"You need to stop thissss." Nagini uttered, staring from the rug, coiling herself close. She received no response from the blackness of the chamber. There was only one candle left burning, in the furthest corner of the room. It cast the bedchamber into ghostly gloom. All that could be seen were dusky, fraying shadows but the serpent stared at him sitting there. Nagini clenched her jaw, shivering with restrained wrath. She drew back her head, "This is absurd. "

"Leave." Voldemort's cold voice met her in the almost-dark.

"How can you do this..."

"I do what I must."

"What you must? No, you're doing what you wish to..."

"Perhaps." Came his voice again, "Nagini, go."

"This is too much..."

"Leave."

"We cannot afford this! If you ignore me any longer, you will regret it."

"This is nothing."

"It is dangeroussss..." the snake hissed, "it already feels dangerous. You know it."

There was a silence. Nagini produced shallow hisses and there was a rustle of fabric somewhere in the chamber. The snake flicked her tongue, asking cruelly,

"What is the matter with you?"

"I don't know, Nagini." Voldemort replied sharply,

"Don't call me that, not now, not alone."

"Certainly. And I suppose that's because you'd like me to be sure to remember that you are a piece of me, meaning we are one in the same. So, yes, I'll remember that. But you remember this. You are not superior. I have extracted you from myself. I am the original, the best. I am the one that has human form. I can conduct magic. I have more of me within me than you do. Advise me, yes. But never order me to..."

"Listen to you!" The snake fired, slithering father into the shadows, closer to the Dark Lord, "Listen to you! As if you were a proud, ignorant boy!"

"But you know your place..."

"This new body of yours has absolutely infantilized you. Acting on a whim...becoming defensive when you know I am right..."

"This is the only way I have found to remedy anything."

"Succumbing?" Nagini shot,

"Enduring."

" Restrain yourself."
"That was far less effective. I will not..."

"Why? Because your body would grow ill with want? Because you can control every dark power on this earth, but not petty carnal desires?"

"I am entitled to hunger. I am entitled to thirst..."

"You must eat to live. You must drink to live. What is this?"

"As far as I'm concerned, this must simply be another sort of function that I-"

"It is not a necessity. You don't need whatever this is in order to survive."

"Am I not allowed to do as I please? Am I not allowed..."

"Pleasures? Luxuries? Because you cannot deny that this is neither a pleasure of a luxury.

"Rest. Am I not allowed rest..."

"It is a burden. It is a bother. It is a mossssst dangerous thing above all."

"Then what am I to do?"

"Ssstop."

"You don't fully understand..." Said Voldemort,

"Neither do you. You have no idea what you are dealing with."

"I do. It is desire."

"It is weakness..."

"Not necessarily. It becomes weakness when she is conscious and emotional or when I rely on specifically her. I should not be worried by basic carnality."

"What if it is need?"

"It is certainly not that."

"But how can you tell that it isn't? What differentiates desire from need? What is your definition at this point, do enlighten me..." The serpent pried poisonously, glaring at his shadow, "Because it seems as though you need her in order to satisfy yourself..."

"Don't patronize me."

"I do not patronize the strong."

"You could not possibly comprehend this..."

"What?" the serpent snapped, "What wouldn't I comprehend..."

"You are concealed within a reptilian form. Human and reptile, your physical incarnation functions on its own. You, bodiless, ungrounded, do not feel it working. You do not have it effecting you..."

"Blaming your new, human form, are you? I recall you deeming it 'perfect'. Now what? You're a slave to it?"

"I am in control."

"This wasn't a problem before. Not in our original incantation..."

"I am well aware. And that is why you cannot understand. I'm learning how to navigate this new body and..."

"So it is imperfect, after all." The serpent hissed,

"No. It is simply different."

"You dare to think that this is not a problem? This...shameful debility? That is ignorant of you. Why aren't you wary?"

"I am."

"Clearly, you aren't. Suppose you've been cursed? It's Dumbledore's cursed mirror that you say confirmed the idea..."

"You act as if I am powerless against this."

"Only because you act as thought you are."

"I'm telling you, you don't understand..."

"Prove yourself. Prove it. Ease my nerves. Ease your nerves."

"Whatever will satisfy you and keep you silent. I'm tired with arguing. You know how it hurts us..."

"Send her away," The serpent demanded quietly, "This instant."

The Dark Lord inhaled.

He was seated on the bed, leaning against one of the ornate, silver posts, the black robes he wore like a dark stain on the white lace of the comforter. Bellatrix was lying on the edge beside him, cursed. Her head heavy and unmoving in his lap. Voldemort's fingers were unmoving and tangled in her mad curls. He felt her shoulders rise and fall against his thigh with her sedated breaths. She was still and silent and her neck was cold with sweat,

"Send her away." Came Nagini's frigid, fuming voice again. Voldemort looked up to glare at her, "You have no time to spare."

"I have often..." The Dark Lord began, but his horcrux persisted,

"Could you kill her?"

"Yes."

"Now? Would you kill her now?"

"I could. But there is no need to."

"There may be a great need." Nagini hissed hungrily, "She is the cause of all of this..."

"Which would be more beneficial, Nagini, ending a temporary discomfort for us or keeping one of the best weapons that we have trained alive and well..."

"Temporary discomfort!" The serpent scoffed, "Temporary discomfort. This is unlike us. Why do you refuse to awknowledge that this could be a curse, that this could be our undoing! Death might be on that woman's lips. You may have been bewitched by Dumbledore himself and you are content to sit there. You say she is your best weapon. What if she is Dumbledore's?"

"I can read her thoughts..."

"I don't mean to suggest she is a spy. That would be absurdity. I mean to suggest that Dumbledore may have done something to you, not her..."

"You doubt our powers?"

"No. I doubt your judgement. It is corrupted by..."

"Any curse we would have recognized. There is no curse that can..."

"Send her away!" Nagini interrupted, rearing back,

"This is nothing!"

"Lies. Regardless of anything else, she is wasting your time! At this point, I don't care what you do once all of this is finished. We have dreamed of the day when we can sit for hours and not worry about death nearing with every second. That day is almost here. We are still mortal!"

"Stop."

"This is ridiculous! What is wrong with you? Just send her off! If you cannot do that, right now, this instant, then it proves your weakness!"

There was a tempestuous pause.

Bellatrix rose up from the bed in the darkness at Voldemort's will. She stood before her Master silently, numbly.

Quickly, Voldemort got to his feet and drew his fingers up to the witch's forehead. In the blue-green glow of the memory charm that flickered from Voldemort's palm, Bellatrix's fogged, pearly eyes were illuminated for a moment. She staggered back a little as darkness fell again, still imperiorized.

Nagini gave a deeply satisfied hiss while Voldemort went to Bellatrix again and pressed two fingers to her temple. White light flowed into the witch's mind and glowed against the side of her face, making the sweat on her cheek and nose shine. When the false memory had been implanted and blackness took over the Malfoy marital suite once again, the Dark Lord waved his hand and the double doors swung open and slammed against the wall, making the shadowy chandeliers shake. And the snake sensed Bellatrix blindly trudging out of the bedroom and into the study.

Voldemort flicked his wrist and the doors at the far side of the other room opened slowly for the retreating, cursed woman. The light from the hallway was faint, but it traced its way around Bellatrix's crow-black silhouette. The dark train of her shadow dragged behind her, flowing from the hem of her robes. Then, she turned out of the suite and was lost to the corridor.

Before he even closed the doors of the study, Voldemort's horcrux was slithering around his feet, hissing nothings. Alone with his soul again, he sat as he had sat before, against the bed post, staring up to where the chandelier was just a cluster of crooked shadows. But now, instead of Bellatrix's cold face and coarse hair beneath his hand, there was Nagini's armored neck.

"Now, to business..." Voldmort said calmly,

"Have you settled on an intended assassin yet?"

"If Draco succeeds, I won't need to worry about that."

"But he will fail."

"I understand. But I will make my decisions when the time comes..."

"Is that wise?"

"Well, I am considering a few of the most deserving of the honor."

"Who? Snape, Spade, Bellatrix. But Severus might be too useful as a spy to be given the honor. It all depends on when Draco is finished..."

"Yesss. I suppose. And the Potter boy?"

"The boy." Voldemort uttered gravely, "I believe it is as we thought. The calm before the storm."

"He must know he is doomed."

"He will be foolish. He will try."

"Let him. Let him. He has none of his mother's magic..."

"I often wish there would be no resistance."

"I know." Voldemort ran his fingers over her scaled brow before the serpent slunk up his arm and touched his neck in the gloom. She flicked her thin tongue,

"Stop thinking of her." Nagini said abruptly, "You are weak."

"This body is weak." Voldemort said definitely, "We are not."

"Then create a new body." She constricted his arm tightly,

"I worked too hard for this one to simply..."

"So you settle for imperfection?" Nagini bared her fangs, drawing back slightly, arching herself, daring to look Voldemort in the eyes,

"For the time being. When I am immortal I will have the time to fix it. For now, I will live with it...As you said, it is not wise to waste time..."

"Then spend this time attempting to remedy it, not entertain the idea..." She slid from his arm in a rage, her slinking body churning on the bed beside him like boiling entrails as she gathered herself, "are being ruined and you know it! You know this could mean death-"

"Silence."

"I will not be silenced! I know what is best!"

"And I know what must be done. Enough!"

"No!" The snake reared up in the darkness, her venom dripping from her fangs on the lace of the Malfoy's marital bed, "It hurts to argue like this! Stop it!" They spoke Parseltongue incredibly swiftly,

"If you hadn't interrupted, I would have been finished with Bellatrix by now..."

"If I hadn't interrupted, we would have been weakened further..."

"Don't speak of what you don't understand!"

"And don't be controlled by what you don't understand! Don't be controlled by anything!"

"Leave me!"

"Hear me out!" Nagini raged, "Listen!"

"Enough!" And Voldemort drew his wand viciously and threw a wild curse at the serpent that made the air flash with silver light. Nagini was lifted from the mattress, spitting furiously, and was shrouded in a swirling, stinging mist. Wind swept the bedroom, buffeting the lace canopy, rattling the crystal lamps, making Voldemort's robes buffet like frenzied shadows behind him.

And then, all was still and dark, and the serpent had been transported somewhere far from the Manor for the night.

In the calmness, Voldemort lowered his wand and raised his free hand. He fanned out his fingers, bringing flames to the white candles in the room. He then moved across the room and collapsed in one of two pristine, cushioned armchairs, his stomach churning wildly.

Immediately, he focused.

Greyback would be working with Spade at the bridge in the morning. Bellatrix would be training Draco in the afternoon. Ollivander would be done with his second wand...

Voldemort leaned back, his red eyes staring up at the slightly shifting chandelier high above. The boy was sleeping now, at Hogwarts. Dumbledore would be awake. He would be working, studying, planning...

Standing, the Dark Lord was determined to work. He went to the middle of the room, grounding himself, holding his wand loosely. If there was nothing else to do, he had to improve himself.

Closing his eyes, Voldemort cast a spell at his own feet. He had been practicing for a month, now.

There was a humming of magic as the wizard's heels rose up off the floor, next came his toes. For a minute, he levitated himself just centimeters above the carpet. Hovering there, he withdrew the spell and took a breath.

Although the charm had deceased, he still remained suspended.

Dropping his wand, his closed his eyes peaceful, and Voldemort began to rise ever so slowly into the air. Soon, he was a meter from the floor as if held up by the soft candlelight. He dared not open his eyes. This was higher than he'd ever managed without using his wand.

How incredible it would be to fly, one day.

The lamps on the wall cast their golden light upon his frozen, focused form. The room held its breath. His dark robes hung like dripping shadows on his arms. A faint wind churned around his ankles. Voldemort breathed deeply.

And all was still except for the tick tocking of the beautiful, silver grandfather clock in the corner.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.
Tock.

Voldemort dropped from the air and fell with a great gasp. He caught himself, but staggered.

Tick.

With a swipe of his arm, the ancient, glorious clock gave one last tock before the gorgeous gears enclosed within it began to scream. Black dust bled out of its face and it trembled for an instant and then fell to ashes.

The Dark Lord stared at the rubble for a few moments.

Then, he clenched his teeth together and brushed his right palm over his left forearm. He felt the spell rumble through him and instantly regretted it. There was no undoing it.

He waited.

He turned and eyed the room, ignoring the pain in his stomach. It was, as Bellatrix had promised two weeks ago; the best in the manor. There was precariously old, delicate lace on all of the spotless furniture and the ancient bed's canopy loomed high, but not nearly close as the arching, marble ceiling. The wizard reread the glinting plaques above the jeweled headboard. There were dozens, all beautifully decorated with silver. Finally, he came to,

'Scorpius and Fortuna Malfoy: 1921'

'Abraxus and Clodia Malfoy: 1952'

'Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy: 1975'

And by then, there were footsteps thundering gracelessly from the hall. After that, came the meek rapping at the door. He paused, giving another glance at the demolished clock. The knocking came again. He allowed the doors to the study to open.

There she stood, sleepless.

"Enter."

Bellatrix obeyed and passed through the dark study, moving as a shadow, a wild silhouette, for a moment. She stopped humbly at the threshold to the bedchamber and the candlelight fell on her again. He inhaled and smelled her unease at being summoned to his private chambers. The scent of the anxiety was sugary on his tongue.

Voldemort shut the exit to the corridor with a swift spell. And Bella's dark, alert gaze met his quickly before she bent on one knee, in a low bow to greet him,

"Master..."

"Imperio."

When she lifted her face again, her eyes were flooding with a pearly film. Her thin lips were opened, dazed. Her arms fell limp. She sat back on her heels, muted and deafened and numbed and blinded by him.

Voldemort gazed upon her.

She was old. She was unkempt. She was this horrible, ruined beauty. He had come to know the new lines on her face, the chalky taste of her crooked teeth, the brittle feel of her hair. Of all women, this one...

He went closer to her with a dark curiosity.

Why not her sister? Fair, fragile, unblemished.

Perhaps...

For the first time, he truly stopped to consider, though he wasn't sure quite what. Even now, looking at Bellatrix made him ill. It was not repulsion. It was not hatred. It was not frustration. But something in the core of him writhed when he looked upon her and only her, though he could not define it. And only since she had returned to him. Before, in her youth, he had understood her aesthetic worth, but never found himself appreciating it, admiring it. Beauty was power. Beauty made others weak. But now, Bellatrix was no beauty. She was destroyed and he wanted her.

He exhaled, aggravated, stepping away from the witch, glaring desperately at her.

Perhaps he had, in fact, been cursed

Voldemort looked away harshly,

"Come near." He ordered quietly.

Bellatrix obeyed blankly and stood before him, expressionless and quiet.

For the time being, he refused to look to her again.

From the deepest regions of his thoughts, Voldemort steered her chapped lips to his neck. It was as if she were poisoning him. When she touched him, his blood felt like lead, his insides seared.

Now, after having called her back, after having the will to send her off without a second thought, Voldemort felt devastatingly sick with himself. He wanted to think that in destroying the grandfather clock, he had stopped time altogether and, maybe, he wouldn't waste any with her. But he could never lose himself in such a fantasy. And so, every rush of pleasure that he felt fly through him when he ordered her to grip his legs, was tainted with biting, cold guilt, sometimes even fear.

What would be the consequences?

He was so constricted by his thoughts that he had forgotten to embrace her at all. The Dark Lord simply stood, paralyzed by his own tempestuous mind. All the while, the cursed witch lavished all the affections on his still form that Voldemort's subconscious could command her to.

But, he drew back after a time and he ordered Bellatrix to stop. She did, of course, immediately.

Both of them stared blankly at nothing.

Voldemort took her face in his white hands and looked to Bellatrix's colorless eyes. He searched her bewitched, unblinking gaze. A pained part of him begged the blackness of her pupils, the burning, electrified light of her irises, the tears of joy that he knew would have been there if...

He suddenly found himself putting out every candle but one with a slashing sweep of his white hand. Again, the stretching room was consumed by hushed shadows. Bellatrix's blank face was a ghost in the air for a moment before it disappeared entirely in the dark.

Voldemort listened for a moment. Without the noise of the clock, he could hear her slow breaths.

"Finite Incantantum." The Dark Lord withdrew his curse.

Bellatrix gasped. Then, she tripped, trying to find her footing in the dark. There was a thud when her body hit the floor. Disoriented, she called to the blackness of the bedroom,
"What?" He heard her crawl away carefully, where the dim glow of the candle could not touch her, maybe fumbling for her wand, "My Lord?" She panicked, "Master?"

Before she could cast an illuminating spell, Voldemort disarmed her silently from across the space. He heard her cry out as her wand clattered across the floor,

"Master!"

He bit down hard as he drew his wand and threw the curse at her. It was fast, bludgeoning. Bellatrix screamed. He heard her body slam against the corner of the bed. Then she began to cough among her wailings, terrified as she should be.

"What-what..." She whimpered from the shadows before another spell threw her against the wall, "My Lord!"

He could imagine her confusion, not knowing up from down in the dark, through the pain. Voldemort didn't care why it felt right to harm her.

"Please!" She cried.

He stayed his wand,

"Mercy?" He offered darkly,

"Please..."

"Never." He could hurt her. He would prove it. Another spell. Another scream.

In the quick flash of light, he saw her huddled near the armchair.

"Master! What have I done?" Then her words transformed into wails as he tortured her relentlessly, coldly. The flashes of scarlet flickered wildly, illuminating her twitching form.

Voldemort finished and shadows consumed the weeping witch. He turned his wand in his fingers and breathed, his chest quaking, his jaw set. He listened as her quiet, rasping pleas resonated in the dark,

"My-my Lord..."

He lowered his tense shoulders, aimed his wand, and allowed his heart to beat as it wanted to,

"Imperio."

The spell was a soft, airy stream of blue that blazed directly across the room and it pierced through the blackness. He saw her startle and then, as her eyes filled with pearly glaze, Bellatrix relaxed on the floor, breathing deeply while the curse was swallowed by her forehead.

This time, Voldemort moved to her. He knelt beside Bellatrix on the floor, feeling the ashes of the destroyed clock under one of his hands. In the darkness and the quiet, Voldemort trailed his fingers over her limp, numbed frame.

"Kiss me." And sat up, drawing near to him, "Slow." He ordered with a quiet severity. Voldemort felt moist hands at the back of his neck and then warm lips on his collar. She folded into him. Her body was still boiling from the curse. He could feel the heat through her dress as he gripped her tightly.

Voldemort drove his hands through Bellatrix's hair and forced her numb mouth to his. He pressed his eyes closed. Bellatrix's clouded eyes never shut.

The Dark Lord tasted scalding hot blood through her teeth.