June, 1969

Lord Voldemort needed money.

Still known to most of the wizarding world as Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was known by his preferred moniker by all those who mattered - all those within his inner circle. The problem was that that inner circle wasn't large enough yet. Voldemort had his old school friends as Death Eaters, but he had no real backing from the Pureblood establishment-at-large. He had no massive donations with which to pay off Ministry officials, to buy new followers, to purchase votes in the Wizengamot. He needed money.

He'd tried the Selwyns. He'd tried the Lestranges. Combined, their donations had been piddling, and they'd claimed they couldn't do more. He couldn't ask the Malfoys; they were already being beyond generous by donating use of Malfoy Manor as headquarters for the movement and as a residence for Lord Voldemort. The Crabbe and Goyle families were prestigious but poor. The Averys were largely unsympathetic except for a few members still waiting on inheritances.

Lord Voldemort needed money.

He had one Death Eater from the House of Black - Cygnus Black III. The wizard had been an old school 'friend' - lackey - of Tom Riddle and now lived a life a luxury, practically reveling in his family's wealth. As a Death Eater, he was less than useless, and more than once Voldemort had considered some way of expelling him from the organisation. But he thought it was unwise to kick anyone out once they had knowledge of the inside, so he kept Cygnus on. Once there were battles, Cygnus would probably get himself killed, anyway.

Today, Lord Voldemort was at Cygnus Black's front door in London, knocking on the shiny red door of the beautiful white Georgian townhouse where Cygnus lived. He was here for money.

The red door squeaked open, and on the other side of it was a wheezing little House-Elf in a raggedy, patchwork sort of dress thing. Voldemort turned his nose up at the Elf and said firmly,

"I'm here to see your master."

"Yes, sir." The morose little House-Elf stepped aside so Voldemort could enter, and then she shut the door behind him and walked slowly away, off into a side corridor. A few moments later, Cygnus Black III, plump and round-faced and jovial, came striding out in bespoke, expensive blue robes.

"Sir!" He said happily, bowing his head. "What brings you to the Black home today?"

"May we speak privately, Cygnus?" asked Voldemort, and Cygnus suddenly looked a little worried. He beckoned for Voldemort to follow him into his office, and the two of them walked down the corridor and through a few doorways until they reached an elegant, mahogany-paneled room. Cygnus sat at his desk and gestured for Voldemort to sit, and suddenly Voldemort felt profoundly out of control in a way he didn't care for at all. He gulped and knitted his hands in his lap, then gathered himself and said plainly,

"I need money."

Cygnus' face read surprise then. His brows went up and his lips fell apart, and he nodded.

"Money," he said. "You mean that the movement needs money."

"I mean that the movement needs money," affirmed Voldemort. He folded his hands on the desk and said, "I need twenty thousand Galleons, Cygnus. Can you do it?"

Cygnus looked shocked. "Twenty thousand… Sir, that is… that is an enormous sum."

"I know. And I am asking it of you, my loyal Death Eater," said Voldemort. Cygnus sat back in his chair and seemed to be considering the request for a very long moment. He shut his eyes, gulped, and said,

"I may be able to… with a condition, sir."

"A condition." Voldemort sneered the word, feeling irritated but knowing he wasn't exactly in a position to be snapping about bargains. He sighed and asked, "What condition?"

"My daughter. My eldest daughter, Bellatrix. She longs to serve you. She is seventeen now, almost eighteen. She wants to become a Death Eater, too," said Cygnus Black, and he continued, "She is enamoured with you. Entranced by you. I ask that, in return for this donation, you give her attention."

"Attention?" Voldemort choked out the word. "I am not some sort of… of whore, Cygnus, to be -"

"Forgive me, Sir; that is not what I meant," said Cygnus quickly. He shook his head. "I meant to say, perhaps you might dine with her in Malfoy Manor and have a nice discussion. Perhaps you might have tea with her. That sort of attention."

"I do not have time to have tea with teenagers," hissed Voldemort, and Cygnus Black just stared right at him and shrugged.

"I understand, Sir. I do."

And that's why I won't give you twenty thousand Galleons, went unspoken. Voldemort gulped. Dinner and tea. He could manage that, surely. He blinked a few times and asked,

"She's home from school?"

"Just come home on the Hogwarts Express yesterday," confirmed Cygnus. "She could meet you for dinner at Malfoy Manor tomorrow, Sir. Shall we say… seven o'clock?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes a little and finally nodded. "Yes. Fine. And in exchange I get twenty thousand Galleons for the movement?"

"Twenty-five," smiled Cygnus, and Voldemort felt his heart thump a little.

"Seven o'clock tomorrow, then."

Bellatrix landed by Apparition in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, very glad she hadn't Splinched. She stared down at herself and made sure she was all straightened. She'd been careful not to dress up too much, but she still wanted to look nice. She'd worn a knee length black silk dress, belted with a thick beaded black belt, its sleeves long and draped. She wore knee-high flat boots, and she'd pulled half of her curly hair back. She strolled as confidently as she could up to Malfoy Manor and climbed the steps at the front, raising her hand to the enormous brass knocker. She knocked four times, and the door magically swung open with a slow creak.

Bellatrix stepped inside, and instantly was greeted by an enthusiastic, energetic House-Elf.

"Miss Bellatrix Black, I presume? Dobby is most pleased to welcome you to Malfoy Manor, Miss. Please, if you will follow Dobby up to the dining room, Miss Black. Yes, yes, just this way."

Bellatrix smiled a little as she walked up the main flight of stairs in the foyer and then down a wide corridor lined with dark wallpaper and many family portraits. To the left was a dining room into which Bellatrix was led, but it was empty. The table was set for two. Bellatrix felt so nervous coming here, knowing that her father had arranged all of this, but honestly she couldn't care. This was like meeting her favourite celebrity, and she was going to soak up every blessed minute of it. She sat at one of the places at the table that had been set, and Dobby said,

"He will be in shortly, Miss."

"Thank you, erm… Dobby." Bellatrix watched the House-Elf go, and then she studied the dining room around her. It was dark green and dark brown, all very heavy, but it was elegant and beautiful, too. Bellatrix quite liked it.

Suddenly the door to the dining room opened, and she flew to her feet. In walked the figure she'd been wanting to meet in person for years - Lord Voldemort. He wore black waffle weave woolen robes and had slightly greying but thick dark hair, his eyes black as coal. He shut the door and stepped inside, and he said gently,

"Sit. Please."

Bellatrix sat. She smiled a little at him, and as he sat opposite her and put his napkin on his lap, she said hesitantly,

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"I agreed because your father made a very large donation. So it was no trouble, really," he smirked. Bellatrix laughed nervously and scratched at her head. The first course of food appeared on their plates - seared scallops, and Bellatrix gasped.

"I adore scallops."

"Do you?" He seemed almost surprised. "They're my favourite seafood."

"Mine, as well." Bellatrix grinned at him and picked up her fork. "Mum despises them, so I so very rarely get to eat them. Thank you for having them, My Lord."

He froze. Bellatrix kept eating, but he asked her gravely,

"What did you just call me?"

Bellatrix realised that perhaps she had made a mistake. She set her fork down and admitted,

"When I think of you, in my mind, erm… that sounds odd. I just… to me, you are My Lord. It seems the most respectful -"

"It is." He sighed and finished his scallops, and when the second course of steak with haricots verts appeared, he cut into his meat and said, "Your father says you want to be a Death Eater. Why?"

"I know there will be battles," said Bellatrix, cutting into her own steak and taking a bite. She chewed it and swallowed it and then drank some of the red wine that had filled itself. She told him, "I want to fight for you. I want… I want to be a soldier for you."

"Oh, you do, do you?" He seemed almost amused by that, but Bellatrix tipped her head up and demanded,

'With all due respect, My Lord, what exactly qualifies my father to be a Death Eater more than me?"

He smiled down at his steak and shook his head. "Precisely nothing."

"I would give you everything," she whispered, and he looked almost like he'd shivered. His face went serious, and he nodded.

"How do you care for the steak?" he asked, and Bellatrix cleared her throat.

"It's good," she lied, for it was a bit underdone for her taste. Voldemort smirked at aimed his wand at her steak. It cooked up a bit, and she flashed her eyes up to him. She stared for a moment, in awe of him, and she whispered,

"Thank you. Sir. My Lord."

"It's nothing. You know, I find I do not mind this dinner so much, after all," he said.

They had lemon cake for dessert, and at the end of the evening, Voldemort walked over to Bellatrix's chair and used his wand to pull it out for her. The two of them walked together down the corridor toward the foyer of Malfoy Manor, and Voldemort stared down at her all the while. She wondered what he was thinking, until he asked,

"Have you got… Are you… What is your situation?"

"My situation, sir?" Bellatrix was confused. Voldemort sniffed and said tightly,

"Boyfriend, arranged marriage, things like that. Situation."

"Ah. I, erm… I haven't got a situation, sir," Bellatrix said. She flashed him a little smile, and he just nodded. He asked her, as they walked down the foyer steps,

"What's your favourite school subject?"

It felt like their dinner conversation wasn't ending. Bellatrix grinned and told him,

"I like Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"That wasn't the answer I was expecting," he teased, and she shrugged.

"Know thy enemy and all that, eh?"

"Ah." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. He cleared his throat a little and bowed his head, and he told her, "Well, I agreed to dinner and tea. So, perhaps tea. Tomorrow. Four o'clock. Don't be late; I'm a busy man."

"I won't be late, My Lord," said Bellatrix, feeling like she'd come alive all of a sudden. She studied his handsome face, and she wanted nothing more than for him to put his lips to her forehead to say goodnight. But he just nodded and turned to walk away, leaving her alone in the foyer, swooning like an idiot.

Author's Note: I'm going back to my roots with this story. For those who say it feels too familiar, I'm just going to go ahead and say, "Don't like it, don't read it." I have fun writing this type of story, so there. Haha.

Raise your hand if you don't think they'll stop at dinner and tea? Everyone's hands up? Good. Okay. Let us proceed.