February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"We're going to play a game tonight," The Dark Lord said as he and Bellatrix stepped into their suite. Bellatrix began pulling her hat off, feeling almost uncomfortably full from their delicious meal in the hotel restaurant.

"A game, My Lord?" she repeated, hanging her hat on the rack near the door and pulling off her gloves. Voldemort unbuttoned and pulled off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it over one of the blue velvet sofas. His waistcoat quickly joined the jacket, and then Bellatrix watched as he carefully pulled out the glass cufflinks she'd made him at Christmas. He tucked them into his trouser pocket and kicked off his shoes before rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

"Come and sit with me," he ordered her, flicking his wand at the fireplace to light it. He sank onto one of the sofas, and Bellatrix sat on the one opposite him. Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and said, "You did such a fine job of lying to the man in the broom shop. I wonder, Bella, can you lie to me?"

She felt her mouth drop open, and her corset stifled her ability to take a deep, steadying breath. She shrugged and admitted, "I'm sure you can always tell a truth from a lie, My Lord."

"I want you to try," he said rather seriously. "Try and keep from what I want. More than that, replace it with a lie. A complete fabrication."

Bellatrix furrowed her brows, feeling confused, but the Dark Lord leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and whispered, "Legilimens."

Suddenly Bellatrix found herself building thick clouds of choking smoke in her mind. She felt him reach for a specific notion, a feeling, and she shoved him away with a cacophony of light and sound. In the hotel parlour, his eyes narrowed and a little smile crossed his lips. He reached for that same feeling again, and Bellatrix realised what it was. He wanted to see what she truly thought about Rodolphus Lestrange. She was tempted to let him see the truth, but that wasn't the game he'd planned. Instead, Bellatrix did the first thing she found herself able to do. She blocked his access to her real feelings with a scene that played like something out a dreadful romance novel.

"Oh, Bella," Rodolphus mused, walking on a tree-shaded path in the summertime, "I daresay I've lucked out in the matchmaking department. You're beautiful. You're strong. You're intelligent."

Bellatrix blushed, her voice meek and stammering as she grinned and said, "W-well… it's me who's lucky, really. Most people don't like me, you see, much less men with a romantic interest. I suppose I frighten them away. And, in any case, I couldn't have asked for a more handsome husband."

"May I kiss you, Bella?" Rodolphus asked. Bellatrix nodded, and he took her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers. She moaned softly at the taste of him - cinnamon and vanilla - and her hands went to the front of his shirt.

"Enough!" barked Voldemort. Bellatrix snapped to rights, realising that her master's face had gone beet red, almost purple. His chest heaved a little, and he shook his head, sounding angry. "You could have lied in the other direction. You could have pretended to despise him entirely. I know what the truth is. You think he's good-looking and would make a perfectly fine husband if it weren't for me. But your lie didn't need to consist of him kissing you, of him calling you Bella."

His hand shook a little on the arm of the sofa, and Bellatrix was overwhelmed with confused guilt. She knitted her fingers in her lap and said quietly, "I'm sorry I was playing wrong, My Lord."

"Again," he sneered through gritted teeth. "This time, don't you dare taunt me, Bellatrix."

She felt fear go through her veins, but she nodded. He entered her mind with a nonverbal incantation that sent her head whirling. She had to rush to put up walls that he promptly smashed down. She enveloped her consciousness in velvety black, empty night, but she could still feel him reaching for a memory. She fought him off, seeing the scene playing out in the back of her mind. She wasn't sure how she was meant to turn this particular scene into a lie without angering him again, but she substituted where she could and shoved the new version forward.

"Do you love me, Bellatrix?" he asked her, and she drew up a bit to look at him.

"Oh, yes, My Lord," she said, and it was the truth. "I love you more than anything. I adore your power, your -"

"Perhaps I did not phrase my question properly," Voldemort interjected, his voice harsh. "Let me try again. Are you in love with me?"

Bellatrix needed the answer that wasn't going to lead to a blinding flash of jade green light, but she couldn't lie now.

"Yes, My Lord," she finally said. "I'm in love with you. Will I be killed for it?"

"Yes, you will," he said, reaching for his wand and touching the tip to Bellatrix's throat. "You know I could never allow such presumption from a mere loyal dog. You are not worthy of a second glance from me, much less -"

"Enough." Voldemort's voice was far gentler this time, and as he pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, she saw him shut his eyes for a moment. His fingers tightened around his knees, and he said quietly, "You know I'd never kill you. Not for a thing like that."

"But, My Lord, you told me to change the memories. I put forth the opposite of what happened. Forgive me, but I'm not sure how to play this game in a way that makes you happy." Bellatrix pulled the blue throw pillow from beside her onto her lap and hugged it self-consciously.

"The game is over," Voldemort snapped. He met her eyes and told Bellatrix, "I wanted to see if your Occlumency skills were advanced enough to alter memories. They are. Good. Experiment finished. Mission accomplished. Go take your bath."

Bellatrix didn't question him. She set the pillow down and rose, walking briskly through the bedroom into the elegant tiled bathroom. She set the bathtub to filling and used her wand to unfasten the back of her dress. She struggled with the busk of her corset and her excessive undergarments. Once it was all Banished to the wardrobe, she made her way into the bathroom and sank into the tub of hot water. She scrubbed her skin with Marseille soap and a wash rag and then just sat, wondering what she could have done differently to avoid displeasing the Dark Lord so much.

"I was expecting you to shove forth a childhood memory or a fantasy of some kind," said a voice from behind her. Bellatrix turned to see Voldemort ambling into the bathroom, his hands in his trouser pockets. He shrugged and leaned up against the wall as he said, "For what it's worth, the skill you exhibited is more advanced. More nuanced. You isolated the thought I wanted, and you tweaked it just enough that someone else might not sense a lie. If I didn't know you well, those could have been real. And that's why they displeased me."

Bellatrix sighed and sat up a bit straighter in the water. She used her eyes to plead with him, knowing he'd read the desperation on her face. "Please, My Lord, will you look in my mind now? Only truth this time. Promise."

He sucked on his lip for a moment, and then Bellatrix felt the insistent push of his presence in her mind. She shoved forth memories of being curled up beside him in bed. She pushed forward images of battle, of them both giddy with victory or bruised up from a nasty fight. She showed him the way she daydreamed about him, the way his piano playing had set her pulse racing. She sent him the many instances in which she'd studied her ring or her necklace and teared up with pride and gratitude.

When at last he pulled out of her head, the bath water had faded to lukewarm, and Bellatrix pulled out the drain. She rose from the water and started to climb from the bath. He was there in a flash with a towel to wrap around her, and then he kissed her until she was dizzy and warm. Suddenly the truth was screaming inside her head, aching and fighting to be released. Bellatrix swallowed hard and finally murmured,

"My Lord, I need to tell you something."

He looked a bit concerned for a half second, then shrugged. "What is it?"

"I do love you," Bellatrix said, feeling more anxious than she could ever remember feeling. "I am in love with you. And I meant it when you asked me. I was in love then, too. But not like this. Nothing like this."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip, his features stony. "How do you mean?"

Bellatrix knew what she was about to say may actually get her killed. He could say he wouldn't kill her for loving him, but he didn't know…

"I love you not just as my master," Bellatrix began, lowering her eyes as she found herself unable to look at him. She started rambling then, knowing she must sound like a madwoman. "Though, of course, you are a merciful master and a frighteningly powerful wizard.. I respect you, I honour you, I worship and adore you with all that I am for the Dark Lord that you are. But I love… how to say this? I do not just love the Dark Lord. I love Tom. I love the human man that you are. I love the smell of your shaving cream in the morning. I love the feel of your stubble late at light. I love the sound of your heartbeat and the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I love your subtle sense of humour. I love the way you touch me, as though I'm made of glass and steel all at once. I love everything about the Dark Lord, and I love everything about… about…"

"About Tom," Voldemort finished. He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were colder then than she'd ever seen them. He said nothing for so long that Bellatrix very nearly dissolved into a puddle of humiliated, frightened tears. Instead, she just stared up at him, wondering if he would excommunicate her or kill her or both. She was utterly shocked, then, when he touched his lips to her forehead and began to speak quietly.

"I confess that when I hear of love, it is from an outsider's perspective. It is not a sensation I treasure, and not one I believe myself capable of experiencing. But I believe you. I believe everything you say, because… there is a palpable difference between what existed when I first asked you that question and what exists now?"

"And will I be cast out, Tom?" Bellatrix dared to asked, raising her eyes to him. He looked surprised that she'd so brazenly used his name, but his hands went to her cheeks, and he shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "No. You'll… be drawn nearer, I suppose. I don't see as I have any choice. What I feel toward you transcends any emotional bond I in which I had thought myself desirous or capable of participating. Besides, you're all I've got. Even when I've got dozens of Death Eaters kissing my boots… really, truly, at the end of it all, you're all I've got. So, no. You won't be killed. You won't cast out. You'll be kissed."

He was true to his word then, kissing Bellatrix again as the towel fell from her body. His hands were all over her as the kiss deepened. Tomorrow evening, they were going back to the Versteckte-Strasse. They'd be eavesdropping about Grindelwald under the guise of shopping. They'd be getting a copy of the wizarding newspaper. They'd sit in the pub and casually ask about the young troublemaker they'd been hearing about. When the Dark Lord was satisfied that he'd learnt enough, that the purpose of this mysterious travel had been fulfilled, they would use Gnavigo Charms on an object again and hurtle themselves back to Blaize Bailey in 1973.

But that would all come later. For tonight, he was carrying her naked body into the bedroom, murmuring something about her being beautiful and his.

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"I remember when you were born."

Bellatrix stared up curiously from where she lay, her thick brows furrowing as she blinked herself awake.

"You… remember when I was born?" she repeated. Then she laughed a little and asked, "Was I that important?"

"You were, as it happens," Voldemort replied, dusting his fingers over the frizz that had come loose of Bellatrix's single braid. He studied her pale cheeks, her dark eyes, and he said, "I was finishing up working at Borgin and Burke's, more than ready to move on in life. Anyway… in September of 1951, we had several wealthy customers come in looking for a unique gift to celebrate the birth of a particularly noble child. The newest member of the House of Black, the firstborn of a Rosier woman. This was big news in the Pureblood world, and I paid close attention."

"What presents could they possibly buy a baby at Borgin and Burke's, My Lord?" Bellatrix wondered, pulling herself up onto one elbow. He smirked and said tartly,

"The gifts were for your parents, not for you. I remember Abraxas Malfoy coming in; I'd known him in school. I helped him pick out a grandfather clock that I enchanted to chime out nine times on every single hour. Nine times for nine letters. B-E-L-L-A-T-R-I-X."

She grinned widely and shook her head. "And all my life, I've thought that bloody clock was broken!"

Voldemort sighed. "It wasn't my finest work. I'll admit that. But Abraxas seemed pleased enough. And then one day your mother came into the shop looking for… oh, I believe she was looking for a lucky totem of some kind or another. She had you in her arms."

"Was I a very good baby?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I know nothing of children now and I knew even less then," he said. "But you didn't cry, and your eyes took up half your face."

Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she said demurely, "I've always had bug eyes."

"Large, beautiful eyes," he corrected her. Then he shut his eyes and mused, "I don't think I saw you again until just after you'd left Hogwarts, when you came scrambling to me begging to become a Death Eater."

"I'd never wanted anything more in all my life," she informed him. He reached for her forearm, dragging his fingertips over her Mark and hearing her hiss a little at the sensation of his magic going through the brand. He took a deep breath, relaxing back against the pillows, and said,

"We should go to the shops twice today. Get two different crowds to overhear."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently. But then he felt her naked body slithering up around his, and when he opened his eyes, she'd straddled him and was pulling his fingers between her legs. She was soaking wet there, and she said a bit breathlessly, "It's from you touching my arm."

He chuckled, unable to help himself from reaching for her arm again. He used one hand to drag his fingers around her satin folds, and the other massaged her Dark Mark. Bellatrix tipped her head back and moaned a little.

"You like that," he noted. "It feels good when your lord caresses your mark of loyalty, doesn't it?"

"Mm-hmm…" Bellatrix nodded, grinding her hips rather insistently against his hand. He'd gone fully hard now, and he pulled the blankets back a little. He encouraged her onto his cock, grunting with delight at the feel of her warm and snug around him. She began to rock back and forth, up and down, slowly but shakily. Voldemort stared at her arm, watching her Dark Mark sear black beneath his fingers. She moaned as he continued to touch her there, and it sent a powerful shock through his veins. He used his left hand to paw at her breasts, to squeeze her waist and rub her hips. But his attentions - and hers - were focused on her forearm, on the Mark he'd put upon her. Soon enough, Voldemort was dizzy and tense, and his hand wrapped tightly around her forearm as he came. He was distantly aware of her finishing, of her body clenching around his length. He could hear her voice wordlessly pleading in the quiet room. He shut his eyes until the flood of pleasure had washed over him, and he let his hand fall from her arm.

"Oh," she whispered, still panting, "I had no idea it could… that you could…"

"Neither did I," he admitted. His head was spinning more than usual, and he had to wonder what exactly had just transpired. It seemed odd that the simple act of him touching her Dark Mark could set them both aflame, but that seemed to be exactly what had happened.

"I should… go clean up a little… before I get dressed for the shops," Bellatrix noted, and Voldemort just nodded. Once she'd gone, he looked at his own arm, at the Master Dark Mark, and saw that it, too, had flushed jet black. He blinked a few times, thinking that there were far more questions than answers these days.

"Do you know," Voldemort said, gesturing toward the shop called Kupferkesseln ahead of them, "I think I need a new cauldron."

Bellatrix smiled a bit to herself. "Has yours rusted out, My Lord?"

"Don't call me that here," he hissed, looking angry as he paused and glared down at her. Bellatrix shrank away a little and prepared to stammer an apology, but he took her hand in his and said rather firmly, "If we are to avoid suspicion, then I am simply your husband Tom. Understood?"

"Yes, My… ah. Sorry. Yes, Tom. Understood." It was such habit for Bellatrix to be deferential around him that she could hardly stop herself from doing so. She felt a little squeeze around her fingers as they walked into the cauldron shop, and she was surprised by the way he didn't let her go. He established with the shopkeep that they were English and that they were just browsing for now, and they began pretending to care about the copper cauldrons on display.

"This one has a hammered finish on the outside," Voldemort noted blandly, "which is especially good for brewing up potions that are at risk of solidifying."

"I had a hammered finish cauldron in school," Bellatrix said. She smirked a little. "Only the best for the Black sisters."

"I had a school-owned tin monstrosity that very nearly caused me to blow up the entire Potions classroom in my fourth year." He glanced at her and shrugged. "Only the worst for the orphans."

Bellatrix blinked and gulped. She was overwhelmed by how human he seemed just now, telling her to call him Tom and holding her hand and discussing his orphaned childhood. Bellatrix decided not to push that any further. She stared up at him and asked,

"Which potions do you suppose might benefit from the hammered exterior?"

He tipped his head. "Veritaserum would be one. It needs to stay slick and thin, but it can turn into gel in the wrong…"

Suddenly he stopped, his eyes flicking toward the shop's door. Two wizards in their twenties walked in, and Voldemort seemed to be concentrating hard.

"Talk about Confusing Concoction," he whispered quickly. He ignored her entirely then, and she realised he was lost in the young wizards' minds. Bellatrix rambled, glancing between the cauldron and her master.

"Confusion Concoction is another one that might benefit from the… from the dimpled interior of the… cauldron. Seeing as how it tends to… erm, make a paste. If you're not careful." Bellatrix watched as Voldemort deliberately stepped in the path of one of the young wizards.

"Oh, pardon me," he said very deliberately, feigning a polite smile. The wizard smiled back, far more genuinely, and said,

"You are English."

"Guilty," Lord Voldemort said, putting up his hands defensively. He laughed a little and held up the copy of the Austrian wizarding newspaper he'd grabbed when he and Bellatrix had first come onto the street. "May I ask you something, if you have a quick moment?"

"Certainly," said the wizard. The other one eyed Bellatrix, and when she met his vibrant blue eyes, he smiled and nodded. He didn't understand English. Bellatrix didn't need her master's Legilimency skills to tell that. But she could tell that the right thing to do was to smile back, so she did.

"I wonder if you might tell me a bit about this man mentioned here." Voldemort pointed to a column on the third page of the newspaper. "This Gellert Grindelwald. It says he's an Englishman. Do you know anything about him?"

The wizard speaking to Voldemort smiled more broadly then. He tipped his chin up and said rather proudly,

"Gellert Grindelwald has come to the continent to do his important work."

"What work is that?" Voldemort asked, and the tall blond wizard said,

"He wishes to redraw the lines that have been so terribly blurred. The lines between the Magical world and the world lacking in Magic. The fates and happenings of witches and wizards have become entangled with those of useless… well, you call them Muggles, yes?"

Voldemort nodded. He tucked the newspaper away. "And what does Mr Grindelwald hope to accomplish by separating the worlds?"

"Four simple words will tell you all you need to know," said the blond wizard, his eyes crinkling with happiness. "For the greater good. But don't take my word for it. We meet on Saturday evenings in the building across the street. Third floor. Why don't you come and hear our message for yourself?"

Voldemort smiled and turned to Bellatrix. "If my wife will devote a Saturday evening to politics."

"Of course, darling," Bellatrix nodded. "It sounds fascinating."

"We'll see you then," said the blond wizard happily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cauldron to buy."

"They're so open," Bellatrix mused, pacing before the blue velvet sofa where Voldemort sat. He nodded. He'd observed the same thing.

"They aren't just open, though," he noted. "They're sophisticated and delicate in recruiting. There's nothing hamfisted, nothing frightening. At least not yet. Perhaps we need more nuance in our own time."

"Whatever you think is best, My Lord." Bellatrix's steps paused, and she dragged her teeth over her lip. "You think that's why we're here, then? To observe and to improve your mission in the seventies?"

He nodded silently. He still had no idea who had sent them here, or what, or why it had been done. All he had were misty theories and his own intuition. And Bellatrix.

If he had nothing else at all, he considered, at least he had Bellatrix. And for some frightening reason, as he cast his eyes up and down her form, he realised that she was very nearly enough all on her own. He sighed and met her dark eyes, and he asked in an airy tone,

"How about lunch, then?"

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

The meeting room was calming, almost soothing, with its pale stained glass windows and its cheery white paint. The long table in the centre had petit fours and platters of fruit, and a house-elf was doling out coffee and wine. It was almost eerie, Voldemort thought as he held out a chair for Bellatrix. It was almost too quiet, too devoid of tension or anger.

"Good evening," said a voice, and when Voldemort turned, the blond wizard he'd met in the cauldron shop had come into the room. He extended his arms and said, "If you would all take a seat so we can begin our meeting. I hope English will do for tonight; we have visitors from many countries with us."

Voldemort glanced around him. There were skin tones from darkest brown to palest white. There were features and clothing that belied a variety of cultures. He sat beside Bellatrix and turned his attention to the front of the room, determined to fly under the radar tonight. He folded his hands on the table and watched as the blond wizard put his hands on the back of his own chair.

"Welcome to the Society for the Greater Good. For those of you who have not met me, my name is Tobias Klor. I speak to you on behalf of Gellert Grindelwald, who is, as we speak, in Germany promoting his message. Now… is there anyone here who is not familiar with the message of Gellert Grindelwald?"

Mercifully, a few other hands went up, so Voldemort and Bellatrix sat in silent stillness. Tobias Klor nodded and flicked his wand toward a stack of parchments on the table before him. The parchments - pamphlets, as it turned out - began fluttering about the table and landing in front of the dozen or so assembled. Voldemort picked his up and watched as the printed words shifted from German to English.

"Let us take this pamphlet point by point," said Tobias Klor. "The first point, you will see, is that non-Magical people - Muggles, as they are called in English - are actually done a great disservice by the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Does anyone have ideas as to why that might be so?"

Beside Voldemort, Bellatrix's hands twitched around her leaflet. An elderly wizard opposite Voldemort raised his hand tentatively and said in a heavy Greek accent,

"The Muggles do not even realise how powerful the Magical among them are. In certain circumstances, perhaps Magic might be used to cure some evils of non-Magical humanity. But they don't even know."

"Precisely," said Tobias Klor with a broad smile. Voldemort frowned; the old man's answer to the question hadn't made any sense. Yet Klor was pretending it had. Klor paced a few steps and said enthusiastically, "By our community's having been imbued with such broad and unending power, we have also been given the responsibility to reign peacefully and mercifully over those who lack our abilities. Just because Muggles are primitive in their nature and are weak does not give us the right to trample all over them. But by living in secret, we actually do just that. We keep the Muggles unaware of the fact that there is a superior population who are willing to benevolently rule over them. Questions?"

Bellatrix looked very tempted, but Voldemort reached beneath the table and squeezed her knee to discourage her from speaking. When no one asked a question, Tobias Klor carried on,

"In point number two, you can see that there is a need for a unified wizarding world. Arbitrary national borders are subject to Muggle wars and conflicts that redraw Magical government jurisdictions. Why, we ask, should witches and wizards be separated by such ridiculous notions as national boundaries? Instead, we should be one unified people the whole world over."

"And Gellert Grindelwald means to sit atop us all, then?" asked a thin, middle-aged witch further down the table. She was Scottish, and Voldemort slipped into her mind to identify her. He couldn't get a name, but he knew she was in Vienna specifically to find out more about Grindelwald. She was deeply sceptical of his motives. Tobias Klor smiled at her and said warmly,

"Gellert Grindelwald does not mean to sit atop anybody. Instead, he means to lead the parade of righteous, united Magical people. We can not have chaos or anarchy, but Grindelwald wishes to be seen as an elder brother, not as a cruel father. And when the time is right, he will be more than willing to pass the baton to the next parade marshall. Does that make sense?"

The Scottish witch shifted where she sat and said tightly, "Then he does not aspire to a dictatorship or a monarchy?"

Tobias Klor actually laughed then. "A monarchy? No, no. Very much the opposite. He does not believe in inequality among the Magical. Instead, he wants to elevate us all. Together. For the greater good."

It was a very roundabout answer, and one Voldemort did not reckon was entirely truthful. But it had been so expertly delivered that he himself very nearly believed in Grindelwald's supposed benevolence. Voldemort stared at the leaflet before him, wondering why it had never really occurred to him to use strategies like this - printed propaganda, calm recruitment efforts, and the public spinning of information.

"We always keep these meetings brief, for many reasons," said Tobias Klor, "but we will meet again this upcoming Saturday. Same time and place. Next time, we will discuss Gellert Grindelwald's plans to achieve his goal. If you have any questions in the meantime, my contact information is at the bottom of the page. Go in peace, friends, until we meet again. For the Greater Good!"

"For the Greater Good," repeated most of those around the table. Voldemort took Bellatrix's leaflet and folded it with his, sticking it into his suit pocket. There was a low, dull murmur as everyone rose and began talking quietly among themselves. Tobias Klor walked right up to Voldemort and extended his hand.

"My friend," he said, "how good it is to see you and your… pardon me, is this lovely witch your wife?"

"She is," Voldemort said, shaking Klor's hand and then clasping his fingers together before her. "I am… Tom Riddle. This is my wife, Bellatrix."

"An honour it is to meet you properly, Madam Riddle," said Tobias Klor, taking Bellatrix's hand and kissing her gloved knuckles. He stood upright and asked lightly, "Will you still be in town for our meeting next week?"

Voldemort kept his voice unaffected as he said, "We had intended upon returning to Britain, but have decided to stay a while, owing to our interest in Mr Grindelwald's fledgling little movement. We quite like what we've heard."

Klor grinned. "Marvelous. Please do contact me should you have any questions. Next week, Mr Grindelwald himself will be attending our meeting; he'll be back from Germany. I'm sure he'd love to meet you."

Voldemort knew his eyes had flashed, and beside him, Bellatrix shifted on her feet.

"What a spectacular thing it shall be," she said demurely, "to meet a wizard whose head is so full of vision. I look forward to it."

"Until then." Klor bowed politely and walked away. Bellatrix took Voldemort's extended arm, and the two of them Disapparated as the others were doing.

Back in their suite at the Hotel Sacher, he explained his interest in the patient, quiet tactics of Grindelwald's surrogates. They talked for a while until Voldemort's stomach began to rumble, and he and Bellatrix changed into more formal dinner clothes. On their way down the main staircase, Voldemort became aware of a flurry of movement in the ballroom to their right. He paused, and Bellatrix breathed in wonder,

"They're dancing."

"Yes; the hotel hosts dancing each night," Voldemort said with a little sigh. "We've missed it so far; we've been back up in the suite before it started."

Bellatrix stared into the room as an elegant Viennese waltz spun through the hotel's lobby. Piano and strings joined together to make an alluring sound.

"Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix turned her shimmering eyes to him. "Just one dance. Please."

He rolled his eyes. "A song or two. I'm famished."

He led her down the rest of the stairs and into the ballroom. His hands settled on her, one wrapping around her fingers and the other sitting flat on her back. Her black-gloved hand went up to his shoulder, and they began to move.

One-two-three, one-two-three, Voldemort thought, trying to keep his motions smooth and polished.

"The last time I danced with you was at Narcissa's wedding," Bellatrix noted, "almost sixty years from now."

"Isn't it so very odd that time does not, as we believed, move in a continuous line?" Voldemort mused. His hand tightened on Bellatrix's back as he added, "As it turns out, time is a river of sorts. Flowing, but often muddied. Littered with sticks and stones and other detritus that mars its smooth progress. Tributaries and streams that break away and perhaps circle back."

Bellatrix nodded, her lips curling up a little as she said, "If it weren't for those rogue little streams, My Lord, I don't suppose I would be dancing with you like this. And so I find myself very grateful for the imperfections in the river."

He shut his eyes as the song ended. He bowed and opened his eyes to see Bellatrix dipping into a little curtsy. She sounded bolder than he'd ever heard her then, as her eyes welled and her brave little smile grew more crooked.

"One more waltz, Tom?"