"Bellatrix, dear, are you sure you want to go shopping on your own?" asked Mrs Malfoy worriedly, and Bellatrix sighed as she adjusted her heavy winter cloak around herself.

"Yes, Mrs Malfoy. Thank you. I… it's good for me to get out, I think. To think of something other than what's happened. Being round all the Christmas decorations might put me in a good cheer, too. So."

"But do you really want to go alone?" Mrs Malfoy seemed disbelieving as she wrung her hands in the dining room where the grand fireplace was. Bellatrix huffed a breath.

"I really would like to go alone, Mrs Malfoy."

Jessamyn Malfoy pinched her lips and nodded. Beside her, Lucius Malfoy stood looking despondent. Bellatrix knew why. He and Narcissa had been two peas in a pod. There had been rumours that they'd marry when they were old enough. They'd spent all their spare time together. Bellatrix knew that it had deeply affected Lucius to see Narcissa dead in her casket the day before. Today, the day after the funeral, he looked drawn and weary, and he seemed to have been crying extensively. Poor boy, Bellatrix thought.

"She thought so very highly of you," Bellatrix said to Lucius, and he slowly looked up. His eyes welled, and Bellatrix nodded, tipping up her chin. "Narcissa spoke of little else. My Lucius, she would call you. My Lucius and I went to Florean Fortescue's today, she would say. You were everything to her."

Lucius dragged a thumb beneath his eye and nodded, and Jessamyn reached for her son's hand, squeezing carefully. Bellatrix pulled her hood up over her curls and murmured,

"I think I'll go now. Thank you for the Floo Powder, Mrs Malfoy."

"Of course, dear," whispered Mrs Malfoy thickly. Bellatrix dug her leather gloved fingers into the elegant glass jar of Floo Powder beside the hearth, and once she had a handful, she stepped into the enormous fireplace, dropped her powder, and shouted clearly,

"Knockturn Alley!"

Bellatrix tried not to gasp then as the cool green flames erupted around her, sucking her backward and down and into the great black ether. She was pinched and grasped through the void until she came sliding out of a fireplace. She hurried to her feet and cleaned herself off as best she could, getting the dust and soot off of her black cloak. When she looked around, she was inside Borgin and Burkes, which was the very shop she wanted to be inside at this very moment. How convenient, she thought.

"Miss Black?" The old man behind the counter, Caractacus Burke, stared in disbelief as Bellatrix came strolling across the floor of his shop. It probably was shocking, Bellatrix thought, that she would be out in public just a few days after her entire family had been found dead with her as the only survivor. She might seem insensitive.

Unsentimental.

Bellatrix gulped and approached the counter where Mr Burke stood, and she said to him,

"I wonder if you could be of assistance, Mr Burke. You see, someone you know well has been of great assistance to me since my family's death, and I should like to thank him with a small Christmas gift. Money is no object."

It truly wasn't, given the massive inheritance Bellatrix had been left with. Mr Burke raised his grey brows behind his spectacles and asked cautiously,

"May I ask who this person is, Miss Black? My sincerest condolences, by the way."

"Thank you. It's Tom Riddle." Bellatrix folded her hands on the counter, and Mr Burke's eyes went wide.

"Tom Riddle?" he repeated. "You need a gift for Tom Riddle?"

"I do." Bellatrix licked her lip. "I have a feeling you know him better than I do and might recommend something he'd enjoy."

"Well, Tom is… Tom is an odd bird," said Mr Burke, almost sounding afraid. "He's brilliant. The most brilliant wizard I'll ever know. But he's not like the rest of us. Still… I have just the thing. I think."

Bellatrix frowned a little, and Mr Burke led her out and around the counter, across the shop, to a dusty case that had all sort of weapons inside. There was an iron mace, a jagged shiny knife, and then Mr Burke pointed a shaking finger to the third piece in the case.

"That. That there." He opened the case with a wave of his wand, and he pulled out the beige-coloured dagger at the end. He held it up for Bellatrix to see, and he said, "This is a dragon-bone knife. They are rare and powerful on their own, but this one… this one is rumoured to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom Riddle had a very keen interest in the Hogwarts Founders and anything that may have belonged to them. He was always asking whether it might be true, a rumour that something had belonged to a Founder. Slytherin in particular. And this dragon-bone knife was sold to me by a collector who swore under Veritaserum that, to the best of his knowledge, it had belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Bellatrix grinned. "Well, it's a good story, at least. I suppose you want a fortune for it."

"Not from you. Not right now," said Mr Burke seriously. "I'll not take more than twenty Galleons."

That was a remarkable price for a dragon-bone knife, so Bellatrix sighed and opened up her purse, walking back over to the counter. Mr Burke began packaging up the knife in brown paper and a velvet shopping bag, and Bellatrix began counting out twenty-five Galleons on the counter. She took the knife, and Mr Burke reluctantly took the extra money, and then Bellatrix said to him,

"Thank you. You've helped me more than you know, Mr Burke."

He looked very sad then, peering at her over his spectacles, and he shrugged helplessly as he said,

"Happy Christmas, Miss Black."

"I heard you went to Knockturn Alley all on your own earlier," said a voice, and Bellatrix turned away from the window. He was always finding her staring out windows in parlours, she thought.

"Mr Riddle."

"Tom," he corrected her, and again she found herself thinking and correcting them both, Lord Voldemort. She nibbled her lip and informed him,

"I had some Christmas shopping to do. At Borgin and Burkes."

"And did you find what you were looking for?"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. There were many rumours about him. "You're a Legilimens, aren't you?" she asked him. "Why don't you just look into my head and see what I bought you?"

He tipped his head and quirked up his mouth. "Where's the fun in that?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and walked slowly into the room. He came to stand beside Bellatrix, and he informed her,

"You were magnificent at the funeral."

Bellatrix snapped her face to him. "How is one magnificent at a funeral, sir?"

He put his hands in the pockets of his robes and stared out the glass. "You were steady and sure. Even whilst all four of them were in the same room as you. It was enviable, and people noticed. People saw the way that you behaved like the most constant of grown witches. You're going to be just fine. What are you going to do after school?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open in surprise at his pivot of topic. She shook her head.

"I don't know. I don't want to work for the Ministry."

"No. I didn't, either. That's why I did my due in a shop until I could go train and start my own movement," Mr Riddle smirked. He flicked his eyes toward her and informed her, "Your father was a friend of mine in school and a friend my new movement, too."

"And you want me to take his place?" Bellatrix asked. Mr Riddle sighed, his throat bobbing, and he said,

"I'd like you to take your own place. You seem like the sort of witch to hold her own. Could you ever be obedient, I wonder?"

"Obedient?" Bellatrix was taken aback. Then she whispered in awe, "Lord Voldemort."

He rolled his neck and turned his face to her. He narrowed his eyes, and suddenly she melted a little. She asked quietly,

"What does it mean? To be obedient?"

"Right now? It's all political," he said. "A philosophical movement with me at the head. I demand loyalty. But eventually, we'll make moves."

"Moves," Bellatrix repeated, and she had a sudden vision of two sides battling, large-scale duels happening in fields. Her breath quickened, and she whispered, "I want in."

"Do you?" Mr Riddle nodded. "After school. You join when you leave school."

Bellatrix smiled a bit to herself, and she murmured,

"Well, now I'm all cheery. Sir."

"That's hardly the worst thing, is it?" he asked, and he stared down at her for what felt like a very long moment. Bellatrix took the time to study him, to examine the face that seemed scarred and pulled, the dark eyes, the retreating, greying hair, and suddenly his expression shifted.

"I am not handsome. I am aware," he said a bit harshly, and Bellatrix realised she'd been very obvious in staring at his features. Her little smile vanished, and she gulped and insisted,

"I'm sorry; I -"

"Dark Magic leaves many scars," said Mr Riddle in a low voice. "I was exceptionally good-looking in my youth. I ruined it with magic the likes of which you'll never have to understand."

Bellatrix was curious then, but she just shook her head and insisted, "I'm very sorry for staring."

"You were speaking at length to Rodolphus Lestrange at the funeral," said Mr Riddle suddenly. "You're engaged to marry him, no?"

Bellatrix's heart raced, and she shook her head. "N-No. There was talk about it last year, but nothing formal ever got signed. And now my father's dead, so nothing will ever be formally arranged. I don't think I want to marry him, so…"

"I see."

Bellatrix felt very odd now. She'd been elated to be joining his movement, but then he'd grown sour about her staring at him, and he'd started asking about Rodolphus, and he -

"I apologise," he said softly, and Bellatrix looked up to see him standing with his hands folded in front of him. He shrugged and admitted, "I am, at times, a clumsy conversationalist."

"No." Bellatrix stepped closer to him. She wasn't sure why she did that. She stared more brazenly up at him and said in a steady tone, "I found what I wanted when I was shopping. I didn't even know I wanted it, but now that I've got it, I think it's perfect."

He smiled a little and shrugged.

"Perhaps I ought to add to my gift, then."

"I'm sure yours is fine," she said. Her eyes stung suddenly as she took another step toward him and said quietly, "and on Christmas there will figgy pudding and everything. Won't there? Sir?"

"Yes, there will be," he said, and now he was hovering over her. She had to stare straight up at him, for he was awfully tall, and she was awfully short. She just stared, unapologetic for doing so, but this time she met his eyes. He finally said to her,

"You really were magnificent at the funeral. And people noticed. You'll be magnificent for me, I think."

"I shall try," Bellatrix agreed. Mr Riddle took a deep, slightly shaking breath, and he stepped back and away, walking briskly out of the room.

"Oh. Goodnight."

Bellatrix looked up from where she had her hand on her doorknob. She saw Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - standing at his quarters next door. After dinner, Bellatrix had read in the library alone for some time whilst Mr Riddle had taken firewhisky with Abraxas Malfoy. He seemed to have had quite a lot; he was swaying just a little where he stood and was very evidently tipsy at best.

"Off to bed?" Bellatrix asked, feeling stupid at once as it was quite clear that was exactly what Mr Riddle was doing. Still, he nodded and gestured toward his door.

"These are my quarters," he said half-jokingly. "It's late. Yes. Bed. You?"
"Bed." Bellatrix's heart hammered like a war drum in her chest, and she felt like a complete idiot all of a sudden. She couldn't breathe then, for Mr Riddle was approaching her, stumbling a little as he came walking on unsteady legs down the corridor toward her. She twisted her fingers together before her and whispered,

"Oh, help."

Suddenly she imagined her mother, scolding her for lusting after a drunk man twenty-five years her senior. But her mother wasn't here. Lord Voldemort was. Mr Riddle stepped up to Bellatrix and declared just a bit loudly for the circumstances,

"I'm drunk."

"I see," Bellatrix nodded, her breath coming in quick pants. Mr Riddle touched his fingers to his forehead and seemed resigned as he declared more quietly,

"If I don't do this now, I'll regret not doing it, and I won't do it if I'm not drunk, so…"

Bellatrix frowned in confusion until he took her face in his hands and whispered,

"I'm going to kiss you."

"You are?" Bellatrix squeaked, and he answered by doing it. He bent and pressed his lips to hers, just one hard kiss, and then he ripped himself away from her and mumbled over his shoulder,

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Bellatrix answered, watching as he shoved the door to his chambers open and stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind him. She stood in the corridor for five minutes, confused and shocked, before she finally made her way into her own sitting room.

Author's Note: Oh, my. How's he going to feel about that kiss when he's sober? And what did he get her for Christmas? And poor Lucius. I know this story has super low readership, so I am extremely grateful for each and every REVIEW! Thank you!