Hello there! Well here is a new chapter for the HG AU, if you're interested my other fanfic will be updated next, I'm going to intercalate updates and try to make the updates more often.

Also, THE FANFIC EARNS ITS RATING.

RATED: M


THE 65TH HUNGER GAMES


The next year, when she arrived at his house, he was showered, suited in a dashing – if he said so himself – dark green suit, and ready to leave. But first he wanted to see her squirm a little. So, he invited her in, and for the first time since they met, he used her name.

"Come on in, Bellatrix. I just need to fetch something. I lost my lucky lighter."

He watched with great satisfaction as she almost stumbled through his threshold, even her hands looked less than steady at the mention of her first name. He had caught her off guard.

Perfect.

He almost contemplated asking if she wanted tea, just to see her stumble through her steps again and maybe get some colour in her cheeks too, since this year the heavy makeup was off season and there seemed to be a more subtle tint to the current fashion, hell, this time he might actually be able tosee if he embarrassed her. But for now, he refrained, after all,it was no use using all his arsenal against her in one day.

Under the pretence of looking for his lucky lighter – as if he would ever have something as ridiculous as a lucky lighter – he feigned asking for help, enjoying seeing her bend over his counter or his sofa looking for a banal lighter that currentlyrested in his pocket and was just waiting the perfect moment to be revealed to Bellatrix. This year's in-style included reallytight dresses and a colour scheme much more pleasing to the eye – soft purple and pastel pink – and while it was still vaguely clownish, it was certainlybetter than the garish greens and blues of last year.

He had perhaps lost track of time because when he got out of his musings; he noticed Bellatrix looking at him with a glare in her eyes, and he knew he had fucked up. She was infinitely cleverer than his last escort; he had to remind himself of that constantly. Everything he did before with Charity… He wouldn't think any of it would fly with Bellatrix.

"So, Tom, where is this lucky lighter, exactly?"

Busted.

"I never said lucky."

"I distinctly remember the word 'lucky'." She told her tone light, amused by his prank. With a sigh, he took his lighter out of his pocket with a flourish and a small 'ta-da', which she scoffed at, "I'm certainlynot going to call you, 'Mister Riddle', Tom." She said, a glare in her still-astounding grey-nearly-white eyes. He managed a snort, ignoring the fire that threatened to consume him every time her eerie eyes turned to him.

"I didn't expect you to." Tom said, already lighting a cigarette, "You're quiteimpossible."

"Was that a concession, Tommy?" she insinuated with a smirk.

Gods, how he hated that abhominable nickname. Detested it. His gaze narrowed, and his tone was decidedlychilly, "Watch it, Bellatrix."

Something in his tone made her stop teasing him. There was something about her that just knew which buttons to push and not push. It seemed like a freaky innate ability that he wasn't sure he liked. Still, matter of fact was, she had stopped. After a few tense moments they left the house, walking quietly towards the town centre where the reaping would take place. Tom stood to the side while Bellatrix greeted Mayor Lovegood. The man was a little loopy ever since his wife had died, but he cared enough for the people, and was quite liked as was his five-year-old daughter, Luna.

The reaping went on as usual. Same speech, same videos, same terrified faces. This time Bellatrix was a little more engaging and festive, but not by much.In the end; Penny Clearwater from the Seam andCharles Weasleyhad been chosen. As Molly Weasley and her rabble of children were once again ushered into the Justice building to say their goodbyes, Tom was once again left alone to watch the families go in. Well, he was alone until suddenly Bellatrix was standing next to him, in her soft pink wig and tight purple dress.

"Are all the people here called Weasley?" She asked quietly beside him, and Tom had to press his lips together not to let out a snort.

"It does seem like it, doesn't it?"

With her so close to him he could smell her perfume, the scent not as strong as it should have been considering that Capitol women seemed to bathe in the stuff, but with a pleasing aroma of a mix of spicy ingredients; Jasmin and ginger. It was subtle, but it seemed to ingrain itself in his brain, in a pleasantly. When the hour was over, they both rushed the Tributes out to the train.

It didn't take long to realize that even if he wanted, these two Tributes would never be Victors. The girl was slight, too thin and had thrown up all her food after the second course, so unused to eating anything more than watery soup and crumbs of mouldy bread; the boy was better fed, but his head was in the clouds. There was no trying with these two. After he dismissed them from his mind as already dead meat, he was pleasantly surprised when Bellatrix did the same.

She didn't really want to win either. Well, Tom was sure that she wanted to, at least once, but he was sure that this job was something to entertain her, to starve off her daddy's insistence for her to marry. She couldn't care less about the children, and he had to admit, it was nice to not have to pretend for someone else, either.

After the day and the half required for travel where he hadn't even seen Bellatrix again, or had even had the chance of watching the recap of the rest of the Reapings in the country, they were in Capitol soil. When he arrived and stepped off the train, he was a little confused to find even fewer people than usual waiting for them. Of course, Twelve wasn't a particularly well-liked District, and they got less attention than most, but there was usually a big crowd waiting for them when they arrived at the Capitol. This was measly, even for Twelve.

"What's going on?" He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud until Bellatrix spoke quietly beside him.

"It's this new Tribute from Four. Seems like he's all the rage and all the people care about."

Tom had scoffed at that, and went on his merry way, thinking Bellatrix was exaggerating. He spent some minutes speaking with the stylist who was going the innovative way of styling by doing what their other stylist had done 3 years ago: coating the kids with coal mining dust and letting everything else loose. Even if he had the idea of making either of his Tributes the winner, the stylist had just shot their chances. Nevertheless, he agreed with the stylist – even if he wanted to argue there was no time to make a new costume – and made his way to the stands to watch the Parade of Tributes.

The Parade was going on as normal; with District One showing off their rich golden gems, District Two with their well-muscled bodies painted a marbled colour and, then Three with bulbs of light lighting their costumes… All was well, and then quiteout nowhere the crowd roared and screamed and screeched as the chariot for District Four came in barrelling through the entrance. Tom schooled his features and examined the boy – because that's who would have to be causing all this commotion – and yes, he was handsome. Tom couldn't guess at his age, maybe fifteen at most, but the kid seemed to have to be sculpted from the marble the Tributes from Two were trying to emulate; pale white skin, well-defined shoulders, copper brown hair framing his angular grown-up face and his eyes… they seemed as stone, hazel and resolute.

More than anyone he had ever met; this kid had the quality to him, it was the same look he had seen in his eyes whenever he looked at the tape of his Games.

Tom saw in this kid the thing he had never seen in any of his Tributes, a Victor.

"Who's he?" He asked quietly as soon as he sensed the distinctive smell of jasmin and ginger.

Bellatrix voice spoke quietly as she settled next to him, "Bartemius Crouch, goes by Barty. Fourteen. And the Capitol's all-around favourite to win."

"Fourteen?!" he belittled, "He's too young."

"Poised to be the youngest Victor ever." Bellatrix tittered in a song.

A chill of terror consumed in his veins. Tom was well-loved and well-liked by the Capitol, they solicited him more than almost any other Victor; he had power. And he'd like to keep it this way. When he had won, people had looked at him like they were looking at Barty. This concerned, if Barty won and at fourteen, then Tom and his Quarter Quell win at sixteen would be… old news. Tom hadn't been old news in a long, long time.

"How likely is he to win?"

"As sure as our Tributes are to lose."

Tom exhaled harshly, "Great."

They watched the rest of the Parade in silence while the people around still screamed for Barty. When the time came for Twelve's Tributes to parade in their coal outfits, the cameras were steadily focused on Barty and his copper hair and a bright grin. Tom had to admit, the kid knew how to play the camera. When the Parade was finishing, and the Tributes sent inside to start their camera-less week of training the Capitols were all weeping about the unfairness of waiting so long to see Barty again.

It was worse than he thought.

He had to do something.

For the next week he tried concentrating on his own Tributes; he could always deal with them later if people got too attached if either Penny or Charlie – as he liked to be called – won. However, two sessions in with them and Tom knew that it was hopeless. The girl could barely lift an arrow much less a sword or bow and the boy – well, the boy had two problems: first; he was too much in his own head and second; the boy hated his guts. It probably had to do with how he let his brother die, but it could also be because Tom simplyhad more to eat in one meal than the boy's family had for the Winter.

Nevertheless, when the day of the interview came whatever hope Tom had for his Tributes was gone, Bellatrix had tried helping him but there was only so much she could do, she had some sponsors lined up if they needed it, but it was very clear that the Capitol had a favourite that year. Tom sighed as he handed over his Tributes to their incompetent stylist, it was out of his hands now and completely. He got dressed in a dark red suit and headed downstairs to where the studio was. Bellatrix was there waiting for him balanced in her pink high heels, in a dark purple dress and soft pink wig.

As they entered the studio, he waved at Antonin and Amelia, who were standing a few meters away speaking with some small woman he couldn't really tell who it was. One they got closer to the trio; Tom could see that Antonin was already half-way to drunk and Amelia was doing her best to level him up. He shook his head lightly and pushed Bellatrix forward in their direction, if she was staying around then she'd need to meet Antonin and Amelia, as he pushed he noticed her looking at Antonin's prosthetic leg with a frown on her face.

"He lost it in the Games." Tom explained to Bellatrix, "The 47th."

"Ah, I wasn't allowed to see them yet." At his quizzical look she answered, "I was too young."

He almost tripped over his own feet as found himself stuck on her age. He didn't know, didn't have a sliver of thought for it. Was she young? She must be if she couldn't see the 47th Games. But how young was she? Twenty-two? Twenty? Or, oh, Gods… Nineteen? He shook his head, she couldn't be Nineteen, there was intelligence to her that just couldn't make her Nineteen. Gods, he really hoped his escort wasn't a teenager, that would just be awkward considering his own thirty-years.

"Ahhh, Twelve's newest escort." It wasn't Amelia or Antonin that spoke, it was an old woman, "I've heard a lot about you."

Rowena Ravenclaw was an old, old woman; one of the oldest living Victors. She had won the 13th Hunger Games at sixteen and was now a spry sixty-eight. Not that everyone would ever believe her to be helpless; the woman could kick everyone's asses from here to Twelve without breaking a sweat. Still, the woman did look her age; with wrinkles carved deep in her face and while there some were laugh lines, those were fewand far between, she was small, barely reaching his chest, and her eyes were a bright sea green. But she was smart, and funny in a no-nonsense way that had never gained him any favours with her; she always could see right through him and he didn't reallylike that and yet, the woman always tried babying him.

"Thank you, Rowena." Bellatrix smiled – not fake, it surprised him to note, and even more so to know the difference – at the old woman, "You're a legend around these parts, but I hardly need to tell you that."

"You're too kind, dear." She shifted her sea green gaze from Bellatrix to look at him, "Tom." The careful way she said his name, all fondness and sentiment, would have pulled heartstrings at most people, but he wasn't most people, "How have you been, boy?"

"Don't call me boy." Was always the automatic response, when reproachful looks came from Antonin and Amelia while Bellatrix looked on, he added, "Fine. You?"

"I'm well, thank you, boy." Her eyes smart and cunning, "My kid will win this year, after all."

Tom scoffed, "I see you're responsible for all this Barty Mania."

"Me?!" she chuckled, "No. I'm afraid that was all the boy. He's clever like that."

How much clever could he be once he realized that for his performance he was about to be sold into prostitution, was the question every Victor was asking themselves. The boy had dug a hole for himself with his charm, and yet at the same timeas he heard Rowena's tone, Tom couldn't help but think thateverything the boy did was genuine. Sure, Tom had no doubt that the kid wanted to win, but there was something earnest about him that Tom had never even pretended to have.

"There you are!" A loud high-pitched voice came from behind them. He felt himself tense and wince while he saw Antonin and Amelia did the same. He watched enviously as Rowena sneaked off quietly, the woman was far too clever for her own good. Tom turned and saw a woman approaching.

Eleven's escort, Sheila Bulstrode, was a nightmare of a woman. She was like every other Capitol woman: selfish, oblivious, and completely out of touch; only she was a thousand times worse. She had bragged that she had surgically altered her voice to make it higher pitched, and that should tell everyone everything they needed to know about the woman. She was dressed in the same colours as Bellatrix but while Bellatrix managed some elegance, Sheila looked like an overgrown Tulipa. It surprised Tom when Sheila turned her pointy face towards Bellatrix, a sneer she tried to mask as a smile on her face.

"BELLA!" Her high-pitched voice was grating on his brain, "They told me you were in the Games, but I couldn't believe it. Why would a Black be doing this?"

"Sheila."

The winters in Twelve – full of snow and frozen faucets and hypothermia – were warmer than Bellatrix' artic tone. The three Victors shared a look as their escorts looked ready to start a fight in the middle of the studio. Tom inched closer to Bellatrix ready to grab her if needed. He needed all the good publicity he could get; he couldn't have her ruin it, not that he thought she would, but better be safe than sorry. Tom watched Amelia do the same for Sheila while Antonin settled back in his chair as if ready to enjoy the show. Typical.

The two women seemed to realize that they were in public and backed off. Tom was surprised to find Bellatrix standing next to him and Eleven's Victors while Sheila went to meet the other gaggle of escorts. As it went, it was a message he hadn't expected her to pass along; between escorts and Victors, Bellatrix would pick Victors. And while the thought she was not making a statement and was merely staying beside him because he was the only one she knew crossed his mind there were two things that made him dismissed it: one, that was clearlynot the case and second, she was far too clever not to know the message she was sending.

Tom watched as Amelia and Antonin caught on what Bellatrix was doing. The startled looks they sent behind Bellatrix' back was enough for him to understand that they too were impressed by her resolve and back-bone. That she hated Sheila probably helped, too. Tom watched as Antonin exchanged looks with Amelia, the two Victors having some sort ofconnection after so many years of working together, they were planning something. Before he could ask what that was about, Bellatrix asked quietly beside him distracting him from the other two.

"Say if, hypothetically, you wanted to stop Four from winning this year, what could we do?"

Well, never let it be said that he and Bellatrix never agreed on anything; that made two things today already. HE wondered how he could answer the question; he decided with a half-serious-half-mocking suggestion.

"Stop the Games."

He thrilled in the way her eyes rolled at him, "What could we realistically do?"

"Set fire to the boy while he is still outside the Arena." He said dryly, "I wouldn't recommend it, though, you wouldn't look good in the prison's grey jumpsuit."

"Be serious." She nagged a little, not imposing or strict, but slightly amused by his antics.

"We could always try charming the Gamemakers." Tom drawled, "You do it, Bella, with that dress you're more likely to go farther than any of us."

Now, he'd done it. He knew that eyes couldn't really change colours without surgery, but he could almost swear her eyes turned from their usual eery grey-nearly-white to a blazing red.

"Okay, listen here, Tom," Bellatrix started snarling but quickly turned towards Amelia and Antonin when the sounds of their giggles entered her ears, and nearly snarled, "What in the world are you two giggling about?"

The duo tried to mask it, tried to contain their giggles, but it was in vain. Tom would have given them points for effort, if they had managed to look like they were trying, instead of urging each other on. Amelia, as usual, was the voice of reason of the two of them and composed herself.

"When the two of you fight… It's just like me and my husband. Worse than a married couple, you are." Now, both Tom and Bellatrix were glaring harshly at Amelia, who merely raised her hands in a 'I-surrender' gesture, "Hey, don't blame the messenger. You asked."

Before he and Bellatrix could retort with anything, the show's staff came to warn them that the interviews were about to start.

Usually, the Capitol citizens were eager to hear about the Tributes after so long of not seeing them and only after the Six or Seventh District Tributes' interview, only then did they start getting restless. This time, however, from the moment cameras started rolling the crowd was jittery, already crying out for Barty. When the boy's turn arrived the room nearly turned hysterical and after the initial reaction Tom could see why; the boy was charming, and witty and romantic.

This was bad. It was very bad. With Twelve already getting so little attention – and most of it was because he was a Quarter Quell Victor – he didn't have much to leverage againstdoing what the Capitol wanted; he had got away with some illicit things because he was so popular with the Appointments, with a new kid like this on the block it significantlydiminished his advantages. He could say goodbye to having power in his house all year round, the books, the privileges… He didn't want to lose any of it.

He had to counter this new Victor, because there was no mistake to be made: Barty Crouch was the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

The rest of the Interviews went by with no other issue, the crowd had seen who they wanted to see and now were just bored with the rest of the Tributes. After the camerasshut off all of mentors and escorts went to where their Tributes were, already waiting to be led back to their respective floors for a night of rest before the next morning's ride to Arena and start of the Games. Tom and Bellatrix quickly gathered up Penny and Charlie and led them to the elevator that would bring them to the penthouse.

"We're going to have so much trouble finding sponsors." Sheila whined loudly and the sound, unfortunately, ingrained itself in his head. On his side, he saw Bellatrix wince alongside him, at least they were all in agreement about something.

"Fuck that." Antonin snarled, "We know who's winning this year." Antonin muttered under his breath, Amelia and Tom nodding alongside him.

"Rowena will have a field day with sponsors." Bellatrix commented as she, Tom, Amelia, Antonin and Sheila put themselves on the line to the elevator, their Tributes shaking with excitement from the adrenaline of having been on in front of cameras and a crowd.

The quintet was quiet for a few moments, while the Districts in front of them all went to their respective floors. As District after District went up, their tributes in front of them were still shaking, but the slight excitement that had been there before was not there anymore, now that the Arena was only a few hours away. When District Seven and Eight were going up the Training Centre so they could also put their own Tributes to bed, Antonin broke the silence.

"We should go to dinner." Antonin suggested quitecasually.

Tom felt Bellatrix tense beside him, immediately on edge with a wrinkle in her plan and not having time to prepare herself to have dinner with the Victors she hadn't even really met before, much less studied. She looked ready to refuse when Sheila Bulstrode, Eleven's escort, butted in on the line and their conversation.

"Hmm, you guys go ahead without me." Nobody had invited her, and no one was about to, but Sheila still declined the non-invitation. When no one dared to follow up with Sheila's rebuttal, she followed up herself, "I have a party to get to!" she still spoke bubbly, looking directly at Bellatrix, and with her words, trying to goad her into a fight.

That, Bellatrix could easily deal with.

"Doenjoy Lucius' party, Shelia." The stink-eye Eleven's escort gave Bellatrix told Tom that she had been right about the party, "Oh, and since you're going to his house, please dolook around for my coat, I think I left it there at brunch." the smirk on Bellatrix' face told Tom she was going in for the kill, "And do feel free to wear it, dear, to try tohide that hideous dress."

There seemed to be actual tears forming in Sheila's eyes at the slight insult and as she stormed off to go to that party, she seemed to be wailing pitifully. Antonin burst out laughing, he had no love to lose for Shelia, and Amelia despite being more restrained was still slightly shaking with laughter. Tom himself was on the brink of losing it. It was just as he had said before; Sheila Bulstrode was a nightmare.

"Well done, Bellatrix." Amelia offered genially, after containing her laughter.

Bellatrix eyed her a bit suspiciously but, in the end, returned, "Thank you, Amelia."

Tom watched the exchange feeling something akin to curiosity. No other escort had made the effort Bellatrix was doing, now. Was she really still worried that he'd sent her away? It was unlikely, really considering how well she fit with his temper and his principles, finding another like her would be hard. Antonin pulled Tom out of his musing when he seemed to pull himself together.

"The look on her face!" Eleven's Victor yelled, tears running down his face, "Did you really have brunch with Lucius 'the Peacock' Malfoy, darlin'? I don't know what I want more for it to be a lie or-…"

"I didhave brunch with Lucius." Bellatrix interrupted affronted by Antonin's doubt of her status and less than amused by his nickname, but she quickly recomposed herself and finished with a smirk, "It might not have been today, though."

That set off Antonin again, apparently, the idea of Sheila falling for a lie even more comical for him. Amelia was eyeing him a little disdainfully at the racket he was making, and Tom didn't hold back his own less than amused looks. Bellatrix, either to her credit or not he hadn't decided, took everything in stride. Amelia was the first to her throat to call Antonin to attention.

"So, dinner, then?" She drawled.

Antonin regained some semblance ofsense, "Yes, the Golden Snitch."

A lot of things could be said about Antonin, but he did have good taste in restaurants. This one was a particular favourite of Tom's and of legitimate Capitol citizens. Named for the people who had lost their lives while they snitched secrets from the Rebellion to the Capitol, the concept was a bittasteless, but the décor, the food and the ambience more than made up for it. More than that, it was rare that any other Victor would go there, the ill-chosen namesake usually kept others away. They would be the only ones there.

Before anyone could say anything else, the elevator arrived, and it was their turn to go to their floor and give their Tributes the final advice. After that, they'd be free until tomorrow at midday, and in this year, they could all forgo working at all. The 65thVictor of the Hunger Games was already decided.

"We'll meet at the Golden Snitch, then?" Antonin finished as he too boarded his floor, "In an hour?"

After both Tom and Bellatrix consented, the elevator resumed its path towards the twelfth floor. After making sure that both Tributes would be okay, they went to their bedrooms to prepare for their outing. Half-an-hour later they were downstairs, entering the limo that was waiting for them. The ride to the restaurant took the other half-hour. When they arrived, Tom immediately relaxed at the familiar environment, the ride to the restaurant had been fraught with a tension that was just waiting to explode.

As they entered the reception zone of the upscale, high-class black and golden decorated restaurant, they saw Antonin dressed in a better suit, deep in discussion with the pretty hostess that always served them, Myrtle something-or-another.

"You always have a table for me, lovely!" Antonin whined, leaning in above the hostess table and making a pout with his lips at the indeedlovely purple-dressed, pink-haired woman. Amelia standing behind Antonin, took sight of them and rolled her eyes at them when Antonin whined yet again, "Myrtle, c'mon."

"Not on the eve of the Games, Antonin." Myrtle answered curtly, her big-brown eyes that seemed to cover most of her face were striking and harsh, "We are full. There are no tables until closing hour, and the people here… Baby, I can't even think about slighting anyone in the list without losing my job."

Tom and Amelia shared a look at 'Baby', and promptly decided they didn't want to interfere on whatever the hell this was, because last year it hadn't been like this. Hell, last year Myrtle had looked at them like they had been trash, and Tom hadn't known that she and Antonin had hooked up, or even when they had hooked up.

"Look," Myrtle tried again, when no one spoke, "I might get you something at midnight, but-…"

Bellatrix interrupted her, calmly with no shouting and no tone of entitlement but in a way that exuded prestige and power. It gave her a completelydifferent look, her eyes taking on a tone that Tom had never seen before: regal, dignified and imposing. A look that screamed 'I'm-used-to-getting-my-way-and-I-don't-take-no-for-an-answer'.

"Myrtle, is it? Please, get me Rosmerta, tell her it's Bellatrix Black and a party of three."

Myrtle's already big brown eyes somehow widened even more when she registered Bellatrix. The girl immediately turned and almost staggered out the way to get the owner of the restaurant. Not a full minute passed when the girl was back with a middle-aged woman – although with Capitols it was hard to know for sure – who made a beeline for Bellatrix.

"Ah, Miss Black! What apleasure it is having you here."

As the two exchanged air kisses, their cheeks barely even touching, Tom saw Bellatrix shoot a look of triumph over the owner's shoulder at Antonin. The dark-skinned man glared back at her, his eyes – chilling brown – locked on hers with a stormy quality to them.

"Madame Rosmerta, you don't happen tohave my table available, do you?" Bellatrix asked, with the fakest sweet tone Tom had ever heard. He managed to press his lips tightly together to suppress a chuckle.

Damned woman had turned the whole evening around in her favour. And she knew it too, when the owner of the restaurant quickly assured her that her table would be free in a matter of minutes and left to make that happen, Bellatrix tuned to them and issued a 'Yes-I-did-just-make-that-happen' smirk. Amelia was biting her lip along with Tom in an effort not to burst out laughing and Antonin was left alone, raging that his plan to fluster Bellatrix had gone awry.

Rosmerta came back within five minutes, her face still in a grin, as patrons came from behind her grumbling about being put off the table they had scheduled weeks ago. Tom was stirred by the command Bellatrix seemed to have of the city, even more than Victors did. Rosmerta led them from the entrance hall and into the quiet and private room that would serve as their dining place; it was a cosy little table with enough space for six people. Bellatrix squeezed herself into the head of the table and Tom had to shake his head and smile.

So, she had figured out what Antonin and Amelia wanted. They wanted to test her. To see who she was and if they could let a little of their guard down around her, instead of having their Victor-facade on all the time like they had to do with Sheila. By putting herself at the head of the table she had made the spotlight turn on her and made them aware that she was on to them and willing – to a certain point he was sure – to indulge them. Tom seated himself to her immediate right while Amelia sat in front of him, to Bellatrix' left and Antonin sat himself beside Amelia.

They were barely seated when a waiter came by and brought a bottle of whiskey and put it in front of Bellatrix. A quick look at the bottle and Tom was unsurprised to find that the bottle was expensive and well-aged. A top shelf-whiskey that even Tom couldn't really order without putting a dent in his finances. Antonin was looking at the bottle like it was a miracle, like it was everything he had ever wanted in his life. Amelia looked on amused while a waiter poured her and Bellatrix a glass of red wine and Tom, a glass of white.

"Do I pass your test, Antonin?" Bellatrix asked while she perused her purse for what Tom was sure was a cigar, but turned out to be her pink lipstick, which she applied with an expert hand all the while looking at a godsdamned spoon.

Antonin was still staring at the bottle, "With this type ofdrink, darlin', you pass all the tests."

Antonin was about to grab the bottle to pour himself a drink when Bellatrix quickly snatched the bottle from his hands with a deftness that surprised even Tom. Antonin's whine at having his drink stolen was accompanied by Bellatrix twirling the bottle of the golden liquid in her hands with a pensive look on her face.

"You call me 'Bellatrix' and you can have the bottle all for yourself."

An ultimatum, then, to finish the game in her favour. Antonin was so starved for a drink that Tom didn't think Antonin even knew of how badly he was losing, and it was a testament of how far gone Antonin was, that Tom wasn't even sure he cared that he was losing.

Eleven's victor, rasped out with need colouring his voice, "Done." When Bellatrix didn't give him the bottle back and merely raised her eyebrow, Antonin consented further, "Bellatrix."

A smirk made its way to the admittedly beautiful face of his escort. The smile however didn't stay long, because soon enough, Antonin's voice filled the surprisinglycomfortable silence.

"So, where in the Capitol did you grow up?" Antonin asked, attention divided between her and the drink in his hand, "Did you watch the Games? How do you know Malfoy well enough to have brunch with him? Are you his wife? Mistress? Oh, are you married?"

Everyone looked on as Antonin spewed question after question. Bellatrix' turned to Tom, a single eyebrow raised as if asking if Antonin was for real; Tom could only nod that 'yes', this was Antonin's more-or-less constant state. His lips curved upwards a little when she winced sympathetically, but then turned from her and caught Amelia looking at him with an annoying knowing look in her brown eyes.

"What is this, twenty questions?" Bellatrix mumbled as took a sip of her drink.

"Yes!" Antonin exclaimed with an excited grin on his face, the alcohol was making effect, "This is exactly 20 questions!"

Tom and Amelia groaned aloud while Bellatrix arranged herself on the seat again, uncomfortable with the prospect of District trash – as every Capitol had the habit to call them – snooping in on her life.

"Do we really have to do this?" Bellatrix asked, taking another swallow of her wine, "I mean you have your drink, just enjoy it and let's talk about something else."

"No-ooo!" The alcohol was making Antonin supremely annoying and Tom was of half-a-mind to cut him off, but twenty questions about his escort was not the worst way to test her. If Antonin could convince her, "C'mon, Bellatrix, you're the newest member of this sad troupe, and you need to be vetted." Antonin swirled his glass, spilling some of his precious liquid.

"Besides," Amelia put herself in the conversation, "what else are we going to talk about? The Games? The Capitol's new Golden Boy."

Anything but Barty, Tom almost pleaded. He was so not in the mood to talk about that boy. And it seemed thatneither was Bellatrix if her eye roll and exasperated sigh was anything to go by. At least they seemed in tune in their hatred for the boy.

"Oh, Gods." Bellatrix exhaled, "Fine." Antonin's eyes shined brightly, "But I'm limiting it to three questions."

"What? No! At least…" Antonin bit his tongue trying to find a number to counteroffer.

Tom snorted, and took a gulp of wine, "Need a little help, Dolohov?"

"Shut up, Tom… I've got it. Fifteen questions!"

"Nope." Bellatrix smirked, "Two questions each, and that's my final offer."

Antonin seemed to contemplate the offer, "And if I don't agree, and ask more?"

The wolfish grin in Bellatrix face expanded, "Then the second bottle I ordered for your floor will go back on the shelf."

"Now you're talking," Antonin laughed, "Okay, yeah, two questions each. Tom, you're in too, we need all the information we can get."

"Fine." He mumbled.

Bellatrix turned to look at him, riled, "Please, don't exert yourself on my account."

"I thought you didn't even want to play." He glared at her.

"Yes, well, that doesn't mean-," Bellatrix stopped when Amelia and Antonin's giggles were heard. She took a deep breath, "Fine, let's get this over with." She put on her reaping face with that fake smile and flipped her head towards Amelia, her voice full of fake cheer, "Ladies first."

Amelia was still giggling a bit, probably besotted by the wayhe and Bellatrix apparently argued like an old-married-couple. The redhead took a few deep breaths, regaining her composure, and before asking Bellatrix a question, she wet her dark-painted lips with a sip of her red wine. Before she could ask her question, they served the meal; veal for Bellatrix, fish for Amelia, steak for Antonin and Tom contented himself with the lobster. Amelia waited until the waiters were off the room and everyone had had a bite of their food.

"All right, all right," Amelia started, and rubbed her chin, "Something easy… Oh, I know, we don't even know your age."

"My age?" Bellatrix asked a little perplexed, and Tom echoed, "Her age?"

"Boooo…" Booed Antonin, around a bite of steak, "C'mon, Mia, surely you can think of something else."

Amelia stood her ground, "I asked what I asked."

"Woman knows what she wants," Bellatrix grinned at Amelia, she took a bite of her food before answering, "Fine, easy enough. I'm twenty-five."

Not as young as Tom feared, but not as old as he thought she was. There was something about her that made her… well, wise was always a little risky an adjective for a Capitol, but there was something deep coming from within her. There was a look that frequently passed her uncanny eyes that gave away her true intelligence and more than that, awareness.

"Okay, my turn," exclaimed Dolohov throwing a nasty look at Amelia, "Just to see if Amelia can think of a decent question." Amelia didn't even bother acknowledging him picking through her fish, and Antonin turned to Bellatrix, "So, how did you get into the games?"

Bellatrix smirked, "Through the Gamemakers." Was the extent of her answer while her eyes burned brightly at Antonin with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, come on!" Antonin waved at her, and then pointed at her, waving a fork with a piece of meat towards her face, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Bellatrix seemed unbothered by his anger, "And yet, that's all you're getting."

"Ugh! You're impossible!" Antonin dramatically turned to Tom, "You do it, Tom, you can probably get better results."

Tom shifted in his seat to turn and look at Bellatrix. He took his time, admiring her frame, eyes rising upand down the extent of her neck and to the way her purple dress fit snuggly against her frame. He watched as her chest rose a little faster under his gaze, her breath catching in her throat which wobbled when she swallowed. He was aware he was making a spectacle of them; but when he lifted his eyes from her collarbone to her face, he saw her eyes were a little darker and she was biting her lip.

Tom leaned forward, as spellbound as her, almost forgetting what he was doing sitting and not shoving his tongue down her throat. Amelia's less than polite cough brought him back from the brink, but not her. So, he leaned forward still, her eyes following his every move.

A croak of a voice, that he hoped no one would notice, he asked the first question that came to his mind, "So, how am I more handsome on TV?"

Antonin groaned while Bellatrix was ripped out of her stupor by his question. She huffed a laugh, amused but a little embarrassed if her blush was anything to go by. She cleared her throat and arranged her wig, then she seemed to recover from her little episode with a vivaciousness.

Leaning forward and setting her chin on her fist she asked, "Been holding on to that one for long, have you?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here."

She laughed, "Fine." With a long-suffering sigh, she spoke with a laughing tone, "You are every bit as handsome in the flesh as you are on TV." Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Happy?"

He was sure to look her in eyes as he responded, drearily, "Ecstatic."

Both he and Bellatrix laughed loud a little nervously, with the thought of Bellatrix comment about sleeping with him if only he was as handsome as he was on Tv, which apparently, she thought he was; Tom almost gulped aloud, they were getting close to that, he could feel it, he took the rest of his lobster while his mouth watered for something else. Amelia and Antonin were giggling alongside them, even if for different reasons. The alcohol was now well and trulyaffecting everyone.

"Now, back to me." Said Antonin as soon as they stopped shaking, "Since neither of you can botherto ask a decent question." He finished with a glare before turning to the escort, "With no trickery, Bellatrix tell me how do you know Sheila? Escort school, or something?"

Bellatrix snorted, and took a swig of her refilled glass, "'Escort school'? That's not a thing." Antonin looked ready to argue, "Trust me, Antonin, it's not a thing."

"So, you met her in regular school, then?"

"HA!" Bellatrix let out an involuntarily loud laugh, as she finished her meal, "Please, Sheila Bulstrode doesn't have enough money to even dream about going to the same school as I did." Bellatrix snorted again while the Victors looked on in varying degrees of amusement, "No, I met Bulstrode because she's trying to fuck my brother-in-law every other day."

The casual she exposed Sheila's questionable behaviour didn't surprise Tom. While people in the Districts valued marriage as one the few choices they could make, and respected their partner and their union, the Capitol operated on a different level. Marriages, more often than not, werearranged or business deals. Affairs were common and, depending on the person, a point of pride and prestige.

"You have a sister, then?" Amelia asked, at last, Tom thought she was the one most disgusted by the nonchalance of Bellatrix statement, "That can be my question. Your family?"

He saw Bellatrix tense, and Tom was once again caught off guard on how guarded she was about her family, how reluctant she was to speak of her family. Bellatrix shifted a bit in her seat, and Tom knew, if she had a chance to escape, she would have, immediately bolted to the door. As it was, she took a deep breath before speaking, a mechanical tone to her voice as if she was trying to distance herself from her family altogether.

"I have a sister; Cissa – I mean, Narcissa." Bellatrix amended but Tom saw Amelia's eyes soften a bit when Bellatrix let her sister's nickname escape. "Narcissa Malfoy, and the reason I'm related to Lucius 'the Peacock' Malfoy." Her unyielding tone then softened a bit, "They have a son, Draco, he was born last year and is absolutely spoiled rotten by everyone around him."

"Hmm." Amelia pressed a bitmore, since that little information left a little to be desired, "Mum and Dad?"

Bellatrix was now stiff as a board, "Cygnus and Druella. Loving parents." Her tone indicated that nothing else about her family would escape her mouth and Amelia seemed to take a hint.

"Okay, I can take a hint." Amelia chuckled, and raised her hands defensively, "Good enough for you, Antonin?" As they all turned to Antonin, they were unsurprised to find him deeply asleep, head on the table, Antonin had, after all indulged a lot.

Bellatrix rang the bell and quickly enough there were attendants hauling Antonin up and dragging him to the back entrance so they could leave and enter the limousine attracting no more negative media attention for Eleven. Amelia and Tom waited as Bellatrix paid – or rather, in a show of privilege that the woman didn't seem to know she was making, merely signed her name at the bottom of a long and expensive list of items and exchanged no money, checks or cards – and then quickly left the restaurant from the same door Antonin had.

They boarded the limousine and Tom and Amelia looked on, a little baffled, as Bellatrix arranged Antonin in a pose she assured them would prevent him from throwing up. The awake Victors exchanged an impressed look, they had been chastised enough times about filthy limousines to not feel grateful for Bellatrix apparent expertise.

"Party girl?" Amelia asked, one they settled, and the driver started the ride back to the Training Centre.

Bellatrix laughed, "You could say that. A few years ago I won a sizable amount of money when I bet on a Tribute that had very little chances of winning, when he won I threw a party so large in District Four that most of the winnings went to that; the ride back was an… adventure."

Tom was curious, "Was that the first time you bet on an outcome for the Games?"

"Is that your final question for me, Tom?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes heavy with tiredness.

Tom pondered, "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Shame, I was waiting for something more… personal." Before Tom could pounce on that, Bellatrix answered his question, "No. The first time I was ten, and Kingsley Shacklebolt encouraged me to bet on who I thought would win."

Tom didn't have to do any hard calculus to pounce on that.

"So… You're twenty-five, then at ten, it would have been... The Quarter Quell." Tom was sure his smirk was far too smug, "Who did you bet on?"

Bellatrix huffed, "You only get two questions!"

If possible, Tom felt his smirk get smugger, "It was me, wasn't it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She was pursing her lips, but Tom could tell that it was because she wanted to laugh. She had bet on him.

Amelia broke in with a hum, "Shacklebolt… I know that name."

"Probably." Bellatrix commented absent minded, "He's a Victor from District Two, who my aunt had solicited for that summer."

The drink that Tom had helped himself to split on the floor and Amelia, who had arranged for a glass of water for herself, sputtered the liquid to the floor, clearly as surprised as Tom about Bellatrix's revelation that her Aunt was apparently a 'client' for Victors.

"You know about the Appointments?" Amelia asked, hand on chest trying to catch her breath after coughing out her drink. Tom settled in to observe the conversation, after recovering and refilling his glass.

Bellatrix looked at them, confused, "Of course, Auntie Walburga was a big fan." The casualness of Bellatrix' statement affected Amelia severely, her face paled and her hands trembled so that her glass also fell from her hands. Bellatrix watched her a bit sheepishly, "Is that… wrong of me to say?"

'Yes' was the obvious answer. And yet while Amelia tried tackling what Bellatrix said, Tom was trying as hard as possible not to make much fuss about the issue considering that he was actuallyone of the few Victors that actuallyenjoyed these Appointments.

Amelia issued a harsh, "Yes." She almost snarled when she added, "Of course it's wrong to say that your aunt buys sex from us."

"Oh, it's not just sex." Now both Amelia and Tom looked at her as if she had two-heads, "There's a higher tier, you know that, right?"

"There's a higher WHAT?" Amelia screamed, and Antonin in response snored loudly and turned. They all turned to him and quieted a little until they felt it was safe. Amelia took a deep breath, "So, not only do you force us to take up affairs, but now some are not even good enough for a higher tier?"

"Not at all," Bellatrix calmly answered, "You're just not old enough. When a Victor reaches fortyor so, people request them for the whole package. The romance, the relationship, the dates, the publicity… All that stuff. It's usually reserved for District One, Two and Four Victors, if only because some people just don't age as gracefully as others."

Tom had heard of those and had even seen some of those relationships, but, since as Bellatrix said it was mostly reserved for Career Districts he thought them to bemutually agreed relationships and not a sick a part of the Games that eventually even he would have to play. That was radicallyless appetizing than his current predicament. Sex was one thing; a relationship was a completelydifferent horse.

Amelia seemed to struggle with her own questions, but settled on one, "What about me? I'm forty-three and I'm gorgeous." No smugness, or ego, just plain old truth.

"Well, you're married and have kids. Most people in the Capitol see that as a relationship turn-off and refuse to solicit those types of Victors."

Tom had known Amelia for a long enough time to know when she was going for the kill. He braced himself preventatively, already feeling a fight coming on. Unfortunately for his long time 'friend', he couldn't see her winning against a Capitol, much less a Black, but a fight brewed, nonetheless.

"What do you think about the Appointments?"

Yes, that would do it. Tom sighed quietly and tensed his back, however, Bellatrix next to him remained calm although Tom could see her hand tightening on the limousine's seat, her knuckles turned white at the force and Tom knew she was controlling herself. It surprised him when she started with a joke.

"Me? Do I look like someone who needs to pay for sex?" when neither he nor Amelia looked amused by her quip, she sighed and shook her head, "I think thatthat is none of my business, that it has nothing to do with me. I don't hate it but don't love it either."

Not exactly a ringing opposition but not an endorsement either. Tom could tell Amelia was less than happy, and the glint in her eyes told him she wasn't done. She sneaked a look at him, and Tom knew then and therethat Amelia was about to use him against Bellatrix.

"Tom gets a lot of those little black envelopes." Amelia volunteered trying to gather a more sympathetic response.

Bellatrix didn't rise to the bait, "I'm sure he does, he's a very handsome man."

That was a little flattering. His chest might have puffed a little.

"Doesn't it bother you thathe doesn't get a say in who he sleeps with?"

Again, he actually really didn't mind the Appointments, but it wasn't like he had ever told anyone that. Bellatrix turned to look at him and Tom had a feeling that she knew anyway without him having to tell. For a breathless moment he thought she was about to rat him out, but, at the end, she decided not to. She merely turned back to Amelia and shrugged.

"We all have our burdens to bear, some are heavier than others, but each person has to do their part. Besides, there are things that we simplycannot change." There was a tone of finality that neither dared to break.

Amelia still didn't look satisfied but there was a glimmer of acceptance in her eyes. Everyone knew that Capitols were raised different, a life of privilege and indulgence that made them naïve in many ways,all-in-all, Bellatrix' remarks almost put her on par with Districts One and Two; not being completelyloyal to the Capitol was already improvement enough in their eyes.

Soon enough they arrived at the Training Centre, and with a struggle between the three of them they hauled Antonin out of the limousine and into the elevator. When they reached the eleventh floor, Amelia squeezed Bellatrix's hand in goodbye, an understanding had been born, apparently. With that, and Antonin's bottle, she had managed to pass both their tests; her actions throughout the night – the privilege, the contacts, the information… – all had convinced him of her worth to him.

Once Antonin was settled, Tom re-entered the elevator and a palpable tension permeated the air. The alcohol having long dissipated, and the night's action's entering their minds fresh. He looked at her through the side of his eyes, seeing her bite her lip and fidget in her heels. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, the elevator's doors opened, they both stepped out but before she could escape to her bedroom, he reached out and grabbed her by her elbow pulling her towards him.

Their bodies touched with sweet, heavy electricity. He could feel that one of them was trembling but wasn't sure if he was ready to find out who. Her pupils were dilated, her breath coming out in shortbursts, her breasts collided against his chest with each of her movements. He got a hold of himself and put some distance between them.

He coughed, a little unsure on how to board the issue, "About Antonin… He was a little too forceful tonight."

"It's to be expected. He's your best friend." She dismissed with a wave of her hand, and Tom stopped short.

He didn't have a best friend. Hell, by design he had no friends, what in the world was she talking about?

"I don't do friends, Bellatrix. Much less, best friends." He insisted, his voice a little less than steady.

Bellatrix snorted and looked at him disbelieving, "Then you should really tell your friends that." With a wave, she excused herself, "I'm going to bed. Good night."

She closed the door of her bedroom behind her, and Tom was left in the penthouse's corridor staring after her. He poured himself another drink; he was seeing Antonin's point of view, everything looked better and easier with a drink on your hand. As he settled on the couch with a glass of whiskey, he wondered what to about Barty.

He couldn't let the boy steal his spotlight. He had to do something, anything to prevent that from happening that didn't involve the Arena. The Appointments were always eager to help him get whatever he wanted, but this time he was sure that no one would want to help him; they showered him with gifts because he was a commodity the Capitols could rarely afford so they needed to woo him in a way,but now Barty would be that guy and no one would be willing tohelp him get rid of the next Tom Riddle.

He needed to keep the spotlight on himself, gain media attention and keep it, somehow. It seemed an impossible task in the face of the media frenzy about Barty. He was shaken off his stupor with the sound of a rhythmic humming coming from Bellatrix's room… She was humming something jazzy. He took a while to hear her; she had rhythm if nothing else. Tom scoffed to himself her Black upbringing would have given her many talents she could explore. Black upbringing. Black upbringing.

She was a Black.

He almost laughed out loud. How could he be so blind? It was perfect. All he had to do was to be seen with the daughter of the famous House of Black, be seen working together with her and he would be golden. The Sacred 12 were a topic of fascination for every Capitol, especially the Blacks; hell, it was a miracle that they weren'taccosted every minute of last year. This could work. With no prompt he got up from his seat with a jump and quickly went to her bedroom's door and without thinking pushed it open. The sight that greeted however made him stop at the threshold.

The room was the same layout as his, the bed against the wall facing the door, a TV, a closet and a door that led to a private bathroom. Her room however had an added vanity that clashed against the furniture which led him to believe she had brought in herself and as it was, she was currently sitting in front of it scrubbing off the makeup off her face. More important than that was that her wig was off, placed delicately on the bed. For the first time since he met her, he saw her natural hair colour.

But it had nothing of natural to it. It couldn't be her real hair, he had seen black hair before – hell, his could be considered black, he knew – but this… This was something else. Now, he knew why her family was called 'Black'.

Gods almighty, it should be a crime to cover her hair – to even dare think about altering itin any way.

Ebony-black of a quality he had never seen before, shining of an inherit luminesce and falling down her back in waves of pure dark silk. It transfigured him, never had he seen natural hair so well-maintained, so immaculate and so tempting. He clenched his hand at his side, trying to control the impulse of burying his hand in her tresses and mangle it beyond recognition, pull her in and smash their bodies together as the tension finally culminated into a sweet, sweaty release of adrenaline and dopamine.

He was so transfigured he didn't see her catch his reflection on her mirror, but her sudden yelp followed by a sigh of relief told him that that's what had happened.

"What do you want, Tom?"

His tongue felt like plaster, it was impossible to move. He tried summoning some moisture to wet his mouth, but all the liquid in his body seemed to have travelled South. When she didn't get a response right away, she turned, and the effect was even more stunning. Her pale, makeup free face was not what he was expecting. Her eyes were not as emphasised, the makeup had enhanced them, but their uncanniness was still there, especially when combined with her naturally pale face – which now was a little blotchy from the harsh way she was scrubbing off the makeup – and when one factored in her remarkable ebony-black hair. The eeriness, the imperfections, the contrast of colours…There was no denying, the woman was exquisite.

"…-Tom?"

"You have black hair." His mouth was working again, now all he had to do was work on his brain. He blamed the alcohol, the tiredness and the boy that was setting his nerves on edge.

"Yes?" She was understandably confused by his non sequitur, "I know that Capitols never show their real hair or take off their makeup, but honestly that crap is itchy and more trouble than it's worth."

"It's black." Still working on that brain, then.

Bellatrix was still looking at him as if he had two-heads, "Yes, well, it's a rather natural hair colour, I admit." When a few seconds pass and he said nothing else, he saw her reach a conclusion. The wrong conclusion, he decided as she sighed and asked him, "Do you want me to put my wig back on?"

"No." Good, no shouting as his instincts had been begging him to, he was feeling in control again, "I just-…" Well, telling the truth was the best course of action here, "I never saw hair like yours."

"Your hair is black." She pointed.

"It's different. I'm District and it's only because I'm a Victor that I have hair this healthy." If there was a thing he had spent frivolous money on was hair products; his body had recovered rather easily from the Community Home's treatment, but his hair had been dull, glossy with no prospects of improving. And yet, even after treatment and looking better than all the other Victors, it still didn't hold a candle to Bellatrix'.

"I see." As always when he mentioned the poverty of his District or indeed,when she saw it first-hand, there was a hint of something in her voice… Not pity, no, he'd know that anywhere, but a sort of understanding that shouldn't be there at all. Her Capitol upbringing would never include the desolation of the Districts, it couldn't. For this whole Hunger Games thing to work there needed to be complete separation of Capitol and Districts, just like there was a complete separation between Districts, even if that was to prevent a Rebellion.

"So…" Her voice, now back to her normal tone, pulled him out of his musing, "… What did you want?"

"I know a way we can keep some press on us." He meant to say on 'him', but apparently his subconscious was already making her part of Twelve, a dangerous idea that had never even crossed his mind with his previous escorts.

If she noticed his inclusion of her in his plan, she didn't mention it, "Go on."

"During the final interview, after Barty wins, come out with me."

Sharing the limelight was dangerous, and it would always be, and he was loathed to do so… But, she was a Black. If there was anyone that always called attention to the press it was having someone from the Sacred 12, even more so a Black who after 65 years still held the public's attention for their mysterious background during the Dark Days. To be able to keep the spotlight he'd have to share the spotlight. Terrific.

"But I'm not a mentor." She retorted. At least she was smart enough to be able to keep up with him.

"True," he admitted, "I thought of that. I'm the only mentor that does this alone, every other District has at least one female and one male mentor, Twelve doesn't."

"Hmmm…" she seemed to mull over it, "It is merely a PR strategy right, you know I can't really …"

"Of course, it's just PR." He cut her off, "I don't expect you to do anything else than what you've been doing. Not that there is much more to be done. You know-…"

"… That the clouds falling from the sky is more likely than Twelve winning." She cut him off, "I know. I know." She mulled a little more, but ultimately agreed with his plan, "It's not the worst plan I've heard tonight."

Tom snorted, "Antonin is an idiot."

"A drunken idiot."

Tom chuckled, "Yes, that." He cleared his throat, "I'll speak with the Head Gamemaker tomorrow, we need permission. But it shouldn't be a problem, he has been asking me to do something about Twelve's image for years. This ought to do it."

"Hmm," She mulled over it, "Talk with Gamemaker Rodrick Lestrange first. He's a good friend of the family, he'll help you if you mention me."

It should sting that she knew more people than him considering he had been doing this for years now, but as it was, it was a welcome relief to not be fighting alone against the tide anymore. He knew now that there was no sending her away; she was here to stay. He nodded at her again, and said, "I'll do it, first thing. Goodnight, Bellatrix."

He was about to turn when she called him back.

"Tom," he turned and watched lick her lips, "I know you don't do friends, but I do." His kept his face blank as she continued, "And my friends call me Bella."

He paused for a moment, pondering her offer; he could take it and break his every rule about 'friends' or he could insult her. He didn't have much of a choice really, he was starting to see that as unfortunate pattern. And yet, even if he had had a choice, he knew he'd make the same decision he was about to make.

"Goodnight, Bella."

The next day as he had said he had gone to Head Gamemaker Slughorn who had happily received him even if it was the first day of the Games, Rodrick had clearlysold him well to Horace. He spent maybe twenty minutes trying to convince the man and that had been enough. He and Bellatrix had a strategy then.

The next couple of days were quiet, people were hanging over Barty's performance and he loathed to admit but the boy was doing well, calm and steady; of course,that the boy lacked for nothing, he barely need to pantand water would descend from the heavens to help along. While the Games proved to be a disappointment – Penny had died in the bloodbath, and Charlie wasn't fairing much better but kept himself alive – he kept himself busy with trying to plan how to approach Barty when he won. He tried to maintain his distance, it wouldn't do to compete for the limelight next to the boy.

Of course, then there was Bellatrix. He kept looking at her, couldn't tear his eyes off her every time they were in a room together. After that night, the night he had seen her real hair, she was ingrained in his brain. He didn't really know why he was so enraptured by her hair, maybe it was because it was so normal… so Uncapitol. It made her real, unlike all the plastic people in the city. And while thinking about her was all fine and good – it wasn't, but he could deal – when he was alone, it was less appetizing when he was in the middle of an Appointment.

He looked down at the woman in front of him, laying on the bed on her hands and knees, rear up in the air trying to entice him to fuck her. He quickly positioned himself fully behind her and entered her with more force than was advisable, the moan the woman issued told him it was not entirely pleasant. And yet, he couldn't help but quicken his pace, eager to finish this whole thing, not really caring for the woman under him, every time she moved, and her pink-painted hair moved with her, he couldn't help but imagine Bellatrix' hair cascading against her milky white back.

He tried closing his eyes, but the image of ebony-black hair kept entering his mind. He couldn't shake her off, her eyes, her neck, her body, her hair, fuck, her godsdamned hair; nothing about her left his mind, it seemed like she was ingrained on him. Her smell peaked behind the clouds of pleasure, remembering feeling her so close. Her voice, low and silky, moaning softly torturing his ear. He sped to the finish, callous and uncaring. He finished, his head filled with the smell of Bellatrix's perfume, with the thought of his hand buried in ebony-black hair, and her breathy voice in his ear. Needless to say, that disappointment coursed through him when he opened his eyes and saw Leonor Roswell instead.

"Well, that was something." She noted lightly.

Yes, something completelyunlike him; he usually let himself enjoy the moment, let himself experience the feeling of being better than the Capitol under him, let himself enjoy hurting the Capitol, and yet, this time he was too distracted by his escort. He had been reckless; far too rough and uncaring for the woman's pleasure. Thankfully, he was sure he could get away with it, the underbelly gossip was that he was a bit of a bad boy; rough, but good. This woman was a first-time client, she'd probably think thatshe simplywasn't used to it.

"Next time, you'll like it better." It was arrogant to think she'd want him again, but experience told him he was right.

Leonor chuckled, "I liked it plenty, lovely." She got up from the bed and motioned to the adjacent room, "I'll go back to my room. Next time," her hand travelled the expanse of his chest, wet with sweat, "I'll pay for more time."

He managed a smirked at her, and she leaned up and kissed his lips. This was always the worst part, the kissing. He hated it; it felt too intimate, too personal. Still, he moved his lips mechanically against this woman who had paid a sizeable amount of money for him, and for the first time he felt… unsure, uncomfortable and grimy. After the woman said goodbye to him, he rushed to the bathroom. The urge to feel clean had permeated his brain from any other thoughts, and he spent an abusive amount of time under the hot water.

After making sure he was as clean as he could, that he had left no part of his body unclean he got out of the shower and put on some clothes while he called a limousine to take him back to the Training Centre. While he waited for the limo to arrive, he turned on the games to see how the boy was doing.

"Fuck." He whispered when he saw an actual fucking golden trident descend into the waiting hands of Barty Crouch. It was the most expensive gift in the history of the games. Ever.

Well, it was all over for everyone, now. There were ten kids left but Barty would fish them all out easily enough. Sometimes, the Capitol was about as subtle as a punch to the face. All the odds rested with Barty Crouch, clearly. Charlie Weasley had been too much like Newt but had held himself long enough to make it to the top 10. It was better than nothing, but Weasley was doubly fucked now. Good riddance, for all he cared.

He finished getting dressed and left the hotel, as he descended from the elevator and into the waiting limousine outside, he noticed the frenzy most Capitol citizens seemed to be in. The Games must be close to ending, it had been going on for a week now and most were anxiously awaiting Barty's crowing. Tom wasn't sure how the boy would handle the Appointments that would soon float his way, but he was about to be swamped in them; fourteen or not. He poured himself a drink as the driver cautiously drove back to the penthouse.

He got out of the limousine, already shrugging off his jacket as he entered the elevator. Bellatrix would be in the penthouse, already readying herself for whatever party she had to be at tonight. He wasn't looking forward to seeing her after having spent the whole of the afternoon thinking about her while he fucked his Appointment, so he steeled himself as the doors of the elevator dinged open. He stepped out of the elevator and he could have covered himself in steel and still not be able to process what was happening in front of him any better.

Laying on the couch of the penthouse's sitting room: Bellatrix, mouth open in ecstasy, moans lasciviously exiting over her lips, her limbs trembling in a shuddering mess and her hand moving frenzied under her black underwear. His cock responded to the picture the woman painted and rose painfully against his zipper, hot and swollen. She wasnearlyfully dressed, the only thing missing was her skirt and her heels, oh, and of course,her wig. Fuck, her hair was all loose and wavy and tangled and free and he never wanted to bury his hand in a woman's hair so achingly before. He was feeling a little dizzy. And she still hadn't noticed him, or had she?

He thought of her moaning his name, though he loathed whenever his affairs did that. In an almost ridiculously cliched way he wanted her to do it now, to hear her fuck herself with his name on her lips. Of course, she didn't, but she did shudder and cry out a wordless cry one last time. He leaned his hand against the walls and braced himself for when Bellatrix finally found him lurking behind her watching her come. Her breathless breathing filled out the room and for the first time he took his eyes from her and noticed the TV was on.

She had been fucking herself while the Games had been on. Muted, but still. He should hate that she uses the violence, the blood, thedeathof the Games as an aphrodisiac. It should disgust him. But it doesn't. Itdoesn't. Instead, it makes him impossibly hard. He shuddered as his cock rose to form a tighter tent at the front of his trousers. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Shouldn't you be with Roswell?" She asked when she finally noticed him, unashamed, her breasts heaving up and down with her laboured breath and Tom felt his trousers get tighter, the tent at the front rising even more. Something about this felt wrong, it felt a little too staged, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"… Finished." Is the only thing that escaped his mouth. He should be ashamed of his weakness, but Gods almighty, he's only a man.

"Hmm… Already? That was fast."

Well, fuck him if that didn't sound like a challenge.

He quickly walked the rest of the way to her and before she could move from the couch, he climbed on top of her using both his body weight and his hands on her arms to keep her from moving. Their bodies touched and brushed with that deliciously torturous electricity. He heard her whine when the tent in his pants brushed against her.

"What was that about fast?" He snarled at her, eyes taking in the blush and sheen layer of sweat to her face. When she didn't answer, he gave a little thrust, brushing a little more harshly against her. It was torture for him, being confined inside his pants when he wanted to be stacked inside of her. But it was worth it when her eyes glazed over as if entranced. Oh, he was good. Still, Bellatrix was never one to let him win without a fight.

She leaned up, her breasts brushing against his chest and he couldn't wait to get the damned blouse off her and feel them for himself. When Bellatrix then rolled against him, her stomach and her legs brushing against his cock, Tom cursed at her. She grabbed his hair and twisted his face so she could bite his jaw. He growled a mix of pain and pleasure and tried to do the same to her, the thought of his hands on her hair leaving him dizzy, but before he could she only pulled his hair harder. Her eyes – so grey they were now, barely white, darkened with desire – locked unto his and only did he look back with the same intensity did she open her mouth to speak.

"Since you left, I barely had time to work myself into an orgasm, the poor woman did not get her money's worth."

Fuck her. And Gods, did he ever want to. Still, he couldn't let that stand. The good thing is that he knew that she wanted him back just as bad. Woman had practically ravaged him once he was on top on her. He leaned forward and managed not to burry his hands in her hair just yet, but he did burry his face on her neck, his lips and teeth resting over her pulse, his tongue licked the sweat of her neck and 'shuddering' was too tame a word to describe Bellatrix' quaking body. He already had her writhing beneath him, and he hadn't even started.

"And yet, you still want me, Bella." He whispered against her throat and he felt her shudder again under him. He lifted his head expecting to see her hypnotized by him, he should have known better.

"What are you going to about it?" she asked, looking up at him, defiant. Of course, she was.

He snarled, his hands already undoing the zipper in his pants, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

"Promises, promises." Bellatrix teased but her voice was husky with desire, oh, she did want this as much as him.

Unable to hold back his desire anymore, he lowered his head to the side of her neck and laid bite after bite on her pale white skin, her head immediately turned offering him all the access he needed. There was no better way to shut her up than to keep her mouth busy. As it was, the moan that escaped from deep within her throat when he bit a particularlytender stop sent hot tendrils shooting across his veins and made all the blood in his body travel further south, setting his cock throbbing. As if sensing the torture he was going through while his cock was being pressed up harder and harder against his trousers, Bellatrix moved her hands to cup him and he thought he might comethen and there. Tom growled loudly when she released him from his confinement. Fuck, this was too much and yet not nearly enough.

Tom tore away from her neck to crush their lips together, their tongues immediately mixing and dancing in a dirty, lustful kiss. He tried pulling away from her so he could start undressing her, but Bellatrix chased his mouth and prolonged the kiss. With a deftness he probably should have been expecting, Bellatrix tore open his white shirt sending the buttons popping and falling in a 'clack' on the marble floors of the sitting room. Not one to get left behind Tom quickly ripped her blouse from her and setting her black bra aside he clinched her breast, his long elegant fingers twirling around a nipple. Bellatrix nails nicked his side in a mindless pleasure and their mouths sprung apart as a sinful moan escaped her lips.

In the throes of her pleasure she was bucking against him, making his cock twitch and throb harder without nothing surrounding it. He tried pulling away from her, again, to try to burry himself in her but she held him close, her hands buried in his hair and pulling him closer still. He thought she was about to kiss him again when instead she started sucking on the hard-drumming throbbing vein in his neck. He shuddered as she seemed to find a way toharness his own pulse against him, sucking on the rare lull between beats giving no relief to reconstitute himself.

His hands quite out of their own accord climbed from her breast to her hair, and he felt her buck and breathe tremulously as his fingers brushed against her scalp and gripped her hair tight enough that it had to hurt her. He had fantasied about this, and touching it now, and it was as silky as he imagined but it was heavy too, if he ran his hands too roughly over it it'd all tangle in impossible knots and Tom wanted nothing more than to pull her hair as his cock hit the back of her throat. As she whimpered beneath him, voicelessly begging him for his cock, he knew that that would have to wait.

One hand buried in her hair, the other started descending her body slowly, even as she still sucked his pulse and had her hands running over his back under is still adorned shirt, he gripped each bit of skin he passed. Grabbing harshly at her flesh, intentionally merely brushing her nipple and running down the naval of her stomach. When he reached the apex of her legs, her black lace underwear was soaked through, with a groan he pushed the soaked fabric down and ungracefully squirmed his own trousers off the rest of the way. He didn't bother looking at her; she was clearlyready for him, whirling under him and bucking against him. With one nimble move he buried himself to the hilt inside of her.

Her shout of pleasure was loud and harsh and she threw her head back as he thrusted inside of her for the first time. Tom echoed with a shout of his own, though muffled by his mouth being buried in her neck. With arduous and ardent movements he thrusted in and out of her, not even bothering trying to start slow; they had both been waiting for this for a year now, 'slow' was not in the cards. It felt dirty, filthy, downright sick, to fuck her, to thrust into her while children – their children, some would argue – died on screen. But it only made him go faster, the recap of the games going through every red play and every bloody death, made him speed up, fuck her harder into the sofa, made him rip her dress and tangle her black ebony hair into a mess of curls, knots, and pain.

"Fuck, yes."

Her voice rasped, broke and climbed with each thrust, whining as he gave her no pause to breathe. As the announcer was reaching the end of the recap, their thrusts became pitiless and rougher, he made a gesture to grab the head of the couch and ended up smashing his hand through the glass side table, bloodying his hand. Howling in a mix pain and pleasure, he moved faster; the couch moving along with his brutal thrusts destroying half the living room as she screamed beneath him. He didn't stop to look at her and doubted she wanted him to when her legs rose to his waist to trap him where he was.

He thought of nothing else, his mind deliciously numb, completely engulfed in the movement and in her; finally, finally feeling like himself again with a Capitol woman writhing under him. He sped up, making his thrusts rougher and harsher, making the most of the current deliciously mind-numbing act. He wasn't surprised that she was matching him brutal act by brutal act; everything he did, she returned two-fold; he bit her lips, and she carved her nails into his back; he knotted her hair, and she pulled his; he bit her neck, and she sucked painfully on his pulse.

He was close, the pain an added aphrodisiac he hadn't counted on enjoying himself. He was so close, and she was too. Fuck, he couldn't believe she was going to come like this, just by his cock dripping in and out of her cunt. He plunged in and out of her hard, effort painting his face red; his cock drawing out of her soaking cunt lecherous sounds that he relished; her nails screeched across his back no doubt leaving a bloody trail behind, making him euphoric, and then, another frenzied thrust, and he was emptying himself inside of her, her walls clenching around him as she too reached a screaming climax.

The silence lasted for a beat.

"Did… you plan… this?" He panted into her neck.

"A little bit." Bellatrix admitted, breathed heavily, too, and ran her hand through her sweaty forehead down to her lips, then to rest on his side, patting to get him out of her, "I didn't plan for you to nearly fuck me silly, though."

He should be furious that she had manipulated him, but then again, hadn't he been sending her signals for the past month? Hadn't he practically jumped in the restaurant and then her bedroom? Besides all the signals, he really needed to get her out of his system. What had she said then hit him, quickly and out of nowhere. She hadn't expected him to be good… Well, that's just insulting. He quickly got out from on top of her started buttoning his shirt until he realized it was useless, there were as many buttons on the floor as there were on his shirt.

"For someone with so little faith in my abilities you sure jumped me prettyquick."

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're offended?" Bellatrix laughed, as she watched him dress, "But I doadmit, there was a lot of hoping and thrusting that you could find your way around a woman."

He glared at her and shook his head when he saw her grinning at him, still mostly naked and with a sheen layer of sweat covering her skin. Instead of focusing on her, he raised his eyebrow at the horrendous pun.

"That was terrible. I'm disappointed." He said as he pulled up his pants.

"You did it first!"

"Did not." He had; during their first meeting but wasn't about to let her win this.

"Oh Gods, you sound like a child." She said as she got up and started walking towards her bedroom, "'Did not'" she imitates him rather poorly.

Well, he couldn't let that stand, could he? With a shrug of his shoulders, he went after her and followed her into her bedroom and then into the bathroom. He watched as she started stripping off the rest of her clothes.

"You started it." He mumbled watching intently as she revealed the rest of her body. When his mouth watered at the sight of undoing her corset and her ruined stockings out of her gather belt, he realized that he may not have gotten her completely out of his system. He needed to have her again.

"Really?! How old are-," then she turned, saw him staring at her and her words died in her throat. With a gulp she pressed the button for hot water and entered the shower, her eyes never leaving his. At a call of her finger he undid his clothes and stepped right in with her.

The Games had gone on for another two days, and after that first time, it seemed like they were making up for all the wasted time during the past month. They had barely left the penthouse even when their last Tribute had – predictably – died with a trident imbedded in his throat. Two days later, while Barty was finishing offhis last opponent and he and Bellatrix were busy exploring just how cold the veranda outside their sitting room was, the phone rang, scheduling the interview they had agreed would be the one where he and Bellatrix would appear together.

Any other year and the rumour mill in the city would vibrate with how much time he and Bellatrix were spending locked up in the penthouse, as it was, there was a bit of chatter but they mostly ignored it in favour of the new Golden boy. Still, the rumours would do them good publicity and it would create some needed anticipation for the interview. They got ready, the interview for the losing teams usually took place right after the Tribute won, so they had little time to prepare, as it was, they would still be the last if only because Twelve really was that unlucky.

They got to the studio in time to hear District One's mentors – Augusts Rookwood and Dilma McLaggen – talk about his Tribute. They entered Twelve's prep area to the frenzy of the surrounding team, they were talking about how good Barty had been, how handsome he was, how polite, how smart, how strong, how clever, how utterly perfect... As usual, it sent his blood boiling, it made him furious and tense and he certainly couldn't go out there and make a fool of himself while a new Golden Boy took over the Capitol's attention. So, he had fucked Bellatrix against the door of their dressing room as their stylist yelled for them. That had to make up for something, probably.

They had got ready just in the nick of time for his name to be called to go up to the stage. Despite Barty Mania, he was a well-liked Victor, known for being a bit of a bad boy and a charmer through the whole Capitol circles. So, it wasn't exactly surprising that the crowd roared when he entered the stage; it was a little less enthusiastically than usual but he could deal with it; he was about to drop Bellatrix on them.

"Rita," he started the interview, because damn it, he was Tom Riddle, Quarter Quell Victor, "despite enjoying your company," a bald-faced lie, "I always feel so alone on this side of the stage." He smirked as he heard the crowd laugh along with his self-deprecating joke, "So I'd like to invite my newest partner in crime, a little bit of the reason we got so far this year, but just a little bit, "more laughter at his conspiratorial tone, "my newest escort that is due her own introduction to the game; Bellatrix Black."

Tom could tell that Rita was furious with him for having high-jacked her show but he couldn't give a damn when the minute he met Bellatrix in the middle of the stage and kiss her hand for all of Panem to see, the crowd seemed to roar as loud as they had done for Barty. It was working… Just as he thought it would. As he had predictedas well, the crowd went mad for the both of them and even after they sat comfortably on the couch the crowd was still clapping.

Perfect.

Rita, who was torn between fuming and seizing the entertainment marvel that was given to her on a silver platter, tried to reign in the crowd. Tom was careful not to look too smug, but a little smirk certainly wouldn't go amiss, Bellatrix was showing a little smile, too. When Rita finally controlled the crowd, she turned to Bellatrix.

"Well, well, Bellatrix. Quite the introduction."

The laugh coming out of Bellatrix couldn't be more fake, but he was sure only he could tell.

"Indeed." Bellatrix smiled and turned to him, her hand casually brushing his arm, "He is very good to me."

The crowd went off again, 'ooh's and 'aww's filling the studio. Rita barely managed to get control of the crowd again, but went on asking about their partnership, how it had started and how it seemed to work. Tom wasn't exactly surprised when the crowd hang to their every word, unlike every other year where even with his considerable talent he barely held the attention of the crowd who had sat for eleven other interviews. With this one they were sold for next year, and with luck, the next couple years. Just as the interview was ending, Rita returned to Bellatrix.

"Is it true that you, Bellatrix, along with Tom and the Victors from Eleven went out on a dinner the night of the interview?"

Well, that was innocuous enough, but Tom could feel the trap coming as could Bellatrix no doubt.

Bellatrix cleared her throat, "Well, yes, there was talk about a potential alliance. We were all a little wired after the interviews and didn't want to go home, so we proposed a dinner."

Rita leaned back in her chair, "Is it also true that you sent Eleven an expensive bottle of whiskey?"

"Wine," Bellatrix corrected falsely with a smirk, leaning backas well, "You need toreallycheck your sources better, Rita."

Brilliant. The woman was bloody brilliant. He thought as the crowd laughed at her quip. Whatever Rita drudged up from the confines of her soulless being would be in question. He knew if needed, both Amelia and Antonin would lie for them.

And Rita seemed to know it too seeing as he watched her green eyes narrow in distaste at Bellatrix; it was always to be expected, it surprised him to note, for Bellatrix and her family to be a target of defamation and jealousy. Many had tried knocking the powerful family off their pedestal, but they never quite dethroned them. Tom watched Rita try to set them up for something, but after Bellatrix's intervention there was nothing she could say now that would sound true.

"You seemed to reallyclick." Rita managed through gritted teeth.

Ah, she had been about to try to make them reveal their… affair… just as she had done with Charity. Too bad for her that both he and Bellatrix were smarter than that.

It was Tom that answered, "Yes. A fortunate partnership."

The crowd ooh'd and aww'd at them again, and Bellatrix shook her head laughing – a fake laugh, but very convincing – aware that this type ofpublicity was godssent considering the current mania that was sweeping the Capitol. Neither wanted to be parted from the limelight.

When the next week, after the Coronation, Tom was boarding the train back to Twelve, he did so serenely. They didn't try tolie to each other with meaningless lies of 'one-time-thing' and 'one-night-stand'. It worked, this worked. She'd have someone to take the edge off the stress and he, well, he'd have a Capitol ready and willing for him whenever he wanted to relieve some stress, and a way to stay in the spotlight if the media kept the interest in them.

Besides, it was as Rita said; theyclicked, and their chemistry was off the charts.

The Capitol would eat it up.