5 November 1981
Galway, Ireland
"This is like searching for a needle in a haystack," Voldemort complained. He wandered up Salthill Road, and Bellatrix asked confusedly from beside him,
"Couldn't you just Summon the needle out of the haystack, Master?"
"It's a Muggle expression," he muttered. He chewed his lip then, inspired, and he asked, "What's something that Andromeda might have with her? A… a piece of jewellery, or -"
"Oh! Her locket from Mum and Dad!" Bellatrix exclaimed, and Voldemort turned to her with his eyes raised. She grinned and nodded. "Andromeda got a brass locket on her eleventh birthday from my mother and father. She would never take it off; I know she wouldn't. Not even after they'd disowned her. I guarantee she still wears it."
Voldemort looked sceptical, but he looked round until he was certain no Muggles were watching, and he pulled his wand out. He aimed it before him and incanted,
"Accio Locket of Andromeda Black Tonks."
Then he just stood there waiting, and Bellatrix mused,
"If it rips itself off of her neck, she'll know someone's looking for her, and she'll leave."
Voldemort huffed. "Yes. Probably."
It didn't matter. They waited an hour, and then he tried again by attempting to Summon Andromeda's wedding ring, and then the baby carriage of Nymphadora Tonks. Nothing worked. After hours of walking up Salthill Road Summoning one thing after another, the sun began to set, and Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and said,
"I do not suppose they are here. Or if they are, they are exceedingly well hidden. It's possible that they're being hidden, too, just like the Longbottoms."
"Master," Bellatrix suggested quietly, "perhaps I could have my mother write to Andromeda. You could Imperius her into doing it and then notifying me of the response as soon as she got one. You could track the owl, couldn't you? If she kept the owl, couldn't you track it?"
"There are spells for such things," Voldemort agreed. "If we Imperiused your mother into keeping the owl if Andromeda responded, I could track where the owl had come from. It doesn't seem as though we're going to easily find her in Galway by wandering around the city."
"Even though it is rather a small city," Bellatrix smiled. Voldemort stared down at her in the golden light of the setting sun, and suddenly his stomach grumbled. He glanced up to see a pub behind Bellatrix, and he murmured,
"Let's get dinner."
"What, in that Muggle pub there?" Bellatrix asked disbelievingly, and Voldemort smirked at her. They'd come dressed as inconspicuously as possible - she in a black velvet dress and Voldemort in a white shirt with a black waistcoat. He walked with her into the pub and sat at a booth as a fiddler, drummer, and singer warbled out some traditional Muggle Irish music. A cranky-looking old man came over and said in a thick Irish accent,
"What'll it be, then?"
"Oysters and brown bread and a pint of Guinness each," Voldemort said smoothly. Bellatrix looked amazed, and when the old man sauntered off, she hissed at Voldemort,
"You must let me pay you, Master."
"I'm not going to pay him," Voldemort smirked. "Why would I let you pay me? What did you tell Rodolphus?"
"I told him that I was on a secret mission and that I'd be home when I got home," Bellatrix said rather proudly. Voldemort's smirk widened, and he nodded. The two of them listened to the music for a long while, until at last Voldemort mumbled,
"Andromeda probably did move right after Halloween. I'm sure they all did. I'm sure they got very frightened after that, the lot of them."
"Cowards," Bellatrix said bitingly, but Voldemort countered,
"I'd scatter our people, too, if one of our major Death Eaters were suddenly taken out by Dumbledore himself."
"What would you do if Dumbledore killed me, Master?" Bellatrix asked, and she seemed genuinely curious. Voldemort felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of that. For some reason, the idea of a dead Bellatrix made him feel sick. He wanted to vomit at the sight in his mind of her face, cold and unmoving, her eyes staring straight ahead. He shook his head wildly and said,
"I can't think of that."
"But I will likely fall in battle," Bellatrix reminded him, and Voldemort whispered to himself,
"No. I won't allow that."
"I beg your pardon, Master?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort snapped,
"Stay alive, will you?"
She was wide-eyed then, but she nodded and promised him, "I shall certainly try, My Lord."
Their oysters and brown bread and stout beer came then, and they ate the food and drank the drink the silence. Voldemort Confounded the old man into thinking he'd already been paid, and he grasped Bellatrix's hand and led her quickly out of the booth and pub and into the street. It wasn't until they were on the cobblestones that he realised he was still holding her hand.
"It's late," he said, staring down at where his hand was holding hers. Bellatrix nodded, studying his face.
"Rodolphus is undoubtedly very jealous of my secret adventures," she said softly, but Voldemort snarled,
"I do not wish to hear about that boy just now."
"No?" Bellatrix dragged her thumb over his, and Voldemort swallowed past the lump in his throat as he whispered,
"No."
There was a long silence then, during which they just stood there in the street. It began to rain just a little, but it was a cold rain, and so Bellatrix shivered where she stood. Next door to the pub was a small inn, and the sign in the window, hand-painted, read, Vacant Rooms Available. The translation in Irish made no sense to Voldemort, but it was painted there, too. He walked up to the inn, still holding Bellatrix's hand, and he opened the door. She seemed surprised by what he was doing, and even more surprised when he Confounded the front desk worker into marking down that Tom Riddle had paid in full for a room and giving them a key. He still held Bellatrix's hand as they walked up the flight of stairs, as he opened the door to Room 3, as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was a cosy little space, with a quilt on the stout wooden bed that was painted turquoise like the dresser and wardrobe and mirror on the wall. Voldemort opened the window a bit to let in some fresh air, and then he lit the electric Muggle lamp in the corner and stalked over to Bellatrix. He took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her, tasting the rain on her lips, and suddenly something snapped inside of him.
He couldn't just let her die. He couldn't just let some stray Killing Curse wipe her out. He needed her alive. He wanted her with him. He kissed her harder, pressing her against the wall, and he murmured down against her mouth,
"Bella…"
He could never tell her about his Horcruxes. That was not for her to know. But could he teach her to make one? Could he help her create one so that she might be less susceptible to the easy death that befell his soldiers in this war? She fought harder than anyone. She was more likely to die than anyone.
He could not let her die.
"Bellatrix." He pulled her off the wall and heard her breath quick in the air of the little inn room. The rain outside was soft and gentle. The light was warm and diffuse. She looked beautiful right now. Why did she belong to Rodolphus? She didn't. She was Voldemort's, in her entirety. He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed at her cheekbone, and then she whispered in an embarrassed voice,
"I'm… I'm bleeding. It's that time of the calendar, Master."
Somehow, he didn't care. He didn't care about thrusting into her right now. He didn't care about squeezing her nipples, about teasing her clit. Somehow, that didn't matter. Not right now.
"Just lie down with me," he commanded her, keeping his voice stern. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the creaky bed, and when Bellatrix joined him atop the quilt, he urged her to curl up beside him. He stared at the ceiling and informed her,
"I will not simply let you die in battle. I have a plan."
"Have you, Master?" Bellatrix sounded almost amused. Of course she did. She knew nothing of the power of Horcruxes. She stared up at him and read the seriousness on his face, and then her little smile disappeared. She tucked her face against his chest and whispered, "I suppose Rodolphus is probably with Edna tonight."
"Edna. Who is Edna?" asked Voldemort sharply, and when Bellatrix was silent for a moment, Voldemort furrowed his brow and scoffed, "He has a girlfriend?"
"I tried to get him to leave her, but it isn't as though I have much leverage as a Pureblood wife in an arranged marriage," Bellatrix complained. "And, anyway, there's a war on. There are far more important things to concern ourselves with than whether -"
"You let him fuck you whilst he's got a girlfriend?" Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix gulped as she shrugged and mumbled,
"Didn't seem worth the fight, My Lord."
"You're not to be intimate with him again. Do you understand me?" Voldemort growled viciously. He sat up, and Bellatrix came with him. She pushed her curls out of her face, and she sighed as she said,
"Master, I don't suppose Rodolphus has been faithful to me for any extended period of our eight year marriage. But if you command it, I will -"
"I do command it. You're not to be touched by that boy. He's to keep his filthy paws off of you!" Voldemort said, knowing he sounded petulant and childish and not caring. He sounded possessive, he thought. He sounded like he craved Bellatrix for his own. He shut his eyes and said far more gravely,
"It's late. Let us go to bed. In the morning, we'll go back to England. You can Imperius your mother. I will speak to Rodolphus myself. Let's go to bed. It's late."
Voldemort put his glasses on the table beside the bed. He took off his waistcoat and tie and unbuttoned his shirt, and then he took off his trousers and slept in his underwear. Bellatrix slept in her velvet dress. They settled beneath the quilt, which was a surprisingly comfortable place to be. He liked having her curled up beside him, her arm tentatively placed on his ribs. He encouraged her to get nearer.
He could not just let her die.
"Bellatrix," he said softly into the dimly-lit room, the quiet rainfall still pattering outside.
"Hmm…" She was almost asleep, he realised. He kissed at her forehead, and he informed her again,
"I won't let you die."
"Master," she hummed, and she nuzzled her face against his chest a bit before she was lost to sleep.
Author's Note: Uh-oh. He's starting to feel real possession over her and affection for her. Where will that lead in this storyverse?