"I have called this meeting," Voldemort said, "to have a private memorial of sorts for Hamish Nott. It is obvious that I can not attend any public funerary services, and frankly, half of you in this room ought not to attend. I only want those directly related to Hamish to go to to the funeral. Nott, I'm sure you understand why this is."

Nott bowed his head and said softly, "Of course, Master. It would be an enormous security threat to have all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight gathered in one place when the Ministry suspects so many of us of being your followers."

"Just the same," said Voldemort tightly, "I wish now for us all to speak warmly of Hamish Nott. Let us go round the table and say something in remembrance of him. Please, Nott, as is his son, you may begin."

Nott raised his glass-and-gold-leaf chalice of red wine and said simply, "My father never once missed a day of reading to me when I was a boy. Every single night, before I went to bed, he would read to me. And I think that sums up the sort of father he was. He was attentive and kind to me, and I shall miss him terribly. To my father."

"To your father," said the others, and everyone took a very small sip. They took it in turns then, going round the table and eulogising the man who had died, touching their wine carefully to their lips each time. When at last it reached Bellatrix's turn, Voldemort's eyes hovered on her, thinking she was so very pretty. Her husband had just spoken, saying something about Hamish Nott being a well-known intellectual and an example for thinking wizards everywhere. Now Bellatrix said,

"Hamish Nott was the child of Purebloods, the husband of a Pureblood, and the father of Purebloods," she noted. "His loss at his age is a blow to the Pureblood community. We mourn a man of such blood purity."

"Indeed we do," agreed Voldemort, and he sipped very lightly from his glass of wine. A few more spoke, and then it reached the head of the table again, and Voldemort said,

"I remember Hamish Nott being among the fathers of my school friends. As you all know, I had no father to speak of. And it is as you say, Nott; it was obvious he was a good one. A good father. I confess to jealousy. And now I confess to pity. Your loss is keenly felt. To Hamish Nott."

He raised his glass, and everyone else did the same, drinking off the rest of their glasses of wine. Voldemort dismissed the meeting, but as people were leaving, he murmured,

"Bella, stay here."

She went wide-eyed but held back. Voldemort took a moment to privately console the few close relatives of Hamish Nott within his Death Eater circle, and once they'd gone, he shut the door and cast a few wards and distraction charms around the great dining room doors. He rubbed at his head and complained,

"How I dislike such maudlin nonsense."

"Oh, but you handled it perfectly, if I may speak plainly, Master," Bellatrix gushed. He eyed her, amused, and she continued, "Everyone was emotional enough without sitting here sobbing. Your absence at the funeral will easily be explained for security reasons, as will the absences of many others. What you did here today was a proper send-off for the man, I think. You are such a wise leader. How is that that you do it? How do you balance wisdom with ferocity? I don't understand."

"I should tell you to stop being such a brazen little sycophant," Voldemort smirked, approaching her, "but I rather like the flattery. Now. What was it I said I was going to do to you a few days ago?"

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. Oh, she remembered exactly what he'd said he was going to do a few days earlier.

"I asked you a question." Voldemort walked right up to Bellatrix and hiked up her black velvet knee-length skirt. She had on flat boots, but he didn't seem concerned with those as he wrenched her knickers down over the boots. "What did I say I was going to do to you?"

"Spank my cunny until I came and then… and then… fuck me until you did," Bellatrix recited, using his exact words. He laughed, not maliciously, but almost joyfully, and he nodded as he encouraged her to kick her knickers away. He kissed her almost gently at first, but it turned rough fast, and then he wrenched her face to the side and practically attacked her neck. He suckled hard at the flesh beneath her ear, deciding to bruise her up, and Bellatrix squirmed like a worm as he did. He pushed her onto the table, sliding her up onto her bum, and he asked her,

"You use long-lasting contraceptive charms?"

"Y-Yes, Master," she affirmed, and he just nodded. Of course she did. The last thing she would want at this phase in her life was Rodolphus Lestrange's baby swimming round inside of her. Voldemort shoved Bellatrix back onto the table, deciding to leave her clothed today. She was here to be spanked, not overly caressed or stroked on her bare he slammed her a little harder than she intended, and her head sent a few empty wine glasses flying. Voldemort and Bellatrix both laughed at that, and he wandlessly cleaned up his mess.

"Hush," he scolded her playfully. "Open your legs."

She did. She always did exactly as he bade her, and she did so now. Voldemort dragged his fingers around her entrance a little, feeling the oyster slick there. She was already wet. She wanted this. She wanted him. Mmm. That made him hard, to think of that want boiling inside of her. He liked to think of her as desirous of him. Young witches had craved him in his youth, and he had not, perhaps, taken sufficient opportunity of his handsomeness then to crave them back. Now he wanted this witch, and she plainly wanted him in return, despite him being twenty-five years her senior and marred and scarred by Dark Magic.

Thwack.

He started with little more than a tap at first, just a light spank, but it was enough. Bellatrix gripped the edge of the table and arched her back up, dragging her teeth over her lip, and a little sound escaped her.

Harder. Thwack.

"Ahh!" Bellatrix's sound now was one blending pain and pleasure, and he adored that sound from her, that beautiful mixture. He hit her again, harder this time, then harder, then harder, then harder until he was rightfully and truly spanking her there between her legs. His fingertips rat-a-tatted on her hole, and the base of his palm kept hitting at her clit. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

She was writhing now, throwing her head back, and she mumbled helplessly,

"Oh, I'm going to come."

"Do it." Voldemort was so worked up himself he could hardly stand it. His hand was soaked. His palm was stinging. His fingers were burning. This felt good; this felt so, so good. Suddenly she snapped like a violin string, and he bent down on instinct to kiss her through it. He twisted two fingers inside of her, wanting to feel her climax. Hot. She was so hot from the spanking, he noticed. Her flesh was swollen, puffy, hot. And she was clenching round his fingers eagerly. He was going to lose himself again.

He hurried to stand and unbutton his trousers, yanking his cock out from them and from under his robes, and he jammed it inside of Bellatrix's highly sensitised entrance. She moaned in agony a little, and he knew it must hurt a bit, being entered after being whacked right there. But that only turned him on more, knowing how over-sensitive she was just now. This probably felt nothing like when she lay on her back in bed for Rodolphus, he thought distantly.

The table creaked a bit beneath them, but not for long, because Voldemort couldn't last. Not when he could still feel the effects of spanking her on his hand. Not when she was so tight and swollen and hot around him from what his hand had done to her. Not when she was still twitching a little from her own climax. How could he last like that? He pumped his come into her more quickly than he'd expected to do, but he didn't mind.

"Bella." His voice cracked a little as he sat up, his pleasure searing white in front of his eyes. He slid out of her and cleaned them both up, and she lay there panting, looking so sated she seemed she could fall straight asleep. He liked that, too - the look of her so satisfied. He wasn't sure why. Why did he care so much about her satisfaction? He did care. He cared whether she liked it.

He helped her off the table as she slid on her knickers again, and as she smiled up at him a bit, he squeezed her hands a little and kissed her forehead.

"Dismissed, Bella," he said, a little too warmly, and she bowed her head and said very obediently,

"Master."

Author's Note: Thanks for all the warm wishes in the PMs. Surgery went really well yesterday. Tubes are gone! Woo! Still a little out of it on pain meds but should be back down to Ibuprofen tomorrow, so I promise more real live plot in a chapter tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.