She was late.

Only three hours late, but still… Voldemort wandered up and down the little promontory in Caorle toward the bell tower of the church there. This small spit into the Adriatic was about seventy-five kilometres from Bellatrix. It was the furthest distance they'd tried yet. Far more importantly, this was the furthest they'd tried in time.

It had been nearly two weeks since Voldemort had seen Bellatrix. They'd tried holding hands and touching enchanted objects to move a few hours forward together. Then he'd gone two whole days forward while Bellatrix waited for him. He'd been far too afraid to try going backward; he didn't know what existential crisis might be triggered by entering a time and place in which they already existed. He was nervous to try and travel back directly from England for the same reason; they needed to be in a time and place where they'd never been.

Two weeks ago, he'd informed Bellatrix that she would (hopefully) take hold of an empty wine bottle and reappear in what would feel like a moment for her. For him, for Voldemort, it would mean two weeks of interminable waiting time. He'd brooded at the Caffè Florian, getting lost at the bottoms of glasses as he listened to chatter and violin music. He'd met and spoke with Aloysius da Chioggia, who was no closer to finding the bracelet than he'd been before. Voldemort was losing hope that da Chioggia would find the bracelet at all, but it seemed ever more likely that the book, Mysteria Tempus, was the object they actually needed.

For days on end, he'd strolled around Venice thinking about Bellatrix, about how beautiful she was and how she worshipped him. If they ever got back to the 1970s, he wouldn't be able to pretend that this hadn't happened. He wouldn't be able to treat her as a pretty young woman who was slightly more adoring than the rest of the sycophants. No. She'd forever be his Bella, the witch he'd kissed and caressed in beds and on trains. Now as he paced the promontory in Caorle, realising she was hours off in arriving, he hoped he hadn't accidentally sent her to the bottom of the lagoon four months in the past.

But then there was a sudden gust of wind around him, and as he turned over his shoulder, he saw a bright flash of light on the rocky path beside the Adriatic. Voldemort walked quickly toward the light, out of which Bellatrix suddenly materialised. It was as though she'd been tossed like a rag doll; she landed so hard on the rocks that Voldemort winced. He flicked his wand and murmured a few healing spells as she pulled herself up to stand. She glanced around, adjusting the black chiffon dress she wore, and she nodded.

"Came straight here, My Lord. Was it…?"

"Two weeks," he nodded, feeling a twist in his stomach at seeing her again. He gulped and said, "I've been rather bored, I must admit."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Venice is an exciting city, My Lord; I'm sure you found all manner of ways to -"

He silenced her by seizing her face in his hands and kissing her for all he was worth. She squealed with surprise, for things had been quite serious and not at all playful when she'd left. As far as Voldemort knew, there were no Muggles within sight, but he couldn't care if they saw what he did. He put one hand at the small of Bellatrix's back and put his lips to her ear.

"Come with me," he murmured, and he Disapparated. There was the usual pinching and squeezing sensation. When they came to in the bedroom of their hotel suite, Bellatrix looked a little dizzy and admitted,

"Lots of… erm… travel," she whispered, taking a step backward. She looked like she might be sick. Voldemort frowned and pointed his wand through the bathroom door at the tub.

"Adbalneum," he murmured. The bath tub's drain closed and the taps turned on, starting to fill the tub with hot water and magically present, fragrant bubbles. Voldemort reached around Bellatrix and started to unbutton her dress as he admitted,

"Probably not the best idea to take you by Side-Along Apparition immediately after you'd traveled through two weeks of time. For that, I do apologise. Do you feel well in yourself?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes and swayed a bit where she stood, but she nodded. "I'll be all right, My Lord," she insisted.

He slid her dress down over her shoulders and let it pool at her feet. She stepped out of her heels and stared up at Voldemort as the tub filled behind her. He snared his fingers in her hair, feeling for the first time in two weeks the soft caress of her curls on his hands. He couldn't help himself just now; he needed to touch her.

"If we could manage two weeks and seventy-five kilometres," he told her, "I feel relatively confident we can manage the rest. I'll give you a few days to recuperate before we try. And when next we try, it's all or nothing. Either we wind up in a vacuum of time and space, or we wind up home. There will likely not be any in-between."

Bellatrix nodded again, her palms resting on her master's chest. She chewed her lip and mused, "How strange, My Lord, that I was standing before you like this just a few minutes ago, and weeks ago all at once. I wonder… when we go back, will anyone have noticed we were gone?"

"I don't know," Voldemort said honestly. Then he tipped his head and said, "We'll know."

Bellatrix stared at a button on his shirt. She was being unusually still, unusually quiet, and so he pushed into her mind. He'd weaken her further than ever doing this, he knew, but he didn't stop himself. She pulled down all of her defences and let him feel the fear, the concern roiling inside of her. She was afraid that when they went back, he'd never touch her again. She was afraid she'd remember being intimate with him, but that she'd be forced to act the loyal dog she'd been for years.

"A loyal dog," Voldemort repeated aloud, pulling himself from Bellatrix's consciousness. She said nothing and kept staring at the button on his shirt, and he scoffed. "You have never been a dog to me, Bella; you've been a loyal and devoted disciple and a competent soldier. I have… valued you… for quite some time. And of course I shall still touch you, because it pleases me to touch you, and I do whatever pleases me. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix's eyes welled and the tiniest hint of a smile crossed her full lips. "I understand, My Lord."

The taps on the bath had shut themselves off, and a pleasant floral aroma wafted out from the bathroom. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at the bath and asked,

"Is that for me, My Lord?"

He shrugged and pointed his wand toward the bath tub. "It is for both of us. It's been a long two weeks, Bella. Engorgio."

Bellatrix hissed through clenched teeth as she stepped into the bathtub. The water was steaming hot, though as soon as she settled into it, she realised how delightful it felt on her muscles. She shut her eyes and sighed, letting the warmth seep into her very bones. The Dark Lord had widened and deepened the tub, but he was still close by. Bellatrix still had her eyes shut when she felt his hands settle on her ribs to pull her closer. She let him do it, savouring the feel of his wet fingers on her skin. She opened her eyes as she straddled him, her hips floating just above his as she laced her arms around his shoulders. His hands ran up and down her skin under the water, and he grunted a little as he looked her up and down. His eyes lingered for a moment on her chest, and then he said again,

"It was a long two weeks."

Bellatrix licked her lips and said, "It must be very difficult indeed to be such a powerful Dark wizard rendered alone. I look forward, Master, you to being returned to your rightful place in -"

He kissed her then, the water splashing as his hands pulled out of the water and brought her face to his. She moaned against his mouth, against the spicy warm taste of him. When he pulled her away a bit, he said firmly,

"No more talk of going back tonight. It will either happen or it won't; tonight I am in Venice and it is 1924. No more discussion of our own time. Am I understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, feeling slightly confused by the urgency in his tone. Then she understood. He knew things would be inevitably awkward when they got back; he had established relationships and dynamics and so did she. There wouldn't be this. There would be no sleeping with their limbs laced together, nor any of the way he was touching her in a bathtub right now. There might be stolen glances and furtive liaisons, but Bellatrix would marry Rodolphus Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort would be the high master of his movement. This was only here, only now.

Very unexpectedly, Bellatrix felt tears well up. She so rarely cried, and so the alien sensation of her vision blurring and her eyes burning made her a little angry. She swiped roughly at her eyes with her knuckles and muttered,

"I'm sorry, My Lord. It's just… I'm just tired, I suppose."

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, reaching for her hands and putting them against his bare, wet chest. He tipped his head a little and whispered, "Do you not trust your master?"

"I do, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, and it was the truth. She did trust him, with her life and more. But she was also painfully aware of reality, and -

"I make my own reality," Voldemort hissed, his low voice echoing off the tile in the bathroom. His hands coursed all over Bellatrix's wet form. He squeezed a little at her right breast, his eyes following his fingers as he informed her, "If I wanted to put a child inside of you, I would do it. If I wanted to gift you the finest emeralds on Earth, I would do it. And if I wanted you dead, I would do that, too."

Bellatrix gasped a little as his hand tightened on her breast. He released her and both of his hands caressed her thighs beneath the water. She could feel the poke of his erection against her body, but he made no move to attend to it. Instead, he sat up a little, sending the water rippling. He kept rubbing at her thighs as he told her,

"I don't want to impregnate you. And I certainly don't want you dead. I'm still undecided on the emeralds, given our last experience with fine jewelry."

He smirked a little, and Bellatrix could not help but smile back. She reached beneath the water and stroked him, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as he choked out,

"You're mine here and you'll be mine wherever we go. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix vowed, brazenly leaning forward to kiss the skin on his neck. She touched her lips there and he groaned softly. Her hand glided around his cock beneath the water, which grew more rigid than ever beneath her touch.

"Out," he barked suddenly, nearly throwing Bellatrix off of him. "Get out of the water."

She was rather afraid she'd offended him, though she couldn't figure what she'd actually done wrong. The Dark Lord stood up quickly, sending water splashing around him as he stepped out of the enlarged tub and snapped again,

"Get out of the bath, Bella."

She did, following him and shivering a little as she glanced around for a towel.

"Acqua Evanesca. Reducio. Nongravidare."

Bellatrix watched in awe as Voldemort cast the three wandless spells in rapid succession. The first Vanished all the soapy water from the bath, leaving it dry. The second spell shrank the tub back to its normal size. And the third was a contraceptive charm that send a vibration through Bellatrix's abdomen.

She marveled again at her master's incredible ability to quickly perform such strong magic without the aid of his wand. It only made her want him more, to see him exhibit his power so definitively. She was wet between her legs now, and not from the bath. She could see that the Dark Lord's member stood at attention. She fully expected him to bend her over the side of the bed or to slam her up against the wall. It was with some surprise, then, that she watched him open the cupboard near the sink and pull out two soft white towels. He handed one to Bellatrix, and as they both dabbed themselves dry, he said quietly,

"Do not bother with pyjamas. Go straight to the bed and wait for me beneath the blankets."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently, folding her towel and hanging it up on the rack. In the bed, she lay on her back and stared at a crack in the plaster ceiling. That was from the way Venice settled so actively, she knew. She could fix it with her wand, but the crack would be back soon enough. She decided to leave the imperfection be.

She turned her head as Voldemort peeled back the blankets. He lay on his back beside Bellatrix and covered them both up, and he joined her in staring at the ceiling. Bellatrix felt a quiver of uncertainty. She didn't know if she should simply climb onto her lord and master and pleasure him, or to wait for him to speak. She wound up just lying there beside him, feeling his hand slither along the sheet and take hers. She closed her eyes and felt as though part of him were flowing into her being through their hands, and vice versa.

He sighed after a long while and finally whispered, "Come here, Bellatrix."

She slid closer to him and propped herself up on one elbow, surprised by the way he pulled her down against his chest. He dragged one of her legs across the front of him, and she realised his cock had gone soft. She breathed in the soapy smell of him, listened to his heartbeat and his breathing, and instinctively drew her fingers over his sparse chest hair.

"Do you love me, Bellatrix?" she heard him ask, and she pulled her head up to look at him.

"Oh, yes, My Lord," she said honestly. Her hand tightened on him a little as she added, "I love you more than anything. I adore your power, your -"

"Perhaps I did not phrase my question properly," Voldemort interrupted rather sharply. "Let me try again. Are you in love with me?"

Bellatrix wasn't sure what the right answer was to that. Her eyes welled again, for the second time tonight, but this time she made no effort to wipe away the shameful tears. She swallowed hard and nodded, her chin moving against her master's chest.

"Yes, My Lord," she told him once more. "I'm in love with you. Will I be killed for it?"
"No." He shook his head and turned his gaze back up to the ceiling. "Get some rest, Bella. The sooner you recover from all this experimenting, the sooner we can try and go back home."

July 1924

Venice, Italy

"Right. Have you got everything in that bag?" Voldemort gestured to Bellatrix's leather handbag, and she nodded. She'd changed into the original dress she'd worn when they'd come here - the blousy black peasant dress she'd been wearing at her twenty-first birthday party. She gripped her wand nervously and stared at the feather quill Voldemort had placed on the counter above the sink in the bathroom.

They still weren't sure who had cursed the bracelet in 1972, but Voldemort had pledged to find that out if they were able to successfully return. For now, all they had was knowledge of the means and a profoundly changed dynamic between the two of them. Voldemort eyed the quill on the ledge and spoke to Bellatrix in a quiet, serious voice.

"Whatever happens when I touch this quill, know this, Bella. I shall always be rather more grateful than I'd anticipated for Paris, and for the train, and for Venice. I should never have expected that being forced across time and space might result in genuine happiness, but so it has done. Know that I bear great pride for the Occlumency skills you've practised, for the way I know you'll serve me better now than ever before. I am glad, Bella."

He turned his eyes to her and saw that she was staring up at him, wide-eyed and mute, as determinedly plucky as ever. He grazed his knuckles over her jaw and sighed.

"I am glad all this happened. Know that, no matter what, will you?"

"I will, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She reached to pull his hand from her face - something she'd have never been bold enough to do when they'd first arrived in this time. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand a little. Voldemort cleared his throat and brushed his wand back and forth over the quill. He could feel magic flowing through his veins, out through his wand, and into the quill as he incanted the ancient, powerful, dangerous spells.

"Adlocum domus familia Black. Adlocum duodecim Grimmauld Place. Adannis mille nongenti septuaginta duo… Adannis vigesima et prima mensis Septembris. Adlocum domus familia Black. Adlocum duodecim Grimmauld Place… Adannis mille nongenti septuaginta duo. Adannis vigesima et prima mensis Septembris."

The feather quivered just a little on the ledge, and Voldemort knew that the spells had taken as well as they would do. He sniffed lightly and tucked his wand back into his robes, studying Bellatrix once more. There was no guarantee they wouldn't disappear into an endless void and be shredded to bits by time and space, but they had no better option. He looked at Bellatrix's curls, which she'd lengthened again, at her full lips and her milky skin. He took in her shimmering dark eyes, her narrow waist, her small but round breasts. He thought of her killing the Ministry worker in Paris. He thought of the way her voice sounded when she moaned the words My Lord.

"I am glad for it all, Bella," he said again, bending to press his lips very gently against hers. Then he reached for the quill, feeling Bellatrix's fingers tighten on his as he did. Suddenly everything went blinding white and fiery, as though blanched flames were licking his flesh. Then a flush of icy cold took him over, and the white light gave way to a stuffy darkness.

They were on the ground, Voldemort realised at once. They were on the carpet in the parlour at Grimmauld Place. He recognised the weave on the rug. He raised his eyes to see Bellatrix blinking quickly and gulping. She looked around and whispered,

"It looks just the same as what we left, My Lord."

"Now, Rodolphus, you be very certain to celebrate Bellatrix's birthdays properly once you're married! I'll be handing the baton over to you. She'll tell you she doesn't care for the pomp and circumstance, but we all know better, don't we?"

"That's my father," Bellatrix breathed, staring at the staircase that led downstairs. Voldemort pressed into the space around him and felt for minds. Cygnus and Druella Black. Narcissa. Orion, Walburga, Sirius, and Regulus Black. Rodolphus Lestrange. They were all there, all of them except for Bellatrix and Voldemort.

"Evidently, we left the room for some reason," he speculated, rising from the carpet and watching Bellatrix do the same. She brushed off her black skirts and nodded up at him.

"Shall we go back down, My Lord?"

"Yes." He made his way from the parlour through the home's main corridor. He was about to walk down the stairs, but something made him pause. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard, and as he turned round and seized Bellatrix's cheeks, he knew he needed one last kiss before everything went back to normal. His hand went to the small of her back as he kissed her. Everyone downstairs was laughing about some joke or another. Finally Voldemort ripped his mouth from Bellatrix's, cleared his throat, and led the way downstairs.

Everyone stood when he entered the dining-room - everyone except for Sirius Black, who was playing with a little enchanted top on the table. It was the first time in weeks that Voldemort had felt real submission from anyone other than Bellatrix, and he could not help but soak it in for a solid moment before sitting.

"Is everything all right, then, My Lord?" asked Orion Black. "We grew a bit concerned when it took so very long."

Voldemort had no idea what Orion Black was talking about, but he'd never divulge that. He shrugged and said offhandedly,

"I needed Bellatrix, not you, Orion. If there's something you should know, I'll tell you."

Orion bowed his head, his plump cheeks flushing scarlet. "Yes. Of course, My Lord."

"Bellatrix, now that you're back, why don't you open your gifts?" Narcissa suggested. Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Voldemort, and he gave her a minuscule nod. This was all very strange. Coming straight back to a party they had left for nearly a month and apparently for just a few moments. It was unnerving.

Bellatrix feigned a grateful expression as she opened one gift after another. A book. A wand holster. A rain cloak. Finally she came to the dark green package with silver ribbon, the one that had held the cursed bracelet. Voldemort sent his mental feelers out but perceived nothing. None of the dread he'd sensed last time was present now. He frowned a little but nodded to Bellatrix as she unfurled the ribbon. Her hands shook visibly as she opened the box, and then she let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Earrings!" she exclaimed, and she hesitated for a half second before pulling a pair of glimmering teardrop emeralds from the box.

"They were once owned by my grandmother, Hesper Black," said Orion. He looked at Walburga, who was not only his wife but his second cousin, and at Cygnus Black III. Then he turned to his niece and said, "Bellatrix, we would be honoured if you might wear them on your wedding day to Rodolphus here. To represent the Black family."

Bellatrix gave a shy little smile to Rodolphus, and a spike of angry possession went up Voldemort's spine. But Bellatrix nodded and put the earrings back into the box.

"I'd love to wear them. Thank you, Uncle Orion."

After that, the party seemed to have reached the natural end of its life. Bellatrix's cousins chatted with Narcissa and her mother Druella. Orion and Walburga Black spoke with Orion, and Bellatrix was absorbed into a conversation with Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and pondered the fact that twenty minutes earlier he'd been in Venice in the 1920s. Nineteen minutes ago, he'd been upstairs kissing Bellatrix for all he was worth.

Now she was smiling up at the boy she was meant to marry. The wide eyes that had always found Voldemort's in their intimate moments were now locked on Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort ground his teeth a little and walked with feigned smoothness to the couple. Rodolphus turned and bowed just a bit too low, so low it seemed pathetic.

"Thank you so very much for coming to my birthday party, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and suddenly he could see that her dark eyes were wet. She blinked quickly a few times and added, "Such a silly little occasion for us to be graced with your presence… Master."

Voldemort pursed his lips a little and nodded once. "It is good, sometimes, to relax," he told her, as if he were lecturing a child about behaviour. "It was no trouble to come. Rodolphus."

He turned his attention to the young man who stood beside Bellatrix, studying the boy's hazel eyes and his youthful, handsome face. Voldemort cleared his throat delicately and said in a tight, firm voice,

"If you wish to truly join our ranks, that could be arranged. Sooner rather than later, I should think. Perhaps in a few days."

Rodolphus Lestrange's eyes lit up, and a grin crossed his face. He nodded vigorously and shook a little with excitement as he said,

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you. That would be an honour beyond reckoning."

Voldemort nodded once. He glanced around the room and said loudly enough for all to hear, "Goodbye, then."

There were murmurs of Good evening, My Lord, and a few bows and dips. Voldemort took Bellatrix's hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips as he said plainly,

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

It wasn't until he was outside, in the street on Grimmauld Place, that he finally shut his eyes and realised what exactly had happened. Someone - they still were not certain who - had cursed a bracelet and sent Voldemort and Bellatrix hurtling back in time and through space. They'd spent weeks together and had found their way back. And now they were meant to pretend everything was as it had been, for no one else knew anything had happened. But of course, nothing was quite the same at all.

September 24, 1972

Black Estate, Exeter

Bellatrix sat in the sunroom of her parents' house, the window flung wide open to let in the pleasant air. She'd been reading for hours, a very old novel about a man who murdered his entire village and grew so powerful that the seasons changed at his behest. It was a Dark book, a weathered tome written in ancient script, and Bellatrix loved it. She was so absorbed in the book that she didn't notice the way a small grey owl had come soaring into the sunroom. It wasn't until the owl squawked angrily at her that Bellatrix whirled around, tossing her book down. She gasped quietly when she saw the envelope the bird had placed on the desk before it.

Bellatrix, it said, and she recognised His writing at once. The owl took off, so Bellatrix knew there must not be a reply expected of her. She tore carefully at the black wax, not wanting to destroy the seal of the Dark Mark her master had placed on the envelope. She pulled out the folded parchment inside, her fingers trembling as she read his words.

Bella,

You will not be marrying Rodolphus Lestrange, at least not in the near future. This is not a decision I have reached lightly. However, you are only twenty-one years of age and there is precisely no rush whatsoever to wed you off. Your parents were informed this morning of the news, along with Rodolphus Lestrange and his parents. None of the others involved in this arrangement have questioned my decision, and I certainly expect that you will not question me, either. When the time is right, you may marry him. That time is not now.

Once you have finished reading this letter, Apparate to me directly. Shut your eyes and imagine me, and come to my home in Blaize Bailey on the edge of the Forest of Dean. If your mind is as sound as I should like to believe, you will experience no difficulty in finding me.

LV

Bellatrix tried not to drop the letter. She managed to fold it instead and to push it into the pocket of her black tunic. She pulled her wand out and took a very brief moment to ponder what the letter had said. She wouldn't be marrying Rodolphus. Well, fine. She could hardly protest at that. But why wasn't she to marry Rodolphus? It was a fool's errand to speculate, especially regarding the Dark Lord himself. But Bellatrix could scarcely clear her mind of being in a bathtub with him, of losing her virginity to him, of him kissing her when they got back to London as though she were his only source of air. How could she forget all of that? Bellatrix sighed and shut her eyes, following the rest of his instructions. She imagined him, the sharp lines and handsome features of his dark-eyed face. She thought of the place to which she'd been summoned. Blaize Bailey on the edge of the Forest of Dean. Then she Disapparated with a sharp crack, and she was pinched and whirled through the black void for an instant.

When she came to, she was standing before a stately grey house. It was a large, elegant Baroque creation surrounded by swaying green trees and neatly manicured bushes. The place oozed class with its columns and fountains and rolling land. It was smaller than Malfoy Manor, which Bellatrix had visited more than once, but it seemed more tasteful with its understated charm. So this was his home, Bellatrix thought as she climbed the granite stairs up to the front door. Or, at least, this was one of his homes. She thought he probably had at least a few, owing to his position in the wizarding world.

She raised her fist to knock on the front door, but before she could, it began to creak open. The wide wooden door groaned as it moved, giving way to an entry hall of wood-paneled walls and white marble floors. Bellatrix stepped inside and called,

"My Lord?"

"Bella." Voldemort came walking around a corner through a sitting-room with bookshelves and a piano. He cocked up an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "You received my letter, then."

Bellatrix nodded and touched the pocket where she'd put it. The door creaked shut behind her, and she looked around in awe.

"You have a lovely home, Master," she told him honestly, staring for a moment at the stained-glass windows above the huge winding stairs. He sniffed delicately and said,

"You're the only other one I've let come here, Bella. And you're the only other one who knows we left that party the way we really did. Your Occlumency skills are more necessary now than ever."

Bellatrix gulped and nodded. "A good thing, then, that I learned them."

He stared at her for a long moment, for so long that Bellatrix shifted rather awkwardly where she stood. Finally he said, "You killed that witch in Paris without a second's hesitation."

"And I would kill again and again, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him at once, "if it was what you bade me to do."

"I know." He nodded and took a few steps toward her. He brushed his fingertips over her jaw and said, "Rodolphus can't have you yet."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling a little overwhelmed. Suddenly his lips were on hers, and she couldn't stop herself from reaching up to hold his face in her hands. The kiss was brief but deep, so delicious that Bellatrix was left wanting far more. When he pulled away, Voldemort said quietly,

"You'll stay the night, and in the morning you will pack some belongings. You're to move out of your parents' house for the time being and stay here instead. I don't need to give a reason, an explanation, or even the exact location of your home to anybody. I am Lord Voldemort, and if I want easier access to my most loyal soldier, I shall have it."

Bellatrix felt her knees go a little weak. She blinked a few times and tried very hard not to cry. The Dark Lord tipped his head and asked,

"Do you object, Bella?"

"No." She shook her head and whispered the word, thinking perhaps she hadn't been as deferential as she ought to have been. So she bowed her head and said more reverently, "No, My Lord. I do not object at all."

"Good girl, Bella," he mumbled, tipping her face up to his and lowering his mouth again. Just before he kissed her, he whispered in a furtive tone, "My Bella."

September 1972

Blaize Bailey

"You'll be staying in here, then." Voldemort swallowed hard as he gestured around the bedroom. It was an appropriately heavy bedchamber for the Dark Lord's manor. With its black wood on the walls, a chunky black bed, and emerald green bedding and curtains, it felt vaguely like a Slytherin dormitory. Bellatrix turned round where she stood with a little smile on her face.

"I like it very much, My Lord," she told him, as if that mattered. She seemed unsure of what to do with herself then, so she shrugged and said awkwardly, "Perhaps… the room has been lonely all this time, with no one staying in it."

"I've been staying in it for the last ten years," he told her, reading the surprise on her face as she finally registered they'd be sharing a bed. He was about to scold her that bedrooms weren't sentient and couldn't feel loneliness, but after seven years in a castle like Hogwarts, he couldn't be entirely sure about that. Instead he informed her crisply, "It would be a silly farce to put you in a separate room. If ever I don't want you in my bed, there are others you can take."

Bellatrix blinked, her cheeks going a little pink as she mumbled, "I… I took a Nongravidare Potion, My Lord, a few days ago. I had intended… well, you told me to be very careful with Rodolphus, so…"

"That was wise," Voldemort told her, and it had been. A Nongravidare Potion was the most powerful form of reversible Magical contraception, lasting indefinitely until a fertility potion was taken to counteract it. Something shook inside his chest at the thought of having Bellatrix here, of having called off her wedding to Rodolphus Lestrange so that he could keep her for his own. Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and told her, "Ignatius Prewett informs me that his niece Molly is expecting a child at the year's end. She and her husband are Blood Traitors, and her brothers are known lackeys for Dumbledore."

"Where is she, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked calmly. "I can eliminate her if you allow it."

"As soon as I have information on her possible whereabouts, you're to find and eliminate her, along with the traitor-in-training she bears in her womb."

"With pleasure, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded seriously. Suddenly he felt a rush of want for her, because she was so much more than the others. When he mentioned murder to her, she hardly batted an eye. When she stared at him with her wide dark eyes, there was a fire in them he'd never seen anywhere else. Voldemort shut his eyes and whispered,

"Take your clothes off, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord," he heard her reply. When he opened his eyes, she was untying the sash of her black kimono-style tunic. She peeled it away and lay it on the stout chair near the end of the bed. She reached down to unzip her black combat boots, and once she'd kicked them off, she peeled down her stretch leggings. Then she stood in her black lace bra and matching knickers, and Voldemort had to fight past the thickness in his throat as he croaked out, "Wait."

She raised her eyes to him, her small but round breasts heaving a little as her breath quickened with excitement. Voldemort closed the gap between them and dusted his fingertips over the soft swell of her chest. A strange little sound came from the back of his throat against his will. He put his right hand to the small of her back and pulled her near as he asked,

"Are you very distraught that you won't be getting married?"

"On the contrary, Master," Bellatrix breathed, her full lips shaking a little. "I am privileged by your decision. Being near you is a gift beyond -"

He cut her off with a kiss, unable to keep himself from putting his mouth to hers. He drank her in - the warm taste of the cinnamon on her tongue, the feel of her hands clawing anxiously at his chest. He pushed her backward toward the bed, guiding her down onto the green coverlet. Bellatrix lay on her back then and gazed up at him, and Voldemort admired the way she looked in her black lingerie for a moment.

"For nearly a month, I had no other Death Eaters," he noted, and Bellatrix just stared. He licked his bottom lip and continued, "Since we have returned, I have found the others' sycophantic ramblings to be a bit obnoxious. So do not be like them just now, Bella. Be… be that witch that woke up beside me in Venice, will you?"

In her eyes, he could see that she knew what he meant. He wanted to reign here and now as the fearsome Lord Voldemort, but he also wanted whatever strange dynamic had evolved between them in that other time. And he did want that, more than he cared to admit. Never in his life had he been so profoundly affected by another human, and the sensation was not altogether pleasant. Furthermore, Voldemort liked to consider himself to be in great control of his mind and body at all times. But Bellatrix, through no apparent fault of her own, had seized that control, wrenching it from Voldemort's powerful hands.

He could not keep himself from becoming aroused in times like this, when she lay before him in nothing but black lace. No other witch had ever set his heart racing like Bellatrix did. He'd never felt such exquisite pleasure as when he was buried to the hilt inside of her. Far worse than the physical craving, though, was the way his mind had reacted upon their return. Seeing her smiling up at Rodolphus, perseverating on the inevitable wedding night that would happen… he'd been nearly driven mad in the span of a few hours. And so he'd met with the Lestrange family and with Bellatrix's parents, and he'd explained crisply that both Bellatrix and Rodolphus were needed as soldiers. The wedding could happen in a few years, Voldemort had said, when his power was absolute and unquestioned and both bride and groom could turn their attentions to marriage. Everyone had agreed, though if there had been dissent, Voldemort would have quashed it at once.

And he knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that Bellatrix would never question him on anything. She was the very definition of loyal, the very picture of devotion. She adored him so ferociously it would have seemed comical in another context. And now, as she lay on Voldemort's bed in nothing but her lingerie, she set fires inside Voldemort that he knew he could not extinguish on his own.

"Out there is a war," Voldemort reminded them both, gesturing vaguely toward the window, "but inside this house it is Paris. It is the Simplon-Orient Express. It is Venice. Am I understood?"

"Oh. Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix's eyes welled as she nodded. Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment, trying and failing to steady his voice as he commanded her,

"Knickers off, then."

He started to attend to his own clothes, peeling off his outer robe and unfastening his waistcoat and white dress shirt. He tossed them into the pile with Bellatrix's clothes and kicked off his shoes as he unbuttoned his trousers. Once he was rid of everything, he stalked to where Bellatrix lay, and he seized her by the waist. He yanked her toward the edge of the bed and shoved her thighs apart. She gasped softly as his fingers glided over her satin folds, and he couldn't help but smirk at the feel of it.

"So wet already," he sneered, his cock pulsing with an aching want. He bent over and brushed his lips over her collarbone, and Bellatrix squirmed. Her back arched a little, and Voldemort whispered against her skin, "How badly do you long for your master, Bellatrix?"

"Mmph… badly, My Lord," she managed in between her shallow breaths. Voldemort swirled his fingers in the dewy warmth around her entrance, feeling a jolt go up his spine as he did. But he managed to keep his voice low and relatively steady as he instructed her,

"You're not to finish until I give you permission."

She moaned in agony as he quickened his fingers, but she nodded and gasped, "As you command, My Lord."

He stood back up and watched her. He started to draw circles on her clit with his thumb, and that triggered another arching of her back. She grasped the blanket in her fists and thrashed her curls against the bed a little as she stammered,

"M-My Lord, if you… if you keep doing that… I'm not… agh! Not sure I'll be able to keep from…"

"Not until I say you can, Bella." Voldemort was thoroughly enjoying this. The pink flush that had started on her cheekbones had leached like ink down her neck and over her shoulders. Her breasts, still ensconced in their black lace prison, rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. Her flat stomach and her hips bucked up against Voldemort's hand, and she was so wet now that his fingers were practically dripping. He twisted his middle and forefingers inside of her, pumping and turning them as his thumb massaged her sensitive nub. His own body was so alive he could hardly contain himself; his cock was painfully erect and his own skin felt hot and tingling.

"Please, My Lord," Bellatrix gasped, her wide eyes looking frightened as she chomped down on her bottom lip. He smiled a bit to himself. She couldn't help it. She was going to finish whether he gave her permission to or not, and then he could punish her for it.

"Not yet, Bella," he warned in the sternest voice he could muster. She whimpered as though she were in pain, her fists pounding the bed helplessly as Voldemort screwed his fingers ever more urgently into her. His thumb flicked back and forth a few times, and then Bellatrix lost control. Her walls clamped around his fingers, and she went still on the bed as she surrendered to her climax. She turned her face against the blanket, her long curls falling over her features as she moaned softly. Voldemort pulled his hand out of her and tried not to shiver as he wiped her fluids on the bed's coverlet. That could be washed later, he thought distantly. For now, he waited until she dared to look at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I told you not to do it," he reminded her, and Bellatrix looked genuinely afraid. He wasn't going to actually hurt her, not over this, but he could scarcely blame her for thinking he might. He'd done far worse to a good many people over far less egregious offences. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Apologise."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, but she immediately started to pull herself up to kneel.

"Get back down, Bellatrix; I did not tell you you could sit up." Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, and Bellatrix gulped. It took everything he had not to stroke his cock just now. He was so aroused he could hardly think. He managed to tell her again, in a tone that left no room for debate, "Apologise. Explain what you've done and tell me why you're sorry."

"I disobeyed your orders, Master," Bellatrix murmured, trembling where she lay, "and I am truly sorry for it."

"Hmm. You don't sound very sorry," Voldemort noted, and suddenly Bellatrix's face went white.

"I am sorry, My Lord!" she exclaimed, visibly resisting the urge to sit up. "I tried not to finish, but your fingers felt too good; I could not help myself. My body was beyond my weak control, and I was not strong enough to obey you properly. I beg you to punish me as you see fit."

Voldemort's heart began to race, and he struggled to find his voice to tell her, "No further punishment is necessary. Not today. All I want now is my satisfaction. Will you give me that?"

"I shall try, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "I can only hope my body gives you pleasure in some way."

"Mmm. Good girl." Voldemort took her waist and pulled it to the edge of the bed. He pushed her legs open again, but this time it wasn't his fingers that pressed inside of her. His cock was buried in one fluid thrust, owing to how wet and ready she was. He groaned quietly and began to pump his hips back and forth. It felt good. So good. She was snug and warm around him, and her fingers snared in her own hair as she registered the invasion. Voldemort leaned down and touched his lips very softly to hers, muttering against her mouth, "Tell me how you feel about staying in my house, Bella."

"I'm g-grateful… My Lord," Bellatrix told him. Her breath was warm and sweet on his lips, almost as warm and sweet as the way she felt around his pistoning cock. She continued, "I was… more than a little depressed, you see… when we got back and I realised I'd never be with you again."

"What a foolish thing to assume," Voldemort scolded her. One of his hands settled on the black lace covering her left breast. His other hand joined hers in her hair. His hips ground against hers as he jerked forward again and again, and he moved his lips to her neck. Bellatrix cried out, and he whispered into her ear, "Come again for me, Bella. Do it."

"Oh… yes, My Lord." Bellatrix curled up against his chest, her fingers wrapping around his in her hair. The grinding between their hips grew so intense that Voldemort knew he had only a moment to continue. He latched his mouth onto the skin beneath Bellatrix's ear, knowing and not caring that there would be a mark there. She hissed through her teeth as she came again, less explosively but more deeply this time. Voldemort pushed into her mind with Legilimency, barreling through the foggy grey swamp he encountered. In her present state of mind, he found chaos. Scarlet desire and screaming pleasure and a throbbing sense of love. He pulled out of her mind and put his lips to hers, bruising her mouth with a kiss as he tumbled over his own cliff. His hips stilled against hers, his cock burrowed inside of her as his seed pumped and his body throbbed. Everything was hot and bright for an instant, then pleasant warmth spread through his veins.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, knowing his voice sounded entirely too affectionate. He couldn't care. He couldn't keep himself from affection, not with Bellatrix. If he had to possess her openly so that no one else could have her, so be it. If he was more vulnerable with his attentions in private, so be it. For her, he was something different than the soulless dictator he was to the others. He was her master, to be certain. There was nothing equal about their relationship. But she was his, and he would not deny himself that reality.

"Clean yourself up in the bathroom down the corridor," he instructed her, rising and stepping away from the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair and sniffed. "I want you downstairs for dinner in twenty minutes."