At midnight, Rodolphus kissed her on the lips, though there was no passion in it.

Everyone who had gathered for the banquet sang Auld Lang Syne and raised their goblets to toast the New Year, and after that, people slowly began to filter out of the gathering. They'd been at Malfoy Manor for hours now, and the old year had withered and died, and they'd raucously chimed in the new one. So people made their way over to the table where the Malfoys sat with the Dark Lord, thanking Flavia and Abraxas for hosting the fete and then wishing the Dark Lord a happy birthday and a most joyous New Year before making their way from the ballroom.

"Ready to get going?"

Bellatrix snapped her head to the sound of Rodolphus' voice. She gave him a rather guilt-stricken expression and said quietly,

"I'm not coming home tonight, Rodolphus."

He frowned, his strawberry blond brows crumpling, and then a look of almost distraught realisation came over his face as he glanced about and said furtively,

"He is stealing my wife away from me."

"Be careful," Bellatrix hissed, leaning toward him, her eyes going wide. "He will kill you for saying such things. Know your place."

Rodolphus pinched his lips and huffed a little but finally nodded, resigned. He looked utterly humiliated as he tossed his fine linen napkin onto the table, pushed his chair back and flew to his feet. He straightened his back and tipped his head up, and as he looked around the nearly-empty ballroom, his pale blue eyes seemed to shine with unshed tears. He gnawed his lip for a moment, and then he said quietly,

"I shall see you whenever you come home, then, I suppose."

"Right. Goodnight." Bellatrix drummed her fingertips on the table and just watched as Rodolphus turned and quickly strode away. Rabastan and Rasmus Lestrange had left about ten minutes earlier, and Bellatrix's own family had gone home almost as soon as midnight had struck, because Cygnus and Druella had said they were tired and wanted to go home and sleep. So now Bellatrix sat alone at her table, trying not to be too obvious in how she stared at Lord Voldemort, who was still saying his goodbyes to loyalists who were desperate for his attention as they departed.

He kept flicking his dark eyes toward her, though, in between brief conversations, and in his gaze, she could see the same ferocious hunger she'd noticed when she'd gone to his office before Christmas, when he'd stared at her over the threshold of his door. Bellatrix shivered a little where she sat, deciding it was best to simply wait for further instruction. Voldemort spent the next ten minutes or so saying goodbye to the Yaxley family, and then a great crowd of Mulcibers, and finally to a smattering of loyal Shacklebolts (some of their kin had, like Bellatrix's sister Andromeda, turned Blood Traitor, so the ones who remained in Voldemort's circle seemed keen to make their allegiance quite plain).

Eventually, the ballroom was more or less empty except for Abraxas and Flavia Malfoy and their son Lucius, Voldemort, and Bellatrix herself. Abraxas was speaking sharply to Dobby the House-Elf about cleaning up the detritus of the banquet and returning the ballroom to its normal state quickly, and Flavia was adding in that the Dark Lord's birthday gifts needed to be transferred to one of the sitting rooms so he could open them the next day at his leisure. Lucius seemed bored and tired and eventually excused himself, bowing to Voldemort and walking aimlessly from the space. Voldemort finally heaved himself from his chair and stalked with long, evenly-paced strides toward the table where Bellatrix had been waiting patiently, and she made her back ramrod straight as she gazed up at him and flashed him a little smile.

"My Lord," she acknowledged. He just held out his hand, and Bellatrix hesitated, breathless for a little moment as she glanced beyond him to where the Malfoys were still handling logistics. But then she touched her fingertips, gloved in black satin, to his palm and rose, and she let him wordlessly lead her out of the ballroom. He was slowing his steps, she could tell, so that she did not have to trot to keep up with him, for her legs were far smaller than his. They moved with deliberate purpose, though, his hand holding hers carefully, until they were out in the corridor and had reached the arched doorway in the corner that led to the winding staircase. Voldemort still held Bellatrix's fingers in his as he walked up the stairs, and she gulped as she followed, using her free hand to pull up her figure-hugging skirt so she did not trip.

Her stomach twisted and her heart fluttered; she could still scarcely believe he'd asked - demanded - that she stay the night with him. This all seemed on another plane entirely. Him letting loose with his own body to the sight of her was one thing. Kissing in his office was one thing. Even the ridiculous game they'd played, the two of them, with their ruse of a 'punishment' as he'd fucked her on the table at the meeting the day before had been… well, it had been something. But her staying the night alone with him in his chambers here at Malfoy Manor whilst Rodolphus had been sent home alone? That seemed to be something else, something very different. Bellatrix did not dare think too hard about how much different it seemed to be. She did not want him to perceive in her mind how profoundly thrilling it felt.

He still did not let go of her gloved hand when they reached the landing, when he led her down the carpeted corridor, past portraits of long-dead Malfoy ancestors, until he came to a door and pulled out his wand to silently unward his quarters. He turned the antique metal doorknob and opened the enormous door, and he finally let go of Bellatrix's satin-ensconced fingers as he gestured politely to let her in first.

She stared at him for a moment, then bowed her head reverently and stepped inside. She found herself in his sitting room, a space just as grand as any in Malfoy Manor. The panelled walls had been painted a dark, dusky grey, and though it was the middle of the night, Bellatrix could see in the moonlight that the windows here were oriented to look out the back of the manor onto the brook that ran behind the house. Voldemort flicked his wand, and the sitting room was illuminated at once by an exotic-looking chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a sort of metallic cage in which over a dozen candles burned. It looked like someone had brought it back from some journey to a faraway land a long time ago, or perhaps Tom Riddle himself had made a bounty of it. The other light that sprang up in the space at once came from the fireplace, which was black marble with chunky brass inlays and a metal grate across the front. On either side of the fireplace were two taxidermied creatures - a half-disappeared Demiguise and an Occamy, eternally trapped in a large glass jar.

The furniture in the space consisted of two elegant and expensive-looking velvet sofas in deep green, facing one another just in front of the fireplace with a low, solid brass table between them. Underneath the furniture, covering the black wooden floor, was a Turkish rug in shades of red, black, grey, and green that seemed like it was in perfect condition but probably an old family heirloom. In the corner of the room was a shelf upon which there were at least a dozen half-empty bottles of wine and liquor, along with upside-down glasses, and another shelf of what looked like ancient books. Yet another shelf stored small objects of interest that at first glance appeared to be random knick-knacks, but upon closer inspection, were obviously priceless artefacts the family had collected over the centuries. The walls had at least three or four intricately embroidered tapestries, much like Voldemort's office did. There was no question that this space was full of profoundly costly things and that the Malfoys had been generous in allowing Lord Voldemort to stay here, but then, the Malfoys wanted nothing more than to climb to the top of the Dark Lord's good graces and remain there.

Bellatrix heard the door from the sitting room to the corridor shut, and then she heard it lock. She let out a shaking breath as Voldemort walked around her and went over to the shelf with its bottles of drinks, and she watched him pour himself some tonic water, probably to clear his head a little. She'd seen him have more than a little firewhisky throughout the banquet. He held up the bottle as if to offer some to Bellatrix, and she just nodded gratefully. He poured some out into a second glass for her, using his wand to Nonverbally chill both glasses, and suddenly Bellatrix realised neither of them had said anything since they'd been down in the ballroom.

The silence in the room was broken at last when Voldemort went over to the antique gramophone against the wall and put the needle to a record, which started playing a soft, gentle violin piece accompanied by piano. Voldemort sighed and sipped his own tonic water and then stepped across the room toward Bellatrix, handing her the drink he'd poured her, which she accepted with some murmured thanks. She felt a little foolish then, still standing there with long gloves on in the middle of the night, after the revelry had ended. As if he were also thinking about how very over the party was, Voldemort said quietly,

"I was watching you. You scarcely touched your food. Was something wrong?"

She shook her head quickly and explained, "N-No, My Lord; I was, erm… distracted. That's all."

He smirked at her and sipped his tonic water. "Distracted. Hm. Yes. Well, you must be starved by now."

Bellatrix laughed just a little and insisted, "I'm fine, My Lord."

Right on cue, though, her stomach grumbled, annoyingly audibly, and she knew he had heard it. His face broke into a cheeky sort of smile, a very amused expression she'd never actually seen from him. He chuckled with what seemed like genuine good humour, and he rolled his eyes and turned his head away so he could bark rather sharply,

"DOBBY! "

Bellatrix startled, but within a moment, the miserable, snivelling little House-Elf had materialised inside the sitting room. Dobby's enormous green eyes glanced between Voldemort and Bellatrix, and his long, thin fingers twined together anxiously as he stammered,

"How m-may Dobby assist you, sir? Madam?"

"Fetch an order of the Bresse pigeon from the banquet. Immediately," Voldemort commanded. He pointed to the low brass table between the green velvet sofas and said in a sharp tone, "Set it up there."

"Yes, sir, My Lord, sir." Dobby bounded over toward the sofas, stumbling a little on his twiggy little legs, and when he righted himself, he snapped a few times and waved his spindly hands. Using his odd form of House-Elf magic, he summoned from the ether some of the food that had been prepared and served to the wizarding guests earlier in the evening, and soon enough, there was a place setting upon the low table, a fine bone china plate filled with grilled meat and truffled peas that now made Bellatrix's mouth water after hours of depriving herself of food. She glanced at Voldemort and gave him a grateful little look and he tipped his head and raised a brow in response. He then glared at Dobby and snapped,

"That will be all. Go."

Dobby's head practically bobbed off his neck as he nodded in fear, and he Disapparated with a crack once he had been dismissed. Bellatrix moved toward the sofa and waited to sit, but when Voldemort gestured for her to do so, she did and set her glass of tonic water down on the brass table. She hesitated as Voldemort arranged himself opposite her, but then at last she started to take her long satin gloves off. She first removed her pearl bracelets, unclasping them and setting them on the velvet cushion beside her. Then she plucked at her fingertips and pulled gently at each glove, drawing them down her thin arms. Voldemort stared at her intently as she stripped the gloves off, and she saw it again in his dark eyes. Hunger. Intense hunger. Desire. It made her want to smile, to flirt with him, seeing him want her like that. But she knew better than to tease or taunt her master, so instead she just set the gloves down carefully and noted,

"I feel embarrassed, My Lord, eating alone in front of you whilst you've nothing to eat yourself. I feel like a gluttonous fool."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Gluttonous. You ignored your food all night. If it makes you feel better, I'll steal a bite here and there. The pigeon was divine when I had it earlier."

She smiled broadly at him and nodded, watching as he rather casually leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees and gaze at her in the firelight. He usually sat with a straight back and a formal posture around her, she thought, as she picked up her fork and knife, but right now he was sitting quite informally, like they knew one another very well. She thought perhaps they did, in a way, at this point. She carefully cut herself a piece of the Bresse pigeon, noting that her knife went through the tender meat like butter, and when she chewed and swallowed the bite, she couldn't help letting out a little noise of approval. She'd been hungrier than she'd thought. She gave a mortified little look at Voldemort and shook her head, but his dark eyes flashed and his cheeks coloured, and she thought perhaps he did not mind her playfulness so much. So she used her fork to spear herself some of the truffled peas, and she made another happy little sound of contentment, and once she'd washed them down with tonic water, she said to Voldemort,

"Thank you for sending for the food, My Lord. I really was hungry. I didn't eat because I couldn't keep… well, I was distracted by you, you understand. So."

She pursed her lips and started to cut herself another bite of pigeon, but then she felt and saw Voldemort's fingers curl around hers on her fork. She looked up to see him staring at her with a somewhat wild intensity in his dark eyes, and she realised he was breathing quickly. Bellatrix licked her lip, her hand stilling beneath his, and she was not certain what to do then. He finally let her hand go and sat back a little, shutting his eyes as he whispered,

"Finish your food."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix felt confusion take her over then, uncertain of whether she'd angered him. She watched his chest moving deeply beneath his black dress robes, saw him shake his head a little, noticed the way his throat bobbed.

"I don't want you hungry. Finish your food." Voldemort's voice shook audibly then. Bellatrix felt her eyes widen, and suddenly she was cutting off bites of pigeon and stuffing them into her mouth as quickly as she could. She almost made herself sick; she had been raised in a patrician family where dining with a slow, refined, elegant pace was simply how it was done , and shovelling bites wholesale into her mouth like this was not at all how Bellatrix was accustomed to eating. She stopped eating when around two-thirds of the gourmet food was gone, deciding that if she kept eating, she really was going to throw up and that it wasn't worth continuing. She washed down what she'd managed to eat with the tonic water Voldemort had given her, hoping that would at least aid her digestion. She touched her linen napkin to her lips and then aimed her wand at herself to cast a Nonverbal Freshening charm, wiping out the taste and feel of the food and replacing it with a minty sensation, and then she cleared her throat softly. When she did, she heard Voldemort murmur,

"Come here, Bella."

She obeyed at once, setting her wand down on the low brass table and rising, going around until she reached the sofa where he sat. She sank down beside him, wondering how close he wanted her. She didn't want to be cloying, but she reckoned there was a good reason he'd summoned her. So she let her thigh brush against his, the satin of her black gown touching his bespoke dress robe. Finally, his eyes cracked open, and he just stared at her for a long moment, until at last, he reached for her and slowly started to pull the pearl-adorned ornaments from her hair. Swaths of dark curls fell loose from the style in which they'd been arranged as Voldemort set the hair clips down on the low table methodically. Then he began to toy with Bellatrix's hair, dusting his fingertips over her curls, dragging his hands through her hair and rubbing at her scalp a little, and she swallowed hard and tipped her head back, feeling a shock go up her spine.

"The whole damned night, I wanted to have my hands on you," Voldemort informed her, and Bellatrix's cheeks went very warm at the sound of him saying that, at the idea that he'd been lusting after her throughout the social event. Her breath started to go quick and shallow, and quite against her will, her own hands reached for the chest of Voldemort's robe. She realised she wasn't asking permission then, as she most certainly ought to be doing, as she started to fumble with the hook-and-eye clasps running down the front of the black linen tunic beneath his loose outer robe. Voldemort did not protest in the slightest, instead grunting from the bottom of his throat and cinching his fingers in her hair. Bellatrix hurried then to finish opening up his tunic, determining that he did not seem to mind much what she was doing to him. Once she reached the bottom clasp, she used her trembling hands to push the tunic and his outer dress robe from him, and he moved and shimmied until he'd shucked both garments.

Bellatrix couldn't help but suck in air hard through her nostrils then, because suddenly her lord and master was shirtless before her, and somehow that came as a bit of a shock. Her eyes cast rather rudely up and down his torso, taking in the fact that he was far more carved and toned than she'd perhaps expected him to be. He did not seem the type for rigorous exercise; perhaps he'd earned this body through combat, or simply through the hardships of the life he'd lived to this point. She did notice that he had one rather painful-looking scar, thick and shiny pink, coursing in a jagged line from the ball joint of his shoulder down across the plane of his chest. Bellatrix reached with her fingertips to brush over the scar, her eyes searching Voldemort's silently for an explanation. He just shrugged and told her in a low voice,

"Wrong end of a very damaging Curse in Prague. Never quite healed."

Bellatrix realised that she was so wet with arousal between her legs that she must be soaking through the black satin of her elegant evening gown, and her face flushed hot with humiliation at that. Her hand worked its way up around Voldemort's chest, around to grasp at his bicep, and she bowed her head and whispered,

"I am helpless, My Lord… with, erm… with want for you. It is a bit silly, really."

"Bella."

He surprised her again, then, because suddenly she felt her face being tipped up, and he was holding her jaws in his calloused palms as he brought his mouth down onto hers. His lips pressed softly a few times, but when she opened her mouth to grant him admission, he began to kiss her with far more enthusiasm, his tongue snaking in and searching the roof of her mouth. He nibbled and suckled at her lip, and Bellatrix simply melted, moaning wantonly, her head spinning. Her arms wrapped around her master's neck rather desperately, though she knew that made her seem obnoxious and clingy. For some reason, again, Lord Voldemort did not seem to mind.

Instead, he began to push Bellatrix down onto her back, until she was lying on the green velvet sofa and he was perched atop her. He loomed over and stared down at her, and in the firelight, his face was illuminated with a look of feral starvation. Bellatrix reached up to hold his arms - why did she always reach for his arms to steady herself, she wondered distantly? - and felt her wild black curls splay around her like a dark halo. Voldemort started to glare down at her, and Bellatrix was confused for a moment until he snarled in a rather frustrated whisper,

"Ought to have taken this damned dress off…"

"Oh." Bellatrix wriggled where she lay, trying to think of how best to disrobe now that she was pinned beneath him and they were both hot-blooded. But before she could do anything about it, Voldemort put his hand to her hip and muttered simply,

" Vestis Evanesco. "

Bellatrix gasped, utterly stunned, as her formal black gown disappeared right off of her body, along with her supportive strapless bustier and knickers and stockings. Even her low black heels were gone at once; Bellatrix could that her feet were immediately bare. She was immediately completely nude beneath Voldemort's large form, and at the sensation of that, she shivered and found herself slack-jawed with awe. She gazed up at him, knowing her eyes were round, and he smirked just a little and tipped his head as he huffed,

"Well. I would apologise, but I am not sorry. I'll pay for a new dress."

Bellatrix found herself grinning. "No need, My Lord. It was a bit difficult to walk in that one; too restrictive a skirt. I didn't like it."

His cheeky expression grew a bit, and he bent down to kiss her hard, his right hand dragging from her hip up over her waist and ribcage until he'd cupped the weight of her small breast in her hand. He compressed the flesh there and dragged his thumb over her nipple, and Bellatrix squirmed where she lay beneath him, mewling a bit desperately into his mouth. He pulled his mouth from hers, his breath warm on her lips as he hummed,

"Your skin is velveteen and your shape is celestial; what am I do to with you? Hm?"

Bellatrix arched her back and moaned a little, trying hard to get him to kiss her again. He finally touched his lips to hers, just once, and his hand moved from her breast over her flat stomach until his fingers pushed between her thighs, burrowing into the small thatch of hair at her womanhood and nestling against her clit. Bellatrix yelped, and Voldemort shushed her, scolding,

"I haven't soundproofed the place, Bella; don't scream like a harlot. Or… hm. On second thought, perhaps I do want everyone in this manor to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Especially the portraits in the corridor. They do love to gossip."

Bellatrix couldn't help but giggle a little maniacally at that, even through her intense arousal, and she tossed her head back and cried out as Voldemort twined two, and then three fingers into her sopping entrance. Her fingers sank hard into his biceps, and he seemed to like that, groaning a little as she gripped him, and he encouraged her,

"Hold onto me, Bella. I've got you. You were so tight and hot around my cock when I fucked you on that table; I admit I was unprepared for the sensation."

"Oh… oh, My Lord." Bellatrix couldn't breathe then. The entire sitting room was spinning. She found herself dragging her left leg up around Voldemort, using her knee to caress him rather wantonly, and she stared at him with half-hooded eyes as she tried to think clearly enough to process the sensation of his three fingers twisting and teasing her cunt. He was using his thumb to press hard on her clit, working expertly there with aggressive pressure that was just right , not too hard, just enough, and Bellatrix could feel that she was leaking fluids all over his hand, and probably onto the green velvet sofa, too. It registered then to her that he wanted her to make noise for him, that he didn't want her silent, so she allowed her head to loll to the side, and as he worked at her between her legs, she let herself soak in the pleasure, and she keened out the feel of it. Her voice was a desperate sort of wail, eager sobs punctuated by gasps and the occasional yelp of My Lord!

Finally, she couldn't say anything at all, because she felt herself pass a point of no return, a point where everything within her had welled up and boiled over, and at the moment where she knew she was about to burst, she instinctively sat up from where she lay and flung her arms round Voldemort's neck. She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck and panted desperately through her climax, emitting a helpless mmmph! of almost confused overwhelm every now and then as the very intense contractions and the heat in her veins and tinny ringing sound combined to inundate her consciousness.

After the most intense part of it had passed, Bellatrix pulled away from him, aware very suddenly that he'd pulled his hand out of her body, aware that she'd been holding onto him for dear life without permission like a wretched parasite, aware that she'd come harder than she'd ever done in her entire life. She was embarrassed and silent as she started to move away from him, starting to mumble an apology, but almost immediately, she felt her jaw caught in Voldemort's hand, and, not at all for the first time tonight, he surprised her very much when he kissed her, his lips touching hers but not doing anything more aggressive than that. After a moment, he pulled away just enough to look down at her whilst still holding her face in his hand, and then Bellatrix could see that his high cheekbones were stained scarlet and that his eyes were shining strangely.

"Hmm," Voldemort said quite thoughtfully, nodding. "So very many ways to… avail myself of you."

Bellatrix just gaped, for she found herself wondering if he'd managed to finish in his breeches again from what had happened to her. Her dark eyes flicked down between them before she could stop herself, and as if he'd noticed the path of her gaze, Voldemort cleared his throat with evident self-consciousness and then lowered his hand from her face. He said seriously,

"A bit impulsive of me, probably, to Vanish your clothes. You do have to go home in a few hours. I shall Transfigure you one of my robes to wear home… make you something that's at least, you know, decent . I do not suppose Rodolphus will exactly be happy to see that."

Bellatrix turned up the corner of her mouth and shrugged. "He knows his place, My Lord."

Voldemort seemed to hesitate. "Yes. Well. Let's keep it that way, shall we? Now. I find myself terribly fatigued. Too long a night, I should think. Let's go to bed."

Of all the places Bellatrix expected to crack open her eyes on a snowy New Year's Day, in bed naked beside the Dark Lord was absolutely not one of them.

Not that she minded, of course.

The Dark Lord's bedchamber in Malfoy Manor was just as luxe as the other rooms granted to him by his hosts. This space was painted in a dark greyish-blue, and the ceiling itself was a blue so dark it was nearly black. Upon the ceiling were silver paintings of all the constellations Bellatrix had studied in Astronomy, and she had smiled a little the night before when she'd stared up at the ceiling and had seen her own namesake: Bellatrix, the third-brightest star in the constellation Orion.

The fireplace in this room was simpler than the grand one in the sitting room; it had small dark marble columns on each side and a large silver-framed mirror atop it with two marble busts on the mantle, but other than that was not terribly ostentatious. The fire from the night before was still burning when Bellatrix woke in the bed, which was a stout antique mahogany creation outfitted with plump down pillows and rich brocade covers in dark blue embroidered with silver.

She blinked her eyes a few times and rolled from where she lay, and her breath hitched in her throat when she saw him - him, Lord Voldemort. Her beloved lord and master. He was lying there, right beside her, bathed in the milky light of the early morning coming through the window, casting a ghostly sort of illumination over his form. He was on his back, one arm cradling his own head and the other hand cast casually onto his own bare stomach. The embroidered blue covers were down nearly to his hips, taunting Bellatrix with the idea of his body.

But he wasn't naked like she was; he'd sauntered into his bed last night in a pair of loose-fitting linen sleeping breeches that tied at the waist. Bellatrix had climbed beneath his blankets, unwilling to request that he let her borrow one of his garments, and he had not seemed to mind her compliance about that. He'd just joined her under the sheets, drawing her up against him and toying with her hair in silence for a while until Bellatrix's eyes had gone very heavy and all she could hear was his slow breathing and the fire crackling. Then she'd been lost to sleep, and she'd dreamed for a little while about battle, about torture and killing. Those were always good dreams; she liked such dreams. That was a happy reality that she had, serving her master.

Now she was awake, staring at him where he lay, and something about the fact that she'd awakened and was eyeing him seemed to draw him out of his own slumber. Whether that was because of decades of hypervigilance or his own Legilimancy or something else, Bellatrix didn't know. His eyes opened slowly and then found hers, and his lips curled up just a little playfully as he reached up, wrapped one of her black ringlets around his finger, and teased her,

"You're still here. You've not run away."

Bellatrix could not help but giggle quietly as she shrugged and noted, "My Lord. How could I possibly flee when I am naked as the day I was born and you Vanished my gown?"

"Oh. Right. I did do that, didn't I?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes and sank his teeth into his bottom lip. "I'm not very sorry."

Bellatrix tipped her head. "You never need to apologise for anything, Master."

He growled a little at that and pursed his lips, nodding. "Good girl."

He started to drag his knuckles around her neck then, around her collarbone and her shoulder. All the places he'd told her he liked to have revealed to him in meetings and at parties. Bellatrix gave him a warm expression as he touched her there, for it made her happy to think there was a particular part of her body that pleased him so. She watched his throat bob, and after he wet his bottom lip with his tongue, he muttered,

"I can't… erm… I think I need to send you home now."

Bellatrix felt her face crumple a little at that, but she quickly nodded and coughed into her fist as she tried not to look hurt. She quickly collected herself and managed to ask,

"W-Would you mind Transfiguring me, you know, just a plain tunic into a simple dress that I can wear home, Master? Just something so that I'm not naked, that's all."

He did not answer for a long moment. He blinked a few times and chewed his lip, and then his eyes shut, and his hand stilled on Bellatrix's neck where he was touching her.

"I want to touch you," he whispered at last, "and then I want to fuck you, and then I want to watch you take a bath to wash off what happened last night and what I will have done to you today, and then I want to kiss your wet body against a wall until your lips are bruised. It never ends with you. The possibilities are… my mind is always cooking things up. My hands are restless; my body is famished all the time for you."

"I'm so sorry, My Lord." Bellatrix was unsure of what else to say, and her eyes burned badly, because with the way he was talking, it seemed like he meant to do something drastic to cut off the fact that Bellatrix had become a problematic disturbance in his life. But he just shook his head and opened his eyes and informed her,

"I simply need to pace myself. A little at a time, or I shall overdose on you. That's all. I had a feast of you out on the sofa, and I admit I woke up a few times during the night and simply ogled you. I must take you in morsels; you are a delicacy for me to savour, or else we shall both become hideously distracted during wartime. And we mustn't have that."

Bellatrix nodded eagerly. "Right. Of course. I shall follow your lead, My Lord. You simply tell me when you have want of me and what it is you desire, and I shall be more than happy to oblige."

"Quite so." Voldemort heaved himself out of bed then, and Bellatrix tried to ignore the way he still had a rather obvious erection beneath his sleeping trousers. He snatched his wand off the bedside table and stalked over to his wardrobe, and when he opened it and extracted a simple wool tunic, Bellatrix wondered how exactly he was going to make that into something she could wear. But he suspended it into midair and started waving his wand into distinct patterns, murmuring spells Bellatrix had never heard before, furrowing his brows with consternation and focus. Suddenly the black tunic started to warp and shift, Transfiguring itself into a witch's tea-length dress with long sleeves, a scooped neckline, and a cinched-in waist. It wasn't just a garment that would do fine , Bellatrix thought with wonder, her eyebrows flying up. It was a bona fide piece of fashion.

She slithered out of the bed and walked cautiously over to where Voldemort stood with the dress in the air before him, and when he nodded, she plucked it from its suspension and cautiously dragged it over her head. They both laughed a little then, because she was so short and thin that the measurements were bit off. Voldemort scoffed and flicked his wand a few times, and Bellatrix felt the waist of the dress tighten up and the sleeves shorten.

"Pitiful miniature creature," he teased, and she snorted in rather impudent response, but she did grant him,

"It is a very fine dress on such short notice, My Lord."

"Yes, well. I had to make all my own attire for many years. Complicated circumstances," he said under his breath. He reached into his wardrobe again and pulled out a pair of comfortable-looking dragonhide loafers, and Bellatrix balked.

"My Lord, I can't borrow all of your -"

"I'll get it all back from you," he said breezily, and he started to work on the loafers with spells until they'd changed into rather feminine, round-toed flat shoes. He pushed them toward Bellatrix, and when she slid them on and they were very obviously too big, he rolled his eyes at her and taunted her gently,

"Liliputian feet on the miniature creature, too, it seems."

Bellatrix tipped her chin up and reminded him defensively, "I held Caspian Waterhouse in a very long and very painful Cruciatus Curse on the battlefield in the Peak District, My Lord."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes. I know. You did not seem so very small then. You seemed very powerful. You are very powerful. Don't think I don't know it, and don't think it isn't one of the things I like best about you. Hmm. You've got no knickers. I'm… not as confident about making those."

Bellatrix smirked and felt her cheeks go hot, and she said dismissively, "You and I are the only ones who know I'm not wearing knickers, My Lord. Consider it our little secret."

He tipped his head. "All right, then."

They just stared at one another for a moment then, until Bellatrix realised she'd left her handbag, her expensive hair clips, her pearl bracelets, her gloves, and her wand out in the sitting room. She shifted awkwardly on her feet and started to walk out of the bedroom, out into the sitting room where she and Voldemort had been so passionate after the banquet. It was strange in here now; Bellatrix's leftovers from the Bresse pigeon Voldemort had ordered up for her had been abandoned and forgotten on the low brass table, and the fire in the fireplace had gone out. It was chilly and quiet in here, and the air was heavy. Bellatrix was silent as she gathered up her belonging, shoving them into her back formal handbag and taking her wand in her right hand. She finally turned to Voldemort, who was still shirtless, wearing nothing but sleeping trousers, and she said in a clumsy sort of way,

"Well, erm… thank you, My Lord. I had a very fine evening. Night. And happy birthday. I do hope you had a very fine birthday. Erm. Anyway. Thanks for Transfiguring the dress and the shoes; I shall be certain to return them, and -"

"Bella." He took a step towards her, and she just nodded at him as he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her forehead. He took a long breath and then stepped back, and he told her firmly, "I shall see you tomorrow."

Bellatrix hesitated, and then asked, for clarification, "Tomorrow, Master?"

He just nodded and said matter-of-factly, "I've got a meeting with Lucius Malfoy at ten. After that, there will be a luncheon meeting for a small group. You'll feel your Dark Marks burn around half past eleven. This will be a logistics meeting to plan an assault on Bess Pritchard, Mazarine Moreau, and Lonnie Richardson. Mudbloods - not full-blown members of the Order of the Phoenix, but agents of Dumbledores, according to Rookwood's intelligence. They all work for the Ministry and they all live in Manchester. We're going to take them all out - masked - on the same day. The meeting will involve Rodolphus, Rabastan, Macnair, Dolohov, Yaxley, Abraxas, and, of course… you and I."

Bellatrix felt excitement strike her through, and she could not help but grin broadly. She loved nothing more in the world than the thrill of combat, of serving her master as a soldier. Well. Perhaps that was only partly true. She loved kissing and touching him, coming for him. She loved all of it, she supposed. She huffed a breath and nodded.

"Until tomorrow, then, My Lord," she said, and she curtsied respectfully to him, feeling a bit of a physical rip within her as she tore herself away from him and walked out of the sitting room, wondering just what on Earth her husband was going to think when she showed up at home looking the way she did right now.