31 December 1969

Malfoy Manor

"Bellatrix."

"My Lord!" She looked marvelous, he thought distantly. She looked marvelous in her skimpy little dress of metallic black material. She was home from school for the Christmas holidays, his very youngest Death Eater, and she'd been invited to this New Year's Eve party because she bore the Dark Mark like every other party attendant. And, like every other party attendant, she was profoundly drunk. Well, so was Lord Voldemort.

He'd started off slowly, sipping firewhisky during conversations, but as the night had worn on and Bellatrix had distracted him looking rather marvelous in her tiny black dress, he'd had loads of gin and Gillywater, and then some more firewhisky, until now he was making something of a fool of himself stumbling around the Malfoy ballroom. It didn't matter; everyone else was at least as drunk as he was. But if Lord Voldemort wanted to climb to power, poise and self-control were key, and he was failing rather abjectly with both those tasks just now.

"Bellatrix," he said again, and she sipped through a straw at her violently pink drink and said flirtatiously,

"My Lord."

His mouth fell open then. Did she want him? Little vixen! She was only eighteen, a seventh-year Slytherin serving him as a spy at Hogwarts. She'd been so eager to serve him that he'd made her a Death Eater whilst she was still at school. Now she stared up at him with bleary, wide eyes, and he asked over the loud music blaring from the Wizarding Wireless,

"Would you like to see my office?"

"Oh. Erm… yes! Please!" Bellatrix grinned and followed him as he meandered out of the ballroom, music thudding behind him. The smell of pipe smoke followed him, for Avery and Nott were smoking something bizarre in the party. Muskogee Rat Weed from America, he'd heard Nott say, and soon enough the two wizards had descended into a happy trance. Now Voldemort stumbled down the corridor and mumbled,

"I don't… don't usually get drunk like this."

"Well, it's New Year's, Master," Bellatrix slurred, and he added,

"And my birthday."

"I beg your pardon?" Bellatrix asked as Voldemort approached his office. He blinked slowly, pushing his door open, and he said in a complete blur of words,

"It's my birthday. It's… I'm forty-three today."

"What? Oh! Happy birth-"

"Hush." Voldemort put his finger to Bellatrix's lips in the corridor outside his office, and she brought her cardboard straw up again to sip at her drink. She nodded and whispered.

"Sorry. Keep it secret, then."

"Yes." Voldemort practically fell into his office, and when Bellatrix followed him, he shut the door and declared rather loudly, "So, this is my office!"

"I've been here," Bellatrix reminded him. "Master, this is where you put my Dark Mark upon me."

"Oh." Voldemort frowned. "Is it? It is. Oh, yes. It… hm. No reason to have brought you here, then."

"I didn't get a good look the first time." Bellatrix finished off her pink drink and went to set it down on a table that didn't exist. When it tumbled to the ground, making a mess of ice cubes and broken glass, she gasped and swore and started to descend to her knees.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, Master," she mumbled, kneeling on the ground, but Voldemort whipped out his wand and murmured,

"Tergeo. Crystallum Evanesco."

She stared up at him as the mess was cleaned, and as he slowly tucked his wand away, he felt so drunk that he thought he might just topple over. Bellatrix blinked up at him, still kneeling, and she whispered,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Need help up?" he shrugged, and she shook her head. She crawled toward him, bravely reaching for his robes, and Voldemort knew he should recoil. Instead he just shut his eyes and asked softly, "What are you doing, Bellatrix?"

"Thanking you. Worshipping you. Master. Oh, my master, my Lord…" She sounded entranced, and he could feel her fingers threading into the material of his robes, unbuttoning his trousers. He realised then what she meant to do, and he knew he should stop her. He should drag her to her feet and scold her. Torture her.

Instead he reached out and held onto the bookcase for purchase, and he sucked in air through clenched teeth as Bellatrix pulled his hardening cock out of his trousers.

"I don't know… I'm not really sure what to do with it," she admitted, and Voldemort instructed her,

"Try to swallow the whole thing. No teeth. Tongue on the bottom."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix's voice was a breathy whisper then, and he stared down at her as she took him in her mouth. She had beautiful hair, he thought. Her curls were free and wild. She had lovely, big, brown eyes. She had a nice, narrow nose and full lips. Freckled high cheeks. She was pretty. So pretty.

"Bellatrix." He cradled her face in his hand as she suckled on him, her hand trailing behind her lips. Pink lips. Full lips. He tipped his head back and mumbled, "Feels good, but… erm…"

He was going soft in her mouth, he could tell. He was too drunk for this. Bellatrix frowned and looked up at him.

"I'm doing it wrong, aren't I, Master?"

"No." He hurried to tuck himself away, and he assured her, "It doesn't work right when… I'm forty-three today, and… too much whisky and gin, you know?"

"Oh." Bellatrix didn't seem to understand, so he helped her to her feet and took her face in his hands. He stared down at her, at her big eyes and her full lips, and he said carefully,

"I do want you. Badly. Hmm."

She blinked a few times and whispered,

"Happy birthday, My Lord. We should go back… go back to the party. It's almost midnight."

"Mmm-hmm." He bent and swiftly touched his lips to hers, and when she looked utterly shocked, he said in the lightest voice he could slur at her, "That's for midnight. Happy New Year. Let's go."

The meeting on the third of January was to be the last before she went back to Hogwarts. Bellatrix had had a private appointment with Lord Voldemort scheduled on this date for months so that they could strategise her spying at school. But now he rather wished he'd never scheduled this meeting, that he could just send her straight back to school.

His memories of New Year's Eve were just hazy enough to be confusing and just clear enough to be humiliating. Voldemort was shocked by how they'd behaved, the both of them. He was utterly taken aback at his own antics, holding her face and kissing her, and at her, crawling up to him and trying to fellate him. It was all filthy and mortifying. And yet, the last few nights, he'd been unable to escape dreams of her with her mouth around him, dreams that had made him wake up hard, dreams that had made him want her far more than he'd wanted her standing drunk in that office.

"Enter," he said sharply, for there had been a few timid knocks on his door. The door opened, and Bellatrix appeared, and Voldemort folded his hands on his desk. He cleared his throat as she came in, bowed respectfully, and sat in the chair opposite him. She was silent, her head bowed low, and finally he said to her,

"I'd like you to keep an extra close eye on Gideon and Fabian Prewett; I've loads of evidence that they mean to join Dumbledore's little Order as soon as they leave school. And, of course, among the staff, McGonagall is the biggest threat aside from Dumbledore himself."

"Yes, Master. I'll be sure to communicate with you very regularly," Bellatrix nodded. "I'll write to you as Mr Jester, as you've instructed."

Voldemort pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't trust owls. Too easily intercepted. I'll get a schedule of your Hogsmeade visits. I'll meet you in Room Six of the Doxy's Nest at ten o'clock every time you have a Hogsmeade visit. If there's something more immediate, write to me, but otherwise I'd like you to compile a dossier and present it to me at each Hogsmeade visit."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix nodded, pushing some curls out of her face. Voldemort's heart began to accelerate in his chest, and his breath sped up as he studied Bellatrix's pretty eyes and pretty nose and pretty mouth.

"You may go," he snapped, and she just rose and began to walk away. He gripped the edge of his desk and gulped hard, and he called after her, "Bellatrix."

She turned around at the office door, cocking an eyebrow and looking half curious and half afraid. He licked his lip and said in a cautious voice,

"I… I would like to know when your first Hogsmeade visit is."

Bellatrix nodded, and he saw then that her cheeks were scarlet. "It's on the thirty-first of January, Master."

"Ah. Ten o'clock, then," he said, and she nodded crisply.

"Room Six of the Doxy's Nest. Yes, Master. I'll be there."

He watched her go, and when the door shut, he realised his knuckles were white where he still held the edge of his desk.

Author's Note: Thank you again for all the PMs about my health. I got discharged from the hospital today and would like to get back into Bellamort writing with this new story, which I intend on being a bit of a fun romp since that's just what I need to write right now. :) Hope you'll join me.