October 15th, 1968
Pacing at the front of the classroom, Professor Riddle cut a handsome, yet austere figure. His well-draped midnight blue robes clung just close enough to suggest a trim physique, and underneath he wore a burgundy cardigan with navy trousers; a casual herringbone ascot pulled the look together. The black and gold Gaunt signet ring gleamed as he raked his hand through his coal black waves, which were flecked with just the tiniest amount of grey. Bellatrix gazed up at him with her usual simpering obeisance as she slowly sucked on a sugar quill, deliberately flickering her tongue as she took the candy between her lips. Tom exhaled and mustered all of his willpower to refocus.
"As you know, Unforgivable Curses are heavily regulated by the Ministry, and the use of these spells carry with them penalties ranging from ten years to Life in Azkaban, as well as the permanent seizure of one's wand. The demonstration of these spells has, quite unjustly in my professional opinion, been considered by some educators as having a rather…Darkening influence," he said silkily.
Before Tom took up the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, NEWT students at Hogwarts only learned the theory behind casting the Unforgivables. He was quite pleased, then, when Abraxas Malfoy managed to Imperius members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors earlier in the year to vote in favour of amending a part of the curriculum that would allow for the practical demonstration of these spells in supervised classroom settings. Dumbledore had written several letters pleading with the Governors to reconsider their decision, but he stood virtually alone. After all, the menace that was the anonymous Dark wizard calling himself "Lord Voldemort" was enough for some bureaucrats to believe that Hogwarts students should be better prepared against Dark Magic.
"Students at Durmstrang learn both the casting and blocking of Unforgivable Curses. I think it is high time that we in Britain followed suit. After all, if some of you in this room have aspirations of becoming Aurors-" Tom gave a snide little nod to Fabian Prewett, who had been testing his patience all semester, "-remembering bullet points from a textbook is not going to help you overcome adversaries in the field. I will start by showing you the Imperius Curse."
The hush that descended upon the room was such that a pin could be heard dropping.
"I have an acromantula specimen here in a jar. Casting on creatures and beasts is the most efficient way to gain experience. As long as you aren't a fool for beasts' rights pursuing a censorious agenda to restrict magical knowledge, of course."
Avery, Nott, and Wilkes chortled at the negative characterization of the Headmaster, and Rosier let out a belly laugh; Rodolphus merely stared blankly, while Prewett looked as if he was going to jump in to defend Albus Dumbledore. But before he could, Professor Riddle picked up the jar and cast a basic engorgio charm so that those seated at the back of the class could see.
"Imperio," he said, pointing his pale wand at the spider, which began dancing a manic jig within its prison. "The Imperius Curse works to subdue the will, allowing the caster to exert suggestive control over another mind. It is only ever suggestive, but the strength of the connection is so great as to generate the effect of coercion. There are both psychic resistance techniques and those that rely solely upon magical power. We will focus on the former; some of you within this room may never be capable of resisting the curse through your magic, which needs to be great enough to overwhelm the caster's own. This will certainly not be the case if your enemy is a hardened Dark wizard."
Bellatrix winked at him, undoubtedly catching his meaning. Her mind was by no means quiet, probably owing to the excitement of their unexpected engagement. He tried to concentrate on delivering the lecture while her thoughts reverberated in his own mind.
I wish he would bottle that passion in his voice right now and channel it into fucking me until I can't walk. He could use me like his Death Eaters use the witches they capture. I'd let him do any Dark rituals to me that he wants. He could tie me to an altar, then we could draw runes on our bodies in each other's blood. That would be so hot! I can't believe I'm going to be the Dark Lord's wife and his slave and his soldier! I hope he'll let me take his Mark before our wedding. My wedding dress will have to be sleeveless to show it off.
Bella's disjointed thoughts always tended towards the filthy and erratic, but for Tom this was a little bit much. And at 9 o'clock in the morning during class, no less. He'd need to teach her Occlumency, probably sooner than later. She was vulnerable to his enemies with her mind open like this.
"Finite."
The spider immediately fell still.
"Bellatrix, I require you at the front of the room to assist with the next demonstration. Now."
She gulped. This was no "Please, Miss Black, would you lend me a hand?" that she had heard so often from her other professors. She recognized this as an order coming from her Master. As she pushed out her chair, she felt the eyes of her classmates glued on her, especially those of Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Now, I'm going to give Miss Black a command, one which she will not want to obey. Miss Black, I want you to try to sever the connection between my mind and yours. Imperio," he incanted for a second time, and Bellatrix felt the feeling of being smothered under piles of warm blankets.
"Slap me across the face," he instructed unemotionally.
Every synapse in her brain was compelling her to strike her Master. She raised her hand and was about to follow through with the order when a smaller voice that sounded more like her own told her to stop. She was now shouting at herself inside her head, and each thought that told her "stop" floated like a diver surfacing from an underground grotto, where her true intention was being held captive beneath the waves- she knew now what she must do, and that her Master had really ordered her to sever the connection.
Her raised hand fell through the air with a whoosh, swinging back towards her hips where it made contact with the outer layer of her school robes.
"Very well done. Miss Black has managed to do something that many accomplished wizards twice her age are incapable of, which is to throw off the Imperius Curse." Riddle's voice swelled with pride. "You may return to your seat."
Several of her classmates began murmuring to themselves. Nicholas Nott fumed that he had not been selected to demonstrate his own private training from his Death Eater father, while Laetitia Culpepper and Begonia Abbott sulked with their heads down. Prewett pursed his lips and looked as though he was about to object to the demonstration on ethical grounds. All of them were too stunned to speak.
"Next, the Cruciatus Curse, or the torture curse, delivers the most unrelenting pain imaginable. The caster, and I cannot stress this enough, needs to harness a powerful hatred and intent to cause harm. Personal grievance or dislike of the target will only go so far to assist you with that; you might choose to think of a time when you have experienced undiluted rage, and push it to the forefront of your mind. This will allow you to cast the spell on a target who has not specifically wronged you. Crucio."
The acromantula sprang to life, its eight hairy limbs flailing in all directions as a deafening hiss escaped from its several tiny mouths. It shrieked and writhed in agony for a minute as students tried to shield their ears from the noise.
"Avada Kedavra." The beam of jade green light stopped the beast's writhing in an instant.
Without missing a beat, Professor Riddle turned toward the class again. "For homework, I want three feet of parchment on strategies of resisting the Imperius Curse, including detailed descriptions of which methods are most effective under which scenarios. Please cite at least two secondary sources. You are dismissed."
Students muttered, but no one dared to groan; they had long ago realized that this would only increase the length of the parchment that Professor Riddle assigned by an additional foot. As the room began to empty, he turned to face Bellatrix again.
"The potion you requested," he whispered, handing her the small stoppered glass vial filled with the putrid green concoction.
He had already stewed the lacewing flies for twenty-one days, as he needed to brew Polyjuice potion for attending the upcoming gala at Malfoy Manor. He would be undercover to observe that Abraxas' plan went off without a hitch, and also that his second-in-command did not fall into his old habits of drinking and whoring on such an important night. It had been simple for him to divide the batch of potion in half, and use the hair sample from Andromeda that Bella had provided him to brew her potion in a second cauldron. She had been practicing curses on her sister's hairbrush all summer, and ever the diligent Slytherin, thought it wise to preserve a strand or two.
"Thank you, Professor," she smiled up at him. Tom noticed that she had finally disposed of the sugar quill that had tormented him for the past hour.
"My capable and strong Bella. Such an excellent and devoted wife you will be." He placed a hand casually upon her lower back, over her robes, but his touch was enough to elicit a small gasp from her. They were fully alone now. "I could tear these off of you," he murmured, tugging at her robes. He leaned in to kiss her on the lips, and smacked her backside playfully.
"Gods, yes…please do...Master," sputtered Bellatrix between breaths when he at last pried his lips away from her mouth.
"I don't think I will. Your mind was far too open in class today, my Bella, and you should be disciplined. You want me to subject you to the same treatment as the witches that my associates capture and take prisoner, do you? Is that what my aristocratic princess wants?" he teased, seizing a fistful of her curls as he was wont to do, regarding her hungrily, "To be taken roughly and degraded?"
"Only in the context of… you know...roleplaying," she giggled, her cheeks blushing ruby red. "Because normally I'm so far above everyone else. Especially in the classroom. Only you are above me, Master."
She was evidently still finding it difficult to reconcile her proud Black upbringing with how much she wanted, no, needed, his dominance and power. He chuckled at her embarrassment—his Bella was many things, but self-conscious not one of them. She would learn to confide in him freely all of her most taboo desires. Tom felt his cock lurch, but this was an ill-advised distraction. He needed to prepare for his next class in ten minutes, and so he kissed her a final time—languorously, achingly—before sending her on her way.
Andromeda snuck into Bellatrix's dormitory, undoing the rudimentary wards her sister had cast while wearing the advanced disillusionment charm that she had spent days perfecting. She began rifling frantically through pages of notebooks and assorted clutter on her sister's desk. She did not view what she was doing as just the next phase of a long, tit-for-tat argument between sisters. No, this was her attempt to assert some sense of control over developments in her social orbit and family life which she had long felt powerless to prevent. She might only be fifteen years-old, but she was certainly no fool. She listened at the top of the stairs on nights when her father and uncle Orion would send stinging hexes at each other, emotions running high as they argued over what was to be the House of Black's official position on the political movement led by Lord Voldemort.
Everything culminated during the previous summer when Uncle Alphard left. He had meant more to Andromeda than any other family member, perhaps besides young Sirius. Alph only dressed in robes in the most offbeat colours and wore his hair long as was the style among certain bohemian muggle men. She fondly remembered a gift he'd given her as a child, a hippogriff toy that whinnied and flapped its wings, that she carried around from room to room, sometimes even setting a place for it at mealtimes. He'd often said that her parents shouldn't have named Andromeda and Bellatrix "ruler of men" and "female warrior," respectively if they didn't want their wild uncle Alph to teach them martial arts; as a young man, he had been to Japan, where he had trained under magical and muggle masters. Then one day, he had stopped visiting them at the Manor. She only had one uncle and one auntie, father said when she dared to ask him about it. She was willing to risk Tom Riddle's wrath to put a stop to whatever ridiculous pureblood supremacy movement had caused her own family to splinter into factions that had turned against each other.
Observant by nature, Andromeda paid close attention to anything involving Bella's roommates so that she might learn of their schedules, and potentially find a time to do some snooping while they were out. At the present moment, Acantha Selwyn was giving a guest lecture to the third-year Divination class. Narcissa had mentioned at breakfast that the older Slytherin girl would be assisting Professor Urania with a special tasseography demonstration; she was excited that there was finally one subject in which she could rely fully upon intuition instead of her rotten memory, or Lucius' enchanted quills.
Then, she overheard a conversation in the Common Room between Lucy Greengrass and a fellow seventh year, Rhea Rowle, that the former had a crush on Rodolphus Lestrange. Lucy implied that she was quite sad to learn he was now off the market and betrothed. Andie jumped in to inform Lucy that her older sister was actually on the fence about the whole betrothal, and advised her that if she wanted to get closer to Rodolphus, she should ask him a question about the Appleby Arrows and Chudley Cannons rivalry. As a notorious flirt, Lucy never passed up a chance to talk to any of the boys on the Quidditch team, especially not Slytherin's star beater. Just as Andie had predicted, Rodolphus, who had been playing a game of Wizard's Chess with another teammate in the corner, relished the opportunity to provide the pretty green-eyed blonde with all the information she needed on her newfound interest in Quidditch. The two were sitting close together in front of the roaring fire when Andie had exited the room and quietly taken down the dormitory wards.
Finally, from inside a copy of Magic Moste Evile, Andromeda plucked a folded piece of parchment:
Dear Bellatrix,
My sincerest birthday wishes to you.
If you would like to have a drink with me tomorrow to celebrate, I will meet you at the Three Broomsticks at 9. As you are undoubtedly aware, you are now permitted to visit Hogsmeade on weekends. I will transfigure my features, and will alert you to my presence using legilimency.
Yours,
L.V.
Inside the folded parchment was a photograph clipped from an old Hogwarts yearbook of gorgeous eighteen-year-old Tom Riddle, his lips pressed into a recognizable smirk, piercing eyes shifting between the camera lens and down again. It was mildly unsettling to Andromeda, as even she could appreciate how objectively handsome he was, but the thought was soon displaced by another—that of the horrible crimes attributed to the anonymous Lord Voldemort in the press—which ought to have made him as wretched and ugly as a corpse. It wasn't normal for someone whose soul was so broken to be so beautiful, she knew.
Hogwarts Library did not have many books about soul magic, but Andromeda knew for sure that there were very few ways to repair harms incurred upon the soul by committing murder. Black Manor's library had some information in a dusty, four-hundred-year-old tome about regenerative potions for soul damage, using ingredients like unicorn blood and phoenix tears. Andromeda was strongly opposed to the exploitation of magical creatures for use in non-medically essential potions, and she mentally added "unicorn killer" to her ongoing list of insults for Riddle.
Casting a doubling spell and placing the original letter and photograph back inside the book, she quickly took off with the replicas. This was the definitive proof she needed in the form of a letter signed "L.V." that Professor Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort, and that he had met her sister that night in Hogsmeade. She deposited her bag inside her own room, and trudged back through the Dungeons until she reached the fourth-floor corridor where the Halloween Ball committee was set to hold one of its final meetings before the big event.
Andie had joined many extra-curricular groups as a way to diversify her acquaintances beyond simply those of good breeding of whom her parents approved. She was a member of the Gobstones Club, the Herbalists Society (which met every Full moon to forage for herbs, plants, and mycelium, the latter being of both the medicinal and recreational varieties), and of course, the Halloween and Yule Ball Committees.
Emmeline Vance and Mary Macdonald of Gryffindor, Pandora Fortescue of Ravenclaw, and Ted Tonks of Hufflepuff were just a few of the inter-House friendships that Andromeda valued. If she was being honest with herself, she wished that she could be more than just a friend to Ted, and that he might even ask her to the Ball. Should he ask, she hoped that she would have the courage of her convictions to say 'yes.' If her parents knew she had a friend, let alone a date who was muggle-born, she dreaded to think of what the consequences would be.
As she rounded a bend in the corridor, she was suddenly halted in her tracks by what felt like an impermeable barrier. She could not take a single step further, and her mind felt like it was collapsing in on itself as her field of vision blurred. A soothing, melodious voice reminded her of how much she wanted to take a warm bath and read the latest issue of Teen Witch Weekly, which she had been saving for its special interview with the lead singer of the musical outfit, The Raving Banshees. She no longer remembered why she had come to the fourth floor. Her feet carried her body back down to Hogwarts' subterraneous depths. Her only recollection of the next several hours was of draining the tub and changing into a polka-dotted nightgown before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Nobody noticed the genuine, disillusioned and Imperiused Andromeda Black turning away as Bellatrix, a perfect copy of sister, entered the classroom and pretended to be chummy with Emmeline. After the two-hour meeting concluded, Bellatrix levitated her sister's disillusioned body back to Professor Riddle's quarters; he was already waiting for the next stage of their plan. Drinking another potion to reverse the Polyjuice, she grabbed her sister's hand and touched the brass snake statue that had been made into a portkey by her Master.
Inverlochy, Scottish Highlands
Andromeda began to rouse herself as the after-effects of the Imperius Curse wore off, and Tom Riddle lifted his wand, lazily casting a body-bind hex.
"Welcome, Andromeda. You're in safe hands. Your sister and I are simply a little concerned about some of the wrong choices you've been making lately." Riddle walked around his study like a circus showman in a ring, wand fixed on his bound prey.
"Where am I? What did you do? You sick, perverted, unicorn-killer!" Andie spat.
"It has been a long, long time since I have been so creatively insulted. Reading A Treatise on Reversing Soul Damage, were we? I give you some credit, little girl. That is indeed a rare tome," he replied with a chuckle, "But I've never harmed a hair on a unicorn's mane. I have my associates source potions ingredients for me. There exists a rather lucrative underground market for Dark ingredients, and naturally, I take a sizeable cut. Along with the funds I receive from my regular monthly donors, I do alright."
"Whatever you have planned, rest assured I'll tell Dumbledore everything the moment I escape," Andie replied without hesitation.
"Come now. No need to tattle, Andromeda. You wouldn't want to see Narcissa hurt, would you? Such an innocent blonde little thing." He brushed his long, pale fingers along the underside of her chin, and Andromeda struggled under her bindings, trying in vain to free herself. He continued, "The pack of werewolves I recently recruited have told me they're hungry for precisely her type."
He had warned Bellatrix in advance that he might need to resort to making some unsavoury threats, but he assured her that Narcissa would be quite safe. Still, he looked over to where Bella was standing, and noting her discomfort, tried a different approach.
"But luckily, neither your sister nor myself have any desire for something so terrible as that to happen. Brute violence should always be a last resort—it degrades us to the status of muggles, you know—which is why my organization aims to turn government agencies to our way of thinking using non-violence as often as possible. Any magical blood spilled is a horrible waste. I was sorry to hear that you had placed yourself in such danger by speaking on a matter that did not concern you to Rodolphus Lestrange. If he had then proceeded to do something stupid, I hate to think of the tragedy that might've ensued" Riddle spoke in a preturnaturally calm, even manner.
"Bella, has he Imperiused you? Why are you just sitting there?" Andie called out to her sister who was perched on a small, antique setee behind Riddle. "We're daughters of the House of Black. Nobody can hurt us and get away with it. Not even him."
"So, you like belonging to the House of Black just fine when it suits you, do you?" Bellatrix rose up now, and spoke in an unnatural, shrill voice. "Father needed a reminder yesterday of who the most feared wizard in all of Britain was, and I think you do, too."
"Ha! So, you two really are together, then? Are you sure you're even his first choice? Rodolphus didn't think so."
"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Andie?" asked Bella, a tinge of curiosity peeking through her cold, closed-off exterior.
"Gemma Parkinson's older sister, Cyra. You know, the one who sleeps with Rodolphus' father in exchange for living in one of his chateaus for half of the year, and getting her pictures in the Daily Prophet society pages? He's fucked her. And Savanna Yaxley."
Rodolphus had at first refused to divulge names, as he didn't want to be implicated in whatever she was planning (and such information would obviously have needed to come from someone as well connected as the Lestranges), but then he felt so sorely wounded by his father's unwillingness to help him that he ultimately didn't care and gave Andie his full permission to state on the record that he'd seen the Dark Lord with those witches.
"If you count an obscenely drunk Cyra grinding against me wantonly at Gaston Lestrange's 40th birthday party until I sent her flying with a knock-back jinx as 'fucking,' then I suppose you'd be right…poor Rodolphus, I'm sure it was hard to have his father keep a witch like that around, what with his dear mother's death still so fresh... Ah yes, and Savanna Yaxley. Niece of an associate of mine. She has her uses. Always willing to go as my plus one to some boring society event when required. You'll have to try harder than that to embarrass me, Andromeda."
His lies must have sounded convincing, as Bella giggled and pointed her wand at her sister, awaiting his instructions on how to proceed. She certainly did not need to know about either of those witches, at least not at the present moment, Tom mused.
He had rather ridiculously ordered Lestrange to hand Cyra Parkinson over to him for a few weeks in 1966, when he'd first come home from his travels. Some of the deeper gashes he'd made on Cyra's pretty throat and chest with a cursed blade he'd acquired from a seller of such items in Gothenburg didn't fuse back together properly with essence of dittany, and he'd resorted to healing her wounds with his own magic. While not the most powerful pureblood family, he couldn't go incurring the wrath of the Parkinsons. And clearly, he hadn't been in his right mind then, since performing the healings drained him of much of his magic and stamina. There was very little chance of a round two after healing cursed wounds. Savanna Yaxley was a witch he'd been with more regularly, but he'd stopped seeing her about six months ago when she announced her engagement to Tiberius Selwyn, a dull and pretentious lay-about born into wealth almost as obscene as the Malfoys, but without their resourcefulness and political knowhow. She'd been willing to still meet Tom in secret, and in fact almost begged him not to cut her off, but he'd categorically refused. Apparently, Tiberius was a lousy lay, but that wasn't his problem.
"Should I apply part two of the lesson I started to teach in class today? Your lovely sister has already experienced the Imperius Curse. Excellent job, I must say. You are a quick learner in more ways than one, my Bella."
"Thank you, Master. If that is your will, you must do whatever pleases you."
"Yuck! Seriously? Are you like his house-elf? Really, you must be thoroughly brainwashed."
"Shut up, Andie. You don't understand a thing, as usual" retorted her sister.
"And did you say that father condones this? Has your Master paid him off? The only thing Papa really loves is money, after all. We're just accessories to his public reputation."
"No money has exchanged hands. That's all you need to know," answered Bellatrix smoothly. "You're either on the side of Lord Voldemort, or you're an enemy."
"Your father chose correctly yesterday, Andromeda. Today it is your turn to make the right choice. Little girl, you will not repeat what you know of my identity, or of my involvement with your sister, under penalty of death. An Unbreakable Vow will suffice. If you agree, I will let you return to Hogwarts with your sister immediately. If not, well, I can assure you that Cygnus's torture will feel like a toothache in comparison to my Cruciatus. Isn't that so, Bella?" Riddle smiled.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Agree to it, Andie. It feels like you're being annihilated. Not just like your skull is being bashed in, or your bones are cracking, but like your entire body is being buried alive. It will go on and on, seemingly for eternity. But Our Lord is merciful and giving you a choice."
"How could you be with someone like this, Bella?" Andie's pleading grey eyes reminded Bella of her mother's, a sight seared into her memory from countless times that she had witnessed her father bully and mock her during one of his drinking binges. "He's like him, only worse. Don't you see it?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," lied Bellatrix. "Please excuse my traitorous sister, my Lord."
"You need to be put in your place, witch. Crucio."
Andromeda screamed in agony as she felt all of her bones crushing at once, combined with the sensation of her own entombment, just like Bellatrix had described. If they were not in a house in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, heavily warded against Muggles with their nearest magical neighbours miles away, her voice certainly would have alerted someone to what was happening.
Riddle continued to hold the curse as Bellatrix counted two minutes passing. The sight of her sister in pain had felt so good for the first minute, a just revenge for all of the problems she'd created, attempting to sink her Master's reputation, possibly blowing his cover at Hogwarts, and the awful insinuations. Then, something that felt like punch to her abdomen made her entire body tense, and she now needed the screaming to stop.
"Master? I don't mean to be insubordinate, but-"
"But what? Do you dare question me, your Lord and Master?"
"No, my Lord. Only, I think Andie understands now. Don't you Andie?"
"I understand! Please, please, make it stop! I'll do anything!" screamed Andromeda.
"She's ready to take the Vow. Master, please stop!" Bella's eyes glistened with tears in the glow of the candlelit study.
Tom Riddle was basking in the power that came from casting the Cruciatus Curse. It felt like nothing else on earth, not like sex, or delicious French cuisine, or even the other Unforgivables, for that matter. The Imperius could feel warm to the caster and target alike, as if the mind was being smothered in thick layers of cotton gauze, but the Cruciatus felt undeniably cold like the unheated rooms of Wool's Orphanage, or the North Atlantic Ocean. It was ecstasy to purge himself of pain and release it back out into the world that had fucked him over from birth. He didn't care that it was Andromeda. It could really be anyone. He had enough rage and pain inside him that he could torture just about anyone or anything without compunction. He was aware that Bellatrix was asking him to stop, but it felt too good. Besides, he wasn't anywhere close to the eight-minute mark, which was when the real brain damage started.
Then it occurred to him that her voice sounded strained, like she was in pain, too. Was this what that idiot Dumbledore called love? When someone else's pain was your own? His Bella's soft brown eyes were flooded with tears. He didn't like that at all. Not one bit. But why?
He released the curse, and Bella rushed over to her sister, holding her body and petting her hair.
"Oh Andie, I never want this to happen to you again. I'm sorry I had to bring you here. You see why I had to do it? You're going to feel better in a few hours. I'll make you that peppermint hot cocoa you love back at the Castle."
Foolish little girls, both of them. Tom sighed and swiped a hand across his brow and forehead that had broken into a sweat. He pointed his wand at Andromeda and performed a memory alteration that was not exactly the same as an obliviation, but which would prevent her from being able to think or speak certain thoughts. If she tried to think "Tom Riddle" combined with "Lord Voldemort," her brain would rapidly misfire and replace the thought with something else. He unbound the witch with a flick of his wand, and called Bellatrix over to his side. This would be more efficient than an Unbreakable Vow, with the added benefit that the girl would begin to doubt the reliability of her own memory, which would complement Bella's scheme for Halloween, when she would be seen in the Kitchens assisting the elves.
"You will take your sister back to the Castle now by portkey, and then administer sleeping draught. You'll find it on my desk. Return here as soon as you're finished. None of this hot cocoa nonsense."
"Yes, my Lord." Bellatrix looked sadly upon her sister, but was determined to follow her Master's orders. Just this morning, she had fantasized about being completely at the mercy of her Master. Now she wasn't really in the mood to spend the night with him. They had decided together to do this, so she had to at least place part of the blame on herself. She tried to focus instead on the fact that he stopped when he saw her getting upset. Surely, that meant that he did care about her, as his future wife? She rationalized that it had been enough last night for him to tell her that if he could love, he would love her. But this would imply that he did not have the capacity to love at all, which her father and uncle Orion, who had been his contemporaries at Hogwarts, certainly seemed to believe. But they only saw his coldness as a strategist and leader. She had seen him be gentle and romantic on multiple occasions, wiping away her tears and letting her fall asleep next to him with her head on his chest; he'd pressed soft kisses to her forehead and called her special. What if it was all just manipulations and lies? Was proposing also a part of his long-term strategy to rule Wizarding Britain?
Reading her thoughts, Tom knew that he needed to tell her.
"Bellatrix. I…"
He couldn't say it.
"I'll see you soon."