December 1968

Malfoy Manor

Lord Voldemort loathed social gatherings, almost without exception. He had only ever utilised small talk for the purposes of manipulation, and there was no idea more repugnant to him than the thought of making merry in a large group. Just the same, he recognised the importance of socialising with his followers, at a distance that maintained his authority, to reinforce their loyalty.

And so, tonight, Voldemort found himself standing in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, the home of his subordinate Abraxas Malfoy. Abraxas had begun following Voldemort back in their days as Hogwarts students, back when this powerful Dark wizard was just a boy called Tom. Voldemort had requested - or, perhaps he had demanded - the use of Malfoy Manor for a gathering of his followers to celebrate the Christmas holiday.

Abraxas had more than willingly obliged. The ballroom was bedecked with elegant, understated decorations that revealed the old wealth and social status of the Malfoy hosts. Swaths of burgundy, deep green, and gold silks had been strung expertly about the ballroom. A perfectly-shaped evergreen tree, lit with magical twinkling lights and ornamented with enchanted shimmering spheres, stood proudly in the centre of the room.

The food and drink were more than adequate, as well. A buffet table had been filled with dishes that magically refilled themselves. Goose, duck, and turkey had been roasted and laid out with sprigs of rosemary and other herbs. Potatoes and carrots lay beside warm, fresh rolls. The dessert table was an entirely separate orgasm of culinary delights. There was elf-made wine available, and ale and butterbeer and cider. Abraxas had done well, Voldemort thought. He had done justice to his master's orders.

"My Lord," Voldemort heard, and he turned his head to see that Conrad Yaxley had come up beside him. Yaxley staggered backward a little step at his master's sharp glare, and he bowed a bit, quite awkwardly. "My Lord," Yaxley said again, raising his pale eyes, "I thank you most heartily for the invitation to this joyous celebration. I wish to reaffirm to you my loyalty and my eternal service to you."

Voldemort suppressed the smirk that wanted to cross his lips. Instead he just nodded once, firmly, and said, "You are a good and faithful soldier for us, Yaxley. You have my gratitude and my faith. Now, go; they've just put out some new trifle on the dessert table."

Yaxley grinned widely, glad to have his master's approval, and he nodded as he darted away. Voldemort sighed deeply and looked around the ballroom. In the far corner, there was a gaggle of unmanned string instruments and gentle drums, enchanted to play music befitting the season. There was a bit of the floor space where people were dancing slowly to the Christmas tunes. Two young blondes swayed together with gawky, unpractised movements.

Now Voldemort made no effort at all to conceal his smirk. He recognised the blond boy at once. It was Abraxas' son Lucius, a fourth-year student at Hogwarts. His expensive velvet dress robes accentuated his height, and he towered over a girl who seemed just about his age. That girl wore a merry gold and scarlet dress, her icy blonde hair pulled up into a knot atop her head. Voldemort scanned his mind and put a name to the girl. Narcissa Black. The girl was staring up at Lucius Malfoy as though she were madly in love with him. Voldemort rolled his eyes a bit. What a very silly thing, he thought… to be in love at all, much less when they were still children.

Beyond the dancing blondes, a girl who shared some of Narcissa's facial features stood watching. There was a difference of several years, but the relationship was obvious. Sisters, Voldemort thought, and then he remembered another name. Bellatrix, the eldest daughter of Cygnus Black. He found himself staring at her, for a reason he was strangely unable to identify.

Bellatrix's hair was pulled loosely over one shoulder, falling in long, inky black curls. She was dressed far more provocatively than her sister Narcissa. Bellatrix wore a gown of black raw silk that sat off her shoulders with a low neckline, revealing her collarbone and hinting at the swell of her breasts. She was laced tightly into the gown, Voldemort could see, for her nipped-in waist gave way to a shapely skirt that cascaded around her. Her eyes, dark and cold, matched the passive frown upon her full lips.

"Is everything to your liking, My Lord?" asked a voice beside Voldemort, and he jolted back to reality and turned his attention away from the girl in the far corner. He curled up his lips at Abraxas Malfoy and said,

"You have done very well indeed, Abraxas. I am pleased that my friends and allies could assemble to get to know one another better, and so that we might have a positive rapport among the lot of us."

Abraxas looked relieved and shut his eyes as he smiled and nodded. "I am elated to hear of your satisfaction, My Lord."

"Your son Lucius seems to have quite the little love interest," Voldemort said in a teasing tone, and Abraxas chuckled as both men looked to the dance floor. A new song had begun, but Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy were still wrapped in one another's arms, laughing and chatting as they danced.

"They are both still so very young," Abraxas noted, "though I confess I would be not at all disappointed if my Lucius wound up marrying a daughter of the House of Black. It would be a truly advantageous match to maintain purity of the blood, would it not, My Lord?"

Abraxas looked rather nervously to Voldemort, who quirked up an eyebrow. He adjusted his own elaborately embroidered green and silver dress robes about him and took his time before speaking. "It would be a good match," he agreed. "And what of the sister? Bellatrix, is it? She is older."

"Too old for Lucius, perhaps," Abraxas shrugged. "She is in her final year at Hogwarts, I believe, but Abraxas is -"

"You misunderstood my question." Voldemort interrupted Abraxas in a low hiss of a voice, and he could feel Abraxas shudder with fear at the tone. Voldemort paused a moment to bore his gaze into Abraxas', and then he said, "You talk of matching up pureblood teenagers to preserve lines. Bellatrix. The girl is of age, is she not? What do you know of her marriage plans?"

Abraxas' mouth fell open, and for a moment he stammered uncertainly. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said,

"Close your mouth, Malfoy; you look like a fish. If you do not have the answer to my question, find me someone who does. I have a vested interest in the future of Britain's pureblood families. Go."

Abraxas nodded and dashed off. Voldemort watched silently, crossing his arms over his heavy robes. Abraxas was speaking with Cygnus Black, the father of the two girls in question. The conversation did not last long, and then Cygnus flicked his eyes toward Voldemort. The man's cheeks went scarlet the instant he saw that the Dark Lord was watching him, and he seemed to hesitate for a split second before following Abraxas Malfoy back to Voldemort.

The enchanted string instruments had struck up a lively dance tune, and so Abraxas had to raise his voice a bit as he breathlessly said, "My Lord… I'm sure you're familiar with Cygnus Black III."

"I am." Voldemort said pointedly, and Cygnus bowed deeply. When he stood, Voldemort jerked his chin toward the dance floor and the corner beyond. "Abraxas and I were just discussing what an advantageous match it would be for your daughter Narcissa to someday wed his son Lucius."

Cygnus Black's face lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "I do hope such a thing might come to pass, My Lord. I believe it would serve not only to give the children happiness with one another, but to preserve pureblood family lines." He glanced over to his daughters and then back to Voldemort. His voice was proud as he said, "I beg you to rest assured of how important this cause is to me, My Lord. I've an elder daughter who's already promised to be wed, so that we might do our part in preserving bloodlines."

"Bellatrix, is it?" Voldemort asked, making his voice sound bored. Cygnus Black nodded more vigorously than ever, his chest puffing up with pride as he said,

"Just before his retirement, Headmaster Dippet said she was the most skilled spell caster he'd ever seen at Hogwarts… other than you, of course, My Lord."

"So she is good at throwing hexes and jinxes, is she?" Voldemort asked, sounding amused, and Cygnus' nervous laugh went on just a moment too long afterward. He cleared his throat and said,

"Bellatrix has always been… bold . And very willing to use whatever means necessary to achieve desired ends." Cygnus glanced back to Bellatrix, looking wistful, as though he were remembering her tumultuous childhood. But then he looked back to Voldemort and said, "She is utterly devoted to our cause, My Lord. After her graduation from Hogwarts at the end of this term, she will be married to Rodolphus Lestrange. I believe she will then beg you to allow her to serve you. She has spoken of little else whilst home for the holidays… she cares nothing about her impending graduation, nor her marriage to -"

"Rodolphus Lestrange," Voldemort repeated, cutting Cygnus off sharply. Abraxas shifted on his feet as Voldemort scanned the room for the boy. His eyes landed on a tall young man sipping a goblet of wine as he chatted with a small group of peers. That was him, Voldemort knew. Rodolphus Lestrange. He was of heritage just as noble as the Malfoys and the Blacks. Of course he would be a good match for a daughter of Cygnus Black III.

Rodolphus seemed quiet and subdued as he stood among the small group of young men. His dark auburn hair fell about his face, which was narrow and sharp. Voldemort flicked his eyes from Rodolphus Lestrange to Bellatrix, noting the great physical distance between them. Now he made a conscious point of smirking, and he asked Cygnus Black in a condescending tone,

"Are you quite certain your daughter is aware she is to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?"

Cygnus and Abraxas both looked quite uncomfortable, but Cygnus assured Voldemort, "I do believe, My Lord, that they will grow to appreciate one another's company with time. My own dear wife Druella and I… well, it was not immediate love, if you catch my meaning."

Voldemort did not catch the meaning, for he knew absolutely nothing of love, but he gave no indication of his ignorance on the matter. Instead, he noted calmly,

"You said that Bellatrix speaks often of serving me when she leaves Hogwarts."

Cygnus' eyes lit up again, and he nodded so fervently that it seemed his head might fall right off his shoulders. "Yes, My Lord," he said happily. "She does. Endlessly."

"Fetch her to me," Voldemort ordered smoothly. "I wish to speak with her."

"Yes, My Lord!" Cygnus said again, bowing quickly before setting off. Abraxas excused himself, and Cygnus practically sprinted across the ballroom until he reached his daughter. He wormed his way through the crowd of revellers, and at last the man seemed to be speaking frantically to Bellatrix.

Voldemort watched the frenetic exchange, and then Bellatrix's dark eyes rose and met his. A strange twist in his abdomen took him by surprise as he locked gazes with Bellatrix over such a distance. He pinched his lips and made himself look impatient. Bellatrix smoothed her skirts and walked briskly toward Voldemort, leaving her father behind. She walked with a straight back, with apparent confidence, Voldemort noted. But when she reached him and dipped into a reverential curtsy, Voldemort could see her hands shaking fiercely on the black fabric of her skirts.

"Bellatrix Black." Voldemort let her name roll off his tongue, rather liking the feel and sound of it. The smallest hint of a smile twitched at Bellatrix's full lips, and Voldemort could tell she was desperately trying to appear calm.

"My Lord," she said, though it came out in a cracked whisper. Her eyes glistened as though she were suppressing tears, and her bottom lip trembled.

This girl worshipped him. Voldemort could tell that instantly. The others in the room liked his ideas. They liked his plans. Most importantly, they feared him, so they followed him. But this girl, this Bellatrix… she adored him. She was very different than the rest of them. They were all here for their own self-promotion, or perhaps because they wanted to be part of a powerful movement.

Not this girl. Not Bellatrix Black. Voldemort knew nothing of love, but he could plainly read the veneration written across Bellatrix's face. He took a half step closer to her and heard her breath hitch a bit in her throat.

She may prove the most useful of them all, Voldemort thought, and he suddenly realised that it did not matter whether Bellatrix Black married Rodolphus Lestrange. Her devotion was obvious, and Voldemort intended on capitalising fully upon it. He would make Bellatrix Black his.


From far away, Lord Voldemort looked almost like a statue. He stood tall and thin and unmoving, his face rarely betraying any expression.

His face, too seemed carved from marble. He had milky white skin, an angular jaw, thin lips that stubbornly maintained a neutral line. He had eyes like Bella's, dark and rich as chocolate. But his had a way of piercing things and people. When she looked up from her conversation with her father, having been informed that the Dark Lord wished to speak with her, Bellatrix had met those eyes. And they had cut her straight through.

She had walked past Rodolphus, her future husband, without sparing him a glance. Her feet had moved entirely of their own accord, gliding quickly past the gaudy Christmas tree, past her little sister, past the food and the house-elves. Bellatrix had stopped just before him, just before the wizard she wanted so desperately to serve.

She had never wanted anything more in all her life than this , than to be standing here before him. She studied his face, the tiny shadow of stubble on his jaw and chin that revealed him to be an actual man and not a statue. She met his eyes and struggled to keep herself upright. Her eyes seared with tears, quite unexpectedly, after he said her name.

"Bellatrix Black," he'd said. That was all. But suddenly Bellatrix thought she might simply dissolve into a puddle before him. This was all very foolish, she knew. Bellatrix had always been hard of heart and solid of mind. But he was different than the rest of them. They were all tiresome and banal, but him …

"My Lord," Bellatrix had said, humiliated at the way her voice had come out in a croaking whisper. She stood a bit straighter and tried to look strong, tried to look powerful. Useful. "My father said you wished to speak with me."

"You've one term left at Hogwarts, have you?" Lord Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded quickly. Voldemort continued, "And after your graduation, you are to marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix felt her excitement evaporate, and she turned over her shoulder on instinct to stare at Rodolphus. He was handsome enough, but he was dull, and Bellatrix had nothing in common with him. She felt a dull buzz in her mind, and suddenly she realised her thoughts were being searched. She turned back to the Dark Lord, her eyes going wide as she felt his presence inside her head. Then there was a dizzying sort of suction as he pulled away, and Voldemort tipped his head as he said thoughtfully,

"You will be marrying to fulfill the expectations of your noble family. You do not actively dislike the boy, but you would not have chosen him for yourself."

Bellatrix felt her mouth drop open a little. All she could do was nod a bit, and she said softly, "I will marry him, My Lord, to help keep bloodlines pure. I will do as my family has asked of me. As you ask of me. Anything, My Lord, that you ask of me, I will do. Always. I will marry Rodolphus, of course, but I beg you to let me serve you. My only priority after Hogwarts, after all the silliness of school, would be to serve you, and..."

She was rambling now, she knew, but she could not keep the words from spilling out. She babbled uncontrollably, lost in the Dark Lord's cold eyes, in his sharply angled face. Finally, mercifully, he silenced her words with a gentle, non-verbal spell. Then something happened that made Bellatrix's breath stop entirely, made her heart race, and very nearly made her knees give out entirely.

He touched her.

The Dark Lord dragged his knuckles along Bellatrix's jaw, and she shivered as she struggled to keep her eyes open. His thin lips curled up a bit in the smallest hint of a smile, and he murmured in a voice so low that only Bellatrix could hear,

"Yes. You will marry Rodolphus Lestrange, to continue unity among the sacred and noble pureblood families."

His knuckles ghosted around Bellatrix's neck, and she stared directly into his icy dark eyes as he leaned toward her a bit and added,

"But you will do far more important things than marrying Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella."

Bellatrix was so dizzy she honestly thought she would lose consciousness. Bella . He'd called her Bella . Only Narcissa did that, and sometimes her father. It was a nickname Bellatrix did not allow others. But to hear him say it, to hear the Dark Lord say it, was almost intolerably exciting. He was still talking, though Bellatrix's head was spinning so wildly she could hardly listen.

"You will do great things for me, Bella. I can see it. I can see you as my most trusted, most loyal servant. Will that be so?"

Bellatrix managed a few quivering breaths and nodded before she whispered, "Yes. Of course, My Lord. I am yours in every way."

She meant that, too. There was an unexpected warmth, a sudden damp throbbing, between Bellatrix's legs. The Dark Lord pulled his hand from her face, and Bellatrix could not suppress the tiny whimper at the physical separation. Lord Voldemort looked immensely pleased with himself, and his smirk painted itself back onto his mouth. He looked beyond Bellatrix, his glistening eyes flicking about the ballroom.

"Do you know how to dance, Bella?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Bellatrix licked her dry lips and managed to say, "I am inelegant, My Lord, but I am passable."

His eyes returned to hers, and she suddenly realised just how much taller he was than her. For some reason, she liked that. She liked that her master and lord towered above her like a protective and terrifying wraith. The Dark Lord began to walk past Bellatrix, and she was quite confused until he said over his shoulder,

"Come. Dance with me."


Lord Voldemort loathed social gatherings, almost without exception.

And yet, here he was, his left hand holding Bellatrix Black's. He pressed his right hand to the small of her back and felt her fingers shaking upon his shoulder. They moved smoothly as the enchanted strings played "The First Nowell." Bellatrix was a bit unsteady, but Voldemort was more than capable of keeping their movements elegant.

Everyone was watching. He knew that. That was rather the point. Sometimes he wanted to seem completely inhuman to his followers. It would do no good for them to think he ever felt sadness, or grief, or any other weakening emotion. He kept his face stern and still most of the time. He kept distance, both socially and physically, from nearly everyone, and it was all on purpose.

But this was on purpose, too - the way he held Bellatrix a bit nearer to his body than the dance required. It was purposeful, the way he laced his fingers through hers instead of simply holding her hand. He wanted everyone, including Rodolphus Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black III, to see the way Bellatrix was staring at him. Voldemort wanted them all to see the wonder, the awe, the bliss in her wide eyes.

She was his now. She seemed intelligent, and was apparently an apt pupil at school. She was certainly obedient. And when Voldemort had used Legilimency to enter her mind, he had seen what she was capable of doing. She would steal for him, lay waste to entire cities for him if he asked. There was great and terrible darkness within her, as well. Bellatrix Black would kill for him, die for him. And she was already his; he didn't even have to recruit her.

So Lord Voldemort squeezed his fingers a bit at the small of Bellatrix's back and tightened his grip on her hand, knowing that all his minions could see. Let them see , he thought. Let them see how easily the great Lord Voldemort made others go weak and helpless with devotion. Let them see that Bellatrix Black might marry Rodolphus Lestrange, but that she already belonged to Voldemort.

"You dance perfectly well, Bella," he assured her, and she smiled weakly.

"Only because I have such a capable lead, My Lord," she said. Her eyes - lovely wide eyes, Voldemort thought again - flicked to her left, and she whispered carefully, "My fiancé seems less than impressed with our dancing, My Lord."

Voldemort's heart thumped for a moment until he willed it to slow again. He kept his eyes locked on Bellatrix's, though he could sense the jealousy roiling off Rodolphus Lestrange where he stood ogling. When Voldemort spoke, his voice was a dangerous hiss that left no room for discussion.

"Your fiancé will need to understand that his place as your husband will always be subordinate to my place as your lord and master."

Bellatrix nodded, looking positively euphoric. The song ended, and Voldemort released her hand and took a half step back from her. She gulped, and he could feel the want radiating from her. She didn't just admire him. She desired him.

Interesting , Voldemort thought. Decades earlier, when he'd been that boy called Tom, countless girls at Hogwarts had tried desperately to obtain and keep his attentions. He'd obliged a few of them, for his own pleasures, rutting a few girls in secret hiding places. It was always fast, emotionless. Just for release, and just for control. The years since had been devoted almost entirely to gaining and increasing his own power, and Voldemort had hardly taken any women at all in the past twenty years.

Would he take Bellatrix's body? Surely she would give it. She may well become emotional about such an experience, which posed a risk in itself. But for Voldemort, it would simple be an intriguing experiment. What, he wondered, would it feel like to order her to undress and watch her do it, her eyes shimmering with veneration? What would it feel like to have a woman climax specifically because it was him taking her? Would it feel any better or worse than the girls in the Hogwarts corridors or the Knockturn Alley whores of years past?

If he told her right this minute to go to one of Malfoy Manor's guest bedrooms, she would do it. If he shoved her hard onto her knees and demanded she use her mouth on him, she would moan while she did. What would that feel like, Voldemort wondered? What would it feel like to take the body of a woman who actually worshipped him?

He shut his eyes for a brief moment, feeling entirely foolish contemplating such a thing. He had no actual need for carnal release; he was far too powerful for that. He had an entire ballroom full of simpering sycophants; he did not need Bellatrix Black's body. Besides, he scolded himself, he would be turning forty-two in just a few days, and Bella was a mere seventeen years of age… not that he cared about societal standards on such things. And she was of age, despite the difference in…

Stop these thoughts. Now, he ordered himself.

Voldemort's eyes sprang open. He steadied himself where he stood, seeing the way the top of Bellatrix's breasts heaved as she caught her breath. He tore his eyes from her and planted his gaze firmly on Abraxas Malfoy, who stood with Walden Macnair and Mullo Selwyn. The three were discussing something, pretending they hadn't just ogled their master, enthralled by the sight of the Dark Lord dancing with young Bellatrix Black.

"I've a few matters to discuss with that trio over there." Voldemort said to Bellatrix. He jerked his head toward Malfoy, Macnair, and Selwyn. Very much of its own accord, his hand went up to his brown hair, and his fingers raked through it.

No. He did not want her body. He simply did not. That was a foolish and demeaning proposition. He only wanted Bellatrix as a reliable servant, and he knew he would have that from her. But as Voldemort flicked his eyes back to Bellatrix, their gazes locked tightly. For some reason, Voldemort wanted back into her head, and he thought firmly, Legilimens. Her mind gave him no resistance, and he pushed his way right in.

Her thoughts were a swirling, confused mess. Voldemort searched for what she thought of him. Her mind practically screamed that she wanted to do his bidding, that she would never abandon him, that she wanted and needed to belong to him entirely. There were no vivid thoughts of Rodolphus Lestrange.

And then he stumbled on it, on a lustful thought that had come over Bellatrix whilst they'd been dancing. She'd felt his hand on her back and had wondered what it would be like to have that hand shove her roughly down onto a bed. She'd felt his fingers laced through hers and had wondered what they would feel like between her legs. She'd wondered whether he would ever let her sink to her knees, whether someday he might consider…

Voldemort wrenched himself from Bellatrix's head and staggered backward a half step. Bella's wide eyes went round as saucers, and she touched her fingers to her full lips as her eyes welled with tears. She was terrified. She thought she'd ruined everything with that fantasy, Voldemort knew. She started whispering frantic apologies, but he held up a hand and made his face hard as stone. Something else was getting hard, too, after feeling Bellatrix's lewd thoughts. Voldemort willed his body into submission and lowered his hand. He spoke quietly and calmly as he said to her, just as he'd done earlier,

"You will do great things for me, Bella."

Then, without another word, he strode briskly away from her, toward the cluster of servile men that bowed their heads as he approached. They would discuss matters of business, Voldemort decided, and with that he put Bellatrix Black entirely out of his thoughts.


The Slytherin common room was particularly quiet tonight, and Bellatrix relished the peace. She spread out a sheet of parchment before her on one of the tables and set up her quill and ink. She sighed lightly, glancing up to the windows that looked out on the Black Lake. There was nothing to see now that the sun had gone down. Sometimes Bellatrix wished she could go out into that icy water, just to see for herself what really dwelled in its most mysterious depths.

She read over the instructions Professor Slughorn had given for the homework he'd assigned. 'Choose a potions ingredient derived from an insect. Describe how it is harvested and its uses in two specific potions.'

Easy enough, Bellatrix thought. She was bright enough that she didn't even need a reference or book to finish this assignment. She quickly began to scribble in her characteristically frenetic script.

Many parts of the dragonfly are used for potion-making. The thorax of the dragonfly is its midsection, usually obtained after the wings and eyes are removed. It is generally crushed. The dragonfly thorax is an essential ingredient in a Girding Potion, which increases stamina. It is also part of most recipes for Dragon dung fertiliser, used to enhance the growth of magical plants.

There. That was that. Simple enough. Bellatrix blew on the ink to dry it, and then her face flew up when she heard the chair opposite her scuffing on the ground. She scowled, then erased the frown and neutralised her face, when she saw that Rodolphus Lestrange had pulled up the chair opposite her at the table. He folded his hands on the table as he sat. Bellatrix couldn't help comparing the look of them to the Dark Lord's hands. She remembered the feel of her master's fingers curled against hers, and she -

"Hello, Bella," Rodolphus said, his voice awkward and stilted. Now Bellatrix made no attempt to hide her scowl.

"Bellatrix, if you please," she corrected him, and he nodded. Bellatrix studied his bony face, his dull-coloured hair. He was an attractive enough boy, she supposed, but it was as the Dark Lord had said. Bellatrix wouldn't have chosen him for herself.

"Bellatrix," Rodolphus began again, in a low voice, "You and I are to be married in five months' time, and we scarcely know one another. Don't you think perhaps we ought to become better acquainted if we're to… to…"

"To have sex on a regular basis and produce lots of pureblood children together?" Bellatrix finished for him, throwing up one of her dark eyebrows as Rodolphus' pale cheeks went scarlet. He cleared his throat, and Bellatrix chuckled at his embarrassment. She rolled her eyes and said,

"Fine, then. What exactly are your plans for your life? I deserve to know what my husband will be doing with his time."

Rodolphus' face went very still, and he glanced about the common room before furtively leaning across the table. "I mean to do the same as you," he murmured. "I mean to serve the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix felt a little smile cross her lips. Suddenly she wasn't quite so resentful of the idea of marrying Rodolphus. Perhaps they would never love one another, but they just might make a fine pair of warriors for the Dark Lord.

On instinct, Bellatrix reached across the table and seized Rodolphus' hand. She turned it over and pushed up the sleeve of his school robe and shirt. She dragged her fingertips over his inner wrist, feeling Rodolphus shiver at the touch. Bellatrix met her intended's eyes and whispered solemnly,

"After you and I are married, will you ask him with me? To grant us the Dark Mark? To put us into his full service?"

Rodolphus nodded enthusiastically, gently pulling his hand away from Bellatrix. One corner of his lips turned up, and he said smoothly, "I do think you and I shall get along just fine, Bellatrix."

Suddenly there were footsteps to Bellatrix's left, and the boy called Stephen, the Slytherin Quidditch Team captain, came walking quickly into the common room. He approached the table where Bellatrix and Rodolphus sat. He nodded to Bellatrix and said matter-of-factly to Rodolphus,

"Lestrange, Hufflepuff's lost their normal Seeker to dragon pox. He's been admitted to St. Mungo's. They've replaced him, and their entire approach for this weekend will be different. We're having a team meeting in the seventh-year boys' dormitory to discuss strategy."

Rodolphus stood, straightening his robes and giving a pleasant little smile to Bellatrix. Rodolphus played Chaser for the Slytherin team, and though Bellatrix had no interest in the game, she said to him,

"Go. Plan. Can't have this house lose to Hufflepuff, of all idiots, can we?" Bellatrix smirked as the boys walked away toward the dormitories. Once they'd gone, she was left alone at the table again. She rolled up her parchment for Potions and tucked it into her school bag.

So her husband would serve the Dark Lord with her. That would be their life together.

Suddenly Bellatrix smiled, more sincerely than she'd done in a great long while.


Lord Voldemort paced the large office in Malfoy Manor that he'd claimed as his own. He paused his steps to glance outside the window, noting the way that little flurries of snow had begun to tumble from the heavens. It did not often snow in Wiltshire, but the weather today was especially bitter. Still, that was no excuse for Abraxas Malfoy's tardiness to the meeting that Voldemort had called. He paced slowly again, watching the flames in the fireplace as he did. Finally, he heard a solid rapping on the heavy office door, and he called sharply,

"Enter."

Abraxas Malfoy came dashing into the office, shoving his blond hair from his eyes and muttering apologies about his lateness. Voldemort waved his hand dismissively; he had neither time nor interest to listen to Abraxas simper. They were here to discuss the gradual but steady replacement of officials within the Ministry of Magic. If Lord Voldemort intended on a full-scale coup, he needed to begin by placing his loyal followers in positions of authority.

"So?" Voldemort said tersely to Abraxas. "What is the current situation?"

He sank into one of the great leather chairs before the fireplace and touched the tips of his long fingers together. He looked up at Abraxas, who shifted on his feet before the chair. Voldemort quite liked this - the way he could make others feel inferior and flustered even when they stood higher than him.

"Well, My Lord," Abraxas began, his voice nervous, "We have successfully placed seven of your most loyal followers into the Wizengamot. And then… a few low-level positions… head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, for example, and…"

Voldemort narrowed his cold eyes and sneered, "I am not exactly concerned, Malfoy, with replacing the individual responsible for prosecuting improper alcohol consumption. What of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? The current department head, Laurence Mattle, has been Imperiused to resign, has he not?"

Abraxas shut his eyes for a moment and shook a bit where he stood. "Well, yes, My Lord," Abraxas said. "He was Imperiused. He is not Imperiused anymore, because nearly the entire battery of Aurors had grown extremely suspicious of his repeated statements that he wanted to resign and install Clarabella Rosier as his replacement."

"The Aurors were suspicious," Voldemort repeated, his voice so quiet even he could barely hear himself. He watched Abraxas' throat bob, and the other man nodded as his cheeks went pink.

'The Aurors successfully lifted the Imperius Curse from Laurence Mattle. We have placed Clarabella Rosier into protective hiding in the meantime, since -"

Abraxas' words were cut off then by the sound of glass shattering. Voldemort had flung his left hand up toward the mantle above the fireplace. He had, using non verbal and wandless rage, shattered the large cut-crystal vase that had been sitting on the mantle. Both Voldemort and Abraxas stared at the tiny shards of crystal on the rug, the remains of what had probably been a valuable Malfoy family heirloom.

"Malfoy," Voldemort snapped, and Abraxas raised his terrified eyes to his master. Voldemort curled his fingers over the arms of his chair and said firmly, "Obtain a list of every single Auror employed by the Ministry. Names. Dates of birth. Residences. Family members. Make a comprehensive database and distribute it to everyone who has the Dark Mark."

Abraxas nodded but looked a bit confused, so Voldemort tipped his head. Perhaps he hadn't been clear enough.

"Every Auror is to be killed. One by one. Unexpected places, at times that can't be anticipated. I want them dropping like flies, you understand?"

Abraxas' silvery eyebrows furrowed, and he asked, "So you wish for me to put out assassination orders for the entire fleet of Aurors, My Lord?"

Voldemort flew to his feet, stepping toward Abraxas. The soles of his boots crunched on the fragments of crystal as he hissed fiercely,

"I want every single Auror dead, Abraxas. I want to show the Ministry with whom the new power lies. Is there a problem?"

Abraxas' head shook vigorously, and he staggered backward a half step as Voldemort approached. "N-no, My Lord," he said. "No problem whatsoever. I shall compile and distribute the list at once."

"Go," Voldemort said, jerking his head toward the door. "Leave me."

Abraxas bowed so low he nearly tipped over, and then he scurried from the office like a frightened child. He closed the door carefully behind him, leaving Voldemort standing before the fireplace. He looked down at the pile of broken crystal again and pulled his wand from his robes. He Vanished the shattered vase into nonbeing, not knowing or caring what the significance of the original artefact had been.

Then he walked back over to the window and stared outside again. The sparse flurries had turned into a steady downpour of snow. Voldemort gazed for a time at the ground, at the way the snow was accumulating on the dormant grass of the immaculately manicured gardens.

For some inexplicable reason, his mind was invaded by the thought of Bellatrix Black. Voldemort frowned as his thoughts coalesced into the memory of her a few weeks earlier. He had seen straight into her mind, straight into her soul. There had been a violent undercurrent there; Bellatrix's blood was black in more than name, and there was wickedness in her spirit. Voldemort had seen it all for himself.

He'd seen other things, too, and those thoughts pushed their way into his consciousness, entirely unbidden. She had fantasized about Voldemort's fingers between her legs, about putting her mouth around his…

No.

Voldemort slammed his fist hard against the stone wall and growled to himself. Lust was natural, and sexual release could help one's mind become more sharp and focused. But this - these thoughts of her - were not helping Voldemort's focus.

She had adored him so ferociously. He had danced with her to cement their dynamic in front of everyone - in front of her father and her future husband, in front of the whole lot of sycophants that had gathered.

There had been something very pleasant about the way his hand had rested on the small of her back. There had been something comfortable, almost familiar, in the way their linked fingers had knitted together. There had been beauty in her wide, shining eyes and in her full, pouting lips. Her youthful chest, heaving a bit as it spilled over the neckline over her gown. Her dark curls where they cascaded over one shoulder. The sound of her voice, full of wonder and admiration.

Voldemort shut his eyes and willed his mind away from such base thoughts as those. There were more important issues at hand. He had seen her inherent darkness. He had felt what she was capable of doing. And he knew, to the very marrow of his bones, that she would do anything he asked of her.

If she was going to distract him, then she would make herself useful.

Voldemort whirled around to the desk and took out a sheet of parchment and a quill. He quickly wrote a few lines of text and then pulled out his wand, casting enchantments upon the letter to keep it secret and secure. He almost rang the bell on the wall to summon a house-elf, but then he looked out the window again at the snow. No owl would be able to fly to Hogwarts in this weather. It would have to wait. Voldemort dragged his thumb over the edge of the parchment, and he thought absently to himself that if Bella did as he commanded, there would be a reward for them both.


"But, Lucius, I don't want to freeze to death!" Narcissa giggled, playfully swatting the shoulder of the grinning boy beside her. Lucius tucked Narcissa's blonde hair behind her ear and said,

"Oh, come on, Cissy. It'll be fun. I'll build you a snowman and enchant him to dance for you. And if you're very cold, I shall keep you warm by the fire in the common room once we come back in."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and huffed out a disgusted sigh. She turned her attention away from where Narcissa and Lucius sat further down the bench, and she glanced to her right. Rodolphus Lestrange was sitting with his brother Rabastan and a few of their friends. Bellatrix was all alone, except for the bowl of porridge before her. She hardly minded; indeed, she preferred the solitude.

She spooned some of the hot porridge into her mouth, thinking it bland and tasteless. The food at the Malfoy Manor Christmas party had been quite good, she thought to herself. She'd never tasted a trifle quite so delicious as that night.

And then, of course, there had been him. The Dark Lord. The way his dark, shining eyes had bored into Bellatrix's as they'd danced. The feel of his hands on her. The sound of her name in his low, smooth voice.

Her thoughts were mercifully interrupted before they could flame out of control by a resounding screech. Bellatrix turned to see a few dozen owls sailing in through the window at the top of the Great Hall that had magically granted them entry. The owls began making their way to various students, delivering newspapers and letters and parcels. Bellatrix looked back to her porridge. She wasn't expecting any deliveries today.

But then she had to suppress a shriek, for an owl thumped abruptly onto the table, just inches away from her. It was a strange-looking bird, a dark striped owl with enormous, solid black eyes that seemed vaguely sinister. The bird pushed a small, folded parchment toward Bellatrix with its beak and soared away again. Bellatrix looked to her right, but Rodolphus was discussing something - probably Quidditch - with his friends. She looked to her left and saw that Narcissa and Lucius were still lost in one another's eyes. Furrowing her brows, Bellatrix picked up the parchment and turned it over.

There was an unmarked circle of green wax binding the parchment shut. When Bellatrix touched her fingers to the wax seal, it vibrated warmly and broke open. She realised at once that this letter, whatever it was, had been charmed to open only for her. Her fingers trembled a little as she unfurled the parchment, and then she gnawed her lip in confusion.

It was blank. There was no writing at all.

Then, all of a sudden, black ink began appearing, as though it were seeping straight out of the parchment itself. There wasn't much there, just a few lines of neat script. Bellatrix felt dizzy as she read the words.

The first great thing you will do for me, Bella. Madrigal Bones. You know what I need you to do.

Bellatrix read the words three times over, and then they sank back into the parchment until the paper was blank again. The parchment began to dissolve in Bellatrix's hands, flaking and vanishing into thin air until she was holding nothing at all.

Bellatrix's heart thudded and her mind whirled. She turned her eyes to the Hufflepuff table, where a cheery-faced girl with dirty blonde hair was laughing about something with another student. The round-faced girl with the dishwater hair was Madrigal Bones, a fifth-year student and the daughter of an Auror at the Ministry.

You know what I need to you to do, her master had said. Bellatrix did know. The Dark Lord was commanding her to kill Madrigal Bones, to send a message to the Aurors.

Perhaps someone with a clean soul and pure heart might have felt horror, or at least hesitation, at the order to murder a fellow student. But Bellatrix felt no compunction, only an excited acceleration of her heart at the idea of it all.

The first great thing you will do for me, Bella.

Bella. The first thing. Bellatrix's mind spun. Her lord and master had carefully crafted these orders to ensure secrecy. He had entrusted her with this important task. She was being given the chance to prove herself to the Dark Lord. She would not fail him.

Bellatrix rose from the dining bench, not caring one bit that she'd eaten only a single spoonful of porridge. As she walked quickly from the Hall, she passed Lucius and Narcissa. Let them go frolic in the snow and cuddle before a fire together, she thought. Let Rodolphus and his mates discuss Quidditch all day. Bellatrix had something far more important to do with the remainder of her Sunday.

She had a task to complete quickly and effectively. The entire rest of Bellatrix's day would be spent figuring out how to efficiently and secretly brew a lethal poison. She needed an ironclad plan to kill Madrigal Bones.


Hemlock.

It was a single ingredient that, when used on its own, could and would kill. There would be no need to surreptitiously thieve a gaggle of suspicious ingredients from Professor Slughorn's potions stores. Just a handful of the dried hemlock bits during a lesson, shoved into the pocket of Bellatrix's robes whilst she fetched the beetle eyes she needed for her actual work.

Madrigal Bones was quite fond of tea. Bellatrix had noticed this after carefully observing the girl at meals. Three mornings in a row, she had watched the Hufflepuff sip from a mug of tea during breakfast. Madrigal drank tea almost religiously. That would be the vessel for the poison, Bellatrix knew. Madrigal's tea. Bellatrix learnt Madrigal Bones' schedule by heart after trailing her for a few days, so that she knew exactly where the girl would be at any given time.

On the fourth morning after receiving her orders from the Dark Lord, Bellatrix locked herself into a disused storage room on the third floor. She lit the old lamp on the wall and pulled a small kettle from her school bag. She put it on the floor, pointed her wand at it, and whispered, "Aguamenti."

Water poured from her oddly bent wand into the kettle. Bellatrix kept her wand pointed at the old pewter vessel and murmured, "Coquesacqua." The water in the little kettle began to boil at once. Bellatrix knelt on the dusty stone floor and pulled out the handful of hemlock stems, seeds, and flowers she'd stowed in a little satchel. She dropped them into the kettle, and she listened to the ominous hiss as they sank into the boiling water. Bellatrix cast a few charms around the storage room to protect herself from any poisonous fumes, and she leaned against the wall as she waited. It seemed like an eternity, though it was probably only ten minutes, before the concoction seemed dark enough.

"Saporis Dulce," Bellatrix said, swirling her wand over the surface of the tea to sweeten flavour, which would be intolerably bitter.

She pulled a chipped mug from her school bag, one she'd snatched from the Great Hall and hadn't returned. She stared for a moment at the hemlock tea and remembered something she'd read in a book about the Muggle philosopher Socrates. He'd been forced to kill himself with hemlock tea. He'd probably had it coming, Bellatrix thought. Still, it was interesting to think how long this simple method of death had been employed by even the least magically-inclined.

She poured the steaming hemlock tea into the mug, dragging the pad of her thumb over its chipped edge. She thought about repairing the mug, but instead she pointed her wand at the kettle and Vanished it. She put her gloved hand around the handle of the hot mug and rose, clearing her throat and willing her heart to slow a bit. She was just down the corridor from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, in a spot free of portraits that might watch and report on what she was about to do. She had a three minute window of time, at maximum, to complete this act without being late to her own next lesson and still managing to catch Madrigal Bones on her own.

Bellatrix stepped out of the disused classroom, holding the mug of hemlock tea in her left hand and her wand in her right. She paced for a moment, feeling the winter wind blow in through the open cloisters, and then she saw Madrigal Bones come ambling merrily around the corner.

Bellatrix's bent wand raised steadily and pointed quite confidently at Madrigal, whose surprised eyes met Bellatrix's just as the Slytherin girl said confidently, "Confundo."

Madrigal shivered a bit where she stood and her eyes glassed over for a moment. Bellatrix smirked, knowing the difficult Confundus Charm had worked. She stalked over to Madrigal and said in a voice laced with artificial kindness,

"Hello, there, Madrigal. I have that tea you asked me to get for you." She held out the mug of hemlock tea to the Hufflepuff girl. Madrigal looked very confused for a moment, her eyes fluttering from the mug up to Bellatrix's face as she repeated quietly,

"The tea? But I don't recall -"

"This morning at breakfast. Remember?" Bellatrix said firmly, still trying to sound like she and Madrigal had been friends for years. Bellatrix laughed light-heartedly and said, "Because of the awful cold weather. Here you are. Just for you."

The Confundus Charm must have truly taken properly, for Bellatrix watched with immense satisfaction as Madrigal took the mug and smiled widely.

"Thank you, Bellatrix," she said, and Bellatrix's feigned smile faltered for a split second until she nearly barked,

"Drink the entire thing right now, won't you? You'll be so much warmer if you drink it all now, and then I can get rid of the mug for you so you're not late to Divination."

"Oh, yes. That makes sense," Madrigal nodded. She drank deeply from the mug of poison hemlock tea, her throat bobbing a few times as she gulped it down far more rapidly than one normally would do. Bellatrix watched, her fake smile morphing into a mirthful smirk. Once she'd drunk all of the tea, Madrigal handed the empty mug back to Bellatrix and smiled again.

"Thank you again so much," Madrigal said. "That was very kind of you."

"It was no problem at all," Bellatrix said sweetly. "Now, you'd best hurry to Divination so you're not tardy!"

Madrigal nodded and kept walking down the empty corridor. Bellatrix watched her for a few moments as she went, and then she pointed her wand at the mug and Vanished it. She raised her wand to Madrigal's back, and, just as the girl turned the corner, Bellatrix said, "Finite Incantatem."

Then she turned around and walked in the opposite direction. She had Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons of her own to attend.


"HOGWARTS STUDENT AND DAUGHTER OF AUROR DIES DURING DIVINATION LESSON! Impressive use of alliteration by the illustrious journalists of the Daily Prophet," Voldemort said, trying to contain his happiness at the headline. He was sitting at a long dining table in the Macnair household, where he'd called an early-morning meeting of a few select allies. Walden Macnair, Mullo Selwyn, Abraxas Malfoy, and Cygnus Black III sat in seats around the table, all of them watching with rapt attention as Lord Voldemort placed the copy of the Daily Propheton the table before him and read the article aloud.

"The Daily Prophet has received sad news from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A fifth-year student in Hufflepuff House, Madrigal Bones, perished halfway through her Divination lesson yesterday. Madrigal was the beloved daughter of esteemed Auror Sonata Bones.

Fabian Prewett, another student in the Divination lesson, said, 'Madrigal collapsed out of her chair and began having a fit… convulsions. Professor Droombeeld rushed over and began trying to help, and a few of the girls ran to alert the infirmary.'

His brother Gideon Prewett, also in the lesson at the time, added, 'Madrigal vomited all over the floor. She choked on the sick a bit, and then she went completely rigid. After that, she didn't move or breathe anymore. It was awful.'"

Voldemort paused and glanced around the table. The other wizards assembled did not seem fazed by the gory tale of Madrigal Bones' demise. Only Mullo Selwyn and Cygnus Black showed much expression, and they looked, if anything, rather pleased with the lurid details. Voldemort cleared his throat and continued,

"Madrigal's death was confirmed by Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who stated that preliminary tests indicated that the girl had been poisoned, likely by a substance containing hemlock. He asserted that the school would do all in its power and would work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to solve what he called 'the vicious and unprovoked murder of a kind-hearted young lady.'

Members of the Bones family declined to comment, but Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Laurence Mattle confirmed that Sonata Bones was on bereavement leave from her Auror position. He expressed his sympathies to the Bones family and confirmed he would be working with Headmaster Dumbledore to solve the murder of Madrigal Bones."

Voldemort set the newspaper down upon the table and folded his hands neatly upon the wood. He waited, seeing which of his assembled servants would speak first.

"My Lord, would it be presumptuous of me to think that you have quite a powerful servant at work within the confines of Hogwarts?" asked Mullo Selwyn, and Voldemort smiled maliciously.

"Not presumptuous at all, Selwyn." He turned his face to Cygnus Black and said in a smooth tone, "I am extraordinarily proud of your daughter Bellatrix just now."

Suddenly Cygnus' face twisted through a rapid series of emotion. Shock, pride, fear, alarm, then back to pride. He finally smiled nervously and asked in a shaking voice,

"My Bellatrix did… did that for you, My Lord?"

"She did," Voldemort nodded. "She has already proven herself to be a most capable soldier. You are to contact Dumbledore immediately and state that there has been a family emergency which requires that Bellatrix come home for a few days. Go to Hogsmeade and fetch her from there. Bring her to Malfoy Manor tomorrow evening. I mean to reward your daughter in person."

Cygnus' mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. He nodded quickly and rose from his chair as he said, "With your leave, My Lord, I shall send an owl at once to Hogwarts."

"Go." Voldemort nodded. Just as Cygnus was leaving the room, Voldemort called after him, "I shall not soon forget this noble act by a member of the House of Black."

He heard Cygnus muttering some awestruck thanks, and then Voldemort turned back to the other wizards at the table.

"I think it safe to say a strong message has been sent to the Aurors," Abraxas Malfoy said confidently, but Voldemort tipped his head and said,

"One daughter of one Auror is not enough. The mission to eliminate them all continues. Combine sporadic assassinations of family members with the elimination of the Aurors themselves. Our message will be strong and clear. The power of the Ministry belongs entirely to me now."

Macnair nodded and said softly, "My Lord, I have reliable information telling me that the Auror Nebulus MacLachlan will be in London's East End tomorrow, looking for Clarabella Rosier."

"And is Clarabella Rosier in London's East End?" Voldemort asked sharply. Macnair shook his head.

"No, My Lord. We have her hidden in Wales at the moment. I had thought to intercept Nebulus MacLachlan and kill him myself."

"Good. Do it. Leave his body where it lies, but take his wand," Voldemort ordered, and Macnair nodded.

"Malfoy," Voldemort said crisply, meeting Abraxas' eyes, "I shall require comfortable quarters in your Manor for several days, beginning tonight."

"The entirety of my home is is yours, My Lord, whenever you will it," Abraxas said in a submissive tone. "If it pleases you, I shall have the suite adjacent to your office made ready at once."

Voldemort nodded and rose from his chair. The others did the same out of respect. Voldemort stepped away from the chair, and, without another word to his followers, he spun hard to his right and Disapparated with a whip-like crack.


Bellatrix Black had never been so nervous in all her life as she was just now. She wasn't certain quite why. Surely the Dark Lord would be pleased with her, for she had carried out his orders with efficiency and precision. But as she stood outside his closed office door in Malfoy Manor, her breath was uneven and her heart raced. She raised a shaking fist to knock upon the office door, rapping three times. She quickly smoothed her school skirt and straightened her green tie; she'd come here straight from Hogsmeade with her father. She cleared her throat and twisted her fingers together. The heavy wooden door creaked open of its own accord, or perhaps the Dark Lord had opened it with magic.

"Come in here, Bella," she heard him say, his voice like honey in the air. Bellatrix gulped hard and stepped over the threshold into his office. She heard the enormous door shut behind her, and then there was a quiet click of a lock. An abrupt sense of trepidation took Bellatrix over, until she saw him step out of the shadowy corner with a very pleased expression on his face.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, lowering her head out of respect. She shut her eyes, overcome with happiness to be in his presence again. Then she felt his long fingers on her jaw, pulling her face up until her eyes met his. She genuinely could not breathe then. His dark eyes usually cut like glass, but just now they seemed almost warm. Perhaps it was the reflection of the firelight in them. Bellatrix's breathlessness was not helped when his fingers cupped her cheek, when he dragged his thumb beneath her eye, when he murmured,

"What a very good girl you are."

Bellatrix felt tears rise to her eyes then. She felt a complete fool, standing here before him crying, but she simply could not help herself. The Dark Lord's thumb brushed away the lone tear that leaked onto Bellatrix's cheek, and he said in a silky voice,

"I sent you the most vague instructions imaginable, didn't I?"

Bellatrix finally found enough air to say, "I knew what you needed of me, My Lord."

"And you did it." He nodded, his hand gliding down Bellatrix's neck. She shivered as his knuckles grazed along her collarbone through the material of her white school shirt. He sounded very proud then, his eyes still locked on Bellatrix's, as he said, "The Prophet said it was poison. Hemlock. But there were no witnesses. They can investigate all they like, but they won't find anything out, will they? Because you were so very careful, weren't you?"

"I did try to be careful, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded frantically. She opened her mouth to explain how she'd planned everything, but she was rendered completely silent when Lord Voldemort lowered his face and put his ears next to Bellatrix's ear. He smelled like cedarwood and myrrh, Bellatrix realised. His breath was warm and his whisper intoxicating as he told her again,

"My very good girl. Soon enough you'll have the Dark Mark upon you, and I look forward to that day. Such a good girl, Bella."

He pulled himself up again, and Bellatrix swayed so precipitously where she stood that she thought for certain she was about to faint. She distantly realised she'd not eaten at all since that morning, and that had only been a tiny bit of porridge. The hunger, combined with the feel and sound and aroma of him… it was all too much. She closed her eyes and fought to stay upright. Then suddenly his hands were on her, steadying her firmly. One of his hands held fast to her shoulder, and the other pressed against the small of her back. Bellatrix was suddenly hurtled back to that Christmas party, right here in Malfoy Manor, when they'd danced. His hand had been right there, right at the small of her back. Just like this.

"Come and sit down," the Dark Lord said in a calm tone, and Bellatrix felt drunk as she was guided toward the sturdy chairs before the fire. She let him ease her into one of the chairs, and she stared at the flames in the fireplace to try and steady herself. She began to feel to rights again after a moment. He was just… overwhelming. It was as simple as that. She blinked rapidly a few times and forced herself to look at him again. He was standing beside the fireplace, looking content and comfortable as he dragged his fingers through his smooth black hair.

"Take off your robe and your jumper, Bella," he said, as if he were asking her to fetch him a quill. Bellatrix's lips fell open with surprise, but she immediately obeyed him. She would never question a command of his. Not ever. She shimmied out of her black school robe, and her fingers trembled as she rushed to unbutton the dark grey cardigan of her uniform. She heard him add,

"The tie and the shirt, as well."

Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, suddenly realising that he meant to see her without her clothes. There was an instant rush of wet heat between her legs at that thought, at the thought of baring herself to him. But she was self-conscious, as well. What if he did not like her without clothes to cover her flaws? Still, she obeyed. She loosened her green Slytherin tie and put it on the chair beside her with the cardigan and robe. Her fingers quivered more ferociously than ever as she opened up her shirt. She peeled it off, her mind whirling with uncertainty and her body throbbing.

"You are aroused," Lord Voldemort stated matter-of-factly from where he stood. Bellatrix looked up at him, resisting the urge to cover herself back up out of embarrassment. He was right, of course. She was sopping between her thighs and her mind was imagining all sorts of things she was only meant to do with Rodolphus once they'd been married.

"I…" Bellatrix began, but she wasn't sure what to say. She froze, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair, as the Dark Lord approached her. He reached down and glided his fingertips over the lace trimming of her satin bra.

"Pink," he noted, staring at the rose coloured garment. His thin lips quirked up a bit, and a low chuckle came from his chest as he told her, "I would not have guessed that you of all girls would wear pink under any circumstances, Bella."

"If My Lord does not care for the colour, I needn't wear it," Bellatrix said, suddenly emboldened by how her body screamed for him. His eyebrow quirked up with surprise at her gall, and Bellatrix smirked a little as she reached behind her back. Her fingers found the clasp, and she asked in a coquettish voice, "Shall I remove it, as well, My Lord?"

He licked his lips for a moment, and it was then that Bellatrix noticed the subtle scarlet patches on his high cheekbones. He cleared his throat and looked uncertain for a half-second, and Bellatrix realised that he was aroused, as well.

"No," he said sharply, and Bellatrix was startled by the tone in his voice. "Leave it on."


She had very nearly made him lose control, the little vixen. She'd been properly servile and tame when she'd come into his office. She'd almost fainted when he'd whispered in her ear. She'd stripped her clothes without question, and she had practically buzzed with unconcealed desire.

But then she'd gotten bold. He'd started by taunting her about the pink material of her brassiere, and she'd suddenly found the bravado to tease him right back. Holding her fingers at the clasp of that damned pink bra, the last scrap of fabric hiding her small but perfectly round breasts. And she'd teased him. Him. Lord Voldemort was not one to be teased.

So he'd denied himself the view of her breasts and had ordered her to keep the garment on. Now she sat in the armchair in just her skirt, socks, shoes, and that damned pink brassiere. Voldemort's cock ached beneath his robes, hard as stone and demanding attention. He may be the most powerful Dark Wizard who had ever lived, but he was still a man.

She had teased him. She needed to be put back into her place.

Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Bellatrix looked frightened for a moment, but he tipped his head and said reassuringly,

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella. Quite the opposite. Summagaudens."

He angled her wand toward her with that last word, an incantation that brought on an instantaneous, overwhelming climax. Bellatrix's voice whimpered as she came unexpectedly. She cried out a few unintelligible, desperate syllables as the full force of the spell hit her. Her chin touched her chest for a moment as she gasped as though drowning. Then her head tipped back against the chair as she moaned and mewled, lost somewhere between pleading for more or mercy. Her fingers scratched and gripped at the arms of the chair as she tried to figure out what to do with her body. Her thighs pressed together and her legs twisted as she squirmed in the seat of her chair.

If Voldemort had meant to humiliate and punish Bellatrix with the spell… if he'd meant to put himself back into the position of dominance… he had failed miserably. It was too much, watching her react like this, knowing that she was clenching and throbbing down there, knowing that she was utterly overcome with pleasure that had come directly from him. His cock pushed so hard against the trousers beneath his robes that it almost hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to bend Bellatrix over the office desk and thrash into her from behind. She would like it, too. She would do this again, all on her own.

Finite Incantatem, Voldemort thought determinedly, and the magically-induced climax faded from Bellatrix's body. She shut her eyes, her rapid pulse visible on her neck as she trembled. Her breasts heaved as she finally found air. Her bare, flat stomach glistened a bit in the firelight. Her inky black curls were a mess around her face. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, spilling from her closed eyes, and for a moment Voldemort thought she would accuse him of assaulting her. Not that she would have any means of pursuing such a claim, but… still. She did not accuse Voldemort of anything, though. Instead she whispered in a dehydrated voice,

"Thank you. Thank you, My Lord."

If she did not leave now, he would not be able or willing to stop himself from truly claiming her body for his own. But Voldemort had plans for all that. Tonight was not the night she would feel him inside of her. So he said in the most bland voice he could manage,

"You have served me well, Bella. I am happy with how thoroughly and skillfully you obeyed my orders about Madrigal Bones. You will continue to serve me forever, won't you."

It wasn't a question. Bellatrix finally opened her eyes, swiping tears away as she nodded and whispered, "Of course I will, My Lord."

"Get yourself dressed and go home with your father. Return to Hogwarts tomorrow. If I have further need of your service before the end of term, you shall hear from me. Go."

He did not watch Bellatrix put herself to rights. Instead he sat the desk and opened the Daily Prophet, pretending to read a mundane article about upcoming eligibility changes for professional Quidditch players. He pretended not to see Bellatrix standing near the door, her school uniform back on but her face still flushed a dusky pink. The very same color as her…

No.

He ordered himself not to have such a ferocious carnal desire for the girl. Bellatrix paused with her hand on the door and said in a voice filled with awe and wonder,

"Goodnight, My Lord."

"Goodnight, Bella."

He should have used her full name, he thought angrily as she left. He should have called her 'Bellatrix,' or even 'Miss Black.' He should not have called her 'Bella." Not after toying with her body the way he'd done. It would only give her ideas.

Of course, nothing bad could come of her being infatuated with him. She had truly done an impressive job of killing Madrigal Bones without leaving a trace. Voldemort had tested Bellatrix. He had tested her loyalty and her skill, and she had more than proven herself on both fronts.

She had smelled like the darkest of roses. When he'd put his lips to her ear, he'd smelled her and felt the heat coming from her skin. She'd writhed around when he'd made her finish in the chair, when he'd taken her body by surprise with his spell. She'd squirmed and moaned, her fingers clenching and her milky skin…

No. No, no, no.

Voldemort whipped his right hand up and slashed his fingers downward roughly. On the wall, a painting of dahlias in a vase slashed apart as though an animal's claws had attacked its canvas. Voldemort stared at the ruined painting, remembering the way he'd broken the heirloom crystal vase in this office just a few days earlier. He couldn't go about destroying Malfoy Manor if he was to demand unfettered access to it. He raised his yew wand and muttered, "Reparo." The painting of the dahlias mended itself quickly, the slashes in the canvas knitting so that there was no evidence of any damage.

Voldemort slammed his wand down on his desk and closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. He was still hard; his body still wanted hers. He could use a charm easily enough to erase his arousal. Or, taking the opposite approach, he could unbutton his trousers and finish himself off right here with his hand, remembering the sight of Bellatrix in the chair.

He did neither of those things. Instead he opened his eyes, sighed deeply, and picked up the Daily Prophet again. He started at the beginning of the article he'd been pretending to read before. This time he forced his mind to pay attention to every word, trying to trick himself into caring about new height and age requirements for professional Quidditch players.


March at Hogwarts began with ongoing frigid, cruel winds that whipped about the castle. The place was still pulsing with confused grief over the death of Madrigal Bones. Bellatrix paid that 'tragic' issue no mind whatsoever; she was focusing entirely on successfully leaving the place. Besides, talk of Madrigal died down as it became clear that there would be no definitive answers in 'solving her murder.'

As the weeks marched ever onward, spring came over the place like a light, silky cloth. Wildflowers began to sprout in the glens. The dreary winter skies gave way to endless blue heavens. The grass around the castle looked greener by the day. By the time of the Hogsmeade visit on the fifteenth of March, the weather was sunny and outright pleasant.

Bellatrix made her way down the winding path toward the village on her own, not minding the way she could see Rodolphus chatting far ahead with his Quidditch friends. There were a few Slytherin girls with whom she might have chosen to spend the day, but Bellatrix very often preferred her solitude. Once she was on Hogsmeade's muddy high street, she ambled toward the Hog's Head and stepped inside.

It was dark and dusty as always, a murky place not often frequented by self-righteous Gryffindors or delicate Hufflepuffs. The population today was characteristically sparse. There was a pair of elderly witches at a far table, talking very quietly about something as they sipped at hot drinks and ate questionable-looking tarts. Behind the grubby bar, Aberforth Dumbledore, the brother of the Headmaster, was barely visible in the shadows. Bellatrix snatched a copy of the Daily Prophet from the pile near the door as she made her way to a high-backed booth. She slid into the seat and raised her eyebrows when she saw the headline on the front page of the newspaper.

DEATH OF ARTEMIS PRYCE MARKS FIFTH AUROR KILLED IN AS MANY WEEKS.

Bellatrix unfolded the Prophet and began scanning the lead article. Her heart thumped with nervous excitement as she read about how one Auror after another had been lost. They'd vanished, disappearing without a trace, only for their bodies to be discovered days later. One had been found slashed to bits in a dockyard in Liverpool. This one, Artemis Pryce, had apparently failed to show up for work at the Ministry three days in a row, prompting a concerned colleague to visit her home. They'd found her sitting up in her kitchen chair, rigid in death. It was all very horrifying, according to the Daily Prophet. It was all indicative of a terrible, wicked force overtaking the entire wizarding world. Bellatrix could feel the fear radiating from the pages, from the words themselves, and she could not help but smirk a bit.

But then her little smile turned into a deep scowl, for a man she did not recognise slid into the seat opposite her and calmly folded his hands upon the table. Bellatrix folded the Daily Prophet and set it aside, cocking up an eyebrow and tipping her head as she asked sharply,

"What do you want?"

The man smiled crookedly at her, his eyes glistening with amusement. There was something familiar there, in his gaze. In fact, the whole of him seemed as though perhaps he was someone Bellatrix had met many years earlier. She was about to ask if she knew the man. Then he whispered a single word, and it all made sense. "Bella."

Her mouth fell open. He'd Transfigured his features. His face was longer, thinner, with less definition in his cheekbones. His hair was a lighter brown, with a coarse wave to it. He had scruff on his jaw and chin. His nose was wider and a bit more hooked. But his eyes… they were exactly the same. Deep, dark, and pressing. Bellatrix gulped hard, knowing she'd be a fool to call him My Lord in a public place. So she lowered her face and spoke at the wooden table.

"Do you require something of me?"

Voldemort chuckled then, his laugh low and sensual. "Always such a good girl," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her heart flutter. Then she was jolted to reality again when the sound of a throat clearing roughly came from her left. Aberforth Dumbledore was around eighty years of age, but he was still an energetic man. He had pale, shining eyes like his brother, and now they looked back and forth between Bellatrix and the disguised Lord Voldemort.

"Miss Black," Aberforth acknowledged crisply. He turned to Voldemort and raised his eyes with expectation.

"My distant cousin," Bellatrix said simply, lying with confidence. "Visiting from abroad."

Aberforth Dumbledore had seen more of his fair share of questionable customers in the Hog's Head over the years, and he knew better than to ask questions. So he just turned his eyes back to Bellatrix, who said in a tone born of privilege,

"A firewhisky for me. Blishen's. And a mince pie." She turned to Voldemort, her mind confused by the subtle but real changes in his appearance, and she watched as he held up two fingers silently to Aberforth Dumbledore. The barkeep nodded and shuffled off, making his way back behind the bar.

Voldemort's fingers moved through the air in a tiny but deliberate gesture, and then suddenly it was as if there was an invisible wall around their booth. The ambient noise of the old witches talking, of Aberforth moving around behind the bar, fell silent. There was a little vibration, and Bellatrix suspected that anything they said here would now go unheard. Still, she whispered very quietly as she asked the Dark Lord,

"How may I serve you, My Lord?"

He picked up the Daily Prophet, and his lips curled up as he read the headline. He set it back down carefully and noted, "For these past few months, our cause has been quite successful. I wish to take a brief respite from my long hours of work and celebrate the progress we are making."

Bellatrix nodded, but she was confused. She glanced over to the bar, where Aberforth Dumbledore was pouring firewhisky into tumblers. She murmured furtively to Voldemort,

"Forgive me, My Lord, but… you mean to celebrate by Transfiguring your appearance and drinking firewhisky and eating mince pies?"

He laughed then, an actual little laugh, and his dark eyes sharpened. He shook his head, crackling with internal energy as he told her, "There will be no firewhisky, nor any mince pies. Come."

Without another word, he rose from the table and looked straight at Aberforth Dumbledore. Bellatrix watched in awe as his pale yew wand, which she didn't know he'd been holding, pointed surreptitiously toward the bar. She just barely heard Voldemort whisper, "Confundo."

There were a few seconds of silence as Aberforth shuddered where he stood. Voldemort kept staring at the barkeep, probably willing the man to forget that Bellatrix had ever stepped foot into the Hog's Head. The old witches at their table were still chatting, completely unaware of what was happening. Voldemort strode confidently toward the door, and Bellatrix scrambled the follow him.

Out in the street, she had to practically trot to keep up with him as he made his way to Grey's Inn, the sole option for real lodging for visitors to Hogsmeade. His confidence did not falter as he sauntered past the check-in desk, where a middle-aged wizard nodded respectfully. So he'd made plans in advance, Bellatrix realised. Whomever was managing Grey's Inn was a subordinate of Voldemort's and knew that this disguised man was the Dark Lord.

He walked wordlessly up the narrow, winding stairs, passing two full storeys before entering the tiny corridor that had one dark door on each side. Bellatrix was breathless from hurrying up the stairs after him, and her heart did not slow one bit as she watched Voldemort pull a heavy key from the inside of his robes. He merely waved the iron key toward the door on the left, and the lock clicked open. Voldemort pushed the door open and stepped inside, and Bellatrix followed.

She shut the door behind her nervously, wondering what exactly he meant to do with her here, in a room at Grey's Inn. She turned round to face him, feeling at once terrified and thrilled when she saw that he'd quickly removed all his facial Transfigurations. It was just him again. Just her Dark Lord, magnificent with his cold, handsome features. Bellatrix remembered the way he'd forced her to finish on that chair in Malfoy Manor, the way she'd wanted nothing more than for him to claim her fully. She felt a rush of heat between her legs as she studied the room in which they stood.

The ceiling was low and angled toward the little window that needed washing. There was a bed, wide and clean-looking, a sturdy dark wardrobe, a small desk and chair, and a few glass lanterns upon the pale green walls. That was all. It was a simple room. Bellatrix's examination of her surroundings was broken when she heard Voldemort's voice say in a silky tone,

"Five Aurors killed in five weeks. And the daughter of an Auror, thanks to you, Bella."

She smiled at him, unable to keep her eyes from welling with pride and gratitude. He closed the distance between them and put both his hands on her cheeks, his skin heavenly against hers. She started to close her eyes, overcome with bliss, but he said rather sharply,

"Look at me."

She did, and his gaze flashed. He stroked under her eyes with the pads of his thumbs and tipped his head, asking, "Do you want to make me happy, Bella?"

She nodded vigorously, feeling his fingers tighten on her face as she whispered, "Yes, My Lord. I want nothing else in all the world than to -"

She couldn't finish her sentence, for he'd lowered his face and crushed his mouth against hers. Bellatrix had never been kissed before, but she was quite certain that ordinary kisses were nothing like this. He shoved his tongue hard against her lips. Bellatrix opened her mouth at once, granting him entry but unsure of what to do next. He stroked his tongue along the top of her mouth and she moaned like a whore, her knees buckling a little. He bit her bottom lip so hard it hurt, but it also felt perfect. He pulled his mouth away and his hands flew from Bellatrix's cheeks to her waist. He shoved her roughly against the wall, and Bella whimpered at how hard her body slammed onto the green wallpaper.

"Clothes off. All of them. Right now," Voldemort ordered sharply, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go round with surprise and thrill blended together. She began to strip off her Hogwarts uniform as quickly as she could, tossing the pieces with shaking fingers onto the nearby bed.


She was very pretty naked.

Her breasts were small, but round and proportionate to her petite frame. Her flat stomach curved into hips that just hinted at womanhood. Voldemort felt himself growing harder by the moment as she took off her robe, then her cardigan and shirt and tie, her plain white bra, then her skirt and her knickers, her socks and shoes. She stood against the wall again, naked and beautiful, her wide eyes searching Voldemort's for instruction.

He'd never felt anything quite like this. He'd taken women before, but those encounters had always been for the simple goal of achieving sexual release. He'd tortured witches and wizards. He'd killed. He'd ordered people about and had them bow and back away fearfully as they obeyed what he said. Voldemort had many experiences with feeling with feeling dominant. But this was different, somehow.

It was, if anything, an almost alarmingly powerful aphrodisiac. Kissing her aggressively had felt like being high on a potent drug. It had been intoxicating to taste the sweet and salt on her lips. It was like being drunk in the best way, barking an order at her to strip and watching as her body was revealed to him.

He took her wrists in his hands, gripping them so hard he knew there would be bruises. He slammed them against the wall, above Bellatrix's head, and he could feel the way she was trying not to vocalize her pain. Voldemort hissed into her ear,

"Your wedding night with Rodolphus Lestrange will pale in comparison to what I am about to do to you. Do you understand, Bella? You are mine, no matter who shares your marriage bed. Mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She was helpless now, so aroused that she squirmed and her eyes went glassy. She managed to nod, and she whispered. "Yes. I understand, My Lord. Do with me what pleases you. I want… I need… to please you."

He kissed the spot just beneath her ear with a gentle press of his lips, making her shiver, and he whispered once more, "My good girl. Such a good girl."

Then he yanked her right wrist from the wall and shoved her hand against the front of his trousers. He struggled more than he'd anticipated having to do to stay quiet himself when her fingers drifted over the hard bulge of his erection.

"Do you feel how hard you've made me, Bella?" he demanded, and she nodded once, her hand stilling when he released her other wrist and began to paw at her left breast. For a moment, he was gentle, soothing her pillowy skin with his knuckles and enjoy the feel of it. She gasped a little and tipped her head against the wall, but then he pinched her perky little nipple so hard that she yelped in pain.

Voldemort could not hold back any longer. This was all too much for both of them. No more pretending that he didn't want her. He was strong and powerful, but today his lust was the most powerful thing of all. In a voice that was far too shaky for his liking, he said to Bellatrix,

"Get on the bed. Lie on your stomach. Now."

She scrambled to obey him, and whilst she did, he made quick work of his own clothes. He unhooked his black traveling cloak and tossed it over the chair at the desk. He unhooked and peeled away his black tunic, and he did away with his trousers and undergarments. Bellatrix did not watch him from where she lay on the bed, probably because he'd not given her permission to do so. She really was his best lieutenant, Voldemort thought distantly. Soon enough, he was as naked as she was. He was toned and lean, not that he would ever allow another to make him feel ashamed of his own body. He climbed onto the bed like a predator stalking its prey, and he put a knee on either side of Bellatrix's thighs.

His cock stood straight out from his body, aching and throbbing, but he ignored in in favour of Bellatrix's nude form. He dragged his fingernails down her back, straddling the line between being teasing and being outright rough. She moaned softly against the pillow, and he saw her fingers grasp anxiously at the bedsheets. That only made him harder.

"Tell me, Bella," Voldemort said quietly as his hands massaged and explored her shapely backside, "Tell me what you'll do for me."

"Anything, My Lord!" she exclaimed, turning her face enough to meet his eyes. There was desperation there, in her wide dark gaze, as she repeated, "Anything. Anything you ask of me, until the day I die. I am yours."

He spanked her backside, just firmly enough to make her eyelids flutter with bliss, and he hissed at her,

"Say it again."

"I am yours, My Lord," she whispered, sounding as though she could hardly breathe. Voldemort slid backward a few inches and roughly shoved her thighs apart. He dragged his fingertips up the smooth insides of Bellatrix's thighs, and he whispered so quietly he could hardly hear himself,

"Say it again, Bella."

"I'm yours." She was crying now. He could tell, even though her voice was muffled by the pillow. Unsure of whether she was crying because of fear or something else, Voldemort thought, Legilimens, and he pushed into her mind. She let him straight in, and he could feel and see the way she so desperately wanted him. Needed him.

Loved him.

That was a surprise, to see and hear and feel the way she'd spent weeks thinking of him during lessons, at night alone in her bed, and when she'd pretended to care about Rodolphus Lestrange's performance during a Quidditch match.

Bellatrix adored Lord Voldemort with all of her being. She wanted to make him happy, to help him be successful however she possibly could. She worshiped him in her mind, in the very depths of her soul. All her outward reverence was real and valid. Voldemort could see and feel that now for himself.

His cock twitched as he processed all that. He pulled himself from her head and pulled the pads of his fingers over her entrance, which was sodden, throbbing, and swollen. Her body was so aroused that a light pink flush was visible on her arms and neck. At the instant his fingers touched her, Bellatrix's hands tightened on the sheets and she squealed into the pillow. Voldemort smirked, very much enjoying the way he was driving her to madness with the lightest touch.

He continued to stroke her for a few moments, watching the way her back heaved with quick, shallow breaths as he did. Then, without warning, he pushed two fingers into her. He hesitated for a brief moment when he felt the wall of resisting tissue, the proof of her virginity. Bellatrix yelped and squirmed, and he knew he'd really hurt her then.

Ordinarily, causing people physical pain was one of the more enjoyable experiences in Lord Voldemort's life. Just now, though, with his fingers pressing against Bellatrix's barrier, he felt an odd and unfamiliar twinge in his abdomen.

"You have never been taken before," he noted matter-of-factly, swearing at himself in his head for the way his voice trembled with arousal. Bellatrix looked over her shoulder at him and bravely rotated her hips backward a little against his fingers. There was a slight ripping, a tangible tearing as she broke herself against him. That probably hurt considerably, Voldemort thought, but Bella's eyes were confident as she said in a courageous little whisper,

"There could be no greater honour for me, My Lord, if it were you to make a woman of me."

That was too much. How did she always know just exactly how to push him too far? Voldemort growled, wrenching his fingers from her and seeing the little bit of blood on them. That made him so aroused he could hardly think straight, but he managed to grip his cock in his hand and guide it toward Bellatrix's entrance. He met her eyes as she looked back at him, and he tried his damnedest to keep his face hard and emotionless as he informed her,

"This will hurt."

Then he shoved himself forward, thrusting his entire length into her in one mighty push. Her fists pounded the sheets a few times as she moaned loudly into the pillow. Voldemort grasped her hips as tightly as he could, hoping that tomorrow she'd see bruises there in the shape of his fingertips. He thrashed against Bellatrix, making no effort to stifle his satisfied grunts and wordless groans.

This felt better than any sexual encounter he'd ever had. She was tight and warm and wet around him. She wanted him. No. She needed him. Her body was screaming desperately for more. She was trembling beneath his rough grip, and her voice keened endlessly, muffled by the pillow. Then he felt her clenching around him, felt her walls gripping him in rhythmic embraces as she came. She liked this, too. She liked the way he was conquering her, the way he was claiming her.

"Tell me you're mine," he snarled, pushing into her as her climax subsided and pausing the movements of her hips. Her voice was frantic as she turned her face from the pillow just enough to rasp,

"I'm yours. I… My Lord, I belong to you. I am yours."

"Mine," he repeated, bucking his hips forward and jerking her hips backward a few times until she cried out in agony. He yanked himself from her, muttering a wandless contraceptive spell just in case, and he clutched his cock in his hand. It was slick as he glided his hand over it. Slick from her, from the pearlescent, unpracticed part of her he'd just vanquished.

"Bella..." he heard himself murmur, wishing very much that he hadn't said her nickname just then, and certainly not in the almost pleading tone he'd inadvertently used.

She panted where she lay, her womanhood still fully visible to Voldemort. After a few more pumps of his hand, it was all over for him. He watched with fascination as his seed shot onto her smooth backside. He spilled himself all over her in obscene little puddles and streams, white and creamy, the very essence of him splattering her pretty skin.

"Ungh… My Lord… My… My Lord," she was moaning, burying her face into the pillow again as her fingernails dug into her own curls. Voldemort stared for a long moment at the mess he'd put on her, and he considered what he'd just done.

By most social convention, this deed, this act of deflowering her, belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange. But he was Lord Voldemort. He could take whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted. But he hadn't stolen anything from Bellatrix. Not really. She'd found great pleasure in him ravishing her. She had pleaded with him to take her virginity away.

She worshipped him. And she was his. Voldemort was willing and able to say that about a great many things… that they were his, that they belonged to him by right or by force. Bellatrix was his because in her mind, he was stainless. He was her hero, her god, her master. And she adored him.

Well, good, Voldemort thought. He snatched for his wand and cleaned up the mess of his seed from Bellatrix's backside. Let her enjoy the way I shove her against the wall, the way I order her about when she's naked, the way I order her to kill for me. Let her enjoy it all.

She stayed silent on the bed, seemingly in euphoric shock, as Voldemort quickly dressed himself again. He eyed her naked body again, his gaze lingering on her still-hard nipples and the slight curve of her narrow waist into her hips. He cleared his throat roughly and dragged his fingers through his hair to neaten it. He began to Transfigure his features again, one at a time, carefully recreating the alias he'd made for himself for his visit to Hogsmeade.

"Get dressed, Bella, and go back to Hogwarts. I'm sure you'll want to be revising for your NEWTs, hmm? I will call on you again when you are needed."

Bellatrix sat up on the edge of the bed and nodded, her cheeks still mottled pink. "Yes. Of course, My Lord. Th-thank you." She began pulling on her Slytherin uniform again, one piece at a time.

Voldemort sniffed lightly. He thought for a half second about kissing her forehead or giving her some other physical signal of farewell, but he thought the better of it. She needed to know that today was simply about him finding release, simply about him claiming her virginity whilst putting bruises on her hips. That was all today had been, and Bellatrix needed to understand that.

So instead Voldemort put one hand on the doorknob and said in a very casual tone, "You did well today, Bella. You pleased me. Just like you did before. Just like I know you always will… won't you?"

Without giving her a chance to answer, Voldemort quickly opened the inn room door and walked out into the dark corridor, shutting the door behind him and hurrying down the steps.