He woke up holding her.

The window was opened a little, and the thud of the pounding rain in the middle of the night woke Voldemort. He cracked his eyes open and listened in the darkness to the sound of the rain lashing the manor in sheets. Then he realised he was cradling Bellatrix, that they were tangled up like vine, that his arms were holding her near as if she were falling.

His breath caught a little, and he tried not to move for fear of waking her, losing her. Her face was burrowed against his chest, and she breathed slowly in sleep. He brushed his lips along her frizzy braided hair, and her fingers flinched a bit on his arm. Had he woken her? He tried not to move anymore, but he knew his heart and breath had sped up.

"Mmm," he heard her hum, and then he felt her lips in the hollow at the base of his neck. Suddenly he just shut his eyes and breathed in, listening to the rain and feeling the wholeness of her, adoring the sensations of her, wanting her badly. He wasn't even hard, and she was bleeding. It wasn't lust; it was a different sort of desire that he scarcely recognised. He just wanted to hold her, so he did.

Her thin little fingers worked their way up to his scruffy jaw, and she stroked there a little, and he wondered why the blazes he'd never taken advantage of how badly she'd craved him. For years, she'd been staring at him like he was a god. Why had it taken her getting her memory wiped for him to acknowledge and accommodate what she wanted?

She was different now, he thought. She wasn't some child, eyes blazing with infatuation. She was more like a woman now, her mind thinking all on its own out of necessity. She tipped her head against his chest as he held her now, and she whispered,

"That's quite some rain. It may flood, hm?"

"Perhaps a little," Voldemort acknowledged, his voice a low growl from sleep. "I like the rain."

"So do I. At least… I like it now. I don't know if I liked it before," Bellatrix murmured. "I don't know what I liked before at all. I wonder what my favourite food was. My favourite colour."

"I reckon they were same," Voldemort said, "I don't know; perhaps they weren't. What are your favourite food and colour now?"

"Cherry cake. Black." Bellatrix stroked at Voldemort's jaw again, and he turned up half his mouth as he told her,

"I wouldn't expect you to much care for pink, so…"

She laughed against his chest, and he sighed as he admitted,

"I never saw you eat cherry cake before. Dobby makes a good version, so you've probably developed a taste for it here. You always liked gruyere tarts when they were served at events. I always saw you eat them and nothing else if they were served."

"Mmm. Now I'm hungry." Bellatrix pushed herself up a little, smirking down at Voldemort, and he reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She asked him, "What about you? Favourite food? Colour?"

"Black, like you," he said, "although I like a good emerald green; it's the lingering Slytherin in me. As for food… a good quality steak cooked medium rare, served with mushrooms."

"Can we have Dobby bring some food? My stomach's rumbling now," Bellatrix smiled, and Voldemort laughed a little. He glanced at the clock and said,

"It's half past two. We'll have breakfast in a few hours."

Bellatrix's face went a little serious, and she covered his hand on her face as she asked, "We'll have breakfast, you and I?"

"Yes." He encouraged her to lie back down, and as she snuggled back against him, a strange thought hit him. He wanted to eat meals with her. He wanted to spend nights with her. He wanted to fight battles alongside her, to read books in quiet libraries with her. He was…

No. That was not possible. And, anyway, she was married and he was her master. He blinked a few times, angry at the burn behind his eyelids when he shut them.

"Goodnight," he whispered quietly, and she pressed her palm flat against his bare chest, kissed the skin there, and replied softly,

"Goodnight, Master."

"Avery. Do come in. I'm glad your wife was out of the house when everything happened; I hope you got all of your belongings out all right."

"Yes, My Lord," Avery nodded, sitting opposite Voldemort. "We've arranged to move into Tarra's family's second home in London for the time being."

"She's a Selwyn?" Voldemort asked, trying to keep track of everyone, and Avery nodded curtly.

"It's a three-bedroom flat, sir, but with our only son a sixth-year at Hogwarts, we don't need much. I've secured it very well with protective enchantments. Tarra entirely understands why the house had to be destroyed. I checked on Nott before coming here. He's all healed up, Master."

"Good." Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and pulled out a velvet bag from his desk drawer. He slid it across the desk, the Galleons inside clinking against each other, and he said to Avery, "For all the trouble."

Avery's eyes went wide. "I couldn't possibly -"

"Your loyalty is appreciated and will be duly rewarded," Voldemort clipped. "You've been a friend since our Slytherin days, Avery. I expect you'll be a friend until we're old men. And you fight well. You'll serve me well in the regime I develop. Take the money and use it toward a new, permanent residence."

"Thank you." Avery took the velvet bag and nodded, and as he tucked it away, he asked, "Have you seen the Daily Prophet, My Lord?"

Voldemort picked up the copy that had come for him by owl and read the headline out loud.

"AURORS RAID DARK WIZARD'S HOME - TWO MURDERED. Yes, I read the article. It's inflammatory; they made certain to interview Dumbledore. He stated that Bellatrix Lestrange cast a Cruciatus Curse upon him, that he witnessed me kill Hadrian Prewett, that Mills was missing. They referred to you repeatedly as a 'Known Dark Wizard.' I realise you are a fugitive now, Avery, and for that reason, you'll be on a monthly stipend, deposited into your Gringotts account, for living expenses. We'll need you full time as a Death Eater."

Avery smiled a bit and nodded. "Quite so. Thank you, Master. I devote myself fully to you and your cause."

"Thank your wife's uncle for his generous donation a few months ago; it's allowing us to put Death Eaters on full-time stipends," Voldemort nodded. There was a knock on his office door then, and he frowned, using Legilimency to reach out and sense who it was. As soon as he realised it was Rodolphus Lestrange on the other side of the door, he cleared his throat and said to Avery,

"If there's nothing else, you are dismissed."

"Thank you, Master." Avery rose quickly and bowed, taking his velvet bag of Galleons with him. As he left, Voldemort called, "Send Rodolphus in, will you?"

Once Avery had gone and Rodolphus Lestrange came into the office, Voldemort just folded his hands on his desk. He did not gesture for Rodolphus to sit, so the boy stood. He waited for Rodolphus to speak, but of course no one was permitted to speak to Voldemort without permission. Finally, Voldemort said,

"If this concerns last night, I fail to see how further discussion is necessary."

"It's actually, erm… I…" Rodolphus blinked a few times and opened the leather briefcase he had with him. His eyes were a bit misty then as he pulled out a black leather pouch and held it out to Voldemort, who took it and asked,

"What is this?"

"It's for Bella," Rodolphus said softly. "It's… the weather's getting warmer, and I thought she might be spending some time outside. It's a few personal items like Long Lasting Sun Cream. She so easily gets a sunburn. I forgot to pack the warm weather toiletries for her in the suitcase. If you would be so kind as to give them to her for me, Master, I would be grateful."

"Oh." Voldemort stared at the leather pouch, feeling profoundly awkward all of a sudden. He cleared his throat a bit and said, "Sit."

Rodolphus sat. Voldemort licked his lip and asked,

"How is Stella Nott?"

Rodolphus shook his head and looked away at the bookshelves on the wall, and he said in a low voice,

"She is going to marry, My Lord. Maximus Malfoy's engagement fell through, and he's a good match for her. He's a year younger, but they get on well, so she's going to marry him over the summer."

Voldemort huffed a breath. Maximus Malfoy was Abraxas' rather distant relative, the son of his cousin, a slightly less elite Malfoy who wouldn't demand a wealthy bride. Pretty Stella Nott, at only nineteen, was a perfect match for the eighteen-year-old Pureblood Maximus Malfoy. Of course. Voldemort gulped and said very honestly to Rodolphus,

"I hope you find happiness very soon."

"I am aware that my wife does not desire me, My Lord," Rodolphus said, his voice a little sharp, but Voldemort ignored the boy's tone. Rodolphus sighed and shrugged. "All I hope is that Bella and I can be good friends."

"You will be," Voldemort confirmed. "In the meantime, she will begrudge you nothing, in the same way you begrudge her nothing."

"Quite so, sir." Rodolphus nodded and knitted his hands in his lap. He finally turned his eyes to Voldemort and asked nervously, "You'll give her her sun cream and everything, My Lord?"

"I will." Voldemort nodded and suggested, "You look tired and hungry, Rodolphus. Go get some lunch and some rest, hm?"

Author's Note: Oh, Rodolphus. You poor sod. And in the meantime, it sounds like Dumbledore's out to get Voldemort and Bellatrix… and like Voldemort is getting suspiciously close to falling in love. Eek!

Thank you SO MUCH for reading. Please do leave a review and let me know what you think.