell yourself? That everyone who dies in service to that monster somehow deserved it?’
‘I didn’t say he was murdered! Regulus was…he was dedicated to the cause. More dedicated than you ever were. I helped him see clearly when he —’ She stopped abruptly, realising what she’d just revealed.
Sirius went very still. ‘When he what?’
‘Nothing.’ She turned away, cursing her own carelessness. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘When he what, Bella? When he had doubts? When he wanted to leave? When he came to you for help?’
She said nothing, but her silence was answer enough.
‘He did, didn’t he?’ Sirius moved around to face her again, and something terrible was dawning in his expression. ‘My brother came to you. Before he died, he came to you asking for help, and you — what did you do? What did you say to him?’
‘I gave him the guidance he needed,’ she said defensively. ‘He was confused, overwhelmed by —’
‘By the reality of what he’d got himself into?’ Sirius’s voice rose. ‘By being asked to do things that horrified him? By realising he’d made a terrible mistake?’
‘He was dedicated to the cause!’ The words burst out too loud. ‘When he left my home, he was resolved, he understood his duty —’
‘Your home.’ Sirius stared at her. ‘He came to your home.’
Bellatrix wanted to deny it, but the memory surfaced anyway. She shut her eyes, surrendering to it. Late evening, four days before Kreacher appeared with news of his death. She’d been in her chambers at the Manor, preparing for bed, when Regulus had appeared at her door looking pale and drawn in ways she’d never seen before. She’d let him in, poured firewhisky that he’d downed too fast. His hands had been trembling.
‘When was this?’ Sirius asked the moment she opened her eyes, watching her face too closely.
‘A week ago. He was…upset. Overwrought.’
‘What did he say?’
She hesitated, then decided truth — or some version of it — might be safer than lies Sirius could disprove. ‘That he couldn’t do it anymore. That he needed to get out. He was practically hysterical, talking in circles, not making sense —’
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘The truth.’ She met his eyes without flinching. ‘That you don’t simply hand in your resignation to the Dark Lord. That service is for life. That if he was struggling, I could speak on his behalf, get him assigned to less demanding work, but that leaving wasn’t an option. That attempting to leave would get him killed.’
‘So you sent him back.’
‘I gave him reality!’ Her voice rose despite herself. ‘What did you want me to do? Help him desert? The Dark Lord would have hunted him down and made an example of him. I was trying to give him a path forward that didn’t end in execution. I offered to support him, to advocate for him —’
‘And he agreed? Just like that? Decided to stay?’
She remembered the way Regulus’s face had changed after they talked. The panic bleeding out of him, replaced by something else. Something she’d interpreted as resolution, as commitment.
‘He did. He was confused. Overwhelmed by the realities of service. I helped him find his courage again.’
‘His courage.’ Sirius’s voice dripped with contempt. ‘Is that what you call it? You sent him back to die.
‘That’s not —’ She stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence.
‘He was eighteen years old and terrified and he came to you for help.’ Sirius moved closer still, close enough that she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall. ‘And you sent him right back into the situation that killed him. So yes, Bella. Your Dark Lord had something to do with his death. And so did you.’
She tried not to think of Regulus in her sitting room, hands shaking so badly he’d nearly dropped his glass.
‘He was having doubts about his service,’ she said carefully. ‘I told him that doubt was natural, that what mattered was pushing through it, that —’
‘That he should trust in Voldemort’s wisdom? That serving a monster was more important than his own life? His own conscience?’
His name — spoken without the reverence of ‘Dark Lord,’ without even the grudging respect of ‘You-Know-Who’ — made her flinch.
‘Stop it,’ she warned. ‘Don’t call him that.’
‘Why not? It’s his name. The one he chose for himself.’ Sirius tilted his head, studying her. ‘Or are you not allowed to hear it spoken without the proper honourifics? Does he demand that level of worship from all his servants, or just the ones warming his bed?’
‘How dare you —’
‘Everyone knows about your relationship with him, Bella. It’s hardly a secret.’ His lips twisted. ‘You gave my brother the same propaganda you’ve swallowed so completely you can’t even see it anymore, about blood purity and serving a madman who would kill you in a heartbeat if you stopped being useful to him.’ The sneer deepened. ‘Or maybe not kill you. You’re probably safe enough as long as you keep spreading your legs for him.’
The shift from grief to cruelty caught her off guard. By the time she processed his words, her wand hand was twitching reflexively though her wand still lay somewhere outside on the wet path, and whatever doubt he’d planted about Regulus and her role in his death got shoved aside by the much simpler desire to hex his smug face off his skull.
‘You know nothing about it,’ she hissed. ‘Nothing about what I share with the Dark Lord, nothing about —’
‘What you share,’ Sirius repeated mockingly. ‘You mean your cunt. That’s what you share with him, and I’m sure he appreciates it. Probably the best he’s had, knowing you. Tell me, does Rodolphus watch or does he wait his turn?’
‘Shut your mouth! What I have with the Dark Lord is beyond your understanding. He sees things in me no one else —’ She cut herself off again, hearing how the words sounded, how much they revealed.
Sirius snorted. ‘Oh, that’s precious. Tell me, does he hold you afterwards? Whisper sweet nothings? Perhaps he writes you poetry between murders?’
She glared at him, furious, but then that telltale warmth betrayed her, rising in her face and creeping down her neck. She hated that he could see it.
‘You wouldn’t understand —’ She tried to sound dismissive but it came out breathless, flustered, so she looked away.
Sirius went very still. ‘Oh no. Oh, Bella, no. Tell me you’re not actually in love with him.’ He stared at her burning cheeks, her inability to meet his eyes. ‘You’re blushing like a maiden defending her virtue, which is hilarious considering —’ He looked her up and down. ‘You think what you have is special, meaningful, that fucking him makes you important rather than just —’
‘It is special,’ she snapped. ‘What we have is —’
‘They call you his whore, you know,’ Sirius cut in almost conversationally. ‘At the Order meetings, and probably among your own people too.’ He paused, watching her face. ‘I always wondered if it bothered you.’
Bellatrix felt her face burning. Not because Sirius guessed wrong, but because of how he said it. People talked about her and the Dark Lord. Of course they did, and yes, she shared his bed. The others envied what they couldn’t understand. The Dark Lord did favour her, had spent time training her personally. Their relationship was intensely sexual, gloriously physical — she revelled in his touch, but she wasn’t his whore. She alone had come close to him, seen him in moments nobody else had, shared with him pleasures and intimacies nobody else did. He called her his most faithful, his most loyal, his only companion.
But Sirius couldn’t understand that. No one could.
She slapped him again, harder this time, wanting to draw blood. Sirius caught her wrist before she could pull back, twisting her arm behind her back and spinning her to face the wall. His body pressed against hers, pinning her in place, and she gasped at the sudden proximity.
‘What’s wrong, Bella?’ he breathed against her ear, his breath hot on her skin. ‘Did I touch a nerve?’
She could feel his hardness against her back and fought down a rush of unwanted heat low in her belly. This was Sirius — blood traitor, Order member, her enemy in every way that mattered, and yet her body responded to him as it had that night four years ago, a betrayal she couldn’t seem to control.
‘You’re a scoundrel,’ she spat.
‘And you’re a hypocrite,’ he replied, his free hand coming up to grip her hair, pulling her head back so she was forced to look at him over her shoulder. ‘You lecture me about family while spreading your legs for half-bloods and blood traitors.’
She snarled at Sirius’s crude attempt to use blood status as weapon. He understood nothing of the Dark Lord’s lineage, nothing of the Slytherin blood running pure through his veins, nothing of how he’d cut away the muggle contamination that circumstances of birth had forced upon him. The Dark Lord had told her the story himself, late one night, of how he’d purged his father’s taint, how he’d pruned his family tree.
Bellatrix writhed against him, trying to break free of his grip. ‘The Order will never truly accept you,’ she hissed, going for the wound she knew would hurt him most. ‘They’ll always see the Black in you. Always wonder if they can really trust you.’
Something dark flashed in his eyes, and she knew she’d hit her mark. Sirius pressed harder against her, making it difficult to breathe.
‘And your precious Dark Lord?’ breathed Sirius. ‘He deems you exactly the whore everyone else knows you are.’
She did not dignify that with a response. Instead she bucked against him and either he allowed it or she forced it, but suddenly she was facing him instead of the wall, still pinned, still trapped against him. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and she wondered if he was as affected by their proximity as she was. The thought both thrilled and disgusted her.
‘You know nothing about me.’
‘Don’t I?’ His eyes narrowed, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her lips. ‘I know you came to my room that night. Tried every trick you had to make me reconsider, didn’t you?’
Her face went hot remembering it. It had been impulsive, desperate, a last-ditch effort to keep him from ruining his life. At least, that’s what she’d told herself at the time.
‘I was trying to save you from yourself!’
‘By seducing me?’ He laughed. ‘How noble.’
‘You didn’t exactly resist,’ she snarled, the memory of his eager response still vivid after all this time.
His grip tightened on her wrists, his body pressing her more firmly against the wall. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to, in some twisted, shameful part of herself.
Instead, he said, ‘A mistake I won’t repeat.’
The rejection stung more than it should have, and fury gave her strength. She called upon her magic, wandless and raw, and pushed outward with all the force she could muster. Sirius stumbled backward, momentarily surprised by the wave of magic that shoved him away from her.
Bellatrix stood away from the wall, her breast heaving, hands curled into fists at her sides. Without her wand, she felt naked, vulnerable, but she wouldn’t let him see that. She was a daughter of the House of Black, a servant of the Dark Lord. She would not cower.
Before she could press her advantage, Sirius transformed again, his body shrinking and changing until the large black dog stood before her once more. It lunged at her with a growl, knocking her backward. She shrieked as its weight slammed her to the ground, and then she was clawing at it, struggling as paws pinned her shoulders, but it was too heavy, too strong. Her breath caught, frozen, as she pushed uselessly at its chest while it loomed over her, teeth bared in a silent snarl.
She’d already witnessed his transformation once tonight when he’d dragged her here and revealed himself, but seeing it again…this change into the beast that had overpowered her made the danger immediate and visceral. The Ministry didn’t know about this ability, she was certain; they kept careful track of registered Animagi, and Sirius Black was not among them. This power made him a greater threat than she’d realised.
Blood rushed through her veins fast enough to make her dizzy as she stared up at the creature above her. The dog’s grey eyes locked on hers, pinning her to the cold stone floor as effectively as its massive paws, so clearly Sirius despite the animal form. The beast’s face couldn’t hide what blazed in those grey eyes she knew too well. She recognised the expression even through fur and fang — the same look he’d worn when she’d cornered him in his bedroom years ago. She felt her chest rise and fall rapidly, caught between fear and rage.
And something else. Something she refused to name.
This wasn’t the rebellious cousin she remembered from family gatherings. This wasn’t the boy who’d sulked through Christmas dinners or the teenager who’d shouted blood traitor rhetoric at his mother. This was something feral and untamed. Something uncontrolled and dangerous.
The creature’s breath came in hot pants against her face. Her palms pressed against the coarse, wet fur of its chest and she dug her fingers in, trying to force it off her body, but her efforts only seemed to anger it further. It growled, the sound rumbling from deep within its chest, vibrating against her own breasts where their bodies met. Its teeth gleamed yellow in the dim light, bared in warning. It reeked of wet dog, faintly metallic and oddly reminiscent of bloody, wet earth; it made her head spin.
‘Get off me,’ she hissed, shoving harder, her nails digging into flesh beneath the thick pelt.
The animal responded by pressing its paws firmly against her chest, one on each breast, the pressure both threatening and sickeningly intimate. Her nipples hardened against her will beneath the fabric of her robes, a physiological response she despised. Her stomach lurched, a flutter of unwelcome butterflies taking flight beneath her skin. The sensation was so unexpected, so wildly inappropriate, that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
What was wrong with her?
The question floated through a distant corner of Bellatrix’s mind, dissipating before it could take proper shape. This was Sirius — blood traitor, Order lapdog, family disgrace — and not even in his proper form but as a beast holding her against stone that had been here since before her great-grandparents died, now cold and slightly damp beneath her, smelling of earth and rot.
The dog’s paws moved across her body, rough pads catching on the rain-dampened crimson silk of her robes. He stared at her without blinking, and she found herself holding very still under that scrutiny, her breath stuttering. Her pulse jumped in her throat and she felt it beating against her skin faster than fear alone could account for. She realised he was waiting for some response she wasn’t giving him, looking for the horror in her face.
He wouldn’t find it.
Something was unfurling low in her belly, and she recognised this feeling with the ease of long familiarity. It was the same transcendent intensity she experienced as the Dark Lord pulled her into his chambers with his red eyes burning and pale hands already reaching for the clasps of her robes, then took her until she couldn’t tell if she was coming or dying or both. It was the same sensation that bloomed through her veins during battle when time seemed to slow and she could see her opponent’s wand movement before it completed. It was the high of the Cruciatus when her victims’ screams became music.
The same thrill now spread downward like honey through her body, pooling between her thighs deliciously fast, making her acutely aware of how her flesh was responding eagerly, honestly, to the weight and heat of the creature pinning her to stone. This was what she was made for, what her body had always known even when her mind tried to pretend otherwise, where pleasure became so intense it crossed over into something almost painful in its perfection. She’d always been able to abandon herself completely to it, to let go of conscious thought and simply exist in her body’s responses.
They thought she was mad for loving it, for craving that edge where control dissolved and nothing existed except the bright, burning reality of her own body responding with reckless abandon. The Dark Lord understood her nature, had recognised it in her from the very beginning, that capacity for throwing herself wholly into experience without holding any part of herself back in reserve. It was why he’d chosen her above all the others, why he valued her when so many Death Eaters still kept one foot planted firmly in respectable restraint.
A sound escaped her throat — not quite a laugh, not quite a gasp — something caught halfway between amusement and arousal. The dog’s ears went flat against his skull, then pricked forward again. His massive head tilted, those grey eyes narrowing as though trying to reconcile what he saw with what he’d expected, and then his lips pulled back from his teeth.
‘What’s the matter, cousin?’ The words emerged softer than she’d intended, almost gentle in their curiosity, and her hands — which moments ago had been fighting him, pushing against his chest — now rested almost companionably against the damp fur of his shoulders, fingers curling into the pelt not to push or pull but simply to touch, to feel, to claim this moment as something belonging entirely to her regardless of how it had begun. ‘Having second thoughts about your grand revenge?’
She arched beneath him in a sinuous roll of her hips that made the beast growl low in his chest, the sound rippling through her body and settling low in her core. Her nipples tightened almost painfully in response, pressing against the constraining silk of her robes. The dog’s claws clicked against stone as he adjusted his stance.
Her breath came faster now, shallow and quick, each inhalation bringing the scent of rain-soaked fur and damp earth and something musky that made her thighs clench involuntarily. The lantern light gilded the curve of her exposed collarbone where rain had plastered fabric to skin, catching on the gleam of the beast’s dark fur, illuminating the stones that had witnessed generations upon generations of Black family secrets and were now bearing silent witness to perhaps the strangest secret of all.
The dog moved lower, paws trailing down her ribs and across the flat plane of her stomach, claws catching and snagging on the embroidery that decorated her waist. She heard the silk tear with a soft ripping sound and a strip of exposed skin prickled with the sudden chill.
‘Do it,’ she whispered, and the words surprised her not in their content but in their tone: no defiance colouring them, no rage or fear, just simple instruction delivered in the same voice she used when directing house-elves or commanding lesser Death Eaters or telling Rodolphus exactly how she wished to be taken. ‘Don’t stop now, not when we’ve come this far.’
The beast’s response was immediate and savage beyond anything she’d anticipated. His teeth closed around her collar and she felt the fabric give way entirely with a sound like tearing flesh. The cool air hit her collarbone, then her breasts, then her stomach, raising gooseflesh in its wake as her robes tore. The beast didn’t pause to admire his handiwork, didn’t give her even a moment to reconsider what was happening, just kept tearing, more fabric giving way under inexorable pressure until layer after layer peeled away from her body like the skin of some exotic fruit being prepared for consumption.
The cold air caressed her and she felt in her bones, her skin reacting to being bared in stages until she lay in ruins of crimson silk with nothing but the lace of her underdress clinging to her body. She watched with fascination bordering on reverence as clothing that had required three fittings to drape correctly lay scattered across the floor like rose petals after a wedding, beautiful even — perhaps especially — in its ruin and desecration.
When the dog’s teeth found her brassiere, she bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, the small pain grounding her in the moment even as sharp canines grazed the swell of her breast through lace so thin it barely counted as barrier. She felt it stretch and resist for one breathless moment before it finally gave way with a soft sigh like surrender, and her breasts spilt free, nipples already hard and aching.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, the word barely audible over the sound of rain against stone and their combined breathing, and her fingers tangled deeper into thick fur, holding him to her rather than pushing him away, anchoring herself to something solid while she let herself discover she could want this at all.
The beast’s rough tongue dragged across one exposed nipple in a long, slow lap that made her gasp and arch involuntarily. The texture was completely unlike anything human — coarse as a cat’s but broader, wetter, shockingly hot against her rain-chilled skin — and she found herself offering her breast more fully to that alien mouth, as if to a lover who would take what she gave completely and without hesitation or apology.
His breath came hot and rapid against her exposed skin, warming her rain-chilled flesh, and somehow each puff of air across her neck or her breasts or her stomach made her more aware of the growing ache between her legs, made her thighs want to fall open wide, made her hips start to roll upward in small unconscious movements seeking something to ease the pressure that was becoming almost painful in its intensity
When he reached the waistband of her knickers — scarlet lace she’d specifically chosen this morning to match her robes, with entirely different plans for how the day would end — she felt him pause as though considering, as though giving her one final chance to stop what was happening.
‘Don’t stop,’ she commanded breathlessly. ‘I want to feel it, want all of it.’
The lace tore like tissue paper under his teeth, fragments drifting down to join the scattered remnants of her robes. Cool air kissed her most intimate flesh, and she shuddered, feeling that last barrier fall away to leave nothing between her body and the beast’s.
The dog’s nose pressed against her inner thigh, cold and wet and insistent, and she felt her legs fall open without any conscious decision on her part, thighs spreading wide to expose her cunt to his view, to his touch, to whatever he wanted to do. The beast’s tongue found it, one long, slow drag that seemed to last for hours and seconds simultaneously, starting at her opening where she was wettest, moving upward through her lips and all the way up to her clit, making her entire body jerk when he touched it. His tongue was burning hot and her hips rolled upwards to seek more.
‘Oh. Oh yes. Exactly like that, don’t stop, please don’t —’
The smell of her own arousal pervaded the close air of the mausoleum, tangy and warm and faintly metallic, mixing with rain-damp dog fur and old stone and candle wax in a combination that should have been repellent but somehow wasn’t, somehow felt true. It made her think of animals mating in the forest.
The beast repeated the action, slower this time. When he circled his tongue around her clitoris she couldn’t help bucking up towards his mouth, chasing that sensation, and when he flattened his tongue and dragged it through her folds she arched her back, feeling herself growing wetter with each pass of that clever tongue, slicker and more ready, her body preparing itself. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it became almost unbearable, until she felt like something had to give or break or explode.
‘Please,’ she breathed, and her fingers twisted in his fur hard enough that she must have been hurting him but he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow. ‘Please don’t stop, I need — I’m so close, I just need —’
The beast’s tongue flicked on her clit and sent shivers racing all the way up through her belly and chest, making her entire body shudder in response. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his massive head, her stomach clenching and releasing; her breath came in harsh gasps in time with each contraction of her cunt, her voice rising in pitch and frequency as release approached.
And then the dog did something with his tongue, some combination of pressure and speed and angle that hit exactly right, and her back arched so high and hard that only her shoulders and heels touched stone, and everything in her seized at once. Her back was arched so high she thought her spine might snap, thighs clamped around his head, every muscle seizing simultaneously as orgasm tore through her. She heard herself cry out and felt her vaginal walls clench tight around nothing, seeking something to grip, something to draw deeper while her entire body convulsed, and for several heartbeats she couldn’t breathe or think or do anything but feel.
The beast didn’t stop licking her even as she shook and gasped and made small, helpless sounds. He continued licking through aftershocks that made her whole body jerk, until she was trembling and gasping and hovering right on that edge where pleasure bordered on too much.
‘Merlin’s beard,’ she finally managed when she could form words again, though they came out slurred and thick as though she’d been drinking for hours. Her body felt alive, every nerve singing, every sense heightened to almost painful acuity. This was the state she chased in all things — in battle and bed and service — this complete presence in her own skin, this utter aliveness that made everything else feel like sleepwalking.
The beast wasn’t finished with her, wasn’t satisfied with having brought her to climax with just his tongue.
She felt his weight shift above her, felt him moving to position himself. The massive paws settled on either side of her ribcage to support his considerable weight as he aligned himself over her form. Through half-lidded eyes still hazy with pleasure, she looked down the length of her own naked body and saw his erection appear from where it had been hidden, the dog’s cock sliding free inch by inch, thick and flushed dark red and utterly alien in its shape, tapering to a point at the tip before swelling thicker towards the base, with a distinctive bulge near the root that she recognised from illicit texts she’d read as a teenager and never expected to encounter in reality.
Even the Dark Lord wouldn’t approve of this particular transgression, she knew in a strangely lucid corner of her pleasure-soaked mind. He pushed boundaries constantly, yes, encouraged her wildness and her capacity for abandon, but this — actual coupling with a beast, with her cousin trapped in animal form — this crossed lines even he maintained, violated taboos even the darkest wizards observed.
The recognition only heightened her arousal, made her spread her thighs wider.
‘Do it,’ she mewled needily. Her legs wrapped around the beast’s powerful haunches as if on their own accord, pulling him closer, encouraging what was about to happen. ‘Take what you came for, beast.’
The dog growled and thrust forward with none of the gentleness human lovers employed.
The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever experienced in years of sexual encounters with both her husband and the Dark Lord. Being penetrated by his beast form felt completely different from any human cock she’d taken. The angle was wrong, the shape unfamiliar, her cunt having to work to stretch around an intrusion that didn’t match what her body expected, and for half a second it hurt in a way that made her want to push him away, the strange thickness and shape of his dog cock making her burn as it forced her open, but then something shifted and her body accommodated the wrongness and the pain became pressure became pleasure of a sort she’d never experienced. The tip was pointed enough to push into her easily despite its thickness, but as he drove deeper, the shaft swelled, stretching her in ways she hadn’t thought possible, hitting places inside her that human anatomy couldn’t quite reach.
‘Oh — good heavens above — oh blessed —’ The words dissolved into incoherent sounds as the beast seated himself fully inside her with one long, relentless push that seemed to go on forever.
No finesse in the movement, no consideration for her comfort or pleasure, just animal instinct driving him to rut wildly. Each thrust drove her body hard against the stone floor beneath her, the impact jarring her bones and definitely leaving bruises she’d feel for days to come. The pain only heightened the overwhelming sensation of being filled and taken by a beast, having an animal inside her, dog cock stretching her open. Each time he drove forward she lifted to take him deeper, to feel everything. Her hands gripped his thick fur hard enough to hurt. Her voice rose in cries and moans and gasps.
The beast’s pace increased, becoming more frantic and desperate. She felt something building inside herself again — impossibly soon after the first climax, impossibly intense given how thoroughly she’d already been satisfied. The angle he was hitting, the alien texture of his cock rubbing against her inner walls, the sheer transgressive wrongness of the entire situation felt so good she stopped thinking in words, stopped thinking at all.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself chanting in time with his thrusts, the word becoming a mantra that matched the pace of their coupling. ‘Yes, yes, more, harder, don’t stop, please don’t ever stop —’
The dog’s paws pressed harder against her ribs as his movements became increasingly erratic, and she recognised the signs of approaching orgasm in the way his entire body tensed above her. Her body was hurtling towards the edge faster than she could process, her cunt gripping his cock more tightly with each thrust, the mounting pressure in her core demanding release with such urgency she felt almost desperate.
When her second climax hit, it felt like being struck by lightning from the inside out. Her entire body convulsed beneath him, back arching impossibly high while her inner walls gripped and released him, trying to draw him deeper even though he couldn’t possibly go any further. She screamed as waves of pleasure shook her violently enough that she tasted blood, and for a moment she genuinely wasn’t sure she’d survive it, wasn’t sure her heart could keep beating through it.
Distantly, through the haze of her own overwhelming orgasm, she felt the beast reach his own completion, felt his cock swell even thicker inside her, felt the flood of his release hot and copious, filling her in ways no human lover ever had. The sensation of being so thoroughly claimed sent fresh aftershocks through her, tremors that made her thighs shake as she gasped and whimpered helplessly. She felt satiated in ways she hadn’t even known she’d been craving until this moment. Her body felt liquid and boneless, every muscle relaxed.
The beast pulled out slowly, too slowly, the drag of his cock against her flesh making her whimper at the sudden emptiness he left behind. She lay gasping on the cold stone, feeling his seed beginning to trickle down her inner thighs in thick, warm rivulets that should have disgusted her but somehow didn’t. She was too sated, too thoroughly satisfied to care about propriety or consequence or anything beyond the bright, burning reality of her own body still singing with pleasure.
Then she heard it, the rippling, unsettling sound of Animagus transformation.
Through half-closed eyes still hazy with satisfaction, she watched fur recede into pale skin that she knew as intimately as her own, watched the dog’s muzzle shorten and reform into handsome features that could have been carved from marble, watched massive paws elongate into hands and feet she’d seen a thousand times at family gatherings.
Within moments, Sirius knelt between her splayed thighs in human form, naked and still partially aroused despite having just finished, and looking at her with an expression that made her languid, sated smile falter slightly.
She’d expected to see satisfaction in his expression, or at minimum some vindictive pleasure at having degraded her so thoroughly. What she saw instead made her pause.
His skin had gone white except where she’d struck him. His eyes were too bright, possibly with unshed tears, mouth twisted into something that might have been trying to be a snarl but kept slipping into something more broken. His eyes travelled from her face to her naked body to his own hands like he couldn’t quite believe what they’d done, his breathing too fast and shallow, and when he looked at her again, it was with revulsion that was clearly directed inward rather than at her, and for a moment she almost felt something like pity.
‘What did you make me do?’ The words came out strangled and barely recognisable as human speech, more animal growl than language. His hands were shaking violently at his sides, clenched into fists. ‘What did you — how could you just — why didn’t you fight harder, why didn’t you —’
She laughed, couldn’t help the sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, rich and genuine and utterly, completely unrepentant. ‘I made you? Oh, sweet cousin, let’s be clear about what happened here. You transformed into a beast, you pinned me down, you tore my clothes off, you —’ She paused, letting her smile widen into something almost feral. ‘You did absolutely all of that entirely of your own accord. I simply chose not to pretend I didn’t want it.’
His grey eyes blazed with something beyond simple anger, something closer to madness, to complete loss of control over the noble reformer act he’d been performing for Potter and the others. ‘You chose not to pretend?’ He laughed hysterically. ‘You think that makes this better? You think that absolves either of us?’
She stretched languidly on the cold stone, making no attempt whatsoever to cover her nakedness or wipe away the evidence of what they’d done still trickling down her thighs. ‘Absolve? Why would I need absolution for something I enjoyed?’
‘Because you’re a whore.’ The word exploded from him with such venom she heard it reverberate against the enclosed space. ‘A depraved, cock-hungry whore who just spread her legs for an animal. Do you understand that? Do you comprehend how utterly debased — how completely —’
‘Careful, cousin,’ she interrupted, her smile widening. ‘You’re the one who was doing the mounting, if memory serves. Rather enthusiastically, too.’
His hand shot out faster than she could track, fingers closing around her throat as he leant over her. ‘Don’t you dare try to make this about me. You’re the one who — who —’ He seemed to choke on the words, couldn’t quite force them past the rage constricting his chest. ‘You didn’t even fight. You just took it like the desperate slut you are.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed pleasantly, her voice only slightly strained by the pressure on her windpipe. ‘I did take it. Quite thoroughly, as I recall. And you gave it to me, didn’t you? Couldn’t help yourself. Poor Sirius, so desperate to prove he’s transcended his nature, and yet here you are — having just rutted your cousin in beast form like some kind of —’
He squeezed harder, cutting off her words, and she saw murder flash across his features for just a moment, real, genuine intent to hurt her and to make her stop speaking these unbearable truths, but she wasn’t afraid. If anything, the violence thrilled her, kindled arousal in her so fast after being satisfied that she felt almost greedy, felt herself growing wet again around the mess already there, made her body prepare itself for more despite how recently she had been fucked.
‘You’re mad,’ he hissed, his face inches from hers. ‘Everyone says it, everyone knows it. You whore yourself out to a monster and apparently to animals as well, now that you’ve added bestiality to your impressive list of depravities. What line won’t you cross, Bella? You’re disgusting. You’re vile. You’re the most debauched, cock-hungry slut to ever disgrace the Black name.’
She laughed despite the hand around her throat. ‘And yet you’re the one who fucked me, aren’t you? What does that make you, cousin dear?’
His other hand drew back, and for a moment she thought he might actually hit her. Part of her hoped he would — violence was just another way to feel completely alive — but instead his fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back at a painful angle that exposed the long line of her neck to his furious gaze, the most vulnerable part of her offered up to whatever he wanted to do.
‘It makes me weak,’ he said, and the self-loathing in his voice was almost palpable. ‘It makes me exactly what they all fear I am — still a Black, still tainted by the same darkness that runs through all of you like disease. And you —’ He tightened his grip in her hair until tears sprang to her eyes. ‘You love it, don’t you? Love dragging me down to your level, proving I’m no better than the rest of you.’
‘Your level?’ She managed despite the pain, despite the breathlessness. ‘Oh, Sirius. You still don’t understand. I’m not dragging you anywhere — you came here of your own accord, hunted me down, transformed into a beast specifically to take me. Those were all your choices, your desires bubbling up from wherever you’ve been trying to bury them.’
‘Shut your whore’s mouth —’
‘Why? Because I’m right? You hate me because being near me strips away your righteous act. I bring out the parts of yourself you’re most ashamed of, the hunger, the violence, the pure Black arrogance you’ve spent years trying to bury under all that righteous Gryffindor posturing. But it’s still there, still waiting. It’s in your blood, cousin. You can’t escape it any more than you can escape breathing.’
‘That’s not —’
‘It is.’ She pushed against his grip, forcing him to either hurt her more or let go slightly. He chose the former, but she barely seemed to notice the increased pain. ‘And they know it, your precious Order friends. They look at you and wonder — when will the mask slip? When will he prove he’s still one of them? They watch you for signs of treachery, question your motives, doubt your sincerity. You’ll never be one of them, not truly. You’re too dangerous, too unpredictable, too much of what they’re fighting against.’
‘They trust me —’
‘Do they?’ She laughed cruelly. ‘Or do they simply use you? Trust is different than utility, cousin. When things get truly desperate, when they have to choose between their own comfort and yours, they’ll throw you to the wolves without hesitation. Mark my words — you’ll die alone, abandoned by the people you sacrificed everything for.’
Something in him snapped completely at those words. She saw it happen, saw the last thread of his control fray and break and heard the change even if it made no sound. His fingers loosened from around her throat and before she could draw a full breath his palm swung up and caught her across the cheek hard enough to whip her head sideways, hard enough that she tasted blood immediately, hard enough that her ear rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else for several seconds
Pain bloomed bright and hot across her cheekbone, but instead of crying out or cringing away, she turned back to face him with eyes blazing and smiled — actually smiled — with blood beginning to trickle from her split lip.
‘There he is,’ she breathed with something approaching reverence. ‘There’s the real Sirius Black.’
He made a sound somewhere between a roar and a sob, and then his mouth was on hers, or perhaps attacking was more accurate. His teeth caught her already split lip and bit down hard enough to make her taste more blood, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth. She met him with equal violence, biting his lip in return, lapping up the Black blood on her tongue, his and hers in fusion.
His hands were everywhere at once, rough and punishing, trying to hurt her, trying to break something he couldn’t quite name. One hand fisted in her hair and twisted until tears sprang to her eyes while the other grabbed her breast and squeezed hard enough that she gasped, his thumb digging into the soft underside, fingers splayed across the top while his palm pressed flat against her nipple. She arched into the pain rather than away from it, her own hands coming up to rake her nails down his chest with enough force to draw blood, leaving angry red furrows in their wake.
‘Vicious bitch,’ he snarled against her mouth. ‘Depraved whore. Is this what you wanted? Wanted me to hurt you? Wanted me to use you like the desperate slut you’ve always been?’
‘Yes,’ she hissed back, and there was no shame in her voice, no attempt to deny or deflect. ‘Yes, I want you to stop pretending. Want you to be what you actually are instead of what you think you should be.’
He shoved her back against the stone floor with enough force to drive the air from her lungs, following her down, covering her body with his weight in a parody of their earlier coupling. His cock was already hardening again between them — impossibly, given how recently he’d finished — pressing hot and insistent against her belly.
‘You want to be treated like a dirty slut?’ he snarled, and she couldn’t tell if fury or want choked him more. ‘Fine. I’ll treat you like the cock-hungry harlot you are. Like the desperate whore who spreads her legs for animals and half-bloods and anyone else who’ll have her. Is that what you want?’
‘What I want,’ she said softly even with the rage twisting his features above her, ‘is for you to stop talking about it and actually do something. All this moralising, all this guilt and self-recrimination, it’s boring. Either fuck me or leave, but stop wasting time with these tedious attempts at degradation.’
That did it. His hand closed around her throat again as his other grabbed her hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into soft flesh. She felt him line himself up with her entrance, the tip of his cock nudging her opening which was wet from being fucked already, from his dog’s seed still inside her mixing with her body’s arousal, everything messy and slick, and then he was slamming into her without care for whether she was ready or not, just shoving inside in one hard stroke that made her cry out because she had to stretch to take him so suddenly.
Her cries could have been agony or ecstasy, she genuinely couldn’t distinguish them as he pushed inside; she felt every inch of the penetration, the initial resistance, the burning stretch as he forced her open, the deep ache when he bottomed out. Her cunt spasmed around the thick intrusion that bordered on painful, her body simultaneously trying to accommodate and resist the intrusion.
‘Is this what you want?’ he snarled, punctuating each word with a thrust. ‘Want me to split you open? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for days? Want everyone to see the marks I leave on you and know exactly what kind of desperate whore you really are?’
‘Yes,’ she gasped, her voice breaking on the word as he hit something deep inside her with enough force that her body moved without her permission, lifting and arching as though pulled by invisible strings, every nerve from her cunt to the base of her skull suddenly firing. ‘Yes, all of it, stop holding back, stop being so concerned with — ah — with what you think you should —’
He bit down on her shoulder hard enough to break skin, and she screamed, high and sharp and genuinely startled by the sudden pain, but even as the scream tore from her throat, her body responded with a fresh rush of arousal that made the slide of his cock even easier, made each brutal thrust glide smoothly despite the violence.
‘You like that?’ He pulled back to look at her face, taking in her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks and the blood beginning to well up from the bite mark. ‘Of course you do. You like pain, like being hurt, like being used. You’re exactly as insane as they say, aren’t you? Getting wet from being bitten like an animal.’
She laughed breathlessly, the sound broken by the way he kept fucking her without pause or variation, not giving her even a moment’s respite from the relentless penetration, just continuous hard thrusts that seemed like they would never end.
‘And you’re exactly as weak as you fear you are, cousin. Can’t resist doing it even while you condemn it. Can’t stop yourself from taking what you want even while you pretend to be horrified by wanting it.’
His response was to grab both her wrists and slam them down against the stone above her head, pinning her completely beneath him. His thrusts became even more violent, more punishing, driving her body against unyielding stone with each movement. She felt skin scraping on her shoulders, her back, her arse, new wounds to add to the collection of marks he was leaving across her flesh.
‘I hate you,’ he said, and the words came out choked with genuine emotion. ‘Hate everything you represent, everything you are, everything you make me feel —’
‘Good,’ she managed between gasps. ‘Hate me. Fuck me. Hurt me. It doesn’t change what’s happening here, doesn’t change that you’re choosing this, that some part of you needs this —’
He released one of her wrists to backhand her across the face again, the impact sharp and shocking. Her head snapped to the side, and for a moment stars burst behind her eyes from the force of it, but even as pain shot through her skull, she felt herself climbing towards another orgasm, her body responding to the violence with enthusiasm that should have appalled her but somehow didn’t, because pleasure was better than shame.
She managed to free her other wrist from his grip and immediately raked her nails down his back viciously enough to draw blood, feeling skin tear beneath her fingers. He hissed in pain and retaliated by biting her other shoulder, teeth sinking into tender flesh until she couldn’t tell if the wetness she felt was blood or sweat or both.
They fought and fucked with equal ferocity, neither entirely sure anymore where violence ended and sex began. His hands left bruises everywhere they touched, her throat, her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Her nails left scratches down his back, his chest, his arms. They bit and clawed and struck at each other like beasts, and he never stopped driving into her.
‘You’re going to come on my cock,’ he snarled against her ear, his voice rough and broken. ‘And then you’re going to remember this every time you spread your legs for your Dark Lord or your husband. Remember that I had you as a beast, that I made you into this desperate, wanting thing —’
‘You didn’t make me anything,’ she gasped, feeling her climax building despite, or perhaps because of, the pain shooting through her body from a dozen different sources. ‘I’ve always been this. You’re just finally seeing it clearly instead of through the lens of what you wanted me to be —’
Her words cut off in a scream as he changed angles slightly and hit something inside her that made pleasure explode through her.
Coming for the third time felt catastrophic, like something breaking open inside her as every muscle in her body locked up simultaneously. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, could only feel her cunt clenching around his cock, squeezing him so tight she felt every ridge and vein of his shaft throbbing in response, drawing him fractionally deeper until there was no space left between them, and the orgasm just kept going, her body wringing every last drop of pleasure until she was shaking and sobbing.
She heard herself screaming his name, not in shame or horror but in acknowledgement of what was happening between them. Her nails dug into his shoulders and drew blood, her legs wrapped around his waist to hold him against her while her nipples tightened in response, her toes curling involuntarily.
Sirius followed her over the edge moments later. He lost all pretence of control, just thrusting into her in quick, shallow, desperate drives until she felt him stiffen completely for half a heartbeat and then his cock was jerking inside her cunt, pumping jet after jet of hot come deep into her cunt where it mixed with what was already there and made everything impossibly slicker, making her cunt clench weakly around him in response even though she’d just finished.
He dropped onto her like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his face pressing into the valley between her breasts, his mouth open against her skin as he gasped for oxygen. She couldn’t move even if she’d wanted to; her muscles had stopped obeying her entirely, leaving her flat on her back with his weight crushing her into the floor, both of them shaking and panting and utterly spent. His head stayed pillowed on her breast, rising and falling with each of her gasping breaths, while her hands eventually found their way into his sweat-dampened hair.
Then Sirius pulled away from her abruptly, as though her skin had suddenly become hot enough to burn him. He scrambled backward across the stone floor, gaping at her with an expression of such complete horror that it would have been comical if it weren’t so genuine.
‘What have I done? What have I — what have we —’
Bellatrix pushed herself upright carefully, discovering that her right hip screamed when she put weight on it, that her shoulders were scraped raw from stone, that the bite on her left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat. There was a deep ache between her legs. Blood and other fluids trickled down her thighs, dried in crusts on her shoulders where he’d bitten her, matted in her hair. She must have looked like she’d been through a war — and in a sense, she supposed she had been.
But she was smiling.
‘What we’ve done,’ she said slowly, ‘is exactly what we both wanted. You can dress it up in guilt and self-recrimination if you like, but that doesn’t change the truth.’
‘You’re insane,’ he said again, but the certainty had drained from his tone. ‘This whole situation is insane. I need to — I have to —’
‘Run away?’ she suggested helpfully. ‘Yes, I imagine you do. Can’t have anyone seeing you like this, covered in evidence of what we’ve been doing. Can’t risk anyone asking questions you couldn’t possibly answer honestly.’
He grabbed his scattered clothes with shaking hands, pulling them on with none of his usual grace. His shirt went on inside-out, his trousers weren’t fully fastened, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He just needed to be dressed, needed to be covered, needed to hide the scratches and bite marks that told the story of what had transpired in this forgotten crypt.
‘This never happened,’ he said, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘We never speak of it again. We never —’
‘Of course not,’ she agreed easily, still making no move to cover herself or clean away the evidence. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, cousin. I have no interest in explaining this to anyone either.’
He looked at her one last time, taking in her bloodied, satisfied state, the complete lack of shame or regret written across her features. For a moment his mouth collapsed inward like he’d been struck, and then he turned away before she could parse what she’d seen.
Then he transformed.
The shift happened so quickly she almost missed it, human form collapsing and reforming into the black dog in a matter of heartbeats, but this time she could see the desperation in the transformation, the way he fled into animal form as though it could somehow absolve him of what his human self had done.
The dog bolted through the mausoleum door without a backward glance, disappearing into the rainy night so quickly and completely it was almost as though he’d never been there at all.
Bellatrix sat in the sudden silence, listening to rain drum against stone and her own gradually slowing heartbeat. Her body ached in a dozen places, would ache in a dozen more once her blood stopped racing. She could feel bruises forming, could taste blood from her split lip, could feel the sting of bite marks on both shoulders.
And she was still smiling.
Eventually, she roused herself enough to stand on slightly unsteady legs. Her robes lay in tatters around her, nothing salvageable except her cloak which had fallen to the floor early in their coupling and remained intact. She wrapped it around her naked body and made her way to the mausoleum door, stepping out into the night. She found her wand where it had fallen on the wet path, and the walnut grounded her back in reality as her fingers closed around it.
She retreated back into the mausoleum, letting the cloak fall away as she began casting cleaning charms, though she left some of the marks deliberately, the bite marks, the fingerprint bruises on her hips, the scratches down her back. Evidence of her reckless abandon, of an experience so far outside the bounds of normal that it felt almost sacred in its transgression.
She repaired her robes next, the crimson silk mending itself imperfectly but adequately under her wand’s direction. Then she wrapped herself in the restored clothing and stepped back outside.
The rain had lessened to barely more than mist, and the night air felt cool and clean against her heated skin. Rodolphus still lay where Sirius had left him, breathing evenly. She stood over her husband for a moment, looking down at him with something approaching fondness. He was a good man, in his way, understood her better than most, but he could never know about this.
‘Rennervate,’ she murmured, pointing her wand at his chest.
He stirred, eyelids fluttering open to reveal confusion and disorientation. ‘Bella?’ His voice was rough, uncertain. ‘What — where —’
‘We were attacked, remember?’ She helped him sit up, supporting his weight as he swayed slightly. ‘Some kind of beast. A dog, I think, though quite large.’
Rodolphus blinked, trying to clear his head. His gaze travelled over her, taking in her dishevelled state, the visible mending on her robes, the flush still lingering in her cheeks despite the cooling night air. His eyes narrowed slightly.
‘You look…’ He paused, clearly struggling to find appropriate words. ‘Different. Strange. Almost —’
‘Exhilarated?’ she supplied, allowing herself a small laugh. ‘Well, it was rather exciting, wasn’t it? Haven’t had a proper fight in ages. Gets the blood pumping, sharpens the senses. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy a good tussle.’
‘A tussle.’ He said the word slowly, testing it. ‘With a dog.’
‘A very large dog,’ she clarified, helping him to his feet. ‘Rather cowardly, really. Attacked from behind, knocked you out cold, then ran away the moment I fought back properly.’
Rodolphus kept looking at her, his eyes tracking from her mouth to her throat to her hair, clearly trying to piece together what had actually happened from the limited information available. She held his eyes and didn’t try to hide her satisfaction, the flush still warming her cheeks, the slight curve of her mouth.
‘You’re glowing,’ he said finally, the suspicion in his voice giving way to something closer to bemusement. ‘I’ve never seen you look quite so…satisfied after a simple fight.’
She threw her head back and laughed again. ‘Perhaps I needed it more than I realised. It’s been rather dull lately, hasn’t it? Sometimes a witch needs something more visceral. Surely you can understand that?’
Her husband’s gaze stayed fixed on her face, searching as if he knew something wasn’t adding up. ‘Could it have been an Animagus?’
‘No.’
‘How can you be certain?’
She shrugged, the movement causing her to wince slightly as it pulled at abraded skin on her back. ‘I just know. Does it matter? The beast fled, I’m here, we’re both fine.’
Rodolphus didn’t look entirely convinced, his eyes narrowing as he took in her too-bright eyes, the way she moved like her body ached in specific places, but after a moment he seemed to decide not to press the issue further, at least not tonight. Later, perhaps, when they were alone and he could ask the questions she could see forming behind his suspicious stare.
‘We should return to the house,’ he said eventually. ‘Your aunt will be wondering where we’ve gone.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, threading her arm through his. ‘Let us.’
As they walked back towards Grimmauld Place, Bellatrix found she couldn’t quite suppress the smile that kept creeping across her face. Her body ached deliciously, reminding her with every step of what had transpired in that forgotten mausoleum, as she walked arm-in-arm with her husband while carrying the secret of what she’d done with her cousin in both his forms.
When they entered Grimmauld Place, the remaining mourners looked up with varying expressions of concern and curiosity. Narcissa immediately rushed over, her blue eyes wide with worry.
‘Bella! What on earth happened? You’re both — you look —’
‘We encountered a stray animal,’ Bellatrix said smoothly, accepting a glass of wine from a passing house-elf with a nod. ‘Rather aggressive thing. Knocked poor Rodolphus unconscious and came after me, but I managed to drive it off.’
‘A stray animal did all that?’ Narcissa’s incredulity was evident as she took in the state Bellatrix was in.
‘A rather large one,’ Bellatrix amended, sipping her wine casually. ‘Possibly magical in nature. These things happen, sister. Nothing to concern yourself with overmuch.’
She caught her reflection in the ornate mirror above the fireplace and stopped, transfixed by what she saw — hair wild and tangled in a way that framed her face beautifully, lips swollen and red like she’d been biting them or been bitten, heavily lidded eyes fever-bright and dilated, skin flushed across her cheeks and down her throat making her look alive in a way the grooming she usually maintained never achieved.
She couldn’t stop looking at herself, at how beautiful and glorious she appeared like this. She looked like a painting of Bacchanalian excess and the image aroused her almost as much as the actual sex had. She wanted to look like this more often. She touched her own swollen lips with her fingertips and felt wetness gather between her thighs again.
Narcissa watched her with her hooded eyes narrowed. ‘You seem remarkably pleased with yourself, Bella, considering you were just attacked.’
‘Well, I won,’ Bellatrix pointed out reasonably. ‘The beast fled with its tail quite literally between its legs, and here I stand victorious. Surely that’s cause for satisfaction?’
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed slightly, but after a moment she simply nodded and moved on to speak with other guests. Even she, for all her cunning, couldn’t piece together the truth from the fragments available to her.
Bellatrix raised her glass in a silent toast to her own reflection, to her cousin who’d fled into the night, to the glorious mess of violence and pleasure and complete abandon they’d created together in that forgotten crypt.
To being exactly what she was, mad and hedonistic and utterly, completely unashamed.
She smiled into her wine glass, feeling exuberant in ways that magnified herself and made everything else seem pale and insubstantial by comparison.