June 1970

Malfoy Manor

"Sir? Bellatrix Black is here to see you, if you're willing to meet with her." Ice-blond, crisp-eyed Abraxas Malfoy stood in the doorway of the office he lent to Lord Voldemort. These days, Voldemort was desperately trying to gain prestige, trying to gain followers and respect. He had a small circle of Death Eaters, mostly old school 'friends' who had been happy to see him come back from the Continent with a new name and more confidence than ever.

But to nearly all the wizarding world, Voldemort was still Tom Riddle. He still lived in a rented flat in Highgate and lived off money his Death Eaters gave him 'for the cause.' Even in the wake of the riots he'd organised surrounding the recent Squibs' rights marches, and in light of the scattered disappearances he'd arranged, he was still an underground figure, and to the magical public, he was still just Tom Riddle. But Abraxas Malfoy had faith. And he had an office.

"Bellatrix Black?" Voldemort repeated, combing his fingers through his dark hair. "What, Cygnus' eldest?"

"The very same, sir," Abraxas nodded. "She sent an owl ahead of time, but she's here. She says she only needs a few minutes of your time."

"Well, all right. Send her in, I suppose," Voldemort shrugged. Malfoy nodded and walked away, and a few minutes later, a petite figure appeared in his doorway.

"Miss Black. Do come in. Shut the door behind you," Voldemort said tightly. In walked Bellatrix Black, and Voldemort could not help but raise his eyebrows a little. She was very pretty. That was his first thought. He did not often notice witches' prettiness, for witches were a terrible distraction from his goals, and his goals were paramount. But this particular witch was pretty enough that he could not help but notice.

She was very short, he noted, and very thin. She was small. And her hair burst forth from her head, an explosion of shiny ravel coils that surrounded her face in a thick halo of curls. That face was nearly white, porcelain and unblemished, with full dusky lips and a narrow nose and enormous dark eyes. Voldemort was suddenly very self-conscious of his own appearance; he'd begun to bald a little in recent years, and he knew his face had been made harsh and sharp by all the Dark magic he'd performed. But what would she care what he looked like? He blinked a few times and used wandless magic to push out the chair opposite him, silently inviting her to sit, which she did. She'd come dressed in a simple black velvet frock with a wide leather belt, and Voldemort realised he never paid attention to what witches were wearing.

"Hello, sir," Bellatrix Black said, and he cleared his throat roughly.

"Miss Black. We've seen one another in passing at a few occasions, I think, though we have never met directly. Your father and I knew one another well in school, and your mother was a few years behind us."

"Yes, sir. I know," Bellatrix nodded. She knitted her fingers together in her lap and said, "That's why I've come. I'm not sure sure where else to look for help."

"Help." Voldemort repeated the word, attempting not to inject any connotation into it. Help. She had come to him, to Lord Voldemort, for help? Was she stupid? He just stared, and Bellatrix said,

"You may or may not be aware, sir, but my father has developed a very serious drinking problem in the last decade or so."

"Ah. Yes. I'd heard," Voldemort nodded. "It is, unfortunately, why I was unable to grant him access to my innermost circle. It is difficult to trust a drunken man."

"It is," Bellatrix nodded. She was calm and collected then as she stated plainly, "When he is very drunk, he uses spells and his fists to abuse my mother and my sisters. And myself, as well, though I am the only one willing and able to fight back properly. He is in St Mungo's at the moment; I accidentally injured him with a charged Knockback Jinx last night after he used an Oppugno Jinx to make household goods attack me."

Voldemort felt a mix of emotion then. He was surprised, and a bit dismayed, to hear that the noble Cygnus Black III had fallen so deeply into alcoholism. He was also terribly impressed to hear that this girl - Bellatrix - had battled back so fiercely in the face of her father's abuse. He drummed his fingers on the desk and guessed,

"You're afraid for your sisters and mother."

"That's right, sir. I'm eighteen, and I've just left Hogwarts. I have savings of my own - from gifts and inheritances, you know. I have a flat in London for now, until I marry Rodolphus Lestrange, as I'm promised to do. But Narcissa and Andromeda and my mother have nowhere else to go. The girls are trapped there over the summer; there's no room for them in my studio flat. I have come to you because I think you possess the power and the wherewithal to make my parents' home a safe place for my mother and the girls. I will pay any price."

Voldemort nodded. He tipped his head and frowned. "Rodolphus Lestrange. When are you marrying him?"

Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, and she shook her head and looked away. "The date is not set."

"You do not seem as though you're looking forward to it," Voldemort observed, and Bellatrix said awkwardly,

"It is a betrothal arranged by our fathers. We are very ill-suited for one another. I would much prefer to find good work and remain unwed, but when I suggested breaking the betrothal to my father… well, let's just say I went back to school after Christmas with a cast on my wand arm."

"Hm." Voldemort took a very long breath and studied her. She finally flicked her eyes back to him, and he saw Darkness in her. Not just the dark brown of her eyes, but the Dark within her soul. She may be trying to protect her mother and sisters, but she was Dark. And pretty.

"I will strike a bargain with you," Voldemort said, his mind beginning to race. Bellatrix sat up in her chair a bit straighter, smiling a little and looking eager. Voldemort confirmed, "I can make your father's behaviour safer for your mother and sisters, though it may involve putting him under an Imperius Curse. Something tells me you don't care about the means to the end."

"Do whatever you must, sir," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort decided that he liked this girl very much indeed. He folded his hands on his desk and continued,

"I shall also convince him to postpone, indefinitely if you wish, your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. I will buy you as much time as you'd like; you're only eighteen, and there is certainly nothing thrusting you headlong into married life."

Bellatrix grinned, but then her smile faltered, and he knew why. What was he going to ask of her in return? Surely, he was about to demand something awful. He gulped, feeling awkward now, and he pointed out,

"Acantha Greengrass is marrying Callum Macmillan this weekend. It is a Pureblood wedding, and so of course I must be in attendance. But neither family views me yet as anything more than Tom Riddle. And, so, if I go alone, I will look rather… pathetic."

Bellatrix frowned, her full lips parting a little, and she seemed as though she understood what he was hinting at, but was afraid to suggest it. Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment and then said very quickly,

"I will Imperius your father into drinking less, behaving properly around you and your mother and sisters, and delaying your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. In exchange, I require that you attend the wedding this weekend with me. As my date."

He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix staring at him like he'd sprouted three heads. His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and anger. Was it as ludicrous a suggestion as all that? There was a substantial and obvious age gap, to be certain, but wedding dates were never assumed to be steady relationships. Besides which, it was as he'd said. He could not very well attend this Pureblood event alone if he wanted to gain the respect and dignity upon which his success relied. Bellatrix Black came from one of the oldest and most prestigious Pureblood families. Having her on his arm would make Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - look honourable and sophisticated.

"I feel that this is a scenario in which everyone wins, so to speak," he told her sharply, and Bellatrix nodded vigorously.

"Yes. Of course," she whispered. She cleared her throat gently and told him, "I am so grateful. So very grateful. Thank you, sir. My Lord."

His skin prickled at that. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at that, at hearing her say My Lord. Only his Death Eaters called him that, and they'd only recently started. Why she'd felt the instinct to do so, he did not know, but he was not about to question it. He squeezed his hands together on the desk, thinking to himself that it was inappropriate for him to go to wherever she lived to pick her up before the event. He asked her,

"Can you Apparate here, then? The ceremony begins at five; we can leave with the Malfoys at half past four."

"I'll be here, sir. Thank you." Bellatrix nodded quickly. "Thank you."

"Right. I'll… erm… I'll be sure that your father understands you're coming with me for political reasons," Voldemort said, feeling a little numb. He flicked the corners of his lips up and said, "If there's nothing else?"

"No, there isn't. Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix rose from her chair, making him feel dizzy again with those words. My Lord. He watched her start to go, and he said,

"I shall see you this Saturday, then."

She smiled at him over her shoulder, and as soon as she closed the door behind her, Voldemort let out a huff of a breath, still as dizzy as ever.

Author's Note: Yayyyy! It's a brand-new Bellamort fic! If you're still reading Her Cruel and Angry Bones, never fear - I am still finishing that one up. I'm just beginning this one as I finish that one up, because my brain decided to write two stories at once. This will also be a novel-length story. As always, feedback is enormously appreciated. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.