"What do you mean, she's dead?"

Voldemort tried to stay calm as Healer Crabbe shook his ancient head sadly.

"My Lord, we tried every trick in our books to stop the bleeding. Nothing was working. She and the child faded quickly. The body is being examined as we speak to try and establish an initial cause for the hemorrhage."

"Come in, Bella," Voldemort snapped, for he could feel her outside his office. Her mind buzzed with anxiety, and as she burst into the office, she stared at Healer Crabbe and exclaimed,

"Malika Shacklebolt is dead?"

"She bled out," Voldemort said, attempting to keep his voice steady. "During labour, during the birth of the child. She bled out."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and he felt her wondering about the baby. He just shook his head, and she closed her eyes.

"Where's Rabastan, Master?" she asked, and he sighed heavily, giving Healer Crabbe a curious look.

"At St Mungo's, I presume?"

"I assume he's still there, My Lord," Healer Crabbe nodded. He looked a little afraid then, glancing between Bellatrix and Voldemort, and he said, "This was an accident of nature, I assure you. It is rare, and it is terribly unfortunate, but there was nothing more that could have been done to save either of them."

"Thank you for your work, Healer Crabbe. You may go." Voldemort sucked his teeth as the old healer rose from his chair, which Bellatrix immediately took. As soon as the office door shut, Bellatrix folded her hands on Voldemort's desk and whispered,

"I can't believe this. This can't be real."

"People die all the time, Bella," Voldemort reminded her.

Not us, she thought, and he drummed his fingers.

"Not us, no. But Malika Shacklebolt and her baby… they're gone. I'm sorry; I know the two of you were… well, if not friends, at least friendly."

In her mind, he could see the time that she'd shyly asked Malika to take boudoir photographs for her, the bright smile on Malika's face as the two witches giggled their way through the photo shoot. Bellatrix touched shaking fingers to her forehead and whispered,

"Adama."

"I beg your pardon?" Voldemort cleared his throat, and Bellatrix raised wet eyes.

"Adama Lestrange. She hadn't told Rabastan the name yet. She was going to tell him when the baby came. Adama, a daughter."

"Oh." Voldemort chewed on his bottom lip and felt a wave of grief. That belonged to Bellatrix, he knew, and he threw up his Occlumency shields, for it was uncomfortable.

She winced, sensing him shutting himself off to her, and she blinked.

"When will the funeral be?"

"I quite literally found out about the death thirty seconds before you walked in this room," Voldemort said. "I know nothing you don't."

Bellatrix hesitated and then finally said, "You ordered Rabastan to keep their wedding quiet."

"That was because the child was conceived out of wedlock," Voldemort said sharply, and Bellatrix countered,

"So were you."

His eyes went round then, and he felt rage spike through him. He leaned toward her a little and reminded her,

"I am still your master, and you will treat me with respect. I am not a bastard; I am Lord Voldemort."

"I'm sorry. I'm not thinking clearly, My Lord." Bellatrix seemed afraid, and when he let down his Occlumency shields, he felt unease, sadness, and terror swirling through her. She said very cautiously, "Please, will you attend the funeral?"

"Of course I will," Voldemort snapped. "Lestrange made it all official. This was the wife and child of a Death Eater. Yes, of course I'll be there."

"Will they bury them together, I wonder?" Bellatrix mused, and she stared out the window. "If I were her, I'd want them to bury the baby in my arms."

"Bella." Voldemort curled his lip up, repulsed and disturbed, and he shook his head. "There's nothing you can do. You need to think about something else; you mustn't let your mind wander to things like that."

He pulled out a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill, and he wrote,

Rabastan,

I was incredibly distressed to learn of the deaths of Malika and your unborn child. Their loss is keenly felt among all of us who consider ourselves your friends, and we grieve with you.

Take the time you require out of service to mourn your wife and child, and know that resources and fellowship are ready and waiting should you require them. The Dark Lady and I will, naturally, be in attendance for the funeral.

Malika told Bellatrix that the child was to be called Adama.

With great sorrow,

Lord Voldemort

He signed the letter with a flourish, rolled and sealed it, and went to the dark brown owl who was waiting patiently in the corner of the office on a perch. Voldemort tied the letter to the bird's foot and said firmly,

"Rabastan Lestrange at St Mungo's."

He opened the window, and the owl went soaring off. Voldemort watched the bird fly away, off beyond Malfoy Manor. From behind him, Bellatrix thought,

Who were the Healers delivering the baby?

"The head Healer was Crabbe," Voldemort answered, turning round. "Why?"

"And the Mediwitches?" Bellatrix's voice was like flint in the air, and he could feel her growing distrust and scepticism from within her. Voldemort frowned and approached her.

"You think someone at that hospital cursed her to bleed out? Killed her and the child?"

"Not everyone is sympathetic to the wife of a Death Eater," Bellatrix pointed out. Voldemort gulped and sat back down quickly, pulling another sheet of parchment and picking up his quill. His hand shook just a little as he wrote,

Healer Crabbe,

I require complete and comprehensive records of Malika Shacklebolt's admission, birthing process, and death. I need to know timing, medical details, and the names of all staff and patients who were in close proximity to Malika Shacklebolt.

I realise that, ordinarily, this would be considered confidential information. I'm sure you can plainly see why I require all of these details.

L.V.

He pressed the metal call button on his desk, and a moment later, the House-Elf Dobby appeared with a crack in the office.

"Master Lord, sir," the House-Elf said meekly. "How may Dobby serve you?"

"I need this delivered to Healer Crabbe at St Mungo's," Voldemort said as he sealed up the letter, "and it needs to be done carefully. Discreetly, you understand?"

"Yes, Master. Dobby will sneak into Healer Crabbe's office and wait for him, sir." Dobby bowed at Bellatrix as he approached the desk and took the scroll.

"Go. He should be back there by now," Voldemort nodded, and Dobby snapped his bony fingers, vanishing at once.

"You know, I really hope you're wrong," Voldemort said rather sharply to Bellatrix. "If my enemies are willing to take out a labouring woman and her baby just to spite me, then…"

"I think Dumbledore's followers would be shocked to learn how far he's willing to go," Bellatrix said, tipping her chin up a little. "Some of his players, like Mad-Eye Moody, are just as ruthless as our own. I wouldn't put this past them. I think an investigation is in order."

"Well, good, because there's going to be an investigation, apparently." Voldemort pinched his lips and pointed out, "You know nothing like that will ever, ever happen to you. You know that."

"I have no desire for motherhood, much less dying in the pursuit of motherhood," Bellatrix replied, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows.

"Good. I've certainly no desire for fatherhood, much less losing you in the pursuit of… well. In any case, nothing like that will ever happen to you."

"No, but it did happen to Malika," Bellatrix said somewhat morosely. She shut her eyes and suggested, "Let's get very, very drunk tonight, all right? So drunk we have to hold each other up. Drunk until we vomit."

"Maybe we can keep from vomiting," Voldemort said with a smirk, "but, yes. Endless gin for me and a whole bottle of elf-made wine for you. That sounds cathartic."

"It's a date, Master." Bellatrix stood and tapped her fingers on the back the chair. "I think I ought to go write some letters of my own. To Malika's family, to Narcissa… there are a lot of broken hearts today, I think."

"Well, go on, then," Voldemort nodded. "Go write some letters… My Lady."

"You know, every one of these gets less and less tonic," Voldemort said in a slur. He was sloppy as he sloshed some gin over the ice cubes in his glass. He dropped in a fresh wedge of lime and stirred, downing half the drink as he mumbled, "Started with half the gin I've got in this one."

He watched as Bellatrix swigged straight from the bottle of red wine. She was near the bottom of it now, and her mind was a whirl of confused emotion. Suddenly Voldemort stumbled over to the Potions stores in the corner, and Bellatrix asked softly,

"What are you doing?"

"You're still upset," he noted, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Yes. Malika's dead. The baby's dead. It's a little… a little upsetting, you know."

"Yes. I know." Voldemort blinked through the blurry vision he'd inflicted on himself, and he reached in the Potions cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Draught of Peace. He opened it and drank half, and then he careened across the room with bumbling steps and held out the bottle. Bellatrix set her wine down on the low table and reluctantly took the Draught of Peace.

"Bella," Voldemort said quietly, "it doesn't do any good to be drunk if you're still… still devastated. All right? It's… I can feel that creeping blank ink in your brain."

"Black ink?" Bellatrix raised her bleary eyes and frowned. "What black ink?"

Voldemort shrugged a little and said, "That's what it feels like when you're sad. Like black ink spilled on a page, bleeding across the… the paper."

"Oh." Bellatrix stared at the bottle of Draught of Peace and dragged her thumb over it. "Your anger feels like a blade piercing pale flesh, like blood rushing out in scarlet rivers."

"Oh." Voldemort set down his drink and folded his arms. "Take the Draught of Peace, Bella. You won't bring… bring Malika back with that inky sadness."

Bellatrix knocked back the rest of the Draught of Peace, and after a moment, Voldemort began to hear music in his head, as if it were coming from underwater. It grew louder with each passing second, like they were walking toward it. Bellatrix shook her head where she sat on the divan, and she said,

"A waltz? A folk waltz? Ha. No."

"It's not a Wizarding Wireless, Bellatrix; I can't change the station," Voldemort told her tersely. He relaxed a little then, thanks to the potion. He folded his arms across his chest and said, "You make the music easier, then."

Bellatrix just blinked, and the folksy three-beat music grew stronger. Finally she flew up in a huff, wobbled on her feet, and laughed quietly. The Draught of Peace was settling into both their veins now, Voldemort thought. He guided her to an empty spot in the sitting room and bowed as she dipped into a mess of a curtsy.

She held her skirt out with her left hand, and Voldemort wrapped his own left arm around her waist and held her close. They linked right hands over her head and began to step in a circle. Bellatrix stumbled in her intoxication, and Voldemort smiled as he whispered,

"One-two-three. One-two-three."

"I can count. Master." Bellatrix choked out a little laugh then and stared up at him as he drew her into a standard waltz stance. She let her face fall back just a little as they moved. Their gazes locked like always, only it went so much deeper now. He could feel the music inside of her core, not just his own. One-two-three. One-two-three. Their hearts beat in unison, and Voldemort felt their pulses accelerate a little.

He held her left hand in his right one and their feet moved quickly in threes. They turned their bodies gently toward one another and then out again. The strings in Voldemort's mind were insistent, along with the clarinet and horn. He mumbled,

"Oh, a kick step feels ill-advised. I'm drunk."

"Me, too. Let's try to stay upright," Bellatrix suggested with a cheeky look, and she let Voldemort wrap her in his arms as they moved. Kick-together-step. Kick-together-step.

"You are so beautiful," Voldemort said as they moved into a standard waltz again. He blinked and met her eyes and thought, You're the most beautiful woman on Earth.

You've not seen all the women on Earth, she thought back, and he shook his head.

"I don't need to see the others to know that you're prettier. I know it is so. I've seen plenty. Loads. You're so much more beautiful."

"Well, I appreciate your confidence, My Lord." Bellatrix stuttered in her steps and whispered, "Far too much wine."

"Spin, you drunken little wisp, you," Voldemort ordered, and Bellatrix laughed like a madwoman as he moved in a line, holding her hand over her head as she whirled and whirled. By the end, she was so dizzy - he knew; he could feel the dizziness - that she collapsed against his chest, breathless and laughing. The music started to fade away, and Bellatrix murmured against Voldemort's robes,

"Show me that time we danced. When I was a little girl."

"What, at that wedding?" Voldemort frowned, and Bellatrix stared up at him with curiosity in her blurry eyes.

"Was there another time?"

"Yes, there was. Later that year, at the Malfoy Christmas party. You… well, here. Look."

She didn't need Legilimency anymore. He just remembered it, and suddenly it was like they were both there.

'Hullo, Lord Voldemort.'

'Miss Black. Good to see you again.' Voldemort raised his Champagne flute to her in a mock toast, and he said in a scolding sort of tone, 'I heard Mr Malfoy enchanted these glasses to keep little varmints like you away.'

Bellatrix scowled. 'You could just give me that one.'

'No, I don't think I will.' Voldemort swigged down the Champagne and studied the troublesome little girl before him. Someone had styled her wild black curls into a braid down her back, which seemed unfortunate. Her face was thin and angry without the halo of her hair. She looked like a little goblin.

'Fancy a dance, Lord Voldemort?' asked little Bellatrix, and he shrugged.

'That depends. Have you grown taller since the last time, so that I can dance properly with you?'

'I've grown a little,' Bellatrix said defensively. Voldemort smiled to himself and set down his empty Champagne flute. He walked toward the dance floor with long, brisk steps, hearing Bellatrix's shoes clatter on the floor behind him as she called,

'Lord Voldemort! Wait for me!'

He bowed to her, an exaggerated obeisance, and she curtsied very briefly. Then she stepped right on up onto Voldemort's shoes, and she reached up vertically to put her hand on his shoulder.

'My, but you have grown,' Voldemort teased, letting his hand hover modestly over the material of her flouncy black dress. He took her tiny hand in his and held them out, and they swayed to the two-step that the orchestra was playing.

'You're better at this than you were before,' Bellatrix said almost accusingly. 'Have you got a girlfriend that you've been dancing with for practise?'

'No.' He shook his head and cocked up an eyebrow. 'Have you got a secret boyfriend you've been practising with?'

'He's not secret. Someday Rodolphus and I are going to be married,' Bellatrix said, and Voldemort scoffed.

'Is that so? Have the two of you already decided?'

'Mmm-hmm.' Bellatrix nodded firmly. 'You said I'd be a hellion of a wife for some wizard. What does that mean?'

'A… challenge,' Voldemort fibbed, softening the blow. 'You'll be a challenge, little Miss Black.'

'Oh, good. I like when people find me difficult,' Bellatrix said, tipping her little chin up, and then Voldemort really did laugh.

Bellatrix giggled against Voldemort's chest where they stood in the sitting room, and when she raised her eyes to him, she thought,

I was so awful!

"I found it rather endearing, that venomous streak you had as a child," Voldemort informed her. He kissed her forehead and said, "It tempered as you grew. You became more careful with what you said, more guarded with your actions. You became less predictable as you grew up. You became more… dangerous."

"And am I a challenge, after all?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort nodded.

"You are everything, Bella."

"Could use a shower," she mumbled. "Care to join me?"

He took her hand in his and led her up the stairs in the house where he'd killed his father, both of them drunk and peaceful, neither of them thinking about Malika Shacklebolt.

Author's Note: Woo hoo! Part III of this series has officially begun. If you're joining me from Part II, THANK YOU and please do let me know what you think of this story as things move along.