A/N- I'm alive! It has been way too long. I really do not want to look at how long, but I apologise nonetheless. My life grew extremely busy and my muse and inspiration for this fic dried up. However, I believe I have finally started to get back into the swing of things. The issue I had was that I had ideas for the events between last chapter and this chapter, but somehow they just did not fit together and it was going to be a bit dull until we got to this point. As such I just decided to speed things up to this point for an obvious reasons.

Also, hopefully the next chapter should not be too far away, but I will not be making any promises- my life is a lot more hectic and busy than when I last left you. However, in this case, I had to cut this chapter in half as it became so long.

Again I apologise for the wait, but, as a consolation, I think most of you have been waiting for this chapter and these events. Hopefully I am too rusty.

)o(

The thick heavy curtains were pulled tightly together, but not completely. A crack was there shimmering with the pale dawn light that shone out onto the highly polished wood and antique glass clock face. It was visible now and Bella could finally see the hands in a position she would rather not see them in.

It was already dawn.

Today of all days she needed sleep. She could not look tired. She must look perfect, but now she feared she had cursed her Lord to have to see her eyes drowsy and lined with bags on the day he took her as his wife.

Bellatrix grinned. Her mouth was broad as her stomach squeezed and churned.

She had not completely accepted her marriage was actually occurring though somehow she was still delighted.

Her marriage was far from normal. Her future husband felt no love for her. There was no affection motivating the match. It was all just a political scheme to fit with her Lord's brilliant plan.

It did not matter. It was an honour to be tied to her Lord in any way.

Somehow her marriage morning was turning out to be more stereotypical than she could have ever predicted. She was too excited to sleep and she was just delighted at the thought of marrying the man of her dreams.

Flicking her eyes to the clock, she groaned softly. At six in the morning there was no hope of getting any sleep. However, she was still somehow smiling and she rose like there were a hundred snitches under her pushing her to her feet and into the shower.

The water flickered into life as her feet touched the cool tiles of the shower. Bowing her, the water hit her thick locks that grew fuller the damper they became.

The water was warm, but it did nothing for her. Her eyes were still weary and her joy was still the only talisman keeping her awake.

Reaching for the soap, she clutched it tightly so the slippery substance didn't get the better of her as she rubbed it over her body. It smelt like a flowery perfume worn by her mother and sister. She normally cursed the substance for its feminine smell, but today she was on autopilot. She barely focused on what was occurring as she stepped out of the shower.

The fluffiness of the mat was soft against her feet as Bella reached for her towel and wiped it over her. She carelessly squeezed at her hair ignoring the drops that pooled at her feet. It was still soaking wet. She didn't care. She only tossed it back over her shoulder and wrapped a nearby bathrobe around her body.

She caught her mirrored reflection wide eyed and paler than usual.

Was this the moment?

Could she do this?

Would she make her Lord proud?

She vowed she would do all she could as she pushed open her bathroom door and was confronted with the sight of half a dozen women.

Bella did not even bother hiding the roll of her eyes as the scent of hair spray and perfume engulfed her senses.

She wrinkled her nose and scowled. She had been in wars before, but it was like she was about to have another battle- this time her opposition was armed with brushes and lipstick.

"Oh good you have already showered," her mother replied sitting elegantly on one of the four stools that had appeared in her bedroom in the time she had showered. She gave Bella no chance to voice her disapproval as she indicated the women she only vaguely recognised. "Miss Simpson, Mrs Badeaux and their team will be your personal stylists for the day."

Normally, Bellatrix would have argued, but on this occasion she grumbled over and tossed herself into one of the stools without a word.

She was never one to bother spending hours getting ready. She knew she was attractive enough to only need to spend a few minutes running a brush through her hair and putting on very limited make up, but now she would spend hours in a military regime. However, she knew that her Lord was the man she was going to find at the end of the aisle so she found herself unable to argue with her mother on this occasion.

Placing herself on the stool, she felt for the first time in her life like the mouse about to be preyed upon as the first of the hunters descended above her.

"Your hair is beautiful," one of the woman said in a clear French accent. Bella internally cringed as the woman started running her hands through her hair. "Nice and thick and shiny. Very long and sleek. Did you want to alter anything from our last trial?"

The last time she had seen the woman, it had been some inane and pointless exercise when they had been through a 'trial' hair appointment just to 'test' some styles. Bellatrix had barely sat through it and had no interest in the experience; her mother had been the one chattering over her shoulder and making requests and suggestions. It was just the same now.

"The version with the veil over the bun," her mother replied looking down at her eldest daughter with a smile.

To Bella, it only indicated smugness. She dearly wished she could pull out her wand and curse her.

"Do you have the veil handy, Madam?"

"Yes, of course. It should be just on its way." The door creaked behind her. Bella moved her head slightly but it was quickly nudged back into position by the hair dresser who was running a comb through her hair. It was steaming quietly, with every lock it touched drying instantly. "Ah good here it is."

In the mirror, Narcissa came into sight. She was already dressed in a light flowery summer dress with her hair that was at least dry. She had her wand extended and two dresses floated before her-one was emerald green with long lace sleeves while the other was pure white with a long veil and train.

Bella could not help but give her a glare in the mirror. It had not been her preference. A pure white gown was not suited to her in any way. It signified the pure virgin and dutiful girl her mother had always wanted her to be. The train was seemingly never ending, the skirt was a huge ball gown that was far from practical and the material was thick and heavy. The only part she liked and had won a slight concession over was the corseted bodice that was tight and well fitted.

However, for some reason her Lord had approved the traditional choice and she could never object to anything he wanted.

He was the only reason she did not murder the woman that surrounded her throughout the morning. Somehow her lips even curved upwards as she thought about the moment that was drawing closer when she would soon be her Lord's wife.

)o(

"Do not think this will change anything. Let others think it means something, but do not delude yourself. I will not tolerate any altered behaviour. I am still your Master and, if you do not treat me as such, I will not hesitate in punishing you." A cold voice ordered thick with authority, the threat of consequences clear in a well-practiced tone. "It means nothing."

The Dark Lord's hands were folded behind him as he stood near the window where people ran around like ants on the grounds below. He had paced back and forward in front of her before, but he had halted several minutes ago and now focused the entirety of the intensity of his cold gaze on the woman in front of him. He suspected it did not worry Bella and she rather enjoyed the attention. It was a blessing and a curse: It meant punishing her could always be quite difficult and always required some level of creativity.

"Of course, Master. I would never think otherwise. I could never think otherwise," she replied obediently, her eyes never leaving his face. "I would not deny that it fills me with joy, my Lord, but that is only because I am aware of how it is an honour and it is unworthy of me, Master."

It was a sign there was nothing unbecoming in her words that his expression did not twitch.

"Good," he said softly and conclusively. It was. This situation was not his preferred tactic, though he had accepted it was the simplest solution to solve the problem from Dumbledore's meddling.

It was difficult with Bella. On one hand Bella was first and foremost his servant and she knew that so she should just see this as another way of serving him. However, he was aware Bella had an affection for him that he did not quite understand and there was a possibility it could motivate her to forget her place.

Turning from her, he strode the few steps towards the window, his blood shot eyes scanned the scene of people milling around below where the seats were being arranged as per his orders. Behind him he heard the slight scrape of fabric behind him, signalling to him Bella had moved likely considering whether to follow him or merely to twist to face him. He did not bother turning to examine her. He had no need. He had already deemed her appropriate. The traditional white dress that was not typical for Bella that she wore and the tastefully applied makeup and carefully crafted hair was enough to label her as an appropriate partner for the occasion.

Slowly his long pale finger traced the glass his eyes paying little attention to the scene below. He had not ever considered this action before. He never should have. Partners of any sort held no appeal for him; romantic or platonic. They were only people that people held affection for and, since he never understood affection, he could not understand the notion. People were only useful for what they could do for him. They had no other purpose. Marriage had certainly never entered his mind except as a source of scorn.

"Master," he heard Bella murmur from behind him, her voice imploring as he could imagine was her gaze on his back. "I still cannot express my gratitude for this, I-"

"It has nothing to do with you," he snapped coldly, cutting her off and spinning on his heel to face her. "I have told you before, it is all to do with what I desire. Do not take it as a reward."

"Of course, I apologise, my Lord," she murmured dutifully. Slower than she would have if she were not in a puffy wedding dress, she found her knees and crawled forward so she was almost touching him. "All I want to do is please you, Master. It is all I have desired. I shall do whatever pleases you. I just hope this is another way that I may be able to."

His eyes flicked down to observe her movements his bloodied eyes carrying only the slightest twinge of interest as she arranged herself before him.

"Ensure it does. You are well aware of the consequences if you fail to please me, or even more fatally, displease me."

"Of course, Master. I would never allow that to occur," she replied swiftly with conviction that would sway anyone, other than Lord Voldemort.

"Ensure that is the case," he said softly. Nodding curtly, he took a step around her, eying Bella's hand that twitched as if to reach out to grasp his robes. It wisely remained at her side. "I will inform your mother and sisters that they can see you now."

Without another glance he continued his march towards the door and, just before opening it, he halted. "Ensure you are ready on time," he said without facing her. Without another word, he left.

Business was sorted. That was all it really was: Business.