"Bella."

She looked up from the perfectly delicious dessert she was eating, a rhubarb and vanilla moelleux, and she smiled a bit crookedly across the table at her master to acknowledge him. He smirked as he flicked his eyes to her empty goblet, tipping his head, and teased her,

"I must say, I'm surprised to have seen you work your way through three entire glasses of Elf-Made red tonight… I had thought you'd said wine gave you headaches."

As if to make his point, he picked up his own goblet and sipped from it, just a bit flirtatiously. From down the table, Abraxas Malfoy glanced at his wife Flavia, who seemed almost baffled by how very open Lord Voldemort was being with his affections toward their house guest, but Bellatrix grinned and noted to Voldemort,

"This wine is a Malbec, My Lord. It is as dry as an old bone."

He chuckled then and nodded. He sipped his own wine and then said in a low murmur, "Three whole goblets of the stuff; you'll be properly sloshed, Bella."

She stifled a giggle in response, realising just how much she was feeling the wine she'd been consuming through the dinner of lamb with artichokes and basil followed by the rhubarb moelleux. She'd grown up as a member of the House of Black, and then had married into the Lestrange family, and so was of course accustomed to good eating, but it seemed that Flavia Malfoy demanded true haute cuisine of Dobby on a nightly basis. The Elf-Made Malbec that had been on offer tonight was an Argentine variety that had been so delightfully dry that Bellatrix had found herself drinking it much more quickly than she'd intended, and she had indeed consumed three glasses of the stuff before she'd really even realised it. Now she was more than a little dizzy, and quite tipsy, her spoon a bit difficult to grip properly as she dragged it around the top of her dessert. She tipped her head and dared to say to Voldemort, with a hint of cheek,

"I am not drunk, Master. I promise. It is but a tinge of intoxication at this point. Honest."

He laughed again, seeming quite amused, and he assured her, "It was just an observation, Bella, not a castigation. By all means, enjoy the Malbec. Dobby, get Madam Lestrage more wine; her goblet appears empty."

He smirked at her then as Dobby snapped his long fingers and Bellatrix's goblet refilled itself, and Bellatrix flashed him an almost scolding sort of look, like she thought he was rather naughty. She raised her goblet and cleared her throat, setting down her spoon, and she tipped up her chin and toasted him,

"To the Dark Lord! May every battle be a victory."

Abraxas Malfoy and Flavia looked very surprised at Bellatrix sudden little outburst. Abraxas, who had come to dinner in elegant grey robes with his silvery hair hung loose and combed smooth, snatched his own goblet and raised it, and Flavia quickly did the same. She glanced to Lucius, who was drinking water, and she urged her son to raise his own glass.

"May every battle be a victory," Abraxas said in a shaky voice, and Flavia hesitantly affirmed,

"Yes. To the Dark Lord."

They all drank then, although the others seemed patently uneasy as they did. Bellatrix, for her part, stared right at Voldemort as she sipped quite deeply from her goblet, gulping a large mouthful of the scorchingly dry Malbec. He was just sitting there staring at her, the pad of his forefinger dragging around the rim of his own silver cup, and she watched as his earlier mirth seemed to slowly dissolve. His facial expression morphed slowly into a rather serious look, his mouth going into a line, his eyes hardening, and then his cheeks reddened. Bellatrix sipped her wine again, ignoring the way Flavia was quietly speaking to Lucius about him going back to school in two days' time.

She touched the goblet to her mouth and then slowly set it on the table, dragging her thumb over her lower lip. When she did that, Voldemort's own hand stopped toying with his wine goblet, and suddenly his own fingers migrated to go under the edge of the Malfoys' large dining table. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, his cheekbones going so deeply scarlet he looked like he might keel over.

"Bellatrix, dear, are you in need of anything whilst you are staying with us?" asked Flavia Malfoy then, and Bellatrix looked over to see that the witch was eyeing her awkwardly. Bellatrix shook her head, just a bit wildly, and felt the swim of her vision before her eyes, the wine settling deeply into her veins. She forced a polite little smile and insisted,

"N-No, Mrs Malfoy. Thank you. You and Mr Malfoy are being delightful hosts. It's much appreciated. I promise I shall only be a bother for a few more days."

Flavia gave her an odd look then, and Bellatrix knew why. Why, Flavia Malfoy must be wondering, was the profoundly married young female Death Eater staying in Malfoy Manor, in the Dark Lord's chambers? This was Bellatrix's second night in a row here. Surely by now, Flavia knew that something was terribly amiss. She'd have heard from Abraxas exactly what had happened between Bellatrix and Voldemort on this very dining table at the meeting. Now Bellatrix was very evidently carrying on some sort of sordid affair with the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix just nodded and smiled again, and then she picked up her goblet of Malbec and drank from it again. When she set it down, she looked to Voldemort, who was almost glaring at her with such an intense expression that she shivered where she sat. His fingers were curled, white-knuckled, around the edge of the table, and she could see that he was breathing quickly. Could anyone else see that? His eyes shut again, and she watched his throat bob under his thick black robe.

"My Lord?" Abraxas Malfoy asked, and Voldemort's eyes sprang open as he gave an almost furious look to his old friend.

"What? What is it?" he snapped, and Abraxas looked terrified then as he seemed to sense something was the matter. Abraxas' lips parted in hesitation, as though he were considering saying nothing at all, but then he finally asked in a low voice,

"I had… wondered if you might join me for brandy, Master… after dinner. I have a fine bottle of Lexague Armagnac, you see, and… well, of course, if you're busy, I understand, but…"

"I'm too tired tonight, Abraxas. Perhaps tomorrow." Voldemort's voice was very sharp then. He huffed a breath and tossed his linen napkin down on the table. He flicked his dark eyes around the table. "A fine meal, as always, Flavia. Lucius. Enjoy your remaining time at home. Bella. Have you finished your dessert?"

Bellatrix just nodded, her own cheeks quite warm, and she whispered a bit breathlessly, "Yes, Master."

"Good. Come." He nearly launched himself up from his chair then, turning to go from the dining room. As soon as he did, everyone else stood, out of respect for him. Bellatrix mumbled a hurried thanks for dinner to the Malfoys, and then she rushed to follow Voldemort from the room. She was so unsteady, from all the wine she'd swilled, that when she was trotting up the winding staircase in the corner after him, she stumbled. She tripped and fell hard onto her knee, crying out in pain, and as she started to heave herself ungracefully up, she felt strong arms helping her. She looked up, breathless from rushing to hurry after her master, to see in the dim light of the sconce on the wall that Voldemort was staring down at her with black fire in his eyes. He held her elbows and licked his lips as he loomed over her, and as he assisted her in righting herself, he asked in a murmur,

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head silently, and in response to that, Voldemort just rotated his body a little until his back was against the stone wall. Very much on instinct, Bellatrix climbed until she was a step above where he stood, until a bit of their height difference was relieved, and she felt his arm reach around her and cradle her, pulling her tightly near him. His other hand pushed her curls away from her face a little, and then he whispered,

"Fucking Malfoy; I was seconds away from losing myself in there."

Bellatrix could not help but laugh a little under her breath at that. He would know she wasn't laughing at him, but rather at the situation. Still, she was careful, as she stared at him in the flickering warm light, to say reverently,

"Allow me to bring you the satisfaction you deserve, Master."

He drove his head back against the stone wall and shut his eyes, and something compelled Bellatrix to initiate a kiss. She bravely touched her lips to his, and when he groaned just a little, opening his mouth, she dared to push her tongue into his mouth. Suddenly his fingers were nestled deep into her curls, cinching and rubbing at her scalp, and he used his other hand to hold her near by the small of her back. She adored the feel of that, of his palm splayed almost possessively at the base of her spine, and she found herself moaning a bit onto his mouth.

Anyone could find them here, she realised. They were not being silent, and this stairway was used by everyone in this manor. But somehow, she did not care. Neither did Voldemort, she reckoned. In fact, he seemed to be getting more excited by the moment, and when she broke their kiss for air, he panted in a low whine,

"You taste like Argentine Malbec and you smell like Turkish roses. Your hair feels like Chinese silk. So help me, Bella…"

"You must have whatever you want, Master," Bellatrix purred. She stroked one side of his jaw and kissed the other side. "Tell me what to do to serve you right now, and I shall do it gladly."

"Bed," he whispered then, and she was quite surprised at that. She pulled back a little, because she'd been expecting him, for some reason, to instruct her to finish him off here in the stairwell with her hand, or perhaps to descend to her knees, or do something else wildly voyeuristic. She was still experiencing the inconvenient, irregular bleeding that only happened very rarely on her sterility potion, and so whilst actual sex was technically possible, it would be messy at best and perhaps quite uncomfortable. He'd told her the day before that he had neither the desire nor the wish to pressure her into such a thing, and that he was quite content to wait for a more convenient time. They'd just kissed after that and fallen asleep tangled up like a braid.

That had struck her, somehow. He'd been so furious with what Rodolphus had done that he'd insisted Bellatrix come and stay at Malfoy Manor, but then he had demanded almost nothing in return. He hadn't insisted that she suck his cock or strip for him as payment for rescuing her from her husband. No. They'd taken a quiet meal together, and they'd kissed, and they'd gone to bed. It had been oddly peaceful, and strangely pleasant. Today, he'd been very busy all day with meetings, but at dinner, they'd flirted rather relentlessly. Now they stood in the stairwell, breathless, his arms around her, and when she'd asked him for orders on how to serve him, to bring him the pleasure he'd been denied in the dining room, he'd said one simple word.

Bed.

She just nodded, her eyes flooding heavily, and she felt his fingers drag around from her lower back. Her hand and his found one another, and Bellatrix's breath hitched a little as she felt her master's thumb drag along hers. He still seemed quite activated as he kissed her forehead; there was a physical shake in his lips, and his hot breath quivered on her skin. He started up the stairs then, pulling Bellatrix with him. This time, he went slowly enough that she did not have to rush to follow him, though she did her best not to stumble or trip and make a little fool of herself again. Once they were upstairs, Voldemort guided Bellatrix rather decisively to his quarters, dragging his right hand through the air until the heavy door clicked, unlocking itself and swinging slowly open.

Bellatrix couldn't help but feel happy as she followed Voldemort into his sitting room, as he shut the door behind them and pulled out his bony yew wand. As he led her into his dark greyish-blue bedroom with its constellation ceiling, Bellatrix realised her husband was very far away just now. Rodolphus was in a different country, it seemed. She was tipsy, unsteady on her feet, her fingers ensconced in her master's, and she was following him into his bedroom, and her husband was somewhere very distant. He didn't matter right now.

Bed , Voldemort had whispered in the winding stairwell, and now he stood with Bellatrix beside the stout mahogany bed and aimed his wand at the fireplace in the corner, mumbling a quiet Incendio before setting his wand down on the silver-embroidered blue brocade blankets. He eyed Bellatrix in the flickering firelight then and informed her quietly, just like he'd said in the stairwell,

"I was very close to losing myself when Abraxas interrupted me."

Bellatrix smirked just a little and reached up toward his throat. He wouldn't mind, she thought, if she started undressing him. Would he? She was dizzy from drink; she was being bold and a little presumptuous. But as her fingers went to the heavy silver clasps at Voldemort's chest and started unfastening them without permission, his breath quickened, and his own hands began stroking from her waist up over her ribs and back down again.

No, she thought. He did not seem to mind.

"I could see it in your face, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and she pushed his thick black robe from his shoulders, revealing his thin linen tunic beneath. He sniffed lightly and nodded, and when she reached up to untie his tunic where it was bound shut at his sternum, she could feel his chest rising and falling with urgency. She felt a flush of wet heat between her legs, and her head spun from the wine she'd had downstairs. She swallowed hard as Voldemort shucked his tunic, and she gnawed her lower lip a little, gazing up at him with eyes she knew were bleary with drink. She curled up her lips a little and asked him, "Do you suppose Abraxas could see it, too, My Lord?"

Voldemort smirked rather devilishly as Bellatrix's fingertips dusted over the scar that ran from his shoulder over his chest, the remnant of damage he'd sustained long ago in Prague. He reached up to take hold of her wrist, and he brought her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles carefully and then said against her skin,

"I don't know. I hope he and Flavia did notice the way I couldn't keep my eyes off of you… the way I was whipped into a frenzy and nearly brought to completion right there just from taking you in like a work of art."

Bellatrix's breath hitched in her throat, and she froze, because hearing him speak to her like that was so overwhelming that she simply didn't know what to do with herself. She just stared at him, her eyes searing like fire. He dragged his thumb over her knuckles, sending a quiver up her spine, and she thought she might collapse. At last, out of sheer desperation, she mumbled,

"My Lord, I could not possibly adore you more if I tried."

He just nodded, and then Bellatrix felt herself being led over to the bed, his hands strong and firm in guiding her. She was beyond dizzy then; the bedroom was spinning. Between the fact that she'd just rather spilled herself emotionally to Lord Voldemort, combined with the sight of him lying her down on her back and then kicking off his dragonhide boots before crawling up to hover above her, was too much. She could hardly breathe. She couldn't think straight. She knew her hair was around her, sprawled on the soft down pillow, and in a distant corner of her mind, she cursed her body for bleeding right now. She scowled a little as her master put a thigh on either side of her hips, and she heard herself fret anxiously,

"I want to please you, Master, and my ridiculous, useless body is -"

"Celestial," Voldemort hummed, and his right hand began to course over her where she lay. He met her eyes and said seriously, "I believe I told you that your body was celestial. "

She gasped a little, arching her back as he cupped her breast and compressed it in his palm. He bent and touched his lips to hers, and he said onto her mouth with hot breath,

"You want to please me."

"Yes, Master," she replied, nodding a little as his hand moved up to caress her collarbone and her neck - the area he always told her he liked so much. She shivered where she lay, throbbing between her legs, and she found herself rubbing her thighs together, desperate for release. She squirmed a little, and then she felt Voldemort's rumbling laughter on her mouth as he conceded,

"You first, Bella."

" Mmmph. " She was bereft of her senses then as his mouth latched tightly to hers, as his lips pulled roughly and their tongues twined. Ringing. There was loud ringing in her ears suddenly, and her hands flew up to his head, her fingernails dragging around his short-cropped, greying hair as she squealed a little into their kiss. He was grinding down onto her, she realised, his pelvis rubbing hard against the front of her black wool dress. Bellatrix ripped her mouth from his and gasped for air, clutching Voldemort's head in her hands and screwing her eyes shut as she felt the urgent push of his erection against her swollen, soaked clit. She moaned helplessly, wordlessly, and then she let out a shaking breath before feeling as though she'd faint right there on the bed.

"Hold my arms, will you?" she heard Voldemort's voice say, and she only registered distantly that he sounded a bit unhinged himself. Hold his arms? She did tend to do that, didn't she? He must like it, she thought. She obeyed him at once; she would always obey him. She reached instantly to cling onto his bare biceps, and as soon as she did, she let out another desperate noise, because the flesh there felt divine - toned and thick and masculine. Her fingers sank into his muscles, and she heard him grunt several times. Bellatrix forced her eyes open, forced herself to look up at him, and in the glow from the fireplace, she could see that his slightly wrinkled face had become a bit sheened with sweat. He was looking at her with a hard stare as he ground his hips down onto her, and then he lamented through gritted teeth,

"I was s econds away in the dining room, Bella, before I was interrupted."

She couldn't answer him, because she herself was lost then. It was entirely too much. The memory of him flirting with her at dinner. Kissing him in the stairwell. The dry Malbec still swimming in her head. The feel of him moving atop her now, even through the fabric. Her hands clutching his arms. His face in her blurry sight. She was lost, drowning in him. She tried to breathe, but she just lay there, frozen, unable to move or fill her lungs, unable to do anything other than let out a few stray tears from her eyes. She felt the walls of her womanhood cinching erratically, in tune with the grand flush of transcendent pleasure that raced through her veins and sent her heart thudding with satisfaction.

Suddenly Voldemort flew off of her, landing with a rather inelegant oof onto his back on the bed beside her, and as Bellatrix came down from the high of her climax, she watched his trembling fingers struggle to frantically work at the buttons of his black woolen breeches. Bellatrix managed to push herself up onto an elbow and gently brushed his hands away, rushing to open the breeches herself. She knew what he wanted. He wanted release, and not inside his clothes this time. She worked as quickly as she could to shove the woolen breeches open and then yank them down just enough to free his cock, which was so hard and thick in her hand when she pulled it out that she gasped a little. Voldemort hissed when she took hold of the shaft, tipping his head back against the pillow and grasping at the silver-embroidered blanket with his large hands.

Before she could think more on it, much less ask his permission, Bellatrix dipped her head down onto his member, pushing his swollen, slightly purple tip between her lips and relishing the bitter, salty taste there from the bit of precome that had already leaked out. She moaned onto him and heard him let out a rather loud noise, as if he were almost in pain. His hands flew up from the blankets and buried themselves in her hair, taking fistfuls of her wild curls, and as she began to burrow him more deeply into her throat, she heard him whispering her name like a frantic chant.

"Bella. Bellatrix. Oh . Bella."

She pulled up slowly, savouring him, staring up at the way his chest was heaving with mercurial pants, and then she suckled the tip until he whined a bit desperately. She dove down again, fighting the urge to gag with all her might. She felt his fingers twine in her hair, felt him pull a little there, and she heard her name on his lips again, though he sounded so unsteady she was almost worried about him.

Very suddenly, she felt his cock start to pulsate inside her mouth, and then there was an abrupt and overwhelming bitter, metallic taste. It was not entirely pleasant, though not at all unbearable, and because it was evidence of her master's pleasure, Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut and swallowed down every bit of it. She would not have him thinking she disliked any part of him. She waited until his frenetic breathing had quieted, until his cock felt less rigid in her mouth, and finally she let her mouth slip off of him and gently laid his softening member down upon his thigh.

She sat up slowly, swiping her wrist over her bruised lips, and she stared down at where Voldemort lay, looking utterly exhausted. He still seemed breathless, more so than she could recall seeing him. She'd seen him after battles, when he'd been dashing around moors or had spent a half hour engaged in a vicious duel, and even then he hadn't seemed nearly as tired as he did now.

He gazed up at her with half-hooded eyes and a serious expression as he reached down to tuck his cock back into his breeches, and he finally huffed a little breath before he told her,

"You are my very best lieutenant. My most capable soldier. I know you'll serve me well during the upcoming mission in Manchester."

Bellatrix felt a little cold then, and more than a bit confused. She furrowed her brow but nodded as she bowed her head.

"Of course, My Lord. My entire life is devoted to your service. I shall slay every enemy of yours that I can. Torture whomever I -"

"Bella."

She raised her eyes just enough to look at him then, and he seemed frustrated as he cast one forearm over his face.

"It wasn't… I only meant to do things like have a good climax in public every now and then because I'd discovered a strange fetish. Fuck you on the table as a power play. That was all. It was… it wasn't meant to be any sort of…"

He let out an angry-sounding little noise, and Bellatrix felt like she was going to cry. She was frightened, suddenly, that all of this was going to end forever, that he would never touch her again. But she knew her place. She knew who she was. So she swallowed hard and said softly,

"I shall pack my things at once and go home, Master."

"What? No." He moved his arm from his face and scowled up at her. "That is not what I want. I… I am merely stating that things have veered a bit off course from where I'd initially intended. That's all."

Off-course. Bellatrix's mouth fell open at that, and as he slowly sat up, taking her face in his hands, all she could do was gaze into his eyes and wish she could kiss him again right now. She remembered, very vividly, what he'd told her not so very long ago. I simply need to pace myself. A little at a time, or I shall overdose on 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.

Well, so much for that, Bellatrix thought. It was a bit too late for delicate little bites of each other. They'd both overdosed already, perhaps.

"Shall I stay, then, Master?"

He just nodded, squaring his jaw. He leaned toward her and kissed her forehead, and he murmured,

"I'm going to bathe before bed. Feel free to just Scour yourself clean; you're too tipsy to stand in a shower. Wouldn't want you falling."

He pulled back and smirked at her, and Bellatrix gave him an embarrassed little smile as she admitted,

"It really was a very good, dry Malbec, My Lord."

"Yes, and you really did have quite a lot of it," he teased, tucking her hair behind her ear. He narrowed his eyes at her then, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and he finally whispered, "No, you know what? Do come shower with me. I won't let you fall."

Bellatrix grinned, nodding, and reached to touch again at the large scar on his chest. "Yes, Master."

Bellatrix shivered violently where she stood in front of Manchester Cathedral. The bell tolled nine, and she glanced up through her elaborate silver mask, which was frigid to the touch tonight, to see Voldemort looming next to her. He was cloaked in a heavy velvet cape, his hood obscuring most of his face, but unlike the others, he was not masked. He had no fear of being recognised. Frankly, the fact that Bellatrix had bothered to wear a mask was a bit of a fruitless endeavour; she stood six inches shorter than the next shortest male Death Eater, had the unmistakable build of a female even in combat attire, and could only conceal her hair and voice so much. Even the design of her mask was feminine, because Voldemort had designed it for her when she'd been given her Dark Mark, and he'd crafted a style that fit her personality uniquely. So it was honestly a bit pointless for her to have the icy metal thing latched onto her face right now. Just the same, she was wearing it out of solidarity with the others, and also because her lord and master had bid her to do so.

The past several days with him had been almost ridiculous. Every morning when they'd awakened, they'd used their wands to freshen their mouths and then had kissed until their mouths couldn't take it anymore. Bellatrix had stopped bleeding on the fourth, and after that, they'd both determined that mornings were very good times for slow, easy sex. On the evening of the fifth, Flavia Malfoy had hosted a little gathering at Malfoy Manor to celebrate Madam Yaxley's birthday. It had been almost all witches in attendance, though of course, the Dark Lord had dropped in to say hello.

Druella had sharply interrogated Bellatrix about staying at Malfoy Manor. Everyone had heard about it, apparently. Rumours were flying amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight that, for all intents and purposes, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were separated and Bellatrix was carrying on with the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor. When Bellatrix shrugged and explained simply that there was great discord between herself and Rodolphus, and that was their own personal business, and that what she and Lord Voldemort was certainly not anyone else's business, Druella had looked lost between terror and embarrassment, but had wisely decided to drop the subject.

On the sixth of January, it had snowed a bit in Wiltshire, and it was beautiful to look at. Lord Voldemort seemed restless, in part because the mission in Manchester was the next day. He told Bellatrix to bundle up and come outside for a walk with him, and they wound up trudging about the Malfoys' gardens for two hours in the snowfall, talking quietly about all manner of things. They talked about Voldemort's time in Moravia, learning how to brew poisons there that had been in use for many centuries in secret. They talked about what life would be like in wizarding Britain once Voldemort had full power. Bellatrix described to him how good it felt for her to hold a Cruciatus Curse on an enemy. He'd kissed her there, out in the snowy gardens, hard on the mouth and for a very long while, where anyone could have seen them through the windows. Perhaps someone did. He did not seem to care about that.

Now, tonight in Manchester, she stared up at him in a bit of wonder, and she shivered. She was absolutely freezing, for the night was particularly cold. But she also trembled with anticipation. The two of them were going to murder Bess Pritchard and her husband. Bess Pritchard was a middle-aged Mudblood who worked at the Ministry and had married a Blood Traitor wizard who was a clerk in a shop in Diagon Alley. They both commuted daily to London, apparently, because Bess Pritchard's Muggle parents lived in Manchester and the couple wanted to be near them. Bellatrix had sneered when she'd found that out.

"Ready for some good old-fashioned killing, Bella?" asked Voldemort, and she grinned up at him, though she knew he couldn't see her smile behind her mask. She nodded and hummed,

"It is my very favourite thing, My Lord."

"I know." He'd said that before, but this time his face was more serious than when he'd once said it flirtatiously in a meeting. He flicked his gaze about and adjusted his hold on his bony yew wand, and then he looked a little relieved as the other expected Death Eaters approached through the cold, dark night to come stand before Lord Voldemort. As they all assembled beneath the mighty gothic tower of Manchester Cathedral, they bowed, one by one. Bellatrix glanced around the wizards who had gathered. She knew their masks by now, and she could also tell from their heights and statures who was who. Still, Voldemort carefully acknowledged them individually.

"Macnair. Yaxley. You've got the address for Mazarine Moreau and her parents in Greenheys?"

"We are perfectly prepared to take out the Mudblood and her old parents, Master," acknowledged Yaxley stoutly. "We look forward to doing your will."

"Good," snapped Voldemort tightly. He looked around, then up at the nearby clock. Bellatrix knew what he was thinking. It was past nine. Rodolphus was late. She watched Voldemort square his jaw. Bellatrix hadn't spoken to Rodolphus in days. She hadn't even sent him an owl. Dobby had washed all of her clothes for her. She'd been bathing and eating at Malfoy Manor. She had hardly even thought about Rodolphus, frankly. The last she'd heard of him, he'd promised Lord Voldemort at the lunch planning meeting that he knew his place and that he would be here tonight in Manchester, ready to do his duty.

"Abraxas. Rabastan," Voldemort growled harshly, and Abraxas jolted to attention. Voldemort cleared his throat. "You're to take out Lonnie Richardson and her family with Rodolphus. I presume the three of you have strategised to streamline that process."

Abraxas and Rabastan looked at one another, though they were masked, so it was difficult to tell what they were trying to convey. Bellatrix shifted on her feet, feeling suddenly uneasy. Voldemort let out a long breath and demanded in a somewhat harsh voice,

"Rabastan Lestrange, when is the last time you spoke with your brother?"

Rabastan looked at Voldemort and immediately admitted, "I've sent him owls every day since the planning meeting, My Lord. He answered me… the day after the meeting. He said he would be here. Abraxas and I wrote to him, trying to get details planned, trying to get him to meet. He stopped answering… I went to his house in London earlier today, but he was not there. The House-Elf said he had been gone since yesterday."

Bellatrix froze, and somehow, even in the frozen winter night, she felt colder than ever. Her mouth fell open behind her mask, and she stared up at Voldemort. He looked enraged all of a sudden, and he seemed to be shaking where he stood.

"And you did not feel it was necessary, either of you, to notify me immediately that Rodolphus Lestrange was not communicating appropriately, or that he was missing from his home?" Voldemort demanded, his voice an irate hiss. Abraxas stumbled backward a few steps, as if in terror, but Rabastan dipped to genuflect, falling onto his knee as he murmured helplessly,

"We ought to have come to you at once, My Lord. I admit it; I feared for my brother. I thought perhaps he would come tonight. I thought… perhaps it was just… you know, that he was a bit… heartbroken."

"Heartbroken," Voldemort sneered through clenched teeth, and Abraxas Malfoy said weakly,

"The boy has been distraught, My Lord, since the incident on the table at the meeting. Rather inconsolable since then, it seems. And since the planning meeting, since Madam Lestrange started staying at Malfoy Manor… he has withdrawn. So we thought it was that, you see, and -"

"Well, perhaps if the boy had not physically thrown his wife into her bedroom and locked the fucking door!" Voldemort snarled, sounding like a violent animal. He began to pace where he stood, and he looked around furtively, as though enemies would appear out of nowhere. "Get off the ground, Rabastan. This mission is cancelled. Rodolphus Lestrange is clearly compromised. He was meant to be here ten minutes ago now. If he were still loyal to me, he would have been here. He knows perfectly well to never be late to a mission. Bella, you tell me right now. Do you honestly think that boy is still in my service?"

He whirled on her then, his dark eyes glistening, and Bellatrix managed to find it in herself to shake her head frantically and to choke out,

"N-No, My Lord. I… I worry that he… you're right. He would have been here by now. He would never be late. If Noosa, our House-Elf, says he's been gone for two days, and Rabastan doesn't know where he is, then… then you're right, My Lord. He's been compromised. He can't be trusted. And he knows all of the information for this mission."

Voldemort let out a low, feral gnarl, dragging his boot along the stone ground in anger. He shook his head and stared at Abraxas Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange.

"I will deal with the two of you later. I can't torture either of you in the middle of this street; it's a fucking security risk. Rest assured you will both be dealt with for failing to notify me of the fact that Rodolphus was very evidently not behaving fittingly."

Abraxas and Rabastan bowed their heads and murmured apologies, and Macnair and Yaxley likewise adopted submissive stances. Voldemort huffed and said quickly,

"Everyone go to your safe houses and ward up the locations tighter than a virgin's cunt. Abraxas, go quickly to the manor, ward up my office, and take Flavia to your secret location. I'm taking Bella to mine. Rabastan, if by any chance you hear from Rodolphus, you are to ignore him entirely. Let me deal with him. All of you stay hidden until you hear from me. We have been betrayed. Until I have handled this treason, everyone stay underground and stay safe. The Ministry will be after us in full force. Go."

Before anyone else could say anything, Bellatrix felt Voldemort snatch almost roughly at her wrist, and she gasped as he immediately Disapparated, taking her by Side-Along. She felt a bit of nausea as she was unexpectedly sucked through a pinching black void, through a whooshing empty nothing. Then, just as suddenly, her flat dragonhide boots had landed with a thud on slick cobblestones, and she skittered as she struggled to keep her balance. She grappled roughly, catching at the chest of Lord Voldemort's robes, and he grabbed her and heaved at her until she was standing upright.

She looked around, quickly getting her bearings with her wand out, and she could see that she and Voldemort were standing in front of a very old-looking white brick house with a bright red door, situated along a scenic street upon which a cold drizzle was falling. Bellatrix breathlessly gulped and wondered aloud,

"Where are we, My Lord?"

"Mermaid Street, Rye, East Sussex," he said blandly. He seized her hand and waved his wand in front of the white house, muttering spells to take down the powerful wards around it. He dragged her toward the red door, and he muttered under his breath, "Let's go inside. We have much to discuss."