September 23, 1968
Inverlochy, Scottish Highlands
8 a.m.
Tom Riddle sat in his study, sipping a mug of black coffee while gazing at the morning edition of the Prophet. The front page featured the recent spate of attacks against the Aurors. According to the journalist, there had been only the briefest of formal investigations conducted by the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement, which failed to turn up a single lead. He had not instructed his Death Eaters, Mulciber and Macnair, to put the Dark Mark in the sky above the Aurors' homes— for one thing, not claiming the attacks would foment greater internal destabilization within the Ministry by making the Minister appear incompetent and creating an opening to eventually launch his own Imperiused candidate into office—and secondly, he needed more time, possibly a year or two, to strengthen his position before waging open war.
Putting the newspaper aside, his mind returned to the young witch who had fallen asleep in his bed last night. He was a bloody fool for being so damned lenient with the girl. Something about her tiny waist and delicate limbs seemed to demand being clasped by his fingertips, and the contrast of her soft ivory skin with her dark curls rendered his ordinarily well-composed mind into a torrent of confusing thoughts. Bellatrix was the veritable incarnation of his aesthetic ideal of feminine beauty, and the combination of her features played upon his senses to the point of madness. He would not tolerate her instilling such weakness within himself.
If her body wasn't maddening enough, he next remembered the casual tone in which she raised her suspicions about his blood status. As if his parentage was something that she would ever be entitled to know. She had called him by his hated muggle father's name, and he had let her do so with little pushback, simply because he was so distracted by his desire.
He sensed a stirring upstairs, and soon enough he heard Bellatrix's footfalls on the wooden flooring as she found her way into his study.
"Good morning, sir."
"Come here."
She walked nervously toward the desk where he sat, his expression stoical. He yanked a fistful of her dark curls so hard that her head tilted back toward the ceiling, causing her complexion to redden.
"Ow! You're hurting me!" Bellatrix yelped.
"What's the matter, little girl? Too rough? I recall myself doing worse things to you in those fantasies I saw. Besides, I think your conduct is in need of reform."
"But last night you said-"
"I changed my mind, and you are not permitted to question my judgment. Is that clear?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Legilimens!" Voldemort was powerful enough that he did not need to verbally incant the spell, but he hurled it for effect, searching for the most shame-filled memories.
Bellatrix was four or five years old, and had knocked over a bottle of Impossibly Unstick-able Adhesive Solution onto an antique chaise that had belonged to Phineas Nigellus Black. "Impish little brat! I should have gotten rid of you with a potion when you were still in your mother's womb!" Cygnus Black hurled at her. She bawled as he proceeded to whack her several times on her bare buttocks with the same rod that the Blacks used to beat their house-elves.
She was now eleven years old, and a group of boys were placing bets on who could be the first one to spit a wad of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum in her hair. Stephen Bulstrode shot a sticky clump right at the back of her head; she spun around and sent a bat-bogey hex flying at him that immediately caused large bats to spill forth from his nose. "Bellatrix Black! Report to Headmaster Dippet's office at once!" piped tiny Filius Flitwick above the jeers of her fellow students.
It was the start of term, the memory less than two weeks old. "No one would court Bellatrix Black if it wasn't for the Black fortune. Her hair is a rat's nest. It would take the strongest beautification potion in the world to make her pretty enough even for Lestrange to take to bed," Laetitia Culpepper, gossiped to her friend Begonia Abbott about their mutual rival.
"They only think about the galleons when they look at her," Begonia agreed.
Bellatrix had been coming up from behind the pair in the corridor, and unbeknownst to them, she could hear every word. These were the jealous remarks of two rather mousy girls, Bellatrix knew. But what if they contained some hint of the truth? She buried the impulse to hex them, already facing six weeks of detention for using an entrails-expelling curse on a Gryffindor boy who'd called her a bitch. Laetitia and Begonia thought that Rodolphus didn't even want her for any reason that wasn't opportunistic, and if that was true, Professor Riddle wouldn't, either. He'd probably had countless dozens of prettier witches.
"Not so confident now, hm? And you're right, I've had dozens of witches who look better than you," Riddle said.
"B-but why? Why do this to me? You told me I was pretty," she stammered.
Bellatrix had no idea how to explain the radical shift in his behaviour towards her. Had he taken some sort of potion? Drugs? Or was he always so volatile?
His cruel and piercing laugh filled the study as he sprang up to his full height.
"Poor, poor Bellatrix. I could insult and despoil you, and you'd still follow me around like a lost little kitten" he said, then murmured, "Evanesco."
The black lace knickers she wore vanished into thin air.
"Bend over my desk, Bella."
Bellatrix positioned herself with her arse pointing up in the air and her arms stretched out flat in front of her on the desk. She felt equal parts ashamed and the most aroused she had ever been in her life. His right hand made painful contact, leaving behind a searing white handprint. He repeated the action five or six more times until she was whimpering. He took his yew wand from his pocket and dragged it across the tops of her thighs, barely skimming the surface of her flesh, then with no warning fired a number of stinging hexes, which would certainly leave behind bruises. She made noises that conveyed the rapturous pleasure that he was bringing to her.
"Just as I thought. Only a whore makes sounds like that, Bella. I don't think I shall be inducting you into the ranks of my Death Eaters. This is the most appropriate form for your service to take."
She felt her eyes moisten. She'd believed him when he'd promised to make her a Death Eater before she fell asleep. Or had she merely dreamed it?
"I don't believe you! You could've just hired some Knockturn Alley prostitute if that's all you wanted!" she shouted defiantly, summoning every fibre of courage she possessed.
His face turned as white as a sheet, and his blue-grey irises grew cloudy and bloodshot, then seared red for a split second. It was as if the very last thing in the world that he had expected was for Bellatrix to talk back to him. It immediately caused bile to rise up in his throat.
"Did you think that I, Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard who has ever lived, would bring you back here for a little sleepover and whisper all kinds of saccharine promises into year ear about being my finest Death Eater and actually mean them?" he snarled.
"Not at all, my Lord," Bellatrix whispered. His words had the intended effect of making her feel powerless.
"No? But you wished that I would all the same, didn't you? You forget that I can see everything in your mind, and even among all the images of me inflicting pain on you, there is still a word in your mind, love. You dream of making me fall in love with you, do you?" he demanded.
"I would never expect for you to love me back," she mewled.
"Don't you realize what you do to me? You're a dangerous little girl—your beauty, your wickedness, and your desire to learn every scrap of ancient Dark magic that you can get your hands on—it makes me need to possess you, to make you fully mine in a way that terrifies me."
He was horrified that these private thoughts had come tumbling out of him, but somehow, against his better judgment, he continued speaking.
"In my decades of living, I've never bothered forming any relationship with a witch that was about more than sating a carnal desire. I don't think you realize, Bellatrix, how disastrous this need could be for a wizard like me, with the plans that I have."
"I promise I wouldn't get in your way. You told me yourself what that Seer prophesied. I would only help to further your plans."
"Maybe so, but Dumbledore still runs the school, and is one of the greatest living Legilimens. He'd love to discover I was acting improperly with a student, using that as a pretense to poke around in my other activities."
"My Lord, if anyone could block out Dumbledore, it is you. Please trust your own powerful magic and intuition, and let me prove myself worthy of your service by attacking our enemies on Halloween."
The girl pleaded her case well, he would give her that. And the idea of having a servant within Hogwarts when he needed to relieve some stress did have a certain appeal. Although, it had always been easy enough for him to seduce witches. His good looks had been the only useful thing that he inherited from his filthy muggle father. He'd learned to exploit this to his own gain at Borgin and Burkes, closing many a sale with his charming boyish grin. In more recent years, he had worked hard to mitigate the worst physical side effects of his Horcruxes with some inventive potioneering, so that only eyes looked like he had a mild case of muggle hay fever. The sharpening of his cheekbones and exaggeration of his paleness only enhanced the overall impression he gave in appearing as a sort of Byronic hero.
Out of all the original Knights from his school days, only Abraxas Malfoy could possibly lay claim to the distinction of bedding more witches than Tom. He'd been married and divorced twice over and had at least a couple illegitimate offspring. It was Abraxas' lot in life to never work and to have all the time in the world for leisure. He had inherited the ancestral Malfoy manor and a position on the Wizengamot that only required that he sit in the chamber once per year. Unlike Abraxas, Tom didn't need witches; he was alone for years, sustained by his own ambition and work ethic. It would merely be nice to have Bellatrix, but he could get by without her, he attempted to convince himself.
But then there had been a couple occasions where he'd accidentally taken things too far and needed to erase a witch's memory, which was never foolproof. Especially among the pureblood witches, who were an insular social circle. Perhaps Bellatrix was a sound choice; she could be trusted not to gossip, given her innate desire to please him. If he dangled the reward of becoming a Death Eater in front of her, she surely wouldn't do anything to risk his exposure.
Then there was the prophecy which he had tried to view as a suggestion rather than an instruction, and he had never put much stock in the art of divination. Still, if anyone had the gift, it was the elderly Albanian Seer. And nobody else fit the description as well as Bellatrix.
"On second thought, if you distinguish yourself with your little plan, then perhaps you shall take the Mark after all, Bella."
"Thank you, oh, thank you! I won't disappoint you, my Lord."
She dropped to her knees. Tears of relief now replaced those that she had shed from shame only minutes ago. She lifted her wand and cast an anti-redness charm on her face to get rid of the blotchiness.
"Put the rest of your clothes back on. I don't have all day to play with you. I'll walk you to the Apparation Point, at which time you will travel Side-Along with me to Hogsmeade. You can return to the castle alone from there. And get back into the habit of calling me Professor or sir."
"Um…Professor?"
"What is it, Bella?"
"You vanished my underwear."
"Yes, I did. To remind you that as a witch, you should think twice before speaking out of turn to a wizard who is your superior in age and wisdom."
"Yes, sir."
Bellatrix inwardly bristled against his sexist words, then tried to reconcile her independent spirit with his demand for her submission. She suspected that she would probably be trying to reconcile the two for as long as she had any kind of relationship whatsoever with Tom Riddle.
Bellatrix returned to the castle that day without encountering anyone she knew, which was not unsurprising given it was still too early for the shops to be open. She quietly made her way through the Viaduct Entrance to the castle, and from there to the Dungeons corridor, and finally entered the hidden portal to the Slytherin Common Room.
At the door to her dormitory, she could make out a faint conversation taking place between Lucy and Acantha on the other side. Under her breath, she muttered "Sonorus," and listened to their amplified voices.
"Does Bella actually have an aunt staying in Hogsmeade?" Lucy asked.
"I suppose we could ask Evan, but then he might tell her that we asked him, and she'd probably not share anything with us in future," Acantha mused.
"Maybe she has a secret boyfriend?" continued Lucy, undeterred.
"Hmm. Not likely. She told me she might accept Rodolphus as her date to the Ball after they talked at her party."
"But what if he's not a student? You know, there's bars in Hogsmeade where she could've met someone. Or she could've met someone over the summer."
"No, that's not possible. How could it be, when every time the topic of dating comes up, she goes into her 'no one is as perfect as Professor Riddle' speech?"
"I suppose you're right. It was a silly thought," Lucy conceded. "Well, we should probably get going to the Great Hall. The elves should have a good spread for breakfast, then it's Transfiguration and Runes."
September 24, 1968.
Professor Riddle's demeanour in class on Tuesday was as imperturbable as ever. He returned Bellatrix's essay on the dangers of blood rituals and had given it top marks, but he had added marginal notes here and there to provide additional details that she hadn't been able to come by in her research.
His comment on her paragraph about the inadvisability of magically-binding blood contracts read: "titration of a combined blood sample yields multiplied coagulation factors which can result in the death of one or more signatories;" while on her description of the dangers of performing a blood ritual between lovers, he added, "The first known ritual drinking of the blood before the carnal union was documented by the ancient Chaldeans. The idea that the younger the participant from which blood is drawn, the more powerful the vitalizing effect upon the drinker, is observed throughout the ancient magical world."
Bellatrix let out a small, barely-audible gasp when she read the words "carnal union" scribbled in his handwriting. She was pleased at the idea of Professor Riddle, who had only yesterday tried to humiliate her before confessing that he experienced an agonizing need to make her "his," spending time annotating her essay in this way.
As Professor Riddle returned the rest of the essays, a pair of students at the back of the classroom were giggling.
"Is something particularly funny, Miss Culpepper?"
"No, sir."
"If you do not wish for me to read aloud these notes you've passed to Miss Abbott, undoubtedly about some triviality unrelated to our present studies, then I suggest you immediately dispose of them."
Professor Riddle lifted his wand and cast a silencing charm on Laetitia, who had tried to form a response, only to find her mouth frozen in an 'O.'
Bellatrix smirked at her classmates who had been talking behind her back only last week. Part of her hoped that viewing her memory had influenced his present disciplinary action.
"We will now begin work on casting non-verbal spells. As you may know if you did the reading, non-verbal spell work requires an unbroken focus. It is not enough to just say the incantation in your head. You must augment your effort with a doubling of intention and a precision of wand movement. Now, I will be assigning pairs based on previous displays of duelling ability so that you are evenly matched."
A hand shot up.
"What is it, Mulciber?"
Of all his lackeys' sons, ranked by their potential to actually be of service to him, Murray Mulciber was at the bottom. Nott and Avery showed middling levels of potential, and Lestrange's son was somewhere on top, if by a hair.
"Sir, I was wondering if it is possible to cast a non-verbal Unforgivable. Speaking theoretically."
There were groans from the few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in the class. Fabian Prewett, older brother of Gideon, who also counted himself among Dumbledore's favourites, and whom Bellatrix was eager to spar with next, looked ready to pounce on Mulciber for even raising the notion of theoretical use of an Unforgivable Curse.
"I highly doubt you will reach a level of proficiency to have to worry about such a matter while under my tutelage, Mulciber."
Mulciber looked as if he had been gravely wounded. It was a delicate balancing act to not show excessive favouritism toward students from his own House, and Professor Riddle tried to avoid directly endorsing any views that he couldn't defend in front of Dumbledore in class. Outside of class, in private conversation with the boy, he could be a little less tight-lipped, though certainly careful.
Fabian looked rather pleased that Mulciber had been snubbed, although he remained troubled by Professor Riddle's refusal to condemn the use of Unforgivables.
"Rosier and Miss Black will duel each other; Avery will face Nott; Bulstrode and Macmillan; Culpepper and Selwyn; Fawley and Abbot; Prewett and Lestrange; Mulciber and Wilkes. That should be everyone. I will be walking around to observe, but otherwise do carry on as if I am not here."
Nobody could ever pretend that Professor Riddle wasn't in the room, for his presence was nothing if not unnerving.
Evan and Bellatrix had duelled one another previously, meaning that she was well-prepared to block his signature curses and hexes. She had enough time to recover between each exchange of spells so that she could simultaneously watch Fabian duel Rodolphus. The Gryffindor was proving to be a formidable opponent to her friend, and she saw as the former dealt Rodolphus a nasty silent stinging hex, causing his knees to buckle in pain.
Ordinarily, Bellatrix did not feel much empathy on behalf of others. What others would call a defect of character, she saw as integral to her training to become a Dark witch; nevertheless, in that moment, she felt a twinge of sympathy for Rodolphus which very nearly caused her to abandon the duel with Evan to assist him to his feet. She turned around just in time to deflect the curse from Evan's wand that had been destined for her.
"I suggest keeping your eyes away from your boyfriend. I wouldn't want to watch someone I was dating lose a duel to Prewett," Evan said.
"He's not my boyfriend!" Bellatrix snapped.
"Maybe not, but he's told the entire Quidditch team that you're his date to the Ball. Said he's already asked his dad to draw up papers for a betrothal," Evan replied, unfurling a jet of gold light from his wand.
"Oh, he has, has he? Just as I was warming up to him. Bastard."
Bellatrix then stopped Evan's spell with a silent shield charm.
"Hey, he's the best beater Slytherin has had in a generation, and Lestrange Manor has lots of rare French manuscripts in its library. You could probably live in there and have the house-elf cook and clean for Rod," he joked.
Evan was by now very familiar with the opinions that Bellatrix held about pureblood housewives who "pushed out babies and let their brains dissolve into mush."
"And will the house-elf perform other wifely duties?"
Evan laughed heartily, blocking a leg-binding curse as if it was nothing.
"Has he bribed you to say all this? Has my father bribed you? He'd love a signed betrothal before the end of the year," Bellatrix pointed out.
"No, I'm saying it as a friend to you both."
"I'll be unmarried living in Black Manor, assuming that Sirius gets himself burnt off the tapestry and I inherit the property, before I voluntarily become Madame Lestrange."
"Black. Rosier. I hear far too much chatting for a non-verbal duel," Professor Riddle said sternly, appearing behind them.
"Sorry, sir," Evan offered apologetically.
"Yes, I'm sorry, too," Bellatrix added while nervously shuffling her feet. It seemed like all she did was apologize to him these days.
"No matter. Class ends soon and I watched most of your duel. 25 points to Slytherin each for your exemplary display of skill."
Evan looked confused, but Bellatrix thought she detected a look of remorse in Professor Riddle's eyes that was intended for her alone. She fervently hoped this meant that he was coming around to seeing things from her point of view, and that he could allow himself permission to get closer to her. Before dismissing her, he passed her a short letter in vanishing ink.
Bella,
Come to my private quarters at 6:30. The entrance to my suite is located behind the portrait of Merlin. I have a staff meeting to attend at 6 but will leave as early as I possibly can. Be discreet and cast a disillusionment charm on yourself.
-L.V.
Hogwarts Staff Room
6 p.m.
"Tom, how are you my dear boy?" Horace Slughorn asked jovially, patting his Slug Club alumnus on the back. "I feel like I've hardly seen you since the last of these meetings."
"Oh, I'm quite well, apart from an atrocious batch of third year essays on boggarts. My N.E.W.T. class are still struggling with non-verbal spells, with a few exceptions. They rarely finish the assigned readings. I can't help but lament the decline of rigour in the magical academy."
"Ah, you need something to lighten the mood, and take the weight off, my boy. Here, I have just the thing." Slughorn rummaged in his briefcase that had been modified with an expandable charm, and pulled out a small purple pouch. Probably goblin-rolled cigars, Tom thought.
"Not a word to the others, Tom. This is between you and me."
"You know that I value being held in your confidence, Horace."
"Now we just have to sort out a wife for you. I know just the witch- Emma Winnicott, 29, was in Ravenclaw, now works as a Curse-Breaker. Descended from good magical stock, some relation to the Fawleys. Didn't have much of a hand for potions as I recall, but excelled at Arithmancy."
Finding a wife for Tom was Slughorn's latest project. Tom knew that 29 was practically ancient in pureblood society which still followed the custom of marrying their daughters immediately after Hogwarts, and so Emma was probably a half-blood at best. He merely nodded, trying to feign interest. He was, for once, thankful when Dumbledore began to speak.
"Good evening to you all. Our first matter of business is assigning chaperone duties for the Halloween Ball. The Ball will begin a half-hour after the Halloween Feast is cleared, in order to permit the elves enough time to assist the movement of decorations and other effects into the ballroom. Since chaperoning teenagers is usually not one's first choice of ways to spend an evening, we usually assign these based on least seniority. Tom, as our newest hire, you will be tasked with chaperoning the first half of the dance. Minerva, you will chaperone the second half."
Tom Riddle sent daggers at Dumbledore, but the old man only smiled kindly.
"Next, we need to address the matter of career preparedness. We find that some of our students graduate with exceptional N.E.W.T. scores, but are unable to retain employment, as they lack the career-specific training that employers desire. We have previously partnered with organizations like Gringotts for students working toward an Arithmancy specialization and St. Mungo's for students interested in Potions and Herbology. But I was hoping to solicit ideas from you all on ways we could improve going forward."
"I would like to introduce a motion that I suggest be called the Care of Magical Creatures Fieldwork Initiative. I have arranged through my contacts in industry for interns to work with the dragon breeding program," Silvanus Kettleburn said.
"A splendid plan, Silvanus!"
Professor Riddle cleared his throat.
"Perhaps, for students whose interests lie in the more theoretical domains of magic, setting up a research assistantship where they would spend a few hours working alongside a member of staff each week, would help them gain a foothold in the world of magical scholarship and publishing," Professor Riddle suggested.
The idea had occurred to Tom that he might try to set up at least the appearance of such an assistantship for Bellatrix, so that she would have a reason to spend time with him alone in his office, outside of their two hour-long Defence classes each week. He could always find some mundane task for her to complete, even if it was just editing an article or two on vampirism that he had claimed to be writing for Studies in Contemporary Magical Culture.
"Why, Tom, that is an excellent idea! I'm very pleased that you see the value in mentorship- I assume you would vote in favour of implementing your own proposal?"
"Certainly, I have an academically gifted pupil who would be just thrilled" Tom replied while concentrating his magical ability on maintaining his Occlumency shields.
"Well then, I think we should bring these measures to a vote. First, all in favour of implementing the Care of Magical Creatures Fieldwork Initiative, say 'Aye.'"
There was unanimous support.
Tom's research assistantship proposal was next put to a vote. The vote was tied, as there were some who felt that a more formalized plan should be discussed at the next meeting; however, many of the professors felt that it was a simple enough concept, and that they, too, had exceptional students who would benefit from training for an academic career in Transfiguration, History of Magic, Astronomy, or Ancient Runes. Dumbledore at last broke the tie with a vote in favour of the proposal, and Tom felt pleased that he had managed to deceive the older wizard who was his greatest adversary.
As the meeting concluded, Tom quickly rose from his seat before he could be roped into a conversation with Slughorn on the virtues of having a wife, or some other topic.
Nothing would keep him away from his youngest servant now. He was feeling less angry about her earlier defiance, as he was sure he would be able to tame her, and she had made a good case for her own value to him. As he strolled toward the Dungeons with a spring in his step, a group of third-year students looked on, visibly confused to see their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor happy, wondering if some kind of portal to an alternate universe had opened up in the castle.
I hope I've managed to write Tom's several Bellatrix-related mood swings convincingly. The way I see it is that he's just not used to losing control of his emotions, hence his denial, bargaining, anger, and acceptance. He will be a little bit nicer to her now, though of course we are still dealing with Tom Riddle. Next chapter will be the long-awaited lemon.