Unable Are the Loved to Die Chapter 1, a harry potter fanfic

Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality,
Nay, it is Deity—

Unable they that love—to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity.

- Emily Dickinson

Archer's Edge

21 September 1975

Bellatrix screamed. It was all she could do, given the fact that her husband's face had been buried between her legs for the last fifteen minutes. She screamed because she'd come again, for the third time in a half hour, and her thighs trembled as Lord Voldemort squeezed them. Bellatrix arched her back up and squeezed at the sheets and exclaimed,

"No more! Please, I can't..."

"Oh, yes, you can." Voldemort flashed her a wicked smirk as he finally raised his head. Bellatrix shivered at the sight of him; his lips were pearlescent from her fluids, and his sharp cheekbones were flushed pink. He started to draw circles on her nub with his thumb as he stared up at her, and Bellatrix asked breathlessly,

"My Lord, don't you... don't you want to...?"

"Already did," Voldemort said simply, tipping his head and keeping his thumb moving in slow, steady circles. "Blankets are easily cleaned with a quick spell or two, hmm? Besides, it's your birthday, not mine. Thankfully."

Bellatrix shuddered again as she realised he'd finished when he'd been using his mouth on her. Probably one of her own climaxes had driven him to his own; he'd been grinding his hips down onto the bed and groaning against her. Now, as he used his thumb and fingers on her and gave her a meaningful look, Bellatrix shook her head and helplessly whispered,

"People will be here in a half hour and I'm not even dressed."

"Then you'd best come quickly," Voldemort murmured, "so you have time to slap some lipstick on."

For some reason, that drove her over the edge, and Bellatrix breathed in the feel of his thumb moving on her one more time. Then everything snapped like a wire breaking, and she tipped her head back and whispered a wordless plea for help. Her body, weary and trembling from everything he'd done to her, clamped weakly around his fingers, and Bellatrix let herself fall back against the pillows. She dug her fists into her eye sockets and felt Voldemort pull his hand from her. She heard him whisper spells to clean up her body and his own, as well as the blankets he'd apparently soiled. She finally caught her breath and opened her eyes, watching Voldemort stalk over to the wardrobe and start pulling out pieces of his tuxedo robes.

"Thank you, My Lord," she said hoarsely, "even if the timing was cutting it a bit close."

He cocked up an eyebrow at her over his shoulder. They'd needed this, she knew. Over the last year or so, intimacy between them had nearly fizzled out entirely. There had been a minor revolt among the parents of newly-discovered Squibs, and the aftermath of that had been stressful for both of them. Bellatrix had spent two months in Ghana, chasing a dead-end lead about an Invisibility Cloak. The item, possessed by a witch in a small village, turned out to be nothing but a garment that caused feature Transfiguration. Even Nadia, whom Bellatrix had visited again in Croatia, had claimed she knew nothing of the other two Hallows' location. It had begun to feel as though the quest for the other Hallows, which had originally seemed exciting and urgent, was nothing at all.

It didn't help that Bellatrix's time in Britain had been alternately spent consoling her sister between what felt like neverending miscarriages, investigating the increasingly concerning behaviour of her cousin Sirius, and training Aurors in Unforgivable work. Voldemort's time had been spent making appearances at Ministry departments, visiting with foreign dignitaries, and trying to re-establish relations with MACUSA. That last bit had only been because Bellatrix's father had convinced Voldemort that it was financially necessary to have some semblance of ties to America, but Bellatrix couldn't be in the meetings, given what had happened during her last visit to the States.

As they'd each grown more busy and their respective stress levels had skyrocketed, they'd begun to see one another almost entirely in passing. Occasional meals together, a quick kiss goodnight, a mumbled good morning... for the past two months or so, that had been all they'd had. Until today, at least. Today Voldemort had informed Bellatrix that he was going to make her come until she couldn't do it anymore. And he had gone to the trouble of planning a birthday party that began in less than a half hour.

With the realisation of the time crunch, Bellatrix heaved herself out of the bed and moved quickly to the wardrobe. Voldemort stepped aside as he buttoned his black waistcoat, watching as she pulled out a floor-length black raw silk gown.

"You still have that thing, then?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix gave him a questioning look. He brought his bow tie up around his collar and noted, "That's the gown you wore to your parents' Christmas party, the day I first kissed you."

Bellatrix stared at the gown self-consciously and asked, "Should I wear something else? Something newer?"

"No," he said, his voice quite firm. "No, I very much like how it looks on you."

Bellatrix pulled on smooth knickers, forgoing a bra thanks to the gown's plunging neckline. She slithered into the gown and turned around, and Voldemort wordlessly did up the zip. Then he bent to touch his lips to her neck, pushing her curls away as he whispered into her ear,

"I've missed you, little thing."

"I've been here the whole time," Bellatrix noted, though of course that wasn't true. She'd been in Croatia, in Ghana, at Malfoy Manor and her parents' house. She sighed and turned round, studying his eyes as she nodded and amended her words. "I've missed you, too, My Lord."

He cupped her face in his hands and said, "I think we need to look closer to home. I think they're here in Britain."

She turned up half her mouth and asked, "Are you just saying that so I won't leave again?"

"No," he said, and she could feel through his mind that he was being honest. He tucked her hair behind her ear and said, "Our research has indicated that this myth has existed exclusively in Britain, and for almost a millennium. Why would any of the Hallows be in a village in Ghana?"

"I didn't have anything else to go off of, My Lord," Bellatrix shrugged. "I still don't."

"You have eyes, and a brain," Voldemort reminded her. "We're going to think through our next step a bit more. I won't lose a scrap of my link with you over this, you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort's throat bobbed as he pulled on his tuxedo jacket with its one-shouldered cape, and he murmured to Bellatrix,

"Wear the red lipstick if you want, but keep your curls down, will you?"

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile a little at that. Even after all they'd been through, after seven years of chaos and tumult and wild success, he still cared about her hair being down. She slipped on her black pumps and walked into the bathroom, opening the cupboard beside the sink and taking out her cosmetics bag. She spritzed herself with rose perfume, lined her eyes with inky black wings, and carefully applied scarlet lipstick. She used a quick spell she'd perfected as a third-year Slytherin, one that would keep her makeup in place all night. She pulled on her serpent necklace and put the diamond stud earrings in that Voldemort had given her the previous Valentine's Day. He'd made them himself out of bits of coal, a feat Bellatrix had found both amusing and impressive.

He stood then in the threshold of the bathroom, looking extraordinarily handsome for a man who was inching ever closer to fifty. Bellatrix herself felt a bit strange turning twenty-four; it seemed like a profoundly adult age to turn. But she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and she saw a seventeen-year-old. She put her lips into a line, remembering what they'd done in Spain, and she glanced back at Voldemort's reflection as she asked,

"When do you think they'll start to notice?"

"Some of them already have," Voldemort told her. "But they're afraid to do too much wondering. It helps keep them in line, you know. The fact that they know I can look into their heads. In any case, it doesn't matter. Your face won't be changing. What of it?"

Bellatrix frowned and complained, "I don't look twenty-four. Next year I won't look twenty-five. I'll never look thirty, or forty, or..."

"Fifty. No, you won't. But it doesn't matter," Voldemort said firmly. He stepped up behind her and reminded her, "They're all trickling in downstairs. Shall we go celebrate with them?"

Bellatrix nodded, staring at his stern reflection and remembering the look of his lips shining from her womanhood. She felt a little tremble of want again, and he smirked as he kissed the back of her head.

"Later, little thing," he whispered. "You can have as much as you want later."

"It has been some measurable time since Britain has seen a witch like Bellatrix Black," Voldemort declared. He stared out at those who had gathered, the hundred or so who were lucky enough to be considered 'inner circle.' He cleared his throat and continued, "Indeed, I would venture to suppose that wizarding Britain has never actually seen a witch anything like my wife. Clever in politics, a brilliant diplomat and a sharp thinker. More than gifted in combat. I confess that I find her beautiful to behold, and I won't begrudge any of you thinking the same of her."

The crowd laughed, just a little nervously, and Bellatrix smiled crookedly from where she stood with a glass of Champagne. Voldemort raised his own glass and stared right at Bellatrix as he said,

"The happiest of birthdays to you, my wondrous Lady. Here's a many more. More than you can count. To The Lady!"

"To The Lady!" The crowd raised their glasses and cheered Bellatrix in unison, and then everyone took sips of their Champagne. The enchanted string ensemble in the corner began to play, and everyone broke into little groups and began to chat. Bellatrix gamely soldiered through a receiving line, and Voldemort stood back and watched as she plastered a fresh smile on for each well-wisher.

"Aunt Walburga. How good of you to come," Bellatrix grinned. Walburga Black frowned deeply and admitted,

"Sirius wouldn't come, My Lady. I do apologise."

Suddenly Voldemort felt Bellatrix summoning him over in her mind, and he walked quickly to stand beside her. Walburga Black dipped into a little curtsy, and Voldemort asked crisply,

"Madam Black. Where is young Sirius? I know Headmistress Carrow gave both your sons leave to leave Hogwarts for the party."

Walburga hesitated. "Regulus came, My Lord. Sirius sent an owl and said... erm... he said he didn't want to come. Of course, I could not go to Hogwarts myself to retrieve him, so..."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and said sharply, "I'll be having Headmistress Carrow keep a closer eye on him. His intransigence is not your fault, Madam Black, but you will allow me to ensure the boy is not harbouring dissident sentiments."

"Of course, Master. Happy birthday, My Lady." Walburga Black skulked off with her husband Orion. The next group of guests, a blond trio, stepped up to greet Bellatrix. Voldemort didn't recognise them, but he assumed Bellatrix had had a good reason for inviting the guests she had. She gave Voldemort a little smile and said,

"My Lord. This is Rhona Lovegood, who works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Her husband, Kieran, who heads up the Obliviator Squad. This is their son, Xenophilius; he was a Ravenclaw in Narcissa's year."

"My Lord." Rhona Lovegood dipped into a rather awkward-looking curtsy, shoving her long, straight blonde hair from her eyes. Voldemort studied the witch's brightly-colored, patchwork robes with curiosity. Kieran Lovegood seemed a little more subdued, but his stony face seemed perfectly suited for work as an Obliviator. He and the boy, Xenophilius, bowed, and when Xenophilius stood, a golden trinket around his neck glittered.

Suddenly Voldemort found himself frozen. He stared at the boy's chest, gesturing toward the symbol he'd only seen one other place in person.

"What... erm... what sort of necklace is that?" Voldemort asked, struggling to stay calm. His mind flashed to the Gaunt family ring that he'd made into a Horcrux, the one he had hidden beneath the floorboards in the shack in Little Hangleton. The triangle with a circle within, a stick going straight up the middle. Bellatrix's eyes flew to Voldemort, and he knew she could see the ring, the way it matched the boy's necklace.

"Oh, this." Xenophilius Lovegood held up his necklace and proudly declared, "This is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, My Lord."

"Just a silly story, as I've told you many times, Xeno," scolded the boy's father, but Rhona Lovegood shrugged and said,

"Difficult to say what's real and what isn't, eh? No harm in the boy believing -"

"We will not have this ridiculous argument here, in front of the Dark Lord and the Lady," hissed Kieran Lovegood. Voldemort took a shaking breath and asked Xenophilius with feigned lightness,

"You have interest in the Tales of Beedle the Bard, do you?"

"Some mistake it for the mark of Gellert Grindelwald," Xenophilius said in a misty voice, pressing his fingers to his pendant, "but it's represented the Tale of the Three Brothers for a very long time. If Grindelwald used it, it's because he knew -"

"That is more than enough, Xeno," barked Kieran Lovegood. He shot his son a withering glare and hissed through his teeth, "Be silent before the Dark Lord is convinced you're entirely mad."

"Kieran..." Rhona Lovegood shook her head at her husband and then gave Voldemort and Bellatrix an apologetic little smile. "These boys. All they ever do is argue. We don't want to keep you; others are waiting. Happy birthday, My Lady."

She dragged her husband's elbow, and as their son walked after them, Voldemort said sharply,

"Xenophilius."

The blonde boy turned round, a curious look in his strange eyes, and Voldemort asked him,

"You've left school; what do you do for a living?"

"I work in the cauldron shop on Diagon Alley," Xenophilius said. He didn't use his honorifics the way the others did; his sentences were missing the obligatory My Lord at the end. But Voldemort sensed no malice in the omission. He narrowed his eyes at Xenophilius and said to Bellatrix,

"We could find him clerical work somewhere at the Ministry, surely?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix said, noting quickly. "Mr Lovegood, go to work with your mother tomorrow; I'll meet you in her office to discuss your future."

Xenophilius looked very confused but nodded. "Erm... all right. Thank you."

He turned to walk away, and Voldemort seized Bellatrix's hand and pulled her away.

"There were others lined up to -"

"They'll have to wait," Voldemort snapped. He met Bellatrix's eyes, his heart racing alongside hers as he whispered, "The ring. That symbol was on the ring."

"You think that ugly black stone is..." Bellatrix trailed off, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. She met Voldemort's eyes again and shook her head fiercely. "It seems far too strong a coincidence."

"Grindelwald had the wand before Dumbledore. Then he used the symbol," Voldemort hissed. "He knew. And the ring... I'm the Heir of Slytherin; my mother's family is ancient. That ring is all the glory they had left. That's no coincidence."

Bellatrix sounded breathless as she asked, "So what are we meant to do tomorrow with Xenophilius Lovegood?"

"I want to know why that boy is so interested in the Hallows," Voldemort said. "I want to know who told them they were real. How he learnt that Grindelwald used the symbol. And then... we're going to take a field trip to Little Hangleton."

Bellatrix nodded, and he could feel an odd mix of excitement and confusion in her head. Voldemort brushed his fingers over her curls, feeling too energised to help himself as he bent down and touched his lips to hers.

"Go say hello to those people waiting for you, Bellatrix. Happy birthday."

Bellatrix's lips curled up. "Thank you, My Lord."

Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London

22 September 1975

"Mr Lovegood. Thank you kindly for meeting with me." Bellatrix pulled out a chair in the meeting room she'd reserved, and Xenophilius Lovegood hesitantly sat opposite her.

"You didn't ask me here to discuss a position at the Ministry," he suspected aloud, and Bellatrix sighed as she shook her head.

"No. I'm sure we can work something out for you, but that's not why we're here." She drummed her fingers on the wooden table between them, eyeing the odd pendant that sat against Lovegood's chest, and she said gently, "Why don't you start at the beginning? When did you first learn about that symbol?"

Xenophilius Lovegood put his fingers over the pendant in a protective way, as if he were afraid someone was going to march up to him and tear the necklace from his body. He finally cleared his throat and said,

"When I was a sixth-year Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, we had a transfer student from Durmstrang."

Bellatrix nodded. "Yes. The Alsip boy. I remember; his family brought him back to school in Britain once the Dark Lord's power had cemented."

Lovegood nodded and continued, "He and I became rather good friends, and one rainy day, we were sitting in the library discussing lore and tradition at Durmstrang. He drew a symbol for me - this symbol."

He gestured down to his chest, and Bellatrix frowned. "What did he say the symbol meant?"

"He said that there was always bickering among the students at Durmstrang. Some claimed it was a symbol used by Gellert Grindelwald prior to his fall, that he'd inscribed it at the school. Others insisted it was an old symbol used to illustrate a fairy tale, but Benji Alsip didn't know which story. I put it together in my head... the triangle was the Invisibility Cloak. The circle was the Resurrection Stone. And the line was the Elder Wand. I'd had Babbity Rabbity read to me enough times as a child to remember the Tale of the Three Brothers. To remember the Deathly Hallows."

Bellatrix shrugged. "So you had a pendant made with the symbol? Why was it significant to you?"

Lovegood chewed his lip hard for a moment and then finally admitted, "I saw the Dark Lord's wand before the death of Albus Dumbledore. And the wand he uses today? I saw it in the hand of Albus Dumbledore before his death. It was taken as a trophy. But if it were used as a trophy, it would be mounted above a mantle or hidden away in a glass case. Instead, the Dark Lord uses it."

"He prefers it," Bellatrix said sharply. "What of it?"

Lovegood gave her a look like she was rather daft, and he pointed out, "No wand works quite as well as the wand one is given as a child, hmm? Except, of course, for the Elder Wand. The Dark Lord seized it from Dumbledore, who, I believe, took it from Grindelwald during their legendary duel. And Grindelwald took it from someone else; I've no idea who. But he knew what he had."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and shook her head. "Who told you all of this?"

Xenophilius Lovegood looked downright offended, and he insisted, "I figured it out myself. We Ravenclaws are rather good at figuring. I had this pendant made once I realised what wand the Dark Lord is using. The Hallows are real. The story is true."

"And what does it mean to you if the story is true?" Bellatrix demanded, and Lovegood curled his lips up a little as he said,

"It means that anything can be true. Any myth, any legend that has been written off as mere fantasy. Anything is possible if the Hallows are real."

Bellatrix sighed. She could sense no real threat from Lovegood, and it wouldn't do to punish him for putting these pieces together himself. She folded her hands on the table and asked in a sharp tone,

"Which department would you prefer to work in, Mr Lovegood?"

"I'm fine at the cauldron shop," he insisted, "until I start my own newspaper."

Bellatrix scowled and shook her head. "Independent press is strictly prohibited; you know that. The only newspaper allowed is the Daily Prophet."

"Perhaps I could work there, then," Lovegood suggested lightly. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him but rose from her chair and promised him,

"I'll look into it and send you an owl on the matter. Where do you live?"

"Ottery St Catchpole," said Xenophilius Lovegood, still not rising from his chair. Bellatrix sniffed a little and nodded once.

"Good day, Mr Lovegood."

"Good day, Madam Black," he said, and Bellatrix shivered a little as she stepped out into the corridor.

Archer's Edge

22 September 1975

"It's in the ring. The symbol. It's there; it's embedded in the ring." Voldemort paced anxiously in his office as Bellatrix stood with her arms crossed over her chest. He paused and met her gaze, and he pointed out, "The Gaunt family had had it for centuries, they said. I couldn't figure why such a hideous ring would be the last treasured possession of a ruined family. Now I understand. It was so much more than a ring. It still is."

"It's also a Horcrux, My Lord," Bellatrix pointed out rather sharply. She sounded frustrated as she said, "I suppose I don't understand what the point is of gathering them together. Master of Death. What does that even mean? And if one is a Horcrux?"

Voldemort pursed his lips, his stomach sinking a bit as he admitted to Bellatrix, "I'd have to destroy the Horcrux first. Whatever was left of that black rock would be the Resurrection Stone."

"Wait. What do you mean?" Bellatrix stepped toward him and narrowed her eyes. "The Elder Wand is meant to be extremely powerful on its own, and it is. Are you suggesting that you think the Resurrection Stone is entirely useless whilst it exists as a Horcrux?"

"I cursed the ring," Voldemort said, licking his lip carefully. "I enchanted it so that anyone who put it on would suffer a grave and terrible curse, one that would kill them painfully."

Bellatrix looked confused. "Can't you just remove the curse?"

"Not all curses work like that," Voldemort pointed out. "This one is a particularly Dark spell I learnt in Poland. I spent time in Krakow during the early fifties and... in any case, I'd be apprehensive about physically handling it right now."

"But you said we were taking a field trip to Little Hangleton," Bellatrix pointed out, and Voldemort nodded.

"We are. I need to move it, at least. I have all sorts of spells on the Gaunt shack, but I feel compelled to put it somewhere else. Somewhere safer. At least until we have the Invisibility Cloak and I figure a way to undo the curse."

"That's quite a lot of what-ifs, My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled. Voldemort angrily pulled out his chair and sat at his desk, pressing his fingers against his forehead as he said quietly,

"I need to do some recording. I've been feeling achy and unwell."

"Do you need my help, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, but Voldemort shook his head. He forced himself to raise his eyes to her, and he said,

"Thank you for meeting with Lovegood. Whether it seems like it or not, it is a giant leap forward in the process to know about the ring's significance. We are in no rush. You understand?"

"I understand," Bellatrix nodded. "We're in no rush."

She left then, and he listened to her boots clack up the winding stone stairs that led to the bedrooms. He cleared his throat and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the book she'd brought back from Croatia. He inked up a quill and opened the book, and he wrote neatly,

I have grown very weary of hearing my sister-in-law complain of her endless miscarriages, and I informed her husband of the ability to grant her proper fertility using the process I undertook in Spain.

He paused, letting the words sink into the page. He chewed his lip for a moment and then wrote,

When Lucius balked at the notion, I asked him whether he was a coward or whether he was sterile himself. He hesitated for too long, and so I cast a nonverbal hex upon him to render him hopelessly impotent for a few months.

That ink sank into the page, too, and Voldemort tapped his hand on the desk. He sighed heavily and wrote one last passage.

When I told Bellatrix about all this, she said she was just relieved there would be a reprieve in hearing about miscarriages. Whilst I feel no compunction or guilt about my actions, I suspect they qualify as 'wicked,' so I am entering them here.

He shut the book and put it away, and after a few moments with his eyes shut, his body felt a bit stronger. He knew, though, that only Bellatrix could ever truly take away the creak in his joints and the headaches. He made his way out of his office and up the staircase, considering to himself that he hadn't asked her to heal him with her magic in a very long while. When he came into the bedroom, she was getting ready for bed, standing in the bathroom in a flowing white nightgown and scrubbing at her teeth. She turned her eyes toward him and then spit out the paste in the sink, rinsing her mouth and dabbing at her lips with a little towel.

"Quidditch match tomorrow, if you're amenable," Voldemort reminded her, peeling off his clothes one piece at a time. "Puddlemere United and the Pride of Portree. We'll need to look entirely neutral during the match, of course; it's just a public appearance. You don't have to come."

"I want to come," Bellatrix said, and though he suspected she was lying, she smiled and said again. "I want to come and sit with you in the box."

"All right, then." Voldemort nodded and rolled his shoulders back, hesitating for a moment. Bellatrix sensed his unease, and she strode toward him and put her hands upon his bare shoulders. Just that touch felt so good that Voldemort made a little involuntary noise. Bellatrix seemed to know exactly what he wanted, what he needed of her, and she whispered,

"Why don't you lie on your back?"

He made his way silently to the bed and climbed beneath the covers, watching as Bellatrix climbed in beside him. She curled up against him, which was something she hadn't done in so long that Voldemort had almost forgotten the sensation. It felt magnificent to have her warm breath on his skin, to have her fingers ghosting over his shoulder and her leg snared around his.

"What hurts you?" Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort was almost overwhelmed with love for her in that moment. He struggled to speak, but he finally managed to say,

"Knees. Shoulders. Bad headaches, always in the front."

"Hmmm." Bellatrix lay there for quite a while, just touching him and breathing slowly. In his mind, Voldemort could feel her reliving some of their more intimate moments. She was beneath him on the bed in Malfoy Manor, gasping with pleasure as he took her gently for the first time. She was tied up in this bed, squirming and moaning desperately. She was back in the townhouse in St Alban's Grove with him plundering her against the books in the library.

"I love you," she whispered, and when he just nodded, she asked, "Better?"

"Yes," he said truthfully, for the throbbing ache in his joints had gone, and his head was no longer pulsing with pain. He turned his face toward her and whispered, "I've been awful to your for months."

"No." Bellatrix shook her head vehemently. "No, My Lord. You've been distracted, tormented, busy... you've not been awful. We've been like ghosts in the night, that's all."

"Well, I find I rather despise it," Voldemort said firmly, "and it's not to be that way anymore. I want breakfast with you every single morning, you understand?"

Bellatrix smiled and nodded as she asked, "Do I have to cook it?"

"Only when you want to," Voldemort said, "though you're much better at it than the House-Elves. Every day will begin with breakfast together and end like this. Talking and touching. I will not have it any other way. Am I understood?"

He'd sounded quite harsh, he knew, but he was frankly disgusted by the way they'd been interacting - or not interacting - for months now. Bellatrix just nodded, reaching to hold his jaw in her hand and stretching to touch her lips to his.

"We've made progress," she reminded him. "That's what matters."

Voldemort almost agreed with her, but then he remembered everything he already had, and he whispered to her, "You are what matters, Bellatrix."

He bent to kiss her more firmly then, tasting tooth powder on her and smelling rose in her hair. He threaded his fingers into her curls and kissed her like he needed it to survive, and he groaned with pleasure when she kissed him back.

His mother's family ring was the Resurrection Stone. But that fact was almost meaningless now. They'd find the Cloak, and then he'd have to start troubleshooting. But for now, all that mattered was the taste and smell and feel of Bellatrix.