A/N: This is a one-shot of Bella and Voldemort after they disapparate from the Ministry in the Order of the Phoenix. Voldie's a bit out of character, but I suppose he has to be for this pairing to really work. I'm not proud of this at all, so I understand if it seems rubbish to you. xx

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Ministry officials were appearing in every fireplace and hurrying towards the scene, momentarily unaware of his presence. He had only seconds to make his escape. Without thinking, he closed his fingers firmly around the wrist of the sobbing witch beside him, heaved her upright and twisted in midair into complete nothingness; the last thing he saw was the colour draining from the face of Cornelius Fudge as he acknowledged him in the split second it had taken to disapparate. But no matter. It was about time the fools realised he was back. He had, rather generously, allowed them a year of fruitless denial, after all.

Finally, the compression stopped and he was standing in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, with the faint light of the steadily rising sun glinting palely through the gap in the curtains. Snatching his hand away from the wrist of the still sobbing Bellatrix and pushing her roughly to the floor, he began pacing around the room, his anger threatening to burst from him at any moment,

"My Lord…" whimpered Bellatrix between gasping sobs, "I cannot describe-"

"Be quiet!" he roared at her, his hand moving instinctively towards his wand. His rage was barely containable. How could it have happened again? Thwarted by a teenage boy? Clearly his Death Eaters were woefully out of practise, but surely there was no excuse for the idiocy they had displayed tonight?

Quite why he hadn't Crucioed Bellatrix to within an inch of her sanity yet, he couldn't imagine. He turned to face her and a little of his fury ebbed away at the shock he felt at how pitiful she looked, gulping and choking with fresh sobs of remorse. However, there was no denying she deserved punishment for her foolishness. Raising his wand, he screamed; "Crucio!"

Bellatrix howled and screamed with pain, but the sight of her writhing on the floor was doing nothing to satisfy his rage. Yes, she deserved it, but quite frankly he was getting tired of her noise. He wrenched his wand away, and she stopped screaming immediately. Her eyes were shining wetly with unshed tears, but there now seemed to be an odd gleam of satisfaction that had not been there before. He did not understand this. Enraged once more, he repeated the curse and, once again, she cried out in pain, but she wouldn't beg him to stop; there was defiance in her eyes now. And then he understood. He wasn't punishing her at all. As soon as he realised this, he stopped, and cocked his head to one side, considering her. He'd not spoken to her much since her break out from Azkaban. She looked different, certainly. She was now gaunt and deathly pale and she had the distinctly dead look of a person who had suffered an incarceration among the Dementors, but she hadn't lost her fundamental beauty. She was still Bella.

He was surprised to find that he was smiling.

"Get up." he hissed softly, and she hastened to obey. "Why do you like it so much?" he asked her, and he was almost ashamed to feel so tenderly curious. He usually only saved such emotions for treasures he could use to his advantage, which, he thought suddenly, she was in a way.

"I will gladly endure anything you impose upon me, my Lord. It is an honour to just be in your presence." she breathed, and her eyes were now filled with such deep admiration, it was hard to comprehend it at all.

"That is why I respect you, Bella." he hissed, and she looked set to burst into fresh tears again at his words. "Your loyalty has never wavered or been hampered by cowardice…"

She shook her head fiercely, her face becoming flushed with excitement.

"And yet you have disappointed me tonight." he continued, and her face fell suddenly. "Perhaps you need reminding about how I reward your successes?" he hissed, closing the gap between them in one stride. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief and wonder, and Voldemort smirked. In one fluid movement, he grabbed the back of her head, and forced her face towards his, attacking her mouth with his own, and pressed her against the bed. It had not been satisfying to torture her; it was what they had both become accustomed to, had learned to expect. No, this was far more satisfying; to hear her gasps and moans of desperation and exhilaration was much more effective at distracting him from his anger.

It passed in a blur of frenzied brutality and sadistic pleasure, for he knew he was hurting her as much as he was pleasing her.

And as he left her lying abandoned on the robe-strewn floor, he knew he had missed her.