Lord Voldemort stared at his reflection in his full-length mirror and blinked a few times. He was struck, suddenly, by how very old he looked. He'd managed to forget, in the brief but wondrous time he'd spent in the past, what it had been like to be fifty-five years of age. His face had been smooth and free from the hideous scarring it now bore. His left eye had been clear and had possessed its vision. His hair had been fuller and far darker. But now he was old and damaged, and he wondered how on Earth Bellatrix could possibly find him desirable here.

He felt embarrassed as he yanked at the sleeves of his perfectly tailored tuxedo robes, which were bound together with silver cufflinks that had the Dark Mark emblazoned upon them. He studied his dragonhide dress shoes, aiming his yew wand at them for a final shine. He went downstairs in his manor house outside Danby and called for Fan, his House-Elf, that he was off to Adler Carrow's wedding and would be back much later. Fan was a feeble little old thing that was wont to worry terribly for his master, who would often come staggering back to Danby, exhausted from a battle, or would return after several days' unannounced absence. Fan nodded urgently and twined his bony fingers together, wheezing to Voldemort,

"May you enjoy yourself thoroughly, Master."

Voldemort just nodded and pulled on his dress cashmere outer cloak and his custom black leather gloves. He Disapparated from Danby and came to at Carrow Castle at Milton-under-Wychwood. An imposing structure, Carrow Castle was a late medieval construction of Cotswold stone, and as far as homes went, it was outright gloomy and dour. Today, though, the families involved in the wedding had clearly attempted to make this a happy place. Banners bearing the sigils of the Carrow and Shacklebolt families had been hung from the windows of the castle and fluttered outside the grand doors.

Members of both families held the banners in one arm and their wands in the other as they guarded the perimeter of the castle grounds, about ten of them in total. Voldemort nodded his approval of the security measure as he approached, and as he did, the Shacklebolts and Carrows in question all bowed and curtsied to him, a few murmuring a good evening, My Lord, or a similar greeting. Voldemort strode past the guards and walked up to the castle, and two scrappy House-Elves who appeared to have adorned themselves with Carrow and Shacklebolt colours of their own creation pushed open the door and frantically made obeisance of their own. Voldemort sighed, strolling down the decorated main corridor of the castle past massive vases full of peonies, paperwhites, and cream roses. He followed the low hum of conversation and the sound of elegant string music, and he stepped into the castle's gothic ballroom. Almost at once, he heard a rather raw and indelicate yelp from his right, and someone exclaimed that it was him, that he had arrived. He smirked, and then he heard Amphion Carrow's Amplified voice cry out through the ballroom,

"BE SILENT AND GIVE PROPER RESPECT TO THE DARK LORD."

The string quartet that had been playing stopped at once. All conversation immediately ceased. Voldemort tipped his chin up proudly and adjusted his hold on his wand as his eyes flicked around the room, ensuring for his own peace of mind that he was satisfied with the company. All loyalists, it seemed. He sniffed a little and watched as the witches assembled dipped into reverent curtsies, as the wizards gave low and respectful bows. The House-Elves tottering about with their trays full of cocktails nearly toppled over as they bent their waists, and the silence was heavy and meaningful. Finally, Voldemort held up a hand and said just loudly enough for everyone to hear,

"Adler Carrow and Lulit Shacklebolt. Today we celebrate your union; you represent all that wizarding Britain can be, and all that we fight for. I have come to honour your wedding because the two of you are precisely the future for which we wage war. Let there be merriment on this night. I thank you both for having me. Now. Let all enjoy the celebration."

People slowly came out of their submissive positions, and after a very long while, they resumed low conversations, and the music eventually started back up again. Voldemort scanned the ballroom once more, searching for Bellatrix. He could not find her. He scowled deeply. Where was she? Voldemort felt distracted for a moment, so much so that he scarcely noticed the way an entire group of people walked right up to him. Finally, someone cleared their throat to get his attention, and he whipped his head round.

"Agnes," he nodded, blinking in surprise. Alecto and Amycus Carrow had come to him with their parents, Agnes and Aloysius. Voldemort remembered the way he'd felt guilt about Agnes when he'd gone back in time, the way she'd discussed their little trysts with him. His cheeks went hot now, beholding what had become of the two of them as time had passed. Agnes was aged. She was graceful, her grey hair tied over her head in a milkmaid braid, but her wrinkled face was stern, and it was almost impossible now to remember what she'd looked like as a girl in a Slytherin uniform almost forty years earlier. Voldemort's mouth fell open, feeling idiotic suddenly, and he shrugged. He turned to Aloysius, whose nephew was getting married, and he said,

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, Master," Aloysius smiled. Voldemort felt sick again, for he'd told Agnes in his time travels about how Aloysius had once begged Tom Riddle to stop shagging Agnes in the dormitory, that Aloysius was madly in love with Agnes and that being cuckolded by Tom Riddle was miserable torture. Aloysius had promised to do whatever Tom Riddle wanted to make it all stop, to have Agnes to himself, because he'd loved her so fiercely. Now Voldemort's cheeks went warm as he glanced between Agnes and Aloysius, who had been wed for decades, who had parented children together, and whose twins were soldiers for Voldemort. He put his lips into a line and said to Alecto Carrow,

"I, erm… I think you go talk to Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto."

Alecto's cheeks went tomato red, and she stared at Voldemort, aghast. She said somewhat helplessly,

"I don't think he actually enjoys my company, Master."

Voldemort huffed. "Keep trying."

Alecto just nodded, dipping obediently so that her aubergine lace skirts fluffed about her. She walked off then, glancing back toward her mother, and Agnes seemed a bit confused. Voldemort glanced across the ballroom to where Rabastan Lestrange stood talking with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He focused on Rabastan for a moment and wandlessly, nonverbally Confounded the wizard to pay attention to Alecto, to like her, to want to spend more time with her. Perhaps they would wind up together. Perhaps not. Something odd had compelled Voldemort to at least try.

"My brother Amphion was so very pleased that you were willing to grace the wedding with your presence, My Lord," Aloysius was saying, "though I must confess he is somewhat terrified to approach you himself and thank you."

Voldemort smirked. "Tell him it's no problem whatsoever; I meant what I said. Weddings like this prove that our cause is just. The war is worth fighting. It is a risk, you know. Gatherings like these in a time of conflict. But we need to gather, sometimes, to remind ourselves why we put our lives at stake. Don't you agree?"

"Quite so." Agness raised her goblet of wine and smiled warmly. "To the Dark Lord and his glory. I am proud to be the mother of two soldiers in the great fight for the future of wizarding Britain."

"To the Dark Lord," Aloysius agreed, and he sipped from his own drink. Voldemort just took a deep breath. He looked around again, rather desperate to find Bellatrix. Still, he did not see her. A gorgeous, tall, skinny witch with skin that was smooth and dark walked up to the conversation and gave a little curtsy. At once, Voldemort knew this was the bride; she was wearing white and was the only one in the ballroom to be doing so. This wedding was not going to be a formal, stiff occasion in the Ancient Tongue, from his understanding, so Lulit Shacklebolt was mingling with guests before the ceremony. Her gown was formfitting until the knees, at which point it erupted into a veritable explosion of white feathers. It had clearly been crafted by her brother, Thabo.

"My Lord," hummed Lulit, "Thank you so very much for coming to our wedding. We are supremely honoured, Adler and I."

"My most heartfelt congratulations, Miss Shacklebolt," said Voldemort smoothly. "I know that the two of you… that you… excuse me."

He pulled himself away immediately then, ignoring the way that Agnes and Aloysius Carrow and Lulit Shacklebolt were staring after him in surprise. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had just come walking into the ballroom, and Voldemort's heart had practically skidded to a stop at the sight. It was, perhaps, more accurate to say that Rodolphus had come angrily barreling into the ballroom and that Bellatrix had dragged herself in after him, her face looking red and puffy. Voldemort scowled very deeply, and he moved with almost rude insistence through the crowd of revelers that bowed to him as he pushed past them.

Rodolphus was shoving a goblet of wine into Bellatrix's unwilling hands when Voldemort reached them, and when he did, Bellatrix gasped and dipped at once, muttering,

"Hello, Master."

"Bella, what's the matter?" he growled without pretense. She did not respond, but her fingers shook rather wildly around her goblet of wine, and then he heard her sniffle just a bit as if she were fighting hard to keep her tears inside. He thrust into her mind with Legilimency, but she had her Occlumency shields up, warding off her mind entirely like a guarded prison. Voldemort whirled on Rodolphus, who was glaring at his wife. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and hissed at Rodolphus, "What have you done to her?"

Rodolphus gave Voldemort an almost defiant look and shrugged. "I haven't done anything, My Lord."

"Lies!" Voldemort angrily knocked Rodolphus' wine from his hands, sending the goblet soaring. The goblet clattered to the ground and sent a puddle of wine splashing. A few witches gasped and yelped in alarm, and though the strings continued to play, most people around them went quiet and started to watch the dramatic scene unfolding. Voldemort ignored them all. Instead, he jabbed his yew wand at Rodolphus' throat and found himself snarling to Bellatrix,

"This is your last chance to tell me yourself what happened, Bella, or I'll find out the hard way."

He watched her squeeze her eyes shut and bow her head, and then he was overwhelmed with rage. He stared at Bellatrix as the tip of his wand sank into Rodolphus' skin. Bellatrix had come to the wedding looking positively disheveled, Voldemort realised. She was always impeccably dressed for social events. She always styled her beautiful curls into elegant styles for things like weddings and parties. For the last few years, she'd worn her diamond star pendant. And she was always well-dressed. But tonight, for a wedding attended by the elite of wizarding society, she'd come with her curls frizzy and wild, dressed in a simple black velvet frock that covered her arms and neck - the same velvet dress, Voldemort noticed, that she'd worn when she'd come to see him after the battle in Cornwall. She had on unadorned flat shoes and no jewels or makeup.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Master," Rodolphus panted, and Voldemort turned on him, feeling heat in his cheeks and hate in his eyes. He shook where he stood, jabbing his wand further into Rodolphus' throat and hearing the other wizard make a choking noise in response. Rodolphus shook his head and protested, "P-please, Master. Mercy. I beg you."

"Legilimens," Voldemort incanted through clenched teeth, seething with anger as he careened into Rodolphus' feeble mind. Rodolphus' eyes went round as saucers and his legs almost gave out as his mind was searched, but Voldemort didn't have to look for long. Almost instantly, a horrific scene was playing out before him, disgusting footage that would haunt him for a long while after bearing witness to it.

"We've got plenty of time before we need to be there. Come on, Bellatrix. I'm your husband. You can't hold out on me like this."

"Rodolphus, I've told you that I don't feel like it." Bellatrix huffed and opened her wardrobe, pawing through her options. She seemed to be waffling between two formal gowns, holding each up for consideration. Rodolphus felt angry, for his cock was hard and Bellatrix had been denying him for too long now. He walked up behind her and unfastened her bra. She whirled and slapped his cheek hard. His face smarted, and he choked out a noise of shock.

"You've struck me!" he exclaimed in horror, and she frowned deeply and sighed.

"I've told you no. You'll take no for an answer and that's that. Just because we're married does not obligate me to -"

"I think it does, actually." Rodolphus hooked his fingers into the waistband of Bellatrix's knickers. She wasn't physically strong enough to fight him off, and her wand was still lying on the bed where she'd left it. She scrambled madly to get away from him, but he angrily pinned her against the wall beside the wardrobe and smashed her wrists above her head as he reminded her, "I am much, much bigger than you. Much stronger than you. And you've got no wand. I can have whatever I want."

"Please." She was sobbing suddenly, tears streaming down her cheeks. The righteous anger she'd shown earlier had given way to obvious fear. She choked out more tears and shook her head as she whispered, "Oh, My Lord, please help me…"

"He's not here," Rodolphus snarled bitterly, for he'd known for years now that Bellatrix harboured feelings for their master that far exceeded those a servant ought to feel. He cinched his hands more tightly around her wrists and jammed his erection onto her abdomen. "I'm here. I'm your husband. And I can take what I want."

"Please." Bellatrix sobbed against his chest. "Please, if you ever loved me, if you ever cared about me… just let me put on a stupid dress, and let's just go to the wedding. Please, let's just go. Please, Dolph. I don't want it. I don't want you."

Rodolphus felt angrier than ever then, because her crying and begging for pity had entirely subdued his erection. His arousal gone, he released Bellatrix's wrists. But he wasn't finished with her, because he was still angry, and he was still much stronger than her. So, rather on impulse, he grabbed Bellatrix by the shoulders and shoved her across the bedroom as hard as he could manage, sending her skittering at high speed until she lost her balance and careened into the window. She cried out in pain and grasped at the windowsill for purchase. Rodolphus let out a cruel laugh and turned toward the wardrobe, reaching inside and arbitrarily pulling out a black velvet dress. He tossed it and Bellatrix's bra toward her and snarled,

"Frigid bitch."

Voldemort yanked himself out of Rodolphus' head and stared. The entire ballroom had gone completely silent, dangerously so. The strings had stopped playing. No one was talking. Rodolphus Lestrange was kneeling on the ground, crying quietly, as though he realised something very awful was about to happen to him. Lord Voldemort stood with his pale yew wand shaking like a leaf, its tip aimed straight at Rodolphus' face, his eyes searing badly. His lips struggled to form any words at all. He flicked his gaze to Bellatrix, who held the goblet of wine that Rodolphus had foisted upon her and shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Voldemort glanced around the ballroom, seeing that every eye was on him, and then he looked down at Rodolphus, and he incanted with all the contempt and malice his soul had ever possessed,

"CRUCIO!"

Rodolphus' physical agony erupted at once. His back bent into a hideous, unnatural angle as he contorted in anguish. His fingers clawed at the floor of Carrow Castle's ballroom, and his screams pierced the quiet air. His face twisted into inhuman expressions, his mouth wide open and his eyes wrenched shut. The wedding gusts gasped and murmured among themselves as they observed the torture. Most of them, Voldemort reckoned, had never witnessed a Cruciatus Curse cast in person. Only the Death Eaters, and perhaps a few others, had done so. Some seemed utterly horrified, and a few of the younger, more impressionable witches screamed in terror at what they were seeing. But Voldemort held the spell for a very long while, as Rodolphus writhed and shrieked, as he begged Voldemort to stop, as he pleaded for mercy from his master, mercy that would not come. He would have tortured Rodolphus until the wizard was unable to speak, but he needed him to understand what he was going to say next, so at last he broke the spell and waited for quiet to settle again over the ballroom. He stalked around Rodolphus' panting, twitching form, waiting for the man to stop crying out in pain. Finally, he said down to Rodolphus,

"Do you know… I underestimated you. I thought your idiocy was innocuous. I thought your ignorance was harmless. He's nothing but a stupid brute. That's what I always told myself. At least he can cast a Curse or two on my behalf. And what of it if you were married to my very finest lieutenant? At least you weren't making her miserable. Well. As it happens, I was very, very wrong. And so, Mr Lestrange, I feel foolish."

He let a heavy moment of awkward silence pass in which the only sound was Rodolphus' pained wheezing and horrified sobs from the crowd. He glanced to Bellatrix to see her looking on with an almost satisfied expression. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she seemed vaguely happy, as well, her lips curled up just a little. Voldemort sniffed and aimed his wand at Rodolphus again as he said to the other wizard,

"Your idiocy, it turns out, was toxic. Your ignorance did enormous damage. You made the most wondrous witch who has ever lived profoundly miserable. And you have wasted entirely too much of my time. You are dismissed, Rodolphus. Avada Kedavra!"

There was a blinding flash of jade green light that engulfed the entire ballroom for a split second. There were more screams then, and Voldemort saw a few people go sprinting from the ballroom in horror and was aware that several frantically Disapparated. They were afraid, probably, of the Dark Lord turning his wrath on random people. They did not know that this was a very targeted execution. He needed to deescalate the situation, and quickly, to avoid very bad public relations. So he turned away from the massive lump that was Rodolphus Lestrange's unmoving corpse and faced the crowd, and he said loudly,

"Adler and Lulit, I am very sorry for having disrupted your wedding so egregiously. I'm afraid this couldn't wait. Traitors must face immediate justice. I beg you to carry on. Yaxley. Rookwood. Up here."

His Death Eaters came sprinting up to the front of the ballroom, and Voldemort quietly gave them orders to take Rodolphus' body to Lestrange House to be attended to later by his parents, who were sobbing in the back corner of the ballroom with Rabastan, who was wisely keeping them away from Voldemort. Yaxley and Rookwood Levitated Rodolphus' corpse and quickly made their way from the ballroom with it in tow as the wedding guests seemed to try to determine whether they were meant to continue with the party or to go home. Voldemort decided that none of it was his concern at this point. He turned to Bellatrix, who seemed shaken but oddly satisfied, and she gulped some wine before she mumbled,

"So much for me taking him out in secret at Eliza Atlas' house, My Lord. I suppose the secret's out."

He ignored her jape. He was in no mood for joking. His breath shook as he took a step toward her and asked her quietly,

"Did he… I couldn't bear to see it all. Did he actually…?"

She shut her eyes and shook her head. She choked a bitter little laugh. "I don't think he could."

Voldemort felt sick then. "I want to take you home."

"Oh, please, My Lord, no." Bellatrix shook her head wildly, staring up at him. "I'm going to go stay with Cissy for awhile. I can't bear to be in that house for the time being. It's too -"

"My home," Voldemort amended. He needed, suddenly, to hold her, to comfort her, but he could not do so here. There was a ballroom full of sycophants here, most of them still staring at him. He could not sweep her into his arms right now. He could not kiss her lips and whisper that he would take care of her. And, anyway, he didn't know that that was what she wanted. But he licked his lips and revealed, "You know I have a home of my own. A clandestine location."

"It's secret," Bellatrix whispered, looking amazed. "Nobody knows where it is. No one's been there."

"No. No one has," Voldemort confirmed. He gulped past the knot in his throat and then shut his eyes as he murmured, "Do you remember when you assassinated Soren Vaughan in Hay-on-Wye? You came to my office at two in the morning and we got catastrophically drunk. It was five o'clock when you finally went back to Rodolphus. Do you know how close I was to just taking you back to Danby?"

"Danby," Bellatrix repeated in a low voice, and Voldemort nodded. He opened his eyes and heard his voice crack with sorrow as he told her,

"I wanted so badly to press you up against a wall and kiss you until you… oh. But I was such a fucking coward."

He rarely swore like that, but he was frustrated right now. He balled his left hand into a fist and shook his head. Bellatrix took a step toward him and gazed up into his eyes, and she seemed very regretful as she whispered,

"I would serve you as it seems you wish. Gladly, I would, Master. And I am exceedingly grateful for what you did to Rodolphus, because he… he… it was awful, what he did. But I'm bleeding, I'm afraid. I couldn't have given him what he wanted, even if I'd wanted it myself."

Voldemort scoffed, and Bellatrix seemed wounded. He reached impulsively for her face, not caring suddenly who saw. He shook his head and asked her,

"Do you honestly think, Bella, that tonight of all nights, when you have been so grievously persecuted by the husband I have executed in this ballroom, that I mean to take you to my private home so that I can have sex with you?"

She seemed confused, and her white teeth sank into her full bottom lip. She shrugged helplessly and asked, "Why else would you -"

"Because I love you." He kissed her forehead then, his lips resting for a long moment on her skin, even as he knew the entire ballroom full of guests was looking at them. He didn't care. He couldn't care.

He put his hand between her shoulders and guided her out of the ballroom, maintaining the protective stance even as they walked past hordes of people who bowed and curtsied to him. Bellatrix shirked into a submissive position, but Voldemort kept her close. She set down her wine on a table they went by, and as they passed Druella Black, who looked utterly panicked, Voldemort said simply,

"I'll be in touch."

"Y-yes, Master," Druella stammered, her face white as chalk. Outside the castle, Voldemort noticed that Bellatrix was shivering in the November air, and he snapped at her,

"Where's your cloak?"

"I, erm… Dolph sort of dragged me downstairs," Bellatrix said ruefully, "and he brought me here by Side-Along before I could grab anything. I didn't think it would be this cold. I'm fine."

"Nonsense." Voldemort huffed, unclasping his luxurious black cashmere cloak. He draped it over Bellatrix, and on her tiny frame, it was comically heavy and long. But she seemed exceedingly happy as she wrapped it around herself, and she grinned broadly up at her master as she noted,

"Rodolphus is dead."

"Yes." Voldemort sighed. "I'm sorry it was me to do it and not you."

"I don't mind." Bellatrix touched at his chest. Voldemort shivered in the night air and choked out a little laugh.

"To Danby, then?" He took her hand and Disapparated, and when they came to, they were on the lawn outside his manor house. Bellatrix stared up in wonder, and he knew she was impressed not just by the elegant architecture of the place, but by the secrecy that had veiled Lord Voldemort's home for years. It was an honour to be here, he knew, and she must feel the weight of this privilege.

"You are here because I love you," he reminded her in a gentle voice. "Because you are very precious to me."

She stared at him from beneath the black cashmere hood of his cloak, and she looked profoundly emotional. Suddenly his chest pulled badly; he could see her at sixteen, marrying him in a black tulle hooded cloak. He could see her outside Praelia House for the first time. But that hallucination had been brief, and temporary, and it was no longer real. It had been an anomaly, a break in space and time. Perhaps, Voldemort pondered, it had been a dream of sorts meant to shake him to rights when he came back to this place, to force him to act as he was meant to do.

He was still holding Bellatrix's hand, and he led her up to the house with some degree of confidence, his dragonhide dress shoes crunching on the gravel drive as they approached the steps. He opened his door and called out for Fan. The House-Elf came skittering into the grand, wood-paneled foyer of the manor and then froze, eyes bugging out as he registered that Lord Voldemort was not alone.

"M-Master has a guest," Fan noted in complete disbelief. Voldemort smirked.

"Fan," he said, "This is… Bellatrix Black."

He felt Bellatrix's hand twitch in his, and he knew exactly why. For more than twelve years, everyone had known her as Bellatrix Lestrange. But Voldemort did not want to know her as Bellatrix Lestrange, and he knew perfectly well that she would no longer want that name. So he did not use it. He was very familiar with the concept of shucking an unwanted moniker. He felt her fingers cinch around his hand, and he stroked at her with his thumb as Fan frantically asked,

"Can Fan make tea, Miss Black? Can Fan get you some biscuits? Some hot soup? Bread? Perhaps a good meal to fill you up."

"How about some Spanish Rioja?" Voldemort suggested, glancing down to Bellatrix, "in the parlour? We can listen to the Doxies whilst we drink it."

She barked a quiet laugh of incredulity; she'd been one of the Doxies' biggest fans as a teenager, though their star had faded in the last few years. He walked with her out of the foyer and into the lushly decorated parlour, which was done in a Greek Revival style, with cream walls and burgundy carpets and curtains. There were gilded frames on the mirrors, and a lovely crystal chandelier, and all the furniture was perfectly upholstered in garnet-coloured velvet. As Bellatrix sat on a divan, Voldemort used his wand to light a fire in the carved fireplace, and he watched Fan pour red wine into twin pewter goblets on the low table. He walked over to the record player near the window and fished through his old collection of music until he found the album he knew had long been Bellatrix's favourite, for he'd always noticed her dancing to its songs at parties. It was a collection of the Doxies' best-loved ballads. He put the record on and carefully placed the needle, and he listened to the piano, guitar, and drums start up with the little scratch of white noise behind them. The band's lead singer began to croon in the voice that had made teenage witches go mad,

"If you love me, tell me, show me. You spellbind me, you enthrall me. Tell me, lovely - How do you do you?"

Voldemort sighed and turned around to see Bellatrix sitting on the edge of the divan, staring at him, sipping from her goblet of Spanish Rioja. He just gazed at her for a long moment, immediately deciding that he was more in love with her right now than he'd ever been. He'd loved her deeply, of course, when he'd gone back in time. But, really, he'd only known her briefly then. Much of his love for her in that brief phantasmagoria had been based on his love for her here. Much of his infatuation with his teenage wife had been based on the vicious soldier he had known in his memory. And that witch was before him now, gorgeous and perfect and here in his home. His heart pounded as he considered that he'd killed Rodolphus tonight, and then his chest crumpled when he contemplated why he had needed to do such a thing. He swallowed hard and stepped up to Bellatrix, plucking her goblet of wine from her hand and setting it down. He held out his hand to her and asked,

"May I have this dance, Miss Black?"

She just nodded silently, seeming unable to verbally answer. She put her fingers into his palm and rose, and she moved with him to the open part of the room. She held hands with him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder as he pulled her flush against him, their stance tight and intimate. She leaned her head against his chest, and he shut his eyes as he breathed in the scent of her. Vanilla and oud. They swayed, for this ballad was quite slow with a doo-wop sort of beat, nothing like the stodgy waltzes they would have been dancing at the wedding.

"Bella," Voldemort murmured, and she just hummed against him. No My Lord. No Master. He did not mind. He panicked suddenly. He could not lose her. He could not see a Killing Curse sock her in the chest and send her crumpling to the ground in the heat of battle. He shook his head a little and confessed, "I've got Felix Felicis here. I've been saving it for… I don't need it myself. I suppose I wasn't certain what I would need it for. But you'll be using it before the battle at Eliza Atlas' house."

Bellatrix stopped dancing and pulled back just a little, looking quite offended as she stared up at Voldemort.

"Do you not trust my skills, Master? I can fight better than anyone else. I promise I will eliminate your enemies effectively. What happened with Rodolphus is not going to affect my usefulness in combat."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you honestly think that's what I'm concerned about? Do you think I'm giving you Liquid Luck before battle because I think you can't kill well enough? You?"

Bellatrix shrugged and scowled. "Well… why, then, My Lord?"

His jaw dropped, and he looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Because you are the most precious thing of all, that's why. Don't you understand?"

She was silent for a long moment, and then she whispered, "Oh."

His breath shook, and he tightened his grip on her hand as the Doxies kept singing in the background. "When you took a Blood on Fire Curse in Cornwall, I jumped in front of you, desperate to save you. I took a Blasting Curse that tore my body to shreds because I was completely unwilling to see you hurt, Bella."

Her cheeks went scarlet, and she lowered her gaze. "I know. I know, and I'm so sorry."

"I would take that Blasting Curse a hundred thousand times if I could guarantee your safety," Voldemort snarled. He released her hand and her waist and put his palms to her cheeks, touching his forehead to hers. "I tortured and executed your husband because he hurt you. I would kill a hundred thousand people for hurting you."

"Master…" Bellatrix seemed breathless then, and she tipped her face up. Voldemort caught her mouth with his and kissed her, gently at first and then far more deeply. All the while, the Doxies crooned on.

"If you love me, tell me, show me. How on Earth am I to know this? You and I were meant to be, my dear…"

"Bella." Voldemort broke their kiss and murmured onto her lips somewhat frantically, "It is entirely involuntary, me being so catastrophically in love with you. And, yet, I would never fall out of love with you, even if I could."

She held his face then, and she urged him to kiss her again, which he did in earnest. For a great long while, they just stood there and kissed one another, through the entirety of another song. At long last, when they were panting and their lips were sore, when Voldemort's forehead was sheened with sweat and his back was aching from bending to accommodate Bellatrix's short height, he stood up and stared down at her and drew the back of his wrist over his mouth.

"You'll take the Felix Felicis before battle," he nodded. It was not a question. "I will not lose you."

She curtsied deeply, respectfully, and kept her head bowed as she murmured in a submissive voice, "As you command, Master."

"Good," he said. "That's settled. You must be tired. Would you like to sleep here, or are you going to stay with your sister at Malfoy Manor?"

She still had her head bowed, but she raised her eyes to him and said meekly, "I should like very much indeed, My Lord, to stay here with you."

He felt his lips curl up, and he said again. "Good."

He pulled out his wand and flicked it at the record player to make the stupid music stop playing, and then he tucked his wand away and gently took hold of Bellatrix's hand, guiding her out of the parlour and toward the stairs.

Author's Note: Ding-dong, Rodolphus is dead! So, that's good! And Bellatrix and Voldemort are getting serious in the time where he actually belongs, and she's about to fight a battle with the help of some Liquid Luck. *rubs hands together* Mwah hahaha. Thank you so very, very, very much for reading and a special thanks to those who have commented. It's greatly appreciated.