"My goodness, My Lady. You look magnificent."
"Thanks, Malika." Bellatrix pulled her full skirts out a little, showing off the elaborate lace and tulle overlaying the black silk beneath. Voldemort swallowed the knot in his throat as he studied her from a few steps away. Cygnus Black was blathering on about finances, but Voldemort couldn't stop looking at the man's daughter. Her collarbone looked pretty tonight, he thought, with the scalloped off-the-shoulder neck of his gown. Her waist had been cinched in by the corset-style bodice, and she was almost painfully feminine in shape tonight.
"Does that sound suitable, My Lord?"
"Hmm?" Voldemort took a huge swig of his gin and tonic and forced his face to his father-in-law. Cygnus' eyes flicked to Bellatrix, and he cleared his throat as he asked carefully,
"A stipend for the werewolves, Master, since so many live in abject poverty. They seemed wildly enthused by even the tiniest monetary reward. I suggested perhaps two hundred Galleons per year to each of them in exchange for their loyalty."
"Yes. That seems... reasonable." Voldemort finished off his gin and tonic, and it refilled itself. He glanced around the little gathering in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, and he found the large clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty, but this party had already been going for two hours, and Voldemort had been drinking the entire time. It was the only way he could even vaguely manage to keep his hands off of Bellatrix. His mind was on the dirty pictures she'd given him, and it didn't help that she was cheerful now, having been Obliviated out of the misery that had consumed her since before Christmas.
"A hundred… no, wait. Two hundred Galleons each for the werewolves is fine, Cygnus," Voldemort nodded with a little snap. He gave Cygnus what he thought was a serious look then and asked, "How are things with my dear mother-in-law?"
He took another big drink, feeling woozy now, and he watched Cygnus' face go a little pink.
"Erm… better now, Master. I… I will be loyal to her in future. On that you have my word, my honour."
"Good. Poor Bella was a wreck over it," Voldemort slurred. "Well, no. She was… she was really very angry with you. She thought that meal… on Druella's birthday… she laughed so hard about it after. Anyway."
He frowned then, for it seemed uncharacteristic that he would talk about Bellatrix like this. Cygnus seemed uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, and he stared down at his own Champagne flute.
"I am sorry to have distressed her, Master. Her and Druella both."
"She's so fucking pretty, isn't she?" Voldemort turned his face back to Bellatrix, and as he sipped his gin and tonic, he mused, "That dress is going to be a beast to take off. I'll have to just Vanish it, probably. The fastest way to fuck Bella is to just Vanish everything straight off of her."
"My Lord!" Cygnus' voice shook like mad, and Voldemort's vision blurred as he turned quickly to face him. Cygnus scowled, his cheeks beet red, and he murmured, "Please, Master, will you excuse me?"
"Mmm-hmm. Happy New Year." Voldemort took three large gulps in a row, wondering why it was that these gin and tonics seemed to be going down so easily. Malfoy's House-Elf had enchanted all the drinks to automatically refill, so everyone was overindulging, but Voldemort was slurping down gin like it was water in a desert. He didn't know exactly why. He didn't make a point of drinking to excess in front of his followers. It made him look weak and mortal and stupid.
But he took a sip of the fresh drink, and he stumbled just a little where he stood. Suddenly Bellatrix looked over from where she and her sister were chatting with Nadia Goyle and Malika Shacklebolt, who was probably the only one here not drinking, owing to her swollen pregnant belly. Voldemort staggered over toward the gaggle of witches, all of whom dipped into curtsies except for Bellatrix. She just glared, and in his mind, Voldemort thought distantly,
Oh, what's got her angry now?
You are completely drunk, My Lord, she thought right back at him. He blinked, drowsy all of a sudden, and said,
"Narcissa. Hello. Your dress looks like a snowflake."
"That's because it's got silver snowflakes embroidered on it," Bellatrix hissed, and the other witches lowered their eyes.
"Yes. I meant… meant to say that it has snowflakes… on it." Voldemort sipped at his drink, which was plucked from his fingers by Bellatrix at once. She gave him a serious look and asked,
"Mind if I finish this one off, Master?"
"I could get you your own." He didn't understand why she was stealing his drinks from him. He turned to Malika Shacklebolt and snatched at her left hand, studying the plain gold wedding band there.
"Well, looks like Rabastan rather cheaped out on the ring, but... at least he made it all official… all official before you squeeze out his progeny," Voldemort slurred. Narcissa and Nadia Goyle gasped in alarm, and Malika Shacklebolt slowly pulled her hand back, giving Bellatrix what seemed like a desperate look.
"Master, dance with me," Bellatrix said very firmly. "Please."
"No one's dancing." He gestured out into the ballroom, and Bellatrix said helplessly,
"Show me where the cream puffs are, then."
"They're over there." Voldemort pointed to a table full of desserts. Had she suddenly lost all of her intelligence and ability to find cream puffs? He grabbed his drink back from her and sipped, and Bellatrix said impulsively,
"My Lord, I overheard a conversation, extremely sensitive, and I think I should share it with you in private. May we go to your office, please?"
"Just think it," Voldemort said in a blur. "You know if you're deliberate… if you think it right at me, I'll hear it just fine."
The others seemed very confused by that, and Bellatrix shut her eyes for a long moment. Finally, Narcissa Black said softly,
"Malika, I'll bet you didn't know there were cream puffs. You must be craving them like mad in your condition. Let's go get you some. Nadia, come with us?"
"Excuse us, Master." Malika Shacklebolt curtsied again, along with Narcissa and Nadia, and Voldemort watched the witches go. They were probably still well in earshot when he said rather loudly to Bellatrix,
"I wouldn't shag any of those girls, but you, in that dress… for fuck's sake, Bellatrix; are you trying to -"
"You are very drunk." She grabbed his drink and whipped out her wand, Vanishing the glass. He opened his mouth to protest, but her face was red with anger as she whispered frantically, "You are making a complete and utter fool of yourself, and you are going to regret it tomorrow."
"Is that a threat?" Voldemort spat, and Bellatrix's eyes welled as she shook her head fiercely.
"Why did you drink so much, My Lord? You never do this. You know so much better."
"The gin was especially… you look very pretty, Bella, and I was distracted by you," he said accusingly. Bellatrix shook her head a little and said in a gentle voice,
"Please, come with me to our suite here. There are potions stores. We can quickly sober you up before everyone leaves. Please, Master. Please let me help you."
"You help me?" Voldemort scoffed a laugh and noted bitterly, "You've been so useless this last week that I had to Obliviate your ruddy mind just to get you functional again, and now… now you're the one helping me? That's awfully rich!"
"Wait… what? What are you talking about?" Bellatrix looked around quickly and closed the gap between them. She blinked a few times and whispered, "You Obliviated me? Why?"
"You're a bloody Legilimens, aren't you? Come on in, then," Voldemort challenged her. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and murmured,
"Legilimens."
She sorted through the way Voldemort had pulled out a failed mission - the botched assassination of Arthur Weasley - and the way Bellatrix had sat for hours in the cold. He'd pulled out her long sessions of inconsolable crying, the way she'd threatened to leap into an icy river, the way she'd moaned about being worthless. She could see Voldemort replacing her memories whilst she slept, convincing her that she'd done the job right and that Christmas had been happy. Suddenly she yanked herself from Voldemort's mind, and she mumbled,
"I don't feel well. I'm going home… Master."
She started to walk away, but Voldemort reached for her arm. He must have squeezed her tiny bicep much harder than he'd intended, because she yelped in pain, and a few people turned to stare.
"Stop, stop!" she whispered, yanking her arm from his hand and rubbing at it. Her eyes flashed scarlet and stayed that way as she said in a desperate, cracked voice, "People are watching you! They'll remember this; you'll be weaker for this. Please let me go up to the suite. Please. I'll bring down the potion to help you. Please let me go to the suite. I am begging you. Master, please."
"Fine! Bloody hell!" Voldemort snarled in rage down at her, and more people turned to stare in awe or shock or something else that Voldemort was entirely too drunk to identify. Bellatrix whirled on her foot, red-cheeked and panting with panic, and started to walk quickly from the ballroom. He struggled to keep up with her as she hurried off, her silk and tulle skirts rustling around her. Then he realised he wasn't meant to follow her, and he froze. Bellatrix stormed out of the ballroom, looking so beautiful it hurt, her black curls shaking with every frantic step she took.
"Pardon me… My Lord?"
He turned, feeling very dizzy as he found himself face to face with Abraxas Malfoy.
"We went to school together, you and I," Voldemort reminded Abraxas in a blurry voice. He jabbed his finger into Abraxas' chest and mumbled, "You played Quidditch. Seeker."
"I was… I was a Beater, Master." Abraxas started walking slowly toward the wall, and Voldemort stumbled over with him. He blinked slowly and said,
"You could have had any girl in the damned school, Abraxas, being a Quidditch… a Quidditch star, but you… you had eyes only for Cerda. Too bad you went to those damned parties and betrayed her."
"I do feel terribly about that great mess, My Lord," Abraxas sipped very slowly, very deliberately from his flute of Champagne, and he asked in a voice that showed he was walking on eggshells, "Is there… any assistance I might provide you, Master? I fear perhaps my House-Elf made the gin flow a bit more freely than you might have liked."
"Bella's gone to fetch it. The Apestemius Elixir." Voldemort jammed his hands into his pockets and swayed a little where he stood. "Am I as drunk as all that, Abraxas?"
Malfoy hesitated and finally admitted, "Far more so than I've ever seen you, My Lord, yes."
"Oh." Voldemort tried to nod crisply, but he felt like a bobblehead as he said, "Yes, all right. Dismissed, Malfoy."
"Master." Abraxas bowed a little and walked away, into a cluster consisting of Cygnus and Druella Black, Lucius and Narcissa, and Cerda Malfoy. Voldemort scowled at the lot of them. They were bad-mouthing him, he thought. He could just aim his wand at them and jinx them one by one for bad-mouthing him when he couldn't hear. He could peer into their heads and punish them for insubordination.
Instead he peered into the minds of a few of the others present, his Legilimency clumsy and making people jolt with the sensation of mental discomfort. Still, he could feel it from them - shock, alarm, amusement. The Dark Lord's completely smashed. Utterly piss drunk, he is. Merlin's Beard; the Dark Lord is sloshed as a sailor. Happy New Year, eh?
He wanted to shout at them all that it was his damned birthday, too, not just New Year's. He wanted to tell them that even Dark wizards liked to let loose every now and then. And he wanted to say that sometimes he needed gin to keep his hands off of the witch to whom his soul had knitted itself. But he didn't shout at any of them. Instead he went on stuttering feet to a table with a pitcher of water and some empty glasses. He poured himself some water, spilling a little, and he was about to take a sip when he heard,
"Here. Please take this first; you know it's bitter and you'll want the water after."
Voldemort turned slowly to see Bellatrix surreptitiously holding her palm between them. There was a little vial of indigo glass in her hand, and when Voldemort hesitated, she plucked out the little cork and poured the vial into his glass of water.
"There," she murmured, tucking the empty vial away. "That's a large dose. Should work quickly."
She stayed close to him as he gulped down the bitter mixture of water and Apestemius Elixir. He winced at the flavour but drank the whole glass, and the effect was almost immediate. Within ten or fifteen blinks of his eyes, everything started to get clearer. The dizzying buzz of the room came into focus, and Voldemort touched at his forehead as he mumbled,
"What a bloody fool I was, drinking like that. Talking like that. Bella, how do I fix this?"
"They're all drunk, too," she pointed out softly. "You hold a meeting tomorrow at eight in the morning, when they're all still tipsy or hungover, and you be extra stern with them. Punish someone for something. Goad someone into talking back at throw a Cruciatus for ten seconds. Reassert your authority."
She was right, of course. He nodded and flicked his eyes to the oily sheen on her bicep, and he knew she'd put some Butterfly Weed Balm on the spot where he'd grabbed her. Then he realised he'd let slip to her that he'd Obliviated her, and he said,
"You couldn't see that your mistake wasn't worth the… the absolute breakdown. I couldn't let you go on like that."
"It seems I was acting foolishly in the wake of a mission gone wrong. You were right to Obliviate me, Master," Bellatrix nodded, "and tomorrow you'll show them all again why they should be utterly terrified of you."
"Thirty seconds to midnight!" shouted Abraxas Malfoy from across the room, and the big clock he'd hung on the wall started ticking off the seconds with an increasingly loud chime.
"Bella." Voldemort took her face in his hands, knowing they were far enough removed from the crowd for him to speak plainly. He studied her eyes and said, "You saved me tonight. I was wretched to your father… to you. It's bad enough, what I did, but you saved me from a complete disaster."
"Fifteen seconds!" shouted Malfoy.
Bellatrix held onto Voldemort's wrists with her little hands and said in a cracked voice,
"Your birthday's almost over. Happy birthday, Master."
"Bella…" He bent and touched his forehead to hers, suddenly not caring that people might see. He'd already made himself into a complete jester tonight, a drunken bleeding idiot.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"
"I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against Bellatrix's as he felt their golden web, that intangible link, wind up and yank them together from the inside out. "Bellatrix, I love you."
"Six! Five! Four!"
"And I love you, Master," she replied, "and I will always serve you. Always."
"Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"
Little fireworks burst at the ceiling of the room, and confetti and streamers materialised from the ether and began falling all around. People were kissing everywhere, and so nobody probably paid much mind to the way Lord Voldemort swept Bellatrix into his arms and crushed his mouth hard against hers, thrusting his tongue in and sucking on her bottom lip. When he pulled back, there was celebratory music playing. People were singing; there was silver glitter all over the place. But all Voldemort saw was the face of the witch he'd stolen, the witch he'd made his own, and he said as firmly as he could,
"You are everything, Bella."
She nodded and snared her fingers through his with both hands. "Happy New Year, My Lord."
Author's Note: Ah, Lord Voldemort. Terribly intelligent, but not the wisest wizard to ever live, eh? Good judgment has never been his strongest suit. If only he could have kept that gin under control. Bellatrix may be right that everyone else was drunk, too, but will Voldemort be able to completely reassert control, or will a few minds be permanently influenced by his behavior at the party?
Thank you for reading and please know that each review brings a huuuuge smile to my face. :)