Many Muggles believed in a divinely beautiful afterlife, Voldemort knew. Heaven, they called it. Witches and wizards, especially Purebloods, were more ambiguous about what came after, about what truly lay beyond the Veil. There could be torturous eternity spent as a ghost, or peace found somewhere beyond, but the details were hazy. That definitive bliss known as 'Heaven,' though, was not something bandied about in the Magical world.

But Crete felt like Heaven.

Voldemort and Bellatrix had left four days after the newspapers had declared that there had been an 'unprovoked attack on the mind and body of a Muggle-born wizard' in the streets of London. People were whispering that perhaps this new movement of Purebloods was not to be underestimated. There had even been an interview with Albus Dumbledore, who had assured the Daily Prophet that Hogwarts was a safe haven for students of all backgrounds and that he would personally lead any necessary efforts to fight 'rising bigotry against Muggle-borns in the community.'

Feeling very satisfied with that response, Voldemort had taken Bellatrix by Globus Mundi tourist Portkey to Crete, and now they were staying in the rental house owned by the tourism agency. There was a House-Elf here who spoke good English, and on this evening, Voldemort and Bellatrix had sat in the pergola to partake of the dinner the House-Elf had made them.

Saganaki, the salty and deliciously seared cheese, had been served up on a skillet with lemon juice. Voldemort and Bellatrix had devoured nearly all of that. They'd eaten gyros meat, which was lamb, with a cucumber sauce called tzatziki, inside of pita bread. Now Voldemort was reclining, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of black linen trousers, on a slatted wooden chair out on the beach before the house. He nibbled on some olives as he watched Bellatrix swimming happily in the water, and he thought again that if there was a Heaven, Crete was it.

She looked miraculous out there, in the shallow turquoise water, wearing her asymmetrical black bathing costume, her hair knotted into a braided bun. She was smiling, happy, and Voldemort thought to himself that the very last thing he wanted to do was march her into the Registration Office in a few months to divorce her.

But Emery Selwyn was only a year older than her, not twenty-five years older. Perhaps she did deserve a boy her own age. And, anyway, she was mortal, and Voldemort very much was not. He'd learnt that when the Manticore had attacked him and he'd been saved by the fact that he had Horcruxes. He'd made another one after that attack, just because he'd been spooked. But Bellatrix could die at any moment. Shouldn't he cut her free for both of their sakes? Let her find a boy who was young and sprightly like her, and let Voldemort focus on his political aspirations.

He set the bowl of olives on the wooden table beside him, and he just stared as the sun began to go down over the craggy, rolling mountains behind Bellatrix. She was swimming backwards paddling her feet and seeming very content, and Voldemort decided to join her at last. He'd put it off for two hours now, but she'd tire soon and want to come inside. They were only here for three days. It was now or never. He stood and peeled off his linen trousers, feeling like a chubby old man as he stood there in his boxer brief style black swimsuit. He walked self-consciously down to the water, and Bellatrix grinned at him.

"Do not mock how pasty and utterly unattractive I am, if you please," he scolded her preemptively, but she frowned and swam toward him.

"Unattractive. Pah." She was remarkably beautiful, he thought again, and the water was pleasantly warm. He was waist-high now, but he continued just a little deeper. Once he was chest-high, he realised Bellatrix was treading, and he laughed a little.

"You're so short," he teased, and she splashed him a bit. He pulled her close, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist, and he said, "There. Less effort this way."

"Mmm. I like it better like this," she nodded, and he instinctively put one hand to her face and the other to her breast through her swimsuit. She shut her eyes and murmured,

"I know why you brought me here. It's almost like that place they talk about… Heaven."

Voldemort froze, for they'd been thinking the same thing, and he tipped his forehead against hers. He'd taste like garlic right now, he knew, from the tzatziki and the gyros, but he hoped she wouldn't care. He leaned in to kiss her, and she was very receptive, taking his face in her hands and delving right in.

Perhaps she didn't want a boy her age, after all. Perhaps she liked this scarred-up forty-three-year-old with a slight paunch in his belly and a bit of grey in his hair. She certainly seemed to like kissing him right now as he cradled her against him in the warm water. She didn't seem to mind at all as he squeezed at her breast, as he went hard and groaned a little. She pulled her mouth from his and moved to his neck, making him dizzy with the way she started kissing him there. She was licking, sucking, pulling. She'd been learning, he thought. She was figuring all of this out. He huffed and petted at her wet hair, and he asked her,

"Can I take you?"

"Contraceptive spell," she reminded him against his neck, and he reminded her,

"I'm rather good at wandless magic. Nongravidare."

She gasped against him at the feel of the warm charm going through her body, and he knew the spell had taken hold. He shoved his swimsuit down over his hips a little, glad the water was as warm as it was, and he urged aside the crotch of Bellatrix's swimming costume. She pulled her face back and stared at him with glassy eyes and parted lips, arranging herself and then moaning softly as she sank down onto him.

It felt oddly weightless here in the ocean, but it still felt good, and once he was inside of her, that part felt the same. He grunted a little as she snared her legs and arms more tightly around him and started to pump her own hips against him. The sand beneath his bare feet was cushiony and soft. The water moved around them in gentle undulations, the rhythm of which Bellatrix seemed to be matching. The sunset painted the sky in violet and rose, and suddenly Voldemort found himself rather breathless.

Everything was coming together. The attack on the Mudblood had gone off without a hitch. Soon enough, there would be even more attacks. He had an appointment set up the following week with a werewolf called Fenrir Greyback who might be able to get more werewolves working for Voldemort's cause. More money was coming in, allowing Voldemort to buy the loyalty of more and more Purebloods. He'd stage more attacks on Mudbloods over the next few months. His movement was gaining traction.

And he'd married Bellatrix to save her from a terrible arranged marriage, to save his administrative assistant from assured misery, but he was also in love with her. The logical thing to do would be to divorce her three months into the staged marriage to free both of them up - him to pursue his politics and her to marry someone more appropriate, like Emery Selwyn.

But as he stood here in Crete, in the warm water, his belly full of gyros and his cock buried inside of Bellatrix, he did not want to take her into any office and divorce her. He just kissed her, feeling her come with subtle bursts of pleasure around him, and he followed suit a few moments later.

They fell asleep that night tangled up naked together in a bed with crisp white linens, the window thrown open so they could hear the waves crashing against the sand outside. In the morning, they drank lemon water and stared at the sea and the mountains until Bellatrix decided she couldn't stay out of the waves any longer. They repeated this for a few days until it was finally time to go home, back to dreary London, and when they finally landed in the office of Globus Mundi, Bellatrix looking tanned and windblown and happy, she said quietly and sincerely,

"Thank you for the best honeymoon any bride could ever want."

"Well," he reminded her as they walked out of the tourism agency, "You agreed to go, and I appreciate it. Perhaps I did come out ahead in that bargain, after all."

She was quiet then, quiet when they went back to the house and unpacked their clothes, and he thought he knew why. She didn't want to walk away from this life and into the arms of Emery Selwyn, no matter how handsome or kind or intelligent the boy might be. She wanted her scarred-up, greying pseudo-husband.

And he wanted her right back.

Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapter. I'm still not feeling well at all, but I'll try to update again later. Thanks for understanding, reading, and reviewing.