Music was louder in the dark. The smooth sounds of the grand piano beguiled Bellatrix out of her slumber and into a half-sleep state. She could feel where she was; opened her eyes to a squint and, in a watery blur, could almost see where she was. The high notes on the piano sent a short shiver through her body—she knew not what piece was playing, but it awoke something small within her. A nearly inaudible shout of loneliness—a yearning for warmth—sounded somewhere within her mind.

Whether in dream or in consciousness (at the moment, Bellatrix could not tell the difference) she demanded, "Louder."

At the growl of the 'R' seeping through her teeth, there was obedience. As the music swelled around her, low notes thundering pulses and high notes refusing to yield power, the desire for closeness also burned hotter.

She opened her eyes completely. The weak light of daybreak stung them and made them water, and the ensuing uncontrolled blinking blinded her. Stumbling, vision hazed, she lifted herself off the settee where she had so restlessly slept that night. Bellatrix gracelessly crossed the room to the piano, where Rodolphus sat, rough fingers gliding over the bone white and black keys.

Her throat was dry, her mouth salivating in vain. She arrived at his side and collapsed over his back, arms swung over his shoulders, hands clawing at his chest. A moan—pitiful and desperate—escaped her chapped lips. She shook all over, from a thousand different emotions.

The Dark Lord was displeased with her. She had failed him earlier that night: a careless mistake on her behalf had ruined the entire mission. Her master had said that she was too stupid, and useless. "How unlike you, Bella," he'd hissed, "to be so distracted."

Distracted.

An evil was blocking her mind from complete focus and dedication. It was the filth, the horrors of society: the mudbloods and half-breeds, the Ministry and the Order. Their burden on the world was manipulating her—distracting her.

But she had deserved the punishment from her Lord. He was right—her mind was weakening, and she needed to learn to discipline it. No more worrying about those who tried to defy the Dark Lord and his servants; only worry about how she would defy them.

"Rodolphus. Help me," Bellatrix cried into the nape of his neck. "I am a failure, Rodolphus. I am a failure."

The music stopped. His hands took hers, and the pity in the gesture could not be mistaken. Her heart beat faster, and she sobbed harder.

"I need you to help me; I cannot displease Him again!" She continued to shake; Rodolphus would not respond. In hopelessness, she tried to kiss his neck. It was wet and unsteady, hardly a kiss at all. Sobs would not cease, and words began flying out of her gaping mouth; words that she had no control over, words that she could not remember a second after crying.

A reaction finally came from him. Rodolphus squeezed her hands tighter and pulled her in closer.

"I will help you, Bellatrix," he whispered. "You will not err in the eyes of our Lord ever again."

He may have told her that he loved her, but the words were lost under Bella's hysterical sobs of relief.