"You will sleep in this room until further notice."
Voldemort gestured into the small bedroom on the second storey. Bellatrix sighed. She stepped into the bedroom, which had a white wooden dresser and a white wooden framed bed with a country-style quilt and a single window. It had begun to rain outside, and Bellatrix moved to shut the double panes. She noticed that three of her simplest woolen dresses and a few pairs of plain knickers and bras had been laid out upon the bed, and Voldemort said curtly,
"There's a toothbrush with paste and a comb in the bathroom next door. You may take your meals in the servants' dining room downstairs. Pokey will serve you porridge and apples twice daily."
Bellatrix shut her eyes and felt them sting so badly that tears wormed out, and she had to quickly brush them away.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered, her voice cracking. Porridge and apples? What she'd eaten in prison? He was torturing her. He was doing the worst things he could think of. Separating her from him at night, making her eat food from prison…
"You will remain in this room and the bathroom during the day," he was saying, "until I return from my work in the evening. If I have want of your company, I will come for you. There are four books on that shelf there. You may read those. Good day, Bellatrix."
The door slammed shut, and she mumbled, "Good day, Master."
She sat down on the bed and stared out the window at the rain. She was being punished for screaming at her mother about being married to Voldemort, about 'shitting out babies' and being sold as a whore to Rodolphus Lestrange. But it was far more than that. She'd forgotten her place. She'd come home from that fight and yelled at Lord Voldemort. She'd scolded him. Don't you ever, she'd said to him, words that a witch might think of using with a husband who was her equal. But Lord Voldemort would never be Bellatrix's equal. He was her master.
So she sat on the bed all afternoon and stared at the rain, and when night fell, she dutifully went to the tiny bathroom, took a quick bath with unscented soap, scrubbed her teeth, and pulled on a plain nightgown. She had precisely no appetite for porridge and apples, so she didn't eat. She just climbed into the single bed, which creaked and groaned a little in its old wooden frame, and she tried to fall asleep to the sound of the rain pattering outside the little window. Eventually, she did fall asleep.
She dreamed of Azkaban. She dreamed of falling asleep with his letters all around her on her cot whilst the storms raged outside. Master, she could hear herself whispering. Master. Master. It had only been a few months ago, yet it felt a world away.
"Bellatrix."
Her eyes sprang open at the sound of her name, and she reached at once for her wand and sat up straight in the single bed. Outside the window of the little room, a storm was raging wickedly. Was she in Azkaban again? No. He was here; he was lowering her wand with his fingers and murmuring,
"This is stupid."
"Master?" Bellatrix set her wand down, and Voldemort peeled back the blankets of her single bed. He started to yank up on her nightgown, but Bellatrix said shyly,
"I'm bleeding, Master."
"Oh." He sounded distantly disappointed. Bellatrix had used a Witch's Stopper Charm to keep her blood contained and continuously Vanishing, so it wasn't staining the sheets, but her cramps gave her away to herself. Why had he come here, in the middle of the night, in the middle of her punishment, for sex?
"This is stupid," he said again, tucking the blankets back up around her. Suddenly he stood and began to pace around the little bedroom as the wind howled and the rain lashed outside. "I believe you have been sufficiently punished. I believe you understand well enough that you are my servant and that I am your master. I believe that you lost your temper, and that you're a person who's liable to lose her temper. I do not wish to punish you further. It is nauseating me to do so. So get out of this room and go into our room, Bellatrix. Now. Go."
She scampered out of the single bed, not bothering to make it, and hurried past him. She dashed barefoot through the parquet corridor, down the hall that led to their reception room. She hurried through the pale blue and red space, through lightning and thunder, through the enormous double doors that led to their bedroom, and suddenly her arm was being grabbed.
This time, she didn't hit him.
Hours ago, when they'd come back from her parents' house, she'd tried to slap him. She'd shouted at him, scolded him. He'd pushed her to the ground; he'd come on her face. Then he'd ordered her to stay away from him in a room meant for children or guests. But now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, he stood holding her wrist, and his thumb dragged over her skin. He moved to take her face in his hands, and he whispered carefully,
"I am your master."
"I am your servant," she replied, and he nodded, bending to kiss her.
"I am your husband," he hummed against her lips, and she whispered back,
"I am your wife. But first I am your servant."
"Good girl." He kissed her delicately, softly, and he promised her, "I will never make you eat porridge and apples as long as I live. Come lie on my chest."
"My friends." Voldemort folded his hands on the desk of the meeting room in Malfoy Manor and looked around at those assembled. He sensed a little unease from a few, and he realised Mulciber was staring daggers at Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply,
"Mulciber. Lestrange didn't take your wife without asking. You married a whore. Get over that fact quickly, will you?"
A few snickered, but Voldemort snapped,
"Silence! Lestrange, stay after the meeting. What you did was unacceptable, and you will be discussing it privately with me. You'll be paying Mulciber for his trouble, by the way. What seems like a fair price? How about… oh… two thousand Galleons?"
"T-Two thousand…" Rodolphus' face went chalky, but Mulciber smirked, and Bellatrix looked like she was trying not to laugh. That was precisely the amount her father had paid to Rodolphus in exchange for a promise to marry Bellatrix. This was all coming deliciously full circle. Voldemort drummed his fingers.
"Moving on. In a few weeks, there will be a targeted assassination that will likely put the Ministry more than a little on edge and may awaken some hostility in the likes of Albus Dumbledore. I need every last one of you to be very prepared to be called through your Dark Mark at any moment. I may need you - at twilight or dawn - to fight in a real battle. Yes, friends. We are staring down real war now. I can feel it."
A low buzz of energy went around the table, and Bellatrix looked excited where she sat a few seats down. Cygnus eyed his daughter, and Voldemort knew what he was thinking. This targeted assassination - would Bellatrix be the one to do it? Voldemort continued,
"We must be ready for battle, friends. Practise duels, but no injuries. Don't go getting yourselves pitched into Azkaban over some stray backyard curse gone wrong. But sharpen your skills and your wit. I need my soldiers ready to fight. I predict that the war is about to erupt. And when it does, it will rage. Is there anyone here who will not fight and die for me?"
There was silence, until at last Bellatrix cried out,
"I went to Azkaban once, Master, and I'd go for a hundred years again for you. I'd let them suck out my soul, let them rip off my limbs for you. I am anxious to fight, to kill and destroy your enemies for you."
"Bella," he purred, curling up his lips and drumming his thumb on the table. "What an example you set with your youthful and loving enthusiasm. If only your fellow Death Eaters could muster half your energy. I should like to see it. Abraxas. Prepare a training schedule for everyone. Dismissed."
As the room cleared out, Bellatrix started to go, mumbling something rather apologetic to her father, but he called after her,
"Bella, stay."
She did, looking surprised, and Rodolphus Lestrange stayed behind, as ordered. Cygnus left, looking bewildered, and after the doors shut, Voldemort was left sitting whilst Rodolphus and Bellatrix were standing on opposite sides of the table. He was so gangly, Voldemort thought derisively. He was so pimply and childish. How could Bellatrix have ever married him?
"Was she drunk when you got her pregnant?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix smirked a little. Lestrange looked embarrassed, but he shook his head and insisted,
"Master, I… Thea was upset about losing her job with the Ministry."
"Yes. She told Abraxas the same thing. Wonder how many others she told that story to," Voldemort mused. Rodolphus Lestrange cleared his throat and said to Bellatrix,
"I would never have been unfaithful to you, Bellatrix. I wanted very badly to marry you. It wasn't just about the money."
"I hope you have two thousand Galleons for Mulciber," Bellatrix scoffed. Then she said knowingly, "but you must have it, because my father gave you precisely that amount! For me! He paid you two thousand Galleons as a price for promising to marry me. So you do have the money to pay off the husband of the woman you got pregnant."
Rodolphus' face went scarlet, and Voldemort pretended to explain, as though Bellatrix did not know,
"Oh, Bella… it's a shame. You see, Rodolphus spent the money your father paid for you on a house. So that he would have somewhere to house you, ostensibly. Only, I suppose, that must have been the house where he got Thea Mulciber pregnant. And now that two thousand Galleons is gone. Oh, dear. Hm. Well… Lestrange, you owe Mulciber two thousand Galleons. I presume you'll be needing a loan?"
"A l-loan, sir?" Lestrange looked at once relieved and terrified, and Bellatrix looked thrilled. Suddenly she clapped her hands together and dashed over to Voldemort. She whispered into his ear,
"Make him promise he'll never marry, that he'll stay chaste and die a bachelor, and then gift him the money."
Voldemort smirked. He petted at Bellatrix's face, and then he pulled her in close for a long, deep kiss, something so intimate that only Jamie McLaggen had seen them do anything similar. He let her go and eyed Lestrange, he seemed horrified for himself where he stood. Voldemort said softly,
"I'll pay Mulciber on your behalf. And I'll even pay back Cygnus Black. Your debts are cleared - to the father of the girl you tried to buy, and to the husband of your bastard's mother. But in exchange for my mercy, Rodolphus Lestrange, you will spend your years as a celibate bachelor. Am I understood?"
Rodolphus Lestrange chewed his lip, and his eyes watered, but he nodded firmly and said very seriously,
"I will begin training immediately to prepare for the coming war, Master, in which I will serve as your unwavering soldier. I will never touch a witch, nor marry, and I am grateful for your mercy."
"Go," Voldemort said, dragging his fingers up and down Bellatrix's torso and making her shiver. "I need the room. What comes next is private, you understand."
Author's Note: Gotta love Voldemort on a power trip, no? So, the war is coming… but the catalyst is going to be the death of Josephine Glass. So let's see that. :} But first! One last chapter of uber-fluff at Adderbury House, just because we need some super-floof before the gore! A very happy Easter today to those celebrating. :)
