Voldemort's touch lingered just barely as his fingers slipped off Narcissa's waist. He straightened, as though the contact had been unintentional, a mere slip of hand during speech.
"Ah, Narcissa. My touch was unintentional. I must admit… I was thinking of Bellatrix while I spoke. It seems my hands forgot whose body they found."
His eyes met hers, unblinking.
"It is Bellatrix I want."
Narcissa stared at him, motionless as her mind splintered in too many directions. Her body had been bracing for something more, something darker, and now that it didn't come, there was a strange relief washing over her. Her muscles relaxed, and her heart slowed.
But beneath that calm… something else stirred. Like the heat was fighting against not receiving what it wanted. Something she refused to name.
Was that disappointment?
She swallowed, hating herself for it. But it had been there, a tiny, flickering flame in the void of her marriage. And Voldemort, as if oblivious to her internal collapse, continued speaking as if nothing had passed between them.
"It was for this very reason," he said, stepping aside and inspecting the black furniture with vague interest, "that I came to your room tonight. You are her sister, after all. You know Bellatrix best."
Narcissa snapped herself out of thought, straightened her posture, and forced herself to answer.
"Yes, my Lord," she said softly.
Voldemort turned back to her. "Tell me, Narcissa... would Bellatrix feel honored by my decision? To carry my heir. To be the mother of the future of pureblood supremacy."
The question struck deep, but Narcissa's answer came quickly, automatically. "My Lord… Bellatrix is already married to Rodolphus Lestrange."
"I'm well aware. But does it matter? Their marriage is a formality. There is no love between them. No desire. Both are my loyal Death Eaters. I believed they would obey my command." Voldemort did not see any problem with Bellatrix's marriage.
Narcissa said nothing. Her lips pressed into a tight line.
"If Rodolphus is wise, he'll obey," Voldemort continued. "And if he isn't, I will breed her behind his back. She'll carry my child regardless. There's nothing he can do."
His words found their way into Narcissa's heart. This was the Lord they all feared. The brutal directness. The way he spoke of Bellatrix as an object to be taken, not asked, was both terrifying. The one who did not seek permission, only submission.
"And what do you think, Narcissa?" Voldemort asked, tilting his head. "Do you believe she would obey? Would she be proud to serve me in this… most sacred of ways?"
Narcissa hesitated.
Images came into her mind. Her sister's intense eyes, the madness in her laughter, her endless devotion. Bellatrix had always been the most loyal. More than Lucius, more than herself. Bellatrix would worship the very idea of bearing Voldemort's child.
But as that thought formed, another one formed underneath it.
Would I have obeyed?
She tried to suppress it, tried to push it away, but the comparison had already rooted itself in her.
She and Bellatrix. Both wives in loveless arrangements. Both women of status, of power, of blood. They carried the same blood of Black.
Voldemort seemed to sense it.
He reached for her face, his cold fingers taking her chin with unnatural gentleness. His thumb stroked her cheek in a slow and deliberate manner. She felt her body tense beneath his touch.
"Would you not have given yourself to me, Narcissa?" he whispered. "If I had asked to let me breed you... fill you... Make you mine? I imagine Lucius would have even encouraged it, don't you think?"
Narcissa's lips parted, but no sound came.
She didn't know if it was fear, surrender, or the lingering, shameful yearning. But her head moved on its own.
A slow, small nod.
She could not believe what she had just done.
Voldemort was satisfied. He let go of her.
"See?" he said softly. "I'm sure Bellatrix will be even more eager. You've been quite helpful, Narcissa."
He turned toward the door, adjusting the hem of his robes as he walked.
"I must make arrangements. I appreciate your insights. I will release Bellatrix together with the other Death Eaters from Azkaban soon."
Then, just before exiting, he paused and looked over his shoulder.
"I trust you will keep this between us. Do not speak of it to Bellatrix… or anyone else."
And with that, the Dark Lord left, leaving the door gently ajar, and Narcissa standing motionless in the center of her room.
She found herself absentmindedly placing a hand on her stomach, where Voldemort's touch had lingered. Narcissa pondered the complexities of her emotions. In a moment of startling realization, her thoughts took an unexpected turn. What if she had been the one chosen for that significant role? What if it were her womb that would carry the heir to Voldemort's legacy?
Shaking herself from the unsettling daydream, Narcissa pushed aside the forbidden thoughts.
Outside, alone in the dimly lit corridor, Voldemort had a devilish smile on his face. The smile deepened as he brought his long, pale fingers near his snake-like nostrils, inhaling deeply. It was the scent of Narcissa Malfoy that clung to his skin.
"I must exercise patience," Voldemort murmured to himself. "These fleeting moments of intimacy are but the beginning. There will be more opportunities and more chances to corrupt your mind until you completely surrender to me.
You think I didn't see that fleeting disappointment in your eyes, Narcissa? You yearn for more, crave the touch of your Dark Lord."
With that, the dark Lord Voldemort disappeared with just one thought in mind.
"Why choose just Bellatrix when I can have both of you, bearing my heirs?"
------
Unaware of the trouble her wife was going through, Lucius Malfoy was sitting in front of Cornelius Fudge. This was one of the many tasks the dark Lord had assigned to him.
"Lucius, I must express my deepest appreciation for your continued support. Your generous donations have greatly contributed to the welfare of our magical community. Especially now with the death of Cedric."
Lucius inclined his head gracefully, acknowledging the thanks with a subtle nod. "It is my pleasure to contribute to the betterment of our world, Minister."
As Fudge settled into his chair behind the ornate desk, the conversation veered toward a familiar topic. Albus Dumbledore. Fudge leaned back, sipping from a glass of Firewhisky, and remarked, "Dumbledore seems to be growing more delusional by the day. His ideas and actions are becoming increasingly erratic."
Unknown to Fudge, this was the exact reason Lucius came to his office today. There was a set of words that the Dark Lord had given to Lucius to speak.
Remembering them, Lucius spoke. "I just don't understand what exactly he wants. Dumbledore already holds considerable influence, Minister. After all, he is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. There is nothing more that is left for him to acquire." As Lucius said the final words, he seemed to be thinking of something, "unless… no, it's nothing".
"Speak your mind, Lucius." Fudge felt like there was something important that Lucius may have discovered.
Lucius paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words. He raised an eyebrow, a suggestion hanging in the air. "Well, Minister, this is just pure speculation, but the only one I could think of. It occurred to me that there is one position Albus Dumbledore has yet to claim… Minister of Magic."
Cornelius Fudge's eyes widened at the words. He set his glass down with a thud, fixing Lucius with wide, rounded eyes. "Are you suggesting that Dumbledore is vying for my position? Absurd! I am the duly elected Minister of Magic, and Dumbledore is well aware of that."
Lucius leaned back. "Minister, I merely offer a perspective. Dumbledore's ambitions have always been shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he sees the Ministry as the final piece of the puzzle, the ultimate authority to shape the wizarding world according to his vision."