A/N: Written for Challenge 93 of the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum. The theme was about a character who had posed for Playwitch/Playwizard magazine and after some time their current partner finds out.

All characters are of age, it's rated M because it contains mild bondage and a couple of words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, sadly, and thus those of you who are fans of the Dark Side never got a happy dark ending. Anyway, going past the sad parts...

A thank you to Ella, Lizz and Azzie :)

"Don't peek!" trilled old Hepzibah Smith, as she led Tom Riddle to the next room by the hand. The young man was walking slowly in order to avoid tripping on the lemon-coloured robes of his host that flowed all around her or the variety of tables, cabinets and cases of books that attempted to block their path.

"Now, now, if you peek, you won't get to see my dearest treasure, Tom, so think well before you do!" she said raising a finger, in front of him even though he couldn't see it.

"I do not peek" he said reassuringly, "I would never offend you like that, madam."

Hepzibah giggled girlishly and patted affectionately his shoulder.

"Madam!" she repeated shrilly, "How many times have I told you to call me Miss Hepzibah, you naughty boy?"

"Three more times, madam," he answered quietly, only to get another little laugh as a response.

"Now here we are, Tom, dear, just behind that door. Just move to the side...over here..." Riddle followed her instructions and let her lead him to the next room. As they were walking, Hepzibah let out a few more giggles as if she couldn't help herself. Probably she couldn't.

"Voilà!" she sang.

Tom opened his eyes to find himself in a small library set with a big couch and a letter-writing table. Hepzibah was pointing at a small piece of parchment that was lying patiently there. He picked it up.

Dear Mr. Riddle,

After due consideration of Miss Hepzibah Smith's kind words about you, we have decided to accept you as the prime model for our December issue, which, as the charming lady informed us, is also your birth month. Please join us on the 24th of this month at 369 Diagon Alley for the first shooting. And be less shy than you were with expressing your interest about being our model!

The whole crew is looking forward to seeing you.

Yours sincerely,

Margaret Strudel, editor-in-chief of Playwitch Magazine

As Tom's eyes scanned the letter a sudden shudder seemed to have hit his hand-nerves. He turned his gaze to Hepzibah, who was already looking at him as if she was giving him the best present ever.

"So?" she purred.

Riddle opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again."I-do not understand," he uttered these words for the first time in his life.

"Your birthday present!"

He returned a semi-smile that asked for elaboration.

Hepzibah gave a tinkling laugh and raised her hand to pat his cheek.

"Oh, dear Lord, you look so adorable when you're playing dumb."

Riddle blinked while she continued:

"You see, from the day we met, oh do you remember that day Tom? It was your second day at the shop, you looked so young and sweet and brilliant and just then I knew a good looking young man like you would make me their special someone! Only I thought about it a bit more and, you know, I changed my mind, you should share with the world your looks and that stunning gaze, I shouldn't be the one enjoying it all. So I sent an owl or two and now here we go! Everyone's waiting for you!"

A thick knot had been formed in Ridde's throat as the woman talked. He tried to swallow and clear his throat with no success.

"Madam, I never meant to-"

"No trouble at all!" she shrieked. "I consider it my duty, Tom, it's the first step to your birthday present. If you do that for me -that is, the witch population- I'd be more that glad to share my dearest treasure with you, along with a second one." She winked and added in a whisper: "I think you're going to love that, too!"

"Love that?" he repeated blankly, as if the words were foreign to him.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure! Now, Tom, dear, it's either this" she pointed at the letter, "or that" she inclined her head towards the couch were a blanket was neatly folded and small lacquered box sat on the tiny coffee table nearby.

He doubled his effort to swallow as he realized what she had in mind. Taking a deep breath he started, a bit late, the clinical examination he always did in dilemmas. The first option, the most delightful option, was to just kill her right away, search the house for the strongest traces of magic and destroy the spells, steal her treasures and depart. Only that could take hours, leave evidence and he couldn't be sure the treasures the foolish woman had promised him were worth killing for. He was almost sure about it, but still. So, option A was out.

He could avoid being published to the whole of Britain by "visiting the couch", he would get the treasures handed to him and then immortal life would be his. But he wasn't sure he wanted eternal life if he would have to remember the adventures on the couch forever. And who knew, perhaps once was not enough for her and she would ask for more. he repressed a shudder. Nope, he most certainly did not want to live with these memories.

Option C was taking the deal and everyone would see him naked. He didn't really fancy taking his clothes off, and most importantly, it could potentially hurt his campaign. If he left the country after that though... People would forget and when he would be back he would be so feared, no silly magazine would survive another day.

This time he managed to swallow the knot and his voice was as calm as ever when he met her puppy-eyes.

"24th October then?"

Bellatrix Lestrange really, deeply, absolutely hated children. Even her own nephew. Maybe her nephew even more. The thing, even if it was a boy, was tiny and screamed all day long like it was under a bad crucio, not one she could have caused. Noise, drool and poop and still her sister seemed to dote on it, looking at it as if it were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had even been sharp with her when she said she didn't want to hold it. And when she had called it "it". Why had she come to see her sister again?

Right, because she was her little and only sister. Bellatrix sighed. She had to go join Narcissa and Lucius for dinner soon, but she wouldn't manage that without a few minutes of silence. She walked quickly down the corridor and into the small room her sister used to love before she had it. The room was quiet and far away from the usually inhabited parts of the manor. It would have to do.

Trying to calm herself down and still hearing imaginary cries of viable fetuses, she started running through the books and magazines around her. Most of them were either romantic novels or glossy fashion magazines. There were a few about knitting too. And a whole stack of-what? A high tower of magazines was deliberately hidden behind the fluffy armchair so she knelt down and picked one up.

A brick fell on her head and she started seeing little Dark Marks dancing all around her. The bloody thing was a Playwitch! Thinking she was probably going mad, she opened it and oh Dark Lord, it was indeed a Playwitch.

Bellatrix had never claimed she understood how people worked nor did she ever feel the need to. No matter what the Dark Lord said, humans were stupid and not worth of her attention, not even to laugh at them. And she would have never ever guessed her sister had magazines like that. Not with an Avada coming her way. Sweet, pure, innocent Cissy reading porn? She was pretty sure her sister was a virgin, anyway. The fact that she had just given birth to a child was irrelevant. There were other ways to get pregnant, of course, she reminded herself: smelling a bewitched lily had worked once, and there was this very interesting ancient Greek myth where a son was born when Zeus had touched a woman's forehead. She would more easily accept that scenario than Cissy actually having sex, even with that jerk.

Hmm, now she came to think of it, perhaps the magazines belonged to Lucius, she thought triumphantly as she continued looking through the collection that dated back to 1945. She had always thought he was a bit a of a bender, but Narcissa had persisted he was as straight as a candle. She would have commented on candles melting and bending when heated, but her betrayal had still been warm too. Since Bellatrix' remaining sister wanted a pure-blood so enthusiastically she just gave them her blessing before Cissy changed her mind and decided to run off with a Mudblood too.

Bellatrix repressed another sigh of sadness and bitterness at being reminded of the betrayal and was about to leave the room and attend dinner, when an issue attracted her attention. The only thing with black background, it presented a very good-looking young man on the cover who was just wearing his tie. Pale skin, dark green eyes and high cheekbones under a shock of jet black hair. A trained but still flexible body covered with scars from whips and sticks mainly on the back, but still with a fair amount on the chest and hands.

The young man had his head a bit inclined, as if in humility, but the razor-sharp gaze let out a much different aura: seductive, dangerous and chilling. And she knew that gaze only too well. Her jaw dropped for the second time in the evening and the fourth in her whole life. This young man was the Dark Lord. Her Dark Lord.

Bellatrix took an audible breath. She had always known she was a bit... different but that hallucination proved she was barking mad. She flipped the page open and was looking at the index page when a voice came from somewhere near.

"Bella? Bella! Are you here?"

Cissy. Damn. Without thinking twice she hid the issue with a twirl of her wand and with a more violent flick the room went to its previous condition. She had just managed to open the first book she saw when the door swung open.

"Bella! You scared me! Oh my, why did you do that, you know I shouldn't be getting upset and I can't just run around in my condition and-"

"It's alright, Cissy, I'm fine. Just needed a break from the pinkness and fluffiness, that's all. Found something good to read and now I'm ready to come back and have a wonderful evening with my beloved brother-in-law and your adorable fetus!" she said in her casual tone.

This would have reassured Narcissa if she hadn't noticed the title of the book Bellatrix was holding: "The Tears of Cupid". That couldn't be right.

"Err, did you- like the book?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes! Yes, I did. Very much. I never thought I would, but it grew on me. I just can't wait to see if -err- Romeo is the father of both Philomela's twins," she gave the page a quick look to check the names and make sure that twins did indeed exist.

"Oh great!" Cissy said thickly. "So you found that-"

"Around. Over there." Bellatrix pointed at a far corner of the room that couldn't possibly have fitted a book. "I didn't poke around your things. Or Lucius'."

"Great! Yes, Lucius'. Right". And after an awkward pause she said: "The pheasant. Poor bird is getting cold and we are hungry. We should go. You can keep the book."

"Yes. I mean no. No, thanks, I'd rather not break my heart. You know frozen things, they break far too easily." She threw the book at the table and led the way to the dining table not believing that the excursion had actually helped her to look forward to having dinner.

Narcissa gave a nervous look inside the room and left too.

Slap! Bellatrix' body moved twith the impact of Lord Voldemort's hand as much as her bonds allowed her, not bothering to stand her ground even though the rope and cuffs burned into her delicate skin. Lost in thoughts, she couldn't take her eyes away from her Lord's scarred back as it reflected itself on the mirror of the bedroom, so at first she didn't even notice that the next slap that was supposed to hit her between the legs didn't arrive.

"Bella," a soft, ominous voice whispered in her ear. She didn't react until a sharp pain hit her back as the ropes tying her legs flipped. Unwillingly, she averted her gaze from the mirror to look at him. His face was snow-white instead of pale now, his once perfectly carved features seemed blurred and waxy, but she knew the scars fitted perfectly, the fiery eyes had the same intensity as in the picture.

"So, Miss Black," Voldemort said softly, running a long finger along her inner thighs and privates, "will you tell me what is keeping you unfocused from the task in hand?"

"I am not unfocused, master," she lied.

"You are focusing on something else, I know that. What I want to know is what that something is," he stated, mild irritation in his voice now, as he continued teasing her. "Perhaps it is," his fingers made an elaborate pattern on her leg before grabbing the ropes once again "someone else?"

"Never, master." Bellatrix' sapphire eyes opened widely. "Never, you know that!"

Voldemort nodded quietly.

"Then?"

"It's nothing, master. I am merely tired. I was visiting my sister earlier in the morning, as you recommended, and that thing drained me from energy with its crying and screaming."

He laughed delicately, not taking his eyes from hers nor stopping toying with her body and its bonds.

"I never thought the day you got tired of screams would come. The world is coming to an end... But it is not, I haven't conquered it all yet, it doesn't have the right to destruct itself. And you showed no resistance at all when I started tying you up, usually you try to cut me into pieces. So," he paused to go sit next to her, higher on the bed, "what is the real reason?"

Bellatrix observed him as he pulled his wand out of his ripped robes and heated the end. The yew's cool part started trailing paths on her upper body and rushes of electricity zapped her as the hot tip touched her. A surprisingly warm hand got a grip of her chin and the fiery eyes gazed into her.

One part of Bellatrix' mind ached for them to continue the game, she really liked that wand-inspiration, but she also wanted to take the shock out on someone, and the person who had caused it sounded like the ideal target.

"Search my robes," she said in a tone very different than the previous submissive one, looking straight into his eyes.

He cast her an odd look and when her expression remained set he put the yew on the nightstand, incandescent tip in the air, and started looking around for parts of her clothes.

"There, near the waistband of the skirt," she pointed with her fingers in an odd angle at the heavy dark green velvet decorated with spectacular exotic flowers that was lying miserable under a chair. Voldemort approached cautiously the piece of clothing as if it was a trap and gave it a stir. Like a hologram, the edges of a transparent magazine appeared for a split second, disappeared and then appeared again, solid this time. A long fingered hand seized it and then Voldemort's entire body froze.

"Yes, my reaction exactly," Bellatrix nodded gleefully, obviously taking joy in seeing his attempts to hide his horror.

Voldemort turned slowly to face her.

"Bella..." he began, quietly sitting next to her as he had been doing a moment ago, only now his body language was so much different.

"I can explain that," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. "As you can see, it was quite a long time ago, I was just eighteen and-"

"I am nineteen and cannot recall myself taking my clothes off for the cameras last year. I could be wrong, though." The shark-smile on her face and the eyebrow raised cruelly made such a contrast with her general picture as she was tied up on the bed, legs spread, with very little room to move her hands in order to protect herself from his attacks, that under different conditions Voldemort would have found the whole scene impossibly arousing. Actually no, he still found it arousing, the tightness in his pants said so, but he couldn't fuck her raw right away, it would give the wrong impression. But it had to be a quick solution.

He raised his hand and cupped her cheek, while his lips were just an inch away from hers. They would very rarely kiss, so it had the desirable effect: a violent shudder, much more powerful than the ones she offered him during their foreplay, and her eyes became a bit unfocused. He smiled softly.

"It was the only way to get an amazing object of mythical power off an old woman. It was either that bloody photo or sleeping with her, and without it I wouldn't have become powerful, my dear."

Bellatrix nodded in a dreamy fashion and then she seemed to wake up from the nirvana. Realizing what he had planned, she let all the bonds fall loose on the bed and floor and sat up, blue flames dancing in her eyes. Forgetting all pretence now, she laughed loudly:

"Oh, yes, I'm sure of that! You couldn't make an old woman give you a trinket without bedding her! That's absolutely ridiculous, Tom, what's next? You being defeated eight times by a little boy?"

"Don't be silly, and it wasn't like that", he went on the defensive, "she considered it a gift, I couldn't possibly say no without killing her, and like I said, that would have been counterproductive. I really can't see why you get so angry, Bella, I really can't. It's not like anything happened. The photographer was male, if you must know, and the women there were old, nothing happened " he said as apologetically as he could.

"Nothing happened?" Bellatrix asked, almost begging, the rage leaving her as quickly as it had flared up.

"Nothing at all. It was just a single photo." His voice was steady now.

Bellatrix nodded, thinking apparently hard. Then a smirk crossed her lips.

"At least admit you sort of enjoyed rubbing it on everyone's face what a droolworthy god you are."

They stared at each other for a while and then:

"Ok, I admit it, I happen to be both mentally and physically blessed and it was nice for once to attract attention for the physical part. May we proceed now?" he said, pointing at his crotch, his eyes sparkling red.

Bellatrix let out a triumphant cry and dove in his shoulder biting hard every bit of flesh while he was getting rid of his pants. Only when he came back to the area of interest, Bellatrix was a bit... unwilling. Mentally cursing, he used his sweet voice again:

"Will you spread for me?"

She gave him a dark look and with her hair disheveled and her lips red from the blood she seemed determined. Voldemort cast her his most playful look and then made a small, golden cup appear out of thin air. He put it on the nightstand and this time, very seriously, he said:

"How about you keep that safe for me?"

A/N: Thanx for reading, please review. That was just because the girls in the forum asked why Voldemort chose Bella and Lucius for his Horcrux-Keepers. My first asnwer had been 'the threesome memories', but I think that's much less gross. But I still have no clue about why Lucius. I suppose even Dark Lords make mistakes...

Because many mentioned it, yes, "fetus" is used intentionally to show Bella's psychopathy that makes her lack empathy and connection to other people, especially babies. That's why she calls him "viable fetus".

About Bellatrix and the bewitched flower: I don't believe that old wizarding families are Christian, more like adoring nature and the magic of the universe pretty similar to the old beliefs that seem to be the origins of magic, Christianity, that seems to be mentioned in the books sometimes comes from the Muggleborns/Halfbloods.

The Greek myth is true, too: Io was chased down in three continents as a cow by Hera and when Zeus took pity of her he made her a woman again and touched her forehead. The son of the union was called Epaphus ('Επαφος), is Greek "touch". According to the myth he founded many cities in Egypt and North Africa and is his legacy includes many heroes and fathers of the Greek folk.

The book title isn't real, and don't ask me about the Strudel name, I'm just hungry.