Voldemort sat quietly at the Malfoy Manor's library, with books about wandlore neatly lined on his desk by the window. From his last encounter with Harry Potter in the graveyard, he knew that there was something wrong with his wand. Surely the connection of their wands as brothers sharing the same core could not be so strong that he felt he was unable to kill the boy. He browsed the books for relevant information, constantly scribbling notes to a piece of parchment.
As Voldemort continued his research, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. The Dark Lord peered through the glass of the window and saw a small, hooded figure approaching the manor. His throat bobbed when he realized that it was Bellatrix, apparently finished from a mission he assigned a few weeks ago.
Where Voldemort was once ecstatic about reuniting with Bellatrix, now he was uncertain. It has been a month after he freed her from Azkaban. The night of their private reunion, he felt a newfound passion for Bellatrix.
She incited feelings of nostalgia in him; all those days he spent training her in the Dark Arts, and the night he took her for the first time. Voldemort reveled at the charm he once possessed - how women easily fall for him simply because of his powerful presence and undeniable wit. Not that he was in the constant company of women - he only entertains the desires of women if he wanted something from them.
Except for Bellatrix. She was always the exception. For a time, he admitted to have constantly wanted her. He had never felt the need to take a woman for physical release. Until Bellatrix.
Seducer.
He thought for a time that he might be under a powerful spell or potion - but no, he had checked and counterchecked with numerous books and the aid of his resident Death Eater and Potions Master, Severus Snape. He was certain that the woman did nothing to him. And so the constant punishments came. He deliberately punishes Bellatrix whenever he felt like he was seduced into doing her bidding. Of course, there were times that he was the one who initated it, and admitted that he did so simply for physical release. He sometimes found his lust uncontrollable; and sex, as he remembered it, was addicting after all.
Voldemort was not at all bothered by the fact that Bellatrix had married Rodolphus Lestrange; they both knew she did it simply out of duty - to forge an alliance between the pureblood families of Black and Lestrange.
The wedding was a sudden arrangement between their families. To the credit of the Blacks and Lestranges, Voldemort was consulted about it by the heads of each family. Though he wanted Bellatrix for himself, he will not take her as a lover (she was close to one, but Voldemort will never admit it), and he certainly will not marry her. Seeing as he had no good reason to prevent the two from marrying. Voldemort gave his consent. Bellatrix hated the arrangement but stopped protesting against it when Voldemort gave his final word. After their wedding, Bellatrix assured Voldemort - though he needed no such thing - that she will always be faithful to him despite being a married woman. Rodolphus, though he found Bellatrix attractive, never tried to be intimate with Bellatrix out of fear of Voldemort. Still, the pride that comes with marrying a Black makes him constantly flaunt the small intimacies he could get with his wife.
During Death Eater gatherings, Voldemort would witness Rodolphus' small advances towards Bellatrix; an affectionate brush of his hand to her cheek, a whisper to her ear or a touch on her waist - nothing too intimate but still enough for Voldemort to notice. Perhaps Bellatrix felt compelled to play the loyal pureblood wife, so she let him touch her.
It meant nothing, Voldemort reminded himself. Knowing that, he still could not help but feel contempt every time he sees them together. It was not jealousy, because he knew Bellatrix will always be loyal to him. It was possessiveness.
How dare Rodolphus put his hands on her? Does he think himself worthy to touch Bellatrix, when she rightly belongs to him, the Dark Lord? He hated the feeling of possessiveness he had towards Bellatrix. He constantly struggled with these thoughts and would occasionally vent out his anger by torturing some Muggle imprisoned in the Malfoy Manor dungeons.
Voldemort was glad that he took Bellatrix for his own years ago - when she was still young and beautiful. He had already marked her his, even before she was forced into an arranged marriage to Lestrange.
Voldemort cringed at the realization that Bellatrix now carries that surname. Bellatrix is his, in heart and mind; he knew that. But that surname is a slap on his face; a reminder that Bella belongs to her husband and not to him. He was very much satisfied to know that Bellatrix does not even wear her wedding ring, and that she barely talked with her husband after their release from Azkaban. It exposed the nature of their marriage as what it really is - a farce. They never even attempted to make an heir. Almost everyone in the Death Eaters' elite circle knew the kind of relationship Bellatrix had with the Dark Lord. Like everyone else, Rodolphus knew his place - no one would dare cross Lord Voldemort by bedding his prized lieutenant.
Voldemort shook his head visibly. He stood from his desk and leaned on the window. He never really had time for his own thoughts ever since he came back. He was constantly on the move, pillaging, torturing and killing. Holding meetings and coordinating with different individuals. Now that the busyness died down in the past days, his thoughts always drift to the past. Not to purposely reminisce but to constantly check and monitor his actions.
He stared outside with distant eyes. It was starting to rain, and the sound of the raindrops seemed to help him reflect on his past actions.
After his resurrection he resolved to become colder and more calculating than his former self. His downfall was due more to his errors than to the credit of his enemies. He vowed to completely erase the human in him - if there was still any shred of it left.
But then he freed Bellatrix from Azkaban. His carefully guarded resolve unexpectedly broke when they met again. Want and longing. He never thought he was capable of experiencing such feelings again. She was always the exception to his rules.
It was bizarre, for they were very different now; both are past their prime. Bellatrix retained some vestiges of the beauty she had before rotting in Azkaban thanks to a rejuvenating potion. But Voldemort simply changed drastically in his physical appearance. Surprisingly, Bellatrix does not seem to mind; she continued her advances towards him as if nothing changed.
While he acknowledges the raw need he had for her, the other side of him was repulsed at how human-like he acted despite being someone striving for immortality. It was a hindrance, he knew; for in the days that followed after their reunion, his thoughts were constantly clouded by lust.
During Death Eater meetings, he sometimes couldn't stop himself from mentally disrobing Bellatrix from where she sat at his side. When he ordered her around, he felt himself twitch at the sight of her wide eyes and gaping mouth, as if she's always ready to kneel and give him service. Catching the sight of those heaving breasts of hers whenever she bows, a mental image would play on Voldemort's head- how he would shove her down and plunder her until he's satisfied.
His anger at himself for feeling this way makes him want to punish Bellatrix. But he feared that he might not have enough self control to stop the punishment from becoming something else. And it didn't help that Bellatrix followed him like a loyal dog. She was everywhere, to Voldemort's distress. Only when he purposely sent her on a mission for a week did he finally had the chance to gather himself.
Voldemort was reminded of her words to him during their reunion,
Nothing's changed to me, My Lord. Everything else might have changed, but not me.
He forcibly dispersed his thoughts of her. As the Dark Lord, he must always be in control. Petty feelings must be discarded; he must not be enslaved to his emotions. Attaining release from time to time and the occasional indulgence is as good as catharsis, but having too much of anything will eventually lead to self-destruction.
Voldemort sighed as he walked back to his desk. He sat and tried to pick up from where he left off in his study.
Suddenly, a knock was heard from the door, and Voldemort tried to ignore it by internalizing the last passages of the book he was previously reading. He tried rereading it to make sense of the words, and he'd started writing again on his parchment. But as the knocks continue, he gave up and threw his quill on the desk in irritation.
He exhaled slowly in an attempt to control his anger. For a moment he simply stared ahead, not wanting to respond to the person outside the door. Especially having a clue on who it is. The knocks continued, however. And he felt no choice but to unlock the door using nonverbal magic.
"Enter," he crisply shouted.
Bellatrix entered warily, noting the seemingly angry tone of her Master's voice.
"My Lord," she bowed reverently.
Voldemort looked at her with a serious expression.
"What is it?" he snapped.
Bellatrix knew his Master was not in a good mood, so it was better to cut to the chase.
"I've done as you've commanded, My Lord. I have safely placed the cup you've given to me inside my vault at Gringgots."
Though the task is very important, he knew Bellatrix was not going to fail such an easy instruction.
Unless someone knew the existence of my horcrux, he thought. Voldemort merely nodded and turned to his work, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
Bellatrix frowned a bit but did not relent.
"Is there something troubling you, My Lord?" And she spoke with that breathless manner that both sparked Voldemort's desire and disgust. Bellatrix boldly inched closer to him until she was within his arm's reach.
Voldemort examined her as she stood near him.
"My Lord," she repeated. Her eyes are both wary and probing, her voice both quiet and provoking, her posture laid back yet seductive.
Voldemort's eyes lingered on her face, then slowly crept down to her exposed cleavage. The instant she noticed, he turned away. He sighed and leaned back on his chair.
"I am… simply tired." He breathed, his arms crossing in front of him. Voldemort's lips formed a thin line to accompany his stony expression.
Bellatrix smiled somewhat mischievously and drawled,
"Then let me tend to you, My Lord." The instant Bellatrix finished her sentence, Voldemort's head snapped towards her, giving her a glare that chilled her to the bone.
Her expression quickly turned apologetic, and her voice turned serious,
"F-Forgive me, My Lord. I shouldn't have suggested such a thing." Her eyes were downcast in apprehension.
Voldemort regarded her for a moment. He clicked his tongue,
"Actually, you can."
Bella's eyes widened as her lowered head whipped back up to look at him. Before she could ask what he meant, Voldemort commanded in a soft voice,
"Massage me." He was slightly frowning, and Bellatrix wondered if he was planning something to punish her later.
Nevertheless, she obeyed. Bellatrix positioned herself at the back of his chair and gingerly pressed her fingers on his back.
Voldemort closed his eyes as she started massaging his shoulders. As Bellatrix's hand repeatedly traveled from his nape to his shoulder blades, Voldemort decided that he could indulge himself a bit.
It felt good to him as Bellatrix soothed his tensed muscles. She was pressing harder in areas where his muscles are most stiff, relieving the built tension there. Her hands continued alternating between gentle and firm strokes, and soon Voldemort found himself more aroused than relaxed.
As Bellatrix's hands focused on his nape, almost reaching the base of his ears, he felt that he couldn't take it anymore.
His hand suddenly shot up and grabbed Bellatrix's hand to stop her from continuing. She looked down at him questioningly, but did not resist.
They were both frozen for a moment; Bellatrix awaiting further instructions while Voldemort deciding what to say to her.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly let go of her hands.
Bellatrix peered into Voldemort's eyes and saw confusion and - she daresay - slight embarrassment. All of a sudden, he whispered,
"Go fetch The History of German Wandlore in the bookshelves."
It was Bellatrix's turn to appear confused. She did not obey right away; she lingered uncertainly beside Voldemort, who already turned back to his parchment.
"My Lo-" Bellatrix muttered, but she was instantly cut off by Voldemort's dangerous voice.
"Wasn't I clear enough, Bellatrix? Go."
Bellatrix nodded and turned to walk towards the bookshelves lined across Voldemort's side.
After feeling himself aroused at Bellatrix's ministrations, Voldemort had to calm himself by stopping her massaging hands. The first thing he thought was to command Bella to fetch a book just to keep her away from looking at his embarrassment. Voldemort was thankful for his thick robes that hid his growing erection. He tried to focus and get back to his work. Unfortunately, his arousal is steadily growing out of control.
Bellatrix quickly looked for the book to get back to his Master. The books are arranged alphabetically, except for a few books which had obviously strayed from its proper place.
When Bellatrix finally found the book, she couldn't help but frown. It was positioned quite a distance from above her head on the towering shelf. Being of small stature, she tried to reach the book despite knowing that it's too far out of her reach.
Bellatrix sighed frustratingly. She tried to glance around to find a nearby stool, but froze when she felt a presence behind her.
Suddenly, Voldemort was pressing against her from behind.
Bellatrix's eyes widened as she was pressed between his body and the shelf. It turns out Voldemort had to stand tiptoe to reach the book above her.
As he leaned against her she vaguely felt something brush against her waist. She licked her lips in anticipation.
Voldemort slowly moved away from her but not completely, making them only inches apart as he showed the book to her.
Bellatrix felt excitement at the close contact; they were too close that she still could not turn around and face him.
Voldemort simply handed her the book. She received it while still facing the shelves.
Voldemort did not respond, and simply stayed, blocking her from moving away. Not that Bellatrix wanted to, anyway. She could feel Voldemort's breath on her nape as he leaned to inhale her scent.
Voldemort raised his hand to stroke her curls and Bellatrix reddened in response. His hands went to tuck strands of her hair behind her ears. He was slowly easing himself against her, and Bellatrix started to lean back to feel more of him.
Bellatrix moaned a little as she felt his surprisingly warm breath against the shell of her ear. It was oh-so-gentle, and Bellatrix wondered if she was simply dreaming. She melted at his gentle caress of her neck, and the slow but deliberate licking on her ear. She responded by rubbing her buttocks on the hardness behind her.
All of a sudden, Voldemort grabbed her jaw roughly.
Bellatrix felt pain as her neck was forcefully turned sideways.
"You seductress," Voldemort growled from behind her.
Bellatrix was surprised to hear his seemingly needy yet angry voice.
Voldemort grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. He shoved her against the bookshelves hard, and some books fell over at the force, including the book she held. Bellatrix whimpered in fear but did not verbally protest.
Seeing her afraid seemed to goad Voldemort more. He lunged to bite her neck and then followed the mark with his tongue. Hearing her moan, his hand went to her shoulder blades and caressed her. With his other free hand he grasped her buttocks to press her more against him, alternating between rough and smooth strokes.
Bellatrix's hands went to feel his chest, which was surprisingly toned. Her hands moved to remove his robes, and this seemed to snap Voldemort back to his logical self.
A burning anger suddenly burst out of him. He was angry at Bellatrix for seducing him; angry at himself for giving in to his desires.
In a fit of rage, he threw Bellatrix to the floor.
She fell hard on her side, and her eyes darted to Voldemort's towering form. She was surprised to see that the confusion on her face also reflected Voldemort's expression.
He turned away from her, closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. The surge of power he felt in the way he handled Bellatrix seemed to be the major factor for his arousal. Yet he asked himself why Bellatrix. He could demonstrate his power on any woman. Grab a whore for a night and be done with it. It's less dangerous than going back to the same woman for the following nights.
As Voldemort was alone with his thoughts, Bellatrix crawled towards him. She understood his anger, in a way. But she thinks she knew better; her Lord's arousal was evident by the lump that formed on his robes.
Voldemort's thoughts were interrupted and completely disappeared as he felt Bellatrix breathe against his crotch. His eyes snapped open and looked down at Bellatrix. She was on her knees, and Voldemort twitched at the feeling of her warm breath.
He knew he could not deny himself any longer.
Bellatrix slowly lifted her hand to open his robes. To her surprise, Voldemort's hand shot to stop her.
He shoved her hand away and suddenly left her kneeling there. He walked back to his desk without looking at her.
Bellatrix slowly rose and followed him. She looked alarmingly at his face, trying to look for signs of disapproval. What have I done now?
Voldemort's face, however, was devoid of any emotion. His crotch was blocked from Bellatrix's view but she suspects that he's still hard.
Finally, Voldemort faced her. He was clenching his jaw, as if trying to suppress himself.
"You may go, Bella." He stared impassively. He looks at her as if she's not really there.
Bellatrix knew better than to argue with her Master. Not this time when he appears to be distant. She bowed with a disappointed look, and promptly walked to leave the room.
Voldemort stared at her retreating back as she exited and closed the door. As soon as Bella was gone, he closed his eyes, swallowed a lump on his throat, and deeply sighed.
Voldemort felt greatly unsatisfied, but was glad that he regained his control.
He turned to his books and sighed again.
He needed a shower.