Title: For What We Yearn
Author: purplefluffycat
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange/Albus Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Bellatrix Lestrange/Lord Voldemort
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Alternate pairing: Bellatrix Lestrange/Albus Dumbledore
Rating: NC-17
Other Warnings: (Magical) voyeurism, power dynamics, legilimancy, rough sex
Words: ~1750
Summary/Description: Using strange new magic, Bella is sent to spy. She discovers both less and more than she had hoped.

Author's Notes: Set during 'The Half-Blood Prince'.





"Take him when he's vulnerable," her Lord had said, and then he had showed her how.

Bella had been confused at first; her Lord was the most accomplished Legilimens who had ever lived. Why would he employ her meagre skills to mine intelligence across the miles?

A mocking laugh met her unvoiced question, proving his skill. As ever, Bella welcomed the intrusion; she was open to her Master at all times, and felt honoured whenever he delved there.

"Because, my little chit," he answered, "this magic must be powered by someone who feels the -" his serpentine nose wrinkled "-baser desires." Again, he slipped into Bella's consciousness and cast around in cursory fashion. "For once..." Bella felt him take hold of her nerves; her nipples throbbed and she gasped as he made her go wet and aching for him. "... I have use for your lust."

Bella squirmed a moment longer, and then the touch was gone. "You are dismissed."


*****

The opportunity came not three months later. Lucius' boy had been keeping a close eye on the target, and the day he was seen stumbling back to the school, supported by the Potter brat, was the chance they needed. Both the old man and the squirt had been wet through.

Late that night, Bella prepared herself carefully, sitting in a darkened room, alone and silent. She closed her eyes and said the spell, then patiently crossed to the thrum of sleeping minds in that old castle. Most were dull and defenceless, of course: stupid little children. She sifted through the pulses and gridlines and knots of slumberers that glowed and twitched within her eyelids, increasingly impatient, looking for a mind that was a challenge. Bella grabbed a few of the teachers, and cast them aside - finding them to be nearly as facile as the infants.

Scores and scores were sifted and discarded; dull little lights on a black ground. She began to worry - her Lord would be displeased should she fail - but then, in a far corner of the human morass, she found her quarry. This mind glowed faintly blue, and if it were to have a form, it would be a cylinder - higher and tighter than the others, which were yellowish glows, and amorphous.

Bella now felt as if she was flying over and around a landscape at night. She circled the target then swept down at speed, heading for the upmost surface. The blow when she was repelled was almost physical: she glanced off the shining circle and ricocheted upwards once more. She cursed and redoubled her efforts, this time almost bruising herself as she launched toward the curved side of the shape to no avail, tumbling sideways into darkness.

Brute force having failed her, Bella reconsidered. She circled around the little tower once more - but this time, slowly. It seemed perfectly uniform - metallic, even - until a slight irregularity caught her eye. There it was, at the base - a tiny patch that appeared fuzzy, and lacked a clear edge. Bella aimed and swooped, and she was in.

The scene coalesced around her, the words of her Lord ringing in her ears. The target will provide the fantasy. You just need to watch, and at the right moment - ask. It felt similar to using a Pensieve, but the colours seemed more vibrant, somehow; filled with dreamtime iridescence. Each object in the room emitted its own inner glow.

They were in the Headmaster’s chambers, Bella supposed. The old man was clad in lavish purple robes, working at a desk before the window. The door opened behind them, and in strode a beautiful young man, golden locks falling about his shoulders, and wearing a green leather jerkin and hose of the early European style. The stranger stopped sharply as soon as he entered, and caught his breath with emotion. "Albus," he said. "I miss you. I love you. I need you."

The old man stood and turned. "No, Gellert. I cannot. You know why."

"You can. I'm sorry. You were right. About everything." He rushed forward and crushed his lips to Dumbledore's in a searing kiss, catching his hands in long white hair. The Headmaster was overwhelmed, and melted into the embrace, giving himself willingly. "And now, you're mine"

The old man shuddered, eyes widened with arousal. The blond tore at his fine robes, ripping them roughly from his shoulders to expose a bare neck and chest. He dived hungrily, sucking and biting until an angry red mark blossomed there. "...mine."

"Yes... Yes..." Dumbledore whimpered - as he was disrobed further, rough hands tearing expensive fabric, clawing and flinging until he was naked save for his socks and boots.

The young man smirked in satisfaction, then grabbed at Dumbledore's swollen cock, so firmly it might have hurt. There was little time for pleasure, however, as in the next moment, he pulled at the old man's hips, twisting him around and bending him over his own fine mahogany desk in one fluid motion. Dumbledore cradled his head in his hands, jutting his bereft cock forward into empty air, and almost sobbing as he strained his arse upwards, begging to be fucked.

The pretty youth laughed, but not kindly. "Yes, my little slut. You'll get what you deserve." He released his own cock from his codpiece, and without warning, slammed it into the old man - who hissed, then whimpered and squirmed for more. Digging smooth hands into pliant hips, he set up a punishing rhythm.

Dumbledore cried out and pushed for ever more contact, then cried again as Gellert grabbed the long straggles of his white hair, pulling his head backward as his back arched; he was utterly captured. "Yes, forever... I'm yours."

Again, the blond smirked, and thrust all the harder. He switched the hand that was not holding Albus' hair to scourge angry red marks on the delicate skin of his back, fingernails almost sharp enough to raise blood. "Ahh!" he shouted, his cock flaring just as red and angry.

Bella roused herself from the sight that had been unfolding before her eyes; she knew that the moment was close. Concentrating hard, she projected her will onto the illusion before her, mind steely and resolute. In synchrony with her thoughts, she saw his lips move, and heard the words in rich Germanic tones: "The boy. How do you protect the boy?"

"I..." The old man started, still whimpering and he neared climax.

"Yes?"

"That is... he..."

Bella was tense, and alive to every syllable. A shiver of excitement went through her. I'm going to know the secret, she thought, my Lord will be so pleased with his servant.

And then she was hit. Bella soared upwards and away, as if flung from a catapult, the clear blue cylinder glistening far below on the pin-board of black. Her head spun and lights that had nothing to do with the dreamscape pulsed sickly before her eyes until the edges blurred and her mind became foggy. She struggled to hold on, but logic and presence were slipping, slipping, still reeling from the blow, and without fanfare she was gone.


*****

Bella woke in her bed. It was morning, and a clean light strode through the bay window, appraising the velvet drapes. She lay there for only a moment, and then came the knock on the door.

"Come," said Bella, sitting up and smoothing her hair. The door pushed open to reveal -

- her Lord! He regarded her with an expression of concern on his handsome features. "My Bella. Are you alright?"

Bella opened her mouth to reply, but he swept forward and came to sit with her on the bed, pressing a tender finger to her lips. "Shh... all will be well, now. I'm just so relieved that we got you out of there. I never could have lived if you had..." he trailed off, painfully.

"My Lord?"

"Yes," he breathed, inches from her face. "Yours." With that, Bella felt gentle lips upon hers. Every nerve ending she possessed screamed and clamoured. The kiss was tentative at first; gentle, and inquisitive, but then gained heat as Bella responded, giving herself to him, wholly, wondrously.

He stroked her hair as it clouded around her face on the pillows, and nestled with her underneath the eiderdown. Then, he undressed her very slowly, stroking and kissing every inch of pale skin as it was uncovered, and with his fingertips he drew exquisite patterns on the full globes of her breasts and along every curve of her hourglass waist and hips. Her gasps were light and breathless and then full and throaty as he suckled each pert nipple and caressed between her legs, finally coming to nestle there, his hardness tantalising her entrance as she twitched and mewled with need.

Poised there, her Lord said, "Bella, I have wanted this...you... for so very long."

"Please..." she begged, aching for him, moments and inches away from being filled.

"And, Bella?" he said, so very calmly.

"Nngh?" she squeaked, beyond reason with need.

Dipping on one elbow, he leaned to the side, and softly moved strands of black hair from the shell of her ear. With utmost tenderness, he whispered: "I'm not real. Voldemort will never love you."


*****

The scene dissolved, and Bella came to, with a start. She was slumped in a chair in Malfoy Manor. Her own bed - or at least, what had been her bed, before the first war, before gaol - was as distant in time as it was in space.

Her back ached, and her hip-bones were sore from the awkward angle; Azkaban had left nothing of her comely curves.

Straightening up, Bella tried not to be disturbed by what she had seen.

How could I and Dumbledore both love a Dark Lord? She crinkled her nose in disgust. Empathy. Kinship with the enemy. It was terrifying; they should have nothing in common; nothing. It was inexcusable weakness.

Bella swallowed hard and lit the lamps. She didn't want to wallow in soft thoughts, there in the gloom; she had to pull herself together.

So what, if our fantasies are innately similar? she reasoned. Bella tried to take comfort from her loyalty; Dumbledore was just a lone old fool. They had nothing in common; not really.

No, thought Bella. It is not for what we yearn that defines us, but the choices we make.

She drew herself together and swept from the room, bracing herself for the punishment for failure.