Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Voldemort tossed in his sleep that night, unable to escape his nightmares.

Bellatrix sidled up to him as he stood by the fire, and he was angry over something he could not place. She had the wicked grin on her face, and her eyes were black. She undid her dress and started to slip it off, down her body, but before he could react, she started caressing him and whispering things. He had to lean closer to her to hear.

"You said it yourself – I am yours, forever. Why not love me as I love you, Master…"

"Shut up!" he roared. "I've told you, Bellatrix. We do not speak of such things."

"What are you going to do to me if I don't shut up? I want to show you how much I love you –"

He Cursed her so hard that she flipped backward, falling in a naked heap on the floor, her thick, long hair covering up her face. She straightened up and sat properly, pushing her curls out of her eyes and going on, "I love it when you do that. I love you."

He screamed in frustration and continued to Curse her, put hexes on her, but the more he tried, the more he knew: no spell he uttered would have any effect but a positive one on her. She liked pain – especially when he inflicted it.

She stood up again and walked toward him, her pale breasts teasing him in the moonlight and giving him goose bumps all over. He could not touch her anymore, not at the price he would have to pay. He couldn't feel what she wanted him to. He never wanted to come close to that; he didn't care how good she felt to him. After all, wasn't she just a female body? There were other female bodies in the world.

Something in his mind reacted negatively at the thought of another female body, something that whispered, "But it wouldn't be the same." He tried to squash it, whatever it was.

But he was too late to react after taking the time to think. Bellatrix was smothering him in a passionate embrace, tight, too tight. He didn't realize she had that much strength. He couldn't breathe anymore –

He woke, more furious than ever. That was it, then. He would sleep no more tonight. He got out of his bed and walked into the drawing room, starting the fireplace. He sighed and tried to busy himself with a book he found on the armchair, Moste Potente Potions. This worked for a good portion of the night, and he was pleasant until he reached the page on Amortentia, when he flung the book aside and began pacing.

"There is no love," he whispered to himself, "only power. If love is so great, then why do we need potions to create it? And even if created, it is only temporary. I do not need potions. I am power. Forever." He picked up the book again, flipped to the page about Amortentia, and tore it out. "No need to create…" he muttered, ripping the page into tiny pieces and leaving them scattered about the floor. Then he found his legs going in the direction of Bella's room, but he was not sure why.

Her door was shut. His hearing was keen enough to pick up on her deep, even breathing before he stepped inside the room. She was stretched out with the sheets only partially over her. She slept in a long shirt that must have been a man's – her husband's? He frowned subconsciously at this, and noticed her bare leg that was over the sheets. She wore black underwear that contrasted with her skin in an enticing way. It made him want to reach out and squeeze her thigh, just as he had under the dinner table. Not love, just lust, he reassured himself as he admired her curves.

Though he hated to hide that beautiful leg, he began to reach under it to pull the sheet out so that he could fully cover her body. He stopped, his hand held out over her leg, wondering why he cared. The house was quite drafty. This small act of kindness had come too naturally, however, just like the urge he had earlier to oblige her desire for pain. He pulled his hand back, deciding to leave her uncovered – all the better to look at her anyway.

He sat in the chair by her bed for quite some time. He debated searching her mind to see what she was dreaming about, but decided he did not want to know. He did not care to see a worse version of his nightmares. Finally, she stirred, curling up more into a ball. Defeated, he reached out to fully cover her with the sheet, which she grabbed in her sleep, wrapping it more tightly about her. It didn't seem to be enough. He went to his own room and pulled the comforter off his bed. I won't be using it anyway, he argued with himself. He took it back to Bella's room and placed it over her. She was still deeply asleep, but stretched out a little more in response to being warmer.

By now, the sun was beginning to creep through the black curtains. He looked at it in disdain – the start of another pointless day in which nothing would get accomplished, as usual. He had no desire to sleep, or dream, ever again. He hoped that one day, he would not have to. This body had turned out to be more problematic than he originally thought it would be. It was too close to an ordinary human body, only much more frightening in appearance, what with his snakelike features. He imagined that most humans would not be attracted to him at all, and Bellatrix only was because of her powerful memories of what he was before. Had they been strangers passing each other by on the street, she would have felt nothing for him, and perhaps would have even covered her face with her cloak to avoid his eye.

Memories. They had a large part in what little lust he still felt for her. He imagined that, unlike him, Bellatrix would have been attractive to any normal human being. She had what were considered the "traditional" good looks. But he, Voldemort, cared nothing for them. Memories, indeed. They were all, and nothing more. He continued to feel lust because he simply remembered how he felt as a mortal, when his eyes traveled down her long neck to her chest – how her warm skin had felt to his human hands. Did it still feel as intense now? He pondered as he ran his fingers along her neck. Her skin seemed to radiate lusty warmth, and in turn it made his entire body feel hot. Yes, he decided, it felt like it always had…

Would it ever change? What was more, did he really want it to?

Incensed, he forced his hand away from her and walked out of her room, shutting the door softly behind him. He froze in the hallway at the sight of Wormtail.

Wormtail looked fearfully up at him and stammered, "J-just came to g-give you your p-papers, My Lord…" He held the morning's copy of The Daily Prophet in his hands. Voldemort snatched it from him, and he scurried away. He knew Wormtail had only been standing there momentarily; he would have sensed it if he were lingering. Still, he did not want to drop any more hints to anyone that he had something sexual – or otherwise – with Bellatrix, and his coming out of her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning was not a good way to avoid that. He went back to the drawing room and, kicking the potions book out of his way, sat in the same armchair to read the paper.

Having no interest in the front page after seeing the main story ("Ministry Angers Centaurs"), Voldemort skimmed the rest and found a small article on Broderick Bode. They reported he was injured in a "workplace accident" and was recovering at St. Mungo's. There was no mention of the position he held at the Ministry or the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort was deep in thought, unsure of where to go next for information.

He was startled from his reverie when Nagini slid up into his lap. He stroked her softly. "I suppose I have been neglecting you, my sweet," he hissed at her in Parseltongue.

She curled her body gently around his in her own kind of embrace. "We can get it together, Master," she hissed back, answering his earlier thoughts.

"How?"

She slithered back to the floor, still looking at him. "Come into me."

Intrigued, he tried to clear his mind of every other thought and imagine himself inside the snake, seeing things as she did. It was easy to possess her because she did not resist at all, and it was gentle, easy, just like slipping into a warm bath. Within no time, he was on the ground, looking up at his drawing room.

I know where to go. Nagini did not have to speak to him this time; he heard her thoughts, just as she could now hear his. He let her control her body since she knew the way. She began to glide swiftly across the wooden floor, out the front door, and through the woods. They were moving so fast, Voldemort could not keep track of where they were going. He enjoyed being transported by her; there was something very exhilarating about it, much better than flying or Apparating. Soon they were in the heart of London. Nagini made sure to keep a low profile once they were around civilization. She entered the Ministry through a fissure in the side of the building, which brought them into a long corridor. There were so many doors and archways, but she still seemed to know her way.

You've been here before, he thought.

You are pleased, was her answering thought.

Yes.

She led him into a large, dark room lit by the blue glow of orbs – the prophecies. Voldemort's excitement was vanquished when they reached the shelf where his prophecy was; an older, red-haired man stood guard there. He had dark circles under his eyes from many exhausting nights of keeping watch over this same part of the room, and his hair was turning white. He stared straight at them, at first in surprise, then horror, as Nagini hissed at him, displaying her sharp teeth. Her bloodlust has been ignited as she felt Voldemort's disappointment and reawakened rage.

Let's kill him, she thought, quite hungry as she imagined how his flesh would taste.

They fled from the Ministry less than half an hour later, leaving Arthur Weasley barely alive.

It had not been their choice to leave him alive. Ministry workers burst in on them within a mere twenty minutes. The workers' eyes widened, and their jaws dropped when they took in the macabre scene – blood everywhere, Weasley and his weak cries for help, Nagini relishing the coppery taste in her mouth. They murmured something about Dumbledore and Potter being right. At Dumbledore's name, Voldemort took control of the snake's body and left the Ministry as quickly as possible, deciding it was best not to cause more of a scene. The last thing he wanted was to be all over the front page of the papers. It was much easier working in secrecy, for now.

We could have killed them all, Nagini thought, once they were back in the safety of the woods and he relinquished his control so she could lead the way. I wanted to drink all of their blood…

No. It's too risky, he told her. Move faster.

She did as she was told, not bothering to put any more of her thoughts into pieces she could communicate to him. He did not bother to communicate either, his mind a mess of confused thoughts. How could Dumbledore have known? They had mentioned the boy's name too – why?

He needed to find out what was going on at Hogwarts, and fast. Once he got back to the house, he wasted no time in sending Wormtail on another mission.