With all the travel Bellatrix had done in her life, she had never been to Venice. It was, on the surface, an impressive city. After all, it had been built up from the sea itself as a refuge. But Bellatrix couldn't help wondering why the Muggles hadn't done a better job grounding their sanctuary, or why they couldn't have better disguised themselves from invaders on the mainland. While interesting and unique, Venice was an almost maddening demonstration of Muggles' lack of sophistication and logic.

When she and her master disembarked their luxurious train, they hired a private water taxi to shuttle them from the train station across the lagoon to the actual city. The water taxi was a slick, beautiful vessel crafted from wood even more lovely than that used aboard the train. Just before they stepped up to the row of bobbing water taxis, the Dark Lord bent and scooped up a fistful of pebbles. He turned away from the small crowd and Transfigured the pebbles into Muggle money. Bellatrix smirked; the coins would turn back to stones within a few hours, but it was a clever trick.

She climbed aboard the taxi, taking her lord's hand as she stepped onto the boat in her t-strap heels. Voldemort spoke in quick, furtive Italian to the boat's pilot and passed over a few of his Transfigured coins. Bellatrix marveled at the way he switched languages so easily. He'd had a bit of French, and his Italian was more than a little impressive. She wondered how many languages he actually spoke. Once again, she was reminded of just how magnificent he was, and of how important it was to get him back to an era where he wielded real power.

There were cream-coloured leather seats in the water taxi, but Bellatrix stood and held onto the roof of the boat as it puttered away from the train station. The wind blew her short curls as they glided across the lagoon, and she couldn't help but smile. She hadn't felt movement like this since she'd flown a broomstick - something she'd not done in a good long while. She turned to face Voldemort, who was sitting on the rear leather seats looking relaxed.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, tucking her wild hair behind her ears and glancing toward the front of the boat, "why did we not just Apparate?"

"This is far more fun," Voldemort told her over the wind, and Bellatrix knew it was true. She stared at him for a moment, at the master who was so much more than an ordinary man. Yet, over the past few days, he had seemed profoundly human to her. When they'd been reading in the cramped compartment, dining in the elaborate cars, sleeping in their stacked bunks… he'd seemed very, very human then. But as Bellatrix watched him now, she knew he existed on a different plane than everyone else. His dark eyes met hers for a moment, and he finally told her,

"The hotel where we're going to stay comes highly recommended. Two employees on the train and now the taxi pilot have recommended it. The Palazzo Menegi."

Bellatrix held fast to the taxi's roof as the boat swayed a bit, and she told Voldemort, "Our goal is to get home, isn't it? I have no need of luxury, Master."

"Need and want are two entirely different things," he said casually, turning his face to examine the bridges and buildings as they entered the Grand Canal. Bellatrix did the same, studying the jade green water and the palatial structures. Again, she thought of how the Muggles had built something special here, but there were some fatal flaws. Many of the buildings were crumbling; the side canals smelled so strongly of sewage that Bellatrix curled her nose up where she stood. Muggle architectural achievement could be shockingly impressive and pathetic at once.

They passed the Rialto bridge and veered right down a narrow, snaking canal. After a while, the boat paused in front of an orange plaster building. The pilot docked the taxi, snaking rope by hand around a post and nearly falling into the canal in the process. Again, Bellatrix considered how useful magic would be in such a situation. She followed Voldemort into the cramped, dark lobby of the hotel. In a nearby salon, someone was playing a piano and a few people were drinking wine and having a lively conversation. Bellatrix studied the mirrors and statues in the lobby as the Dark Lord confidently stepped up to the front desk.

There was a little conversation in Italian then. Bellatrix watched the exchange in the reflection of an enormous, partially tarnished mirror. After a moment, she saw the Muggle behind the desk shiver and go quiet, and she knew at once that he'd been Confounded. He turned around quietly and pulled a brass key from a rack behind him. He nodded and murmured something in Italian, and Lord Voldemort barked in a low tone,

"Bellatrix, come."

She followed him up three flights of winding stairs, and he said over his shoulder, "We've prepaid for ten days in the Grand Suite. At least, that's what that Muggle believes."

Before Bellatrix could ask what the Grand Suite entailed, she had come onto a landing with just one door. Voldemort put the key into the door and pushed it open, and then Bellatrix had her answer. She froze as Voldemort shut the door behind her. She'd grown up wealthy, but this was something else entirely.

The walls of the suite's main room were covered in a stylish taupe damask wallpaper. Black velvet curtains had been swept aside from the flung-open windows that looked out over the canal. Stout furniture in taupe velveteen, an enormous Turkish rug, and gilded mirrors and lighting fixtures filled out the space. Bellatrix wandered slowly into the bathroom, which was filled with white marble and black accents. The claw-foot tub and the pedestal sink gleamed with silvery fixtures. In the bedroom, a wide bed was surrounded by gauzy red curtains that matched the gold-and-red wallpaper and rug. Bellatrix had to wonder if Voldemort meant to Transfigure a divan into a bed the way he'd done in Paris, or if perhaps they might actually spend the night in the same bed.

"Bella," she heard him say sharply, and she hurried out into the parlour.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Sit," he instructed her, gesturing to a taupe wingback chair. Bellatrix obeyed, sitting with a ramrod-straight back and her hands folded in her lap. Voldemort sat on the sofa and tapped his foot on the ground for a moment, apparently thinking. He stared at the low wooden table before him and said carefully, "When Tom Riddle was a young man with no real purpose, he worked at Borgin and Burke's. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix felt surprised, but she nodded silently. It was odd to think of him as an orphaned Hogwarts graduate with no name or power, though she supposed he was no more than that here and now. Voldemort drummed his fingers on the cushion of the sofa and raised his eyes to Bellatrix.

"Several times in the 1940s, a wealthy Venetian wizard called Aloysius da Chioggia came into Borgin and Burke's. He was particularly interested in Dark objects he could only find in Britain - certain books, a cursed piece of luggage. He bought a powerful onyx sphere once that was rumoured to have been created by Merlin himself."

Bellatrix just nodded again. A Dark wizard from Venice that Voldemort had known in another life. She thought she could see where this was going. Voldemort continued,

"When I met him in the mid-1940s, Aloysius da Chioggia was around sixty years old. In this time, he should be… well, a bit younger than I appear now. I remember the address he gave Caractacus Burke once when something had to be shipped. Cannaregio 5979."

"And you think this man - this Aloysius da Chioggia - might be able to track down the bracelet?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort nodded once.

"It's certainly worth meeting with him. But I'm going to go without you, Bella."

She frowned, feeling confused rejection strike her through. She resisted the urge to speak and just nodded. Voldemort's mouth quirked halfway up.

"What a good girl you are. Not even asking me why."

"Should I have asked why, My Lord?" Bellatrix twiddled her thumbs a little, and Voldemort smirked.

"He may have been different twenty years earlier, but I have a vivid memory of Signor da Chioggia speaking very inelegantly about young women. Until I've established a good rapport, I want you to wait here."

Bellatrix felt her eyebrows go up, but she nodded. "Of course, My Lord."

"Right. I'm going to go, then," Voldemort said, rising from the sofa, "before night settles. This city becomes rather a strange place after dark."

As Voldemort crossed a low, ancient-looking bridge, his footfalls were the only sound around him. In the stifling evening air, the smell of the little canal was almost overwhelming. He was relieved to be able to walk across a small square, away from the stench, and to step up to a worn wooden door marked 5979. He knocked firmly and waited. After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and a tall, thin man in his forties stood in the threshold. He pushed up an eyebrow and said in a condescending tone,

"Cosa vuoi, signore?"

In the 1940s, Aloysius da Chioggia had been possessed of impeccable English, so Voldemort said smoothly, "Mi scusi, ma possiamo parlare inglese? I'm looking for a man called Aloysius da Chioggia."

"And what would you want with such a man?" da Chioggia demanded. Voldemort tipped his chin up a little and said,

"I've been informed by Caractacus Burke that you may be just who I need if there's an oddity I'm hunting."

The other man's face curled into a little smile, and he beckoned into his home. "Per piacere! Come inside."

Voldemort followed him down an entry corridor of orange-and-white marble. A young witch, perhaps sixteen years of age, was reading in a parlour to the side, and she eyed Voldemort as he passed. Aloysius da Chioggia led Voldemort into the kitchen at the back of the house and leaned heavily onto his butcher block.

"Who are you?" he asked plainly, and Voldemort hesitated for a half instant.

"I'm Tom Riddle," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm in search of a very specific bracelet - a cuff made of silver and diamonds."

"And what do you want with this bracelet?" asked da Chioggia. Voldemort chewed the inside of his cheek. He poked quickly into da Chioggia's head and felt only curiosity, along with a sweeping Darkness. He could trust this man.

"Without giving so much detail as to endanger everyone involved," he said very carefully, "suffice it to say that this bracelet is cursed to hurtle victims through time and space. I believe my only return ticket is to use the same item."

"Ah." da Chioggia dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and said, "I've heard of such items, but only as rumours. There will be quite a price if I can locate it for you. A finder's fee, you understand."

"Of course," Voldemort nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Name your price."

Aloysius da Chioggia seemed to consider his answer for a moment, and then he said, "Five thousand Galleons if I find it within two weeks. A thousand if I can find it in a month. I won't search longer than that for any price."

Voldemort nodded. He couldn't make this man understand just who he would be in fifty years' time, so he feigned deference. "I'm glad I have the right man. I'm staying at the Palazzo Menegi with my… female associate."

The Venetian smirked and let out a low laugh. "You talk of a cursed diamond bracelet and of staying in a romantic city with a female associate. She must be very pretty to have put you through such trouble."

"She is," Voldemort nodded. "Remarkably so. Shall I sketch up the bracelet so you know what you're looking for?"

"Yes." da Chioggia went to the kitchen doorway and yelled in a shockingly abrasive tone, "Marcella! Portami carta e una matita! Fallo ora!"

The sound of pattering feet came down the corridor. The teenaged witch who had been reading earlier obediently handed a drawing pad an a pencil to da Chioggia, who gave Voldemort a cheeky smile. He gestured to the girl and said,

"Mr Riddle, meet Marcella. My female associate."

Voldemort nodded to indicate his understanding. So the man hadn't changed much in twenty years, then. He supposed he wasn't much better; Bellatrix was twenty-five years his junior. But she did not act a child. She was bold and fearless, sultry and powerful. Her seduction lay in her submission, in her velvet words and her wide eyes.

Voldemort cleared his throat roughly, trying not to think of Bellatrix as he sketched the bracelet. That was impossible, of course; she'd been present the only time he'd seen it. He tried his best to replicate the lacing of the silver, the shape of the inlaid stones. He finally handed the sketch to da Chioggia and confirmed,

"Five thousand Galleons if you find it in two weeks."

"I know every Magical oddity shop and dealer in Europe, Mr Riddle," said Aloysius da Chioggia, taking the sketch and looking it over. "If anyone can find this bracelet, it is me. But… you've been dropped into Venice. Are you sure you want to go back to soggy, sullen Britain?"

"I wish to return to the existence from which I was thrown," Voldemort confirmed, remembering the way he'd been able to summon dozens of followers through their Dark Marks, the way people had feared saying his name, the way his enemies and friends alike feared and revered him. He gulped hard and nodded, saying again, "Yes, Signore. I need that bracelet."

"Would it trouble you greatly, Bella, if the two of us simply made use of the one bed that is here?"

Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open at the question. She shook her head and whispered, "No, My Lord. Of course not."

"Good," he said crisply, unbuttoning his white shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it over the bench at the end of the bed. "Seems silly to do otherwise after… everything."

Bellatrix knew what he meant by 'everything.' Taking her virginity in the apartment in Paris. Sex on the train. Sleeping so near one another for nights on end. It would be prudish and pointless to conduct a charade of modesty. Still, Bellatrix felt nervous where she stood beside the bed. When the Dark Lord had returned from his meeting with Aloysius da Chioggia, he'd explained that all they could do now was wait and try to think of other options. Bellatrix had cleaned her teeth and neatened herself up before sliding her black silk nightgown on. Now she stood beside the bed, wondering if she should climb in first or wait for her master. She was grateful that she'd cast a longer-lasting contraceptive spell on herself in the bathroom earlier; she had no idea when she might next be gifted with his body.

Suddenly she felt a little press in her mind, a dull vibration that signaled intrusion. On instinct, her newly-acquired Occlumency skills went into full force. She shoved forward a memory of finding Narcissa snogging Lucius Malfoy in the Slytherin Common Room - an incident she would use as ammunition for blackmail for several years. Voldemort laughed darkly and pushed harder. Bellatrix wasn't sure if she was meant to keep him out or not, and in the split second of indecision, he found what he was looking for.

The Dark Lord let out a low groan from deep in his chest, and he bucked wildly his hips until Bellatrix was breathless. She found his face and managed to say, "Edmund, Edmund… ohhh. Edmund, please."

"Stop it, Bellatrix." The Dark Lord buried himself against Bellatrix and kissed her with so much force that it stung and ached. He came inside of her and hovered, panting, until he went soft. When at last he pulled his lips back, he said in a reverent tone, "Bella…"

He withdrew from Bellatrix's mind, and she stared at him across the bed for what felt like rather a long moment. He finally raked his fingers over his head and mumbled,

"Once we get back to our own time and place, you'll be set to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. As it should be, probably. It isn't… what I've done to you is not becoming of Lord Voldemort and his servant."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix said, though she felt something crumple and shatter inside her chest.

"Just the same," he continued, pacing a little, "if I wanted to keep you - as a sort of plaything, mind - I would be within my rights to do so. I am your lord and master; Rodolphus Lestrange is not."

"Whatever you think best, My Lord," Bellatrix said, not sure of what else she could say in a situation like this. Voldemort's dark eyes found hers, and he jerked his chin toward the bed as he informed her,

"I think it best that you get into the bed right now, Bella."

Bellatrix obeyed, feeling a tingle go up her spine as she did. Voldemort paced a few more steps, not looking at her, and then he said quietly,

"Take off your nightgown."

She did as he said, pulling the soft black silk up and over her head. She hadn't put knickers on, and so now she sat in the bed, naked and a bit self-conscious. She met Voldemort's eyes as she tossed the nightgown aside, and for another interminable moment, he just stared. She felt him push back into her mind, and this time she put up no resistance. A memory was snared and pulled forth, and it played in the space behind Bellatrix's eyes as the Dark Lord watched.

"Wait up! Bellatrix!"

She turned round to see Regina Shacklebolt trotting down the path toward her. Bellatrix had been on her way to Hogsmeade, solitary as always. Regina held out a small scroll to Bellatrix, her breath puffing in the cold air before her. Regina grinned and said,

"He wanted me to give you this. Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Oh." Bellatrix frowned and unfurled the little scroll. On the paper was an elaborately sketched portrait of Bellatrix that smirked and twirled her hair. Rodolphus was either a very good artist or had used an impressive series of spells to make this. Either way, the message was clear. He had a serious crush on Bellatrix. But she, of course, pined after the Dark Lord that her father followed so closely. Lord Voldemort was not only handsome; his allure lay in his power. That was something Rodolphus Lestrange would never be able to replicate, no matter how many of these sweet gestures he tried.

"You should at least let him take you for a walk by the lake or something," Regina Shacklebolt was saying, and Bellatrix rolled the scroll up and shoved it into her school bag. She cleared her throat and said,

"My interest lies very thoroughly with someone else."

Regina gave her a knowing look. "You mean… him? He's much older, Bellatrix, and he's… well, you know. He's the Dark Lord himself. We've nearly finished school now; focus your attentions on the type of good, pureblood boy who actually wants to be your husband someday."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the advice, Regina. I don't want to talk about men right now. Come with me to Hogsmeade, will you? I have to get my sister Andromeda a birthday gift, and I'm terrible at shopping."

Voldemort withdrew again from Bellatrix's mind, and she waited for his reaction. He scoffed quietly and dragged his fingers over the red brocade covers where he stood beside the bed. "You ignored the affections of your betrothed so that you could lust and long after me. Is that right?"

Bellatrix swallowed hard and admitted, "Yes, My Lord. That sounds about right."

He raised his eyes to her, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "What made you want me so badly?"

Bellatrix struggled not to explode from embarrassment right then and there. She forced an awkward little laugh and shrugged as she said, "Whenever you were at my father's house, I was overwhelmed, My Lord. You're incredibly handsome, of course, but it was more than that. I knew what you believed, what you had planned, and it aroused me just to think of it. To think of you reigning over everyone and everything. Sometimes at night I'd stare at the ceiling in my dormitory and imagine a wizarding world with you in unquestioned authority. It was… very often, it was almost too much to bear. I wanted more than anything to serve you, to become a soldier for you. Others talked about working for the Ministry or opening up shops after school, but all I wanted was to be yours. It was impossible to perseverate over the boyish flirtations of Rodolphus Lestrange when I could dream about my master."

Voldemort's dark eyes shone now in a strange way that Bellatrix had never seen. He moved slowly and deliberately as he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off with his underwear. He was already mostly hard, Bellatrix could see, and as he stood beside the bed, he started to stroke himself. She watched, feeling everything set on fire within her as his hand pumped slowly along his length.

"Tell me, Bella," he whispered. "Did any of those dreams ever fade from your mind? Once you left school, did your longing for your master weaken?"

"No, My Lord," she assured him, crawling across the mattress toward him. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with want and her body tingling from head to toe. "It only got worse the closer I got to you. Sometimes I'd pass you in a corridor, and your robes would brush my skin, and I would be lost for days. Sometimes I'd hear your voice in another room, and it was as if you were touching me with your hands instead of phantom words. All I want is to worship you."

"Mmph…" Voldemort's hand stilled on his cock, and then he ripped it away as his eyes fluttered shut. He seemed a little breathless, as though Bellatrix had done more by talking than she could ever do by touching him. His eyes still closed, he murmured, "Lie down."

She did, and he followed her into the bed. He slid between the sheets with her and lay on his side facing her. Bellatrix was nearly overcome by the nearness of him; heat radiated from his skin, and she could see the slight contrast between his dark brown eyes and his pupils. He reached to pet her short curls and whispered,

"How fortunate I am that my most devoted disciple happens to be very beautiful."

Bellatrix gasped at that, and she was so wet between her legs that she wondered if he'd made her finish just by touching and talking. He pressed his lips to hers and wrapped one of his arms around hers. As he deepened the kiss, which tasted like the wine he'd had at dinner, he pressed his palm to the small of her back and grunted a bit. Bellatrix absorbed the feel of him, of his long fingers tightening on her skin, and she started to rub her thighs together desperately.

"You want me," he mumbled, pulling his mouth back and touching his forehead to hers. She nodded and whispered furtively,

"Yes. Yes, My Lord. I want whatever bit of you I'm worthy of receiving. Please."

He just rubbed his hand up and down her back and moved his lips to her neck. That was so much, too much, and Bellatrix moaned more loudly than she'd intended on doing. The place where his mouth suckled her was sending spikes of desire and arousal straight to her core. Bellatrix reached impulsively to hold his head, to rub his scalp with her fingertips as he attacked her neck.

Suddenly he hauled one of her knees up and around his hips until their legs were stacked like scissors. She felt his tip at her entrance and cried out as he pushed into her body. The feel of him filling her combined with the feel of his mouth on her neck, and she came with the force of an explosion. She could feel herself clenching around his length, could tell that her fingers had quickened on his scalp, and she felt the vibration of his low voice against the skin of her neck. It seemed to last forever, a burst of pleasure and satisfaction that only strengthened as he started to rock his hips.

Voldemort pulled his face back from Bellatrix and stared at her with lips swollen from his brutal kisses. His eyes rolled back a little as he filled Bellatrix over and over, and he whispered, "You wanted nothing more than to be mine. Is that right?"

"Yes, Master," she managed to choke out, holding his shoulder as his cock ground against her with every thrust. She nodded and added, "I knew it was a silly dream, but I dream it still just the same."

"You are mine, Bella," he breathed, burying himself to the hilt and pulling her flush against his body. She listened to his breathing and his racing heart and felt him twitch inside of her as he finished. His legs tensed and his hands clenched his his breath hitched, and for a moment Bellatrix wanted to freeze time forever. Then he was petting her hair again and whispering in a shaking voice, "Mine. My beautiful soldier. The only one I have here who's mine. And when we go back home, Bella, you'll be mine more than the rest of them. Is that what you've wanted all along?"

"It's… much more than I could have imagined, My Lord," Bellatrix said honestly, feeling her eyes well as she raised them to him. He slid out of her and rotated her panting body, pulling her against him as his soft, wet cock replaced his hand at the small of her back. He pulled the blankets up over them and snared one arm around her, and he murmured, "Sleep. In the morning we do some research to try and figure out how all this happened in the first place. So try and sleep."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix knew she wouldn't have to try very hard. Wrapped up in his arms like this, in a way that would have made Regina Shacklebolt go scarlet with shock and probably jealousy, she was content and tired. She dared to lace her fingers through Voldemort's on the mattress before her, and he didn't protest.

His. His most devoted servant, his plaything, his lover. It didn't matter what she was, Bellatrix thought, as long as she was his.

"The Bridge of Sighs," Voldemort said, gesturing up to the enclosed bridge that connected interrogation rooms in the Doge's Palace to the prison on the other side. He scoffed quietly and admitted to Bellatrix, "I don't like much about Muggles, but I have to admit I like that idea. The view from the bridge was the last time people would see Venice before going to prison. According to legend, they would pause in the bridge for a moment, look out over the city from which they were being banished, and sigh."

Bellatrix stood beside him, shading her eyes from the violent sunshine. "It's almost poetic," she said, and Voldemort nodded.

"Almost."

He didn't tell her the rest of the legend, that kissing in a gondola at sunset under the Bridge of Sighs would grant eternal love. He would never speak of such things, and, anyway, it was just a silly Muggle myth. He sniffed lightly and turned his face to the grand piazza beyond Bellatrix. They hadn't come here to sightsee. They'd spent the last four days mostly holed up in the hotel, reading and brainstorming other means of traveling decades at a time. They'd tracked down a book on Magical time travel from a shop hidden among a string of Muggle book shops. The book had been of no help; minor use of Time Turners in their own era was far more advanced than anything the book had suggested. Traveling fifty years and coming back again was nowhere in the text.

Early this morning, an owl had come through the hotel window with a note from Aloysius da Chioggia, requesting a meeting in the Caffè Florian to discuss his progress in finding the bracelet. As the bells of the nearby Campanile tolled noon, Voldemort sighed and told Bellatrix,

"It's time. Come."

He led the way into the bustling square, which was crowded with Muggles feeding pigeons and sipping espresso. There were tables and chairs set up outside the Caffè Florian, and nearby a string quartet played some admittedly lovely music. Aloysius da Chioggia was sitting at one of the tables with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of red wine before him. Voldemort couldn't help being grateful to da Chioggia for meeting them outside; it was so hot today that he knew the inside of the restaurant would be stifling hot. Da Chioggia nodded when he saw Voldemort, and his eyes flicked to Bellatrix. A predatory little smile crossed the man's lips, and Voldemort pushed into his mind quickly.

Lust. He sensed instantaneous lust for Bellatrix. Voldemort pulled back out of da Chioggia's mind as they approached. He couldn't blame the other man; Bellatrix looked stunning in her wispy summer dress of peach chiffon. Her dark curls peeked out from the straw cloche hat she wore. She seemed to pick up on the way da Chioggia was eyeing her; she shifted on her feet a little beside Voldemort as she said awkwardly,

"Buongiorno, Signore."

Da Chioggia barked out a little laugh as he stood. He set his cigar down on the tray on the table and smiled at Voldemort. "How charming she is, your female associate. Sit, please, both of you. I hope it's all right; I've ordered some tea sandwiches - asparagus and egg, fish and olive - we call them tramezzini. I couldn't host you at a Venetian restaurant, Muggle or otherwise, and not insist you eat our food properly."

Voldemort folded his hands on the table, wanting to get straight to business. He gestured offhandedly beside him and told da Chioggia, "Allow me to introduce Miss Bellatrix Black. Bella, this Aloysius da Chioggia."

"È un piacere conoscerti, signorina." da Chioggia reached across the table and seized Bellatrix's knuckles, his lips lingering on them a half moment too long. Fortunately, the Muggle waiter came by with a tray of little sandwiches and a stack of plates. He asked for a drink order, and Voldemort quickly asked for two glasses and a pitcher of water. Once the waiter had gone, he looked da Chioggia in the eye and asked,

"Any progress?"

"Some." Aloysius da Chioggia looked to Bellatrix for a moment and then back to Voldemort. He lowered his voice and said, "I went to Rome yesterday. I have a friend there who specialises in Necromancy and time travel. Mostly interest, very little practise, as you can imagine. But he gave me this."

He reached into the leather bag beside his chair and pulled out a small leather book that looked very old indeed. He passed it across the table to Voldemort. The title was in Latin, but the moment he read it, his heart started to race.

"Mysteria Tempus," he said. "The Mysteries of Time. I'd heard the last copy of this book was destroyed in the late 1700s."

Bellatrix eyed him breathlessly, and Aloysius da Chioggia said rather proudly, "What you are holding in your hands is the last actual copy of that book. As far as we know. All Ministries in Europe destroyed copies because -"

"It gives specific instructions and spells for time travel," Bellatrix nodded. When the wizards both stared at her, impressed, she smiled and said, "We learned about it at Hogwarts, in our History of Magic course."

"Good on you for paying attention, then," Voldemort said smoothly. He opened the book with a careful touch, exercising great caution with the book's fragile binding and pages. His mind made quick work of the Latin text inside.

… but although it is generally assumed that time travel is only possible in small increments, the reality is that some witches and wizards have been known to transcend up to a century through time and space. None, however, were able to return to their 'home' era.

Voldemort scowled and shut the book. "This isn't encouraging. It says no one's ever gone back after an extended period of time traveled."

"But there's always a first time, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. Aloysius da Chioggia gave her a strange look at the honorific she'd used, and her cheeks coloured as she amended, "Just because no one's ever done it successfully doesn't mean we can't. Especially a powerful wizard like yourself."

"My, but you do have her under your boot, don't you?" mused da Chioggia. Voldemort rolled his eyes a little and pressed,

"Have you any leads at all on the bracelet?"

"No," da Chioggia admitted. "I've sent owls to contacts of mine in Zurich, Moscow, London, Berlin, Barcelona… every shop for Dark oddities that I can think of. The only responses thus far have been…"

He trailed off, for the Muggle waiter had come back with the pitcher of water. He put empty glasses down and Voldemort waved him away. He poured water for himself and Bellatrix and handed her a glass. She mumbled her thanks and chewed nervously on a little sandwich as da Chioggia continued,

"The only responses so far have been a definitive 'no idea' and one witch stating she had a gold and ruby bracelet for sale if I was interested in jewelry. I asked my friend in Rome for more contacts, more collectors' names and addresses. I'll keep searching. In the meantime, the book is yours. A little experimentation never hurt, eh?"

"Right." Voldemort handed the copy of Mysteria Tempus to Bellatrix, and she tucked it away in her handbag. Aloysius da Chioggia chewed a sandwich, sipped some wine, and took a puff on his cigar. He eyed Bellatrix again and said playfully,

"Signorina, do be certain to ride a gondola beneath the Bridge of Sighs at sunset with your… male associate."

Bellatrix smiled a little and shook her head. "Is there something particularly significant about going beneath that bridge at that time?"

Voldemort frowned deeply at da Chioggia, who puffed again on his cigar and nodded to Bellatrix. "It's a particularly beautiful view that time of day. That's all. Now… the both of you, eat these tramezzini, will you? They're quite good for being Muggle food."

Bellatrix was abruptly grateful for the education in Latin she'd received as a child as she forced her way through the text of the little book.

Some objects can be enchanted to send those who touch them to a specific place - much like a Portkey - with the addition of time travel. Unlike Portkeys, these objects' effects are activated upon touch and can be customised to only work on certain people. Because of the weaponised nature of such items, their creation has been outlawed for so long that the spells needed to make them have long disappeared from general knowledge. It is suspected that some combination of Gnavigo Charms was used. These difficult and enigmatic incantations are also widely illegal.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix called, rising quickly from the sofa in the suite's parlour. She dashed quickly through the bedroom to the bathroom. He was in there with a towel around his waist, running a steel comb through his greying hair. He dropped the metal comb against the porcelain sink when Bellatrix came storming into the bathroom.

"P-pardon me, My Lord," she stammered, feeling her cheeks go hot at the sight of him freshly out of the bath. She turned her head away a little and passed him the book. She cleared her throat delicately and said, "Second paragraph, Master. I shall wait in the -"

"Stay." His eyes scanned over the words Bellatrix had just read in the parlour, and he nodded slowly. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said, "Adlocum."

Bellatrix shrugged. "I beg your pardon, My Lord?"

"Adlocum," he repeated. "It's an old spell I found buried in a book long ago. It was the standard spell for making Portkeys until the 1850s or so. It was unstable; sometimes it didn't take people to a precise enough location. Much like Floo Powder, it requires clarity of thought to be cast correctly. There was an accompanying spell in the book - Adannis - which was said to be a profoundly unreliable way of sending people through time. They were two of the Gnavigo Charms. Outdated, outmoded, but…"

"But probably what was used on bracelet?" Bellatrix finished. Voldemort pursed his lips and read over the passage in the book again. He finally nodded.

"I think it may be so," he told her. He picked up his wand from the shelf above the sink and then the metal comb he'd been using. She watched his throat bob, and he sounded a bit uncertain as he told her, "I need you to serve me now better than usual, Bella."

"Of course," she choked out, suspecting she knew what he was going to do. Sure enough, he set the comb on the shelf above the sink and started dragging the tip of his wand over it.

"Adlocum Lectulo… Adannis Duora. Adlocum Lectulo. Adannis Duora."

After a long moment of just staring at the comb, he stepped backward and turned his face to Bellatrix. His eyes were glazed a bit, as though he'd worked so hard to focus his magic that he'd exhausted himself. He gulped again and gestured at the comb.

"Pick it up," he told Bellatrix. She obeyed him as she always did, moving nervously toward the comb with her hand extended. For all she knew, she was about to be hurled into some abyss and never see him again. She kept her eyes locked on his as her fingers curled around the comb. Everything went hot and white, blinding and searing, then frigid cold and whirling.

Suddenly she was on her back, lying on her side of the hotel's bed and staring at the ceiling. She glanced at the open window and saw that it was pitch black; it had been just after sunset. Lord Voldemort stood at the end of the bed in a pair of black linen pyjama trousers, his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded as Bellatrix sat up, and he said in a solemn voice,

"Two hours. I sent you forward two hours."

Bellatrix blinked and looked around. She glanced down to see that the comb had vanished from her hands, just as the bracelet had done in Paris. She raised her eyes to the Dark Lord's and asked,

"And do you suppose, My Lord, that you might replicate that effect with fifty years?"

He chewed his lip and tipped his head. "I've been thinking for the past few hours. We'll need to play around with it a bit. Forward and back a few hours, then a few days. Trying distances that are further and further apart. Then, once I'm very confident in the spells… we'll try and go all the way back."

Bellatrix nodded. She still felt a little woozy, though nowhere near as disoriented as she'd felt when she'd crashed onto the ground in the Paris apartment. For the first time since being hurtled back in time, she felt a flush of real hope that she would get home, that her lord and master would reign again. But as she stared at him, another thought came into her mind.

"I'll marry Rodolphus soon," she murmured aloud, and Voldemort nodded once.

"You will, but it won't matter," he informed her. "You'll still belong to me."

Bellatrix's lips curled up with happiness. They would go back to their own time and place, but she knew something would be different between them. They could never really go back; he could never undo the way their bodies had been tangled together throughout an entire night, nor the way they'd each grown accustomed to the other's touch. Soon they'd find their way back to the 1970s, and he'd be in command again, but it was as he'd said. She was his now, and that was something that time and space could not undo.