"Do you, Rodolphus, take Bellatrix as your wife now and forevermore?"

Voldemort scowled and narrowed his eyes. He'd known this day was coming for ages, but it didn't make it any easier.

He could never have married her, he thought. He was the Dark Lord. The two being married today were his servants. And they liked each other well enough. They were bound primarily by their loyalty to Voldemort, by their shared pure blood, though they had a few other interests in common. The History of Magic. Potions. The Dark Arts. They'd have quiet conversations over the dinner table. They'd be physical together.

They'd be physical together. That thought made Voldemort's stomach churn a little. He blinked and stared at Bellatrix, who wore an elegant gown of flowing black silk. She would never have worn white today, he knew. She didn't have it in her to be a bride in white.

"I do."

"Do you, Bellatrix, take Rodolphus as your husband now and forevermore?"

Bellatrix hesitated, just a moment too long, and her eyes cast down onto Voldemort. He nodded, and she shut her eyes. Finally, she said in a quiet voice,

"I do."

Voldemort felt like he'd be sick on the ground. He struggled to applaud when Rodolphus took Bellatrix's face in his hands and placed a kiss square on her lips. Later, during dinner, Voldemort sat at the head table as the guest of honour, to Bellatrix's right. Her husband was on her left. Midway through the meal, Voldemort murmured to Bellatrix,

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you, My Lord." She turned to him as Rodolphus talked to his brother Rabastan. Before them stretched a ballroom full of Pureblood guests, and the floating candles cast a warm glow on the space. In the light of the candles, Bellatrix's dark eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

"It could never have been me," he told her frankly. She glanced back to Rodolphus and just stared for a long moment. Then she returned her gaze to Voldemort, and a tear wormed its way out of her eye and trickled down her cheek. Voldemort shook his head and said, more gently this time, "It could never have been me."

"I know, Master," Bellatrix confirmed. She spent the rest of the dinner talking with her new husband, and Voldemort just stared at his food. There were dozens of people here who wanted his attention, he thought. Somehow, he wasn't in the mood for sycophants tonight. He didn't have it in him to listen to Crabbe and Goyle drone on like morons, or to hear Abraxas Malfoy's nasally voice go on and on about his son's achievements. Somehow, he couldn't bear to hear Cygnus Black III boom out about how glad he was that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were finally married. He couldn't stand the thought of Dolohov recounting their last battle. He didn't want any of it. Not today.

The last battle.

Bellatrix had snared up Hattie Collins in a Cruciatus Curse on the battlefield. She'd looked so pretty in the scarlet glow of the webbed curse that Voldemort had been momentarily distracted from shooting Curses at Alastor Moody. He'd nearly been Stunned, deflecting the spell at the very last moment and aiming a Killing Curse that Moody had dodged. But then he'd turned his attention back to Bellatrix, to the sight of her in her crimson torturous glory, and his heart had raced. Soon enough, he'd thought that night, she'd belong to Rodolphus just as much as she belonged to Lord Voldemort.

She was his servant, his slave, but she was Rodolphus' wife. She bore his Dark Mark upon her arm, but she bore Rodolphus' wedding rings upon her hand. Her loyalty was divided now. Wasn't it?

Voldemort watched as Bellatrix and Rodolphus sliced their wedding cake, and when a piece floated over to him on a little plate, he picked up a fork and tried to eat it. It was dry and cloyingly sweet. He didn't want it. He set down his fork and shook his head to himself. He wouldn't eat their stupid wedding cake. He may have to surrender Bellatrix, but he wasn't about to eat her wedding cake.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix managed their first dance, swaying a bit awkwardly with one another, and then finally others joined in on the dance floor. Bellatrix kept flicking her eyes up to Voldemort as she danced with her father, and Voldemort decided to put aside his pride to go ahead and dance with her. He rose from his chair and walked down to the dance floor, his long, flowing dress robes billowing about him as he did. He strode straight to the dance floor as Bellatrix finished her dance with Cygnus. He held out his hand and said to Bellatrix,

"Grant me the honour, will you?"

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix said with a grin. He took her right hand in his left and put his other hand to her tiny waist. She pulled up close, standing so near him that he could smell her perfume. He nibbled his lip as they started to move, and he said softly,

"I was just thinking about the sight of you casting the Cruciatus Curse. I look forward to the next time you torture for me."

"Well, it is something of a hobby of mine, My Lord." Bellatrix batted her eyelids and whispered, "I do so enjoy doing your bidding."

"I know." Voldemort nodded. He kept dancing with her, staring down into her dark, wide, shining eyes as he felt a spike of regret go through him. He ought not to have let her marry Rodolphus, he thought. It could never have been him, but it could have been no one. Now she would be physical with the Lestrange boy. They would be affectionate toward one another. And Voldemort would probably never hold Bellatrix in his arms again.

The song ended, and Bellatrix pulled back. She bowed her head and murmured respectfully,

"Master."

Then she walked away, swept up into Rabastan's dancing stance almost at once.

"Dumbledore will be expecting us, so I want everyone masked and ready to cast Killing Curses the instant you sense danger. Understood?"

Voldemort looked around the table, and his Death Eaters all mumbled their assent. Dolohov raised a hand tentatively, and Voldemort cocked his head.

"Antonin."

"Should we take out Dumbledore, Master, or leave him for you?"

Voldemort hesitated. He wanted Dumbledore dead. He didn't need to do it himself. He pursed his lips and said,

"If someone besides me kills Albus Dumbledore, that person will receive a very special bounty. I want Dumbledore's corpse. Either I'll do it myself, or one of you will do it for me. No other questions? Dismissed."

The meeting room started to empty out then, chairs scraping the ground and people talking quietly among themselves as they left. Voldemort stayed at the head of the table, rolling his wand back and forth on its surface. He sighed and said quietly,

"Madam Lestrange, a word, if you please?"

Bellatrix held back, looking surprised. She glanced to her husband and flashed him a little smile as he left her behind, talking to his brother about the upcoming battle. Everyone was excited, Voldemort knew. Especially him. But right now he stayed calm, just pushing his wand back and forth on the table. The doors shut, and Bellatrix turned to face Voldemort.

"My Lord?" she prompted, and he gulped. He blinked slowly and stared at his wand as he said,

"It didn't have to be him."

Bellatrix shifted. "Erm… Rodolphus, you mean, My Lord?"

"Right. I mean… that is, you didn't have to marry him."

Bellatrix frowned. "But you said yourself that it never could have been you."

"No." He shut his eyes. "It could never have been me."

He finally pushed back his chair, leaving his wand on the table, and stalked over to where Bellatrix stood. He took her face in his hands and bent down, brushing his lips against hers.

She might have been surprised by the motion, except he'd kissed her more times than he could count. She might have been surprised by the way his hand went to her waist, by the way his fingers slid into her hair, except that he'd touched her like this a hundred times. He'd had her more often than either of them probably cared to admit, ever since she'd been fresh out of Hogwarts and he'd been an aspirational social climber.

"Bellatrix," he murmured against her mouth, "It didn't have to be him."

"He doesn't touch me like you do," she replied. "He never will. And you can always… you know that I'm yours, Master."

"You're also his." Voldemort pulled back and looked at Bellatrix's wedding rings.

"No. I am yours," Bellatrix insisted. "I belong to Lord Voldemort; my loyalty to you flows through my veins."

"Swear it." Voldemort stroked her waist. "Swear that you're mine and not his."

"Yours." Bellatrix hummed, leaning in for another kiss. "Yours, Master."