22 December, 1970

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Lord Voldemort pulled the heavy velvet calling cord in the corner of his office and waited for the distinctive crack! that announced the House-Elf's Apparition into the space. He pinched his lips and glanced at the clock on the wall. Precisely two minutes to two. She should be here any moment.

"Two hot butterbeers, Dobby," Voldemort ordered sharply, "and some biscuits. Shortbread will do."

"Yes, sir," Dobby nodded, Disapparating at once. Voldemort paced a little before the fire he'd lit in the massive green marble fireplace, and not thirty seconds later, a silver platter with two steaming mugs of Butterbeer and a plate full of shortbread appeared on the low table between the two sturdy armchairs. Voldemort sniffed a little and clasped his hands behind his back, licking his lips. He ought not be anxious, he thought. But there was something about this girl, about Bellatrix Black, that made him tingle from head to foot. She was wicked, they all said, and she had practically gushed about her misdeeds, prideful and headstrong, just like Cygnus had said. She would be a good soldier in Voldemort's movement, which was still in its infancy. She wasn't working; she wasn't married. She could belong to him, he thought, at least in the ways that mattered.

Suddenly there was soft knocking on the office door, and Voldemort cleared his throat as he strode over and turned the brass knob. The heavy walnut door creaked open, and before him stood Bellatrix Black, clad in a white gown, a heavy black velvet traveling cloak over her shoulders, her Winter Queen crown perched atop her dark ringlets. Voldemort's breath hitched for some bizarre reason, but he managed to clear his throat again as he gestured into the office and noted,

"You're to wear the crown until the sixth of January, is that right?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Bellatrix grinned as he shut the door behind her, and he suddenly thought to himself that she had a very pretty face. Her eyes were wide and searching, chestnut coloured, just a shade lighter than her hair. Her lips were a full pout, a natural dark pink hue over which she appeared to have put a slightly shiny balm. Her cheeks were rosy, likely from the cold outside. Voldemort gulped and murmured,

"I'll take your cloak, at least. I've got hot Butterbeer."

"How kind of you, sir," Bellatrix said warmly. She untied the ribbon at her neck and peeled off the heavy cloak, handing it over. Voldemort hung it on a hook on the paneled wall and gestured once more toward the armchairs. Bellatrix sank into the chair opposite him and smoothed her white raw silk skirts. She blushed and lowered her eyes. "I feel so silly like this. I never wear white."

"No?" Voldemort picked up his Butterbeer and sipped. It was still just a bit too hot, so he set it down again. "I prefer dark shades, myself."

"I almost exclusively wear black," Bellatrix smirked, "except for when they made me wear my Hogwarts uniform, of course. But now that I've been crowned the Winter Queen, it's all white and silver until a week after the New Year. I'm sorry; I ought not complain. I know it's an honour to be -"

"The crown seems quite heavy," Voldemort interrupted, drumming his fingers upon the arms of his chair. Bellatrix curled up her lips and tipped her head just a little.

"It is a bit of a strain on the neck," she conceded. Voldemort flicked his eyes to the fire and watched the flames dance for a moment before he said,

"I won't tell if you rest your neck. Go ahead and take it off; I've no need for the pageantry whilst you're here."

"Thank you, sir." Bellatrix quickly extricated the crown from her curls and set it beside the tray of Butterbeers and biscuits. Voldemort's eyes made their way back to the crown, and he noticed the way the firelight flickered among the facets of the perfectly-cut diamonds and sapphires. It was an ancient relic, passed from one family to another for countless generations. No one knew from whence it had come; there were legends and stories, but nothing that could be substantiated. All that was known was that there was a Winter Queen crowned every Solstice, and this year it had been Bellatrix to be chosen. Voldemort pointed at the tray beside the crown and insisted,

"Please. Help yourself."

Bellatrix smiled shyly and picked up a biscuit, chewing a bite delicately. Voldemort sniffed a little and asked pointedly,

"What do you know about me?"

Bellatrix swallowed her bite of shortbread and acknowledged, "I only know what my father and Rodolphus Lestrange have told me, sir. My father says you were always powerful in school, by far the most adept pupil the school had seen in a very long time. He says he was intimidated by you, that everyone was surprised you didn't make moves in the Ministry after leaving Hogwarts, that you worked in Borgin and Burkes. Rodolphus says you went to the Continent to learn Dark magic, that you came home with a new name and a cause to be promoted, and that you are amassing allies. That's all I know."

"And," Voldemort said softly, "You know about the orphanage. About my questionable heritage."

"I promise that has no bearing on my impression of you. Sir." Bellatrix took another small bite of shortbread. She really was very pretty, Voldemort thought absently. He scratched at his hair and asked,

"What are the limits of your… malfeasance… Miss Black?"

She swallowed her biscuit and smiled a bit. She reached for her hot Butterbeer and took a sip, elegantly swiping the foam from her lip with her thumb. She sighed and shrugged.

"I suppose that would depend on the circumstances, sir. I do not steal from people who don't deserve it. I don't wound people who don't deserve it. I would never gleefully cause harm to anyone who -"

"Doesn't deserve it," Voldemort finished, nodding. He tipped his head and asked quietly, reaching for his own Butterbeer as the fire crackled beside him, "What if there was a Muggle-born… a Mudblood… whom you despised and had reason to believe deserved something? Where would you stop? How far would you go?"

Bellatrix scoffed. She sipped again and then shook her head, grinning crookedly. "For a deserving Mudblood, sir, I do not suppose there would be any limit to what I would do."

"No limit at all?" He let his voice sound aloof, though his heart was beginning to race. "What about… an Unforgivable? Could you ever bring yourself to cast an Unforgivable, Miss Black?"

"Bellatrix. Please," she whispered, staring right into his eyes. She set her hot Butterbeer down on the table and stared at the half-eaten biscuit in her hand. Her face was serene then, as though she were lost in a daydream. "I've always been curious," she whispered at last, "What it would feel like. Torture. The Killing Curse. I know people who deserve it."

Now Voldemort's heart was hammering inside his chest, and he gulped past the knot in his throat. She met his eyes again, and hers were watering just a little, red around the rims.

"They say I am trouble," she murmured. "My enemies at school said I was Dark, that I was evil. But I know so many of them - Mudbloods and blood traitors and the ones who were obnoxious imbeciles - upon whom I would very readily cast a good, solid Cruciatus Curse, sir."

Voldemort's breath had sped up to match his accelerated heart rate, and now he blinked quickly as he realised just what sort of a Queen the crones had crowned. He squeezed at the arms of his chair and tore his gaze from her, panting a little as he stared into the fireplace.

"If my movement needed boots on the ground, if you could carry out missions in the field for me, would you do it?"

"Yes," she said, her voice just above a whisper. He was silent for a long moment, and a log in the fireplace cracked and broke, its embers glowing red. He finally turned his face back to Bellatrix and murmured,

"Would you like to be my ally, Bellatrix?"

"Yes," she said again. She nodded, and her tongue crept out to caress her bottom lip. She looked hungry then as she said quietly, "If what Rodolphus and my father say about your movement is true, and you wanted me as a sort of soldier, then… yes, of course I would want to be a part of it all."

Voldemort's ears rang, and when he shut his eyes, they burned a bit. He finally opened his eyes and whispered,

"My, but you are just precisely the right sort of trouble."

She smirked and reached to pick up the glittering crown from the table, her fingers dusting over the sapphires and the diamonds. She placed it upon her head and mumbled,

"I'm meant to wear this at all times, except for bathing and sleeping."

"Right. We ought not dispense with the ritual of the Solstice just because it's a private meeting." Voldemort turned up half his mouth as Bellatrix adjusted the sparkling crown on her hair. The diamonds and sapphires twinkled in the firelight, and, coupled with her white raw silk gown, she looked positively angelic. But there was nothing innocent about this witch, Voldemort thought. He sighed and reached for his hot Butterbeer, taking a few sips in silence before asking more specifically,

"If I asked you to cast a Cruciatus Curse on someone who deserved it, Bellatrix, would you do it?"

"I would." She sounded quite certain. She sat a bit differently now that she had the crown atop her head; her back was straighter and her hands rested confidently upon the arms of the chair. Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, and it was only now that Voldemort realised that the neckline of her white gown was slightly revealing. Her skin was milky and faultless, he thought, and then he flicked his eyes up to hers. She'd said she would do as he commanded, that she could and would cast a Cruciatus Curse at will. He gulped and shook his head a little, wondering aloud,

"What am I to do with you?"

She smiled a bit and leaned forward, whispering, "Perhaps you ought to come up with a mission for me, sir."

"You'd like that, would you?" His heart still hadn't slowed. He sank his top teeth into his bottom lip and asked sceptically, "If I told you today that I wanted you to go find some random Mudblood and torture him until his mind was lost, you'd do it, would you?"

She nodded silently, staring right into his gaze. Her chestnut eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite read. He wanted into her mind right now; he wanted to know what she was thinking, what was inside her swirl of thoughts. But she was too intelligent for him to creep in with Legilimency; she'd feel him inside her head. Instead he huffed a breath and shrugged, leaning back to settle into his chair.

"After your time as Winter Queen has passed. You have duties, haven't you?"

She looked a bit abashed then and choked out a bitter little laugh. "I have to make a toast at the grand Christmas Eve feast at Castle Lestrange. I have to ring the New Year's bell at precisely midnight at the Mulcibers' party. All par for the course, you know… the Winter Queen is the symbol of the Sacred Twenty-Eights' festivities."

"You'll do marvelously," Voldemort purred. "And I shall be lucky enough to witness those occasions, now that I have enough friends to welcome the last of the Gaunts to such fetes. New Year's Eve is, admittedly, my least favourite day of the year."

Bellatrix scowled. "Your least favourite, sir?"

"It is my birthday," he said matter-of-factly, and when she looked confused, he said sharply, "Most wizards do not mark their forty-fourth birthdays with particular glee. Aging is, to be certain, an unglamourous and unpleasant process."

"Shall I make everyone sing to you for your birthday?" she teased him, a wry smile coming over her face. "I could, you know. I'm the Winter Queen. They must do as I say."

He scoffed and shook his head. "I'd be more than a little cross with you if you did something like that."

"I shall spare you," she laughed jovially. Her face grew more serious then, and she murmured, "All these white gowns. Wearing the crown until the sixth of January. It all feels so very silly. I'd much rather be torturing Mudbloods."

"Just the right sort of trouble," Voldemort nodded again. "I mustn't keep you; I know you've got duties like visiting patients at St Mungo's and giving little presents to Pureblood children and all that."

"What a strange thing," Bellatrix said in disbelief, "that the crones chose me."

"It is as I said last night," Voldemort told her. "You embody winter."

She smirked. "Do I? I shall leave you, sir, with the promise that I shall do as you command me once my time as Winter Queen has passed."

"That makes me very happy," Voldemort said. He felt another knot in his throat, and he blinked quickly. "Very happy."

He stood from his chair and held out his hand. Bellatrix placed her fingers on his palm and rose to stand, her draping sleeves hanging almost to the ground and her little chest heaving beneath her low neckline. She stared up at him, her hand in his, and she whispered,

"I want to do good work for you, sir."

"And so you shall," he nodded. "Now you must go… My Queen."

He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, staring right into her eyes with his lips on her skin. He finally lowered her hand and whispered,

"Goodbye, then, Miss Black."

"Bellatrix," she corrected him again, and he smiled a bit.

"Goodbye, Bellatrix."

24 December, 1970

Castle Lestrange, St Bees, Cumbria

Bellatrix appeared from the ether and stared up at Castle Lestrange. With little pop-pop-pops, the rest of her family materialised around her, her younger sisters coming by Side-Along Apparition with their parents. Bellatrix glanced down at her gown and wondered if she looked all right. She wouldn't have cared, ordinarily, but she would be the centre of attention tonight, and he would be here. Him. Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix had donned a white satin gown, off-the-shoulder with a deep sweetheart neckline. The full skirts were supported by petticoats, and she wore white satin gloves beyond her elbows. She had on a Black family heirloom diamond necklace and matching bracelet over her left glove, and, of course, the Winter Queen tiara was atop her head. Her curls had been styled into a tightly braided bun, and diamond stud earrings sparkled in her ears.

"You look beautiful, darling," Druella Black reassured Bellatrix. She flashed her mother a little smile and mumbled,

"I feel foolish."

"It is an honour and a privilege to wear the crown of the Winter Queen," Druella snapped somewhat defensively. Bellatrix tried not to roll her eyes, remembering that her mother had herself been a Winter Queen, and she said stoically,

"I shall do my duty."

"Good girl," said Druella with a little sniff. "Let's go inside."

The main corridor of Castle Lestrange was lined with banners of the Lestrange family in burgundy and white, and there were Christmas decorations everywhere. Glowing golden orbs floated overhead, bathing the stone corridor in resplendent flaxen light. Evergreen wreaths hung upon each stone column, and the sound of a choir caroling led the Black family to the castle's great hall. Once they turned and entered the hall, Rudy Lestrange rushed over and grinned. He grabbed somewhat roughly at Bellatrix's elbow and yanked her into the hall, exclaiming frantically,

"How are you, Miss Black? So good to see you. Happy Christmas." Then he pulled out his wand, aimed it at his throat and cast a Sonorus Charm, and his Amplified voice rang out over the din. "Honoured guests, I am pleased to present our Winter Que\en, Miss Bellatrix Black!"

There was raucous applause then, and Bellatrix nervously twined her hands together as the choir in the corner led the entire hall in the singing of a traditional Pureblood Christmas carol. Everyone sang as one, voices booming through the stone space, as Bellatrix just smiled meekly. She scanned her eyes across the crowd, finding Rodolphus and giving him a little smile. Then her gaze settled on Lord Voldemort, who was holding a glass of red wine. He flashed her a smirk, and she realised he wasn't singing, either. Perhaps he didn't know the words, she thought. Or perhaps he just didn't feel like singing. She kept staring at him until the song was over, and then she applauded with everyone else as Mr Lestrange wished everyone a happy Christmas and bade them to make merry. Bellatrix walked farther into the hall, and before she knew what was happening, Rodolphus Lestrange was striding confidently up to her. He bowed his head and touched his hand to the chest of his tuxedo robes.

"Our Queen. You look positively marvelous."

She giggled a little and shook her head. "So silly, to get this dressed up over Christmas."

"If not for Christmas, then for what?" Rodolphus asked, cocking up an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and looked around. "May I fetch you a drink?"

"Erm…" Bellatrix looked down at her bright white gown and considered that dark-coloured drinks might stain, and that she was liable to spill. She shrugged and said, "White wine, perhaps?"

"Of course. I'll be right back," said Rodolphus, and he strode off with the same confidence he'd had before. Bellatrix stared at Voldemort, who was talking with her father in what appeared to be a very interesting discussion. She sighed, wanting to speak with him again about torturing Mudbloods. But Aldreda Mulciber and Zinnia Greengrass came rushing up to her, and she forced herself to smile.

"Hullo, girls," she said, and Zinnia grabbed Bellatrix's arm, twirling her around to get a good look at Bellatrix's satin gown. Bellatrix shrugged and said, "You know my mother. The morning after the Solstice, she was in Twillfit and Tattings getting me outfits for every engagement."

"You must be so excited," Aldreda breathed, "to get to be the Queen."

"I'm not really a queen," Bellatrix reminded her. "It's all just symbolism, you know."

"It's a tradition that's been passed down for a thousand years," Zinnia reminded Bellatrix. She brushed her long blonde waves over her shoulders and huffed, "Traditions like these are so important to our culture."

"You sound just like Rodolphus," Bellatrix said, glancing over her shoulder. "He went to get me some wine; I'm surprised he didn't…"

She trailed off then, once she saw that Zinnia had pinched her lips. Suddenly she realised what was going on. Rudy Lestrange was trying to orchestrate a match between Rodolphus and Zinnia, but Rodolphus seemed to have quite a crush on Bellatrix. At least, he'd acted flirtatiously at the Solstice and he was getting her wine tonight. Right on cue, Rodolphus walked up, and Bellatrix wordlessly took her glass of white wine from him.

"Mr Lestrange, we were just talking about you," Bellatrix said, just a bit too loudly. "I think Zinnia would love to dance."

"Would you, Miss Greengrass?" Rodolphus looked surprised, and Zinnia's eyebrows flew up. Rodolphus held out his hand, and when Zinnia took it, she visibly gulped and said quietly,

"I would be honoured, Rodolphus."

The two of them walked away, and Aldreda Mulciber choked a little laugh.

"That was expertly done," she told Bellatrix, "really and truly."

"It's almost time for the toast," Bellatrix noted. "I suppose I ought to go find Mr Lestrange."

"Right. Queenly duties and all that." Aldreda winked. "See you later, then."

She walked off, and Bellatrix made her way to Rudy Lestrange, who was talking with Abraxas Malfoy. She cleared her throat, causing both wizards to turn to her, and she said softly,

"I ought to make the toast now, Mr Lestrange, hm?"

"Of course! Come with me, Miss Black." He took her by the elbow again, leading her out to the centre of the hall, and Bellatrix scowled as she realised just how much she hated Mr Lestrange manhandling her. She finally caught her footing and pulled her wand out of the pocket concealed in her gown, and when Mr Lestrange nodded, she let out a shaky sigh and touched her wand to her neck. She Amplified her voice and then said with mock confidence,

"Witches and wizards gathered here to celebrate Christmas, I beg your attention for a toast from your Winter Queen."

The conversations in the room died down at once. Bellatrix's heart and breathing raced as she tried to stay steady and sure, but she found herself so dizzy she thought she'd faint. Finally, her gaze locked onto Lord Voldemort's, and he gave her a reassuring sort of nod. She gulped and sighed.

"I bid you all a most happy Christmas, with all the joy of the season. I bid you hope and peace, the love of your families and friends. I bid you all warmth throughout this winter. A most happy Christmas to all here assembled, and wishes for a blissful New Year. May we sustain one another through the long nights of winter. Cheers to you all."

"Cheers!" cried the crowd, and people sipped from the drinks they had in their hands. Bellatrix watched as Lord Voldemort very slowly sipped his red wine, and her stomach fluttered. She found herself drawn to him, walking in his direction as he stood still. She stopped ten paces away and just stared, and then he brushed his thumb over his bottom lip and closed the gap between them. She blinked rapidly the closer he came, and when at last he stopped, she murmured,

"Happy Christmas, sir."

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix," he replied. He glanced behind her, toward the dance floor, and for a moment, Bellatrix thought he was going to ask her to dance. But instead he informed her, "The crown looks awfully heavy tonight."

"It is a bit of a strain on the neck," she whispered, and he smiled and lowered his gaze. He nodded and said quietly,

"I rather wish I could selfishly horde your company tonight. But, alas, there are many conversations to be had at this party. I must promote my movement among those who were friends of mine in school. And you are the Winter Queen; you must greet everyone present with a friendly smile and with grace. And so I can not whisk you onto the dance floor for three songs in a row like I rather wish I could."

Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder and saw Rodolphus dancing with Zinnia Greengrass. Her own parents had made their way to the dance floor, along with little Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, and about a dozen other couples. Bellatrix looked up at Lord Voldemort and hummed,

"One song wouldn't go amiss."

"I'd rather spend those three minutes having a conversation of our own," he said softly, "away from the ravenously listening ears of those who adore gossip."

"But we are having a conversation," Bellatrix said, glancing about. Voldemort sniffed.

"Will you come with me for a moment, Bellatrix?"

Her smile vanished. She nodded and followed him across the hall, out into the corridor and down past the wreaths and the banners. He aimed his wand at a sturdy arched wooden door, unlocked it, and pushed it open, and Bellatrix wordlessly followed him into a dimly-lit parlour. He shut the door behind himself and cast a Colloportus charm to lock it back up. Bellatrix licked her lip, her mouth suddenly gone dry. They could still hear the music from in here, but the mantle clock's ticking was also audible in the quiet space. Bellatrix wrung her hands together before her and asked,

"Have you need of me, sir?"

His face was strange then, and he walked right up to Bellatrix. She could smell the ocean on him, cool and refreshing, and she shut her eyes for a moment as he murmured,

"I had no desire to appear lecherous in front of that crowd."

"Lecherous," Bellatrix repeated, shaking her head. "No, sir, you're not -"

"You look beautiful tonight," Voldemort informed her. He reached for her crown and dragged his fingertip over the diamond points, over the oval sapphires. His fingers trailed down until he brushed a knuckle over her cheekbone, and then her jaw. Bellatrix could hardly breathe, and she whispered,

"I'm going to torture for you, sir. Kill for you."

"You are just the right sort of trouble," he told her, not for the first time. He cupped her jaw in his hand and tipped his head. "Will you slap me?"

"No," she breathed, and he lowered his face toward hers. She pushed herself up onto her toes, and then their lips met. He let their mouths press against one another for a long moment, and then he pulled back and hummed onto her lips,

"Time to go back, Winter Queen."

"I'd much rather stay in this parlour," she insisted. She felt his hand curl around her waist, felt his fingers stroking her jaw, and she drew herself up against the front of his tuxedo robes. He kissed her again, a bit more firmly this time, and then he yanked his mouth from hers and dragged the back of his hand over his lips. He shook his head and chomped his lip.

"You're to be a soldier," he said firmly, as though he were convincing himself and not her. She blinked a few times and nodded.

"I look forward to it."

He shut his eyes and sniffed. "You really do look beautiful. Now go say hello to everyone, Queen Bellatrix. I'll be in anon to make my own circulation."

She nodded again and went to the door, throwing it open and rushing back toward the Lestranges' great hall. She managed to spend the next two hours saying hello to ancient Viola Crabbe, who was her grandmother's great-aunt and probably the oldest person at the party, to Bowen and Leona Shacklebolt and their six children, to sickly Calluna Greengrass, Zinnia's older sister. She said hello to Boris Goyle and his wife, who cradled a newborn. She wished a happy Christmas to her Rosier relatives. By the time the party was winding down, she had nearly distracted herself from the kisses she'd received.

But as she gathered her family and prepared to leave, she spared a glance to Lord Voldemort, who was chatting animatedly with Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and he stared for a long moment before his throat visibly bobbed. He raised his glass of wine as if to bid her farewell, and she smiled a little.

As she stripped off her extravagant white satin gown at Black House in London, Bellatrix shut her eyes and remembered the feel of his lips on hers. She remembered the smell of him, the aroma of the ocean he'd borne upon his tuxedo robes. She huffed and flopped back onto her bed, digging her fists into her eyes and wondering just what had gotten into her when it came to Lord Voldemort.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. I really hope you all enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. If you get a moment, please do review. Thanks so much.