Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

5 September 1969

"Oh, Bella. That just isn't fair!"

"What's not fair?" Bellatrix whirled around from her mirror to see Dahlia, Ophelia, and Fiona staring at her like she had three heads. She glanced self-consciously down at her form-fitting black off-the-shoulder gown with its airy black lace overlay. "Something wrong?"

"You make us all look like hideous hags! That's what's wrong!" Fiona Macnair seemed genuinely indignant, and Ophelia admitted,

"I do feel rather frumpy now."

"You look pretty," Bellatrix said. "You all do."

Fiona had chosen a knee-length royal purple satin dress, whilst Ophelia was in blood red chiffon and Dahlia had selected an emerald green sheath. Bellatrix looked back at the mirror and adjusted her hair; she'd pulled her curls halfway back and had smoothed the look with a potion.

"That necklace is stunning," Ophelia noted. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh… this." Bellatrix touched the silver, diamond, and onyx necklace the Dark Lord had given her. She swallowed hard and said honestly, "It was a gift."

Dahlia and Ophelia gave each other a knowing look, a habit between them that was beginning to annoy Bellatrix. She rolled her eyes and said,

"Let's just go down to the Great Hall, shall we? If I have to go to this stupid ball, I'd like to get it over with."

"I think someone's just angry her much older boyfriend isn't here," grumbled Fiona, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She scoffed and whispered angrily,

"Don't you ever say anything like that again, Fiona."

Ophelia and Dahlia's eyes went wide, and an awkward silence came over the dormitory. Fiona nodded and said simply,

"Sorry."

Bellatrix tried to control her rage, to steady her voice as she said, "Believe me, Fiona… a few years from now, you won't want to have spoken about the Dark Lord like that. Your own father works very diligently for him; I saw it first-hand this summer. If you have nothing reverent to say about the Dark Lord, say nothing at all about him in my presence. Do you understand?"

Fiona's face was white as a sheet as she nodded silently. Dahlia Greengrass let out a nervous little laugh and said,

"Right. So. I am very anxious to go see Rabastan Lestrange. Let's go downstairs so I can do that."

Bellatrix said nothing as she followed the other girls down to the Great Hall. She was surprised to see that Dumbledore had hired the Exploding Erumpents, a popular male foursome who performed head-bopping music. Ophelia and Fiona gasped with excitement when they saw the band, but Bellatrix focused her attention on the place where the teachers had gathered. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn had all clustered together and were discussing something. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at them; they were all outspoken enemies of her master.

She glanced around the room and saw Gideon Prewett dancing with a sixth-year Gryffindor girl. His sister Molly had and Arthur Weasley were a year older than Bellatrix and were gone from Hogwarts now, but both Gideon and Fabian Prewett appeared to be having a good time. How shallow they were, Bellatrix thought. She'd tortured and killed their cousin Ruth over the summer and they didn't seem to care at all. Perhaps, she thought, they hadn't had a close relationship with Ruth. After all, she was much older, and -

"Bellatrix?"

She whirled quickly at the sound of her name and was shocked to see Tarquin Avery standing beside her. He held out a glass of punch, and Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest as she said,

"If you think I'm going to accept a drink from you, Avery, you are a complete lunatic."

"Fair enough." He took the drink back and sighed, his lightly freckled face looking morose. "I wanted to apologise."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Avery licked his bottom lip and said,

"I'd like to say that what I did to you in Potions last year was the result of me being a stupid young boy with a crush, but that would be far too generous. The reality is that I was an awful cad, touching you like that. I more than deserved that Bloody Eye Hex you threw at me. I hope someday you can forgive me."

Bellatrix frowned. Feeling more than a little confused. Tarquin Avery had had the entire previous school term to apologise and hadn't done so. Why was he doing it now? Suddenly Bellatrix understood. She smiled bitterly and noted,

"Your father was one of the ones who brought in the Prewett girl. He told you about it."

Tarquin's pale cheeks flushed red, and he admitted, "He told me very vague… nothing specific, you know, but…"

Now Bellatrix was awfully amused, and she actually let out a caustic laugh as she snatched one of the glasses of punch from Avery. She sipped at it, cocked up an eyebrow, and said, "You're afraid of me, Tarquin."

"Sounds like everyone should be," Avery said in an embarrassed mumble. He shrugged. "I was going to ask you to dance, but -"

"No, thank you." Bellatrix sipped at her punch, and Avery gave a conciliatory nod. He glanced up to the band and said,

"Enjoy yourself tonight, Bellatrix. Again, I'm… very sorry about last year."

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix sipped more punch, using all the energy she had to suppress a laugh as Tarquin Avery backed away.


Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

5 September 1969

How was the dance?

Voldemort shut his journal after scribbling the little note to Bellatrix. It was past midnight, and for all he knew she was fast asleep in her dormitory. He himself was more tired than he could remember being after a long day of creating Inferi. He'd killed five Muggles today and morphed them into his servants, planting them in his cave to guard Slytherin's locket. Casting the Killing Curse so much in one day, and then using the powerful magic needed to make Inferi, had drained Voldemort to his core. He sat in his bed, the one he'd shared with Bellatrix for months, propped up on the pillows where her lovely curls had splayed around her pretty face. Voldemort tipped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, but quickly realised he'd fall asleep if he did that. He blinked a few times and considered dosing himself with Invigoration Draught. But when he saw that his journal had turned black, he picked it up and opened it. His chest pulled a little at the sight of Bellatrix's messy script.

Well, Tarquin Avery tried to get me to dance with him and apologised for touching my leg last year. Turns out he's completely terrified of me. Oh, well.

Voldemort choked out a little laugh at that, picking up his quill and writing back, He should be afraid of you. They all should. You're very scary.

He smirked as he shut his journal and shut his eyes again. He couldn't help it; he was so exhausted he could hardly sit up. Eventually he forced his eyes open again and saw that his journal had gone black.

You're not afraid of me, Master, Bellatrix had written, and Voldemort put his lips in a line as he wrote back,

Oh, yes, I am. What did you wear to the ball, then?

He didn't care a lick for fashion, but he wanted to imagine what she'd looked like all dolled up. His frown deepened as he realised so many others had gotten to see her looking pretty, and Voldemort himself had not.

I wore the black gown with the lace over it, she wrote. The one I wore to my father's birthday party. I pulled half my hair back. Blood red lipstick. I had gloves on to cover my Dark Mark. I let everyone see my serpent necklace.

Voldemort gulped hard, suddenly tempted to tell her to use the powers of her necklace to overcome Hogwarts' anti-Apparition spells and come to him. But he had something special planned for her birthday, so he huffed out a little breath and wrote,

I'm very certain you were the loveliest person in the room. If you didn't dance with Avery, who did you dance with?

He sounded like a jealous lover, he knew, but he couldn't care. Not after how much of his magic he'd used today killing Muggles and turning them into Inferi. He was drained, and writing back and forth with Bellatrix was filling him with at least a little energy. He was unpleasantly surprised, though, when her reply came back.

I danced with Maximus Malfoy, My Lord. He asked, and it seemed ungrateful to say no after a whole summer of living in his uncle's house.

A sudden surge of anger rocked through Voldemort, and his writing was spindly as he quickly wrote, You did not owe Abraxas Malfoy's nephew anything. I currently reside in this manor because I so choose, and Abraxas Malfoy, as my servant, gives me what I demand. His nephew is not entitled to put his hands on my -

His hand froze, for he'd begun to rant on the page, and he had to take a moment to gather himself. He took a few shaking breaths and prepared to write something more controlled, but Bellatrix's answer came in an uncharacteristically neat script.

I'm very sorry if I've offended you, Master. I beg you to forgive me.

Stop that, he wrote back at once. He was frustrated and the nib of his quill dug hard against the page as he wrote, You may dance with whomever you like, but don't do it because of any imagined debt.

He slammed his journal shut and tossed it down on the mattress beside him, leaning more comfortably against the pillows and shutting his eyes. This time, he kept them closed for a good long while and began to fall asleep. He would write to Bellatrix in the morning, he decided, when he wasn't sour from her touching boys her own age and when his energy had been replenished by sleep.

But he suddenly felt a surge at his left wrist, a pulsing pleasant sensation coming from his Dark Mark. His eyes sprang open and he glared at his wrist, half expecting to see that his Mark had gone black. It hadn't; it was the pale pink of its inactive state. But the sensation was quickly turning to pleasure, and when his cock started to go hard, Voldemort snatched at his journal and scribbled furiously,

What the blazes are you doing?

There was no immediate response, but the almost overwhelming sensation of pleasure began to fade. Finally words appeared in his journal.

I was falling asleep, My Lord, and I was rubbing at my Dark Mark. It was comforting for some reason. I'm sorry; have I done something wrong?

Voldemort's mouth fell open. He blinked quickly as he contemplated the implications of what had happened. Several of his followers had the Dark Mark; Bellatrix was not the only one. The only time he ever felt anything from the others was if they Summoned him through the Mark or if he Summoned them. Yaxley, just yesterday, had been Summoned through the Mark to Malfoy Manor to discuss progress at the Ministry. But Voldemort had never felt any real bond with anyone else through the Mark. Perhaps it was because Bellatrix was so far away, because she loved him, because they had been so physically intimate. Some sort of unique tie had been forged, and it was triggered when she touched the Mark he'd put on her. Curious and vaguely frightened, Voldemort wrote in his journal,

Do it again. A bit more firmly.

Yes, My Lord, came the immediate response. Voldemort shut his journal and set it aside, shutting his eyes and feeling through the ether as the same pleasant sensation came over him. It was a dull, throbbing sort of arousal that spread from his arm through his veins, and when his cock went hard again, Voldemort's hand drifted into the waistband of his pyjama trousers on instinct. He felt a flash in the pulse as he pulled his trousers down and started to stroke himself. His head was spinning madly, and his breath turned to shallow little pants as stroked his length. He glanced down to see that his Mark had flared scarlet, and he groaned at the sight of that. It kept getting darker, fading through a shade of maroon before settling on black.

Voldemort moaned softly as the delicious sensation grew stronger than ever. He could practically feel Bellatrix now. It was like his hand was her own, like she was the one stroking him. He could very nearly hear the way she whispered the word Master, just like she'd done all summer in this bed. Everything tightened; his body drew up against itself and the fingers of his left hand clenched around his sheets. He felt another flash in his veins, and then it was as if Bellatrix's quick and desperate breath was really present, warm on the skin of his neck. Voldemort's hand quickened until he'd lost control, and he finally bucked his hips up and cried out,

"Bella!"

She wasn't there to hear him, but as his seed leaped onto his own bare stomach, he had a feeling she could sense that he'd called out for her. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment as he recovered. The powerful sensation that had rocked his body subsided, and when he looked back to his left forearm, his Dark Mark had faded back to pale pink. Voldemort bit so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted the metalling tang of blood. He wondered distantly what sort of a monster he'd created in getting involved at all with Bellatrix, but it seemed it was too late to undo any of it. He reached for his wand with trembling fingers and cleaned himself up, and he was unsurprised to see that his journal was black. He picked it up and was even less surprised to see the five words Bellatrix had written.

What just happened, My Lord?

I don't know, he wrote back honestly. You were touching your Mark? Nothing more?

I thought very clearly about you and touched my Mark. Nothing more, My Lord, she affirmed, and a moment later her oddly shaky script appeared again. Was I the only one who…

She didn't finish that sentence, and Voldemort huffed in irritated confusion as he wrote quickly, I made a mess all over myself. I apologise if you weren't somewhere private.

Our beds have curtains, Bellatrix reminded him, and suddenly he was dizzy with the thought of her lying in her bed, stroking her arm and reaching climax because of it. He licked his dry lips and wrote,

We'll try it from the other side, with me touching my own Mark and thinking about you. Ten o'clock on Tuesday night. I require a physical respite for many reasons.

There was a long pause with no response, and finally Bellatrix's handwriting appeared again. I hope you're not angry with me, Master, but I quite enjoyed that.

He considered not writing anything back. He considered scolding her more harshly for dancing with the Malfoy boy. He considered burning his journal. But instead he wrote,

I enjoyed it, as well, but until I understand more about what exactly that connection is, extreme caution is required. Glad you enjoyed your dance. Get some rest.

Goodnight, My Lord, she wrote, and he sighed very deeply as he replied,

Goodnight, Bella.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

20 September 1969

"Not hungry, Bella?" Narcissa looked at her sister across the Slytherin dining table, gesturing to Bellatrix's uneaten stew.

"Cramps," Bellatrix lied. She had, in fact, just finished bleeding the day before, so cramps were nowhere in sight. In truth, she was anxious about the fact that the Dark Lord had asked her to Apparate to Malfoy Manor tonight and return in the early hours of her birthday. She had precisely no interest in dinner when she had that to look forward to.

She'd spent the last few weeks wondering what on Earth had come over the two of them. All she'd done was lie there in her bed, instinctively stroking at her inactive Dark Mark, and an intensely pleasurable sensation had washed over her. When she'd done it with more focus, her body had been driven straight to orgasm without her even touching herself. And when, a few days later, Lord Voldemort had been the one massaging his own Mark, the effect had been even stronger. They hadn't touched the effect again, for Voldemort said he feared the unknown when it came to matters such as this. Until he knew more, he said, they needed to leave well enough alone.

But she was hungry for him now, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. She was anxious to kiss him, to breathe in the scent of him, to ride him on his bed as he stared up at her. Even now, sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Bellatrix found her fingers shaking a little. She was wholly unable to wait any longer. He'd advised staying at Hogwarts until curfew, but she couldn't. She needed to go immediately. Even if she left now, she knew, she'd have less than ten hours with him. Suddenly Bellatrix flew up from where she sat, eliciting a concerned expression from Narcissa. She turned to Dahlia and Ophelia, who were chatting a few seats away, and she said,

"You know, it's painful enough that I think I shall go see Madam Lester. I'm not sure it's ordinary cramps."

"Are you ill, Bella?" asked Ophelia, and Bellatrix shrugged as she said lightly.

"I dunno. I'm sure Madam Lester will be able to tell me. Goodnight."

"Hope you feel better in time for your birthday!" Narcissa called after her, and Bellatrix just nodded as she stalked quickly from the Great Hall. She made her way down to the dungeons, her feet moving faster and faster until she was trotting through the empty Slytherin common room. She went down the corridor that led to the girls' dormitories and entered the seventh-year girls' room. She shut the door and closed her eyes, thinking very hard about Malfoy Manor. If the Dark Lord was right, her necklace ought to allow her to bypass the anti-Apparition charms at Hogwarts as well as at Malfoy Manor.

She whirled to her right, Disapparating and feeling a rush of satisfaction at the tight, black pinching feeling. When she opened her eyes, she was in the bedroom of the Dark Lord's suite at the manor. She grinned and laughed aloud, and then suddenly he appeared in the threshold.

"Bella," he said quietly, a smile coming over his face. He eyes glittered as he admitted, "I hadn't expected you for a few hours."

"I couldn't wait," she told him, and his smile spread. He walked straight toward her and, without another word, seized her face in his hands and kissed her hard. Bellatrix groaned onto his mouth, relishing the taste of him. It had only been three weeks since she'd seen him, but it felt like forever. The feel of his cheeks, scratchy with the first hint of unshaven scruff, was blissful beneath her fingers. His own hands felt like heaven on her face, and Bellatrix nearly cried as his very existence overwhelmed her. When he pulled away, he dragged a thumb under her eye and said,

"It's only a few hours away, so allow me to be the first to wish you a very happy birthday."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. A strange look came over his face, and he informed her,

"I've got a surprise for you. In the drawing room."

Bellatrix furrowed her brows, feeling cautious and curious as she let him take her hand and lead her from the bedroom. She gasped when they walked into the drawing room; there was a blond-haired man in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"Apollo Pryce. Twin brother of Artemis. I'm sure you remember her."

Bellatrix grinned a little as she circled around the unconscious man. "And what has Apollo Pryce done to earn his place in your parlour, My Lord?"

Voldemort shrugged. "He did an interview with the Daily Prophet about his sister. I didn't care for the interview. Oh, and it's your birthday."

"Almost my birthday," Bellatrix corrected him. She pulled her wand out and started to ask, "Can I… do I get to…"

Voldemort nodded. "Do whatever you want with him, Little Thing. He's your birthday present."

Bellatrix felt a flush of excitement come over her. She aimed her wand at Apollo Pryce and murmured, "Rennervate."

He woke up then, blinking as he started to pull himself from the rug. Bellatrix immediately began throwing hexes.

"Persodenti! Oculosanguis! Confrigrossa!"

Apollo Pryce buckled over where he knelt as all his teeth clattered out of his mouth. He made a tortured sound when the Bloody Eye Hex hit, and suddenly there was blood pouring from him all over the rug. Apollo shrieked when the Broken Bone Hex hit; his arms shattered and went limp. Bellatrix wasn't finished.

"Crucio!"

Apollo Pryce shrieked like mad as Bellatrix's curse hit him. He was snared by the web of red light that signaled a successful Cruciatus. He fell over, already greatly weakened by the other hexes Bellatrix had thrown at him. She watched as twitched and screamed, his eyes still gushing blood. His shrieks came from his bleeding, gummy mouth, and there was a heap of teeth on the rug before him. After a while, Bellatrix started to feel fatigued, so she broke the Cruciatus and yelled,

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was an explosive flash of green light, and Bellatrix panted as she lowered her wand. Voldemort stalked over to the body and Vanished everything - the corpse, the blood, the teeth. Within a moment everything was gone, and it was as if Apollo Pryce had never existed. Bellatrix pushed her curls from her damp forehead and said in a thirsty voice,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Wicked little thing," he murmured, walking up to her and staring down at her. He took her cheeks in his hands, his wand pressed against her jaw. "Vicious little thing."

Bellatrix's eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself whispering, "I need you inside of me. Please, My Lord."

"Is that your birthday wish, Bella?" he asked, moving his lips to her forehead. "You want your master to take you before you go back to school?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, and he chuckled as he said,

"I'm not finished giving you gifts yet. You may have me once I'm through."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix opened her eyes and stared up at him, confused. Hadn't he just given her the most magnificent gift she could be given? But he walked smoothly to the writing desk by the window, pulled open the drawer, and walked back to her with a black box in his hands.

"This doesn't have any special powers, I'm afraid. It's just a plain old… well, you go ahead and open it, then."

Bellatrix nervously cracked open the box, gasping as she pulled out the beautiful bracelet inside. It was a cuff that looped three times round the wrist, and it was shaped like a serpent. At one end was the serpent's head, and at the other end was its tail. The silver rope in between looked just like her necklace, as did the snake's onyx eyes.

"I had the bracelet and the necklace made at the same time," Voldemort informed her. "So… I've been holding onto that bracelet for some time. Put it on, will you?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix scrambled to slide the bracelet over her hand. She marveled at it as the Dark Lord told her,

"Obviously it's for special occasions. I thought… well, I ought to have given it to you early. I think it would have looked good over your black gloves for that silly dance."

"There's always the Yule Ball," Bellatrix noted, smiling up at him. "And the Christmas party at my parents' house. I wore black gloves to that last year."

"So you did." Voldemort sighed as he dragged his thumb over Bellatrix's hand. "That was the first time I kissed you, I think."

"It was, Master," Bellatrix nodded. She bravely pasted a smile on her face and noted, "Only three months until the Christmas holidays. And we're in Hogsmeade next month."

"Bella." His voice sounded odd then, a little cracked, as if he was in pain. He made a frustrated little sound and informed her, "I don't want to think about how long you'll be away. I want to think about the fact that you're here now. Take your clothes off. Slowly."

She obeyed, stripping off her black work robe and placing it over the back of the armchair beside her. Voldemort did the same, taking off his own black robe to reveal his black linen shirt and matching tie beneath. Bellatrix's heart sped up a little when she saw that he had the tie bar on she'd given him. Both of them took of their ties and shirts, and Bellatrix unzipped her pleated grey skirt as Voldemort made a hungry little sound. She kicked off her shoes and rolled down her stockings, and then she stripped off her knickers and unclasped her bra.

By the time she stood completely naked, Voldemort was before her in nothing but his trousers. He stepped up to her and gently cupped one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing a little as he bent to kiss her. Bellatrix's fingers went on instinct to the placket of his trousers, and she started to unbutton them. He pushed her hand away and shook his head.

"One more gift before you take that thing out," he told her. He jerked his head toward his bedroom and told her, "Go lie down."

Bellatrix felt nervous all of a sudden, but she did as he commanded and made her way into the bedroom. She scrambled up onto the brocade bedding and lay back against the pillows, picking at the covers as she stared at the ceiling. She'd tortured and killed a man tonight, and the exhilaration of that was still strong in her veins. But she was also anxious here on her master's bed, for she was always at his mercy.

"Close your eyes," he said, and Bellatrix jolted as she looked down to see him in the doorway. He still had his trousers on, and he raised his eyebrows as he repeated, "Close your eyes, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord." She tipped her head back again and wrenched her eyes shut, her heart thudding in her chest as the bed shifted a little. He'd climbed onto the mattress, she could tell, and suddenly her knees were being gently pulled apart. Bellatrix's eyes sprang open to see that the Dark Lord had arranged himself between her legs. He gave her a warning look and informed her,

"If I have to tell you to close your eyes again, I'll use a Blinding Hex on you."

"Mmph." Bellatrix shut her eyes and gripped the blanket at the sudden feel of his warm breath on her womanhood. Her back arched a little of its own accord, out of anticipation, because all he was doing was gently touching his lips to the insides of her thighs. Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut more tightly, her hands gripping the blankets as her master's tongue lathed in one long stroke up her thigh. When he reached her sensitive nub, he suckled a little, and Bellatrix moaned. His hands began to rub her thighs, and his tongue began to work in long, slow movements that culminated with him pulling her nub between his lips. Over and over again he made the motion, and Bellatrix's hands went to his hair as she found herself whispering,

"Don't stop, My Lord. Oh, please don't stop. Don't stop."

"Look at me," she heard him say suddenly, and she opened her eyes. When she saw him staring up at her from where he was lying on his stomach, she nearly lost herself. His eyes were shining with a fierce arousal, and he kept looking at Bellatrix as he dragged his tongue around her again. Then he lowered his gaze and sucked hard on the most sensitive spot, and Bellatrix bucked her hips up against his mouth. He did it again, and the third time he did, Bellatrix lost control. His tongue was inside of her as she came, and he growled against her as she clenched and gasped. As Bellatrix lay recovering, her chest heaving with her breath and her skin tingling, Voldemort yanked his trousers down and snatched his wand off the bed beside him.

"Nongravidare," he mumbled quickly, setting the wand aside again as the spell took hold with a cold tremor in Bellatrix's abdomen. He pushed his trousers the rest of the way down and kicked them away, quickly crawling up toward Bellatrix and aiming himself between her legs. He pushed in and began bucking his hips quickly, seizing her wrists in one hand and pawing at her breast with the other.

"What a vicious little creature you are," he told her again, sounding a little unhinged with want as his hips slapped against Bellatrix's. She arched up toward him, her breasts nearly meeting his chest as he filled her over and over again. He huffed and wrenched his eyes shut and mused, "Vicious and beautiful and mine. My little thing. My Bella. Ohh…"

His hips stilled, for apparently he'd gotten so worked up using his mouth on her that he had almost nothing left to spare. He collapsed onto his hands, releasing her wrists and her breasts as he crushed his mouth onto hers. She tasted herself on him, which seemed odd at first. Then she realised just what he'd done to her, and she moaned like a whore against him.

"Happy birthday, Bella," he whispered, pulling out of her and lying beside her. He pulled her up against him, and his throat bobbed as he said, "It would be prudent if you were back before anyone notices you're gone. Stay for an hour and then go back to Hogwarts."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced out toward the drawing room where she'd done awful things to Apollo Pryce. She looked at her wrist, where her new serpent cuff was glittering. And she felt his seed leaking between her thighs. Utterly overwhelmed by him, she kissed his ribs and breathed in the scent and feel of him, and she murmured, "Thank you, My Lord."


Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

6 October 1969

"Enter."

Voldemort shut the book he'd been reading, a tome about the uses of unicorn blood, and he pushed it aside as the door to his office opened. Tudor Yaxley and Abraxas Malfoy came walking inside, and Voldemort shut and warded the door behind them. He gestured toward the two chairs on the other side of his desk, and the other wizards mumbled their thanks as they took their seats.

"Go ahead," Voldemort said brusquely, for this was a weekly meeting set up to discuss happenings at the Ministry.

"My Lord, there are murmurings at the Ministry about unrest among Squibs," said Tudor Yaxley. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and choked out a little laugh.

"Squibs," he repeated. "They're still convinced they deserve protections and rights, are they? Useless, utterly useless, the lot of them."

"Of course they are, My Lord," said Abraxas Malfoy, "but Yaxley and I see an opportunity here, if the Squibs decide to be bold enough to march."

Voldemort smirked. "Destroy them. Show them how weak they are."

"Precisely, Master." Yaxley nodded and said, "Malfoy and I can prepare a contingent of at least thirty or forty Purebloods to have at the ready if the Squibs decide to march. If they do so, the best guess is that they'll do it in Diagon Alley to make a statement."

"I can't be present," Voldemort pointed out. "Not in full view of Aurors and Ministry officials. Anyone else can be taken to Azkaban as a casualty, but it is critical I do not expose myself in such massive public gatherings."

"Understood, My Lord," Tudor Yaxley agreed. He glanced to Abraxas Malfoy and noted, "Malfoy and I would be glad to spearhead this."

Voldemort nodded. "I want broken windows. Fires. Broken furniture. Injuries to the Squibs bad enough to send them to St Mungo's but not enough to imprison my soldiers. Just a fun little riot to break up their ridiculous march."

"That sounds very reasonable, My Lord," said Abraxas Malfoy. "We will, of course, notify you the very instant we have any additional information."

"Get me a list of soldiers you intend on taking to Diagon Alley," said Voldemort. He pinched his lips, considering whether he ought to have them put Bellatrix on that list. But if she was caught rioting, she'd be expelled from school in an instant. He sighed and said, "No Hogwarts students. Not worth the risk. Not over Squibs."

"We have plenty of adults, My Lord," said Malfoy, sounding a bit perplexed. Voldemort wanted to shoot back that Bellatrix Black was probably capable of breaking up a Squibs' rights march all by herself, but he bit his tongue. He just nodded and said,

"Keep me updated. Anything else?"

"Nothing else, My Lord." Yaxley shook his head, and Voldemort waved his hand dismissively toward the door. The other wizards rose and bowed deeply before making their way silently from the office. Only after they'd gone did Voldemort notice that his journal had turned black. He picked it up from his desk and opened it, his eyebrows going up when he saw the lengthy message from Bellatrix.

My Lord, I am very sorry to report that I got myself into rather serious trouble today. Fabian Prewett confronted me in the corridor and accused me of being loyal to you, and then he went on and on (loudly) about how his cousin Ruth had been murdered (by you, according to him). He was making a very big scene, and so I put him into a full Body-Bind Curse to shut him up. Of course, that only made a bigger scene, and McGonagall practically exploded with rage at me. I had fifty points taken from Slytherin, so now all the Slytherins are angry with me, and I've got four detentions in a row to serve in the Forbidden Forest gathering doxy droppings for the Potions stores. I thought I ought to let you know. I'm sorry.

Voldemort had a rather broad smirk on his face by the time he finished reading all that. The words started to fade away, and Voldemort reached for his black quill. He scribbled into the journal,

Bella, once again I fail to see any wrongdoing on your part. Sorry you have to pick up doxy droppings in the forest. As always, your loyalty is appreciated. Good thing you didn't correct him about who killed his cousin.

He set his quill down and pushed up the left sleeve of his woolen tunic. He began to rub at his Dark Mark, comfort washing over him as he did. He knew she would feel it, too, and he hoped that at least a little bit of her angst about getting in trouble would be assuaged. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the erection that was burgeoning in his trousers. He focused on the idea of Bellatrix, on the way she'd tasted when he'd used his mouth on her. He imagined slamming into her from behind, suckling hard on her breast, and he moaned softly where he sat. Before he knew what was happening, he could feel himself spilling in his trousers, so suddenly and unexpectedly that he swore under his breath. He pulled his fingers from his arm and snatched his wand from his desk, siphoning up the mess he'd made in his trousers. He caught his breath, pulling his sleeve down and watching as rickety-looking words appeared on the page.

Well, I just had an orgasm sitting in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Bellatrix wrote. Thankfully I sit in the back row. Pretty sure Dahlia thinks I had a seizure.

Voldemort coughed out a laugh and quickly wrote, Sorry. I didn't think you'd be writing to me in lessons.

I was pretending to take notes, she replied, her writing a bit more steady now. After a moment, new words appeared. Here are my notes - The last known Erkling attack was against a little boy called Bruno Schmidt, who saved himself by bashing the Erkling over the head with a collapsible cauldron.

Voldemort smirked and wrote, There are people like you and me in this world and the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons are about Erklings?

I'm not actually that sure what we're meant to be learning today, Bellatrix quickly wrote back. I was too busy desperately trying not to moan and squirm in my seat.

Voldemort laughed a little, pulling open his desk drawer and taking out the photograph of Bellatrix. He stared at the picture, at the way she quirked up a halfhearted smile and then lowered her eyes. He dusted his fingertips over the image of the lips he liked to kiss, over the cheeks that went pink whenever he touched her. He shut his eyes and realised how strong a hold Bellatrix had over him. Then, very suddenly, he felt frightened.

Too close. He'd let her get too close. He wanted her too badly. She was too much. For a moment, he contemplated starting the photograph on fire or tearing it up. Instead, he shoved the photograph back into the drawer, and he picked up his quill.

I will be extraordinarily busy for the next few weeks, he lied, his writing neat and tight. Unless it is a dire emergency, do not write to me. No teasing one another with our Marks; I haven't the time for it right now. I am exceptionally busy.

He didn't wait for her reply. He shut the journal and put it in the drawer with her photograph. He closed the drawer and murmured, "Colloportus."

He needed to remove himself from her for a while, he decided. He was entirely too invested in the meaningless day-to-day of her life at school. He was far too invested in joking with her, in sensing her physically even over hundreds of miles. He had Squibs' marches to worry about. He had a Ministry to conquer. He had followers to gain, money to raise. He couldn't be as addicted to Bellatrix as he knew he'd become. Surely they would both be perfectly functional without the other until Christmas. If he couldn't go a few months without speaking to her, then she had become a threat to his focus. If she was a threat to his focus, she was a threat to his power, and she would need to be eliminated.

All Voldemort could hope was that he was stronger than that. With all that he was, he did not want to eliminate Bellatrix Black.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

18 December 1969

Bellatrix studied herself in the full-length mirror beside her bed. The gown she'd chosen for the Yule Ball was a flowing silk concoction of the deepest green, with an overlay of black lace on the high-necked bodice and long sleeves. She'd straightened her hair and pulled it up into a stylish twist behind her head, and in her ears were emerald earrings her father had gifted her a few years earlier.

She glanced toward her trunk and wondered whether she ought to take out the serpent necklace and bracelet. But she hadn't worn either piece in over a month, and she doubted she would ever wear them again. After so many weeks of compulsively checking her journal and always finding it blank and green, Bellatrix had given up. Her master had forsaken her. He no longer wanted her. For some reason she could not discern, she'd made him angry, and she'd fallen out of favour. For weeks after that realisation had set in, Bellatrix had mourned as though someone dear to her had died. Then she'd given up; she'd tried to keep going in her lessons and to maintain some semblance of a social life. Those efforts had only partly worked.

Now she stared at herself in the mirror and knew that Tarquin Avery was waiting for her in the Slytherin common room. She'd agreed to be his date to the Yule Ball almost out of spite. She had so many memories of speaking ill of Tarquin with Lord Voldemort, but Lord Voldemort wasn't here to dance with her. She didn't suppose she would ever dance with him again.

Bellatrix popped her red lipstick into her black silk clutch and walked briskly from the dormitory, making her way down the corridor and out to the common room. Tarquin Avery had elegant tuxedo-style dress robes on, and his pale face lit up when he saw Bellatrix come walking out. He smiled a little and told her,

"You look splendid."

"As do you," Bellatrix said tightly, taking the arm he offered. "Shall we go?"

The Great Hall had been outfitted in sparkling gold and burgundy decorations, and a string quartet in the corner played Christmas tunes that filled the space. Avery glanced about and asked,

"Would you like an eggnog? Or… punch, or anything?"

"Hot punch would be nice," Bellatrix nodded. "Thank you."

She let Avery go off to fetch the punch, and she noticed Fiona Macnair watching her from across the room. She and Fiona had not gotten along well as of late; the other girl had seemed unnaturally interested in the details of Bellatrix losing touch with the Dark Lord. For a few days, Bellatrix had wondered whether Fiona had taken up with the Dark Lord herself. But she was too empty-headed for him, Bellatrix knew. It was Fiona's father who was the loyal servant of Voldemort, not Fiona herself. Still, Bellatrix suspected that everything she did was being reported to Macnair, who would in turn report to Lord Voldemort. Even hundreds of miles away, even with her journal empty, he could still watch her. Bellatrix sighed a little at that and then accepted the cup of punch that Avery brought her.

She sipped at it and studied his face for a moment. He wasn't an unattractive boy, she pondered. He was gangly and pale, but his features were handsome enough. He'd been crass and pushy with her the previous year, but he'd apologised and seemed more than willing to try again in a more decent fashion. Bellatrix set her punch down on the table beside her and said suddenly,

"I'd like to dance, Tarquin. Will you dance?"

He quirked up half his mouth. "When I asked you in September to dance with me, you flatly rejected me. Has something changed?"

"Much has changed," Bellatrix said honestly. She dragged her scarlet lips together and said again, "Let's dance."

"All right, then." Avery grinned and seemed quite pleased as he and Bellatrix walked to the dance floor. He took Bellatrix's hand in his and put the other to her back, and as she touched his shoulder, she thought perhaps he was worthy of at least a little attention. They began to sway, and Avery licked his bottom lip nervously.

"My father wrote to me and said there are to be no trials for anyone involved in the Squib incident."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, raising her eyebrows. "Not even Rodolphus?"

"Apparently not," said Avery. Rodolphus Lestrange had been one of the leaders of the riots that clashed with the Squibs' marches the month before, and he'd been arrested after setting four shops in Diagon Alley on fire. Bellatrix nodded up to Avery and said,

"That's a relief. It would have been silly to lose anybody over Squibs, you know."

"Very silly." Avery was silent for a while then, finding a rhythm with Bellatrix as the next song started. His pale cheeks went a little pink as he stared at Bellatrix, and she realised he was deeply attracted to her. She was thrown, suddenly, to the Dark Lord's birthday almost a full year earlier, when he'd dragged his fingers up her leg and asked, Is this where he touched you? The Avery boy?

It took everything Bellatrix had to keep dancing then, her chest physically hurting again as she reminded herself for the hundredth time that the Dark Lord no longer desired her. She'd spent a whole year communicating with him, months living with him, but he didn't want her. Bellatrix's breath shook as she sighed, and she murmured up to Avery,

"Speaking of silly… this ball is very silly. There is… there are empty classrooms."

"Bellatrix?" Avery shook his head in confusion, his steps faltering. He gulped, his thin neck bobbing, and he shrugged as he said, "Forgive me, but I thought you were… his. Rodolphus Lestrange told me you were, that there was only so close to you anyone was allowed to get."

Bellatrix considered her words carefully. "I am his most devoted servant, and I always will be. But I am not his companion. Now, do you want to go find an empty classroom?"

Avery blinked quickly and nodded. Bellatrix stepped away from him and walked wordlessly toward the large doors of the Great Hall. She wordlessly walked up the staircase beside the hall, her heels clacking on the stone floor. On the first floor, she knew there was a classroom that had been used decades earlier when Ancient Runes had been popular enough to have its own department. She found the door and unlocked it with her wand, pushing it open and lighting the sconces on the walls. Tarquin Avery had followed her in, and when he shut the door, Bellatrix locked it.

"What if we get caught?" he asked nervously, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"Can't be any worse than when you felt me up in lessons and I hit you with a Bloody Eye Hex."

He chewed his lip and stepped closer to her. "I really am sorry about that."

She nodded. "So am I."

Avery tucked his wand away and reached tentatively for Bellatrix's cheeks. He was still afraid of her, she knew, so she reached up and covered her hands with his as she noted,

"You've been pursuing me since we were third-years."

"Mm-hmm." Avery's cheeks flushed dark, and he gave a bitter little smile as he said, "You've been rejecting me the whole time. And yet I persisted, sometimes against the logic of propriety."

"I'm not rejecting you now," Bellatrix said. She knew this was nothing but a rebound, nothing but a salve to help a little with the gaping wound the Dark Lord had left inside of her. She felt filthy and anxious as Avery's hands went to her waist and pulled her closer. When he bent to kiss her, his tongue felt slimy and undesirable. She let him into her mouth and wrenched her eyes shut, trying desperately not to think of Voldemort. Instead she reached up to hold Avery's face, and she kissed him back for all he was worth.

Soon she found herself backing up until she was against the stone wall of the empty classroom, and Avery was grinding his hips against her belly. Bellatrix felt a surge of revulsion at the sensation of his erection on her abdomen, and it was all she could do to keep from crying. She let out a little sound of desperation on his mouth, but he interpreted it as a moan and kissed her harder. Suddenly Bellatrix couldn't take it anymore, and she pushed Avery's chest gently. She shook her head and whispered,

"I can't. I can't do any of this. The ball, this stupid classroom. I can't do it."

Tarquin Avery pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her lipstick from his mouth as he mumbled, "I'm not fool enough not to know what this is, Bellatrix. He turned you away, so you came trotting to the boy who's pursued you for years. I don't blame you one bit. I'm sorry I seized the opportunity. Shall I walk you down to the common room?"

"No. I'd like to go myself." Bellatrix slipped by him, feeling compelled as she unlocked the door to say over her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Tarquin."

He shrugged and said with a wry smile, "I've been trying for years, Bella. I'm used to your rejection."

"Perhaps you ought to stop trying," Bellatrix suggested, and Avery shrugged.

"That's what Rodolphus Lestrange said. He told me he'd tried to make you his, but he could tell that there would never be anyone else but Him for you. The Dark Lord."

Bellatrix felt tears spill from her eyes, and she made no attempt to stop them. She just nodded and opened the door, moving like a wraith through the corridors and down into the dungeons.


Black Family Residence

Kensington, London

21 December 1969

Voldemort stood outside the elegant townhouse and considered simply leaving. But he'd told Cygnus Black III he would come to the Christmas party, and there were soldiers at the gathering he hadn't seen since before the Squib marches. He needed to be here, to pay his respects to those who had served him and continued serving him. She would be here, he knew, but he would simply ignore her.

The last few months without Bellatrix had made Voldemort feel weak and stupid. He'd often dreamed of her, waking up with his hands clutching at the spot on the bed where she'd spent her summer. Sometimes he'd be working in his office and would become thoroughly distracted by memories of her. The sight of her torturing and killing, the smell of rose in her hair. The taste of her lips and the feel of her hands. Sometimes at night he would take his journal out of the desk drawer and stare at it for a long while before putting it back. He had no desire for any other woman, and he'd never felt lonely before. But now, without Bellatrix, he did feel lonely and empty, as if some very important part of his soul had been ripped away. This was different from making Horcruxes. He was barely functional without the part of himself that she owned now. Without Bellatrix, the Dark Lord could not properly ascend.

Yet he knew that if he went simpering back to her like some pining teenaged boyfriend, he'd be worse off than ever. So he would simply ignore her, and as he raised his fist to knock on the door, he resolved not to talk to her at all.

The door creaked open and the Blacks' wizened House Elf, Marley, gestured grandly inside the house. "Welcome, My Lord," said the elf graciously. She wandered over to the parlour where the chatter of conversation could be heard, and she announced, "I present the Dark Lord himself!"

The conversations died at once, and Voldemort was greeted with bows and curtsies from all in attendance. He gave a polite nod to the group, trying very hard to keep his eyes away from Bellatrix. But as the conversations started back up, his gaze landed on her. She was standing in the corner with Dahlia Greengrass, Rabastan Lestrange, and Rodolphus Lestrange. She was wearing a shimmering black gown that hugged her body just so, with off-the shoulder long sleeves and her curls tied neatly over one shoulder. She looked so pretty that Voldemort's breath was abruptly stolen from him, and her painted lips fell open as she stared at him across the room.

"Happy Christmas, My Lord!" the boisterous voice of Roger Lestrange, father of Rabastan and Rodolphus, came from just beside Voldemort. He turned and acknowledged Roger Lestrange with a little nod.

"I heard you did fine work the day of the Squibs' marches," Voldemort said politely. "For that, you have my gratitude."

"It was my pleasure, My Lord," said Lestrange. He smirked and held up his glass of Champagne. "A pity, really, that the poor little Squibs can't even fight back once you start throwing hexes at them, eh?"

He laughed with the half-drunken voice of someone who was three glasses of wine into the party. Voldemort just nodded, realising he wasn't going to keep himself away from her. He turned to Roger Lestrange once more and said,

"Excuse me."

"Of course, Master." Roger bowed as Voldemort walked briskly across the parlour. Bellatrix seemed to be half-listening to a conversation between her friends, but when Voldemort walked up, everyone went silent. Dahlia Greengrass looked very frightened, but Rodolphus Lestrange said bravely,

"Happy Christmas, My Lord."

"Miss Black, I need to speak with you privately," Voldemort said, ignoring Lestrange entirely. Bellatrix just nodded and gave an apologetic look to the others. She led Voldemort out of the parlour, and he silently followed her up the stairs. She led him down a dimly-lit corridor and opened a door on the left, and as soon as he stepped inside, he realised it was her bedroom. It was an elegant space of midnight blue and the darkest wood. She lit the lamps on the wall, and when Voldemort shut the door behind him, she looked like she was halfway between crying and running away.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said, feeling his heart accelerate in his chest. He would not come crawling back to her, he reminded himself. He simply would not. Instead, he crossed his arms over his dress robes and scolded her, "You're not wearing your necklace."

"No, My Lord," she acknowledged, lowering her eyes. "I haven't worn it since November. It's here in my trunk, if you think I should -"

"No." Voldemort felt sick all of a sudden, but he needed to hit her again with an accusation to keep himself from telling her how desolate he'd been without her. He sniffed lightly and looked at his fingernails as he said, "Macnair informed me - by way of his daughter - that you attended the Hogwarts Yule Ball with the very same Tarquin Avery who assaulted you last year. And then you left the dance with him to sneak off. I must say, Bellatrix, that I am rather alarmed by your lack of judgment."

"I was just trying…" Bellatrix's voice cracked a little, and he studied her face as she stared at the ground. "I was just trying to cover up the pain, My Lord. It didn't work; when he kissed me, I pushed him away. He felt disgusting. But I couldn't understand. I still don't quite understand. Please, Master, will you please just tell me what I did to anger you so greatly?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks now, and she sniffed a little as one tumbled to the ground. Voldemort reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his handkerchief, which he held out to Bellatrix wordlessly. She took it and dabbed at her tears as she mumbled her thanks. Finally he felt something snap inside of him, and he barked,

"Look at me."

She did, raising her pretty wet eyes and making his chest ache in doing so. Voldemort took a shaking breath and said helplessly,

"I won't do this anymore. For months I have attempted to convince myself that your presence in my life was a silly distraction, that you had grown close enough to be a serious hindrance to me gaining authority. I had given entirely too much of myself to you, I thought. I had let you see too much. I had let you get far too familiar. And so, I looked at you like a gangrenous limb to be severed for safety's sake. Only, it hasn't gone anything like that, Bella. I can not… I will not pretend anymore. I require your companionship, and that confession is not something that ever leaves this room. Understood?"

Bellatrix's lips fell open, and she nodded silently. He stared into her eyes for a moment and watched as she registered that he still cared for her. Without another word, he took her face in his hands and leaned down, crushing her mouth with his. She stumbled backward as he pushed her toward the bed, and from downstairs he could hear people starting to sing Christmas carols together. He kissed her harder than ever, feeling her fingers shake wildly as they curled around his jaw. Bellatrix tasted sweet, just like she'd always tasted, and he groaned against her as her tears continued unabated. She flopped backward onto the bed when he shoved her, and she didn't protest one bit when he dragged her to the edge of the bed and hiked up her shimmering gown.

His fingers went at once to the placket of his trousers, and he felt everything come alive within him as he realised she was his again. He heard her mumble a contraceptive spell on herself, and she set her wand down on the blue coverlet beside her. Voldemort stroked at his cock a few times and wrenched Bellatrix's knickers aside, plunging himself into her without any foreplay whatsoever. She didn't seem to need any; she was sopping wet for him. He drove himself hard into her body, leaning down to kiss her while he bucked against her over and over. Bellatrix moaned like a complete harlot, and Voldemort was suddenly grateful that everyone was singing so raucously downstairs. She was snug and warm around him, and within just a few moments he was spilling himself inside of Bellatrix and gasping as he ripped his mouth from hers. He kissed her neck through his climax and felt her go tense, her back arching up as her hands squeezed the back of his robe. He managed a few more pumps of his half-hard cock, and that seemed to push Bellatrix over the edge.

"Ohh, My Lord," she mumbled, mussing her hair as she drove her head back onto the blanket. "My Lord… I thought I'd never feel you again."

He wanted to tell her she was a foolish little thing to think such a thing, but he'd given her every indication that he was done with her. He petted her hair now and kissed the skin of her neck as he whispered,

"You're mine, aren't you?"

"I belong to the Dark Lord," she reminded him as he pulled back and met her gaze. "Wholly and completely."

He shut his eyes and nodded, thinking he'd been a complete idiot to deprive himself of her for so long. They put themselves to rights, though it took more than a few cleansing and neatening spells to do so, and as they prepared to go back downstairs, Voldemort said cautiously,

"Perhaps… you might consider wearing your necklace. Or your bracelet."

"Or both?" Bellatrix smiled shyly and bent down before her school trunk. She unlatched it and opened it, carefully pulling out a wooden jewelry box. She opened it and pulled out the serpent necklace and matching bracelet. She slid the bracelet onto her wrist, put the wooden box away and shut the trunk, and stood. She started to wrap the necklace around the neck that was bared by her off-the-shoulder gown, but Voldemort stepped up and gently pushed her hands away. He laced the serpent's tail through the clasp and brushed his knuckles over Bellatrix's collarbone.

"That's better," she whispered up to him, and he nodded.

"Much better."


Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

31 December 1969

"Hello." Voldemort's eyes were a bit glassy where he stood in the threshold of his suite, and Bellatrix knew he'd begun his New Year's drinking early. Bellatrix followed him into his room, carefully holding the twine-bound brown box she'd brought from her parents' house.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," she said, and he sipped from the whiskey in his hand as he nodded. He shut the door behind her, and she felt it ward up to give them true privacy. The Wizarding Wireless on the mantle was playing the New Year's Eve broadcast; there was only an hour until midnight, and the broadcasters were discussing the end of the decade. Bellatrix sighed and studied her master. He was wearing a white shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he had on a black tie with the bar Bellatrix had gotten him the year before.

"What's in the box?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred. Bellatrix grinned and pulled at the twine. She opened the box and held it up a little for Voldemort to see.

"A cake," he said, his eyebrows going up and his mouth curling into a happy smile. He met Bellatrix's eyes, sipped from his whiskey, and asked, "Been practising your baking charms?"

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix walked over to the dining table and set the vanilla buttercream cake down. She'd made a test one ahead of time, and all she could hope was that this one, cleanly frosted with dark green and silver accents, was tasty. She aimed her wand at the little hutch in the dining nook and Summoned two plates, forks, and napkins. She raised her eyes to the Dark Lord as she used Magic to slice up the cake, and he asked her,

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll have what you're having," Bellatrix grinned, but Voldemort shook his head and set his whiskey down.

"Whiskey will overwhelm the undoubtedly delicious flavours of your baking. We'll have Champagne."

He gestured to the bottle of Champagne that was chilling in a silver bucket on the table. He flicked his own wand a few times until two crystal flutes came soaring from the hutch and landed delicately on the table. The Champagne uncorked itself and poured itself into the two flutes before resuming its place in the bucket. Voldemort handed one flute of Champagne to Bellatrix, and she said again,

"Happy birthday, My Lord."

"Happy New Year," he added, touching his glass to hers. She drank, but he hesitated. He glanced around the room and his face went a bit serious as he said, "I was a fool to deny myself of you. You make me happy."

He'd already had a lot of whiskey, she knew, otherwise he wouldn't be talking like this. Bellatrix stared into her flute of Champagne and told him,

"I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything better than a cake. I didn't have much time to… well… with the Christmas holidays, and…"

He scoffed. "How were you meant to shop for a birthday gift for a man who was completely ignoring you?" He drank deeply from his Champagne and glanced to the two plates of cake, and he slurred, "I'll take a homemade dessert over a regular present, anyway."

Bellatrix had to suppress her grin at the evidence of his drinking. He was being almost silly with her, and she rather liked it. She handed him a plate of cake, and they both set their drinks down to take a bite. Bellatrix breathed a sigh of relief when she tasted the warm vanilla flavour of the cake and frosting. It had come out just right. The Dark Lord made an almost sexual sound as he swallowed one bite and took another. He reached for his Champagne, swigged from it, and informed Bellatrix,

"That… is very good cake, Bella."

"I'm glad you like it, My Lord," she said. She contentedly finished her slice and sipped from her Champagne, but Voldemort finished both before her and picked up his whiskey again.

"I don't know why I'm drinking so much tonight," he mused, pacing with uneven steps. He sipped again, and his glass refilled itself with whiskey. Bellatrix watched as the bottle on the low table in the parlour went down a few centimetres. Once again, she was impressed by his magic. Once he'd taken another sip, he continued, "I started drinking two hours ago because I realised how much I was looking forward to you coming over here. You're addicted to her, I told myself. Then I drank quite a lot of whiskey and you brought me cake."

Bellatrix's eyebrows went up as she registered just how intoxicated he was. She winced a little when he swigged down the entire rest of his tumbler of whiskey and pulled a face at the burn. He set the glass down as it refilled itself, and he put his hands on his hips as he looked Bellatrix up and down.

"Dance with me before I'm too sloppy to do it without falling over," he commanded her. He aimed his wand at the Wizarding Wireless, and the station changed to one playing instrumental music. Bellatrix walked over to where the Dark Lord stood, and she let him slip her hand into his. She sighed a little when his hand settled against the small of her back. They hadn't danced in months, and only now did it really and truly sink in that she'd missed him to her core. She put her head against his chest for a moment and informed him,

"Every night I'd fall asleep staring at my journal, hoping it would turn black. It never did."

"Yes, well, as I've already stated, I was a fool," Voldemort said rather sharply. "It's all over now. Dance with me."

Bellatrix stood up and swayed with him to the gentle, slow beat of the jazz on the radio. She stared up at his glassy eyes and whispered,

"I shouldn't have let Tarquin Avery kiss me. I'm sorry, My Lord."

He scowled. "Do you really think I want to hear about that stupid boy on my birthday of all days, Bella?"

"Sorry," she said again, lowering her eyes. He growled in frustration and nearly barked at her,

"Stop apologising! For Merlin's sake, Bella, just…" He stopped dancing and took her face in his hands, kissing her so hard that she gasped and stumbled backward. He quickly slid one hand behind the back of her black velvet dress to catch her. He pulled her tightly against him, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he groaned. Bellatrix felt everything go warm inside of her; her ears were ringing and she could hear her own pulse. She wanted him so badly right now that she could hardly breathe. Her hands went to his trousers and started to unbutton them, and Voldemort's own hand migrated from her back to the hem of her dress. He put his hand on her backside, caressing her through the thin lace of her knickers, and he yanked his mouth from hers as he stumbled away toward an armchair.

He sat, tipping his head back and looking more drunk than ever as he struggled to finish unbuttoning his trousers. Bellatrix helped him, and when he pulled himself out and started stroking, she asked,

"Shall I use my mouth, My Lord?"

"Hmm-mm." He shook his head no, still stroking himself as he stared at Bellatrix. His voice was blurry as he commanded her, "I want you to strip for me. Take everything off. Slowly. Very slowly."

He put his hands on the arms of his chair and let his cock stand at attention. Bellatrix nodded and reached for the hem of her dress. She adjusted the way she was standing, putting one foot a little in front of the other and suddenly feeling glad she'd worn high heels. She pulled at the hem of her black velvet dress with both hands, slowly guiding it up her thigh as she met the Dark Lord's eyes. He blinked slowly, and she knew the last tumbler of whiskey he'd swigged was settling into his veins.

Bellatrix released the hem of her dress and lazily brought her hands up her body. She pulled at the pins binding her curls into a bun at the back of her head, and when she shook her hair loose, Voldemort grunted softly. She set the pins down on the coffee table and saw his hand drift back to his rigid cock. Bellatrix raked her curls out of her face with one hand and pulled the bottom of her dress up with the other.

"You didn't have a past life doing this professionally, did you?" asked Voldemort, his slurred voice shaking a little. Bellatrix shook her head and watched his thumb drift over his tip. She swallowed hard and silently hoped she'd have some use for the contraceptive spell she'd put on herself before coming here. As she pulled her velvet dress up and over her head, she felt herself go utterly wet between her legs. She let the dress fall to the ground beside her, standing there in her lingerie and high black heels as she took a step closer to the Dark Lord's chair.

"I want to see your breasts," he murmured, sucking in air hard when her hands went behind her back and unlatched her black lace bra. She let it fall forward and slowed her movements as she pulled it off one arm and then the other. She held it up for a moment and tipped her head before she dropped it onto her dress. Voldemort thrust his hips up a little, and his cock looked like it was aching for proper attention. He shoved his trousers down a bit and sounded completely sloshed as he said,

"You have pretty breasts. They're small, but they… fit your body. You have a small body, so… they're pretty. Very pretty."

Bellatrix managed not to laugh at him, for she feared his wrath even when he was like this. She murmured some quiet thanks as she played with her own chest, the throbbing in her body continuing as she dragged her thumbs over her nipples and squeezed at her flesh.

"Knickers off," drawled Voldemort, and Bellatrix trailed her hands from her breasts down over her stomach. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the black lace knickers that matched her bra, and she edged them down. She tried desperately to look elegant as she bent over and stepped out of the knickers, though she suspected Voldemort wouldn't have noticed if she'd been clumsy. She stepped out of her high heels and stalked closer to the chair.

"Please, Master, may I…" She gestured vaguely to his throbbing cock and felt her cheeks go hot. He raised one eyebrow and demanded,

"What do you want, Little Thing? Tell me."

"May I please have you inside of me, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded silently. She climbed carefully onto the chair, squeezing her knees between his thighs and the chair itself. She felt him line the tip of his cock up against her, and he only barely had the presence of mind to drawl,

"I need… my wand… need to put a spell on you to…"

"I've already done that, My Lord," she assured him. She sank down onto his cock and he hissed through his teeth, driving his head back against the chair. He felt so good like this, Bellatrix thought. She'd rarely been atop him like this, even over the summer when they'd been physical so often. She liked the feeling of being impaled by his length, filled by his girth. She seized his face in her hands and latched her mouth to his neck, lapping and suckling at the skin there. His hands went to her waist and started to move her up and down. She helped him, bobbing awkwardly until she found a rhythm.

"I'm not ever going to go any demonstrable amount of time without you again," Voldemort said, sounding half-asleep. "I can't do it, Bella. I just can't. I adore you far too much for my own good."

She froze, her lips trembling against his mouth. She forced herself to keep her hips moving, to keep kissing him. He adored her? He'd never said anything like that to her, not even once. His hands slid up her ribcage and rubbed gently at her back as she swayed. Bellatrix tried not to focus on his words, knowing that he was very drunk and that it was the whiskey talking. But it was hard not to listen as he continued,

"Have you any idea how beautiful you are? All the time, not just when you're naked. When… when you're in battle… ungh. Oh, Bella. When you wake in the morning and you haven't… oh, Bella… when you haven't cleaned your teeth yet. When you're dancing with me. When I'm fucking you. All the time. You're so beautiful all the time, and it's high time somebody told you."

Bellatrix suddenly realised why it was he'd drunk so much tonight. After months apart from one another, he'd been frightened of getting too emotional with her tonight. At least this way he could blame the liquor. Bellatrix moved her face back a little to look at him, and she was surprised when he blinked a few times and admitted,

"I'm not going to… to finish inside of you, Bella; I'm too drunk."

She moved a little and let him slide out of her, but she stayed atop him and stroked beneath his eyes with her thumbs.

"I loved you even when I thought you hated me," she informed him. "I'll serve you in battle until the day I die, My Lord, but I'll love you until then, too."

"Mmm." He shut his eyes and tipped his head against the side of the chair, seeming very much like he was going to fall asleep. Bellatrix realised she'd seen him drink two full tumblers of whiskey and a full flute of Champagne just since she'd arrived, and he'd said he'd been drinking for hours ahead of time. She swallowed hard and pulled herself off his chair, carefully tucking his softening cock into his trousers and buttoning him up. She'd stay the night; he'd instructed her before that he wanted her to do so. There was always the morning, she thought. Tonight he was too far gone. She walked over to the Wireless and changed the station back to the New Year's broadcast. As she pulled her clothes back on, she thought the Dark Lord was asleep. But then the broadcasters began talking about how there were only five minutes until midnight, and he blinked his eyes open.

"I'm going to kiss you for the New Year," he said rather determinedly, his words so slurred Bellatrix could hardly understand them.

"Don't worry, My Lord; I'll come to you." Bellatrix left her shoes on the floor and made her way back to the Dark Lord's chair. She slid onto his lap again, fully clothed this time. She put her cheek against his and just sat there for a while, their bodies snug against one another. Their breathing synchronised, and Bellatrix thought perhaps it would be nice to sleep like this. Voldemort's arms wrapped slowly around her, and he whispered,

"I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk. I might not have the courage to say it sober, but it's true just the same."

"I adore you, too, My Lord." Bellatrix stroked at his hair a bit and kissed his slightly scruffy jaw. "And I do promise I will always serve you with all that I am."

"I know that." Voldemort's throat bobbed, and he murmured, "Some days I wished I had never met you, but that was a foolish thing to think. You're the only person I'm actually genuinely glad to have met. Isn't it funny how things can be a curse and a gift at the same time?"

Bellatrix was going to answer him, but suddenly she heard the broadcasters on the radio excitedly counting down from ten. She pulled back a little, and Voldemort threaded his fingers through her hair as the voices on the wireless grew more excited. His eyes were glassy, almost blank, but his voice was more steady than before as he informed her,

"You're my companion, Bella."

"Six! Five! Four!"

She nodded, and his hands tightened on her a little as he said, "I'm not meant to be without you, so I won't be."

"Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

Bellatrix smiled and said, "Happy New Year, My -"

She was cut off then by how he pulled her against him into a kiss that was immediately deep and powerful. His tongue was clumsy from the drink and his hands were almost too tight in her hair, but Bellatrix moaned. They'd go to bed and in the morning he'd have a splitting headache, she knew. All she could hope was that he wouldn't regret telling her he adored her. So long as he didn't regret saying that, she thought, she would be happy until the day she died


Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

1 January 1970

Voldemort blinked his eyes open, was socked with the searing grey pain of dawn, and immediately shut his eyes again. He growled in irritation and reached blindly for his wand. He sighed and incanted,

"Accio -"

"It's on the table beside you, My Lord," said the groggy voice of Bellatrix from beside him. He forced his eyes open to see a little brown bottle of HangAway Potion and a glass of water. He gratefully opened the bottle of potion, which would relieve the headache, nausea, and thirst that always came after drinking. He drank deeply from the glass of water and mumbled,

"Thank you, Bella."

He shut his eyes again and she snuggled more tightly against him. He dragged his fingers down her naked side, trying and failing to remember being intimate with her the night before.

"Tell me I at least had your body on my birthday," he said quietly, and Bellatrix sounded a little awkward as she admitted,

"Erm… only sort of, My Lord. It wasn't really… it wasn't possible, strictly speaking."

He let out a low laugh and opened his eyes. "Is that your respectful way of informing me that I couldn't keep it up?"

"Something like that, Master." Bellatrix smiled a little and dusted her fingertips over his own bare chest. That sent a shock of want through Voldemort, and he could feel that his morning erection was still going strong. He brought his fingers between Bellatrix's legs and informed her,

"I can keep it up now."

"Mmph." She shut her eyes and arched against his hand, her dry entrance flooding wet almost at once. He played with her for a long while, feeling the satin folds of her womanhood get more excited as he did. His heart started to quicken in his now forty-three-year-old chest, and he whispered,

"You like to hurt people and you like when I fuck you. Which one do you like more, Bellatrix? My cock or the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Do I have to choose?" she whined, her body starting to tense as he flicked at her nub.

"Yes. Choose," he instructed her. She stared right at him and came, her body clenching around his fingers. She was still twitching around his touch as she panted,

"I do love the Cruciatus Curse, My Lord, but I'll always choose you."

"Come here," he said, his patience for play worn out. He cast a nonverbal contraception charm on her abdomen as she moved toward him. His head was still throbbing as he urged her to straddle him, and as she sank down onto his cock, he put his hands behind his head and watched as she did the work. She planted her hands flat on his chest and started to rock back and forth, her head tipping back. Her breasts looked so very pretty like this, Voldemort thought. They swayed elegantly as she moved, and when she began to bob up and down, her chest bounced a little. He kept his eyes locked on her chest for so long that he had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually Bellatrix started to seem tired. She was tight and wet around him, but morning erections weren't nearly sensitive enough for her to be working this hard.

Voldemort grabbed her waist and started thrusting her himself, eliciting a cry as her curls fell down around her face. He studied every beautiful part of her and felt his body tightening. He wrenched his eyes shut, yanked her down hard, and spilled himself up into her, whispering her name once or twice as he did. As the white hot pleasure subsided, he let her lie back down beside him. He reached for his wand and cleaned them both up, siphoning up his seed and Scouring their bodies and mouths clean for the day.

"I don't want to go back to school, My Lord," Bellatrix complained, blowing her curls out of her face. He gave her a crooked smile and tucked her hair behind her ear from where he lay.

"If I had it my way," he said, "you wouldn't be going back. But you are going back, because sometimes even I don't get my way."

Bellatrix frowned. "You should get your way all the time, My Lord."

There was a peaceful quiet for a while then as Voldemort's awful hangover dissolved more thoroughly. He stared at Bellatrix until she turned her face a bit and asked seriously,

"Will you let me write to you often?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I expect you to write me every single day, Bellatrix, and I shall be more than a little annoyed if you do not. I anticipate details on everything from my enemies to what you eat for dinner."

She laughed a bit and chewed her lip, looking almost supernaturally beautiful in the grey light from the window. Voldemort dragged his knuckles over her collarbone and said,

"In all seriousness, though… Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Their sister Molly is marrying the Weasley boy next month. I'm very certain the Prewett brothers will be given leave to go home for the wedding. I want to know if anyone else goes. Longbottom. Potter. Any of the professors, and most especially Dumbledore."

"I'll give you every bit of information I can hunt down, My Lord," Bellatrix promised. He knew she would, too. She would be the most devoted spy anyone had ever had. Voldemort put his lips into a line and nodded.

"Be cautious about speaking of me," he warned her. "Even to people who would seem to be allies. Even to your fellow Slytherins. As I grow stronger, so do my enemies. And stay out of trouble as best you can. I just need you to make it five more months in that damnable school so that I can have you as my soldier full-time. Understood?"

"Understood, My Lord." Bellatrix frowned a little as she said that, and tension radiated off her in waves. Voldemort put himself up onto one elbow and demanded,

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, lowering her gaze and picking at the sheet. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said smoothly,

"Legilimens."

Her mind was a swirl of emotion. Dread about spending the next few months at Hogwarts. Unease about other students, about Dumbledore. Passion for her master. And then there was a very specific memory wedging its way to the front of her consciousness - an image from the night before. Voldemort had his arms snaked around Bellatrix in the armchair, and he was murmuring gently to her.

"I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk. I might not have the courage to say it sober, but it's true just the same."

Then Voldemort felt a surge of unease in Bellatrix's mind, the niggling wonder of whether or not that had been the whiskey talking. She was wondering if he'd meant it, if he regretted saying such a thing.

"I don't regret it," he told her, pulling out of her mind so swiftly that there was a whooshing in his ears. She sat up slowly, and he pulled himself up as he studied her face. Her eyes welled at once, and he shook his head as he laced his fingers into her wild curls. He pressed his lips to hers and murmured again, "I don't regret saying that, Bella. It is true. And I am addicted to you. And I can't care anymore. I just… refuse to care anymore. You'll make me stronger, not weaker. I've made up my mind on that."

He could never love her. He knew that. She surely knew it, too. But as he kissed her more firmly, planting his hand between her shoulder blades and feeling the warmth of her skin, he supposed that whatever he felt for her was something terrifyingly near love. It was probably dangerous, how much he cared for her. But if the months of self-imposed exile from her had taught him anything, it was that he felt a powerful adoration for her that went straight to the marrow of his bones. She made him experience sensations he'd never thought himself vulnerable to feeling. She'd made him say and think things he'd never imagined entering his mind.

Lord Voldemort could never love Bellatrix Black. He wasn't able to do it, even if he'd wanted to. But whatever bond they had was powerful and real, and that needed to be enough for the both of them.

He drank Bellatrix in, kissing her for all he was worth and banking the feel of her in his mind. For the next several months, he would have nothing more than her photograph, his journal, and the very occasional dalliance using her necklace. So he kissed her and he let her put her hands on his cheeks, badly in need of a shave, and he was happy.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

7 January 1970

"Bellatrix?"

She whirled around at the sound of Narcissa's voice, and she frowned at the concerned expression on her youngest sister's face.

"What's wrong, Cissy?" Bellatrix demanded, and Narcissa looked anxiously around the Slytherin common room to ensure no one was listening.

"Is it true? About Andromeda?"

"Is what true?" Bellatrix demanded, narrowing her eyes. Narcissa wrung her hands and sounded slightly disgusted as she said,

"Lucius Malfoy says he saw Dromeda snogging a… a Mudblood."

"What did you say?" Bellatrix felt her heart race with anger, and her fists clenched at her sides. Narcissa nodded quickly.

"Ted Tonks, that Hufflepuff boy."

"Lucius!" Bellatrix barked, and from across the common room, Lucius Malfoy looked away from a conversation with Rabastan Lestrange. He gave Bellatrix a knowing look and nodded, murmuring something to Lestrange to excuse himself. He came walking briskly across the common room, and Bellatrix snapped at him,

"Tell me what you saw. Know that whatever you share with me goes much higher than anyone in this room, so be thorough."

Lucius Malfoy licked his lip delicately and said, "I was in the third-floor corridor after dinner. I'd left something in the Defence classroom. The entire North Tower was very quiet, but I heard voices speaking quietly, and there were no portraits where I was. So I peered around a corner, and I saw Andromeda wrapped up in the arms of Ted Tonks. They neither heard nor saw me."

Narcissa brought her knuckles to her lips and shook her head. "Mother and Father are going to be heartbroken."

"That's the least of our concerns," Bellatrix snarled. She crossed her arms and nodded to Lucius Malfoy. "Thank you for your honesty. And, I suppose, for your espionage. I'll make sure he knows of your loyalty."

"Thank you," Lucius said, eyeing Narcissa as he asserted, "This is not news I'd ever want to share with either of you."

"Well, I'm not surprised," Bellatrix sniffed. "Andromeda has never, ever represented our family with even a modicum of pride or dignity."

"Will she be punished?" Narcissa asked worriedly, and Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow.

"That's not up to me, but she probably should be. Goodnight, both of you."

She walked away quickly without another word, heading down the corridor to the girls' dormitories. She pushed the door to the seventh-year girls' room open and silently waved a greeting to Dahlia, who sat cross-legged on her bed with a Charms textbook open before her. She was already in her nightgown, and as Bellatrix hurried to put her own pyjamas on, Dahlia muttered,

"Can't seem to get this flower Conjuring charm quite right…"

"Sorry to hear that," Bellatrix said quickly, raking a wide comb through her curls before yanking them into a braid. She waved a hand dismissively toward Dahlia and said, "Erm… make certain you don't draw your wand in too small a circle; you'll just wind up with a stem."

"Oh! That must be it." Dahlia performed the elaborate Conjuring motion and incanted, "Flora." A plush cream peony appeared in the air and floated down into Dahlia's hand, and she grinned widely. "Thanks, Bella! You're going to do marvelously on your NEWTs."

Bellatrix just nodded and pulled her journal and quill out of her rucksack. "I'm… headed to bed early. Night."

"G'night." Dahlia turned the page in her Charms textbook as Bellatrix climbed up onto her bed and flicked her wand to shut the curtains. She pulled herself up against her pillows, shoving her legs under her blankets, and she opened her journal. Her hand shook a little as she wrote,

My Lord, there is a blood traitor in our midst. My sister Andromeda was seen by Lucius Malfoy snogging a Mudblood Hufflepuff boy.

There was a bit of a pause, and Bellatrix shut her journal as she rubbed at her forehead. Her own sister. Of all the people to betray the cause her master held so dear… her own sister. Bellatrix sighed when she saw the journal had gone black, and when she opened it again, Voldemort's writing was crisp on the page.

I doubt anyone is terribly surprised to discover that Andromeda is capable of such a thing. What is the Mudblood's name?

Ted Tonks, Bellatrix wrote back. She hesitated and then wrote, Shall I eliminate him?

Her lord and master's answer came almost immediately. No. There would be no doubt about who'd done such a thing. Now is not the time for such brazenness. We shall monitor the situation going forward. Do not speak to Andromeda under any circumstances so that the message is plainly sent that her actions are reprehensible. Keep an eye on the both of them and update me frequently.

Of course, My Lord. Bellatrix shut the journal again and twirled her hair around her finger. She studied the beautifully imprinted leather cover of her journal and watched as the green faded down into black. She picked it up again and read,

You've managed to stay out of trouble for the first few days of lessons. Colour me impressed.

She smirked a little and quickly wrote back, I'll continue being a very good girl, My Lord.

Well, don't do that, came his immediate response, and Bellatrix smiled as more words appeared. Don't be too good, wicked little thing. Just good enough not to get expelled. Don't worry about your sister; I'll handle it in due time as necessary. I'll speak with your father. Focus on school.

Yes, My Lord, Bellatrix wrote back, and as she shut her journal, she whispered aloud to herself, "Goodnight."


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

27 January 1970

Bellatrix jolted awake, gasping and fighting not to scream from the terrible pain. She blinked through the darkness of the dormitory and peeled her fingers away from her forearm to see that her Dark Mark had gone black. So had her journal. Her master needed her.

"Lumos." Bellatrix sat up and peeled open her journal, her eyes focusing better as her gaze settled on the words that had been roughly scrawled on the page.

Use your necklace and come to Malfoy Manor immediately.

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she snatched her journal as she scrambled out of her bed. She flung open her wardrobe and put on her heavy black velvet winter cloak. She tucked her journal into the drawer and tried not to wake the others as she closed her wardrobe. She touched at her necklace around her necklace and dashed into the girls' bathroom. She shut the door, holding her wand tightly in her right hand as she shut her eyes. She thought of Malfoy Manor and whirled to her right, Disapparating quietly.

When she came to, she was in the parlour of Lord Voldemort's suite. He was pacing with his hands behind his back, and the only acknowledgment he gave to Bellatrix appearing was to flick his cold eyes over to her. Bellatrix steadied herself on her feet and dashed over to him.

"My Lord, what's happened?" she asked, for the clock on the wall told her it was one-thirty in the morning. He sniffed and kept pacing as he announced,

"Raffi and Rivinius Macnair were with Rodolphus Lestrange earlier this evening in Lancashire. It was meant to be an in-and-out operation. Acquire a certain Auror. Bring them back here. That was it."

"What happened?" Bellatrix asked again, and Voldemort finally stopped walking. He shrugged and said, "Rodolphus Lestrange made it out in time. Raffi Macnair was killed duelling with Alastor Moody, who appeared out of nowhere with three other Aurors. As far as we know, Rivinius Macnair's been taken a prisoner of the Ministry. Fortunately, he knows very little of consequence. Nothing especially sensitive."

Bellatrix was overwhelmed. She'd just left Fiona Macnair sleeping in her dormitory, and now the girl's father was dead. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and asked carefully,

"Is there any way I can serve you now, My Lord?"

"Yes, there is." He nodded and glanced out the window into the gardens. "I spent an hour earlier blowing up trees. Tortured the House-Elf. Threw Abraxas Malfoy against a wall out of frustration. It wasn't enough. Get on your knees, Bella; I'm going to fuck your mouth until you can't breathe."

Bellatrix froze for a moment, shocked by his language. But then she unlatched the silver clasp of her black winter cloak and tossed the garment onto the back of the armchair beside her. She sank down onto the carpet and crawled toward Voldemort. She was bleeding right now; she wouldn't be able to have him inside of her unless he was willing to overlook that rather gruesome fact. Somehow he seemed to know; perhaps that was why he'd ordered her onto her knees.

Bellatrix approached him, her head bowed in submission. He tipped her chin up and then squeezed at her jaw a little. His hands went to the placket of his trousers, and his eyes flashed as he said down to her,

"Tell me why it is you love your master, Bella."

She swallowed hard as he took his soft cock out of his trousers. He pulled her hands up and put them on his member, and she started to caress his skin there as she murmured gently,

"I love you, My Lord, because you possess power no wizard has ever possessed. You exist beyond the rest of us, and I can not help but love you for it."

He'd started to harden beneath her fingers, and he let his hand drift over her frizzed-up curls as she deepened her touch and raised her eyes to him.

"I love you that you are ferociously handsome," she told him, "though I would love you if looked like a toad. I love that you touch me, that you grant me the honour of your kiss and your cock. But I loved you even when you wouldn't speak to me."

His throat bobbed and his fingers tightened in her curls. He was fully erect now, and as Bellatrix stroked carefully along his length, she added,

"I think perhaps, My Lord, that I was born to serve you. Born to love you. It is my purpose in life, I think, to be wholly and completely yours."

"Bella." His voice cracked a little, and he tipped his head back, his chest heaving beneath his black tunic. "Put your mouth on me."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently. It was difficult for her to feel much arousal; her breasts were achy and she had cramps and other discomforts. This was not a time of the month during which she felt especially attractive. Nor did she crave much physical gratification now. But what she wanted didn't matter. What she felt didn't matter. All that mattered was that her lord found some measure of stress relief here with her. He'd lost two of his most useful soldiers tonight. It was her duty to assuage his frustration.

She slid her lips over the tip of his cock and made suckling motions, pulling him in a little at a time until he hit the back of her throat. She remembered the vulgar language he'd used about 'fucking her mouth,' and she pulled him in even farther. She raised her eyes up to stare at him, surprised by just how unhinged he looked. She gagged a little, and Voldemort put his hands on either side of her head. He pulled her back a bit and then thrust his hips forward, making Bellatrix splutter from the sudden way he invaded her mouth. He groaned loudly and pulled her back again, yanking his hips in the other direction. He repeated the motion, pulling her against him as he thrust himself forward. Bellatrix's eyes watered and she struggled not to throw up as he pushed deeply into her throat.

He'd been right; she could barely breathe. Her hands flew to his hips, flailing a little until she found purchase at the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers hooked against the material and her knees ached as her master pushed into her mouth over and over again. She spluttered, her throat aching as if she was ill. She felt tears water out of her eyes and stream down her cheeks as Voldemort's hips quickened. His fingers were tight in her hair as he pulled her face against his hips.

"Dulcis," she heard him mutter frantically, and she knew why he'd done it. Men's seed tasted bitter naturally, but he'd always made his taste sweet for her. Even now, even when her knees hurt so badly and he was battering her throat, he was still making his seed taste sweet. He buried himself inside her mouth, and Bellatrix couldn't suppress an awkward gagging noise then as he came. Even with the sweetening spell, the fluid was odd as it pulsed against the back of her throat. When Voldemort finally pulled away, Bellatrix swiped at her face with her hands, trying desperately to rid herself of the saliva that had gotten all over her cheeks and chin. She kept her gaze down, unsure of whether she was permitted to look upon her master.

"Scourgify," he mumbled, dragging the tip of his wand along her bottom lip. Bellatrix felt her mouth cleanse from the spell, suddenly feeling as fresh as if she'd just cleaned her teeth with baking soda and mint. She finally raised her eyes, and Voldemort took her hand in his and pulled her to stand. Her knees, worn from the effort, trembled beneath her. She didn't watch as Voldemort tucked his softening cock away. Instead she stared at the rug, and he finally whispered,

"Thank you, Bella."

"My Lord," she nodded. He tipped her chin up and raked his other hand through his dark hair as he shrugged.

"Two of my soldiers… gone," he mused. "One I'll have to try and liberate with force before they haul him off to Azkaban; the other's dead and I'll undoubtedly have to attend his funeral. So it has been a difficult evening, you understand?"

"Of course I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "I'm only sorry I couldn't help."

"You helped." He tucked her hair behind her ear and shut his eyes. "It wasn't just about getting the anger out, Bella. I was blowing up trees and all I could think was that I wanted you here. I knew you were sleeping; I knew better than to Summon you away from Hogwarts. But I couldn't… I needed… just come here."

He opened his eyes and took her jaw in his hand, kissing her fiercely. Bellatrix was very glad then that he'd cleaned out her mouth. She drank in the feel of his kiss, groaning softly at the way one of his arms wrapped around her nightgown to pull her close against him.

"You should go back," he mumbled against her lips once he'd broken the kiss, and Bellatrix reluctantly nodded. He dragged a thumb under her eye and licked his lip before he informed her, "I do adore you, you know. Really and truly. And I am… grateful. I am glad you came."

Bellatrix smiled crookedly. "My Lord, I awoke to a searing pain on my Mark and instructions in my journal from you. There was never any option but for me to obey you. There will never be any other option."

He kissed her forehead and whispered softly, "Go back to your bed, my lovely little thing. I'll write to you with more details as I have them. Don't tell the Macnair girl; I'll have her mother send her an owl."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix dragged her fingertips along his cheek and studied his features. She met his eyes and assured him, "I love you so very much, My Lord. I always will. And this minor setback will be but a blip in your inevitable climb to power. You'll rule them all. Everything will be yours; it must be. I won't rest until I help you see that through."

"Well." Voldemort's throat bobbed and his knuckles dragged along her serpent necklace. "I hope you get at least a little more rest before the sun comes up. I need your mind sharp. Now more than ever. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, My Lord." She pulled her cloak back on and fastened it, flashing him one last little smile before she shut her eyes and Disapparated back to Hogwarts.