"Good morning," Voldemort said rather crisply, walking into the dining room to find Bellatrix already there. It was Sunday, so neither of them was going to Malfoy Manor today. She looked up from her bowl of steel-cut oats and cream, and she looked utterly horrified. She just blinked, stared into her bowl, and mumbled,
"Morning."
She'd dressed in a floor-length velvet skirt and a very modestly cut blouse, Voldemort noticed. That had probably been on purpose. Her hair hung loose around her face, upon which she'd appeared not to have put any makeup. She looked utterly hungover, so Voldemort sighed and walked over to his potions cabinet in his kitchen. He opened the large apothecary drawers until he found the small vial of Hangaway Serum. He carried it back into the dining room, set it beside Bellatrix, and said tightly,
"Two drops in your tea. I'm sure that headache's splitting."
"Oh. Thank you, My Lord." She used the vial to shake two drops of the serum into her tea, and then she put the stopper back in and handed it back. Voldemort Banished it back to his cabinet and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a scone from his bread basket and opening his enchanted, chilled contained of clotted cream. He slathered cream onto the scone, Scoured the knife and put it away, and brewed himself up a quick cup of tea. He opened another drawer and pulled out a parchment and a self-inking quill, and he sent it all to the dining room table with a few flicks of his wand.
When he sat, he wordlessly nibbled his scone and sipped his tea, and then he picked up the quill and wrote down,
Coarse ground mustard, cinnamon, paprika, chicken thighs, two heads of garlic, five pounds potatoes, one bunch asparagus, one jug cooking oil, sea salt, coarse black pepper, cheddar cheese, butter, milk, two loaves crusty bread.
"I have made a list," he said, looking up to see Bellatrix focusing very intently on eating her oats. "A grocery list. You'll find all of this at The Pumpkin and the Pepper Pot in Diagon Alley. I trust you don't mind a quick run to the grocer's… as my assistant? I know it's Sunday, but I like to cook now and then."
"Of course I don't mind, My Lord," Bellatrix said meekly from where she sat. She aimed her wand at her bowl, Vanished the remaining oats, Scoured the bowl and her teacup, and carefully carried the dishes back into the kitchen. Whilst she was gone, Voldemort pulled out his drawstring bag of coins from his pocket and counted out six Galleons, which he reckoned should be more than enough for the food. It was probably twice was the food would cost, but he didn't want Bellatrix to be caught short. He stacked the coins on the parchment before him and waited, and when Bellatrix came back out, she eyed his empty teacup and plate full of crumbs and asked,
"May I clear those for you?"
"You're not my maid," he said, a little bite in his voice. She shrank back a bit, and Voldemort rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. He set the teacup on the plate and handed it to her, and she nodded as she carried them into the kitchen.
Of course they should discuss the night before, he thought. Of course they should discuss the fact that she'd drunkenly groped his erection through his trousers. Of course they should talk about that, but of course they would not. They had not discussed either of the two kisses he'd given her, and they would not discuss her drunken behaviour, either.
Bellatrix came back out from the kitchen and looked over the list on the parchment. She took three Galleons and said confidently,
"This'll be more than enough, My Lord."
"You're right, I'm sure," he said, and he tucked the other three Galleons away. He watched her study the list, and then a little smile spread across her face, and she asked,
"When are you making chicken and potatoes?"
"Oh. Tonight, if you're in. If you'd… you don't have to eat it," he said, but Bellatrix shrugged.
"I like chicken. And potatoes."
"Good." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table, and for a moment there was a very heavy, awkward silence. Bellatrix finally folded up the parchment and tucked it, along with the three Galleons, into the small pouch tied around her belt. She holstered her wand and asked,
"Is there anything else I can do for you? Sir?"
His chest hurt a little at that, for some strange reason. She had been pressed against him the night before, telling him that she wanted him. But now her eyes were cold, frightened, and she was speaking so formally. He just shook his head, and she nodded as she walked away, Disapparating before she reached the front door.
It began to pour around half past six in the evening. Voldemort stood in the kitchen, dipping chicken thighs into a bowl of milk and then coating them with a mixture of bread crumbs and spices before placing them in a glass baking pan. He glanced out the kitchen window to see that the rain was absolutely thrashing the panes. If it had been drizzling, he'd have opened the windows, for he adored the warm smell of summer rain, but this wasn't just rain. It was a storm.
That assessment was confirmed when a mighty crash of thunder sounded. From the sitting room, the voice on the Wizarding Wireless scratched out,
"For those listening in the London area, be extra careful with the weather. There is a Broomstick Advisory issued by the Ministry, as severe thunderstorms are predicted to continue until the early hours of the morning. And now, the latest from jazz groups The MerNotes and Bobby Patina and his Warlock Band."
Soothing jazz music began to play, and Voldemort aimed his wand at the glass baking pan of chicken thighs and the pan of seasoned potato wedges he'd covered with grated cheese, then the plate of asparagus he'd drizzled with lemon juice, salt, and pepper.
"Coquam," he incanted. "Frigo."
He watched as the potatoes and chicken began to roast, as the asparagus began to sauté. He aimed his wand at his cupboards, concentrating hard, and with a deliberate swish, he said,
"Mensam Quia Duorum Hominum."
He watched then as the table set itself. Two napkins, two plates, two forks, two knives, two spoons, two wine glasses, and two water glasses made their way to opposite ends of the table. Voldemort smirked, rather proud of his magic. He selected a good bottle of Pinot Noir and then used an Aguamenti and a Chilling Charm to fill a pitcher with cold water. He carried the drinks to the table and saw Bellatrix walking into the dining room. He smiled a little at her and sent her chair out with wandless magic, and with a quick flick of his wand, he uncorked the bottle of wine, then poured her a little as she sat.
"My Lord," she said in awe, "I had no idea you were a chef. It smells marvelous in here."
"Well. Don't judge anything until you taste," he said. There was a crash of thunder then, and he looked out the window in the sitting room. "Lovely weather."
Bellatrix smiled weakly, looking a little embarrassed as she put her napkin in her lap. Voldemort Summoned the dishes of chicken and potato and asparagus into the dining room, allowing Bellatrix to serve herself first. Once he dug in, he realised he'd created something rather tasty. He looked up to see Bellatrix chewing away happily. She took a sip of wine and affirmed,
"Delicious."
"Oh, well, it's obviously because I had quality ingredients," he joked. "If I'd had a lesser grocery shopper, everything might have gone to hell, you know."
She laughed a little then, and after a while of eating in quiet, she reminded him,
"Early morning tomorrow, My Lord. Yaxley wanted to discuss my father's arrest with you before he goes into the Ministry."
"Ah, yes. Erm… up to you if you want to sit in on that meeting or not," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix shrugged.
"Well. I don't mind, but I worry my presence might make Yaxley uncomfortable," she said. "I was thinking perhaps I could just get a summary from you afterward and record it in the journal?"
"Yes, if you think that's best," Voldemort said lightly, "though I don't much care if Yaxley is uncomfortable. I think you should be there. I'm sure you'd like to hear what Yaxley has to say. And, anyway, I should like more comprehensive real-time notes. So… sit in on the meeting, if you please."
"Yes, Master." Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and she set down her knife and fork. She shook her head and gulped visibly. "I'm so sorry; that just…"
"Slipped out?" Voldemort whispered. It had slipped out the night before, too, when she'd been completely drunk. Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she winced when a clap of thunder shook the house a little. Voldemort took another bite of chicken, then a bite of potato and a bite of asparagus. He finally said to Bellatrix, "It isn't as though that word bothers me. Very much the opposite. You know what I aim to be, Bellatrix. You're only jarred using that term because you're the only person who actually acknowledges me for what I seek to become."
Bellatrix's lips parted a little, and she sipped deeply from her wine. She set the glass down and said,
"I made a fool of myself last night, and I apologise."
"No. You were drunk, and you were being a little silly. That's all," Voldemort said, trying to convince himself as much as her. Her face went more red than ever, and somehow the rain fell even harder outside. Bellatrix appeared to chew her lip hard for a moment, and then she said,
"I touched you in a way you didn't want me to do. That was wrong."
"I didn't say that I did not want it," Voldemort snapped quietly. He stared at his mostly empty plate of food, unable to raise his eyes to her. "I said that it was wrong to let you do that when you were drunk, and I stand by that."
There was silence then, except for the thudding of the rain and the rumbling of thunder, and finally Bellatrix murmured,
"Dinner was wonderful, My Lord. Please, allow me to clean up."
"All right." He rose from his chair and made his way across the house, sitting at the piano and playing until his knuckles were sore.
He couldn't stand it anymore.
She was right next door, and there was no chance she was sleeping. She'd Scoured herself with spells, for she'd said she was afraid of taking a shower in the thunderstorm that had worsened as the night went one. They'd each scrubbed their teeth and washed their faces and had put on pyjamas and bid each other an awkward goodnight.
But the rain was incessant, and the thunder and lightning were constant. This, surely, was more disruptive to sleep than even the worst Muggle party or the most obnoxious record shop. There was no chance she was asleep in the blue bedroom. She was away, just a few feet away on the other side of the wall. She was so close that if Voldemort could have reached through the plaster, he could have touched her.
And knowing that was eating him alive. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her that she was beautiful and intelligent, that she was the only one who actually treated him the way he wanted to be treated. He wanted to hold her close like he'd done the night before. He wanted to kiss her like he'd done a few days earlier, dragging his tongue around her mouth. He wanted to do other things, too. He wanted to know what her small breast felt like in his hand. He wanted to put his fingers between her legs. He wanted to make her moan. He wanted to make her…
He startled then at the sound of gentle knocking on his bedroom door. He sat up, gulping hard, and he used wandless magic to pull the door open. Bellatrix came padding in, looking mildly terrified. She was like a ghost, like an otherworldly creature in her knee-length, loose-fitting black nightgown. So much of her milky skin was revealed, and even in the darkness, Voldemort could see the shape of her. He stared, finally meeting her eyes as she approached the bed where he was now sitting upright.
"My Lord," she said very cautiously, "last night, I was very stupid. I know I was. But I told you that I wanted you, and you told me to tell you that when I was sober. So… here I am. Sober. And I'm here to inform you… that I do want you."
Voldemort reached up and took her hand in his, squeezing a little when the lightning and thunder outside filled the room with a flash and a rumble. He swallowed hard, deciding he was already in far too deep for her, and he pulled her toward him, onto his bed.
Author's Note: Welp. That didn't take long. Now, who's up for Bellatrix losing her virginity in the middle of a thunderstorm? (*whispers* I am… that's why I'm gonna write it…) Thank you as always for reading and reviewing.
