{Art by Pre00 on DeviantArt}

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So, I wanted to ask-"

"No." A woman infamous for her terrifying madness was facing a similar dilemma: unrequited love; the one she adored cut her off.

"Whyyyyyyy?"

"Because, I said NO!" She'd chosen one who was probably- no, definitely- the worst person to express that emotion towards, as love to Him was the most revolting concept ever- second only to the mere existence mixed-blooded offspring of those revolting muggles when they dared to defy his new world order and procreate with Wizardkind. He went to run a hand through his hair. "Oh. Right." The woman advanced, believing his muttering was intended for her.

"My Lord?"

"Bellatrix, back the hell up off me." He hissed, but she only found it more attractive: befitting of the Heir of Slytherin, of the rightful king of the world: of the Dark Lord Himself, Lord Voldemort. She'd get Him. She'd do it. Nothing had ever stopped her before.

She smiled, grinning ear to ear, again an unpredictable reaction- nothing about her made sense; even His cruelty, to her, was empowering. She was His number one fan, or, wait, better yet, most devoted disciple. Yeah. That's it. He was no less than God. His retort reminded her of her own ambition, yet another concept which bonded them: house loyalty. Serpents, pure, strong and the evident best in the world. She shuddered at the thought of her poor cousin, Sirius, before cackling. He was dead, and soon the other Blood Traitors in Gryffindor and two other not-even-worth-naming camps of the school would know their place: dead and gone.

For someone in their late forties, high school really did still affect her.

Not to mention who was, in her mind, her boyfriend. "You ask this of me every year." He flipped through pages of what was totally not a replacement diary ever since that other boy had stabbed His with His preciously obedient snake's fang. It hurt- in more ways than one. He scribbled down a few threats, cursing a few other fools, primarily that shiny bastard Lucius Malfoy and his beautiful tresses of long blonde hair, waving in the winter winds around London like amber waves of grain. Dick. "Go away. I'm very busy."

She sighed and agreed. Anything He commanded was law. She'd come back later.

{~later~}

"My Looooooooordddddddd."

Turning into the same room as before, the madwoman inhaled excitedly, catching her master embracing another: and she knew this was her chance. "Oh. Hello, Nagini."

"Bellatrix, what did you do to your hair?" The man she wanted only to love scoffed, as mirthless laughter was the only kind He knew how to use.

She reached up her fingers to lightly grasp the tips of what had been a scraggly, wild, untamed mop of frenzied black curls that was now sleek, straight and glossy. Her Lord instantly became more jealous than a thirteen year old girl, one who's role He'd all but taken on as His own recently- thankfully His pity for His other pet meant His hands were otherwise occupied. He wouldn't want her to know He hated losing His own once perfect, flouncy tracts of dark magic. Eh. It was worth it to not die. "Oh? This? I used a potion. It was on sale, and Cissy's finances have been kinda tied up ever since you..." she cleared her throat, standing there, regretfully, mouth agape. "I-I mean..."

Voldemort didn't want to ever admit the reason He'd been so mean to Bellatrix Leatrange's brother in law was one of the only things that had ever confused a genius such as He. Goddamn Lucius. Him and his angelically-styled bajillonare family. At the same time, He knew He deserved to be waited upon hand and foot by Malfoy and his equally good-looking son. If He couldn't be the prettiest, they'd be His salves for it. Still, He did know one thing, that night: this woman, pure-blooded and usually pretty dirty, was of their kind, her blood was untainted, and now, that she'd put in the minimal effort to look good, she was hella sexy. He held up a hand as His serpent slithered away. Aw man. Can't trust any of these females. He decided to permit her this one kindness. "Come forth, Bella."

"Bella?!?!??!!!??!?!" She let out a shrill, girlish screech, one which caused even the mighty evil overlord who knew nothing but the fear of others to jump. "You've never called me that before! Oh, Tom!"

"WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?" How dare she call Him by His filthy muggle Father's name. She shook. She knew what she had done. She'd pay for her insolence.

"Forgive me, master!" For some inexplicable reason, His wrath subsided an infinitesimal amount when His servant called him that.

"You may approach me, Bella." She screamed once more in rapturous glee and raced towards Him, hesitating slightly before His feet. He rose, looking down at her, reminding her of her station as well. No one was allowed to be higher than He was, literally. She flashed Him a sheepish grin.

"So, my Lord, what do you want from me?"

He thought about it. He had no interest in love or anything related to it, but this thirsty ass hoe was always tryna get with Him. Maybe He should just let her on this once. He still had His nails done, manicured in that resurrecting cauldron like diamonds themselves, and He stroked his chin with a creepily long white finger and thumb. "Do you wish to do what I've been forbidding this whole time?"

Her eyes couldn't widen any more if she were that owl of Harry Potter's the King of Kings Himself had smote.

She bowed, and her long, cascading curtains of ebony black hair nearly brushed the floor.

{~ Some time before, pretty much on the regular, though~}

She'd watched Him for so long, and wondered if she could be the one to do it: to make Him feel the slightest bit of affection. She'd tried and tried and was met only with rejection.

"He favours Severus, and even your son above me!" She knocked back several golden, expansive goblets of fire-whisky, slurring her words as she droned on and on about how much her rightful match liked her dumbass sister's family way more than He liked her.

"He wants to punish Lucius, Bella. That's why he's doing this." Narcissa Malfoy had been drinking herself, but for a very different reason, the stress still originating from the same repressed man calling himself God. She was afraid to utter a word against him, but she loved Draco. He was her only son. "My son,"

"If I had a son-" Bellatrix interrupted her sister and slumped over the side of the plushest chair on earth, before sloshing her bloody beverage all over the sparkliest floors on the planet. "Oh. Curses. DOBBY, come clean this up." She chuckled. "Oh. Yeah. He's gonneee."

Narcissa stood angrily and stomped away from her embarrassingly turnt-up sister. She was mental, which, of course, was old news, but it still irritated her, now more so than ever. Though she'd never admit it, a part of her wanted to see the Dark Lord fall. She wouldn't be surprised if she did, but she didn't see her crazy sister talking to herself.

"If I had a son, or a daughter, with you, my love," She turned to caress a photo someone had snapped of Lord Voldemort way back before he'd started calling himself that. "I'd gladly offer them up to serve you. You're so sexyyhhh." She kissed the slightly moving image of a startlingly handsome young boy, whispering to it. "Looove meeeeee."

"Bellatrix!"

"Noooooo ughhghgghhhhh." Her private moment was ruined. Princess Lucius the II had retuned to grace his subjects with his presence and she heard him bickering with her nephew. She stashed the photo in her dress and rose begrudgingly to her feet to sway into the 1917381th grandiose room of Malfoy Manor. "Coming, your highness." She snorted. He was never as handsome as Tom Riddle had been. She giggled and reminded herself of the need to hold on to the last vestiges of former anger. He might actually kill her if she called Him that in person.

{~back to before~}

"Are you certain, my Lord?" She asked, doubting the reality of the unimaginable moment. Her dreams were coming true.

"Yes. I highly doubt myself (He could read minds) there will be any repercussions apart from you calming the fuck down. So, I grant you the high honor of touching me."

"I..can...hug...you?"

"That and whatever it takes for you to remain compliant."

She nearly passed out, and did as He said, wondering if her ultimate fantasy could come true.

A son. A child, one to be hers and His to raise to glory and honor in the coming of the golden age. Though He'd never perish from this rotten, unworthy land, an heir would be born.

Since He did everything else so well, virility would be a laughably effortless power for Him.

She'd have to come up with a different name than the one she wanted if she bore Him a son. She'd be kilt dead if she dared name the boy after his father, but if it was a girl...

She'd be Delphini. Yeah. She liked the sound of that.

{A/N: Alright so CLEARLY that was out of character in the extreme sense- and I threw in some controversial/unsatisfactory Cursed Child stuff, too. I hope this isn't too soon to not put a warning at the top, since it can discourage people from reading and Lord knows I'd like more attention xD, but I'll go ahead and say that it's not really a spoiler since, even though it's definitely common sense as to what I was getting at, you'd have to google what I referenced if you haven't read it. I don't intend to be self-serving and ruin things for people. That's no way to be. xD

I always knew Voldemort might not have been asexual. He prolly just thought he was better than everyone else and it was a human weakness to smash.

I feel you there, Satan. I'm the same way.

Happy Valentines Day to all the other soulless bitches out there!

Xoxo,

- Tom. (Not ever gonna call him anything else).