Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
15 June 1969
Bellatrix could hardly breathe. Her master was yanking her clothes off of her in between wild kisses. He'd already stripped off his own outer robe and tunic, and he'd kicked off his shoes and socks. He crushed her mouth with his as he yanked so hard at her bra that she yelped. Down went her leggings and off came her boots, and soon enough Bellatrix stood dizzy and naked as Voldemort kissed her harder than ever.
The taste of firewhisky in his kiss was as intoxicating as the liquor itself had been. His fingers went straight between her legs, and she moaned against his mouth as he shoved one, then two, then three fingers roughly inside her. Bellatrix squirmed where she stood as Voldemort tore his mouth away and stood up. He twisted his fingers, stretching her so cruelly that Bellatrix winced and wrenched her eyes shut. But a moment later, it started to feel more than a little good. He was invading her, his fingers pushing and spreading as if his intention was to violate her. But all Bellatrix could do was hold his shoulders and cry out, leaning against him to keep from falling when his thumb started working on her clit. His erection jabbed through his trousers against her belly, as insistent and firm as his hand was. His breath shook above her head, and his voice was a growl as he informed her,
"Tomorrow you'll show me your true mettle as a soldier, Bella. You won't disappoint me."
She couldn't answer, for her body was hurtling up to the summit of her pleasure faster than she could control it. Voldemort seemed to sense that; he ripped his hand from her and left her with a feeling of abject abandonment. He took a few steps back, and his fingers trembled as he brought them to his lips and tasted her. Bellatrix gasped, her own fingers flying between her legs. She meant to finish herself off. She needed to; she'd been perilously close when he'd -
"No, Bella." He batted her hand away from her own body and seized her by the waist. He tossed her roughly down onto his bed and snatched her wrists. He squeezed them both in his left hand and used his right to grab his wand from the table beside the bed. He aimed his wand at her wrists, which he pinned against the wooden bed frame, and he barked, "Incarcerous."
Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide as thin ropes sprang forth from Voldemort's wand. They snared around her wrists and bound her to the bed. A sudden shock of excitement took her over. She was on fire from the inside out. She squirmed where she lay trapped, trying desperately to create friction between her legs.
"No, Bella," Voldemort said again, putting his wand between his teeth as he unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. He climbed naked onto the bed, forcing her to bend her legs and positioning himself between them. He dragged the tip of his wand around her breasts, and a warm tingling sensation took over the skin there. Bellatrix let her back arch up as she cried out, hoping with all her might that this suite of rooms was at partially soundproofed.
The Dark Lord bent down and clamped his mouth onto Bellatrix's right breast as his wand teased the other with the warming, tingling spell. He pulled her nipple between his lips, dragging his teeth over the skin there just enough to elicit a cry from Bellatrix. It felt divine, the way he was caressing and warming and licking and suckling on her body. His lips made their way down her belly, and for a moment she thought he was going to put his mouth to her womanhood. But instead he circled his wand around her lower abdomen and murmured,
"Nongravidare."
He set his wand down on the table beside the bed again and pushed into her so quickly that Bellatrix hissed through her teeth. She was utterly shocked when he took her ankles in his hands and raised them, bringing them up one at a time to her shoulders. Bellatrix was flexible, but this sort of contortion was not something she was used to. She pulled at her hands on instinct, feeling a wild thrill when the ropes resisted. Voldemort started to pound her mercilessly, his hips jolting and slapping against hers. His hands went back to her breasts, and he squeezed so roughly that a tear worked its way out of Bellatrix's eye.
There was something about this angle, about the depth of his penetration and the speed of his thrusting, and she was pushed over the edge. She came around his cock, her body clenching and clamping as pleasure ripped her through. In the midst of her moaning and his panting, she heard herself whisper,
"I love you, My Lord."
The response she got to that was that he wrenched her ankles from his shoulders, pulled his cock from her body, and jerked his hand over his length a few times. His seed flew in creamy ropes as his face contorted. It landed on Bellatrix's flat stomach, on her heaving chest, and the feel of it all over her made her shudder with arousal. Voldemort knelt there for a long moment, shutting his eyes and whispering,
"My lovely little thing."
He eventually reached for his wand and cast all manner of cleansing charms over the both of them until they were as clean as if they'd taken showers. He released Bellatrix's arms and rubbed and kissed at her wrists as he muttered that she was a good girl, that she was his and he liked that.
And he fell asleep with her, tangled together like strings in a braid, on the bed they were meant to share all summer. Bellatrix dreamed of torture and worse. She dreamed of her master, of school, of her Dark Mark and what it meant. Whether from the drink, the sex, or her dreams, it didn't matter - she slept like the dead.
Ashburton, Devonshire
16 June 1969
"This is where she lives?" Bellatrix asked, sounding completely unafraid as she stared at the white cottage before her. There were red geraniums in the window-sills, lace curtains visible, and a quaint red door. It seemed a peaceful place, but Voldemort knew full well that his enemy dwelled within.
"Yes," he told Bellatrix. "This is where she lives. I'll Stupefy her to neutralize her. Just since it's your first time. The moment she's Stupefied, I want you to cast the spell. Do you think you can do it, Bella?"
She raised her eyes to him and nodded solemnly. "I can do it, My Lord."
"Good. Let's go." He marched toward the door, feeling the dull vibration of wards around the house. He flicked his wand and shattered the wards, sparing one last glance to Bellatrix before opening the door. She was terrifyingly beautiful like this, he thought. With her wand gripped tightly in her hand, dressed for battle in leather lace-up gauntlets with her hair falling wild around her pretty face… he felt a surge of emotion that he neither wanted nor was able to properly identify.
"Alohomora," he said sharply, and he led Bellatrix quickly into the house. A half moment after he and Bellatrix had stormed into the cramped little foyer, a blonde-haired witch appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Expelliarmus!" cried Artemis Pryce, but Bellatrix nonverbally blocked the witch's spell. She flung her own wand's tip in the direction of Pryce and screamed,
"Expelliarmus!" Artemis Pryce's wand came soaring down from the top of the stairs, and when Bellatrix caught it, she snapped it in two and tossed the pieces onto the ground. Pryce looked like she was about to try to Disapparate without her, but as Voldemort thundered up the stairs, he hacked his wand toward the Auror and said simply,
"Stupefy."
Without the wand Bellatrix had snapped, Pryce had no way of blocking Voldemort's spell; he was entirely too powerful for her. Pryce flew back against the wall and slumped down unconscious, her eyeglasses crooked around her pale face. Immediately, Bellatrix joined Voldemort at the top of the landing, aimed her wand at Pryce, and sounded almost ecstatic as she said in an enthusiastic tone,
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a jade green flash of light, and Artemis Pryce's unconscious form tipped all the way over onto her side. Her spectacles fell from her face, and her arm flopped awkwardly in death. Bellatrix grinned, looking to Voldemort and stating,
"I did it, Master."
"You did," he nodded. "My beautifully wicked little thing."
He took Bellatrix's hand and squeezed it rather tightly. He stared at Bellatrix's face for a moment, both of them ignoring the body before them. Voldemort aimed his wand above his head and murmured, "Morsmordre. Let's go, Bella."
As the green shimmering sparks soared up from his wand, through Artemis Pryce's roof and up to the sky overhead, he knew his Dark Mark would be cast in the sky. Everyone would know this was the work of Lord Voldemort. For some reason, he wished he had some way of showing them that his youngest, most fearsome lieutenant had done it. She'd blocked a Disarming spell and quickly rebounded with one of her own. She'd snapped the wand of a respected Auror. She'd killed without question, without hesitation. And in the autumn, she'd be on the Hogwarts Express going back to school.
With that strange thought in his head, Voldemort Disapparated quickly, taking Bellatrix with him by Side-Along. They disappeared from Devonshire, from the place where she had really become his soldier, and they reappeared in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor.
Black Family Residence, Kensington, London
17 July 1969
"Bella! Mum, Bella's here!" Andromeda called over her shoulder as she dashed down the front corridor toward Bellatrix.
"Thought we'd never see you again," Narcissa complained as she ambled down the stairs with a book in her hand. Bellatrix threw her eyebrows up.
"I've been a little busy."
"Oh, darling." Druella Black wrapped her daughter up in her arms and started to guide her toward the parlour. "Come on in; let's have some tea. Marley! Fetch some tea."
The House Elf scampered off toward the kitchen, and as Bellatrix sat in the armchair opposite her mother, she glanced around and asked,
"Father's at work, then, is he?"
"Yes, dear," Druella nodded. When he wasn't handling financials for Lord Voldemort, Cygnus Black III was the investment manager for wealthy witches and wizards through Gringotts. He made good money at the job, though of course the Black family had old wealth… wealth that Cygnus wisely invested to make ever more.
"So… what's it like?" Druella asked plainly, taking a cup of tea from the tray Marley brought back in. Bellatrix took her own cup of tea, sipped from it, and asked innocently,
"What's what like, Mother?"
"Being the concubine of an aspiring Dark Lord." Druella said it without any malice, without taunting, and yet Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide.
"Concubine?" she repeated, and Druella rolled her eyes.
"Don't be daft, darling. All the most powerful men in history have had mistresses and concubines to keep them company whilst they ascend to the upper echelons of authority. The Dark Lord is no different. You're no different."
"Oh, yes. This is different, Mother." Bellatrix set her cup down on the table beside her and insisted, "I'm not his whore. I'm his soldier."
"If you're his soldier, Bellatrix, then why are you living with him at Malfoy Manor?" asked Druella, and in her eyes Bellatrix saw pity, as though the woman thought her poor daughter didn't realise she was a prostitute. Bellatrix was suddenly filled with fiery anger, and she said in a quietly dangerous voice,
"I am his companion, Mother. In battle. In conversation. In dining. In bed. In all of those things, I am his companion. How dare you trivialise what we… what I am to him? What he is to me?"
"How dare I?" Druella shrugged and looked genuinely surprised. "So, what, then? Shall we be expecting a marriage proposal sometime in the near future? Will you be the Lady Volde -"
"Do not speak his name aloud," Bellatrix hissed, cutting off her mother with such vitriol that Druella finally seemed to grasp the serious nature of it all. Druella sipped from her tea again, looking confused. She set down her cup and saucer, folded her hands in her lap, and noted,
"You belong to him now. I can see that. You're of age; you're not a child for me to govern. But I would beseech you, Bellatrix, as my eldest daughter, not to get yourself in deeper than you intended."
"The very bottom of the deepest ocean would not be nearly deep enough," Bellatrix informed her mother. "What I feel for him, what I do for him… what I have with him… no one will ever be able to comprehend. There is no parallel. I do not ask for your blessing, nor your understanding. I do not need your permission, nor your empathy. And I think this visit was ill-advised. I'm going home."
She stood from her chair, and from behind her, Druella Black said indignantly, "This is your home, Bellatrix!"
"No." Bellatrix turned round and shook her head. "He is my home. Goodbye, Mother. Tell Father I said hello."
She turned to go, nodding at Marley as the House Elf scrambled to open the door.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
17 July 1969
"Something wrong?" Voldemort set down his fork from his cottage pie and stared across the table at Bellatrix. She'd poked at her food a few times but hadn't eaten anything. She'd been to her family's house today, Voldemort knew, while he'd been in seemingly endless meetings with Macnair and Avery.
"I'm fine, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, and he rolled his eyes as he informed her,
"I can go in your head and know in five seconds and make you feel lightheaded and nauseated. Or you can tell me."
She sighed and took a sip of wine. She kept her eyes down as she admitted, "My mother referred to me as your 'concubine' today. It didn't sit well with me. That's all."
"My concubine." Voldemort nodded a little and huffed out a breath. One one hand, he could see why someone would interpret Bellatrix that way. A concubine was, by definition, a kept woman with much lower status than a wife. And wasn't that what Bellatrix was? He kept her near him for physical convenience. But, no, he thought. There was much more to it than that. She'd accompanied him in three separate battle situations now, throwing hexes and killing with an impunity that made him adore her. She woke up beside him in the morning with her curls in her eyes, and he always pushed them aside to kiss her cheekbone. He liked to dine with her, to spend the evenings talking or reading in contented quiet. She was no whore. She was no mistress.
"I do not think 'concubine' is the correct word to describe… this," Voldemort said, "but I do not fault your mother for lacking better terminology, I suppose."
"No, I suppose not, My Lord." Bellatrix stabbed at a potato with her fork and chewed it carefully. She was still staring at her lap, so Voldemort said in a cautious voice,
"Bella, look at me."
"Master," Bellatrix acknowledged, raising her gaze. Her wide, dark eyes were prettier than ever as they searched his face.
"You're not a concubine, nor a mistress. You're not a kept woman," Voldemort mused, thinking aloud. "You're… I don't have a better word for it, either, but those aren't the right ones."
Girlfriend. He could read it plainly from her mind without even peeking in. He scoffed and dabbed his napkin to his lips as he informed her crisply,
"You are not my girlfriend. What a disgusting word that is." He sipped from his wine, and Bellatrix's cheeks went a very deep scarlet. She stared right at him and said,
"I told my mother I was your companion."
"Oh. Yes. I rather like that." Voldemort felt his lips curl up of their own accord. He pondered the word, narrowed his eyes, and nodded. "Companion. Yes, that seems right. Can we eat now?"
"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled and tucked more thoroughly into her cottage pie. By the time their desserts appeared, she seemed to be in an altogether improved mood.
"I have some happy news for you," Voldemort told her, "and I confess I've been saving it until you had ice cream in front of you with which to celebrate."
Bellatrix looked intrigued. She dragged her spoon over the vanilla ice cream in her bowl and asked, "What's the news, My Lord?"
He could scarcely contain his own smile as he slid a spoonful of the sweet, cold cream into his mouth. He swallowed and told her, "Tomorrow, Macnair and Avery are going to York, where we've identified the home of one Ruth Prewett."
"Is that… the aunt of Gideon and Fabian and Molly?" asked Bellatrix with confusion, and Voldemort shook his head.
"Cousin. She's their elder cousin, and she works for the Ministry. For many reasons, I find I want to incapacitate as many Prewetts as possible. So, tomorrow, Macnair and Avery will bring Ruth Prewett here to Malfoy Manor, and I'm going to let you play with her."
Bellatrix's eyes flashed. "Play, My Lord?"
"Yes." He took another spoonful of ice cream, savouring it for a moment before he clarified, "You'll be casting your very first Cruciatus Curse tomorrow. I look forward to watching."
Bellatrix's lips parted and trembled, and she suddenly broke into an enormous grin. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, and he smirked as he told her,
"Eat your ice cream, Bella. It's melting."
Many hours later, she lay curled up beside him in bed, and he breathed in the faint smell of roses on her freshly-washed hair. He threaded his fingers through hers, but she didn't wake from the motion. She was comfortable here with him, Voldemort knew. They were both probably entirely too comfortable, but he couldn't care. And her mother had been wrong. Bellatrix was not a concubine. Bellatrix was his companion. It was just as she'd said.
He kissed the skin between her shoulder blades, and she shivered a little. He released her hand and put his fingers at her shoulder, dragging his touch down her bare arm. In less than two months' time, she'd be back at Hogwarts, and they'd be communicating in their journals. This past month with her at Malfoy Manor had felt, in many ways, like a dream from which he had yet to awaken. She was always there in the mornings to see him groggy and sloppy, and he didn't mind. He liked when she leaned on the doorjamb in the bathroom and watched him shave, a delicate little smile on her lips. He liked to slowly make love to her. He liked pounding her mercilessly into the sheets. He liked when she used her mouth on him. He liked to touch her and watch as she came. He liked to drink wine with her until they were both laughing about nonsense.
He liked more than anything to see her in battle, shrieking or muttering as her wand threw curses about with abandon. She was ferocious. He'd have been terrified of her if she hadn't been working for him. She still scared him, just a little bit, with the way she could influence his thoughts and his emotions. He relished his self-control, and Bella stole it a little more every day. But even still, Voldemort was enjoying himself, and in moments like this, with her curled up against him, he found his heart starting to race with something he could never quite name.
"Bella," he whispered, and her eyes slowly blinked open at the sound of his voice. She rolled a little more to face him, and she quirked up half her mouth as she asked in a cracked whisper,
"What time is it, My Lord?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. He squinted through the darkness to the clock on the wall, and he said, "It's three twenty-five."
Bellatrix blinked a few times and suppressed a yawn. "Is something wrong, Master?"
He stared at her face for a long moment, suddenly unable to remember why it was he'd awakened her. He'd just wanted to see her eyes, he supposed. To hear her voice. He huffed a little sigh and said,
"Be very certain that when you cast the Cruciatus Curse, you maintain the spell for at least one minute in each burst. Any shorter than that, and you won't achieve the blankness, the madness. It'll be tiring, but I… I believe you'll manage just fine."
Bellatrix gave him a knowing little look and, abandoning the formality of titles, said, "You didn't wake me up at three-thirty to lecture me about the Cruciatus Curse."
Voldemort licked his lip. "It's only three twenty-five."
"Still." Bellatrix reached for his face, for the tiny bit of scruff that was four hours away from being shaved off, and she murmured, "May I say something?"
"Yes." Voldemort's chest ached a little, for the thought had once again come into his mind that he was on borrowed time, that soon enough she'd be hundreds of miles away from him. It hurt physically to think about it, in a way it certainly should not have hurt. Bellatrix's hand tightened on his face a little, and he chewed his lip before he said, "What is it, Bella? What do you want to tell me?"
"I love you," she whispered at once. Her eyes glistened a little in the darkness as she added, "I'll never expect to hear anything in response to that. Don't worry. But I haven't told you in weeks, and for some reason, at very nearly three-thirty in the morning, I can not help but tell you. I love you. I'm sorry."
"Would you at least stop apologising for it?" Voldemort scowled. Bellatrix's mouth fell open in surprise, and he leaned to kiss her forehead. He shut his eyes, breathing in the warmth and scent and feel of her, and he muttered, "I had no good reason for waking you. But do keep the Cruciatus Curse held solid for at least a minute each time, or it won't do much good."
"At least a minute," Bellatrix repeated. "I shall do just that, Master."
"Go back to sleep," he ordered her, pulling her snugly up against him and keeping his eyes closed. When she cast an arm over his chest, he brought her knuckles to his lips and informed her, "It would be exceedingly difficult - probably impossible - for me to find a better companion than I have in you."
She was silent then, but her breath quickened on his chest a little. Finally she whispered, "Goodnight, My Lord."
"Goodnight, Bella," he said, listening to her breath go slow and deep as sleep washed over her again.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
18 July 1969
"You're nervous," said the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix finally realised how hard she'd been chewing her nails. She stared at him across the coffee table between them, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he said, "It's perfectly normal to be nervous about something like this. They should be here any minute. Let's talk about something different."
The parlous where they were sitting seemed awfully hot for some reason, but Bellatrix managed to blow her sweaty curls from her face and shrug. "Erm… next week is my father's birthday, My Lord. Narcissa and Andromeda are throwing him a little party. With your leave, I'll attend."
"Of course," Voldemort nodded. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "How old is your father?"
"He'll be turning thirty-five, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort's eyes went wide.
"Thirty-five?" he repeated incredulously. Bellatrix nodded.
"He and my mother were married during their seventh year at Hogwarts, My Lord, and she was already six months along with me by the time they left. They were eighteen when I was born; Narcissa was the last, and they were still only twenty-two for her. Pureblood ways, I suppose."
"Oh. Yes, I suppose." The Dark Lord frowned deeply, and Bellatrix knew why. He himself was forty-two years old, seven years older than her own father. That meant that Voldemort himself was certainly old enough to be Bellatrix's father, a thought that made her feel a twinge of discomfort. She pursed her lips and asked,
"Do you find it's better to brew advanced potions with a copper cauldron, My Lord?"
"Why do you ask?" He drummed his fingers again, and she swallowed hard as she shrugged and said,
"I need a new cauldron for school this year; the one I've been using for six years is completely worn out, and I want to ensure I get a good score on my Potions NEWT."
"You know, you're not helping the age situation. Telling me how young your father is. Talking about taking your NEWTs." Voldemort waved his hand exasperatedly in Bellatrix's general direction, shut his eyes, and sighed, "Yes. A copper cauldron will do you fine. You'll need to go to Diagon Alley in August, I suppose."
"Yes." Bellatrix felt ashamed for having made him feel old, and she opened her mouth to apologise, but then the door to the parlour swung open, and two wizards came backing over the threshold with a witch levitated between them.
Bellatrix flew to her feet and pulled out her wand, her heart thumping as she knew her chance to truly prove herself had come. Avery and Macnair carefully placed the unconscious witch on the ground, and Voldemort smirked down at Ruth Prewett as he said,
"Thank you, gentlemen. You may go."
"My Lord," they both mumbled, and they walked briskly from the room, shutting the door behind them. Voldemort loomed over the ginger-haired Ruth Prewett, who was tall and thin and looked as though she was perhaps thirty years of age. He eyed Bellatrix and asked,
"Ready?"
"Ready, My Lord." Bellatrix remembered all the advice he'd given her about casting this curse, but even so she thought she might be sick from nerves. Voldemort aimed his wand down at Ruth Prewett and murmured smoothly,
"Rennervate."
Ruth woke up slowly, blinking and coughing a little as she slowly sat up. A look of terror came over her eyes as she looked from Voldemort to Bellatrix. She'd be unarmed, Bellatrix knew; Avery and Macnair had surely confiscated her wand. Just the same, Bellatrix thought it best to act quickly. She aimed her wand straight at Ruth Prewett, summoned every ounce of magic that dwelled within her, and cried,
"CRUCIO!"
She was nearly thrown back by the force of the red jet that burst from her wand. A web of light encapsulated Ruth Prewett, and Bellatrix's hand tingled fiercely as the curse took hold. She watched as Ruth twitched and moaned, and as the pain seemed to grow more intense, a wordless shriek came from the witch's mouth. Voldemort just stood watching, his arms folded over his robes with a look of interest on his face.
"Please!" Ruth Prewett screamed, clutching at her hair where she knelt. "Please! Please stop! It's… oh, please, please stop!"
That was the crying for mercy, then, Bellatrix thought. She grunted softly as a little wave of fatigue came over her, and from where he stood, the Dark Lord informed her,
"That tiredness will pass. Push through it."
"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said through gritted teeth. Her arm was shaking from holding the forceful spell. Ruth Prewett collapsed down, her forehead crashing against the rug as she repeated in a quiet whine,
"Please stop. Please stop. Please stop."
Finally Bellatrix knew she couldn't hold the spell anymore, and she released it. She shook her arm out, rolled her shoulder, paced a few steps, and took a deep breath. She glanced up to her lord, the man she loved with everything she was, and she saw him smile. He looked proud, and suddenly Bellatrix wasn't tired at all. She smirked and nodded at him, and she raised her wand again.
"Crucio!"
Once more the red light shot like a cannon and wrapped around Ruth Prewett. The red-haired witch toppled over and shrieked more loudly than ever, her hands forming claws as she tore at her face and her chest as if trying to get something out from beneath her skin.
"Please!" she screamed, sounding more desperate than before. Tears wormed their way down Ruth's freckled cheeks, and she implored Bellatrix, "Please, I have a family! I have people who love me; don't do this."
"Crying for your mummy," Bellatrix taunted her, stepping closer as the red light crackled and frayed. Bellatrix studied the other witch's swollen eyes and informed her, "You'll never know your family again. Just soak it all in, Ruthie."
She held the spell as Ruth pounded her fists on the carpet and screamed. Gradually the screams grew quieter, the twitching and convulsing stopped, and Ruth Prewett's hands stopped pounding. Her eyes shut, but Bellatrix was somehow still aware of her heartbeat and breath. In desperate need of a break, Bellatrix broke the spell and staggered backward a few steps. She was dizzy and lightheaded, feeling very hot and almost drunk. She leaned heavily on the back of an armchair and shut her eyes, trying to get the room to stop spinning. There was a hand on her shoulder then, and when she turned and opened her eyes, Voldemort was dragging his fingers over her hair and kissing her sweaty forehead.
"Take this," he said, holding a little jade vial up for Bellatrix. "It's Invigoration Draught. You won't need it once you've grown used to this."
"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix gratefully took the little vial and knocked it back. It had a cloying sweet taste, and she was glad when Voldemort handed her a small glass of water to follow the potion. Within moments, she was feeling energised, as if she'd just awakened from a deep and restful sleep. She nodded determinedly and asked, "Once more?"
He nodded. "Just once more."
She walked by him, stepping over toward Ruth Prewett again. The witch was groaning quietly where she lay, rolling a little on the ground with the last vestiges of energy she possessed. Bellatrix held her wand out and said very proudly,
"Crucio."
This time when the red light burst from her wand, Bellatrix felt an almost orgasmic sense of bliss come over her. She actually moaned aloud, the sound drawn from the depths of her core as Ruth Prewett sobbed wordlessly. This was the last stage, Bellatrix knew. The part where they cried for nothing at all. She held the spell for so long that her arm went numb, and she just stared as Ruth Prewett's arms and legs went still. Her eyes opened and stared blankly at the ceiling. After a while, her bright blue eyes went a dull grey, and her skin lost its rosy flush. Bellatrix watched as strands of grey hair appeared among the carrot orange hair that fell around Ruth's face.
Bellatrix released her spell and glanced at the clock on the wall, realising she'd spent over fifteen minutes torturing Ruth Prewett. She lowered her wand and looked to Lord Voldemort, whose eyes glistened as he nodded and said,
"That was very well done indeed, Bella. Now… you've had your fun. Finish her off."
Bellatrix's mouth fell open with surprise, but she did not hesitate to obey her master. She turned her wand on Ruth Prewett and said firmly,
"Avada Kedavra!"
The only movement Ruth had been making, the little swell of her chest with breath, stopped as the green light from Bellatrix's wand socked her. Voldemort aimed his own wand at the body and said softly,
"Corpus Evanesco."
The lifeless scraps of Ruth Prewett Vanished into nonbeing, and Bellatrix felt a swell of energy go through her. Voldemort gave her a little half-smile and said,
"There's Champagne chilling upstairs to celebrate."
"And what if I had failed, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. He shrugged and said confidently,
"I knew you wouldn't. Now… let's go celebrate."
"To your terrifying ability to destroy people," said Lord Voldemort, holding up his Champagne flute and clinking it against Bellatrix's. She smiled at him and added,
"To your expert tutelage, My Lord."
"Mmm… you didn't need my help. You had all that right within yourself, Bella." Voldemort sipped at his Champagne and moved over to the wireless on the mantle in his drawing room. He turned the wireless on and adjusted the tuner until a piece for strings and piano was playing. Bellatrix drank her Champagne as he took off his outer robe and complained,
"It's hot as hell today, isn't it?"
"It is, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She was about to suggest opening a window, but Voldemort arced his wand before him and said firmly,
"Defrigesco."
Suddenly the air in the drawing room was comfortably cool. Still, Voldemort set his Champagne on the low table and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Bellatrix noticed, now that he had his outer robe off, that he wore the tie bar she'd given him for his birthday. That seemed so long ago now, she thought. He saw her staring at it, and he said quietly,
"I wear it whenever I've a tie on."
"Oh." Bellatrix set her own Champagne down next to his and walked over to where he stood. She touched her fingers to the silver serpent and dared to say,
"Perhaps you'll wear it when I'm away?"
He covered her fingers with his and nodded. "I will. And, to that end, I've something for you. You've more than earned it, I should think."
He moved over to the writing desk in the corner, and Bellatrix's eyebrows went up as she watched him pull out a flat black box. He walked back over to her, chewing very hard on his bottom lip as he passed her the box. Bellatrix tried to thank him, but before she could, he informed her,
"You please my body, Bellatrix. You are a good and fearless soldier. You are my loyal servant, a satisfying companion for me. And so you've earned this, you understand?"
"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded and pulled the lid off the black box. She gasped when she saw what was inside. There, lying nestled on a bed of black satin, was a richly created silver necklace. It was a thick rope of silver, and it clasped together in the front in the shape of a serpent's head looped with its tail. There were tiny diamonds around the head and tail of the serpent, and its eyes were little black onyx ovals.
Bellatrix's eyes welled, and her hands shook madly as she pulled the necklace out and set the box down. She pulled the serpent's tail out from its head and tried to put the necklace on, but her hands were covered by Voldemort's. He quickly took over, clasping the serpent together in the front as he informed her,
"This is no ordinary necklace," he informed her. "It is carefully enchanted to overwhelm any anti-Apparition charms. That means -"
"I could leave Hogwarts and go back," Bellatrix breathed. Voldemort smirked and shrugged.
"That's what it's meant to do. I confess it's experimental, and I haven't had the chance to try it out at Hogwarts. And, of course, it would be for very rare occasions only; we can't have you getting expelled for something like this."
"Of course not, My Lord." Bellatrix was ashamed of the way tears had boiled over from her eyes, but her lord and master did not seem to mind. He took her face in his hands and bent down to kiss the tears from her cheeks as he murmured,
"Dance with me, Bella."
He seized her right hand and put his own at the small of her back, and Bellatrix struggled to find the beat of the music playing on the wireless. She leaned her head against his chest and swayed gently, listening to his heartbeat through his white dress shirt. He sighed as if he was tired, and for a very long while they just stood there swaying back and forth. Bellatrix tried to focus on the sound of piano and violin, but all she could hear was her master's heart.
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked eventually, and she knew what he meant. Torturing and killing Ruth Prewett. She nodded against his shirt and said,
"Yes, My Lord. I enjoyed it very much. Does that make me an awful person?"
He scoffed and sounded amused as he demanded, "Who cares whether you're an awful person? Who gets to decide such a thing, anyway? I thought you were magnificent. I got more than a little excited myself, watching you do that."
"Did you?" Bellatrix raised her face to him, and he leaned down to kiss her gently as he nodded. His lips touched hers, delicately at first, and their feet stopped dancing. He squeezed her hand and deepened his kiss, and Bellatrix sighed against him.
"My wicked little thing," he whispered, holding her jaw with one hand while the other one stroked the serpent necklace he'd given her. He kissed her harder, pushing his tongue between her lips and dragging it over the roof of her mouth. She moaned and felt her knees buckle. He tasted divine, like always, and his hands made her flesh prickle with want. He finally pulled away, his eyes glittering as he informed her seriously, "There has never, ever been a more beautiful woman in all the world, Bella, than you today in the red glow of your spell."
"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix said, unsure of a better response to such a comment. He kissed her forehead and murmured,
"I'll want you here for your birthday, you understand? Three weeks into the school year and you'll be turning eighteen; I'll want you here."
Bellatrix curled up half her mouth. "My Lord, that's more than two months from now."
He raised his eyebrows. "I know what I want. I suggest you plan accordingly."
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
18 August 1969
"Enter."
Voldemort scratched out the last few words in a letter to Yaxley regarding an unofficial registry that separated births to Magical peoples by blood status of the child. He signed it with a flourish as the door opened, and he pushed the letter aside as Bellatrix came stumbling into his office.
She had a heavy copper cauldron on one arm, and inside the cauldron were five or six thick books. She had a canvas bag that was practically exploding with quills and Potions supplies, and she had a foil-stamped bag from Madam Malkin's that clearly had a box of new robes inside. She huffed as she set the supplies down and shut the door behind her. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and said,
"I see you've been to Diagon Alley."
"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix blew her curls from her eyes and stood, looking exasperated. "I went with my mother and my sisters, and it was just sheer chaos. Apparently everyone wanted to go on the same day. Ugh… I ought to have gone earlier this summer."
"You only just received your book list last week," Voldemort noted, tipping his head and folding his hands on his desk. She smiled a little, pushed her wild hair back with her fingers, and said,
"Fair enough, My Lord. My mother wanted me to take all this back to our house in London, but… erm… I wasn't certain if I'd be leaving for King's Cross from her house or…"
"From here," Voldemort said primly. He licked his bottom lip and said, "Abraxas' son Lucius will be going the same day; Abraxas will help see you off."
"Oh. Yes. Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix pursed her lips, and he knew there was something she wanted to say. He pushed into her mind with silent Legilimency and felt immediate waves of sorrow, of grief. She didn't want to leave him. He pulled out of her mind and sighed as he told her,
"If I had it my way, Bella, you wouldn't be leaving. But it may be important later on for you to have finished your education, to have strong NEWT scores. I can't anticipate whether or not that will be of importance, but I can't risk you being disqualified from any path for a lack of education."
"No, My Lord. Of course not." She picked at her thin summer robe and lowered her face as she said, "It's just… it won't be the same. Not anywhere near the same. Sleeping alone in my dormitory…"
He dug his teeth into his bottom lip and said, "It'll be the same once you've finished school, Bella. Wherever I'm based come next summer, you'll be there. Permanently."
"I will?" she raised her eyes, which seemed ready to boil over with tears. Voldemort nodded once, girded himself against the swell of emotion he felt, and said sharply,
"But that's a long way off, and less than two weeks from now, you'll be gone. So… come here. I should like to… just come here."
She did, walking around his desk as he stood from his chair. Without any pretense, he hauled her up onto his desk, and she squealed a little. Voldemort leaned to kiss her, crushing her mouth with his and smashing her hand to the front of his trousers. She seemed surprised by the sudden onslaught, but her hands quickly started working at the placket of his trousers. He pulled her tongue into his mouth and she sighed, pulling his soft cock from his trousers and caressing it as if it were very delicate. Her fingers drifted around, and one of her hands played with his orbs a bit. She reached deeper into his underwear, pushing his trousers down as she rubbed at the sensitive skin inside his thighs. He started to go hard, to feel a profound want for her, and he tore his mouth from hers so he could whisper into her ear,
"Don't you dare mess up all my work, little thing… just because I'm going to fuck you on my desk doesn't… oh."
His filthy words were cut off by the way her thumb drifted around his tip, spreading the dewy smoothness there. He snarled and pushed aside her robe, pushed up the black mini skirt she had on, and he wrenched her knickers down over her thighs. She gasped at how hard he pulled, at the way he was rough and urgent. He balled the knickers up and tossed them onto his desk. They landed right beside his letter to Yaxley, but he didn't care.
He spread her knees with his hands and then seized her waist, pulling her to the edge of the desk as he thrust himself into her. Her own arms flew up to wrap around his shoulders, and she burrowed her face against his black linen shirt. The desk banged and slid a little as Voldemort slammed himself into Bellatrix, pounding her for all he was worth. She whined and panted against him, her breath hot through the thin material of his shirt, and he found himself holding her dark curls tightly for leverage. He yanked her back by her hair and kissed her, his hips slapping against her thighs. She was snug and warm around him, slick with desire and tight with youth, and he almost lost himself before he'd really begun. Some niggling part of his mind screamed at him to get his wand and cast a contraceptive spell on her, which he did before muttering,
"You need a longer-acting potion. Ungh…"
He locked their bodies up tightly, her ankles crossing behind his back as she squeezed him through his climax. He felt his seed pumping in uneven jolts as a white-hot sense of bliss came over him. He kissed Bellatrix's forehead, her skin warm and delicious beneath his lips.
"Tergeo," he mumbled somewhat breathlessly as he slipped out of Bellatrix's body. The messy remnants of what he'd just done to her were siphoned up, and he sniffed lightly as he tucked his softening cock away. His fingers shook a little as he buttoned up his trousers, and he reached for Bellatrix's knickers. She reached to take them, but he held fast and forced her to look at him for a moment. He tipped his head and nodded.
"I will miss you terribly, you know," he said, trying to keep his voice formal and failing dismally. Bellatrix slid her underwear on and blinked quickly a few times.
"Not half as much as I'll miss you, My Lord. With all due respect."
"Do you need help getting your supplies to our quarters, or can you do it yourself? I've letters to send off." Voldemort sniffed lightly again, and Bellatrix slid from the desk as she assured him,
"I'm perfectly fine, My Lord. Sorry to interrupt your work."
He scoffed at that and shook his head, seizing her wrist as she headed for the pile of shopping she'd left near the door. She turned round, and he kissed her firmly once before he said,
"I'm going to do that to you again tonight. And in the morning. Do you understand?"
"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix smiled a bit devilishly and squeezed his hand. "I understand."
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
1 September 1969
Bellatrix gently combed her wild curls back, using a black ribbon to bind them into a loose ponytail. She straightened the Slytherin tie, which seemed like it hadn't been worn in ages. She picked up the toothbrush she'd been using for a few months here in the Dark Lord's bathroom, and her fingers shook a little as she opened the lid of their tooth powder. She dipped her brush into the powder and scrubbed at her teeth, staring at her reflection in the mirror and trying not to cry. In just a few hours, she'd be on the Hogwarts Express, steaming away from the Dark Lord. She spit into the sink and swished water in her mouth, shutting her eyes and holding her cold, wet hands to her cheeks.
"Bella."
She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, turning from the sink to see him standing in the threshold with his arms folded over his chest. She was suddenly taken back to sunrise, when he'd taken her slowly and gently, almost carefully. He'd looked so handsome in the grey light of the early morning, and he looked handsome now as he said,
"I… apologise that I can't take you to King's Cross myself."
Bellatrix smiled a little and shook her head. "You're not my father, Master. And I think it's very rare that a student would be taken to the station by her lord, don't you? I think it's fine the way it's happening; that I go by Portkey with the Malfoys. I just wish I didn't have to go at all."
"I Lightened your trunk so it'll be easier for you to load onto the train," Voldemort said, his voice sounding strange.
"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix said, feeling rightly and truly grateful to him. She smoothed her hair nervously and said, "It has been a magnificent summer. For me."
"For us both," he nodded. Everything felt so stilted and formal all of a sudden, and Bellatrix was compelled to remind the both of them,
"There's still the journals."
"Mmm. Indeed. And the necklace." Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and walked toward Bellatrix. He took her face in his hands and seemed to be studying every speck of her, like he was memorising her. His throat bobbed and he said cautiously, "I… I find myself suddenly wishing I owned a camera. I'm not quite sure why I don't."
Bellatrix's eyes burned again, and she remembered the pack of portrait prints from the last school year that were still in her trunk. She walked quickly from the bathroom, and Voldemort eyed her curiously as she unlatched and threw open the lid of her trunk in the bedroom. She rifled past the piles of clothes, around her books and supplies, and she finally found the little cardboard box. She opened it and pulled out two of the black-and-white school portraits. They were Magical photographs, so they were meant to show a good deal of movement, but all Bellatrix had done for the picture was to give a small smile and turn her head a little. Still, she latched the trunk again and rose, handing the photographs to the Dark Lord.
"One portrait and a spare, My Lord. Sorry it isn't the best picture of me."
"It'll do just fine. You're always lovely." He dragged his fingers over the print and sighed. His lips parted then closed, and it seemed to take a significant amount of willpower for him to admit, "I am… more aggrieved about you leaving than perhaps I'd expected to be. I have much to keep me busy; I hope to put three new plants in the Ministry just in the next six weeks, and you're not my only spy. I have a ladder to climb. But I suppose I find it more pleasant to climb that ladder with you nearby. I do not mean to sound maudlin."
"You don't sound maudlin, My Lord." Bellatrix waited until he met her gaze, and she said firmly, "This summer I killed more than once for you. I learnt to torture prisoners properly. I refined some of my observation skills to serve you better as a spy. But I wish I did not have to serve you from far away. Waking up in the mornings without you is not something I'm looking forward to doing."
He glanced at the clock. "You need to go. The Portkey is downstairs and leaves in ten minutes."
"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix stared up at him, unable to force herself away. She studied his glimmering dark eyes, the sharp lines of his face, and an abrupt swell of sentiment came over her. She reached impulsively for his freshly-shaven face and pulled his face down to hers. Suddenly he wasn't just her master. He wasn't just the much older Dark Wizard who murdered with abandon and lived for personal power. He was the man she loved, the one who had touched her and stood in the shower with her and kissed away her tears and laughed over wine. He was her companion, her everything.
She kissed him fiercely, and after a moment he started to kiss her back. He set her photographs down on the bed and threaded hs fingers through her loosely tied curls. She tasted mint and baking soda on his mouth, his own teeth newly cleaned like hers. His fingers were warm where they held her scalp. One of his hands went to the small of her back and yanked her flush against him, and his mouth pulled away just enough to whisper again furtively,
"You need to go, Bella. You'll miss the Portkey."
"All right, My Lord." Bellatrix felt dizzy as she forced herself away from him. She watched him pull the inside of his wrist against his mouth, and he paced a bit with his hands on his hips. He looked more than a little frustrated, and he gestured to the serpent necklace that was now hidden by her school shirt and her tie.
"Keep your necklace on. Keep your journal near you at all times."
"Of course, My Lord. Wingardium Leviosa." She raised her trunk up into the air and carefully guided it through the threshold to the door that led to the main corridor. Voldemort put his hand on the handle and was about to open the door for her, but Bellatrix put her free hand over his and said softly, "I love you, My Lord."
His eyes flashed strangely, but he nodded quickly and whispered, "Go. Don't miss your train."
The Hogwarts Express
1 September 1969
"Bella! How was your summer?" Dahlia and Ophelia came barging into the compartment where Bellatrix had been sitting. She smiled a little and shrugged, unsure of how to tell them she'd learnt to torture and kill over the holidays. So instead she scratched at her curls a little and lied,
"Nothing too terribly thrilling. And you two?"
The girls gave each other a meaningful look, and then Ophelia said quietly, "Andromeda says you spent the entire summer living at Malfoy Manor, Bella."
Bella smirked and rolled her eyes. "Keeping her mouth shut has never been a particular strength of Dromeda's. Well, she wasn't lying. You both know what I plan to do for work after school. I was training for that, and I was… with my mentor. Can we leave it at that?"
Dahlia narrowed her eyes and noted, "You seem different."
"Different how?" Bellatrix demanded, throwing up an eyebrow. Ophelia seemed a little nervous as she said,
"More… confident, perhaps? Something's different. Oh… you're in love, aren't you?"
Bellatrix frowned. "You should stop now, Ophelia."
"She is," Ophelia mused, wonder in her voice as she studied Bellatrix's face. "She's head over heels for Lord -"
"I said you should stop now." Bellatrix's tone was lethal as she spoke through clenched teeth, and Ophelia nodded silently.
"Sorry," murmured Dahlia. As if to try and diffuse the tension, Dahlia changed the subject to her own romantic exploits. "Bella, I've been exchanging letters with Rabastan Lestrange all summer. We met up a few times; my parents think perhaps he might ask for my hand after school."
Ophelia squealed with happiness and clapped her hands a little. "Ooh, but doesn't Dahlia Lestrange just have such a nice ring to it?"
"I think we'd make one another happy," Dahlia said cautiously, "but of course there's nearly the entire school year to figure out if we should marry. I just want to dance with him at the Opening Ball."
"The Opening Ball," Bellatrix repeated, scowling. "What's that?"
Once again, Ophelia and Dahlia exchanged looks. Dahlia rifled through her rucksack and pulled out a letter in an envelope. "I suppose if you weren't at your parents' house, you wouldn't have received the owl, but I'm not sure why Lucius Malfoy or your sisters wouldn't have told you."
"Nobody tells me much of anything," Bellatrix grumbled, taking the letter. It had been sent from Albus Dumbledore to all the students, stating that he would like to begin a new tradition of opening the school year with a ball to welcome the new first-years and to reunite after a long summer away from friends. Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and handed the letter back to Dahlia. "What a silly idea. Thank goodness I brought some gowns, I suppose. If attendance isn't mandatory, I'll be sitting in the Slytherin girls' dormitory, though."
Ophelia pursed her lips. "I hope you come. I hope you dance with a few boys your own age… just for fun, Bella! And I hope you get to see Dahlia stare lovingly into the eyes of Rabastan Lestrange."
Both the other girls giggled then, and Bellatrix couldn't keep from grinning a little. She shrugged. "Fine."
"Speaking of Rabastan," said Dahlia carefully, "He's in a compartment with Tarquin and Maximus. I thought perhaps I'd go talk to him a bit."
"You two go ahead," Bellatrix said, waving her hand dismissively. "I still haven't quite forgiven Tarquin Avery for feeling me up last year. I'll see you at school."
Once they'd gone, Bellatrix pulled her journal out from her bag, along with her black quill, and tucked herself into a corner of the bench as she wrote,
Albus Dumbledore's hosting some stupid ball to begin the school year. Should I go, My Lord?
His response came so quickly that she knew he must be in his office with his journal nearby.
Yes, of course you need to go. I need eyes and ears on everything possible. That includes social events, where people's loyalties and relationships are made more plain.
As soon as the words faded away, new ones appeared that said,
Try not to look too extravagantly beautiful, Bella. The last thing I need is paranoia that some pimple-faced teenager has earned your affections. I have far more important things to worry about.
Bellatrix laughed a little at the contradictions in his words. She grazed her fingers over what he'd written, suddenly feeling her heart break a little bit. She wasn't quite sure what made her write what she did then.
Did I make you proud? When I killed Artemis Pryce, when I tortured and killed the Prewett girl… did I make you proud of me?
Yes. His reply was very nearly instantaneous. Bellatrix steadied her hand enough to write,
Well, My Lord, so long as you're proud of me, I certainly have no need of any pimple-faced teenager.
There was a long wait then, and Bellatrix wondered if he was going to respond to her at all. Outside the train compartment window, the countryside thundered past, and with every northward mile she grew farther away from him. Bellatrix tipped her head against the window and sighed, pressing her fingers to the glass as she wished she could move forward through time and skip through this blasted school year. Finally, she glanced down to see her journal had gone black, and when she opened it, Voldemort's neat script said,
Stay out of trouble as best you can. Don't get yourself expelled over reekberries. Attend Quidditch matches and balls and your classes, and send me all pertinent information. When I tell you to do so, come to me. Your necklace should allow you to do so. Make it through June, and then your master will have his most beloved servant back for good.
