The Little Boy and the Old Man

by Mrs Slytherin Baelish

Voldemort started to make his way through the sitting-room, knowing it was only a matter of time before a small army showed up to hunt him down. Suddenly he stopped, staring intently at the tarnished mirror on the wall. He was young again. - Bellamort, Part II of the Troublemaker Series - Re-post.

3. Chapter 3

Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London

8 May, 1971

"My Lord, if it's all right with you, I'm going to go visit Ophelia Yaxley." Bellatrix leaned on the doorway of Voldemort's small office in their house, and he looked up from his work and nodded.

"That's fine," he said. Then he glanced around and pinched his lips as he asked, "Have you seen Noha since we came back?"

Bellatrix frowned and shook her head. They'd only left their suite at Malfoy Manor a few days earlier, now that things had settled down enough for them to be back in their own home. Noha was perfectly capable of caring for himself, but Bellatrix hadn't spotted the snake in weeks now.

"Hmm." Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk. "If he's happier outside, I suppose, more power to him."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix said, unsure of what else to say. Her master seemed to have a very close relationship with snakes in general, owing to him being a Parselmouth, and he'd like Noha quite a bit. But Voldemort shrugged and said,

"It's just a pet snake, Bella. Enjoy yourself at the Yaxleys'."

"Right. I'll be home in a few hours," Bellatrix said. She turned to go, and from behind her, Voldemort said,

"Wait. I've a letter for Tudor Yaxley. I was going to send it by owl, but… since you're going." He flicked his wand and sent a rolled parchment sailing through the air toward Bellatrix. She caught it and nodded with a little smile.

"I'll give it to him straight away, My Lord."

"Bella," he said, and she turned round again with her hand on the doorway. He just stared at her for a long moment, then finally turned up the corners of his mouth and nodded. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm as she smiled back, and she Disapparated from where she stood.

When she came to ground in Peterborough, just outside the Yaxley home, it was raining a little. She walked quickly through the drizzle up the front steps and thudded the knocker three times on the large wooden door. After just a moment, an ill-looking House Elf opened the door and said in a wispy voice,

"Please do come inside."

Bellatrix followed the House Elf into the small manor, glancing around the airy foyer as she cast a few drying spells on herself. The little elf coughed lightly and said,

"Pocky will fetch the Master for you, Miss, if you'll wait right here."

"I'm here for Madam Yaxley, actually," Bellatrix said, "for Ophelia. Although… I do have something to deliver to Master Yaxley. Why don't you fetch him first?"

"Yes, Miss." The House Elf seemed blissfully ignorant about Bellatrix's identity, and as it scampered away, Bellatrix sighed and waited. She'd last been here for Ophelia's wedding to Tudor Yaxley, and she couldn't help but remember dancing with the Dark Lord here.

"My Lady," said Yaxley's clear, deep voice as he came walking briskly into the foyer. Bellatrix flashed him a little smile, but was surprised when he bowed to her. It seemed more than polite; it seemed deferential. Bellatrix felt awkward as he did it, and she hurried to familiarise things again.

"Tudor, the Dark Lord wanted me to give you this, since I was coming to visit Ophelia." She handed over the scroll, and Yaxley nodded like he knew exactly what the contents of the scroll were.

"Thank you very much, My Lady," he said, and Bellatrix finally sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You needn't call me that," she insisted, but Yaxley's mouth fell open and his face went white.

"If you don't mind, I think I shall," he said, and Bellatrix felt an odd twist in her stomach. She shrugged and said lightly,

"All right, then. Is Ophelia here?"

"Yes; she's upstairs. I'll show you," Yaxley started up the wide, winding staircase, and as Bellatrix followed, he asked over his shoulder, "Is the Dark Lord well?"

"He is," Bellatrix said. "He's busy. Sorting everything out at the Ministry. I'm sure you're very aware."

"So I am, My Lady," Yaxley smiled. They reached the top of the landing, and he sounded abruptly tired as he said, "Those of us involved in the Ministry overhaul have been working many hours on the transition. It's well worth the effort. Ophelia's just in here; she was reading. She'll be very happy to see you."

"Thank you, Tudor," Bellatrix said, opening the double doors to which Yaxley had gestured. She walked inside, and round-faced Ophelia looked up from the divan where she had a book perched on her enormous belly. She grinned and set the book down, starting to heave herself up to stand.

"Oh, no. Sit!" Bellatrix cried, but Ophelia kept pulling herself up.

"Mmph. The Healer says I have to walk around every few hours!" She put her hands on her stomach, around which her jade green robes tented and fell elegantly. She was like a statue, like some kind of eternal homage to maternity, Bellatrix thought. She gulped and asked Ophelia,

"How are you feeling?"

Ophelia pursed her lips. "I'd be lying if I said my back didn't hurt terribly. And my ankles swell, and… well, it's twins, you know, so I'm so much bigger, but you know what I mean."

"Of course." Bellatrix had absolutely no idea what Ophelia meant, of course, and she was suddenly overcome with a desire to never find out. Ophelia took a few steps back and forth and then huffed,

"Ugh. All right. Let's sit."

She sank back down onto the divan, and Bellatrix sat in the chair opposite her. Ophelia smiled again and asked,

"Can I have some tea sent up?"

"No, that's all right. Thank you," Bellatrix said, noting the little glass of water Ophelia already had on the table beside her. She folded her hands in her lap and said apologetically, "You've probably seen very little of your husband lately. He's been working hard on the transition at the Ministry."

Ophelia waved her hand dismissively. "In history, so often, witches have lost their husbands' time or worse to wars. You're right in the trenches with the Dark Lord, so I suppose you see him more."

Bellatrix shrugged, unwilling to divulge too much of Lord Voldemort's personal life even to Ophelia. His distance from the rest of them was important. "He works constantly," she said, "and so do I. I handle the prisoners, mostly."

Ophelia's face soured for a moment, but then she forced a smile and said, "I never doubted you'd make a good interrogator, Bella. Oh, I'm sorry. I mustn't call you that, Tudor says."

Bellatrix found herself rolling her eyes again. "You can go right ahead calling me Bella. I'm not the one who's taken over wizarding Britain."

Ophelia's face was strange then, and she hesitated for so long that Bellatrix wished she was a Legilimens. Ophelia's cheeks flushed scarlet, and she asked quietly,

"What is it like? Being married to… him?"

Bellatrix laughed quietly. "I could ask you the same thing… what's it like being married to Tudor Yaxley? I have no idea what it's like being married to anyone else. Have you already decorated the nursery for the babies?"

She'd changed the subject quickly because it felt wildly uncomfortable to discuss her marriage to Lord Voldemort. Ophelia seemed to sense the importance of staying away from the topic. She nodded and said,

"We don't know if they're boys, girls, or one of each. We decorated the nursery in a soft grey. Would you like to see?"

The two of them walked down the upstairs corridor then, into a large room that had two matching cribs in dark wood. The walls were heather grey and the curtains were wispy white. It was a simple, elegant space, but Bellatrix felt no emotion looking around it. She was surprised to see Ophelia had teared up, and Bellatrix asked quickly,

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes." Ophelia swiped the tears from her eyes and gestured to the cribs. "It's just… I can't wait to meet them, you know?"

"Oh. Of course." Bellatrix frowned, frustrated by the way she felt so different from Ophelia. Bellatrix was a soldier. She tortured and killed her husband's enemies. Ophelia was a wife, a broodmare. Little more. It was as Bellatrix had told Voldemort in this very house around a year earlier. Dahlia and Ophelia had been her roommates in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. They were friends of convenience, not actual friends.

"I should let you rest," Bellatrix said finally, and Ophelia walked with her from the nursery, carefully shutting the door behind her.

"Thank you so much for coming!" Ophelia exclaimed. "It gets rather lonely, just sitting around waiting for them to come!"

"I understand," Bellatrix nodded, though of course she didn't. She'd been anything but lonely these days, between battles and meetings and interrogations and her husband. Just the same, she patted Ophelia on the shoulder and said lightly, "Be well."

"Thanks, Bella. See you." Ophelia cradled her swollen belly at the top of the stairs as Bellatrix padded down. The House Elf opened the front door for her, and Bellatrix Disapparated as soon as she was in the gardens.

---

"That wasn't a very long visit," Voldemort observed, looking up from his desk to see Bellatrix in the doorway again. She sighed and stepped into the room, sinking heavily into the chair opposite his as she said,

"I've nothing in common with Ophelia anymore, My Lord. She just cares about eating chocolate and crying over babies that aren't even born yet. I'm helping to fight a war; she could never understand."

"No, of course she couldn't," Voldemort said, setting down his quill. He shrugged. "She's just a silly little girl. Nearly all of them are. I've told you before; you're not like the rest of them. You'll find it difficult to find real friends. Trust me. I speak from experience."

Bellatrix smirked at him, pushing her curls out of her face as she asked cheekily, "Am I not your friend?"

"The truest friend there ever was," Voldemort affirmed. He picked up his quill and said quietly, "Let me finish writing this and I'll be done for the evening."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll go." Bellatrix started to rise, but Voldemort reached his left hand out and wandlessly compelled her to sit. She stared at him, her mouth halfway between shock and laughter, and he threw up an eyebrow as he said,

"It'll only be a moment."

He put his quill to his paper and finished off a letter to Abraxas Malfoy.

I am most pleased to hear of unanimous support among remaining Ministry employees. Last night, Bellatrix finished off the last resistors from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. That should leave no one else in the Ministry requiring elimination, but if any suspicion arises, I want the employee in question delivered to Malfoy Manor at once. Send me copies of the letters of recognition from the Ministries of Germany, France, Italy, and Norway. As soon as others arrive, I want copies of my own in addition to those filed at the Ministry. My plans for Hogwarts are now entirely private; the mission will be much smaller than originally planned. Keep me apprised of any other important happenings before the scheduled meeting next Tuesday. - LV

Voldemort blew on the parchment to dry the ink, and then he folded it and rose from his chair. He walked over to the open window, where one of the Malfoys' owls was waiting patiently, and he tied the letter to the owl's leg. It took off at once, and Voldemort shut the window. He turned back to Bellatrix and said tightly,

"Tell me where the professors sleep."

She knew exactly what he meant. She nodded at once and sat up straighter in her chair. "Flitwick's office is on the seventh floor. Thirteen windows from the right. His sleeping quarters are in there. Hagrid is the groundskeeper these days; he lives in a hut near the edge of the grounds. McGonagall will be in the Headmaster's Tower. Sprout lives and has an office in Greenhouse Four."

Voldemort sat on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over the shirt he'd unbuttoned a bit. He studied Bellatrix's face and said firmly,

"The eleventh of June. We're going on the eleventh of June."

"Three days after term ends," Bellatrix nodded. "She'd expect us the day after."

"Right," Voldemort affirmed. "We'll go from here at one in the morning. I've made myself my own device to circumvent the anti-Apparition charms."

He touched at his tie, at the serpent-shaped tie bar she'd given him for his forty-second birthday. An odd look came over Bellatrix's face, and she asked softly,

"My gift? You used that?"

"Is that all right with you?" he asked sarcastically, and Bellatrix's cheeks coloured at once.

"Of course it is, My Lord," she nodded. "So we go at one o'clock. To where?"

"Just outside Merlin's Gate," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "I'll head for Hagrid's hut; you'll go for the Greenhouses. Then I'll go inside and go straight for the Headmaster's Tower. You'll go to the seventh floor and take care of Flitwick."

"Take care of him," Bellatrix repeated. "You want him dead? Him and Sprout?"

She asked so nonchalantly that Voldemort couldn't help but smile. He shrugged.

"Yes. I rather wish you could work your special brand of magic on them - Cruciate them until they're insane. But we won't have time for that. Disarm. Kill. Leave."

Bellatrix nodded firmly. "And once I'm finished with Flitwick?"

"Hopefully I'll be done with McGonagall, and I can move the Imperiused Slughorn up to the Headmaster's office," he said. "We'll meet back here."

Bellatrix looked a little uneasy, and she shifted in her chair before she said delicately, "Our Horcruxes…"

"Neither of us will die for this, Bellatrix," Voldemort said firmly. He met her eyes and said in an unequivocal tone, "Neither the Dark Lord nor his lady will disappear because of some bloody Hogwarts teachers, you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord. I understand." Bellatrix folded her hands in her lap, and Voldemort decided he was quite finished with work for the day. He held his hand out, and when Bellatrix took it, he pulled her up to stand. She stared up at him, her eyes dark and cold and wonderful, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her carefully.

"You're not like those silly little girls," he reminded her, and she nodded.

"I'm your soldier."

He kissed her again, harder this time, deciding that he was more than a little glad he'd married her.

---

Black Family Residence, Kensington, London

24 May 1971

"Mother?" Bellatrix stepped inside the elegant townhome where she'd grown up, and from the parlour to her left, Druella's voice called,

"In here, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix had received an owl urgently calling her to her family's residence, and she had a sneaking suspicion someone had died. She stepped into the parlour and saw her parents sitting primly, a letter clutched in Druella's hands.

"What's going on?" Bellatrix asked, making her way to the armchair across from her parents and sinking down to sit. Druella passed the letter in her hands to Bellatrix, and she said,

"This came from Hogwarts early this morning. From Narcissa. Your father's already met with the Dark Lord about it, a few hours ago at Malfoy Manor."

Bellatrix frowned deeply and read the letter.

Mummy and Daddy,

In the wake of Albus Dumbledore's death, school has been very chaotic. Professor McGonagall has taken her place as the school's headmistress. She has announced that the school will stay open over the summer holidays. Owing to the war's severity and 'the need to establish where loyalties lie,' she has stated that any student who leaves for the summer will not be permitted to return in the autumn. She says this is a matter of the school's security. You should be getting an official letter from Hogwarts on the matter, but I thought this information may be of important note for the Dark Lord, in case he has not already heard. All my love.

Narcissa

Bellatrix huffed out a breath and crumpled the letter in her hands. The plan she and Voldemort had hatched relied heavily on the idea that Hogwarts would be empty in the summer. The Dark Lord had promised his followers that he would not make a battleground of their children's school. Now they would have to find some way to trap McGonagall, to take her out individually away from the school. This had thrown a wrench in the gears like nothing else could do. It also demonstrated that McGonagall suspected Voldemort would come to the school. She was using the students as human shields. She was no better than the Dark Lord when it came to that, then, Bellatrix thought. She tossed the crumpled letter down onto the low table before her, and she asked her father,

"What did the Dark Lord say when you told him about this?"

"He… he was very angry," Cygnus said, looking a bit white. "Be careful, Bellatrix. He seemed… dangerous."

"He's always dangerous," Bellatrix scoffed. She chewed her lip hard. "Don't worry. He and I will get this figured out. We'll devise a new plan."

Druella seemed surprised that Bellatrix was as involved as that, and she realised perhaps she'd said too much. She rose from her chair and sighed.

"I should go home. Help him strategise." She paused then and glanced at Cygnus. "Father, when did you speak with him about this?"

"Four or five hours ago," Cygnus said. "I sent the owl to you straight away; I've no idea why it took so long to find you."

"I wasn't at home. It found me shopping in Knockturn Alley," Bellatrix said numbly. She could not help but wonder why Voldemort hadn't called her through her Dark Mark as soon as he found out about this. A sense of unease came over her, and she said again, "I've got to go home."

"Of course, dear," Druella nodded. Bellatrix left the parlour without another word, quickly Disapparating from the front corridor. When she came to, she was in a similar-looking townhouse, this one in St Alban's Grove - the house she shared with Lord Voldemort.

"My Lord?" she called, stepping carefully into the library. He wasn't there, and when she made her way through the parlour and the kitchen and the dining-room, she found them all empty. She kicked off her boots and padded up the staircase, checking the sunroom before she heard his voice growl,

"In the bedroom, Bellatrix."

There was something strange about his voice, and when Bellatrix stepped over the threshold of their bedroom, her mouth fell open in shock.

He was old again.

He looked his natural forty-four years of age, and Bellatrix blinked quickly as she studied him in his wingback chair. He swirled a mostly-empty tumbler of whisky and finished it off, and then Bellatrix saw the bottle of whisky on the table. It was dangerously empty. She sighed and measured her words carefully.

"May I ask, My Lord, why you've decided to… reverse the age situation again?"

"I got tired of playing dress-up with my face," Voldemort drawled, and Bellatrix realised just how drunk he was. She took a few steps into the room and suggested,

"Perhaps I should start brewing the Surripiotempus Potion. It'll take two days, and I have a suspicion that you -"

"My Death Eaters know how old I am," Voldemort slurred. He waved his hand dismissively. "It's stupid to pretend to be young when you're not. It's childish. I've done of childish things lately. Like marrying a child."

Bellatrix chewed her lip. "I understand, My Lord, that you are rightfully angry about what McGonagall's done. But I promise you… we will kill her."

"We," he repeated, tipping his head back and laughing a little. Bellatrix examined his face, knowing he wasn't going to want to present himself to his followers at this age. She wasn't even sure how he'd gotten himself back to this apparent age without the long-brewing potion. But Voldemort did not seem concerned with his age as he mused, "Yes. Minerva's been a stupid wench. Just like always. Using the children to try and keep me away. It won't work; I'll go in there with the dormitories full."

"We'll devise a good plan," Bellatrix promised him, and when he lowered his eyes to her, he seemed very angry.

"There it is again. We. Your participation in my life over the last few years has been… problematic. I always knew you were a troublemaker, Bella."

Bellatrix frowned and felt a shock of indignation go through her. She opened her mouth to say something, but Voldemort barrelled on in an increasingly slurred growl,

"Do you know how many dreams I had about you not coming back from Hogwarts? Hm? About you using your Horcrux and existing in some mutilated form? Not being you anymore? Do you understand how ridiculous and unacceptable it is that Lord Voldemort has woken up in a cold sweat worried about whether his pretty little wife will survive a battle? I can't win this fucking war when I'm factoring in you, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't understand how the bad news about Minerva McGonagall had turned into a diatribe about Bellatrix being a hindrance to the war effort. She did understand, at least a little, why he'd felt compelled to strip off his disguise. If he'd been thinking about their Horcruxes, about mortality or injury, it might have started to seem distasteful to pretend so hard about his age. Bellatrix said as calmly as she could,

"I promise you, My Lord, that I will do whatever I can to help you. That is my only purpose in life - to serve you. What could I have done differently for you?"

"You could have… not been born," Voldemort shrugged, giving her a mean look of the sort she'd never seen from him before. He scoffed and added, "You being born was probably the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Because if you hadn't been born, you wouldn't have been able to commit that most grave sin… making me fall in love with you. You stupid little child."

"I am not a child," Bellatrix whispered. She blinked through tears and said in a shaking voice, "If it was a sin to make you love me, then I beg your forgiveness. But I would… I would like to remind you, with all due respect, My Lord, that it was me who helped you kill Albus Dumbledore."

"I could have done that just fine without you," Voldemort snapped. His own eyes glistened, and Bellatrix couldn't tell if it was emotion or if it was just from the drink. Either way, his words stung her hard, and she found herself swiping tears off her own cheeks. Voldemort heaved himself off his chair and staggered toward her, almost tripping on his robes. He stood a few inches away from Bellatrix, looking so much more severe with the added fifteen years of life on his face. He sneered at Bellatrix and told her, "You need to leave me. Go live with your parents. Go live by yourself. I don't care. I can't account for loving you in my plans."

Bellatrix felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, and she furiously swiped at the tears on her face as Voldemort demanded,

"Why are you crying?"

"What?" Bellatrix gasped, raising her face to him. She was more than just hurt now. She was angry. She steadied herself and snapped at him, "I have tortured and killed for you. I split my soul up for you. I committed to a permanent, indissoluble marriage to you. When Alastor Moody turned you into a twenty-year-old boy, it was me who helped you get your face back. When your vain experiment to stay looking thirty failed, it was me to invented a potion to help you. I learnt Occlumency for you. I learnt to Imperius more strongly for you. I helped you kill Albus Dumbledore, and you distinctly told me you would not be able to do it without me. I am your wife, and I have helped you, and I will help you in the future, but you can't send me away. You just can't."

"I can do whatever I damn well please," he snarled through clenched teeth. He loomed over her, reeking of whisky and rage, and he whispered, "I am Lord Voldemort, or had you forgotten?"

"How could I ever forget?" Bellatrix demanded. She yanked up the sleeve of her robe and started rubbing furiously at her Dark Mark. She thought about him making love to her, thought about being on her knees and taking him in her mouth, and she asked again, "How could I possibly forget who you are or what we mean to one another?"

"Stop it," Voldemort said firmly, stumbling backward a step and glaring at Bellatrix's wrist. She kept massaging her Dark Mark, thinking of the time in Spain when she'd hovered above him whilst he used his mouth on her. He growled in anger and barked again, "Stop it! Stop it now, Bellatrix!"

"Why?" Bellatrix tipped her head, just the way he always did, and she sniffed, "Something wrong, My Lord?"

He finally grabbed at her wrist, and Bellatrix cried out from the pain. He squeezed her hard, too hard, and his breath shook as he warned her,

"You push me too far when I'm like this, Bellatrix. I'm liable to kill you."

"You can't, remember?" Bellatrix whispered, and he tightened his hand on her wrist. She screamed a little, for it felt almost like he'd broken a bone. Her knees buckled beneath her, and more tears squeezed out of her eyes. She glared up to him and managed to say, "Minerva McGonagall… doesn't realise we know about the tunnel… from Honeydukes. We'll sneak in that way… go up to the… Headmaster's Tower. And kill her there. Quietly. Quickly. Put Slughorn in."

"Shut up." Voldemort somehow tightened his grip on Bellatrix's arm, and she felt something splinter. She started to sob, unable to help herself. Her plan was solid. She knew it was. McGonagall's hubris was just a setback. Once he was sober, Voldemort would know that, too.

"Please… please let me fix my arm," Bellatrix begged, and suddenly something inside Voldemort seemed to snap to rights. He released Bellatrix's arm, and she could tell he'd managed some kind of fracture. He reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, but Bellatrix held her right hand up defensively.

"N-no!" she exclaimed. "Please. Please let me do it; you're too drunk."

Voldemort took a step back, swaying where he stood until he finally leaned onto the thick bedpost. Bellatrix pulled out her bent wand and aimed it at her left wrist, murmuring firmly, "Ferula."

She could feel the bones in her wrist snap and pop a little, and then bandages appeared out of the air and wound themselves around her wrist. A stiff splinted brace was Conjured, too, and the incredibly pain Voldemort had inflicted upon her faded. Bellatrix looked up to see Voldemort staring in horror at her wrist, and he raked his fingers through his thinning, greying hair as he said dully,

"I cast the Cruciatus Curse on Abraxas Malfoy for hurting his wife."

"It's not the same thing," Bellatrix sighed. "You're not Abraxas Malfoy, for one. And… this morning's news was -"

"Not your fault," Voldemort whispered. His glassy eyes found Bellatrix's, and he opened his arms up as he invited her,

"Go on. Take your revenge."

"What?" Bellatrix shook her head and walked slowly to the bed, sliding up to sit on the edge. "I don't want to hurt you, My Lord. I just want to help you. Please don't send me away."

"I had to find someone to blame," Voldemort muttered. "I felt like a fool, preening around, pretending to be a young man, dreaming about losing you. Then to hear that our perfect plan had been anticipated and foiled… it was too much. I am not a man who should drink… so very much whiskey."

"It's fine," Bellatrix lied, her voice a weak whisper. Voldemort was still staring at her wrist, at the splint she'd put on it, and Bellatrix self-consciously wrapped her fingers around the brace. She looked up at her drunken, aged husband, at the powerful Dark Lord, and she said, "If you want, Master, I will Obliviate every memory of my existence from your mind. You'll forget all about me. I'll disappear; I'll leave. If I am truly such a mental inconvenience… if you really believe that I am a hindrance to your power, then I will Obliviate you and leave. Please just tell me… is that what you want?"

"No," Voldemort said immediately. He turned his dark eyes to her and shrugged. "No. If I lost everyone else, I'd still have you. Wouldn't I?"

"Of course you would," Bellatrix said seriously. Voldemort sat on the bed beside her, stroking at the brace on her left wrist with an apologetic look on his face.

"I couldn't help but love you," he drawled, sounding more drunk than ever. "It's easiest to take out anger on the ones who'll always come crawling back. I took advantage of your loyalty today because I was angry. The reality is that you didn't make me love you. I checked your mind, remember? Checked for a spell, for a potion. You didn't force my hand… or my mind… or anything else. I let it happen. And you helped me kill Albus Dumbledore."

Bellatrix nodded, wondering if he'd regret making himself old again. Perhaps he wouldn't. Perhaps, even in his drunken state, he was right about simply being himself, with no mask. But he looked tired like this, like the war had worn him down already. She reached with her right hand - the uninjured one - and she stroked at his jaw.

"Please let me help you kill McGonagall," she whispered. "Please let me help you take Hogwarts."

"Mm-hmm. We'll sneak in from Honeydukes." He covered her hand with his and then pulled her knuckles to his lips. He shut his eyes and said the words she'd never heard him use with anyone else. "I'm sorry."

Bellatrix felt queasy all of a sudden, and she pulled her hand from his mouth. She rose from the edge of the bed and said, "We have Nec Mora Arida Potion in the stores downstairs. You could be sober in a half hour. I'll fetch you some. Shall I also start a batch of Surripiotempus Potion, My Lord?"

"No," he said blankly. "I'm staying like this. If they can only follow a handsome young man, and I have to rely on potions to keep up my appearance for their loyalty, then they don't deserve my leadership. I am forty-four years old. This is my face."

It was the most sober-sounding thing he'd said since Bellatrix had walked in the room, so she nodded, trusting his judgment on that. She walked briskly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen and searching for the potion that would quickly dissolve the effects of the whisky from his veins. As she shut the door of the potions cupboard, she stared at her left wrist and remembered how ferociously he'd squeezed at her. She remembered the feel of her bones popping, and she winced.

She had married a monster. Eugenia Jenkins had said so, just before Bellatrix had tortured her into insanity. But, then, that very act made Bellatrix a monster, too. They were just two married monsters, Bellatrix thought. Two souls overcome by Darkness, bound together by permanent vows and an admittedly twisted sense of love.

Bellatrix sighed, walked out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, her master's medicine clutched tightly in her fist.

---

Number Six, St Albans Grove, London

24 May 1971

Bellatrix went to bed early. Voldemort knew that because he watched from his office as she shuffled, her nightgown trailing behind her short form, into the kitchen. He heard her rifling around in the potions stores and knew she was getting Ache-Away Syrup to help the pain in her wrist. It would make her drowsy, and so he was unsurprised when she padded quietly back up the stairs and shut the bedroom door.

He stared for a long while at the letter before him. It was from Rodolphus Lestrange, who was now the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. There were no defectors left in the department, Rodolphus wrote, and indeed there were more than a few very able-bodied witches and wizards with an inclination to more actively join Voldemort's political movement.

Voldemort stared at Rodolphus Lestrange's writing and remembered just how jealous he'd been of the young man. That had been stupid, he thought now. Bellatrix's loyalty to her master had never really been in question, but today more than ever, he knew that she was entirely his. He would have preferred to have that idea reinforced without breaking her wrist.

He couldn't keep the mask of youth on any longer, he'd decided. Predicating his reign on a disguise was a bad idea. Already, they'd seen that Moody's spell was temperamental. Who was to say the potions wouldn't fail at some point? Voldemort's appearance needed to be either entirely controlled or entirely natural. It was a weakness, a vulnerability, for him to recruit and maintain loyalty with a mask and then have the mask snatched away from him.

So he would look old. And when they inevitably wondered why their lord and master had briefly taken himself back in time, they would have no answer. Let it be a mystery to them, Voldemort thought. Let them all marvel at the way he moved and acted and shifted in ways the rest of them couldn't. He glanced over to the wall of the office, where a wooden-framed mirror hung reflecting the streetlamps from outside the window. In the dim light of the office, Voldemort studied his face - the lines and the sagging and the ways he was still sharp and cold.

He hadn't killed Albus Dumbledore with a handsome face.

Suddenly there was a quiet rustling sound at the doorway of the office, and Voldemort peered around to see that Noha, his little snake, had come slithering into the room. Voldemort scoffed quietly and whispered in a hiss,

"Hayanassss afa midhi?"

He'd asked the snake, in as sarcastic a tone as could be managed in Parseltongue, whether he'd gotten bored during his weeks away. Noha just stared at him for a moment, and Voldemort wondered if something was wrong with the creature. Finally Noha hissed in Parseltongue,

"You have wounded the woman."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and finally he shrugged and assured Noha, "She's fine."

Noha's face pivoted, as though the snake were looking out of the office and up the stairs to the bedroom. His beady eyes met Voldemort's again, and he hissed,

"Do not wound her again."

"I'm not going to take orders from a bloody garter snake," Voldemort snarled in English. The snake just stared at him, and suddenly he was overcome with rage toward the animal. He snatched his wand off his desk, flew to his feet, and said in a low voice, "Vipera Evanesca."

Noha was Vanished at once, his little body dissolving into Nonbeing. Voldemort stared at the spot where Noha had been. He shut his eyes, remembering the day Bellatrix had brought Noha home from Knockturn Alley. The snake had been curled happily around Bellatrix's wrists and hands. She'd intended for the snake to be a familiar for Voldemort, since he was the Parselmouth. But it had always been clear that Noha had an unusual fondness for Bellatrix, especially since she did not possess any particular affinity with snakes.

Now Voldemort had destroyed her gift. It didn't matter that Noha had been missing for weeks, that they'd thought he'd left for good. Just now, Noha had expressed anger at his mistress being injured. Noha had neither venom nor the power to kill with a squeeze, and yet he'd scolded the Dark Lord himself in Parseltongue. For Bellatrix.

Voldemort walked quickly from his office, trotting up the stairs and pausing outside the bedroom door. He didn't know if Bellatrix was asleep yet, and if she was, he didn't much want to rouse her. He intended on sleeping in the guest room tonight, to give her space since he'd been rather awful to her earlier. She'd been right, of course, and that had become more obvious once Voldemort had sobered up. Her plan to simply go into Hogwarts, the two of them, through the Honeydukes tunnel made perfect sense. If, as the date got closer, Apparition via their devices seemed smarter, they'd do that. Either way, they could easily Disillusion themselves and perhaps even intercept McGonagall on a night patrol. Bellatrix had mentioned, once Voldemort was sober, that her sister Narcissa was a school Prefect. Bellatrix had already sent a letter to Narcissa asking what McGonagall's routes and times for patrols were. She was thinking this all through, much more sensibly than Voldemort had done.

And, of course, there was the way he'd broken her wrist.

He sighed as he raised his hand to knock. He hesitated and reached out with Legilimency, trying to sense if her mind was awake or asleep. He was hit with her now-automatic Occlumency the second he pried into her head. So she was awake, then. Voldemort knocked gently on the bedroom door and then opened it, poking his head into the room as he asked,

"May I come in?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix set down the book she'd had open on her lap, and Voldemort tried to decide whether he ought to just pretend Noha had never come back. Instead he sat on the bed, facing Bellatrix, and he said matter-of-factly,

"I've just killed Noha. Well… I Vanished him, actually."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and said carefully, "I'm assuming you had a very good reason."

"Not really," Voldemort admitted. "He chastised me for hurting you. I don't take criticism well."

Bellatrix put the ribbon bookmark into her novel and shut it, dusting the fingertips of her right hand over the leather cover. Her left hand sat limply at her side, splinted and braced. Voldemort pursed his lips and said seriously,

"It was all wrong, what I did. Pretending it was your fault that McGonagall got proactive. Pretending it was your fault that I fear losing you. And it was very wrong of me to break your wrist. I would like very much to be able to tell you that I didn't realise how hard I was squeezing, but that would be a lie. I felt your bones crack and I squeezed harder anyway."

Bellatrix's eyebrows crumpled, and her voice was just a wisp as she asked, "Master… why would you tell me that?"

"I need you to be less deferential to me," Voldemort informed her. When Bellatrix looked confused, he said, "You're my wife. Wives don't call their husbands Master. I mean… perhaps some do, but ironically. If they're role-playing or something. It's different when you are really and truly positioned beneath my boot."

"But everyone is positioned beneath your boot," Bellatrix shrugged. Voldemort's chest hurt badly then, and he picked at the coverlet as he said,

"You need to be positioned beside me. A half step back, perhaps, but… beside me. Because otherwise I'll break your leg like I broke your wrist, and eventually I'll break your heart. My dreams of losing you involve you dying, or falling in love with someone else, or falling out of love with me. I imagine breaking your wrist doesn't exactly make you love me more."

"I don't understand," Bellatrix admitted. "What would have me do? I'm your soldier. I'm your servant."

"Mmm-hmm," Voldemort nodded, "but first of all, before all that, you're my wife."

"That sounds backwards from how you've always explained it," Bellatrix pointed out, drumming her good fingers on her book. Voldemort grazed his fingertips over the brace on her wrist and mused,

"Have you ever considered just how very complicated the word partner is? People use it in business. Two partners own a shop together, you know? They use in Potions class. You work with a partner. They use in love. You fall in love with your partner. And every time it's used, there's an important connotation - equality. Partners are equals."

"No one is equal to you," Bellatrix said. "Not even me. Probably most especially not me."

Voldemort raised his eyes to hers and said, "We have Horcruxes and a perpetually-binding marriage. I have many years of our mutual happiness to consider. I will be much happier, and I promise you will be, too, if our situation more closely resembles a partnership."

Bellatrix lowered her face and murmured, "My Lord…"

"See. That. What you just did. You took your eyes away from me and you mumbled an honorific. I'm your damned husband, aren't I?"

She stared right at him then, her dark eyes glittering as she reminded him, "I have no name to call you."

She was right, of course. He was not Tom Riddle. That boy was long, long gone. It seemed silly for her to call him Voldemort whilst he was plundering her and she needed something to chant. But Master and My Lord, at least in private, felt so distant and inherently submissive. He called her Bella. When he was coming and needed a velvet word to whisper into the air, it was Bella. He sighed heavily, trying to think of a solution. He realised there was nothing else for her to call him, and his chest hurt worse than ever. He would never have imagined sitting here, desperately trying to circumvent the system of deference he'd created for himself.

He felt her hand on his, and when he looked down, she was pulling back the sleeve of his robe so she could graze her thumb over his Dark Mark. He huffed through his teeth, feeling a sudden heady rush, and he shook his head.

"Not now," he said, but she insisted,

"To me, you are My Lord. I'll leave out the Master bit, if it helps. You can let me use the sink first in the morning, if that will elevate my status in your mind. You can do your best not to break any more of my bones. But I'll be married to you for a very long time, and I will be very happy a full step behind you, at your side. I'll hold your hand when we're killing Minerva McGonagall. And we'll be very good partners, just like that."

He was overcome with affection for her then, and he leaned down from where he sat to kiss her. Bellatrix opened her mouth at once, letting him in and moaning softly when he grazed his tongue around. He peeled back the blankets and crawled into the bed beside her, not bothering to take off his robes. He didn't need to be naked tonight. Tonight he meant to please her and her alone, to show her that he worshipped her body just like she worshipped his.

An hour later, she was wrapped up in his arms, fast asleep with her injured left wrist lying on the mattress. He'd used his mouth and his fingers and his wand on her, making her come again and again until she'd cried out for mercy. Just before she'd drifted off to sleep, he'd apologised again and reminded her that he did love her, very much indeed. She hadn't answered, but even now he could sense that she was comfortable in his arms.

She was right. She was almost always right, a fact that frustrated Voldemort to no end. She was right about calling him My Lord. She was right about simply readjusting their plan for Hogwarts. She was right about the impossibility of them ever really being equals. She was infuriatingly right about almost everything. But as Voldemort felt himself drifting off, having stripped off his robes an hour earlier, he thought he was very grateful for Bellatrix. These were times that required careful hands and ruthless spells and cunning minds. He needed Bellatrix.

Noha had been right, too, to tell Voldemort not to hurt Bellatrix anymore. She didn't deserve it. She was too beautiful, too intelligent, too loyal to be broken by her husband. Voldemort carefully put one hand over the brace on Bellatrix's wrist and whispered into the night,

"Delicate, powerful, beautiful, terrifying little thing."

He kissed her hair and shut his eyes, and this time he didn't dream about losing her.

---

Number Six, St Albans Grove, London

10 June 1971

"Four more hours." Voldemort glanced up to the clock on the wall and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. He tipped his head back and murmured, "Distract me, Bella."

She smirked a little to herself, spinning her wand in her fingers as she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She was just as nervous as he was. Neither of them could eat or rest or do anything else. The plan was set. Now they just had to wait until it was the middle of the night, until the Hogwarts students would be asleep and McGonagall would be on patrol.

"How shall I distract you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort huffed out a breath and suggested,

"Talk to me about something. Anything."

Bellatrix scratched at her curls and said the first thing that came to her mind. "Do you remember the first time you ever kissed me? At my family's Christmas party?"

Voldemort lowered his face and cocked up an eyebrow. "I remember. Why?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Why did you want to do it? What made you want to kiss me?"

"You were beautiful," he answered simply. "And I'd already become rather attached to you through the journals."

"Do you ever miss them?" Bellatrix asked. "The journals? We used them every day for a long time."

"Why would I miss being so far from you?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm, and she asked quietly,

"Did I seem like an annoying little child to you then? I'd only just turned seventeen."

"You seemed young. Much younger than you seem now," he admitted. "But you hadn't any experience with battle or anything… real."

"And yet you wanted to kiss me," Bellatrix nodded. "Ten years from now, will I be too old to be beautiful?"

Voldemort snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Ten years from now, you won't have hit thirty. I have a sneaking suspicion you'll still be very beautiful. And, anyway, it isn't as though I possess some kink for teenaged girls, Bellatrix. I fell in love with you and you happened to be young. Not the other way round."

"Oh." Bellatrix realised that was true for her, too. He just happened to be twenty-five years older than her. That wasn't why she loved him.

"Let's talk about something else," Voldemort suggested, tipping his head back again and shutting his eyes. "Talk to me about… Hogwarts."

"Well," Bellatrix began, feeling more nervous than ever, "We're going to Apparate into the seventh-floor corridor, Disillusion ourselves immediately, and begin with Flitwick. Then we'll -"

"No. Not about tonight." Voldemort sighed and rolled his shoulders a little. "I meant… tell me what it was like for you."

"I don't understand the question, My Lord," Bellatrix said helplessly. Voldemort lowered his gaze to her and said,

"I'll begin, then. When I was in school, I began researching my heritage. I learnt I was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. You didn't know that about me, did you?"

Bellatrix felt her stomach twist as she shook her head. "No, My Lord," she said. "I did not know that."

His dark eyes went steely. "Hm. Well. It's true. In my fifth year, I discovered an underground chamber created by Slytherin. I could open its passage with the use of Parseltongue… owing to my bloodline as Slytherin's heir. Inside the chamber, there dwells an enormous, ancient creature. A monster. A basilisk."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she sat up straighter in her chair. She'd read about basilisks, about their uncontrollable nature and their deadly gazes. She gulped hard, knowing her master hadn't actually cared about her own time at Hogwarts. He'd been keeping something from her, and he'd chosen now as the moment to reveal it. She waited patiently for him to speak again. When he did, he said calmly,

"The basilisk was put there by Slytherin to purge Hogwarts of Muggle-born students. But it waited and waited, and nobody ever set it loose. Until me."

"You set it loose," Bellatrix said in a cracked voice. The parlour suddenly felt very hot and small. Voldemort shrugged a little and admitted,

"It wasn't quite so simple as that. It obeyed me, of course. Many students were killed. They were going to close the school. Owing to my… unfortunate personal circumstances, a closed Hogwarts would mean my languishing in a Muggle orphanage. I couldn't abide that, so I blamed the attacks on an acromantula being kept by Rubeus Hagrid. It was easy enough; he was a blubbering fool and Armando Dippet bought the story hook, line, and sinker. They even gave me an award for Special Services to the School. And Hogwarts stayed open, even once the Chamber of Secrets was closed."

Bellatrix suddenly understood. Everything made sense now. "We're not going to Apparate to Flitwick's quarters."

"No." Voldemort's gaze was hard and cold. "I needed to wait until I could be certain that my followers' children would not be at risk. I needed to be certain that this plan would… would turn out correctly. It's still an enormous risk."

"You're going to open the Chamber of Secrets," Bellatrix said, feeling very numb. "You're going to instruct the basilisk to… what? To kill Minerva McGonagall?"

"Her first, yes," Voldemort nodded. "And then the Muggle-borns. Just like Salazar Slytherin intended."

Bellatrix felt dizzy. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. "That's one way to conquer Hogwarts. I suppose you won't be needing me to come with you."

"You're coming with me," Voldemort said sharply. "I know you understand why I couldn't operate on assumptions with this. It's dangerous."

"Won't it try to kill me?" Bellatrix asked, her voice a little shrill to her own ears, but Voldemort shook his head firmly.

"It obeys me. You'll be fine. There's one very significant reason I need you with me."

"What's that, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort swallowed hard as he said,

"Myrtle Warren."

Bellatrix frowned. "Myrtle Warren… you mean… Moaning Myrtle? The ghost?"

Voldemort sucked his teeth. "She's a girl that I… well, let's be frank, shall we? I killed her, and when I did, I made a Horcrux. She allegedly haunts the first floor bathroom."

"That's right," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort pinched his lips.

"Rather inconveniently, thanks to centuries of renovations on the castle, that is where the entrance is to the Chamber of Secrets. I'll need you to distract Myrtle long enough for me to open the Chamber without her shrieking through the corridors and waking the staff."

Bellatrix had no idea what to say. They'd had a plan. Then they'd had to make a new plan. This was neither of those plans. This seemed… insane. Bellatrix chewed her lip hard and said,

"I could go in there crying, pretending a boy hurt my feelings. I'm only a year out of school. She wouldn't know the difference if I went in my Slytherin robes."

"You still have them?" Voldemort asked tightly, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Shall I go put them on, Master?"

"Yes," he said. He licked his bottom lip and said, "We'll go as soon as you're dressed. I am sorry to spring this on you, Bella. Until ten minutes ago, I still wasn't entirely convinced that we shouldn't just… you know, march around killing the offending teachers. But this will be better."

Bellatrix rose from her chair and said, "It'll certainly be more dramatic. I'll go get dressed."

---

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

10 June 1971

"Why are you crying?" asked the morose voice of Myrtle Warren. Voldemort waited in silence, very effectively Disillusioned, trying not to smirk at the way Bellatrix had huddled into a corner and was feigning her sobs.

"This boy," Bellatrix said dejectedly. "He told me I needed to smile, that I was stupid and ugly. It hurts, you know, to be called ugly."

"Oh, I know it does," said Myrtle ominously. "It hurts very, very badly. What are you called?"

"Bella," sniffed Bellatrix. "And I know you. You're Myrtle. But I mustn't stay; it's past curfew."

"I know the perfect spot to cry about boys," Myrtle said gleefully, and Bellatrix raised her face and swiped at her false tears.

"You do?"

"Yes! The library!" exclaimed Myrtle. "I like to sit at the tables and think about romance novels, about the kind-hearted boys in them and the awful boys in the real world. Let's go."

"All right, then," Bellatrix sniffed, rising from where she crouched. "How will we keep from getting caught?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Myrtle giggled. "I'm very sneaky."

The two of them left the first-floor bathroom then, and Voldemort's heart accelerated in his chest. He'd see her back at the house, he reminded himself. They'd agreed that fifteen minutes after she got Myrtle from the bathroom, she'd go home. Now Voldemort had his own work to do.

He turned to the bank of sinks and touched the tap that was shaped like a snake. He hadn't been here in decades, but somehow it felt like only yesterday. He'd been a boy then. He'd been Tom Riddle. He was someone else now.

"Hesha-Hassa…" he hissed, commanding the Chamber to open. He watched in wonder as the sinks trembled and slid across the stone floor, sending dust everywhere as they did. Once the sink with the serpent tap had descended down, a wide tunnel was revealed. Voldemort knew he did not have time to go into the actual Chamber tonight. He would have to call his servant from here. He raised his voice, not shouting, but speaking with a deliberate hiss he knew the basilisk would discern.

"Haianash abet kass emeth… Koashaa amassinet shassa… Haianash shoanasha kess… Barathassa kanash emeth palassanesh..."

He'd commanded the basilisk to first kill McGonagall - the 'witch in the tower.' He'd instructed it to leave its master's wife alone if it encountered her. And then, Voldemort had said, it should target the Muggle-borns.

"Soanath haianash abet Kass emeth," he repeated, shutting his eyes and willing the creature up from the depths. "Koashaa amassinet shassa soanath. Maktathessa shoanasha kess barathassa emeth pakalasha thess…"

Suddenly there was a strange sound, like stone against metal, and Voldemort took a few steps back. He kept himself composed, somehow, when the basilisk emerged up, just barely fitting through the piping that led to the Chamber. He looked away, unwilling to risk the basilisk's deadly gaze. He thought himself immune, but it was hubris to test the theory. He'd warned Bellatrix not to look at the basilisk if it found her before she left the school.

"Thoah shassinet," Voldemort hissed, greeting his old friend. He nodded, silently willing the past basilisk to obey the orders it had been given. Its terrible body slithered with remarkable grace through the bathroom, past the door that Voldemort flung open with a flick of his wand. He followed the basilisk out into the corridor, watching as it made its way toward the stairs that led to the Headmaster's Tower.

He needed to leave, Voldemort thought. The basilisk would do his bidding. He had no doubt whatsoever about that. There would be chaos at the school. There would be casualties. Even if McGonagall somehow managed to survive, the fallout would lead to massive public outcry. The school would not be closed; Voldemort would not allow it. Instead, it would be clean and new again.

Just like Salazar Slytherin had intended.

Voldemort Disapparated quickly from the corridor, touching at his enchanted tie bar that allowed him to circumvent the anti-Apparition charms on the school. When he came to in the foyer of his house, Bellatrix was not yet there. Voldemort paced anxiously in the foyer, ripping back the sleeve of his robe and rubbing at his Dark Mark. It was a way of Summoning her, to be certain, but more than anything it calmed his frayed nerves.

A few moments later, Bellatrix appeared in a whirl of black and green and flesh. She landed on her feet, looked dizzy for a moment, and then straightened her Slytherin robes.

"Myrtle seemed offended that I left in such a hurry," Bellatrix said simply, though her eyes flashed. Voldemort shrugged.

"I never much cared about what that girl thought. You did well getting her out of the bathroom for me. The basilisk came at once. When I last saw it, it was headed for the Headmaster's Tower."

"Now what?" Bellatrix asked, looking like she might be sick from anxiety. Voldemort gulped.

"Now we wait. There will be furious owls going to and from the school. Cries for the Ministry to take action. Funerals, which have better optics than just about anything else. There's nothing else to do but wait."

"I wish… I wish I'd been able to see her die," Bellatrix admitted. "McGonagall. But somehow it's even more entrancing to know that you've set a monster on the school, a monster only you can control. I find myself… rather…"

She trailed off then, stepping up to Voldemort and throwing her arms up around his shoulders. He seized her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth, and he whispered against her mouth,

"Thank you for your valuable assistance… My Lady."

She moaned then, and Voldemort knew they wouldn't make it all the way to the bedroom. He started peeling off her Slytherin robes, one piece at a time, reckoning that the wall of the foyer was as good a place as any to plunder her.

---

Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London

11 June 1971

"Still can't sleep?" Bellatrix asked, for Lord Voldemort was very restless in the bed beside her.

"No," he snapped. "How am I meant to sleep right now? Three hours ago I set Slytherin's basilisk upon Hogwarts. Can you imagine what's happening there right now? No, I can not sleep."

Bellatrix sighed a little and turned to face him. "We'll both need Invigoration Draught in the morning," she predicted. "I'm sure things will be busy for a while."

"Well, right now it's two in the morning and, no, I can not sleep." Voldemort put the back of his wrist to his forehead and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He was quiet for a little while, and then he murmured, "Let me take you again."

Bellatrix smirked. Almost as soon as they'd come back from Hogwarts, they'd made love (fucked, really) against the wall downstairs. Bellatrix had been hot-blooded after seeing the unmitigated power her husband possessed. And, if she was honest with herself, she wanted him now, too. She edged closer to him and reached beneath the blankets. He was already hard, and she gasped a little when she felt that. She pushed down his pyjama trousers a little and started to stroke at him carefully. Voldemort peeled the blankets back so he could watch, pushing his hips up into Bellatrix's hand as he warned her,

"Careful. I'm not going to last. I can tell."

"Mmm… but I want you inside of me," Bellatrix said, her voice a low hum as she bent down to kiss the tip of his cock. He hissed and his fingers clenched on the sheets. Bellatrix smiled to herself, licking at his tip and then dipping her head over hip until he hit the back of her throat.

"For Merlin's sake, Bellatrix," he seethed through clenched teeth, "You have about twenty seconds. I've been hard for a half hour."

"Mmph." Bellatrix bobbed her head up and down a little more insistently, feeling his fingers snag in her curls as he frantically whispered a Dulcisspell to make his seed taste better for her. When he came, she drank it down, and it was like sugar water in her mouth. She moaned onto his flesh, her own hands having found his hips so she could hold fast to him there. When she pulled her mouth off him at last, he started to go soft, and he tipped his head as he stroked her hair.

"I thought you wanted me inside of you," he said, and Bellatrix licked the last bit of his fluids from her lip as she pointed out.

"You were inside me. Inside my mouth."

Voldemort snorted a laugh at that, and Bellatrix lay her head on his thighs as she marveled aloud, "I still can't quite believe that all this time, there's been a monster living inside the castle… a monster only you could control. It seems very fitting."

"Fitting," he repeated, still sounding a little breathless. "Fitting how?"

"Because," she mused, her fingers drifting along the outside of his leg, "It's exceptional. You're exceptional. It seems good and right that the way you take Hogwarts, that the way you eliminate that last bastion of resistance, is through a method no one else can use. There are so many things that only you can do."

"Bella…" His voice was a bit of a cracked whisper, and his hand settled between her shoulder blades for a moment. Bellatrix's eyes were heavy, so she let them fall shut. He might be too energised to sleep, but she was rather exhausted. She had only had her eyes closed for a few moments, though, when she heard his voice whisper, "Now you can have me inside of you."

Bellatrix frowned with confusion as she opened her eyes. Her confusion deepened when she saw that he was hard again. She sat up, raising her eyebrows as she glanced at the clock. Three minutes since he'd finished last. That wasn't possible, was it? She gave him a sceptical look and demanded,

"Did you take Girding Potion or something?"

"No," Voldemort said tightly, and she could tell he was being honest. "It feels better than usual tonight to come. I don't know. My body does not want to sleep. My body wants you. So get on your hands and knees, will you?"

Bellatrix felt a sudden shock of arousal go through her. She peeled off her nightgown and arranged herself on her hands and knees, self-conscious as she always was like this. She felt like a piece of livestock being presented… or, at least, she felt that way until she heard her master groan with desire from behind her. His fingers started to dance against her folds, and Bellatrix was breathless as she heard him observe,

"Already so, so wet for me. You sweet little thing."

His fingers glided easily around Bellatrix's entrance, and when he pushed himself into her body, she was more than ready. Her curls tumbled down around her face as she was rocked back and forth by his thrusting. She knew he wouldn't finish again. There was no way; it was impossible so soon after the last time and the time downstairs just a few hours earlier. He was powerful beyond measure, but he was still forty-four years old. Surely he couldn't -

"Bella… Bella," she heard him say through gritted teeth, his breath huffing the way it always did when he was close. Bellatrix turned to stare at him over her shoulder, amazed by the way his arms had gone tight as he held her hips. His face tipped back, his eyes wrenching shut and a low groan escaping his lips. Bellatrix was wide-eyed as he pulled himself from her and dragged her fingers around her folds again. This time, she was soaked with his seed, a fact that seemed to arouse him more than ever.

"So pretty when I've filled you up like this," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot at the explicit idea. Still, his fingers felt good on her, and the mental image of his hand covered in his own come as he stroked her was too much. When he pulsed his fingertips on her nub a few times, Bellatrix let her head fall back down, and then everything went white and hot. Her ears rang and she saw spots, clenching around his fingers as he shoved them inside of her to feel it happen.

"Bella, I can't stop," he said suddenly, and when Bellatrix turned to look at him again, he actually looked a little frightened. He pulled his hand from her and licked his bottom lip. "Get on your back."

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, shaking her head in confusion. She turned around to sit, leaning against the pillows as she stared at him. She'd felt him go limp just before he'd pulled out of her, but even as she watched now, his slick cock was firming up again. Bellatrix furrowed her brows and demanded, "Are you all right? Is something wrong with you?"

"I don't know," he panted, pushing Bellatrix's shoulders down. He hovered above her and used his knee to part her thighs. He guided himself into her, moving much more slowly this time. His hips cycled in a gentle, easy, rhythm. Bellatrix held onto his arms and gazed up at his face, concerned that something had happened to make his body behave to unnaturally. Perhaps he was just drunk with power, with adrenaline, but this seemed impossible.

"Sorry," he whispered quietly, shutting his eyes as he continued to cycle his hips. He sounded baffled as he said again, "I can't stop."

"My Lord." Bellatrix put her hands on his hips and squeezed until his motions stilled. He opened his eyes and looked down to her, and she said firmly, "Please do not misinterpret what I say to mean that I do not desire you. I do. Very much. Always. But… three times in ten minutes? And downstairs, too? You should probably stop."

"No." Voldemort shook his head and started pumping his hips again. "No. It feels good."

"Well, of course it does," Bellatrix whispered desperately, reaching for his face and pleading with him, "Stop. Please. This can't be normal. It's just the rush from earlier, I'm sure, but…"

Finally he wrenched himself out of her and sat back on his haunches, and Bellatrix watched as he wrapped his own hand around his shaft. His hand pumped very quickly, since he was covered in all manner of natural lubrication. It only took a moment or two, and then his seed was shooting up in volleys and landing all over his hand. It seemed like so much more than usual, Bellatrix thought, especially considering it was the fourth time tonight.

She reached for her wand on the table beside the bed and aimed it at his lap and hands. "Tergeo," she murmured, casting the same spell between her own legs. She repeated the process with Scourgify, including on her own mouth, until they were both naked but clean. She set her wand down with a shaking hand and saw that Voldemort had his eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Put on your nightgown and hand me my wand," he said, his voice dangerous. Bellatrix hurried to slink back into her pyjamas, feeling more than a little frightened as she reached for the thin, knobby wand Voldemort had taken off of Dumbledore. She put it into Voldemort's right hand, and, without opening his eyes, he aimed it at his own manhood and mumbled, "Delenio."

The newly burgeoning erection that had started up seemed to fade at once, and after a long moment, Voldemort opened his eyes and flashed Bellatrix a completely mirthless smile. His eyes were cold as he noted,

"That particular spell is especially popular with thirteen-year-old boys who find themselves suddenly erect in the middle of lessons. But I am not a thirteen-year-old boy. I am a grown man. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I must've… seemed like an animal."

"No, My Lord." Bellatrix shook her head. "You seemed - seem - like an unfathomably powerful wizard who, just a few hours ago, achieved something no one else can. You seem like a man whose authority runs deep and will soon be unquestioned. Your magic is beyond comprehension; it's small wonder so much energy manifested inside you like that."

"Hmm." Voldemort nodded and reached for his pyjama trousers. "You're right, probably. Like usual. And you're a good woman for obliging me. I'm still not going to be able to sleep."

Bellatrix nodded and tried to stifle the grin that wanted to paint itself on her face. "In a few hours, we'll take Invigoration Draught before you call the inevitable meeting at Malfoy Manor. In the meantime… I am very bad at Wizard's Chess. Shall we play?"

Voldemort actually laughed under his breath at that, and he nodded as his dark eyes found Bellatrix's. "Yes. Let's go play."

---

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

13 June 1971

"Good afternoon," said Lord Voldemort with a mischievous smirk. A little ripple of joy made its way around the dining room table, with murmurs of Good afternoon, My Lord and Hello, Master emanating from the mouths of his closest followers. Voldemort picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the table, brandishing it like a trophy as he read the headline aloud. "CHAOS AT HOGWARTS - CASUALTIES REPORTED - STUDENTS SENT HOME. Abraxas… where is your son Lucius right now?"

Abraxas Malfoy sat up straighter in his chair. "He is here, My Lord. Here at Malfoy Manor. Cerda picked him up from King's Cross earlier this morning."

"Ah. So he is safe, then," Voldemort nodded. He turned his attention to Cygnus Black III, to his father-in-law, and he asked, "Where is Narcissa?"

"She is, I believe, at home in London, Master," said Cygnus. "Druella fetched her from the train a few hours ago."

Voldemort smirked. "So our own beloved children are very well. And Hogwarts will not be closing, because, my friends, just last night I went to the school myself to neutralise the threat. That threat, it should be noted, is a creature that was under my control all the while."

Murmurs of wonder made their way around the table, and Voldemort curled up his lips as he instructed Yaxley,

"Name the dead."

Yaxley nodded. "Rubeus Hagrid. Filius Flitwick. Pomona Sprout. Horace Slughorn. Minerva McGonagall. And seven Mudblood students."

"Wonderful," Voldemort nodded. "And we have loyal witches and wizards to take the places of those staff members in the autumn, don't we? With Hadley Carrow as Headmistress."

"That is correct, My Lord," Yaxley said. Voldemort breathed a happy sigh and set the Prophet down on the table. He turned his eyes to Bellatrix for a moment, studying the awe and glee on her pretty face. He could not think of a time in all his life when he'd felt more satisfied than he did just now. He picked up a stack of parchments from the table and flicked through them, saying,

"The United States of America. Germany. Japan. France. Belgium. Canada. Brazil. Norway. Australia. All of those Ministers for Magic have pledged to maintain and enhance diplomatic relations with the British Ministry, as headed by Abraxas Malfoy and under the authority of Lord Voldemort. My friends, our world is our own now."

Everyone at the table applauded then, and Voldemort saw Bellatrix swipe a few joyful tears from her eyes. Voldemort sighed and folded his hands on the table, waiting for quiet again. Once he had it, he said,

"I want a Muggle-born registration programme established immediately; we'll seize their wands. Bellatrix will be responsible for the interrogation and execution of appropriate Mudbloods. Hogwarts, when it reopens in the autumn, is for purebloods and half-bloods only. Hadley Carrow, ensure that is the case. Marriages and procreation between half-bloods and among pureblood families is to be rewarded with monetary incentive. Cygnus, you'll see to that. Yaxley, I want you to quash any hint of dissent. Fill Azkaban until it overflows. We've taken our prize; now we enhance it. Any questions?"

There was a contented silence then, until Rodolphus Lestrange raised his hand tentatively. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"My Lord," Rodolphus began, "As Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I know that many of our Mudblood athletes travel internationally. If they choose to defect…?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Let them flee, if they want to flee. That's no skin off our backs. Anyone else? No? All right, then. Dismissed."

He stood, and everyone else rose respectfully with him. Voldemort walked briskly from the dining-room, thinking he'd never held such a triumphant meeting before. This, he thought, was exactly what he'd dreamed of when he'd been young and ambitious. This was what he'd always wanted. He was almost to his office when he heard Bellatrix's voice from behind him.

"My Lord… have you got a quick moment?"

He turned round to see her trotting after him, and he turned up half his mouth as he said, "For you, Bella, I have all the time in the world. Come inside."

He flicked his wand to unlock the door to his office, holding it open for Bellatrix to walk inside. He shut the door behind himself and started kissing her at once, victory flowing through his veins like a drug. She kissed him back, moaning a little, but then she pulled away and whispered,

"I have something to tell you."

"If it's not good news, I'm not interested," Voldemort declared, but Bellatrix laughed a little and put her hands to his chest.

"Tudor Yaxley told me just before the meeting that Ophelia's had the twins. They took them overnight, early to ensure they were good and healthy. A boy and a girl."

"Oh. That's good news, I suppose." Voldemort shrugged. He honestly did not much care about anyone's babies, but he asked, "What have they called them?"

"Victor and Joy. Because of the timing of their birth," Bellatrix said, grinning. Voldemort tucked her curls behind her ear and nodded.

"I suppose you'll want to visit Ophelia once she's well enough to receive you."

Bellatrix winced a little. "Babies make me nervous," she admitted. "Still, it's a happy time. But I don't want one."

"A baby?" Voldemort snorted a laugh. "Good. I don't want one, either."

He kissed her again, feeling her melt against him as he pulled her close. There was a sudden knock on the office door, and Voldemort swore under his breath as he stepped away from Bellatrix. He gave himself a moment to recover, wiping at his lips and ensuring that his cheeks weren't flushed hot anymore. Finally he walked to the door, unlocked it by hand, and pulled it open. He was surprised to see Ian Rosier, Bellatrix's maternal uncle, standing there with Quentin Travers.

"My Lord," Travers said nervously, "I wonder if Ian and I might have a moment of your time."

"Certainly. Come in." Voldemort stepped aside, and once the two wizards walked into his office, they froze. Ian Rosier bowed his head to his niece and said respectfully,

"My Lady, we did not mean to interrupt -"

"You're not interrupting anything," Voldemort insisted. "Stay, Bella. Now, Rosier… Travers… what is it you need?"

He wanted them to understand that Bellatrix was privy to any information they might present him. Still, her uncle looked uncomfortable as he said,

"Well, My Lord, it's just that you've stated that any marriages involving Death Eaters must have your personal approval."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest. "I did say that. Who intends on getting married?"

"Me, My Lord," said Travers, and Voldemort frowned. He let Travers continue. "I would like your permission to marry Miranda Rosier."

"Your daughter," Voldemort guessed, glancing to Ian Rosier. The wizard nodded, and Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Voldemort turned to her and asked,

"How old is your cousin Miranda?"

Bellatrix pursed her lips. "She's sixteen, My Lord."

"Very nearly seventeen, Master," Ian Rosier pointed out. "She'll be coming of age in early August, and we would have the wedding after that point."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "She still has two years left of schooling?"

"That's right, My Lord," Rosier nodded, "but both families would prefer -"

"This has nothing to do with a financial incentive for Pureblood marriages, then?" Voldemort snapped, suddenly suspicious.

"N-no, of course not, My Lord." Travers sounded mildly scandalised. "I care very deeply for Miranda."

"How old are you, Travers?" Voldemort demanded, and Travers hesitated for a moment before he admitted,

"Fifty-one, My Lord."

"Fifty-one. And you'd like to marry a girl thirty-five years your junior." Voldemort saw Bellatrix playing anxiously with the braid she had hanging heavily around one shoulder, and he didn't need to read anyone's minds to know the source of the common anxiety. Hypocrisy. Voldemort was in his forties; everyone knew that. He'd married Bellatrix before the end of her seventh year of school. Indeed, she'd not finished school because of him. So he was a hypocrite to be interrogating Travers about long-term bachelorhood or an age difference. But something felt off.

"What does Miss Rosier have to say about all of this?" he asked finally, and Ian Rosier said delicately,

"Miranda has agreed to the marriage."

"She's agreed," Voldemort repeated. "But does she want to be bedded constantly by a man older than her father? She has to want such a thing, Rosier."

Rosier winced visibly at the idea of his daughter sleeping with Travers, and Travers took a half step away from Rosier. Voldemort pinched his lips tightly and said,

"Bring Miranda Rosier here. Immediately. Bella, you'll be in the room. I intend to talk to the girl before I give approval on this."

"Yes, My Lord," Rosier nodded. "I'll go home at once and fetch her."

"Go." Voldemort flicked his hand toward the door. "I shall be in touch with you both regarding the matter."

Once they'd gone, Voldemort sighed and leaned back against the wall, more than a little irritated that his followers had so dampened his mood. Bellatrix paced a little and said,

"Last I'd heard, Miranda had a half-blood boyfriend at school. This sounds very arranged. And it's not to say, of course, that a seventeen-year-old girl couldn't fall in love with a much older man. I mean…" She gestured between herself and Voldemort to make her point, and he tipped his head as he rolled his eyes. Bellatrix continued, "It's just that Miranda doesn't seem like the type to go head over heels for a man like Travers. Aside from him being plump and dough-faced, he's dull as a brick."

"He is that," Voldemort nodded. He and Bellatrix had a glass of wine each and talked for a while, waiting for her uncle to bring her cousin back. They talked about Hogwarts, about the meeting, and finally Bellatrix asked pointedly,

"Do you have any idea why it is that… that your body was so out of control the other night?"

"Out of control?" Voldemort repeated. He scoffed and set his glass of wine down on his desk. "The absence of a refractory period is not out of control. I was just on a high from releasing the basilisk, I think."

"You think," Bellatrix nodded, and she seemed nervous as she dragged her finger around the rim of her glass. "I just worry, that's all."

"Worry about what?" Voldemort demanded. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and shrugged.

"Sometimes it seems like your magic runs away from you. I know it's because you're so powerful."

"Are you afraid of my sex drive, Bellatrix?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow, and she huffed frustratedly.

"No. I'm afraid you'll get hurt. I don't know how to articulate it. It doesn't matter, probably. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Voldemort opened his mouth to answer her, but then there was another knock on the door, and he quickly Vanished their glasses of wine before he barked,

"Enter."

The door opened, and Ian Rosier came walking inside, trailed by a tall, thin young woman with Bellatrix's black curls and Narcissa's soft facial features. She looked utterly terrified as Ian Rosier said,

"My Lord, this is my daughter Miranda."

"Hello, sir," Miranda Rosier said, sounding meek as a mouse. She turned her eyes to Bellatrix and gave her a little smile. "Hello, Bell - erm, My Lady."

Her father had warned her not to call her cousin by her name, Voldemort noted. He thought that was very interesting indeed. He gestured to the chair beside Bellatrix and said,

"Please sit, Miss Rosier. Ian, you may wait in the corridor outside."

"Yes, My Lord." Rosier turned to go, carefully shutting the door behind him. Miranda sat beside Bellatrix, and they looked so closely related that Voldemort thought they could have been sisters. Miranda was much taller and plainer in her face, but the family resemblance was certain. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and cut right to the chase.

"Miss Rosier, what are your feelings about marrying Quentin Travers?"

Miranda hesitated just a moment too long before she said, in what seemed like a rehearsed tone, "It will be a great honour, My Lord, to marry a man of such noble heritage and to produce Pureblood children with him."

"Hmm. Is that so." Voldemort flicked his eyes to Bellatrix, who shook her head minutely. Voldemort said to Miranda, "I'm going to use Legilimency to look into your mind. Simply let it happen; you'll experience less dizziness and nausea that way. Sit still, please. Legilimens."

Her mind cracked wide open, and inside Voldemort found all manner of childish drivel. Concerns about acne and exam marks. Jealousy about another girl who'd flirted with Miranda's Hufflepuff boyfriend, a young man called Peter. Then Voldemort found images of Ian Rosier informing his daughter that she was to marry a fifty-one-year-old man. He saw Miranda sobbing, shaking with anxiety. He sensed that she was repulsed by Travers' age, that she found him disagreeable and ugly. He sensed that she was madly in love with that Hufflepuff boy, Peter. She didn't want to be married any time soon, and certainly not to a man who would be grey if he weren't already bald.

Voldemort pulled out of Miranda Rosier's head, and the girl seemed very embarrassed as she knitted her fingers together in her lap. Voldemort sniffed and said lightly,

"Bellatrix, walk your cousin out the corridor and send your uncle in."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said, helping Miranda up from her chair. Voldemort heard Miranda whisper to Bellatrix, asking if she was in trouble. Bellatrix shook her head firmly and opened the door, and Voldemort heard her say,

"Uncle Ian, he'd like to speak with you." From the doorway, she turned round and asked him quietly, "Shall I wait outside?"

"Talk your cousin off the ledge," Voldemort said. "Tell her she's going back to Peter in the autumn."

Bellatrix smiled a little, though she knew full well this was not about being merciful to Miranda Rosier. As the girl's father came inside, Voldemort considered having him sit. Then he decided Ian Rosier did not deserve the comfort of a chair. He let the man stand nervously on the other side of his desk as the door shut.

"I must say, I'm disgusted," Voldemort snapped. "Whoring your own daughter out like that. I know why you're doing it, Rosier; you knew I intended on incentivising Pureblood marriages. You wanted the money. You were going to split it with Travers."

Rosier's face went scarlet, but he couldn't lie to Lord Voldemort. He visibly gulped and stammered. "My Lord, I… I…"

"If Travers wants a wife, let him find one who isn't terrified or revolted by the idea of him sticking his cock into her," Voldemort said in a clip. "As for you, you'll let poor little Miranda marry whomever she wants or no one at all. You will not take advantage of my generosity by orchestrating obscene marriages for profit. There are consequences when a man's greed interferes with the goals of my movement, you understand?"

Rosier nodded, seeming very afraid all of a sudden. "I am very sorry, My Lord."

"Get out of my office," Voldemort sneered, and Rosier turned quickly to go. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers on his desk again. He would need to keep a tight leash on his closest associates, he knew. If his Death Eaters, of all people, tried to game his system for personal gain, he'd be in trouble. They all needed to understand who was in charge, who made the calls. This would be the first test of his authority over his Death Eaters, Voldemort knew, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

And, anyway, he was no hypocrite. Miranda Rosier was a complete child, where Bellatrix was more powerful and mature than witches three decades her senior. And Quentin Travers was a tiny fraction of the wizard Voldemort was. The proposed union between Miranda Rosier and Quentin Travers was a sham and a disgrace. The marriage between Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black was… well, it was unlike anything the wizarding world had ever seen before. Voldemort himself knew that. He'd have to make it more plain to the others, he thought, that he was higher above them than they realised. And he'd have to make it plain that Bellatrix was anything but a child.