October 17th, 1968
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
The annual gala honouring patrons of St. Mungo's Hospital was well underway at the ancestral home of the Malfoys. The ballroom was swathed in silk coverings of autumnal gold and yellow; it featured elaborate plasterwork ceilings and double-arched windows that overlooked the manor's famous rose gardens, kept in pristine condition through preservation charms despite an early frost this year. A golden cornucopia was placed at the centre of the long refreshments table, and two Malfoy heirlooms, solid gold candelabras depicting cherubs holding baskets of harvested fruits, sat at either end. Dobby and a team of hired elves had skillfully arranged smaller floating candles throughout the ballroom, and busied themselves offering guests the finest elf-made wines and champagne.
Normally, decorating and hosting were responsibilities of the Lady of the Manor, but as the last Lady Malfoy had filed for divorce in 1964, Abraxas had been left to sort something out himself. Divorce was almost unheard of within pureblood circles, except in extraordinary circumstances; theirs had been a tabloid scandal that rocked the pureblood community. But then, Lady Ariadne Lazaridis Malfoy (who still went by her married name as a divorcée) was no ordinary witch. Though she was a pureblood, she came from a family who were not a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Lazaridis were a wealthy Greek wizarding family who found great success in Britain manufacturing magical harps and flutes, for which they were known in their old country. Abraxas' first wife, Orla Burke Malfoy, had passed away in 1961 shortly after giving birth to Lucius's baby sister, Melanthea, who only lived for nine days.
Abraxas secretly held out hope for reconciliation with Ariadne, who was attending tonight's event on her own. His public image was on the upswing ever since he'd been named an official patron of St. Mungo's, and begun regularly hosting charity events. Tom had encouraged this as a way to deflect negative press for the Malfoy scion, but he also had a vested interest in Abraxas winning back Ariadne – she was a free-spirit, an artist, a socialite—not a Death Eater candidate herself— yet, even still, Tom envisioned this witch as key to Abraxas' successful public redemption arc. Most importantly, she was essential to his own cover as an ordinary Hogwarts professor who happened to have been photographed with the philanthropic couple multiple times. Lord Voldemort never took time off from manipulating the public.
Other distinguished guests included Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and his wife Constance; Roderick Plumpton, the retired seeker for the Tutshill Tornadoes, who showed up everywhere with a gaggle of adoring witches, and of course, Minister Nobby Leach, joined by a number of his staff and advisors. Even Arcturus Black, First Order of Merlin and great-uncle of Bellatrix, sniffed approvingly as he picked up an hors-d'oeuvre, smoked salmon and pickled radish on a piece of crostini with capers and dill. As one of the elder Blacks, he carried a mild prejudice against the Malfoys for possessing a few questionable ancestors, but he did not share his nephew Cygnus's personal vendetta against Abraxas, and seemed to be enjoying himself.
Tom Riddle entered the ballroom at half-past seven, dressed in custom-tailored tuxedo robes. His hair was perfectly coiffed, and he smelled of fresh verbena after-shave. He had instructed Abraxas to refrain from making the rounds of the ballroom until eight. There was a gathering of journalists from the Prophet and other publications in the east wing of the Manor downstairs, which was likely where his second-in-command was currently, speaking to the press. Many heads turned toward the tall, handsome wizard drinking what the muggles called a Manhattan. It puzzled Tom that cocktails were one of the things that English wizards didn't mind copying from muggles, but smoking cigarettes was considered to be an unceremoniously muggle habit. He had picked it up from his fellow poor urchins at the orphanage, and had been forced to quit when he'd entered pureblood society.
His blood boiled as he noticed Savanna Yaxley walk towards him wearing a daringly low-cut gown of pleated Venetian blue tulle and an expensive sapphire and pearl choker with matching teardrop earrings. She held the hand of her fiance Tiberius Selwyn, who was nearly the same height as the witch in heels. Her eyes were honey-coloured and she had noble aquiline features; she was peach-toned where Bellatrix was all stark contrasts of ivory and darkness. Visually, there were no obvious similarities, although both carried themselves with a regal gait and haughtiness. Although the wizard with whom she was nearly joined at the hip could not have been much older than his early thirties, he already had a slight paunch and receding hairline. But he was a Selwyn, and an eldest son at that.
"Savanna, will you introduce me to your charming young man?" Tom asked with an air of false friendliness, extending his hand. The boy's handshake was firm, but Tom held on just a moment longer, pressing with just a touch greater force.
"Tiberius Selwyn, sir. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Riddle. I profess that I'm in full support of everything you stand for."
Tom knew it was a bold move for this Selwyn to acknowledge his alias and Lord Voldemort's goals, but he couldn't possibly marry Savanna without having some idea of what had existed between Riddle and his bride-to-be; he also presumably knew that he was marrying into a pledged family of Death Eaters, the Yaxleys, and that Savanna herself was directly bound to protecting Riddle's identity even without the Mark.
"You are not," scoffed Riddle. "You think it is expedient to say so, nothing more. You Selwyns go whichever way the wind blows. I had to build myself from nothing and work for everything I've ever had. That includes your fiancée. May I borrow her from you for a quick word?"
"Of c-course, Mr. Riddle." Tiberius Selwyn was gobsmacked. No one had ever spoken to him like that in his life before.
Tom led Savanna into a corner near a fondue fountain, and she began speaking rapidly to prevent him getting in the first word. This was not her first verbal sparring match with Riddle, and she was practiced in laying into him.
"Was it necessary to be so disrespectful, Tom? You always knew I'd have to marry someone. I'm already going to be the oldest bride next season, for Merlin's sake. You knew what you were doing, keeping me at arm's length, while I wasted the best years of my life, hoping against hope. You never allowed me freedom, while you were free to do whatever the hell you wanted and whomever the hell you wanted... It's not even like I love him," she divulged flippantly.
"No, of course not. You still love me," said Tom, as he moved in closer so that their foreheads were almost touching.
"Yes," she whispered. His hand moved to clasp her throat, and she made a noise like a wounded bird.
"There's hundreds of guest rooms here. Shall I find us an empty one and make you scream and moan under me one final time, hmm?"
"If it pleases you, my Lord," said Savanna with a hint of mocking anger, although her voice did little to conceal the desire written in her face.
Riddle laughed, releasing her throat. "Come now. We both know you've never really been my simpering fanatic, though you played the role convincingly enough when required. But I don't believe that I shall. I've found someone else."
"Who?"
"Someone whose devotion runs much deeper than yours," he said simply.
"Who is she?" she demanded more forcefully.
"Ah. If I told you her name, you'd only try to disfigure her with a curse. You see, there was a prophecy that I never told you about, made nine years ago, relating to the witch who will assist my rise. Now that I've found her, I am very intent on keeping her," Tom explained.
"I don't believe that you, of all wizards, Tom Riddle, have suddenly become monogamous because of a damn prophecy," demurred Savanna, "but let me guess anyways- she's a pureblood, young, barely out of Hogwarts. Or a student at Hogwarts."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly say," Tom said, giving a mischievous wink, while thinking of how he enjoyed riling up this particular witch.
"I'm shocked that Dumbledore hasn't seen through you yet. Unless he thinks keeping you under observation at Hogwarts is safer than the alternatives. Maybe it's his version of locking you up in Nurmengard. The pretty sixth and seventh-year witches are the collateral damage. All for the greater good," she huffed, before downing half a glass of red wine in one sip.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, darling. Unfortunately, I can't stay and chat, as much as I'd love to hear more of your illuminating theories." He took a few steps away before turning around to add, "I look forward to receiving my invite to the wedding at Selwyn Hall. That look on the boy's face was priceless. No harm done, my dear. He'll still try to curry favour with the Dark Lord."
Tom Riddle stealthily exited the ballroom and went up a flight of stairs. He had explored the Manor extensively over the years since he first befriended Abraxas at Hogwarts, and was fond of its many Dark secrets, including the closet-sized room where he currently found himself preparing for stage two of the night. It had once served as a necromantium, or a space to ritually commune with the dead. Right now it was merely a convenient hiding spot, and Tom took comfort in its macabre history as he sat down on a sturdy leather-backed chair in front of a tall mirror covered in a black velvet curtain. He removed the vial of Polyjuice from his pocket, uncorked it, and took a swig; soon enough, he felt the telltale nausea as his body began to shift dimensions. He lifted the curtain to inspect his new appearance- he resembled an anonymous muggle whose body he had used to practice necromancy in Vienna some six or seven years ago. Nobody would recognize him like this, and if anyone asked, he would introduce himself as a clerk from the Magical Accidents Insurance Review Board.
Returning to the ballroom under his assumed disguise, Tom noted that Abraxas now stood beside the Minister's press secretary, Claribel Sweeting, engaging in small talk by the refreshments table. Tom strode confidently up to his oldest ally, and delivered a carefully-worded message.
"Brax! I hope you're keeping well since we last spoke. Lucius hasn't gotten into any more trouble at school? But then again, we got up to far worse as lads, didn't we?"
The blond wizard recognized a familiar intonation in this man's voice, and yet, something felt off. How would this stranger know anything about what his son got up to at school? Suddenly, his left forearm began searing in pain—of course, his Master had come to check up on him—well, he'd hardly had a drop to drink, and had mostly behaved himself, apart from some flirtatious banter with the witch in front of him, but that had been in order to accomplish his task.
"Young boys, eh?" Abraxas gave a stiff little nod of recognition, then turned toward Leech's secretary, "Claribel, would you be so kind as to introduce me to Minister Leach? I've written to him about a large donation that I've been planning to make to St. Mungo's, as I thought that perhaps his government might want to be involved in a new project I've envisioned of expanding the maternal care unit. I'm sure it would garner some good will among the electorate. And it would be to honour Orla's memory, of course," he said wistfully, pulling on the witch's heartstrings.
"Lord Malfoy, you are wizard whose kindness and generosity knows no bounds. I'd be happy to make the introduction. Right this way," she said.
Tom winked at Abraxas, who was merely relieved that his arm was no longer on fire. If he pulled this off, he would not have to worry ever again about his status as Tom's most trusted political advisor and second-in-command. He would secure himself and his heir a place of importance in the new order after the dust settled and they had completely remade society along the lines of blood purity. Apart from any personal advantage, Abraxas wholeheartedly believed that "magic is might," as Tom often said, and saw eliminating the muggle-loving Leach as a necessary step to their victory.
Cygnus Black opened the Morning Edition of the Daily Prophet and was utterly astonished as he read the headline:
NOBBY LEACH RESIGNS AS MINISTER- NEW INTERIM-MINISTER APPOINTED
October 26th, 1968
LONDON- It was a great blow to the liberal faction of the Wizengamot that Minister Leach announced his resignation due to failing health earlier today. His Press Secretary, Claribel Sweeting, released a statement to the Wizarding public that called Leach's health prognosis "very grave indeed." Earlier reports suggested that Leach was ailing from a Spattergroit infection, but was responding to treatment undergone at St. Mungo's. However, this latest news represents a shocking turn of events that nobody could have predicted. A new Interim-Minister, Eugenia Jenkins, has been appointed, and will hold the office until an election is called. Nobby Leach leaves behind an impressive legacy as the first wizard of muggle parentage to serve as Minister for Magic. Full coverage continues on page 8.
"He's actually gone and done it," Cygnus gaped.
"Who's done what, darling?" Druella poked her nose up from her fashion magazine. She had been admiring a new set of ermine-trimmed winter robes from Twillfitt and Tattings.
"Tom Riddle. Or someone working for him. He's placed a curse that mimics Spattergroit on Minister Leach, and he's just resigned."
"He told you Leach would resign when you came back from Hogwarts," reminded Druella.
"Yes, but I thought it was just him being full of himself. Well, I suppose Tom has always gotten results. Remember what happened to that Mudblood, Myrtle Warren? That's when we all started taking note of Tom. Walburga stopped calling him 'half-blood filth' almost overnight."
"Oh yes, I remember. That half-breed, Hagrid, was punished for it, wasn't he? I think Tom also grew to be quite tall that summer. When he returned to school in his sixth year, many girls thought he was just devastatingly handsome" she said matter-of-factly.
"And did you think Tom Riddle was handsome?" he pressed.
"No, of course not. I only had eyes for you, Cygnus," she said truthfully.
"I know," he sighed, although he didn't sound too sure. "Tom said something else that day."
"Oh?"
"He said that Bellatrix is brilliant, and that I didn't give her enough acknowledgement for it growing up. I got the sense he meant that I pushed her away. But what more could I have done? She was always so wild and ill-tempered. I didn't know how to discipline her."
x.
"Papa, on my Transfiguration exam I turned a toad into a shoe and back again! No one else could do it except me. All their toads still had shoelaces. Professor Dumbledore doesn't even like Slytherins, but even he told me that he was impressed."
"Bellatrix, boys do not like girls who are too smart, or show-offs. How will you ever attract a husband? The sort of accomplishments fit for girls are inoffensive ones, like playing magical flute and embroidery. Your great aunt Cassiopeia has offered to teach you magical needlepoint, and you ought to take her up on it."
"But I don't want to learn needlepoint! And I don't want a husband!" she erupted, storming out of his study. The drapes caught fire and Cygnus rushed to extinguish the flames.
"Aguamenti!" a jet of water flew from his wand, causing the smoke to fizzle and the fire to be quenched. "Get over here. Now!" He ran after her, and his long strides soon outpaced those of the small child. "Crucio!"
Bellatrix howled and convulsed. She had not intended to perform accidental magic, but her father's words had enraged her and she'd lost control.
"Cygnus? Cygnus! What are you doing?" A slightly more youthful Druella peered from behind the cracked-open doorframe.
"What does it look like? I don't need your permission to discipline my own children! Get the fuck out of my sight."
x.
Cygnus snapped back out of the long-buried memory. He had been right that her performance on the exam was unbecoming of a lady, but perhaps he ought to have approached the matter differently. He couldn't say that he was proud of her, because that would have been a lie. He wasn't. Everything would have been different if Bellatrix been born a son. Then he might have openly accepted her talents.
"Well, if Tom said that she's brilliant, it must count for something" Druella mused.
"I still don't like the idea of him marrying her. The way they got together—it's improper. And he had the gall to accuse her of projecting lewd thoughts at him!"
"As long as our Bella isn't in any danger. Witches talk to each other. He does have a bit of a reputation as a cad, but not for doing anything like that foul man, Angus Mulciber. He beats his poor wife just like a muggle," tutted Druella.
Cygnus sighed. "Well, she wasn't trembling in fear. It's clear that she worships the ground he walks on. I don't suppose she would be so happy about becoming his wife if he was especially cruel to her."
"No," said Druella, turning the page of her magazine to look at an advertisement for magically indestructible pantyhose. "I'm willing to give Tom the benefit of the doubt, as long as she insists that she's happy. That's all I've ever wanted for any of our girls."
"Happiness must always be secondary to duty" said Cygnus sternly.
"You are quite right, of course, dear. But Tom is a special case. Even more so after this news."
"He is, as much as I may despise him for it," he sighed again, flipping through the financial pages to distract himself. The British Galleon was holding strong against the American Dragot. At least something was going his way.
"Try not to worry, dear. Florrie and Pim are serving your favourite Beef Wellington with scalloped potatoes tonight."
October 26, 1968
Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts.
It was after midnight, and Bellatrix was writing down her observations of the night sky for an Astronomy assignment. She had often found comfort gazing up at the stars, seeing reminders of her family and blood. There was a certainty in cosmic placements and rotations that never wavered from set patterns, just as her awe of her Master's power was a constant, grounding force in her life. He demonstrated his worthiness of her reverence through how he stilled her restless mind, and took control of her body. Sometimes he would slam into her on his desk during their research period, or take her back to his quarters for a quick release during the one-hour interval between dinner and staff meetings; but it was the night when they had tortured Andromeda together that had been an experience unlike any other.
On that evening, she'd passed out in his home after taking nearly four minutes of his Cruciatus Curse after she returned her sister back to Hogwarts by portkey. Bellatrix accepted her punishment without complaint, begging her Master's forgiveness on her hands and knees for questioning his authority when he'd used the torture curse on Andromeda. As Bellatrix regained consciousness, she could feel him pressing soft, wet little kisses on her inner thighs, resulting in a shameless pooling at the meeting of her legs.
She remembered how he tipped a potion into her mouth that he promised would make everything better, including her aching muscles, one of the taxing after-effects of the Cruciatus curse; she presumed it was some variation of Elixir to Induce Euphoria. He nodded, but explained that this was his own variation, which had some other pleasing side effects. Within minutes, Bellatrix felt everything painful sinking away from her. They shed the remainder of their clothes on the floor, and he had hooked two of his long fingers inside her as he gently sucked on her clit, tender and swollen with need, causing pleased little hums to escape her throat. She heaved a sigh as he replaced his fingers with his prick, diving into her with long, slow strokes. Bellatrix's breath hitched; she struggled to take more air in her lungs as he maintained his firm grip on the sides of her throat. It was not enough pressure to pass out, but the lightheadedness seemed to contribute to the pleasure that coiled within her core. Without warning, he withdrew from her, and was sitting up on his knees wearing the maddening smirk that only the Dark Lord had perfected.
"No! My Lord, I beg you, put it back," she protested, keening against him wildly.
"So very demanding, little Bella. That won't do. You exist only to serve my needs, not the other way around. Say it."
"I exist only to serve your needs, Master."
"And yet, you've struggled with authority figures all your life. Is that why your daddy agreed to hand you over to me? To be rid of such a brat? Hmm? I'm your Daddy now, and I'm so much more powerful. Ride my cock. Do a good job of it."
She rode him enthusiastically, expressing her enjoyment more vocally than she had ever done before. Her hips cycled frantically as she dug her nails into his neck, blood buzzing as her heart thumped in her chest. Her moans were timed with each forward rocking motion. He encouraged her to collapse forwards onto him as he thrust up into her with rabid ferocity, drawing out her second climax. She couldn't be sure how much was caused by the potion and how much was just her body's response to his ministrations, but when the crest of the wave finally broke, it felt like time was moving extremely slowly; perhaps, this had been one of the side effects he'd mentioned. After coming down from the euphoric high, her first thought had been to wonder whether this was something he saved only for his own private use, or if he'd entertained selling such a potion. It would certainly be a novel way to fund his war efforts, she remembered thinking.
Bellatrix regained the awareness that she was outside as she felt the cool night air prickle on her back of her neck. She quickly attempted to ground herself, returning to her sketch of the constellation Pegasus and her commentary on the influence of the autumnal equinox upon the brightness of its constituent stars. She had no clue how much time had elapsed when she noticed that Evan Rosier and his girlfriend Olivia Shacklebolt were trying to get her attention.
"Hey, Bella! So, a group of us were thinking of hitting up Hogsmeade the night before the Halloween Ball. I can count you and Rod in, right?" asked Evan.
"Oh, erm… of course."
"Great! I wasn't sure if you two were still getting along. He seems kind of... detached and sad lately," he said carefully.
"Did you ask if he was on his period?"
Evan laughed at her levity, and even Olivia snickered, but Bella continued in a more serious tone, "Really, Evan, it isn't my job to cheer up Rodolphus. We're betrothed, but that doesn't mean I need to be responsible for his every mood swing."
"I never said you did. Is Professor Riddle pushing you extra hard as his assistant or something?" Evan used his Professor title in the presence of Olivia. He had his own suspicions about the private training that his cousin was receiving, but wisely said nothing of it.
"Something like that. Sorry, I didn't mean to be snippy."
"Don't worry about. We should fit in another duelling practice before the Ball."
"Sure. I'd like that."
"What will you be wearing, Bella?" asked Olivia. "My gown is a rich burgundy and Evan's dress robes have matching velvet piping."
"I haven't been shopping yet. I always do everything at the last minute."
"Well, better get a move on. The ball is only five days from now."
"I'll probably go to Twillfitt and Tattings with my little sisters tomorrow. Without Rod. He's awful at anything to do with fashion."
The Astronomy Tower was growing more deserted now, as the NEWT students headed back to their dormitories having completed their observations. Bellatrix said her goodbyes and slipped her notebooks inside her bag. She gave a final forced little smile at Evan and Olivia, then made the trek back to the Dungeons alone.
She knew she would be a nervous mess for the next few days, and would have to try her hardest to mask her thoughts around other students. When she wasn't imagining Professor Riddle, she was fretting over the cursed goblets. Even though she was determined as ever to impress him, she couldn't help but get cold feet about performing an amended version of the blood curse. What if some unforeseen disaster befell her on the night of the Ball, or she was caught tampering with the goblets? Or, what if someone (possibly Dumbledore) pieced together that she was responsible for incubating the whole plot to attack Mudbloods? She had spent her evenings reading books on Occlumency and practicing under her Master's supervision, but she was nowhere near proficient yet. First, she had to get through a day of shopping for gowns with her sisters, one of whom was suffering under the effects of mind magic and a Dark potion stronger than sleeping draught (she'd soon figured that out by the odour of the vial on her Master's desk.) Cissy was merely obsessed with Lucius Malfoy, but the effect was just as obnoxious and trying on her patience. One day at a time, she thought to herself as her head hit the silk pillow.
Author's Note: In an earlier chapter, I'd written that Abraxas had been divorced twice, but I figured it would make more sense to write his first wife as having died, given pureblood social customs. Also, I liked the idea of Tom showing up to the gala as himself first (not undercover) so that I could show how he interacts in public outside of Hogwarts, including with some ghosts from his past. What do we think of Savanna Yaxley? What will happen dress shopping? Will Andromeda's memory be sufficiently scrambled? What about the note she stashed away?
Please review and let me know your thoughts! Hope you had a lovely Christmas if you celebrate it, and Happy New Year!