A longer update this time. Tom and Bella's secrets are not so secret any more. Lemon begins after the second horizontal line.
October 11, 1968
Andromeda whirled her body around, extending her wand arm in preparation to attack. The hand that had just brushed over her shoulder belonged to the towering figure of Rodolphus Lestrange, as imposing and unflinching as if he had been a carved waxwork. She had been walking through the deserted corridor on her way back to the Dungeons after catching up with a group of friends in Gryffindor Tower; there was less than one hour before curfew and the eerie silence that pervaded the halls had made her jumpier than usual.
"Oh! So sorry, Andromeda. I thought you were your sister," Rodolphus said, giving her a sheepish look.
"Don't worry, it's not the first time someone has made that mistake," she replied.
"Still, I didn't mean to startle you," he said sincerely. "Do you happen to know where Bella is?"
"I don't. I'd have thought you and your Death Eater pals kept tabs on each other," she spat, not trying to conceal her animosity now. Her expression stiffened as she remembered the gang of upper-year Slytherins from her sister's birthday party. Rodolphus was one of the more zealous in his defense of blood purity, and she recalled his rude interruption of her conversation that night when he echoed back Bella's own bigoted views.
"Erm… Bella hasn't been confiding in me lately," he said, his face flushing with embarrassment, as he continued, "She's known of my intentions to formally court her for some time, and had shown interest in the idea up until recently. Now I can't get her to talk to me for longer than five minutes."
"I don't see how that is my problem, Lestrange," Andromeda said, attempting to barrel her way through the corridor.
"No, wait! Please. Something isn't right with Bella," Rodolphus said, edging towards the younger witch and making an effort to obstruct her movement. Though she was few inches taller than Bellatrix, she was still no match for his enormous stature.
"What do you mean?" Her heart rate sped up, not liking how agitated he appeared in the least.
"I mean that she's been acting differently. She never used to care that I didn't know how to read runes, or that I confuse Harpo the Foul with Emeric the Evil. Suddenly I'm not good enough for her, and every word that comes out of her mouth feels like it's meant to either trick me or insult me. She thinks she can play me for a fool, but I won't stand for it."
Andromeda took in this unexpected information, deliberating silently for a moment. "Tell me, Lestrange, did you see my sister last week when she looked like a Witch Weekly cover model?"
"Like what?" He was looking at Andie as if she had just grown three heads like Cerberus.
"You know, she had on that face-filter charm and the dark eyeshadow," Andie clarified, "I met her in the Common Room on the way to dinner, and she said she was going all out just to impress you."
"No way. I never saw her then. I always thought she wasn't into that sort of thing."
"She isn't. I found it rather…odd. And last week, Lucy Greengrass told me she was sorry to hear about my great-aunt Rosier. Apparently, Bella stayed out all night in Hogsmeade and told Lucy she was visiting our dying auntie. Ophelie Rosier has never even been outside of France."
"Why would she lie? You don't think she was meeting up with some bloke, do you?" he asked with genuine worry in his voice.
"Bella has never wanted the approval of any man that I know of, except for one."
Rodolphus stared at her inscrutably as his mind worked to make the connection. "No way. Just…no. It can't be that. How dare you accuse your sister of that, Andromeda?"
"I'm not accusing her without reason. Do you really know my sister? She's been in love with Riddle since before he came to Hogwarts. She met him at a dinner at my uncle Orion's and aunt Wallie's, and it's been a full-blown obsession for her ever since. Creepy if you ask me."
"Well, of course I've always known that she's…passionate. Obsession can take many forms. It doesn't have to mean what you're implying," Rodolphus said, as if trying to convince himself.
"I'm willing to bet that Bella has been sneaking around with You-know-Who. Bring me definitive proof, and one bottle of Felix Felicis is all yours. Save it for Quidditch Finals. Drink it and propose to my sister. I really don't care what you decide to do with it."
Andromeda had chanced upon the expensive, controlled substance in her father's study and stealthily expropriated it. Cygnus would never notice one missing vial out of hundreds cluttering the curio cabinets in his home office that had been collecting dust for years. Being in Slytherin House, there was always a favour to be won or trade to make, and having such items on hand was exceedingly useful.
"You're trying to bribe me to spy on your sister?" He leaned in closer then and whispered, conscious of the portraits hanging on the wall, "And Riddle? Merlin's beard. You really do belong in Slytherin."
"Bella brags that the Sorting Hat barely touched her head. It might've taken a little longer for me, but I was no hat-stall," she retorted, pleased that at least someone recognized her Slytherin bonafides.
"Look, you have got to tread carefully. My father has told me about those who've crossed him. They go missing and the Aurors only ever find…parts."
"Sounds like you're afraid of him. But yet you're so eager to be inducted into his gang of thugs."
"I do believe that he has the right ideas. And there was never a question of me not being loyal to him. The Dark Lord wants entire families, entire lineages to be loyal to him from birth. That's what my dad reckons" he said, still speaking in a hushed tone.
"But you aren't your father. Don't you see? You can be your own person."
"I don't think you know me well enough after this five minute interaction, Andromeda Black, to decide what kind of person I am," he scoffed.
"Perhaps. But will you help me?" she asked.
"No. Would knowing the truth change anything? Your sister wants to serve him. I want to serve him. That's why, despite everything, I think we'd still be a good match."
"Merlin and Morgana. If you'd still marry my sister, then you two deserve each other."
"You're too young to understand certain things. I wasn't going to say this, but… my dad sometimes hosts parties at Lestrange Manor. There's always beautiful pureblood witches hanging around him. His followers…offer their daughters to him sometimes, to gain favour. I doubt with all those options, he would...well, you know."
Andromeda rolled her eyes, not surprised in the least. She had not been insulated from the seedier aspects of pureblood society, which was in her mind a noxious pool of chauvinism and misogyny. Cygnus Black had never exactly tried to keep his indiscretions hidden from his family.
"Well, what about that new research assistant program? I've heard some girls are very jealous that Bella is his assistant. Assisting him with what, that's what I'd like to know."
"You've got OWLs to worry about, haven't you?"
"Rodolphus Lestrange reminding me to study for OWLs. Well this truly is a day I never thought would come."
"Hey, knock it off. I got a decent number of OWLs. You're acting like Bella." His chest puffed out at her as though he needed to compensate for only getting three OWLs.
"What do you expect? We are sisters."
"That's what started this whole mess. I saw the back of your head, thought you were Bella, and now I'm forced to imagine her and Riddle in bed together. Thanks a lot."
"Oh, it was my pleasure. Do have a nice evening, Lestrange."
Rodolphus was left bewildered by his encounter with the younger Black sister. He was almost tempted to go straight to the infirmary and ask for a Draught of Peace, explaining if pressed that had been enduring terrible nightmares. This was a waking nightmare—Bellatrix, his almost-betrothed, entangled in some sordid business with his professor, the Dark Lord—although, there was the possibility that Andromeda had misread some of the signs she'd noticed. But Bellatrix had been caught up in two lies, and she must have had some reason to stay out all night and lie about her whereabouts. He knew he needed to tread carefully with Bella now, if he still wanted to court her. She had brushed off all of his attempts to talk with her alone since their date at the Black Lake. When he tried to get her attention in Transfiguration and Defence, the two classes they shared together, she would only glance his way and give him a half-hearted apologetic look.
That night as he sank into his four-poster bed, Rodolphus gratefully welcomed the Lethean forgetfulness of sleep.
Professor Riddle swirled his Ogden's firewhiskey and stared at the spinning vortex while he considered his feelings for Bellatrix. He often felt rage and annoyance, but more nuanced emotions were considerably rarer. Each time he split his soul, he felt the boy named Tom becoming more of a phantom. Love had never once been a part of Tom's life; he was convinced that his own mother had not loved him, for if she had, she would've muttered a few simple spells to stop herself from bleeding out on an orphanage floor rather than give up.
Although he lacked direct experience, he didn't consider himself to be completely ignorant on the subject. Enough of his supporters had married over the years that he had seen some long-term couples form, such as Theodosius Nott and his wife Mabel, and witnessed them behave in a manner he supposed was consistent with what their society termed "love." Others, like Abraxas, whose relationships were shorter-lived, never behaved as irrationally as when he claimed to be "in love" with some witch. Tom thought that it was a great asset to his movement he did not experience this particular weakness.
Multiple times when he was meant to be lecturing a class or supervising study hall, he would become engrossed in his own mind, picturing her soft but fearless brown eyes staring up at him like he was a god among men. Her dutiful submission, tempered by her spiritedness and intellect, utterly undid him. She often took small liberties or made unexpected remarks that served to challenge him. He did not simply view her as a means to an end of attaining pleasure, or as someone to parrot back everything he said; he realized that she was also someone whose company he actually liked. While Tom still got some degree of satisfaction from sitting at the head of a table with a room full of twenty or thirty of his Death Eaters, who would treat his word as holy scripture and kiss the hem of his cloak, it now felt mundane and cheap where it had once been intoxicating. It simply didn't compare to the high that he felt he was chasing with Bellatrix.
"My Lord," Bellatrix said, as the entrance to his quarters was flung open, "I apologize that I am slightly early. I couldn't wait any longer to be with you."
Bellatrix walked right up to the armchair in which he sat and lowered herself onto his lap provocatively. She had a habit of swinging her thighs around to be facing him, and grabbing onto his shoulders so that she could lean closely into his neck; Tom knew he should reprimand her for touching him without his express permission, but he simply couldn't be bothered to correct her as he truthfully liked the pose.
"Did you behave yourself, little witch?" He looked into her mind with legilimency, and saw that she had rubbed herself furiously beneath the covers after everyone in her dorm had gone to sleep, arching her back and biting down on her tongue to keep from moaning his name while she found pleasure at her own hands.
"Bella," he said, gliding his hands down her back toward the curve of her hips, "why did you disobey me, little witch?" he asked softly. His cool, detached tone was disarming. Ironically, she would have felt less scared had his words been dripping with rage.
"I couldn't control myself, my Lord. It was all too much after everything that happened in your office. I…I accept whatever my punishment shall be."
"You challenged my authority, little witch. Do you know what happens to those who challenge Lord Voldemort?"
"Well, according to the Prophet, they usually go missing, and then a month later a couple fingers are mailed to their family" she said factually, then smirked.
He hadn't expected her to respond this way. She didn't even look a little bit afraid. What was her intention? Was she trying to out-manoeuvre him? Nobody could eclipse his abilities to manipulate and see further. Suddenly, her mouth crashed against his with fiery want. She was trying to distract him with a deep, searing kiss that left both of their lips bruised and inflamed. No, she could not be allowed to steer him this way.
"That's right, but there are special punishments that I reserve for little witches with saucy, disobedient mouths."
"Please, Master, please put my mouth to whatever use you see fit" Bellatrix urged.
Fuck. Why did she know exactly what to say to him? He could already feel himself stiffening.
"Down on your knees. Hands behind your back." Bellatrix sank onto the floor immediately. She shed her clothing without being asked, so that she was kneeling in nothing but a lacy pair of emerald green panties with tiny bows, and a matching silk hair ribbon. Her demeanour and look suggested kittenish coquetry, but Tom knew that she was just as much of a viper as he was.
"You can only use your mouth. You're going to be down there for a long time, so you best get comfortable." She watched him transfigure a cushion into a long, rectangular pillow which he then placed under her knees.
Bellatrix always delighted in a challenge, and found that not being able to us her hands resulted in greater creativity. She pulled out his cock which already stood at attention, and began by lathing her tongue across his length in successive strokes, creating just enough lubrication, then suctioned her cheeks and formed her lips into an "o." Bellatrix was careful to hold back her teeth, curling her bottom lip inward to cover them, as she was a quick learner and knew that this felt best for him. After what felt like ages sucking and applying soft little kisses up and down his shaft, she began to take him deeper into her throat. She managed to swirl her tongue lower to lap at his balls, which caused him to release a deep throaty growl, the first real sound of pleasure he had allowed himself since she walked through the door. Bellatrix savoured her small victory of chipping away at his veneer of perfect control. He seemed to notice the triumphant look in her eyes, and began bucking much more aggressively into her throat, so that she careened slightly backwards, almost onto the wooden table, before righting herself. This was a challenge she could enjoy.
Unexpectedly, he dragged her body so that she lay with her neck dangling over the armrest of the chair he had been sitting in. Tom lunged into her open mouth while standing with his legs askance. She could feel nothing but aching rawness as he continued his battering of her throat. Abruptly, he pulled out of her mouth and dizzily rested against a tall bookcase, panting. He hadn't climaxed yet, she knew, but his mind seemed busy calculating, or reassessing plans.
"Don't think I forget so easily, my Bella. I promised you a real punishment, and that wasn't it. Not even close." He loosened and pulled off his tie, then lifted his arms out of the dark button-up he had been wearing, discarding it on the floor. She gazed upon his taut stomach, his not-overly muscular chest that tapered to a narrower waist, and the dusting of dark hair trailing down his abdomen. As much as Bellatrix would probably not have minded if he was built a little broader, she found his lean body was exquisite and made the most sense for a Dark wizard.
He forced her to her feet, and took the tie he'd just removed, fixing it around her head like a blindfold. Guiding her by the hand from the main room, he walked them through the door to his bedroom and pushed her down into the mattress. Her head spun from disorientation and the fervent lust that had been fuelled through their earlier activities. She desperately hoped that he wouldn't deny her much longer, as she felt the agonizing emptiness of her un-stretched, unfilled arousal.
"Are you ready to feel the full extent of my magic, Bella?"
"That depends, my Lord. What did you have in mind?"
"It wouldn't be as fun be to spoil the surprise. Do you trust me?"
She considered for a moment every single story and speculation that had ever entered her mind concerning the man whose bed she was currently lying in naked. No, unfortunately, she did not fully trust him, no matter how brilliant and mesmerizing she found him to be. She didn't fear him exactly, but she feared what he could do to her in this moment.
"I wanted us to try this little experiment. It hurts me that you don't trust me enough to do this. Am I not good to you, darling?" He looked genuinely sad, like a kicked puppy. How could Lord Voldemort possibly manage that? Bellatrix thought. She hated how guilty he was making her feel.
"I think…I do trust you," she plucked up the strength to speak. "I deserve to be punished. I touched myself without permission, and I'm too mouthy. Please do what you will, Master."
"Very well, Miss Black. It would be my pleasure."
He pulled out his pale wand. Being deprived of her sight left her particularly overwhelmed by every sensation, and he dragged it down each vertebrae of her back, causing her skin to prickle into gooseflesh. She had no idea that such a simple act could be so highly erotic. She took in a deep breath, and he held his tongue almost directly against her ear: "You are strong. I shall make you my warrior. But first you will understand what it feels like to lie beneath great power."
He concentrated on wanting to make Bellatrix hurt, and his need to feel in control.
"Crucio."
Suddenly, a chasm cleaved open in Bellatrix's mind, like a tremor running deep within the plates of the earth's mantle. She felt sharpened, white hot knives flaying her alive. She needed to scream; it was unbearable. But she couldn't. No sound came from her lips. There was only blankness and a field of pain stretching into eternity.
Then she snapped back, aware of the bed beneath her again.
"How did it feel? I only held it for ten seconds," Riddle said. Bellatrix was not surprised that his curse was so powerful, even without much time to build up its power.
"I felt...blankness. Clarity. It fucking hurt, obviously. But this is so different, so very different from how I remember the last time."
Tom smirked, remembering what she had told him about what Cygnus had done. He considered commenting that it didn't matter that Cygnus was a terrible father, that she only needed him to fill that role for her now, and he would only ever hurt her when she wanted. He decided that might make her too uncomfortable, and replied, "Look how wet you for are for me, little witch. I think you know why."
Bellatrix felt confusion and all kinds of shame. Did this make her some kind of sexual deviant? As soon as she thought it, he appeared to receive the same thoughts in his mind. "It's okay to be aroused by what you like, Bella. Nobody chooses these things consciously."
"Y-yes. Master." He's right, of course. He always is, she thought.
"Since you took your punishment so well, you can have your reward now."
He entered her from behind, beginning to thrust in earnest, and she let out a low whine as she adjusted to the greater depth of penetration that this position allowed. Each time he sheathed himself in her cunt and then withdrew, his cock dragged over that perfect spot located just inside her inner walls, causing her to cry out. He hit that spot not once, but repeatedly, making every single damn stroke feel incredible. He wasn't just crudely hammering into her with abandon, but using a kind of finesse and knowledge that had come from years of experience. He set a persistent rhythm, and she ground her hips backward to create more friction against the base of his cock He reached under her and began twisting and flicking her clit with his thumb, adding a second overwhelming sensation to the one that was already driving her close to the edge.
"Do you imagine that any of those Slytherin boys know how to fuck you like me? Do you think that imbecile Rodolphus Lestrange could figure this out?"
"No, my Lord."
"And he's never going to get the chance, because I will be forbidding the betrothal after it no longer serves my purposes. No one else will ever touch you. You're mine. Tell me."
"I'm yours, Master! Oh, please just keep going. Yes! – ohhh."
She felt the involuntary clenching and unclenching of her muscles around his cock, and the discharging of sparks of their entangled magic; Bellatrix could see nothing but twirling coronae and tiny constellations of stars as she reached her plateau. It must have been a solid minute that she was coasting along in outer space, distantly aware that he continued his thrusting. He had flipped her onto her back now, and she could see the juices of her heat mingled with his seed that leaked down her thighs. She stared down at her utterly spent and used hole. She experimentally grasped at the sheets, and could feel they were drenched.
A faint glowing around her caused her to look up, and she could see that he was casting a number of cleaning and laundering charms. Everything now fresh and dry; the air smelled of cedar, which made Bellatrix inwardly laugh. Of course, Lord Voldemort had to go with a masculine scent, even though the more commonly-used charm was odorem rosa, the smell of roses. But nothing about him was ordinary, she supposed.
Her mind suddenly flew to pregnancy. Reading her thoughts, he lazily aimed his wand at her abdomen and a tingling told her that the contraceptive spell had taken hold.
"I can brew you a potion," he gestured over to the desk and workstation that held his copper cauldron, "as you are far too young for pregnancy and have many things to accomplish for me, first." First? He bit his lip in frustration and hoped she had missed his poor phrasing, as if it sounded like having a child, his child, was what he was implying. Lord Voldemort did not need an heir, as he was destined to rule in his own glory.
"Oh, I understand. And I hate babies, remember?"
"You might feel differently in ten years. But if you feel the same way there are non-reversible potions stronger than the one I'll be giving you."
"Non-reversible?"
"Well, in theory it could probably be reversed in some way with the Dark Arts, although Dark magic around childbearing is very obscure. There are some books, but I don't want you to go looking. This is probably the only area of magic that I don't know enough about to teach you."
"Yeah, you just prefer to study witches' anatomy," she joked. "You probably have lots of books about sex magic, though. Probably some on these shelves," she pointed off toward the bookcases.
"While I am normally content with you having full access to my personal library, there are some things I cannot let you see."
"Why not?" Bellatrix demanded, momentarily forgetting that her Master didn't need to justify his reasoning. Luckily, he hadn't minded answering.
"Well, there are rituals that could be highly dangerous. Not all of them require the consent of both parties, hence why they are considered Dark. Then there's more harmless general spells that enhance a wizard's pleasure. There are less designed to be performed by witches, for historical reasons."
"Yeah, typical. You've been with lots of witches, haven't you?"
Suddenly, Tom felt acutely embarrassed, picturing dimly-lit, filthy hovels in wizarding Paris, Vienna, and Bucharest in his twenties and thirties, where it had been too easy for him to convince witches to come back to his room.
"I've lived much longer than you," he said simply.
"But how many? More than ten, right? Twenty? I'm going to keep guessing numbers until you tell me," Bellatrix implored.
Tom didn't meet her gaze. He wanted to pour himself another drink
"More than thirty?"
"Stop it, Bellatrix. This is all getting ridiculous…many were not very important at all. Not like you. I haven't thought about anyone else since that time in the first week of class. I only want you now, Bella."
"I only want you to touch me, my Lord."
"Good, because I refuse to share you," he said, stealing a kiss as he held her closely to his body and decided it didn't matter if she stayed the night in his bed, school rules be damned. It felt good having his devoted, though mildly combative and bratty, favourite pupil and servant next to him. He would cast a more powerful disillusionment charm on her in the morning and have her leave a half-hour before him. Then he could ask to see Miss Selwyn and Miss Greengrass and obliviate them, just this once.
October 12, 1968
Lestrange Manor
Gaston Lestrange missed his late wife dearly—she had done her duty to him well during their marriage, giving him two healthy magical baby boys, first Rodolphus, then his younger son, Rabastan, before succumbing to a sudden-onset pureblood illness at the young age of 36. Lestrange had been hired by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes shortly after graduation from Hogwarts, and it hadn't taken him long to climb the ranks of the Ministry with his last name and family connections. The respectable job and picture-perfect family meant that he had a great degree of freedom to spy for Tom at the Ministry, and he was the last man to be suspected of feeding information to Lord Voldemort. As a Death Eater of over two decades, he enjoyed his position as a loyal and capable lieutenant who was trusted almost as much as Tom's right-hand, Abraxas Malfoy.
It was with surprise that Lestrange Senior opened the envelop with the Hogwarts wax seal that an owl had dropped onto his plate of scrambled eggs and beignets imported from a bakery on the Rue Nicolas Flamel in wizarding Paris. He hadn't been expecting any correspondence.
Dear Dad,
I have some unfortunate news about Miss Black. Her sister has provided me with evidence that she is not chaste, and is involved in a physical relationship with the Dark Lord. This would explain her change of behaviour towards me, which has turned cold. Despite everything, I would like my betrothal to Miss Black to proceed, provided that we can guarantee that she will not carry on with any activities unbefitting of a pureblood wife of a Lestrange once we are wed.
Could you please use your influence to make our Lord reconsider his choice of bed partner? Out of all the witches to choose from, he chooses the witch who is to be my wife! I know it is asking a lot, but you are in his good graces. I still believe in His cause and hope to take the Dark Mark. I promise I will serve our Master faithfully once this is behind us.
Your loyal son,
Rodolphus
The elder Lestrange re-read the letter several times, wanting to be sure he hadn't hallucinated. The Dark Lord was screwing his son's betrothed, and his son thought that he had the power to make his Master stop? Merlin, the boy took after his mother—not the brightest witch, but idealistic and fierce. He'd have to pin his hopes on Rabastan now, because clearly Rodolphus was stupider than he realized. Still, he empathized with his son, and figured that while he couldn't speak to the Dark Lord directly, that Cygnus Black would want to know about his darling daughter's harlotry. He first sent a cryptic owl to Abraxas at Malfoy Manor, hoping to catch him in a good mood. If his hunch was right, the Dark Lord wouldn't have been able to resist telling Malfoy, whose pathological hatred of Cygnus Black III was well-known among the Inner Circle, that he had taken Cygnus' daughter.
His stomach lurched, and it wasn't from eating too many beignets. Brushing powdered sugar out of his neatly trimmed beard, he figured he'd wait for a response before doing anything.
My Lord,
I have received a curious owl from Gaston Lestrange. It appears that his son is aware of your closeness to Miss Black, and has notified his father as they are to be betrothed. The son is very distressed, and Gaston writes me to ask if you have spoken of this to me in confidence. I sent a reply to him at once that I have no knowledge of this matter.
Your faithful servant,
Abraxas Malfoy
Crumpling the parchment and throwing it into the fireplace, Tom Riddle watched as it was devoured by the burning embers. He vowed to take revenge on both Lestranges, elder and younger, but only when the time was right. How did Rodolphus suspect anything? The boy was dim-witted and barely managing an Acceptable in his class. His strengths in practical duelling were the main reason he wasn't failing—and that mostly came from agility and strength. Not that he didn't have a need for foot-soldiers, as he was sure that he would require many lads like Lestrange once the war was to begin. And what actual proof did Lestrange have—was it a gut feeling, or something more?
Bellatrix had told him that some girls were spreading jealous rumours about her research assistantship, but that she was handling it herself, saying she was going steady with Rodolphus Lestrange, and that she had a long-standing interest in blood magic and vampirism. She had been encouraged to apply for the program after receiving top marks on her essay. He figured that the rumours were confined to just the Slytherin girls in Bella's year, which was a very small number. And her reputation for using the entrails-expelling curse would shut up the gossipers, she had reminded him. Rodolphus must've heard the rumours and rather than confronting Bellatrix, gone the cowardly route of writing to daddy. Was Dumbledore up to something behind the scenes? Impossible. If Dumbledore had enough proof that there was something going on, he wouldn't just sit on it. Tom would have been hauled into the Headmaster's office yesterday.
He would sort this mess out, by any means necessary. He would need to ascertain exactly how much he knew, then guarantee Rodolphus' silence or else obliviate the boy without ruining what precious few brain cells he possessed.
A/N: Please review if you're still reading and enjoying this. I'm very appreciate of any feedback! I have no fixed length for this story, but in my mind it seems that we're now nearing the halfway mark.
