A/N: Not really sure how I feel about this piece, but the humidity in England has been giving us a lot of thunderstorms and I absolutely adore them. We had one last night and I sneaked out to go dance in it – woke up again this morning with an awful cold, but it was well worth it. And as I've stayed in bed all day, this little plot-bunny bounced out of my cluttered brain of ideas for stories. Please enjoy and if you have time, leave me a review!

I also know that there's a story called Dancing Through Thunderstorms (again, if you have time, you should really read it. It's beautiful!) and I didn't mean to steal the idea if you feel like I have!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Narcissa danced at balls and the like. She danced with class, modesty and let herself be led by her partner. Always following, never leading.

Bellatrix danced, too – though she tried to avoid it as much as possible when it was linked with those tedious parties she was forced to attend. In the heavy rain and the violent thunderstorms, she would twirl. She would pirouette and leap. She would dig one bare foot into the ground, let it sink there, before kicking it out and changing the weight to the other foot with a shake of her hips – and as she did so, the lightning would come, and she would laugh breathlessly.

Rodolphus once asked her why she did it in the thunder – so she showed him. She led – she always led. She showed him the meaning of true freedom, even if it did last for a mere few moments. But he understood, and they would dance every summer when it was humid enough. They would dance and for a short while forgot about the binds to which they were bound – even when their marks were on full display in the dark.

They found each other in dance.

Wild, careless dance.