The Little Boy and the Old Man

by Mrs Slytherin Baelish

Voldemort started to make his way through the sitting-room, knowing it was only a matter of time before a small army showed up to hunt him down. Suddenly he stopped, staring intently at the tarnished mirror on the wall. He was young again. - Bellamort, Part II of the Troublemaker Series - Re-post.

1. Chapter 1

Isle of Mull, Scotland

1 January 1971

Lord Voldemort whipped his wand through the frigid drizzle at the little cottage where Alastor Moody was living. He'd come here alone, the very moment that he'd received information from Yaxley and Malfoy on the Auror's location. He meant to kill Alastor Moody today. He would not leave Scotland until he was gazing upon the corpse of his enemy.

He stormed straight into the house, but, rather unsurprisingly, Alastor Moody was ready. He was waiting just inside the door, and a blast of vivid blue light flew straight from his wand as he snarled. Voldemort deflected the Stunning Spell, grinning madly as the spell dissolved into sparks that flew against the plaster wall.

"Moody, you fool," Voldemort scolded him. "Don't you know you ought to have gone straight for - no." He lazily dragged his wand through the air, blocking Moody's Full Body-Bind Curse. Moody tipped his head and said in an angry growl,

"I've orders to take you in alive. I wish I didn't have those orders."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "The Ministry is going to need to drastically escalate its tactics, Moody, or this war will be over very quickly. Avada Kedavra!"

Alastor Moody Disapparated immediately, evading the Killing Curse. It shot against the wall behind where he'd been standing, and the plaster crumbled under the destructive power of the spell. Voldemort snarled with rage, but he was not at all prepared for Moody to appear to his right, in the cramped little sitting-room, his wand aimed straight at the Dark Lord.

If he incanted a spell, Voldemort didn't hear him. Something silver-white shot like a cannon from Moody's wand and hit Voldemort so hard his knees gave out. He felt his body shifting, changing, and he had no idea what was happening to him. He turned to aim his wand at Moody again, to try another Killing Curse, but the Auror had gone. Voldemort felt strange, like his face had morphed somehow, but he had no time to worry about it now. He pulled himself off his knees and realised Moody wouldn't ever come back to this house. He gnawed on his lip, walking briskly through the house in search of anything that might be helpful or useful.

He found a letter from Dumbledore sitting out in the sitting-room, but it was dated ten days previously and was about a meeting here on the Isle of Mull that had undoubtedly already happened. Voldemort started to make his way through the sitting-room, knowing it was only a matter of time before a small army showed up to hunt him down. Suddenly he stopped, staring intently at the tarnished mirror on the wall.

He was young again.

He brought his fingers up to his face, his mouth falling open as he realised Moody had cast a spell on him to reduce his visual age. He looked perhaps twenty… twenty-five if he was being awfully generous. It might have seemed silly, like a childish spell to throw before Disapparated, but it wasn't silly at all. It was brilliant, for Moody had crippled the Dark Lord's ability to appear before his subjects. He couldn't very well gather his followers for a meeting, show up looking like he'd just graduated Hogwarts, and explain that the spell had been cast by Alastor Moody. The man would have forced Voldemort into hiding if this spell stuck around for any length of time.

"Finite Incantatem," Voldemort said firmly, gulping when his reflection did not change. He shut his eyes, feeling very angry. He needed to leave, he knew. He needed to get home and immediately set to work reversing the spell. Perhaps a very carefully brewed and administered Aging Potion, though that was unreliable and temporary. Voldemort huffed, knowing that he could only trust one person to help him out of this fix. He Disapparated quickly, coming to in the parlour of his house in London. He walked quickly toward the library, his voice sounding odd to his own ears as he barked,

"Bellatrix!"

---

She jolted at the sound of her name. Bellatrix was upstairs in the bathroom, having dressed for the day and cleaned her teeth. She'd just finished arranging her hair into a braid that she flung over one shoulder. She dashed out of the bedroom at the sound of her husband's call, but she skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase. She whipped her wand out of her pocket and aimed it at the young man with his hand on the bannister.

"Relax, Bella," the young man sighed. "It's just me."

His voice was a bit off, missing some of its gravel, but she recognised it just the same. She recognised his eyes, too, and the shape of his jaw. He seemed very much like the shadow of his younger self she'd perceived in a dream. In fact, he looked right about her age, and as she lowered her shaking wand, she asked,

"My Lord, what's happened to you?"

He drummed his fingers on the bannister as she descended the stairs. "Alastor Moody - rather ingeniously, I must admit - determined that a good way to weaken me as he escaped was… this. Making me look twenty-five years younger. I admit it's a good trick; I've no idea how I could possibly meet with Yaxley or Malfoy or your father or any of them looking like this."

Bellatrix chewed on her lip and tentatively reached up to touch his jaw. He was so handsome, almost achingly handsome. She thought he was very good-looking in his forties, of course, but this was different. His skin was smooth and his hair was thick. He looked like the sort of boy Bellatrix ought to have married on her way out of Hogwarts. She knew she was staring, but she couldn't help herself. He let her do it for a moment, until he finally snapped,

"Had your fill of the handsome young man I once was? Good. Let's make me old again, shall we?"

Bellatrix blinked quickly and nodded. "Yes, My Lord. Of course. I don't think we have any Reddotempus Potion, and in fact we're likely missing some of the ingredients, but -"

"Wait. What potion? What are you talking about?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and Bellatrix was overcome with a realisation.

"Moody invented the Surripiotempus spell himself," she breathed. "That's why it wasn't in our old Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks; it was new. And the potion to counter the spell… it wasn't in our books. Slughorn taught it to us himself."

Voldemort's young face seemed very irritated that Bellatrix knew something he did not. She knew far better than to tease him about that right now. Instead she shut her eyes and recalled,

"Aconite fluid. Honeywater. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat. Add a doxy egg and a finely chopped crocodile heart. Allow to simmer, uncovered, for forty-eight hours. Add a frog brain and boil for one more hour. Consume hot."

When she opened her eyes, Voldemort cocked up one of his sculpted dark eyebrows and said, "I suppose I never realised you were quite so gifted with potions, Bella."

She smiled shyly, but then shook her head in frustration. "We have all those ingredients here, but… more than two days, My Lord. There's no way to rush it, I'm afraid."

He shrugged. "Well, the rest of them will have to wait for the potion to be ready. I'm not going to face them like this."

"It isn't as though they'd be afraid of your appearance, My Lord," Bellatrix said, feeling her cheeks go hot. He tipped his face like he always did and put his full lips into a line.

"That's precisely the problem, isn't it? I look like a child."

"With all due respect, My Lord," Bellatrix gulped, "you do not look like a child. Now… shall I set about getting that potion brewing?"

---

Later that night, Voldemort took a shower and marveled at his naked body. He'd forgotten, after decades of slow but steady decay, the way he'd looked in his prime. His arms and chest were lean, thin even, but sinewy with tight muscle. There was not a single wrinkle on his face. Even his hands felt different in his hair as he washed it… his thick black hair without a single strand of grey. He sighed heavily as he stepped out of the shower, wondering if perhaps he ought to simply stay like this and inform his followers that he was eternally youthful. But then, no. He'd cemented his image as a stern-looking middle-aged man. The reflection he saw now in the mirror was refreshing, but not at all intimidating.

He was very aware, suddenly, of the way Bellatrix was staring at him through the bathroom door. He turned his face to her, and her cheeks stained scarlet at once. She dragged her fingers over her braid and murmured,

"I reckon you look about my age."

"Somewhere around there," Voldemort agreed. He felt self-conscious as he raked a comb through his damp hair, marveling at the resistance his heavy waves gave him. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the sink and stared at the drain, trying to convince himself not to ask her the question rattling around his mind. But he did finally say, "If you like me more like this, Bella… closer in age to you… I might - might - think about staying like this. I could, perhaps, convince everyone that it was my own doing, that I was capable of making myself young again."

Bellatrix sighed and stepped into the bathroom. She put her hand over his on the edge of the sink, and she said in a quiet voice,

"It's very interesting to see you looking this age, My Lord, but you are not this age. I've only lived nineteen years. Your own birthday was yesterday. You're forty-four. You may look young, but you aren't, and so it's just a costume, isn't it? Besides, I fell in love with a man much older than me. I don't need that to change."

Her thumb dragged over his, and Voldemort turned his face to her as he tipped his head. "I'm sure you'd rather go to bed with a boy like this than the old man you married."

She smirked and joked, "I'd go to bed with you if you looked like a snake, My Lord."

He snorted a little laugh and pulled their hands from the sink. He brought her fingers up to his chest and whispered,

"I never took a woman when I was this age. You were first… you're the only one. I never even kissed anyone. So I don't know what any of it would have felt like in this body."

Bellatrix gave him a knowing look. "Why don't you find out?"

He was pushing her back into the bedroom before he could control himself. Everything felt easier like this; moving was quicker and more effortless. He snared his arms around Bellatrix and kissed her, moaning into her mouth. She tasted exactly the same. It felt exactly as good as it always did. But his cock went hard far more quickly than usual, and he yanked the towel from around his waist and tossed it aside. Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around him and he gasped. He was more sensitive like this; his skin was more alive. He grunted and pushed Bellatrix's shoulders. She made her way onto the bed and shimmied out of her nightgown, and he was grateful to see she had no knickers on.

His fingers felt thinner, longer, and lither as they twisted into her. She stared at his young face as he hovered over her, and her own wide eyes were glassy with want. He could feel a word thrumming in her head, and when he pushed into her head, she put up no defences. She was recalling the dream she'd had of him working in Borgin and Burke's. He'd looked just like this, she was realising. And his name had been something else. Tom. Tom Riddle.

"That's not my name, no matter what I look like, Bella." Voldemort yanked himself from her head and gave her a rather menacing look. She nodded and whispered,

"I know, My Lord. I know who you are."

As if to prove her point, she rubbed her thumb over the Dark Mark that was on his left forearm. That, she would know, had not been there when he'd been this young. That had come later. Here, in this bed, no matter what, he was Lord Voldemort.

He thrust his cock into her forcefully, amazed with the speed and vigour he was able to muster. His hips jolted against her so wildly that she cried out, grasping at his arms as her back arched up. His movements went from thrusting to outright fucking; he was moving like a machine against her and wasn't getting tired in the least. But his oversensitive cock could only take so much, and within a disappointingly short time - well before Bellatrix could reach her own climax - he was pumping himself into her and snarling. He let his member slide out of Bellatrix's body, angry with himself that he'd finished so quickly. He rubbed at her, ignoring the way his seed spilled out of her body and got all over his fingers. He knew exactly what to do to make her climax, and within a few minutes, she was gasping and fisting her eyes as she clenched around his fingers.

"Tergeo," Voldemort whispered as she regained her breath. He chuckled then and sat back on his haunches. "You usually come first, don't you?"

Bellatrix smiled crookedly, taking her hands away from her eyes as she reassured him, "It still felt good, My Lord."

He tipped his head and shrugged. "Yes, well. I suppose one advantage to a man having a slightly older body is the ability not to lose himself a minute and a half in, eh?"

Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she reached up for his jaw as she stared at him. Her voice was soft and gentle then as she told him, "I think you're exceedingly handsome, Master. But I'll be glad when there are a few wrinkles around your eyes again. I find I rather like them."

---

"Right. Drink it while it's hot, My Lord." Bellatrix handed Voldemort a mug filled with the disgusting slop of a potion she'd just ladled in. He winced at the smell as he took the mug, and Bellatrix got one last look at his young, sculpted face. He couldn't stay like this, she knew. He could pretend that it was a viable way forward, but it wasn't. His followers knew him as a middle-aged wizard, not as a devastatingly handsome boy fresh out of school. Bellatrix watched as he sipped the hot potion, his face twisting with disgust at the taste. Finally he set the mug down and wiped the inside of his wrist over his full lips. He sniffed lightly and said,

"I suppose if… if you ever wanted me young… well, it turns out there are spells and potions for such a thing."

Bellatrix turned up her mouth, knowing the smile didn't reach her eyes. She took Voldemort's face in her hands, and he leaned down as she touched her lips to his forehead and each of his cheekbones. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, and for a long moment, she just stood there cradled against him.

When she pulled away, he was forty-four again. His hair was streaked with a bit of grey and had retreated back a bit. There were fine lines around his eyes and lips. His skin wasn't quite as tight, nor quite as smooth. But he was still marvelously handsome, and he was the man for whom Bellatrix had fallen head over heels. She brushed her thumb under his eye, over the bags that had formed there from stress and fatigue and time.

"There he is," she said, relief filling her voice. "There's my lord and master. My husband."

---

Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, Knockturn Alley

19 March 1971

"Madam Black. Good afternoon." Mr Mulpepper, the bent and ancient proprietor of Knockturn Alley's potions shop, bowed his head as Bellatrix came ambling into the shop. She was the only one present, but there was no denying Mr Mulpepper knew he ought to show this witch respect. She may have been just a young woman, but by now everyone knew she was the wife of Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix plastered a little smile on her face and set a list down on the wooden countertop.

"Good afternoon, Mr Mulpepper. I'm in need of a few ingredients for my private stores."

"Certainly." Mr Mulpepper pulled out his reading glasses and scrunched up his nose to focus his vision as he picked up the list. "Alihotsy leaf. Nightshade. Newt's spleen. Syrup of Hellebore. Dried leeches. This will only take me a few moments, Madam Black. If you'd care to have a seat whilst you wait?"

Mr Mulpepper gestured to a velvet armchair that was more than a little worn. Bellatrix shrugged and said. "I'll stand, thanks."

"Very well. Just a little bit, then." Mr Mulpepper began moving at a snail's pace, which irritated Bellatrix a little. But his vast stocks of ingredients had everything she needed. He used tweezers, his fingers trembling madly, as he filled a linen sack with dried leeches. He siphoned Syrup of Hellebore into a clear purple bottle. The other ingredients were easily retrieved, and soon enough Mr Mulpepper had a velvet drawstring bag that he was sliding across the countertop to Bellatrix.

"Shall we call it two Galleons?" he suggested, and Bellatrix frowned, for that was an outrageously low price. The Newt's spleen alone was worth that, she knew. She shook her head and started to count out coins from her pocket onto the countertop, but Mr Mulpepper only took two. He insisted, "I couldn't take more, Madam Black. Send the Dark Lord my regards, would you?"

Bellatrix swallowed hard, taking the other coins and the drawstring bag of ingredients. She nodded. "I'll certainly let him know he's got a good friend in Knockturn Alley, Mr Mulpepper."

"Thank you." The old wizard smiled, and Bellatrix left the shop without another word. Out in the narrow street, a few passing people gave her curious looks but quickly averted their eyes. Bellatrix made her way to a quiet corner and Disapparated, coming to just outside the house she shared with Voldemort in St Alban's Grove.

She'd been at her parents' earlier in the day, mourning with them as they grappled with the notion that they'd never speak to Andromeda again. But Andromeda seemed hell bent on marrying the Mudblood Ted Tonks, and she was now of age. It was now nearly four o'clock, but Bellatrix hadn't been home since the early morning. She had no idea whether Voldemort was home or whether he was off working somewhere, so when she pushed the door open, she called,

"I'm home, My Lord!"

She got no response, so she made her way straight to the kitchen and opened the potions cupboard. She started to put the ingredients on the shelves, one at a time, and she startled when a voice behind her said,

"Hello, Bella."

She whirled over her shoulder, grinning at her husband briefly before turning back to the cupboard. She kept sorting and organising as she informed him, "Mr Mulpepper is an ally, I think. He wouldn't take more than two Galleons for all of this. He wants to ingratiate himself to you, no doubt, but -"

"So it's not so very dramatic," Voldemort interrupted her, and Bellatrix turned back around, feeling confused. Then she had to fight to keep her expression steady, and she said quietly,

"You've cast the Surripiotempus Spell on yourself."

She knew because he looked younger again. He wasn't a fresh-faced boy on the verge on manhood, the way he'd been on New Year's Day. He was almost shockingly handsome, looking right about thirty years of age. His face was sharp but unmarred by a single wrinkle. His eyes were a little wider, bright and piercing. His hair was thick and black, combed neatly with a side part. There was no stain of age, nor any folly of youth. He'd put himself at his absolute prime. He was disarmingly good-looking, but also intimidating. It was perfect. Bellatrix backed up against the countertop and asked him,

"Why, Master? Why did you…"

"There is absolutely no reason I need to become a feeble old man," Voldemort said firmly. "I have Horcruxes. I am, for all intents and purposes, immortal. There are spells, potions… ways of keeping one's joints from creaking or one's heart from giving out. Although it seems to me that the spell itself alters the body both inside and out. I needn't be a child, and I needn't be ancient. I can look like this, the sleek man of power, and no one will question my authority for it. Do you not think I can be even more dominant if I appear to be a never-aging, perpetually preserved thirty-year-old man with immense powers?"

"Oh, I think you can, My Lord." Bellatrix couldn't take her eyes from his face. She reached with a shaking hand to press her palm to his shirt. He'd undone the top few buttons, and she noticed the way his chest hair was more sparse, darker. She shut her eyes, feeling suddenly hungry for him, and she asked, "What about me?"

"What about you?" Voldemort snapped, and when she looked up at him, she shrugged.

"Am I to become a crone, an ugly old woman, whilst you stay forever like this, My Lord?"

"No." He shook his head and reminded her, "You've a Horcrux of your own. And I find you remarkably attractive right now at nineteen. I think I'll keep you like this."

Bellatrix felt dizzy. She shook her head a little and frowned. "What will the others think?"

Voldemort smirked. "Well, earlier today I simply showed up at a meeting with Yaxley and Malfoy. They didn't say anything. They noticed, of course; I saw it in their minds. But it's just subtle enough that they didn't say anything. They felt jealousy. Awe."

"I don't think Alastor Moody probably predicted this when he made up that spell," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort sank his teeth into his bottom lip. He brushed his fingertips over her cheekbone and asked her,

"What do you think, then? Does fifteen years make a very big difference?"

She wasn't sure what to say. She did not want, in any way at all, to imply that he'd not been handsome in his forties. However, he was so heartbreakingly good-looking like this that she couldn't keep herself from saying,

"I think that the man before me now is the most handsome person who's ever lived. My Lord."

He leaned down to kiss her, very gently indeed, and Bellatrix hummed against his lips. He turned suddenly, and his little garden snake slithered into the kitchen. It was the one Bellatrix had bought for him months earlier. He'd named it Noha, and it mostly kept to itself except for when he'd sit with it in the evenings and speak gently to it.

"Esssosamith," Voldemort hissed at the snake, and Noha gave him a curious look. Voldemort tipped his head, sounding a bit like he was scolding the creature as he hissed, "Viasssameth musssialeh… Esssosamith."

"Busssaha. Esssosamith norahalessss…" Noha slithered quickly out of the kitchen, and Bellatrix asked quietly,

"What did you tell him?"

"I politely requested privacy," Voldemort said simply. "He listens, most of the time. He'll go wait in the library."

"And what do we need privacy for, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked with a little half smile. Voldemort suddenly hoisted her up by her waist, seeming stronger than usual as he planted her on the butcher block countertop. He snared his arms around her, and as he did, Bellatrix admired his forearms. It was an odd body part to notice, she thought, but with the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, she couldn't help but take heed. His arms were tighter, leaner, but still sturdy. He'd been thin and wiry as a very young man, and he was more built like this, but the first sagging of age had yet to hit him. Bellatrix dragged her fingers over his left arm, over his dormant pink Dark Mark, and he shuddered a little. He touched his forehead to hers and noted,

"We're only about ten years' difference like this."

"I never minded the age difference, Master," Bellatrix insisted, but he gave her a meaningful look and said,

"Your father's seven years younger than me. Unfortunately, I thought about the age difference a good bit more than I care to admit. Ten years is perfectly reasonable. Enough not to seem… off."

"But it's all an illusion, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, realising at once that she was arguing with him. He sighed deeply, tucking her curls behind her ear and kissing her lips carefully.

"It's an illusion I intend on maintaining," he whispered, "so you and everyone else can just go right on ahead and get used to it."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obligingly, and he deepened the kiss.

---

Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London

20 March 1971

"Bella! We need to leave in two minutes!" Voldemort called. He'd been waiting in the parlour for nearly a half hour now, pacing rather anxiously in his neatly-tailored tuxedo. He despised weddings as a general rule, but today he was rather looking forward to attending the marriage of Bellatrix's cousin Eulalie Rosier to Martin Nott. It would be his first opportunity to appear like this, as a handsome thirty-year-old at his physical peak. Every single person in attendance at the wedding would be loyal to him, he knew, and this would be the first time they'd seen him like this. When he'd actually been thirty years of age, he'd been wandering Europe acquiring more skill in the Dark Arts. Only a small group had seen him at that time - the 'school friends' he'd had who had become his very first Death Eaters. But most of his followers had first laid eyes upon him when he'd begun to look world-weary, when the relentless signs of mortality had begun to fall upon him.

This wasn't about vanity, he told himself again. It wasn't about looking pretty. This was about projecting the idea - and his reality - of immortality. Only then could he be truly feared as the powerful wizard he was. He was about to call for Bellatrix again, but she appeared in the doorway of the parlour, and his mouth fell open.

"Too much?" Bellatrix asked at once, and Voldemort just mutely shook his head. She wore a strapless black gown that fit her gently curved form just so, tumbling from her hips with ethereal black folds of silk. She wore her silver serpent necklace and bracelet, and her hair had been magically straightened and pulled up into a high, tight ponytail. Her eyes were lined with thick black kohl, and her lips were a perfect shade of scarlet. She was so beautiful that Voldemort went a little hard in his trousers, and he cleared his throat roughly as he looked away and declared lightly,

"I'm afraid you look entirely too lovely, Madam Black. Someone will try and steal you from me."

"I could certainly say the same for you, My Lord," Bellatrix scoffed gently. "You look… you look…"

"Let's stop all this self-congratulatory nonsense and go to the wedding, shall we?" Voldemort suggested roughly, and Bellatrix gave him a single nod. He approached her and threaded his fingers through hers, Disapparating at once and taking her by Side-Along. They appeared in the garden of an elegant country home - the Rosier estate - and Bellatrix said quietly,

"My mother grew up here."

"I know she did." Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and said, "Perhaps you do not remember; it was about thirteen years ago now. Your mother's family hosted me here for a dinner party upon my return to Britain; they wanted to hear my message out. You were there."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "I don't remember, My Lord."

"Yes, well, you were perfectly fearsome, even at age six," he informed her tersely. "You brought me a little beetle you'd found in the Rosier house and you asked me to perform the Cruciatus Curse on it for you."

"I did?" Bellatrix sounded mildly impressed with herself, and Voldemort smirked down at her. He realised then that he probably did look a bit like this at that dinner party all those years ago. Bellatrix squeezed at his sleeve a little and asked, "And did you do it, My Lord? Did you torture the beetle for me?"

"No," Voldemort admitted. "I didn't want to frighten your family. But it did amuse me, just the same, and even then I could tell how beautifully Dark your soul was."

Bellatrix gave a shy little smile. "Shall we go inside, My Lord?"

He led her up the front stairs, and a frightened-looking House-Elf said meekly, "Welcome. The ceremony is in the ballroom to the left."

The Rosier home was an elaborate Rococo creation, a flowery remnant of days long past. The ballroom was no exception. There were two columns of white chairs with an aisle running down the middle, and the late afternoon sunlight streamed in through enormous paned windows. In this light, Bellatrix looked prettier than ever, and Voldemort couldn't help but lock his eyes onto her as she said,

"Hello, Mother."

Voldemort snapped to attention to see that Druella Black and her cousin Cerda, Abraxas' wife, had walked up. Both women seemed to jolt a bit at the sight of the Dark Lord, but neither said anything. Cerda's cheeks went a little pink, and Druella, who was only a few years older than Voldemort now appeared, seemed downright shocked. Druella and Cerda both gave polite curtsies to Voldemort, and then Druella said,

"My Lord, there are seats for you and Bellatrix in the front row."

"Isn't the front row reserved for the close family of the bride and groom?" Bellatrix protested. She turned to Voldemort and suggested, "My Lord, why don't you sit up front and I'll sit with my parents nearer the back?"

"No. Of course not," Voldemort snapped. He turned to Druella and said, "I've no need to sit up front, Madam Black. Indeed, I'd prefer to be in the rear-most row of seats, if you please."

"Naturally, My Lord." Druella gave a curt nod to her cousin, and Cerda dashed off to make the arrangements. Druella smiled a little at Bellatrix and said,

"You look lovely, dear. A bit… bleak… for a wedding, but lovely just the same."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little at the very backhanded compliment. She gestured to Druella's overdone purple robes and gushed sarcastically, "You've never looked better yourself, Mother."

"My Lord," Druella said delicately, wringing her hands before her, "You seem as though… as though perhaps you're particularly well-rested. It is good to see you… erm… healthy and strong, My Lord."

Voldemort chomped on his lip to keep from laughing. He gave his mother-in-law (an odd way to think of Druella Black) a conciliatory nod but noted, "I confess I am anything but well-rested these days, Madam Black. I'm only glad I don't look a walking corpse for it."

"Hardly, My Lord." Druella's face flushed crimson, and she glanced over her shoulder. "The ceremony is about to begin; I think I'll go sit down."

"Goodbye, Mummy." Bellatrix wore a gleeful little look, and once her mother had turned to go, she whispered up to Voldemort, "Every witch in this room is staring at you the same way she was doing, you know."

"Let them stare," Voldemort replied. "Let them realise that their master will never wither. Let's go sit down."

The ceremony was perfunctory and seemed quite dull to Voldemort, but he saw various witches dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs just the same. Bellatrix seemed utterly untouched by the emotion around them; she studied the gilded moldings around the painted ceiling instead. He finally slipped his fingers through hers and whispered into her ear,

"Try not to look so very bored, Bella. You'll hurt poor Eulalie's feelings if she sees."

Bellatrix stifled a grin and nodded. As Eulalie and Martin Nott walked down the aisle to raucous applause, Voldemort noticed that both the bride and groom gave him respectful bows of their heads. They were both wide-eyed when they focused on his face, as were the other guests. As the ballroom was rearranged through magic to accommodate tables and a dance floor, Voldemort was very aware of all the eyes on him.

"They're all staring," Bellatrix whispered, for what felt like the tenth time that day. Voldemort tipped his head at her and demanded,

"How do you know they're not staring at you? You look awfully beautiful, you know."

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. "They're marveling at you. At how handsome you are."

She reached up, seemingly on impulse, for they never made a habit of publicly displaying affection. Her hand wrapped around his jaw, and he covered her fingers with his as he brought them to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and lowered her hand.

"If I could press you against this wall and kiss your lipstick right off you, I would do it," he declared. "But let us look the chaste couple tonight, eh?"

Bellatrix nodded, appearing embarrassed as she mumbled. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

"My Lord. Madam Black."

Voldemort turned at the sound of Rodolphus Lestrange's voice. Rodolphus' eyes flared as he bowed respectfully to Voldemort and said,

"You look very well, Master."

"Younger. I look younger," Voldemort corrected him, and Rodolphus gulped visibly. Voldemort gave no further explanation; he'd decided to let his followers simply marvel at him. Rodolphus flicked his eyes over Bellatrix, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way Bellatrix's dress curled around her breasts and waist. Rodolphus looked a bit queasy as he said,

"Madam Black. How good it is to see you."

"Don't be silly, Dolph; I just saw you in Wales last month," Bellatrix teased him, and Voldemort felt an odd flare of jealousy as Rodolphus smiled. He shrugged and pointed out,

"Battles are rather different from weddings, aren't they?"

"Only a little." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and then laughed, and Voldemort could not help but glare at her. Rodolphus nodded politely, seeming to sense that his presence was no longer wanted in the conversation.

"Eulalie and Martin are going to dance," he noted. "I'd best watch, or Martin'll never let me hear the end of it. Good evening, Bella. My Lord."

He bowed again and walked off, and the second he was out of earshot, Voldemort hissed,

"Bella? Dolph? Just how familiar are you with that boy?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she seemed genuinely shocked. "My Lord, I was just trying to be friendly."

"Too friendly," Voldemort scolded her. "Much too friendly. You're mine. You're my wife. You shouldn't be… you're not to flirt with men like that, much less in front of me. How dare you humiliate me like that?"

Bellatrix looked as though she were going to cry, and she shook her head as she whispered gently, "My Lord, the last thing I ever want to do is to humiliate you. I apologise with all that I am. I love you. Only you. It could never be any other way."

There was applause then as Eulalie and Martin Nott finished their first dance. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and seized Bellatrix's hand.

"You will dance with me," he said sharply, practically dragging her toward the dance floor. She trotted to keep up with his swift, long strides, but in her high heels she stumbled a bit. Voldemort whirled around to catch her, his right arm circling about her back to pull her upright again. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Bellatrix looked more distraught than ever as she murmured,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Come." He led her more slowly onto the dance floor, sweeping her up into a neat, tight stance. As they swayed, he could see witches and wizards alike glancing over to him. They were all talking about him; he could feel the buzz of the topic from their minds. He poked into their heads one by one with Legilimency and sensed all manner of reactions. Jealousy from more than one man who wished he had been half as handsome as Voldemort around age thirty. Intimidation from the younger wizards who felt like boys in the presence of their master. Adoration and attraction from nearly all the witches - and, surprisingly, from at least one wizard. Fear. Wonder.

Everything he wanted from them.

But when he met Bellatrix's gaze, she was studying his face carefully. Her ruby lips parted as she danced, and she said quietly,

"I am more sorry than I can say that I offended you with how I spoke to Rodolphus Lestrange. It was impudent and inappropriate of me. I was wrong, and I'm very sorry, Master."

"It's fine," he lied, shaking his head. His body didn't feel radically different like this, not quite as sprightly as it had felt when he'd become the fresh-faced Hogwarts graduate. But dancing was just a little easier, a little more fluid. He suspected that he'd be at his peak in bed with Bellatrix, too, and he meant to find out once they got home. The previous day, they'd just kissed and touched. He wanted to take her, to claim her, to show her just what he was capable of doing to her.

"You fell in love with a man upon whom the scars of time had already begun stamping themselves," he noted softly, and Bellatrix frowned as she shook her head.

"I fell in love with a powerful, charismatic, incredible wizard who just so happened to be forty-two at the time."

He sighed and tipped his head. "Still. Rodolphus is young. I can see why your stomach would flutter around him."

"No, My Lord." Bellatrix shook her head roughly. "No. I feel nothing - physical or emotional - for anyone but you. I loved you when you looked twenty. I loved you when you looked forty-four. And I love you like this."

Voldemort lowered his lips to her ear and murmured, "That dress looks very good on you, but I think it will look even better crumpled on our bedroom floor. I'm going to make you dissolve into a puddle of ecstasy tonight, Bellatrix."

When he pulled back, her eyes had gone wide and her red lips had parted in shock. Her dancing steps faltered, and Voldemort smirked, knowing his face was more attractive than ever to her. He kept on dancing, knowing they were staring at his pretty young wife, knowing they were staring at his handsome sculpted face. Let them stare, he thought to himself. Let them marvel and wonder at their master. Let them stare.

---

Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London

21 March 1971

"Bella."

She cracked her eyes open and groaned softly, feeling Voldemort's hand cup around her breast and squeeze a little. His fingers trailed down her front, over her stomach and onto her dry entrance.

"Lubrico," she heard him whisper, and Bellatrix realised that he meant to take her again. He'd made love to her in the shower when they'd gotten home from the wedding, then again twice in bed. He'd been alternatingly rough and gentle, and Bellatrix was more than a little sore and worn. She covered his hand with hers and whispered,

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," he insisted, his fingers gliding smoothly over her thanks to his lubrication charm. His voice sounded a little ragged as he huffed a breath behind her and said, "I dreamed of you, and I woke up and needed you. Bella…"

She sighed and pushed his fingers down, signaling to him that he could go on and touch her. His breath was warm against her neck as he pressed his lips there. He tipped her hips back a little and pushed himself into her body. Bellatrix tried not to complain at the way her womanhood ached, but she did chomp on her lip and screw her eyes shut. Her ears rang as Voldemort started to move, to pump himself in and out of her.

"He wanted to marry you," he grunted. "He still does. He wishes you were his."

Bellatrix frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Rodolphus Lestrange? My Lord… please, I beg you to realise that he means nothing to me. I'm your wife. He knows that perfectly well. So do I… Ego Uxorem. It's permanent."

Voldemort's handsome face looked uncertain, even a little embarrassed, and his throat bobbed. He bucked his hips a few times and reached to hold Bellatrix's breast again.

"You're mine," he said through clenched teeth, and Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort quickened his hips, and Bellatrix leaned forward to give him a better angle. She wouldn't finish again, she knew. Her body and mind were exhausted. But she did moan a little at the feel of him entering and leaving her over and over. Finally, his hand shot from her chest to her hip, and he gripped her tightly as he twitched inside of her.

"Pretty little thing," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm as his seed leaked back out of her. Then, sounding very matter-of-fact, he informed her, "You'll need another dose of Nongravidare Potion soon enough. Wouldn't want you to… you know."

"Become pregnant," Bellatrix spat into the darkness, feeling abruptly irritated for a reason she couldn't quite pin down. Her fingers tightened on the sheets as she sighed, "No. We wouldn't want that, My Lord."

Voldemort huffed angrily as he flopped onto his back, and Bellatrix turned to see him rubbing at his eyes. "You're only nineteen years old, Bella. You've got all the time in the world for that, if it's even something I decide I want from you."

She felt a little flash of indignant horror at the way he'd phrased that. His face softened a little, and he turned to look at her as he amended, "I want my time alone with you, you understand? And it may very well be that the Dark Lord is not meant to be a father. Not ever."

"I understand that just fine, My Lord," Bellatrix promised, and she did. She was his wife, but she was also his soldier. And he could never be a doting father. She knew that. She stroked at the scruff on his jaw and murmured, "My Lord, I shall take the potion tomorrow. I brewed it weeks ago. There's no need for us to speak any more about any of it."

Voldemort shut his eyes and sighed into the darkness. His voice was dark and coarse with sleep as he demanded, "Do you understand what you've done to me?"

"No." Bellatrix studied his face, the sharp lines and the soft skin, and her heart fluttered a little. "What have I done to you, Master?"

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still shut, and then he finally said, "You have made me a victim, Bellatrix."

She was confused by that wording, and she felt more than a little afraid. She was silent as she propped herself up onto one elbow. The clock on the wall beyond Voldemort told her it was two-thirty, and she rather wished they could just go back to sleep. Voldemort rubbed at his eyes a bit, and Bellatrix noted once again how devoid his face was of wrinkles or sagging. He sounded a little angry as he opened his eyes, looked straight at Bellatrix, and informed her,

"Whenever anybody else looks at you, I'm tempted to search their minds and see what they're thinking. Who wishes they could touch you? Who finds you beautiful? I am a slave to my own attraction to you, and you have triggered pangs of jealousy within me that I have never before experienced. I despise that jealousy."

Bellatrix wasn't sure what to say to that. She finally licked her bottom lip and tried, "My Lord, you've nothing to be jealous of. No one to be jealous of. They all need to be jealous of you. After all, you're the most powerful wizard who's ever lived. And if they think you have a pretty wife, what of it? How could any of them even begin to compare to you in my mind? I worship you, My Lord, with every scrap of my being. How could they -"

He cut her off then, very suddenly indeed, by reaching up to snag his fingers in her hair. He yanked her face down to his, and though they both tasted of sleep, she kissed him the way she could tell he wanted. She climbed atop him, knowing they were both beyond spent and not caring. She let him touch her everywhere he could reach. Her breasts, her arms, her backside, her thighs… he rubbed and grasped and squeezed at her, and when she pulled her mouth away, he snarled roughly,

"Mine. My little thing. Nobody else's."

Bellatrix touched her forehead to his and nodded against him. "Yours, My Lord. Nobody else's. Now, please, will you grant me the honour of falling asleep beside me? I am very tired."

---

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

23 March 1971

"Good morning, Mr Yaxley," Bellatrix said in greeting. Yaxley gave her a polite bow as he entered the dining room. Bellatrix asked, "How's Ophelia?"

"She's very well," Yaxley smiled. "Five months along now. She's anxious to meet the child. As am I, of course."

"Of course." Bellatrix smiled a little, glad to hear her school friend had found some measure of happiness with her much older husband. Bellatrix passed a friendly letter she'd written to Yaxley and asked, "Will you give Ophelia this for me? And tell her I'm glad to hear she's well."

"Of course I will." Yaxley smiled warmly and tucked the letter into his robes. There was a little buzz of activity in the dining room then as everyone found their seats. This was a regularly-scheduled meeting of Voldemort's innermost circle, and these events were almost always focused on logistics and news. Bellatrix took her seat just beside Voldemort, who would, of course, be seated at the head of the table. Directly opposite her was Abraxas Malfoy, who was entitled to sit near the Dark Lord owing to the fact that he owned this manor.

Everyone went hush and still when Voldemort entered the dining room. They all stood, faces lowered, even Bellatrix. He took his place at the head of the table and said in a quiet voice,

"Sit."

They did, and when Bellatrix returned to her seat, she felt her chair being pulled by an invisible hand nearer the table. She flashed Voldemort a wide-eyed look, and he smirked a little as he pretended the study the wood grain on the table.

"Rabastan Lestrange," he began sharply, and Bellatrix looked up to see that Rabastan and Rodolphus were seated beside each other. For a split second, Rodolphus looked at her, but then he seemed to realise he'd been caught, and he looked away. Rabastan's eyes were trained on Voldemort as he acknowledged,

"Good afternoon, My Lord."

"Rabastan, I hear you've taken a Ministry position alongside your brother," Voldemort said in a clip, and Rabastan nodded.

"Indeed, sir. Rodolphus was able to secure me a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I shall be working as a referee in the British and Irish Quidditch League, My Lord."

"Hmm. Indeed." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, the more people I have inside the Ministry, the better, no matter the work they're doing."

He seemed to finally take notice then of the way everyone was staring at him, the way everyone was studying his face closely. A satisfied sort of expression came over his face, and he feigned irritation as he said lightly,

"Let us get the elephant in the room out of the way, shall we? You've all noticed I look… how to say it? Less decrepit? Just a bit younger? None of you require specifics; those belong to me alone. Suffice it to say that you can all rest assured your lord and master will not wither and die like a leaf in the autumn. Some things on this Earth as temporary and some are permanent. I should like to consider myself the latter. Questions?"

No one dared raise their hands or voices. A few folded their hands on the table and lowered their faces again. Bellatrix dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, thinking back to the night before, to the way he'd plundered her until she could hardly breathe or move. He flicked his eyes over to her and just stared for a half second, and Bellatrix shrank back a little.

"Avery!" Voldemort barked, and Bellatrix snapped her own attention to the man. His son Tarquin was with him, and Bellatrix's stomach coiled with distaste, as she hadn't seen the young man in a great long while. Voldemort gestured to Tarquin and noted to the elder Avery, "You have brought your son today with my permission. Explain to everyone why that is."

Avery licked his lips nervously and stammered, "W-well, My Lord… Tarquin wishes to become a Death Eater, sir."

"Is that so, Tarquin?" Voldemort asked tightly, and Tarquin Avery nodded fervently, mumbling his assent. Voldemort held up one long finger and beckoned for Tarquin to come. Tarquin rose from his chair and stumbled anxiously as he made his way around the table to stand beside the Dark Lord. The elder Avery looked quite proud, as though he expected his son was about to receive the Dark Mark upon his arm. But Voldemort stood, looking not at all amused as he stared down at Tarquin Avery. The boy was tall and gangly, but Voldemort was just a bit taller, and a good deal more sturdy. Tarquin looked terrified as Voldemort drummed his fingers on the back of his chair and asked,

"It would make you happy, would it? Becoming one of my most devoted servants?"

"Y-yes, My Lord," Tarquin nodded. "It would be an honour beyond measure. It would make me very happy, sir."

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at Bellatrix, and her stomach sank. He looked back to Tarquin and asked in a prim, emotionless tone, "Would it make you as happy as you felt when you assaulted my wife?"

A ripple of whispers made their way around the table then, but they died when Voldemort held his hand up to silence the group. Tarquin Avery was white as a sheet as he said in a cracked voice,

"My Lord, I still feel terrible about touching Bellatrix without her permission, and I -"

"Madam Black." Voldemort's voice was a lethal, seething hiss then, and Tarquin seemed more afraid than ever as Voldemort clarified, "You may refer to her as 'Madam Black.' And you feel terrible, do you? About sticking your hand up a young witch's skirt when she explicitly told you not to touch her? Why on Earth, boy, would I make you a Death Eater?"

Tarquin Avery said nothing to that. He just shook his head mutely, his pale eyes making their way to Bellatrix with a very apologetic look. She turned her face away, unwilling to look at him as her husband tore him to shreds.

"Why don't you ask Abraxas Malfoy what happens to wizards who are particularly uncouth with the bodies of witches? Abraxas, tell us. Is it pleasant to be on the receiving end of my Cruciatus Curse?"

"No, My Lord." Abraxas tipped his head up, seeming almost proud at the way he'd taken his punishment and had been rehabilitated by the Dark Lord. He looked right at Tarquin and said, "It is not at all pleasant."

"Legilimens," Voldemort said smoothly, and Tarquin Avery's knees buckled a little as his mind was invaded. Now Bellatrix did watch. She watched the way Tarquin's eyes went wide, the way his mouth fell open, the way he looked as though he was going to be sick. She knew what Voldemort was looking for. He was searching for Tarquin's past and present feelings about Bellatrix herself. Bellatrix knew Voldemort would not like what he saw. There would be memories of dancing with her at the Yule Ball, of kissing her in the abandoned classroom. There could be anything else - fantasies or dreams - and Bellatrix reckoned all of that probably was inside Tarquin Avery's head. She remembered the way Voldemort had spoken ruefully of his own possessive jealousy the night before, and suddenly she was afraid Tarquin Avery would not leave this room alive.

But Voldemort just shook his head, apparently having pulled himself from the boy's mind. Around the table, expressions on faces ranged from shock and terror to morbid curiosity. Voldemort shook his head again and said softly,

"No. No, I don't suppose I will make you a Death Eater. Avery, get your son out of my sight. I do not wish for him to be in my presence again."

"Yes, My Lord." Avery flew from his chair and rushed over to where Tarquin stood, very evidently dizzy from having had his mind searched. Avery began to push Tarquin from the room, mumbling to him that he needed to get out past the Apparition Point and go home. Voldemort sat in his chair again, his eyes finding Bellatrix's once more. His gaze was utterly blank; she could read nothing at all in it. But she didn't need Legilimency to know what he was thinking. His.

"Does anyone else have news of interest?" Voldemort asked in an airy tone. When no one spoke or raised their hands, he shrugged. "Dismissed, then."

---

Hyson Green, Nottingham

26 March 1971

"Well." Voldemort surveyed the corpses of the family they'd killed. "That went well. Clean it up, the lot of you; I don't want a scrap of them remaining. I'll go do a sweep outside."

"Yes, My Lord." Rabastan Lestrange nodded vigorously, and Voldemort left him with his brother and Bellatrix in the family's parlour. They'd come to Nottingham to take out Theo Muxpin, a Mudblood Auror with a blood traitor wife. That Muxpin's Muggle parents had been visiting was something of an accident, but Voldemort felt no grief at all in their deaths. He walked out of the flat and down the corridor, sweeping his wand up from his suit jacket as he cast several quick general anti-memory spells down toward the other flats. This was a council housing project filled to the brim with Muggles. Voldemort reached out for minds, testing whether anyone was suspicious.

An elderly Muggle woman came up the staircase with an armload of groceries. If Voldemort had been a chivalrous man, he might have offered to help the old woman carry the food to her flat. But he was not at all chivalrous, especially toward Muggles, so he just let her go. Satisfied that they'd completed their task surreptitiously, Voldemort headed back toward the Muxpin flat. It was at the end of the corridor, and the nearly-shut door was illuminated by the last orange light of the evening that came through the dirty window. Through the doorway, Voldemort could hear Bellatrix's voice saying quietly,

"You shouldn't call me that. You shouldn't call me Bella."

Confused, Voldemort paused and waited. He shut his eyes and listened more carefully as Rabastan warned his brother,

"You had your chance, Dolph. You need to stay professional now."

"I'm sorry… Madam Black." Rodolphus spat those words like they were poison, and he lamented softly, "The Dark Lord is a very lucky man. Perhaps I should have never gotten my hopes up."

"I would have been happy with you, Rodolphus, but that isn't how things worked out. You'll find a witch who gives you everything you want. I know it."

"Dahlia's and my wedding is next month, Madam Black," Rabastan noted, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Don't you think perhaps Rodolphus should dance with pretty girls ther?"

"I do think so," Bellatrix said, sounding very kind. Her footsteps were soft and slow, and Voldemort seethed as he realised she was stepping closer to Rodolphus. She sounded entirely too familiar then as she promised, "You'll make someone very happy, Dolph. Don't worry."

"You shouldn't call me Dolph," said Rodolphus, echoing and mocking Bellatrix's words from earlier. Voldemort suddenly thought he would vomit on the rug in the corridor. He'd been more than fine with the killing. Four lives snuffed out like candles and it was nothing to him. But the way his two soldiers and his wife were speaking now…

He flung the door open, feigning a steady look on his face when he saw how close Bellatrix was standing to Rodolphus. Rabastan Lestrange, for his part, looked utterly terrified. He gulped and said in a shaky voice,

"My Lord, we've Vanished all the bodies."

"Yes, I can see that, Lestrange." Voldemort turned his eyes to Bellatrix and said in a snide tone, "Go home, little thing."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix Disapparated without another word, her body whirling into a black blur before she disappeared. Voldemort turned his attention to Rodolphus Lestrange and said in a lethal whisper,

"How easily people fall out of my favour. And then, with a simple green flash, they are gone. Is that what you want for yourself, Rodolphus?"

Rodolphus' eyes welled, and he shook his head vigorously. "No, My Lord. I wish to serve you."

"You will not speak to Bellatrix unless your life depends upon it," Voldemort said simply, sniffing a bit as he adjusted the sleeves of his tailored suit. "In fact, your life depends on you leaving her very much alone. Do not look at her in meetings. Do not wish her a good day. Do not think of her. I will know if you do any of it, and if you do it, I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?"

"Very clear, My Lord." Rodolphus nodded, a frightened tear boiling at his lower eyelid. Voldemort tipped his head and admitted,

"I can certainly understand your disappointment. For years, you were told you'd be married to her. You let yourself focus on her beauty. You let yourself find her funny and intelligent. You let yourself become entranced by the sight of her in battle. But none of that is real for you anymore. She is not real for you anymore. Tell me you understand, or I will eliminate you right here and Vanish your body just like we did to the Mudblood."

"I understand, My Lord," Rodolphus said. He shook his head firmly. "I'll never… I won't dishonour your union with her in any way ever again. I serve you and you alone."

"Good boy," Voldemort nodded. He raised his eyes to Rabastan and said, "I've not yet decided if I shall be in attendance for your marriage. I'll be in touch."

"Of course, My Lord. Whatever pleases you." Rabastan shot a withering look to his elder brother. Voldemort sniffed lightly again and gestured around the flat. There had been a bit of a struggle when they'd come in, so there were broken glasses and a fizzling television set by half-eaten trays of dinner.

"Clean up this mess. I want their police to be very confused."

He Disapparated then, not waiting for a response. When he reappeared in the entryway of the home he shared with Bellatrix, she was pacing nervously in the library. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to make some sort of excuse, but he cast a nonverbal Silencio, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Voldemort stepped very close to her, lowered his mouth toward his as though he meant to kiss her, and hissed,

"Slut."

Bellatrix gasped, and as his Silencing Charm wore off, a look of anger flashed over her face. She shook her head and insisted,

"I have no idea how else I was meant to handle that situation. He called me Bella; I told him not to."

"Yes. I heard. I was in the corridor," Voldemort said lightly. Bellatrix tipped her head up and shrugged.

"I knew you were. I could feel you." Her chest heaved with shaking breath as she said, "I feel sorry for him. He was a little in love with me, and then he was very suddenly informed that he couldn't have me."

"Well, too bad for him," Voldemort sneered. "He'll find someone else or he'll die."

Bellatrix scoffed. "I'm not normally one to recoil at the idea of killing, My Lord, but… over this? With all due respect, your jealousy is out of control and you are being utterly ridicu -"

"Just who do you think you are?" Voldemort interrupted her. He seized her shoulders and slammed her so hard against the bookcase that she yelped in pain and shock. Her eyes went wide, and he sensed a defiance from her that he'd never felt. Not even when they'd been playing around with Occlumency, for that had all been pretend. This was real. This was Bellatrix seeing a crack in the perfect shell of her master. Voldemort, feeling more angry than ever, shook her shoulders roughly and ignored the way her head knocked back against the books. "Who do you think you are, little girl?"

"I'm your bloody wife!" she finally exclaimed, and Voldemort stepped back at the way something had so palpably snapped inside of her. He was almost afraid of her for a split second, for her eyes gleamed oddly and her lips shook with unmitigated rage. She curled her fingers around the ledge beneath the bookshelves and said in a quiet monotone, "I am your wife. I am your servant, but I am not your slave. I'm not a House-Elf. I am… I am a pretty nineteen-year-old witch, and whilst you may look thirty, you aren't. You're forty-four years of age, and I think you ought to know better than to behave like a petulant little boy who -"

"You need to stop. Right now, Bella, or I will do something terrible and I won't regret it." Voldemort shook where he stood; his wand trembled so fiercely in his hand that he thought he might drop it. Bellatrix stared at him helplessly and shrugged.

"You're the Dark Lord!" she exclaimed desperately. "Why are you doing this? Why are you letting these silly jealousies get in the way of what's important? Rodolphus Lestrange, Tarquin Avery… do they really matter?"

"Of course they matter, you ignorant little child." Voldemort curled up his lip and tried not to shatter the windows. "If they won't respect my marriage, how can I possibly expect them to respect my political authority?"

Bellatrix tipped her head back against the books. "Please just tell me what you want… Master."

"You. For my own, with no one trying to steal you away." Voldemort's voice cracked a little as he said that. Bellatrix lowered her eyes to him, looking dejected as she reminded him,

"I am yours, My Lord. Forever. Anyone else is inconsequential."

Voldemort shut his eyes and felt anger he did not know he possessed. He had half a mind to send Bellatrix crumpling to the floor, to torture her so she'd stop torturing him. He kept his eyes shut and informed her,

"There was never supposed to be anyone else in play. It was meant to just be me, rising to power alone. The fact that I care so very, very much about you, Bellatrix, is… troubling."

"So you've told me," Bellatrix whispered, and when Voldemort opened his eyes, he just wanted to make all of this stop. His head was screaming at her to either kill her or kiss her. He chose the latter. He stepped quickly up to her and crushed her mouth with his, expecting her to kiss him back like she always did. He expected her to snake her arms around his shoulders or to go for the placket of his trousers.

But she kept her lips shut and squealed angrily, pushing at his chest. Voldemort pulled away, breathless and needing release of some kind as his magic crackled in the air around him. Bellatrix shook her head, seeming awfully confused as she spat,

"I don't feel like kissing you right now."

"That doesn't matter," Voldemort said firmly. "I am the Dark Lord. You may be married to me, but you are my servant just the same, and you will remember it. Kiss me, Bellatrix."

"No!" She kept pushing at his chest, but he was stronger. He seized her face in his hands and put his mouth to hers again. Bellatrix growled with anger, and suddenly he felt the tip of her wand against his chest. He was blown back then, as if a bomb had gone off. As he lay on the ground staring up at the ceiling, he realised she'd thrown him off of her with a subtle, nonverbal Knockback Jinx.

His head felt sticky and warm, and as he reached back to touch his scalp, he felt the unmistakable slick of blood. His head had crashed against the ledge around the bookshelves before he'd fallen. Voldemort heaved himself to his feet, shaking and humiliated as he siphoned up his own blood and cast an Episkey to seal up the superficial wound to his scalp. He stared across the library at Bellatrix, who was silently crying where she stood with her wand in her hand.

And then he felt it - something profound he'd not thought himself capable of feeling. It was regret, coupled and mingling with sorrow and love. Bellatrix had been right, he thought. For weeks, he'd become preoccupied with his own looks, unwilling to be ugly and old. Hand in hand with that preoccupation had been his paranoia that someone else would swoop in and take Bellatrix from him. After all, she was beautiful and witty and charming and Dark in all the wrong ways, and he couldn't imagine why anyone wouldn't want her. But he'd been hurting her with all his angry jealousy. He'd wounded her with suspicion. Worst of all, he'd pushed himself on her.

He shut his eyes where he stood and licked his bottom lip as he told Bellatrix, "I shall sleep in the spare bedroom tonight."

"That is not necessary, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a voice that was unexpectedly confident and strong. When he raised his eyes to her, she shrugged. "I would like to wake up next to tomorrow. It's a year, you know… a year since we were married."

"I know." How could he forget? But he was scarcely acting like a proper husband these days. He was afraid to approach her, afraid she'd become enraged again, so he stayed where he was and said, "I am very sorry, Bella. You… you of all people… you deserve much better than what I have given you so far."

"I love you," Bellatrix said simply. "With all that am as your soldier and servant, as your wife… I love you very much."

"I'll earn that someday," Voldemort nodded determinedly. "I swear it. I will earn that."

Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the ledge around the bookshelves. "I would like very much to attend Dahlia's wedding to Rabastan Lestrange. She was a close school friend of mine. And Ophelia will be there, and I'd like to see her. You have my word that my loyalty to you, and your possession of me, will be unquestionably evident. May we please go, My Lord?"

She'd measured her words carefully, because she was intelligent and calculating. Voldemort nodded and curled his lips up in a melancholy smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Yes. Of course we can go. I'm going to go clean myself up." He turned to go from the library, pausing with his hand on the wooden threshold. He never apologised to anyone but Bellatrix, and even she was very rarely on the receiving end of his contrition. But he sighed and turned over his shoulder as he told her again, "I am indeed sorry. Rodolphus is right about one thing… how very lucky is the man who got you make you his bride."

---

Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London

27 March 1971

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open to see that the place beside her in bed was empty. She dragged her fingers over the sheets, glancing at the clock to see that it was seven-thirty. She could smell food - the distinct smell of back bacon and a general savoury aroma that made her stomach curl with hunger. Bellatrix rose from the bed, dragged the blankets up to neaten everything, and made her way to the wardrobe. She pulled out her dark turquoise, knee-length silk kimono robe and tied the belt neatly around her narrow waist. In the bathroom, she cleaned her teeth and pulled a wide comb through her wild curls.

She picked up her wand and trotted down the staircase, wishing with all her heart that she and Lord Voldemort had not quarreled the day before. He'd slept silently beside her, never putting a finger upon her, but something inside of her had ached to snarl her legs with his and to put her ear beside his heartbeat. She hadn't. She'd managed to stay on her side of the bed, facing away from him and pretending to be far more angry than she was. Now she padded down the last stair and down the corridor, and from the dining-room to her left, she heard Voldemort's voice say gently,

"In here."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open when she saw that he'd set the table with fine china and silverware, that he'd poured orange juice into cut-glass tumblers, that he'd brewed tea and cooked food. He stood with his hand on the back of a chair, already handsomely dressed in simple but elegant black robes. His lips twitched a little as he murmured,

"Happy anniversary… my wondrous little thing."

He flicked his wand at his left hand, and the flowers he was holding had a Disillusionment Charm lifted. They seemed to appear out of nowhere… deep purple tulips tied with a black ribbon. Bellatrix swallowed hard and told him,

"You didn't need to do all this, My Lord. To go to all this trouble…"

"Yes, I did." He set the flowers down on the table and pulled the chair before him out a little. "Would you like to eat?"

He was being so very gentle with her, so very kind and downright romantic, and Bellatrix had almost no idea what to make of that. She nodded mutely and walked to the chair. Before she sat, Voldemort caught her jaw in his hand and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her so carefully that Bellatrix moaned a little. He was so incredibly handsome at this age, right at thirty, and his eyes glittered magnetically as he pulled his face back.

"The eggs will be cold," he warned her, and Bellatrix sat and let him push her chair in by hand. She arranged her napkin on her lap and watched as he sat opposite her, and then she took a bite of the scrambled eggs. They were fluffy and light, done perfectly, and Bellatrix made a happy little sound.

"My Lord," she said once she'd swallowed, "I had no idea you were so skilled in the kitchen."

"Yes, well. There are a good many years there where I had to cook for myself or starve," Voldemort said plainly. He solemnly took a few bites of his own food, and Bellatrix eyed the purple tulips beside her as she said,

"I apologise, My Lord, for becoming so angry yesterday."

He looked up from his plate, set his knife and fork down, and shrugged.

"You had every reason to be angry," he said, "and I am, in fact, rather surprised you weren't angrier." He dragged his fingertips over the tablecloth, and his throat bobbed visibly. "You must understand, Bellatrix, what an impossible balancing act it is for me to be married to you."

Bellatrix glanced down at the tulips to her left, then to the dormant Dark Mark on her left arm. She listened as Voldemort continued,

"I demand complete submission from every single one of my followers, even you. It's the only way I can… the only way I can actually be Lord Voldemort. And you have never once complained about being my servant."

"I never would, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, and he nodded.

"The rest of them are essential as a group and useless as individuals," he said matter-of-factly, drumming his fingers on the table. "But you, Bellatrix… you are very essential as an individual. You make me happy. You make me jealous. You put fear into my heart. I lie awake at night over the idea of losing you. And I love you more than any man has ever loved any woman. Ever."

Bellatrix's mouth dropped open in shock at his candor. He looked abruptly nervous, shrugging with an awkward little smile as he said,

"Your silence tempts me to invade your mind, but I've trained you to keep me out."

Bellatrix shook her head, feeling her eyes burn. If he went into her head right now, she'd just see how deeply she adored him. "I won't keep you out, My Lord."

He took a sip of his orange juice, cleared his throat, and met her eyes. "Legilimens."

Bellatrix staring at Voldemort as he put the Dark Mark upon the flesh of her arm… Voldemort kissing Bellatrix for the very first time at her parents' Christmas party… In the Doxy's Nest, just after he'd taken her virginity, saying, 'This, Bella… it means nothing, you understand? I am your master'... scribbling back and forth in their journals about throwing reekberries, teasing one another with written words…

Sitting across from him in Malfoy Manor and saying, 'I am in love with you, My Lord'... Killing Artemis Pryce, casting the Cruciatus Curse… falling asleep with her head on his chest, night after night, kissing his skin… touching their Marks until they both found completion… his mouth on her womanhood to celebrate her birthday… months without seeing him or hearing from him, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces every time she looked at her empty journal…

'I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk'... his written words, clear and black, 'I do believe I am in love with you, Bella'... the sight of his eyes flashing with rage over a lost battle… standing in the library here in their house as he told her, 'I want you to marry me'... his leg torn to shreds by a Blasting Curse, healing him up and then marrying him… staring up at his dark eyes as they danced…

Voldemort finally pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, and she felt so woozy from the invasion that she held the edge of the table, her food entirely forgotten. Voldemort let out a long, deep sigh, and his voice was very gentle as he asked,

"Will you come here, please?"

Bellatrix rose, her legs shaking from the after-effects of the prolonged and thorough Legilimency. He'd watched everything she had on him, every moment that had seared itself into her being. Now as she approached him, he rose from his chair and immediately caught her face up in his hands. He kissed her, firmly but not insistently, and Bellatrix surrendered entirely to the kiss. He pushed her carefully toward the pale green wallpaper in the dining-room, and when her back hit the wall, he pulled at the hems of her nightgown and robe.

Bellatrix shook her head and whispered apologetically, "I'm bleeding, My Lord."

He just nodded, both of them seeming to experience a little relief at the fact. Bellatrix had worried that she'd waited too long to take the new dose of Nongravidare Potion, for one full year was stretching its efficacy. But she was bleeding, and whilst that may be an inconvenience for their anniversary, it meant she was his and his alone.

He kissed her again, so deeply this time that she felt herself melting straight into him. His thumbs caressed her cheekbones, and he finally pulled away enough to murmur,

"I love you to the marrow of my bones. Do you understand that, Bellatrix? Do you understand that, if I am possessive of you, it is only because I can no longer fathom an existence without you? It's why I had you make a Horcrux. I can not… I will not… be without you now. You understand, don't you?"

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, putting her own hands on his exceedingly handsome face. "I live for you. I always will."

He smiled, more happily this time, and he kissed her forehead. "My magnificent little thing."

---

Greengrass House, Bury St Edmunds

9 April 1971

"Dahlia, you look like positively beautiful," Bellatrix told her friend, and Dahlia really did. Her gown was ethereal, light and wispy as a breath. Dahlia's golden brown hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders, and she wore a crown of woven pink flowers.

"You look like someone dreamed you up," said Ophelia Yaxley, putting a hand protectively over her newly swollen belly. Dahlia covered Ophelia's hand and said kindly,

"You be careful dancing, Ophelia. Don't let Tudor whip you about!"

"Oh, Tudor's very gentle," Ophelia said, waving her hand dismissively. Dahlia glanced over her shoulder to where the girls' husbands stood talking. Lord Voldemort had a glass of wine in his hand, and Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange were deep in discussion with him.

"He seems happy. The Dark Lord." Dahlia flashed Bellatrix a knowing look and asked, "You're not in the same spot as Ophelia, are you?"

"What? No!" Bellatrix scoffed and shook her head wildly, but then she realised there was no reason for anyone to understand. She and Voldemort had discussed at length that their lives had no place for a child - not now, and perhaps not ever. But how could Ophelia, so gleefully puffed up by her own pregnancy, possibly comprehend such thinking? How could Dahlia, who had married with the intent of squeezing out Purebloods like the good Greengrass girl she was, understand? They couldn't. Bellatrix gnawed on her bottom lip and said simply,

"Don't hold your breath for a baby on my end, ladies. He's happy, Dahlia, because the war is going well. That's thanks in large part to your husband. I fight with Rabastan often; he's quick-witted and ruthless."

"Ruthless?" Dahlia frowned and glanced at Rabastan again. She shook her head and grinned. "Oh, I just can't see him being ruthless."

"Well, he is," Bellatrix shrugged. She turned to Ophelia and said matter-of-factly, "Tudor Yaxley's got a very quick Stupefy. Seen him use it dozens of times."

"Bella, why do you like battle so much?" Ophelia rubbed at her pregnant belly and shook her head. "Isn't there something else you'd rather do than… oh, they're all coming straight for us."

The three wizards who had been lost in conversation were now walking straight toward their wives. Bellatrix found Voldemort's eyes, and he smiled a little, looking powerfully attractive in his tuxedo. Bellatrix had put on an emerald green silk concoction of a gown, and she knew she looked passably pretty. But his eyes were hungry as they coursed up and down her body.

"Congratulations, Rabastan," Bellatrix said, and Dahlia's new husband grinned at her as he laced his arm through hers.

"Thank you, Madam Black," he said. He squeezed at Dahlia's hand and suggested, "Dahlia, will you come dance with me?"

"Of course! See you, Bella. Ophelia. Erm… My Lord." Dahlia dashed off with Rabastan, and Bellatrix was left in a quartet with Voldemort and Yaxley and Ophelia. Voldemort glanced awkwardly at Ophelia's belly and then asked her,

"Are you feeling well, Madam Yaxley?"

Ophelia's cheeked coloured pink at having been addressed directly by the fearsome, handsome Dark Lord. She nodded fervently. "I'm feeling very well, My Lord. Thank you. It is my honour to bring another Pureblood child into this world."

"You'll be a very good mother, darling," said Tudor Yaxley in a warm voice. "Will you dance with me? I promise to be very careful."

Ophelia giggled, and she and Yaxley gave respectful nods to Voldemort and Bellatrix before heading off toward the dance floor. Bellatrix smirked at Voldemort after they'd gone, and she said,

"Guess that just leaves you and me, Master."

"And do you want to dance, Bella?" Voldemort asked, sipping at his wine. Bellatrix flicked her eyes over to the dance floor, where her own parents were smiling at one another as they swayed. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa were dancing, and Rodolphus Lestrange had Bellatrix's younger cousin Marya - home from Hogwarts on Easter holidays - wrapped up in his arms. The bride and groom, as well as the Yaxleys, were having a go along with a great many other wedding guests.

"The dance floor seems a bit crowded, My Lord," Bellatrix confessed. She dragged her thumb over the rim of her wine glass and noted, "It's a bit stuffy in here, isn't it? I heard they have beautiful gardens."

Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and extended his arm. "Madam Black, would you be so good as to walk with your husband in the gardens, then?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix smiled and let him lead her from the crowded ballroom. Her high heels clicked on the parquet floors in the foyer, and as they made their way out the double back doors, Bellatrix reveled in the refreshing cool night air. She yelped as her heels sank into the damp lawn, and she bent down to pull the shoes off one at a time. She looped the backs over her finger and gave an apologetic look to Voldemort.

"I'll walk barefoot, I suppose," she said, but he took the shoes and pulled out his wand.

"Aufero Spinosis," he incanted, and suddenly the spiky heels on the shoes had vanished and given way to smooth, flat soles. Bellatrix laughed a little and demanded,

"When did you learn how to Transfigure shoes?"

He shrugged. "Shoes aren't the only things that need to have spikes removed, you know."

She didn't really want the details behind that, but she gratefully put the now-flat shoes on her feet and sipped at her wine. They began walking through the little maze of hedges, in which bushes of flowers and little benches had been arranged.

"Noha seemed angry that we were leaving," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort smiled a bit sadly as he seemed to think of his snake.

"He wants to leave, you know," he told Bellatrix. "He's very unhappy being forced to live indoors. He wants to live somewhere with grass and a pond, not a house in London."

"Oh." Bellatrix frowned. "I feel badly that I made him so unhappy in buying him for you. Perhaps you ought to set him free."

"Perhaps." Voldemort shrugged. Then he said, "Noha's strong-willed. If he wants to leave, he'll just go out a window one day and won't come back."

Bellatrix studied Voldemort's face, illuminated only by the floating, mystical-looking lamps that had been set to hover over the gardens. From inside the house, she could hear that the hired strings had struck up a lovely waltz, and she had a sudden need to dance with her husband. She took his wine from him and set the glass, along with her own, on the grass near the hedge. She put her left hand on his shoulder, and he quickly got the idea. His fingers laced through hers and his palm went flat against her back as they began to waltz in the middle of the hedges. For a long while, neither of them said anything. They just moved and held the other, and finally Voldemort's throat bobbed and he said,

"I'm sorry for staring at you, but I find I can't look away. You're much too beautiful, especially out here, like this."

Bellatrix's heart sped up a little, and she shut her eyes for a moment as a dizzy sense of need came over her. Voldemort did not help that one bit when he stopped dancing, took her left hand in his right one, and started stroking at her Dark Mark.

"Mmph… My Lord, no! We mustn't…" Bellatrix found it difficult to stand as he dragged his thumb around the skull and serpent he'd placed on her.

"What mustn't we do, Bella?" he asked, his voice dangerous. "This?"

He brought her Dark Mark to his lips and kissed it, dragging his mouth along the inside of her forearm. Bellatrix moaned aloud, knowing that anyone passing on the other side of the hedge would hear her. But, then, Voldemort would have known they were there. His eyes flashed and his own breath sped up in his nostrils. His left hand cupped Bellatrix's cheek and he moved his lips from her arm to her neck, bending low to accommodate their difference in height. He used his thumb to stroke at her Dark Mark. Bellatrix watched as it flushed crimson, then burgundy, then jet black. She was so wet and achy between her legs that she could hardly stand it, and when she reached on instinct for Voldemort's trousers, she could feel he'd gone completely hard.

"Don't stop," she heard herself whisper, very much against her better judgment. Voldemort pulled his mouth from her neck, his thumb pushing harder on her Mark as he tipped his head back. His face twisted and he grunted a little, and Bellatrix felt a rush of pleasure go through her so strongly that it seemed to be her own. That pushed her over the edge, and suddenly she was relying on her husband's arm to keep her standing as she came right there in the Greengrass' gardens. She caught her breath, staggering backward a little as Voldemort aimed his wand down at his trousers and murmured,

"Tergeo. Hmm. That escalated quickly. I apologise."

"No need to be sorry, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. She could hear that the din inside the house was getting a little quieter, and she suggested, "Perhaps you ought to go make your rounds saying goodnight to everyone."

---

Number Six, St Albans Grove, London

10 April 1971

"Oh, for Merlin's Sake." Voldemort rubbed at his forehead, trying desperately to make the pain go away.

"What's the matter?" Bellatrix's voice was soft and bleary in the early morning. She rolled over to face Voldemort as he explained,

"I've a splitting headache for some reason. Just awful; I didn't even drink very much, and… Bella, why on Earth are you looking at me like that?"

She was staring open-mouthed at him, her face locked into an expression of sheer horror. She seemed to be struggling to find her voice, and finally she said,

"P-perhaps you ought to go look in the mirror, Master."

"What?" Now thoroughly irritated, Voldemort heaved himself from the bed, not caring that he wore nothing but underwear. His body was achy, too, and he felt profoundly grumpy as he stepped into the bathroom and used wandless magic to illuminate the sconces.

Then he saw his own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment he just glared. Bellatrix appeared in the threshold, but he paid her no heed. His fist flew forward on impulse, shattering the mirror's glass and instantly sending streams of scarlet blood all over the white porcelain sink.

It had worn off. He was old again.

"I look older than ever," Voldemort snarled, watching his hand bleed into the sink. "The bloody spell didn't just wear off; it added time! I look like a damned fifty-year-old."

Bellatrix was mute with terror in the doorway. "What will you tell them?" she asked. "The… the Death Eaters and everybody else? How will you explain -"

"I'm not going to explain why I look older than ever, Bellatrix," Voldemort growled, still letting his hand bleed. He picked a shard of the mirror from the space between two knuckles, wincing at and relishing the pain. He shut his eyes and declared, "I found an age at which I wish to remain. Young enough to be appealing, old enough to be authoritative. I will not accept anything else. I will make it work. Go fetch me some Dittany."