As I mentioned in my note for the first chapter this is just a quick reminder that there is a reason the characters act the way they do. As I hinted at the end, Tom was raised by Merope. He grew up with a mother's love and affection and can understand the emotion. In many ways he is still cold, cruel, power hungry, ruthless and possessive. However, he can love. The fact is that he will only ever care for very few people even if he can love and to most people he can almost seem unchanged.

Have no fear. There is a reason for my madness.

Onto the chapter

"You're late, Tom." A voice declared on the couch as Tom stepped out of the fireplace, vanishing the soot of his robes with a clean even sweep of his wand.

"I am a busy man surely you would have realised that before," Tom replied evenly without any concern for the disapproval. Approaching the elderly woman, he stared down at her small frame. "I would have expected a better welcome with less criticism."

As Tom knew it would, the woman on the lounge had less perseverance for these vocal debates than he did. She snapped out of it swiftly and quickly found her feet, before she threw her arms around him.

"Better?" she questioned from where his chin rested against the tip of her head. He had been taller than her since he was thirteen.

"Much better, mother," he replied quietly as he stepped away, almost as if he expected anyone to see his moment of weakness. Finding a distraction, he saw two tea cups sitting neatly on the coffee table. "The tea is already made."

Merope only smiled. She was too used to her son's mannerisms to comment. She only fetched one cup and handed it to him. "Three sugars nice and sweet just as you like it. One wonders where you get such a sweet tooth."

The look he shot her was sharp as he sat on the comfortable armchair. "I hope it is from you."

She was quiet as she replied, "It was not." Tom knew she could sense his mood souring, but he was not in the business of caring at the moment. If she insisted on hinting at his resemblance to him, he should just leave. He expected an apology instead the conversation changed course. "Still no woman to bring home to your mother?"

He looked up and just chuckled at her both from the question and for the imminent answer. "After all this time you still insist on asking me that."

"Yes," Merope replied unashamedly, as she reached for a biscuit. "Mothers never stop asking that."

Tom made quite the show of rolling her eyes, pondering how to respond. Eventually he resigned himself to the only way. Besides it would at least amuse him. "Actually there is," he said softly with a wicked grin. It only increased when his mother floundered and almost dropped her cup of tea. He supposed he should not antagonise her.

"What? Who? How have you never told me about her before? Tom!" she scolded glaring at him when he started to laugh quietly to himself. "Do not make jokes about this."

"I am being serious, just not in the way you think," he said softly once he had recovered his calm mannerisms again. Taking a sip of his tea he smiled. "She is not my future wife or anything of that sort. She is more..." Even he was at a loss for words to describe her, but decided on the basic and most professional term. It was better to not give his mother ideas and delusions. "An ally of sorts. You know what is being planned in Britain?"

"Yes," she replied with a strain in her voice. Tom knew she was worried. She had no reason to be. He was more than capable of looking after himself.

"Well, one of my allies is taking considerable risk. It is unlikely but possible she may be outed. If that happens, I promised her asylum in the place I knew was safe."

"And you promised a room in my house without permission." She sighed and shook her head. Tom was glad she knew it was pointless to berate him. "What is her name then?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

This time she did drop her tea, but with a wordless charm from Tom saved her from being scolded as the cup drifted back to the table.

"You told me you hated her!" he mother cried out.

He was careful before he replied, "I did."

As she returned home from work and she stepped into the Entrance Hall, Bellatrix was determined for it to seem just like another day. She tossed her cloak into the waiting arms of a house elf without a glance to check if it was there. She did not need to. The creature had better be there to save her cloak from falling onto the ground. One day it had not been there. She had ensured it never made that error again.

Her eyes flicked to the sitting room where her husband would be waiting. She wanted to go in the other direction and avoid him, but no one could say Bellatrix Lestrange was a coward. She loathed the mere thought. It motivated her and she pressed her palm into the cool wood and stepped inside.

The fire roared in the heart battling away the English chill. Rodolphus at least seemed to think so as he chose the chair closest to the flames, his head bent over some ageing text. Bellatrix could not care less what it was about. He raised his head as she stepped inside, he even managed half a smile.

She did not even bother returning it.

"Rodolphus," she greeted coolly with a crisp nod of her head.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." His voice was always calm and tonight was no exception, but she knew his voice meant little. She was not foolish; she could see the look in his eye. He was not talented enough to hide his regard for her or maybe he just did not care.

She had sworn she would start this conversation it was just a matter of how. She did not like the feeling of uncertainty and rather than sit there and sway on the balls of her feet she went to the cupboard on the opposite side of the room.

"Drink?" she asked as she refiled through the various bottles, shooting a glance behind her shoulder at her husband.

This time Rodolphus did look up. Placing the book on the table, he stared at her curiously with ice blue eyes. She did not like that look.

"Scotch," he answered softly. She did not argue for once as she fixed a glass for him and one for herself. Handing one to her husband, she sat opposite him, pondering her plan of action. Unfortunately, Rodolphus knew her better. "So what do you want, Bella? Evidently something. I cannot remember the last time you voluntarily fetched me a drink. Should I expect poison?"

Obviously he did not really believe what he said as he fearlessly sipped the glass, the ice clinking softly on the surface.

"So suspicious, Rod," she murmured swallowed her own drink. He was right. It was out of character. She supposed she did not have a reason to hide her intentions now. "I merely come offering a suggestion."

"Yes..." Rodolphus replied suspiciously, his eyes not leaving hers even as he drank his scotch.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Bellatrix flicked her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her back. She knew what she should say. It would not be too difficult.

"We need to do something. All of us." She urged passionately, her voice empowered as she shot straight to the matter at hand. "This is foolish. The Ministry is heading down hill we all know it. Grindelwald has lost all his sense. He only sits and follows whatever Dumbledore says and everyone knows Dumbledore is the biggest bleeding heart, mudblood or otherwise. The Ministry is going downhill we all know this."

"Do we?" Rodolphus asked with a raise of one eyebrow. "As far as I am aware no one has done more for the pureblood cause than Lord Grindelwald. Purebloods have been decreasing rapidly in numbers in the past few centuries, but it has started to level only with his reforms. Mudbloods are at the bottom at society just where they should be and-"

"But still there," Bella cut him off with an aggressive tone. "They are not even fit to lick our boots, but we must still walk beside them. We all know Grindelwald is perfectly fine with that. With Dumbledore's blessing he will no doubt push them up again. The tax changes are just the beginning! You know it is!"

Rodolphus was quiet for several moments, but, when he placed his now empty cup on the table in front of him, his light blue eyes were strangely deep. "You suggest a rebellion because of a mere tax increase. We have not had one in a decade."

"When did I call for a rebellion?" Bellatrix questioned sharply, her heart rate slightly swifter with the realisation Rodolphus had read her intentions already.

"That would be the entire point of this conversation would it not be my dear wife?"

Rodolphus was the very definition of ice, but Bella was the very fire that could melt that ice. Losing patience, she found her feet, resisting the urge to throw the rest of her drink in her husband's smug face.

"I cannot believe I married someone who could side with mudbloods." It was difficult to stop herself screaming but her voice was noticeably louder and angrier.

"I can only side with the right side. Only purebloods."

Bellatrix had enough. Growling and cursing under her breath, she stormed out of the room her glare fiery.

Fucking Rodolphus. She did not need him. She swore she did not.