Taking Alize as his wife turned out to be a much more prudent decision than Voldemort had imagined. His forces were now running as smoothly as a well-trained army, just as they should be. His followers that had somehow managed to stay in their service despite Alize's many inspections, were so terrified of her that they would dare not even think something to displease her. As a result, all of the Dark Lord's bidding was done perfectly. She had replaced his useless servants with far more skilled witches and wizards. Her uncle, Devereaux Celestine, was the finest Healer in the world and proved to be a great asset.
The murder of her father, considered the most powerful Auror the world had ever seen, created mass panic in America and Europe, aiding him in his endeavors. Her mother's family had also become quite useful, spreading propaganda among all of their friends, family, servants, and subjects so many, many more people had become his supporters. As the day of their marriage drew ever closer, the child inside grew larger and stronger. By Christmas that year, her stomach was now showing signs of the child that grew within.
He never received Christmas gifts…he did not even celebrate the holiday. But that year he had the greatest gift of them all. He had control of Europe. Completely. And he had Alize.
He looked over at her where she sat in a chair by the fire, her white dress gently draping around her slightly swollen belly. A French novel was clutched in her hand and the light of the fire made her pale cheeks bright pink as she read. "You are happy here, yes?"
Alize looked up from her book, closing it slowly. "Of course I am, my Lord," she said, obviously a bit puzzled as to why he would ask.
"I want you to be happy."
"I am…" She looked a bit grieved. "Have I done something to make you think I'm not?"
"No. I am merely thinking."
"Would my Lord like to share his thoughts?" she asked, setting aside her book and rising to walk toward him. Her dress shimmered around her stomach, reminding him of the son that lay there.
"I just did not want my son born into an unhappy family."
"He won't be. You know I love him very much." She sat down on the arm of his chair. "Just as I love you very much."
"I know." He looked up at her with an odd feeling. "Sit with me."
She slid down so she was sitting in his lap, curling up there to look up at him.
"I care for you…for our son deeply…" he murmured.
She smiled warmly. "I've seen it, my Lord. Would you…care to feel him?"
He nodded, wrapping his arms around her. "I love him," he said, surprising himself. He felt her pleasure at his words. He hadn't said he loved her, yet she was genuinely happy he loved their child.
"Here," she said softly, taking his hand in hers. She led it to her stomach, pressing his fingertips against a spot low on her abdomen. She pressed a little harder and Voldemort felt a hard knot brushing against his fingertips within her. "That is your son."
He smiled. "He will be perfect."
"The most perfect a mother could ask for. I know it."
"And the most perfect mother."
"I've been thinking," she said after a moment, warmed by his praise. "I believe I've found a name suitable enough for the Dark Lord's son."
"Tell me."
"Ophiuchus. The Serpent Bearer."
"Perfect."
"He will always know," she said. "Just how much we love him. I'll make sure of it."
"I love you."
She bit back her gasp of surprise. "I…You do, my Lord?" she whispered breathlessly.
"I do not understand it. But I know that I do."
"How… can you tell?" she asked softly, shyly.
"I don't know…it is a strange feeling. But good."
"Our son will be very lucky indeed."
"Yes, he will."
She leaned back against him as his hand fell away. "May I be excused from the meeting today, my Lord?"
"Yes."
"Thank you." She rose from his lap. "Would my Lord like to join me in a bath before then?"
"Always." He stood following her.
She ran the bath warm and sank down into it, looking at him over her shoulder.
He quickly joined her in the bath, wrapping his body around hers. "Does my love please you?"
"More than anything," she whispered, pressing against him.
"I love you," he whispered in Parseltongue.
Her head tilted back and her eyes drifted shut as she savored the words. "J'aime, Voldemort."
"You have broken my curse. I saw it as a blessing until you opened my eyes. I could not love. I did not comprehend it. Now you have saved me."
"Love is not such a horrible thing, is it?" she murmured.
"No, it is wondrous. Like a drug."
"One week," she murmured.
"I cannot wait to wed you."
Her lips lifted again. "One week."
The day of the marriage between Voldemort and Alize arrived cold and icy. Waking up on that morning, Alize shivered uncontrollably against him, her belly brushing against his hip with each little tremor. He held her close, wrapping the blanket tightly around them. "We shall be wed today," he whispered.
"So we shall," she murmured back, her teeth chattering slightly.
He kissed her, feeling their child pressed between them.
"I am…a bit nervous," she said, curling her body as close to his as possible.
"Why?"
"The dress is very beautiful but it's designed to show off my belly because of my Mark. It just…makes me feel vulnerable knowing everyone will be able to see him."
"Everything will be perfect. Do not worry."
"I'm sorry…I'm just protective."
"I know, but he is a strong child."
"Very strong. Even know I can feel him moving though I'm not supposed to for several more weeks."
"I am very proud of him."
She smiled as she withdrew, moving to the side of the bed to stand. "I'm seventeen today," she whispered, mostly to herself.
"A true adult."
"Still not nearly as mature as you, my Lord."
"I am not mature. I am just old," he said with an almost sad smile. "But as long as you don't mind…"
"Of course I don't. I merely wish I could bring as much experience to our relationship." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Am I the youngest you've been with, my Lord?" she asked, curious.
"Yes, you are, my love."
"It never bothered you, my age?"
"No."
"My mother was fifteen when she married my father."
"Age does not matter when you are in love."
"It was arranged," she said, moving to the closet to examine her gown. "Love came later."
"We must get prepared for our wedding."
"Are you superstitious, my Lord?"
"Not much. But traditions are best upheld."
"Pity." She ran her finger down the edge of the black dress. "I was going to ask if you'd help me into my gown."
"Then come here my beautiful betrothed."
She smiled as she turned to face him, walking toward him slowly with her hand curled around her stomach.
"You are amazing, Alize."
"As are you, my Lord."
"Yes, I know," he said with a smile, standing from the bed.
"J'aime."
"I love you, too, my bride."