Sometime during her third or fourth year, Bellatrix Black had decided that Rodolphus Lestrange was a dunderhead. Her younger self would have been very surprised indeed to learn that she would spend a sunny Sunday morning in their seventh year on the sidelines of the Quidditch pitch watching Rodolphus zip through the sky, and almost enjoy herself. It occurred to her as she saw him deflect each and every bludger from the goalposts that her cousin Evan and others were not lying when they called Rodolphus the most talented beater that Slytherin had seen in a generation. It was a position that required upper-body strength and quick reflexes, and he had demonstrated both in abundance. She supposed that many witches would find his physical prowess on the pitch to be attractive, although Bellatrix had always found intellect and power more appealing than brute strength.

After the players dismounted their brooms, Bellatrix gave a few polite words of encouragement and wished them good luck in their next match the following Tuesday against Ravenclaw. She went back indoors to the Slytherin Table with the hope of fitting in an hour of reading and a light lunch before it would be time for her to rejoin Rodolphus for their walk around the Black Lake. She held up Professor Riddle's copy of A Curse for Every Occasion like a shield, its cover transfigured to avoid unwanted questioning from nosey peers. She read carefully as she nibbled at a blackcurrant jam-filled croissant and sipped her pumpkin juice.

The Great Hall was admittedly not an ideal venue for brainstorming ways to attack her fellow students. Among the ringing laughter and mirth was the high-pitched voice of one Lucius Malfoy, who appeared to be discussing the best kind of broomstick wax with Thorfinn Rowle, a hulking blonde. Bellatrix tried her best to concentrate on her plan despite the distraction. She had already decided against administering the Draught of Living Death, even though she had managed to siphon an extra vial and put it in her bag without anyone noticing. The effects were too recognizable, and besides, there was plenty of its antidote in Slughorn's storerooms, and the mudbloods would be revived within the hour. Either she would need to find a more obscure poison, one with an antidote that would take several days to brew, or else return to her original idea of using a cursed object. She was now leaning towards the latter.

The book explained that several blood curses could be activated when a muggle or someone born to muggle parents touched a cursed vessel, which would remain harmless to everyone else. Casting such a curse was surprisingly not a very involved process. One only had to recite a very old incantation, expellere sanguinem immundum, three times. The curse was ideal because it would take several hours for its full effects to manifest. Healing its effects would not be a simple matter of providing blood-restoration potion to a victim. A full recovery required the specific counter-curse; by the time the healers had given basic first-aid, there would be little time to go searching in rare Dark tomes for cures. If left alone, the progression of the curse would lead to certain death—was that a step she was willing to take? Amending spells was experimental, but Bellatrix understood the theory behind doing so; it could be possible to indefinitely stall the progress long enough to incite sufficient terror, if certain death was not desireable.

She could easily use wine goblets as the vessel, but she would still need to sneak into the Kitchen which would be overrun with house-elves. Bellatrix remembered then that Andromeda was on the Halloween Ball Committee, a student group that was responsible for organizing things like entertainment, decorations and the self-replenishing drink fountains. She could take Polyjuice potion to sneak into the next committee meeting disguised as Andie (she would first need to confound her sister to make her skip the meeting) and volunteer to help with the Ball's set-up. The elves used the same ancient silverware and goblets as they did for every Halloween and Christmas Feast, and these were easily identifiable. All she needed was to take one goblet and duplicate it. She could stash the duplicates inside an expandable pouch, curse them, and then set them down on the drinks table, and no one would be any wiser.

Feeling pleased with herself for possessing something resembling a plan, she next turned her attention to preparing for what she begrudgingly admitted to herself was a date. She had promised to rejoin Rodolphus outside the main entrance to the castle at 3 o'clock. Back in her dorm, she settled on a sensible pair of flat dragonhide boots, a loose-fitting black tunic and leggings under an emerald wool cloak—it was not her newest, but it was more than passable. She did not expend the same effort today as when she had gotten ready for her encounter with Professor Riddle. Rodolphus was a boy, and Riddle was a different calibre of man, closer to a god. She felt a small sting of embarrassment as she laced up her boots, remembering that she had tried so hard to be alluring and seductive for him, and that he had ordered her not to use so many cosmetic spells. Sighing, she figured one coat of mascara and lip gloss were sufficient.

As Bellatrix walked with Rodolphus down the gravelly pathway that led from the steep cliffs toward the lower elevation of Hogwarts' southern grounds, the conversation almost immediately turned to their future plans of serving Lord Voldemort. They were both committed to preserving the old ways of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and blood purity, and Rodolphus spoke passionately against the dilution of magical bloodlines. He was competent enough discussing politics and history, she thought, but surely anyone would've picked up a few things from listening to his father, Gaston Lestrange, who was one of Riddle's original Knights.

It soon became apparent to Bellatrix that Rodolphus did not share her passion for actively learning everything about the old ways, even as he claimed that he would fight in battle to defend them to the death. Ancient ceremonies, rituals, druidical and runic magic, alchemy—Bellatrix wanted to know as much as she possibly could about these subjects. Her own family had thousands of years of history practicing magic in the British Isles, magic that was practically rooted in the soil, while the Lestrange family were still primarily based in France, and had only been powerful in England for the past hundred years or so.

She tried steering the conversation in a way that would make it plainly obvious to Rodolphus just how far out of his league she was. "Have you read anything interesting lately, Roddy?" Bellatrix asked, brushing a curl from her face that the wind seemed intent upon whipping into a frenzy. "I've just finished Deciphering Unsolvable Runes by Nereus Oliphant. It really gets into the overlapping structures of the runic systems used by ancient Celts, Romans and Egyptians, and how linguistics and magic intersect." Bellatrix knew this was somewhat cruel, as the boy couldn't interpret a rune to save his life.

"Hmm. Can't say I've heard of that one. The last book I read was Illustrated History of the Appleby Arrows, about the Quidditch team. It had descriptions of their best plays, and the famous match against the Wimbourne Wasps that lasted three days in a lightning storm."

"That's…charming," said Bellatrix with a sarcasm that Rodolphus didn't seem to grasp.

There was a lull in conversation as they approached a picnic table in a grassy knoll not more than a few strides from the Lake. Rodolphus had thoughtfully brought along cauldron cakes prepared by the Kitchen elves and a canteen of honeyed mead, and it seemed to be a good time to pause and unpack the provisions. He took out two goblets and cloth napkins from his rucksack and they ate their snack in peaceful silence.

Rodolphus looked up with a shy smile into Bellatrix's warm brown eyes, "I've always been… a little frightened of you. You're gorgeous, smart, and have a wicked streak that probably would make some men go running. But not me. I think you're just…incredible."

Bellatrix stared back, noticing that Rodolphus had rings of yellow around his blue irises, which made them quite marble-like, and a small dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He wasn't bad looking; his teenage acne was mostly gone, and in another lifetime, one where Professor Riddle didn't exist, she was sure that she could get used to looking into those eyes.

"I'm…flattered. But I think I should be honest with you, Rod—I don't have the same feelings about you as you have for me. Yes, we're aligned in wanting to go into the service of the Dark Lord. But I don't like it when people go sneaking behind my back." She read the guilt written in his face, and knew that it was time to twist the knife in further, "My mum sent me an owl the other day, mentioning that our dads met for dinner at L'Hypogriffe, that posh French restaurant, and their lawyers were there, too."

"Sorry, Bella. I should've been more upfront. We don't need to sign anything right now. Why not take a year to just think about it, and we could just, you know...go steady?"

Rodolphus shifted closer to where Bellatrix sat on the wooden picnic bench, and extended a hand towards her wrist, as if he intended to grab it. Bellatrix swatted his hand away as she would a housefly.

Merlin's beard, I do not want to 'go steady' with Rodolphus Lestrange, she thought. I do not want to birth a brood of little Lestranges immediately after finishing school—what kind of life is that? But she did not voice her complaints aloud, recognizing the necessity of remaining on good terms with Lestrange if she was to use him to deflect from her involvement with Professor Riddle. And, despite all of his backroom machinations and dishonesty, a small part of Bellatrix admired his determination, as well as the planning and care he had taken with trying to make today special. It was clear that he was madly infatuated with her. This made it especially hard for her to look into those sad marbled eyes as they walked back toward the Castle.

She had a sudden, possibly ridiculous thought—what if Professor Riddle actually did want to make a politically expedient marriage now that his movement was rapidly gaining ground? Would her father consent to a betrothal of his daughter to his former schoolmate, a feared Dark wizard? Of course, it marriage must wait until after her graduation to at least make their union more palatable to pureblood society ladies, many of whom had crushes on Tom Riddle in their youth at Hogwarts. She had no doubt that these witches would kick up a fuss—he was twenty-five years her senior. On top of the daunting age gap, Bellatrix was almost certain by now that he was a half-blood, but she also realized that it didn't matter to her one bit. She knew from reading a biography of Salazar Slytherin that being a Parselmouth was hereditary, and the only Parselmouths in Britain were ancestors of Slytherin himself. Her Master's magic was therefore just as ancient as hers. Could a marriage to her Master be the solution to all her problems? She buried the thought as she said her stilted goodbye to Rodolphus, promising him that she would think over his offer carefully.

As it turned out, Professor Riddle did not expect Bellatrix to do any research on vampirism in his office during the hours of her research assistantship. It was still the first week of their new arrangement, but already they had begun to settle into a routine. He would bring her tea (always her favourite Earl Grey, taken with a teaspoon of honey) and he would sip his black coffee, and they would sit comfortably in his office, chatting about anything that she wanted. He informed her that no questions were off-limits besides ones about his family, or his time at Hogwarts. He might not be able to answer fully for security reasons, as she did not yet wear the Dark Mark on her arm, but he'd always try to answer her truthfully.

During one of these conversations, he spoke to her at length about how there was a horrible muggle disease he had witnessed growing up called Polio. Wizards had eradicated it hundreds of years ago with simple healing spells. It was still killing and permanently disabling countless muggle children. Muggles' deaths were often messy and degrading, he told her. They used metal contraptions called guns to rip apart each other's flesh. They figured out how to split the atom with their science, but the resulting atomic bomb almost levelled the entire earth into dust. Muggle governments threatened each other with something called nuclear missiles that could destroy the entire planet. They were a foolish, inelegant people, he said, right down to the way that they killed. Avada Kedavra left behind a clean corpse.

Bellatrix always listened carefully and nodded along, asking him to explain unfamiliar concepts to her so that she could understand. She asked what he meant by the word "physics," as this was not a subject offered at Hogwarts, and he told her it was the muggles' feeble attempt at understanding how force acted upon matter, something that wizards already understood as elemental transfiguration. The more examples he gave of the incompleteness of muggles' knowledge, the more Bellatrix truly saw that wizards were superior, and she felt even more confident that his views were the right ones, and that Andromeda and Dumbledore couldn't be more wrong.

Surprisingly, Professor Riddle did not seem to despise the small number of muggles who had made great achievements in literature, music and the arts. His theory was that it was the only way they had to channel their creativity in the absence of magic. He praised Wagner's Götterdämmerung, the third part of a famous muggle opera in which the gods were immolated in a fiery inferno. He had read Dostoevsky and Shakespeare, and Wordsworth and James Joyce. Bellatrix mentioned that her sister Andromeda liked to read muggle literature, leaving out the rest of her loathsome views. Professor Riddle informed her that muggles could succeed at writing because language had inherent magical properties when clusters of words were combined in different ways, using different metrical properties, rhyme, assonance and alliteration, which wizards discovered when they created the first spoken incantations to bind magic to language.

At nearly the end of their two hours one Thursday afternoon, Bellatrix felt like she had something important on her mind that she needed to express. She had been mulling it over for a while, but wanted to be sure that he wouldn't find her sentiments too syrupy and girlish, thus diminishing her standing in his eyes.

"I know that you didn't choose teaching because you wanted to instruct young minds. I know that Hogwarts is the best place strategically for you to be, and so that's why you applied. But I still wanted to tell you..." Bellatrix trailed off, still trying to summon the right words.

"Yes?"

"You're without a doubt the wisest, most inspiring and special teacher I will ever have" she said, the right words finally forming on her lips. Her eyes felt wet, and she dug a fingernail deep into her forearm as if to prevent herself from crying with the distraction of physical pain.

Professor Riddle regarded Bellatrix with an odd look, and she saw him swallow a couple times as if he had a lump in his throat. He took a step towards her and linked her forearms into his own, and pressed a small kiss on her forehead. "You, Bella, are without a doubt the most special student I will ever have," he said quietly. After the words escaped his lips, a tear slipped down her cheek, which he wiped away silently using his thumb.

"I'm so…s-sorry my Lord. I know I need to be ruthless for you, and I promise to be when it comes time to fight properly. I'm so awful for having a Narcissa moment in front of you."

"What in Merlin's name is a Narcissa moment?"

"That's what we call it in my family, my Lord. Crying over something ridiculous."

"While I do not consider sentimentality of any kind to be useful, I will not hold the rare display of it against you, so long as you don't forget how to use lethal force when I require it."

"I can be lethal, my Lord," she said, wiping another trickle of tears on her robes. "Remember when you told me I was dangerous? It was, um, during that awkward morning at your home. The day after my birthday."

"I do remember. I still consider you to be very dangerous to a wizard like me."

"I think I finally understand what you meant. Your mind is like a fortress. When we started to get closer, it was like the thoughts you had about me were enemies breaching the fortress, and you panicked because you saw them as a threat to your power. But really, you were opening the gates to someone who would nourish the soil and plant fruit trees inside the fortress. I mean to be a strength for you, my Lord."

"Hm… I do not have ordinary human weaknesses, because I obliterated them using very advanced Dark magic that I may someday explain to you. But I suppose it is an impressive metaphor; perhaps you might become a writer."

"Maybe I will become your warrior who also writes. Only the most salacious and violent stories about murder, of course," she said with a wink, her tears gone now, replaced with a cheeky smile.

"Indeed. You could be the next Elphinia Hodges," Riddle said, naming a witch who wrote a popular series of mystery novels and who was known for possibly having murdered a deranged fan who broke into her home and tried to assault her in his animagus form. She had been found not guilty of his murder on a technicality. Most people did not blame her, and her book sales had skyrocketed. She was something of a feminist icon for witches of Bellatrix's generation, although progress on that front was much slower than in the muggle world.

"Growing up, I always wanted to be a Hit Wizard. But that was before I learned that they follow the orders of the Auror Office."

"Funny you should mention that, as I have just managed to infiltrate the Auror Office," Tom said with a hint of pride.

"There are truly no limits to your power, Master."

"No. No there are not," he said with a smirk, and at hearing her use that form of address, his thoughts immediately turned in another direction. Still gripping her arms, he yanked them over her head and took a step forward while pushing her up against the wall of his office. "Would you like me to show you a display of my power, Bella?"

"What kind of a display? Oh, you mean-"

All of a sudden, she was completely naked, her clothing folded neatly on his desk, and he had not even needed to lift his wand. She marvelled at his mastery of wandless and non-verbal magic; even performing one or the other was incredibly advanced, but to be able to do both was almost unheard of.

"You like it when I'm fully dressed and you have nothing on, don't you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Naughty girl," he said. He slowly brought his lips to press against her own. He sucked on her bottom lip, taking his time to pull it into his mouth, and Bellatrix responded by coaxing her tongue forward to tap on the inside of his own. Their tongues joined in an intricate dance while his hands frantically gripped her ribcage. She hooked a leg around his waist, letting him support her weight against the wall.

"I…don't think there's enough time, my Lord. I have Arithmancy soon."

"And I have to teach a class. But no matter, I know something we can do."

He retrieved his yew wand from his robes and pressed it into her flesh, drawing circles up and down the small valley between her breasts, then fanning outwards. He traced a pattern ever closer to the peaks of her nipples, which grew pointed and stiff. Gently, his free hand brushed the hair from her forehead while his wand sent small pinpricks of heat into her flesh, causing Bellatrix to whimper meekly.

"Do you like how that feels, Bella?" he asked.

"Y-yes, my Lord" she sputtered, overcome with sensations that flooded her raw nerves and powered her mind off.

With a single my Lord and her soft, pleading doe-eyes, he knew he had conquered her. Bellatrix had relinquished control to him. His wand drifted lower, approaching the small patch of hair at the meeting of her thighs. Bellatrix felt a buzzing in her ears and a could barely make out anything in front of her eyes besides his black dress shirt and robes which blended into a mirage of swirling heat as pleasure consumed her.

"Hm. Maybe I should use my hands for this." Tucking his wand away, Professor Riddle spanked Bellatrix right on her vulva with his open palm. She inhaled sharply, and as he repeated the spanking, she discovered that it turned her on unlike anything he had yet done to her body; it was a different sensation than when he used his fingers or mouth, and even though the stinging hurt, it felt mind-numbingly good. Bellatrix moaned wantonly, desperate for him to take her body right now up against the wall, thrusting into her core. But Professor Riddle appeared to be composing himself again, and he helped her up to her feet.

"Now go to Arithmancy, all hot and bothered as you inevitably try and fail to pay attention to Professor Vector's lecture. Do not even think about touching yourself later. I will know in your mind if you disobey this order."

"Yes, Master."

He muttered some spells which restored his hair to perfectly coiffed waves; his face that had become stained by her glossy lips was scrubbed clean. There was something about her penchant for lip gloss, which he noticed her re-applying throughout the day, that still felt illicitly juvenile to Tom. As a result, he found himself repeating in his mind like a mantra that in the eyes of wizarding society and its ancient institutions, Bellatrix Black was a legal adult, even though she was a schoolgirl, which brought him some tiny amount of reassurance. Another thought he replayed often was that he was Lord Voldemort, so what the devil did it matter? He had wanted her, and she was willing to give him anything. These thoughts cycled in his mind as he watched her dress herself, beginning with her semi-opaque tights and black cotton underwear. She tugged on her blouse and school robes, and finally her silver and green school tie before slipping into her black patent loafers.

"Today was just a taste. I will need at least a solid hour for what I plan to do to you next time. You have nothing to fear Bella, because I always take good care of you, don't I?"

"Very good care," she answered sweetly.

"You're free tomorrow evening?"

"Of course. Any time you require me, just come and take me, my Lord."

"It would be a little strange if I were to march into the Slytherin Common room and whisk you away to my chambers to ravish you whenever I wanted. There might be more than a few concerned owls from parents to Dumbledore."

"You will defeat him one day, Master, and then the whole world will be yours, not just me. You are more powerful than he is, than Grindelwald ever was."

Tom just stared. He couldn't tell if Bellatrix was stroking his ego, or sincerely estimated him to be more powerful than the two greatest wizards of the twentieth century. He settled on the idea that her youth and enthusiasm to support his goals led her to make comments that could be charitably interpreted as rooted in truth, albeit a seventeen-year-old girl's truth.

"You are my most devoted servant. My sweet, wicked Bella who offers herself to me like a beautiful present." He planted one more kiss on her nose, which made Bellatrix laugh as she thought it was a funny place to be kissed.

As they said their goodbyes, Bellatrix felt supremely confident in her destiny as his servant and soldier. The looming Halloween Ball on the horizon would represent a turning point in their relationship, a ritual joining together of their blood and bond, and it might possibly start his campaign's pivot toward more overt demonstrations of power. One thing was now as clear as day to Bellatrix—serving her Lord was the calling of her life, and nothing could now divert her from her chosen path.