He hadn't expected her to be so pretty.
She had shown up for dinner in a pretty black dress, with her pretty curls half pulled back. She had pretty brown eyes, wide and eager. She had pretty full lips. She had smelled like roses. She had been entirely too attractive for Lord Voldemort's taste. He didn't like finding witches attractive. It made him feel weak, and he disliked feeling weak. Women were a weakness. Bellatrix had made him feel far weaker than he'd liked.
But here he was, waiting in the sitting room off the main corridor of Malfoy Manor's first floor. He was waiting for tea. Like a complete idiot.
He cleared his throat and stared out the window at the rain that was falling in sheets. Surely she'd get soaked in this. He sighed at the thought of that, at the idea of her getting all wet out in this rain, and he wondered why he cared even one bit about that. But she'd been downright pleasant at dinner the night before. She had been… amiable, and attractive, and…
"Miss Bellatrix Black has come to see you, sir," said Dobby from the doorway, and Voldemort slowly rose.
"Bring the tea cart in, Dobby," he commanded.
"Yes, sir," said Dobby, and then Bellatrix appeared, soaked to the bone in a black jumper and long black skirt. Her curls hung damp around her face, and she said apologetically,
"I got caught in the rain, My Lord. I'm sorry."
"Sorry for the weather?" he asked disbelievingly. "Don't be silly. Come. Sit."
She joined him in two armchairs facing one another near the window, and she smiled a bit at him as she said,
"This is your last obligation, sir. Then you're free from my obnoxious presence."
"I do not find your presence obnoxious," Voldemort shrugged. The tea cart appeared out of thin air, so he put a bag of ginger lemongrass tea into a cup and poured hot water over it. He watched Bellatrix select a bag of mint tea and pour herself some water, and then they each spooned in just a hint of sugar.
"I don't like mine too sweet. Just a little," Bellatrix noted.
"People who put milk in their tea should go to Azkaban," Voldemort joked. Bellatrix laughed and agreed,
"You can't taste the tea through the milk!"
"Quite so." Voldemort watched his tea steep into the white cup, and he gulped heavily. He liked her. She was pleasant.
"Do you care for Quidditch?" she asked, and he raised his eyes to her and sighed.
"I watched in school. Never played. The idea of losing made me… uncomfortable. And you?"
"I played Chaser until I was kicked off the team in my fifth year for skipping practises," Bellatrix said. "But I was skipping practises because I was reading in the library, or working on new potions, or studying the Dark Arts they don't teach us in school. Ah, well. More important than Quidditch, anyway."
"Do you still cheer for Slytherin?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix smiled a bit.
"Of course. And for the Wimbourne Wasps."
"You're a Stinger?" Voldemort sat up straighter. He grinned from ear to ear and proclaimed, "I've been a Wimbourne fan since I was a boy."
"Have you?" Bellatrix laughed a little and shrugged. "I was meant to go to a match last summer with my father, but he wound up taking Andromeda instead. He was cross with me for getting myself kicked off the Quidditch team. So it's been a while since I've seen them in person."
Voldemort's stomach flopped. He was attending the match between the Wimbourne Wasps and the Appleby Arrows the very next day. He had two tickets, but he was going alone. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt very dry all of a sudden. He sipped his strong tea and then pulled the bag out, Vanished it wandlessly, and sipped again. He said carefully,
"I've got two tickets to the match tomorrow. Against Appleby."
"Have you?" Bellatrix's face went serious, and her hands knitted together on her lap. Voldemort's throat hurt all of a sudden. He sipped more tea. He couldn't get past the knot that had formed. He set his cup down and said,
"Abraxas Malfoy was meant to go with me to the match - they're his tickets, actually - but he has a last-minute work assignment at the Ministry and can't go. And so I have a free ticket."
"Have you?" Bellatrix asked again, her voice cracking just a little this time.
"Would you care to go with me?" asked Voldemort, realising what he had just done. He had agreed to dinner and tea. Dinner and tea. That was it. But, as it turned out, he liked Bellatrix's company more than just dinner and tea. He didn't want for today to be the last time he saw her. He wanted to see her in yellow and black for Wimbourne. He wanted to see her cheer for the Wasps. He wanted…
Damn him. He wanted to spend more time with her.
He was a busy man, he thought. He had things to do, and spending time with Bellatrix Black was not one of those things. But here he was, asking her on what was essentially a date, and here she was, smiling serenely and nodding vigorously, and he said crisply,
"That's settled, then. Be here at nine o'clock tomorrow and we'll go to the match by Portkey. I'll make it up tonight."
They spent the rest of the tea talking about silly things. Stupid things. They talked about whether or not Voldemort was comfortable staying at Malfoy Manor, and what sorts of things Bellatrix missed about school when she was home for the summer. Voldemort felt human talking to her. He felt like a real man, not the monstrous statue, the beast he'd made himself into for the purposes of keeping others at arm's length. He felt real. He felt whole talking to her.
After awhile, the tea went cold, and neither of them cared. They were laughing, talking about a time when Bellatrix had been in Potions with Horace Slughorn and he'd given them the wrong instructions, causing an entire classroom to fill with Nasal Voice Gas. Everyone had been speaking with the most obnoxious voices for hours as a result, Bellatrix had said. Voldemort laughed, genuinely laughed, at the story. Finally, after a very long while, it started to get darker outside the window, and he glanced at his pocket-watch.
"My goodness." He shut the pocket-watch. "It's nearly seven. Your parents will fret about you, I expect."
"I should get home for dinner," Bellatrix insisted, rising from her chair. She bowed her head and said respectfully, "My Lord, thank you for a truly marvelous tea."
"The pleasure was mine, Miss Black," said Voldemort. "Be here tomorrow at nine for that Wimbourne match."
She stared at him for a long moment, as though she couldn't believe he really meant to ask her to that, and she finally blinked and said softly,
"I shall be here, sir."
"Where are you off to?" asked Andromeda, and Bellatrix stared into the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She adjusted her gold-and-black striped jumper and her black pleated skirt and asked,
"Where does it look like I'm off to, Andy?"
"Looks like you're off to a Wimbourne match," said Andromeda, leaning against the door. "Who's taking you? Daddy?"
"No. Lor… erm… Tom Riddle." Bellatrix knew that Andromeda did not share her father's predilections about Pureblood supremacy. Narcissa and Druella Black knew Lord Voldemort by his chosen name, but Andromeda consistently insisted that he was Tom Riddle, and Bellatrix wasn't in the mood for a fight. Right now, she scoffed, shoving her silky brunette hair from her eyes.
"Tom Riddle's taking you to a Wimbourne match? Why?"
"Is it really your business why?" Bellatrix snapped. "He had an extra ticket."
"He… had an extra ticket." Andromeda stepped into the bedroom and folded her arms over her chest. "Are you and he…?"
"What? No!" Bellatrix wished with all her might that she could answer yes to that open-ended enquiry, but as far as she knew, there was nothing between her and Lord Voldemort. She shook her head and said, "It's just a day at a match. Two enthusiastic Stingers. That's all."
"Good. Because not only is he a Pureblood supremacist git; he's also, what, twenty-five years older than you?" Andromeda dragged her fingers through her hair again, an annoying habit. Bellatrix huffed and whispered,
"Have a good day, Andy. See you."
She Disapparated then, coming to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor. She walked quickly up to the front door and knocked, and when Dobby granted her entrance, he told her he'd be bringing her to Lord Voldemort's office. She followed him up the foyer stairs and down the main corridor to a door on the right, and Dobby knocked.
"Enter," snapped Voldemort's voice from inside the office. Dobby went in and announced Bellatrix, and Voldemort shooed Dobby away. Bellatrix went inside, and she was surprised to see that Voldemort was wearing black robes with a bright yellow tie. He'd actually worn Wimbourne colours. She grinned at him and said,
"You look like a proper Stinger, My Lord."
"So do you." He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering in a few places for a moment or two. Bellatrix approached his desk and asked,
"Have you got the Portkey? I'm so excited for this match."
"Yes. It's this old quill right here," he said. "It'll take us straight to Dorset. Ready?"
"Ready," said Bellatrix. She reached with him for the Portkey, and when she did, his hand touched hers. She didn't let go, even through the pinching, whirling, flying sensation. She held onto the quill, feeling his fingers cover hers, until he commanded her in a shout,
"Release!"
She did, landing with a thump on the grassy earth. Voldemort managed to land much more elegantly, and he helped Bellatrix up at once. Bellatrix looked around and grinned broadly. There were witches and wizards everywhere, clad in pale blue and silver for Appleby and yellow and black for Wimbourne. Voldemort moved smoothly through the crowd, and people seemed to part like a sea for him. They all recognised him; he was well-known. As Bellatrix followed him, there were whispers.
Is that… You-Know-Who?
Tom Riddle, yeah.
Think it's Lord Voldemort, isn't it?
Whoever it is, it's him.
What's he doing at a Wimbourne match?
Enjoying himself, probably.
Who's that girl tagging behind him?
Bellatrix Black, innit?
Bellatrix ignored all the murmurs, the voices around them, and she moved with him toward the enormous Quidditch pitch that was outfitted in huge yellow and black banners.
"Ready to buzz to annoy the opposing Chasers?" she asked, and Voldemort smirked at her over his shoulder.
"I'll let you do the buzzing," he said. "We have the Premier Box."
"We do?" Bellatrix was shocked to hear that. It made sense, though, if the tickets were Malfoy's. The Malfoy family was profoundly wealthy. They could afford whatever tickets they wanted. Bellatrix followed Voldemort toward one of the seating towers, and when they approached, Voldemort handed over two tickets to a uniformed witch.
"Mr Riddle," said the witch politely. "Please, allow me to escort you to -"
"I know the way," said Voldemort plainly. He led Bellatrix up three flights of wooden stairs on the interior of the tower. All the way up, she could see the glow of yellow and the dark of the black from the banners. They waved and crackled in the wind. It was truly enchanting. Bellatrix and Voldemort reached the top of the tower, and there they found the Premier Box, with four sets of two luxurious leather chairs separated by railings and stairs. Obviously, this was where those with money sat.
"These are our seats, just here," said Voldemort, and he gestured to a leather chair for Bellatrix. She sat, and so did he, and they chatted aimlessly about the two teams and their history until the Amplified voice announced the players on both teams. Bellatrix flew to her feet and buzzed right along with the rest of the Stingers. She glanced down to Voldemort, and he smiled up at her as she buzzed and cheered. Then the referee came out and announced that this would be a clean match, and the Golden Snitch and Quaffle and Bludgers were released.
The match was thrilling but short. Allyce Johanssen of the Wimbourne Wasps scored fifty points all on her own. But then Cyprus Arley of the Appleby Arrows caught the Golden Snitch by soaring very far up into the heavens, his arm extended. The crowd cheered and jeered all at once as Cyprus Arley closed his fist around the Golden Snitch, and Bellatrix stomped her foot in frustration.
"Agh!" she exclaimed. "We've lost!"
"Well, you win some, and you lose some, and that's why I didn't play on the school team," said Voldemort from his chair. Bellatrix managed a laugh, even though she was upset about the match.
"We can Disapparate back to Malfoy Manor straight from here," he offered, and Bellatrix nodded. She didn't want to fight the crowd. She was shocked when Voldemort reached for her hand, slipping his fingers through hers, and Disapparated.
They came to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor, both of them still breathing quickly, still clad in yellow and black.
"Well, a sad outcome," said Voldemort, "but thrilling just the same, wasn't it?"
"It was." Bellatrix stared up at him. She wanted to reach for his jaw. She wanted to reach for his chest. She wanted to hold his hand again like they'd done on the Portkey, like they'd done when he'd Disapparated with her.
Instead she just watched as his throat bobbed visibly, and as his eyes flashed strangely, and he murmured,
"This… this will be the last time, then, I suppose."
"You promised my father dinner and tea," Bellatrix replied. "I got a whole Wimbourne Wasps match extra."
"Extra." Voldemort's breath seemed to accelerate a little, and he asked quietly,
"Are you going to the wedding on Saturday? Annia Mulciber and Thoren Bulstrode."
"Ah. Erm. Yes, I'm going," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort curled up half his mouth.
"Well, I shall see you there, then. Will you… would you save a space on your dance card for the Dark Lord?"
"For the Dark Lord, I would do anything and everything," Bellatrix said, and a cool wind blew over the both of them. Bellatrix shivered a bit, and Voldemort reached up to tuck back the hair that had blown in front of her face.
"You'll make a good and loyal servant someday," Voldemort told her. "For now, I wonder what sort of dance partner you'll be. Have a good day, Miss Black."
"Good day, My Lord," said Bellatrix, stepping back a few paces and Disapparating. She came to inside her own bedroom again, and she found herself staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror again.
She stared at the yellow and black jumper, at the black pleated skirt. She remembered his tie. She remembered his face. She remembered the buzzing in the Quidditch pitch. She remembered tea with him, laughing with him, smiling at him. Him smiling back.
And she grinned like a madwoman into the mirror.
Author's Note: My, my, my, but this fic is fun to write.
To the PM who said, "Your Voldemort isn't like canon," I just want to throw out there that people write super non-canon pairings all the time, including ones that turn characters gay or straight when they canonically aren't (i.e. Draco/Harry, Ginny/Hermione, Sirius/Remus). People write Dark!Harry and Slytherin!Hermione. Basically, the character is "supposed to be" whomever you want them to be in your story. So if I want Voldemort to be "more human" than we perceive him to be from the super limited info we have about the First Wizarding War, that's cool. It's my choice. And that's me climbing off my soapbox now!
Thank you so very much to those who are reading this fic, and a MASSIVE thank you to those who are reviewing. The feedback means the world to me.