Lord Voldemort couldn't help himself from staring a little as Bellatrix arranged her bobbed curls before the mirror in the bedroom. She'd just come back from the robe shop, where she'd obtained enough clothing to make it through the days, evenings, and nights until they found their way back to their own time. She stood now in an elegant dress of crushed velvet, midnight blue, with dark lipstick on. She was rather pretty, Voldemort thought again. He'd noticed it before, but only really in passing. Now he took a moment to study her, the way her petite frame moved as she tucked a few curls behind her ear and turned round.

"Ready, My Lord?" she asked him, and he nodded once. They were to meet Jules Bayard in a half hour, but he'd wanted to arrive early just in case. The two of them walked down the three flights of stairs from their apartment building, and once again Voldemort tried to think of how much planning had gone into planting them here. He needed to play mental chess now; he needed to get a step ahead of whomever had cursed them here. He stared up at the building from the outside for a moment and whispered,

"Dumbledore."

"You think it must've been him, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded.

"I can think of no one else with the ability to send two people back fifty years, move them through space, and and deposit them in an uninhabited apartment." He sighed and met Bellatrix's eyes, and she said firmly,

"Albus Dumbledore may have the ability to banish two people, My Lord, but I've every confidence that you'll undo his madness. You're not the type to be put in time out like some sort of child. I know you'll make him pay."

"Your loyalty is endearing, Bella," Voldemort said, stroking at her jaw in a way he'd never done before. Her cheeks flushed, and he realised she was the only actual disciple he had here. In theory, he could go to England and track down Albus Dumbledore and kill him here in the 1920s, but that might have untold consequences. Besides which, even if he did kill Dumbledore, he had no Death Eaters in the time and place. He only had Bellatrix. He sniffed lightly, pulled his hand from her soft cheek, and said in a stern voice, "Let's go."

They walked down the rue Fresnel and through the gardens until they reached the Place du Trocadéro. Voldemort walked quickly to the centre of the plaza and found a bench near some flower beds. He sat, and Bellatrix silently joined him. She kept so much distance between them that he reminded her,

"We're meant to be married, remember?"

"Oh. Yes. Apologies, My Lord." She slid a bit closer, and Voldemort decided against chiding her. Instead he watched Muggles coming and going and contemplated how very mundane their lives must be. In an age before Muggle conveniences like films with sound, and lacking in magic, they had so very little with which to entertain or advance themselves. Voldemort quickly grew bored of watching the Muggles, and instead he flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form. "You look rather elegant in your new dress, Lilith."

The corners of her lips turned up a little, but she kept her eyes ahead on the passing Muggles. Finally she murmured, "Thank you."

Nearby church bells tolled noon, and Voldemort glanced around. Finally he saw him - Jules Bayard - walking straight toward the bench from across the chestnut-lined cemetery nearby. Voldemort rose from the bench and straightened his suit jacket, and Bellatrix flew up to stand beside him. When Bayard stepped up to them, he took Bellatrix's hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"Madame Black," he said carefully, lowering Bellatrix's hand and turning his attention to Voldemort. He spoke quickly and quietly then as he said, "Gellert Grindelwald was elated to hear of a Legilimens with interest in joining his cause. Since he is so skilled in Legilimency himself, he bears the practise great fondness and wishes to meet with you when he comes to France next week."

Bayard's pale eyes were stony, and suddenly Voldemort understood. He didn't even need to look into the man's eyes to understand. Bayard didn't believe Voldemort's lie about being a British holidaymaker, and he'd passed his suspicions on to Gellert Grindelwald himself. What none of them knew was that Voldemort's Legilimency skills were surpassed only by his incredibly powerful Occlumency abilities. Voldemort kept his own face even more steady than Bayard's and nodded.

"How will we know when and where to meet him?"

"An owl will find you the day before with a time and location," said Jules Bayard. He bowed his head respectfully to Bellatrix and then to Voldemort, and he said crisply, "Good day."

He walked away just as abruptly as he'd come. Bellatrix waited until he was out of earshot, and then she raised her face to Voldemort's.

"Grindelwald will see straight into my mind and find out the truth about us," she worried aloud. Voldemort had thought of that already, of course. He shrugged and said down to Bellatrix,

"You shall simply need to become a very good Occlumens in a very short period of time." He glanced around at the cafés lining the Trocadéro, and he suggested lightly, "How about lunch, then?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes and sighed heavily. She dragged hot water from the bath tub up and over her face. She was utterly exhausted, more so than she'd ever been, after hours of Occlumency practise. The Dark Lord had hurtled into her mind over and over again, pulling out all sorts of memories and barking at Bellatrix to replace them with other ideas. When she'd started to grow tired and her newly-developed defences had crumbled, he'd threatened to simply Obliviate her. Bellatrix had grown more determined then, finally thrusting forward a fake 'memory' of dancing with Voldemort at a cabaret in London. He'd seemed satisfied then, as though she'd made enough progress for one afternoon.

Bellatrix had been too shaky and tired to eat much when he'd brought up food from a nearby boulangerie. He'd commanded her to go clean herself up and have an early night with plenty of rest so they could practise again in the morning. Bellatrix knew time was an issue; they had somewhere near a week to get her mind strong enough to withstand the prying examination of Gellert Grindelwald. That was rather a terrifying thought, but it also made Bellatrix more determined than ever.

Voldemort had seen in her mind the conversations she'd had with Narcissa, the ones where she'd confessed that she adored the Dark Lord with every ounce of her being. Narcissa had always reminded Bellatrix that she was to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, and that those sorts of feelings should be reserved for her husband. But Bellatrix couldn't help herself then and she couldn't help herself now. The way his eyes had pierced hers during the Occlumency tutoring hadn't helped, and now as Bellatrix sat in the bathtub, she felt herself come alive a little for him.

She would die for him, of course. She would throw herself straight in front of a Killing Curse for him, or she'd get herself killed in battle. She had no qualms or hesitation about killing for him. She would do anything for him. She could barely be bothered to rid her mother's garden of gnomes when asked, but she would gladly starve to death or kill a thousand innocents if it was for Lord Voldemort. She'd loved him with all her being for years, and now she was alone with him in an apartment. That sent all kinds of insane fantasies flurrying inside Bellatrix's mind, and she hurried to drain the bath and step out.

She needed to get ahold of herself, she thought. They were here because of a curse. They would be meeting with Grindelwald next week. They were holding up shoddy alibis. Everything was chaos now, and she needed more than ever to be a steady and reliable soldier for her master. She pulled on the rose-coloured chiffon nightgown she'd purchased, only then realising just how diaphanous and suggestive it was. She grimaced a bit and hurried from the bathroom, racing to open her wardrobe and pull out the velvet robe she'd bought.

But it was too late; Voldemort had appeared in the threshold to the bedroom and was leaning on the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over his white shirt, on which he'd undone the top three buttons, and he licked his bottom lip. Bellatrix froze where she stood, knowing her nightgown was scandalously translucent. She tried not to look embarrassed but felt her cheeks flush hot. Something in the Dark Lord's face shifted; his jaw squared and his lips went into a straight line as though he'd very firmly decided something in his head.

"We need more detailed memories," he told her. "Things to put forward if anyone invades your mind and looks for the truth."

"Detailed memories," Bellatrix nodded. "If you tell me what to imagine, My Lord, I shall try to -"

"No." He shook his head and insisted, "They must be real. At least some of them. I'm a Legilimens myself, Lilith; I can always tell when something's made up."

"Oh." She nodded and suddenly understood. Over the next several days, they would have to do things as Lilith and Edmund, things that she could cement in her mind and allow Grindelwald to see when the time came. She gulped and asked him, "What sort of memories shall we make, then?"

He chewed his lip for a moment and then stepped into the bedroom. She shut the doors to the wardrobe, giving up on the idea of modesty as he loomed over her. He took her face in his hands and pulled his thumbs under her eyes. That feeling sent a shiver up Bellatrix's spine and made her knees weak. She studied his dark eyes, his sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and she whispered something that she hoped wouldn't earn her punishment.

"You're my husband."

"So I am," he nodded. "There are things that husbands do to their wives, aren't there?"

Bellatrix felt very dizzy, but she nodded. She'd never done more than kiss a few boys at Hogwarts, and no one had ever made her feel the way Voldemort was doing now. When she managed to meet his eyes again, he said in a steady tone,

"I love you, Lilith. I have since the day we met."

Bellatrix opened her mouth with surprise, but before she could say anything, he'd lowered his face. His lips pressed against hers, very gently at first and then more insistently. Bellatrix moaned like a whore against him, shocked and delighted by the taste and feel of him. She reached for his shirt and pressed her palms to his chest, adoring the planes and warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. His own hands went from her cheeks to her shoulders, and he pulled her a little closer as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly his tongue was dragging along her bottom lip. When she whimpered, he pushed his tongue inside and pulled it along the roof of her mouth. Bellatrix felt her fingers cinch on his shirt; it was all so intense that she could barely stand up.

This was Lord Voldemort. This was her lord and master, her -

No. This was Edmund Black, her husband. They were here on holiday from Britain. She soaked in the feel of Edmund's lips, of his tongue. She breathed in the scent of her husband and luxuriated in the taste of him. When at last he pulled his mouth away, she whispered into the air,

"I love you too, Edmund."

He let a very long moment pass, his chest heaving a little. He dragged the back of his wrist over his lips, sniffed a little, and cleared his throat.

"That will do for tonight, Bella," he said. "I should think… I suspect that will be powerful enough to overwhelm many thoughts he might try and pull from you."

Bellatrix nodded, feeling her eyes sear. "I think you're right, My Lord."

He seemed almost flustered then, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and looking away from Bellatrix. She knew her nipples were firm and that he could probably see them through her thin nightgown. She knew she was probably pulsing with want, for she was warm and wet between her legs and lightheaded from the kiss. She crossed her arms over herself and vowed,

"I shall work ten times harder tomorrow, My Lord, on the Occlumency skills. I will not fail you."

"You haven't failed me yet, Bella," he said, still staring at the wall. "Go to bed. Get some sleep. We begin early in the morning."

He turned and walked from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him as he went. Bellatrix somehow managed to stagger to the bed, to drag herself beneath the blankets and shut her eyes. Tonight, owing to her exhaustion, she had no trouble at all falling asleep. And when she dreamed, it was of Edmund kissing Lilith.

"Again. Legilimens."

Voldemort crashed into Bellatrix's mind for at least the twentieth time that morning. He'd barely given her any time to recover this time. He was seated on the divan with her pacing anxiously before him. This time, the moment his consciousness tangled with hers, he reached for a particularly incriminating memory.

"Crucio!" A scarlet web of light snared around her prisoner. Bellatrix was in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, torturing an Auror who had -

"I love you, too, Edmund." She watched as his chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. She could still taste him on her lips.

Suddenly Voldemort felt a violent push against his own mild, a whirling sort of scream from Bellatrix's brain. She stopped her pacing and grinned widely.

"It only took me a few seconds that time," she noted proudly. Voldemort just gave her a silent nod. She was learning much more quickly than he'd have imagined possible. He licked his lip carefully and told her,

"Go in the kitchen and get yourself something you eat. We've been at it for hours."

Bellatrix nodded and obeyed him, walking briskly to the cupboards. She pawed through a few of the tinned goods; she could always Transfigure something if she didn't like the flavour. Voldemort had a sudden idea, and he followed her into the kitchen.

"So. What do you think of Paris, Lilith?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the little countertop. She whirled around, her eyes flashing with understanding. She set down a tin of clams and smiled a bit.

"I like it quite a lot, Edmund. It's a shame we've only come to the Continent to find Grindelwald. I think I could stay here forever."

Voldemort smirked. "Perhaps you shall," he told her. "If Grindelwald accepts us into his army, we'll likely be needed here, not in Britain."

"You're very right, of course," she said. She tapped the lid of the tin of clams and asked, "Would you hand me that large saucepan from the hook? I think I'll make us some lunch."

Voldemort - Edmund - reached for the saucepan in question and handed it to her. He watched Bellatrix - Lilith - work. She clearly had experience in the kitchen, though he wondered how that had happened given her privileged upbringing and her time at Hogwarts. She seemed practised as she dragged her wand around the lid of the tin and murmured,

"Diffindo."

The tin lid was severed, and she pulled it away and dumped the tin of clams into a wooden bowl. She filled the saucepan with water using an Aguamenti charm and Summoned a package of long noodles from the cupboard. She sprinkled salt into the water and set it to boiling with another quick charm. She hummed for a moment as the noodles cooked, and then she raised her pretty, wide eyes to Voldemort and said,

"Edmund, hand me that white wine just there, would you?"

He did so wordlessly, somewhat surprised by her apparent domestic nature. He never in a million years would have expected Bellatrix Black to be cooking up clams and spaghetti and butter and wine, but here she was, doing just that.

"There's half a bottle left," she noted, looking at the wine. She Summoned two wine glasses from another cupboard and flicked her wand so that the bottle of wine filled the glasses. It seemed the spaghetti and clams were done then, for she'd begun to drag servings of it into bowls. She handed a bowl and a glass of wine to Voldemort and said in a sly little voice,

"To Paris."

"To Paris," Voldemort nodded. He touched his glass to hers in a little toast and added, "Paris suits you… Lilith."

Bellatrix took a sip of her wine and then Vanished the mess she'd made cooking. Once the kitchen was set to rights and the two of them had taken their seats at the little dining table, she said in her normal, dark voice,

"Do you suppose more mundane memories like that will help, too, My Lord?"

Voldemort flinched. It had all been a fantasy, he knew. The way Bellatrix had become the barefoot wife was just pretend. It was just to create diversions in their minds. But he'd rather liked her like that. He couldn't help himself; he'd liked kissing her the night before and he liked sitting across the table from her now. He sighed as he took a bite of the alarmingly delicious meal she'd made them.

"I do think memories like that will help," he said, "but we can't be sure what Grindelwald is going to do. I admit that I don't trust Jules Bayard any more than he trusts me. We need to be prepared for anything."

Bellatrix nodded solemnly. "Anything, My Lord."

They ate in silence for a little while, until Voldemort finally set his fork down and told her, "You're already quite skilled with Occlumency. It will be a useful tool in your arsenal when we get back to our own time and place."

Bellatrix looked quite contented, and she said earnestly, "I will acquire whatever skills I possibly can to better serve you, My Lord."

He knew she meant that. His other followers - at least the ones in 1972 - were simpering sycophants, and it might be easy to think Bellatrix's enthusiasm mirrored theirs. But she was nothing like the rest of them, he knew. He'd seen the limits of the others, the way they would balk at the most gruesome or demanding orders, the way they would hesitate from time to time. Bellatrix never hesitated, not with him. She was devoted to him down to the marrow of her bones in a way none of the rest of them were. Voldemort knew that. And now they were playing at marriage, banished to a foreign existence, alone together.

He dragged the pad of his finger around the rim of his wine glass and contemplated how delicious she'd tasted the night before. He thought of the way she'd looked in her sheer nightgown. And he thought of how she adored him.

Lord Voldemort had hardly made a habit of women. In his youth, he'd been so handsome that girls had fawned over him at school, and he'd 'allowed' a few to fondle him as if granting them the attention of his cock was a great favour. In the decades since, it had been pure strategy that had led him to occasionally kiss or touch or sleep with a witch. Every now and then, doing so had cemented loyalty or admiration. But his body's responses in all those cases had been the product of the basest biological impulses. He'd never derived any real pleasure from any of it.

He suspected that he might enjoy Bellatrix quite a lot. Even now, he shivered a little at the memory of her voice vibrating against his mouth, of the way he'd gone solid in his trousers at the mere sight of her. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to talk himself out of what he was about to suggest.

"If there is a particularly… vivid… memory of marital relations in your mind, it's likely a Legilimens would get out faster. It's rare that even the most voyeuristically inclined wizards would stand there and… watch."

He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix frozen, a half-chewed bite of clam in her mouth. She finally moved, taking her wine glass in trembling hands and swigging the liquid down. She sounded ashamed as she admitted,

"My Lord, I am a virgin. And… engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange."

Voldemort struggled to control his immediate anger. Had she just rejected him? Bellatrix Black, his servant most filled with adulation? Surely she had not. He gulped hard and opened his mouth to speak, but she continued,

"Besides which, My Lord, the memory would be of me… you know, losing my virginity… in a Parisian apartment. If Edmund and Lilith have been married for some time, that memory would create more problems than it would solve, would it not?"

Of course that was rather logical, but Voldemort's cheeks were still flushed hot from the hint of rejection. He cleared his throat quietly and said in a stern voice,

"I suppose what would need to happen is that you would need to… you know… lose your virginity first." He tipped his head, speaking almost mockingly. "Then the second and third times, or however many times I wanted to take you, it would be as Edmund and Lilith. Have your forgotten, Bella, the oath of loyalty you swore to me?"

"Of course not, My Lord," Bellatrix murmured, nervously adjusting her napkin in her lap. Voldemort sucked his teeth and reminded her,

"You swore to do my bidding, from the most egregious murder down to the most mundane chore. You swore to do exactly what I wanted forever. Have you forgotten?"

"No, My Lord," she said again, this time in a cracked whisper. Her face flushed dark pink and she said, "It is of no consequence to me if I am a virgin when I marry Rodolphus Lestrange. My very soul has belonged to you since before I ever made that oath."

Voldemort felt a surge of want then. He wanted to touch her purely out of lust, but he also wanted to kiss her again like he'd done the night before. He stared at her most-empty bowl of noodles and instructed her,

"Go take your clothes off and wait for me in the bed."

She didn't hesitate. She never did. She rose quickly from her chair, setting her napkin down on the table, and her bare feet moved her quickly to the bedroom. Voldemort swigged down the rest of his wine, very grateful indeed that nobody else was around to see the way Bellatrix Black was turning him into a fool.

Bellatrix's fingers curled around the blankets and she stared at the ceiling as she waited. She should be elated, she knew. This was what she'd wanted for ages. But the reality of being physical with him, with the Dark Lord himself, instead filled her with an almost overwhelming anxiety. She didn't want to displease him. She wanted him to enjoy herself. She wanted him to…

Bellatrix suddenly had a vision of herself swollen with child, and she panicked a little. She reached for her wand from the table beside the bed and aimed it at her lower abdomen. She murmured the contraceptive spell at girls at Hogwarts were taught, and she set her wand back down.

"Don't worry. If you hadn't done it, I would have," said Lord Voldemort as he strode into the room. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, for he was utterly naked. She looked away quickly, but he let out a low chuckle and informed her, "You can look. After all, I'm your husband. At least for now."

Bellatrix swallowed hard and turned her face back toward him. He was almost devastatingly handsome where he stood beside the bed. He was muscular but not bulging. His arms, for some reason, set Bellatrix ablaze. She stared at one arm and then the other, admiring the way his shoulder curved into his bicep and the lean strength of his forearms. She peeled the blankets back a little, thinking he might like to see his 'wife.'

Suddenly Voldemort's condescending facial expression dissolved a little. A low grunt escaped his lips as his eyes passed from Bellatrix's small, round breasts to her flat stomach and the little thatch of hair between her legs.

"You're… very pretty," he mumbled finally, crawling into the bed. Bellatrix stayed on her back, too anxious to face him. She shut her eyes when she felt his hand close around her left breast. His palm felt a little rough - callouses he'd earned through many years of gripping his wand in battle, no doubt. His long fingers dragged over her nipple and she hissed a bit, tipping her head back against the pillow.

"You like being touched," Voldemort noted. It wasn't a question, but Bellatrix clarified,

"I like being touched by you, My Lord."

He didn't answer, but a moment later, his lips were on hers again. Bellatrix gasped, her hands flying up on instinct to his shoulders. She held fast, relishing the firm muscle beneath her hands as he kissed her. He tasted like wine and clams and butter and himself. Bellatrix whimpered when he suckled on her lip a little, and she had to fight not to cry out when his fingers trailed from her breast downward and settled between her thighs.

She was already wet with arousal, but no one else had ever touched her here. She wasn't quite sure what to do with the sensation. His fingers were at once gentle and urgent, sending jolts through Bellatrix's veins. She felt herself flush and tighten everywhere as the Dark Lord's fingers drew careful circles.

"The first time may hurt," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back onto his knees, "but probably not badly, given how wet you are."

Bellatrix almost gasped with embarrassment at those words, but Voldemort chuckled and quickened his fingers.

"There's no shame in actually wanting it, Bella," he told her, sounding the slightest bit breathless himself. Bellatrix locked her eyes onto his, her fingers wrapped around his forearms as his fingers continued massaging her. He was relentless now, twisting two fingers inside her a bit whilst his thumb pulsed circles on her nub. His breath came harder and faster through his nostrils, and out of her peripheral vision, Bellatrix could see that his cock was hard, standing at attention and visibly throbbing.

She tried to keep her eyes on his. She tried to process that this was reality - that she was in Paris in the 1920s with the Dark Lord's fingers taking her ever closer to the phantom edge. Just as she started to get it through her mind that all of this was real, she found herself squeezing his forearms and arching her back. She felt everything go hot and bright, so much more intensely than when she'd touched herself in the past.

"Good girl, Bella," Voldemort breathed through his teeth. She clamped around his fingers as everything detonated, and she was only distantly aware of the way he pressed his lips to hers and murmured again, "Good girl."

Bellatrix felt herself being pulled to the center of the bed, and she felt abruptly sleepy as she caught her breath. The Dark Lord had pushed her knees apart and had arranged himself there. Bellatrix felt the tip of his cock pressing against her unpractised entrance, and she fisted the sheets as she prepared herself.

"Don't worry; it'll… probably be quick," Voldemort panted. He sounded the slightest bit unhinged as he braced himself against Bellatrix. His hands went to her ribcage and he pushed his hips forward, sending a sharp, stinging jolt to Bellatrix's core. She tried not to cry out, but she knew she was being obvious with how she wrenched her eyes shut and gasped. He filled her slowly and pulled back out again, and Bellatrix gnawed on a knuckle to keep herself silent. Her hand fell away from her mouth the more he moved; it stopped hurting and started feeling divine.

This was her lord, her master, her everything in one unbelievably powerful wizard. She watched him as he moved, in awe not only of what he was doing but of his very being. The fingers of his left hand tangled in her newly cropped curls, and she sighed against the feel of him holding her. He bent to kiss her, and then it was too much. She could feel him everywhere. She could smell him and taste him. He was filling her, leaving her, filling her again. When he bucked hard against her, Bellatrix lost control and came again. He scoffed against her mouth and teased,

"Seems the former virgin is enjoying herself."

Bellatrix had a sudden moment of clarity, and she met Voldemort's eyes square on as she said firmly,

"You know I like it whenever you take me, Edmund."

There was a vibrant flash in his gaze, and his throat bobbed visibly as his hips stilled for a half second. His voice was far more hoarse than usual as he asked her,

"Beg me for more, Lilith."

"Mmm…" Bellatrix dragged her hands up and down the Dark Lord's arms, from his shoulders to his wrists and back again. She quirked an eyebrow up and tried to lock every detail into her mind as she whispered, "Please fuck me harder, Edmund. Please."

He groaned, low and deep in his chest, and he jerked his hips so hard that Bellatrix could barely breathe. She stared at his face and mumbled, "Edmund, Edmund… ohhh. Edmund, please."

"Stop it, Bellatrix." He thrust himself forward with a mighty lurch and locked his lips onto hers, kissing her until it hurt. She could feel him twitching inside of her as he came, and when at last he started to go soft, he pulled his lips away a tiny bit and whispered almost reverently, "Bella…"

He stayed above her for a long moment, and Bellatrix wondered anxiously if she'd made him cross. He answered her unasked question when he pulled himself from her body and raked his fingers through his dark hair.

"You locked a solid memory into your mind. I grew tired of the make-believe. That's all. You did well, Bellatrix. Go clean yourself up."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling a little achy and sore in a way she wasn't used to feeling. As she walked to the bathroom, she heard him murmur a few Tergeo spells, and her face went hot with embarrassment again. But she was also proud. She was proud and grateful that her first time doing that had been with the most powerful wizard who had ever lived, the master she worshipped with all that she was. It suddenly didn't matter that someone had cursed them through time and space. It suddenly didn't matter that they were preparing to meet with the legendary Gellert Grindelwald. Very suddenly and unexpectedly, all that mattered was Voldemort and what he'd done to Bellatrix.

She was putting her clothes back on after wiping herself down when the bathroom door flew open and the Dark Lord, fully dressed, came striding in. He shoved a bit of parchment toward Bellatrix and pronounced,

"This just arrived. By owl."

Bellatrix frowned deeply and read the scrap of paper.

The meeting will occur at six o'clock tomorrow morning on the ground floor of Number 55, rue de Ponthieu. Please be prompt. - J. Bayard

Bellatrix shook her head with confusion. "I thought Grindelwald wasn't coming to France until next week."

Voldemort plucked the little note from Bellatrix's fingers and said crisply, "I told you I didn't trust Jules Bayard. I'd bet a million Galleons that Gellert Grindelwald will not be at that meeting."

Bellatrix blinked. "You think we'll be walking into an ambush?"

"Of course not." Voldemort Vanished the note and tipped his head. "It isn't an ambush if you're fully prepared for battle."

"Have you got the bag?"

Bellatrix held up the brown leather handbag that Voldemort had enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. He'd put all of Bellatrix's new clothes and shoes in there, along with tinned foods and a few other household items taken from the apartment. After all, the Dark Lord was not expecting peace when they met with Jules Bayard.

They walked down the rue Pierre Charron in the peaceful quiet of the early morning. It had rained overnight, so everything was damp and the air was chilly, but Bellatrix took a moment to appreciate the city around her as they walked. For being so insignificant and worthless, she thought, the Muggles really had come up with something special in Paris.

"Here it is," Voldemort said at last, gesturing up to the stately Belle Époque building at Number 55. Bellatrix pulled her wand out and adjusted the cross-body strap of her enchanted handbag. She nodded firmly at Voldemort and followed him as he opened the unlocked front door of the building. At the end of a corridor, Bellatrix could see a dining table with a few candles. And sitting at the table was Jules Bayard. He rose as Voldemort and Bellatrix entered the room, and his accented voice was smooth as he gestured to the middle-aged witch beside him.

"My apologies that my associate does not speak English."

Voldemort's eyebrows crumpled a little as he eyed the witch, but he said steadily, "Enchanté, Madame de Renard."

The witch looked at Bayard and said quietly, "Donc, il est vraiment un Legilimens."

Bellatrix knew enough French to understand that much. The woman was surprised - and unhappy, Bellatrix could see - to find that the Dark Lord had invaded her mind. Bayard nodded and said,

"Unfortunately, Gellert Grindelwald will not be able to attend our meeting today."

"That is indeed unfortunate," Voldemort said crisply, "as is the fact, Monsieur Bayard, that you neglected to mention how it is you had that memory of a meeting with Grindelwald in the first place."

Bellatrix's face snapped to her master, and her hand tightened around her wand. Voldemort continued in an almost amused tone,

"You work undercover, tricking Grindelwald into thinking you're one of his. But while you were interrogating me about me possibly working for a Ministry, it was you, Monsieur Bayard. You work for France's Ministry of Magic."

"I do," Bayard nodded, sending a quiver of alarm down Bellatrix's spine. She stared at the woman Voldemort had called Madame de Renard. The witch was stony-faced and held her own wand silently beside her. Bellatrix adjusted her grip and listened as Voldemort noted,

"You mean to arrest me, since I asked after Grindelwald. How quaint. I am not the type to be arrested by anyone, Monsieur Bayard. Avada Kedavra."

Bellatrix blinked through the blinding flash of green light. The other witch, Madame de Renard, yelped and then raised her own wand toward Voldemort. Bellatrix was faster. She aimed her want straight at the witch and shrieked,

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was another flash of green, and then Madame de Renard slumped. Her head smacked the dining table ungracefully as she fell, and her wand clattered against the ground as her hand surrendered its grip. She lay beside Jules Bayard, and Bellatrix realised they suddenly had created two corpses and would probably have an entire Ministry after them in no time.

"I was a fool," Voldemort admitted, staring down at the bodies. "I saw one simple memory in Bayard's mind and I was bold enough to ask about Grindelwald. I ought to have considered that he might be a spy, that his actual loyalties might be elsewhere. I have not been thinking as clearly since we were cursed to this place." He straightened his suit jacket and turned his eyes to Bellatrix. "We need to go. Take my hand."

The last time he'd taken her by Side-Along Apparition, she'd been encouraged to take his sleeve. Now he was telling her to take his hand. Bellatrix tried not to overthink that as she slipped her fingers through his and raised her eyes to him. He glanced back at the bodies and murmured,

"You acted swiftly and effectively. It was well done."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. She knew he must be terribly disappointed that they were no closer to answers now than when they'd been dropped into the apartment. Still, as she felt his hand around hers, she could not help but tell him honestly, "It is an honour to serve you, My Lord. The very highest honour of all."

He nodded and reached with his free hand to tuck her curls behind her ear. "Good girl, Bella."

Then he Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him. After the moment of whirling darkness gave way, Bellatrix realised they were standing in front of a building that looked out onto the front of a vast, impressive railway station.

"Gare de l'Est," Voldemort said.

"We're going to get on a train, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. She knew they had to leave, that the French Ministry would be after them soon enough, but to take a train? Voldemort nodded and said,

"I'll be purchasing tickets under the name of Tom Riddle. We'll take a double cabin on the Orient Express."

"Where are we going, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, still holding his hand. He dragged his thumb over hers and then released her hand as he said rather self-consciously,

"Venice. We're going to Venice."

The Simplon-Orient Express was an elegant machine, Voldemort had to admit. He'd always thought somewhat fondly of the Hogwarts Express, but this train was on an entirely different level of luxury. It would certainly suffice for the three-night journey to Venice, where he and Bellatrix would find and consult with the vibrant community of Dark witches and wizards for answers.

But for now, he was seated on the narrow, firm sofa, watching Bellatrix get ready for dinner in the adjoining bunk compartment. He'd already Transfigured his black suit into a formal tuxedo. Bellatrix was carefully performing cosmetics spells, painting her lips a deep plum and lining her eyes with thick black lines. She looked rather marvelous in her shimmering black dress, Voldemort thought. He turned his face to stare out the window; the sun was going down on the forest around them, and the shadows created on the ground were mesmerising.

He thought again of how frustrated he was with the way Jules Bayard had managed to pull the wool over Voldemort's eyes. He'd never had any intention of being arrested by any Ministry, for expressing interest in Grindelwald or for anything else. Just the same, it was unnerving that he and Bellatrix had no allies here. He had no army. He had only himself, and he had her. Thankfully, she'd shown herself to be quick and helpful.

"My Lord?"

He looked up to see her standing in the doorway between the two adjoined compartments. She was a sight in her dinner attire, with part of her hair pulled back by a pearl-and-crystal ornament. Voldemort wondered suddenly how it was that he'd gone so many years of knowing and using Bellatrix without properly noticing her physical virtues.

"My Lord," she said again, "Now that our aliases from Paris are no good, what is my name?"

"What is your name?" Voldemort repeated, cocking up an eyebrow at her. He shrugged. "The last I checked, your name was Bellatrix."

Her cheeks coloured a little, and she said, "Forgive me, My Lord; it's just that you booked these compartments under the name 'Tom Riddle,' and I wasn't sure if I was meant to have an alias, as well."

Voldemort's stomach twisted oddly then for some reason. He looked out the window again and said casually, "I went by that name a very long time ago."

She'd know what he meant. She'd know now that Tom Riddle had been his name when he'd been a mere mortal. He couldn't very well go about in this time and place declaring himself to be the great and fearsome Lord Voldemort. He had no other followers, no real power. As he stared out the window and watch the trees rushing by in the fading light, he considered just how unbothered he was by Bellatrix seeing him as a man like any other. It should have enraged him to have a disciple see him so vulnerable as he was here and now. Somehow, it did not bother him nearly enough. He sniffed and rose from the sofa, holding his arm out to Bellatrix.

"Let's go," he said firmly. "I'm famished."

A half hour later he was watching as the Muggle waiter took his and Bellatrix's plates away from their first course. Voldemort waited until the Muggle had gone and sipped from his gin and tonic before he informed Bellatrix,

"The mussels were fine, but I've had far better shellfish."

Her full painted lips parted a bit as her lips curled up with pride. Voldemort remembered the sight of her barefoot in Paris, cooking them clams, and he gulped hard. Bellatrix set down her glass of Bordeaux wine and said very softly,

"My Lord, I had a bit of a thought. About… the bracelet. To be more precise, I had a dream."

Voldemort furrowed his brow. They couldn't speak about magic here. He took another drink of his gin and tonic and said smoothly,

"Let me in. Legilimens."

The mental barriers and diversionary tactics she'd learned were absent as he pushed into her mind. He sensed powerful want from her, which he forced himself to shove aside for the time being. He found the dream she'd had the night before, and he watched it play out before him.

They were inside a shop full of Magical oddities. Inside a glass case lay a silver cuff glittering with diamonds. Bellatrix, in her 1920s clothes with short hair, jerked her chin silently toward the case. Voldemort Summoned the bracelet nonverbally and took hold of Bellatrix's hand. Suddenly they were flying through the same blinding white light that had banished them to Paris, and when Bellatrix came to, she was sitting at the dining table in Grimmauld Place.

That was it. That was the end of the dream, but it was enough. As Voldemort pulled himself from her mind, he nodded to Bellatrix and confirmed,

"We have to find it. It's here, in this… it exists now. Somewhere."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak, but the Muggle waiter had come back with bacon and onion tartes. They ate the course in relative silence, and for the first time since arriving in 1924, Lord Voldemort felt a flush of real, genuine happiness. Bellatrix's dream was a vision. He knew it. If they could ask the right people in the right way, they could find that bracelet. It was expensive and seemed one-of-a-kind. Somehow it had appeared in Bellatrix's birthday box, and somehow they would find it here. Voldemort's contented mood led him to finish his gin and tonic and accept another when offered. When the chicory and endive salad was brought out, he found himself asking Bellatrix,

"Are you quite satisfied with your engagement?"

"My engagement?" Bellatrix blinked, setting down her salad fork. A look of realisation came over her face, and she said, "Oh. You mean to Rodolphus. I confess I'd rather forgotten about him given everything that's happened."

Voldemort glanced out the window into the velvet darkness that had settled. He avoided Bellatrix's eyes as he sipped more gin and said in a bland tone, "If the betrothal does not suit you, the wedding needn't happen. I mean to say, your service to me is far more important than becoming a domesticated wife."

"If my master bids me to stay unmarried to better serve him, that is precisely what I shall do," Bellatrix said carefully, "but Rodolphus and I have discussed my priorities. He knows perfectly well that my role as your soldier supersedes anything that will exist between him and me."

Voldemort felt inexplicably queasy at the abrupt notion of Bellatrix swollen with Rodolphus Lestrange's child. He cleared his throat, met Bellatrix's eyes, and said delicately,

"In any case, you're to be very diligent about contraception with him. Once we're back in war, Bella, I can't have you…" He trailed off, unable for some reason to finish his sentence. Bellatrix seemed to understand; her cheeks flushed and she nodded as she murmured,

"Yes. Of course. I'll be very careful, My Lord."

Voldemort sighed heavily, frustrated with himself that he'd allowed his good mood to dissolve. He ate his Camembert quietly and stared at the petit fours that followed. Bellatrix ate her dessert silently, and Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. Finally he raised his eyes and said seriously to Bellatrix,

"I'm sure you've noticed that I've no one else here but you, Bella."

"Yes. I'd noticed, My Lord. But I do promise to be more loyal now than ever." She licked cream off her fork in a way that suddenly made Voldemort's cock twitch inside his trousers. He struggled not to groan as she scooped another small bite of pastry and brought it smoothly between her lips. She noticed the way he was staring, and a crooked little half smile crossed her face. She seemed to deliberately take her time with the next bite, dragging her lips slowly over the tines of the fork as she savoured the chocolate and cream. Voldemort's fingers tightened on the edge of the table, and he whispered in a warning tone,

"Don't taunt me, Bellatrix."

Her cheeky smile vanished, and she set down her fork as she said submissively, "I apologise, My Lord."

"I'm finished eating," he declared, suddenly glad there was no bill to pay in the dining car of a train. He rose from his chair and pulled Bellatrix's out for her, not caring one bit if she was done. She put her hand on his forearm and walked just behind him along the narrow space between tables. They made their way through two cars until they got to their compartment, and as soon as the door was shut, Voldemort took Bellatrix by the shoulders and slammed her hard against the lacquered wood.

She yelped, surprised by his force, but her voice quickly shifted into a little whimper when he bent to kiss her. She tasted like cream, like wine, and as he snared his fingers in her hair, he wanted her more than he cared to admit.

"No more make believe, Bella," he growled, pulling away just enough to wrench off his tuxedo jacket and toss it onto the lower bunk. He yanked at his bow tie and threw that down, too, and he yanked at the hem of Bellatrix's shimmering black dress. She willingly let him pull it up and off as the train's wheels clattered beneath their feet. He tossed the heavy dress down with his jacket and tie and struggled to stay quiet.

Her silk brassiere and matching long knickers were mint green, elegantly made and lovely against her milky flesh. Voldemort watched her unhook the side of the bra as he unbuttoned his own shirt and waistcoat. Those clothes joined the growing pile on the bottom bunk. Voldemort kicked off his dress shoes and watched Bellatrix do the same as she shucked her knickers and rolled down her stockings. She stood back up against the door, and in the tight space of the compartment, Voldemort could smell her. Rose. Wine. Want.

His fingers froze on the placket of his trousers as he studied her appearance. Thin but shapely, with just enough curve and just enough angle. Wide-eyed, full-lipped, seeming even younger than the twenty-one she'd just turned. She adored him. She worshipped him. And she was enough to make him ache inside his trousers.

He kissed her again, this time letting his palms drag around her ribcage and her breasts as he did. Her own fingers worked at the buttons on his trousers, and he was grateful for her boldness. He grunted and shoved her hard against the door when she pulled him out. Her fingers felt miraculous on him. Unpractised and a little bit clumsy, her touch send a shiver and thrill up his spine. He shoved his trousers and underwear down and stepped out of them, kicking them aside ungracefully. He kissed Bellatrix's neck as she stroked his cock, both of them moaning like sinners. She tasted good here, and he felt like a cat lapping up milk as he dragged his tongue and teeth around her delicate skin. He planted his hand on her lower abdomen and summoned his power as he wandlessly incanted a powerful contraceptive charm. She shuddered and he knew it had taken.

He seized her waist and pushed her toward the narrow sofa, facing her away from him and urging her up onto her knees. Her little hands wrapped around the back of the sofa, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. Voldemort just gave her a reassuring little nod as the tip of his cock touched her sodden entrance. When he pushed in, she squealed, and the sound combined with the snug feel of her to make Voldemort's head spin. He held fast to her hips as he pumped steadily into her. He watched her back heave a little from surprise and arousal, and he heard her whisper almost frantically,

"Oh, My Lord. My Lord…"

He twitched inside of her at that. There was no pretending now. No losing her virginity to 'Edmund' to make memories for a Grindelwald who had never materialised. There was only Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black, riding a train to Venice fifty years removed from their own time. There were no Death Eaters here. There was no feud with Dumbledore. There was just Voldemort holding fast to the tiny waist of his most devoted soldier. He buried himself to the hilt inside of her and shut his eyes as he came, feeling the warm satisfaction wash over him like an ocean wave. In a few seconds, the bliss had faded, but he was still dizzy with an almost confusing level of desire.

She cleaned herself up with spells, for the little sink in the corner was less than satisfactory. She stuffed her dinner attire back into the enchanted handbag and pulled out the gauzy pink nightgown that had awakened his senses in Paris. Voldemort pulled his knee-length underwear back on and nothing else, and once they were standing in front of the stacked bunks, he asked her seriously,

"Top or bottom?"

Bellatrix seemed confused for a half second, and then her eyes flicked to the beds. Her cheeks reddened, and she whispered in the obedient tone she always used with him, "I'll take whichever one you don't want, My Lord."

"Hmm. Take the bottom one," he instructed her.

A few hours later, he could hear her breathing beneath him, steady and slow. She was asleep, he could tell. The world outside was pitch black and he could see nothing at all. Only the gentle sway and the clacking beneath them betrayed where they were. Voldemort stared at the curved white ceiling and dragged his fingers along his wand. He had half a mind to descend the ladder and lie down with her, yanking her snugly against him. But of course that would be entirely too intimate. He'd already gone too far, he thought, moaning against her mouth and letting her see how much he enjoyed her. He'd already chipped away at the dynamic they were meant to have as master and servant.

But she was the only one here. She was the only person in this entire existence who knew him as a powerful Dark Lord, as the leader of a political movement. She was the only one here who would kill for him without batting an eye. She was the only one here who knew his names - the old, useless Muggle one and the one that sent fear through the hearts of his enemies. Until they found the bracelet and made their way back to their own time, Bellatrix Black was all he had.

Still, he did not go down the ladder. He wouldn't fall asleep with his most obedient, most skilled soldier wrapped up in his arms. Such a thing was impossible, he told himself, twirling his wand in his fingers and staring at the ceiling. Instead, he just listened to her quiet breath ebbing and flowing. Eventually, that was enough to make his eyes heavy and to drag him off to sleep.