Bellatrix dipped her crusty bread into her cold watercress yoghurt soup and listened as Narcissa gushed in a dreamy voice,

"Oh, we just had the very best time, Mum. And Lucius is so handsome."

Bellatrix snorted softly, shaking her head. Druella scowled at her eldest daughter, spooning chilled soup into her own mouth, but Bellatrix insisted,

"Cissy, you've all the time in the world to worry about boys. Don't go rushing into anything with Lucius Malfoy."

"I think you're just cross because it seems Rodolphus Lestrange has already taken up with one Josephine Flint," teased Andromeda from across the table. Bellatrix snarled a little but shook her head. She set down her spoon, deciding she'd quite finished with her cold watercress yoghurt soup, and she took a deep sip of her peppermint water. She shrugged.

"Why on Earth would I care about Rodolphus Lestrange and Josephine Flint?"

"You're right. How silly of me," smirked Andromeda. She gestured to her older sister and pointed out, "I think we all saw how mussed your hair was when you came traipsing back into the ballroom with Mr Tom Riddle, after having left with him for a while. And I think we all also noticed the rather obvious marks he'd left upon your skin."

Andromeda looked very smug then, and Narcissa gasped a little. Bellatrix's hand flew to her neck, to the place where Voldemort had pulled and nipped at her flesh with his mouth. She shivered at the memory of it, and she pursed her lips in rage at her sister. Beside her, Druella Black hissed,

"Is it true, Bellatrix? Did you leave Lucius Malfoy's party to go be private with Tom Riddle somewhere off in Malfoy Manor? His office or his chambers?"

Bellatrix glared at her mother and cocked up her eyebrow. "Perhaps I did. What of it?"

Druella put her lips into a line and folded her hands on the dining room table. Her high, pale cheeks pinked rather darkly then, and finally she utterly shocked Bellatrix by saying in a quiet voice,

"He wouldn't be the very worst option."

Bellatrix's lips parted in wonder. She shook her head, unsure that she'd heard her mother correctly. She was about to ask what Druella had meant, but then her mother clarified,

"Tom Riddle is a Half-Blood. An upstart and a parvenu, a social climbing politician and a hanger-on. That being said, I think your father and I are among many, many people who have seen the writing on the wall with Tom Riddle for many years now. He is, most assuredly and probably in the not-so-very-distant future, going to accomplish remarkable things in the wizarding world."

Bellatrix anxiously sipped again from her peppermint water. Andromeda and Narcissa just looked on curiously. Bellatrix felt her heart racing a little as Druella continued, sounding almost resigned,

"You've told me, Bellatrix, that you had lost interest in Rodolphus Lestrange, that he was unsuitable for you as a match. Fine. I accept that. You also made it quite plain that you intend on aligning yourself with Tom Riddle's new movement, and, I presume, becoming as close to him as your father and the others are now once you leave school. Is that right?"

Bellatrix tipped her chin up and said imperiously, "I intend on being his fiercest ally, Mum."

"Right." Druella sighed heavily and shut her eyes for a moment, murmuring, "Everyone did see you leave Lucius Malfoy's party with him, Bellatrix. Everyone saw you come back disheveled and marked up, him with a rumpled shirt and his hair a mess. It was obvious the two of you had… I don't want you just running about with him. If there's to be something between the two of you, then there ought to actually be something between the two of you. If you don't wish for a traditional Pureblood union, as you've made exceedingly plain, then I suggest that a link with a wizard who is likely to be as powerful and influential as Tom Riddle is not the very worst idea."

Bellatrix gulped. She shrugged helplessly and pointed out, "I can't compel him to want me, Mum."

Druella gave her daughter a withering look. "I think it's very obvious, dear, that that man wants you."

"Oh." Bellatrix's ears went hot. She licked her lips and glanced at the clock. It was not quite one. Would he be in his office at Malfoy Manor, she wondered? Should she write to him and request a meeting? She took a quivering breath and glanced at her sisters, who seemed equally as surprised by their mother's speech about Voldemort as Bellatrix felt.

"Oh," Druella said very lightly, pushing back her chair and rising, "I had a little card for Tullia Malfoy. She did such a fantastic job putting everything together for Lucius so quickly with the rain and everything. I wanted to congratulate her. I was going to send it by owl. I wonder, Bellatrix, if you'd mind taking it to Malfoy Manor by Floo Powder for me instead. I'll go fetch it."

Bellatrix just nodded numbly. Druella left the dining room, and once she did, Bellatrix looked at her sisters, who were just staring in utter shock. Andromeda finally asked,

"So, do you actually want to… I don't know, sign betrothal papers to this man? You know, this wizard who's our parents' age?"

Bellatrix felt her eyes well heavily. She said nothing. In reality, her chest pulled and her stomach churned. The thought of winding up with Rodolphus Lestrange made her feel nauseated; it induced physical discomfort. The thought of winding up with Lord Voldemort, as his servant and potentially as his lover and something more than that, made her swell with emotion. She found she couldn't answer Andromeda, and when Druella came back into the dining room and handed Bellatrix a small envelope marked Tullia, Bellatrix wordlessly took it and rose from the table. She walked through the house and went into the parlour, glancing down to check her appearance. She wore a black lace skirt that hit her shins and simple black shoes, and on her top she had on a wispy, peasant-like black blouse. Her curls had been tamed this morning with just a little Sleekeazy's but hung loose around her face. It was a clean but uncomplicated look, and all Bellatrix could hope was that Lord Voldemort wouldn't find her hideous. She dragged her finger over the little card for Mrs Malfoy that her mother had given her, and she walked over to the large marble fireplace. She dug her fingers into the container of Floo Powder and stalked into the fireplace, tossing the Floo Powder down and shouting quite clearly,

"MALFOY MANOR!"

"So how long have you been in Britain, Mr Karkaroff?" Voldemort sipped from his kvass, the yeasty, malty drink he and Abraxas had broken out in honour of their Baltic guest. The three wizards sat in the same parlour full of recreational pursuits where Bellatrix Black had annhililated Voldemort in their game of Wizard's Chess. Igor Karkaroff, a stern-looking wizard from a village on the shore of Lake Ladoga, sat in one of the wingback chairs in sherpa lined robes with elegant embroidery. In the chair beside him was Abraxas Malfoy, who had brought in Karkaroff to Voldemort to make the introduction as he felt the two would hit things off. They'd been talking for quite some time now, and it did indeed seem like Karkaroff was interested in Voldemort's aims and like he was a very Dark wizard with the mettle and wit to be a good soldier eventually.

Of course, Voldemort knew damned well that Karkaroff would wind up serving him as a Death Eater. Igor was never highly skilled in battle, but, like Bellatrix, he was alarmingly proficient at hunting down and assassinating enemies and with intimidation tactics. And Voldemort also knew Karkaroff's backstory. But he feigned ignorance in order to build a rapport now, sipping his kvass again as Karkaroff said in his low Slavic lilt,

"I arrived about two years ago, sir. I was seeking new opportunities."

"How interesting. You came here right around the time I happened to be on the coast of the White Sea myself. Seeking opportunities," Voldemort smirked, and Karkaroff gave him a knowing look.

"We Karelian witches and wizards are practitioners of most ancient magic, as I am sure you became aware."

"Indeed. Your pyromancy is unrivalled," Voldemort said. "Capnomancy. Your smoke magic. I didn't learn such things anywhere else. I confess myself quite impressed by your people, Mr Karkaroff."

"I am glad to hear of it, Lord Voldemort," Karkaroff said smoothly, and Voldemort gave him a pleased look at the title. He sipped his kvass again and listened as Abraxas Malfoy mused,

"Igor, you absolutely must come out to Tullia's family's home sometime. The view from their grounds is magnificent."

"I should be honored. Thank you," said Karkaroff. Suddenly, Dobby the House-Elf appeared in the doorway of the parlour, looking shaky and uneasy, and he said in a terrified little voice,

"P-Pardon me, Master Abraxas. Mr Riddle, sir. Erm… Mr Karkaroff, dear guest. Dobby is very sorry for the interruption, sirs, but -"

"Out with it, Dobby," snapped Abraxas, and Dobby yelped before he nodded and said,

"Mistress Tullia is entertaining another guest who has arrived, requesting the presence of Mr Tom Riddle, sirs. Dobby has informed her that Mr Tom Riddle is busy, sirs, but she says she will patiently wait to see him, sirs. Dobby thought it best to at least notify you…"

"Who is it?" Voldemort frowned, and Dobby looked at him in wide-eyed fear as he said,

"It is Miss Bellatrix Black, sir."

Voldemort's stomach twisted. He was suddenly thrown back to the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips, of the damp heat of her arousal through her knickers, of her neck as his mouth ravaged the skin there… her voice moaning for him, her head thrown back as she gasped with want. He was breathless, suddenly, his mind whirling, and he licked his lips in desperation. He glanced helplessly to Abraxas, who just flashed him a pleasant look and then glanced to Igor Karkaroff.

"Well, I hate to make Miss Black wait," Abraxas said. "Igor and I shall stay here and play some Wizard's Chess. Won't we, Igor?"

"You do know, my friend, that just because you've got an expensive set to play with, you can't beat a Russian at chess?" Karkaroff laughed. The two other wizards stood, and Karkaroff held up his kvass. "To your movement, sir. I look forward to further news of your intentions and hope to be included moving forward."

"Quite so," Voldemort said happily. "I am more than certain there will be a place for you in the great things to come, Mr Karkaroff. It was very good to meet you. Abraxas."

He nodded at his old friend and set down the rest of his kvass on a side table for Dobby to clear later. He walked out of the room with the House-Elf, down the corridor to another parlour, where he could hear quiet feminine voices. Inside the parlour, he saw Tullia Malfoy and Bellatrix Black sitting on divans facing one another, sipping from teacups. As soon as he appeared in the doorway, Bellatrix flew to her feet and stared at him with wide eyes. Tullia stayed sitting and gave him a suspicious look.

"Tom," Tullia said daintily, "Bellatrix came to deliver a note from her mother complimenting me on my last-minute indoor party planning for Lucius. Wasn't that kind? But she said she also wanted to meet with you. I'm so glad it turns out you were available. As it happens, though, I've got a veritable gaggle of middle-aged witches coming quite soon for a dull little social endeavour. I'm afraid I'll be needing this parlour."

"No matter. I've got a perfectly serviceable sitting room," Voldemort said, quirking up his lips. "You and Abraxas have been most generous with my living quarters, Tullia. Thank you."

Tullia raised her eyebrows. "Of course. Here, Bellatrix, dear. I'll take your tea, if you've finished."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Bellatrix said, handing over her teacup. She walked out of the parlour then, following Voldemort down the corridor wordlessly and glancing up at him every now and then as they approached the staircase. He heard her steps pattering after his, and when they finally reached his suite, he pushed open the door and murmured quietly,

"You can feel free to leave the door open, Bella."

"That's all right," she said, and she shut the door behind her. She turned to face him, her cheeks darker than he would have expected. He noticed at once that she still had marks on her neck quite obviously visible from where he'd aggressively kissed her at Lucius' party. Somehow, he couldn't care. He no longer cared about anyone judging him with Bellatrix. For thirteen years of his life, he'd desperately longed for her, had denied himself so much as a single brush of his fingertips over her cheek to thank her for a battle well fought. He had never once whispered to her after a meeting that she looked pretty that day; he'd never bent down to touch his lips to hers after a dance at a social function. For thirteen long years, he'd suffered the reality that she'd spent her nights in Rodolphus' bed, that she'd been physically intimate with Rodolphus, that she had no awareness of how he felt toward her.

"Do you like Spanish Rioja?" Voldemort asked suddenly, and Bellatrix just stared at him. She frowned and shook her head in confusion.

"Wine, My Lord? It's, erm… it's midday, sir. And, anyway, I'm not meant to drink, sir, and -"

"Yes, of course. You're right." He shut his eyes and thought back, not so very long in his own memory, to how she'd looked at thirty years of age, sitting with him and discussing strategy in hushed but eager tones at the absolute frantic height of his long war, several glasses of Spanish Rioja into the night. He'd stared so longingly at her then. He'd seriously contemplated telling her, kissing her, touching her. He'd very nearly set down his empty wine glass and shoved away the parchments full of their plans and wrapped her up in his arms.

But he hadn't done that. Instead, not long after, he'd gone to Godric's Hollow to kill Harry Potter, and he'd traveled back here in time with one last chance to make her his.

"You came here to see me," Voldemort noted. "I'm sorry I could not receive you immediately. I was meeting with someone. I… his name is Igor Karkaroff. He's a Dark wizard from Russia; he's a friend of Abraxas'. I think he will do good work for me. I'm trying to amass as many friends as I can, you know."

"Friends," Bellatrix repeated knowingly, and Voldemort quickly amended,

"Supporters. Disciples, if you will."

"Followers?" she teased, taking a step toward him. He let out a low laugh and tipped his head.

"Perhaps. Would that be so bad?"

"Not in the slightest, My Lord," Bellatrix hummed, and his heart absolutely hammered then. She closed the gap between them and put her hand on his chest, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her knuckles to his lips, kissing them as he mumbled against her skin,

"I took things too far. I apologise."

"I… erm. This is awkward." Bellatrix shut her eyes. She glanced toward his plus green velvet sofa and asked helplessly, "May we sit, please? I need to talk with you about something."

Voldemort's blood went a bit cold then. He nodded, and he walked with her to the sofa and sank down onto it with her. He wondered suddenly if he'd frightened her at Lucius' party by dragging his hand up her thigh beneath her skirt, by caressing her through her knickers and abusing her neck with rough kisses. It did, perhaps, seem like he'd done entirely too much. After thirteen years of craving her like the air he needed to breathe, it had felt almost necessary. But if he'd frightened her away…

His memories came crashing through his consciousness then, torturing him as he wondered if he'd destroyed his second chance with her. He remembered the time Bellatrix had murdered Soren Vaughan in Hay-on-Wye in a carefully targeted hit. She'd come back to Voldemort's office at two in the morning to privately debrief, and she'd been vibrating with energy, giggling and bouncing. Voldemort had been far more free and easy with her that night than he usually was, for her enthusiasm had been contagious and his side had the advantage at that point of the war. The two of them had had too much firewhisky over the next few hours, and she hadn't gone home to Rodolphus until almost five, finally going by Floo because she'd been too drunk to Apparate without Splinching. Voldemort had stood at the fireplace where she'd vanished, touching at the marble and panting after she'd gone, wishing desperately that he'd possessed the courage to press her against the wall and crush her mouth with a kiss.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, snapping him to attention as his mind returned to his sitting room at Malfoy Manor. He nodded to her and smiled a little, though he knew it did not reach his eyes. She twined her hands anxiously in her lap and shook her head a little. "This is stupid. Such things are usually discussed between the fathers, but… my understanding is that you haven't got a father, My Lord, and also you're my father's age, and also I should like to think of myself as more independent and liberated than that, but -"

"Bella, may I ask what exactly you are referencing?" Voldemort felt thoroughly confused. Bellatrix's face coloured tomato red then, and she wrenched her eyes shut as she very quickly spat out,

"My mother thinks I ought to marry you, My Lord. She says that it's a good match, even though you're not of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, because everyone knows very well that you're going to be a very accomplished wizard. And I'm certain she thinks you'd find it a good match, too, given my status as a member of the House of Black. And apparently we were rather obvious at Lucius' party, and she knows I don't want anything to do with Rodolphus or those silly boys like him, and that I mean to give my whole life to your service, and… anyway, I know it's a profoundly silly thing. I'm very sorry. I ought not to have come here at all. I'll go."

She hauled herself to her feet, looking breathless and very embarrassed. She dashed toward the door so quickly that Voldemort had to fly up and rush to intercept her. He grabbed at her wrist and she whirled around, staring up at him with tearful eyes as she said helplessly,

"I'm so mortified, My Lord. I apologise for -"

"Bella," he whispered, his voice not as strong as he would like. He tried again, tried to say her name again, but his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes seared like fire. He blinked through it and cleared his throat roughly, reachined for her hands. He bent down to kiss her forehead and murmured onto her skin, "Druella Rosier Black, of all people, wants her very elite Pureblood daughter marrying the man who would be Lord Voldemort, eh?"

Bellatrix sniffled as she cried softly. "She calls you a social climber, sir, but I think she's well aware that we'll all be scrambling for your favour soon enough."

Voldemort smirked and pulled back a little. He tucked one of Bellatrix's curls behind her ear and studied her wide brown eyes. She was so catastrophically beautiful, he thought. For thirteen years, he'd thought that, but right now the fact drove through him like a stake through his chest. He wanted her so badly his legs were shaking a little. His voice said words before he could control them.

"I could teach you. You don't need Hogwarts. Dippet and Dumbledore. Slughorn. Flitwick. What can they teach you that I can't? I was the finest pupil that Hogwarts had seen in centuries, and then I studied esoteric, arcane Dark Arts on the Continent. I could teach you Potions. I could teach you Transfiguration and Charms. But I could also teach you Curses. Bone Magic. Poisons. I could teach you Occlumency to protect your mind from our enemies. You say you want to be my servant. My soldier. I could teach and train you. Don't go back to school."

Bellatrix swiped at her tears and just stared up at him, her full bottom lip quivering a little. Then her mouth curled up in contentment, and she whispered,

"Yes. Yes, My Lord. I'll learn from you. I'll learn whatever you'll teach me, and I'll -"

"Marry me," Voldemort murmured quietly. Bellatrix was silent, looking shocked that he'd seemed to agree to Druella's wild suggestion. Voldemort bent down and kissed her lips very gently as he cupped her jaw, and he asked her, "Miss Black, please, will you marry me?"

"Merlin's Beard. Oh, yes, please." Bellatrix was gasping then, and suddenly Voldemort found himself smashing his mouth down onto hers in a somewhat aggressive kiss. She whimpered and moaned onto his mouth, and when he pulled back a little, she wantonly suggested, "Shall I please you, My Lord, since I failed to do so during Lucius' party?"

"Bella." He shook his head and kissed at her cheekbone. He stood upright and gave her a sad little smile as he noted, "We've all the time in the world for such things, you and I. If you had any idea…"

Suddenly his chest crumpled with hurt, with years of compounded regret and anguish and heartache at the way he'd forced himself to watch her and want her and never let himself actually get close. He put his hands on his hips and bowed his head as he sighed.

"What's wrong, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, putting her hands flat on his chest. He wondered then if he would ever tell her the truth, if she meant to make vows with him and give her life to him. He stared at her and wondered if he would ever tell her that he'd known her at thirty, that he'd seen her fight an entire war, that he'd witnessed her marriage to Rodolphus, that he'd desired her for well over a decade of his life. He wondered if he could ever tell her that he'd actually lived fifty-five years, that he had traveled through time to come to her, that he was trying his hand at victory all over again. He gulped and decided that decision was for a later time. He did finally say softly to her,

"I wish you understood, Bella, how preposterously happy you have made me."

She began to silently cry again then, and Voldemort smiled to himself, because this was his Bellatrix - the one who became overwhelmed with emotion when she satisfied her master, who wanted to be as near to Lord Voldemort as possible for the rest of her life. Admittedly, Voldemort did not see coming the idea that Druella Rosier Black, of all people, would suggest a match between the aspirational Tom Riddle and her silk stocking eldest daughter Bellatrix. But, it really did make sense. Everyone knew full well that Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - was going to become someone. It was intelligent to try and plug one's family into the equation now, and to make that link as permanent and consequential as possible. That was certainly why the Malfoys were being so very hospitable. And Druella was not wrong, either, that Voldemort would view a marriage to Bellatrix Black as the right move. Not only was she a Pureblood of the most aristocratic order, but she'd already made clear that she wished to devote herself to Voldemort mind, body, and soul. And he and Bellatrix had already been caught in the act, as it were, sneaking out of a party and returning in shambled. Druella had been suspicious, too, he knew, when Voldemort had been alone with Bellatrix in her bedroom in London. He'd be stupid not to take Druella up on her idea. Marrying Bellatrix was by far the best outcome for everyone involved.

"My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and he fingers fumbled a little with the silver clasps at Voldemort's chest as she bravely moved to push off his black waffle-weave robe, "I beg of you… please, please allow me to do something for you. I beseech you."

"Bella," Voldemort huffed, reaching for her hands. But she just stared up and him and pulled her fingers from his, trailing her hands down his front until she reached the tie at the front of his wool trousers. Voldemort's breath hitched, and he shook his head a little bit as he mumbled, "I can wait. I am a patient man. It has been a very long time for me."

Longer than you could possibly comprehend, he wanted so badly to say. He wanted to tell her that he'd been with nearly all her friend's mothers when they were young, that he'd shagged whores, that he'd had a months-long affair with Gry Alba in Denmark, but that it had been over a decade since he'd properly touched a witch, all because of Bellatrix. He wanted to tell her that he had utterly lost his appetite for anyone but her, that he'd spent the entire war alone because of her, that his body had gone unattended by any other witch at all simply because Bellatrix existed. He watched now as Bellatrix anxiously chewed her full bottom lip, as her high cheekbones went pink, and in a quiet little voice, she dared to ask,

"You've had a great many witches in your life, I assume, My Lord?"

He shifted where he stood, unwilling to lie to her. He shrugged. "In my younger days. I am much, much older than you, Bella. I was a bit of a playboy at Hogwarts, I'll admit. I'm sure someone will let that slip to try and make you jealous. And I had my freedom in the years afterward. But then… for a very long while, erm… I have been completely alone for quite some time. For a long time."

Her thick brows furrowed. "For how long?"

He hesitated. "Thirteen years."

She looked confused. "Thirteen years. You've mentioned that length of time before. Something seems to have happened to you thirteen years ago, My Lord."

"I…" He licked his lips and shut his eyes. "It doesn't matter. You're here with me now."

He felt her fingers untying his trousers then, and suddenly he wondered if she was far more experienced than he'd given her credit for, as well. He wondered what exactly she intended on doing to him, and he reached for her shoulder as he whispered,

"There is no obligation. We'll marry once your birthday's passed, and then we'll have every night together, Bella."

"But I want to please you right now, My Lord," Bellatrix replied, and blood immediately flushed to fill Voldemort's cock at that. He tipped his head back, going rigid in his trousers and grunting softly with desire as he felt her little hands pull him out. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and suddenly he realised she had precisely no idea what she was doing. He instantly peered into her mind with Legilimency and perceived that she'd frantically snogged Rodolphus Lestrange on many occasions. The boy had even dared to put his hand beneath Bellatrix's jumper and cup her breast. But that was the extent of things. Bellatrix had never seen a wizard's cock, let alone played with one or had one inside of her. Voldemort slipped out of her head and met her eyes as he curled his fingers around her wrist and murmured,

"Tell me to stop if you don't want me to show you."

"Show me," she whispered, and somehow Voldemort's cock grew even more firm. Bellatrix looked drunk as Voldemort slowly dragged her fingers in a dance around his tip, as he showed her how to pump his shaft with just enough pressure. His breath deepened and quickened as her touch registered, and he finally pulled his hand away and started letting her do the work himself. He gave her a reassuring nod and then leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"Lubrico," he hummed, wandlessly incanting the Lubrication Charm all Hogwarts boys expertly cast on themselves in their dormitory beds. Bellatrix gasped a little as her hand slicked up on him, and she started applying more pressure as her fist moved up and dowren his length and over his tip. Voldemort let out a guttural noise and arched his back a little, his ears ringing as he heard Bellatrix ask in wonder,

"You're going to put it inside of me, My Lord? Night after night?"

He just nodded, his throat feeling dry as he realised how quickly he was climbing the peak toward satisfaction. He hadn't had anyone else touch him in so long, and no one else's touch had ever approached Bellatrix's. This was her. At long last, it was her. The psychological aspect of all of it was almost more powerful than the physical, and Voldemort could scarcely cope with the combined sensations. He reached to hold Bellatrix's face in his hands, and he twisted his face a little and choked out a noise of immense pleasure as she focused for a long moment on his tip.

"You know I belong entirely to you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut and desperately replied,

"From the moment I met you, Bella, I knew full well what you would be for me. Dangerous. Terrifying. And almost unbearably beautiful."

Her hand slowed for a moment, and when Voldemort looked to her, she was smiling so happily that Voldemort found himself choking out a little laugh. He stroked at her curls and nodded as he whispered,

"Some things are indeed worth waiting for."

She started to pump her hand on him with more enthusiasm then, earnestly driving her fist down in long twisting motions over his tip and shaft. Her right hand carefully cupped his balls and toyed with them just enough to stimulate, and Voldemort's knees finally buckled as he snapped. Heat and intense pleasure flushed through his veins, washing over him in the most intense way he could remember. He grunted and moaned, unable to stay quiet as his come leaped forth in erratic streams. Bellatrix gasped loudly, seeming wholly unprepared for the way Voldemort's seed covered her hands and the sleeves of her blouse. It drizzled in unseemly, obscene little puddles on the ground, and Bellatrix giggled a little then, looking at Voldemort as she said,

"Oops."

He shrugged as his cock lost its vigour, as his climax faded. He tucked his cock back into his woolen trousers and began to tie them up as he informed Bellatrix,

"Wizards are terribly messy creatures, I'm afraid."

Bellatrix looked uneasy then as Voldemort pulled out his yew wand and non-verbally Siphoned and Scoured up the mayhem from his orgasm. She shifted on her feet, frowning deeply. Voldemort raised his eyebrows, twirling his wand in his fingers, and said,

"I was about to thank you, Bella, but you seem rather remorseful and disappointed."

"No, it's… erm." Bellatrix chomped her lip. "Forgive me. It's just… one of the reasons I'd decided against marrying Rodolphus is that I did not want a life sitting at home as a Pureblood wife and mother."

Suddenly Voldemort understood. She was terrified of his seed. She was petrified that if she married Lord Voldemort, she'd be made to bear the aspirational wizard heir upon heir, to be upon his arm as his prestigious little trophy wife. Voldemort reached for her jaw and bent to touch his lips to hers, and then he stood again.

"Hm. You've nothing to worry about," he said. "If you'd like, I shall brew you up an Infecundum Solution. Have you received full instruction on contraception yet at Hogwarts?"

Bellatrix looked ashamed and shook her head. "Just on one-time Contraception Charms. They teach that in Fourth Year. I'm so sorry; I feel like a little fool."

"No. It's nothing at all. The Infecundum Solution serves as permanent contraception unless its specific antidote is brewed and consumed. It is highly effective and reliable. I'm more than happy to brew it for you as soon as you'd like, and then you don't have to think about it again."

"Not until you decide you want children of me," Bellatrix said quite glumly, and Voldemort smirked, shaking his head vigorously.

"If it's all the same to you, I'm perfectly fine without children. I only want you."

Bellatrix's eyes went very wide then, and her full lips fell open. "Really, My Lord?"

He tipped his head. "You are going to be entirely too busy learning the Dark Arts and serving me as a devoted servant and soldier to be waddling around pregnant and labouring and whatnot." He sneered in distaste. "Anyway, I happen to know you never wanted children, and neither did I."

He froze then, and Bellatrix gave him a very odd look. She studied his face, and Voldemort coughed into his fist. He shook his head and laughed awkwardly before he amended,

"What I mean is, you've made it very obvious that your priorities and your goals have nothing to do with motherhood, and I likewise have no desire for fatherhood. So."

She nodded then, still seeming troubled. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and stared at the ground, and he told Bellatrix,

"I could use some money. To buy us a proper home. I have a feeling your parents would not be opposed to such a thing, seeing as how they certainly want this marriage to look mutually advantageous. Send your father to me, and he and I will discuss a dowry. I'll keep my office here at Malfoy Manor and find us a home of our own, somewhere where I can teach you the Dark Arts and base myself as I build my movement."

She grinned broadly then. "I don't have to send my father to you. I've got money for a dowry already. It's inherited; it's in a special vault at Gringotts. It's the way of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, you know, to set such things up for daughters at the time of their births."

"Oh. Of course." Voldemort felt his cheeks go warm. "Well. I'll get in touch with Hamish and Hamish and find something reasonable but appropriate. I will take care of you."

"And I will serve you. My Lord." She bent down and picked up the robe she'd pushed off of him earlier. She helped him put it back on, and he let her do up the silver clasps at his chest. She gazed up into his eyes, and she smiled weakly as she whispered, "I could not be happier."

"Well, I mean to make you happier when I give you a ring," Voldemort said. "I hope you'll accept something I make myself. I promise you I'm quite gifted with Magical metalwork."

She laughed and nodded. "I don't doubt it, Master. You're gifted with everything."

His heart stopped for a beat then. Master. In his lived existence, it had taken ages for her to get to the point of calling him that. She hadn't even started calling him that until over a year after she'd been given the Dark Mark. She looked shocked with herself, but she did not apologise. Instead, her face went serious, and she reached up to drag her fingertips around Voldemort's jaw, trying the word out again as though she enjoyed the slip of it between her lips.

"Master…"

"Bella."

He was hungry for her, and all he wanted then was to take her into his bedroom and rip off her clothes. But he just played with her curls with one hand and spun his wand with the other and hummed,

"What a perfectly vicious and fatal soldier and servant you will make. What a brilliant student of the Dark Arts I shall have. What a perfect wife you will be. And how very lucky I shall be, as your master and teacher and husband, to have you for my own."

She surprised him very much then by falling to the ground, genfuflecting on one knee and seizing his left hand. She bowed her head and then kissed his fingers, and she whispered softly,

"Master."

He pulled her up slowly, and he kissed her mouth with a long, languid kiss as he stroked her face. Finally he broke away from her and tucked his wand into his pocket, and he told her,

"Go home, Bella, and tell your mother that Lord Voldemort says yes."

Author's Note: Please do review! Thank you!