27 December 1970
St Mungo's Hospital, London
"Hello, Madam Selwyn," said Bellatrix, walking up to the wrought iron bed with curtains on either side. A weak-looking witch, Zosia Selwyn, reached out a trembling hand as a small smile crossed her thin lips. Madam Selwyn was well over a hundred years of age and had been hospitalised with issues relating to her heart and lungs. She coughed a little as Bellatrix drew near, and she rasped out,
"Our Winter Queen has come."
"I bring you tidings of winter's grace," Bellatrix said, forcing a grin, "and to wish you health and happiness."
She clutched her lantern, glowing with silver light, in her left hand, and felt the weight of the diamond and sapphire crown atop her head. She pulled out her wand and cast an arc above Madam Selwyn's bed. Nivecadit, she nonverbally incanted, and suddenly there were snowflakes falling around Madam Selwyn's weak body. They dissolved into Non-Being before touching her, but she laughed a little and brushed the fingers of her shaking hand around the little snowstorm.
"Ah, winter," mused Madam Selwyn, her voice growling just a little from her illness. She looked peaceful and serene, and her quivering hand settled back on the bed. She shut her eyes and lay back against the pillow as the snowflakes Bellatrix had cast fell about her. She coughed again and then murmured, "Long nights. Snowfall in the Highlands around Hogwarts. Warm Butterbeer and mince pies. A fire… keeping us warm in Father's little cottage…"
She stopped talking then, and her breathing seemed to slow. Bellatrix was concerned, and she turned to the Medi-Witch who stood beside her in a burgundy wool gown with a crisp white apron. The Medi-Witch looked quite serious and stepped up to Madam Selwyn, shaking her shoulder gently.
"Madam Selwyn," she said loudly, but Madam Selwyn did not respond. Bellatrix's heart picked up speed a little as her fingers anxiously twined around the handle of her lantern. She gnawed her lip as the Medi-Witch searched for a pulse. Finally the Medi-Witch looked to Bellatrix and said, "She is very weak. I need to get her family in here to say farewell. I need to get the Healer to make it all comfortable. It seems she was happy that you came."
Bellatrix could not help but feel that she was slightly responsible for Madam Selwyn having faded so quickly, but she just backed away from the bed and nodded. The Medi-Witch, who was a middle-aged witch Bellatrix did not know, just nodded crisply and said,
"You've visited with three of them today. You may go."
"Erm… yes, all right," Bellatrix said, and she made her way out to the lift, glancing back over her shoulder at the foot of the bed where Madam Selwyn lay. She rode the lift down to the hospital lobby and strode out. The witch at the front desk was a Half-Blood who had been a Gryffindor when Bellatrix had been in school. She eyed Bellatrix with suspicion, for Bellatrix was clad in a long-sleeved white chiffon gown adorned with glass beads, and the Queen's crown sparkled atop her braided curls. Bellatrix just sighed as she walked past the witch, who huffed a little breath and then finally seemed to gather enough courage to say,
"Bit silly, innit? Dressing up like royalty all for some Pureblood pomp?"
Bellatrix scowled at the Gryffindor she'd known for years and tipped her chin up. She knew she sounded like Rodolphus and Zinnia then as she proclaimed, "The pomp of our families has kept our culture intact for a thousand years."
The witch at the desk scoffed and dipped her quill in ink. She turned back to the large notebook in which she'd been writing and nodded.
"Right. Well, thanks for coming to visit our patients, Your Majesty. I'm sure they all appreciated the presence of the Winter Queen."
Bellatrix tipped her head. "Zosia Selwyn certainly did, and I think you'll notice later today that enjoying my visit was one of the last things she will have done in her life. Good day to you."
"Good day," said the witch sharply, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. She whirled hard to her right and Disapparated, coming to inside the foyer of Black House in Kensington. She landed so hard, for she'd been angry, that her crown careened from her head and almost fell to the floor. Bellatrix caught it and steadied herself, adjusting the crown and sighing. She walked down the main floor corridor back toward the kitchens, and when she stepped into the bright white space, she could see that the House-Elf, Birdie, was waving her arms about, cooking.
"What's for dinner, Birdie?" Bellatrix asked, and the House-Elf turned over her shoulder as a wooden spoon spun itself around in a bowl and meat sizzled on a cooking surface.
"Tonight the Black family will dine upon beef bourguignon, Miss Bellatrix," said Birdie in her chirpy little voice. She was relatively new to the family; their old House-Elf had gone senile and had disappeared one day, replaced without much fanfare by the spry young Birdie. Bellatrix nodded and said,
"I'll be upstairs reading. Let me know when it's ready."
"Yes, Miss Bellatrix," Birdie said obediently, bowing her head. Bellatrix turned and headed for the staircase, and she nearly bumped into her sister Andromeda, who had her gaze buried in a parchment she was holding. She had a shy little smile on her pretty face, and her fingers trembled a little around the paper she held. Bellatrix frowned, curious, and demanded,
"What's got you in a mood, Andy?"
"Oh. It's… it's nothing." Andromeda quickly folded up the parchment and thrust it down to her side, but Bellatrix snatched at it. Andromeda tried to reach it, to get it back, but Bellatrix commanded her,
"Let me see, Andromeda, or I'll tell Mum that you're hiding things."
Andromeda hissed a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. Bellatrix began reading the letter that Andromeda had been smiling about, and as she did, her stomach began to churn and sink.
Dear Andy,
I miss you so dearly. Christmas feels less merry without you about. Perhaps someday we'll have Christmases of our own. Perhaps someday we'll wake on Christmas morning and give one another gifts, and we'll ring in the New Year with a kiss at midnight. I would like that very much. I simply can't wait to go back to school; I need so badly to see you again. Say you miss me, Andy, so I don't feel like such a fool.
Yours,
Ted
"Ted," Bellatrix said sharply, and Andromeda's face had gone beet red as she shrugged. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "Ted Tonks? The Mudblood? Mum and Daddy warned you about him, Andy. If you carry on with this boy, you'll be burned off the tapestry and written out of the will. You'll be nothing to this family if you sully your blood with this boy."
"Do you honestly think I haven't thought of that?" Andromeda snatched the letter back. "Do you honestly think I haven't considered what it would mean for me? For him? For us? I can't help how I feel about him, Bella, and -"
"Girls," said Druella Black, and Bellatrix whirled to see her mother coming down the stairs. Druella looked suspicious and asked, "Whatever is the matter?"
Bellatrix jabbed her finger toward Andromeda and hissed, "She's in love with that Mudblood Ted Tonks. And he's written her a letter telling her just what sort of future he wants with her."
Druella's face blanched and was deathly serious. "I certainly hope that is not true," she whispered. Andromeda reached out quite impulsively and shoved at Bellatrix's shoulders as she insisted,
"It's none of your business, Bella. You're wicked."
"Andromeda Black! You will desist from seeing that awful, disgusting boy," Druella snapped, but Andromeda reached to swipe at Bellatrix's crown, knocking it to the floor. She spat at her sister,
"Some Winter Queen you are. Bitch. Bigot!"
"Blood traitor!" Bellatrix shrieked as she bent to pick up the heavy crown. She clutched it in her hands and snarled, "You would breed with that good-for-nothing Mudblood if you had your way."
"I'm leaving," Andromeda said, pushing past her mother and going up the stairs. "I'm packing my things and I'm leaving. You can't make me stay here, not if you're going to condemn the boy I love."
"Don't do something you will regret for the rest of your life, Andromeda," said Druella, sounding tearful. "Don't do something you can't take back."
"I'm through with all of this Pureblood nonsense," Andromeda cried, and Bellatrix dragged her thumbs over the diamonds and sapphires on her crown as she met her mother's eyes. For a long moment, they just stood there, listening to Andromeda hurriedly pack her things upstairs. Druella's eyes boiled over with tears, and then she covered her face with her hands and began to heave with sobs. Bellatrix stared down at the Winter Queen crown in her hands and remembered what Lord Voldemort had told her. A deserving Mudblood. The Cruciatus Curse.
"Dinner is ready, Madam. Miss." Birdie appeared, timid and uneasy, and Bellatrix snapped down to the House-Elf,
"Does it look to you like anyone here is in the mood for beef, Birdie? Keep it warm; we'll eat later."
28 December 1970
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Lord Voldemort looked at the stack of mail that had come for him and realised he had been getting more and more letters as of late. He opened the envelope on top of the stack and unfurled the parchment, reading the rather messy script on the page.
To Lord Voldemort:
I write to express my wholehearted enthusiasm for the movement you are promoting, and to tell you of my desire for involvement. As a demonstration of good faith, I have transferred six thousand Galleons from my own Gringotts vault into yours, in the hope that a substantial gift may convince you of my worthiness for the cause. I look forward to meeting with you soon to discuss the future you have in mind for wizarding Britain.
Sincerely,
Neptunus Malfoy
Voldemort's eyebrows flicked up. He took out a piece of parchment with his carefully-designed Dark Mark stamped at the top, and he began to craft a response. He thanked Abraxas Malfoy's father, who had retired to the Malfoy family's ancestral castle on the island of Jersey after his wife had died. He knew the man well; Neptunus often visited Malfoy Manor and conducted business in London from time to time. Back when Voldemort had been Tom Riddle in school, Neptunus had seen Abraxas off from Platform 9 ¾. And he was of the most elite Pureblood heritage, the Malfoys being an ancient family whose Norman ancestors had frequently married equally prestigious French witches and wizards. Voldemort wrote back to Neptunus now, thanking the man for his generous donation, which was rather a staggering amount of money given Voldemort's current circumstances, and informing him that there was certainly a place in the movement for individuals as worthy as Neptunus. He blew on the ink to dry it, rolled the parchment into a scroll, bound it with a black ribbon, and sealed it with wax. He set it aside, to be sent off later, and reached for the next letter.
But then there was gentle knocking on his office door, and Voldemort frowned. He'd met with Morgan Carrow to discuss her work infiltrating the ranks of the Aurors on behalf of Lord Voldemort this morning, but he wasn't expecting anyone else today. He set down the letter he'd picked up and walked across his office, opening the door and then feeling a wave of heady surprise come over him.
It was Bellatrix Black, standing before him in a white gown with long lace sleeves and a sparkling crystal belt around her waist. Her Winter Queen's crown was atop her curls, which had been gathered over one shoulder in a low ponytail. She wore crimson lipstick, her lips shining like a candied apple. She was beautiful, Voldemort thought. He stepped aside and said as lightly as he could manage,
"Miss Black. What a pleasant surprise."
"I do apologise for coming without writing first," Bellatrix said as she followed him into his office. "I ought to have sent an owl ahead. I admit that my temper was rising so substantially that I could take it no longer, and I felt compelled to come here at once."
"Is something the matter?" Voldemort made his way to the drinks cart and uncorked his bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky. He poured a few fingers' worth into two crystal tumblers and brought them to the armchairs, but Bellatrix did not sit down. She did take the glass of whisky from Voldemort and sipped rather deeply from it, choking a cough from the burn. She set the glass down on the table between the chairs and pronounced sharply,
"My sister Andromeda is in love with a Mudblood. You said, sir, that I could cast a Cruciatus Curse on a deserving Mudblood, but not until after I was through being the Winter Queen. If I wait that long, he'll be back at Hogwarts."
Voldemort dragged his fingertip around the rim of his own tumbler and raised his brows. "You wish to attack the boy now."
She nodded vigorously, and Voldemort felt a swell of something he couldn't quite pin down. He just nodded, sipping his own liquor and feeling warmth spread through him. He said softly,
"I think that could be arranged. You aren't meant to take off the crown or the white gown until the sixth of January. But sometimes rules are meant to be broken. I assume you know where he lives."
"Andy knows," Bellatrix spat. She shrugged and shook her head. "I could convince her to -"
"You'll land yourself in Azkaban." Voldemort tutted and sipped again. "This entire operation would need to happen clandestinely, carefully. You need to convince the boy to meet you somewhere private and torture him there." He paced a few steps and then circled back to Bellatrix. "I have an idea. Find out from Narcissa when the first Hogsmeade visit is. Then Disillusion yourself and go to Hogsmeade Village on the day of the visit. Cast an Imperius Curse to convince the Tonks boy to come with you into the forest. Silence him and torture him into oblivion, and leave his destroyed body there for Dumbledore to find."
Bellatrix looked awed. She let out a shaking breath and nodded. "I can do that, sir."
"Would it make you feel better?" he asked gently. He stepped up to her and fingered the soft curls that fell over one shoulder. He tipped his head and met her eyes, asking more precisely, "Would you enjoy the sensation of destroying that boy?"
"Yes," she hummed, and then Voldemort set down his drink, feeling a sudden spike of want for her. He held her face in his hands and said in an easy tone,
"You'll be marvelous. You'll feel so much better. Believe me; I speak from experience. A perfectly-executed Cruciatus Curse can make you feel so euphoric, so…"
He trailed off then, for Bellatrix's little fingers had come up to the chest of his robes and were playing with the buttons on his black shirt. He shut his eyes and sucked in air hard, his head spinning a little.
"It can make you feel so what, sir?" Bellatrix asked in a low voice, and Voldemort choked out,
"It can make you feel like your power is endless, like all the world is yours."
"I want that," Bellatrix said seriously. Voldemort forced his eyes open and stared down at her as she nodded and clarified, "I want to watch as his sanity dissolves into the air, as his mind gives way to my Cruciatus Curse. My stupid sister may not realise how useless that Mudblood boy is, but I will show him that his life is of precisely no value."
"Bellatrix." Voldemort shook his head and tightened his hands on her face. She sighed and leaned into his touch, murmuring,
"You kissed me on Christmas Eve."
"You did not slap me," he reminded her. "Would you slap me now?"
"Of course not," Bellatrix said, her fingers drifting around his buttons as if she wanted to unfasten them. She stared up at him and informed him, "I am mesmerised by you, Lord Voldemort."
He wanted to tell her that she was breathtaking, that her bloodlust and her viciousness made him hard in his trousers, that she was so beautiful he could hardly stand to look at her. But he could manage to make any of those words materialise, so instead he just bent, and she pulled up against him, and his arms snaked around her and settled at the small of her back. Her fingers convulsed against his chest, from nerves or anticipation, and she finally whispered,
"Kiss me, please."
He did, brushing his lips against hers and then deepening things a bit. After a few soft touches of their mouths, she let her lips fall open, and Voldemort brushed his tongue inside. She didn't know what she was doing. That became obvious quite quickly; her tongue was unpractised and messy in its movements. She was trying to be elegant, he could tell, but she didn't know what to do. He guided her, bringing on hand up between her shoulder blades and putting the other on her tiny waist. He tipped his head a little more and encouraged her to tip the other way, and then he dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth. She moaned, somewhat desperately, and Voldemort felt a straining in his trousers.
He'd had a good number of witches in his day. As the young and handsome Tom Riddle, he'd shagged girls at Hogwarts and then later in his humble flat when he worked at Borgin and Burkes. On the Continent, he'd allowed himself to seduce and be seduced by some of the Darkest witches. But it had never felt like this, like Muggle electricity sparking through his veins, like his hands were caressing a very valuable artefact. He'd never felt such heat in his ears, nor had his head whirled like this. She felt so very good beneath his touch, and she tasted like firewhisky in a way that made Voldemort's chest pull strangely.
Finally, they developed a rhythm, a push and pull of their tongues, drags of lips between teeth, and the low hum of their voices vibrating against one another. Their breath mingled, hot and urgent, and Bellatrix's hands clenched on Voldemort's shirt. Somewhat on instinct, Voldemort cycled his hips up against her, inadvertently driving his now-blazing erection against her abdomen. She squealed softly into their kiss, and one of her hands dragged down his torso and went between them. Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut and struggled to keep kissing her as she cupped his hardness in her palm, feeling the outline of his cock through the thin linen material of his trousers. She gasped then, and when Voldemort broke away and pulled back, he could see an excited sort of anticipation in her wide, searching eyes. But he shook his head violently and reached down to drag her hand from his erection. He needed to put a stop to this. Didn't he? This needed to stop, surely.
"I'm sorry." Bellatrix took a few steps back and curled her hands against one another nervously. Her lips were pearlescent and swollen from how hard he'd kissed her, and the sight of that made Voldemort's heart pound like a war drum. He shut his eyes and whispered,
"I initiated things. I do apologise."
"I wish we didn't regret it," Bellatrix said quietly. Voldemort just stood there in silence for a moment, until Bellatrix clarified, "I don't want you angry with me, sir, but I really don't have any remorse. You'll send me away now, I suppose."
Voldemort dragged his fingers through his wavy hair and shook his head. "I confess I also find myself devoid of remorse, Bellatrix."
She cleared her throat and dragged her fingertips over her lace skirts. He watched her fingers move, watched them tremble against her dress, and then he raised his eyes to hers and heard her whisper,
"I should go."
"Find out about that Hogsmeade visit," he said, just a little too sharply. He put his hands on his hips and nodded. "Find out when you can ambush the Tonks boy. Be prepared to be more merciless and cold-hearted than you've ever been."
She visibly shivered and smiled. "Yes, sir."
"In the meantime," he said, "I shall see you at the Mulcibers' on New Year's Eve."
"Your birthday," she noted, and he smirked a little.
"I do promise to exact revenge should you attempt to mark the date in any way."
"Perhaps," Bellatrix said, reaching up and planting her hand on his chest, "You'll at least give me a kiss after I ring the bell at midnight. For the New Year, if not for your birthday."
"Perhaps." Voldemort covered her hand with his and dragged his thumb over hers. She looked intoxicated then, and he bent to touch his lips to her forehead. He lingered there for a long while, her skin warm against his mouth. His forehead pressed against the diamonds and sapphires in her crown, and he just stroked her hand and held her against his body for a while. She smelled like roses and summer rain.
Finally, he pulled back and whispered,
"My finest soldier already."
"My Lord," she hummed, and he tightened his hand around hers. What had she just called him? His breath quickened again, and he blinked rapidly. Bellatrix was glassy-eyed as she gazed up at him and murmured again, "My Lord."
The grandfather clock in the corner of the office chimed the hour, and Bellatrix seemed to shake herself to rights. She visibly gulped and then pulled her hand from Voldemort's chest.
"I have to host a winter party for… for the children, you know," she said. She shook her head as if ridding herself of an annoying insect and choked out a little laugh. "I have to give them all little presents and sweets and things. At… at Black House. I have to go. I'm sorry."
She bowed her head respectfully and dipped a little, and then she turned to go. Voldemort quickly grasped her wrist, wrapping his fingers around the white lace, and she whirled back to face him. He cupped her jaw in his other hand and bent to crush her mouth with his, kissing her hard for a moment before pulling back and saying firmly,
"See you on New Year's Eve, then."
"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. He released her wrist, and as she pulled back, their fingers brushed together, sending a tingle up Voldemort's arm. Bellatrix strode toward the office door, glancing over her shoulder and giving him a little smile.
Once she'd gone, Voldemort found himself dizzy and panting, standing alone in the middle of his office and wishing with all his might that he could have just taken her up to her suite. Suddenly his mind was filled with visions of her alabaster skin bared to him, of her curls sprawled across a pillow, of her breath quivering beneath his lips as he hovered above her. Suddenly he was leaning against the back of the armchair in his office, feeling so bewildered by her that he didn't know what to do with himself.
Eventually, he made his way back to his desk and sat, eyeing the letter to Neptunus Malfoy that needed to be sent to Jersey. He stared at the letter he'd been about to open when Bellatrix had knocked on his door, and he picked it up. He broke the wax and huffed a breath, his mind swirling with thoughts of kissing Bellatrix, of her ruining the mind of the Mudblood Ted Tonks, of the way she'd called him My Lord.
Perhaps, he thought, this birthday wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Author's Note: Here's hoping Bellatrix makes his birthday special! Haha. Thanks so very much for reading and reviewing.