December 1972
Bournemouth
"Happy Christmas," said Lord Voldemort to the little group he'd summoned. Then, smirking, he said, "Now that that's out of the way… inside the house behind me lives a witch called Redara Starrows. She is a Ministry official and an ally of Albus Dumbledore. More importantly, last week she killed our colleague, Andreas Selwyn."
Beside Bellatrix, Abraxas Malloy made a little sound of angry determination. He and Selwyn had been good friends, Bellatrix knew.
"Bella," said the Dark Lord, and she snapped to attention. He jerked his head toward the house and said, "Once I've unearned the place, follow me inside. Take out anyone else who may be present in the house. Leave Redara Starrows to me. Abraxas, Lucius, Rodolphus, and Rabastan. Form a perimeter round the block and keep a keen eye out in case she manages to summon her friends before she dies."
"Right, My Lord." Abraxas turned to the other three men and said firmly, "Lucius, go north. Rabastan, south. Rodolphus, you go east, and I'll go west."
"Meet at Malfoy Manor to debrief once you see the Dark Mark," Voldemort commanded. "Bella, let's go."
She wordlessly followed him off the beach and onto the sand-strewn road above. They walked straight toward a Victorian red brick row house, and Voldemort confidently swiped his wand in smooth arcs and lines. The air vibrated and buzzed as the house's wards came tumbling down.
"Alohomora," said the Dark Lord, and then he barked over his shoulder, "Check for others."
Suddenly Bellatrix was dashing into the house, her boot heels clacking on the wooden floor of the foyer as she extended her wand before her.
"STUPEFY!" she heard a woman's voice cry, but Voldemort easily repelled the spell as he moved smoothly into the parlour. He sounded almost lazy as his velveteen voice incanted,
"Avada Kedavra."
Bellatrix ignored the jade green flash of light and cast a spell of her own.
"Homenum Revelio," she murmured, and at once she felt a low swooping sense of weight coming from the kitchen at the end of the corridor. Bellatrix hurried down the corridor with her wand out, and as she burst into the kitchen, she felt a sense of vague amusement.
A teenaged girl. Home for Christmas from Hogwarts, no doubt.
She was standing with her back to the cupboards, a mug of tea in one hand and a shaking wand in the other. Her eyes blazed sapphire with anger and fear, but Bellatrix sensed no real threat.
"Expelliarmus," said Bellatrix casually, and the girl's wand came soaring through the air toward her. Bellatrix caught it deftly and managed to twist her left hand around it just so. She snapped it in one fluid movement - a favourite trick she'd developed after much practise in situations just such as this.
"Please," the girl begged, holding up her hand, "My name is Maureen Starrows; I'm a third-year Gryffindor, and I -"
"That's nice. My name is Bellatrix Black. Slytherin, class of '70. Avada Kedavra." Green light ballooned from Bellatrix's wand and smashed into the girl's chest. She collapsed from where she stood, her mug of tea shattering and spilling around her.
"Well done," she heard her master's voice say softly from behind her. "There are no others. Let's go."
Bellatrix obediently followed Voldemort from the house, passing the Starrows' Christmas tree as she did. There were unopened gifts on the ground, and she was tempted to take one, seeing as how nobody else was probably going to enjoy them now. But they needed to leave, so she followed the lord and master she so adored outside. She aimed her wand at the sky and said firmly,
"Morsmordre." She watched as glittering green light shot up into the inky black sky. The skeletal figure of the Dark Mark tattooed itself into the Heavens, and Voldemort said,
"Let's go, Bella."
Everyone met up at Malfoy Manor, and for ten minutes or so, Voldemort described to his subordinates exactly what had taken place inside the Starrows' house.
"The daughter was in the kitchen; Bellatrix dispatched of her quickly. Any questions?" he said from the head of the table.
"None, My Lord," said Rodolphus Lestrange, looking straight at Bellatrix with a rather odd expression. She felt her cheeks go warm, and she looked away from him.
"Well. I am sorry to have pulled you all away from what I'm very sure were magnificent Christmas Eve celebrations. Your collective speed in answering my summons and focus on site will not be forgotten. Dismissed."
The others rose and bowed, and Voldemort mumbled something to Abraxas Malfoy about leaving his manor to him momentarily.
"There is no rush at all, My Lord. Happy Christmas," Abraxas said, guiding his son Lucius from the room. Rabastan Lestrange had already gone, but Rodolphus lingered for a half moment and flashed Bellatrix a shy little smile.
"Happy Christmas, Bella," he said warmly, and Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open. She nodded.
"Thank you, Rodolphus. Happy Christmas to you, too."
Then she was left alone in the dining-room with Voldemort, who looked abruptly irritated as he said firmly,
"Meet me at Blaize Bailey. I need a moment."
"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix rose, pushed her chair in, and bowed her head toward her master. As she was leaving the room, she heard him say from behind her,
"That kill was very well done, Bellatrix. Easy and quick, with no hesitation."
Bellatrix smiled a little and drummed her fingers on the door jamb. "We are at war, My Lord. There is no time or space for hesitation."
"You're very right," he nodded. "Now go home, and I shall be along in a moment."
When Bellatrix arrived back at Blaize Bailey, she pondered what he'd said to her. Go home. This was her home. Their home. That thought made her want to weep, but she'd done more than enough of that lately. Instead she went into the great sitting-room and walked to the spindly Christmas tree she'd erected. Voldemort had expressed apathy toward the holiday in its entirety; he could not be troubled at all with decorations.
Bellatrix reached beneath the tree and picked up the small box that contained the gift she'd been working on for a month. She paced in the sitting-room and chewed on a thumbnail. Her mother and Narcissa would scold her ferociously if they saw her biting her nails. Bellatrix gnawed harder at that thought. After a while, she large front door of the house swung open, and the Dark Lord came gliding smoothly into the sitting-room.
He ignored Bellatrix for a moment and sank into one of the brown leather wing backs. He used his wand to cast a fire into the fireplace and stared at the flames as he noted,
"He called you Bella."
"Rodolphus, you mean," Bellatrix nodded. She moved to stand before Voldemort, trying not to block his view of the fire. "He did call me that, My Lord, but I never told him to do so. I don't suspect he had ill intentions."
Voldemort glared up at her. "It was inexcusably presumptuous, and I told him so. He pines after you."
Bellatrix scoffed and shook her head. "Really, My Lord, I don't think -"
"You dare question me?" he hissed, flying to his feet. A sudden shock of terror went through Bellatrix, and she nearly dropped his present. He loomed over her and demanded, "Which one of us is a Legilimens?"
"You are, Master," Bellatrix said immediately. She watched his throat bob, and he said again quietly,
"Rodolphus Lestrange lusts after you. He finds you very beautiful, and he admires your courage. He thinks the way you carry yourself and converse is attractive. I can't blame him for any of that. But I certainly can - and did - Confound him into developing rather a serious crush on Tiara Shacklebolt."
Bellatrix blinked a few times and lowered her face. "I am yours, My Lord. Whatever you think is best with Rodolphus, I defer entirely to your wise judgment."
"Hmm. Good girl," he said. "Now. What have you got there?"
She looked down at her hands, which now shook fiercely around the little box. She gulped and held it out to the Dark Lord.
"It is a Christmas gift, My Lord. Nothing special, and I apologise in advance for my poor craftsmanship, but I confess to being inexperienced with -"
"Let me open it before you begin making excuses, hmm?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow at her, and Bellatrix forced a smile. Her stomach roiled with nerves and she thought she might be sick on the ground as he pulled on the black satin ribbon. What if he hated it or laughed at her feeble spellwork? Bellatrix wrung her hands before her as he pulled the lid off the box. He stared into the box for so long a moment that Bellatrix finally blurted out,
"Are they as awful as that, My Lord?"
"Awful?" he repeated, his voice cracking a little. He shook his head and raised his eyes to her. "They're not awful. They are… hmm."
He seemed unsure of what to say then, and Bellatrix watched as he finally just pulled the cufflinks she'd made him out of the box. He set the box on the small table behind him and dragged his thumb over one of the cufflinks. They were small ovals of clear glass through which Bellatrix had swirled black and emerald and the deepest glittering silver. It had taken a good deal of study, and of trial and error, to wind up with this pair of cufflinks.
"They're meant to be in the Venetian style of glass, My Lord," she informed him, and he nodded.
"Yes. They certainly do make me think of Venice," he replied, pulling out the plain silver cufflinks he'd been wearing and replacing them with Bellatrix's. He studied his sleeves, which were elegant and sleek even to Bellatrix's self-criticising eyes. Voldemort huffed out a little sigh and said quite warmly, "Thank you, Bella."
"Happy Christmas, My Lord," she said with a contented smile. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead as he murmured,
"You'll get your gift from me in the morning."
Lord Voldemort drummed his fingers on the dining-room table and stared at the the twin plates of eggs, rashers, and potato that he'd cooked up. He was no chef and certainly couldn't rival Bellatrix's skill in the kitchen, but this morning he'd at least tried. It was Christmas, and Bellatrix had made a fool of him many times over. She may as well do it again with breakfast, he reckoned.
He'd left her sleeping beside him when dawn had broken. He knew the smell of the hot meal would wake her, and, sure enough, he heard the patter of her footsteps on the staircase. He folded his hands on the table and then stood up once she came into the room. She looked exquisite in her short black satin nightgown, and she raked her curls from her lovely face as she grinned.
"Is this my gift, My Lord?"
He snorted a derisive little laugh and sat when she did. "I would scarcely call my cooking a gift to anyone. But I was hungry."
"Mmm…" She nodded her approval as she took a bite of roast potato. She drank some orange juice and swiped her thumb over her bottom lip, immediately taking Voldemort back to the Simpson-Orient Express, when she'd wiped cream from her lips. He gulped and took a few bites of his own food before he said,
"I want to tell you once more, Bella, how satisfied I was with your performance yesterday."
He kept his voice sterile and cold, but her face immediately broke into a broad, happy expression. She set down her fork and assured him,
"My Lord, I am never happier or more at peace than when I am in your service."
"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat rather roughly and pulled a flat square box from the chair beside him. He pushed it across the table slowly and told her, "I should like to be able to tell you that this gift is a mere expression of gratitude for exemplary service in battle, but you know damned well that isn't true. So, here you are. Happy Christmas, Bella."
Her fingers trembled as she took the lid off the box. He hadn't bothered wrapping it, but she didn't seem to mind one bit. One of her hands clapped to her mouth as she gazed upon the necklace inside the box. It consisted of five strands of delicate silver chain, with spheres of steel and pearls hovering at random intervals. It was sleek and modern and elegant and very Bellatrix in its dark whimsy.
"That's the right one, then, is it?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded. She'd seen this necklace in a store window in Diagon Alley and had coveted it. That much Voldemort had pulled straight from Bellatrix's head when he'd asked her about Christmas gifts. He'd sent an owl and twice the asking price to the store owner insisting that the necklace be discreetly shipped to Malfoy Manor.
"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, pulling the necklace from it box. She held it up before her and shook her head. "I couldn't possibly accept -"
"You would insult me greatly by rejecting it," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "Shall I help you put it on?"
He didn't wait for her answer. He rose from his chair, ignoring his half-eaten breakfast, and he walked around the table. He took the necklace from Bellatrix's hands and murmured gently,
"Pull your hair aside, then."
She did, dragging her wild curls over her shoulder. Voldemort remembered how she'd looked with those curls cropped short, the way she'd grown her hair back out before they'd rocketed forward in time again. Suddenly he found himself pulling his wand from his robe pocket and dragging it carefully around Bellatrix's head just below her ears. He severed the hair, and Bellatrix gasped as it made a pile on the floor. Voldemort Vanished the hair, and he tucked his wand away. He brought the necklace around Bellatrix's front and fastened the clasp behind her newly exposed neck. She touched the pearls and steel and stood up.
"How do I look?" she asked, her tone meaningful and heavy. She'd left out the honorific, Voldemort noted. She ended almost every address to him with a Master or more commonly a My Lord. Now she looked him straight in the eye, and something powerful seemed to have come over her. Voldemort brushed his knuckles over her short hair, over the necklace and her bare collarbone, and he said truthfully,
"You look… perfect. The necklace suits you, and I think I prefer your hair this way."
"Whatever you prefer," she whispered, daring to put one hand on his scruffy cheek. She dragged her thumb around the scratchy stubble that was badly in need of shaving, and she said quietly, "Thank you. Happy Christmas, My Lord."
31 December, 1972
Malfoy Manor
"Happy New Year's Eve, darling," said Druella Black, kissing her eldest daughter on each cheek. She fingered Bellatrix's cropped curls and stepped back, a rather horrified expression on her face. "But… what on Earth have you done to your hair?"
Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow. "Oh. Don't you like it, Mother?"
"Well. It isn't my place to dictate your hairstyle anymore," Druella said dismissively, waving her arm. "You're twenty-one years of age, and if you want to wear your hair like a boy, who am I to -"
"I think it looks wonderful, Mummy," said Narcissa, marching into the room and practically shoving a flute of champagne into Bellatrix's hands. She smiled warmly and said, "I'll bet I know why you cut it."
Bellatrix's heart began to race, and her hand shook around her champagne. "Why's that?"
"Because of battle!" Narcissa said, rolling her eyes. "Lucius did say your long curls were always getting in your eyes in the midst of things."
"Oh. Yes." Bellatrix swigged from her champagne and nodded. "Yes. It's because of battle."
"I don't want to hear about you putting your life at risk, even if it is for a good cause," insisted Druella. "We are here to celebrate the new year, and there will be fireworks on the lawn at midnight. I want you girls out there ten minutes ahead of time; the Malfoys have arranged something wonderful and I will not have the Black family be tardy."
"No, we wouldn't want to be tardy," Bellatrix snorted, finishing off her flute of champagne. It refilled itself, and suddenly she found herself quite glad that it had been enchanted to do so.
Today was the Dark Lord's birthday. She'd only found that out a few days prior, when he'd let it slip in conversation. He'd commanded her not to procure any material gift for him, and she'd obeyed that order just like she would any other. But Bellatrix had every intention of giving him another gift, one that might require liquid courage to carry out.
She sipped at her champagne as her mother and sister chatted about new robes from Monsieur Filetage's in Paris. That made Bellatrix think of her time in Paris, of Jules Bayard and the near-miss of meeting Gellert Grindelwald. He was still alive, Bellatrix knew, hidden away in Nurmengard. She wondered distantly if perhaps someday her lord and master might like to meet Grindelwald at last.
"Bellatrix, pay attention!" Druella Black barked, and Bellatrix snapped to attention. She saw Narcissa wearing a broad smile and knitting her hands before her.
"What is it?" Bellatrix asked, and Narcissa said,
"We want you to come to Paris with us, of course! A shopping trip. Just us girls."
Without Andromeda, of course. Bellatrix hadn't seen the middle Black daughter in nearly a year, not since Andromeda had seen fit to marry the Mudblood Ted Tonks. Now there were only two daughters in the Black family. Bellatrix stared into her champagne and said,
"That would be great fun. I shall ask the Dark Lord for permission."
"Ask the Dark Lord?" Narcissa sounded a bit concerned. "Do you need his permission for something as innocuous as a weekend trip to Paris?"
"Not all of us have the luxury of being obsessed with clothing, Cissy," Bellatrix snapped. She looked from her sister to her mother and back again and said proudly, "Yesterday, I was back in Cardiff finishing up a conflict there. I took a Cruciatus Curse for damn near a full minute before the Dark Lord himself killed the wench who'd cursed me. As soon as I could stand again, I blew out the windows of ten Muggle houses and set two on fire. Does that make you frightened, Cissy? Does it make you proud, Mummy?"
The other women just stared at her, and finally Druella dragged her thumb around her own glass and murmured, "We understand, Bellatrix. You're a soldier, not a shopper. Your role in this great conflict is on the front lines, much as it pains me as your mother to admit such a thing. No need to rub it in our faces with the gory details, eh?"
"Why don't I just go to Paris with Mummy, then?" Narcissa asked in a meek voice. "You can stay here and… you know…"
"Fight," Bellatrix finished for her. Behind her, the door to the library swung open, and Lucius Malfoy said merrily,
"Countdown to midnight is in ten minutes! Everyone outside in the gardens!"
There was a bit of a shuffle then as Bellatrix and the others Summoned their cloaks and gloves to go out into the wintry night. Everyone chattered quietly as they made their way out of Malfoy Manor, but Bellatrix walked alone. Up ahead of her in the corridor, she could see Rodolphus Lestrange walking with Tiara Shacklebolt, both of them smiling. When she realised why exactly it was that Rodolphus liked Tiara so much, Bellatrix finished off her flute of champagne and half of the next one once it refilled. She remembered the Dark Lord's anger on Christmas Eve, the way he'd Confounded Rodolphus to forget his affections for Bellatrix.
She stumbled a little on the stairs that led out of the mansion, for the champagne was truly settling into her veins now. Out in the gardens, she found a spot away from the crowd, sitting on a cast iron bench and drinking more champagne. Narcissa and Lucius were speaking with Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, and a few Malfoy cousins were chatting with Druella and Cygnus Black. Rabastan Lestrange seemed to be flirting rather ostentatiously with an icy blonde Malfoy woman whose name Bellatrix couldn't place. Perhaps if they didn't all look so much alike, she thought unkindly.
"Bella."
She whirled around, spilling champagne down her front as her head spun. It was him, standing right there behind her bench. It was the Dark Lord himself. He held out his hand silently, and Bellatrix set down her champagne as she rose and rushed around the bench. She took his hand and let him guide her behind a tall hedge, hidden away from the others.
"Happy birthday, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered furtively, and he answered her by putting his fingers on her lips and shushing her gently. He smirked when Narcissa's voice traveled around the hedge.
"Where did Bella go?"
"She's probably off skulking somewhere being as antisocial as ever," Druella Black replied. "Enjoy your husband's fireworks show, Cissy. Bellatrix will turn up when she feels like it."
Voldemort chuckled under his breath and lowered his lips to Bellatrix's ear. "Were you being very antisocial?"
She gasped as he snaked his arm around her and drew her near. She put one hand on his heavy woolen cloak and whispered up to him,
"I was merely defending my service, My Lord. My sister wanted me to go to Paris, but I explained that I -"
"Why shouldn't you go to Paris?" His breath was warm on her neck, and Bellatrix shut her eyes against the feel of it. Then his lips touched the skin beneath her ear, and he murmured, "Good things happen in Paris, don't they?"
Bellatrix realised then that he was drunk. She was a little tipsy from all the champagne, but he was properly sloshed. She could smell whisky on him. He wouldn't have come here, sneaking around in bushes with her, if he hadn't been drunk.
"One minute until the countdown!" shouted Lucius Malfoy from across the garden.
"Perhaps we should go home," Bellatrix suggested, holding fast to the Dark Lord's cloak. He shook his head and mumbled,
"Fireworks first, eh?"
Bellatrix felt a flush of want go through her as he pushed the hood of her cape down and took her face in his leather-gloved hands. She stared up at his glassy dark eyes and whispered,
"I suppose my birthday gift to you will have to be a belated one, Master."
He tipped his head and smiled a little. "I can live with that."
"Ten! Nine! Eight!"
Bellatrix turned her face at the sound of everyone counting down. Numbers were appearing in the sky, written in glowing silver light. Bellatrix grinned a little at the magnificence of the sight.
"Seven! Six! Five! Four!"
Voldemort's hands tightened on her face and turned her back to him. His face descended to hers, and his lips hovered a half inch away as he whispered along with the distant chanting,
"Three. Two. One. Happy New Year."
Then he kissed her, gently at first as the drum-like thudding of fireworks burst around them. Bellatrix was distantly aware of the glowing colours, of the sound of an enchanted set of bagpipes playing "Auld Lang Syne." But more than anything, she was caught up in him, in her wondrous master, and in the fantasy of making him moan in their bed. When at last he pulled his mouth from hers, Bellatrix begged him,
"Please, may we go home now?"
"Hold onto my sleeve," he replied, and there was a sudden black pinch and whirl as they Disapparated.
31 December 1972
Blaize Bailey
"So," Voldemort managed to mumble as he stripped off one layer at a time in their bedroom, "What is this belated birthday gift? I thought I'd told you not to get me anything."
"You did, My Lord. I didn't buy or make you anything," Bellatrix assured him, standing before him with her back to him. She gestured aimlessly at the zipper and said in an increasingly intoxicated voice, "Would you mind… you know, the zipper? Please?"
He took his time unzipping the dress, feeling his cock go solid as he did. He was uncharacteristically cheerful tonight, he knew. He was being unusually casual with Bellatrix, as if they were in some sort of formalised relationship. Then he eyed the ring on her left hand and the necklace of steel and pearls that she wore, and he wondered why the blazes he was still pretending. Perhaps it was the whisky, and perhaps it wasn't, but tonight he felt no desire for their charade. All he felt desire for was her. He finished unzipping her dress and pushed the sleeves down, kissing her shoulder blade and hearing her breath hiss.
"What is my present, Bella?" he teased again. Her voice shook a little as she declared,
"I'd rather show you than tell you… My Lord."
She was almost forgetting these days to add those last two words, he knew. Half the time, he noted, she was downright insubordinate. And he couldn't make himself care. Instead he watched her step out of her dress and roll her stockings down before she unclasped her bra and pulled her knickers off. Once her clothes were in a pile behind her, she turned and wrapped one hand around Voldemort's stiffened cock.
"Happy belated birthday, Master," she said, quirking up half her mouth. Before he could answer, she was sinking down to her knees, and suddenly he realised what she meant to do. He reached for the bedpost and held fast as the whisky hit him harder than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut as her fingers drifted up and down his length, and he leaned against the bedpost when her mouth cinched around him. Warm, wet, and soft. Squeezing gently with her lips, she brought him one centimetre at a time toward her throat.
Voldemort forced his eyes open and stared down at her, and she stared right back. Her wide, beautiful eyes were glazed with champagne and with arousal. He was lost in those eyes for a moment, lost in the way that her full lips moved up and down his shaft. Her tongue was lathing on him within her mouth, dragging and suckling.
"Have you… have you much experience with this?" he couldn't help asking, unable to steady his voice through the feel of her mouth on him. Bellatrix shook her head.
"Hmm-mmph…" She pulled her lips away and panted as she pumped her hand over his slick length. "No, My Lord. I've never done it before. I beg you forgive me for being unskilled."
"Very much the opposite, I assure you," he said in a breathy tone. He grunted then, sounding far more like a predatory animal than he intended. He couldn't help it; Bellatrix had returning to licking him whilst one hand fondled the orbs that made him a man. He banged his fist on the bedpost when Bellatrix drank his tip deeply down her throat.
"You'd best make up your mind quickly, Bella, about what you mean to do with the… mmmph…" He snared his fingers in her short curls, the ones he'd cut like she'd worn in the 1920s. That thought - the thought of her in the past and here in so brief a time - sent him over the edge. It was too much to stare into her eyes and think of all that had transpired. He came with an explosion in his veins, his hands squeezing Bellatrix's scalp so roughly that she whined in pain. He felt her throat clamping around him as she swallowed hard, and he twitched inside of her mouth as his seed pumped forth.
When at last she pulled away, she left him shivering and dizzy. She dragged her finger over her swollen bottom lip and licked the fingertip. Voldemort groaned, feeling abruptly tired. He bent and snatched her wrists, yanking her up to stand. He felt more drunk than ever as he put one hand to the small of her back and tucked her short hair behind her ear.
"Quite a gift," he murmured, and Bellatrix smiled as she told him,
"Happy birthday, My Lord. Can't say I've ever tasted anything so delicious. I apologise; I think that gift was more for me than for you."
"You enjoy pleasuring me," Voldemort noted. He pushed her toward the bed, and she scrambled back and under the covers. He walked around the bed and lay on his own side, tucking the blankets up around him. He shut his eyes, feeling more profoundly drunk now after finishing in Bellatrix's mouth. She didn't ask his permission as she curled up against him, and he didn't demand it.
"Happy belated birthday, My Lord," she said in a tired, happy voice.
"Happy New Year, Bella," he replied, breathing in the rose scent in her curls and feeling an odd stirring in his belly.
He thought of her birthday, of the bracelet, of Paris, of Venice. He thought of Grindelwald, languishing in his own prison as the years ticked by since his defeat at the hands of Dumbledore. Voldemort wondered as he drifted off to sleep whether it was possible someone other than Dumbledore had been involved in cursing that bracelet to achieve some end. If so, he wondered, what was the desired end, and who had sought to achieve it?
It was a question he'd pondered for months, and he was no nearer the answer now than he'd been. Still, as he dragged his fingers through Bellatrix's bobbed curls, he found himself murmuring aloud,
"There was a reason we were sent back, Bella. I must know that reason."
"I shall help uncover the truth in any way I am able, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, though she sounded more asleep than awake. Deciding to surrender himself to his recently-deceased birthday, to the New Year, and to Bellatrix's rather extraordinary oral skill, he settled against his pillow and pulled her closer.
"Happy birthday," she whispered again, and once more he replied,
"Happy New Year."