Lord Voldemort apparated back into his home, appearing directly in his living room. It was a relief to be back, at least at home he could make plans in peace. Things were starting progress faster, his followers were strategically placed, he had made provisional alliances with vampires and the giants. It wouldn't be long before he would attempt to overthrow the ministry and everyone would know of his power.
But right now he just wanted something to eat. He made for the kitchen at the back of the house, he rarely ate these days, the dark magic he had cast on himself had curbed his constant need for food but it was still there. It was impossible for the body to function without food entirely.
He lit the candles in the darkened room as he entered the kitchen and grimaced. It had obviously been longer than he had realised since he had been in the room, the counters were dusty and the fruit in a bowl in the corner had shrivelled up and rotted. It was the downside of not having house elves, he had never had to rely on them before but now that he was so busy, he had to admit they would be of use.
With a groan, he flicked his wand and the cupboards flew open, mostly empty. Soup it was then. He chucked what was there into a small cooking cauldron and heated it up magically. As the liquid bubbled softly in front of him, he thought about his prisoner down in the dungeons.
Bellatrix had been there two days now, he was sure she must be hungry. He hadn't seen her since he first abandoned her there; on the first night he had crept down the stairs to the dungeon but had paused when he heard her low sobbing through the darkness. For a reason unknown to himself he had listened for a few minutes before withdrawing back up the stairs.
When it was cooked he poured out a generous portion for himself but made sure there was still some left in the cauldron. He ate with little thought about what he was putting in his mouth or about the taste. He had wanted to think about the acquisition of werewolf support he was hoping to get in the next couple of weeks but his mind constantly wandered.
He scraped the last of it into his mouth, it would be enough to quell his hunger for a while. Voldemort reached for the remnants in the cauldron poured them out into another bowl. It had cooled a little whilst he had been eating so he waved his wand over it so that steam was rising off.
The Dark Lord made his way down to the dungeons, carrying the bowl carefully so as not to spill anything. His shoes landed heavily on the stone steps and he heard scrambling as she heard his approach. The torches lit as he passed, throwing light into the dingy basement.
He stood outside the metals bars separating them as he looked in. She was still shrouded in darkness but with his raised hand he illuminated the small room with wandless magic. Bellatrix threw her hands up to shield herself from the sudden light as she shrinked back.
She was sat back in the corner, her legs folded up in front of her. Her white shirt was filthy with grim and dried blood and he noticed the wound on her face and the deep slash on her thigh had scabbed over.
"I thought you must be ravenous by now."
The bars slid open as he willed it and he stepped in. He took a seat on the bare bed frame, the wire frame squeaking noisily under his weight, with the bowl still in his hands. She looked up curiously, he knew the smell of the hot food must be driving her mad.
"It's been two days now. I hope that has given you plenty of time to reconsider my proposal."
She blinked at him as she stared at the bowl in his hands, obviously her hunger was a distraction. He held it out to her, she glanced up at him cautiously but seemed to decide it was worth a chance. She shuffled forward to slowly take it from his hands before eagerly scampering back into the corner, wincing a little with the use of her leg. He almost missed the whispered thank you she automatically gave.
It amused him to watch her urgently slurping the soup as if she would never see food again. Certainly not the type of manners her family would have instilled in her.
"This will be your last chance, you will be freed from your prison. Will you join me?"
Voldemort wasn't sure what he had expected, he had only even asked halfheartedly. Bellatrix stopped her rapid consumption to gaze at him with a look that was mix of hope and resignation. He knew what her answer would be before she spoke, in fact she didn't speak. She only gave a meek shake of her head before trying to turn herself further away from him.
It was just as he had suspected, a decision based on morality. He knew from experience that often times moral fibre didn't hold up well against threats and violence but every so often the person was strong enough, or stupid enough to stand by their moral principles. Clearly Bellatrix Black was one of those people.
He felt anger bubbling up low in his stomach as he watched her return to drinking up the soup. There was no point in him staying, he would accomplish nothing productive by staying so stood to leave. She cringed back away from him and he paused standing over her. She was so small, as he towered over her, she almost looked fragile.
Voldemort turned, about to leave when the slow anger rising in him gave way to sudden rage. How dare this pathetic woman reject his very generous offer, was she too good to join his followers? He had even given her food as a gesture of goodwill and the ungrateful bitch still turned him down.
He whirled around and before she could react, he kicked the bowl right out of her hands. The porcelain smashed against the wall, the last of its blood red contents splashed over the floor. She gave a surprised yelp and threw her arms across her face in defence.
It did little to quash his rage, he grabbed a good handful of her dark hair and dragged her out of her corner. With the back of his hand he struck her firmly across the face, the sound of flesh against flesh very satisfying. Something that couldn't really be imitated with a wand. Her lip exploded with the force and blood gushed out and into her mouth.
Her words were gargled and desperate when she pleaded, "p-please stop, no please."
Ignoring her, he punched her square on the cheek and she fell back onto the ground hard. She held her hands up to her face, not quite touching the throbbing skin, her mouth open in shock. She cried out in pain but not giving her a chance to recover herself he kicked her hard in the stomach again and again as she screamed desperately.
He finally stopped when he was out of breath. The woman before him had curled up, trying in vain to protect herself from his onslaught. He could see the dirt marks of his shoes on her grimy shirt. Now that his anger had dissipated he could feel his hand aching, he opened and closed it to try and alleviate the pain.
Voldemort turned to leave, the bars sliding closed behind him. He found himself stopping for a second glance, her pained sobs pleasing him. She would regret not accepting the chance to follow him.
He thought of her often, stuck down in his basement in the dark. Especially when he was staying away from his home. He vaguely wondered if one time he would come back and she would be gone, escaped. Or worse, that she had died whilst he was gone, starvation or illness could easily do it. In fact he often though he should just put her out of her misery himself, it would at least stop her occupying his thoughts any longer.
It was actually a remark made by Antonin Dolohov that gave Lord Voldemort the perfect solution of what to do with his captive. He couldn't abide by house elves, dingy creatures that had no right to magic. They were unreliable and easy to pull information out of, he did not need a spy in his own home. But as Dolohov had rightly suggested, that didn't mean he should be left to do domestic tasks all himself. Many households utilised both house elves and servants, in fact if rumour were to be believed it was where Bellatrix Black had come from.
The dark lord had gathered up the package that had been delivered earlier that day and made his way down to the dungeons. Again the torches lit as he passed, when he reached her cell she was stood in the corner watching him warily. Her eyes were sunken and he was certain she had already lost significant weight. Her cheek was no longer swollen and the livid purple bruise had started to fade but there was still a decent cut in her lower lip.
With a subtle hand movement, the bars slid open for him and he stood for a moment watching her. The torch light behind him cast his shadow ominously across the room, flickering slightly with the cold breeze. An October chill had settled in the stone dungeon. Her lower lip trembled in anticipation of his visit.
"I have decided to show you mercy. Although I am very disappointed that you refuse to join my rank of followers, I have found another role for you."
She shifted uncomfortably as she waited for her sentence. It was too much for her to hope to be released.
"I am need of a domestic servant. Someone to keep the house clean, prepare refreshments for my guests and general chores."
Bellatrix was obviously surprised at his proposal but she knew it was something of a poisoned chalice. It would never be just simple servitude with him and although she wasn't yet to be killed, neither was she to be voice became colder as he carried on. "This is not an offer. You will either complete your duties to my satisfaction or face a gruesome, tortured death."
He threw the package down onto the bare metal bed frame. "These are clean robes, you will be working in my home and will be a reflection of me in front of my guests so you need to look the part. Those filthy muggle rags will be disposed of."
She slowly reached for the package, limping as she hobbled over to it, holding it close to her chest, her arms wrapped around it. He knew she just didn't want to anger him by appearing ungrateful. He wouldn't let his temper get the better of him this time, he hated it when he wasn't in control.
There was a sharp gasp from her when he raised his wand but he only conjured a small table with a basin on the top that would fill with warm water. He then waved it over the bed frame and a thin mattress with a few cotton sheets appeared.
"Sit down."
Awkwardly she shuffled to sit on the edge of the mattress, obviously terrified about his intentions. As if he would ever sink so low when he could have any pureblood he could want. He crouched down on one leg beside her, his black robes fanning out around him. He clamped a hand around her thigh, just below the deep gash, to stop her from pulling away from him. With a languid movement of his wand, it glowed light blue momentarily before healing itself.
He could feel her shaking below his hand, he wasn't sure if it was from fear or pain. In a number of seconds the wound had disappeared, just leaving her exposed, pale and flawless skin. When he glanced up at her face he noticed her breathing was ragged. She seemed stunned by his actions, motivating him to move. He would not stayed bowed before her as if she had any kind of import.
Standing at his full, imperious height he remarked coldly down at her.
"The bars will open in the morning when you are to start."
He turned on his heel but this time he made sure to leave the torches lit, when he glanced back he saw the shards of the bowl that he had broken on his last visit. He made sure to vanish it before disappearing, it would not do him any favours if she decided to kill herself with a sharp piece of porcelain just to avoid servitude.
It would be good for him to have a servant, a woman around to clean up. All his followers had their wives and elves to wait on them, it is only right the Dark Lord had the same thing. It was befitting to his station to have her chasing after him, it's not like he was ever going to have a wife. That thought was laughable.
Voldemort was woken by the bright Autumn sun streaming into his room. He had forgotten to close the curtains properly. He sat up frowning as he heard tinkling noises in the distance. It took his sleep addled brain a moment to realise the probable source of the noise.
His new servant sounded to be hard at work. The bars to her prison were set to open at half five so he knew she had likely been busy working for a number of hours.
With a groan he threw back the duvet and got himself dressed for the day. He had a lot of preparations that needed to be made and lying in bed was a wasteful use of his time. He left his room, frowning at the portraits hung up in the hallway as he walked down to appraise the work of his servant.
The paintings were all of old, dead purebloods from centuries ago. All part of the Nott family; their proud expressions sneered down at him. One of his earliest tasks had been to recruit pureblood support with a particular emphasis on fundraising. Victor Nott had been very generous and had even included the Dark Lord in his will, donating one of his ancestors manors. The well maintained property fortunately fell into his possession pretty quickly as the wizard had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.
He had altered very little around the manor since he came into ownership, simply moving his scant possessions in. He kept most of the furnishings - not because he found them particularly aesthetically pleasing but he had to keep up with appearances with his followers.
On his way to the kitchen at the back of the house, he passed the dining room and was surprised to see her there. She was bent over the table arranging the cutlery for him at the top of the table. A generous selection of food was spread out on the table.
He noticed the dark haired woman had finally changed into her new uniform, it wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. She was wearing a thin, silky creme shirt with a long black skirt thing — it reminded him of the old pinafores the girls at the orphanage wore.
Voldemort, not having the first idea about women's clothing had owled Lucius to have his wife order some women's garments for him, suitable for housemaids. The last bit seemed like it had been lost in the message somewhere although he wouldn't be surprised if that was how the Malfoy's wanted their servants dressed. Appearances were always the most important thing to them.
He smirked as he thought about the blonde woman ordering the clothes, she had no idea they were for her estranged sister. Bellatrix might have been wearing something totally different, if she had known.
The woman in question must have noticed his presence as she glanced up at him and immediately straightened up, backing away from the table cautiously.
He made for his seat as he admired the spread before him, most of it was reasonably well cooked, the bacon looked a little burnt but he was surprised she had managed so well without a wand. Inattention to his food would normally merit punishment but he thought it might be nice to at least start off with a more relaxed atmosphere.
She shifted from foot to foot beside him and he knew she was undecided whether to stay or go. He only took a sample of the toast and tea, he wasn't particularly hungry. It was such a waste.
"Come here." He signalled her with a crooked finger and she softly walked up to his side. He pointed down to the toast he had just spread. "Take a bite."
She seemed paralysed beside him as if she couldn't understand a simple instruction. "I- I'm sorry?"
"I want you to taste it." He picked it up and offered the slice to her. "Come on, I don't have all day."
His short, sharp remark forced her to reach for the toast but he yanked it out of her reach. "Taste it, don't touch it."
At last she understood and hesitantly leaned forward to take a tiny nibble off the corner, just about getting a taste of the spread. Voldemort didn't fail to notice how blood red her lips were, despite how pale her skin was. He dropped it back to the plate and waited for a beat for a reaction. Her eyes seemed to light up in understanding and when he was satisfied he waved her away from the table so he could begin eating.
"You may have the bacon when I am finished, it is burnt anyway."
He saw her nodding out of the corner of his eyes, her dark curls bouncing. He really should have made her tie it up.
"Thank you."
Voldemort waited until he had swallowed his mouthful before correcting her. "Master."
She looked a little puzzled at his comment — and he had thought she was intelligent.
"Thank you master, that is what you say now."
He continued to eat but hid his slight smile when he heard her quiet voice.
"Thank you master. Would-" She stumbled over her words as she stepped forward. "Would you like me to clean up your room now master?"
He enjoyed how the word just slipped of her tongue naturally but was perturbed at her question. Did he want her in his private sanctum? Well, she was a servant — or more accurately a slave, so it was her job. It was not as if she could tell others about what she may find, it's not as if her opinion mattered at all.
"Yes, do. You also need to prepare two of the guest rooms on the floor below mine before this evening."
"Yes, master."
"I will summon you if I have need."
She bowed her head slightly as she scampered from the room. Voldemort took a moment to watch her retreating form before he pulled out his wand waving it over the food. He wanted to ensure she only ate what he was gracious enough to offer, such close proximity with food would only be a temptation.
He whispered the words under his breath to curse the food, it she ate anything but the bacon it would sear her tongue. She wouldn't be able to eat for days; a just punishment for theft.
Igor stared intently at his dark haired servant as she leaned over to refill his firewhiskey. Voldemort felt an odd mix of pride and irritation at the man's obvious enrapture.
The two men were sat in his study on the leather armchairs positioned in front of the blazing fire. Bellatrix placed the crystal decanter back on the side table before silently departing the room. He stopped her just before she passed through the door to remind her.
"Bring me the cigars."
His guest seemed impressed when she nodded dejectedly. "Yes, master."
Igor Karkaroff was a recent acquisition, he was well placed as a teacher at Durmstrang to bring both young trainees and build foreign connections. The man himself was still gazing at the door, a strangely lustful expression on his face. With a throat clear, the dark lord drew the man's attention back to himself.
His accent was so thick, it took a moment for him to understand. "Your woman, she is very pretty. You must find her an awful distraction, no?"
The dark lord shook his head disapproving, this was the problem with men, couldn't see past a bit of skirt. "The cause is much too important for me to be distracted by such pointless things. She does a good job, that is all I am interested in." And the only thing keeping her alive.
"I would like to get one but my wife wouldn't like it." He grimaced with the thought. "Old woman, looks like a sack of potatoes, it would do me some good."
Voldemort just about resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man, he had no interest in the foreigners sex life - or lack thereof.
"In the morning I want you to meet with Lucius Malfoy. He will take you into the ministry where you can have a chat with the head of International Magical Relations. He has also arranged an impromptu meeting with the secretary of Cormac McBriggen. I want you to emphasis the importance of teaching dark magic in schools to her. The ministry has such little influence in the school with that old goat in charge but they are our best bet."
Karkaroff spat at the reference to the Hogwart's headmaster, unsurprisingly he did not approve of the man who defeated Grindelwald all those years ago.
They were interrupted by the reentrance of Bellatrix. She was carrying an intricately carved wooden box which she opened up to offer her master. She stood with her back to Igor, seemingly trying her best to ignore him.
Voldemort accepted one of the cigars, unwrapping it from its plastic and giving her a nod. She finally faced the foreign man, holding the box open to him. Apparently sensing how uncomfortable she was, or not caring, he leant forward to deeply inhale from the box.
"These smell exquisite, my Lord. Just what is needed with a fire whiskey, don't you agree?" He smiled up questioningly at Bellatrix. She gave a quick jerk of her head, unsure if she was really required to answer.
He pulled one out, unwrapped it and placed it in his mouth, sitting at the corner of his beard. "Well? Come on darling thing, light it."
Bellatrix placed the box on the side table, before pulling out a box of matches from her skirt. It amused Voldemort that she was unable to use magic to do something as simple as lighting a flame — it was a delight watching her fussing over trying to light the multiple fireplaces throughout the manor.
She leant over Igor to light the cigar, holding a hand up to prevent it from blowing out. He took a hold of her hand to steady her and inhaled enthusiastically as it lit.
"This is very nice."
He let go of her and she turned to the dark lord, holding the matches questioningly. "Master?"
Voldemort gave a nod in permission and she leant towards him, he could tell the proximity was making her anxious. With a delicate flick of her wrist the match was lit and he watched her face crease gently in concentration as she tried to hold it steady.
He nearly jumped when she gave a surprised squeak and stood bolt up, his eyes immediately picking up on the stray hand resting on her bottom. The startled woman stepped back out of Karkaroff's reach and looked to him nervously. He waved his hand nonchalantly in dismissal before addressing his guest.
"I suggest you keep your hands to yourself Igor, I do not appreciate nearly having my face burnt off, you need to be careful."
He heard the door close as she left them in peace.
"You realise if she had burnt me, I would have had to kill her. I would have been very annoyed at the waste, I would have had to take out the rest of my anger on someone else." He looked pointedly at the thin man opposite him. Obviously getting the message, he gave an audible gulp.
"Apologies, my Lord. It's just I spend my days surrounded by beautiful young things I can't touch, sometimes I just can't resist."
"Well, I hope you have better self-control when it comes to tasks I ask you to carry out."
He simpered back. "I will my Lord."
"Enjoy your cigar. The guest room has been set up for you on the first floor, it should have everything needed for your comfort."
"Thank you my lord, it is a great honour to be your guest."
Voldemort replied as he stared thoughtfully into the fire. "I know."
