A/N: Now the story really begins with the fic's main characters. As a warning this is one of the chapters where the M rating is relevant.
Bella was sure that the Nott Great Hall had never been so crowded and loud at two in the morning. It was filled with a hundred figures, almost all of which wore black robes, and made it seem like there were shadows traversing the area. However, their faces were visible. The Death Eaters had discarded their masks and hoods several hours ago. They now lay scattered in piles over the marble floor.
There had been no time for their host to organise or plan. Dolohov had suggested they needed to celebrate their victory and, in a few moments, the group was soon crowded into Nott Manor. It did not bother anyone. No one cared that there were no seats or tables. They only barked orders at the house elves who scurried around the floor like rats with trays held over their head which were and piled high with whatever the guests required.
Bellatrix was one of the guests who were impatiently waiting. Glancing over her empty wine glass that she was idly fiddling between her fingers, Bella finally spotted the elf she had ordered to fetch her drink. Her patience level was notoriously low with humans and with house elves it was nonexistent. More than a minute wait was too long for her. Striding to meet the pathetic creature, she snatched the glass filled with green liquid from the tray and pushed the pitiful creature to the ground. It fell back like a sack of potatoes landing hard on the marble along with the glasses it carried with an almighty crash. She heard it squeak in pain, but the sound was hidden in the roar of laughter from the Death Eaters and the cursing from those who were waiting on drinks.
She laughed loudest of all as she took a small sip of the liqueur. It burned as it slid down her throat, but she did not mind. She wanted a respite from the more ladylike wine she typically consumed. She knew this would do the trick. The surge of such a powerful and potent taste would always be enjoyable. After all, she loved everything about power.
Her dark eyes gleamed in the light as she glanced over at the figure standing by the fireplace that had turned around at the crowd's laughter.
It was unheard of for her Lord to attend such occasions, yet it seemed even he wanted to check in on his Death Eaters or perhaps he was in the mood to celebrate. She would not complain about such a concept since celebrating or doing anything with her Lord would always be pleasing.
She tipped back her head to gulp down the rest of her absinthe like it was a shot; all the while her gaze did not drift from the Dark Lord. Her body tingled as she strode across the hall. Some of the men were in her way, but she shoved on their shoulders until they snapped at her and allowed her to reach his side.
His lips were curled into an amused smile as she bowed her head to him, "My Lord," she murmured her voice reverent. "I hope you do not mind my disturbance."
"No," he said softly his voice thoughtful as she straightened her neck to stare into his bloodshot eyes, "I do not."
He did not elaborate, but he did not need to. He merely stared down at her over his glass of scotch like she was a particularly interesting artefact.
"It was a magnificent victory, Master," she said, eager to keep up the conversation. She had been staring at her Lord all night, though at every moment he had seemed occupied by others or a particularly important thought as he stared into the fire. Now she wanted to capitalise on being in his presence and continue talking so he did not grow bored with her. "It is a credit to your skill and abilities. Everything can only be improved now that the Ministry is under your leadership."
"Indeed." It was his only reply. She balked at the notion that he seemed disinterested. She rapidly tried to continue speaking to entertain him.
"This is what we have all wanted. I feel so very privileged that I have had the opportunity to serve you now and into the fut-"
"Enough, Bella," The Dark Lord snapped even though the volume of his voice had not altered. "You do not need to humour me."
No one else could make Bella embarrassed. No one else could make her blush, but he could with ease. He only needed to suggest she had done something wrong and her face would flare red.
"I- I'm sorry, Master. It was not my intention and I-"
He took a step towards her and she flinched. It was not because she feared him striking, she would not complain if he did, but her body only tensed at the cherished close proximity. It did not matter that she was surrounded by a hundred men and that she had been the subject of rumours and gossip for years. Her stomach only leaped at the thought of his touch.
He lowered his voice and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as he leaned over so his lips were near her ear. "Be outside the front doors in five minutes."
As he withdrew her body shook like a leaf while he stared straight into his eyes and the power that simmered below the surface. The closeness only lasted a moment, but the affects lingered while she stared slightly glassy eyed at the back of his slightly balding black hair as he strode from the hall with his black robes trailing behind her like wisps of darkness. She did not stop gazing in that direction until he was gone and even then she closed her eyes to keep an imprint of him in her mind as she leaned against the panelled wall.
Smiling at the anticipation of how she would soon feel his hands on her body, it only flickered once when one of the other elves appeared cautiously at her elbow. She swiped it away. This one had the intelligence to keep its distance.
She did not want anything else to drink. If her evening plan would have included anything else she might have had another, but, due to soon slide into her Lord's bed, she was annoyed she had previously allowed any alcohol to taint her mind and memory of another occasion in her Lord's arms.
Even the merest thoughts of her Lord increased her body temperature dramatically as she looked up at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. Five minutes. She could wait five minutes.
For four years, since she was only nineteen, she had been a presence in her Lord's bed. She remembered what she was like then; perhaps a little naive, but her loyalty had been enduring and unquestionable and the way she had desired Him then had not changed over the years.
It had only intensified.
The golden hand of the clock ticked noisily around the face as she urged time to speed up. She only lifted her gaze for a moment when Rookwood tried to approach her. Presumably, after a few glasses of wine he thought he had a chance. However, one glare at his pockmarked face from her dark eyes had him scampering away.
At least Rodolphus had left. He had attempted to drag her along with him, but his attempt had failed after she had snapped at him. She was glad of his absence. It would have been harder to sneak away from him.
As each moment drifted by at a snail's pace she became more and more impatient. It was only with a great amount of difficulty that she contained herself for those cursed five minutes before she moved. She strode across the hall probably too quick to be appropriate as she walked through two sets of elaborate doors before she stared down at her Lord from the front porch. He was standing on the ruler-flat grass by the stairs, his robes fluttered in the breeze as he gazed straight ahead lost in some deep thoughts that no mere mortal could grasp. She would have been happy to stare at his milky white skin forever, but she was eager for other things so she descended the stairs. The click of her heeled boots on stone must have been enough to cause his head to turn.
"Ma-" she started to say as her leather boots crushed the strands of foliage, but the words had not even left her mouth before he reached forward and grasped her arm. His hold was hard and tight, enough to cut off the circulation, though she did not care. She only concentrated on the heat that she could feel through her robes as the feeling of apparition settled over her.
The tightness of being squeezed through a small tube was only a slight discomfort after having adapted to it for so long and, once colour appeared for her again the scene was different; a modest sized room with forest green wallpaper and with only a minimal amount of furniture in simple dark wood. Her eyes instinctively caught for a moment on the hard familiar bed before she gazed back at her Lord.
"My Lord," she murmured unable to keep her eyes downcast as she stared up into his face through her thick lashes. She tried to keep her voice composed and sweep also evidence of emotion from her features, but she failed. Her voice was already breathy and her focus on him was filled with worship and something more. "Please tell me how I can serve you."
He considered her. Bloodied eyes trailed along her dark lips, down the plunging neckline revealing her cleavage and traversed the tight robes that curled around her shapely body.
His attentive gaze put her on edge, though she was not weary. She was only impatient.
She hated admitting it as it seemed insulting, even in her own mind, to rush him. But her heart beat painfully like the grip on her arm and the only thing she could do was to wrap her spare hand in a fist so she would not touch him.
She must not rush him. The Dark Lord did things in his own time.
She had learned that lesson the hard way. In their first sessions she had been over eager to serve her Lord. She had not been able to contain herself and her hands had shot out to touch his body.
He had taught her how wrong she was. She had screamed for him. It had not been from ecstasy, yet from pain.
She suspected her Lord had still enjoyed the noise.
So, over the years, she had learned. She had been taught what he wanted was the only thing that mattered. Even if she wanted to run her hands over him and, even if she knew she could please him, she would have to wait until the orders left his mouth. She could never presume what went on in her Master's mind and she could never take her time in her Lord's bed for granted.
Finally her torture was over.
"Kneel," he ordered, his voice cool like it was a request he would make to any his followers, but she recognised it was not. She knew from the attentive focus of his gaze and how she was alone with him in his bedroom.
It was difficult to not smile at the words.
Her robes folded around her as she sunk down onto the cold, hard, wooden floor. She considered taking off her robe, but since her Lord had not asked, she would not presume. Instead she waited, allowing her hands to rest in her lap.
Much too slow to soothe the tingling feeling inside her, the Dark Lord moved his pale hands down his body to the buttons of his clothing. She longed to do the work for him, but there was no point rushing him as his robe opened and he freed himself.
She could not take her eyes off him nor could she keep control of her turbulent emotions and desires. She rationalised that he had made clear what he desired as she reached for him. Her hands slid over him brushing over his balls and to grip his thin hips as she opened her mouth and slid over him. She could never get enough of the salty intoxicating taste from his skin.
Her Lord did not utter a word. Other than the slight increase in his breathing, he was silent. If he was anyone else she might have suspected he was not enjoying it.
She knew he was. Still with her mouth filled with him, she gazed up him transfixed and waiting for any sign that she was doing the right thing. His face was tense and his teeth seemed clenched as his hands settled to grip her head and force him further down her throat.
It almost choked her and it was not exactly pleasant, but it was for her Lord.
She never could deny him.
It did not matter that he might hurt her or that her body was pumping with desire and her underwear growing wet with needs that might not be given any attention. However, her desires were irrelevant. They would only be satisfied if he wanted to provide them any attention. She always tried to push away her uncertainty and to be grateful for her position.
She would not complain.
Despite the fact that Bella was overcome with the joy of success and the pleasure of her Lord, by dawn she was yawning.
Stretching her arms above her head and opening her mouth wide, she pushed open the front doors of her home, Asphodel House. The wooden floor covered in an ornate scarlet rug and antique moving portraits did not catch any attention. Eyes only half open hardly anything did until she almost jumped a foot as a familiar blonde haired girl descended the stairs in front of her and exclaimed loudly. "Bella!" Narcissa's eyes were wide and her tone was filled with surprise as she stopped dead in her tracks. "What are you doing? Have you been out all night?"
Sweet, innocent, Cissy. She almost made her laugh. If Bella was not in such good spirits from when her Lord had finally pulled her to her feet and thrown into her on his bed, she might not have bothered answering but, as it was, she was feeling more tolerant of her little sister.
"And what a night it has been." She grinned brightly as she continued walking and strode past her sister towards the stairs now that she was more at ease. "You should look at the Prophet."
"The Prophet..." Cissy murmured as she wrapped her tongue around the strange syllables. "Why would I look in the paper?"
Bella's lips moved further upwards as her eyes gleamed. "The Ministry. It is all about the Ministry. Everything has changed Cissy. Everything has changed for the better." Leaning against the polished railing she allowed Cissy's confusion to settle as she paused uncomfortably by the bottom of the stairs. "I will head there later. Well, after I have had some sleep. Until then." She waved rather cheerfully as she set up the stairs. "Good night, my dear sister."
"Tell me!"Narcissa urged from where she had broken out of her stance and stared up from her position at the bottom of the stairs. "What has happened?"
"Read the Prophet," Bella repeated, her voice echoing down the stairs as she continued to walk. "Then you will know."
It was five in the morning and even the most dedicated of workers would have been absent from the Ministry. However, this was not the case today. The individuals whose workplace included the building had seen fit to investigate the rumours of his victory. He would give them something to see, but their examination of the scene would only tell them so much. No one would ever discover exactly what his intentions were or what he was planning.
In each corner of the polished wooden hall, men and women pressed themselves up against each other and the black tiled walls as if they tried to blend into their surroundings or they feared an individual would be easy prey. They were all foolish. They did not understand that every one of them could be an unmoving corpse on the ground in a second if he even thought it. However, his bloodied eyes only swept by each group with considerable disinterest. They were unimportant.
The more familiar black robes of his Death Eaters that he had ordered to stand in strategic positions throughout the Atrium attracted slightly more attention, but only a select few received a curt nod as he glided over the hall. His lips remained curled into a static half smirk as the eyes of the room were upon him. Most were seeing him for the first time and he knew what would dominate their thoughts; power.
They feared him. They knew of his ability and they would not think to cross him. He was not foolish enough to believe there was no opposition, but for now, they were keeping their distance. It would not be the case forever but he had plans in place to ensure that his support solidified into an iron wall that would never fall.
Everything was planned.
Stepping into the cramped lift he ignored the cool female voice that still spoke as the floor was pulled underneath him by ancient magic. The novel thought amused him for a moment. It almost gave the impression that he needed to be moved and assisted like the rest of the powerless fools in the Ministry.
In the First Floor corridor the crowds were nonexistent. The only thing visible was thick purple carpet and a long panelled hallway lined with doors and gold rimmed portraits of previous ministers. He would take considerable pleasure in placing his picture in the pride of place. After all, he would do more than any leader had even considered doing. He would make Britain great.
As he walked almost silently down the hall he did not detect any noise. It seemed the area was deserted. He envisaged that those who ordinarily resided on these levels were trying to avoid their association with the previous government. It was not necessary. He did not intend to punish all of those who had been in the old Ministry. Anyone who pledged their loyalty and could be trusted to keep their word would remain. It was the wisest choice. It would allow a positive view of his regime to develop and be another weapon to starve off the cries for rebellion which would inevitably develop.
He continued his path, the same he had travelled last night when he had ended the life of Minister Diggory. It was pitiful. The man had barely raised his head. The last pathetic moments of his life almost made Voldemort consider revealing it to the public, though it was not worth the alteration to his plan.
His outline was perfect. It would not change.
Turning the final corridor, he twisted the golden handle and stepped into the Minister's Office. The walls were inlaid with rosewood panels and designs that moved and shifted by carefully placed charms. The desk was covered in as similar wood, but it was inlaid with silver and large and majestic. It should have been neat and orderly, but the papers were all disturbed and coating the floor and table an inch thick.
It was too light and too cluttered than what he would have preferred, though the history and extravagance pleased him enough for him to not alter it. With a wide casual sweep of his pale wand, the parchment neatly flew into a high pile as he crossed the room to slide into the soft leather chair. It curled around his thin frame as he settled into the unusual comfort.
He allowed himself the rare occasion to rest. He had not slept for nearly two days straight with the planning and eventual conquest of the Ministry. There had been the final preparations, the conquest and the celebrations, which had the true purpose of ensuring his followers behaved.
Even his body was impacted by the strain of being awake for so long, but he would push on.
Resting back in the chair, he did not close his eyes. He mentally flicked through elements he had to solve. He would have to ensure their position at the Ministry was secure. He would need to keep a reasonable level of support in the public and there were various tools that he would utilise. Blame for Diggory's death would need to be placed on someone else and he would need to be seen as a hero.
He knew just what to do.
Smirking at his undeniably perfect scheme, he swept his gaze over the office.
It was now all his.
The country was now his.
