Disclaimer: Jo Rowling and her publishers own these characters and situations. The phrasing is the only thing I dare to claim.
A/N: Written for the Summer Angst Challenge on WizardTales; this oneshot won third place. All mistakes lie with the author.
The house was silent and dark, an unsurprising setting for one o' clock in the morning. A once-steaming, now cold cup of coffee sat before an unmoving Bellatrix Lestrange; she couldn't remember the last time she'd made it through more than four hours of sleep, and none of it peaceful.
Wormtail has gone full circle, read the crumpled missive on the kitchen table before her. Bellatrix was unsure which was worse: the message itself, or the handwriting signifying the author of the note. Severus Snape had an unmistakable scrawl that she loathed; its appearance was every reminder of the disreputable man who penned it so meticulously. Bellatrix stared at the letter, willing it to explode. The irony of a suspected traitor writing of a confirmed traitor was too much for her haunted mind to handle, at least without the sun to temper her thoughts. Wormtail's implied defection and subsequent death came as little surprise, but that she was not among the first to know came as a distressing shock indeed. Severus had indeed regained his spot as the most trusted, and the realization made Bellatrix's insides squirm more than the nightmares that had awoken her at such a godforsaken hour. Images flooded her mind again as she remembered what had brought her into the sterile kitchen to stare at dregs of undrinkable caffeine, images of the Light reigning victorious, and of herself being ruined in a small island cell. The downward spiral continued viciously as the minutes ticked by, and she felt as though vomiting would be preferable than replying to the letter before her as was expected.
Unable to stand such thoughts, Bellatrix lit a cigarette, touched it to the parchment, and watched them both burn until her solitude was interrupted. Rodolphus's crack of apparition was unmistakable, but this near-morning it was mostly unbearable.
Her husband's feet shuffled along the tiled floor behind her, but Bellatrix didn't acknowledge them. Her gaze remained trained on the parchment that twisted as a small flame consumed it. She wondered idly how parchment might sound if it could scream, and buried herself in the constructive distraction. It would probably have a shrill cry, like that of the young girl she teased on a midsummer's night so long ago, or perhaps the quiet gasping breath of an old man at the mercy of a cackling brunette with the power to wield death in the name of supreme power…
A few lines of Latin extinguished that line of dreaming, as well as the flickering destruction that had inspired it. Rodolphus now stood beside her, but Bellatrix again refused to initiate communication of any sort. She knew her place in their household, and it wouldn't be proper for a woman of her status to start a confrontation.
"Feeling elemental, love?" Rodolphus asked from above, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.
A proper lady would not start a confrontation, no, but she sure as hell could respond to a perceived invitation.
"I would certainly love to channel the collective forces of Merlin and reign them down upon the heads of certain involved parties," she said to her husband in a detached voice, and without making eye contact. It would have been more effective had he not known her so completely, she knew, but there was something to be said for making an effort. It was late – or perhaps early, as sleep would certainly elude her at this hour – and her brain was too numb to function appropriately.
"Where is your resolve this morning, Bella?" said Rodolphus in a near whisper, running a finger along her shoulder tenderly. She cursed him softly, but leaned into his familiar touch, too often denied it. Rodolphus knew her every weakness, and wasted no time in exploiting it. "You've known for a very long time now that this is how things were supposed to be." He brushed his lips along her neck. "We are winning, love," he said, running his fingers through her hair, "and you mustn't doubt us now."
"I can't put faith in Severus," she said, staring at the table. "I don't know why the Dark Lord does. I can't fathom…
"I have lasted in battle. I have stood every test, every task, no suspicion about my name, and still the Dark Lord places his trust above myself in a man who is a practiced liar! Deceit seeds deceit, Rodolphus, and I can't stand it. That man will be our downfall, I can sense it." Rodolphus said nothing, but instead began undoing the buttons on Bellatrix's robe. She laughed harshly, pushing her husband away with a few long fingers.
Rodolphus raised an eyebrow but stepped back, watching Bellatrix carefully. "You're being ridiculous, you know," he drawled.
"Everyone trusts him!" she yelled, standing with such force that her chair tipped over. "Why don't they trust me, Rodolphus! I am faithful! I am faithful, oh, Rodolphus, I am faithful!" Her finger shook as she pointed it at her husband, as though she was accusing him of doubting her resolve.
Her husband stood above her, looking down. "Don't drop your airs, Bella. It's unbecoming." Rodolphus watched as his wife steadied herself against the wall with an outstretched hand, her body shaking with fear, rage, and mistrust. When Bellatrix had recovered herself sufficiently to stand, Rodolphus wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
"Look at this year, Bellatrix. We have the world in a war we are winning. Dumbledore has fallen, and Hogwarts with him. Now is not the time for doubt."
Bellatrix hurled a hex at the wall. It exploded as a crash of red light and dissolved into the air with a hiss. "This is a matter of trust. I have never once – "
"Do not fool yourself. This is not about trust at all; it is about faith."
Another jet of light – this time purple – collided with the wall, causing it to sizzle tremulously. "Faith is nothing! Faith is not my problem, this is about trust; I assure you, faith is nothing."
"Life without faith is death," said Rodolphus smoothly.
Bellatrix did not respond, save to glare at her hands. Rodolphus was a man. Of course he couldn't understand the intricacies of her mind, nor the depths of her insecurity. Her eyes watched her fingers studiously, as though they held the answers she was searching for, as though her husband had not just offered those same answers.
If there was one thing she hated more than not having answers, it was being told them by someone who had no right to be right.
"I'll return before the month expires," Rodolphus said, then left a shadow of a kiss on his wife's lips before walking to the apparition point.
Bellatrix leaned heavily against the kitchen countertop. "Life without faith is death," she repeated, eyes glittering. So that was the real heart of the matter, then; she wasn't sure how she had missed it all this time. Her problem wasn't trust. No, it was that she couldn't bring herself to full follow the Dark Lord's vision no matter how desperately she believed it; she couldn't bear the thought of another betrayal, one that might be her downfall.
The difference between trust and faith, she dimly realized, was belief. When it came down to it, she would trust the word of the Dark Lord above all else, but that still left room for questioning the believability of the situation. Bellatrix looked over at their wedding portrait, her mind irrevocably drawn to the vows she had sworn on that sacred day, the same day their forearms were emblazoned with a skull-and-snake pairing, their promise to the Dark Lord. Thinking of Rodolphus and her Lord, she repeated her vows again to the December chill with resolve.
"I do solemnly and with the whole of my heart devote my conscious actions and pledge the all of my thoughts to the cause which is greater than the sum of our beings. Let my mind, my body, and my soul be united in this resolution to commit my life to this union publicly, officially, and in the secrets that compose my identity. This I swear, until the termination of eternity."
As she finished the vows, her painted likeness connected with her painted husband to share a deep canvas kiss. Bellatrix watched with a detached sense of peace, feeling all of a sudden more rested than she had since before Azkaban. Rodolphus had never let her down, not even at Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord had not yet suffered a true defeat.
She had the trust, she knew. That had never deserted her either, Bellatrix realized. The night had left her empty, but perhaps that was what it took to bring her to this plane of comprehension. Faith could be re-attained, re-explained; she had a place and a purpose, and no doubt could ever shake that. In that moment, with the moon sinking through the kitchen window and the traces of her husband's tender caresses resting on her bare shoulders, Bellatrix understood that everything truly was going well.
She finished the cold dregs of her coffee, feeling warm despite the bitter chill, with the promise that they would prevail. The Light would fall and the Dark would regain their power, which had for too long been denied them.
That, she had faith in.