Chapter One: Breakeven

He had house elves take all of my personal belongings out, like my clothing, books, and things like that, out of the house before he burned it down. He burned down my house and all of Draco's and our wedding things inside of it down. He made me watch as he set it on fire; I'm not sure if it was out of lack of care, or out of some weird kindness, but he let Lucius mourn Draco's death with Narcissa. He hasn't called upon him since the day of Draco's death, exactly a month ago today.

Voldemort moved us into a huge palace in some country. He told me where we were, but I didn't pay attention to him, and the people speak English, so I doubt we ventured too far. And to be honest, most white people look the same to me. You can ask me to find any individual Italian, Greek, Egyptian, etc… and I'll be able to pick them out of the crowd and bring you to them. I lived in Greece with my family until I was five; England never felt like home. We all stayed because the job opportunities were better for my father. It was a smart move, and we don't regret it, but we miss our real home.

Anyway, I couldn't really tell where in the world I am since the people look English, so we're probably in the far off hills somewhere in the U.K. I doubt he'd want to station himself away from the first nation he could dominate. To tell you the truth, I've been wallowing in self-pity in the library of the palace. This place is huge; the library is the same size as the house Draco and I shared, and the palace itself is easily four times the size of the mansion I lived in with my parents, the one next to Malfoy Manor. It's easily two city blocks; I've barely seen the place. I'm yet to look around out of the fear of getting lost.

Death Eaters roamed the corridors, but I didn't talk to them and they didn't talk to me. I haven't even talked to myself. I've slept maybe twenty hours this whole month, and I've eaten maybe three full meals. I've just been reading and crying, crying and reading. I went shopping, but that didn't fill the void. Voldemort and I share a room, but we don't share a closet. The closets look small from the outside, but once the doors are opened, the closets are the same size as a house for a middle class family. I have several closets; one for all my clothing, – which the house elves sophisticatedly organized – one for all my shoes, and one for all my accessories. I've worn the same two outfits while here: grey sweatpants and a shirt, and black sweatpants and a shirt.

I went outside once, but I had to be followed by Death Eaters after Voldemort made the property impossible to apparate or disapparate from. The acres upon acres of green land were stunning; there are hills every where, healthy trees and other plants litter the area, and a shallow river flows across the property, but it was below freezing outside, so I rushed back in. I've been sitting in a large, comfortable armchair near a large fireplace in my personal library. I can honestly say that there are about a million novels, books filled with poetry and/or short stories, and other literature in the library. The books have allowed me to be someone else, to live the life of someone else, in the controlled world of the author. I tried rereading Catcher in the Rye, but it made me cry every time I touched the cover or a page, so I've avoided it.

Voldemort has only demanded me in his bed several nights, but he didn't do anything past trying to hold me. I slept on the edge of my half of the bed. Not like the sliver before the edge, but the edge. The first night, Voldemort tried to hug me; I didn't fight him off or even say anything, but my mood and emotions radiated off of my body. He quickly let go of me, but he slept on my side of the bed. He lets me stay in my library all hours of the day and night; for the time being, he's given up on me. He's focusing on how he's going to kill Harry and then how he's going to overthrow the ministry and become the dictator here in England, and then the whole world. Snape runs Hogwarts now that Dumbledore is dead, and the majority of the ministry is under his control. The death of Draco has made me the master of the Elder Wand, so he dueled me for a minute, easily defeated me, and became the master of the wand.

Everything was running smoothly for Voldemort, except for me. I've been mourning Draco. I don't feel guilty for his death; I was forced to do it. I didn't kill him because I wanted to, but I miss him with every ounce of my being. He was my everything, and it was my fault that he died. I'm slowly moving past it all, but I still hurt. The few hours I've been able to sleep I've dreamt about him, and that's made me feel better.

Someone sat down on the other armchair by the fireplace. They remained silent and I didn't look to see who it was, but I doubt a Death Eater would just waltz into my private library, and if it was a family member they'd have said something by now. I continued reading my copy of The Great Gatsby and soaking up the warmth of the fireplace. I'm wearing wool socks – they somehow don't itch – sweat pants, and a thick, red sweater, but I'm still cold. My sweater is a turtleneck, so I put my dirty, rather greasy hair up in a messy, frizzy bun so that it'd be out of my way as I read. After ten minutes of silence, my unwanted guest coughed and asked me, "Are you hungry?"

I was right; it's Voldemort. "Yes."

He shifted a little bit in his seat, "Do you want to eat?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll just puke it back up."

He grinned, "Bulimic now?"

I turned the page as I finished the sentence at the bottom, "If that's your attempt at a joke, you should know now that it wasn't funny."

Voldemort sighed with irritation.

"I just can't keep anything down. Except for water, which I guess I'm lucky since water hurts coming up."

Voldemort drew in a breath, but he didn't reply.

I ignored him again and continued reading.

After two minutes of staring at me, he asked, "It's getting late, do you want to go to sleep?"

"Yes."

He stood up, but watched with curiosity, as I didn't budge from my chair. "Are you going to sleep?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

"I'm not much of a sleeper these days."

He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Is there anything you're willing to do?"

"Finish this book."

Voldemort sighed and walked out of the library with annoyance. I ended up drifting into a sleep like state where I sort of got some rest, but I didn't really sleep. You know when you're almost in a deep sleep, but you're still conscious? That's how I was. I book marked my page and I gently laid the book down on the floor. I closed my eyes and hoped sleep would find me, but only its beginnings did. I rested my back against the right arm, brought my knees comfortably into my chest, and laid sort of facing the back of the chair. I didn't bombard myself with thoughts, I barely thought, to tell you the truth, and I relaxed my body.

Voldemort made me join him for breakfast. I sat to his left as he ate breakfast and discussed world domination plans with his inner circle of Death Eaters, except for my father and father in law. I poked my food with a fork, but Voldemort gave me a stern look and stopped mid-sentence. "Neema."

"Hmm?"

"Did I tell you to eat?"

"I didn't know I had to be told."

A Death Eater snickered, but he didn't pay it any attention. "You must ask me for everything."

"May I respond?"

A few more Death Eaters smirked.

"Stop being a sarcastic, melodramatic bitch, and eat your damn breakfast."

I quietly sighed while he shouted at his Death Eaters that there was nothing humorous about the conversation he just had with me. They all immediately sat up straighter, nodded feverishly, and took him completely seriously. He continued on with his conversation about world domination. Greyback suggested that they widen their search of muggle borns and the Golden Trio a third of the way into the discussion. Voldemort liked the idea; he recently tabooed his name, and all sorts of people began appearing in the dungeon area of the castle palace thing we live in. He soundproofed the dungeons so that I wouldn't have to hear the horrors and other nightmarish things that happened in there. I wasn't paying attention to their conversation when Bellatrix said, "What do you think about that, Neema?"

"What?" I looked over to her with no interest.

Apparently I offended her quite a bit; she glared at me as if I just robbed her bank account and said, "About you murdering Draco."

That fucking bitch! I glared right back at her, "I think I liked fucking your husband better."

Her eyes grew to the size of the moon while all the Death Eaters at the table, except for Rodolphus, snickered and grinned. "What?" She shouted and then slammed her hands down on the table, "WHAT?"

Voldemort leaned back and grinned while I played with the cheese on top of my omelet with my fork. I stared down at my melted, stringy cheese, as it stretched from the omelet to my fork, "Are you deaf, because I didn't stutter."

A few more Death Eaters laughed while she shot up, "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

"The satisfier of your husband. You really should pay Rod's rod some attention. The thing definitely deserves it."

She pointed her wand at me, "WHY YOU LITTLE—"

In a surprisingly quiet voice, Voldemort said, "Calm down, Bellatrix, I told her to."

She lowered her wand and stared at him with shocked curiosity, "Pardon me, My Lord?"

Voldemort drew in a deep breath as he refrained from laughing. He leaned forward and stroked my chin, "It was our first time, and I told Rodolphus to do it."

Bellatrix sat down, but she was still furious.

"It was her punishment, she was looking at your nephew the whole time I was giving it to her."

Bellatrix drew in a deep breath, but she didn't reply.

Voldemort went back to eating his breakfast, "I don't think I'll ever see why you liked that boy."

"He was a man," I mumbled.

Voldemort put his fork down on the side of his place and looked at me with curiosity and shock.

I repeated my statement, only I said it louder this time.

"Is that so?"

"He was a man, much more of a man than you'll ever be."

Voldemort slapped me so hard I fell out of my chair and onto the floor. All the Death Eaters sat silently and awkwardly. I drew in a deep breath, grinded my teeth, and then bitterly asked, "May I sit back in my seat?"

Voldemort didn't look at me, "No."

I drew in a sharp breath, "I wish I had more words in my vocabulary."

He couldn't help himself, "Why?"

"I'm getting tired of just telling you I hate you."

He smirked, "You may sit back in your seat."

I glared at him and sat back in my seat. We engaged in a tense stare down as I continued slowly eating my omelet and he talking about his world domination plans.

A/N: This is a short chapter, but it's just the first chapter. I wanted to give you the setting and the mood more than a chunk of story. It's going to be a dark story, so please do continue reading if you like those sort of stories. And please review!