31 October 1981

Malfoy Manor

"Enter." Voldemort shook like mad as he redid his tie and stared into the mirror on his office wall. When the door opened, he turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange standing there, wide-eyed and nervous.

"Bella," he murmured quietly. "What do you need? I have very important business tonight."

"Master," she bowed, shutting the door and padding gently into the room. Having just turned thirty, she'd been married for eight years now to Rodolphus Lestrange and had been a servant of the Dark Lord for thirteen years of her life. She was by far his most devoted slave. She was in love with him, too, he knew. He ignored that fact, for the most part, except for when exploiting it would make her feel wanted and special and make her more useful. He was sure to keep her close, and over the course of this war, she had proven herself to be an incredibly vicious soldier. She was remarkably beautiful, though Voldemort had never indulged himself. She was too young, first of all, or at least she'd always seemed too young, what with the twenty-five year age difference. And then there was just how cloying she was, how very much she wanted him on a seemingly molecular level, and Voldemort couldn't abide that. So he didn't. But he did try to make her feel special. So now he walked over to her and kissed her forehead, and he asked her in a voice far gentler than any he used with anyone else,

"What is it, my dear?"

"I had a dream last night, Master," she said, suddenly sounding more confident as she stared up at him with wide brown eyes, "that you went to kill a little baby and the Curse rebounded and destroyed you."

"What a very odd dream," Voldemort said, but he felt a twinge of unease in his mind as he suddenly tasted bile in his mouth. Was something going to happen to him when he went to kill Harry Potter tonight? He cleared his throat and asked seriously, "Have you had this dream only one time?"

"Only the once, Master, but it was clear as day and gave me a terrible headache when I woke. I came straight here. It felt so real. It felt like…" Bellatrix's eyes welled. "It felt like I needed to tell you. Like a warning."

"Like a warning." Voldemort licked his lip and nodded. He suddenly started strategising in his mind. Lily and James Potter would be skilled, but he could Disarm and then Stun them first, kill the baby first, then kill them… would that work? He frowned and asked Bellatrix,

"In the dream, was I fighting?"

"I heard a woman's scream," Bellatrix said. "Harry. No."

Voldemort shut his eyes and realised he would need to work out a better plan than the one he had. He stared at Bellatrix and took her face in his hands. He touched his lips gently to hers, seeming to shock her, and she whimpered gently beneath him. Something stirred within him at the way she'd reacted to such a small kiss, such a slight grant of affection, and he huffed a breath as he told her,

"You're a good girl."

"Master, I only want to serve you," she whispered, and he nodded. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes and told her,

"I'll come back tonight. I will not be destroyed."


"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"

Lily Potter's wand flew from her hand, and Voldemort deftly caught it. She collapsed to the ground before the baby's cot, and Voldemort snapped the witch's wand. James Potter was already dead. He aimed his wand at the infant, who was annoyingly staring at him, and he said quickly,

"Avada Kedavra!"

The baby shot back against the cot, and Voldemort curled his lip up. He didn't much care for killing babies, even ones who had been prophesied to destroy him. He aimed his wand at Lily Potter and killed her, too, and then he Vanished the bodies. The house was a mess from the fight Lily and James Potter had put up before dying, but no matter. Voldemort Disapparated at once and landed in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor, and when he approached the giant double doors, he used wandless magic to shove them open.

He stalked quickly through the manor, hearing worried female voices in a library. He decided to stop in there, and when he did, he found Narcissa Malfoy with her little boy, Draco, and Bellatrix, who was pacing like a caged animal.

"My Lord," said Narcissa, Draco squirming on her hip. She bowed her head, and then Bellatrix whirled from the window.

"Master!"
"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort said simply. He was wet from rain, not minding that all of a sudden. "Lily and James Potter are dead. Harry Potter is dead. My mission is fulfilled. The war goes on. We will continue fighting. We will win. Wizarding Britain will be mine."

"Master!" Bellatrix looked like she wanted nothing more in all the world than to run into his arms and squeeze him. For some bizarre reason, that didn't sound so awful right this moment. Voldemort held his arms out to her, and Bellatrix squeaked as she approached him. Narcissa looked shocked where she stood holding Draco, and Voldemort wrapped Bellatrix up in his robes. He held her for a moment, breathing in the salty, rose scent from her curls, and he remembered that she was Rodolphus' wife.

Well, what the blazes did that matter, he wondered? She was his servant. His slave. She belonged to him. And she had warned him.

"You warned me," he said, pulling back from her, and she stared up at him and shook her head a little.

"It was only a dream."

"Something in that dream made me change the order of my actions. I have no doubt whatsoever that your dream saved me this night, Bellatrix, and you must be rewarded," Voldemort said. Bellatrix's eyes welled, and she glanced over her shoulder at her sister, who comforted her cooing little white-haired baby with a small toy. Narcissa said wisely,

"Master, I must get Draco to bed, if I may."
"Go," said Voldemort. "Tell Lucius all was a success."

"Yes, Master." Narcissa bowed her head and walked quickly out of the room.

Bellatrix and her husband fought rather independently as soldiers for Voldemort. Their marriage had been one of necessity; they'd both been Purebloods whose families had asked of them to marry another Pureblood. They were not in love. This Voldemort knew from curious prying with Legilimency every now and then. But they were physical from time to time. This Voldemort had unwittingly discovered, too.

"Bella," he said quietly, once Narcissa had gone, "You may have saved my… my life this night."

It was more complicated than that, though of course she could never understand. He stared down at her. She was very short, he realised. Very small. She had a tiny waist. She had hair that exploded out of her head in wild black curls. She had wide eyes and full lips. Why was she pretty tonight?

He let out a long, hard breath and whispered again,

"You may have saved me tonight, Bella."

"Well, if I did, that would have been the greatest thing I could have ever done in my entire life. Master." Bellatrix stared at him, her eyes searching him, and suddenly he felt very old. At fifty-four, he was grey-haired now, with his hair cropped short, and he wore black-framed glasses nearly all the time. Gone was the handsome, dapper young Tom Riddle. He sniffed a little, remembering how Bellatrix had looked at eighteen or twenty. She'd been too young then. She was thirty now. She wasn't too young now, was she? She was married, but that didn't matter. She worshipped him. Suddenly that felt nice, that idea. He'd tasted destruction in her dream, and he'd tasted victory tonight.

The prophecy would not come to pass.

The prophecy had been destroyed.

She was very pretty.

"You must be rewarded," Voldemort told her again, and he cupped her jaw in his hand and tipped her face up to his. He lowered his mouth until it touched hers, and Bellatrix let out a strange little noise up against his mouth. He used his left hand to adjust his glasses, which were slipping down his nose a little, and he pressed his mouth to Bellatrix's again. He parted his lips and pushed his tongue against Bellatrix's bottom lip, and she gasped. He seized on her shock, and he urged his tongue into her mouth, dragging the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth, suckling on her tongue and lips.

She was delicious. She was… why hadn't he kissed her until now? Why had he never, ever done this? In all the years of her wanting him, craving him, worshipping him, why had he never kissed this witch?

"Bellatrix," he whispered, and he yanked himself back before he could do any more damage to himself. He was starting to go hard, and he couldn't abide that. He stared at her, studied her, and he mumbled, "There's your reward."

She looked like she was going to faint, right there in the library, but she just blinked a few times, glassy-eyed and pearly-lipped, and she murmured,

"Master… I am just so glad you're well. And here. I don't know what we would do without you, My Lord. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Bella." He shut his eyes, kept them closed, and when he opened them again, she was gone from the room.

Author's Note: I can't bring myself to stay away from Bellamort forever; it's just my OTP. I guess I would just say if you feel that my stories are repetitive, please feel free not to read them. I am going to try working in a different time frame and a totally different alternative to canon to shake things up a little. Thanks for reading and reviewing.