"Cygnus. Good morning."
"Good morning, sir." Cygnus Black III stepped into Lord Voldemort's office with a cheerful disposition. Voldemort couldn't help but smirk a little at Cygnus Black. The man had been a sniveling little worm of a boy in school, but he'd worked his way up as a shrewd financial planner for the wealthiest in wizarding society, and now he was a fantastically wealthy donor to Voldemort's cause. And, of course, he was Bellatrix's father.
"What brings you here?" Voldemort asked. "I'm sure you're busy today, what with the Debutante Ball tonight."
"Ah, yes. Bellatrix is being presented to the Sacred Twenty-Eight along with Aurora Rowle, Posie Parkinson, and Margot Crabbe. All four girls are lovely; all ready to be shown to the wizarding world as the grown women they've become."
Voldemort pinched his lips and sighed. "Bellatrix isn't seventeen until the end of September."
Cygnus laughed a little and tipped his head. "But all the good marriage prospects will be watching her tonight, sir, won't they?"
Voldemort's stomach churned a bit at that. He scowled and mumbled again,
"What brings you here?"
"Ah. Of course." Cygnus slapped his hands on the sides of his robes and said jovially, "I have come, sir, to tell you that I have transferred another seven thousand Galleons into your Gringotts account just this morning. A donation, from Druella and myself, to mark the occasion of Bellatrix's presentation. We hope you will accept."
Voldemort blinked and nodded. "I am grateful. Seven thousand will go far in helping to pay my newest Ministry spies."
"Ah. Yaxley and Rookwood," Cygnus said knowingly. "They spoke with me about joining the movement. I think it's splendid, simply splendid, that they're in fully now. The others will come, and we will find money to pay whomever needs paying. Shall I see you tonight, then, sir?"
"For the Debutante Ball." Voldemort dragged his fingertips over the edge of his desk and gave one curt nod. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss one of the top Pureblood society events of the season, now, would I?"
Cygnus gave Voldemort a look that seemed almost shy, and he said, "She'll be glad to see you there. She's anxious about it."
"Bella? Anxious?" Voldemort scoffed. "I find that difficult to believe."
"She has to wear white; it has her in quite the fit." Cygnus grinned and shrugged. "Little girls, no?"
"But she is not a little girl anymore," Voldemort pointed out. "Or isn't that the point of this ball?"
"You're very right, of course. She's all grown up now," Cygnus nodded. "See you tonight, sir."
"Thank you again for the donation," Voldemort said as Cygnus nodded and turned to go.
When Voldemort - still known to most of those attending this party as Tom Riddle - walked into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor later that evening, a little hush fell over the space. People were impressed by him, he knew. He made people wonder. He made them think. The ones who had joined his movement already were in awe of him, and others feared him. Many were simply curious. He was, after all, a known Half-Blood interloping into Pureblood society. But everyone knew that Tom Riddle had earned his way here. The mystery lay in what had transpired over the past twenty years or so. He'd gone to the Continent; what had he done there? How had his face become warped and scarred the way it had done? Why was he so solitary?
Only Bellatrix seemed comfortable around him, though of course she'd been a hanger-on since she'd been twelve years old. They had a natural rapport, the two of them. She acted as though he were almost a friend, a teacher and companion with whom she might have long discussions or thoughtful perseverative pacing sessions. Their interactivity was easy. It had always been easy. But it had always existed between a grown man and a child, and now things were different. Tonight, she would walk in here on her father's arm to be presented to Pureblood society as a grown witch, ripe for marriage and the world at large.
Voldemort plucked a flute of Champagne with two floating cherries from a passing House-Elf's tray, and he sipped at it as Yaxley came walking up to him. Voldemort nodded to acknowledge the blond, stern wizard who now served in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"How go things?" Voldemort asked simply.
"I've got the ability to directly see any and all concerns coming into the department, sir," Yaxley said in a soft, almost dangerous voice. "I will be able to monitor just what the Ministry thinks is going on when it comes to Dark magic."
"Good," Voldemort nodded, "because soon enough there will be real activity when it comes to Dark magic, Yaxley, and the Ministry will indeed be taking note. I am pleased to have you in there."
"Your attention, if you please!" A voice suddenly called out through the room, magically Amplified, and Voldemort snapped his attention to see Abraxas Malfoy and his wife Bettina standing with their son Lucius at the head of the ballroom. Abraxas waited for the din to die down, and then he proceeded to say, "The Malfoy family is honoured to host this year's Debutante Ball. Please, give your kind attention to the young witches being presented to you this evening."
The hired orchestra of enchanted instruments kicked up into a stirring march, and the doors opened as the revelers who had gathered broke into applause. Into the ballroom walked four stately wizards on whose arms were four nervous-looking girls. Two were a little older, Voldemort knew, and Bellatrix was the youngest, having not yet turned seventeen. She walked in last, and when he caught sight of her, his breath hitched.
She was in a strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline, tapered to her tiny waist, with enormously full skirts of white lace. She had on white satin gloves to her elbows and had her hair pulled back into an elaborate braided style. She had on loads of makeup, too - coral lipstick and copper on her eyes. She looked lovely. She looked…
She looked all grown up.
Voldemort gaped and stared at her as the first three girls were presented to society. Aurora Rowle, Posie Parkinson, and Margot Crabbe were led in turn by their fathers up to the centre of the parquet floor, where they descended into deep curties to the mad applause of those gathered. Finally, it was Bellatrix's turn. Cygnus walked her up to the middle, and for a moment, Voldemort feared she would slip and fall or something. She was unpractised in high heels, he thought, and she might trip on her long skirts. But she managed just fine; she was elegant and serene. She dipped into a reverent curtsy, holding it as people clapped.
Then she raised her eyes and stared right at Lord Voldemort. He sipped his cherry Champagne and blinked, staring back at her. She slowly rose, and Cygnus led her away. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort, meeting his eyes again, and once more he took a sip of his drink. He flicked his eyes to where Rodolphus Lestrange stood hungry and watching, feasting his beady little eyes upon Bellatrix as though she were a meal to be devoured. Voldemort huffed. He wanted to touch her. Why did he want to touch her?
She was no child now. That was plain and clear by the way her dress fit her. The bodice curled over her breasts and waist and hips, over her woman's body. Her arms were lithe and thin but had a softness to them that had not been there in childhood. Her face was angular, almost harsh, where once her cheeks had been round and her eyes had sparkled with wonder. She had grown up right before Lord Voldemort's eyes, and now tonight she was being thrust upon society as an adult.
And he wanted to touch her.
He watched, bile sharp and sour in his throat, as Bellatrix danced with her father alongside the other debutantes. Then she danced with her grandfather, and then she danced with Rodolphus Lestrange, and that was just entirely too much. Voldemort swigged his way through a tumbler of firewhisky as the Lestrange boy led Bellatrix in a swaying two-step on the dance floor, but then he couldn't take any more.
"Pardon me. Sir?"
Voldemort snapped his eyes down to the little blonde girl who had come dashing up beside him. Narcissa. Bellatrix's little sister. She was just now about how old Bellatrix had been when she'd started out as Voldemort's pupil. And what a difference there was between the sisters, he thought. Narcissa had come to the party in a simple, modest burgundy dress, her blonde hair in a bun at the back of her head, looking for all the world like an innocent child. Bellatrix had been a child once. She wasn't a child anymore. Voldemort drank more firewhisky.
"Hello, Narcissa," he said coolly. Narcissa twined her fingers together and leaned in.
"I wonder if you'd be good enough to ask my sister to dance tonight."
Voldemort raised his eyebrows. He set down his empty tumbler on a passing Elf's tray and asked,
"What makes you think she wants to dance with me?"
"She confided in me," said Narcissa in a low voice. "She said that if she danced with nobody else at all tonight, if she only danced with her teacher, then she would consider the Debutante Ball a smashing success. She was so nervous, so anxious about tonight. So I wonder if you would consider -"
"Of course I will." Voldemort gave a crisp nod. "Thank you, Narcissa."
He walked away, feeling the liquor a little, and he approached the dance floor. Bellatrix was finishing up her two-step with Rodolphus Lestrange, and she curtsied to him as he gave her an awkward bow.
"Thanks for the dance, Bellatrix," Rodolphus said contentedly. "You are so lovely tonight. Oh. Hullo, sir."
"Good evening, Mr Lestrange." Voldemort smiled mirthlessly. He turned to Bellatrix. "May I have the next dance?"
Her eyes went wide, and she nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course."
"Thank you." Voldemort slid into Lestrange's place, putting one hand on her bare left shoulder blade and flinching at the feel of her skin beneath his. She shut her eyes and palpably shivered beneath his touch. They linked hands, and she reached up for his shoulder, and then the music began - an easy waltz.
For a long moment, Voldemort just danced with Bellatrix in silence, knowing he was wasting time, knowing he should say something. Finally, finally, he informed her,
"You were very elegant during your presentation. I half-expected you to slip and fall."
"Have you so little faith in me?" Bellatrix quirked up her mouth at him, and he tipped his head.
"I just remember that time you were very tired after a Deb Ball and fell down the stairs at Yaxley House as you and your parents were leaving."
"I was twelve!" Bellatrix protested. "It had been a long night."
"You're not twelve anymore," Voldemort pointed out, and she shook her head.
"No, I'm not. You said it would feel different."
He blinked. "Dancing, you mean."
She brushed her thumb over his, sending a strange shock down his spine. He tightened his fingers on her back and felt her hand cinch on his shoulder. They stepped a bit closer. He swallowed hard as she asked,
"Does it feel different than it did before?"
His lips parted a little, and at first he did not answer. He just moved with her - one, two, three - but then he finally admitted, "Yes. It feels different."
"Do I look grown-up tonight?" Bellatrix asked him, and he was dizzy then. He nodded.
"Mmm-hmm."
"And you're going to teach me Occlumency." Bellatrix stroked at his shoulder, actually stroked there, and Voldemort thought he would just pass out on the floor. He wanted to kiss her. Why did he want to kiss her?
"Bella." He had always said her name like that, curtly, a reprimand. Sometimes she would lose focus during studies, and he would bark her name at her. Sometimes she would arrive late by Floo Powder, and he would greet her with a gruff utterance of her name. So he said it like that now, harsh like he always had, but when her eyes looked concerned, he softened his tone and whispered, "Bella."
"Master." She murmured the syllables, and they rolled off of her lips in a way that made Voldemort nearly groan aloud. He wanted her now. He wanted to feel her skin. He wanted to taste her lips. He wanted to crush her mouth with his, the two of them against a bookshelf as he pressed his weight onto her small frame. He wanted… why did he want all of that?
"Your sister told me to dance with you," he blurted, and Bellatrix's face fell a little. She nodded.
"I see."
"I would have asked you anyway," he insisted. "Still, it is good to know you were amenable to the dance."
"I would dance with you for the rest of the night if I could," Bellatrix muttered, glancing away toward her second cousin Yoris. She sighed. "I suppose there are all sorts of people I have to give dances to. My feet are going to be awfully sore tomorrow."
"I've Butterfly Weed Balm, if you find yourself in need of it," Voldemort mumbled. She looked back up at him and asked,
"Shall we have studies tomorrow?"
"Would you like that?" he asked, and before she could answer aloud, he snuck into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. He could feel the pulse of what she was thinking.
Damn the lessons; I just want to be near you tomorrow. I just want to kiss you, to touch you, to -
"Bellatrix." Now Voldemort hissed her name like he was a snake, and she looked frightened. She could always tell when he'd been inside of her head.
"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered, but he shut his eyes and murmured back,
"I've got half a mind to take you to my office right now."
She was silent then. When he opened his eyes, the music had stopped, and Bellatrix pulled back to curtsy.
"Do it," she dared him. "Take me to your office."
Suddenly he could imagine all the wonderful, terrible things he would do to her alone right now, realising that both of them wanted it. He gnawed his lip and shook his head.
"You look inexcusably beautiful tonight. And you are all grown up, and soon enough I'll make good on that fact. But tonight you need to dance with your cousin Yoris and all the others. Goodnight, Miss Black."
"Miss Black?" she sounded wounded then, like an animal who had been struck, and suddenly Voldemort found himself very much out of control of the situation. He stared at her, at her lovely face and her smooth neck and her perfect shoulders and arms, and he mumbled,
"Come with me."
He walked briskly out of the ballroom, passing through throngs of people as he made his way to the elaborate wooden doors. He went out into the dark, heavily paneled corridor, and once he was out there, he whirled around. Bellatrix followed him out, her white lace skirts rustling around her as she approached him.
And then he moved.
He waited for the door to shut, and then he wrapped one arm round her waist and pulled her close. He cupped her jaw in his other hand and bent down, and the second his lips touched hers, she squealed. She immediately tossed her arms round his shoulders, mussing her white rose corsage on her wrist and not seeming to care. She wanted more. She was pressing herself against him, up on her tiptoes, her chest heaving against his as she breathed quickly through her nose. Voldemort flushed hard between his legs but broke away and whispered,
"Mmmph; we mustn't linger, Bella."
"Master," she whined, and it was enough to elicit a choked little noise from him as he gently set her back down on her feet and pulled her away a bit. He savoured the feel of her waist beneath his hands. He rubbed at her arms a little and felt the soft skin there.
And then he reminded himself that her birthday was not until the twenty-first of September, that though she had grown and was no longer a child, she was still off-limits to him. She squeezed her eyes shut, seeming to recognise the same thing, and she complained,
"Christmas is so very long from now."
"It'll fly by," Voldemort lied. He licked his lip and knew he needed a moment to collect himself. He gulped and muttered, "I'm going to my office for a few moments. Go dance. Beautiful witch."
He turned and stalked away from the student he'd taught to raise the dead, the little girl who had begged him to teach her to make poisons, the woman he'd kissed.
"Master, do you mean it?" she called from behind him, and he walked backwards as he raised his eyebrows curiously at her. She shrugged. "Do you really think I look beautiful?"
"All the time, Bella," Voldemort nodded, and he turned again, making his way toward his office.
Author's Note: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. I am leaving for Hawai'i in a few days, but I will write whenever I can.