Lord Voldemort was by no means a very sentimental person. The only form of affection he had ever received in his life was the admiration he got from those who followed his leadership throughout the years. Needless to say, he hadn't the slightest clue on how to respond to when a person, aka Bellatrix, so…blatantly threw themselves at him.

Bellatrix, despite being female, was Voldemort's best lieutenant among the Death Eater ranks. Her Cruciatus curses were matched by none, and she wouldn't bat an eyelash if Voldemort asked her to Avada Kedavra her own husband, Rodolphus. Granted, what she and Rodolphus had was a loveless arranged marriage, but the sentiment was still there; Bellatrix was unwaveringly loyal to Voldemort.

Consequently, Voldemort decided to send Bellatrix a letter outlining his appreciation for her. Of course, he could have just summoned her and demanded that she listen to him, but he knew that he didn't always have the best way with words when it came to face-to-face interactions. The temper he inherited from his "father-who-shall-not-be-named" was the cause of that.

Once finished writing the letter, Voldemort nodded in appreciation of his superior penmanship. He didn't smile unless it was at someone's expense, so his nodding would have to do. He called for his owl, Lucifer, and gave him specific instructions.

"Deliver this to the one with whom I share a special connection."

Lucifer tilted its head at Voldemort, accepted the letter in his beak, and flew off…to the one he thought Voldemort had a special connection with.

One morning, early on in his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter received a letter from an owl with stark white feathers and blood red eyes in the Gryffindor dorms. As Harry's only living relative were muggles, and he hadn't done anything to incur the wrath of the Ministry of Magic this time, he was baffled as to who would be sending him a letter. If the Weasleys wanted to get in contact with him, they would've used the fireplace, or at least their own family owl, Errol.

"Blimey Harry." Ron said as he stared at the odd owl in disbelief, "Who's sending you a love letter this time?"

Harry rolled his eyes. His status as the "Boy-Who-Lived" led him to be the center of female attention quite often, but he doubted that one of his admirers would be sending him a love letter with such a frightening looking owl.

Nonetheless, Harry took the letter from the owl, frowning as the owl stayed in place by the windowsill. He reckoned that its master gave specific instructions not to leave without a response. Great.

With a shrug, and a standard thought of what could possibly go wrong in my life now, he opened the letter…and immediately wished he hadn't.

To My Other Half,

You know, first and foremost, that I have never been good with displaying emotions other than murderous rage or cool disdain. As such, you must be surprised to be receiving this letter from me, but I cannot hide my true feelings any longer.

You, my dark soul, are the light of my life. No, that's too muggle-like. You are a star. You shine brightly, through the way your eyes light up after every Crucio you cast, after you see the light leave the eyes of one who does not agree with our cause.

To put it shortly, if I didn't want you to live an eternal life with me, I wouldn't hesitate to make you my next horcrux.

You have always been loyal to me, even more than you are to your own husband, and if I were still capable of boyish joy, you would make my cheeks color in adoration. To some, your obsession with me is unhealthy, but to me, it is just what I need in my life.

From an early age, I have been abandoned by those who were supposed to be close to me. My mother was too weak to bear giving birth to me. My father…will never be discussed. The children at the orphanage only followed my lead because they knew what I would do to them if they dared defy me. Even after being thoroughly exposed to the Wizarding World, everyone I came into contact wanted to stifle my talents.

But not you.

You always encouraged me to be my most ruthless. You always reassured me that I was doing the right thing and for that, I will forever cherish you. May we always share a special connection.

You deserve a reward for all of your loyalty. When you receive this letter, meet me in the attic of Malfoy Manor.

Maybe if you're lucky, I'll Slytherin to your Chamber of Secrets.

~Lord Voldemort

Once he had finished reading, Harry had a look of disgust on his face, the lightning bolt scar on his forehead being diminished to a random assortment of lines with how hard he was frowning.

Slytherin to your Chamber of Secrets?

Taking Harry's silence as permission to read the letter, Ron did just that. When he had finished reading, he wore the same look on his face that he did that time he accidentally hexed himself into barfing up slugs.

"Bloody hell." Ron choked out.

Silence dawned upon the two before Ron got a devilish look on his face.

"Here's what we can do."

By afternoon of the day that Lord Voldemort sent his letter, Lucifer came back to him with a response. With a smirk, he opened the letter. He knew Bellatrix wouldn't have been able to resist him.

My Lord,

I am afraid that I do not share your sentiments. I am in a faithful relationship with my education. For a dark wizard, you sure give poor instructions to your owls. If it hasn't dawned on you who the receiver of this letter is yet, allow me to give you a few clues:

1. You have always had a morbid fascination with me.

2. Our age difference would never allow this to work. I'm still a minor, even in the wizarding word.

3. We do, in fact, share a special connection, but by no desire of my own.

4. Let's just say that you make me burn white hot every time we think on the same page.

I know you like playing rough, if the scar you left on me is any indication.

~Harry J. Potter

P.S.: I can't wait until the next time we meet, so our wands can connect with one another once again.

At reading the letter, Voldemort scowled darkly, incinerating the letter with the heat of his dark magic. He vaguely heard Lucifer hoot before he turned to face the owl, glaring darkly at him.

"Avada Kedavra."

The owl dropped dead in front of Voldemort, stiff and unmoving. To Voldemort, it almost seemed as if the owl was smiling at him, even in death.

With a heavy sigh, Voldemort reclined in one of the chairs in the room, resting a hand on his forehead.

This was exactly why he didn't have feelings. Something always went wrong.

It was too bad that he wouldn't get to Slytherin to anyone's Chamber of Secrets...