Black Family Residence, London

21 September 1973

"Good afternoon, My Lord." Lucius Malfoy came striding up to Lord Voldemort with surprising confidence. Most people these days cowered in fear or mumbled if they were forced to speak to Voldemort. It was almost as severe with Bellatrix, who was universally referred to now as The Lady.

The joint funeral of Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange had been a turning point. In the intervening seventeen months, a solid new way of life had settled over wizarding Britain. Resistance, if it existed, was silent and invisible. Voldemort was a god in Britain now. He and Bellatrix had spent a good deal of time receiving one foreign Minister after another, all of whom were anxious to pledge their loyalty and friendship. The mess in America had made Britain look brilliantly organised by comparison. Norway, Italy, China, Russia, Mexico, Brazil… most of the major wizarding nations were looking to Lord Voldemort for guidance and leadership. The Dark Lord and his Lady made frequent public appearances, where they were received by the adoring masses. All over the globe resided witches and wizards who feared and worshipped Lord Voldemort.

And here was Lucius Malfoy, the precocious eighteen-year-old son of the Minister, fresh out of Hogwarts and clutching a tumbler of firewhisky in the Black family's sitting-room. They'd gathered for Bellatrix's twenty-second birthday; she'd insisted on a small family dinner instead of a grand party. And Lucius Malfoy strode right up to Lord Voldemort, his eager blue eyes shining. Voldemort smirked and said,

"Why do I suspect I know exactly what this is about?"

He flicked his eyes behind Lucius to where Narcissa stood talking with Bellatrix, who glanced back to her husband as she sensed his gaze near her. Voldemort returned his eyes to Lucius and raised his eyebrows. Lucius nodded and cleared his throat.

"My Lord, now that Narcissa and I have both left school and I'm settled in heading up the Portkey Office at the Ministry…"

"You'd like my permission to propose marriage to Narcissa Black. Is that right?" Voldemort sipped from his own drink, and Lucius grinned happily.

"That's precisely it, My Lord. May I please marry her? I vow that our marriage would be a living testament to your mission."

Voldemort resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes Lucius Malfoy was awfully obnoxious, but he was Abraxas' son and he was certainly serviceable in the Ministry. And Narcissa was Bellatrix's own sister. So he nodded crisply and told Lucius,

"Be sure to give the enough time to arrange for all the details she's been salivating over for years, Lucius. You'll be very happy together; I've no doubt about that. And you have my permission."

"Thank you, My Lord." Lucius smiled broadly and bowed deeply. Bellatrix stared at Voldemort again, and the glitter in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was happy for her sister. More than that, she was happy in general these days. She was Voldemort's key charmer, his primary diplomat, in meetings with international Ministers. She made him proud whenever he got to show her off. She was terrifying and intelligent and beautiful, and now everyone knew that right along with him.

Today was her twenty-second birthday, but her body was frozen in time thanks to their ill-gotten procedure in Spain. She looked seventeen, and Voldemort was beginning to wonder if anyone else noticed that she now looked even younger than Narcissa. Perhaps they thought she was kept youthful by potions or spells. It didn't matter what they thought; Voldemort knew the truth. She may be twenty-two years in real age today, but physically she would always be the girl with the journal, the girl in the Doxy's Nest. Voldemort curled his lips up at her from across the room, his gaze locked on hers as he sipped at his whisky.

She turned and walked away, toward the staircase, and he knew she wanted him to follow her. He did, and everyone else milling about pretended not to notice. Voldemort padded up the stairs, his legs aching a bit, and went straight to the library, to the place where he'd first kissed Bellatrix almost five years earlier. She was in there waiting for him, and when he shut the door behind him, she set her wine down on a shelf and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So Cissy's finally going to get hitched, is she?"

Voldemort nodded and told her, "That Lucius Malfoy is awfully bold. We'll have to keep an eye wide open for him. In case his aspirations get too lofty."

Bellatrix pursed her lips and nodded. "He's always seemed to me like he could never climb high enough. Like the moon wouldn't be high enough."

"A true Slytherin, then," Voldemort said. He glanced around the room and was suddenly taken back to that Christmas party when he'd first put his lips on his Lady. He flicked his eyes back to her and noted, "You look the same. I do not."

"Better," she insisted. "You look better than ever."

Voldemort stepped closer to her and sighed. "The Daily Prophet ran a very nice article this morning to commemorate the birthday of the Dark Lady."

Bellatrix turned up half her mouth. "Never has wizarding Britain been privy to such astute diplomacy or courage in battle as displayed by our magnificent Lady. Yes. I read it. It sounded an awful lot like something a certain someone I know might say."

Voldemort feigned outrage and scoffed, "You think I wrote the article."

Bellatrix giggled and took the front of his robes in her fists. She pulled herself up to him and pressed her lips against his as she nodded.

"Yes, My Lord. I think you wrote the article."

"Fine. Maybe I did," Voldemort shrugged. "I didn't trust anyone else to do you justice."

"Of course you didn't. You don't trust anybody," Bellatrix teased him. He cupped her jaw in his hand, bringing his mouth down to hers again and whispering against her mouth,

"Only you, little thing. It'll only ever be you."

Archer's Edge, Lake District

21 September 1972

"Still sore?" Bellatrix asked worriedly. She stood in the threshold of the bathroom, raking a wide-toothed comb through her damp curls with a towel wrapped around her torso. Voldemort scowled at her from the edge of the bed as he rubbed butterfly weed balm onto his right wrist. He shook his head and muttered,

"Just stiff. Too much wand work over the years. It's nothing."

Bellatrix sighed heavily and licked her bottom lip. "I can feel it. I can feel the pain. I can tell it's hurting."

"I try to block it from you," he said with a mirthless little smile. "When it flares up during the day, I try to be sure you're not sensing it."

"Why?" Bellatrix demanded, setting her comb down on the ledge above the sink and plaiting her hair into a braid for the night. From the bedroom, Voldemort said quietly,

"Because you're not nearly old enough to have creaky joints, Bellatrix. That's why."

She tied her hair up and walked out of the bathroom, making her way straight to the wardrobe. She frowned as she tossed her towel aside and pulled out a simple black nightgown. He was forty-six years old, but it shouldn't matter. He was immortal.

"I don't want to use the Surripiotempus Potion, Bella," he said firmly. "Not yet. Not for another decade, probably. Everything is still too new. I can deal with a sore wrist."

"And a sore knee, and your vision getting worse." Bellatrix turned to face him with her nightgown in her hands. When he looked a little surprised, she rolled her eyes and demanded, "Did you think I couldn't sense those, too?"

"I take Clarity Potion for the vision," Voldemort said primly. "It's just a little blur that started five or six years ago; it's not that severe."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded. "The knee hurts worst when you're climbing stairs."

Voldemort huffed angrily and wandlessly sent the butterfly weed balm soaring back downstairs to the potions stores. He pulled himself under the blankets and folded his hands over his stomach.

"I have no desire to argue with you on your birthday, My Lady." His voice was sterile, and Bellatrix growled with frustration. She wrenched on her nightgown and crawled quickly into the bed. She knelt beside Voldemort and glared down at him.

"You have the ability to stay comfortable through centuries of power, and here you are pitying yourself for having the body of a forty-six-year-old man. On my twenty-second birthday."

"You look seventeen," he reminded her. "Your body is seventeen."

"My mind and my soul are twenty-two!" Bellatrix barked, and his eyes went round as he turned his face to her. He seemed taken aback by her tone, by her insubordination. Bellatrix took a breath and tempered her voice as she reached for one of his hands. "I reckon if you can make Horcruxes and Inferi, then you can probably come up with a more permanent solution for blurred vision and aching joints. Why make yourself miserable by aging? Why are you letting this happen to you?"

He narrowed his eyes up at her. "It happens to everyone."

"You are not everyone," Bellatrix whispered. "You are Lord Voldemort. You are my husband, and I don't want you in pain."

Voldemort hesitated, his lips shaking a little as he admitted, "I've already made more than one Horcrux, Bella. I worry… I think perhaps I'm aging a little more rapidly because of… of how many I've made."

Bellatrix frowned. "Exactly how many are there?"

"Five." He shut his eyes and gulped. "There are five. That Croatian crone who told me about thieving fertility… she warned me that making so many could cause… physical degradation."

Bellatrix felt her heart race as she said in a soft, frantic voice, "You should be taking the potion, then. To keep your body safe. Or isn't there something to help you be… be like me? Frozen in time?"

He said nothing for a long while. He was hiding something from her. She could feel his Occlumency like a great stone wall between their minds. She squeezed his hand hard and whispered desperately,

"Tell me what's going on. Please."

Voldemort opened his eyes and sat up slowly. He shrugged and admitted, "Fine. Here's the truth, Bella. I've been taking Surripiotempus Potion for over a year. It's only working to help stave off the worst of it."

"The worst of what?" Bellatrix asked, horror taking her over. Voldemort gnawed on his lip and asked her,

"When's the last time you shaved my head by hand?"

She felt queasy as she said, "I assumed you were doing it yourself. With magic."

"There's no hair left to shave," he said. "And the vision problem wasn't just a little blur; I was starting to see black spots. Six months ago, my ankle broke coming down the stairs. I fixed it up and blocked the pain from you. If I wasn't taking the potion, I'd be disintegrating."

Bellatrix's eyes welled. "Surely Healer Harvey -"

"I'm working with him," Voldemort told her sharply. Bellatrix felt a sense of betrayal come over her mind.

"Why have you been hiding this from me?"

He stared at her like she was stupid, and he finally demanded, "Do you think I don't feel a bit of a fool for going overboard with the Horcruxes? For not thinking the consequences all the way through? Do you think I don't feel rather horrified by the prospect of living forever in a broken body? With a wife who is perpetually seventeen years of age?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I am twenty-two, and you are forty-six, and we are going to find a way for you to be healthy again."

He looked awfully sceptical, but Bellatrix felt a surge of determination in her chest. She squeezed his hand again and snarled through clenched teeth, "You are the great Lord Voldemort, and I will not watch you fall apart before my eyes. I will not rest, My Lord, until there is an answer."

He shut his eyes and sighed. "Look at us, ruining your birthday with silliness such as this."

"This is far more important than any birthday," Bellatrix insisted. She pulled herself off the bed and took her heavy velvet robe from the wardrobe.

"Where are you going?" Voldemort demanded from where he sat. Bellatrix paused in the bedroom's doorway and said over her shoulder,

"We have thousands of books in this castle, and I refuse to believe you've read every single page of each of them. I'm going to do research."

"Do it in the morning, Bella," Voldemort said, a hint of regret in his voice. "I've been putting up with this for awhile now; it can wait until morning."

"Well, I can't wait," Bellatrix said simply, and without another word, she padded down the spiral staircase.

Archer's Edge, Lake District

22 September 1972

"Well? Have you found the solution?"

Bellatrix looked up from the book she was reading, a thick and ancient tome about rare medical magic. She frowned a little when she noticed that Voldemort had spectacles on; she'd never once seen him wearing a pair.

"When did you get those?" she demanded, gesturing up to his face. He looked almost bored, pushing the rectangular, wire-rimmed frames up the bridge of his nose.

"I made them a few weeks ago. Takes a few hours sometimes for the Clarity Potion to kick in."

"So very much you've been hiding from me," Bellatrix noted in what she knew to be a very surly voice. She turned the page in the book on her lap and admitted, "I have not found any useful information, no. There's a rather unsurprising lack of information about Horcruxes in these texts, much less information about the physical effects from making so many. Do you suppose that Croatian witch is still alive?"

Voldemort crossed his arms over his open dress shirt and nodded. "Probably. She was hundreds of years old when I met her."

"And when was that?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she was pushing him and finding herself unable to keep from doing so. This was important; something awful was happening to his body. She wouldn't accept that for him. He sighed and shrugged.

"Fifty-six, I think. Summer of fifty-six. She lived just outside Dubrovnik."

Bellatrix shut the book in her lap and asked carefully, "Do you suppose you'd know how to find her?"

"I'm not going to Croatia to find that witch, Bellatrix," Voldemort said in a sharp tone. "I'm a bit too recognisable these days, hmm?"

"Well, I'll go, then," Bellatrix said confidently. "I'll go by myself and -"

"No. No, you will not." He was very harsh all of a sudden, and Bellatrix frowned up at him as he said, "This isn't killing me, Bellatrix. It's inconvenient and unpleasant, but it isn't killing me. The entire Magical community the world over knows who we both are; neither of us is going to hunt down that crone in search of information about physical degradation from creating Horcruxes. Even if you went alone, disguised… that sort of information is much too sensitive to be -"

"So you're just going to sit here and let your joints and vision fall apart because you're too stubborn to actually get help from the witch who told you about this in the first place?" Bellatrix flew up from her chair and glared up at Voldemort, who seemed mildly irritated at having been interrupted. He pushed his spectacles up his nose again, and Bellatrix let out a bitter, quiet laugh at the notion that he was not exactly an expert optician. She turned away from him, but he took her elbow and gently turned her back to face him. He cocked up one eyebrow and said rather gently,

"I recognise and appreciate your concern. No, Bella; I actually do. But trying to fix this will mean treading very, very carefully to avoid damaging my reputation. If we have no better information by the new year, then you can Transfigure your features, and I'll tell you how to find that crone in Croatia."

"The new year," Bellatrix repeated. She nodded up at Voldemort, noticing now how much deeper the lines were around his lips and eyes. She squared her jaw and demanded, "Do you promise? Do you swear to me that if you're still having these problems by the new year, I can go to Croatia?"

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "I promise." He blinked a few times and pulled off his spectacles, folding them and tucking them into the pocket of his dress shirt. He blinked hard again a few times and sighed with frustration, pulling the spectacles right back out and putting them back on. "If anyone asks, I've always had vision problems and am tired of using potions to address them."

Bellatrix gave him a very hard stare and crossed her arms over her robe. "What else is wrong with you?"

He scoffed and put his hands on his hips, but Bellatrix raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Don't you suppose it would be wise to monitor all these symptoms?"

"I'm monitoring them," Voldemort assured her, but Bellatrix's breath shook and her eyes burned as she said,

"I would like to know exactly what is wrong with my husband, please."

He rolled his eyes a little behind the lenses of the spectacles and mumbled, "Everything's gotten significantly worse in the past few months. The vision's gone bad and isn't responding to the potion anymore. My hair's all fallen out. The wrist and knee are the worst, but my elbows and ankles are stiff and fragile. I'll get to the top of a flight of stairs and find my heart's racing and I'm out of breath. It's much harder to pull myself out of bed in the morning."

Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief. "Is that all?"

He nodded carefully. "For now, yes."

She closed her eyes, feeling tears form as she whispered, "Is this why you haven't made love to me in so long?"

She'd thought it had been because of how busy they'd both been, because he'd been working long days and just didn't have anything left by the time they made it to bed. He'd held her and kissed her and murmured through the dark room that he loved her. He'd done that every single night, and so Bellatrix hadn't found herself angry about the fact that he hadn't actually been inside of her body in six weeks. Now she opened her eyes and gave him a serious look as she demanded,

"Is it because everything hurts? Because you're too tired? Is that why you can't do it?"

His eyes flashed behind his spectacles, and he snarled in a harsh voice,

"You think I can't do it, little girl? Is that what you think?"

Bellatrix threw her hands up and demanded, "What else am I meant to think?"

"Don't worry; I can do it just fine," he informed her, taking a few steps closer to hover above her. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes up at him and shrugged.

"Go on, then. Do it."

She gasped then as he seized her jaw roughly in his hand and smashed his mouth against hers. He tasted like tooth powder and smelled like soap, and Bellatrix was dizzy with how hard he was kissing her. He dragged his tongue around the inside of her mouth and sucked her lip between his teeth as his fingers yanked at the belt of her robe. He pushed it off her shoulders and shoved her back toward the bookshelves. Bellatrix gasped again when her back slammed against the books, and Voldemort grunted with desire, sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh. He pulled his mouth from hers, touching his forehead to hers as his fingertips found the wet folds between her legs.

"You think I can't make you come?" he muttered, and Bellatrix whispered back,

"That isn't what I said."

"Well, I can. I can make you come just fine," he promised her. As if to prove his point, he began to draw circles on her nub with his thumb. She was dry because she was anxious, and he gave her a meaningful look as he mumbled, "Lubrico."

His fingers moved more easily then, and Bellatrix stared at him over the wire rims of his glasses as he deepened the pressure he was using. Eventually he twisted two fingers into her, hooking them and continuing to massage her most sensitive spot. Bellatrix's breath quickened in her nostrils, and on instinct she reached up to wrap her arms around Voldemort's shoulders. He used his free hand to squeeze at one of her breasts, and he bent down to kiss her neck with long strokes of his tongue.

It was all far too much - his fingers, his kiss, his hand. Bellatrix tipped her head back against the books and found herself whining for him over and over again. My Lord, My Lord… Her voice was quiet but desperate in the library, and when he made all his movements more intense, she cried out and came for him. Everything was hot and bright for a few moments, and when he finally pulled his hand from her body, he raised his eyes to her again and cocked up an eyebrow.

"See?" he demanded rather defensively. He flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, and though she could sense intense desire from him, she glanced down to see a very noticeable lack of bulge in his trousers. She tried to catch her breath enough to sound reasonable as she asked,

"Are you going to sit me up on the ledge and let me wrap my legs around your waist now? So that you can drill me into the -"

"Don't do that to me," Voldemort said softly. He turned away, and she heard him mutter a wandless Tergeo to clean up the hand he'd used on her. Bellatrix gulped hard and reminded him,

"There are potions and spells to help with that particular issue."

"Do you suppose I've not tried those?" He sounded darkly amused as he stared at her over his shoulder. He straightened his spectacles again and dragged his hand over his bald head. "How many nights do you think I've been beside you, desperate to take you? I've tried every potion, Bellatrix. Every spell. It doesn't… it hasn't worked properly since that night six weeks ago. Don't worry; I'll be sure that you're satisfied. I've still got fingers and a mouth and a wand, haven't I?"

Bellatrix felt horrified then, and she shook her head roughly as she informed him, "I am not concerned with whether or not I have enough orgasms, My Lord. I'm frightened about what this means. What all of it means when you put it all together. Why have you kept all of this from me? Did you think I was too stupid to process it?"

"No," he said quite sharply, but Bellatrix stepped away from the wall and asked frantically,

"Did you think I would be angry with you?"

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "No."

"Then why?" Bellatrix snapped, reaching for his shoulders and giving him a little shake. "I'm your bloody wife; I'm The Lady. Why have you been lying to me?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this, with fear and panic," he said very calmly. He shook his head and promised her, "I'm not going to fall apart, little thing. I refuse to fall apart."

"You're already falling apart!" Bellatrix exclaimed. She reached up to pull his spectacles carefully from his face. She turned them around so she could glance through the lenses. She was shocked at how strong the adjustment was, and what that said about the current state of his vision. Indeed, his eyes seemed profoundly unfocused as he stared down at her, and she silently handed the glasses back over. He slid them back onto his face and then leaned down to put a kiss on Bellatrix's forehead.

"We'll search like mad for answers," he murmured. "If my birthday comes and we've made no progress, then… we'll to go Croatia."

"We." She raised her eyes to him, her eyes searing with concern. "You'll come with me?"

"If you can be disguised, so can I." He thought then of the day they'd killed Dumbledore, when they'd both had their features Transfigured. He nodded. "We'll give it three months to try and solve the problem here, Bella, and if we can't… then we'll go find that old crone. I promise. I promise you I'm not going to fall apart."

Bellatrix nodded, forcing a sad little smile on her face as she informed him, "You look very handsome in glasses, My Lord. I'm going to go get dressed; we've got a meeting with Malfoy in two hours."

She started to walk past him, and he said after her, "You've been awake all night. You can stay here and rest."

She shook her head from the doorway. "I'll take Invigoration Draught. I have precisely no desire to leave your side today, My Lord."

Archer's Edge, Lake District

22 September 1972

"We have six employees at the Ministry, My Lord, who are retiring amicably from long careers. Their departures will be scattered over the next two months. I went ahead and had their department heads conduct interviews for replacements. I have the list of suggestions here, and with your permission I shall go ahead and extend them offers."

Abraxas Malfoy pulled a parchment from his folio and passed it across the desk to Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord blinked a few times to focus his vision as best he could; it was worst close up. He finally glared at the parchment over the rim of his glasses and still found himself unable to properly read Malfoy's infuriatingly small writing.

"These should be fine," he lied. He quickly passed the parchment to Bellatrix and raised his eyebrows. "What is your opinion, My Lady?"

He pushed his glasses back up and watched as Bellatrix pursed her lips and read the parchment. Finally she said quietly,

"Minister, all seem like wise choices except for Nestor Avery. In the Department of Magic Law Enforcement? He's a bit daft for that sort of work, don't you think?"

Voldemort's stomach twisted with anger that he hadn't been able to read the list. Nestor Avery possessed the intelligence of a sack of rocks. Abraxas Malfoy nodded his agreement and said with a sour little smile,

"You're quite right, My Lady, that young Nestor is hardly the brightest wizard to have recently left Hogwarts. But, owing to his… parentage… we thought it best to find something for him. He'd be filing reports into the system in the Improper Use of Magic Office. It's a charity post at best."

"Ah. That's wise," Bellatrix nodded. Her cheeks coloured and she looked at Voldemort a she added, "Especially because of what happened to his brother Tarquin."

"Diplomacy first, eh, My Lady?" Voldemort asked crisply. He took the parchment back from her and put it on the desk before him, managing to see a blurry black line upon which he knew he was meant to sign his name. He reached for a self-inking quill and held it between his fingers as he mumbled to Malfoy, "Go ahead and get the new hires trained as soon as possible so that the transition doesn't affect Ministry efficiency."

"Of course, Master," Malfoy said. Voldemort adjusted his grip on his quill and prepared to put his elegant signature on the paper. But the instant he gripped the quill to write, a terrible pain shot from his fingers up through his wrist. He hissed and dropped the quill, and he watched as Bellatrix gasped softly and managed to keep herself limited to silently wrapping the fingers of her left hand around her own right wrist. Voldemort abruptly felt guilt and shame that he'd caused her pain. He scowled with determination, ignoring Malfoy's look of confusion. He put up a mental wall between himself and Bellatrix so that his pain would be devoured by black smoke before it ever reached her. He snatched the quill off the desk and quickly signed his name to the parchment, his ears ringing from the searing pain in his wrist and hand. The instant he'd crossed the t in Voldemort, he set the quill down with fingers he knew were shaking a little.

He shoved his right hand below the desk to hide it and quickly passed the parchment back across the desk to Abraxas Malfoy. He gave his Minister of Magic a challenging look, as if daring the other man to say something about what had happened. Abraxas Malfoy wisely slid the parchment back into his folio and changed the subject.

"So, on a more personal note… Lucius proposed marriage to Narcissa last night after your birthday party, My Lady."

Bellatrix grinned, and Voldemort felt happiness radiating off of her. She nodded and confirmed,

"I received an owl from Narcissa just an hour before you got here, Minister. I'm just surprised they want to get married on Halloween. I'd have thought she'd want more time to prepare everything."

Abraxas laughed a little and said, "Lucius claims she has all her plans written down. All the spells, the merchants, the guest list. All she needed was the proposal and ring and a date, and now she can quickly set to work."

Bellatrix snorted. "Yes, that does sound like Cissy. So, Halloween, then."

She gave Voldemort a meaningful look, and he knew she was thinking that she wanted to address his deteriorating body before the wedding. He took his Occlumency shields down and thought straight at her,

I told you the new year, and I meant it, Bellatrix.

She frowned for a half second, then expertly recovered as she said lightly, "May I make a suggestion, Minister? My Lord? What if… what if the Dark Lord himself officiated the ceremony? After all, it is the wedding of The Dark Lord's little sister-in-law and the son of the Minister of Magic. If they were bound together by the Dark Lord himself? The optics are good, no?"

Voldemort knew she was right. She was always right about matters like this. He wouldn't allow her to use this as leverage about Croatia. He wouldn't allow her to force his hand just because he'd be standing up in front of a crowd at Malfoy Manor. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"The optics are good," he repeated, and Abraxas Malfoy looked ecstatic as he added, "Tell Lucius and Narcissa to plan on me officiating."

"What a profound honour, My Lord," Malfoy breathed. "I know they'll both be beside themselves with happiness."

"If there's nothing else to address today, Malfoy, you're dismissed," Voldemort said curtly, for he was mentally quite finished with this briefing. Malfoy tucked his folio under his arm and rose from his chair. He bowed very deeply to Voldemort, then to Bellatrix, and he murmured,

"A good day to you, My Lord. My Lady."

He knew well enough at this point that once he'd been dismissed, it was wise to leave quickly. He walked briskly from Voldemort's office, and Bellatrix rose to shut the door behind him. She stared right at Voldemort as she moved to sit opposite him again. As she sank into the chair, she rubbed silently at her right wrist, and Voldemort turned his eyes away.

"I apologise," he said plainly. "I had no time to block it from you; I wasn't quite expecting it."

"You do not need to protect me, My Lord," Bellatrix said, her voice almost stern. Voldemort returned his gaze to hers and stared at her through the lenses of his spectacles.

"You're quite capable of taking care of yourself," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean you need to share my pain. It's not even as though it's diminished by you feeling it. Twice the suffering with no advantage. I put my walls up whenever I can."

Bellatrix was thinking about Croatia again, he knew, but he didn't say anything to that. He watched as she peeled back her left sleeve and stared out the window. Her right thumb started brushing over her Dark Mark, just like it tended to do whenever she was stressed. It was comforting for her to touch her Mark, he knew, and even he felt a rush of relief the instant her Mark flushed black beneath her thumb. She continued staring out the window until she shut her eyes, her lips falling open a little as the sweet feeling deepened. Voldemort felt his veins rush through with a sudden, powerful feeling of pleasure. He found himself with his hands gripping te edge of his desk, his eyelids fluttering behind his glasses as everything came alive inside of him. Bellatrix pulled her hand from her arm and looked like she was about to speak, but then her eyes registered the way Voldemort had gone a bit breathless. He shook his head and whispered,

"Don't stop doing it."

She obeyed him at once, using her four fingers along with her thumb to more urgently caress her Dark Mark. Then it was like she was masturbating right there in her chair, for her own arousal became more significant by the moment. Voldemort remembered the first time this had happened, when she'd been lying in her bed at Hogwarts and he'd been at Malfoy Manor. He licked his dry lips and informed her matter-of-factly,

"I'm hard, Bella."

Her fingers hesitated for a split second and she said, "I thought you said you couldn't -"

"Just stay there and keep going before you spoil it," Voldemort snarled. His hands flew to his trousers, and he unbuttoned them and pulled his cock out. It was strange to wrap his fingers around his length after six weeks of it stubbornly not working properly. He probably hadn't gone this long without an erection in thirty-five years, and he got even harder as his fingers danced around his manhood. He stared straight at Bellatrix as she continued rubbing her arm. Her head tipped back a little as her arousal melded with his. She gasped and let out a little choked sound, squirming in her chair as she rather unexpectedly came.

Her face was strikingly beautiful as ecstasy took her over. Her eyes were just barely closed, and her full lips were parted perfectly. Her pale cheeks had been flushed with a pink that worked its way down her neck and onto her collarbone. Her small, round breasts heaved with shaking, uneven breaths. The sight of her like that combined with the feel of her bliss, and suddenly Voldemort was lost. He yanked his hand down to the base of his cock and snarled through his teeth like an animal. His seed jetted forth and made an enormous mess all over him, but he couldn't care about that as he realised he'd managed to climax for the first time in six weeks. He was so dizzy he could hardly keep his eyes open, even after the best of it had passed.

"Are you all right?" he heard Bellatrix ask, her voice sounding like it was coming from the other side of a tunnel. Voldemort found his breath and blinked through his blurry vision until his gaze settled on Bellatrix. He nodded, and she smiled a little as she stood up and aimed her wand at his lap and muttered a Tergeo. He flashed her a half smile of thanks and tucked himself away, his heart still racing madly as he buttoned his trousers up. Bellatrix walked around his desk, and he pushed his chair out as she moved to stand between his knees. She took his face in his hands and smiled warmly down at him.

"Perhaps you just need quite a lot of sex and more love from your wife than you can process," she teased, but he knew she was only half-kidding. He tipped his head and admitted,

"Seeing as this isn't a matter of depleted magic, but rather a damaged soul, you may well be right, little thing."

Bellatrix tucked her hair behind her ear and reminded him, "You've got an appointment set up with Healer Harvey first thing tomorrow morning. Or, at least, I'm assuming that's why it says St Mungo's meeting - private in your date book. But you haven't got anything else on the docket for today."

"What a fine little secretary our magnificent Lady is," Voldemort said in a bit of a surly tone. He studied her face and noted the fatigue in her eyes. He reached for her hand and brushed his thumb over hers as he examined her features more closely. Even as tired as she was, she was so youthful and almost painfully lovely. She was short enough that, standing here before his chair, her face was only a little higher than his. He suddenly wanted to hold her, to kiss her. He adjusted his glasses as they slipped down his nose a bit, and he reminded her,

"You didn't sleep a wink last night."

She smirked. "No, I did not, and the Invigoration Draught is wearing off. I could use a little nap."

"Mind if I join you?" He stood and hovered over her, wondering if her half-jesting suggestion could be right. Was there a chance that any of this degradation might improve with enough positive interaction with her? Could they rebuild his damaged soul with an overdose of the one thing he'd never thought he could feel? It was certainly worth a try, he thought, before they went slogging off to Croatia.

She silently took his hand and started to walk from his office toward the staircase that went up to their bedroom. She was moving too fast, he thought, and he pulled back on her hand to slow her. She glanced over her shoulder and seemed to understand, her gaze darkening as Voldemort climbed the stairs slowly and carefully. His heart still accelerated enough that he had to take a moment at the top to lean against the bannister, but his head spun less than it had done the last time he'd climbed stairs. He felt Bellatrix's hand rubbing gently at his back, and she said firmly,

"Let's go lie down. I'm so tired, My Lord."

He smiled to himself at her indomitable sense of diplomacy. He followed her into the bedroom, peeling off his outer robe and kicking off his shoes. His chest pulled with fresh want as she stripped down to her knickers and bra and climbed beneath the blankets. He followed her there, lying on his back and shutting his eyes as he waited for her to curl up against him. Then he felt her hands carefully pulling his spectacles from his face; he'd forgotten to take them off. She set them down on the table beside him and kissed his cheekbone before snuggling against him.

"I love you," she whispered, snaring his arm around him. He nodded and pulled her more tightly against his body, wincing a little as he remembered how the pain in his wrist had hit her. He gulped and said honestly,

"And I love you, Bella. More today than any day that's come before. Get some sleep."