Title: Jugson
Rating: PG (mild drug flashback, weirdness)
Genre: General
Characters: Amara Jugson, Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy
Summary: Short fic written for Veetee because I love her so much, and an attempt to figure out why Voldemort tolerates
Amara and her absolute insanity. One shot.
Additional Copyrights: Amara Jugson is VeeTee's.

She was pretty weird. She still is.

Nobody really understood Amara, except maybe him. You know, Lord Voldemort.

Amara got away with so many things with the Dark Lord, more than Bellatrix ever did. But it's more because of what expectations he held for his two girls, really. He expected Bella to be bright and deadly and a little child when it came to afternoons in the summer. Amara… Amara was different.

Amara would call him "DL" to his face instead of 'Dark Lord'. She'd hug him. She'd sit beside him and fall asleep with her head on his shoulder, and he wouldn't mind.

He never did mind when it came to her.

Amara was different from all the others. Amara, she was allowed to be so very different, because that was what she was there for.

She loved Voldemort. She'd look at him and her eyes would shine, and glitter, and she'd look twelve years old.

When she was really twelve years old, she had never looked like that. No. She had been pale and sick and shooting drugs up her arm.

In fact, she still has the scars, when she clawed away at the things she saw crawling out of her skin…

Now, though, now she's beautiful. Voldemort made her like that. Now she's slender, with sharp cheekbones and shocks of black hair. Now, she's lovely and graceful and long legged. Now, she's not so sick anymore.

He didn't do any spells to make her like that. No. He just… held out his hand to her, when everything else, including the so-called Ministry of Magic, had turned away. And she took it, and she became beautiful.

But she's still a child inside; scarred and forever mangled. But that's okay with him. Dementors don't hurt her. She has few memories, like him - though with Voldemort, he remembers many things… but it's the good things that are in the minority. But, you know, she's probably in that minority.

Amara, though, Amara can never remember her sums or multiplication or telephone number or anything. But for some odd reason, she'd remember that on that dark night when he'd offered his hand, he'd looked so kind and gentle despite the three day beard and scraggly black hair and scarlet eyes. "You were very handsome," she says to him. "I liked that body. Your new one makes you look freakish. Can you go back to your old body one of these days?"

And he tells her, maybe in a few days. So she sits to wait out that few days, and when nothing happens, she asks again. She would get the same answer, then wait, but by then she'd forgotten, like she forgets most things.

But Amara also remembers Azkaban, and its sad walls. "I didn't like it," she says, "There was nothing to do there. And Bella, Bella was always crying."

She also recalls Lucius's fondness of chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches, and the way he'd always fall asleep on the couch; she and Bella would always cover him in whip cream or pour water on him while he was sleeping. And then Lucius would get all mad, but he was never mad for a very long time because they just laughed at him some more, so he usually just let them apologize.

The Death Eaters were a childish lot, when it came down to it.

Voldemort says, "My death eaters never really grew up. That's why they'll live forever, like me."

Amara is never going to grow. And despite what Voldemort says, it makes him angry.

Lots of things make him angry.

But Amara, she makes him… happy.

And she knows because whenever she falls asleep on his shoulder, she wakes up and he's smiling.