Venus/Bellatrix, how could she look like someone from both your wet dream and worst nightmare at once?
Bellatrix Lestrange apparated outside in front of a brick wall in the middle of Knighstbridge, London. She had been told the Poison Lady was extremely wealthy so she had expected a Manor in the countryside much like her sister. She was familiar with hidden urban houses though. 12 Grimmauld Place was located in Kensington, safe from muggle prying eyes. That’s why she didn’t move an inch when she saw the walls extend, finally showing her the entrance.
She knocked and was greeted by a tall man in a black suit. No house-elves, then. “Mrs Lestrange?” She nodded. “Please let me take your coat.” He was talking too much already.
Bellatrix bypassed him and arrived in the hugest parlour she had ever been in. There were windows all around enlightening the white walls.
“Please take a seat, Mrs Lestrange. Lady Zabini will come down in a minute.” Lady? She was anything but. She had the money but she would never have the blood.
Bellatrix never sat down. The furniture was fancy, she could tell. Pure-bloods did not much care for the newly wealthy but the name Zabini was famous among them. The woman carried a reputation. One of gold-digger and man killer. Needless to say, Bellatrix was intrigued. Voldemort thought she would be too and so he had led her to this house, asking that she came back to him with “special plants” only the Lady was cultivating.
She distinctly heard her come down the stairs. The whole damn city would have been able to with the high heels she was wearing. That was the first thing Bellatrix noticed, right before her impossibly long dark-skinned legs.
She was wearing a red dress moulding her hips and breasts. Her black hair was cascading down her left shoulder. Her face was flawless and you couldn’t guess how old she was. She was both young and mature. Sweet and salty. She could be your every dream. No wonder all these men fell for her. Men were weak.
After a moment of perplexity, the host smirked dangerously at her guest. “Well, I was told Voldemort’s most loyal and ruthless servant was on their way yet I have to admit you are far from what I imagined.”
“Disappointed I’m not an affluent man you could add to your little list?” She was accustomed to people treating her as an inferior solely due to her gender.
“Not at all. You exceed expectations is all.” She turned her back and walked towards another door. Her gait was divinely insanely sensual. She opened the door. “This is the way to my glasshouse. I believe that’s why you’re here.” Bellatrix nodded and reached her. “After you.” She showed her the way with her palm. Even her smell was intoxicating. Did she use amortentia? The thing was, Bellatrix was quite certain she didn’t even have to.
Before exiting the parlour, Bellatrix stared right into her hazel eyes. What she saw in them was determination and danger. She knew this look entirely too well. Same eyes greeted her through the mirror every morning. She promised herself she would never underestimate the woman. This was a man’s mistake and she was no man.
“You exceed mine too.”
How could she look like someone from both your wet dream and worst nightmare at once?