Lucius did not have to wait long to receive congratulations. His father might not have been pleased (indeed, Abraxas was incensed; how dare the boy maneuver him so blatantly? After that indecent public display, there was no way that Abraxas could refuse the match, not without doubling the already intolerable scandal) but there were others whose opinion Lucius valued far, far more than he did his father's.
It was only a few days after that delightful evening in the garden—and the even more delightful day that had followed, when he had presented the ring to the delighted, gratifyingly excited girl of his dreams—that Lucius was called to a meeting with his Dark Lord.
The entire inner circle of Death Eaters—which Lucius, though young, was proud to call himself a member of—assembled around their magnificent leader, hanging on his every word, thrilling to each piece of his devastating plan. The meeting ended in dark chuckles and promising looks, and the Death Eaters made ready their wands and their wits.
But the Dark Lord was not through yet; he had one last thing to say.
"Congratulations," Voldemort spoke softly, and every head turned to listen, "are in order, I hear, for one of our own." He grinned, his horrible cold grin; they could none of them help but smile in return. "Lucius," Voldemort commanded, and the young man rose, proud and beaming.
Voldemort nodded at him. "I hear that you have made yourself a most excellent match with the sister of one of our own…Bellatrix, you must be proud as well."
The tall, dark-haired woman nodded fervently. "Oh, my lord, yes my lord, so proud of little Cissa, yes," she agreed passionately.
Voldemort smiled indulgently. "It is good, my friends," he intoned, "to see such brightness in a dark, dangerous time such as this; soon there will be more darkness, and we will bring great danger to those who dare to stand against us."
A low, excited murmur rode the room, although none dared speak aloud until they were certain that their lord was done; he was not.
"But even more importantly," Voldemort continued, "this news gives us all hope for the future. For a proper, pure-blooded future! We must be fruitful, my Death Eaters," he grinned, "and multiply! For it is only we, we few in whose blood no Muggle taint rests, we who can preserve the noble lineage of wizarding society! I look to all of you to follow young Lucius's example in choosing your brides—and husbands," he added, with a nod to Bellatrix and the few other witches who numbered among their ranks. "Purity must be maintained," the Dark Lord cautioned, "or we all are lost."
Then his dire expression curled back into a smile. "Lucius," he said, "once again, my friend…congratulations."
"Thank you, my lord," Lucius Malfoy said earnestly, bowing. He was beaming, his smile brimming with pride and pleasure as he gazed smugly out upon his fellows. Some were grinning back at him friendlily but others looked only jealous.
Bellatrix Black appeared momentarily panicked. She looked at her Dark Lord, and at her soon-to-be brother-in-law, and she frowned, deep in thought. She chewed her lip, then scowled fiercely, apparently coming to a resolution.
Bella spun around and ran her eyes appraisingly over her comrades in arms, and in Mark. Her face closed in a very cold, calculating look as she studied them, these men with whom she fought. She pursed her mouth and tapped a pale white finger against her thin, blood-red lips.
This had to be perfect…
The Death Eaters trickled out, singly and in small groups, all of them paying some form of homage to their Dark Lord before they went, be it quiet words or only a simple bow. A few joked with their fellows while other scuttled off, silent and solitary. None of them wore their masks tonight; these were the elite, the chosen few, Voldemort's favorites, and they all knew one another's names, or at least their fellow's faces.
Secrecy was for the lesser ranks—and for their enemies.
They knew one another's lineages as well, these pure-blood warriors. And they knew that not all of their number were as free of Muggle taint as they claimed, but theirs was a society built on pretense, and so they let their fellows spin their lies and live with them. There was no sense in shaming one's ally by bringing up a half-blood great-great-grandmother, or an unfortunate squib a few branches over on the family tree.
Not unless deeper alliances were under discussion, such as that made so recently between the Blacks and Malfoys. Then, of course, it mattered, for any secret Muggle taint could not be allowed to enter a properly pure-blooded family tree.
There were few here tonight who could afford not to be jealous of the Malfoys and the Blacks for their merger; those were two families whose lines stretched back far, far farther than most others, and of the skeletons they kept in their closets, well, they had many, but they were well-hidden and, for the most part, relatively unembarrassing. Their blood was pure, purer than most, and everyone knew it.
There were, of course, a few other Death Eaters who could make similar claims; a few whose blood was just as pure, or perhaps even purer. Three such wizards were Nott and the Lestrange brothers.
Bellatrix's black eyes narrowed as she contemplated the three men. This had to be perfect…
Nott was boring, she at last decided. He had all the right beliefs, but not enough fire, not enough conviction. He cringed away from real conflict. He was worthless.
Not so the brothers. They laughed at danger and, like Bellatrix herself, chaffed at the tight leash the Dark Lord kept upon his servants. Soon, he had promised them all, soon the conflagration would begin in earnest—but not now, not yet. Let power amass, and fear build. Only then would they strike.
Bellatrix adored—worshipped—her Dark Lord, loved him with every fiery fiber of her soul, but she wanted to serve him now, wanted to bring his words and his fear and his death to the filthy Muggles and the half-bloods and the blood traitors and the Mudbloods now. She waited, because Voldemort commanded, but she silently railed against the delay.
The Lestranges, she knew, did likewise.
They would do, she decided.
"Lestrange," she called, and the brothers turned back as one to face her. Expectation lit up both their faces; they knew that Bellatrix was closer to the Dark Lord than even they were, closer than most anyone. There were some who said she was his mistress, but all those here tonight were informed enough to know better: Voldemort had no mortal foibles. His only interest in flesh lay in tearing the life from it. Still, Bella fancied herself his most devoted servant and there were few who dared dispute her claim. Voldemort always smiled and allowed it, which was tantamount to agreement, as far as most of the Death Eaters were concerned.
Certainly she was one of his most fanatic followers.
This would not be the first time that Bellatrix had been given some private assignment by their lord; nor would it be the first time that the Lestrange brothers had been the ones selected to accompany her on her dark and violent quest. Hope that this might be another such occasion gleamed in their sharp eyes. Rabastan fingered his wand.
Bellatrix smiled. "You heard the Dark Lord's words," she said, and they nodded. "We must obey." They nodded again.
"Very well," said Bellatrix. She turned to Rodolphus, for he was the older, and the leader of the pair of brothers. "Shall we wed, then?" she asked him bluntly.
Rodolphus started and Rabastan's jaw actually dropped, he was so surprised. "I—what?" Rodolphus asked, caught off guard by the question.
"The Dark Lord commanded that we marry and mate," she said impatiently. "I see no one more suited to share this task with me than you. Your blood is pure, your convictions genuine, and your magic is as strong as your bloodlust. Nearly as strong as mine. So what do you say?"
Rodolphus stared, then shrugged, and smiled. "All right," he said, his handsome face dark with glee. "Why not?"
He offered his arm to Bellatrix and she took it, glancing back questioningly at her Dark Lord. Voldemort smiled and nodded in approval.
Bellatrix smothered a flash of disappointment and summoned a bright smile of her own. Very well, then; as her lord wished it.
Lestrange it would be.
As for Rodolphus, he seemed thrilled with the proposition. Bellatrix was the most remarkable woman he had ever met, and certainly the prettiest that he had ever had the chance to sow death and destruction alongside. He grinned smugly at his little brother who replied with an impressed nod and a discreet thumbs-up. Well done, his grin said silently. Rodolphus beamed.
And together the Lestranges and Bellatrix walked off into the night.