When Voldemort came back to The Reverie, an Expanded suitcase in his hand, he walked up the stairs and made his way down the corridor to the black and white bedroom. In the moonlight, he could see that Bellatrix was fast asleep in the bed, and his chest pulled a little. He set down his suitcase, deciding that he would unpack his belongings in the morning. He slowly undressed, peeling off one layer of clothing at a time, and when he was nude, he stared at the sleeping Bellatrix and began to get a little hard for her. She was so beautiful, after all.
He shook that thought away and Summoned his black flannel pyjamas out of his Expanded suitcase. He shut the suitcase and pulled the pyjamas on, and then he Scoured his teeth and approached the bed. Bellatrix was still sleeping, but the act of him crawling into the bed was enough to rouse her, and as he slithered beneath the crushed velvet blanket, she rolled over to face him. She smiled a little, looking lovely, and whispered,
"Hello, My Lord."
"Hello." He set his wand on the table beside the bed and faced her as he lay down. The prophecies said she was meant to be kept near. She must be near him in order for him to succeed. So he would spend his nights here with her, in this luxurious prison where she must be carefully hidden away. He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Bellatrix's ear and thought out loud.
"I ought not to have sent you away," he murmured. "Earlier, before dinner, when I sent you out of this room so quickly, I ought not to have done so."
Bellatrix frowned, looking confused in the dim light. "Whatever do you mean, Master?"
"After the incident on the chair, I sent you away without hesitation, and I might have liked to… to talk with you a bit," Voldemort said, almost uncomfortably. Bellatrix's lips parted a little, and she repeated,
"To talk with me?"
"Yes. It is not so very often that you and I simply talk, is it?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix shook her head.
"What would you like to talk to me about, My Lord?" she asked, and Voldemort shrugged and sighed heavily. He finally asked in a rush,
"What's your favourite colour?"
She smirked a little. "Black."
He scoffed. "You'd never know it, what with that rainbow quilt room you chose when we arrived here."
Bellatrix laughed softly and said, "I just liked the light in there. I expect your favourite colour is also black, My Lord."
"No," he corrected her. "Green. Emerald green."
"Slytherin green?" she prompted knowingly, and he nodded, running a knuckle along her jaw and feeling her shiver.
"Salazar Slytherin Green, yes. What else shall we talk about? Tell me what you enjoy doing for fun."
"Torturing prisoners," Bellatrix said at once. "Though I realise that's out of the question from now on. Once upon a time, at Hogwarts, I was very good at hiding out in the library and pretending no one else existed. That was fun."
"You were not social," Voldemort nodded, and Bellatrix affirmed,
"Friends were a distraction from my goal of joining your movement as soon as you'd have me, My Lord."
For some reason, what she said sent a shock down his spine. He gulped and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He wanted to know more about her, for some reason. He wasn't sure why. He just did. He sighed and asked Bellatrix,
"What foods do you like? I'll be certain to stock the kitchen with foods you like, once we've a House-Elf."
Bellatrix smiled weakly and insisted,
"Surely we must have the food you enjoy, Master."
He leaned forward to kiss her softly upon the lips, tasted winter on her, and whispered,
"Tell me what you like to eat."
Her eyes went a little wide, and he realised there was some suggestion behind what he'd said, in a roundabout way. He gulped and smirked a little at her, and he asked again gently,
"What do you like to eat, Bella?"
"I like a good steak," she said, and her voice was like syrup. His lips parted a little, both at the idea of steak and at the way she was talking. She continued, "With buttery mashed potato. I like clams with linguine noodles. I like pumpkin pasties and beef pies. I like to drink lemonade and eat sweet vanilla cookies."
"How on Earth do you stay so slim?" asked Voldemort with a little laugh, and in the moonlight, Bellatrix's face was cheerful.
"Everything in moderation, Master," she said playfully. Voldemort sucked in breath and squeezed at her fingers.
"Steaks and potatoes, clams and noodles, pumpkin pasties and beef pies. Lemonade and cookies. We shall have the lot," Voldemort promised. Bellatrix whispered into the night,
"I adore you, you know."
He blinked. "Yes, I do know."
Bellatrix stared at him and dragged her thumb over his under the blanket, making him shiver a little. Suddenly he felt something strange. He felt an attraction to her that ran deeper than an admiration of her looks, deeper than affection for her battle skills, deeper than appreciation of her loyalty. He felt something else. He felt a sincere liking of her, all the way to her core. He felt an almost weighty want of her that went far beyond the sexual. He wasn't going to mind it one bit, spending his time here with her except for work. He wasn't going to mind it at all. He was going to quite like it.
"Bellatrix," he murmured, and she hummed back in response. He leaned toward her and kissed her lips gently, and he asked, "Shall I get you painting things tomorrow?"
"That would be very kind of you, Master," Bellatrix replied. "I would be very grateful."
Voldemort curled his arm around Bellatrix's body and pulled her near to him, and she sighed happily as her body was snuggled against his. He wrapped his arm round her and drew her up against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.
"Bella," he whispered, "It won't be so bad, being here with you, I don't suppose."
"No, Master," she insisted back. "It won't be so bad."
"Abraxas. Just the man I needed to see." Voldemort watched Abraxas shut the office door, and the pale wizard smiled a little at his master as he came walking inside.
"You called, Master?"
"Yes. Have a seat," said Voldemort, and Abraxas immediately pulled out the chair opposite Voldemort and sat down. Voldemort asked him,
"What's the verdict at work, then? What's been going on since I rescued Bellatrix?"
"Well, they're continuing to look for her everywhere, My Lord," said Abraxas, "but they're not advertising her as an Undesirable. That's because they don't want to go plastering the prophecy all over the place. The Ministry is nothing if not proud. It's foolish of them to insist on keeping this internal, but that's what they're doing. However, it is worth bearing in mind that Albus Dumbledore and all his friends now know that there's a prophecy stating that if Bellatrix Black is near you, you succeed, and if she's taken away from you, you fail."
"That's why I want to organise a squad to eliminate Dumbledore. I realise he's protected at Hogwarts. But I want to put together a group of five or six whose entire goal is to bring me Dumbledore or to kill him."
"Forgive me, Master, but… what about Lucius?" asked Abraxas Malfoy, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows.
"What about Lucius?"
"He's got another year at school," Abraxas pointed out. "He could access Dumbledore from the inside. Assassinate him from inside the castle. It might work better than an external squad."
"He's still home for the Easter holiday?" Voldemort asked crisply, and Abraxas gave a calm nod. Voldemort curled up his lips and said, "Bring him to me. He and I will discuss the possibilities open to Lucius in terms of accessing the good headmaster at school. He can't just blast him with a Killing Curse in the middle of the Great Hall. He'll have to get very creative. But we've been creative before. We can be creative again."
"Certainly, Master," Abraxas nodded. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and said,
"Whilst I'm meeting with Lucius about Dumbledore, I need you to go shopping for me." He opened a desk drawer, knowing the Prophecy Record was in the bottom drawer, and he pulled out a small sack of money. He pushed it across the desk to Abraxas and said, "I have a list of things I need you to buy."
"Anything, My Lord." Abraxas eagerly took the money, and as Voldemort reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a folded parchment, Abraxas sniffed a bit. Voldemort handed over the shopping list, and Abraxas frowned down at it, reading it aloud.
"Sketch pad, pencils, sharpener, canvases, oil paints in many colours, a variety of painting brushes, turpentine, charcoal pencil, palette, easel… I shall need to pack all of this into an Expanded bag for you, Master."
"Then do," Voldemort said sharply. "I need all of those supplies. And I'd also like you to procure a House-Elf for me and bring it back here. I'll take it to the hiding place where I'm keeping Bellatrix."
"Of course, Master. I'll get all of this." Abraxas hesitated a moment and then said, "I did not realise you were a painter, sir."
"I'm not." Voldemort left it at that. For all he knew, Bellatrix couldn't paint to save her soul, so he wasn't about to call her a painter.
But he would bring her paints and brushes and an easel and canvas. He would bring her all the things she needed to at least keep herself occupied, because he was going to keep her locked away in that house in Cornwall for an indefinite period of time. She was his, and she must stay near him in that house with the ridiculous rainbow bedroom.
His meeting with Lucius went quite well. The boy was eager to fulfil the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore. It seemed as though all he needed was permission to be set loose, and then he'd begin scheming and conniving his way to his goal. Voldemort decided to give the boy a few months to work at it before he formulated a task force to address Dumbledore. Indeed, he thought it best that his movement lay low for the time being. There was quite a bit of heat from the Ministry just now, and the last thing he needed was for something to happen in a battle that would lead them to Bellatrix. He needed the Ministry to back off just a little before the next attack, the next intimidation move. So he let his followers lie.
When Abraxas came back with the painting supplies, he also came back with a squirmy little House-Elf who was apparently called Ronky. Abraxas kicked the House-Elf into Voldemort's office and spat,
"Meet your master, Elf. You serve the Dark Lord now."
"Thank you, Abraxas; that will do. The painting supplies, if you please, and then you may go."
Voldemort rose and took the bag of painting supplies from the bowing Abraxas, and when he shut the office door, he barked down to Ronky,
"You serve Mistress Bellatrix and I now."
"I serve a family, sir," Ronky countered. "Are you and Mistress Bellatrix family?"
"We're as good as," Voldemort said hotly, his ears ringing. "We live in the same house and we… yes, she and I are… you serve us both. You will listen to orders from Mistress Bellatrix and I both. Understood?"
"Yes, Master." Ronky nodded and knitted his spindly fingers together. Voldemort crouched down and looked the House-Elf in the eye.
"I swear you to secrecy about where you are going. Tell no one, ever. Pain of death. Go to the Reverie, a house in Looe, Cornwall. There you will find Mistress Bellatrix. Give her this. Tell her it's from me."
Voldemort handed over the bag of painting supplies, and the House-Elf nodded quickly, Disapparating with a snap and a spark. Voldemort stared at the spot where the elf had been, and his stomach twisted oddly. He wondered what Bellatrix was doing right this moment to occupy herself. He wondered what she would think of her painting supplies. He wondered what she would think of the House-Elf.
And then it occurred to him that he cared perhaps just a little too much what Bellatrix Black thought about everything, and he shut his eyes and pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, calling Yaxley for a meeting about the Aurors.
Author's Note: Was this written drunk on New Year's Eve? Yeah. It was. Sorry about that. Will tomorrow's chapter be written sober. Yes. I promise. :) Happy New Year! May 2019 bring you happiness and success in every facet of your life! Thank you for reading and a HUGE thanks for reviews!