"Bellatrix, dear. Thank you so very much for the invitation to dinner. It was an unexpected surprise, I admit," said Druella Black as she stepped over the threshold into the London home she and her husband had bought for their eldest daughter when she'd graduated Hogwarts. Bellatrix flashed her mother a weak little smile and gestured for both of her parents to come inside out of the pattering rain, and Noosa, her House Elf, politely shut the door behind Druella and Cygnus and gathered up the rain cloaks they dropped to the ground.

"Well, Mum, I know you can understand that we need to be as secure as possible these days," Bellatrix said carefully, "and that this place is warded up appropriately and far safer for the Dark Lord than your house."

"Yes, of course we understand, darling," said Cygnus lightly, brushing his fingertips over his rain-soaked bowler hat. He sighed and said, "I just met with the Dark Lord in his office at Malfoy Manor yesterday to discuss some financial matters for the movement; he says things continue on very well, but that there is still much to be done and that great care is to be taken."

"Quite so," Bellatrix said firmly. She gnawed her lip just a little and then started to walk down the long, elegant corridor, leading her parents into the house. As she did, she heard her mother gasp from behind her, and Bellatrix whirled around about halfway down the hall. In the glittering light of the lamps on the cream-coloured walls, Druella's face was painted with shock, and she pointed rather rudely toward Bellatrix's left hand as she asked in a shaking sort of whisper,

"Is that a… a… that ring, Bellatrix; is it a…?"

"Oh." Bellatrix started twirling her beautiful custom ring of Alexandrite and sandstone. Her heart picked up a little as her lips parted and she struggled to formulate a good response to her mother's stammering inquisition. She knew what was being asked of her. Was the ring an engagement ring? Was she to marry the Dark Lord? No, Bellatrix thought. As far as she knew, the ring meant nothing of the sort. It had simply been pushed onto that finger, and she'd been told several times by her master that he loved her very much, and then they'd moved into this house together. But there had been no talk whatsoever of marriage, or of this ring signifying a proposal or a promise or anything deeper than a demonstration of affection. So Bellatrix just let out a shaking breath, shrugged, and said a bit defensively to her mother,

"The ring was a gift. A token, from my master, to show his regard for me. Nothing more."

Druella blinked a few times and seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally, she just forced a little smile and then stepped close to examine the ring. Bellatrix held her hand out, and as Druella studied the bauble with a soft little ooh , Bellatrix informed her crisply,

"He had it made by Ciondoli di Valore in Rome."

"Oh, yes. They do spectacular work," affirmed Cygnus, nodding vigorously with approval. Druella slowly lowered Bellatrix's fingers from her light grasp and said in the quiet voice of a slightly concerned mother,

"Well, dear, it's… it's lovely."

"Ah. I see your parents have managed their way here through the rain, Bella," said a somewhat jovial voice, and Bellatrix felt her heart pick up again, though for a different reason now. She did not turn around again, choosing instead to just smile as she watched her mother dip and her father bow as they murmured greetings to their master who was approaching from behind Bellatrix. She felt his right hand curl around the waist of her simple black silk dress, and then he surprised her by bending down to kiss her temple and whisper, "How pretty you look. I'm starved."

"My Lord," she hummed, reaching to cover his right hand with hers at his waist. She let him thread her fingers through his and let him pull her down the corridor with him until they reached the dining room, and she gazed up at him in wonder when he wandlessly drew out her chair for him. Their eyes lingered on one another for a good long moment as he took his seat beside her, not at the head of the table as she might have expected. She just stared at him, marvelling at how handsome he looked tonight in his midnight blue velvet robes, and very suddenly she wanted nothing more than for him to carry her upstairs and strip her naked and plunder her on his bed.

They'd been in this house for a week together now. They had determined that separate beds were entirely unnecessary, owing to the fact that they were actually in love with one another and engaged in frequent sex. Since they would often fall asleep tangled up nude or take showers together or use their mouths on one another in bed, it was downright silly that Bellatrix had her own bed. Anyway, Voldemort had told her more than once, he was a chronic insomniac who woke frequently, and it would have displeased him greatly to open his eyes and see a blank spot on the mattress beside him, knowing that Bellatrix was in a room just across the hall. So she slept with him in the brown master bedroom, though she stored her clothes in the red and grey room and readied herself at that boudoir, and she used the other bathroom when they were preparing themselves simultaneously. After all, she'd japed once, it was a very large house.

The day they'd moved in here, Voldemort had told Bellatrix in no uncertain terms that she was going to make a Horcrux. Entirely ignorant as to what a Horcrux was or why she needed to make one, Bellatrix had needed a good education on the matter. So Noosa had prepared tea and cress sandwiches, and Bellatrix and Voldemort had sat in the smaller nook off the kitchen for hours whilst he'd explained all about this deepest, Darkest form of magic to her. He'd told her how he'd learnt of Horcruxes, and about the fact that he had several of them (though he'd demurred in telling her where his were hidden, lest she be captured and the information tortured out of her). He told her that, at least for now, he would be satisfied enough with her making one, because at least then he'd know she could not simply be slain in battle or fall victim to a Cursed object or a bout of disease or otherworldly mortalities.

Bellatrix had agreed, of course. She would always agree to any command from him. She'd felt nervous at the prospect of slicing off a bit of her soul, of carving out some of her inherent self and imbuing it into a mundane object. But she trusted Voldemort with every ounce of her being, and if he told her that it was truly important to him that she achieve some semblance of immortality - if not for herself, for him, for his peace of mind and because he simply could not accept the idea of her dying and him continuing on without her.

That idea had been a complex notion to accept in the days that had followed. The words he had spoken to her in the wake of the battle in the Yorkshire Dales, when she'd been injured and he'd been covered in blood, seemed much more significant now that Bellatrix knew the truth about his Horcruxes and about him wanting her to make one.

You bloody fool; why are you keeping her mortal when she is so very beloved by you?

"Bellatrix?"

She snapped from her reverie now, jolted from her thoughts about Horcruxes as she tore her eyes away from Lord Voldemort and looked across the table to where her mother and father were seated. Outside the dining room, the rain was streaming down the windows, and with a little flick of his hand, Voldemort brightened the lamps to accommodate the darkness from the rainstorm. Bellatrix flashed her mother an expectant little look as their goblets filled with Muscadet wine. Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Voldemort with appreciation; he'd chosen a nice bone-dry white wine for her so she wouldn't get a headache. He curled his lips up and dragged his fingertip around the rim of his goblet as Druella asked,

"Is that a new wand, Bellatrix, dear? It, erm… it doesn't look like the one we got you before you started at Hogwarts."

"Oh." Bellatrix picked her new wand up off the table, noticing the slight differences in the version Gregorovitch had created for her. It was still walnut, still long and unyielding, and still had a core of dragon heartstring. But it had a definite handle now, and it was straight, so it felt quite different in Bellatrix's hand, and she'd had to get used to aiming it, as she didn't have to accommodate it being bent like she'd had to do for years with her old wand. She hesitated, but then Voldemort said quite firmly,

"Your daughter is my very finest soldier, Druella. She serves me with more courage and, I daresay, more guts and fearlessness than any of my other Death Eaters could possibly dream of. Sometimes, I confess, I wish she were just a little more careful… but that is me being selfish, for I only wish not to lose her. In any case, her old wand was lost in battle. I had it replaced."

A strange look came over him then, his eyes darkening a little and his features going serious as his jaw tightened. A moment of weighty silence came over the table then, until Bellatrix said in a quiet but honest voice,

"It was nothing to have suffered a few minor wounds and to have lost my wand in that battle, My Lord; I hope you know I would have gladly lost my life for you that day, as always."

He glared at her then, his dark eyes narrowing and his fingers curling almost menacingly around his goblet.

"No." His voice was a low, uncompromising hiss, and Druella gasped from across the table. Bellatrix gulped a little, sitting up straighter. Voldemort just stared at her for a moment until he tipped his head and then clarified in a sharp clip, "You will not gladly die in my service, Bella; you will strive to survive and to serve me in perpetuity, to stay by my side for many years to come. Am I understood?"

Bellatrix nodded quickly, her mind pulsing with the conversations she and Voldemort had had over the last several days about her need to create a Horcrux, about his unequivocal aversion to the idea of her dying. She bowed her head and mumbled,

"I apologise, Master. I shall always serve you dutifully as a soldier and servant, loyal to you in all circumstances. Of course, that much is true. But I shall never be careless with my life. I promise you that. I shall protect my time with you very carefully, My Lord. Very carefully indeed."

His glare was stony for a quiet moment, until at last, he raised his glass of bone-dry Muscadet wine. He licked his lips thoughtfully and kept his eyes locked on Bellatrix's as he toasted in a commanding voice,

"To the pluck and dauntlessness of my most able Death Eater. May she never know fear, and may she never know Death. And may every battle be a victory."

Bellatrix raised her own goblet, her eyes searing badly as she nodded. "May every battle be a victory," she affirmed in a choked voice, sipping from her goblet. Her parents toasted with their own wine and drank, but they seemed quite uneasy as everyone's plates filled with food.

Noosa had prepared savoury crêpes filled with chicken, goat cheese, and mushrooms, with a small salad of mixed greens on the side and some crusty bread. Druella seemed positively delighted and declared with a broad grin,

"Why, this is just exactly the sort of thing my distant French Rosier relatives used to serve when we would go and visit them in Paris in my youth. And we took you girls there once, Bellatrix; do you remember? When we went to see my Rosier cousins near Versailles?"

"Yes, Mum," Bellatrix said quietly, giving her mother an awkward little smile and dragging the tines of her fork near her food. "That's why I prepared the menu I did. Thought it might be nicely nostalgic for you."

"How considerate," Druella said, still smiling happily. She touched at Cygnus' shoulder and asked gently, "Wasn't that considerate, Cygnus?"

"Indeed," Cygnus nodded. He was glancing back and forth between Bellatrix and Voldemort, though, not paying much attention to his wife, and Bellatrix could tell her father was mildly concerned. She took a small bite of her crêpe and then she boldly reached to brush her fingers from Lord Voldemort's shoulder all the way down to his elbow, feeling the heft of his midnight blue robes, and when he turned to stare at her, she gave him a wide-eyed look and a little smile, and she said quietly to him,

"The wine is nice and dry, My Lord."

Suddenly his expression softened, as though he realised he'd spoken a bit too harshly to her before, and he nodded. She picked up her goblet and sipped from it, flashing him a flirtatious sort of wink over the top of the glass. His dark eyes flared then, and his lips pursed, and he shifted a little where he sat. He cleared his throat, turned his attention back to his dinner, and she watched his high cheekbones go pink. She could not help but smile to herself at that. He liked when she flirted with him. She knew that. And she'd dressed for him tonight, despite the fact that her parents were their guests. She'd worn black silk that was cut carefully, just the way he liked, so that her neck and collarbone and shoulders were revealed. She'd worn a single strand of heirloom pearls and had smoothed her curls with Sleekeazy's, but now she preened just a little as she poked at her food and nibbled little bites, asking her father in an airy tone,

"How is Great-Aunt Cassiopeia doing? She'd been in St Mungo's for quite some time; has she improved?"

"She is well now. Thank you," Cygnus said, curling up his lip and seeming not to want to discuss his aunt's illness in great detail. Bellatrix knew that Cassiopeia Black had contracted a terrible case of Winged Fluke Sickness in Jamaica, a magical parasitic infection that had led to her rushing back home and being hospitalised with an enlarged liver, abdominal pain, and bloody urine. Treatments existed, but they were unpleasant and needed to be administered by trained Healers at St Mungo's. Bellatrix knew full well that discussion of parasitic disease was not proper dinner discussion, so she just took a bite of her crêpe and said quietly,

"I am glad to hear she has improved."

"Cygnus," Voldemort finally said, setting down his own fork and seeming quite fed up with all of the pretence, "Have you brought the heirloom we requested of you when the invitation for dinner was sent by owl to you and Druella?"

Cygnus hesitated, for just half a moment too long, glancing at Druella for a brief moment, but then he nodded in silence and reached into the breast pocket of his robe. His fingers were shaking visibly as he pulled out a sparkling necklace and held it up. In the lamplight, the purple amethyst stones that dangled from the necklace glittered and shone, and from beside Cygnus, Druella looked uneasy, as though she wondered just what was intended for this very special piece of jewellery.

"The Black Family amethyst necklace," Cygnus declared. "Made by Phineas Nigellus Black in 1886 for his wife Ursula Flint Black… ancestress of Bellatrix and myself. It is crafted in filigree, of the finest gold, with thirty-nine total teardrop amethyst."

"Good man," Voldemort nodded, holding out his hand expectantly. Cygnus looked very surprised, but then Voldemort said, almost too sharply, "Does your entire family serve me, Cygnus, or is it only your eldest daughter who is unflinchingly loyal?"

"N-No, My Lord… it's… we are…" Cygnus' face went red, and at last, he passed over the priceless heirloom neckless. As Voldemort curled his fingers around it, Cygnus sat back in his chair and nodded, saying quickly, "I'm quite certain you've got a very good reason to -"

"Obliviate. " Suddenly Voldemort was aiming his bony yew wand at Cygnus, twisting it carefully, and before Druella could protest the memory wipe happening on her husband, Bellatrix snatched her new wand off the dining room table, aimed it at her mother, twined it in a half circle, and incanted, just as her master had done,

"Obliviate. "

"It will hurt, you said, My Lord. Very badly indeed." Bellatrix leaned anxiously against the threshold of the blue and white storefront along Scrutton Street in Shoreditch. In the cool spring night, the London street was relatively quiet, but occasionally a car would putter along or a lone Muggle would shuffle by.

"It will not hurt half as badly as pain you have endured in combat," Voldemort informed Bellatrix, almost soothingly, "and you are far stronger than you give yourself credit for."

He took a few steps closer to her from where he stood under a flickering streetlight. He'd come tonight disguised in a neatly-tailored black pinstripe suit, and he had one hand in his trouser pocket whilst his other hand played with his wand as he was wont to do. He eyed Bellatrix up and down, seeming uncomfortable with the sight of her. She could not blame him for that. She, too, had come in disguise tonight. She was wearing a black silk dress with small straps and a sweetheart neckline, with pearl buttons going down the front and a playful flaring skirt that didn't come close to reaching her knees. She had on sky-high stiletto heels that were admittedly difficult to walk in. She had straightened her curls and had parted them down the middle, as was the current Muggle fashion. She had on very pale, opalescent lipstick and winged eyeliner, and she wore large silver hoop earrings. She knew she did not at all look herself. That was rather the point.

The object used for the Horcrux, Lord Voldemort had told Bellatrix, was best if it was something of sentimental significance. It seemed to take hold better that way. But the murder committed to secure the soul connection? Well, that was inconsequential. The victim could be absolutely anybody. It really didn't matter who it was.

So they had come to Shoreditch tonight, dressed in disguises, and Bellatrix held her wand in her right hand and her family's heirloom amethyst necklace in her left hand. She leaned against the doorway on Scrutton Street and stared at her master, and in the dim light of the street lamp near the road, he just nodded at her and said quite firmly,

"You will do perfectly well, Bella. You are my strongest soldier and my greatest acolyte. Now do as I have taught you, as I have commanded you, and secure for yourself some degree of immortality. You know very well why it is that I refuse to accept your potential death. You know why, don't you?"

Bellatrix nodded and whispered, "Yes, My Lord."

But he narrowed his dark eyes and hissed, "Say it. Tell me why it is that I can't accept you dying, Bella."

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and finally managed, "Because you are fond of me, My Lord."

He sighed and then nodded again, and he corrected her, "Because I am deeply in love with you."

Then he took a few steps away and disappeared into a shadowy area where Bellatrix could no longer see him. She let out a shaking breath and sank slowly down into a crouched position, making herself look much more weak and vulnerable than she actually was.

The victim could be absolutely anybody. The murder was inconsequential.

Bellatrix concealed her precious amethyst necklace beside her in the darkness, coughed a little, and then moaned a little pitifully. She leaned hard onto her left arm and lurched outward toward the blue concrete steps as though she were going to tumble straight onto Scrutton Street. She let out another helpless little sound, retching like she were ill, and then she heard a man's voice ask earnestly,

"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"

"Help me… please," Bellatrix croaked. "Please, can you help me?"

She raised her eyes, pleadingly, and saw a stylishly-dressed Muggle with dark skin and closely-cropped black hair approach her. He'd been walking down the footpath by himself, and there was a strange vibration all of a sudden in the vicinity. That would be Lord Voldemort ensuring no one else approached, Bellatrix knew. The young Muggle man couldn't have been much older than Bellatrix himself, and when he crouched down and examined her face, his features were kind and his voice bore a hint of an accent - Caribbean, perhaps? His jumper looked expensive, and his denim jeans were flared in the style Bellatrix knew to be quite fashionable these days.

"There now, Miss," said the young man. "Are you hurt? Had a bit much to drink? Can I get you a taxi… do you need to go to hospital?"

Bellatrix shook her head a little and curled up her lips as she adjusted her hold on her wand with her right fingers.

"I just need…" she whispered mysteriously, and the young man furrowed his brows and leaned in, looking concerned.

"What is it, Miss? What do you -"

"Avada Kedavra! ' Bellatrix moved so quickly that all the young man could do in the instant before he died was to go wide-eyed in shock and to gasp. She jabbed her wand roughly against the hollow of his throat and cast her Killing Curse, and in the bright jade green explosion of light, she saw the whites of his eyes and the very dark irises of his terrified expression. Then, suddenly, those eyes went dull in death, and the young Muggle slumped limply, collapsing from where he'd crouched down to help Bellatrix. He didn't move at all where he lay awkwardly on the footpath. His miserable Muggle form lay inert and lifeless, and Bellatrix felt a surge of energy rush through her own body as she scrambled up onto her feet and stared down at her murdered prey.

"Well done," purred a low voice, and she looked up to see Lord Voldemort step out from the shadows. In the slightly flickering glow of the street lamp, he curled up half his mouth and nodded approvingly. He ambled toward the steps where Bellatrix stood and then pushed at the Muggle corpse with his own dress shoe, sniffed, and murmured, "but then, Bella, you are nothing if not an expert with slaughter."

He surprised her then by stepping clear over the young Muggle's body and joining Bellatrix up on the top step. Somehow, she could tell he'd cast Muggle-Replleing Charms and other safety measures; she could tell they were alone here right now on Scrutton Street in Shoreditch. Voldemort slid his fingers into Bellatrix's straightened hair and flicked his gaze up and down her disguised form, at the short, silky black dress she was wearing, and she watched his own features flare and his lips purse. He squared his jaw and instructed her quietly,

"Go on then, brutal little beauty. Spare yourself from death for me."

Bellatrix shivered at that. She nodded and then bowed her head, murmuring obediently, "Master."

She bent down and reached for her ancestor Ursula Black's amethyst necklace, and she knelt beside the unmoving, wide-eyed corpse of the young and handsome Muggle she'd murdered just a few minutes earlier. Bellatrix touched her wand to the chest of the Muggle, near his sternum, feeling her new wand from Gregorovitch shake in her hand a little. She'd memorised all the spells for this that Voldemort had taught her; they'd practised over and over again. Still, the words felt odd and deeply dangerous upon her lips.

"Salvum fac animam meam, quia feci stragem hanc. Furmortis, Furmortis, Furmortis!"

She felt a painful flood in her veins, like someone had injected her with a medication that was much too hot and intended to cause searing, agonising pain. Bellatrix seethed through her teeth and felt her eyes water, but she did little more than let out a growl of frustrated anguish but continued with the process as she knew she must. She touched her shaking wand tip to her own chest and found the strength to rasp out the next spell, the one that would drag out a portion of her own soul and bake it into Ursula Black's necklace to create a Horcrux.

"Parce mihi mortem, nam sine misericordia Tenebrosa sum. Incide animam meam, ut vivam in aeternum. Furmortis… Furmortis, FURMORTIS!"

She realised that by the end of it all, she was shrieking like a madwoman, the amethyst necklace clutched so tightly in her fist that the stones were cutting into her skin. She started to cackle wildly, rocking where she crouched on the step, ignoring the sudden blast of frigid air that washed over her like an arctic winter wind. She was nearly knocked over by it, by the cold ferocity of it. It contrasted sharply with the fiery burn in her veins, and yet Bellatrix laughed.

But she stopped laughing when she found herself lying on her side on the ground, still grasping her wand and the necklace, still screaming, her ears reverberating with the sound of a hundred dolorous, tortured voices crying out for mercy that would never come. Her victims, she thought suddenly. Somehow she knew they were her victims - people upon whom she'd imposed the Cruciatus Curse, people she'd struck down with the Killing Curse. Enemies she'd slain in battle, random Muggles she'd cast aside like unwanted pests. All of them howling and wailing inside of her head. It was cacophony, and Bellatrix had a sudden thought that if this was what damnation would have been like - being forced to endure the sound of her victims' cries for endless aeons - she should be most inconvenienced and very cross. The physical pain in her veins, almost too scorching and itchy to endure, continued unabated, and her skin prickled like she was being poked with needles.

She felt herself being pulled off the ground by strong, steady arms, and though she nearly dropped her wand and the amethyst necklace, she heard a voice, her master's voice, instruct her firmly,

"Do not let go."

She clutched onto his biceps for purchase then, as she'd been doing now for a long time. She forced her eyes open and stared up at him, feeling sick and dizzy. He was looking at her with an expression she'd never quite seen from him, and as he backed her up slowly, the muscles around his jaw tightened and his dark eyes glistened in the artificial glow of the Muggle streetlight. He shook his head minutely as her back touched the concrete wall, and though she seethed and squirmed from the pain, he assured her,

"It's fine. You're doing fine, and I've got you. Do not let go, Bella."

She flicked her eyes to the corpse of the young Muggle man she'd murdered to make this Horcrux. Was he screaming in her head right now, she wondered? Why wouldn't that stupid little Muggle shut up? Why wouldn't they all just -

"Shut up!" Bellatrix shrieked suddenly, pounding fiercely at Voldemort's chest with her right fist and sending sparks flying out of the tip of her wand. He startled a little but ultimately did not seem nearly as surprised at her outburst as she might have expected. He reacted to her frenzied tantrum by leaning down and touching his lips to her forehead, and he murmured against her skin,

"Their lives and deaths are utterly meaningless, Bellatrix. They mean nothing. Do not allow them to make any noise."

"I can't silence them, Master," Bellatrix whined helplessly, tipping her face up a little until he kissed her lips delicately. His breath was warm on her mouth then as he scoffed,

"That is a silly lie. You are my most capable soldier; there is very little you can't do. Make it dark and quiet in your mind by reassuring yourself that you are powerful, and you are necessary, and now… you will stay with me for a very long time, and that pleases me greatly."

She opened her mouth to gasp a little, and he took advantage of that to crush her mouth with a harsh kiss. Bellatrix tipped her head back against the concrete wall and almost dropped the necklace and her wand again, but she felt Voldemort reach up to pull her hand from his bicep and tighten her faltering grasp on her new Horcrux, his own large fingers wrapping tightly around hers until she was holding it without doubt. Her legs nearly gave out on her as he kissed her then, his tongue dragging over the roof of her mouth and twining with hers. The screaming in her head had gone quiet, she noticed. The heat in her veins was bearable now. When Voldemort suckled at her lip and then placed a few careful but firm kisses straight on her lips, she moaned softly and started to sob just a little. She simply could not help herself. But the Dark Lord stood upright and stared down at her, shaking his head, and as he dragged his fingers around her jaw and then her collarbone, he hummed,

"Do not cry, Bella. Not at such a happy occasion as this. Now. Go home. You are weary. I shall take your Horcrux to rest best one of mine, at the agreed-upon hiding place at Little Hangleton. Go get in bed and sip some tea, and I shall return to you soon."

Bellatrix passed him the amethyst necklace then, and he tucked it into the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit jacket. He patted the spot and flashed her a strangely happy expression, peaceful and contented. He leaned in to give her one final kiss on her lips, and then he said to her in a tone much more gentle than she'd heard in a good long while,

"How beautiful you are. How proud of you I am. Beloved, wicked little beauty."

When he pulled back, there was a shine in his eyes and a tremble in his bottom lip that took Bellatrix aback. He flashed her a small smile, nodded, and hurried down the concrete steps, over the corpse of the Muggle Bellatrix had killed. He Disapparated without another word, leaving her standing alone with her wand in her hand.