Bellatrix jolted awake to the sound of someone banging on the door that led from the flat to the corridor. She sat straight up and gasped. Beside her, Voldemort snatched his wand and barked,

"Accio trousers and shirt. One moment!"

He leaped out of the bed and caught his clothes, and he immediately started pulling them on. He gestured toward the wardrobe and told Bellatrix,

"Throw something on. Quickly."

The banging on the door continued. Bellatrix glanced out the window to see the grey light of early morning, and she demanded,

"Who would be here at this hour?"

"The Ministry, of course," Voldemort replied. "Dress. Now."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix rushed over to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of knickers and a knee-length black dress. As she wrenched it over her head, Voldemort snapped,

"Coming!"

Bellatrix walked at a brisk pace out of the bedroom, following Voldemort as he buttoned up his shirt and shoved up his rolled sleeves. He cleared his throat and shook his head, murmuring,

"Matilda Beaulieu. Can't say as I've missed her."

Of course he could sense her mind. Bellatrix sucked in air as Voldemort threw the door open and stared down the tall, thin witch who stood on the other side. Matilda raised an eyebrow when she saw the forty-three-year-old Voldemort before her, and she immediately said,

"Well. You're looking… older. And healthier than the last time I saw you at this age. Something's changed, Lord Voldemort. Or is it Tom Riddle?"

"Either one is fine," Voldemort lied, shrugging. "Why don't you come inside, Matilda, so that the Muggles don't hear all of our business, hm?"

"Have you something to hide from the Muggles?" Matilda asked primly, straightening her aubergine hat on her head. Voldemort scoffed.

"Well. I think the good people managing the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy would prefer that you and I spoke inside the flat. So do come in. Tea? It's far too early for gin."

"Gin?" Matilda's eyebrow crept higher than ever as she stepped into the flat. Voldemort shut the door, and Matilda glared at Bellatrix. "The last time I saw you, you were getting ready to marry an eighteen-year-old boy. What happened to him?"

"He grew up," Voldemort answered. Matilda licked her purple lipstick and said,

"Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black vanished from Ministry surveillance a few days ago."

"I'm sure you were watching carefully," Voldemort nodded. Matilda snorted.

"Yes. We were. Then I received word that the older Lord Voldemort had been spotted."

"Who told you that?" Voldemort asked calmly, but Bellatrix knew his mind must be whirring, spinning as he tried to figure out where they were watching him, who had eyes on him, who was spying or surveilling. Matilda shrugged and said simply,

"Not all of your neighbours are ignorant to your business."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go round, and she stared at Voldemort. His gaze was boring into Matilda's, and then he said,

"You could try, Matilda, but you'd never get truth serum into me, and I wouldn't tell you a lick of information."

Matilda appeared shocked by his invasion via Legilimency. She stumbled back a step, backing up toward the door, and then glanced to Bellatrix.

"She knows nothing," Voldemort assured Matilda. "She knows nothing about the time and place to which I traveled while my younger self was here. And even if she knew, you well know how catastrophic it would be for me to share information about the future with you."

"Where did you go?" Matilda demanded, but Voldemort just shook his head and said,

"A different era. You will know nothing else of it. Bellatrix would be of no use to you; I've shared nothing with her about my sojourn."

"Well, you'll talk when we bring you in to answer for your crimes," Matilda spat at Voldemort. He appeared entirely nonplussed, and he asked,

"What crimes are those?"

"We know," Matilda snarled. "We know that you are directly involved in the disappearances and deaths of several Muggles. And whilst your younger self was here, you were involved in the death of Amon Avery. We know it."

"You… know it," Voldemort repeated. He gave Bellatrix an amused look and shook his head, turning back to Matilda. "How do you know it, may I ask?"

"We have our ways of knowing!" Matilda insisted in a shrill voice. "We know."

"That sounds an awful lot like you don't know," Bellatrix reasoned. "That sounds like all you've got is suspicion and hearsay."

Voldemort smirked a little where he stood, flicking his eyes from Bellatrix to the red-cheeked Matilda. He told the Ministry witch,

"I remember Amon Avery's death during my journey here in my youth. As it happens, I do feel terribly responsible for Mr Avery's death. You see, Amon took his own life."

Bellatrix gnawed her lip, waiting to see how Voldemort would handle this. Matilda looked awfully suspicious, crossing her arms over her chest as she asked,

"You're telling me Amon Avery committed suicide?"

"I am." Voldemort stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers and painted a sorrowful look on his face. "If I'm remembering correctly, and perhaps Bellatrix can fill in the gaps that twenty-five years have erased, what happened was that Amon Avery desperately wanted me to marry his daughter, Alivia. Instead, I married Bellatrix. My refusal devastated him. He took it as a personal attack, almost as though I were rejecting him as a father and a friend."

"Are you implying that Amon Avery took his own life because young Tom Riddle would not marry Avery's daughter?" Matilda scoffed loudly, and Bellatrix chimed in,

"What did Mrs Avery and Alivia say when you asked them about Mr Avery's death?"

Matilda demurred just a little, shaking her head. "They were less than forthcoming."

"Well, I imagine they're still horrified and humiliated over Mr Avery's death. His note was heartbreaking," Bellatrix said. "Tom - the younger Tom - was given the note by Mrs Avery. I am so sorry that neither my family nor I were good enough for you, it said. If only he'd known that Tom and I were meant to be together, that it was not an issue with Alivia at all…"

"Where did they bury the man?" Matilda pressed, and Bellatrix bowed her head as Voldemort said,

"I believe the family Vanished the body. There was no memorial service that I recall. They… pretended he'd never existed."

"So you're asserting that you had nothing to do with the death of Amon Avery?" Matilda narrowed her eyes. "And what about Harriet Sugarman?"

"I'm sorry. Remind me who that is?" Voldemort feigned ignorance, and Bellatrix tried not to smile. Matilda tipped her head and said,

"The Muggle woman who went missing when you were younger and here. We searched Malfoy Manor for hours. We interrogated you about her."

"Ah. Yes. That's right. It's been so long for me. You'll forgive me." Voldemort sighed, pulled his hands from his pockets, and shrugged. "I'm afraid I've got even less to tell you now than I had then. I didn't know any Harriet Sugarworth -"

"Sugarman," Matilda corrected, and Voldemort nodded.

"Right. Harriet Sugarman. I didn't know of her in my youth, though I do recall that long day of questioning at Malfoy Manor. I still know nothing of her. I do apologise for not having anything useful to give you on that front."

Matilda huffed a breath and looked from Bellatrix to Voldemort. She lowered her arms from where she'd crossed them, and she said,

"We know what you're up to. You may have sent your younger self back in time, and come back from wherever you were, but that doesn't compromise our focus on your movement."

"My movement." Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "You mean my group of friends, with whom I have political discussions?"

"That's a colourful way to paint an anti-Muggle, Pureblood supremacist organisation," Harriet sneered. She glanced at Bellatrix and then back to Voldemort and said, "You've got followers, not friends. You hold meetings, not dinner parties. You've got an office. You have aspirations and goals. We have been down this road before with Grindelwald; we won't go down it again with you."

"No. You're right. My path will differ greatly from Grindelwald's path," Voldemort affirmed. "He and I will have hardly anything in common ten years from now. I promise you that, Ms Beaulieu. You can call the Ministry dogs off me."

"That is the very last thing I can do," Matilda laughed, sounding bitter. She chewed at her purple lipstick and told Bellatrix, "You've made an awful mistake, marrying this man."

"Let's agree to disagree, Matilda," Bellatrix said in an airy tone. Matilda sighed and told Voldemort,

"We have eyes on you. Everywhere you go. Everything you do… we are watching. Carefully. Tread lightly, Mr Riddle."

"With the steps of a cat. I vow it." Voldemort smirked at Matilda and flicked his eyes to the kitchen. "I never made tea. I do apologise for my rudeness; I'm usually much more polite with guests. We've been so busy talking. Perhaps we might be finished talking now, and you could go about the rest of your day. It's only half-past five, but I'm certain you've got a heavy workload ahead of you."

"I'll see myself out," Matilda said, disbelief tinging her voice. She turned and opened the door, and as she walked out into the corridor, she whirled round and barked back at Voldemort, "Tell me where you went. Tell me."

Voldemort curled his lips up a little and nodded. "1981."

"1981. Why that year? What happens in 1981?" Matilda demanded, looking anxious. Voldemort shook his head.

"Nothing significant happens. Not now, anyway. Good day, Ms Beaulieu."

He shut the door without another word, leaving Matilda pink-cheeked and open-mouthed in the corridor.

"Well?" Voldemort gestured to the house before them. "What do you think? I hope you like it, because the Muggle realtor insisted it would go quickly, and so I've bought it already. Dorchadas Castle."

"It's striking, Master." Bellatrix walked up the stone pathway leading to the gothic mansion he'd purchased. The exterior was grey and cold, and as Bellatrix walked up the steps, she almost slipped, for it was raining a little. Voldemort aimed his wand at the grand, red-painted double doors, which slowly creaked open. Bellatrix walked into the foyer, gasping a little. There were enormous stained glass windows upon which the rain was pattering, and a sweeping double staircase led up and away from the foyer. Voldemort's -Elf came toddling into the foyer and bowed, and Bellatrix asked,

"Has the elf already brought our belongings here?"

"Earlier today, yes," Voldemort confirmed. "Let's have a look round, shall we? Come this way."

He led her to the left, down a narrow, wood-paneled corridor and into a huge parlour. It had hunter green carpeting and pale yellow walls, along with white marble columns round the room's perimeter. There was elegant velvet furniture, built-in bookshelves, and a grand piano in black. Bellatrix turned round slowly, admiring the space, and she nodded.

"Lovely," she breathed. Next, Voldemort showed her the kitchen and the dining room, which had seating for twelve but would surely only ever accommodate two. They crossed back through the foyer to the other side of the Dorchadas Castle, past a powder room and a cloak cupboard. The other wing had an extensive library and a dark, intimidating office. There was another, smaller parlour, this one more formal for reception and done up in white and dark blue. Out the back of the house was a glassed-in conservatory, which had potted plants and fountains and wrought-iron furniture.

"What do you think of it so far?" Voldemort asked as Bellatrix walked with him back into the foyer. She climbed the stairs with him and moved into a wing on the upper level of the house, and she said,

"I think it's simply splendid. How, may I ask, did you afford this with seventy-five thousand of their pounds? This seems like an expensive house."

"Scotland is far more affordable than England," Voldemort informed Bellatrix, "and I may have pulled a few tricks involving some Imperius Curses in the meeting with the seller."

"Master!" Bellatrix giggled, walking with him into one wing of bedrooms. They saw three guest bedrooms on that side of the house - one in coral, one in pale green, and one in butter yellow. All of them had double beds with the blankets pulled up tightly. There were two bathrooms on that side of the house, as well, with clawfoot tubs and shiny tile. On the other side of the house, there was another small bedroom in sky blue with white bedding, and this one had an en suite bathroom. Beside it was the master suite, and Bellatrix breathed heavily as she stepped inside.

"So," she said, "this is to be our room."

Suddenly she found herself rather emotional. She stared at the bed, with its enormous and stout four-poster bed, heavy burgundy bed curtains, velvet blankets, and many pillows, and she teared up. She thought of the bed in young Tom's flat, where she'd been with him for the very first time. She had hardly known younger Tom outside of that bed. It had been where they'd slept together, where they'd explored one another's bodies. Now she would never sleep in that bed again, and it felt like she was losing another part of the young man who had been ripped away from her forever.

Voldemort came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, and he said in a quiet voice,

"It pains me a little to leave that flat behind. When I bought it several years ago, I was emotional. It brought back so much of you. You came flooding back the moment I stepped over the threshold. I went into the kitchen and I could taste cucumber Collins, could feel myself kissing you for the first time. I lay in the bed and imagined you there with me. I took showers and thought of the way you would touch me as hot water streamed over me. And then I had you again, and we were together there, and it was real. It is awful to leave that place behind, isn't it?"

Bellatrix's eyes burned. She blinked as she stared at the dark bed with its burgundy covers. She looked up at Voldemort and shook her head.

"No. It isn't awful. This house is not awful. It will be wonderful. Making new memories with you - this you - will be wonderful."

Voldemort curled up his lips and nodded. He brushed his finger along Bellatrix's jaw and bent to kiss her lips softly. She sighed onto his mouth, and he whispered,

"I've got a surprise for you."

"Really?" Bellatrix felt dizzy. He kissed her again, stroking at her jaw, and he hummed,

"There is a door at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, and it leads down to a wine cellar. There is wine down there. Loads of it. There is something else, too. Go have a look."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion, but she did as he commanded and she walked quickly out of the bedroom and down the corridor away from him. She trotted down the stairs and into the foyer, and she found the heavy wooden door on the back wall, the one Voldemort had mentioned. Bellatrix pulled out her wand and cleared her throat, opening the door and aiming her wand ahead of her. She walked down the stairs into the wine cellar, and then she froze.

Huddled on the ground, bound with chains, unmoving but breathing and obviously alive, was a strapping man with strawberry blond hair and a thick beard. He just lay there in stillness and silence, and Bellatrix grinned.

This was her Muggle.

She turned round to see Voldemort at the top of the steps, leaning on the threshold and flashing her a cocky smile. She gave him a bit of a seductive look, biting her lip as she asked,

"Is this for me, Tom?"

"Show me what you can do," he replied. "Make him suffer. Make it good."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix whirled back toward the Muggle on the ground, aiming her wand at him. "Emancipare. CRUCIO!"

THE END