"I promised you a reward, did I not, Bella?" Professor Riddle asked, pulling away from their embrace to discard his formal robes and banish them to a closet at the back of his office.

Bellatrix's heart galloped in her chest, pounding out a staccato rhythm. She flashed him one of her impish grins that she knew he loved, and in response he kissed her trembling body all over, nibbling and teasing kisses on her collarbone and the bit of her neck under her ear that drove her wild. His tongue swerved into her welcoming mouth, as his hands instinctively flew to the back zipper of her gown. He couldn't remember ever having paid attention to witches' fashion, but the sight of Bellatrix in the expensive silk creation that Savanna Yaxley had chosen for her engagement party was truly a work of high art, or at least, the woman wearing it was. He could have placed a bet on his entire movement's success that Bellatrix wore the dress better than any other witch could ever hope. She lifted her dark curtain of curls to assist his efforts while leaning into his heated kiss. The moonlight that filtered through the latticed windows of his office bathed her skin in luminous diamonds, complementing the radiance of her dark beauty.

Even though he had meddled in some of the most unnatural and arcane forms of magic, Tom Riddle was still a man. He went hard in his trousers at the thought that her youthful, pliant body, lit up by the nearly-full Samhain moon, belonged to him so completely. His more reflective side considered that perhaps the universe, if it worked on any kind of balancing mechanism, had at last compensated him for all of the injustice of his early life with a witch who was not only a sublime beauty, but who had proven herself a loyal, worthy companion. She was the key to his future, he knew, and in some respect, that meant she held power over him, too.

Giving her swollen lips a momentary reprieve, he lifted his mouth from hers and said carefully in his smooth, liquid voice, "I've killed so very many people, Bella, that I can't remember all of their names. It's the same with the witches I've taken to bed. I don't care to remember them, either. But you're just as bad as me. Do you know why, my dear?" His question was edged with a tacit danger that didn't go unnoticed by Bellatrix.

"I'm not sure why, my Lord," she murmured, her eyes swimming in moonlight.

"Because your purpose is to be mine. To help me destroy our enemies. And I never even had to persuade you. You've always known exactly who I am, and you chose to be mine of your own free will," said Professor Riddle, pressing her slight frame to his chest and squeezing her so tightly that she almost cried out. He took in the sight of her small, rounded breasts, which were just the right size to fit fully in his palms, and dragged a thumb across each peaked nipple.

"I'll give you anything you want. Just say it and it's yours," purred Bellatrix, stroking his chest over top of the dark material of his dress shirt. Her agile fingers began to undo the first three buttonholes, but Tom seized them and slammed her wrists on the desk.

"Did I tell you that you could touch me? Knickers off. Get on your hands and knees," he ordered, pointing to the flat surface of the desk.

Bellatrix slid off her black high waisted lace panties, and climbed atop the bureau, arranging herself as he instructed. She heard a slap! slap! slap! as his palm came down savagely hard and fast upon her fleshy bottom, coaxing out a chain of rapid, shallow breaths. Her limbs nearly bowled over as she slid closer to the edge while trying to maintain her prone position.

"Do you know why you're receiving this spanking?" he demanded, continuing to strike her firm, rounded arse, which was darkening from rosy pink to poppy red with every pleasurable slap that she earned. Bellatrix wasn't sure precisely what she had done to merit his attention, but she was by no means complaining.

"Because I touched you?" she ventured, not daring to turn her neck to meet his gaze.

"That's not all. Because the way that make me feel should qualify as its own form of madness. Because if your family pedigree wasn't extensively documented, I would assume you were a succubus or part Veela for the way you occupy my thoughts. Because you let the Lestrange boy put his hands on you, even if it was necessary. And lastly, because I happen to know that you thoroughly enjoy it," he finished.

"Yes, my Lord," she agreed vociferously, quaking and squirming in anticipation. As he continued alternating his slaps on each cheek, her little whelps grew needier and more insistent. Peering into her mind, he saw that Bella didn't consider this to be quite intense enough. She wanted him to hurt her more. Well, Tom was sure he could accommodate that request. Reaching into his pocket to pull out his pale yew wand, he remembered the time he had gotten carried away using magic to hurt her. He couldn't unleash a round of the Cruciatus Curse; he wanted her to be able to trust him again, and the thought of doing that now almost made him nauseous. He would have to figure out something else.

The squalid primary school in muggle London that he attended before the bearded fool showed up to take him to Hogwarts sprang to his memory. The muggles there had made liberal use of the belt or the cane when his accidental magic would cause objects to break, or fires to start. They likely assumed him to be a pyromaniac, if not the devil himself. Little did they know they were instilling in him a lifelong hatred of muggles. And now, aristocratic Bellatrix Black was going to be treated to a taste of muggle discipline.

He pulled off his belt, and although she was facing away from him, she heard the sound of its rattling metal. The thrill of his power sent frissons down her shoulder blades and the nape of her neck. He backed up a couple steps and brandished the stiff leather with its heavy buckle a few feet from where Bellatrix was lying, then flexing his forearm, let the belt glide through the air until it cracked hard upon her skin. She howled in pleasurable pain that it would have been impossible to describe as anything but intense. Her flesh seared as he instructed her to count each time he belted her until she reached ten, at which point, she begged so prettily for him to stop that Tom did exactly that. He pointed his yew wand at some of the angrier looking welts to heal them; his magic quickly sealed the broken skin, and he tucked a stray curl behind Bellatrix's ear, giving her a delicate kiss on the earlobe that made her swoon.

"You love being an eager little slut for a man who's older than your father, do you?" he questioned.

"Yes, my Lord, " Bellatrix agreed exultantly.

"Is that really how you want to address me right now, Bella? As 'My Lord,' just like any of my other followers? Because I see in your mind that when you rub your pretty cunt in your dormitory, you sometimes think of another word. You should say it." Even after having learned the basics of Occlumency, Bellatrix knew it was pointless to deny the fantasy to which he alluded. Her mind was almost as naked to him at this specific moment as her body was.

"I love being your slut, Daddy."

He smirked. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? You've always desired recognition, and to be treasured and adored. I can understand as an orphan what it is like to never be acknowledged by any caregivers unless I was being punished. But I don't let anyone else handle my possessions. Certainly not my acolytes. So while I am quite open to trying out new things, I won't go so far as that other fantasy."

Bellatrix's blood roiled with shame and embarrassment. She wasn't sure why imagining being taken roughly and filled with come by a group of his followers in their Death Eater masks made her sopping wet between her thighs, but she was positive that fantasy didn't translate into something she wanted to experience in real life. Just the logistics of it would be highly awkward and uncomfortable. She really wished at that moment that he didn't have access to her mind.

"Display yourself. I want to see all of what I own," barked Tom.

With her knees angled outward as far as they would go, Bellatrix spread herself so that he could view her most intimate parts. She was wholly unprepared as he bent down low and dragged his tongue slowly along her dewy folds, higher up towards the place where she had never received attention before. A desperately wanton moan fell from her lips, registering her combination of surprise and desire to continue. He incanted a spell under his breath, and his fingers were now slippery as they began moving slowly. Two fingers curled inside her cunt, while one gingerly brushed against her other entrance. She gasped as the finger began to move with the others to bring her pleasure, but when she felt his erection prodding her there, she inhaled sharply.

"You said you would give me anything, didn't you, my Bella?"

"I don't know if I want that. I'm scared," she whispered. Something about fear was supremely arousing to Tom, whether it was a prisoner, a Death Eater who had betrayed his trust, or sweetest of all, his Bella. But he had no interest in violating her in that way if she did not want it; he liked her to be willing to endure his cruelties and humiliations. He let out a peal of dark laughter.

"Hmph. Get under the desk and suck me off, then," hurled Tom impatiently.

Tom strode over to the chair where he often sat and drank his coffee during their research period, when Bellatrix often sipped her tea and asked him questions about magical theory. His witch eagerly flew off the desk, knocking over stacks of papers as she arranged herself at his feet, enthusiastic to show him that she was still his willing and obedient servant. Her tongue twirled around his engorged tip, lapping up a pearlescent bead of precome before teasing and playing some more. She spat into her hands and rubbed them up and down his thick shaft, admiring its substantialness, until he was lubricated all over from her wet little mouth. Her deft hands twisted and tugged at the base, occasionally varying the speed or tightening her grip, all while sinking her lips lower before releasing them with a loud pop, and repeating this act several times over. Tom felt faint buzzing in his ears and the effects of several glasses of red wine coursing in his veins. He stood up with his back against the wall, and motioned for her to crawl to meet him. He brought his hands to rest on the sides of her head for purchase as he began to thrust into her mouth; if he could only have one kind of sexual encounter for the rest of his life, he would probably choose aggressive oral sex, although in his experience this was not something that witches like to do often or even at all. But with Bellatrix, he could tell that she got off on following his commands like a well-trained pet. She was his pet, Tom thought as Bella wrapped her arms around his hips and was eagerly spearing her mouth on him, so that he hardly needed to push at all. His Bella understood the assignment well. There were a number of areas in which Bellatrix had improved greatly under his tutelage, but she had never needed instructions to do this, and yet he knew with certainty that he was the only man she had ever done anything physical with. Exceeds Expectations indeed.

"Look up at me, Bella."

She looked up at him through watery doe eyes, continuing to devour his cock with her ravenous mouth, never once gagging, although she was certainly not quiet, either- she made a sort of gurgling sound as he slid down her throat, meeting no resistance. He groaned and grabbed hold of her hair. She really was such a very good girl, he thought, although "good" for him was admittedly rather wicked. He wanted her to be by his side as he ascended to the heights of power, and rebuilt their society. Tom's reflections were sidelined by a familiar constricting sensation. If she continued her skilled performance, he was going to come, and that needed to be saved for the ritual. So, he nudged her mouth away and gestured for her to back up.

Bellatrix brushed the ropes of saliva from her mouth onto the back of her wrist, staring up at her Master like she had just come out of a trance. He commanded her to stand, and turning his gaze lower, saw the shining slick on her pearlescent folds. She was thoroughly drenched, as pleasuring him with her mouth so often made her. Tom couldn't resist slapping her right on her pretty cunt, coaxing out a clipped moan from her now-empty mouth. He felt an acute need to be inside of her, and would just have to be very careful.

"Sit on my lap," he husked, motioning for Bellatrix to lower herself. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she slowly sunk onto his generous length, rolling her hips forward, then lifting herself up a few centimetres above his sturdy thighs, before sinking back down on him. She settled into a steady rhythm, but could feel her knees beginning to shake when he drew her into the driving onslaught of a kiss that radiated divine warmth. It was as if she had been parched, and his lips were the sweetest nectar. She dragged her tongue along his palate, while her hands wrestled with his unbuttoned collar, attempting to pull him in closer. They remained connected at the seams of their lips as Bellatrix regained her balance and moved astride him at an increased tempo. The satisfying curve of his tip brushed against the upper wall of her entrance at the exact spot that made her see stars and her eyes roll back in her head. Chasing closer to release, she moved one hand away from his neck and drew frantic circles on her tender clit while the other hand clung to his heaving chest. Tom nibbled and suckled on her neck, gripping her rosy arse and occasionally slapping it with renewed vigour that caused Bellatrix to teeter on the edge of insanity. Her insistent moaning grew more strained, and he could feel her convulse around him as she bit back a final scream.

The couple might have remained nestled on Tom's chair in the small office adjoined to Classroom 8B indefinitely, were it not for the need to leave to perform the Samhain ritual. As Tom signalled for her to stand, Bellatrix was surprised to see him wave his erection away with wandless magic.

"But you didn't get to come," she protested.

"I need to save it for the ritual. I nearly fumbled a couple times and lost my self-control."

"Then your self-control is most impressive. Much like everything else about you," said Bellatrix, as she began searching for her panties under the desk.

"Mh-hmm," he agreed, his mind and body still reeling from how snug and warm she felt, like a glove that was the perfect fit. His thoughts travelled to the many times he had used legilimency on Bellatrix and detected the emotion that her mind identified as "love." She saw him as her romantic ideal of a man, and wanted him physically, but she was also profoundly attracted to his mind and the scale of his ambitions. In fact, he saw clearly in her thoughts that Bellatrix had never really desired any of her peers at Hogwarts- not that she was unable to be attracted to them, but that there was nothing about them that could provide her what she needed, which was someone older who could be her mentor, supporting her desire to train in the Dark Arts. Tom reflected that he had always wanted to guide her and help her to develop her full potential since the first day of class. It made him feel important and powerful that she placed her trust in him so fully, and affirmed his belief that he was on a righteous crusade for the sanctity and preservation of their culture. He cared an inordinate amount for her, and cherished every moment spent in her company. But then that would mean something he had never wanted to admit aloud, and which he had only scratched the surface of admitting to himself privately.

"Bella… you are an extraordinary witch," he spoke in hushed tones. "I like to be near you. I feel like I'm truly alive with you. I realize that I've gone about doing things in the wrong order, proposing marriage before telling you what I'm about to say..." he gulped, and his rational mind was telling him not to say more, that he had already said too much. But rationality did not win. "I'm in love with you."

She couldn't help it. She began to weep softly just as she used to do in her bedroom at Black Manor. It was possible for her to picture the dull periwinkle paint on her bedroom walls, and how she would cry into her pillows while her parents would be downstairs arguing. She would daydream of the mysterious and powerful wizard, Tom Riddle, the figure she had mythologized so extensively, who had turned out to be so much more than even her wildest imaginings. Ordinarily, she would have been embarrassed about how red and blotchy her face looked from crying, but that thought was cast out by the significance of what had just taken place—she had received the one thing she wanted above all else for the past six years—for Tom Riddle, the ascending Dark Lord, to love her.

"I've never said that to anyone else, and I never shall," said Tom, feeling something like relief mixed with anguished defeat that he had allowed someone to take on such an important role in his life and future, which had always been a solitary path.

"I love you, too," she sniffled.

"Don't cry, Bella. Let us be happy. You've attacked Mudbloods for me," he praised while lifting her back onto his lap, anchoring her so that the crown of her head was directly under his chin.

"I assure you that I am the happiest witch who ever lived because of you, Master."

"Bellatrix, I do not understand love at all, or family relationships. I have told you that I killed my father. Let me start from the beginning." He explained to her of learning about his Gaunt ancestry through newspapers that he had made the elder Avery hunt down in the archives, then tracking his only living relations to the village of Little Hangleton.

"My mother died giving birth to me. My father abandoned her when he discovered that she was a witch. She probably used a love potion, because it's unlikely she would have been strong enough to use the Imperius Curse. She had been so abused by my uncle and grandfather that she was almost rendered a Squib. If she had been a witch more like you, she would have fought back, and not let them break her into something so pathetic," Tom sighed.

"What was your mother's name?" asked Bellatrix in a barely-audible whisper.

"Merope."

"That's a mythological name. She was one of the Pleiades, and so ashamed of her husband's crimes that she hid her face in the heavens. I think the Gaunts must have used names similarly to my family, with constellations."

"Too ashamed to show her face. Hmm," he mused.

He then described arriving at the Gaunt Shack, where his family who had many generations ago been as noble and revered as the Blacks had fallen into steep decline. Then he recounted the visit he made to Riddle Manor, only to be disgusted by his father's wealth, and how it had dawned on him that he was not going to find a receptive audience in the smug, stuck-up muggle family. He killed all three muggles with his uncle's stolen wand, framing him for the crime, and had never once regretted his actions.

"You never need to be ashamed of where you come from, Master. You will be married to me, and I'm not weak. You're not weak. Nobody weak could have created you—I know she must have been in such terrible hardship, yet you're the most powerful sorcerer in history. And you cleansed that whole Manor of the filthy stench of muggle and framed that murtlap of an uncle. I bet it was a spectacular sight, those three muggles dead by your hand, Master."

"Bellatrix…I…your reaction, everything you've said…thank you."

"I said only the truth."

"Yes you did, my perfect little witch. Now put your dress back on. I'll meet you at the Apparition point in fifteen minutes. Don't speak to anyone."

Her absence from the Slytherin dormitory would need to be accounted for in some way. She could perhaps speak to the prefect Alaric Crouch, and inform him that she had been called away for a family emergency, but what were the chances of that happening at the same time as four students had been rushed to the Infirmary? Confounding Alaric and then her dorm mates would be the most logical way to slip out of the Castle undetected. She would pretend to have left the dance early because Andie was feeling unwell, and then silently confound them in a group. Bellatrix felt more confident about her non-verbal magic these days, with how effortless Professor Riddle made it seem. This was the best plan that she had, and it would have to do.

"Yes, Master."

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Bellatrix felt a jolt of confusion when she realized where her Master had Apparated them. They were on the grounds of the towering stately residence that she recognized to be the ancestral home of Lucius and his father, Abraxas Malfoy.

"Why did you bring us here?" she asked hesitantly, forgetting herself.

"All will be revealed in time. Trust in your Master," he said while steering her down the well-trodden path that led to the first set of tall iron gates.

The Manor was bounded to the south by ancient woodlands and to the north by rolling hills of chalk uplands. Bellatrix inhaled the scent of roses wafting through the courtyard, and thought it unusual for a cold Samhain night. This was the night that marked the transition from summer to winter on the ancient calendar, and the heady fragrance clashed with the perceptible chill of the air, and the subtler scents of damp tree trunks and oak moss. Topiary statues of mythic beasts loomed large over the gardens, posed as if they were guarding a temple or sanctum.

The powerful wards soon evaporated to grant them admittance to the Manor itself. The huge front door opened into a large vista, then tapered into a reception room for guests. There were plush cream coloured sofas that lent the space a somewhat modern feeling, but antique chandeliers and portraits of seventeenth century Malfoy ancestors ensured that the Manor kept its historic charms. One painting of a distinguished blond wizard, proudly identified with a plaque as Lucius Malfoy I, winked at them as he scratched behind the ear of an English Setter, carrying a dead hare in its mouth, undoubtedly signalling its owner's fondness for hunting.

Dobby the house-elf popped into the reception and offered to take their travelling cloaks from them, which Bellatrix gratefully accepted, handing the elf her thick woollen-cashmere cloak that she had thrown over her dress.

It seemed to Bellatrix that the home was built to be architecturally confusing and grandiose, while the décor screamed affluence; whereas, Black Manor had been built at a time when their power and influence was already solidified—old money did not need to shout so loud. Bellatrix heard her Master chuckle lightly, and figured he must have been inside her head again. She found his grip on her hand was unusually tight as he guided her down a labyrinthine hallway past a number of empty rooms, but she thought nothing of it until she began to hear noises that sounded suspiciously like grunts of pain, or pleasure, or perhaps both.

"Abraxas!" bellowed Tom, as they approached a set of impressive double doors.

"Coming, my Lord!" came a muffled reply from inside the chamber.

"I could have given him a warning, you know, by making his Mark burn. But then, this is much more entertaining," he said, and Bellatrix understood. Immediately, the noises inside ceased. She heard muffled feminine voices speaking French, and the scampering of feet. Two loud pops that typically signalled Apparition echoed from within.

Abraxas opened the door shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting trousers, then immediately shut the door mumbling an apology upon realizing that Bellatrix was there, too. His appearance wasn't exactly indecent, but there was no mistaking the kinds of activities in which he had been engaged only moments ago. He stepped back out again a short time later, attired in a set of black formal robes.

"You needn't look so tense, Brax. I did not order you to keep away from whores entirely. But you will endeavour to win back Lady Ariadne as soon as possible. She is the sort of respectable witch that I need you to be associated with in the public eye, now that we prepare for the next stage of my ascent."

"Yes, my Lord," said Abraxas. Looking over to the raven-haired witch, he remarked, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance properly, Miss Black." They had seen each other at various events on the pureblood social calendar, but had never been formally introduced. He seemed like he was unsure if he should brush a lip to her knuckles, but eventually gave a stiff little nod.

"Likewise, Mister Malfoy," said Bellatrix politely.

"Anyone could tell by looking you over once that you are a Black. I see far less of the Rosiers in you," he observed casually.

"No, I suppose not. My sister Narcissa resembles our mother closest," Bellatrix replied coolly, trying to match his own level of disaffection.

"Ah yes, Lucius writes often about spending time with her. Very innocent, first love, isn't it?"

"I suppose it must be, for some," came Bellatrix's response.

Abraxas turned to address his Master again. "I must warn you, my Lord, that Antonin is already about four firewhiskeys to the wind. I can have Dobby fetch a sobering potion if needed."

"No, I find it preferable that he not be at full capacity tonight."

"As you wish, my Lord," he replied.

Bellatrix was being led down another hallway in a different direction, and another set of enormous doors were flung open with magic. Edgar Avery, Gaston Lestrange, Theodosius Nott, Corban Yaxley, and Antonin Dolohov were conversely loudly in the enormous drawing room, its walls papered in bronze damask and illuminated by sconces. The wizards all smoked cigars and drank firewhiskey, or other spirits. Bellatrix immediately felt awkward, like she had intruded upon some kind of sacred male bonding ritual. Soon, five pairs of eyes were focused on her. Each wizard bowed his head reverently as their leader stepped into the room, and they seemed to wait for him to speak.

"Nine years ago, a prophecy was made concerning my future. This is Bellatrix Black, who it is prophesied will be instrumental in assisting me to triumph over the muggle sympathisers and their ilk, clearing the way for the world that we collectively desire. Her magic outstrips many of the men in our ranks, even if she is untested in battle. She will finish at Hogwarts in less than one year, and I intend to train her personally." He scanned the room, making sure that his followers were still rapt in their attention, and continued, "I realize this next bit of news will possibly come as something of a shock, especially to you, Corban— again, I offer you my congratulations on the happy occasion of your niece's strategic alliance with the Selwyn heir"– Corban Yaxley was emotionless, not even daring to breathe— "I intend to make Bellatrix Black my wife," concluded Tom.

Lestrange's jaw almost hit the floor. The last letter he had exchanged from Cygnus and Druella had made it clear that Cygnus would rather his daughter be disowned than involved with Tom Riddle. Cygnus had taken on responsibility in recent years for the movement's accounting, performing untraceable transfers of funds and bribing goblins with whom he was acquainted at Gringotts to look the other way at suspicious activities. He had always been on the periphery of the Death Eaters, communicating with Tom about funding, yet had refused the Mark on two occasions, giving every excuse under the sun. It was not that he didn't agree philosophically, but it boiled down to pride.

"Yes, Lestrange, I have obtained Cygnus' consent without using the Imperius Curse. Thank you for your graciousness in this situation where your son was concerned. That's my announcement. Carry on, enjoy yourselves," he said, giving one of his few genuine smiles to the five men whom he considered his most trusted associates.

With his hand on her shoulder, Tom guided Bellatrix over to a velvet divan across from an armchair in which Antonin Dolohov was sitting. Tom sat down and encouraged her to join him, draping her legs over his lap. He lazily lifted his wand and conjured two glasses for them, which he filled by carefully levitating the decanter of firewhiskey. Then, he casually placed a hand on her upper thigh, massaging her, seemingly unbothered by what his acolytes might think.

"When I met this man—" Dolohov spoke while gesturing toward Tom, "He lived like a monk. No drink, no whores. Only cigarettes. But he duelled every single one of us, the best of the recent graduates of Durmstrang, men seven feet high, you understand, and they dropped like flies, every single one of them. I knew then that this Englishman, I could respect him." Antonin seemed oddly wistful as he swirled his tumbler. "You duel, young lady?" he asked in his accent that Bellatrix couldn't quite place.

"Yes, I duel. We have a private duelling club at Hogwarts, where I've defeated all the boys. I defeated Lestrange and Avery's sons yesterday. And my cousin, Evan Rosier."

"Aha! No surprise there. Only powerful witch can handle Our Lord. No wonder you have broken engagement with his son." He tried to point with his hand at Rodolphus' father who was in conversation with the others sitting a small distance away, but spilled some of his drink on his robes. He gulped down the rest of the glass and pointed his wand at the decanter to refill it again.

"Bellatrix is still betrothed to Lestrange's son for public appearances only," explained Tom. "I've trained her to become a very talented actress. Actually, I have trained her well in other areas too, haven't I, my little pet?" She felt Riddle snake his fingers higher up her thigh until they disappeared under the swathes of silk that concealed the edge of her panties. Her fevered skin started burning up and she felt an unbidden quiver of arousal.

"Y- yes, Master," breathed Bellatrix.

Antonin gave a deep, throaty laugh, and Bellatrix flushed pink with embarrassment. Her Master was still moving his fingers dangerously nearer her molten centre.

"Bellatrix, I want you to show theses wizards how well-trained you are. Do you think you could do that for me?"

"Um, I don't know if I understand, my Lord," she said, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I know that you do. Kneel." Feeling her heart plummet in her chest, and anxious about where following his command might lead her, Bellatrix sunk to her knees. She kissed the hem of his robe and looked up to meet her Master's composed gaze. A quick glance around the room told her that Avery, Yaxley and Nott seemed to be preoccupied in conversation, while Abraxas who had reappeared in the doorway after having excused himself to attend to another task set to him by his Master, was riveted on the spot.

"Good girl. Now lick my boot."

She had never done something like that, but she swore to follow every command he gave her. She brought her tongue to tap on the boot for a brief second, but seeing in his face that he was dissatisfied, she started very obviously licking it. Everyone in the room was paying attention now.

"Crawl over to Antonin and kneel at his feet."

Bellatrix tried her hardest to remain calm and look like nothing bothered her; she was sure he could tell that she was unhappy about being ordered in this way. She slowly obeyed, trying to drag out the process as long as she could. She looked up at the foreign wizard and decided that he was attractive, albeit in a very different way from her Master. This man looked like he was battle-tested and his nose had been broken a few times over the years; he had dangerous dark eyes, and about two days' worth of dark scruff on his chin. Overall, she was not unpleased to look at him.

"Lick Antonin's boot." Humiliated, but knowing that it needed to be done, she tried her best to appear that she was at least into it, even if it was the last thing she wanted to be doing. The foreign wizard grinned, and looked like he greatly enjoyed the visual of Bellatrix on her hands and knees.

"Good. Now, if I order you to suck my cock, or Antonin's cock, or anyone's in this room, what do you say?" asked Tom.

"If it is your will, my Lord, you must have it. I am your servant, and you are my Master. I live my life in service to your every desire, in anticipation of your every need. I will obey any command you give," she said resolutely.

There was now genuine shock written upon Abraxas' face that the once-presumptive heiress of the House of Black, and Druella Rosier's daughter, was behaving in this way with Tom Riddle. Rodolphus' father seemed more intrigued every second that passed, while the others seemed unsure of what the appropriate reaction was. Though it wasn't that out of the ordinary for their Lord to cultivate a certain image of sexual profligacy, he was not usually so overt in front of others.

"This is what real devotion looks like. Rise, Bellatrix." She felt overwhelming relief as she rose to her feet. A small part of her had felt the tiniest jolt of arousal stir between her legs at the prospect of being made to perform for his Death Eaters. She was sure that it was only the cocktails she had consumed earlier, coupled with the thrill of using Dark Magic and having been brought to multiple orgasms this evening already. Her Master had just told tonight that she belonged to him alone, and that he shared with no one. He probably wanted to make a point to his Inner Circle in a stereotypical sexist way that these men could understand.

"Abraxas, did you prepare the sacrifice?" Tom barked.

"Yes, my Lord. Everything is ready in the back courtyard," said the blond wizard.

Bellatrix was looking up at her Master eagerly for more information. Would it be a human sacrifice, possibly of a muggle?

"It's only a deer, Bella. I wouldn't sacrifice a muggle for such an important occasion," he scoffed.

"My Lord, I would not have minded. Quite the opposite. My family has long been in favour of reviving Muggle hunting. My second cousin Araminta even proposed a bill to legalize it during the last session of the Wizengamot," Bellatrix declared.

Tom laughed, then turned to face Abraxas, "I shall have her torturing and dismembering muggles with us in the near future, Brax. You see, Bellatrix has very...insatiable appetites. We are celebrating her first kill tonight."

"Is that so? Congratulations, Miss Black," he praised her sincerely, and while he did seem surprised, she detected no hint of judgment. Bellatrix sensed that the men in this room saw nothing ethically wrong about killing if it would advance their political objectives.

"It was a blood curse that I modified to be slow-acting, but yes, a Mudblood should be dead by my hand sometime tomorrow," she said with more than a little bit of pride.

"You performed a modified blood curse? On your own?" asked Gaston Lestrange, who had just walked over to them, sneering slightly. His face was slightly more angular than his son's, and his eyes were not the same shade of blue, but a muddier hazel- this man was hardened, and his gaze seemed to shut the world out, rather than invite anyone in. Bellatrix was very thankful that he would not be her father-in-law.

"Bellatrix is a very powerful witch, Lestrange. She is my prophesied companion. While it may be the case that you would not enjoy the company of a witch who you were afraid might pick up her wand to cast more than a cleaning or sewing charm, others here are not such small-minded wizards."

Abraxas snickered at Tom's ribbing of Lestrange, who often chose witches of whom it could not be said that they were known for using their brains.

"Tom is quite right, of course. I find myself tiring of the company of witches with whom I cannot discuss a wide range of topics," said the Malfoy scion. His use of "Tom" was almost always a calculated social move in front of the others to convey how he was on a higher plane to them.

"And the French whores who were just here?" inquired Gaston.

"Weren't here for conversation. Precisely," answered Abraxas, lifting a hand that wore a silver snake ring to his nose. It appeared to Bellatrix that he had just taken a bump of some drug. A few Slytherins used dragon claw powder, and she didn't really care, though she had never tried it herself. Abraxas suddenly seemed a lot more fun to her than Rodolphus' blatantly sexist father - even if he was playboy, he didn't view witches only as pieces of meat. He had been involved with the very free-spirited and artistic Lady Ariadne, after all.

"Mr. Malfoy, might I suggest something to you?" asked Bellatrix.

"Certainly, Miss Black."

"If your mission is to win back Lady Ariadne, perhaps you might create something for her, like a musical composition? I think that she would at least have to acknowledge your effort and have a cup of tea with you here at the Manor. I should think even if a wizard had behaved himself quite poorly—not that I know the details of your situation, of course—proper etiquette would require her to respond."

There was a unanimous silence that seemed to suggest neutrality or agreement.

"Hm. That is quite possible. I haven't played on that dusty piano in the parlour for a number of years. Ariadne is a very accomplished harpist, who frankly puts me to shame. But that is the type of thing she would like. Thank you for that suggestion, Miss Black."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Lucius seemed to enjoy himself tonight. I wasn't surprised that he found a way to cross the age-line spell."

"Ah yes. I do try to make up for the unpleasantness of his early life by giving him opportunities to have fun. Within reason."

"He's smart. I believe he has more of the qualities that would suit him for this kind of work than my own cousin, Sirius. I know I shouldn't be speaking ill of the Heir, but it was rather shameful that he was sorted into Gryffindor."

"I enjoyed getting a rise out of your uncle and father by mentioning it, I assure you, Miss Black."

"Did you tell Mister Malfoy how my father came to Hogwarts and challenged you to a duel, my Lord?"

Tom Riddle was not normally embarrassed by anything, but he really did not want it to be known that he had declined a duel, even if it was for Bellatrix's own sake. There were certain ancient codes within wizarding society, especially among pureblood wizards, and declining a duel was considered shameful. Although, it occurred to him at the time that Cygnus only challenged him in the first place because of the ancient codes, without ever thinking for one second that it would come to pass because they were at Hogwarts with Dumbledore watching.

"Bellatrix is exaggerating. Cygnus was just blowing off steam."

"I wish you had duelled him, My Lord. It would have been over in thirty seconds. My mum would be the only one to miss him, and even then, she'd get over it."

Abraxas let out a laugh rather poorly disguised as a cough. "I declare myself greatly entertained by your Miss Black. I hope you don't mind me saying so, Tom."

"You're alright, Brax," he said. "Bellatrix. No more drinking for you. You've had quite enough tonight. We have business to take care of now. I will be taking my leave of this...assembly now."

As their Master rose, the four men furthest from Voldemort all made gestures of servitude, dipping down into bows, while Abraxas merely lowered his head.

Bellatrix and Tom were standing by a tall, pre-lit bonfire in the secluded back courtyard of the Manor. Flames danced around the cadaver of the deer that Abraxas had killed in the Wiltshire woodlands, which had already been lowered into the fire. A chalice marked with runes lay next to a large stone slab, positioned at the centre of a circle drawn in chalk a short distance away from the fire. The sacrificial deer and bonfire was an offering to appease the spirits who came from the Otherworld. Traditionally, Samhain marked the ritual coupling of the Dagda, the ancient earth-god whose magic was the most powerful in the land, with his wife, the Morrigan, goddess of sovereignty and war. She gave her protection to him on this night so that his lands would not fall to his enemies. Bellatrix knew that the ritual they were going to perform was intended to tap into the strength of the Veil between the world of the living and the departed being at its thinnest, as well as the aspect of the Dagda and Morrigan's coupling.

Bellatrix removed her thick outer cloak and stripped off her dress and heels. They both cast heating charms on themselves, and then as she sunk onto the stone, she observed her Master performing complicated incantations in the ancient tongue, while tapping his wand at runes he had drawn on the perimeter of the circle. The runes she recognized were Thurisaz, symbolizing conflict, catharsis and regeneration, Tiwaz, for justice, leadership and battle, and Sowilo, representing the Sun and symbolizing honour, victory, and wholeness. He then used his wand to make small cuts on both of their arms, and collected their blood in the chalice, murmuring another series of spells and informing her that they were not yet to drink.

It was a little uncomfortable to lay flat on her back upon the stone slab, but Bellatrix was much too excited to care. He thrust into her first with uneven, jerky motions, trying to get his bearings in the strange glow of the circle, which now felt intensely charged with his magic. She cried out helplessly as he bit into her neck, his teeth marking the milky white of her throat with angry splotches of purple-red. The pain enhanced the luxurious feel of him sliding into her, then emptying and filling her again. He was so very powerful tonight, Bellatrix thought, and she could feel his power increase as the flames burned higher around them. She loved taking his cock, but he was so big, so much, almost too much right now as he bottomed out in her. But Bellatrix did not wish for one moment that he was gentler. There might have been tears blurring her vision, or else it might have been the pitch-black sky, a vast emptiness aside from the orange glow of the moon, swallowing them up. Her hair smelled of smoke and roses as he ran his hands through it like he had done earlier that evening. Bellatrix screamed into the night as she came, not caring who heard. She felt like a wild woman who had never known civilization, and not a daughter of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, though perhaps the two were in some ways similar.

Just when Bellatrix felt her climax start to fade, he whispered a spell that she did not recognize, and she began coming all over again. Her moans combined with the crackling of the fire and their magic in the air, as she saw stars overhead that appeared to melt into the flames rising up from the cool, damp earth. Her animalistic sounds did something for him, and she could hear her Master losing himself. He had been silent this whole time, but now he grunted as his come streamed into her and some leaked down her thighs, mingling with their blood that stained the stone slab. She could feel him starting to go soft inside her, but neither one dared to move yet.

"Gods of the earth, I call upon you. Bring victory upon one of yours, your soldier, Lord Voldemort," Bellatrix spoke in a serene voice that channelled Morrigan's power. She siphoned up some of the liquid into the chalice with her wand. It was surprisingly not so unpleasant, as the magic had changed the chemical composition so that the liquid was silver, odourless and tasteless.

"To your victory, Lord Voldemort," she toasted as she passed him the chalice.

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay in bringing this chapter to you, but I hope that it was worth the wait. Part of me wanted to keep rewriting the various lemony moments as I couldn't decide if they involved too much kink for this story, even though I think that Bellamort would involve these dynamics as inherent to the power imbalance anyway. And I was hesitant to include him telling her he "loved" her, as I don't think Voldemort's character in canon had the right life experiences to enable him to love, although I don't believe his conception under a love potion precludes him from having the capacity to love under the right circumstances.

ANYWAY, we've almost reached the end- at least 2-3 more chapters are still planned. Please review if you can find a spare moment. Thank you to all who have reviewed so far.