October 1972

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

"For Merlin's sake, Winifred! What were you thinking? Crucio!"

Bellatrix watched as a web of crimson light burst forth from Voldemort's wand. Winifred Bulstrode shrieked and convulsed as the red light snared around her. Bellatrix had been the one to bring Winifred in after the witch had confessed to having an affair with Gideon Prewett. He didn't know she was a Death Eater, Winifred had said, and they'd been close at school. Of course, Bellatrix had Stupefied her and brought her straight to the Dark Lord's working offices in Malfoy Manor. Now she stood back as he tortured Winifred. Something about the red light made Bellatrix's heart race. Voldemort finally released the spell and moved to hover over Winifred. His voice was dangerous as he paced around her and snarled,

"You couldn't control your libido enough to keep from fucking a Mudblood-loving blood traitor, a pawn of Albus Dumbledore himself. He is our enemy, and you made him your lover. What does that make you to me, Miss Bulstrode?"

"P-p-please, My Lord," Winifred moaned, saliva drooling from her swollen lips as she crawled pitifully toward Voldemort's shoes. She made a move to kiss them, and he kicked her square in the jaw so that she flew away. Winifred clutched at her jaw and moaned again in agony. Voldemort raised his gaze to Bellatrix and assured her,

"You did precisely the right thing by bringing me this treacherous wench, Bellatrix. And you know what I do to those who betray me."

Bellatrix nodded and said in a proud voice, "You eliminate them, My Lord. Every trace of them."

"So I do," he nodded. "But you have been a good and loyal servant, Bella. Take your reward now. Eliminate her for me. I like to watch."

He said that last bit as though he were speaking of sex, and a shock of desire went straight through Bellatrix's veins. She let out a shaking little sigh and pulled out her wand. She aimed it at Winifred Bulstrode and flashed the Dark Lord a little smile. She turned her attention back to the whining idiot on the ground and said in a smooth murmur,

"Avada Kedavra."

A bright flash of jade green light signaled the demise of Winifred Bulstrode, and then Voldemort flicked his wand and muttered,

"Evanesco."

The corpse Vanished, leaving no trace at all that Winifred Bulstrode had ever existed. Bellatrix felt shaky with excitement as she said to Voldemort,

"I am sorry, My Lord, that some show you such awful disrespect. She didn't deserve to take another breath in your almighty presence."

"Enough." Voldemort shook his head a little and closed the gap between them. He petted at Bellatrix's curls and scoffed quietly. "She was a complete fool to reveal what she'd done in front of you. You're more dangerous than just about anybody. And she ought to have known you'd bring her to me. You are… mine. Aren't you, Bella?"

"In every single way, My Lord," she replied, feeling dizzy as he touched his lips to her forehead. He cleared his throat softly then and said,

"Enough thought about Winifred Bulstrode. It will be common knowledge that she betrayed Lord Voldemort and got her due punishment. Now. Your father is trying to have at least one of his daughters married by year's end."

Bellatrix raised her eyes and asked, "Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy?"

Voldemort nodded. "Your father and Narcissa have come to Malfoy Manor today for lunch with Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. I'm quite sure their house elf can set two more places for us. Casting the Cruciatus Curse always makes me hungry."

Bellatrix smiled weakly. She'd been in the middle of a light lunch with Winifred Bulstrode, a witch she'd known since childhood, when she'd brought her here to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix wasn't terribly hungry, but she also wasn't about to reject the Dark Lord's suggestion. So she nodded and walked two paces behind him as he left his office. Halfway down the corridor to the dining-room, Bellatrix could hear lightweight chatter. She heard her sister's tinkling laugh and the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy as he noted,

"I don't think there would be much doubt that any children of ours would be blond, Miss Black."

"Unless for some reason the poor things inherited frizzy black curls like poor Bellatrix has got," Abraxas Malfoy chuckled. Bellatrix froze, and so did Voldemort. His lips pursed a little, and he growled softly,

"The fool doesn't know how those curls feel inside a fist. How they feel cast across one's chest when the sun rises."

Bellatrix felt the little push of his Legilimency, and even as she let him in, she couldn't stop herself from wondering if she was as ugly as the others said.

"Quite the contrary," Voldemort snapped, wrenching his mind from hers and holding out his forearm. Bellatrix was confused for a moment, until he rolled his eyes and instructed her, "Take my arm as we walk in there."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and threaded her hand around his sleeve. She let him guide her straight into the dining-room, watching the surprise and vague fear on everyone's faces as they flew to their feet.

"My Lord." Abraxas Malfoy bowed and set his napkin down. "May I set you a place for luncheon?"

"Two places, yes," Voldemort droned. Abraxas snapped his finger at the skinny little house-elf in the corner, who began frantically Summoning plates and goblets and cutlery. Voldemort looked around the room and announced, "Not quite an hour ago, Bellatrix informed me that Winifred Bulstrode was engaged in a torrid affair with Gideon Prewett. The girl confessed it herself to Bellatrix."

Narcissa gasped, clapping her hands to her mouth. Lucius Malfoy looked disgusted and shook his head.

"Gideon Prewett. That disgusting blood traitor."

"But you brought the information straight to the Dark Lord, Bella?" Narcissa confirmed. Bellatrix tipped her chin up, her hand shaking on Voldemort's sleeve a little as she said,

"I brought Winifred herself. I wasn't about to let her go after she told me a thing like that. The Dark Lord deserves instant access to all those who defy him. So I brought her straight away."

"And then you executed her," Voldemort said casually. "Wouldn't want to forget the best part."

"She deserved no better, My Lord," Abraxas Malfoy sneered. "She probably deserved worse."

"She deserved precisely what she was given, Abraxas." Voldemort pulled out Bellatrix's chair for her and sat beside her at the head of the table. Roast chicken, asparagus, and fresh bread appeared on the plates before them. As the conversation droned on about things like favourite Quidditch teams and the autumn weather, Bellatrix poked around at her asparagus. When she looked up, Narcissa was staring right at her and said,

"Bella, I need to freshen up. Will you come with me?"

Bellatrix looked to Voldemort on instinct, and he waved his permission to her with one hand as he used the other to eat his chicken with supernatural elegance. Bellatrix rose from her chair with Narcissa, and all the men except for Voldemort rose briefly. Narcissa led Bellatrix out of the dining-room and down the corridor, away from the nosy portraits on the wall and out of earshot of the others.

"You killed Winifred Bulstrode?" Narcissa hissed, grabbing Bellatrix's wrist. "We used to play with her as children!"

"Well, she ought to have known better, Cissy." Bellatrix wrenched her wrist away and sniffed. "Off fucking Gideon Prewett and then bragging about it? Yes, of course when my lord commanded me to eliminate her, I did so. I'll follow him to death or worse, and I certainly hope you can say the same."

Narcissa's face darkened a little. "The wedding to Rodolphus was called off," she whispered. "You're living… somewhere else. The rest of us aren't privy to where. You walked into the dining room on his arm. Are you… are the two of you…?"

"Whatever attentions the Dark Lord deigns to grant me are precisely none of your business, Cissy," Bellatrix insisted. She wished she could tell Narcissa everything, starting with the cursed bracelet and going through Paris and Venice and back again. She softened her face a bit then and assured her sister, "You should be happy for me, and I'll leave it at that. Now… Lucius Malfoy. Do you mean to marry him?"

Narcissa sighed and smiled a little. She nodded. "I think so. Father thinks it's a splendid match for the family, and Lucius and I are fond of one another. We'll make one another happy enough, I think. Have you spoken to Rodolphus since the wedding was called off?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Saw him at a battle in Scotland last week. He was cordial and pleasant, but we had things to do besides discuss our eventual wedding."

Narcissa chewed her lip. "And you think you will marry him someday?"

"I will do whatever the Dark Lords bids me do, Narcissa." Bellatrix shook her head, astounded at how thick her sister was being. "Why don't you go back into that dining-room and concern yourself with earning a marriage proposal of your own?"

Voldemort let his hands dance over the piano keys, thunking through the dramatic low chords as his right fingers fluttered through the melody. This scherzo had been one of his favourites as a boy. He'd been notorious at his Muggle orphanage for many things, and one of the only positive traits the others saw in him was his ability to play piano. The orphanage's piano had been a ghastly, out-of-tune monster of a thing, but Tom Riddle had tamed it with ease. For some time, he'd believed his ability to play piano was related to his gift with magic. But throughout his time at Hogwarts, through years spent using the instrument in the Slytherin Common Room to charm his peers, he'd realised this was another gift altogether.

Once the scherzo was done, Voldemort cracked his knuckles a bit and turned round. He could sense her there; he was aware of her mental presence behind him. When he saw Bellatrix standing in the threshold, though, he had to control his reaction. She looked positively beautiful in her black knee-length silk nightgown and floor-length black lace robe. She was a vision in Darkness, standing before him with her fingers combing anxiously through her curls.

"I had no idea you could play so magnificently, My Lord," Bellatrix mused. She began to braid her thick hair over her shoulder, and she smiled a little as she said, "My mother tried to make me learn, once upon a time, but I was stubbornly devoid of any musical aptitude. You make it sound so wondrous."

"Hmm." Voldemort turned back to the piano and sighed, playing a soft and lilting nocturne. He raised his voice just enough for her to hear, his fingers moving smoothly as he spoke. "Your sister was rather a bit too concerned with your personal life today."

"I told her as much, My Lord." Bellatrix moved to stand before him, her eyes nervous as she watched him play. "I told her she needed to worry about herself and trust you as our lord and master."

"I know what you told her," Voldemort said simply. "I watched it all happen through her mind."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded. "Yes. Of course."

"Do you want to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?" Voldemort asked, lowering his eyes to follow his fingers. He played a few gentle chords and let his thumb press carefully on a high note as the nocturne ended. Bellatrix hadn't answered him, so when he raised his eyes to her, he asked again, "Is that what you want? Shall we arrange for a double wedding for Black sisters?"

Bellatrix's face twisted a bit, and she shook her head. "I would beg and plead with you, My Lord, to spare me that fate. But, of course, I shall do whatever you -"

"Enough of that!" Voldemort barked, flying up from the piano bench and seizing Bellatrix's face in his hands. She seemed alarmed by his sudden movements, and he felt her flinch beneath his tightening fingers. He softened his touch and stilled his body as he said far more calmly, "Tell me the truth or I'll fish your head myself, Bella. Do you want to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?"

"No." Bellatrix reached up and covered his hand with hers. She didn't need to say the rest of what she was thinking, and Voldemort didn't need to look into her mind. She wanted to marry him. He sighed and pulled his hands from her cheeks.
"Lord Voldemort has no wife," he reminded her. "Lord Voldemort will never have a wife. Even if it were fitting for me to do so - and it isn't - I would never be interested in any sort of formal commitment to another person."

Bellatrix nodded. "I know, My Lord. The Dark Mark on my arm is enough."

"It isn't," he said, tipping his head, "because all the rest of them have that same Mark. You want something more from me. Something special that belongs to only you."

Bellatrix shook her head, her eyes welling suddenly. "No, My Lord. I ask nothing more of you. The memories I have from Paris and Venice and here… I could never want anything else, and in any case, I've not earned anything else."

"Haven't you, though?" Voldemort wondered, more to himself than to her. He cupped her jaw in his hand and felt a stab of something unidentifiable shock from her flesh through his. He studied her lips and her pale skin and her eyes, and he noted, "You've killed for me, more than once, without the slightest hesitation. I daresay you enjoy it, Bellatrix. You enjoy the sensation of power, of hurting, of Darkness. I think more fondly of you than I ought to. I already know that. And every single day I wonder… how many more days until I hand her over? How many more days until she moves from my house to Rodolphus Lestrange's? And every day, I tell myself… not today."

Bellatrix's bottom lip was shaking and her eyes were gleaming with tears about to be shed. Voldemort watched as one tear and then another finally boiled over and cascaded down her alabaster cheeks. He used his thumb to brush away the tears, his voice sounding hollow and distant as he told her again,

"Lord Voldemort has no wife. You must… understand."

"I understand," she promised him. Something inside him still itched, a frustrated sense that he had not yet said what needed to be said. He snarled with a bit of irritation and finally declared, "I'll come up with something."

She shook her head, obviously confused, and Voldemort barked, "Something to mark you more specifically as mine. More… exclusively mine. In a way none of the rest of them are. You understand?"

"I understand," she said again, but this time her breath shook and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Go… sit on the sofa over there." Voldemort pulled his hands from her and gestured vaguely across the parlour. "I'm not finished playing yet."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix silently moved away, and Voldemort did not watch her. He sat back down on the piano bench and began to hammer out an angry, swaying march on the piano.

November 1972

Blaize Bailey

Voldemort scribbled away at a letter to Abraxas Malfoy, formally affirming that he would be present at the wedding of Narcissa Black to Abraxas' son Lucius. It would be in good form, he knew, to attend the celebration uniting two of his most committed Pureblood families. To be certain, he was busy these days, with his overthrow of the Ministry edging nearer by the day. Aurors and Dumbledore's allies were being captured regularly, with valuable information extracted through interrogation. Some were Obliviated or disfigured and released live back to strike fear into the rest of the wizarding world. Others were used as bartering chips in retrieving captured Death Eaters. Most were killed. Just last week, the editor for the Daily Prophet had been Imperiused and was now compelled to publish some positive materials about Lord Voldemort. Though the war raged viciously, it raged in Voldemort's favour these days. He had little to trouble him, but that didn't stop him from being troubled.

"My Lord?"

He looked up to see Bellatrix standing in the threshold of his office, having changed out of leather-and-stretch black battle clothing she'd used the night before. She'd burned down a row of Muggle houses and had cast the Dark Mark before dawn as an intimidation tactic. It was already working; Voldemort's copy of the Prophet this morning had declared the incident to be both a terror and a show of force.

"An owl just arrived, My Lord, with this letter for you." Bellatrix took a few hesitant steps into the office and handed over an envelope. Once Voldemort read the text on the envelope, he could see why Bellatrix was nervous.

To the man who was once Tom Riddle, it said. Voldemort quickly tore open the red wax seal and pulled out the parchment inside. The script was a little spindly, as if a shaky hand had written it.

I searched for nearly fifty years, but I never did find it. - Aloysius da Chioggia

Voldemort scoffed in disbelief. When he saw Bellatrix's confusion, he passed her the letter, and her wide eyes went completely round as she read it. Her eyebrows went up as she lowered the letter.

"He's still alive."

Voldemort shrugged. "What does it matter? I'm very certain Dumbledore was behind the initial curse. He wanted to get rid of me. I think it was through you cousin Sirius that the object was planted. But the bracelet disappeared after it was used, just like every other object we used to experiment. We didn't need it to get back and we don't need it now. Dumbledore didn't count on us being able to cycle back to the point just before the bracelet was given to you."

"Then he greatly underestimated you, My Lord," Bellatrix said firmly.

"Many have done so before, and many will do it in the future," Voldemort nodded. "They all learn."

Bellatrix set the letter down on Voldemort's desk, and he sighed as he aimed his wand at the parchment. When he Vanished it, he felt a little spark of relief. He blinked a few times and reached for a small leather box on his desk. He held it up and said to Bellatrix,

"I've got something for you. Go ahead and open it."

She looked like she was bottling up excitement then, her dark eyes shimmering as her trembling fingers wrapped around the little box. She opened it and gasped.

Suddenly all Voldemort could see was her eyes reflecting fire from the houses she'd set ablaze. All he could smell was the campfire aroma left over the night before, the way they'd both been too exhausted to do anything but clean themselves up and revel in the destruction. And when he thought of all that, he felt a sharp pang of possession.

"Do you like it?" he asked her, and Bellatrix swiped tears from her eyes as she nodded fervently.

"Oh, yes, Master," she said. She pulled the ring from its box and promptly dropped it from how hard her hands were shaking. It rolled away, and she made a tortured whimpering sound as she dropped to her knees to find it. Voldemort rose from his chair and chuckled under his breath.

"Accio ring," he mumbled, and it came soaring from the ground to his hand. He studied it again as Bellatrix flew up from the floorboards. It was a white gold band lined with small diamonds. Nested upon the top was a square perimeter of small onyx stones, and in the centre was a square emerald. The ring was neither oversized nor glittering, but it certainly made a statement. Voldemort took Bellatrix's quivering left hand in his and pushed the ring onto her fourth finger. It was the finger usually reserved for engagement rings, and though this was no engagement ring, he was indeed claiming her.

"It is a vintage piece," he said matter-of-factly. "It comes from Paris; it was crafted by a wizarding jeweler in 1922."

"Oh," Bellatrix breathed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she studied the ring. The fingers of her right hand ghosted around the piece, and she managed to whisper, "Th-thank you, My Lord."

"Don't overthink this," Voldemort commanded her. "I'm hardly proposing marriage."

She nodded and brought the ring to her lips. "For exactly what it is, My Lord, it means more than I can say."

"You needn't say anything; I know what it means." He struggled then not to drag her upstairs and kiss every inch of her. It was what his body wanted. More than that, it was what his mind wanted. He settled for touching his lips to hers, once and fleetingly, and he cleared his throat as he reminded her,

"Your sister's wedding is in a few days."

"Yes, My Lord." She wiped the last few tears away and steadied her face. "I'm her attendant."

"Oh. Yes. That… makes sense." Voldemort gnawed on his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of her dancing, of her dressed up again like she'd been on the Simplon-Orient Express. He shut his eyes for a moment and insisted on impulse, "You're not to dance with Rodolphus Lestrange at the wedding."

Bellatrix nodded but asked, "What shall I tell him, My Lord, if he asks me to dance?"

Voldemort squared his jaw. "You show him your left hand and remind him that you're not his yet. Now… go. I've business to attend to."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head respectfully, which only triggered a desire on Voldemort's part to tip her chin up and kiss her again. This time, he went slowly. He nibbled on her bottom lip and dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth after a while. He tasted her, letting his tongue swirl against hers. His hands moved of their own accord to her waist, then up her ribcage and to her breasts. Through the thin materials of her blouse and bra, he could feel that her nipples had gone hard, and he grunted. Suddenly he found himself hoisting Bellatrix by her waist and turning, setting her down on his desk. She started to hike up her skirt, a question in her eyes, and Voldemort nodded.

He moved very quickly then, unfastening his trousers as he kissed her again. He was more rough this time, taking a fistful of her curls and yanking her head back so he could move his mouth to her neck. He used his other hand to wrench aside her knickers and line himself up with her. His hand went to the small of her back and pulled her against him. He groaned as he felt her body envelop him, and his mouth grew more urgent on the delicate flesh of her neck. He pumped his hips quickly, knowing he'd have no time at all when it felt this good. She was warm and wet and tight and soft around his cock. Her hair was marvelous in his fist, and when he kissed her mouth again, she tasted like honey. She whined a little as her body tensed, and when she snapped and came, she panted against Voldemort's lips. He touched his forehead to hers and let their breaths mingle as his own climax took him over. He pumped his seed into her and let the pleasant heat flush through him.

For a moment, he stayed like that - one hand holding her hair and the other holding her back, buried inside of her as he started to go soft, their faces a breath away from one another. It felt good, better than almost anything had ever felt. And when Bellatrix's left hand settled on his cheek, Voldemort felt the cold metal of the ring he'd put on her.

"Don't dance with Rodolphus Lestrange," he said again, and she shook her head slowly.

"Of course not, My Lord."

"You're only to dance with me, and only if it's something I decide to do," he added. Now she nodded.

"It would be an honour," she assured him, "but if I go the entire evening without dancing, I shall be just fine."

"Good girl, Bella." he kissed her again, very softly now, and his hands left her so he could tuck himself away. He stepped back as she slid off the desk, and he said for the second time, "I've work to do."

"I shan't disturb you, My Lord," she promised. "I'd only wanted to bring you that letter. Thank you again for the ring. I can have dinner ready in a few hours, if you'd like."

"Yes." Voldemort nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes. Dinner would be nice."

November 1972

Malfoy Manor

"Good evening, Bellatrix."

She looked up to see Rodolphus Lestrange holding out a flute of champagne for her, which she accepted as he sat beside her.

"Thank you, Rodolphus," she nodded. "Enjoying the fete, then?"

"I am, but…" Rodolphus gestured vaguely toward Bellatrix's face and looked a little concerned. "How'd you get that black eye?"

"Oh. Is it still that obvious? Damnation. Poor Cissy; I'll be all banged up in her photographs." Bellatrix touched at the tender spot that ran halfway up her forehead and down almost to her jaw. She sighed and informed Rodolphus, "Wrong end of a Blasting Curse yesterday in Cardiff."

His eyebrows went up. "Cardiff? I heard that got nasty."

"You could say that." Bellatrix winced as she remembered the hunks of concrete competing for airspace with the green and blue and red lights of curses. She'd taken both the magic and the detritus of a Blasting Curse when she'd been too distracted by the act of torturing an Auror. Now she smiled a little at Rodolphus and assured him, "We won the battle, so I can certainly deal with a smashed face. You should have seen it yesterday before I got fixed up."

Rodolphus seemed impressed. He raised his champagne glass to Bellatrix and said, "It's obvious why the Dark Lord wants you focused on warfare and not on… on marriage." His eyes went to her left hand, to the ring finger where her onyx-and-emerald ring shone, and he asked rather awkwardly, "Has someone else…?"

"No," Bellatrix said firmly. "It was a gift."

"Oh." Realisation seemed to come over Rodolphus' face, and though he looked a little abashed, he nodded and said, "You do look lovely tonight, Bellatrix. Nobody wears black quite like you."

"Well, it's in the name," Bellatrix teased. "Thank you, just the same. Enjoy yourself."

"And you," Rodolphus said. He seemed to think he shouldn't linger too much more, for he rose and bowed his head crisply to her before walking away. Bellatrix smoothed the raw silk skirts of her long black gown and thought it was rather a nice confection. But she was self-conscious now about the bruising on her face. She had half a mind to stand up on a table and explain to everyone that she'd earned the injury fighting for the Dark Lord, that it wasn't as though she had some unsightly pimple.

"Bella."

When she looked up this time, it was not Rodolphus Lestrange standing over her table, but the Dark Lord himself. He adjusted his bow tie and said, "Leave your champagne and come dance with me."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, rising and threading her arm through his. Narcissa was swirling about with Lucius, her vibrant white taffeta gown billowing elegantly about her. Others were on the dance floor - Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, Bellatrix's parents, the Averys and the Macnairs and a few awkward-looking teenagers. All eyes glanced briefly at Bellatrix and Lord Voldemort as he wrapped his arm around her. Then everyone went back to the business of their own dancing. They knew better than to gape and stare at the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile up at him as his fingers wrapped around hers and his palm pressed against her back. She moved with him to the slow two-step being played by the hired string players and pianist. But he did not smile back down at her; his mouth curled down into a scowl and his greying brows furrowed.

"I am irritated," he noted.

"Have I angered you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked nervously, and he huffed,

"It's that damned black eye of yours."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt more self-conscious than ever as she ashamedly noted, "We tried butterfly weed balm, My Lord. We tried all manner of healing potions and spells. I'm not sure why it isn't fading quickly. I apologise… for… being ugly."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and spat, "Stupid girl. It isn't ugly; it is a battle wound you took whilst fighting for me. I hardly begrudge you the bruising, but I do not care to see it. It looks as though… it looks rather like you've been punched is all."

Bellatrix was confused. She'd taken a chunk of concrete to her face, and it had shattered her eye socket and jaw. The magic from the curse had ricocheted and smacked her in the same spot. It wasn't surprising that whilst most of the physical injury had been healed up, the remnants would take some time to fade. If it looked like Bellatrix had been punched, why was that any worse than -

"I did not punch you in the face, and I have no immediate intention of doing so," Voldemort hissed through his teeth abruptly. "It displeases me to see you marked up as though someone took a fist to you. I do not need to explain myself further."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. "I am sorry, My Lord. I wish I could make it go away. I've tried. I hope that over the next few days, it gets better."

"If it isn't markedly better in two days' time, you'll be meeting with Healer Savery about it, and I'll hear no more on the matter," Voldemort sniffed. The song ended and another began, so they adjusted the pace and size of their steps as Bellatrix tried to change the subject.

"How did you find the food, My Lord?"

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Spaghetti with clams is hardly a traditional wedding dish."

Bellatrix smirked a little. "You're right, My Lord. It isn't traditional, and I had to fight Narcissa a little to have it on option. Just the same, I do hope you enjoyed it."

"You didn't cook it," he observed, glancing away from her for a moment. "You used more white wine when you cooked it."

In Paris. In 1924. That was the part they both had to leave out, the part neither of them could discuss with anyone else.

"My Lord, have you any intention of meeting with Signor da Chioggia in this… you know, here?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort sighed a bit.

"I do," he admitted, "but only because he knew who I was. And he sent a letter rather quickly after our return. I need to ensure he's not involved in any capacity beyond what we already know. I can scarcely go about my life in trepidation that any given object may be laced with Gnavigo Charms prepared to hurtle me around time and space. A reliable return is hardly guaranteed. But, in any case, that is a discussion for a far more private venue."

"Ah. Of course, My Lord. I'm sorry," Bellatrix mumbled.

"Stop doing that." Voldemort's feet hesitated mid-step, and he frowned deeply down at Bellatrix. "Stop apologising for everything. I'm surrounding by sycophants, Bella, but you're the witch from Venice, and I don't ever want you forgetting that. Or isn't the ring reminder enough?"

Bellatrix felt her heart race a little, and she licked her dry bottom lip as she nodded. "It is more than enough, My Lord."

His face shifted a little then. His angry expression softened just a little, and he said in a quiet voice, "Any more than two dances is downright indecent, and there are but a few moments until this song ends. So I'm just going to stare at you for a while."

He did precisely that, his dark eyes feeling physically penetrative as his gaze went up and down Bellatrix's form. Finally he said in a low, furtive voice,

"As of tomorrow morning, more than half of all Ministry workers will either be directly loyal to me or Imperiused to do my bidding. The fall of the Ministry grows ever nearer. I know I can rely upon you to be with me on that glorious day, Bella, but can I rely on you to tow the others along? Will you torture and kill whomever you must to make my reign manifest?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix breathes. "I will do whatever you ask and whatever is needed. Anything. Forever."

"You say it so innocently, as if you were delicate as a flower," Voldemort mused, his hand tightening on her back. He bent and whispered into her ear, "But I know much better."

He stood up straight then, and his eyes found someone behind Bellatrix for an instant. When he looked back at Bellatrix, he said,

"If it weren't for that cursed bracelet, you'd be going back home with Rodolphus Lestrange. Instead, you'll be coming home to Blaize Bailey with me. What does that mean, I wonder?"

The song ended, and Bellatrix felt a rip in her chest at the physical separation as her master stepped back from her.

"I suppose it means we have at least one thing to thank Dumbledore for… My Lord." She hoped Voldemort wouldn't slap her clear across the face for saying such a thing. He didn't. Instead he raised her knuckles to his lips, kissed her there for a second, and said quietly,

"I'll figure a way to get rid of that black eye. After all, you did fight one hell of a battle, Miss Black. Good evening."

She watched as he stalked away, unable to keep herself from smiling where she stood.