17 August 1968

Black Family Home

London

He'd never really wanted a wife.

Tom Riddle had been so focused on his ambition over the last forty-one years of his existence that marriage hadn't become a priority until it became yet another political machination. By marrying into the Black family, he was making himself an aristocrat. And if he could do that, he could leverage his will against the powerful people of the Pureblood world.

They were downstairs now, he thought as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror in the library upstairs. Bulstrodes and Averys. Notts, Goyles, Lestranges, Mulcibers, Blacks, and more. At least four or five representatives from each family were downstairs, crowding the sitting-room, dining, room, and sunroom. The ceremony was to be held in the back garden, spacious for London and walled in by two-metre high hedges on either side. The Muggles who lived next door had been repelled with charms, and chairs had been set up, with Nallery Shacklebolt to officiate the ceremony. She was a Ministry witch and therefore certified to file the paperwork.

Voldemort did up the sleeves of his tuxedo robes and thought about Bellatrix. If he had to have a wife, she wasn't the worst option. She was pretty. Very pretty. She was young. She was sprightly and new to the world, not yet jaded. She was eager to please him, eager to call him My Lord.

'My Lord…'

He shivered at the memory of how she'd said it. He ran a Conjured comb through his hair one last time and checked that he looked slick and suave, and he went downstairs to his wedding.

Out back, he waited under the rowan tree with Abraxas Malfoy, his best man, as the wedding guests took their seats. Abraxas had been the closest thing Tom Riddle had ever had to a real friend, and now he combed his fingers through his icy hair and asked,

"Ready for this?"

"Is a man ever really ready to marry, Abraxas?" Voldemort smirked, and Abraxas chuckled.

"I've been married for over twenty years, and I still don't think I'm ready," he said, glancing to where his wife Martina was sitting with their son Lucius. Martina had been a Ravenclaw, an Avery by birth, and she was as blonde as her husband. But she was ageing, her face showing some wrinkles, and their only son was thirteen years old. Voldemort huffed a breath and said,

"She's only seventeen. Not quite."

"She'll grow up," Abraxas assured him, "in her own time. She's perfect for you, I think. I've known her for years. She's… Dark."

"I know." Voldemort curled his lips up a little and adjusted the hem of his tuxedo robe. "She's spoken to me in the past about wanting to attack Mudbloods for me someday."

Abraxas chuckled again, and Voldemort realised everyone was sitting. The enchanted instruments beside them began to play, a lovely string quartet piece, and everyone turned their attention toward the back of the garden, toward the house.

"Mr Riddle," said a voice, and he turned his face to see that Nallery Shacklebolt had appeared in crisp white robes with Ministry insignia on a stole around her shoulders. He nodded and said,

"Thank you for performing the ceremony, Ms Shacklebolt."

"My pleasure. Here comes your mother-in-law," said dark-skinned, tall, thin Nallery. Voldemort turned to see that Druella Black, looking elegant in dark silver gown robes, was walking slowly down the aisle, a cream rose corsage pinned to her chest. She grinned like a madwoman and pulled out her handkerchief as she took her seat in the front row. Narcissa and Andromeda Black followed in their lighter silver bridesmaid dresses, looking pretty and content, and then Bellatrix's second-cousins, two little Mulciber girls, came careening down the aisle tossing rose petals. The instruments stopped playing then, and everyone stood.

Suddenly Voldemort felt very anxious indeed. He could feel her out there. He could feel Bellatrix's presence. The instruments struck up a march, and suddenly she was there, rounding the corner behind the back row of seats on Cygnus Black's arm.

Her tulle veil had been brought up and forward, covering her face with one layer and draping down with the other layer. Her gown was a delicious creation, the cape of which trailed long behind her. And she carried her stephanotis, a demure little bouquet, in her left hand. Her right hand was shaking on her father's arm, Voldemort could see. She was nervous. But he could barely see her face, for the veil was covering her rather thoroughly. She walked so slowly with her father that Voldemort thought she would never come to the front.

"She looks lovely," Abraxas murmured, and Voldemort wanted to snap at him not to make any comments about his wife. Instead he just nodded in silence. She did look lovely. Finally - finally - Cygnus and Bellatrix reached the front, and by then Druella was dabbing at her eyes. The music ended triumphantly, and Bellatrix stared through her veil at Voldemort, who just nodded at her.

"We are gathered today to witness the marriage of Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I shall do my duty to solemnise this marriage," said Nallery Shacklebolt. "Who gives this witch to this wizard?"

"I, Cygnus Black III," said Voldemort's new father-in-law and old school compatriot. Voldemort gulped. He stepped up to Bellatrix, peeled back her veil, and gasped a little. She was shockingly pretty with a little makeup on, with pearls around her neck. She was staring up at him in wonder, and as Cygnus took his seat, Voldemort found that there was something sticky and round in his throat, or at least it felt that way.

"Is there any impediment to this marriage which anyone can name?" asked Nallery, and Voldemort glared at the audience, daring one of them to say something. No one did. Nallery said, "Be seated, please."

Once everyone had sat and Bellatrix had handed her flowers to Andromeda, she anxiously turned back to Voldemort, and he was completely lost in her eyes as Nallery asked them whether they promised to take one another as lawfully wedded husband and wife. Of course he did. I do, he said. Bellatrix said it, too.

There were readings of old texts then, and a stupid little song, and then they exchanged rings. Bellatrix's left hand was trembling badly, so Voldemort rubbed a little at it to comfort her as he slid her diamond-encrusted band on. He'd saved up for some time for it, and now he said confidently,

"This ring be yours forevermore, a symbol of my dedication to you. Bellatrix Black, with this ring, I thee wed."

He took his own simple platinum band from Abraxas and handed it to Bellatrix, and she immediately dropped it.

"Oh, no. Oh, no!" she whispered, and he murmured gently as people laughed a bit,

"Don't worry; I'll fetch it." He wandlessly Summoned the ring, which flew up into his hand, impressing a few people, most of all Bellatrix. He smirked and handed it to her again, and this time, she said just loudly enough for him to hear,

"Thank you, My Lord."

His mouth fell open at that. She reached for his left hand, and as she pushed the ring on, she said,

"This ring be yours forevermore, a symbol of my dedication to you. Tom Marvolo Riddle, with this ring, I thee wed."

She had to use his old name, he knew, for government purposes. Still, it annoyed him that all of this had to go through the Ministry. He would be so much bigger than the Ministry one day.

He was married. He was married, he realised with a start. Nallery congratulated them, and they held hands as they walked down the aisle together as man and wife, and the House-Elves started clearing the space to make room for all the hors d'oeuvres and drinks. Since this wedding was happening at a house, there would be no toasts or formal reception dining, but rather milling about and dancing. The dance floor appeared as the sun started to go down, after Voldemort had chatted separately from Bellatrix with just about everyone he needed to see.

"Tom," he heard, and he whirled around, dizzy after four drinks, to see Druella Black grinning at him. She seemed like she wanted to embrace him, but, mercifully, she did not.

"Bellatrix wanted her things moved to your residence," Druella reminded her, "so that's been done. She can return home with you after…"

She seemed very emotional then, for her daughter would be going back to school in a few weeks and was a married witch now. She'd lost her for good. Voldemort sipped his gin and gillywater and said,

"Druella, I'll take exceptionally fine care of her."

"I know you will," Druella nodded. "And I know that she thinks very highly of you. I also know that you technically could touch her, with her consent, but I would ask you -"

"Don't worry," Voldemort said, sipping his drink again. "You don't need to worry about any of it, Druella."

He was a little drunk, he realised. He was talking like he was drunk. He hadn't danced with Bellatrix yet, and he wanted to do that. He set his drink down and said to Druella,

"The cake was marvelous. I… I'm going to find her. Bellatrix. Excuse me."

He meandered off, seeing Bellatrix in a crowd of girls that must be her Slytherin schoolmates. He walked right up to the group, and the other girls seemed very frightened of him. Bellatrix turned around and smiled warmly. How different she was from the others, Voldemort thought.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked very bluntly, but she just nodded and took his hand, saying over her shoulder,

"See you at school. Thanks for coming."

"Schoolmates?" he asked rather awkwardly, leading her to the dance floor, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Two of my roommates and then few girls who are a year younger in Slytherin."

"A year younger. So they'll be sixth-years," Voldemort nodded, and Bellatrix scowled as he brought her into a dancing stance.

"I will be a sixth-year," she reminded him. Suddenly his chest pulled a little as they moved. Two years? He had to put up with two years of her being gone at school? It had seemed like a convenience just a few weeks before. Why did it now seem like an inconvenience? Why did it make his chest hurt?

"Oh. Right. I knew that. Too much gin." He put his hand to the small of her back and took her hand, and he said seriously, "You look beautiful."

"Really, My Lord?" Bellatrix grinned wildly, and his stomach ached. He wanted to take her face in his hands. He was drunk. He needed to stop dancing with her. She was his wife.

"Beautiful," he said again, and they danced for a long time in silence. It got worse and worse as the dance went on, the feeling that if he didn't kiss her, he was going to snap. The song ended, and he pulled Bellatrix a little closer to him, and suddenly she was stroking at his chest instead of holding his hand. She was giving him a blazing look. She wanted him. Did she want him?

"May I kiss you?" he asked in a blur, and she replied simply,

"You're my husband."

"It's provisional," Voldemort reminded her. "You're sixteen. Your… your father had to sign the licence."

"But he did sign it," Bellatrix insisted. Suddenly Voldemort wondered if people were watching them. Surely people were watching them. He tried to remind himself why he was here. This was a political marriage. He'd married Bellatrix for the sake of his own social status.

"I'd like to kiss you," he mumbled, and he dipped his head. He almost put his lips to hers, but he stopped himself. He kissed her forehead instead, and she whimpered slightly. She wanted him to kiss her.

"Tonight," he promised her, pulling back a little. "At home."

"Home," she smiled, and he nodded.

"I'll kiss you goodnight when we get home."

Author's Note: Hoo boy. Let's see if he can manage to keep his hands off of her like he promised Cygnus and Druella and the Ministry he would. Hahaha. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.