Act Like You Belong
By Penelope Pagan June Sea Witch

You might have realized this wasn't your kind of scene if it wasn't for the girl dragging you along. Her tits were too distracting, two spheres larger than Sputnik One and probably just as man-made. You don't mind a little Muggle magic, especially when they are bouncing right in front of you. So you get dragged deeper into some sorry excuse for a club, the music pounding into your ears and bodies pressing against you. It's so much different here than anywhere in the magic world. Muggles feel alive, recklessly throwing themselves into everything and everyone.

Speaking of, that girl, you don't even know her name, is throwing herself at you. She's pushing her tongue into your mouth. It tastes like chocolate, and she giggles as you reciprocate. Your hands wander her body, finding that she has other assets besides an impossible chest. You especially like the curve of her hips, how you can grip them and pull them closer towards you. She moans at that and you know that your bed won't be empty tonight. Really, this girl was too easy, you hadn't done much to catch her attention, just shown her a smile you thought she'd like. But it wasn't for you to judge, you're only enamored with her tits.

It's a sixth sense that tells you something's wrong. You pull away from the girl and out of the corner of your eye you see the melodramatic fashion of your comrades. They look ridiculous, dressed in the most formal wizardwear, all black, all scowls. You laugh despite knowing full well those scowls were reserved for you. You look back at the girl. She's smiling like she caught a prize at a claw game. Which, you supposed, in some sense she had.

"Close your eyes," you say to her, smiling. She giggles.

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"It's a surprise. You'll like it, I promise," you lie.

She closes her eyes, and for a moment you take in her beauty, appreciating how she wiggles back and forth in anticipation for whatever it is you'll do. You sigh. Whatever they want, it was not worth losing this. But when the master beckons, the slave obeys. You disapparate out front with a little pop. Barely anyone is outside, and those that are, are too inebriated to pay you any mind. Your two comrades soon appear next to you and immediately, Dolohov? Rookwood? one of the two, anyway, begins laying into you.

"What do you think you're doing, Crouch? Making nice in the muck like that? And to kiss one? It disgusts me to think we're comrades," he says in blustering anger. You don't listen, instead looking down the nearly empty street. A fine pair of legs had caught your eye. Rookwood or whoever notices and his face becomes a tomato. The other figure cuts in before they can explode. No need to guess who she was, there was no mistaking the lascivious poison that was Bellatrix Lestrange. A married woman shouldn't cut a figure that heavenly, it would give any man ideas.

"Now, now, Yaxley (so that was his name), a growing boy has his desires," Bellatrix said in a silky voice, "Perhaps he should pick from better stock, but we cannot judge him too harshly. Besides, the Dark Lord has need of your talents tonight, Barty, we should be hurrying along."

She was the only one who called you by your first name. You hated your first name, it reminded you of your ties to him, but you didn't mind it as much when she said it. The Dark Lord may have provided you a direction in life, but Bellatrix was the one that inspired it. All thoughts of Muggle filth were replaced with ideas too despicable to name aloud. Ideas that involved her, some rope and a very big bed.

She smirks at you as if she can read your thoughts. You look away, not ashamed exactly, but it's always embarrassing to have those kinds of thoughts about women who were so much older, so much more experienced than yourself. You remember the first time you dreamed of Professor McGonagall, you couldn't look her in the eyes for weeks. Bellatrix holds out her hand and you take it. It's callous and firm, a certainty of presence that you latch onto. You feel the familiar sensation of being sucked through a straw as she disapparates to somewhere else.

With a little pop you arrive at a lonely cottage in a remote forest. The temperature is cooler and you shiver. Suddenly, you're the one now wearing out-of-place clothes. Yaxley smirks at you, but Bellatrix just rolls her eyes. You enjoy her sardonic qualities, and wish she'd employ them more often. She hands you a vial and some wizard clothes; a worn brown cloak spattered with bloodstains and a set of navy blue robes. They looked like they'd fit a man twice your size, not that it mattered. You knew perfectly well what was in that vial.

There was a reason you were allowed into the inner circle at the tender age of seventeen. Yes you were brilliant, everyone had said so, but brilliance wasn't enough to catch the dark lord's eye. No, you had a special skill, one born out of emptiness and identity crisis. You could mimic people. You'd been doing it all your life, mimicking others because you had nothing of your own. You copied your mother at first, then him, then the house elf and then your school mates and teachers. Even now, you mimicked what you thought a typical nineteen year old man would be like. The lust for Bellatrix was real enough, but you hadn't really cared about that Muggle girl's tits. You just thought you were supposed to care.

"You'll be playing the part of Alex Mosey, a Mudblood who worked as an apothecary," Bellatrix was saying. "His wife, Marisa Mosey, is a high-ranking official in the Department of Transportation. Lots of wards on their place that we don't have time to break. Only the person inside the cottage can let people in, so you'll need to get her to open the door. You'll be needing this as well," she said as she took out her wand and extracted a memory from herself.

She directed it at your head and the memories washed over you. Alex Mosey walking around Diagon Alley, searching for the perfect present for his wife. Alex Mosey being grabbed, a bag thrown over his head, and taken god knows where. Alex Mosey on the ground, pleading for his life as Bellatrix cast Crucio again and again. Alex Mosey, lifeless on the ground, his eyes wide in terror. You shiver involuntarily again and this time Bellatrix gives you a disapproving frown. You let her down, showing emotion for a disgusting Mudblood.

You give your head a little shake to throw off your disappointment. You have a performance to do, after all. Alex Mosey was big and boisterous. A man who loved his wife and was unaccustomed to pain or fear. You could play this man, it would be child's play.

You take the Polyjuice potion, barely noticing as your body became large and cumbersome, and changed into your costume. With a deep breath you focus, your comrades disillusioning themselves as you near the cottage. This had to be done right, a perfect performance to fool the woman who knew Alex Mosey best. The first step was fundamentals. You disapparate and reapparate in the same exact spot with a little pop, you cast a slashing hex on your torso, making it nice and bloody. Next was theater.

You run to the door of the cottage, and begin to bang on the door with frantic, pleading hands.

"Marisa, Marisa, please open, I- I was attacked, in the alley, I'm bleeding, I don't know how much."

You hear panicked footsteps as someone runs to the door. For a brief moment you think this will be easy but the doorknob does not turn despite the presence on the other side.

"Alex, what's the password, tell me! Please, hurry!" came a terrified voice from the other side.

You knew, of course, that there was a password. Alex Mosey had died without relinquishing it. But you also knew ways to get around that.

"Marisa, I'm sorry, I really am, I just went out for your birthday, I didn't mean- they are everywhere- I didn't realize, I just wanted to buy you... something, something nice." You finish while losing strength, your banging getting wilder and weaker.

"Alex! Alex, come on, just tell me the password! Please, Alex! Just say it!"

You could hear her resolve breaking, the dying tactic worked like a charm. It usually did.

"I'm sorry, next time- I'll listen to you... I promise... Next time..." You say before slumping down right at the door. blood pools from your wound, soaking your bloodstained clothes in fresh red.

"Alex? Please, say something. Alex!" Marisa at the door screams, her voice broke in panic. You hear the turn of the doorknob, and you know her fate is sealed. The moment she opens the door, Bellatrix disillusions and sends green light directly into her face. The woman crumples instantly. Bellatrix holds out a hand for you to take, which you do. She then presses her wand against your wound, muttering a spell that seals up the breach. You notice she's no longer frowning at you, instead, she wears a satisfied smile.

"Well done, you've done your Lord proud," she purred. You can't help but think about her making other exotic sounds. She smirks again, and you think she can definitely read your thoughts. For a moment you stare. Yaxley or whoever transfigures the body and throws up the dark mark. These gestures seem unimportant to you in contrast to the beauty before you.

"It's done, we should report back," Yaxley grunted to Bellatrix. She didn't look at to him, still locking eyes on you as she replied "Yes, and we should leave Barty to go back to his muddy playthings, hmm?" Yaxley scowls again but Bellatrix only laughs.

She then leans in close, much closer than you've ever been, and adds in a whisper, "Or you could play with me if you want? I'll visit you tonight."

You barely have time to register what she says before both she and Yaxley disapparate with a little pop. You think about it briefly, but there was only ever going to be one decision made. You know which one you choose.