Lord Voldemort paced in his office, a glass of ice water in his hand. It was cooled in here, but the morning outside was shaping up to be hot. Indeed, the voice on the Wizarding Wireless was discussing the weather.
"Some of the hottest days of any summer in memory are in store for England and Wales over the next two weeks. Be sure to use Cooling Charms and stay hydrated."
Voldemort sipped his water and then set the glass down on his desk when he heard the sound of knocking on his office door. Surely Bellatrix wasn't up and ready yet, after her night of drunkenness? He cleared his throat and reached out with his mind, sensing Abraxas Malfoy. He called for Abraxas to enter, and when the blond-haired wizard did, his face was serious.
"Sir," said Abraxas gravely, "One of my portraits reported something strange to me this morning."
"One of your… your portraits?" Voldemort's stomach sank. He gulped. Abraxas nodded.
"My portrait of Lyria Androdia upstairs told me that she saw Bellatrix Black walking through the corridors at midnight last night, and that she knocked on your quarters before entering them."
Voldemort's mouth fell open. He contemplated, for a brief moment, Obliviating Abraxas and making this whole problem disappear. He could destroy the portrait. But then he remembered that he was a guest in this manor, and that if he angered his host, he might find himself homeless. So he decided to tell the truth, or something near it.
"Bellatrix broke the rules last night," he said. "She took a bottle of wine from her parents' cupboard and got drunk. She came here in her drunken state in search of teachings. She wanted to learn about vampires."
"Vampires." Abraxas narrowed his eyes. "In the middle of the night."
"I Disapparated - took her back to her parents' home immediately," Voldemort said. "She's due here any time for lessons and for a stern talking-to. She knows she's in deep trouble. I do apologise for her entering the manor at such a late hour uninvited."
"It's no trouble." Abraxas didn't sound so certain. "So Cygnus and Druella know all about this, then?"
"Erm… no." Voldemort shook his head. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way. Bellatrix is my student, Abraxas, and her tutelage is important to me. Her membership in the movement is critical. I can't have her parents pulling her out of my lessons because she made a few poor choices."
"I understand, sir," Abraxas nodded. There was more knocking on the door then, and Voldemort smirked. He wandlessly opened the door and called,
"Bella, do come in; we were just talking about you."
Bellatrix came walking in slowly, wearing a scandalously short black dress. Abraxas Malfoy looked her up and down, and Bellatrix said cautiously,
"Good morning, Mr Malfoy."
"I was just about to explain to Abraxas that you will never enter his home uninvited again, least of all at midnight, and that you would not dream of coming to my quarters unannounced in the middle of the night in his home." Voldemort gave Bellatrix a hard, stern look, and Bellatrix's cheeks instantly went scarlet. She flicked her eyes between Voldemort and Abraxas Malfoy, and she finally whispered,
"No, never, Mr Malfoy. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right; I hear there was quite a lot of stolen wine involved," Abraxas said, cocking up a pale brow. "Temper your drinking, Miss Black, and you'll find your decisions are much more sound."
"I'll take that advice to heart," she promised. She turned to Voldemort and asked, "Shall I wait outside?"
"No. Abraxas was just going, unless there was something else?" Voldemort tipped his head expectantly at Abraxas Malfoy, who bowed just a little and murmured,
"There's nothing else at all, sir. A fine day to you both." Abraxas turned and walked right out of the office, and as soon as the door shut, Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and asked Bellatrix,
"How's your head?"
"I'm fine, Master," she mumbled, dragging her fingers through her hair. "I'm so sorry that he found out that I came."
"Hmm. Yes. I was rather hoping that he would not know, but there it is." Voldemort shoved a hand through the air, gesturing to one of the armchairs before the bare fireplace. Bellatrix sat on command, and Voldemort paced slowly behind her. He sniffed and began,
"Baktu was one of the first Romanian vampires that I met in my travels. He was certainly the most interesting. You see, Baktu was like an inventor of sorts. A seeker of truth. He wanted to know all the uses and purposes of human blood - in potions, in curse work. So aside from merely drinking the blood of his victims, he utilised it alongside his lover, a witch called Nadia, to try and discover new serums, new poisons."
"And did he?" Bellatrix asked, sounding interested. "Did he discover new things?"
"When I met him, he'd recently uncovered the use of human blood in a type of healing serum, but he had not yet widely shared the results. Nothing ever came of that serum that I know of. Why he kept his findings to himself, I do not fully understand," Voldemort said. "Baktu is over four hundred years old, but Nadia was much, much younger. Perhaps he wanted to protect his quiet life in the forest with her. I do not know."
Bellatrix was quiet then. Voldemort stared down at her, walking around to the front of her chair.
"Would you like to learn about the vampire called Caraquena? The vampire from Venezuela?"
Bellatrix blinked a few times and then shut her eyes. "Yes, Master. Of course."
Voldemort's stomach stirred. He got the impression that Bellatrix did not, in fact, want to hear anything more about vampires. But he cleared his throat and told her,
"Caraquena was a vampire who lived in the forests of Venezuela for over seven hundred years. She was well-known to the native Muggles there; they crafted lore around her and some considered her a goddess. She feasted upon them, and some offered up humans to her as sacrifices to protect the villages from being utterly savaged. Caraquena never went hungry, not in seven hundred years. But then the Spanish Muggles arrived, and she foolishly began taking them for her feasts. They murdered her with their weapons of steel and lead. It wouldn't have killed her, except that a musket ball went straight through her heart, and she died. After seven hundred years."
Bellatrix was silent. Voldemort folded his hands before him and gnawed his lip.
"Have you nothing to say about your lesson today?"
"It's all very interesting," she insisted finally, "all of it. Vampires fascinate me, Master."
"Something else is plainly on your mind," Voldemort pointed out, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to his. She finally whispered,
"No one is watching you."
He felt cold then. He shook his head and said quietly, "I've no idea what you mean."
Bellatrix rose from her chair and put her hands onto Voldemort's chest. She leaned forward a little and touched her forehead to his sternum. She murmured against his robes,
"Damn the law. Nobody is watching what you do to me in this office, Master."
"It is not right, Bella," he insisted, though he found himself with his fingers creeping up the inside of her thigh. He kissed the top of her forehead and said, "I ought to keep my hands entirely off of you until your birthday."
"I shall be gone on my birthday," she reminded him, "and for three months thereafter."
Voldemort growled a little, feeling frustrated and knowing how right she was. Nobody was watching them. He reached out an arm, extending it toward the door, and wandlessly, nonverbally cast a Colloportus charm to lock it.
Then he moved quickly.
He backed Bellatrix up toward the wall, and when she hit it, she gasped. He bent down to swallow the gasp in a kiss, burrowing his mouth against hers as their lips locked together and their tongues scraped the insides of one another's mouths. He threaded the fingers of his left hand up into Bellatrix's wild curls and used his right hand to stroke the inside of her thigh, feeling her shudder as he did. She moaned against his mouth when his fingers crept northward, toward the crotch of her knickers, and his heart started to race until he was certain it would thump right out of his chest.
She was boldly reaching into his robes, stroking him through his trousers, and he was going hard at her touch. He didn't mind her brazen move this time; he let her manipulate his cock through the fabric as he kissed her again. He pushed aside the crotch of her knickers and felt a damp flush between her thighs, felt silky folds welcome him. He ripped his mouth from hers and grunted, his cock twitching beneath Bellatrix's hand.
"Bella." He moved his mouth to her neck, to the soft and thin skin there, and he lapped and suckled beneath her ear as his fingers stroked and pushed at her entrance. Over and over, back and forth he moved on her, twiddling his thumb around her clit with just enough pressure to make her pant. She grabbed at his head as he kissed her neck, holding on for purchase whilst his tongue and his fingers moved all around her body. Her hand faltered on his cock, and she let out a high-pitched whine. Voldemort knew she was getting close to her peak, to feeling pleasure detonate within her. Somehow, the thought of that - of her finding release - made him so hard he almost came right then and there. He buried his face into her neck and bit, knowing he'd leave a mark and figuring he could fix it with magic. He bit again, pressing his fingers down, and she was lost.
He groaned at the feel of her walls clenching around his fingertips. He shut his eyes at the sound of her breath hitching, coming fast and shallow and uneven. Her skin went hot beneath his mouth, and he finally pulled away as he sensed that she was coming down from her high.
She was so ridiculously beautiful when he did pull back that he could scarcely breathe. Her lips were parted and full, her eyes were hooded and heavy. Her neck was bruised and shining, and her little chest was heaving quickly. She kept moving her hand on his cock then, squeezing and stroking him, and Voldemort realised he was seconds away from spilling himself in his trousers. He ripped her hand off of him and whispered,
"Not me, Bella."
"Why not?" she demanded. "You gave me pleasure; let me give it to you."
"It's quite an unnecessary mess," he insisted, though in reality it just seemed awkward to come in his trousers. He could finish himself off later to thoughts of her. He put a hand on either side of her on the wall and stared down, and he murmured,
"You are the most beautiful grown-up witch there ever was, I think."
She grinned and shook her head. "You are teasing me, Master."
"I am not." He reached to tuck her hair behind her ear and bent to touch his lips to the spot he'd bruised up. "Let me fix this for you."
"Leave it," she insisted. "Leave your marks on me. I want to be marked by you."
He pulled back and stared down into her eyes. "Why?"
"Because," she said seriously, "I am yours. You are my master, and I am your servant, and I quite like the idea of being marked up by you."
"People will see it and wonder who kissed you so roughly." Voldemort threw up an eyebrow.
"Let them wonder," Bellatrix said nonchalantly. "I wish you'd marked me more."
Voldemort scoffed. "Perhaps next time."
"Next time." Bellatrix tipped up her chin, reaching up to stroke at Voldemort's jaw. "Next time, and the time after that, and the time after that…"
"Every time." Voldemort nodded and kissed her forehead gently. "Now. Come sit down. I'm not finished teaching you about vampires."
Author's Note: Tomorrow night into the next day, I travel home, so it may be a few days before I update. Thanks for your patience.