Bella Beloved
Bellatrix dragged her eyes away from the smoking crater that marked all that was left of the former Dark Lord Voldemort with an effort. It was a strange sight to see. One moment, she was sitting at the right hand of her Lord and master, basking in the warm glow of his praise as she reported yet another perfectly executed raid against the low born scum of that fool Order of Dumbledore’s, and the next a bolt of lightning shattered the roof of Malfoy Manor, cracking open the ancient marble like a hammer smashing an egg. Bellatrix herself had been thrown bodily off her feet with the other dozen or so Death Eaters seated at the grand dining room table, cracking her head against the far wall.
After that everything was rather blurry.
She distinctly remembered the howling of winds, as if a category five hurricane had erupted in the center of the manor, and she was almost positive that hurricane had been on fire. She was also sure she had heard the roaring of a dragon, but she attributed that to her cracked head. What would be making a noise like a ten thousand degree furnace loosing all its heat through a tube in the middle of a house? Her head must have been hit harder than she thought. Still, she was sure there had been lightning, and pretty certain about rumblings beneath the earth. Her bum still smarted from being tossed around by the quakes if nothing else could prove they had happened.
But there were other things that were plainly impossible to believe. A song that had sounded like a summer rain of smoking ice? The brief flash of kaleidoscopic light that was said to accompany the usage of the legendary Heron Mountain wand breaking technique that had been lost before Merlin tamed the Wildness? The skittering of ten million beetles made of crystal glass and green moonlight? A ragged hole of inverted light torn through the air that seemed to show a window into a land without sun that pulsed a dirty grey? Impossible. All impossible.
She must have been knocked unconscious for part of the battle. Such things could only exist in a dream.
She checked the back of her head when she finally got up the strength to stand and was surprised when it came back bloodless. Surely a hit that had been hard enough to put her to sleep would have drawn blood?
All thought of herself and her (elegantly pretty) head fled as soon as she looked around her. The dining hall was gone. Every wall had been blown into the rooms behind them and then much of those rooms had been blasted clean out of the house. Except for the wall around her. Somehow the firestorm of the raid, for there was nothing short of a full on attack by the Order that could produce this level of destruction, had raged and managed to smash every piece of every garishly decorated wall except for about two feet of unbroken panels around her body. Even the wallpaper was intact. She used the bit of panelling still standing behind her to drag herself to her feet. She caught herself on it as she stumbled. The dizziness in her head made the room spin slightly and informed her that she probably had at least a light concussion. But the worst of it passed after a moment and she managed to keep her feet.
Stumbling forward, her slippers crunched on broken glass. Looking around showed her not a single unbroken pane in sight. Bellatrix gasped. The domed roof of the manor was gone, letting moonlight stream in through the yawning hole it left behind. The back wall had disappeared too, leaving a clear view of the forested grounds surrounding the mansion, the trees of which looked to have been whipped about by a massive storm. The other three walls had been smashed outwards into the rest of the house, the floors above collapsing into the ones below to leave a ragged skeleton of the once elegant manse behind.
She gaped at the damage. Not even Dumbledore was capable of that much damage. Not Dumbledore and Voldemort and all the Order and Death Eaters fighting at once could do that in just a few minutes. And it had only been a few minutes. The moon hadn’t moved at all in the sky. That was easy enough to see from there.
But even stranger than all the destruction was the utter lack of people. The only explanation for the state of Malfoy Manor was that the entire Ministry and the Aurors and probably all of the Order for good measure had converged at once in a lightning attack that had caught up all the dozens of Death Eaters coming back from raids and strikes. There was nothing else it could be. So why weren’t there any people? A battle of that size should have left behind a fair few corpses, and yet there wasn’t a body, living or dead, in sight. Not even a drop of blood.
“Up!”
Well, nobody but the boy.
Wrenching her eyes away from the truly mythic levels of devastation surrounding her, she forced herself to look down at the young boy standing at her ankles.
Arms raised.
“Up!”
A young boy, no more than five, standing there at the epicenter of all this madness, and not a single scratch on him. He was still in his pajamas. She noted that he at least had a coat on. Good thing, given the roof had blown away and let a draft in. A possibility too absurd to be true flittered across her mind.
“Did you do this?”
She covered her mouth. She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud.
The boy rolled his eyes at her, his arms still outstretched, looking at her as if she had just said something very stupid.
“Obviously. Now stop your yammering. Up!”
Bellatrix wasn’t exactly sure why she believed him, but she did. Something in her, in her core, told her it was right. It sounded right, now that she had asked and been answered. There was no one else around after all. Who else could it have been?
The boy was really looking impatient now, “Up!”
It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. Bellatrix must be forgiven for the lapse; she wasn’t around children very often.
“Oh dear, my apologies,” she murmured, scooping him up into her arms. It was understandable now that she thought about it. If the boy really was the reason for all this, then he was probably tuckered out. Poor guy.
He did look a little stressed around the eyes, as if he was very vexed about something, but he relaxed nicely as he snuggled against her warm body. Bellatrix found herself smiling down at him, glad that he liked to be near her. She couldn’t say why, precisely, but seeing the tension leave his face was better than a hundred successful missions. Her dreams of dominating the continent and erasing the muggles suddenly all seemed rather silly and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what had driven her to them in the first place. They all felt distant now. Cold compared to the pleasant warmness she felt holding this boy close.
“Pull out your tits.”
She blinked, “Pardon?”
“Are you deaf or just daft?” he growled, “Pull out your tits I say!”
“But I don’t have any milk!” she protested.
“If I wanted whining I would have gone to a vineyard. Now get them out!”
“Oh my,” Bellatrix blushed. She was by nature a follower and had a tendency to gravitate towards authoritative men. Despite his small frame and apparent youth, the boy’s voice was extremely deep for his size and carried a weight to it that made her want to scramble to obey. She wanted more than anything to please this boy.
She pulled down the collar of her dress and let her girls pop free. The lad latched onto her nipple without hesitation, clamping his teeth firmly and taking strong pulls as if he actually meant to pull milk out of her. A small moan escaped her at the intensity of his sucks. At this rate, he just might do it!
It wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she had no idea who this boy was.
Looking down at the toddler who seemed to have blocked out every part of the world that was not her breasts, she nudged his head gently with the crook of her elbow.
“Um, excuse me,” Merlin, she hadn’t sounded this meek since the last time her mother switched her bottom. For some reason, thinking of having her bottom switched right then made her swallow.
The boy didn’t respond to her murmuring.
“Excuse me,” she said, a little louder, though not much above a whisper.
He finally acknowledged her by cracking open an eye, though he didn’t pause slurping on her breast.
“What?”
“I’m sorry but… I don’t know your name.”
“Harry Potter.”
She stared down at him, mouth hanging open. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes closed right back up and he returned to contently nursing from her pale bosom.
Harry Potter. The Chosen One. The one prophesied to destroy the Dark Lord. The boy that her master had spent five years fruitlessly chasing, placing his death or capture above all else, promising eternal life and endless rewards to the one who brought Potter to him.
She glanced at the crater again. Former master she supposed.
That thought switched something in her mind. Just like that, she accepted her old master was gone.
And a new master had taken his place.
The shock slid like water off her face, replaced with a gentle smile. Yes, she rather liked this new master. Much quieter than the last one. Certainly he seemed more agreeable. Voldemort’s rages had been getting quite violent towards the end, each failure to bring Harry Potter to him seeming to push him onto the brink of madness.
She giggled a little to herself, something he hadn’t done in years (purebloods were expected to laugh derisively and only at the expense of those lesser than them like muggleborns; giggling was plainly out of the question). If a Death Eater really had brought the boy in her arms to Voldemort, he probably would have fared about as well in that encounter as he had in this one. She laughed to think that the one to finally succeed in their all important mission would have been the one that would have brought them all down.
Something changed inside her, cradling that boy to her generous chest, letting him push her (admittedly perfect) boob meat around in his mouth. This felt right. The same voice in her soul that told her to believe that this boy had really flung around impossible feats of magic like candy now told her that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Harry Potter would guide her to her true destiny. And she would be happy. She knew that for a certainty. He would be the only master she would ever need. The only one in the world she would answer to.
“My little prince,” she whispered, almost to herself.
They stood there like that for a while. Bathed in moonlight, a pale, beautiful woman dressed in fine robes pulled down below her bust, the round hills of her boobs pressed gently to the face of a boy in his pajamas, resting soundly in her arms. Destruction surrounded them, the residue of magic too ancient to even name thick in air swirling with dust and ash, but they were content.
Bellatrix broke their reverie, reluctant to let go of such a perfect moment, yet eager to serve.
“Would you like to leave this place?”
Harry cracked his eyes fully this time.
“Yes, I suppose I should take you home, shouldn’t I?”
Bellatrix smiled. He sounded like a boy talking to a puppy he had found on the street. For some reason, that pleased her immensely.
“And where is your home?”
Without warning the world shifted. Smoother than Apparition, she didn’t even feel it until the world blurred around her and then she was suddenly away from Malfoy Manor.
And right in the middle of a cozy little living room.
Surrounded by what looked to be the entire Order of the Phoenix.
Two dozen wands were out and pointed at her face in an instant.
“Oh my,” Bellatrix gave a blink of surprise, but not much more. With Harry in her arms, she felt entirely safe. If he had taken her to the lip of an active volcano, she probably wouldn’t have said much more.
Clearly the rest of the people in the room were not so content.
It looked like they had dropped in on a full meeting of the Order. A rather frenzied one at that, going by the frazzled air of all the people and the maps and equipment scattered haphazardly over what looked like a dining room table. Dumbledore was there, standing in the middle of it all, his eyes cold blue chips in his face, his wand pointed unwaveringly at her heart. A scattering of spies and operatives were frozen in various states of frantic disarray, wands pointed at her but eyes darting all around as if waiting for more Death Eaters to suddenly appear in the living room. She recognized most of them, but was surprised to see some people she didn’t. Clearly the Order was better at evading their spies than she had thought.
And off to the side was Lily Potter, her face boiling with such a cauldron of fear and absolute fury that it was a wonder she wasn’t spitting lightning bolts. Balefire danced in her eyes and her whole body seemed to tremor slightly with barely contained violence. James Potter was beside her, alternately glaring daggers at her face and shooting worried looks at his wife.
The thought that she was practically stripped to the waist with both her tits out in front of all these people flitted to the front of her mind. She found she didn’t care. Once, even wearing a dress that showed too much cleavage would have been scandalous to her pureblood manners. Now, and she really did think of herself as different from who she was even an hour ago, baring her tits to a room full of strangers with a young boy cradled at her breast and sucking vigorously at her nipple seemed perfectly natural. Natural because Harry hadn’t told her to cover them.
The tense silence was broken by Lily.
“Are mummy’s not good enough?”
She quailed for a moment under a dozen sudden stares, flushing as she realized what she had just admitted, but stiffened her spine stubbornly.
“Well, if my baby goes running off from home, leaving behind his mother who feeds and loves him every day- three times a day!- to go chasing after some Death Eater hussy, I think I have a right to know why!”
Ignoring her husband’s frantic gestures that now was not the time, Lily roughly undid her cloak and yanked down her blouse, popping her own tits into the stunned air. Setting her mouth defiantly, she glared hellfire at Bellatrix.
Harry opened his eyes, finally unlatching from Bellatrix’s breast with a wet pop, and gave his mother a chilly look. “At least Bella won’t take my food away.”
The accusation hit Lily like a hammer blow. She seemed to sag under a sudden wave of guilt. “I- I would never-”
“Don’t bother,” Harry said contemptuously, “I heard everything.”
Her face crumpled, “No, baby, it- it wasn’t like that. Please, you don’t understand, I didn’t mean it!”
Harry put his nose up in the air, “Bella has never lied to me. And she isn’t a Death Eater.”
A heavy sigh cut between them. Every eye in the room, every eye except Harry and Lily’s at least, locked as they were on each other, turned to Dumbledore as he tiredly slipped his wand back into his sleeve. “I think we had better all sit down. It seems we have much to discuss.”