The Savoy Hotel, London
8 July 1970
As she stepped across the tile floor of the lobby toward him, she might have blended right in. After all, she was wearing a black mini-dress with draped sleeves and high chunky heels as was the Muggle fashion of late. Her long hair had been straightened with a centre part, and she had lined her eyes with a thick dark wing and had worn frosty lipstick. So she might have blended in with the jostling nightlife that took over the Savoy every evening, but she didn't. She was too pretty to blend in.
She lowered her eyes as she stepped up to him outside the cabaret, and her breath hitched a little when he put his hand between her shoulder blades and guided her inside.
"I've a table already," he informed her. "Singer starts in five minutes."
"All right," she nodded, and he knew it was hard for her the avoid calling him 'Master' or 'My Lord.' He pulled her chair out for her at their third-row table, just to be chivalrous, and he informed her,
"I've ordered us a steady stream of drinks. Hope you like gin."
"Gin is fine, Master," she nodded, her eyes going wide as she glanced around furtively to see who had heard her. Voldemort ignored her and instead reached for the platter of petit fours that the waitress had brought. They'd each had dinner already; he could see in her mind that she'd had tinned soup and bread back at her flat. Voldemort had had lobster Thermidor, so he had minimal appetite for dessert. He took one little gingerbread-flavoured concoction and popped it into his mouth as the pianist warmed up the crowd up a bit from the stage. He pushed the platter gently toward Bellatrix, not watching her directly as she murmured her thanks and took a tiny vanilla cake.
He sipped through one gin and tonic after another as the show went on. He kept his eyes locked on the Josephine Baker knockoff who sang Muggle jazz standards with a determined, husky voice. The pianist and the little brass ensemble kept things moving, and the singer would give little anecdotes about each song before she warbled it out. Voldemort managed to only flick his eyes over to Bellatrix a few times, noticing in the dim light of the wall sconces that she looked almost surreal. Maybe that was the gin, he thought. Maybe she only looked so pretty because of the gin.
But as he swigged his way through his fourth drink, he realised it wasn't the liquor making her pretty. Just the same, he set his drink down and decided that four gin and tonics in an hour and a half was too much, and he committed to water for the rest of the evening.
Eventually, his fingers drifted toward the platter of desserts as he half-heartedly listened to the singer. He felt something warm against his fingers, and when he glanced to the tray, he saw that he and Bellatrix had reached for the same little lemon square. She immediately retracted her hand, and he saw her frosted lips mumble an apology. He just shook his head and used two fingers to push the lemon square toward her. Bellatrix shook her head helplessly, and he wanted to scold her for being ridiculous. The singer finished her set and the crowd cheered madly for her, but Voldemort just cocked up an eyebrow and pushed the lemon square again. Finally Bellatrix curled her lips up a little and picked it up. Her eyes did all the thanking he needed, and for some reason it was deliriously attractive - the way she popped the treat between her lips and chewed carefully.
Voldemort cleared his throat and pulled out a ten pound note, which, according to his maths, was more than enough to cover their drinks and the platter of desserts. He didn't wait for the waitress to make change; she could have a nice gratuity tonight for all he cared. Their money was easily replaced in his stocks, anyway. He rose and held his hand out for Bellatrix, knowing she'd had nearly three full drinks herself and worrying that she might be unsteady. She was, just a little, so instead of guiding her by her back like he usually did, Voldemort kept hold of her hand and led her from the cabaret.
"Eight, please," he said quietly to the lift operator, and they stayed silent as the brass-lined elevator moved quickly upward. When the operator opened the door, Voldemort led Bellatrix out and released her hand. He needed his right hand to get his suite key from his pocket, after all. Still, it wasn't until he'd let go of her that he realised how much he'd liked holding onto her. He cleared his throat roughly as they stepped into the elaborately-decorated suite, and he said in a brusque tone,
"The bathroom is en suite. Follow me." He led her into his bedroom, which had been given turn-down service. The poufy bed had soft white sheets, and just now it looked very inviting. Voldemort gestured toward the bathroom and ordered Bellatrix, "Go wash off all that makeup and make your hair curly again. I don't mind the costume for the purposes of blending in with the Muggles, but I prefer... I insist upon your natural look. Go."
"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix started toward the bathroom door, pausing as she asked him cautiously, "Shall I keep my clothes on, Master?"
"No." He thought about scolding her for being so presumptuous as to think that he wanted her, but that was futile. Instead he waited for the bathroom door to shut, and he quickly stripped off his formal black suit. He Banished all the pieces to the wardrobe and set his wand down on the bedside table. He felt rather foolish then, standing there naked like he was the one waiting to serve her. It was nonsense. So he climbed into the bed and lay beneath the plush blankets, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the blazes he'd turned into an apparent puddle of a man over the last few weeks.
It was meant to stay purely physical. She was just here to serve his body's whims, to satisfy the basest urges he might possess. And she was more than willing. But nothing ever stayed purely physical, at least not in the long term. The human parts would always creep in. That was why Voldemort - and, earlier, Tom Riddle - had always limited himself to one-off sexual encounters with adoring witches. He could have done that with Bellatrix. He could have let her use her mouth on him in his office that first night and then sent her away. But he'd wanted more of her in a way he'd never done.
She came ambling out of the bathroom, looking unsure of what he wanted her to do next, so he silently beckoned her up onto the bed. She looked so tiny crawling up onto the high mattress, her thin legs moving smoothly as she edged toward him. Her fingers rather brazenly dusted over his chest, and he thought about shoving her hand away and glaring at her. But he liked it, so he just shut his eyes and asked,
"Do you know how to give a good massage?"
She giggled softly, and then he knew they'd both been more than a little touched by the gin. But she answered him quietly,
"I shall do my absolute best, My Lord, and if it isn't good enough, then I shall stop. Whatever makes you happy."
"Hmm." He rolled over and let her fold the blankets down around his waist. He lay flat on his belly and folded his arms beneath his face, and he heard Bellatrix mutter a lubrication charm that spread across his back like oil. She hesitated for a moment, her nervousness crackling almost physically in the air.
"My Lord, it might be easier if I were... erm... straddling your hips, you know? So I'm centred on you?"
"Mmm-hmm." He felt very drunk then, more drunk than he actually was, because he found that he very much liked the feel of Bellatrix sitting on the back of his upper thighs. He huffed out a pleased breath when her hands started cupping and squeezing at his shoulders. If she didn't actually know what she was doing, she did a very good job of hiding it. He sighed through the delicious feel of her rubbing at one shoulder and then the other, working her hands toward his neck and kneading carefully there. She could have used magic for this, or he could have purchased a product that would work tension from his muscles, but he found he preferred this. He liked her sitting behind him, bent over him as her hands applied just the right amount of pressure.
"Tell me a story," he murmured as her hands worked down the sides of his spine. Before she could express confusion, he specified, "Something funny or interesting that's happened to you. Go ahead."
"Oh. I'm afraid I'm not very interesting," Bellatrix said self-consciously, and though Voldemort was inclined to disagree, he let her keep talking as she rubbed his lower back and hips. He was starting to go hard, his cock folded up against his body but getting rigid from the feel of her hands all over him. Bellatrix cleared her throat a little and said,
"A few months ago, we were on a visit to Hogsmeade and I got into an argument with this Gryffindor girl. She was saying that... that you were evil and needed to be thrown into Azkaban. I disagreed. Loudly. Anyway, I sort of flounced out of the tea shop without paying, because I was flustered, and everyone was convinced I'd deliberately abandoned the bill. I hadn't; I had just been angry, but I had a reputation to uphold, you know?"
It took everything Voldemort had not to laugh, not to show that he was amused. He just soaked in the feel of her palms trailing back up his spine and her knuckles working perfectly at the sides of his neck. She continued,
"So I let everyone think I'd deliberately tried to steal my Earl Grey and biscuits. And I got assigned two weeks' detention scouring cauldrons by hand. And that's my story."
Now Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle a little. He cracked open his eyes and asked her, "Worth it?"
"Worth it, Master." She found his gaze, tipping her head a little and asking, "Does it feel good? Shall I continue?"
"It feels good, but I want something else," he said simply. "Climb off."
She did, always so beautifully obedient, and he rolled back over onto his back. He peeled back the blankets and let his cock stand at attention, smirking at Bellatrix as he ordered her, "Now climb back on."
She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, looking awfully hungry as she straddled him again. He helped her aim his tip toward her entrance, and as she sank down, they both hissed and moaned a little. She enveloped him, just the way she'd done the other day, and it was so good he grabbed at her waist and set her to moving at once. She quickly picked up on the rhythm, swaying up and down and forward and back just so as her head dropped back a little.
Voldemort caressed her pretty little breasts. He slid his knuckles over her collarbone and down her arms. And then he held her hands, realising he'd down that a few times now tonight. She moved steadily, her hips looking perfect as they cycled him in and out. She finally choked out,
"My Lord, you left your tie at my flat last night. I brought it in my handbag for you. Sorry... I... didn't want to forget."
He reached for her hips, stopping her, and when she stared down at him with wide eyes, he shook his head up to her and growled,
"You stupid girl. I left it on purpose."
"Oh." Her cheeks coloured, and suddenly the implications of that seemed to wash over her. She leaned down, her hands going beside his shoulders as her hips started to move again. She wanted to be kissed, he could tell. She wanted to kiss him.
"Do it," he whispered, and she just bent further and touched her lips against his. It wasn't enough for him, but he knew she was too afraid to do more on her own. So he wrenched her hips a few times to encourage her to move more vigorously, and then he seized her face in his hands and yanked her roughly against his mouth. He thrust his tongue up between her lips and she squealed, bucking her hips so quickly that Voldemort felt himself go tight and snap. He spilled his seed up into her, kissing her through it as her own body followed his off the cliff.
She tasted like gin, but underneath that was the vanilla and spice that she always carried. Her hair fell around them both as her hips stilled, and Voldemort just kept kissing her. He felt like he couldn't stop now, like she'd become air just in the last few moments. He rolled a little, encouraging her to lie on the bed beside him. His hand trained down her shoulder and ribs and over her hip, and he squeezed her a little there as he touched his lips to hers once more.
"You should go home now," he said quietly against her mouth, and she nodded and started to pull away. For once he cursed her obedience as she slid from the bed and stepped into the bathroom. He knew she was getting dressed again, and he shut his eyes as he determined that he was just going to stay naked in bed and send her on her way. He could lock the suite's door from here. When she came out of the bathroom looking pretty in her dress and shoes, though, he had to fight the urge to kiss her goodnight. She stared at her own handbag for a moment, and he knew she was wondering if she ought to give him his tie back.
"Keep it," he said quietly. "I'll call you through your Mark the next time I want you. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, My Lord," she said with a nod, bowing just a little before she started to leave the bedroom. Voldemort sat up straighter and barked after her,
"Bella."
She turned round in the doorway, surprised by the way he'd used her shortened name so urgently. He felt his throat bob as he informed her,
"As soon as they tell me the heat's off from the Ministry, I'll be moving into Malfoy Manor. But I want you to stay in your flat. It's more secure."
She nodded but frowned, pursing her lips and obviously censoring herself. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply, "Speak."
"It's just... My Lord, who else knows where my flat is?" Bellatrix asked. He shifted a little and shrugged.
"No one. I bought it from a Muggle realtor."
Bellatrix sank her teeth into her bottom lip and suggested, "Perhaps you... I'm sorry if I'm overreaching, Master, but... it would seem as though Malfoy Manor's already on the Ministry's list of places to watch. It would seem... to me, in my very humble opinion... that you might want to meet with your followers at Malfoy Manor, but keep your residence somewhere more... hidden."
"And would you stay hidden, too, Bellatrix?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, and Bellatrix's lips parted a little before she said quietly,
"I'll do whatever makes you happy, Master."
He considered his options. She was right, probably, that staying in the Rosary Gardens flat was more secret and secure. At least for the time being. In fact, he could leave the Savoy sooner if he could keep the flat - and Bellatrix - his own secret.
"I still intend on teaching you Occlumency for security purposes," he informed her crisply. "Yes. I'll keep the location of both you and the flat secret, but I'll be able to meet with my followers to promote my mission. Write to your family and let them know you'll be out of touch for some time. I... erm... I appreciate your discretion."
"It's no problem, My Lord," she insisted, shifting where she stood. "I'll wait for your Summons. Or for you to come to th flat. Goodnight, Master."
"Goodnight, Bella." Voldemort turned his eyes away and stared at the bed post as she turned and walked away. He waited until he heard her open and shut the door to the corridor, and then he aimed his wand in the general direction of the doorway and warded it up. He set his wand down with a hand that shook a bit too much for his liking.
It had just been the gin, he tried to tell himself, to make him hold her hand and savour the kiss so much. It was just strategy that would put them in the same residence for any demonstrable length of time. It was just lust that made her body so alluring to him.
Only, it didn't just feel like gin and strategy and lust. It felt like something dangerous, and so Voldemort found himself swallowing a thick lump in his throat as he slid down beneath the blankets and shut his eyes.
Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor
15 July 1970
"Welcome back, Master," murmured Antonin Dolohov, but Voldemort waved him off as he stepped into the meeting room.
"Sit," he commanded. Dolohov did, along with Abraxas Malfoy, as well as Mulciber, Nott, Avery, and Yaxley. Voldemort had called only his very closest associates to this meeting; there was no need to make a big fuss just now. He sat at the head of the table and got straight to his point.
"Minister Eugenia Jenkins is weak. We ousted Nobby Leach and put her in precisely because she is weak. Last autumn, Squibs marched to demand their so-called 'rights.' New publications insist that Muggles are not, in fact, stupid. Mudbloods rise to new heights in Ministry positions."
Everyone around the table sneered, and Voldemort waited for them to be silent before he continued in an ominous tone,
"They have the gall to put out Undesirable posters for me. Me, the Dark Lord, who wants only to restore pure-blood wizardry to its rightful place in the Magical world - alone and at the top. Me, the Dark Lord himself, who is more powerful than they can imagine. We will continue to Imperius Ministry officials at every level. We will gather vows of loyalty and financial contributions to our cause. We will conduct seemingly random strikes on Muggles and Mudbloods. Tortures, witnessed events. Killings. Let them devote all their time and energy to cleaning up the messes they didn't realise they'd made for themselves."
Nott and Avery grinned madly at one another, and Voldemort nodded toward them.
"You two," he said sharply. Nott and Avery gave their full attention to their master then, and he ordered them, "Make a fuss. Tonight. Two or three or four Muggles. A car crash, perhaps, with witnesses who see you. Transfigure your features, of course. Have fun."
Avery smirked and nodded. "We'll do our best to make you proud, My Lord."
"Yaxley." Voldemort turned his attention to his highest-ranking Ministry plant. "I want Department heads targeted for Imperiusing. Convince them to sack lower-ranking employees who are sympathetic to Mudbloods and to replace them with our allies."
"I'll begin the task immediately, My Lord," Yaxley nodded. "And, with your leave, I'll have Rookwood strengthen his net of espionage."
Voldemort made a little noise of consent, turned to Mulciber and said, "Ensure the werewolves are doing their part. They're nice and terrifying. Keep them loyal."
"I shall, Master," Mulciber replied. Finally, Voldemort turned to Abraxas Malfoy and said,
"Whether through the Imperius Cuse, Confounding, or good old-fashioned violence, we need the press. Ensure that the Daily Prophet focuses on chaos and incompetence at the Ministry and sows division, loyalty... I want the newspaper to work for us, not against us."
Malfoy nodded, and Yaxley said with a bit of wonder in his voice,
"Then the time has truly come, Master. The time has come for your full revolution to take flight."
"It has always been time for this cause, Yaxley," Voldemort corrected him. "It is only now that we find the courage the engage in the war. Any other questions? No? Dismissed, then."
He rose, and everyone rose with him. The wizards all bowed low and started to filter out of the room until it was just Abraxas Malfoy and Lord Voldemort.
"You need something, Malfoy?" Voldemort asked sharply. Malfoy had been in school with Tom Marvolo Riddle; their personal history went very far back. Malfoy knitted his hands before him and said in a cautious tone,
"My Lord, I'm sure you know, but... my son Lucius is in a teenaged relationship with Narcissa Black."
"That's nice," Voldemort said blandly, for he really and truly did not care. But then his mind started putting pieces together, and he was unsurprised when Malfoy said,
"Narcissa came here to the Manor yesterday in tears, My Lord. She said that her eldest sister, Bellatrix, had disappeared."
"Disappeared," Voldemort repeated, feeling suddenly amused. Malfoy nodded quickly and said,
"She apparently sent a letter a few days ago saying that she would be out of touch and that she was fine. But when Druella Black sent a reply to her daughter, the owl came back with nothing in its talons."
"That sounds like she simply doesn't want to be found," Voldemort noted. "She is of age. Why are you concerned with this?"
Malfoy hesitated, and Voldemort didn't need to look into his head to see the answer. Bellatrix had been here at Malfoy Manor in June, then she'd rather abruptly dropped from public view. Narcissa would have told them, too, about the night that Bellatrix quickly packed a trunk and left for Kensington. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply,
"She's perfectly fine. You can go ahead and privately, quietly inform her parents that she is perfectly fine. Tell them to stop making such a grand fuss. Narcissa, too."
"Understood, My Lord. Thank you." Malfoy nodded and bowed deeply, leaving Voldemort alone in the meeting room. Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table and considered that a great many pieces were about to be set into motion.
Tonight he'd be moving into the flat in Rosary Gardens. He hadn't seen Bellatrix since the night at the Savoy cabaret, but he'd sent her a letter by Muggle post informing her that he'd be coming the night of the fifteenth. He couldn't risk owls just now.
Hours later, he stood in his suite in the Savoy, which had been appropriately paid out downstairs, and he gripped the handle of his Expanded trunk in one hand and his wand in the other. He Disapparated from where he stood, traveling through the pinched black void for a moment and coming to in the sitting-room of the Rosary Gardens flat.
Bellatrix's voice screamed a little from behind him, and when he turned round, he read shock on her face. He scowled and reminded her,
"I said I was coming tonight."
Bellatrix flew to her feet, flying from her armchair and letting the book she'd been reading thunk to the ground. She shook her head in confusion.
"I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't get the owl. Master, I do apologise."
"Owl? No." Voldemort shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. "Have you not been checking the post?"
"The post," Bellatrix repeated cautiously, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.
"In the box. Downstairs."
"Oh." Bellatrix sounded alarmed then. "Erm... no. No, My Lord. I didn't know that I was... erm... I'm sorry."
He snorted a dark little laugh then, setting his trunk down and opening the door to the landing. He aimed his wand toward the stairwell and murmured,
"Accio Flat C Post."
He waited a moment, and then a little stack of envelopes came soaring up the stairs. He caught them and shut the door again, stalking into the sitting room and thumbing through the mail. Bellatrix looked horrified at how much she hadn't seen. Voldemort pulled the utilities bills out; he'd already paid those. There was a receipt of taxes paid on the newly-purchased house. And then there was an envelope addressed in his own script. He held that one up, giving Bellatrix a snarky look as he passed it over. She opened it as he Vanished the bills and receipts. She read the short note and then started apologising again.
"It's fine," he assured her, Levitating his trunk and sending it floating down the corridor toward the bedroom. Bellatrix watched it go, and then she seemed like there was something she wanted to say or ask. Voldemort answered the question before it could form on her lips.
"I'll split the bed into two smaller beds," he said quietly. "I can move yours in here, if you like."
"Oh." She seemed very surprised by that answer, but Voldemort scoffed and said in a mocking voice,
"What? You thought you'd be cuddled up alongside the Dark Lord himself at night? Foolish girl."
The truth was that he'd considered that option for a solid minute at the Savoy. He'd thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to feel her heat beside him under the blankets, or to be able to demand sex from her just before falling asleep or immediately upon waking. But he could still do that last bit, he knew, without curling his body against his in his own bed.
"I'll move your bed," he said matter-of-factly, and Bellatrix's cheeks reddened as she nodded and said softly,
"Of course, My Lord. Whatever pleases you. I was just about to make some dinner; shall I prepare some for you, as well?"
"Yes." Voldemort watched her go toward the kitchen then, and he stood in the threshold as she began pulling ingredients and bowls from cupboards. She started a heavy pot filling with water from the taps, and she unwrapped a chicken bouillon cube to drop into it. Then she put that on the stove and used her wand to immediately boil it. She set out five or six potatoes on a cutting board and cast some quick dicing charms, then Banished them into the boiling water. Celery and onion went in, too, then Bellatrix used a hand whisk to mix up flour and milk in a separate bowl. She added it, with cheese and chopped parsley, into the soup, and soon enough the flat smelled delicious. She was pretty like this, barefoot and moving with a purpose as her wand swished expertly around her. She stood over the simmering pot and murmured,
"Had to learn how to cook; our House-Elf is a disaster, and my mum couldn't make a biscuit to save her soul."
"Hmm." Voldemort stepped into the kitchen, breathing in the smell of the cooking and feeling his mouth water. "Speaking of your mother..."
Bellatrix whirled round at that, looking a little concerned, but Voldemort said reassuringly,
"She and Narcissa were worried after you, that's all. Or, at least, Narcissa expressed as much to Lucius Malfoy."
"Oh. I'm so sorry that you were bothered with such a silly thing, Master." Bellatrix looked embarrassed, but he shrugged and told her,
"It's nothing. I had Malfoy reassure them that you're fine. The meeting went well."
"Did it?" Her face lit up then, and he could sense that she was not just devoted to him personally, but also to his cause. He cleared his throat as she ladeled thick soup out for them, and he said,
"We're beginning to assault the Ministry full-on now. From the inside out, you know, with Imperiused employees and careful work on the press. But also wreaking havoc and creating chaos by giving them good solid messes to clean up."
Bellatrix lowered her eyes, pursing her lips, and suddenly Voldemort could read her like a book. He watched her set the bowls of soup down on the kitchen table, and as she poured out white wine for them, he noted,
"You want to be off killing Muggles for me."
"I want to make you happy," she insisted, but he tipped her chin up and saw bloodlust in her gaze. He smirked and nodded.
"Perhaps someday, Miss Black, you'll be doing all manner of dirty work for me. For now, your place is here. And your place is significant. I won't have you questioning my decisions."
"I'm not, Master," she said a little defensively. Her eyes welled then as she told him, "I think you're going to be universally feared and adored, and whatever minuscule role I can play in assisting you on that path will be more than I deserve."
"Good girl," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers. She sighed against him, for both of their bodies had awakened the second the kiss began. A week with no contact, it turned out, had been more noticeable than Voldemort would have thought. He kissed her deeply until he realised her hard-won soup would be getting cold. He tore himself away from her and as, nodding his thanks when she brought him a soup spoon and a glass of white wine.
"Shall I sit, My Lord?" She didn't sound very certain about the answer she'd get, and he glared up at her. But then he realised she was right to be confused. After all, he was splitting the bed in half and banishing her to the sitting room to sleep. Why would she assume that she could eat with him? She wouldn't. She wouldn't assume such a thing, because she was too intelligent and loyal for that. So he cleared his throat and used wandless magic to send her chair scooting backward, and he told her,
"You're permitted meals with me unless I inform you otherwise."
"Yes, Master." She sat opposite him, and both of them began spooning the delicious potato soup into their mouths.
"It's good," he told her honestly, sending a grateful, self-conscious grin across her face. Voldemort sipped from his wine and informed her, "We'll begin Occlumency lessons tomorrow. Ten or twenty minutes a day; I don't want to exhaust you, and you become more skilled whilst learning in shorter bursts."
"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix said. "I shall be grateful for the ability to protect the images of you that dwell in my mind."
"It's not a gift. It's part of your service," Voldemort snapped. Then, feeling compelled to soften his tone a little, he told her as gently as he could, "Speaking of which, I shan't be... erm... well, I won't expect physical pleasure from you every single day, so..."
He wasn't certain where he was going with that, and she clearly had no idea, either. She blinked a few times and ate some more soup, but he just swirled his spoon in his bowl and finally said,
"Things like this... a homemade meal and conversation. That'll be just as appreciated, you understand. Now that things with the Ministry will be ramping up. You're welcome to visit your family, or not. You can go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or the bloody Muggle High Streets. It's your decision. You're not a prisoner here. But this location stays completely secret, along with your exact role in my organisation. This is information that will be known only to you and me. Understood?"
"Yes, My Lord," she whispered, nodding vigorously. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment and finally asked her,
"What have you been doing the past week?"
He didn't know why he cared. He really, genuinely should not have cared. But he liked the way she giggled quietly and admitted,
"I got quite bored, I confess. I practised some Charms work. Transfiguration of my hair and face, of my clothes. Changing the wall clock into a feathered hat and back again. I was grateful for all the spellbooks I'd brought."
"I'm sorry you were bored," Voldemort said, and as he spooned soup into his mouth, Bellatrix's lips fell open in horror.
"N-no, My Lord. That's not... I didn't mean... I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful."
"You didn't. I got bored at the Savoy," he said simply, raising his eyes to her. "It would have made sense, probably, to do a few more dinner dates or something."
"Dates," she whispered, and he winced as he realised what he'd said. But Bellatrix rescued him quickly, murmuring, "No, I know what you mean. Eating in the restaurant or listening to the music at the cabaret might have been a nice respite from the repetition. And those aren't things comfortably done alone, so..."
"Thank you for the soup. I'm going to go see to the beds." Voldemort rose, and Bellatrix flew to her feet until he'd left the room. He could hear her clanging around int the kitchen, washing up from cooking and eating, and he went into the bedroom and studied the bed that she'd clearly made up carefully this morning. He swallowed hard and sliced his wand down the middle of the bed.
"Partis Utram," he incanted, and suddenly the wide bed became to individual beds with the same blankets and sheets as before. He stepped up to one of the single beds and shrank it down with another simple charm. Once the bed was small enough for him to carry it, he lugged it across the corridor into the sitting-room. He set the bed down and used his wand to rearrange the furniture to make space. Then, with an Engorgement Charm, he returned the bed to its larger size.
This was rather silly, he thought suddenly. It was ridiculous that they'd both be sleeping in uncomfortably small beds, just a few metres away from one another, not for modesty, but because Voldemort wanted to maintain some semblance of privacy even in this distinctly intimate arrangement.
An hour later, after they'd taken turns in the bathroom, Bellatrix came out into the bedroom to move her trunk, and he stopped her as he put his hand over hers and shook his head.
"This is ridiculous," he murmured, and Bellatrix looked so pretty in her black nightgown that he had to fight not to stare at her. Finally he shook his head, as if ridding himself of an insect buzzing between his ears, and he Banished her heavy trunk over into the other room. He sniffed lightly and informed her,
"I've a meeting with Yaxley in the morning to strategise. Tomorrow evening, we begin Occlumency lessons. Be here and available at five o'clock."
"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She smelled like toothpaste and soap. She curved just so beneath her black nightgown. He could take her here, in his half of the divided bed, and then send her away with his seed running down the inside of her thigh. He could just force her down over the edge of the bed and pound her. He could shove her down onto her knees and finish on her face. He could do all manner of things. Somehow he managed to limit himself to a touch of his lips against hers, and he said quietly,
"Night, then."
"Goodnight, Master." Bellatrix bowed her head and asked carefully, "Shall I shut the door behind me?"
"Yes, thank you." Voldemort watched her go, feeling that he'd gone a bit hard in his black flannel pyjamas. He gnawed his lip and nodded to her when she flashed him one last tiny smile. She pulled the door shut behind her, and a moment later, he heard the door into the sitting-room shut, as well. Voldemort huffed a sigh and flopped down onto the bed, wishing it wasn't such a damaging idea to just share a damned bed with her.
27 Rosary Gardens, London
16 July 1970
"Legilimency is an open art," Lord Voldemort was saying, and when Bellatrix frowned in confusion from where she sat, he specified, "It's possible to search for a specific memory or thought, but one will inevitably be inundated with flashes of rapid-fire mental images. One must be willing to see all manner of ridiculousness on the path to the goal. Likewise, an Occlumens must be able to ignore the rush of potentially embarrassing images that go by in order to focus on shutting out the Legilimens."
Bellatrix nodded, folding her hands in her lap and paying very close attention to her tutor. He was walking slowly around the kitchen; she'd made them a quick meal and now she was sitting at the table whilst he instructed her in her first Occlumency lesson. Voldemort stopped and stared right at Bellatrix, ignoring the minor headache that came over her as she wondered what he found so interesting.
"I won't always announce myself in your mind, Bella," he scolded her. "Most people will never even know they've been invaded. A good Occlumens must first recognise the sensation of being invaded; it doesn't always happen forcefully. Today, we shall do that. Tomorrow, perhaps, we can begin the art of active resistance. But today... today you'll learn to feel me."
There was something terribly erotic about the way he'd said that, and Bellatrix shivered where she sat. He paced again and murmured,
"You'll feel my penetration as a low buzz or a sharp ache. Like something has prodded your brain. Tell me when you feel it."
He kept walking, his eyes down. Bellatrix felt a little quiver inside her mind, and she gasped softly.
"There," she said, and he quirked up half his mouth as he nodded. She felt a soft whoosh, like he'd retreated from her, and another long moment passed. She found herself thinking about him, about the way he'd looked and felt beneath her in bed at the Savoy.
"Bellatrix, pay attention," he snapped. "I've been in there for thirty seconds without you noticing."
Bellatrix put her lips into a line and said in a rather surly voice, "Perhaps you are more skilled at this than most people, Master."
He scowled at her and chided, "Albus Dumbledore is more skilled at this than most people."
She felt a sharp pang in the back recess of her head then, and she whispered carefully, "There."
"Good." This time he didn't pull out again. He remained in her mind, and suddenly Bellatrix could feel him flipping through her thoughts like a book. Images of her all dolled up for a Christmas party. Her sitting here in the flat on a rainy day a week earlier, reading with a cup of tea beside her. A fantasy she'd dreamed up once of her kneeling before him whilst he used a dull knife to tease and taunt her.
The feel of him pulling out of her mind then was so quick and aggressive that Bellatrix felt a bit ill. She watched Voldemort throw up an eyebrow, and he said softly,
"Knives, Bella?"
"It was just a dream, My Lord," she whispered. "Just a fantasy."
"Mmm-hmm. So was that image in your mind of your hands tied up behind your back, with me plundering you from behind. That was just a fantasy, too, wasn't it? Until it was real."
Bellatrix shut her eyes and felt him go back into her head. "There."
"Good." He pulled back out again, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him adjust his grip on his wand. His throat bobbed as he flicked his eyes to the hard tile floor, and he commanded her, "Come here."
She did, scrambling to kneel before him. She watched in awe as he walked confidently to the block on the countertop and pulled out a paring knife. He brought it back over to Bellatrix, touching the blade to the neckline of her tunic-style dress.
"Speak now, or your clothes will forever lie in pieces," he said, and she couldn't help but smile. She shook her head silently, gasping when he sawed through the hem and then brought the knife up to his teeth. He tore at the cotton dress, ripping it wide open and yanking it off of Bellatrix's arms. He tossed it aside and roughly unclasped her bra, yanking it down and tossing it away, too. She could see that his cock had bulged in his trousers, and she went so wet between her legs that she squirmed.
Voldemort brought the knife from his teeth, and all of a sudden its blade was a hair's breath from Bellatrix's neck. She stared up at Voldemort, the fear in her veins creating an unexpectedly powerful surge of want. She was afraid to swallow, afraid that if she did, she'd get cut and would bleed out on the kitchen floor. But Voldemort stared down at her with a confident, cold gaze, and he instructed her,
"Play with my cock. Through the trousers."
"Yes, Master." She reached with trembling fingers to stroke at him through the wool of his trousers, her breath hitching when she felt the hardness that had formed there. She kept dragging her knuckles along his erection as he brought the knife to her shoulder and carefully dragged it so that the sharp edge didn't cut her. He paused, pressing the edge into her skin until she was sure he'd break her open, but then he pulled the knife away and whispered,
"You like to be afraid."
"Only of you," Bellatrix said truthfully, and that answer seemed to satisfy him immensely. Voldemort brought the knife blade to the swell at the top of Bellatrix's breast, carefully making an indentation without cutting her. She almost came at that, at the feel of him wielding something so dangerous against her skin. His wand was just as powerful - more powerful, actually - but there was something about the glint of the metal that made her body come alive. She sighed with shaking breath when he took his wand out and carefully Banished the knife back to the block on the countertop. Then suddenly she herself was being Levitated, and Bellatrix squealed with shock as she realised he was depositing her onto the butcher block counter.
"Knickers down," he commanded, and she nodded wordlessly, unable to find her breath. She managed to slide her lace knickers down and off, kicking them to the floor and watching as Voldemort pulled his shirt out from his trousers. He didn't bother unbuttoning it, nor pulling down his suspenders. He wasn't going to be naked for this, but she was. That thought made her more wet than ever, and on instinct her fingers flew between her legs.
"No. Naughty little creature." Voldemort swatted her hand away and gave her a serious look. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his cock off, and he shoved her knees open so roughly that she almost lost her balance. Then his hands were on either side of her neck, squeezing just enough that she gasped in fear. Was he going to choke her? Did he mean to take her breath away for good? The very thought of it all made her buck her hips a little, and he let out a mean little laugh as he noted,
"Oh, yes. You like to be afraid of me."
He lined himself up and pushed his cock into her body, and as he started to pump his hips, Bellatrix felt a dull buzz in her brain.
"There," she said, and he smirked at her as the soft whoosh of his exist became clear.
"Good," he praised her, cycling his hips carefully, so that each thrust put him all the way to his hilt inside of her. It felt good, so very, very good after all the taunting and teasing, and Bellatrix could feel that she was incredibly close to a climax. A sharp pain in the back of her head told her he'd come into her mind again, and she whispered desperately,
"There."
"Mmm-hmm." This time he didn't pull away. He touched his forehead to Bellatrix's, one hand pawing at her breast whilst the other tightened at her throat again. She spluttered a bit and gasped, and when he released her and she found air, she came. It was too much, being so thoroughly dominated by him like this. He could have sliced her neck open with the knife. He could have choked the life right out of her. Instead he was pushing his cock into her over and over again, and so she came.
He was in her mind the whole time. She was very aware of that now. She could tell he was sitting inside her brain, just feeling the pulse and eruption of her climax. No memories whizzed by; he'd found what he wanted. His cock twitched and his hips stilled, and Bellatrix couldn't help but wonder if the feel of her orgasm had driven him to his own.
"Yes," he whispered against her mouth, and then he took her face in both his hands and crushed her with a bruising kiss. She could feel him spilling inside of her, his breath wild and shallow through his nostrils as he kissed her. Suddenly Bellatrix realised something terrifying. She had feelings for him far beyond what she was meant to have as his sexual servant. She liked him as a man. She liked his personality - the parts of him that made him dominant over other men and over her. She liked that he teased her with his cock and with knives and with words. She liked that he was confident, that he was gentle at very specific moments. She thought he was so handsome that his looks might be the death of her. She thought all of that, and then she remembered that he was inside her head.
He pulled his mouth from hers, both of them breathless. His forehead was slick with sweat, and she felt him withdraw from her mind.
"There," she whispered. "Felt it that time, too."
"You're ready... ready to move on tomorrow," he nodded, taking a step back and pushing himself back into his trousers. He left his shirt untucked and dragged his wrist over his sweaty forehead, and he murmured, "I'm going to... to take a shower. Get all this cleaned up and... meet me in the bedroom."
"Yes, My Lord." She watched as he stepped quickly away. She was surprised to see him go into the sitting-room, but it wasn't her business if he'd changed his mind about taking a shower. She slid off the countertop, wincing at the sight of his seed and her fluids that had leaked out onto the surface. She used her wand to siphon it up, Scouring the wood afterward. That made her think that she ought to Scour the knife, too, which she did, her fingers shaking like mad as she pushed it back into the block. She repaired the dress that he'd sliced and ripped, and she pulled it over her head. She pulled her knickers on and walked on shaking legs toward the bedroom. She wasn't sure what he had in mind for her there, for she was utterly worn out, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw when she walked into the room.
He hadn't gotten in the shower yet; he was standing beside the bed. He'd apparently moved her small half of the bed back in here and melded them back into one wide bed, for it looked as it had when she'd first moved into the flat. Voldemort put his hands on his hips and said firmly,
"I felt profoundly silly last night sleeping so nearby with walls and doors put up on purpose. It felt juvenile. You'll sleep in here tonight. Don't make any more of that than it is. It's early yet; I'm going to take a shower and you can have one when I'm done. In the meantime, go read in the sitting-room or something."
Bellatrix's eyes welled, and she nodded vigorously as she whispered, "Yes, My Lord. Thank you, Master."
"This is just about us not being silly. That's all." He cleared his throat and walked toward the bathroom, practically slamming the door shut behind him. Bellatrix's heart raced as she realised she felt so much more for him than she was meant to do. Then she felt a buzz in her head again, and she whispered aloud,
"There."