A Beast Unto Ourselves

by Mrs Slytherin Baelish

1971. MACUSA is on the brink of chaos. Lord Voldemort is cementing his rule with Bellatrix at his side. With linked minds and twinned souls, the twisted love story of the Troublemaker series continues. Bellamort, follows The Old Man and the Little Boy. COMPLETE. Part III of Troublemaker Series. Re-post.

4. Chapter 4

Archer's Edge, Lake District

14 February 1972

Bellatrix awoke to the sound of a piano.

She frowned deeply, confused, because she was relatively certain that the only piano in the castle was located much too far away to be heard from the bedroom. Bellatrix sat up slowly, looking at the clock on the wall and seeing that it wasn't quite six-thirty. Then she gasped quietly, for her eyes settled upon an orb floating in the air before her.

Bellatrix pulled herself from the bed and walked toward the orb. It seemed to be made of glass, but inside there was a flurry of gold and silver sparks. And the piano music was coming from the orb itself. The orb began slowly floating away from Bellatrix, through the doorway and toward the stairwell. Bellatrix padded behind the orb, her flowing white nightgown trailing behind her.

She worked her way down the stairs in pursuit of the orb, which floated rather contentedly in what seemed to be a rather determined path. Bellatrix made her way through the cloisters that connected the castle's towers. Bellatrix stepped through the streams of glowing grey light, her bare feet plodding on the carpets. The orb sped up just enough that Bellatrix broke into a little trot. The scherzo playing on the piano became more energetic, and soon enough Bellatrix found herself breathlessly following the orb into one of the castle's parlours.

Then she stopped, panting and pushing her hair out of her eyes. The orb dissolved into the air as though it had been made of breath. The piano music faded into silence, and Bellatrix found herself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort. She quirked her mouth up and said quietly,

"Quite a way to wake a girl up, making her run through the halls in pursuit of -"

He cut her off by kissing her hard, his right hand flying to the small of her back and his left one snarling in her curls. Bellatrix squealed a little and felt a surge of arousal flare up between both of them. When Voldemort pulled away at last, Bellatrix felt more breathless than ever.

"My Lord," she whispered, for his eyes were blazing furiously.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bellatrix," he said back, his voice awfully serious. He reached into the pocket of his outer robe and pulled something out, and when Bellatrix saw that it was a bracelet, she said quietly,

"I suppose the last bracelet you gave me isn't meant for wrists anymore."

Her mind flew at once to her Horcrux, the serpent bracelet he'd given her that now lay beneath the floorboards of the Doxy's Nest. Voldemort sighed, and she knew he was thinking of the same thing. He reached for her hand and clasped the bracelet onto her wrist. Bellatrix stared down in awe; the bracelet was made from an intricate pattern of diamonds, emeralds, and onyx. There was a large oval onyx in the middle with more diamonds and emeralds surrounding it. Bellatrix tried to control her breath, and she raised her eyes to Voldemort and said sincerely,

"Thank you. What a beautiful Valentine's Day gift, My Lord."

He scoffed and stared down at her wrist. "That's just an hors d'oeuvre," he informed her. "It's only six thirty in the morning."

Bellatrix smiled a little and teased him, "I thought you regarded Valentine's Day as very silly."

"It is silly," Voldemort said, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean I can't be silly right along with it. It's only one day a year, after all."

Bellatrix reached over to him and grazed her fingers over the front of his trousers. Voldemort hissed softly and covered her hand with his.

"I have early meetings at the Ministry," he reminded her. She knew that, of course; she'd set up the meetings herself. Voldemort wanted, in the two months leading up to the anniversary of Dumbledore's death, to cement the loyalty of everyone who possessed a modicum of authority. It was all pretend for them, of course; he was only letting them handle the minutiae that was too boring for him to deal with. But there would be balls and celebrations on the first anniversary of the day Lord Voldemort had vanquished his worst enemy, the day that his revolution had begun. Today he had meetings with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the heads of the Department of Mysteries, the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He was booked solid until five in the evening. Bellatrix nodded and took a step back as she said,

"I appreciate you making your romantic gesture on such an admittedly silly day in the morning. That way I can spend the whole day staring at my wrist."

"Did you not hear me?" he asked, pushing up an eyebrow. "The bracelet is just a taste. Now go get dressed; I want you at all of my meetings today."

"At the Ministry?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "My Lord, I thought those meetings were one-on-one. All of them. Of course, if you feel it's appropriate to have your secretary -"

"Not my secretary. My lady." He tipped his head and gave her a very serious look. "You walk beside me now, Bella."

"I walk a step behind you," she whispered, as if to remind him, but he shook his head.

"Not anymore. Go get dressed."

---

Ministry of Magic, London

14 February 1972

"Well, Madam Clarke, it was an honour to make your acquaintance at last," Bellatrix said to the witch in the office of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Nora Clarke, the Department head, had spent the entire meeting doe-eyed with wonder by both Voldemort and Bellatrix. It had been like pulling teeth to actually have a substantive conversation about the Obliviator squads and fixing explosive underage magic.

"Oh, My Lady. What a beautiful honour it was to meet you, as well," said the Irish witch. She flew from her chair and bowed a bit awkwardly. "My Lord. Thank you so much for coming to see us here. I promise we'll continue working very hard for you."

"I've no doubt whatsoever about that," Voldemort said primly. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said, "My Lady, have you got the invitation?"

"Of course." Bellatrix had been rather amazed today, for he'd continuously called her My Lady. He usually called her by her first name in front of others, but he hadn't done it even once today. Bellatrix reached into her leather folio and pulled out a beautiful foil-stamped invitation, which she handed over to Nora Clarke. Bellatrix smiled and said, "It's two months away, we know, but the Dark Lord would like all Department Heads present, if you please."

Nora Clarke breathed in awe as she read the invitation. "A grand ball to commemorate the first day of Lord Vo… of the Dark Lord's reign. At Malfoy Manor. My goodness. Yes, of course I shall be there. Thank you."

"Until then. Keep up the fine work, Madam Clarke." Voldemort nodded politely, and Bellatrix followed him out of the office. They made their way to the third level bank of lifts, and once they were inside, he asked tightly, "That was the last one, yes?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced down at her wrist, to the sparkling bracelet he'd put there that morning. He saw here examining it, and he asked a bit nervously,

"You do like it?"

She raised her eyes to his and nodded. "Very much. Thank you for allowing me to come to the meetings, My Lord."

He frowned. "Allowing you? It's important that you're at my side for things such as this if the people are to see you as their… as their…"

"Their lady," Bellatrix nodded. He'd been thinking queen, she could tell, but the term didn't transfer into the Magical world correctly. The lift door slid open, and Bellatrix pulled further back into the bank of lifts, thinking they would Disapparate back to Archer's Edge.

"We're not going home," Voldemort informed her, and Bellatrix furrowed her brow in confusion.

"No? Where are we going?"

Voldemort smirked and wrapped his hand around her wrist, the one with the bracelet on it. "You'll see," he said, and he Disapparated at once, taking Bellatrix with him.

---

St Mungo's Hospital, London

14 February 1972

"My Lord?" Bellatrix asked with unease once they came to. She glanced around the quiet reception area. "Why are we here?"

The witch at the Inquiries desk kept her face down, her cheeks going pink, and Bellatrix realised they'd been expecting Lord Voldemort. He said nothing in answer to Bellatrix's question. Instead, he walked straight up to the Inquiries desk, and the young witch there stammered,

"M-may I help you, My Lord?"

"Healer Harvey," he said simply, and the witch nodded. "He's waiting for you on the sixth floor, My Lord."

Sixth floor. Bellatrix frowned deeply. She'd been here before, both to visit relatives and because once when she'd been a little girl, she'd wound up accidentally shattering glass and winding up with it stuck in her face. But as far as Bellatrix knew, there was no sixth floor of St Mungo's Hospital. The top level, the fifth floor, was the visitors' tearoom and gift shop. Just the same, she followed Voldemort over to the solitary lift, and when they got inside, she noticed there was no button for the sixth floor. The buttons only went up to five.

"How are we meant to go a sixth floor that doesn't exist?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort still said nothing, and Bellatrix was shocked when the lift began to move, almost as though it was subject to the whims of his mind. It may as well be, she thought; just about everyone and everything was subject to the whims of Voldemort's mind.

"The hospital has been expanded many times," Voldemort said simply as the lift moved. "This isn't the first time a new ward's been created."

"New ward," Bellatrix repeated. Then the lift door opened, and she stepped out as her mouth fell open. This ward was shiny and new. Everything was white and metal and black, crisp and modern and aggressively sterile.

"My Lord. Madam Black," said a voice, and Bellatrix turned to see Healer Harvey standing in the centre of the main space. He'd been the one to save her when her magic had been drained from her body. He'd been the one to perform the ill-advised sterilization surgery that Voldemort and Bellatrix had reversed. Voldemort trusted this man. Bellatrix could feel that in her bones. Indeed, he walked straight up to Healer Harvey and shook the other man's hand. It was an act he rarely performed, even with his closest allies.

"Healer Harvey, will you be so good as to show my wife the admittedly unconventional Valentine's Day gift I've had made for her?"

Healer Harvey smiled warmly. "Of course. My Lady, if you will follow me this way."

What is this? Bellatrix thought frantically. What have you done? This doesn't feel like a Valentine's Day gift.

It will, Voldemort thought back firmly. Bellatrix couldn't answer him then, for she'd been led into a homey-looking space, a modern-style bedroom that happened to be filled with all manner of Magical medical supplies. There were shelves full of instruments. There was a glass intravenous drip. There was a massive Potions store cupboard and another filled with bandages and little scissors and everything else. Finally Bellatrix understood.

"You've lowered that fifty percent," she whispered, and when she turned her face to her husband, he nodded.

"It just took a bit of research," he said. "Infant mortality rates used to be much higher in general; nobody put much thought into why. Healer Harvey and I believe that with daily infusions of my Magical Capacity into your body toward the end of the pregnancy, all three of us would be fine."

"Infusions of Magical Capacity?" Bellatrix repeated. She shook her head. "How… that isn't possible, is it?"

"Not usually, My Lady," Healer Harvey admitted, "but the Dark Lord and I have discussed the matter, and we believe that, owing to the unique connection the two of you share, transferring Magical Capacity will be possible with the right spells and potions involved."

Bellatrix stared at Voldemort, wide-eyed with shock. He'd told Healer Harvey about their mental link. He must have really wanted an answer to all this, she thought.

Desperately, she felt him think, and suddenly she found herself thinking that the creation of a medical ward was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done.

"You would stay here, in the hospital, for the last few months," Voldemort said carefully, "so that you and the… the… baby… could be monitored for any signs of distress. Healer Harvey and I also believe that a great many of those recorded stillbirths were in pregnancies that were not carefully monitored. Any issue that arose would be aggressively and immediately addressed. That, combined with the infusions of my magic into you…" He paused, glancing over to Healer Harvey as he said quietly, "May we have a moment?"

"Of course, Master. I'll be out by the lift." Healer Harvey bowed, first to Voldemort and then to Bellatrix, and as he walked away, Voldemort cupped Bellatrix's face in his hands.

"I would not allow you to birth and hold a dead child," he said firmly.

"You did all this in just a few days," Bellatrix whispered, shaking her head in confusion. "How did I not see it in your mind?"

Voldemort put his lips into a line and said, "I confess that I have found great use for a Time-Turner these last several days. I very rarely like using them; I think they're dangerous and open all manner of doors that should be left shut. But I've been using one, and I admit I've kept my mind more blocked off to you than usual. This was something that I thought was very important to address quickly, Bellatrix. I hope you are not angry with my presumption."

"Presumption." She shook her head again, a single tear tumbling from her eye. She studied Voldemort's eyes and asked quietly, "You really think it's safe?"

"It certainly isn't stupid anymore," he told her, brushing his thumbs under her eyes. "You just tell me when you're ready, little thing. This month. Next year. Five years, ten years from now. It doesn't matter when, or even if. This hospital ward will be here waiting for you if ever you decide you need it. It has been built for you and you alone."

Bellatrix's head spun, and as she stared up at Voldemort's face, she thought that no woman had ever loved a man as much as she loved her master. He was vicious and terrible. He could be heartless and cruel. He could take orgasmic pleasure in the agony of others. But he was also the man who had taught her to fly, kissing her mid air and sweeping her away from a fall. He was the one who had taught her to be a warrior, the one who had made a spy of her, the one who had given her chances to hone her diplomacy. He had married her, loved her, doted on her and argued with her. He'd kissed her in the rain, in the snow, on a beach in Spain and in her parents' library. He was the Dark Lord. He was Lord Voldemort. He was her husband.

And he would father her child, sooner rather than later.

Bellatrix was dizzy through his kiss, wishing more than anything that they could just go home and make love in their bed until they were sweaty and tired.

Don't worry, she felt him think. That part's next.

"Happy Valentine's Day, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered against his lips at last, and he nodded and said seriously,

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bella."

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

21 February 1972

"You're nervous tonight," Voldemort noted, and Bellatrix nodded beneath him. Neither of them had to say any more than that. She'd started bleeding two weeks earlier. If he finished inside of her tonight, there was a very good chance she'd wind up pregnant. He could sense the fear and the unease rolling off of her in waves. In her mind, he could clearly see her, heavy with child, frustrated by her inability to go charging into battle with everyone else. Voldemort petted her hair and kissed her forehead as he reminded her, "There aren't many battles these days, little thing."

"What if it hated me?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort had to keep himself from laughing as he informed her,

"Children very rarely hate their mothers, I think."

Bellatrix was obviously thinking of her own mother then as she sighed, "I'm not sure about that, My Lord."

"Your child would not hate you," Voldemort said gently, "because you would be the most adventurous mother on the planet. You would have your little creature toddling behind you, mimicking the motions of your wand and the sound of your voice. You'd teach the child to fly, to speak like a diplomat and fight like a soldier. You would create something in your own image, which would be at once terrifying and beautiful for the rest of us to behold."

Bellatrix's eyes welled as she whispered, "But what if it died?"

Voldemort sighed. "Then we would mourn and be heartbroken for a little while. But you tell me to do it right now, Bella, and I'll climb right off of you."

She hesitated. He knew she wanted to tell him it was fine, to go ahead and make love to her, but her hesitation went on long enough that Voldemort acted for himself. He slid out of her body, still achingly hard, and lay on his back beside her. She reached her hand beneath the blankets and started pumping his length. Voldemort shut his eyes and murmured,

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to," she whispered. Voldemort pushed the blankets back and felt his breath shake madly as her hand quickened. Her touch still felt more than a little good, despite the heavy conversation. She let her fingers fly up around his tip, and Voldemort felt his chest heaving as his fingers cinched around the sheets. Bellatrix hovered just over him, her curls tickling his skin as she bent to kiss him. He groaned into her mouth as he came all over his stomach. She could feel the tightening and then the burst of his climax, he knew, and she moaned right back against his lips.

His fingers trembled as he reached for his wand, and he aimed it at his skin and nonverbally cleaned up the mess. He set his wand back down and stared at the ceiling as Bellatrix curled up against him.

"You know," he said, "there is a solution. If you want it. Muggles aren't good for much, but… they have a product called a condom. It's a physical prophylactic; it's a sort of barrier made of latex that fits snugly around… a man."

Bellatrix frowned up at him. "And that keeps a woman from getting pregnant?"

"Well, yes." Voldemort felt oddly embarrassed then as he said, "The man's seed collects inside the condom itself, and you simply dispose of it. It's quite simply, really, but admittedly ingenious."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and asked, "And would you have any means of procuring one of these condoms?"

Voldemort smirked. "You'd want more than one; they're disposable. I'd have to go to a Muggle druggist, and I'd want to disguise myself for that just in case. But, yes, Bella. I can get some. That way your fertility isn't endangered, but you can take as long as you like to decide one way or the other."

He felt relief course through her veins as she nodded vigorously. She brushed her knuckles over his chest and murmured,

"What if it's already done, though?"

"What if what's already done?" Voldemort asked. Bellatrix raised her gaze to him again and reminded him,

"You finished inside of me three days ago, and the day before that, and the day before that. What if the timing isn't all neat now that there's been such powerful intervention?"

Voldemort tipped his head. "Wait a few weeks and see if you bleed. If you don't, we'll test you again. In the meantime, just in case, don't go drinking any firewhisky, eh?"

Bellatrix's breath hitched a little. Voldemort shut his eyes and sent some thoughts straight into her mind. He imagined her reading a book to a toddling little girl who just wouldn't sit still. He imagined himself with a little boy on his shoulders, holding Bellatrix's hand as they took a walk on the moor outside the castle. He imagined the both them, hands clenched on Platform 9 ¾ as they sent their child off to Hogwarts.

Then even his own domestic fantasies began to fall apart, for there were some complications. Bellatrix would always look like this. She would always look right around seventeen. What would happen when when their child outgrew her in appearance? What would happen when Lord Voldemort - a wizard for whom there was no extant age-freezing process - inexorably became a truly old man? What would happen when their child, who would have no Horcruxes, inevitably died?

Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut and realised that none of this had been properly thought through. Perhaps Bellatrix had been very right in getting the surgery initially. All of a sudden, it seemed utterly ridiculous that the Dark Lord and his vicious lady would spend years and years in domestic bliss with a child. It seemed ludicrous that either of them would sacrifice their goals or their tactics or their immortality for the sake of a mewling baby.

Voldemort realised that he'd let love get the better of him at last. Loving Bellatrix had proven to be far more helpful than harmful these last few years, but this was taking it all too far. He wasn't the lonely boy in the orphanage anymore; he was feared and worshipped for his Darkness. He could love Bellatrix, but that was it. Anything beyond that was not only a logistical impossibility, but a danger.

Voldemort flew from the bed, suddenly overcome with anger. He was furious with himself for not thinking any of this to its conclusion. He snatched at his wand and sent the clock on the wall crashing to the ground. He shattered the mirror in the bathroom and toppled over the wardrobe. Bellatrix winced and said from the bed,

"Please stop."

"What damned bloody fools we both are," Voldemort snarled, quickly flicking his wand at the wardrobe to make it repair itself. He glared at Bellatrix and shrugged. "Under what delusion, exactly, were the two of us labouring, Bellatrix? We are immortal. We have Horcruxes."

"That doesn't mean we'd ever have to use them," Bellatrix noted. Her cheeks went red, and she added, "They could be destroyed."

"No." Voldemort shook his head. "No. You know I'll wind up using potions and spells to keep myself from ever looking ninety years old, or two hundred and ninety years old. And you… you. You'll look like that forever. Like a pretty little thing right on the cusp of womanhood, hmm? But what about a baby, Bella? Babies become children, and children become adults, and adults grow old, and then they die. What the blazes were we thinking, that people like us could… you were right. You were right to get the surgery, to know that the lives we lead are not conducive to parenthood. You were right. And the little dreams I had of you in a rocking chair with a child? They were stupid dreams, Bellatrix. Ill-advised, to say the least. Stand up."

Bellatrix hesitated, pulling the sheets closer around her body. Voldemort snarled and grabbed at her wrist, yanking her out of the bed. She stood naked and nervous before him, and he aimed his wand at her abdomen, shutting his eyes and feeling as though he might faint.

"Whatever you're about to do, My Lord, please do not do it," Bellatrix begged him, but he opened his eyes and said very firmly,

"Matricis Evanesco."

Bellatrix yelped and clutched at her abdomen, falling to her knees and sobbing as she realised what he'd done. He'd vanished her womb into non-being. There was no undoing this. There was no spell, no potion, no insane Dark magic that could ever bring that organ back. She would never bleed again. She would never bear a child.

"What have you done?" Bellatrix wailed, glaring up at him and shaking her head wildly. "I had surgery for this! You were the one who convinced me… who… it was you who wanted a child!"

"Yes, well. I didn't think that through properly," Voldemort said tightly. Bellatrix shrugged, her mouth hanging open in speechless disbelief. She knew what this meant. They'd killed that Muggle woman in Spain for nothing. She'd be locked eternally in this appearance for nothing. He'd created that hospital wing for nothing. And even if someday he came up with an ingenious plan to keep their child with them forever, it was too late now. There was no crafting a new, functional uterus. There was no bringing back the one he'd just Vanished. He had just taken from her, rather by force, the last physical possibility of her bearing her own child.

"What a monster you are," Bellatrix mumbled from where she knelt. Rage flared up inside Voldemort then, and he grabbed her hair and yanked it back so that she was staring defiantly at him. She shrugged. "Go on. Hit me. Kick me. Send me flying against the wall. I let them cut me up inside for you; I let you perform the Darkest magic on me because I thought it was what you wanted. And with one little spell, you've decided my fate for me. But that's what you do, isn't it? You decide people's fates for them."

"You were right," Voldemort said through clenched teeth. "Since the day we were married, you'd insisted that you never wanted a child, and you were right."

"How very convenient that you can lean on that now," Bellatrix nodded. "Since you got to change your mind about it so often. But it's done now; you've mutilated me far more than any trained surgeon could ever do. You know that a solution could have been found. Or that we could have taken ten years to decide never to have a child at all. But you're so bloody impulsive that you couldn't - aaagh!"

Voldemort had tightened his grip on her hair, and he seethed, "I am Lord Voldemort, and my decisions are final."

"Including ones about my internal organs," Bellatrix nodded. "Yes, I understand exactly how it is now. Please, will you let me stand up? I'd like to go spend the night at my parents' house."

"No, you are not going to go run off to your mother," Voldemort snarled. He released her hair and took a step back. "You are not about to go prancing off screeching about the marital woes of the Dark Lord."

"Of course you're right," Bellatrix said bitterly. "We wouldn't want anyone thinking you were human."

She met his eyes, and he couldn't tell which of their gazes was colder or harder. Voldemort stalked to the wardrobe that he'd demolished and then fixed. He opened it and snatched out a pair of pyjamas, yanking them on as he informed Bellatrix,

"I shall stay in the second bedroom tonight and as many nights as you desire your solitude."

"I don't desire solitude, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a choked voice. "I just wish you had never, ever put the idea in my mind that you wanted me to be a mother."

Voldemort paused in the doorway, his chest pulling and his eyes burning as he let out a shaking sigh. He faced away from her as he said again,

"You were right, Bellatrix. Our lives are entirely too complicated and abnormal to introduce another human into them. My fantasies were born of the most fundamental human weakness - love. My love for you is a strength, but… I was blinded by my own humanity into thinking it was wise or even possible for you to be a mother. It's all well and good to imagine you in a rocking chair, Bella. Not so good to picture you, looking seventeen, burying your eighty-year-old son."

Bellatrix let out a little sob from behind him and moaned, "You don't know that it would have had to be like that. You don't know. Look at how many other workarounds you've created in your life. The rules don't apply to you; you've said so yourself."

Voldemort shook his head and murmured over his shoulder, "You were right to want the surgery in the first place, Bellatrix. Perhaps it was slightly impulsive for me to Vanish your womb. But there was entirely too much deliberation happening on the matter. This is not something that can be reversed. There is no Croatian crone's Dark magic for this. There is no transplant. No infusion. It's done now. It's over."

Bellatrix nodded at him, swiping tears from her eyes. "I know it is."

"Get some sleep," Voldemort told her, though he knew neither of them would. He walked across the landing at the top of the stairs into the other bedroom on this level, a smaller space of black wood and red silk. He pulled back the covers on the rarely-used bed and slithered into the sheets, folding his hands over his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

It had been a beautiful delusion, he thought - the idea of Bellatrix humming a lullaby to a child. Perhaps someday a hundred years from now, some opportunity would arise for them to adopt a little baby of note. Perhaps they'd want to do so then, or perhaps not. He hadn't shut the door on parenthood entirely, he reasoned. He'd only closed off the biological option. He'd said it before; Lord Voldemort needed no heir. And that was true. It was also true that he had no working method right now to prevent a child Bellatrix bore from ageing and dying and leaving both of them utterly bereft. He wasn't about to go encouraging his child to make a Horcrux, and the fact that he was unwilling to encourage the use of such Dark magic in any potential offspring told him he shouldn't have offspring at all.

They would live forever, but they would have to do it alone. Everyone around them would die. Abraxas Malfoy, and then Lucius Malfoy, and then whatever child Lucius inevitably made with Bellatrix's sister Narcissa. All of them would die. All except for Voldemort and Bellatrix, who would live forever alone.

"My Lord?"

He turned his head to the doorway to see Bellatrix standing there in a nightgown and black satin robe. She stepped into the spare bedroom, and when he saw her face, Voldemort said the words he reserved almost exclusively for her.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," Bellatrix nodded. "I let far too much emotion leech into all of this."

"I'm not sure how one is meant to keep emotion out of the consideration of having a child," Voldemort admitted. "If you ever want one, Bella, there's literally all the time in the world for it. I grew up in an orphanage. Nobody wanted me, but I watched an endless parade of well-mannered little children be marched out by smiling, barren couples who had at last found their child."

Bellatrix smirked. "So you're saying that thirty years from now, we'll walk into an orphanage and walk out with a family?"

"We are a family," Voldemort informed her crisply. "You and I are a family. But if, thirty or sixty or three or a hundred years from now, you decide you want to be a mother, you don't need a womb for that. Please, Bella… know how fiercely I love you. It was my fault to be impulsive through all of this, not just what happened tonight. I was a fool to do what I did in Spain. I was a fool to let on before then that I had fantasies of you as a mother. Because I know damn well who you are - soldier and diplomat and consort and wife - and I know that the circumstances of our mortality would only lead to intense heartbreak. Once upon a time, Bellatrix, I did not think the heart in my chest could even be broken. But you'd shatter it into a thousand pieces with your grief, and I can not allow that for either of us."

She nodded and tucked her curls behind her ear. "I understand, My Lord. Do you think… do you suppose I'll ever age now?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "No. Probably not. When I get old enough that you're entirely repulsed, I'll go back to using Surripiotempus Potion on a permanent basis."

"That isn't why I asked," Bellatrix said, smiling a bit sadly. She sank onto the bed near Voldemort's feet and mused quietly,

"How will you know when you've gone too far? When you've used too much magic to keep yourself alive and make yourself more powerful?"

"There's no such thing as too far," Voldemort said rather sternly. "You've said it yourself. You knew what I was when you married me."

"I did know. And I know now, too," Bellatrix said. She reached for his hand and squeezed gently. "Please come back to our bed. I don't want to sleep without you."

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

17 April 1972

"My goodness. Don't you look handsome?" Bellatrix came walking out of the bathroom in nothing but a short black robe, and she smiled at Voldemort, who stood looking resplendent in his tuxedo robes. She moved to stand beside him in front of the full-length mirror, leaning her head against his shoulder. She'd already done her hair, straightening it and weaving it into a basket-style design at the back of her head. She'd put on the silver tiara that Voldemort had had made for her. She wore her serpent necklace, and her heavy eyeliner and red lipstick were already on.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," Voldemort told her, and Bellatrix frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean, My Lord?"

He tipped his head as they stared at one another in the mirror. He sighed and shrugged. "I know perfectly well how old I am. How old I look next to you."

Bellatrix scowled. "You're not old. Forty-five is not old."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I've been keeping my head shaved because my hairline had receded straight up my scalp and the hair left was almost entirely grey. I'm old. It's fine. You don't have to pretend I'm young and handsome."

Bellatrix felt a little offended then, and she said, "If I make a confession, perhaps it will alleviate your anxiety about this."

"What confession?" Voldemort demanded. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm beneath her powder and rouge, and she said sheepishly,

"I've always… you know, had rather a thing for older men."

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow up and laughed a little, turning away from the mirror to face her. "A thing. What does that mean?

Bellatrix wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "I never found myself attracted to young men. Not viscerally. When I was younger, I only ever had crushes on much, much older men."

"When you were younger," Voldemort repeated, narrowing his eyes. "So, just a few years ago, then. Who were these men?"

"No." Bellatrix shook her head and giggled softly. "No, I'm not going to tell you."

Voldemort tipped her chin up with his finger and informed her, "I could Imperius you into telling me, but I'd much rather you did it of your own volition."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "My father's friends. It doesn't matter now. You know all of them. I only wanted them because they were older."

Voldemort laughed uproariously at that, and Bellatrix couldn't help grinning at the sight of his mirth. He dragged his hand over his shaved head and asked playfully,

"So you like the wrinkles, then, do you?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix adjusted his bow tie and informed him, "I'm going to go put my dress on. We should leave very soon. How's the makeup and hair look?"

"Divine," Voldemort answered. He started working on his cufflinks as Bellatrix made her way into her dressing boudoir. She peeled off her satin robe and slithered into her flesh-toned undergarments. Then she pulled her gown off the hanger and stepped into it.

This gown had been the creation of four witches at Twillfit and Tattings, who had worked for many hours to create the work of art. Bellatrix adjusted the sleeves and then studied herself in the boudoir's full-length mirror. She had to admit she looked rather good. The gown was shining white silk that fit her form like a glove, with long sleeves and a draped neckline. There was a thick silver belt around the middle that fit almost like a corset, giving the impression of armour. More armoured silver laced around the shoulders and down to a point on Bellatrix's biceps. She studied herself, the gown and the hair and the crown, and she thought that she did look a bit like royalty. Bellatrix sighed nervously as she slid on her silver high heels, and she strode with feigned confidence back into the bedroom.

Voldemort turned at the sound of her footsteps, and he actually dropped his wand. Bellatrix tried not to laugh as he quickly bent and picked it up. He stared at her for a very long moment with shock and wonder and attraction throbbing from his mind. Bellatrix dragged her thumb over the diamond, onyx, and emerald bracelet on her wrist and asked carefully,

"What do you think?"

"You're in white," he said simply, and Bellatrix smiled and nodded.

"The wedding dress I never had, perhaps."

"You look… like a dream," Voldemort nodded. "You look like the most beautiful witch in all the world."

Bellatrix blinked quickly and scolded him, "Stop that kind of talk, or else I'll have mascara running down my cheeks. We should go, shouldn't we?"

He nodded and stepped up to her, his breath quicker than she would have expected as he threaded his fingers through hers and Disapparated. When they landed, they were in his office at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix glanced around and asked,

"Why didn't we come in the front doors?"

"I don't want to be announced by a House-Elf," Voldemort said simply. He straightened his jacket and tie and asked her, "Anything out of place?"

"No. You look very handsome." Bellatrix took his hand and let him lead her from his office and down the corridor. There was already a hum of activity and the sound of a small orchestra in the ballroom, and as they neared the open doors, Bellatrix could see Abraxas Malfoy standing there waiting for them. Malfoy quirked up his lips and bowed.

"Good evening, My Lord. My Lady."

"Thank you for hosting this little party, Minister," Bellatrix said warmly. She couldn't help but notice the way Malfoy's eyes flicked up and down her form, and she wondered if her column dress fit too snugly.

It looks fine. More than fine, Voldemort thought firmly at her. Malfoy certainly thinks so.

She didn't sense any hostility from him. If anything, he seemed proud that his wife was so dizzyingly beautiful tonight. Bellatrix followed Voldemort and Malfoy into the ballroom, and all of a sudden everything fizzled into silence.

"Give due regard to our munificent Dark Lord and Lady," Malfoy said. Bellatrix frowned a little; usually she was introduced as Madam Blackalongside Voldemort. But her husband hardly seemed aggrieved as the ballroom broke out into wild applause. His hand tightened on hers, and once silence fell again, he said in a confident voice,

"My friends… today we have gathered to celebrate the anniversary of wizarding Britain's great rebirth. A year ago, my Lady and I eliminated my most poisonous enemy, Albus Dumbledore."

A low hiss and a few sounds of disgust wormed their way through the ballroom. Voldemort held his hand up for quiet and continued,

"Since that day, we have reclaimed our community. We have established a Ministry that works for the good of actual witches and wizards. I am proud and happy to see the Ministry so well represented tonight, helmed by our illustrious host and the Minister of Magic himself, Abraxas Malfoy."

Voldemort waited for more applause to ripple through the space. Once it died down, he nodded his thanks to Malfoy once more and continued to the crowd,

"We have not come here to celebrate the anniversary of a death, but to commemorate the day that dawn broke over wizarding Britain. I am honoured and privileged to be your lord and master. The loyalty of every soul in attendance tonight is marked and appreciated and will not be forgotten. You, my friends, have been instrumental in shaping our country's bright new future. I will continue to rely on you going forward. I know that next year, our celebration will be even more joyous, and so will each subsequent passing year. I ask you to raise your wands now for a salute."

He released Bellatrix's hand, and she pulled her own wand from the Expanded silver clutch she'd brought with her. She illuminated it and held it up along with everyone else. Voldemort smirked and said,

"I stand in grateful receipt of all your devotion and servitude. I pledge to you a greater tomorrow. We stand united."

More applause broke out then as everyone lowered and snuffed out their wands. Bellatrix tucked hers away again, and as everyone resumed their low conversations, she murmured to Voldemort,

"I'll go visit with my parents so you can make rounds."

"Don't tarry too long; I'd like you to speak to as many people as you can," Voldemort said firmly. Bellatrix nodded and smiled a bit at him, and she could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She could feel the eyes of countless others, too. Jealous witches and lustful wizards alike stared at her as she made her way across the ballroom. Narcissa stood with Lucius Malfoy, speaking to Bellatrix's parents. As she approached, Druella Black's cheeks went pink, and Bellatrix was shocked to see her and Narcissa curtsy.

"You don't have to do that," Bellatrix said rather uncomfortably, but Druella was wide-eyed and almost fearful as she said softly,

"I think it's better that we do. You look absolutely splendid, Bellatrix."

"Thank you," Bellatrix muttered. Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat quietly, and Bellatrix watched as he bowed deeply and said,

"My Lady, it is an honour beyond measure to be celebrating this joyous anniversary."

"Indeed it is." Bellatrix felt like she didn't know any of these people. Even her own father seemed frightened of her, so she gave him a warm look and asked, "Father, will you please dance with your eldest daughter? Just once."

"Oh. Erm… yes, of course," Cygnus said. He held his arm out, and Bellatrix took it as she said to the others,

"Enjoy yourselves. It is a party, after all."

She let her father lead her to the dance floor, feeling more stares and hearing or imagining all kinds of whispers. She sighed deeply as she and her father fell into a lazy two-step.

"Do you remember, Father, when I was about six or seven, we came to the Christmas party here and you let me stand on your shoes whilst we danced?"

"I remember," Cygnus nodded, his dark eyes going a bit wet. "He was here that night, you know."

Bellatrix frowned. "The Dark Lord?"

"Yes. You wouldn't have been paying much attention to him then, probably."

"No, I suppose not," Bellatrix admitted. She glanced over to where he was standing, surrounded by an eager hive of Ministry employees. She laughed a little and murmured, "Oh, the poor man. They all want a piece of him. Or at least a piece of his attention."

"Bellatrix."

She turned her face back to her father, and he sounded a bit concerned as he said,

"Please just reassure me that you are safe and happy."

Bellatrix couldn't promise him anything on the safe front, but she nodded and assured him, "I think I must be the happiest witch who ever lived, Father."

"Good. That's all I ever wanted for any of you girls."

Any. Not both, but any. He was thinking of Andromeda, Bellatrix thought. And, of course, what he'd said wasn't true. If Cygnus Black III had really just wanted his middle daughter happy, he would have encouraged her to run off with Ted Tonks and would have maintained contact. Instead, he'd cut her off entirely, and now Andromeda was dead, killed by Bellatrix's own wand. Her steps faltered a little, and Cygnus seemed to know they were both thinking of the same person.

Mercifully, a handsome figure strode up just as the two-step ended. Lord Voldemort approached just as the orchestra stopped playing and everyone began to applaud. Cygnus bowed deeply, and Voldemort asked in an uncharacteristically gentle tone,

"Cygnus, might I steal a dance with your daughter?"

"She's all yours, My Lord," Cygnus said, and Bellatrix realised just how very true that was. Cygnus gave his daughter a loving look and nodded. "Enjoy the evening, dear."

Voldemort swept Bellatrix into a more elegant dancing stance as the orchestra began a slow waltz. His gaze was intense as he told her,

"I had to get away from all those idiots."

Bellatrix laughed and reminded him, "Those idiots comprise your Ministry."

"I know. It's unnerving," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix laughed again. But then his face looked hungry, and she could feel the want radiating off of him.

"You sounded magnificent," she whispered, and he nodded his thanks. Bellatrix tightened her grip on his shoulder and said, "Everyone in this room is in complete awe of you. Most especially me."

Voldemort gulped. "Bella, I want… I want to go to my office. Just for a quick -"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix interrupted in a soothing voice. She dragged her thumb over his and chided him, "You know it wouldn't be once quickly on your desk. You know what's happened on nights like this. Take it out on me later."

"I find myself in rather desperate need of it right now," Voldemort admitted, and Bellatrix flicked her eyes down to see a bulge in his tuxedo trousers. His cheeks went red and he looked flustered and embarrassed. Bellatrix knew he was high on the feeling of being adored, drunk on the affirmation of his power, aroused by his wife. She shut her eyes and silently incanted,

Delenio.

She could feel Voldemort's heart and breathing slow a little, and when she opened her eyes and looked at his trousers again, there was no obvious erection. He nodded and mumbled,

"Thank you."

Bellatrix stared up at him as they danced, and with every passing note, she became more lost to him. The feel of his hands on her, the sight of his mouth and his nose and his eyes, of his elegant tuxedo. The smell of steel and something elegantly masculine. The thudding sense of need that he still felt looking back at her. It was all too much, and she didn't even notice when the song ended. Finally she found herself standing there whilst everyone else applauded the orchestra, and still she was staring up at her husband like an infatuated child.

"Tell me you've charmed your lipstick not to rub off," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix's pulse quickened as she nodded. He took her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, planting a solid kiss on her lips. It lingered just long enough for everyone to see, and Bellatrix's mind whirled with the idea that he'd wanted the people to watch them be intimate like this. She started to pull away, but he held his mouth against hers another moment, his fingers curled just so around her cheeks. Bellatrix's own hands went flat against his tuxedo shirt, and finally he pulled back. The ballroom was quiet but not silent, though Bellatrix knew every single person in the room had witnessed the kiss. She quirked up half her mouth and whispered up to Voldemort,

"Why did you do that?"

Voldemort winked at her, which made her shiver, and he shrugged. "Why not? Let's go say hello to the head of the Floo Network Authority, shall we?"

---

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

20 April 1972

"Where are they?" Voldemort demanded, storming into the dining room at Malfoy Manor without any semblance of greeting. Bellatrix had received an owl this morning from Malabit Rowle indicating that some scattered half-blood, blood traitor, and Mudblood 'anarchists' had been located. Voldemort had Summoned Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley, Avery, Nott, Goyle, Hadley Carrow and her cousin Patricia, Lorcan Crabbe, and Antonin Dolohov to Malfoy Manor in response. All of his best fighters. Now he sank into the seat at the head of the table as everyone scrambled to sit back down, and he asked again, "Where are they?"

"My Lord, the intelligence we have indicates that the anarchists are living in small groups, no larger than five, and some of them are solitary. They're attempting to live 'off the map,' to continue practising magic or blending into Muggle life without the authority of the Ministry of Magic. One was captured yesterday, and before his execution, he stated that he no longer recognised the legitimacy of the Ministry as his government and would no longer live as part of Britain's wizarding community."

A low rumble of disbelieving laughter went around the table, and Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest beside Voldemort as he barked,

"That was not a choice afforded him. No one will practise magic in this country without my permission. No one. Not a single Mudblood. Not a single family of blood traitors. There will be no spells cast from disobedient wands. We will crush them, and we will do it now, before their supposed disdain for authority turns into active rebellion."

The others looked energised by Voldemort's determination. Bellatrix turned to Malfoy and asked,

"Minister, have you got locations on all of them?"

"All the ones we know about, My Lady," nodded Abraxas. "Seven locations in total."

Bellatrix's eyes started scanning around the table, and Voldemort knew she was thinking the same thing he was. A simultaneous strike would be needed in case any of the anarchists were in communication with one another. He glanced at those he'd assembled and said crisply,

"Right. We'll all go in pairs. Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. Crabbe and Dolohov. Hadley and Patricia Carrow. Nott and Goyle. Yaxley and Avery. And I'll go with the Lady."

Malfoy nodded and rose, walking to Voldemort's chair. He bowed and handed over a stack of parchments.

"These are the known clusters, My Lord," Malfoy said quietly. "There is one group of five; the others are singles, pairs, or trios."

Voldemort waved Malfoy off and looked over the intelligence. He thought straight toward his wife,

Bella, come hand the papers out to the class, won't you?

She rose, and he pulled out the parchment that described the hiding-place of a lone old Mudblood wizard in Wales. Voldemort held the paper up and murmured to Bellatrix,

"The Carrows."

She walked around the table and handed the parchment to Hadley Carrow, and when she came back, he gave her the intelligence briefing on a married couple - a Mudblood and a half-blood in East Anglia.

"Nott and Goyle," he said. He assigned Crabbe and Dolohov to another married couple hiding with their four-year-old daughter in Glasgow. He gave the Lestrange brothers a very angry-sounding Mudblood witch who had once been an Auror. Yaxley and Avery were given a married couple of blood-traitors and the husband's aged mother. The Malfoys were given a straggling pair of Prewetts, and then he came to the parchment he'd saved for last. When Bellatrix returned, he handed it to her and jerked his head toward her chair.

She read over it, her eyes registering that they were to eliminate Molly and Arthur Weasley, their young son, Arthur's brother Bilius, and the patriarch Septimus Weasley. Arthur and Molly had never been full-blown members of the Order of the Phoenix, but they'd shown more than enough enmity when Bellatrix had spied on them at Hogwarts. Now, it seemed, they were hiding in a dingy flat in Birmingham.

"Meet with your partner to strategise briefly," Voldemort said. "Go to the location we have and eliminate your targets. Be careful with collateral damage; use Obliviation liberally if necessary. No captured enemies; I have no need of information from these people. I want them all dead. Come back here as soon as you've finished. Anyone who has not returned by sundown will be presumed lost. Are there any questions?"

Everyone looked a bit apprehensive, but no one spoke. Voldemort sniffed lightly and nodded.

"Serve me well, all of you." He turned his face to Bellatrix and thought, My office.

She followed him when he rose, and everyone else flew to their feet to give them respect as they left the room. Voldemort strode quickly down the corridor and flung the door to his office open with wandless magic. Bellatrix shut it more gently behind them, and she hesitated.

"What's wrong?" Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix said carefully,

"Their son is less than two years old."

"Yes? And?" Voldemort snarled. Bellatrix put her hands on her hips.

"Step one is going to be separating the adults from the child. They'll do anything and everything to protect him."

"Their anything and everything is significantly less impressive than what we've got, Bella," Voldemort reminded her. She put her lips into a line and suggested,

"I'll go straight for the baby. Molly will go for him, too. I'll take her out, then the little boy. That will leave you with Arthur, Bilius, and Septimus."

Voldemort squared his jaw but finally nodded. "Find the child first."

"May I see the address again?" Bellatrix asked, and he handed her the parchment.

"We'll do Side-Along to make sure we end up in the same spot," Voldemort said. "I'm aiming for the corridor outside the unit itself."

Bellatrix nodded and straightened her tunic. She was in battle attire today; she'd donned leggings and tall boots and a flowing knee-length tunic bound by a fierce-looking leather bustier. She'd tied her curls up at the nape of her neck, and she looked beautiful in her determination.

"Ready?" she asked, and Voldemort smirked.

"You've missed this. Real battle."

"Perhaps I have," she admitted with a shrug. "Shall we go?"

---

Birmingham

20 April 1972

"It's disgusting," Bellatrix muttered as they walked down the stained carpet in the tower flat's corridor. Voldemort could hear a Muggle couple bickering inside one unit, and suddenly there was the unmistakable crash of a dish having been thrown at a wall. Inside another unit, a baby wailed whilst a television blared. They reached unit number 6, and Voldemort gave Bellatrix a meaningful look as he held up a finger to keep her quiet. He could feel the souls inside the flat. One female presence, four male. They were there. Voldemort shut his eyes and reached out with his mind.

The adults are sitting at the table in the kitchen talking. The young boy is sleeping in the bedroom to the left. You go there first.

Bellatrix nodded as she received his instruction. Voldemort took a deep, steady breath, and he aimed the wand he'd stolen from Dumbledore at the door.

"Alohomora."

The meagre Muggle locking system gave way at once. Voldemort let Bellatrix go in first; she needed to get to the young boy, Bill, before his parents could put up a fight over him. Bellatrix flung the door open and immediately dashed off to the left. Voldemort strode confidently into the kitchen, a hideous yellow conflagration of plastics and nearly-broken furniture. Molly Weasley screamed as soon as she saw Voldemort, and the instant she made a move toward the bedroom to the left, Voldemort nonverbally Stupefied her. Arthur and Bilius Weasley threw spells at him, and Voldemort blocked them with ease. He Disarmed both wizards, realising at once that the eldest one, the greying old blood traitor Septimus Weasley, had no wand. He'd left it in the room with Bill, Voldemort could see in the man's mind.

"Avada Kedavra!" he heard Bellatrix's voice scream, and there was a violent flash of green from the left. Arthur Weasley roared with rage, but before he could even move, Voldemort had killed him. Arthur collapsed in a heap, and Septimus' hands flew into his greying hair as he growled with frustrated grief.

"Stop!" the old man cried. "Please, please stop! Let us live in peace!"

"You had your chance to live in peace," Voldemort snarled at Septimus and Bilius. "My world would have given you plenty of peace. You chose death. Avada Kedavra!"

The Killing Curse socked Bilius Weasley right in his abdomen. Voldemort repeated the spell on Septimus, and then Bellatrix came stalking into the kitchen. She poked Molly Weasley with her boot and noted,

"She's still breathing."

"Take her out, then," Voldemort shrugged, and Bellatrix nonchalantly aimed her wand at the witch and said firmly,

"Avada Kedavra."

The only living souls in the flat then were Voldemort himself and Bellatrix. She stared at him across the kitchen, and he could feel a little bit of unease radiating from her. He tipped his head and assured her,

"A two-year-old Weasley is just a blood traitor in a very small body, Bellatrix. There are no more innocents."

"I've no problem killing innocents," she said, frowning, "though, of course, you're right. I'm actually more concerned that all the noise might have alerted one of the neighbours."

Voldemort chuckled a little, reminded once again just how profoundly vicious his little thing was. She was right, of course. The other units were loud and angry, but there had been screeching chairs and screams and shouted curses that would sound foreign and bizarre to the Muggles. Perhaps he ought to have cast some Muggle-repelling or silencing spells outside the flat before they'd come in. It didn't matter; it was done now.

"Did you Vanish the corpse in the bedroom?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded rather proudly. She aimed her wand at Molly Weasley and murmured,

"Corpus Evanesco."

Voldemort did the same with the three wizards he'd killed, and then the flat was empty and quiet except for the sound of a Muggle fire engine whirring by outside the cracked window.

"We should go," Voldemort told Bellatrix firmly, holding out his arm. She snared her hand around his sleeve and smiled up at him, and then he Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor.

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

20 April 1972

"At least all the targets were eliminated. It could have been worse, My Lord," said Bellatrix's voice from outside the shower. Voldemort glared at the tile wall as the hot water coursed over him, and he tried to control his intense anger as he said,

"Yes, I suppose it could have been worse. We could have lost everyone. Instead, we only lost Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange. It's hardly as though either of them were young fathers or anything. How do you suppose the Greengrass family is going to behave now that both their daughters have lost their husbands? Can I really continue to rely on their loyalty?"

"Well, if you can't, I'm sure you'll eliminate any risk they might create," Bellatrix said hesitantly. She'd already taken her own shower, so she was standing by the sink wrapped up in a towel. Voldemort shut the taps off and noted,

"They'll need to be replaced at the Ministry, of course. We'll have to stage a very elaborate joint funeral. Paint them as heroes who laid their lives down in eliminating existential threats to wizarding Britain."

That wasn't what had happened, of course. Yaxley had been taken down by an ancient witch, the mother of a blood-traitor. Rabastan Lestrange had been killed by the former Auror who had also managed to lop off Rodolphus Lestrange's left hand.

"I can begin plans for the funeral tomorrow, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. "We can hold it at the end of the week. Where would you like it to be?"

"Here," Voldemort said firmly. There was silence, and he felt confusion from her. He opened the shower door and took the towel she offered him, wrapping it around his waist. He shrugged and said, "This comes down to people trusting me, Bella. Believing that I possess an irrefutable right to wield power. We'll make tombs for them on the moor. A little monument at the base of the scree. We'll host a quiet, solemn remembrance ceremony and meal here in the gathering hall."

"And who should be invited?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort swallowed hard and said,

"The whole of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Any Ministry employees with exemplary records of loyalty who have worked with either of them. Dolohov and any other pertinent Death Eaters. Keep it around seventy-five or a hundred."

Bellatrix nodded and said again, "I'll get everything planned quickly. It'll be easier in the morning when I can quickly make contacts."

Voldemort wrapped his arms around her damp shoulders and stared down at her face. Her wet curls hung in tendrils around her pale skin and her wide, dark eyes. He blinked a few times and noted,

"How very easily you handled the battle today, little thing. You're so much better than any of them could hope to be."

Bellatrix sighed and looked a bit sad as she said, "Dahlia just had the baby a few months ago. She's been madly in love with Rabastan Lestrange for years. She'll be completely and utterly heartbroken. Inconsolable."

"Perhaps you ought to go to her," Voldemort suggested, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"Seeing me right now will only make her hate you, My Lord. I think you're right, that we ought to honour them as heroes who died for a just cause. But all of that's better done with the distance created by protocol and patriotism. I think if I went to Dahlia Lestrange right now, I'd be on the receiving end of a good solid slap. She'll be the disconsolate widow of a hero at the funeral."

She reached up for Voldemort's chest, her fingers dancing over his skin and making him shiver. She thought for a moment and then suggested, "Paint the Greengrass family as the ultimate example of sacrifice and loyalty. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange left behind wives and children, you'll say, but those wives and children will be duly provided for by the thankful Ministry and the eternally grateful Dark Lord. Those wives and children will be given comfortable homes, House-Elves and nannies, an annual allowance… because Yaxley and Lestrange gave their lives for wizarding Britain, and the Dark Lord leaves no widow bereft."

She raised her eyes to him, and he curled up his lips as he thought over her words. She was completely right, as usual. Daisy Greengrass had been punished right alongside Yaxley for marrying without permission. There would be no mention of that at Yaxley's funeral. Daisy would be moved into a more comfortable setting with the twins she'd inherited. Dahlia would be made comfortable, at the very least. And the message that would be drilled into the minds of all present was that Yaxley and Lestrange had been vibrant, skillful soldiers taken down by the Dark Lord's enemies. And, after all, the enemies of the Dark Lord were the enemies of all of wizarding Britain.

"You're rather terrifying, you know that?" Voldemort asked as he tucked Bellatrix's wet curls behind her ear. "Slaughtering my foes with abandon. Effortless diplomacy. Being so damned beautiful. It's all a bit much. I'm very frightened of you."

Bellatrix smirked and flicked her fingers at the towel around his waist. He hissed as it fell to the ground, for she began to play with his cock as she stared up at him. He started to go hard at once in her hands, and she said gently,

"You don't need to fear me, My Lord. I'm the closest ally you'll ever know. I promise."

"Well. It's certainly small wonder that everyone else is afraid of you," he said, tipping his head back as she grazed her thumb over his tip.

"They're even more frightened of you," Bellatrix noted. "Do you think they're twice as afraid since there are two of us?"

"I hope so," he nodded. Unable to be patient any longer, he took Bellatrix by the hand and pulled her into the bedroom. He sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and wrenched her down onto him. He tossed her towel aside as she crawled onto his lap. When she sank down onto him, she was already wet, which made Voldemort groan with want.

He'd lost two of his more valuable soldiers today. But soldiers died in wars, and this war would never really be over. The grief could be handled. Bellatrix would help him manage all of that. She'd been skillful and diplomatic and sexy today, and he drank her in deeply when she bent to kiss him. His hands found her breasts as she bobbed on him. Her body was more lithe and youthful than ever thanks to what they'd done in Spain. Her breath shook against his lips as she moved, and he could feel her thinking about everything that had happened today. She was remembering the sight of the little Weasley child, the way Bellatrix had averted her gaze just as the Killing Curse struck the sleeping child. She was remembering Molly Weasley back at Hogwarts. She was thinking of Dahlia Lestrange and little Rosemary, of Daisy Yaxley and the twins that had been Ophelia's.

Then she was thinking of him, of Lord Voldemort, and how her entire life was to be lived for him. Others would fall. Others would drown in their sorrows, but no one would ever live for Him the way Bellatrix was doing.

"I love you, little thing," he assured her, and she touched her forehead to his as her body clenched with satisfaction.

"I… I love you, My Lord," she managed. The feel of her climax was far too much, and Voldemort felt himself spill inside her body as he saw spots and his ears went hot. He kissed her again, harder this time, and he thought straight toward her,

My soldier, my diplomat, My Lady. My vicious little thing.

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

23 April 1972

"Morning, Tom!"

Tom Riddle glanced up from the velvet cupboard shelf he had out on the counter. He was arranging trinkets for sale, and he turned up half his mouth as he said politely,

"Good morning, Miss Burke."

Elinor Burke, the daughter of the shop's proprietor, sauntered over to the counter and leaned her elbows on the glass that Tom had just cleaned. She cocked a blonde eyebrow up flirtatiously and informed him,

"I'm so jealous of you, you know. I keep asking my father when he'll let me work in the shop. He says I'm far too delicate to be working in Knockturn Alley and that I need to find a good wizard to marry as soon as possible."

Tom Riddle put the Egyptian scarab pendants on the tray in a straighter line as he mumbled,

"Well, I suppose you'd best set about finding a good wizard, then, Miss Burke."

She hesitated a moment, and he looked up to see her bright blue eyes eagerly studying his. She smiled warmly and noted, "Riddle. It's not a name I'm familiar with. Where's your family from again?"

"Yorkshire," he said simply. Then, realising she might figure out that his father had been a filthy Muggle, he added, "My mother's side were all Gaunts."

"Oh!" Elinor Burke grinned and nodded, and Tom could sense nervous attraction from her as she shrugged and asked, "I'm sure you have plenty of young witches clamoring after you, Mr Riddle!"

He raised his eyes to her and considered what to say. He could tell her that no one was chasing him, that he just wasn't interested in her, but she was, after all, the daughter of his boss. So he said plainly,

"I mean to accomplish great things in my life, Miss Burke, and I don't suppose that path leaves much room for fraternisation or romance."

Elinor Burke's pale cheeks went pink, and she laughed nervously as she said, "Well. You'll have to graduate from being a clerk at Borgin and Burke's to do anything truly great, but I'm sure you'll manage it. The very best of luck to you in your pursuits."

"And to you in yours, Miss Burke," said Tom Riddle coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to do inventory on our human skull collection."

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open and stared at the wall, trying to pretend she hadn't just had that dream. She knew that Voldemort had shared it. She could tell in the deepest recesses of her mind that he'd been there with her in Borgin and Burke's. She shut her eyes again, but Voldemort murmured quietly,

"I know you're awake."

Bellatrix sighed and rolled over to face him. He wasn't going to want to discuss this one, she suspected. His face was steely as he stared at the ceiling, and she assured him,

"I know that's not who you are anymore, My Lord."

He scoffed and dug his knuckles into his eye sockets.

"Do you think less of me now?" he asked sharply, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Do I think less of you… because you were talking to Elinor Burke? She's Elinor Shacklebolt now, isn't she? She was very pretty back then."

He turned his face to her, his gaze like ice as he clarified, "I wasn't talking about Elinor Burke. I meant… now that you know what my father was…"

Bellatrix smiled and shook her head dismissively. "Oh, I figured out a long time ago that he was a Muggle. The information you gave me about him was scattered and vague, but I figured it out. There's no wizarding family called Riddle, and you've always talked about him as being dirty or filthy. You talked about being raised in a Muggle orphanage. I've known you were a Half-Blood for more than a year. What of it?"

Voldemort stared at her in open-mouthed shock. "You knew?"

Bellatrix hesitated. "Should I have said something about it?"

"No." Voldemort studied her face before rolling onto his back again. He sighed deeply and admitted, "I don't often think about those years on Knockturn Alley."

"Did you ever meet him?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, and she watched as Voldemort's throat bobbed. He knew who she meant.

"Yes," he said. "The day I killed him. That's the only time I laid eyes on him."

Bellatrix could suddenly see a middle-aged man who looked an awful lot like Voldemort did now. He was sitting in a drawing-room, wide-eyed with horror just before a vivid green light took him over. Voldemort huffed a sigh and threw the blankets off himself. He started to stalk across the bedroom, and Bellatrix sat up as she asked,

"Where are you going?"

He turned over his shoulder and said crisply, "To relieve myself in the bathroom, if it's all the same to you. Would you like a potion to help you sleep?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll be fine. Need to be alert for the funeral in the morning."

Voldemort nodded and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She knew he didn't need the toilet; he needed to be alone. She could feel him shut his mind off entirely from her; she couldn't sense a thing from him. But she knew he was perseverating over his ugly past. Bellatrix turned back to face the wall and brought the blankets back up around her. She shut her eyes, her mind fixated on the sound and feel of Voldemort when he'd been a young and uncertain Tom Riddle. She started to drift off to sleep again, and then there was a soft pressure on the bed behind her.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said rather firmly, and she woke herself up enough to hum a nonverbal reply. He slid up behind her, his arm wrapping around her body and settling on the mattress. He kissed her jaw and informed her, "If anyone else in the entire world had seen the dream you just did, I'd kill them. You know that."

"I do, My Lord," Bellatrix affirmed. He moved his lips to her ear, kissing the skin beside it as he murmured,

"You're the only one I'll ever be able to trust. And I can trust you, can't I?"

She turned her head until her eyes met his, and she nodded as she assured him, "Of course you can, My Lord. Forever. I adore you. I live for you."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind still closed off, and finally he seemed satisfied. He nodded and whispered, "Go back to sleep, little thing."

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

23 April 1972

"Are you very certain I shouldn't just use my wand for this?" Bellatrix took a steadying breath as she stared at Voldemort's reflection in the mirror. He smirked and shook his head, which looked rather funny because his scalp was covered in shaving cream.

"Much too close to my brain for a spell," he told her. "Easier to fix a slice from a straight razor."

"I shall try my best not to slice you," Bellatrix assured him. She angled the razor just so and pulled it back, following the curvature of his head as she murmured, "You know, I think your hair looks just fine. I don't mind the grey… or the hairline."

He stifled a laugh to keep his head still and informed her, "It's more intimidating with me bald, I think."

Bellatrix said nothing to that, though of course he was right. He seemed much more severe with a shaved head. She rinsed the razor under the sink tap and turned back to where he sat in his Conjured chair. She pulled the razor over his skin again, and he said quietly,

"Did you know that most Muggles believe, in one form or another, that after death all humans will stand before a great judgment?"

Bellatrix frowned and asked, "Who's judging them?"

"That depends on who you ask," Voldemort said. "Most of them believe that if you've done very good things in your life, you'll live forever in a grand paradise. And if you've done terrible things, you'll know nothing but torture for all eternity."

Bellatrix carefully finished a stroke with the razor and rinsed it again. "I wouldn't want that to be true. Do you think it's true, My Lord?"

"No," he said immediately. "I do not believe it is true."

Bellatrix stared at him in the mirror, adjusting her grip on the razor as she asked, "If it's not true, then why would they believe it? Why would you want to believe such a thing?"

"It gives them comfort, I suppose, to hope that if they've very gentle with one another, perhaps they'll be rewarded," Voldemort said. Bellatrix scoffed and dragged the razor over his head again as she noted,

"But they don't tend to be very gentle with one another, do they? I suppose most of them wind up being tortured eternally, then."

"Most of them wind up in a box," Voldemort said coldly, "except for the ones who are burned or thrown into the sea. None of them are granted everlasting paradise."

Bellatrix sensed a sudden, deep hostility from him, and she blinked quickly as she finished the last stroke on his head. She rinsed the razor, set it on the ledge above the sink, and soaked a rag in warm water. She dragged it over his scalp and assured him,

"There. Freshly intimidating, just in time for the funeral."

He met her eyes in the mirror and nodded solemnly. "Thank you."

---

Illgill Head, Wasdale Screes, Lake District

23 April 1972

Cold drizzle was descending from the sky, which seemed appropriate for an occasion like a double funeral for war heroes. Bellatrix stood on the soggy grass moor beside Lord Voldemort as people began to appear one by one. Whole families came by Portkey, whilst others Apparated to the spot. Everyone kept silent, for everyone was here to mourn.

Bellatrix had worn a knee-length black dress and sensible flat boots, along with a thick black woolen cloak to keep out the chill. She'd worn her silver tiara at Voldemort's insistence. They needed to look regal now more than ever, he'd insisted. He waited beside her, stony as the granite tombs into which Lestrange and Yaxley's bodies had already been placed. The heavy black granite tomb lids hovered in the air beside each sarcophagus, and a rough-edged rectangle of matching granite stood between them. Here lie Rabastan Lestrange and Tudor Yaxley, it read, who died for us all. It was as simple as that.

Bellatrix was rather horrified when Rodolphus Lestrange appeared with his new wife Marya. He'd lost his left hand in the battle that had killed his brother, and Bellatrix did not suppose she'd ever seen him look so distraught. Things got worse when Dahlia Lestrange appeared, her little baby Rosemary clutched in her arms as her father kept her standing. Her sister Daisy, whose marriage to Yaxley had seen them both fall from grace, stood glassy-eyed and vacant, and Bellatrix wondered whether she'd drugged herself to stay calm.

Once everyone had assembled in a quiet crowd, Voldemort took a step forward. He glanced around and projected over the wind in a clear, confident, smooth voice.

"My friends, today we have gathered to mark the loss of two remarkable wizards. I did not hesitate to put the Dark Mark on either of them, for I knew they would both prove themselves to be more than worthy of it. And they did just that, my friends. War is cruel. War is merciless. War takes and takes and gives so very little in return. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange fell fighting enemies of the new world we have created. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange fell to preserve the future of wizarding Britain. I shall never, ever forget their valour, nor their loyalty, nor their sacrifice. Raise your wands now in honour of two wizards whose loss will leave a profound scar upon us all."

Bellatrix pulled her wand out and illuminated it, holding it aloft along with everyone else. She watched as nearly every witch in attendance began to cry, and even a few of the wizards. But she stood steely as her husband, watching as he guided the lids onto the tombs and lowered them into the ground.

"Remarkable Ministry officials, loyal Death Eaters, beloved husbands and fathers, and martyrs for justice. Rabastan Lestrange and Tudor Yaxley. I commit them now to this earth, to this place where they shall rest forever."

The rain began to fall a bit harder as the tombs sealed up, as the ground around them covered them and reinforced the permanence of death. Bellatrix found Voldemort's eyes for a moment as she lowered her wand. Neither of them had to say anything to understand the other. This was a grim and awful thing to do, to put a body into the ground in front of someone's family. And Bellatrix knew Lord Voldemort was extraordinarily pleased that it would never happen to him.

---

Archer's Edge, Lake District

23 April 1972

The castle's large reception hall was appropriately solemn, with heavy black curtains draping the stained-glass windows. The lanterns on the walls made shadows on the stony floors, and the dull murmur of conversation echoed eerily about. Voldemort stood at the head of a receiving line; he'd instructed Bellatrix to mill about and give her condolences more holistically whilst people helped themselves to wine and hors d'oeuvres. No one seemed to be eating or drinking much. Bellatrix trained her eyes on Dahlia Lestrange, almost frightened to approach the woman. Dahlia turned round as Bellatrix came near, and she swiped tears from her eyes as she dipped into a curtsy.

"My Lady," she said in a choked voice, "What a remarkable tribute to Rabastan this has been. You and the Dark Lord have all my gratitude."

Bellatrix frowned a little, confused not only by Dahlia's distance and formality, but by the way she seemed almost at peace with Rabastan's demise. Bellatrix studied little Rosemary's face and noted,

"She has Rabastan's nose and lips, Dahlia."

"And she always will," Dahlia nodded. "I'll always have him with me because of Rosemary."

Bellatrix found herself very unexpectedly fighting off tears then. She sighed and said gently, "The Dark Lord wants to ensure that you and Rosemary are as comfortable as possible in perpetuity. Rabastan took good care of you both; the Dark Lord means to do the same to honour Rabastan's sacrifice. You'll have plenty of money, Dahlia, and when you find yourself ready to leave your parents' house, you'll have a good place of your own with House-Elves and anything else you need."

Dahlia smiled, her eyes still very sad as she said, "The Dark Lord is merciful and just. I am proud that my husband fell in his service."

Bellatrix nodded and reached hesitantly for Rosemary. "May I hold her for a moment?"

"Yes. Of course." Dahlia passed the tiny child, who'd been swaddled in a soft black blanket, to Bellatrix. Rosemary stared up with her vividly blue eyes, her lips making strange little motions.

"She's hungry; I'll need to go feed her somewhere private," Dahlia said in a distracted voice. Bellatrix nodded and said,

"There are parlours and libraries all over the ground floor. Find somewhere comfortable."

She passed Rosemary back then, for she felt uncomfortable all of a sudden as she remembered her anger at the way Voldemort had Vanished her womb. Dahlia took Rosemary back into her arms and said fervently to Bellatrix,

"I will miss him forever. I will love him forever. But I am proud of him. I am proud."

"So am I, Dahlia," Bellatrix said, finally unable to keep a solitary tear from creeping out of her right eye. She swiped at it and watched Dahlia walk from the room, and she took a moment to compose herself. She knew she needed to speak with Daisy, with the young witch who had usurped poor dead Ophelia in Tudor Yaxley's heart. Bellatrix found Daisy alone, apparently still ostracised by most of the wizarding community. Joy and Victor were with Yaxley's parents on the other side of the reception room. Daisy was chewing absently on a little puff pastry, and when Bellatrix walked up, she quickly swigged water to clear her mouth, and she stammered,

"G-good day, My Lady."

"Daisy." Bellatrix put her hand on the young witch's shoulder and said firmly, "Please accept my condolences. Tudor Yaxley was one of the very first and very finest -"

"Will he haunt me now, too?" Daisy interrupted, and Bellatrix scowled as she took her hand from Daisy's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

Daisy looked rather crazed for a moment as she said, "Ophelia never left. Not really. Sometimes at night one of the twins would start crying, and I'd rush in there as quickly as I could, but Ophelia would already be there shushing them."

Bellatrix felt her veins go cold. "Daisy, are you… do you mean that Ophelia has become a ghost?"

It wasn't impossible, of course. Hogwarts was profoundly haunted with the disembodied spirits of the dead. It even made sense that Ophelia would have chosen the half existence of being a ghost, just so that she might continue to see her children. But Daisy's answer dispelled any notion of such a thing.

"Tudor said I'd gone mad. He said she wasn't really there. And she wasn't a ghost. Not really. It was more like… more like her very being just wouldn't leave. I could feel her all the time. She was angry with me, so angry, and now I'm worried that Tudor will be the same way. And I'll just be left with two children who aren't mine and the angry leftovers of their parents."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she struggled to maintain a diplomatic tone as she said,

"Daisy, if you'll excuse me… I'll be back in a moment."

Bellatrix strode quickly to where Voldemort stood. He turned his attention away from a member of the Selwyn family; he could clearly sense Bellatrix's trepidation. He appeared to politely excuse himself, and he caught up with Bellatrix and walked quickly and silently with her to the corner of the room.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, and Bellatrix hissed,

"Daisy Greengrass is not fit to raise those twins. She's either insane or a liar. She says Ophelia's been haunting her, but admits it's not a visible ghost. She says Yaxley's going to haunt her, that she's going to be stuck with children who aren't hers."

Voldemort put his lips into a line and huffed angrily. "That stupid girl. As if she didn't ruin enough when Yaxley was alive. Fine. I'll see to it that Yaxley's parents have custody of the twins, though they're quite old. They'll need multiple House-Elves and at least one nanny who isn't going to ruin their family."

Bellatrix tried not to scoff. She glanced to where Daisy stood alone and asked, "Shall I talk to her, or are you going to do it?"

Voldemort tipped his head and reminded her, "You're the diplomat. Tell her she doesn't have to raise Ophelia's children; she can go back to living with her parents until she finds a new husband to steal."

"I'll say that diplomatically, My Lord," Bellatrix teased him. Then she took a breath and reached up to adjust the knot on his black tie. She touched the tie bar she'd given him years earlier and said gently, "You sounded perfect outside. It's a shame you've lost Yaxley and Lestrange, but their deaths will have brought you even more glory. More loyalty."

"It's true," he nodded. "It is a shame I don't have them fighting for me any longer, but… they've given me more in death than they ever could in life. Go talk to the Greengrass girl, will you? I'll handle the Yaxleys."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded firmly, staring up at the man who had already become an immortal and a legend unto himself. She thought of their shared dreams, of kissing him, of him giving speeches in the rain, and her head whirled a little. She had been made for him. She lived for him. And now, she was a part of him. They had melded into one another; they were a beast unto themselves. And Bellatrix Black wouldn't have had it any other way.

---

THE END