Hello. He thought it or she did. They both did. It was of little consequence anymore, who thought what. They shared everything from thoughts to a pulse these days.

Bellatrix shifted on her feet and felt anxiety - his or hers, she couldn't tell which - throbbing through their bonded souls. Voldemort started stripping off his robes where he stood in the bathroom door. He did not smile. She felt only angry lust from him.

"Get in the shower," he said firmly, "and wash your body. Every last bit."

Bellatrix's lips fell open a little, but she murmured, "Yes, Master."

She stepped into the tile shower and turned the water on hot. She grabbed a bar of rose-scented soap and quickly scrubbed at herself, then scrubbed her rosy shampoo into her curls and rinsed it out.

"Perhaps I went too far," Voldemort said as he leaned back against the wall outside the shower. He was naked, Bellatrix could see, but he was just standing there with his arms folded over his chest. "Perhaps I was too vile, too obscene, even given the circumstances."

She used her fingers to wipe some of the steamy condensation off the door, and she shook her head.

"You've made seventy-five thousand extra Galleons out of this mess, and my father was punished for being careless."

"He was punished for something else, too." Voldemort's mind swirled with Bellatrix's memories of her childhood, and he mumbled, "I had no idea he treated you like that."

Bellatrix was very suddenly socked with a memory. For a moment, she thought it was hers, but as she smeared conditioning oil into her dense curls, she realised that it was his - her master's. Her hands fell as the water pounded her back, and she blinked through the memory as Voldemort stepped into the shower.

'No, Tom. You may not come on the trip today.'

Little Tom Riddle cleared his throat and folded his hands on his desk. 'Mrs Gratt, I fail to see how it is that I have not already been sufficiently punished. I was paddled. I was made to drink vinegar. I was slapped across the cheeks with leather gloves. I was thrashed across the backs of my legs. So why, exactly, can't I come to the museum, Mrs Gratt?'

Mrs Gratt scowled down at Tom and said sharply, 'You destroyed every piece of clothing little Phyllis Townsend owned.'

Tom glared up at the orphanage warden and snarled, 'You've no proof it was me.'

Mrs Gratt shook her head sadly. 'Tom. My dear, troubled boy. We all know it was you. You're lucky you don't get turned out into the street, now that you're old enough to get an apprenticeship somewhere. Stop tormenting your fellow residents, take your punishments, and… no, you won't be going to the museum.'

'Fine,' Tom barked. He stared out the dirty window to the quiet street below, and he mumbled, 'Who wants to see some stupid old skeletons, anyhow?'

Bellatrix found herself staring up at Voldemort in the shower, rotating a little so he stepped out of the water and allowed her to rinse her hair. He ran his hands slowly up and down the sides of her slick, naked body, but she felt no arousal from him. He hadn't known that she'd been mistreated as a child. He disliked knowing that, she felt as she rinsed her hair. His lips pressed to her exposed neck, but still she felt no throb of want.

I saw you tied to a chair, he thought, cold and hungry. I left you out in the cold for hours after the botched assassination of Arthur Weasley.

"Arthur Weasley is dead, Master," Bellatrix reminded him. "That's what matters. And, anyway, I begged you to punish me. I never asked my father to starve me. I never asked my grandmother or my mother to punish me. I didn't want their wrath. And you wanted to go to that museum. But I am here with you. Can you feel me?"

"Of course I can," he whispered, and Bellatrix shut her eyes. She tipped her head back into the water and felt their synced up hearts, their breath going in and out in unison.

"I'm sorry I didn't disable Griphook," she murmured. "I'm sorry I didn't drag him back to you in chains. I'm sorry I didn't kill him."

"He was gone before you could even process what he'd said," Voldemort said, "and the other one - Mordock - he'd already taken the money."

His voice was coming from somewhere that seemed far away. Bellatrix opened her eyes and gasped, slamming her hand to the tiled wall for support when she realised Voldemort had descended to his knees. She sucked in air hard, feeling her master shut off his own bodily functions from hers. She couldn't blame him; her heart was thudding and her breath was quickening as he took her hips in his hands and urged her to part her legs a little.

I don't want to punish you; I want to reward you, she felt him think. I want you to know that you are everything.

"Master," Bellatrix whispered. She wrenched her eyes shut as water poured over her, as Voldemort's tongue peeked out between his lips and slid up along her folds. He suckled on her clit for a moment, and she cried out wordlessly, her voice echoing a little in the shower.

Metal. Like a coin in my mouth, and warm and sweet, too. Iron and honey.

"Is that… what I really taste like?" Bellatrix asked breathlessly, and Voldemort burrowed his face into her, thinking,

Iron and honey.

"Oh." Bellatrix reached down and held his head in her hands, snarling her fingers into his hair. As his tongue dragged from bottom to top and back again, she remembered the feel of him saying explicit things to Cygnus Black, things about times like this. Lord Voldemort had demonstrated his dominance tonight, his mastery of everyone around him. He'd lost a hundred thousand Galleons to the trickster goblins, yes, but he'd make up for it by killing fifteen goblins in a week. He'd already made up for the lost money and then some. And he'd shown his father-in-law that neither he nor Bellatrix were people to be trifled with.

"Not anymore," Bellatrix said, knowing Voldemort would understand what she was talking about. She could feel arousal from him now, burgundy and pulsing. He liked the taste of her. He liked the way the water ran in rivulets around the curves of her entrance as it fell from the shower. He liked the way her clit felt between his lips. He liked the sound of her voice echoed off tile, the cinch of her fingers in his hands.

He was hard now. Bellatrix didn't even need to look down to see that. Did he want to fuck her, she wondered? Did he want her mouth on him?

Tonight, all I want is for you to come harder than you've done in a very long while, Bellatrix.

"Oh." She blinked quickly a few times and tightened her grip on his hair. She pulled him back to look at her, and the water pounded down upon his handsome face. She noticed for the first time the way little lines flared away from his eyes, the deep wrinkles on either side of his nose and mouth.

"Yes," he said softly, "I'm old. Are you just now noticing?"

Bellatrix smirked a little and shook her head. She just stared at him for a moment as he pulled his face out of the water stream. He replaced his mouth with his fingers and kept staring up at her. Bellatrix wondered distantly if his knees hurt, and he laughed quietly.

"They'll creak like an old door when I stand back up, but they're fine. Bella…"

He twisted two fingers into her, making her knees weak, and he pressed his thumb to her clit. She watched his left hand toy with the tip of his cock, pumping quickly in time with his hand on her. She blinked slowly, feeling pleasure start to overwhelm them both, and she mumbled,

"Oh, I'm going to… mmm…"

Come for me, Bellatrix.

His thought felt like warm butter, like a satin sheet beneath her. It sent her right over the edge, and she kept eye contact with him as she came. She watched his come spurt out onto the wet tile, their bodies contracting and clenching at the same time. His satisfaction swirled up in her mind with her own, a blazing fire that flared up and almost exploded. Voldemort's hand shook as he slowly pulled it from Bellatrix's body.

She knew better than to try and help him stand. He had far too much dignity for that. Still, she noticed his age again as he winced, as she felt the twinge of ache in his knees and hips when he stood. He frowned at her a little and then said,

"I can feel your youth, too, you know. It's all give and take."

Bellatrix smiled a little at that, reaching behind her to shut off the water. Voldemort just stood there in the tile shower, staring at Bellatrix as they both shivered, wet and chilled.

"I'll kill all the stinking little bastards," he whispered. "Every last goblin. I'll pick them off, all of them. They have no loyalty. I can't count on them. I'll eradicate them entirely and staff Gringotts with witches and wizards."

Bellatrix nodded. "Right. We'll begin a campaign to wipe the creatures out."

Voldemort's happiness swelled inside Bellatrix, along with something else. An ambitious, determined sort of excitement, distinct from sexual arousal but similar in flavour. Bellatrix put her hands on Voldemort's shoulders and tipped her head.

"No more goblins," she said in a bit of a teasing voice. When he smirked, she whispered again, "No more goblins."

"They'll be gone from Britain," he agreed. "I'll kill every last one of the little cretins if I have to do it myself. And in a few days' time, I'll have a letter from a bank in Denmark confirming a deposit of one hundred and seventy-five thousand Galleons of Cygnus Black's money in my name."

Bellatrix grinned, shut her eyes, and shook her head. "You told him you liked to come on my face."

"I do like to come on your face." Voldemort sounded almost giddy all of a sudden, and then his lips were beside her ear as he whispered or thought, And you like it, too, don't you? Just like I told him.

Bellatrix felt him starting to go hard again; he was firming up and pressing against her abdomen. She dragged her fingers along his stiffening shaft and murmured,

"You know, I do like when you come on my face. But… My Lord… can we do it on the bed? I'm wet, and cold, and the tile is - oof!"

She giggled then, swept up by the Dark Lord's strong and able arms and carried from the bathroom.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I'm not wearing this. No."

Bellatrix glared at the full-length mirror in the bedroom. She crossed her arms over her concave stomach and growled, "No. Not wearing it."

It can't possibly be that bad, Voldemort said from his office at Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix thought toward him,

It's silver. Silver sequins. Look. She showed him in her mind the way she looked in the mirror. This was the gown Narcissa had chosen for Bellatrix to wear at the wedding. Bellatrix, along with Narcissa's other bridesmaids Nadia Goyle and Polly Fawley, would wear the gown in six weeks' time. Only, she wouldn't, because she refused. Bellatrix wore dark colours, only black if she could help it. She did not wear silver sequins.

The dress Narcissa had chosen was a sleevless creation in solid sequined silver over silk. It encased the female form perfectly, sliding smoothly along Bellatrix's narrow body with a little train that pooled behind. It was so obnoxiously bright, so incredibly sparkly, and that was diametrically opposed to Bellatrix's aesthetic.

Bella! Stop complaining. You look beautiful.

She smiled just a little at the feel of Voldemort's thoughts and dragged her hands over her torso and hips. She swallowed hard and thought,

I look like a cheap frying pan. Or a spoon. A freshly minted Sickle.

She could feel his laughter then, and all of a sudden she was very aware of the fact that he was stepping into the fireplace in his office at Malfoy Manor and traveling by Floo Powder. She was aware of his presence in the Master's Manor, and she just let her head fall a little, staring at her reflection again. She'd tied her hair up in a braided bun around the crown of her head just like Narcissa had requested. She had on high-heeled silver shoes… just like Narcissa had requested. In just a few weeks, she'd look like this in public.

"I told you to stop complaining," said a voice from the doorway. Bellatrix looked up, and Voldemort smiled a bit as he stepped into the bedroom. He stood behind her, snaring his arms around her and noting, "It's backless."

"It's a scooped back, Master," Bellatrix corrected, and Voldemort shrugged.

"I'll be able to touch your skin whilst we dance, and that's what matters. Dance with me, Bella."

He whirled her away from the mirror and immediately swept her into a two-step. Bellatrix frowned and said,

"I don't hear any music."

"No? Must just be me." He seemed energised, like he'd taken some kind of potion, and he whispered, "Better?"

Suddenly there were strings playing a lively march-like piece in Bellatrix's head. She caught onto the beat and danced tightly with Voldemort, and she asked,

"What's got you in such a mood, Master?"

"Other than my impossibly beautiful young wife?" Voldemort asked. Bellatrix raised her brows and said,

"Yes, other than that. What's happened?"

Voldemort gave her a wicked little look and hissed,

"Seventy-eight. In two hours. The raids… I sent them out this afternoon and it went perfectly. Seventy-eight goblins dead. Can you imagine the Prophet tomorrow? I'm holding a meeting in the morning. I'd love to see what Dumbledore thinks of this, what the bleeding Ministry thinks. I didn't lose a single Death Eater, Bella. Seventy-eight damned goblins. Gone. Dead."

Bellatrix pulled back suddenly from the dance, shaking her head in confusion.

"Wh-Why wasn't I on the mission?"

She knew he could feel her hurt, her confusion, and he pursed his lips. He scratched at his jaw a little and said in a tight, irritated voice,

"Don't ruin this for me, Bellatrix. I am just happy that -"

"Why wasn't I on a squad taking out goblins today, My Lord?" Bellatrix snapped, putting her hands on her sequin-covered hips. The music in her head went silent, and Voldemort's soul flared with a violet-hued splatter of irritation. She could feel the answer to her question. He couldn't fathom the thought of strange goblin magic taking her out, necessitating her Horcrux. He cleared his throat and said firmly,

"I trust you in battle against any witch or wizard on Earth, Bellatrix. Against the best, because you are the best. But I do not know what those goblins are capable of doing, and I couldn't risk -"

"You thought I'd fail," Bellatrix said in a broken little voice, and Voldemort's cheekbones flushed as he whispered,

"Do not ever interrupt me again."

Bellatrix shrank back a little, feeling a surge of protective anger inside of him. He reached suddenly and pulled at the pins in Bellatrix's hair, yanking out her braided bun and sending her curls falling down in messy clumps. He raked through them roughly until her hair fell around her shoulders, and he said,

"The dress is beautiful, but your hair is to be worn down. Direct orders from the Dark Lord; you may inform your sister."

Then he took Bellatrix's face in his hands, and she could feel what he was thinking. He knew she was competent with a known enemy, but he couldn't trust that she'd make it out of a skirmish gone wrong when it came to goblins. He couldn't risk her. He couldn't lose her; he couldn't go on if something were to happen to her.

Bellatrix let out a very long sigh, still irritated but calming herself as she murmured, "Congratulations, My Lord, on the raids taking out so many goblins in one day."

"I'm going back to Malfoy Manor. I have follow-up to conduct," Voldemort said tersely. He bent and touched his lips to Bellatrix's cheek and whispered, "The next time you see Alastor Moody, take his other eye out."

Then he stood and stalked quickly away. He paused in the door, turned round, and locked gazes with Bellatrix for a moment before he said,

"You… you are everything, My Lady."

Her lips fell open then, and his Occlumency shields shot up between them as he walked out of the bedroom.

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in updating. My son has been extremely sick with influenza and we have a trip to Disney World starting Friday morning (awesome timing, yeah!), so I just haven't had the chance to write. I apologize. I appreciate your patience and your readership. As always, reviews are appreciated beyond measure.