"Well, hello, Bellatrix."

She scowled as she walked into the record shop. Davey, her landlord and the shop's owner, was standing with a cigarette in his mouth, combing through records at a table. A Beatles album was loudly playing in the shop; Bellatrix recognised "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

"Evening, Davey," Bellatrix said lightly. "I'm just here to collect my belongings, actually; I've found a new place."

"Oh. What a shame. Well, you won't get your deposit back, since you're breaking your lease," Davey said, shoving his smelly brown hair from his skinny face. He puffed on his cigarette and jerked his chin toward Voldemort. "Moving back in with Daddy?"

Daddy? Bellatrix glared at Davey and pursed her lips. She wasn't going to dignify that with a response. She rolled her eyes and started to walk past Davey, but when she did, his hand squeezed at her bum, and he muttered past his cigarette,

"Going to miss this bread-dough bum, love. Agh!"

Davey crumpled to the ground, and Bellatrix whirled around to see Voldemort aiming his wand at the Muggle. Davey appeared to have been strangled, and though he was unconscious on the ground, he was still breathing. His cigarette lay smouldering beside him. Voldemort's dark eyes shimmered with rage, and his wand shook a little in his hand. He jerked his wand, and suddenly the records in the store started to shatter. One by one, inside their sleeves and boxes, Bellatrix heard them bursting into shards. Voldemort angrily began toppling boxes full of records, sending them careening to the ground. The broken bits of the records spilled out all over the place.

"Confringo!" Voldemort exclaimed, and his Blasting Curse shot straight at Davey's prized, expensive hi-fi stereo and speaker system. The Beatles went silent as the system burst into flames that smoked and flickered. Voldemort turned his dark eyes to Bellatrix and said sharply,

"Let's go pack your things. We'll Disapparate from up there."

Bellatrix was rather numb as she headed for the stairs. When she glanced back, she saw Voldemort aim his wand at Davey again, and the Muggle's skin erupted at once with the painful boils and hives of a Stinging Hex. Voldemort aimed his wand at the windows leading out to the street, and he mumbled,

"Finestra."

The windows exploded into shards as fine as dust. Bellatrix smirked. This place was a complete hovel; Davey must have minimal insurance, if any. Voldemort had just completely destroyed Davey's record shop, and that would chew Davey up inside once he woke up with a swollen face covered in boils. Bellatrix hurried up the rickety wooden steps, and she could hear the Muggle woman upstairs listening to her television loudly. She opened her door with a quick spell; she couldn't be bothered with a key right now.

Inside the tiny flat, she hurried to open her Expanded leather suitcase, into which she began shoving her cosmetics from the bathroom - her shampoo and conditioner, her soap, her makeup bag, her towels and her terry cloth robe. She pulled back the little curtain hiding the clothes she'd brought from her parents' house, and she hauled them all into the Expanded suitcase. She plucked spare garments from where she found them, feeling a little embarrassed that Voldemort was seeing her private belongings. But he was busy staring out the window at the street below, and he murmured,

"That man is buying drugs from that other man. This is a bad neighbourhood."

"Yes, well… I'm leaving it," Bellatrix smiled. She felt self-conscious, though, as Voldemort eyed her lumpy mattress with its ratty quilt, the second-hand dresser and tiny table with a single chair. He stared into the bathroom, which had just a toilet, a tiny sink, a flat mirror on the tiled wall, and a shower head coming out of the wall with no curtain. He huffed and shook his head, sounding almost angry as he growled,

"You are a member of the House of Black. A Pureblood witch of prestigious background. You should never have been living in a place like this."

Bellatrix's lips fell open, and she shrugged. "As soon as I left school, my father was a drunken mess, and I knew I couldn't stay at home. I had no work. This was fine for a few weeks. Really."

"Well. The blue bedroom will be much better," Voldemort said very firmly. He pursed his lips, seeming very irritated, and Bellatrix's eyes watered all of sudden for a reason she wouldn't have been able to explain. She nodded and asked him,

"Shall we go? Best leave before Davey wakes."

"Yes. Let's get the hell out of here," Voldemort said. He walked over to her suitcase, clasped it shut, and held it, and he extended his hand to her. Bellatrix felt a little overwhelmed then as she took his hand and was sucked into Side-Along Apparition, and when they came to, they were in the sitting room of his house in Cressida Road.

It was very quiet here, Bellatrix thought again. Peaceful. She looked around and then carefully put her shoes by the front door of the house.

"I have to pay you rent," she mused, and Voldemort insisted,

"You already did."

"Oh. Right." Bellatrix sighed, stepping into the more formal parlour. She glanced at the piano and smirked. "Do you play?"

"Very badly," he said. "It came with the house. I started teaching myself when I moved in. I am not exactly a pianist, if that's what you mean."

"Will you play me something, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he shook his head.

"No. I dislike making a fool of myself."

"Well. I can't play at all, so you're better than me," she insisted. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, moving over to the piano and pulling out the bench. He sat and looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he put his fingers to the keys. He had long fingers, Bellatrix thought suddenly. She shivered a little, studying his hands like that. His fingers were long and thin. She liked the look of them.

He played a series of quiet chords, soft and mournful, and then his left hand continued playing gentle, sorrowful chords whilst his right hand played a tinkling moving line. It was a sad little song, a little piece that made Bellatrix think of cold rain. She moved closer to the piano on instinct, needing to be nearer. Voldemort's back was very straight as he played, his hands bending and pressing just so. The little piece ended with another series of sad, gentle chords, and then Voldemort pulled his hands away, shutting the lid of the piano and giving Bellatrix a self-conscious expression.

"And that's about as good as it gets," he clipped. Bellatrix felt a little breathless as she told him honestly,

"I thought it was lovely."

He dragged his thumb over his bottom lip and drummed his other fingers on the piano lid.

"Well. At least with you around, I'll get a compliment here and there instead of my own constant self-criticism when it comes to the piano, hm?"

She smiled at him, unable to think of anything to say back to him. She just swallowed hard and knitted her fingers together, and she finally said,

"Thank you, My Lord. For what you did to Davey. I've been wanting to do that and worse ever since I moved in. I think sometimes witches don't feel like we're allowed to have our vengeance."

"Well, that's silly," Voldemort snapped. "If someone mistreats you, you do twice as badly to them. Remember that."

She nodded. "I will."

"Your shower looked miserable in that dump of a tenement," Voldemort said rather harshly. "If you'd like, the one upstairs is perfectly pleasant. Make yourself at home. You're paying rent, after all."

Bellatrix grinned, making a move for her suitcase.

Bellatrix couldn't help humming a little as she dragged a wide-toothed comb through her damp curls. She pulled them into a loose braid for sleeping, and she dabbed some night cream beneath her eyes and around her cheeks. She'd pulled on a nightgown - loose-fitting black cotton that hit her knees, and as she scrubbed her teeth, she felt profoundly comfortable. She hadn't had a real, proper bathroom to herself, ever. At home, she'd had to share with Narcissa and Andromeda. Even the wealthy Black family townhouse had had one level with three bedrooms and one bathroom just for the girls. At school, she'd shared with the other Slytherin girls. Then there had been her sorry excuse for a flat in Shoreditch. But this was nice, having a real bathroom that no one else was using. Bellatrix latched up her cosmetics case and put it on the shelf beside the sink, plopping her toothbrush in the porcelain cup beside the sink, and she snuffed out the lantern on the wall with her wand.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she could hear the sink running in Voldemort's bathroom. She froze. Was he in there, washing his own face and cleaning his own teeth? She hurried into her blue bedroom, thinking she should shut the door and yank up the blankets on her bed. But that seemed ungrateful, so she waited until she heard the water stop, until she heard his footsteps, and she called carefully,

"My Lord?"

There was a long pause, and then he appeared in the threshold of her bedroom door, wearing dark blue flannel pyjamas. Bellatrix felt a sudden flush. She wanted him. Oh, goodness, did she want him. She hadn't really wanted him until right now, she thought. She'd found him handsome before. She'd thought he was incredibly strong and powerful and charismatic. She'd liked his personality. She'd been glad for his presence. But right this moment, she wanted him. She struggled not to show it, not to show him what she was feeling and thinking. She wrung her hands before her and mumbled,

"I just wanted to thank you again. For…"

She trailed off then, her eyes fluttering a little. She shut them, just standing there, and when she opened them again, Voldemort's chest seemed to be rising and falling rather quickly beneath the shirt of his pyjamas. Bellatrix remembered the way he'd kissed her the night of the wedding. Would he do that again? That seemed like a bad idea, somehow.

"I wanted to thank you, My Lord," she managed, "for agreeing to help with my father, and for offering me employment and housing, and for exacting revenge on Davey. I promise you that I will be a model tenant, and I promise I will work very hard as your assistant."

"I know," he said simply. He licked his bottom lip and opened his mouth, seeming like he was anxious to say something. He closed his mouth and looked away, and he finally just said in a rather frustrated sort of voice, "Goodnight, Bellatrix."

"Goodnight, My Lord," she said, and she watched him shut her door as he walked away.

Author's Note: All right. Taking bets on how long they last. Hahaha.