"Well. I must confess, this new flavour is absolutely disgusting. I don't know what on Earth Florean Fortescue was thinking." Bellatrix set down her glass sundae dish and pushed it away on the table outside the ice cream shop on Diagon Alley. In the chair opposite her, Rodolphus let out a rumbling laugh and shook his head.
"I don't know why you ordered it," he teased. "Dill pickle ice cream? Sounds awful."
"Well, in theory it makes sense," Bellatrix reasoned. "Pregnant witches often claim they crave ice cream and pickles, so I thought perhaps a pickle flavoured ice cream… well, maybe it's just the execution that's poor. In any case, it isn't any good. Can I have some of yours?"
"Yeah, all right." Rodolphus dug his spoon into his pistachio ice cream and took Bellatrix by surprise by shoveling a whole mouthful of the stuff straight at her. She yelped as she accepted the bite and then grabbed a napkin to swipe at her lips as Rodolphus giggled like a child. Bellatrix scowled, a little embarrassed by his foolish behaviour. She swallowed the bite of ice cream and then let him eat the rest of his sundae as she watched people do their shopping.
"I've got to go into Twilfitt and Tattings," she heard Rodolphus saying. "My mum ordered me loads of new lightweight robes for the summer holidays. I've grown a lot, you know."
"Yes, I've noticed." Bellatrix gave him a withering look and rolled her eyes. "You're positively enormous these days, Dolph."
"I'm serious!" He said defensively, holding his arms up as if to show her, and Bellatrix huffed a breath impatiently.
"So am I. You've gotten much taller and more broad just in the last few months. And Rabastan and Thorfinn say your strength as a Beater has increased dramatically. I don't doubt that your old lightweight robes are too small. I'll let you go ahead; I can head back to my house by Floo."
"I was hoping you'd come with me," Rodolphus said morosely. "Thought I'd like to get your approval on everything."
"A fashion show, eh?" Bellatrix teased. "All right, then. Let's go to the robe shop."
They cleared their table and grabbed their shopping bags from their other stops, making their way down to Twillfit and Tattings. When they entered the store, they were greeted by the impeccably dressed and effusively friendly Thabo Shacklebolt, who was renowned among the Sacred Twenty-Eight for being the most fashionable wizard in Britain.
"Mr Lestrange! We've got everything ready for you. And Miss Black! Sweetling. You must let me style you some new things soon. That bitty figure of yours is calling out for some new dress robes; you're getting lovelier by the day. Kisses, darling."
Bellatrix grinned and approached Thabo, greeting the wizard who was about five years her senior. He took Rodolphus toward a fitting area, and an assistant witch showed Bellatrix to a comfortable chair where she could wait and let Rodolphus show off all of his expensive new robes. She offered Bellatrix a drink, which Bellatrix rejected, and instead Bellatrix just found herself staring at her own reflection in the shop's many mirrors as silence fell over the place.
She felt odd these days, she thought. She would be turning seventeen in a few months' time. She was, by wizarding law and certainly according to the ancient custom of the Purebloods, very nearly a grown witch of age. That meant a lot of things. It granted her rights. She would soon be able to do magic outside of school without consequence. She would get her Apparition license soon. She could legally drink everything from Elf-made wine to Blishen's firewhisky come September. And drink it she would, she thought. She intended to get blindingly drunk every now and then just because she could. She curled up her lips at the thought; her mother Druella would find the idea of her eldest daughter gulping down firewhisky most appalling.
There would be expectations, as well. Everyone in the social circles of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would expect a formal announcement of a marriage betrothal soon enough after she came of age. It was what good girls of her social standing did; they found equally prestigious wizards and announced that they were to become their wives as soon as they left Hogwarts. That was the way of things. It had always been so.
Bellatrix glanced now toward the dressing room where she could hear Rodolphus chatting and laughing with Thabo Shacklebolt. Could she be happy with Rodolphus? Happy enough, probably. It didn't matter. Not really. All husbands would probably be the same. Some might be worse; some might be violent or horrifically unfaithful. At least Rodolphus seemed somewhat amiable. He was frustratingly vapid, sometimes seeming witless or simpleminded when Bellatrix attempted to engage him in anything resembling a real conversation. As long as things stayed light and obvious, Rodolphus was fine. Bellatrix often found herself craving an intellectual sparring partner, and she would never have that with Rodolphus. She also had no way of knowing if she could count on him for fidelity. Wizards of the Sacred Twenty-Eight who dwelled in the customs of the past were notorious for their fickle, flighty nature with witches, and the wives were expected to grin and bear it. Bellatrix was not certain she would be able to do so. She also didn't think she had much of a choice. But, then, just the other day, Mr Riddle - Lord Voldemort - had advised her not to marry. He'd warned her that Rodolphus was a simpleton, that she would be miserable as a wife, that she would be busy as a soldier. Her heart raced a bit as she thought back to that conversation.
"Well?"
She snapped to rights as she turned and saw Rodolphus coming out of the changing room, wearing what appeared to be robes of elaborately draped cotton voile in a smoky grey-green hue. They were clasped with silvery metallic clasps in the front and cinched at the wrists, with a high-necked silvery grey crepe tunic beneath. Clearly, Thabo Shacklebolt had worked hard to create something elegant and profoundly stylish. Still, the robes looked abjectly silly on a great hulking wizard like Rodolphus. Bellatrix desperately tried to conceal her true emotions, instead painting on a little smile and nodding.
"Oh, they look very nice," she lied. "Wonderful work, Thabo."
Rodolphus spun, preening like a peacock, sending the cotton voile fluttering about him. Thabo clapped and said,
"I wasn't certain about the material, I'll admit. I had my doubts. But it's youthful and playful. I think it suits. Come on, Mr Lestrange; let's show her the next ones!"
The two wizards disappeared into the changing room again, and Bellatrix contemplated asking the assistant witch for the drink, after all. But before she could, the bell over the door chimed, and someone came walking into the shop. Bellatrix glanced over and then froze, for it was Mr Riddle… Lord Voldemort. He didn't see her at first. He walked right up to the counter and was greeted by the assistant, and he informed her that he had several new bespoke summer robes ready to be picked up. She asked him quietly if he wanted to try them on, but he shook his head and insisted he'd tailor them himself if he needed to. The assistant witch strode off to fetch his order for him, and once she'd gone, Lord Voldemort's gaze settled on Bellatrix in her chair.
"Hello," she said a bit awkwardly, not knowing whether she ought to stand or stay sitting. She just waved a little. He stared for a little moment and then came around the counter, approaching her chair and curling up half his mouth at her.
"Doing some shopping, Miss Black?"
"Erm… it's not for me," she said, her face feeling hot. She gestured toward the dressing room, and just then, Rodolphus came bursting out again. This time, he was wearing linen robes in burnt orange with a turquoise tunic and turquoise silk trim all over the sleeves and collar. It was a gaudy, ugly, ostentatious outfit that looked absolutely terrible on Rodolphus, and Bellatrix felt her face crumple in horror. But Rodolphus looked very proud of himself, and poor Thabo Shacklebolt just beamed as he gestured at Bellatrix's boyfriend and boasted,
"This silk came from Japan. Very expensive, but well worth it. Linen from Belgium. A delightful creation, wouldn't you say?"
"It is certainly something to behold. How do you do, Mr Lestrange?" said Voldemort carefully.
"Oh! Tom Riddle." Rodolphus waved jovially, and Bellatrix winced. "Yes, my father and brother speak highly of you. Hello. Good to see you."
Bellatrix felt embarrassed suddenly. She did not want to be here with Rodolphus. She did not want Lord Voldemort to see her with this boy, and she was not sure exactly why. The heat in her cheeks spread down to her neck, and she let out a shaking sigh.
"Mr Riddle, sir. Here are your robes." The assistant witch came out from the back of the shop carrying a garment bag with gathered hangers at the top, which she passed over to Voldemort. He draped it over one arm and reminded her that he'd paid in advance. She didn't seem to believe him and actually went up to the register to check the books whilst Voldemort stood awkwardly by Bellatrix's chair. She felt badly for him; the shop would never treat a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight like that. But she knew, for her father had told her, that Tom Riddle had gone home from Hogwarts to a Muggle Orphanage and that he'd been the last of the Gaunts on his mother's side. Many of the most elite wizarding families turned their nose up at his bona fides. Finally, the assistant witch said in a snide tone,
"Yes, I see that you've paid, Mr Riddle. Good day."
"Miss Black," Voldemort said quietly once Rodolphus had disappeared again to try on another outfit, "I wonder if you might follow through on your promise to play me in Wizard's Chess. Tomorrow afternoon, at Malfoy Manor?"
"Will Mr Malfoy let us use the old family heirloom set?" Bellatrix asked wryly, and Voldemort laughed a little, nodding.
"Yes, I think he will. Will you come?"
"I'd be delighted. Thank you." Her smile spread, and she tucked a curl behind her ear. Voldemort's dark eyes flashed strangely, but he just squared his jaw and cleared his throat before he said rather tightly,
"Good day, then, Miss Black."
She watched him turn to leave Twilfitt and Tatting's, but just as the door chimed with his exit, Thabo's voice boomed to announce that Rodolphus had another outfit to show her. Bellatrix forced her attention back to her burly, brainless boyfriend, who was now clad entirely in ostentatious silk.
"Cerulean and lime fabrics I've obtained just a few weeks ago… aren't the colours divine?" gushed Thabo Shacklebolt, and Rodolphus flashed Bellatrix a winning grin. He looked ridiculous, she thought glumly. But she yanked up the corners of her mouth in a smile that she knew did not reach her eyes, and she said with mock cheerfulness,
"Oh, yes. Positively divine."
Voldemort stared at his reflection in his bathroom mirror and just blinked. In the thirteen years since he'd lived in this time, war and age had left their marks upon him so surely that he'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to inhabit this body. He dragged a steel comb through his hair, which he'd already tamed with pomade, and admired its jet black shine and thickness. His unmarred face was smooth; his eyes glittered with life.
She was too young here, he thought bitterly. Bellatrix. She'd not yet come of age. Just a scant few days earlier, he'd sat with her in his office in front of a blazing fire as they sipped Elf-Made Rioja, dry and dark and red. They'd talked in hushed voices about plans they'd had to take out some key enemies. She'd been absolutely gorgeous then, still young enough at thirty to make Voldemort's heart race and thud with unfulfilled want, yet mature enough that he did not feel like a cur for wanting her. But here, she'd just come home on the Hogwarts Express; she'd earned herself detentions whilst wearing Slytherin robes just days before. She was a girl here.
Voldemort set his comb down and thought to himself that he ought to set about eliminating all the paths to failure as soon as possible. He knew of a few ways he could pave a better road to success for himself early on. He'd have to be patient about Dumbledore, he knew. If he took the man out too soon, it would open the gates for someone else to slip in and claim the glory Voldemort wanted. Voldemort would bide his time, knowing that eliminating Dumbledore would be key. But he also thought that taking out James Potter and Lily Evans as soon as possible would be essential. They were children now, he knew. They couldn't be older than eight or nine years of age. They wouldn't have met yet; Lily was a Mudblood and wouldn't encounter the Potter boy until they met at Hogwarts. Surely, he thought, if he simply eliminated the threat of the disobedient parents and undid the possibility of Harry Potter ever being born, the looming darkness of the prophecy that had hung over his victory would evaporate.
He also knew that he needed to keep Abraxas and Tullia Malfoy happy, to keep them close, but that he would want to move into his manor home outside Danby in North Yorkshire as soon as possible. Doing so, in the experience he had lived, had provided him with a very secure and secret base to which he could always escape from battle and hide from the Ministry. This time, he intended on procuring the manor much earlier in his campaign. There were other lessons he'd learned. Ministry departments to be infiltrated more aggressively. Ways to better manipulate the press by planting allies at the Daily Prophet. Soliciting in-kind donations and paying out bribes. Establishing a more insidious spy network. And then there was Bellatrix.
Voldemort was convinced that it would have been far better if she'd not been married to Rodolphus Lestrange. She had always been unwaveringly loyal to her master, but the reality was that after meetings, she went home to Rodolphus. The reality was that after a hard-fought battle, she climbed into Rodolphus' bed. The thought had always made Voldemort a bit queasy, had distracted and frustrated him. He remembered one difficult fight in St Asaph in Wales, when Bellatrix had been fighting alongside Voldemort, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, the Carrows, and a too-young Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, who was inexperienced with combat and a little frightened, had nearly gotten himself killed. Bellatrix had been fending off multiple members of the Order of the Phoenix on her own, but she'd rushed over and helped her little brother-in-law, saving his life and destroying several enemies.
Voldemort had been in awe of her that night, but he'd been terribly irritated to see the way Rodolphus had peeled off Bellatrix's mask after the battle and smashed her mouth with a kiss. It had felt like salt in a wound to see such a thing. Voldemort had gone back to his home in Danby and blown up an oak tree, shuddering with frustration and wishing he had had the courage to shove idiotic Rodolphus out of the way and kiss Bellatrix himself. But he never did gather that courage. He never did kiss her.
Now he gazed at his own reflection at the mirror in Malfoy Manor and wondered if she ever might find him attractive here. She had, he knew, in his lived experience, pined desperately for him. She'd worshipped him like he was a god; she'd groveled and mewled and shivered when he paid her even the slightest bit of attention. She did anything and everything he asked of her. She wanted nothing more than his glorification. She risked her life for him, over and over again. She took life for him, tortured for him, burned down buildings and drowned innocents and worse for him, over and over again. She did unspeakable, hateful things because of how fiercely she adored him. But he never really knew, for he'd always hesitated with Legilimency with her, whether she wanted him the way he'd wanted her. She'd kissed Rodolphus in front of him multiple times. He happened to know she was taking contraceptive potions for years, for she'd let slip about side effects of them during a private conversation, which told Voldemort that she and Rodolphus were intimate. Voldemort had spent years dreaming up situations in which he and his favourite little Death Eater would embrace and kiss after a battle, or that they would dance at the Death Eaters' silly New Year's party. He thought of ridiculous things. He never knew whether she thought anything similar. He didn't know if she was capable of such thoughts in this time. It didn't matter. On the first of September, she'd be steaming back to Hogwarts on the train.
Voldemort adjusted his crisp robes, new ones he'd just picked up the day before in the robe shop on Diagon Alley. They were an elegant black waffle weave with metal clasps running down the front, stylish but conservative, tailored carefully for a perfect fit. They looked more expensive than they'd been. He was still collecting funding here. He slid on his dragonhide shoes and grabbed his yew wand, and he made his way out of his apartments. He went downstairs and was striding down the corridor when he paused, taken by surprise by the sight of the lovely blonde witch before him. When last he'd seen her, she'd been aged, her wrinkled face marked by the same bout of Spattergroit that had afflicted her husband. Now, she was elegant, her golden hair pulled back into a smooth chignon and her robes a lush plum brocade with black crepe trim. As always, Tullia Malfoy had on jewels. She'd always worn them, even in her older years. Amethysts sparkled round her neck and at her fingers. She gave Voldemort a little wave and said in cheerful greeting,
"Afternoon, Tom. I trust Dobby provided a decent luncheon for you."
"As always, Tullia. A glorious fennel carrot soup with crusty bread. Your House Elf is over-feeding me, I fear."
"You need it, Tom. You're entirely too thin," Tullia teased, winking. Then she tipped her head and said, "Abraxas, on the other hand…"
The two shared a little laugh, and then Voldemort said,
"I hope he won't mind. I've invited a guest to come and use his prized Wizard's Chess set. We won't do it justice, of course."
Tullia grinned. "No, he won't mind. Who's coming?"
Voldemort hesitated just a moment, and then said, "Erm… Bellatrix Black."
Tullia looked a little confused, opening her mouth for a moment before she said, "Cygnus and Druella's girl? Narcissa's sister?"
"Yes. She's interested in my politics," Voldemort said delicately, "as, of course, I hope Lucius will be. I invited her to come and play with me so that we can discuss things further."
Tullia seemed just a little suspicious, but she plastered on a broad grin and nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll have Dobby bring her to you when she comes."
"Thank you, Tullia." Voldemort started to walk away, and Tullia Malfoy hurried off. Voldemort made his way into the parlour where he knew Abraxas kept his globes and maps and games, where there was a stout piano and comfortable furniture for lounging. He sat in a chair and gazed out the window, and after some time, there was gentle knocking on the door. Then he heard Dobby the House Elf announce,
"Miss Bellatrix Black, sir."
He turned to see her standing in the threshold of the door, and he pulled himself to his feet. Dobby started to go, and Bellatrix smiled a little. She curtsied a bit then, surprising Voldemort, and she stepped into the parlour. She was dressed in a cap-sleeved black dress that reached her knees, simple wool that hugged her youthful body but was cut modestly. She had on flat-heeled boots, practical yet feminine. Her black curls had been partially pulled back on one side with a tortoiseshell clip, but other than that they sprang wildly about her alabaster face. Voldemort quickly reminded himself that she would come of age in September, that she was not the thirty-year-old grown witch he'd had Rioja with less than a week earlier. He licked his lips carefully and nodded.
"Good afternoon, Miss Black. Where's Cygnus?"
"Oh. I came alone. Floo Powder," she said, and Voldemort tried not to cough out a little laugh. It had been so long for him, he thought, since Malfoy Manor had been on the Floo Network. Not very long into his campaign, he'd removed major Pureblood homes from the network; it was entirely too much of a security risk to have them so accessible. Places like Malfoy Manor, which served as gathering places for meetings, even had anti-Apparition charms placed around the grounds and were warded up tightly. It was different right now, he thought. People moved freely these days. He just chomped his lip and then told Bellatrix,
"Tullia Malfoy assures me that Abraxas doesn't mind us using his heirloom chess set. Yet, I fear I shall disgrace it with my lack of skill."
"You'll still beat me," she teased. "I never learnt properly how to play."
"Well, it'll be a battle to the bottom, then," he said, and he gestured toward the table where a large, beautiful Wizard's Chess set crafted of Portoro marble from La Spezia and Spanish white marble was on display. It had been in the Malfoy family for centuries and had probably cost a sickening number of Galleons at the time of purchase. Nowadays, it was priceless. Voldemort sat and wandlessly pushed out Bellatrix's chair for her. She sat down and let him pull her chair in, and she smirked a little at him. He paused and asked,
"Would you like a drink before we begin?"
She shook her head shyly. "I'm all right. Thank you, sir."
He hesitated. "Rodolphus Lestrange looked very fine in his new robes yesterday."
She just blinked, her face unmoving. Voldemort quirked an eyebrow and teased her,
"Did you not care for your boyfriend's new wardrobe, Miss Black?"
Bellatrix dragged her fingers along the edge of the walnut table. She sighed. "Rodolphus is an oaf. A good-natured oaf, but an oaf just the same. If you put brightly coloured silks all over an enormous beast who doesn't think very well and laughs too loudly, it all seems rather silly. I felt like I was watching a clown at play."
"Mm." Voldemort folded his own hands on the table. He was suddenly acutely aware of how he himself was dressed, in robes he'd bought and picked up the day before. They were black and elegant, quite the opposite of Rodolphus' showy, brash outfits. Bellatrix always wore black. For thirteen years, she'd always worn black. Voldemort had seen her in white one time, on her wedding day. She hadn't seemed to enjoy that very much. He pursed his lips, suddenly troubled by the memory of her clad in a caped white chiffon and organdy concoction with a veil, professing her wedding vows and kissing Rodolphus. He shook his head a little and dared to say, perhaps a bit too aggressively,
"Surely you have a good reason for dating that boy."
Bellatrix gave a sour little look and glanced to the cold, empty fireplace beside her. She shook her head wistfully, staring at the iron grate in the fireplace as she murmured,
"Not really, no. I started dating him because he relentlessly pursued me, and kept dating him because he seemed like a perfectly acceptable option. It is expected of me, as a witch from the House of Black, that I will marry a Pureblood wizard from the most elite stock straight away after leaving Hogwarts. He'll do fine. He's simple of mind, but I think he's harmless."
Voldemort felt very angry then. His mind raced with visions - no, with memories. He thought of the time during a meeting when Rodolphus had been staring dumbly at Bellatrix and hadn't been listening properly to Voldemort give instructions for an upcoming raid. He thought of the way Bellatrix and Rodolphus looked dancing together at Tullia Malfoy's fiftieth birthday party. He thought of the time Bellatrix had been Stunned on the battlefield and Voldemort had dashed toward her on instinct, but had frozen when he saw that Rodolphus had gotten to her first. He clenched his hands tightly around each other and shook his head.
"Do not continue to date him if you do not actually enjoy his company."
There was a beat of quiet then, until Bellatrix asked gently, "You offer me this advice when you've known me for so little a while, sir?"
"It is advice borne of experience," he snarled roughly, and she just stared. Voldemort glanced down at the chess set and mumbled, "You're white. You go first."
"Oh," Bellatrix said. "Erm. Pawn to E5."
Her pawn slid out two spaces, and Voldemort immediately countered, "E5," to which his black pawn drew outward and faced her piece. Her chestnut doe eyes met his for a moment, and he carefully measured his words before he told her,
"I intend on keeping you remarkably busy, Miss Black. Far too busy for oafs like Rodolphus Lestrange to trouble you."
"Indeed? Then with what sort of wizard am I meant to trouble myself, sir?" she asked. "Knight to F3."
Her white knight leaped over her pawns and took its place on the board, and Voldemort tipped his head as he blinked and considered his move.
"Knight to C6. If you do not wish to weigh yourself down with any wizard in particular, I would certainly understand. Your purpose will not be as a broodmare, nor as a man's trophy. Just the same, I should hope that if you find yourself genuinely in favour of someone, you pursue them for the sake that want, not because it is expected of you."
Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the table and studied the pieces on the board. She was silent for so long that Voldemort considered invading her mind with Legilimency just to see what on Earth she was thinking. But at last she said softly, "Perhaps one day I shall find myself a wizard who possesses proper intellect, and courage, and ambition… a wizard whose surname is of little consequence. Who can say? I am very young. It would be a grand thing to luxuriate in the years before me free from the yoke of expectations, sir. Pawn to D4."
The move had surprised him, and he frowned a little as he watched her piece slide forward. He thought about what she'd said; had she hinted that she desired a man like Voldemort himself? He stared right at her, but she was still fixed on the chess board. He blinked rapidly and tried to quickly decide upon his next move. He had nothing else to say to her right now, so he just instructed the chess set,
"Pawn to D4."
His black pawn leaped upon the white pawn she'd sacrified, smashing it to bits and powdering it. Bellatrix seemed completely unsurprised, and suddenly Voldemort thought perhaps she was a bit more skilled with this game than she'd initially let on. He frowned more deeply as she raised her lovely brown eyes to him and whispered,
"Bishop to C4."
It was an assertive move. Her bishop slid swiftly across the board, confidently taking a very specific spot. Voldemort wondered just what Bellatrix was doing. His stomach twisted just a little, and he eyed the chess board before him. He wasn't as good at this game as he wished he were. He'd refused to play it at Hogwarts, for it had embarrassed him to lose to his cronies, and of course he'd had no practise as a boy at Wool's Orphanage. On the Continent, he'd had far more pressing things to concern his mind with than games. He tried to be as calculating as Bellatrix, but suspected he was falling behind as he said in a bit of a tremulous voice,
"Bishop to B4."
"Pawn to C3," Bellatrix said very firmly, immediately, as though she'd been expecting Voldemort's move in reaction to hers. He scowled and shook his head, taking the obvious route as he commanded his pawn to take out the piece she appeared to have just sacrificed.
"Pawn to C3." His black piece once again took inanimate glee in its demolition of Bellatrix's marble pawn, leaving it in shambles on the board. Bellatrix sat up straighter in her chair and gathered her curls over one shoulder. A wave of her perfume hit Voldemort like a cloud washing over him - vanilla, sweet and smoky oud… it was dark and forbidden, sensual. It was the same scent she'd carried for the thirteen years he'd known her. He knew it well, but right now it pained him. He looked away desperately as she said in a strong voice,
"Kingside Castling."
Voldemort scowled at the table. He watched as her rook jumped her king, which slid. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was no novice. Her face was peaceful and impassive. He cleared his throat roughly, unwilling to tell her that he was frustrated by this situation on so many levels.
"Pawn to B2." He watched as his black piece took out yet another of Bellatrix's white Spanish marble pawns, but she didn't seem affected in the least, for she had a master plan. She waited for the carnage to end, and then she said calmly,
"Bishop to B2."
The black piece that had just wreaked havoc was swiftly eliminated by Bellatrix's white bishop, which smashed up Voldemort's pawn with reckless abandon. He ground his teeth and shook his head as he mentally fought through the buzz of irritation. He studied her face and suddenly wished she were just a few months older so that he could at least try and talk her into granting him the kiss he never had the courage to steal from her in the many years he'd known her. He huffed out,
"Bishop to F8."
His black bishop made a hasty retreat, away from the threat of Bellatrix's relentless white pieces. She smirked just a little bit and drummed her thin fingers on the table again, seeming to think for half a second before she tipped her head and said,
"Pawn to E5."
Voldemort shrugged and threw out, "Pawn to D6."
"Rook to E1." Bellatrix sounded delighted then, as if Voldemort were fulfilling her plans, and he felt his face go hot. He glared at her and then down at the pieces, trying to see a way out. He calculated a few potential moves and finally destroyed her pawn by commanding his own to E5. She immediately smashed up that black pawn by bringing her own knight to E5, and then, in an act of recklessness, Voldemort snarled,
"Queen to D1."
His black queen slid quickly clear across the board and drew out a sword, hacking viciously at Bellatrix's white queen. The white queen was decapitated, and then her marble limbs were cut off, then the marble sword was jammed through her chest before she toppled over. Voldemort met Bellatrix's eyes at last, and Bellatrix was smiling a little as she nodded.
"Well done, sir," she said, and he just gave her a very serious look. She shrugged. "I don't like Rodolphus as a boyfriend. He's innocuous enough, but if I can boil up the courage, I'm going to release him and inform my parents that I've no intention at all to marry. I think your advice is very sound, and I intend on taking it."
"Oh." His heart picked up speed then, for suddenly he had the idea that maybe this time round, he would not be forced to endure the torture of Bellatrix being Rodolphus' wife, that perhaps someday he might touch her, might even kiss her. He might whisper in her ear that she'd fought well for him, that she looked beautiful on the battlefield… He wrenched his eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed, and heard himself say somewhat frantically,
"Bella…"
When he opened his eyes, she was giving him a curious look, and she narrowed her own eyes as she told him,
"Several times now, you've called me that. Bella. You scarcely know me, yet it sounds very familiar coming from you. I wish I understood why."
He gulped and gestured toward the board. "Your move, Miss Black."
There was a very long beat of silence, until finally she sighed and said, "Bishop to F7."
Voldemort watched numbly as her piece destroyed his, and was hardly aware of his own voice as he commanded the board to move his king up one space to E7. Bellatrix moved her knight to G6 without any destruction, and then Voldemort used his king to annhilihate her white bishop. He watched in silence as the black king piece picked up the hapless white bishop and dropped it forcefully onto the board, smashing it to bits before stabbing it with its own crosier and hoisting its mitre as a trophy. Bellatrix seemed a little confused as she kept giving Voldemort little glances and opening her mouth like she wanted to say something. She was silent for a very long while after Voldemort destroyed her bishop, for so long that he glared at her and reminded her,
"It's your turn, Miss Black."
She just nodded. She sounded profoundly sad then as she physically picked up her own knight piece instead of commanding the board to move it for her. She placed it on H8 and looked up at Voldemort, and she said in a soft little voice,
"Checkmate, sir."
Voldemort curled up his lips in a smile that did not reach his eyes. He met her gaze and said in the most sincere tone he could drum up,
"Very well-played, Miss Black."
She wordlessly pushed out her chair and stood as the pieces of Abraxas Malfoy's ancestral chess set started putting themselves to rights and rearranging themselves on the board. She began to walk toward the door of the parlour, and she said somewhat distractedly,
"I, erm… I told my mother I'd be home in time for… well, she'd having guests over. It's a stupid social event. I've no interest, but just the same. I should get home. Thank you for having me."
He was not sure what to say to that. Was he meant to thank her for deceiving him, for teasing him that he'd beat her at chess and then being remarkably skilled at it? Was he meant to explain to her why it was that he kept calling her Bella, why it was that he knew her and she did not know him? What precisely was he meant to say? He said nothing at all. He just stepped slowly toward the door and nodded. She stared at him and gestured toward the threshold.
"I'll, erm… I'll see myself out by Floo, then, sir. I hope to see you again sometime soon."
"Mmm-hmm." He felt his throat go tight as his heart accelerated his blood in his veins and his skin went hot. Say something to her, you damned fool! his mind screamed at him. Say something!
But he just watched as Bellatrix flashed him a final smile and turned to go, and his chest crumpled with the familiar feeling of regret he'd been experiencing regarding Bellatrix for thirteen years.