Ok admin – you have me intrigued. *It’s the middle of the night, Bellatrix is staying at Voldy’s manor/house/wherever the fuck he lives. Voldy gets up to use the loo and when he comes back, he sees that she’s having a nightmare. A bad one. She’s crying in her sleep, and muttering softly. He can’t understand most of what she’s saying, but he does recognise his name and some apologies. What is Voldy going to do?*
[[OOC: Oh my GOD you guys are the best with the angst prompts. An Azkaban nightmare is one thing, but a Voldy nightmare is the type of thing that i adore in fics because I’m evil lmao.]]
When Voldemort heard Bella stirring in her sleep, his first thought was he had woken her. She was usually a sound sleeper, but perhaps he had closed the door a bit harder than intended.
In half a second Voldemort realized she was still asleep - yet restless. Another nightmare, then. He sighed. Azkaban had not been kind to Bella. So much time alone would impact most minds, never mind the added presence of the dementors. Such a price to pay in the name of the cause. In her loyalty to him.
He had learned by now that it was best to wake her - if the dream were allowed to progress, she would wake screaming, already in the grips of panic. If he woke her, she would be confused, nervous - but would not remember as much, fall asleep easier.
He reached out, and then paused, his hand inches from her shoulder as he heard a few muttered strings of words, but they differed from her usual wartime flashbacks or else the pleading off an advance of dementors (he could always tell when it was dementors; her voice entered a place of the utmost vulnerability and terror, so unlike Bella in her waking hours.).
“My Lord, I am sorry, please, please forgive me -”
Voldemort paused. The idea of himself being a negative presence in one of Bella’s dreams had never occurred to him. Oh, if it was found that he was the thing of nightmares for anyone else, he would be proud, near gleeful. The very image of Lucius awakening in a cold sweat, convinced he had done something to enrage the Dark Lord was enough to set a satisfied smirk upon his face. But this was Bella. And she was in his bed. And while Voldemort did command her loyalty, her respect, her obedience - and did not coddle her when she failed him - well...it was still, somehow...different.
“Bella,” he muttered, regaining himself and grasping her shoulder. “Wake up.”
She startled awake, then blinked back at him, frowning. “My Lord?” She was shaking, but not yet in a panic.
“You were having a nightmare,” he said quietly. “It was best I woke you.”
She nodded, clearly trying to recall scraps of the dream. He found himself hoping she would not remember. Sometimes she spoke about what she saw in her dreams. A battle where all had deserted her, or she could not move her legs to run, or her wand replaced with a dinner fork. Ministry officials dragging her to Azkaban. Fields of dementors, pressing in at all sides.
But tonight, she remained silent.
“Sleep now,” Voldemort said after a moment, settling in beside her. “There is much to do tomorrow and you will be quite cross if you have not slept well.”
“Of course,” she said, laying back, though her voice was distant, contemplative.
“No harm will come to you in my bed, Bella,” he found himself assuring her, reaching out and stroking her hair, dragging a finger across her cheek.
“I know,” she whispered, voice already weighted down with sleep. “I know.”
