T.R. || The devil knows exactly what you want
Summary: Bellatrix realizes, too late, that the devil is not a grotesque being with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful - because he used to be God's favorite. Warnings: Tom never became Lord Voldemort here. | word count: 1.4k
A/N: Just a reminder that my first language is not English.
There were some stories. Whispers that snaked between dark alleys and muffled corridors. There were no records of his name, no concrete proof of his activities—just fear rooted in those who knew too much.
They said that death was announced even before you arrived. That the air became dense, as if time hesitated.
And then, everything ended.
You didn't leave any traces. It never failed. It was not Bellatrix's uncontrolled violence, nor the merciless brutality of so many others. His method was clean, silent, inevitable.
Tom knew that and admired it.
What existed between you didn't really have a definition.
It was at Hogwarts that it all began—not with promises or illusions of youth, but with the collision of two forces that should never have met. He was excessive ambition, desire to shape the world according to his will. While you were like a hidden blade until the right moment, always well balanced and more sensible about the judgment of others.
And yet, he always came back to you.
It was in the silent corridors of Slytherin, in the dawns spent among forbidden books, in whispered conversations where words were not just words. Tom never needed to convince you to follow him—it wasn't obedience that fascinated him, but the fact that, even without belonging to him, you never stayed away for long.
There were times when the tension between you became something almost palpable. When his gaze challenged his without fear, or even when his fingers dragged over his skin with a calculated slowness, as if he wanted to prove that he was still human.
Tom didn't feel it. He used to possess or dominate people, but it was an exception with you. Something that made him dissatisfied, angry.
Because, after all, you were never his. And maybe that's why he never let you go completely.
Parallel to that, there was Bellatrix.
A blindly faithful follower of Tom, who would give him everything that was requested—an uncontrolled passion disguised in pure loyalty.
She knew of your existence before she even met her. His name hovered in the right circles, always wrapped in mystery, an invisible threat. The Diners whispered about you, but what bothered her were not the rumors.
He never corrected the rumors, never explained, because he didn't owe satisfactions. It didn't reduce you to a disposable piece, as it did with all the others. And Bellatrix saw the moments when her countenance changed—a second of distraction, an unexplained absence.
And then came the day she finally saw you.
London was gray, the kind of cold that cut to the bone and made the world look suspended between one breath and another.
Bellatrix followed him into the distance, her eyes fixed on the figure sitting on the wooden bench under the twisted branch tree. Tom looked angry, his fingers intertwined impatiently as a muggle woman sat next to him.
His black coat shaped his silhouette in an elegant and discreet way, the precise movements of those who knew exactly where he stepped. You walked without haste, without hesitation, without the need to prove anything.
Tom looked up and got up, while Bellatrix felt the air trapped in her chest.
It was almost as if no one but you mattered at that moment. His smile was small, almost imperceptible, but loaded with the certainty of those who already knew the game.
And Tom started walking by his side.
Bellatrix couldn't hear what they were saying, but she saw...
He saw the way your looks sustained each other, as if there was something there that no one else could understand. He saw how Tom tilted his head slightly to listen to you, a gesture he didn't make to anyone. You saw how you didn't need to charm him, you didn't need to make an effort—and yet, there he was.
Since then, Bellatrix has started to follow you, feeding a growing and continuous obsession.
Days have become weeks. She watched from a distance, trying to understand. Fascination and hatred mixed, something poisonous, something that grew every time Tom disappeared without warning and returned with a silent satisfaction.
Until he finally found his address.
She invaded the apartment without hesitation, moving through the darkness with the lightness of a spectrum.
The space was impeccable, every detail meticulously arranged. There was a bookshelf full of rare books—treatises on ancient magic, alchemy, occult arts.
You chose this life that didn't fit either entirely into the wizarding world, nor in that of the muggles. You moved between the two with the ease of those who owed nothing to anyone or, if you should, were not afraid of being found.
The thought disgusted her.
But soon his thoughts were interrupted by a sound:
She slid into the small closet in the living room, holding her breath.
The click of the keys on the lock broke the silence of the apartment.
You entered. His walk was calm, but attentive. His eyes ran through the environment as if he heard something that no one else could hear.
So, a snat. A brief flash.
Tom appeared in the tepumbra as if he had always belonged to that place.
His eyes ran through you slowly, studying every detail before a skewed smile appeared.
- You seem surprised. - you answered and he laughed, short.
Tom approached without haste, each step decreasing the inevitable distance between you.
- But I hoped it would make me wait a little longer - he said, almost amused.
You raised your eyebrows gently, playing with the provocation.
- And spoil the fun? - Tom's gaze narrowed slightly, the shadow of a smile still on his lips.
- Do you think I like to wait?
- I think you like to test limits.
He stopped in front of you, too close and the silence extended between you, carried by something that did not need to be named.
His eyes slowly passed through his face, going down to his lips. The fingers traced a light path along the line of his jaw, rising until a lock of hair moved away from his face.
Tom's lips touched his without hesitation, but without haste. A silent recognition that neither of them wanted to miss.
Bellatrix, still in the closet, felt her stomach turn.
The response was immediate, almost inevitable. His touch deepened, a command disguised as careful control. The hands slid down her waist, pulling her closer.
Tom's lips left theirs only to slowly go down to his neck, causing a chill that spread through his body.
She saw his touch slide down her skin.
He saw the way his body responded, as if that was not rare, but usual.
And he saw Tom—the one who never allowed himself to weaken—lean towards you, as if he were being drawn into something inescapable.
You opened your eyes and looked straight into the darkness.
Bellatrix, who was rarely afraid of anyone other than his own master, felt his blood freeze.
His smile appeared slowly, sliding down his face like an omen. Something in him made Bellatrix's fury hesitate, for a moment that she would never admit.
It wasn't just a look. It was a warning.
You weren't just aware of her presence there—you wanted her there. So that he felt on his skin the unbearable weight of the truth that he tried to deny.
You didn't need Tom's approval. I didn't seek your validation.
And yet, he got entangled in you with the ease of a prey surrendering to the embrace of a snake.
Your hands slid into Tom's hair, pulling him closer, your mouth brushing against his ear while, in a whisper, you exposed her:
- I didn't know that the surveillance of your Diners included my house.
The change was immediate. Tom stopped.
The tension in the room changed, the air around suddenly getting heavier.
It was as if, without ever having addressed a single word to her, you had torn everything from her. You disarmed her, humiliated her—and, worse, signed the sentence that would mark the end of Tom's trust in her.
Anger burned inside her, but something else crawled under the surface. Something that disgusted her to admit.
For the first time, Bellatrix realized that Tom was not unshakable. It wasn't invincible. He was just a man.
And men fell. They sicced in temptation.
Therefore, you were not just a threat to her. You were a threat to everything he represented.
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A/N: A little shorter, however, I couldn't help but post it. This circled my mind for days. I hope you like it!
