"Here you are, Mr Riddle. Butterbeer and a steak pasty."

"Thank you."

Lord Voldemort sat in the Three Broomsticks and slid a Galleon across the table to the serving wench who had brought him his drink and food. He was early; Bellatrix wasn't expected for another twenty-five minutes. But damned if he wasn't going to be here when she arrived.

He picked up his pasty and was suddenly taken back. He shut his eyes and bit into the pasty, tasting steak and potato, and he vividly remembered a lunch shared in his office. Bellatrix had been thirteen years old. She had promised to arrive by noon, but when she'd come, her stomach had been rumbling audibly - she'd come without eating any lunch. Voldemort had ordered them up some steak and potato pasties from Dobby, and the two of them had talked for hours about flowering plants used in poisons and other Dark potioneering.

Now Voldemort set down his pasty and sipped his Butterbeer, but all that did was trigger another memory. Bellatrix had been fifteen and they'd been at a gathering at Malfoy Manor. She'd tried to sneak some gin and gillywater from the bartender, but Voldemort had caught her and had scolded her before giving her a Butterbeer. You're not yet grown enough for gin, you awful little creature, he'd told her. But she was grown now. She'd all grown up now.

He remembered the first night he'd stared at his ceiling, his forehead sweating as he'd come to realise that Bellatrix was not, in fact, a child anymore. She had sprouted breasts - smooth, lovely swells beneath her tunics. Her waist had narrowed and her hips had a curve to them. And beyond the woman's form that she'd acquired, her voice had grown a bit more gravelly. Her eyes looked just the slightest bit weary. She stood differently; she carried herself like a woman.

Voldemort had been in bed thinking about all that, about the way Bellatrix had blossomed into a grown witch, and he'd shut his eyes in desperation. He had taken her as a student when she had been a gangly, bright-eyed twelve-year-old little girl. What was he meant to do with this beautiful Dark woman?

Suddenly he jolted to attention in the Three Broomsticks, jarred out of his memories by the sound of the bell ringing above the door. His eyes flicked up, and his breath suddenly quivered in his nostrils as a curly-haired witch in Slytherin robes came striding over the threshold.

Bella. His Bella.

Voldemort flew to his feet, sliding off the bench, ignoring his Butterbeer and his steak pasty. He felt eyes on him in the pub as he walked with brisk, long strides across the floorboards, approaching Bellatrix and, on instinct, sweeping her into an embrace.

"Happy birthday," he murmured. "I've got your gift at home."

She giggled against his chest, and as she pulled away, she said,

"My trunk and owl are outside. I had a hell of a time getting them both down here by myself."

"Well done, then." Voldemort petted her hair. He glanced over his shoulder at the way the pub had gone utterly silent, and he wordlessly guided Bellatrix outside, out into the street. The door shut behind them, and he said,

"It's lunch time. Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine, Master. I just want to leave," she told him. "Let's not give Dumbledore the opportunity to confront both of us here, shall we? He'd ruminated on the idea of doing that; I'd like to just go to the manor."

Voldemort gave her a crisp nod. He'd spoken personally with Cygnus Black just the day before, confirming his plans to come pick up Bellatrix. But one question had lingered after his meeting with Cygnus, an unanswered question whose solution Voldemort still did not have. He gulped and asked Bellatrix softly,

"When?"

She blinked up at him. She knew exactly what he meant. When would they marry? He was leaving the decision in her hands. Initially, they'd said Christmas. But she was seventeen now. They could marry whenever she felt comfortable doing so. Suddenly a wide grin broke out across Bellatrix's face, and she shrugged.

"Today. Let's drop my trunk and owl off at Malfoy Manor and go straight to the Ministry."

"Today?" Voldemort choked out a barking sort of sound, utterly shocked. "You'll have to change clothes, Bella; I won't marry you in Slytherin robes."

"Why not?" she teased him. "Don't want to marry a schoolgirl?" But then her smile faded a little, and she pulled at the hem of her robe, and she nodded. "I'll put on a nice dress. I'll go to my parents' house and change."

"Right," Voldemort agreed. He picked up Bellatrix's owl and shoved it at her. "Hold onto this. We're going to Malfoy Manor."

An hour later, he was pacing in his office, dressed in formal black brocade robes. He stared at the palm of his hand, at the large, chunky black ring he'd Conjured for himself and the much smaller ring he'd made to match Bellatrix's unique engagement design. He closed his fingers around the rings and tucked them away into his chest pocket. He shut his eyes and wondered if he had gone mad. Lord Voldemort should not marry, he thought. Lord Voldemort should climb solo. But the idea of Bellatrix marrying Rodolphus Lestrange had been disgusting, repugnant, painful. He could not abide it. He needed her for himself. She had been his since childhood, and now that she was a grown witch, she would be his in a different way.

Today was her seventeenth birthday, and he was going to make her his wife today.

"Enter," he called when he heard knocking on his office door. She came walking in looking like a vision in Darkness, and Voldemort's jaw dropped. She wore a high-necked black lace dress, with long lace sleeves and a hem that didn't quite reach her knees. Her wild curls had been tamed into a chignon at the nape of her neck, with a few stray ringlets falling loose. She was wearing bold winged eyeliner and lipstick the colour of blood. She had on shoes with heels that looked like they would pierce anything. She smiled, almost shyly, at Voldemort, and she asked,

"Do I look like a child now, Master?"

He swallowed hard. "No."

"Do I look like a witch you might want to marry?" she inquired, and he nodded. He approached her and said,

"You look like a witch I want to marry, then bring home so that I might make love to her properly at last. Then, tomorrow, we shall begin our lessons. What do you think of that?"

"Mmm." Bellatrix threaded her arms up around his shoulders and shut her eyes. She was so beautiful he could hardly stand it. She smelled cold and crisp. He wanted badly to kiss her, but her lipstick looked carefully done. She surprised him by saying, "I've charmed the lipstick to stay; will you please kiss me?"

"Yes." Voldemort dove down then, crushing her mouth with his as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His hands searched her waist, and he guided her over to his desk for some reason. He groaned against her lips and reached between them, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. She bumped backward into his desk, and he had a sudden urge to keep pushing. He urged her up onto the desk, and she wriggled until she was sitting on the edge. He reached into her dress and hooked his fingers on the waistband of her knickers, and once more she squirmed, freeing herself from the underwear until Voldemort tossed them away.

Everything was happening so quickly that he couldn't keep track of what was going on. He was unbuttoning his trousers under his outer robe. Bellatrix was aiming her wand at herself and murmuring a contraceptive charm. Smart girl. Voldemort was pulling out his rigid cock and shoving his trousers down a bit, approaching Bellatrix and staring into her eyes as he breathlessly said,

"Here? Now?"

"I can't wait any longer," she insisted. He couldn't recall, all of a sudden, who had initiated this. Hadn't it been him, shoving her over to the desk? But she was the one saying she couldn't wait. Neither of them could wait. This simply had to happen. Now. Here.

He touched the tip of his cock to her entrance and knew he'd hurt her if he pushed in like this, so he put his lips beside her ear and whispered,

"Spread your legs for me, Bella."

She moaned a little at that, but she did as he said. He pressed one hand to the small of her back and used the other hand to steady himself on her thigh, and he entered her. He went slowly, carefully, but he still faced resistance from her virgin body. Perhaps not as much resistance as he'd been expecting, though, he thought. He kissed at the skin beneath her ear and wormed his way into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. He saw memories of her in her bed at the Black family home, using candles and other makeshift toys to pleasure herself. Naughty. She'd been a very naughty girl. She'd readied her body for this. He thrust in and out a few times, and she tipped her head back. Wanton little thing; she liked it.

He kissed at her neck and tried not to destroy her hairstyle as he touched her face and head. In and out, in and out. Steady and sure, he pumped himself into the sweet warmth and tightness of her body. He cast a nonverbal contraceptive charm, unwilling to trust her young magic on such an important matter. He squeezed at her thigh, his fingertips digging into her flesh, and all of a sudden he felt contractions around his cock. He pulled back and saw Bellatrix flushed red, her mouth fallen open and her eyes hooded. She was coming, he realised. He'd made her come. He shoved himself roughly into her body and wrenched his eyes shut, driven over the edge by the idea of that. He spilled himself right into her, spurt after spurt of his come filling her before leaking out and trickling down the inside of her thigh. Voldemort saw spots. He heard ringing. And as he came down from his eye, he heard Bellatrix whisper,

"I am in love with you. Did you know that?"

He was silent as he tucked his cock away and cast nonverbal spells to Siphon and Scour the mess on her body. She slid off the desk and reached for her knickers, and she prompted him,

"Master?"

"I heard you," he snapped. He licked his lip and dragged his fingers over his hair. He cleared his throat roughly and pointed at the desk. There was a scroll there, bound with black ribbon and sealed with wax, and he gulped as he told Bellatrix, "Your birthday gift. May as well open it now, if you please."

She gnawed her lip, apparently thinking she was in trouble for what she'd said. She reached for the scroll and picked it up, breaking the seal and unfurling it. She read aloud, quietly, her voice more in awe with each passing word.

"Bella,

I have desired you for far longer than has been appropriate. The simple bond of teacher and student between us was breached a while ago, though it was no fault of yours that such a thing came to pass. All you did was grow up and become beautiful and wicked and intelligent and wonderful.

And I fell in love.

I only now realise that that is what has happened. It is a complicated thing, parsing out precisely what a person means to you. Soon you shall be my wife, but (especially among Purebloods) husbands and wives often go about without love. And I, for nearly all of my life, have considered myself quite happily incapable of the sensation.

But I know that I am in love now.

And I should like to ask you to go to Ireland with me to master Occlumency, just the two of us, in a quiet place where we might be alone for just a little while. You have come home, and I am in love with you, and I should like to drink tea with you in the mornings before we start our lessons.

So, that is your birthday gift, Bella. An invitation to Ireland, and a confession of love. Happy birthday to the witch full grown.

Your Master."

"So?" Voldemort asked, folding his hands before him. "Will you go with me to Ireland to master Occlumency?"

"Of course I will." Bellatrix rolled up the letter and grinned. "Of course I will. Now, let's go get married, shall we?"

Everyone stared at them at the Ministry, but Voldemort paid it all absolutely no heed. He Conjured deep red roses for Bellatrix. The actual ceremony in the office of registrations took less than two minutes; they exchanged rings and made promises and signed some parchments. And that was that. They were married. They came back to Malfoy Manor and had dinner with the Malfoys, announcing that they were married to great celebratory drinking of wine and eating of desserts. Bellatrix sent an owl off to her parents asking that the House-Elves arrange for her belongings to be transferred now that she was a married witch.

That night, Voldemort let her sleep in one of his tunics since she didn't have her nightgowns yet. They climbed into his bed, and Bellatrix studied the two rings on her finger. Voldemort dragged his thumb over them, and he finally met her eyes and whispered,

"Legilimens."

She had no way of keeping him out. He searched through her thoughts, tormenting her by looking at times she'd wished she'd had friends, times she'd fought with her sister, times she'd grown frustrated in her lessons with Voldemort. He finally pulled out of her head and kissed her cheek, saying,

"Soon enough, your mind will be a fortress even I won't be able to enter, Bellatrix."

"I'll let you in sometimes," she teased. She stroked at his face and purred, "I'm not too sore from earlier."

He snorted. "Moderation in all things."

She huffed. "Oh, very well. But it is so enjoyable. That. Sex."

"It is, isn't it?" He smirked at her. He brushed his fingers over her hair. "Particularly when one is quite fond of the partner."

"Have you had many partners?" Bellatrix asked gravely. Her eyes went rather wide, and Voldemort chewed his lip.

"I am… forty-one years old. One might expect a man of my age to be experienced, particularly given how handsome young Tom Riddle was. But, no, Bella; I never had time for it. I was too busy learning. Studying. Climbing."

"But I promise I shall never keep you from climbing," Bellatrix vowed. "I shall be a tool for you as you climb."

"I know that." Voldemort kissed her cheek again and lay down on his pillow. "Get some rest, you lovely birthday girl, you. We've got a trip for Ireland to prepare for in the morning."

Author's Note: A very happy Mother's Day tomorrow to all those celebrating. Thanks for reading and reviewing.