"I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than I'll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…"
Bellatrix's fingers twitched with anxiety as she listened to the Muggle radio and paced in her sitting room. She'd donned a knee-length black silk dress with fitted, long sleeves and a high neckline. She'd lined her eyes thickly with kohl and had put on pale, frosted lipstick. She'd used half a bottle of Sleekeazy's to straighten her hair until it was perfectly silky smooth, and then she'd yanked it into a ponytail high on the crown of her head. She was passably pretty tonight, she thought. She kept telling herself that. She was young, only seventeen years old, and she'd done herself up well. Still, she was terribly nervous.
"Yes, I think to myself… what a wonderful world."
Bellatrix shut her eyes as the song ended. She walked over to the radio and twisted the dial until it shut off. Then she stood in the silence of the flat, looking around and thinking how grateful she was to be here. How were the girls at the Dancing Doxy, she wondered? They were working now; it was very nearly seven o'clock. Clare and Marian and Veronique were probably all with men right now, making little mewling sounds to act as though they didn't hate the things the wizards did to them. The girls were probably lying naked under fat, ugly old men who had come to huff and puff and drill into them without mercy. And at the end of the week, each witch would get a small sum from Madam Sophie, and almost all of it would go to food and necessities. Bellatrix pinched her lips. That could still be her, she knew. If not for Mr Riddle, she would still be on her hands and knees with rascally old men behind her. She would still be kneeling before the cocks of wizards who tasted and smelled terrible. She would still be Scouring her body, taking the flush out of her cheeks, sniffling away tears. She would still be miserable, if it weren't for Mr Riddle.
Instead, she had castrated Swithin Mulciber, the most vile of the villains who had crossed her. Instead, she had watched Mulciber die, and she'd Vanished his corpse. Instead of spending her nights on the lumpy, violated mattress in her room at the brothel, Bellatrix was sleeping on a plush bed here in the flat that Mr Riddle had procured for her. For all of that, she knew, she would never, ever be able to properly thank him. Not ever.
There was a knock on the door leading from her flat to the corridor outside, and Bellatrix jolted. She cleared her throat and walked briskly to the door, her black heels clicking on the floor. She unfastened the chain lock and turned the knob, and when she opened the door, she smiled up at Mr Riddle, who stood before her in Muggle attire. He wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie, and he had a black trenchcoat on. He wore a black fedora on his head, which he pulled off as Bellatrix opened the door. He quirked up the corners of his lips at her and said in a quiet voice,
"You have straightened your lovely curls."
Bellatrix's smile vanished. She gulped and took a shaking breath. She shrugged. "I can undo it. If you hate it, I can -"
"No. No." Mr Riddle laughed a little and shook his head. "It looks nice. Took me by surprise is all. I ought not to have said anything; a wizard should never comment on a witch's appearance, I think."
Bellatrix said nothing to that. She blinked a few times and stared down at Mr Riddle's remarkably shiny dress shoes. She supposed he had to dress like a Muggle for them to go to a Muggle restaurant. And it wasn't as though Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black could show up for a meal together in The Leaky Cauldron. They were both rather notorious.
"Shall we go to dinner?" asked Mr Riddle, ripping Bellatrix from her reverie. She raised her eyes to him and nodded, stepping out into the basement corridor.
"Yes, of course," she said. He held up a hand and frowned.
"You'll be wanting your coat," he said. "It's cold out there."
"Ah. Right." Bellatrix retreated into the flat again and reached for the coat rack near the door. She pulled off the black velvet cloak and pulled it round her shoulders, tying the satin ribbon at her neck. She stepped back out into the corridor, shutting the door behind her and putting the key into the lock.
"Probably ought to Transfigure that cloak," mused Mr Riddle from behind her. Bellatrix finished locking the door and turned. She glanced down almost defensively and demanded,
"What's the matter with it?"
"It's a bit witchy," Mr Riddle smirked. Bellatrix choked a laugh and shrugged.
"It's what I've got."
"Not a problem," Mr Riddle said. He glanced around as though looking out for stray Muggles, and then he pulled out his wand. He jabbed and flicked it a few times, and suddenly Bellatrix's cloak began to warp and shift. It had sleeves, and it shortened. The hood went away, and soon enough it was a formal sleeved coat that resembled what fashionable-seeming Muggle women on the street wore. Bellatrix grinned, amazed by the ease with which Mr Riddle had conducted the Transfiguration. She shook her head and asked,
"May we go to dinner now, sir?"
"Quite so," he nodded, and he headed up the stairs of her building. He held the door for her as they walked out onto the sidewalk, and he seemed to know the way, so Bellatrix walked a half pace behind him. It was chilly, and her breath puffed before her as she told him,
"Please, I should like to pay for dinner."
"How do you mean to do that?" Mr Riddle asked, a bit sharply. Bellatrix squeezed at her drawstring purse.
"I've got money. Wizarding money. I can pay you. I earned a little at the Dancing Doxy."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Mr Riddle. "As though I could eat dinner with that money."
Bellatrix froze. She stopped walking, and Mr Riddle whirled round. He seemed confused by her sudden stop. She folded her hands before her, her eyes burning, and she told him,
"I worked very hard for that money, Mr Riddle."
His mouth fell open. He shook his head and licked his lip. "Yes. I know you did. It's still filthy money."
Bellatrix felt like someone had put a knife through her heart all of a sudden. She took a step backward, away from him, and asked,
"Am I filthy, too?"
Mr Riddle's brows flew up. He put up his hands and frantically shook his head again.
"No. Don't misunderstand. It is -"
"I think I understand perfectly well, Mr Riddle," said Bellatrix, narrowing her eyes at him. A Muggle couple went walking by on the sidewalk, and the woman in her fur coat looked awfully curious at the quarreling spectacle of a pair before her. Bellatrix waited for them to pass, and then she hissed at Mr Riddle, "You're trying to acquire followers, and you want the most bloodthirsty ones you can get. So you plucked a known merciless bully out of prostitution, put her up in a flat, and tested her appetite for violence. All the better that you whetted her appetite for you in such a way that she's like your little pet now."
"Pet! Bellatrix!" Mr Riddle looked angry. Bellatrix leaned forward and spat at him,
"You just want me to be your pet bully and to fuck you. All it costs you is a little flat and a few meals."
"That is not how it is!" Mr Riddle roared, so loudly that Bellatrix jolted. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she whirled around to see a middle-aged Muggle woman giving her a concerned look.
"You all right, love?" asked the woman. Bellatrix chomped her lip.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?" the woman pressed. Bellatrix opened her mouth to answer, but the woman vibrated and her eyes glazed over. She stood up straighter and said to Bellatrix, "Glad it's nothing to worry over. Have a good night, love."
She turned and walked away, and Bellatrix pursed her lips. It was obvious at once that Mr Riddle had Confounded the Muggle woman into leaving. She turned back, prepared to shout an insult at Mr Riddle, but she found herself staring right at him. He'd approached when she'd had her back turned, and now he was one pace away and she was glaring up at his face.
"I'm going back to the Doxy," Bellatrix threatened. "At least my work there -"
"Bellatrix." Mr Riddle was quiet now. He shut his eyes and shook his head. Bellatrix seethed through her nostrils and felt abruptly like she was going to cry.
"Why?" she demanded, her voice cracking.
"Why what?" replied Mr Riddle. Bellatrix threw her hands up, feeling very cold all of a sudden. Her legs were bare; they were freezing.
"Why did you take me away from working as a whore and give me a flat?"
Mr Riddle opened his eyes. He sighed, his breath forming an icy cloud before him.
"Because," he said in a calm voice, "you are wonderfully and beautifully Dark, and you are meant for much more than what you were doing. Because a soul like yours is not meant to be abused by pithy little men. Because I am building an army and I craved you for that purpose, anticipating that you could become my most valuable soldier."
Bellatrix's heart began to race. She remembered the awful nights at the Dancing Doxy, and she looked around the sidewalk as a car drove by, and she suddenly felt rather foolish.
"Why this?" Bellatrix whispered, staring at the street. A black cab whizzed past, and she flicked her eyes back up to Mr Riddle.
"Dinner, you mean," he guessed. "Why dinner."
Bellatrix nodded. Mr Riddle reached for her then, and she was surprised when he cupped her jaw in his hand. He brushed his thumb under her eye, and she swallowed hard. She tingled where he'd touched her, and it took everything she had not to lean into the contact. She watched his throat bob, and he told her,
"Dinner because… because I find myself rather entranced by you, Bellatrix. Somewhat smitten, in a most peculiar and embarrassingly boyish way."
"Oh." Bellatrix felt very foolish now, and she thought her heart was going to thump right out of her chest and land on the sidewalk in a great bloody mess. She reached up and covered Mr Riddle's hand with her own, and her voice trembled as she asked him,
"Please, may I pay for dinner?"
He tipped his head and asked,
"Would it make you feel better if you did?"
"Yes." Bellatrix reached for her drawstring purse, and she sniffled a little as she opened it. She stared at the wizarding coins inside, wondering how they translated to Muggle money. She gulped and asked as politely as she could,
"How much would be appropriate for a meal at Chez Mariel? I don't know how much Muggle French food costs in wizarding -"
"You know, I'm feeling more like fish and chips tonight," Mr Riddle interjected. Bellatrix smiled sadly into her purse and pulled out two shiny Galleons. She handed them over to Mr Riddle, who promptly dropped one of the Galleons back into the purse and tucked the other one into his jacket pocket. He turned and started walking, off toward the chrome chairs and the fried food drenched in malt vinegar.
Author's Note: Thank you so very much for joining me again on this story. I am so looking forward to picking it back up and exploring these characters in this context. Thanks a million for reading. Please do review.
