"Bella?"

Voldemort stepped over the threshold of the safe house on Mermaid Street in Rye, out of the frigid torrential downpour, and shut the door carefully behind him. He dragged his wand through the air to ward the house back up, muttering the protective enchantments with the practised skill of a wizard who had been shielding himself from enemies for decades now. He shivered where he stood; it was just on the cusp of freezing outside, and the cold rain was eking its way into his bones. He frowned when he got no response to his call as he peeled off his soaked waterproofed cloak, which he hung by the door. He climbed the narrow stairs and called again,

"Bellatrix?"

Nothing. A small twinge of concern worked its way up Voldemort's spine as he walked down the corridor at the top of the landing, his dragonhide boots making the old wooden floorboards creak in protest. He kept his wand out, in case someone had found the safe house whilst he'd been off meeting with his Death Eaters to discuss his execution of Rodolphus. He peered into the main bedroom, hoping Bellatrix was deep asleep in bed and simply hadn't heard him. But the bed was still neatly made from this morning, and the room was dimly lit by candlelight. Scowling, Voldemort went into the little bathroom, and then he stopped, lowering his wand and smirking with amusement.

She was reclining like a queen in the white clawfoot bathtub, her raven curls soaked from the steaming milky water. Her eyes were shut peacefully, her hands cast lazily over the edges of the bath. Voldemort tipped his head and cleared his throat, and suddenly Bellatrix jolted, making the water splash a little. She sat up a bit, looking alarmed, and she glanced about as if sure she'd missed something.

"So sorry, My Lord," she mumbled. "I think I… I nearly dozed off…"

"I'm very certain you did doze off," Voldemort teased her, stepping into the bathroom. He began to unbuckle his black woollen robe, which felt oppressively hot in here, because she'd steamed up the room running such a warm bath for herself. It smelled like lavender in here, Voldemort registered, so peaceful and vaguely seductive that he wasn't surprised she'd been lulled to sleep. He tossed his robe haphazardly across the closed seat of the toilet and then rolled up the sleeves of the white tunic he'd had on underneath. He lowered himself down to sit beside the bathtub, and Bellatrix flashed him a nervous little smile as he did. She reclined back at last, her long hair drifting about in the water as it soaked itself again. Voldemort's breath hitched at the sight of her like that, her porcelain flesh glistening, her hair sopping wet, her face serene. He tried to ignore the flush between his legs as he twirled his wand absentmindedly between his fingers.

"Are you cross with me, My Lord, for falling asleep in the bath?" she asked a bit cheekily. "I ought to have been at attention whilst you were away, probably."

"Mmm. Much more concerned with your safety," he said gravely. "You could have drowned. What an inglorious for my most able soldier and my bravest combat warrior. Bellatrix Black, drowned in a bathtub."

She giggled a little, but then Voldemort realised what he'd called her. Bellatrix Black. Not Bellatrix Lestrange. Well, that was right and fitting, he thought. She would never, ever be Bellatrix Lestrange again, from now until she breathed her last breath. She had been born into the glorious House of Black and she served the Dark Lord. Rodolphus was gone. Her marriage was null and void. It had never happened, as far as Voldemort was concerned. He needed her to understand that, for some reason, so he met her eyes now and nodded as he said seriously,

"You were never married. You have always been Bellatrix Black."

She just stared for a moment. Perhaps he expected some sort of resistance, because what he was saying was not strictly true. There had been a wedding, of course. Everyone of consequence had been there. She'd worn a bridal gown and had exchanged vows and rings with Rodolphus Lestrange, The two of them had consummated their marriage. But Voldemort's view on reality was all that mattered these days; his word was law, and he deemed her marriage to Rodolphus illegal and void and cancelled. Therefore, it had never actually happened. That silly ceremony, the dress, the feast, the vows, the dances, and even the 'consummation' had all been empty and hollow. The rings had just been costume jewellery. Bellatrix Black had never had a husband, because Rodolphus Lestrange had never been anything more than traitorous scum. He had never been a wizard worthy of calling himself the husband of Lord Voldemort's most trusted ally and most beloved warrior.

Voldemort was, therefore, grateful for Bellatrix's intelligence and wisdom when she nodded and whispered,

"I understand, Master. Thank you."

He felt something profound them, something almost frightening, and his eyes seared just a little. He coughed quietly and turned his gaze from her. He kept spinning his wand in his fingers, though he nearly dropped it, something he never did as he was an expert at toying with the thing and had been since his first year at Hogwarts. He heard Bellatrix's voice ask him quietly,

"Did you speak with everyone?"

He just nodded, and there was quiet until he finally gave up on his tricks with the wand and set it down. He huffed and then said to her,

"Obviously, everyone's more than a little relieved that the stupid boy is dead. I decided not to enact particularly vicious vengeance on Rabastan Lestrange or Abraxas Malfoy for failing to keep me apprised of how severe the situation with Rodolphus was. I can perceive that they are both intensely loyal and that they realise the gravity of their errors. I do not wish to embitter either of them just now."

Bellatrix seemed to hesitate, as though she wished to say something, but she just pinched her lips into a line and nodded. Voldemort frowned.

"Speak," he commanded her, and Bellatrix finally murmured,

"I only wish to say, My Lord, that in my very humble view, that is a prudent and calculated move. Abraxas Malfoy hosts your office, and Flavia hosts mosts social functions. I know the Malfoys are very loyal. I know Abraxas must feel terrible. By showing him and Rabastan some modicum of mercy and having faith in their loyalty, you're showing contrast… betrayal like Rodolphus' is punished with death and revenge. Loyalty is aptly rewarded. It is shrewd, Master. That is all I wished to say."

"Mmm." Voldemort nodded. He reached then to touch at the surface of her bath water, and when he did, his fingertips sent ripples moving outward. He watched the motion of the water and let out a long, heavy breath, licking his lips as he mused, "We're going to stay here for just a few more days. Abraxas is going to go to Malfoy Manor with a group of a few scouts. They'll ensure Malfoy Manor is ready to be secured as headquarters again. When it's fully warded up, you and I will move back there and I'll reestablish my office. And then Flavia will host a party of my inner circle… a bit of a fuck you to my enemies, and a show of fidelity to me."

"I look forward to all of that, My Lord," Bellatrix said, her voice shaking just a little. He flicked his eyes up to hers, and suddenly she looked so pretty that his chest yanked. Her large brown eyes seemed to want something - to want him? - and her full lips were parted. Her cheeks had flushed pink, though the water in her bath was cooling a little. Voldemort felt a new surge of blood rush straight between his legs, felt his cock go harder than ever, and he gulped past the knot in his throat as a bout of dizziness took him over.

His hand moved from the surface of the water up to touch at Bellatrix's bare, damp skin, and as he brushed his knuckles over her shoulder and then her decolletage and neck, he considered what she'd told him out on Camber Sands beach. She was in love with him. Well, that shouldn't be surprising, probably. She'd adored him for quite a while now, it seemed. He ought not be surprised at all to hear her say those words. Somehow, he hadn't even been cross about hearing her declare such a thing. It had sent a strange surge through him, a pulsing sort of heat, and he felt it again now.

"Bella," he mumbled, raising his eyes to her, and she just nodded, her breath audibly quick and shallow. Voldemort choked out a little noise and realised he wanted to lose himself the way he'd done with her before. His cock was aching in his black wool breeches where he sat; it was protesting against the material, yearning to escape, and when he rotated his hips a little and felt the pulse of his cock where his breeches rasped against it, he groaned a bit. Bellatrix gasped and nodded earnestly, and he knew instantly that she understood what he wanted. He whispered, almost helplessly, in a way that ought to make him feel ashamed but somehow did not, "It has been… a little while… since I have done… this."

She just kept nodding, over and over, leaning against his touch as his hand caressed her skin. He dipped his fingers into the warm bath water so he could wet her neck and jaw and feel the way the soap-slicked bath water made her feel under his touch, and when he did that, he almost finished. Bellatrix leaned back as he rubbed at her jaw, as he stroked her curls, and her eyes shut so tightly that he thought something was hurting her. But then he realised one of her hands had disappeared into the bathtub, that she was touching herself under the milky water, bringing herself pleasure whilst he grazed his hands over her and let his cock swell. The thought of that, of her fingers toying with her clit as she moaned a little, as he pet her wet skin as his member started to leak in his breeches, made the bathroom spin around him.

"Oh, Bella," he breathed, and he snared his hand into her damp curls. He rather lost control then, heaving himself up from his seated position and leaning forward until he could wrench her face forward using his grip on her hair. She moaned a little as he crushed her mouth with a harsh kiss, and when he dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth, she whimpered and then went slack against him. He knew she was coming; her breath had gone ragged and irregular and she was utterly limp where Voldemort held her and kissed her.

That was supremely erotic, he thought. Her, with her own hand fingers against her clit under the water whilst she climaxed him as he kissed her… he couldn't handle the intensity of it. It was too much, even for a wizard with the mental wherewithal of Lord Voldemort. So he spilled himself inside his breeches, and when he did, it was so profoundly vivid and fierce that he almost released Bellatrix and let her slip right back into the bathtub. Somehow, he managed to hold her and to let his lips linger a hair's breadth from hers as he felt his cock pumping out a great mess into his underwear, as his ears rang loudly and his veins raced with fire. Satisfaction and pleasure coursed through him in a wild detonation that didn't last nearly long enough but was ferociously powerful. It wasn't until the entire thing was over that Voldemort realised he'd been whispering, over and over, against her lips,

Bella. Bellatrix. Bella.

Finally, after what was probably only a minute but felt like a very long time, he gently set her back down against the bathtub and then, with his head still swimming, staggered backwards to sit again and stared at her, his vision slightly blurred from lingering arousal. Bellatrix looked shocked; nothing between them had been quite that… powerful… before. Often, Voldemort thought, she would experience self-doubt after an intimate moment with him. She would act like it had been too good to be true, like she thought she was about to be sent away, like he must be on the verge of telling her to get dressed and to leave him alone, to go home to her husband and…

Voldemort froze.

No.

She was his now. She was entirely his. And she was in love with him. Bellatrix Black was his , and she was in love with him. And he…

"I do not suppose I ever anticipated becoming the sort of wizard to experience genuine fondness and affection for another human being, Bellatrix. You must realise that. It is not in my nature."

She just stared, and that familiar look of worry came over her face. Voldemort hurried to snatch at his wand and clean up the mess in his breeches; it didn't feel appropriate to tell her any of this with spilt seed sticky on his inner thigh. Once he'd put his wand back down, he cleared his throat and said seriously to Bellatrix,

"My views toward other humans, for the past forty-five years, have mostly been… well, either apathy or outright contempt. In a few cases, I view individuals as useful pawns. All of that is still almost universally true. You are the sole exception, Bella. You are the only person, ever, toward whom I have been able to muster up any semblance of… emotion… that resembles… erm…"

The words got stuck then, and he watched as Bellatrix's eyes rimmed red and flooded heavily with tears, as her bottom lip trembled ferociously. She shook her head a little, and Voldemort realised his heart was racing so quickly he feared it would just thunk its way into her bath and get waterlogged. He pursed his lips and tried to gather himself, and after a long moment he finally whispered,

"I am not actually certain, Bellatrix, if I am the type of person who can love. Probably not. I am… far too wicked, I think. Far too Dark, and, I presume, broken in the wrong bits of my soul. A story of another day. But, erm… whatever twisted and slightly deranged form of love it is I might be capable of manifesting… whatever that is… I could only feel it for you. I want you to know that. It is important to me that you understand that, as my most trusted servant, and my greatest soldier, and my best acolyte."

He stared straight into her eyes then, and she just stared back for a very long moment until finally, she said softly,

"Everything I do, from this moment until my heart beats its last… My Lord, every single second of my life will be lived for you . I am yours. I love you."

His eyes prickled strangely then, because it seemed, somehow, that she'd understood him just so. She always did. He sniffed lightly and nodded.

"Right," he said. "It's been a hell of a day. Let's get some rest. Don't want you falling asleep in the bathtub again."

"My Lord," said Flavia Malfoy warmly, walking up to Voldemort inside the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. She held a goblet of wine in her hand and looked just a bit glassy-eyed. Frankly, everyone did at this point. Voldemort hadn't put a limit on drinking at this party; if he had, it would have made him seem paranoid and frightened. And the entire point of this soiree was to show off just how secure he felt right now. He curled up his lips and said congenially,

"Flavia. Thanks again very much for arranging all of this. And on such short nice."

"Truly, it was no problem, My Lord." Flavia pushed her slightly greying golden waves from her face with a hand that was sheathed in an expensive white glove. She sipped from her wine and glanced over to where Bellatrix was chatting amiably with Yaxley, Nott, and Avery. Flavia cleared her throat and asked carefully, "My Lord… forgive me if I pry, but… I did notice that Bellatrix has been staying in your suite since you settled back in here, and that she came into the party on your arm."

Voldemort squared his jaw and just raised his eyebrows at Flavia. He took a sip from the Blishen's firewhisky he was drinking and said nothing at all, daring Flavia to continue. Flavia looked uncomfortable and shifted on her heeled feet. She looked a bit awkward then, reaching up to adjust her small, feathered blue hat as she lowered her voice and said,

"Druella… it's just… My Lord, Druella Black is wondering, in the wake of Rodolphus Lestrange's death, and since I am hosting you… she has asked me, My Lord… erm… well, you see, Master, it's just that she heard a rumour about something happening on the table in the dining room during a Death Eater's meeting a while back and…"

Suddenly Flavia's face went quite red. Voldemort just sipped his firewhisky again, but poor Flavia was practically squirming, so he decided not to torture the poor woman any more by denying her answers. She was pleading for information at this point. Voldemort glanced over to Bellatrix and then shrugged.

"There's very little to tell," he said simply, although what he was about to say to Flavia, and what he'd been telling people all night about this when they'd looked askance or pressured him indirectly, was a statement with incredible weight. It was the same thing he'd said to Bellatrix in Rye, and it would change everything. He took one last sip to drain his tumbler of firewhisky and then set the empty glass down on the nearby banquet table. He turned to Flavia, brushing his fingertips on his dark blue velvet dress robe.

"Bellatrix Black has never had a husband. The ceremony, the vows, the rings… that was all illegal and fraudulent, because the traitorous apostate boy involved in those dealings is dead, and when he was alive, he was not eligible to be married to Lord Voldemort's most powerful and esteemed soldier and servant. Because of this situation, Bellatrix Black's marriage is permanently annulled and is to be considered to have never existed at all."

Flavia Malfoy had the same reaction then that everyone else had had that night, which was a mixture of fear and amazement. Her pale eyes went round and her mouth fell open in surprise, but then her head bobbed quickly with assent and she dropped into a reverent little curtsey as she quickly mumbled a Yes, My Lord . She might privately think the idea was silly or even a bit insane, but she would not dare voice such an opinion. And what she didn't know is that Voldemort had already spoken to Druella and Cygnus Black about this, about twenty minutes earlier. They, too, had been taken aback, but they'd quickly acquiesced to the Dark Lord's will on the matter, because they, like everyone present tonight, were obedient and loyal.

Unlike Rodolphus, who had paid for his sedition and his jealousy with his life.

"And if you must know, which I suppose you have a right to do, seeing as we are lodging in this manor," Voldemort mused, "Bellatrix and I are… well, we are indeed companions of that nature. You know… the sort of people who live together and… have a mutual, exclusive…"

He trailed off then, frowning deeply. He had not exactly explained this to anyone else tonight, because he wasn't living in anyone else's house. He was stumbling badly, he thought. He wanted more firewhisky all of a sudden. He felt foolish, his cheeks going warm, as he realised he lacked good terminology for what he and Bellatrix were. They were not married, and they never would be. She wasn't his girlfriend ; that was debasing and humiliating language for a man like Voldemort. He was her master and she was his servant, but that dynamic was true for him with many people. The two of them had a monogamous romantic bond and were cohabitating. How to express that without sounding maudlin and stupid? He curled up his lip, feeling rather desperate, until Flavia said helpfully,

"Oh, I understand entirely, My Lord. I shall see to it, then, that Dobby installs a second full wardrobe in the suite for her clothes. Please do have her let me know if there's anything at all that needs changing or redecorating to her liking. I do wish for her to feel comfortable so long as your headquarters are at the Manor."

Voldemort looked at Flavia and just nodded, and she flashed him a little smile and curtsied again before she said,

"With your leave, Master, I think I shall go get myself some of the lemon and meringue biscuits. They're Lucius' favourites, you know. I had to have them in honour of him; I do miss him so."

Voldemort just nodded numbly and said, "I shall give them a try in a little while. Thank you."

She walked away then, and he found himself moving through the ballroom as people acknowledged him with bows, curtsies, and low, murmured verbal My Lords and Masters . He just nodded and flashed mirthless little smiles until he reached the small cluster of conversation where Bellatrix was. She was standing near a tall table, eating off a plate with a few of the lemon biscuits Flavia had mentioned, along with what appeared to be a small glass of vanilla chantilly with berries on top. She had a goblet of wine and was still talking with some Death Eaters; Yaxley and Avery and Nott had been joined by Rookwood and Abraxas Malfoy.

For some reason, Voldemort felt a strange tug in his chest at the sight of Bellatrix laughing and chattering away as so many of his male Death Eaters looked on rather eagerly, almost surrounding her. Perhaps part of it, he thought, was how she looked tonight. She'd come to this party dressed in a gown that might have been modest enough on a less inherently gorgeous witch, but on Bellatrix, it was eye-wateringly attractive. She'd actually covered up, much to Voldemort's irritation, because it was freezing outside and Malfoy Manor's ballroom tended to be cold. So she'd worn a high-necked gown with long sleeves and a slightly bustled skirt with a little train, crafted of black brocade. But there was just something about its corseted bodice and the way it hugged her figure, the way it made her seem at once dangerous and opulent, the way it seemed like it would be difficult to remove and yet was begging to be ripped off. There was something about the way Bellatrix had used Sleekeazy's on her black curls and then piled them atop her head and let them tumble down with a few stray ringlets around her face, the way she'd worn plum lipstick and lined her eyes with kohl. She was Dark and wicked, but she looked like she needed to be rushed off to a bedroom and attended to.

Perhaps that was what was making Voldemort's gut clench. It was just that she was wildly attractive. Or perhaps part of it, Voldemort thought, was the fact that all of his Death Eaters knew she was freshly widowed and therefore available. Only, she wasn't available. She belonged to Lord Voldemort in her entirety now. She'd told him on the shore in East Sussex that she was in love with him, and he'd surrendered the last scrap of pride he had in the bathroom of his safe house to essentially do the same back to her. And he'd just faceplanted with Flavia Malfoy attempting to explain his monogamous cohabitation with Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor. So seeing her standing eating desserts and giggling whilst Voldemort's male Death Eaters gave her flirtatious looks was more than a little maddening.

He cleared his throat roughly as he approached the table, and the entire group looked up and responded at once. All of the wizards bowed deeply, reverently, and it was Abraxas Malfoy who said in a deferential tone,

"My Lord. Miss Black was just telling us some humorous and heretofore undiscovered anecdotes about the traitor Rodolphus. Very amusing."

The others chuckled, and Nott swigged deeply from his wine. Voldemort felt his lips turn down as he looked around at the group. He glanced at Bellatrix, who was swaying where she stood, and he realised she was heavily intoxicated. He flicked his eyes from her mostly-empty goblet of wine to her glassy brown eyes and then looked back to Abraxas and said firmly,

"I do not suppose I like the idea of humorous discussions of the boy, Malfoy. I do not find treason in my ranks to be a source of amusement."

Abraxas looked abashed, his pale face going scarlet. Avery piped up and said,

"W-We were only… she was telling us ways he was… you know, we just badmouthing him, My Lord."

"I find I do not care, Avery," Voldemort said stiffly. "None of you are to speak of that vermin. He is dead; we are purged of him. Do not gossip of him anymore."

"Yes, My Lord," Abraxas Malfoy nodded, and the others murmured their obedient assent. But then Bellatrix finished off her wine and huffed snidely,

"Fine. My stories were funny."

There were a few audible gasps at that, and Voldemort snapped his face to her, glaring so intensely that he thought he might murder her just with his eyes. But she seemed oblivious, and so intoxicated that she tried to drink again from her goblet even though it was empty. Voldemort reached out and snatched the empty goblet from her, angrily tossing it onto the stone floor of Malfoy Manor's ballroom. There was a small commotion at that, and a few people went quiet, though the music did not stop. Bellatrix jolted as Voldemort hissed at her,

"You are profoundly drunk. You would never be this insolent to me if you weren't soaked through with wine. You know better than this."

She actually laughed a little then, which enraged him so much he thought he might actually spontaneously combust, and she whispered in a complete blur, "Are you going to p-punish me here in front of everyone, My Lord? I...I rather liked it the last time."

Voldemort snapped then. He could not abide this. If he let her do this - behave with this level of brazen cheek and impudence in front of all of his other Death Eaters just because he was fucking her regularly - he would look weak and ineffectual. It was bad enough he'd recently been betrayed by a follower, but to have another one speaking to him like this in front of a crowd of his servants? No. He could not stand for it.

He shoved roughly at Bellatrix's shoulder until she fell hard onto the floor of the ballroom. In her severely drunken state, she stumbled backwards and collapsed awkwardly onto her side, her skirts crumpling up around her waist. She yelled out in agony and rushed to right herself and cover her legs and knickers. Voldemort waited until she was on her hands and knees and staring at him with a wide-eyed, terrified look, and suddenly he realised he was aiming his bony yew wand at her. He had the Cruciatus Curse on his lips, he knew, but the spell died well before he could cast it. One had to mean an Unforgivable, and he simply couldn't cast the Cruciatus on Bellatrix. He couldn't torture her. Not even right now, with her having humiliated him in front of his other followers.

"Get up," he snarled at her, and when Flavia Malfoy appeared out of nowhere and seemed to be about to make an effort to help the very evidently drunk Bellatrix off the ground, Voldemort barked, "Get away from her, Flavia. Get up, Bella. Up!"

He was still aiming his wand at her as Bellatrix struggled to stagger off the ground and stand. Her hairstyle had fallen loose; her curls were a mess now. She sniffled a little and had begun to cry a bit. It was probably terror making her cry, Voldemort thought, or perhaps regret. Either way, she was so sloshed through with wine that she could hardly stand, and he found himself wondering what the blazes had compelled her to consume so much alcohol. He scoffed loudly and tipped his head as he taunted her quietly,

"It must have been a very good, very dry Malbec if you drank that much of it, you insolent little…"

He trailed off then. The malediction, the name-calling, never materialised. He found he couldn't quite manage that, either, for some reason. He just lowered his head and gathered himself, realising this ridiculous scene was spoiling what was meant to be a celebratory night. This party had been thrown to consecrate Voldemort's execution of the traitor Rodolphus Lestrange and that the Dark Lord's movement was barreling onward with new confidence, determination, and fearlessness. If the party took a sombre turn because of personal drama, it would have all been for nought. Voldemort could not let that happen. So he let out a very long breath, lowered his wand, and said in a voice just loud enough for the nearby cluster of Death Eaters to hear,

"Bella. Come here. Now. "

He flicked his eyes up to see her obey at once, walking toward him with lurching and wobbling steps. As soon as she reached him, she bowed her head, and he could tell that tears were streaming down her face. She was still swaying on her feet. Voldemort used his left hand to reach around her head for a moment, pulling at the clips and ties in her hair until her curls could just hang loose. He Vanished all of the adornments from her ruined hairstyle, and then he stroked gently at her face. His affectionate touch did not quite match his rather sharp and chastising voice then as he told her,

"Do not ever speak to me like that again, Bellatrix. You are my servant. You will treat me with respect. I believe I have recently made it quite plain what happens to people who do not treat me with sufficient respect. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," she hummed, and he nodded.

"Good." Then he raised up her face with his hand, and he lowered his face to hers, planting a chaste but very deliberate kiss on her lips. He breathed her in and then kissed her twice more. He pulled back, stared into her glassy eyes, and said loudly enough for the others to hear, "Don't ever be insubordinate again, Bellatrix Black, or it will be the last thing you do. And I do not want that… not with as much as I adore you. Now. You are very drunk; go upstairs and wait for me. I'll be up in a little while."