She dressed like a whore.
She was going to the Malfoy family Christmas party, and her father had told her that he would be there. Him. Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort.
Everyone only whispered that last bit. Everyone said it like it was a dirty secret, like it was some sort of nasty word one wasn't meant to say in polite company. But she wasn't polite company; she was Bellatrix Black. She'd seen him before at events, at gatherings, and she'd thought him so handsome that she could hardly stand it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that seemed sculpted by an artist who desperately needed a shag.
More than that, she was enamoured by his politics, by the way he would move smoothly through a room and talk to people of so much higher birth than him like it was nothing. He obviously thought highly of himself, as so many wizards did, but it was like he'd intrinsically earned the respect. He was different, Bellatrix could tell. She wanted him to notice her.
He'd never noticed her before. She'd tried. She was only seventeen, and so she knew that perhaps her age was working against her in getting his attentions. But at a party at Malfoy Manor over the summertime, Lord Voldemort had hardly even glanced at her. He'd just nodded and said, How do you do, Miss Black to her, just the same way he'd done to Andromeda and Narcissa. Bellatrix wanted him to think she was different, to think she was special.
So she dressed like a whore.
She wore a strapless gown that clung to her like water. The magical sequined black fabric moved on her like liquid, shaping her small breasts and plunging almost to her stomach between them. It was floor length and swirled around her when she walked. She wore black satin gloves above her elbows and a diamond cuff. She wore her curls down and loose, shined up with Sleekeazy's. She painted her lips red and her eyes black. She stared at her reflection, and then her sisters came walking into her room.
"Oh, Bella. Mum's not going to let you wear that," said poor little Narcissa, who was thirteen and hadn't even gained her curves yet. She wore a fluffy white and red dress, quite festive, with her blonde hair pulled into a bun atop her head.
"You look like you're going to break into ballet at the party," Bellatrix teased her, but Andromeda, who was fifteen and of sounder mind, stood in her jade green A-line gown and said,
"Bellatrix, you look like a whore."
"That's sort of what I was going for," Bellatrix mumbled.
"What? Why?" Andromeda demanded, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes.
"You wouldn't understand. Let's go."
The girls were right. Bellatrix got quite a fight from her mother, and even more of a fight from her father. But she reminded them that she was seventeen, that she was of age, and that she could just Apparate to the party herself if she wanted. Either she went in the scandalous black gown, she said, or she didn't go to the party at all and they'd have to explain why she wasn't there. Her parents actually seemed to debate that option for a while before finally deciding to take Bellatrix to the party looking like a harlot.
It didn't work.
For the first hour of the party, anyway, it didn't work. He was there, circulating around, talking to people, and he didn't pay Bellatrix any attention at all. After awhile, she started to feel rather silly standing around at the party with her breasts hanging out, her waist and chest and shoulders so revealed, and she gulped as she approached the drinks table.
"Hullo, Bellatrix," said a voice, and she turned round to see four young wizards approaching her. She nodded in greeting. Nero Selwyn, Maximus Malfoy, Prentice Crabbe, and Rodolphus Lestrange were all Slytherin boys in her year. She held up a hand in greeting and said, rather embarrassed,
"Hi, boys."
"Some party, isn't it?" asked Selwyn, staring straight at Bellatrix's chest. She curled inward a little, and she muttered,
"The band's really quite good."
"Food's good, too," said Prentice Crabbe, his cheeks full of tarts. Bellatrix actually laughed a little at that, and then Rodolphus Lestrange looked at the others, seemed to gather a little courage, and asked,
"Bellatrix, can I get you anything to drink?"
"Oh." He was flirting. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. She looked at the drinks table; it was right beside her. She could get her own drink, but it was kind of him to ask. She flicked her lips up and gestured to the table. "Erm… I'd like a rum punch, please."
"Rum punch. Straight away." Rodolphus came up to the table and plucked a little glass from the tablecloth, ladling punch from the bowl into the glass. He handed it to Bellatrix, who nodded her thanks and sipped. Rodolphus got himself some punch and swigged it, and Selwyn still stared Bellatrix up and down. He was making her uncomfortable, so Bellatrix asked,
"Nero, has it been too cold for flying over the holidays?"
"Never too cold for flying," Selwyn said. He and Malfoy were on the Slytherin Quidditch squad. Bellatrix nodded and shifted on her feet.
"We'll beat Gryffindor this year, I'm sure."
"Bellatrix, would you like to dance with me?" blurted Rodolphus Lestrange, and Bellatrix's eyebrows flew up. She set down her drink, feeling like she couldn't say no, and she shrugged.
"Sure. All right." She waved goodbye to the other boys, who all looked profoundly jealous with Lestrange for summoning the courage to ask before they could. Bellatrix walked with Rodolphus out toward the dance floor, and she noticed that he had a happy little smile on his face.
"Ah! Miss Black. There you are."
She whirled. It was him. His voice.
"Sir."
She curtsied a little to him, though hardly anyone showed Tom Riddle real respect at Pureblood events. Lord Voldemort, as she knew him in her mind, walked up holding a flute of Champagne, and smiled first to Bellatrix and then to Rodolphus.
"Was I interrupting something?" he asked, but before Rodolphus could answer, Bellatrix insisted,
"No, sir. Of course not."
Voldemort smirked. Suddenly Bellatrix realised he knew he had been interrupting something, and he'd done it anyway. He leaned forward a little, toward Rodolphus, and he informed the boy,
"Do you know, Lestrange, I am a Legilimens. That young witch over there? Clarabelle Rosier? She has been waiting all night for you to ask her to dance."
"Really?" Rodolphus turned and looked at Bellatrix's pretty cousin Clarabelle, who was sixteen and tall and slim. Bellatrix nodded and insisted,
"Oh, Clary's so sweet. Go ask her, Dolph."
Rodolphus gave a little wave and then hurried off. Once he was gone, Voldemort tipped his head and sipped his Champagne, and he murmured,
"You're welcome."
"Thank you," Bellatrix grinned. She folded her hands before her, and she asked, "Why did you rescue me from dancing with Rodolphus Lestrange, if I may ask?"
"Because he's a terrible dancer. Steps on feet," Voldemort said. His eyes flicked from Bellatrix's eyes to her heeled shoes and back to her eyes. He sighed a little and licked his lip. "He can't keep a beat."
"I suppose you have perfect rhythm and would never step on feet," Bellatrix teased, feeling her heart race a little. Voldemort dragged his finger over the rim of his Champagne flute and then set it on the tray of the passing House-Elf. He held out his hand and offered,
"Why don't you find out for yourself, Miss Black?"
She thought she'd faint then. She thought she'd just collapse right there in the ballroom, oozing into a puddle of black ink on the floor. She put her fingers on his palm and walked slowly with him toward the dance floor, and when they reached it, he placed one hand in the middle of her back and held her hand. He was so tall, she thought, staring up into his dark eyes. His face was scarred in places, and he had a few wrinkles and grey hairs. But he was so, so handsome. He made her stomach twist. He made her heart accelerate.
They began to move to the slow but festive waltz, and Bellatrix said quietly,
"You're right, sir. You are a fine dancer."
"I heard you got into quite a bit of trouble at school before the holidays," Voldemort said by way of reply. "I heard you deliberately set the potions classroom on fire so it would have to be evacuated and you'd get out of lessons. Then you got caught and will have to serve detentions in January."
"Who told you all of that?" Bellatrix asked with a playful smirk, and Voldemort threw up one brow.
"Your father did. He's going to be working with me, doing financials. He was complaining about you, says you're always making trouble. I don't mind troublemakers, you understand. I prefer ones that don't get caught."
"Well, that's the rub, isn't it?" Bellatrix shrugged, and Voldemort leaned down toward her a little and whispered,
"I've done all sorts of things, Bellatrix, and I only got caught for a very few. I could teach you to be careful. And in exchange… you set fires for me."
Bellatrix couldn't move then. She couldn't breathe. She just stared up at him, and she nodded, and he whispered,
"Keep dancing."
She tried. She tried so hard to waltz, but eventually he just led her off the dance floor and stood before her, and he said quietly,
"Next time you want my attention, Miss Black, you don't have to show so much skin, you know. I'm not that sort of man. Enjoy the party."
Then he plucked two flutes of Champagne from the fresh tray as the House-Elf passed by, handed one to Bellatrix, clinked his glass against hers, sipped, and walked away.
Author's Note: Bellamort romp time! Yes, this will be one of my fun little adventures for these two while I take a little mental break between Parts I and II of The Storm Series. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this and I'd be very grateful for your feedback.