Perhaps he really never had noticed the little things about Bellatrix, but he was noticing now.

Voldemort noticed her steely determination the next day when she explored the memory he gave her of a Death Eater meeting, when she wandered slowly through the dining room and asked for the identities of the other servants. He noticed the icy look in her eyes as she studied and memorised, and he noticed how pretty that was.

"Mulciber," she recited, pointing to the wizards gathered at the table. "Avery. Macnair. Yaxley. Rookwood. Those two work in the Ministry of Magic."

"This is Nott," Voldemort had said patiently, and Bellatrix's voice had been cold and detached as she'd asked,

"Stella's father?"

"Uncle," Voldemort had replied coolly. Bellatrix had pulled out of the Pensieve with him then and had paced around her sitting room, reciting the names again, their positions of employment, who else was related to them. Bellatrix was determined, Voldemort noticed. He'd noticed that about her before she'd lost her memory, but this seemed different. She was starting over, starting from empty, and she was determined to be complete again.

It was beautiful.

The windows were thrown open to let in the evening light and warmth, for it was unseasonably pleasant for late April. The purple twilight bathed Bellatrix's face in a glow as she stared out on the gardens below. Voldemort sat on the sofa, and as she stared at the gardens, he stared at her.

Perhaps he hadn't noticed any of it before, but he was noticing it now.

He was noticing the way that her intelligence manifested with a bite, the way her independent streak burned like fire inside of her. He was noticing the way her coiled black hair shone in the sunlight, the way her milky skin was flawless, the way her lips were full and dark, the way her eyes were wide and shining. He was noticing the little curve of her young form, the slight swell of her small chest, the narrow waist that led to hips new to womanhood. He was noticing all of it, all of her. He couldn't help it.

Kissing her the day before had made him realise that perhaps he'd been depriving himself for years by swearing off witches entirely. He had a body like any other man, and it craved things. He craved things. The kiss, even if it had just been to build a memory within her, had made him realise that it felt good to touch a witch, to kiss a witch. Moreover, it felt very good to touch and kiss her. And he was noticing her now, noticing her properly.

"Anything else?"

"What?" He snapped out of his reverie to see Bellatrix shrug from where she stood.

"Is there anything else you'd like to show me tonight, My Lord?"

"Oh. Erm… you can go eat dinner, if you'd like."

Bellatrix gave him a strange look and shrugged. "It's half past eight, sir. I ate before we went into the Pensieve, remember?"

"Oh. Yes." He was distracted by her. Witches were a distraction, he reminded himself. He'd eaten, too, separately, in his office. He gulped and glanced into her heavily curtained bedroom, knowing she slept in there, knowing she curled up beneath those blankets, and he found himself trying to think of another memory to show her.

"There was a time," he said carefully, "when Rabastan Splinched after a skirmish. You and he and Rodolphus and I came back here with a few others. Your quick thinking was impressive. I'd like to show you."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded. "I don't mind seeing myself be impressive. Sounds good to me."

He smirked a bit and shut his eyes, thinking of the night that they'd all been eating at the White Wyvern when a few Aurors had shown up with arrest warrants. Spells had flown until Voldemort had ordered a quick retreat, and Rabastan Lestrange hadn't concentrated hard enough. He drew the memory out of his mind and put it into the Pensieve, and when Bellatrix came over and sat on the sofa beside Voldemort, he stiffened up. She rarely sat beside him, and now that she did, she smelled of roses and seemed very soft beside him, despite her hard shell.

"Let's go," he said sharply, and he nearly hucked himself down into the Pensieve. Bellatrix came with him, and the two of them landed in a memory of the foyer of Malfoy Manor.

"He's bleeding! He's Splinched!" Rodolphus Lestrange was exclaiming, and Abraxas Malfoy called out,

"Dobby!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake. Accio Essence of Dittany!" Bellatrix exclaimed, rushing over to kneel beside Rabastan. Voldemort was walking down the steps into the foyer, for he'd been seeing to it that Mulciber and Yaxley had headed out straight away after arriving. He stood on the stairs and watched in silence as Rabastan moaned in pain, blood leaking from his stomach onto the marble floor.

"Tergeo. Scourgify. Allevio Trio. This will sting, but not much. Ready?" Bellatrix used her teeth to yank out the stopper from the Dittany, which she dropped onto the wound on Rabastan's belly. He hissed and sighed where he lay, and she held his hand and cooed something almost gentle to him as his wound knitted up. She aimed her wand at the puddle of blood on the ground and murmured, "Tergeo. Scourgify. Textus Reparo."

That last spell stitched up Rodolphus' robes, and then he was helped to his feet by his brother.

"Thanks, Bells," Rabastan mumbled, and she clapped him on the shoulder. Bellatrix raised her eyes then, seeing her master watching her from the steps. Malfoy and the Lestranges began talking in hushed voices about what had happened in the White Wyvern. Bellatrix walked quickly toward Voldemort and bowed her head, and she asked him,

"What do you need of me now, Master?"

"You have served me well today," he insisted. "Go home and get some rest."

She just stared at him for a little moment, and in her eyes he could read the fierce adoration she bore him. He reached for her face, knowing that she very much liked when he touched her, and her eyes fluttered shut a little. His fingers tingled a bit where he touched her, but he reckoned he was just a bit dizzy from what had happened in London. He nodded at her and said quietly,

"Go home, Bella."

"Yes, Master." She nodded and pulled away, trotting down the steps and over toward her husband.

Voldemort pulled up and out of the memory, and this time Bellatrix was slow to follow him. When at last she pulled her curls and face up out of the silvery, swirling mist, her face was stoic, and she stared right at him where they sat on the sofa.

"Were you really so blind?" she asked, "or did you know?"

"Did I know what?" he demanded, and she tipped her head.

"That I was in love with you."

He scoffed and shook his head. "No. You were… in awe of me. Obsessed with me. There's a difference."

"I know my own face. I may not have many memories of my own anymore, but I can read my own expressions. I know what I saw."

"You… it doesn't matter, because you don't really remember it, anyway," Voldemort said in a stilted voice. He cleared his throat and shrugged. Bellatrix noted,

"I've been out of school for less than a year. We were wearing warm clothes in that memory. When was that?"

He hesitated, and then he finally said, "It was the end of February."

She narrowed her eyes. "Two months ago."

He nodded, and she chuckled a little as she looked away, staring at the material in the Pensieve. She shook her head and asked quietly,

"Men… you all really are a bit blind, aren't you? Rodolphus says he didn't know. How could he not have noticed? How could you not have noticed? I don't remember it, but it's plain as day. I don't believe you. I said I did, but I don't. You claim that nothing happened between us. That's impossible."

"Nothing happened between us," Voldemort said in a clip, but Bellatrix pinched her lips and turned back to him, insisting,

"A witch can not possibly look at a wizard - who's holding her cheek, by the way - with that expression in her eye if nothing has passed between them."

Voldemort huffed and shook his head. "You were infatuated. Nothing more."

"Then why did you touch me like that?" Bellatrix asked, crossing her arms over her chest and tipping her head up, and Voldemort insisted defensively,

"To humour you, perhaps. I quite liked having my most capable Death Eater worship my footprints, so every now and then, I touched your face. How's that for an answer?"

She seemed a little disappointed, and she asked rather meekly,

"So I never… there was never any memory of me… I was only with Rodolphus?"

Suddenly Voldemort understood. She knew what sex was. She also knew that her husband had a mistress whom he adored. He stared at his hands in his lap and shook his head, feeling almost badly for her all of a sudden as he said,

"I have no idea if you were ever with anyone besides Rodolphus, and I have no way of finding out. You were never with me."

"I see." Bellatrix pursed her lips when she looked up, and she glanced toward the open window as she noted in a distant sort of voice, "It must be a pleasant thing. I have no memory of it, but my mind tells me that people enjoy it."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and choked out a little laugh. "Yes. People enjoy it, most of the time."

He watched Bellatrix's cheeks go red, and her breath seemed to speed up a little, and he knew she was trying desperately to imagine what it was, what would make her husband seek out a mistress. Voldemort felt his own face go warm, and he informed her,

"He still has to do those things with you, if you want him to. Rodolphus."

"I… do not feel desire toward him," Bellatrix said matter-of-factly, and she didn't need to complete that thought. Voldemort knew perfectly well what she meant. She felt desire toward him. She'd felt it before she'd lost her memories, and she felt it now. He licked his bottom lip and then chewed hard.

Witches were a terrible distraction, he reminded himself, and he felt very distracted by Bellatrix. He glanced into her bedroom, into the room with the bed draped in heavy burgundy curtains, and his throat went dry. He wrenched his eyes shut and remembered that he'd ordered Bellatrix to take a five-year contraceptive potion when she'd married Rodolphus.

He could just take her into that bedroom, hoist up her skirts, and show her what exactly sex was. She might not remember, but he could help her craft a new memory. He stared at the bed, imagining himself with her on her back, hovering over her, driving himself into her, and then he turned his face to see her staring determinedly out the window, and he whispered,

"I should go."

"Yes, Master," she said, a little bitterly. Voldemort's stomach ached a little at that, and he nearly growled in frustration. He wanted her, all of a sudden, and he found himself with a bit of blurry vision and with heat in his ears as he told her,

"I… should like to… to give you a kiss before I leave."

She seemed surprised by that, but he didn't give her too much time to think. She turned her face, and as soon as she did, he caught her cheek in his hand. Her mouth fell open, and she leaned toward him a little. She wanted it. She wanted to be kissed. Her cheek was hot as fire beneath his palm, and Voldemort gulped hard as he bent down to kiss her.

He was slow at first, nudging her lips apart with his, but soon enough his tongue was tangled with hers. She didn't know what she was doing, so he showed her how it was done. He suckled on her lip, and then she did the same to him. He licked at the roof of her mouth, and she mimicked the action. He groaned a bit, feeling himself flush hard, and as he stroked at her face, he knew that if he didn't leave right now, he was going to be buried to the hilt inside of her within half a minute.

He wrenched his mouth from hers, panting like a schoolboy, and he dragged his thumb over his lip as she stared at him in awe and said simply,

"I want more."

"Yes. I suppose you probably do," he replied, and Bellatrix gave him a hungry look as she edged toward him on the sofa. He shook his head and whispered,

"No. I have to… I should go."

"Why?" she demanded. "Have you some objection to sex with me?"

"Bellatrix!" He squeezed his eyes shut and told her, "You're married."

"And? He's got a mistress!" Bellatrix said shrilly. Voldemort tried,

"I am your master."

"Then be my master in that bedroom," Bellatrix suggested, "and show me what to do."

He actually moaned a little at that, for that suggestion made him so hard that it hurt. But he knew that if he took her body, he would cross a line from which there was no retreat. He heaved himself to his feet and mumbled,

"Goodnight, Bellatrix."

He hurried over toward the door, and he said over his shoulder,

"Put the Pensieve away. Don't worry about locking it; just put it in the box. Goodnight."

Author's Note: Gahhhhh. So close. Next up, Bellatrix is going to finally see her parents again since losing her memory. We don't hate the Lestranges in this story; what will Cygnus and Druella be like? Hmm…

I am flying to Arizona tomorrow but will update whenever I can over these next few days. I appreciate your patience, and in the meantime, PLEASE do leave a review if you get a chance. Thank you!