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When the Dark Mark burned on his forearm, Barty felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

He had never been summoned like this before.

Some of his brothers and sisters were accustomed to feeling their master's wrath on their flesh before they had to face him, yet he himself had never once had to suffer his master's disappointment directed at him in this manner.

"I'm sorry, mother. I need to go now."

It was a welcome excuse to cut his weekly visit to his mother short but that was everything positive he could find within a summon like this. In any case, it was not like his mother would notice whether he was there or not.

Barty sighed and squeezed his mother's unresponsive hand once more before turning to leave. His mother's sick room, for his father had banished her from the master bedroom years ago, smelled stuffy and the curtains were always drawn. Barty had asked Winky time and again to let some more fresh air in, but…

The mark burned him again. Barty cursed under his breath but forced himself not to grab his left forearm in pain. Instead, he hurried from the room as dignified as he could and left his parents' house without looking back. In an alley that was close by, he Apparated towards the mark's pull and found himself in front of Lestrange Manor.

His stomach tied itself into a knot as he knocked on the front door and followed a house elf towards his master's personal wing.

Their last encounter had been an… explosive one compared to their usual conduct towards each other. Barty had never raised his voice towards his master, but last week he simply had to. And in front of an audience no less! Was this to be his day of punishment? Had master been ruminating on how best to discipline him today? 

When he entered the audience room, Barty kept his gaze down and hurried across the open space before falling to his knees in front of master's high-backed chair.

"I'm so sorry, master," he apologised immediately. "I was—completely out of line. I should never have spoken to you the way I did, especially in front of everyone, but you should never treat prophecies as anything but a potential disaster. I will gladly take any punishment you decide to hand out if only you will heed my counsel in this."

He leaned further down until his forearms rested on the ground. The floor was cool against his forehead, and it soothed the feverish thoughts that had begun to take root in his brain. Prostrated like this, he was ready to take whatever punishment master bestowed unto him.

But master was quiet. Despite his overall secretive nature, master liked to talk a lot—about himself, his goals, his frustrations with the Wizarding World in general and his followers in particular… Being quiet like this was unlike him, and Barty began to tremble. Maybe he'd fucked things up even more than he'd thought possible.

His thoughts flew apart under master's scrutiny. Was the man even looking at him? What if he'd already forgotten all about Barty and left him to kneel all on his own? Barty knew master could be incredibly quiet if he wanted to be.

Ah, no. There was a shuffling sound, so master was still close. Barty flinched when a pair of feet appeared in his peripheral vision and cursed himself for the thoughtless action. He should not be afraid of his master like that. To drive the point home, he crawled forward until his mouth could reach master's bare feet, and he kissed the pale expanse of skin on the backs of both of them.

Master let him, so Barty pressed his forehead against the back of one foot when he was done kissing them. To his shame, and his exhilaration, his body was already responding to their closeness, the way it often did. He withstood the urge to shudder and kept his head down. 

Master stayed quiet, so Barty stayed quiet, too. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, suspended in motion, but if this was what master needed right now Barty was more than happy to provide it.

The silence dragged on, and Barty's heart grew heavy. Had his conduct displeased master so completely that he wouldn't even address him?

"Please," Barty whispered finally when his conflicting emotions became too much to bear.

And master, thank his lucky stars, responded. "Rise, boy."

Barty scrambled up and put his arms behind his back. Then, he lowered his head demurely and waited.

Master crossed the short distance between them and Barty held his breath. He had never known master to be one to strike with his bare hands, but maybe he only did that behind closed doors. Maybe a fitting punishment for Barty's transgression simply needed a personal touch.

All rational thought stopped when long, lean arms encircled his shoulders and his back and pulled him into—

Master was hugging him.

Barty had heard about people losing all sense of direction and feeling as if up was down and left was right but he'd never experienced it for himself in quite this manner.

Master was hugging him.

"What," he whispered, but master shushed him, master shushed him, and pulled him in even closer.

It didn't sink in, not fully, but Barty still became lucid enough to return the gesture. He didn't know if it was wanted, but if there was even a chance of him being allowed to have this, if only for a couple seconds–

His arms wrapped around master's waist with a touch so light it might as well have been a butterfly's wings brushing the man. There was no protest. Barty tightened his hold, and master exhaled softly. And somehow, it was that little, human noise that made reality crash over him like a wave.

Barty stepped closer, crowding master, and grabbed an almost desperate hold of the back of the man's robes. He was clearly missing something here, something monumental at that, but even if this were to be the end of him, he'd go out gladly after this.

Again, just like when he'd prostrated himself, they stayed like that for an indefinite amount of time. Barty had the opportunity to catalogue master's scent – earthy, musky, perfect – and feel his heartbeat where Barty's head rested against the man's chest. 

Rationally, he'd known master was tall, but with the way the man clung to him, Barty felt positively dwarfed by the broad frame. 

Alas, all good things had to end eventually. But since this had been more affection than Barty had expected in a lifetime, he returned master's gaze with an enchanted smile when the man held him an arm's length away by his shoulders.

Barty's enchantment soon turned to intrigue when he noticed master looked a strange mixture of excited and miserable.

"Are you alright, master?" he asked cautiously. 

"I am," master replied solemnly. "If not for you, I would be—"

Here, master seemed too overcome with emotion to keep on talking. Barty opened his mouth to comfort the man but before he'd thought of the proper words to say, master had pulled him in close again.

"You saved my life today, boy," master whispered into Barty's hair.

That admission felt like a punch to the gut. On the one hand, Barty was elated he'd managed to save master's life, but on the other…

"But I didn't do anything?" he asked helplessly. 

"The prophecy," master explained and Barty would have sworn his heart missed a beat or three. 

"It was true," Barty whispered. "A true prophecy."

"Avery and Mulciber are dead."

"What? Emmett and Jackson?" They had only been a couple years above him in school—hell, he knew them peripherally through Evan and Regulus!

"Yes," master answered tonelessly. "I sent them to the Potters', and they both died in an explosion that destroyed the nursery of the little prophecy boy."

"What…"

"Evan Rosier killed the child when he was done with the father. Harry Potter is dead."

"Lily Potter beat both Emmett and Jackson?"

Master squeezed him even harder. "No. According to Evan, the killing curse rebounded from the infant which led to… everything exploding."

"The killing curse rebounded…" Barty repeated, utterly bewildered. "That would have been you. You would have been struck by a Killing Curse explosion!"

He wriggled free from master's grasp and gaped up at the man. 

"You saved my life," Voldemort said again, and Barty finally understood. 

"You sent them because you believed in my warning," he said slowly. 

"I had nothing to lose and everything to gain," Voldemort admitted. "I would have been foolish to dismiss you after your heartfelt plea when you have heretofore served me well and only ever shown to be invested in my well-being. You had an O in your Divination NEWT, correct?"

"Os in all my twelve NEWTs," Barty reminded the man with a hint of pride. "True prophecies are fickle things. They can never be trusted, nor can they be ignored completely. You might just have rendered the thing moot by having the child killed by someone else."

Master nodded solemnly. "The fact of the matter stands—you asked one thing of me, and one thing only: that I heed your counsel. And heed it, I did. Was this not the first thing you ever asked of me? That I listen to you in this matter? The first thing you ask of me, and it works out to save my life…"

Barty inclined his head when he felt a blush creep onto his face. "I couldn't have asked for a better first gift."

Master scoffed and averted his gaze. Was that a hint of a flush on the man's face? "Foolish boy…"

"It's not foolish if it's you," Barty argued with a relieved grin and master looked at him once more. "I'm really sorry about Emmett and Jackson, but that could have been you, master. I'm… so incredibly glad you listened to me. Thank you, master, from the bottom of my heart!"

"You mean this," master muttered when Barty felt the tell-tale tingle of master's Legilimency on the very outskirts of his mind.

"Of course! I'd have missed you terribly."

"You really would have. What a strange boy you are."

"Merely as strange as my devotion to my master commands me to be," he grinned and bowed low. 

And because that somehow didn't feel like it was enough, he got to his knees and crawled closer until he could kiss master's feet again. Sometimes, master felt like that was too much and he stopped Barty, but today, he let him. But just as Barty had thought the thought, master drew back.

"Come, boy," master sighed. "Lord Voldemort is weary today." 

Barty got up carefully. Instead of walking back to this throne, master steered towards a side door Barty had never paid much attention to because it didn't concern him. Now though… Now, master seemed to want him to follow. Even if he'd misread the signs, the temptation was too strong.

He followed, and hurried when master reached the door a ways before him so the man wouldn't have to wait. Behind the door lay a corridor that looked like the rest of the corridors in Lestrange Manor: lavishly decorated if a little outdated.

If this was his master's personal wing, Barty was going to scream.

They walked past a room containing a library's worth of books and several more closed doors before arriving at a door master carelessly threw open. It was a sitting room. There was a crackling fire going because it was a rainy October afternoon and it was beginning to get cold. A cozy blanket lay piled on the armrest of a comfortable-looking armchair sitting in front of the fireplace and Barty was positively smitten by the casualness of the display. 

There was other furniture, too. Some chests of drawers, a set of couches arranged around a low table, but it was that armchair, and the ancient tome with a bookmark sticking out that lay on a low side table next to it, that had Barty's full attention. 

This was where master lived.

Master made his way towards the armchair and sat down heavily. Barty followed hesitantly only for master to use some wordless, wandless summoning spell that pulled him in so fast that his legs could hardly keep up. He tripped and landed on his knees in front of the armchair which was probably by design since there was no second armchair. 

A large hand landed on top of his head and Barty flinched despite himself. But there was no pain, and no further impact except for the long fingers that wound themselves into his hair and pulled him in.

"Come," Voldemort muttered. "Humour me."

Barty didn't understand what humouring master entailed, yet he went willingly enough where the man pulled him until his forehead met with master's knees.

Was he to just… exist at master's feet? Master's breathing was harsh but Barty didn't dare look up to check the man's expression. He was already allowed in a lot further than he'd ever dreamed of and didn't want to take any chances even if he'd apparently saved master's life. (A fact he still couldn't fully wrap his head around.)

The prophecy had been true. A warning for master to heed the Potter child, which he did thanks to Barty's spirited intervention. He thanked his lucky stars that master had believed him about the prophecy since he was the only follower who'd achieved an O in his Divination NEWT. Hell, he was probably the only follower who'd attempted a Divination NEWT in the first place.

And now he got this: the opportunity to be close to master and worship him. Maybe master needed something more? The man had always been a fan of being lavished with physical attention by Barty on the rare occasions where it had been just the two of them…

Experimentally, Barty reached out and touched a lean calf. There was no protest; only a minute shuffling that saw master's leg creep closer to him, so Barty decided that yes, master needed this right now.

Emboldened, both his hands found their way to master's right leg. Master seldom wore shoes, or trousers apparently, under his robes so Barty could easily push his fingers into the tense muscles he found at the back of the man's lower leg. The skin was cool but not uncomfortably so, and there was not even a hint of hair. He simply massaged the leg for a while and got quite lost in the pleasure of shared closeness.

Master sighed after a while and scratched softly at Barty's scalp which—Barty couldn't help it. He whimpered. Master stilled his hand, and Barty closed his eyes tightly because he couldn't believe he'd screwed this up so royally so quickly. And yet… the fingers on his head took up their caress again, this time scratching a little firmer, and Barty shivered.

His hands wound down master's leg until they reached a soft, well-groomed foot. He wouldn't have considered himself a foot lover if you had asked him but the simple act of worshipping master's feet made him feel debased and lifted up at the same time.

Master seemed to enjoy it too with the way he left Barty free reign to stroke at every inch of skin he wanted to stroke. Barty gingerly pushed into the balls of master's right foot and was rewarded with a hiss. He wanted to bend down and kiss master's feet again, but the hand in his hair was firm and allowed him no such leeway.

So Barty did the next best thing: he leaned forward and parted master's robes further with his nose to kiss and nuzzle the man's knee instead. 

"You are incorrigible," master chuckled, and Barty nodded eagerly.

"Yes, master."

"Has there ever been a time where you did not dream of pleasuring me in whichever way you can?"

"Never in all the time I've known you," Barty whispered back. 

He stroked one last time over the man's foot and then started the same ministrations he set out with on master's other leg.

"And now you defied me and threatened me and it ended up saving my life. What would you have done if nothing had happened with the Potter child, and if I had been angry at you?"

Barty afforded that some thought but shrugged eventually. "I thought that that was exactly what had happened when you summoned me here today. I still came as soon as I could. I would have gladly taken any punishment if it meant I did everything I could to protect your life and well-being."

"Mh. You really mean that."

"Of course I do."

Master chuckled again, so Barty was free to massage yet another calf and foot at his leisure.

"Tell me, Barty," master asked when Barty was close to having finished with the man's second foot, "do you love me?"

"I don't know," Barty answered truthfully because he'd thought about that same exact question more than once. "I don't know nearly enough about love but… my heart soars when you talk to me, and my breath catches when you look at me. When I'm not with you, I constantly think about the next time I might see you again, and when I'm in your presence, it's like my whole body is glowing. I want to make you feel good, and happy, and fulfill every wish you have—ideally before you yourself realise what it is you need. If that is love…"

He trailed off and shrugged helplessly. 

"Look at me, boy."

Barty obeyed that offer easily enough. Master looked strangely whimsical; definitely more emotional than Barty had ever seen him.

"If I were to tell you that you get to ask for something in exchange for saving my life, what would you wish for?"

Barty frowned because was this closeness not gift enough? Wasn't this all he'd ever wanted? 

Master snorted and leaned back in his armchair. "Silly boy. You could ask for anything, and all you want is to grovel at my feet?"

"I like grovelling at your feet," Barty argued with a shrug. "It's where I belong. It's what I'm supposed to do. Make you feel good, I mean."

"What you are supposed to do?" Voldemort repeated with a frown. "What do you mean by that?"

Barty shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes, I… I wonder whether, maybe, the reason I was born was to serve you. Not just, not just in the Death Eater way but rather, well." Here, Barty waved his hand around airily to encompass their current situation. "This. This is what I was made for."

Master returned his gaze steadily and Barty felt as naked as he'd ever felt in his life. He could feel Legilimency in his mind but master was treading so lightly that Barty couldn't even make out what the man was looking at. All he knew was that he was getting a headache, the way he often did when confronted with the arts of the mind, so master pulled back and Barty was left panting. 

"You are not lying," was master's verdict. "You really believe you can give me something no one else can give me, and… strangely enough, I find myself believing you."

Barty lowered his gaze and pushed his head in between master's knees. "You honour me too much."

"No, I do believe I am only just beginning to honour you enough," master mused, and the most beautiful music couldn't have sounded sweeter to Barty's ears.

"I'm glad you realised the tip of my devotion for you," he whispered. "I'd do anything for you, master. You need only say the word, and I'll move mountains for you."

"Yes, I see that now," master replied softly, and his fingers took up idly scratching at Barty's scalp again. 

No longer preoccupied with massaging master's feet, Barty was free to appreciate the full-body shudder that overtook him with all his senses. Master chuckled again, and the man's second hand joined the first. Instead of simply scratching, the fingers buried themselves in his hair again like in the beginning and pulled him in even closer while master's legs parted further.

Barty made an inquisitive sound but forgot everything he was worried about when his cheek came to rest on a soft, lean inner thigh. There was still a layer of rich fabric between them, but he could feel the warmth of master's skin and it was intoxicating. 

"I didn't expect my day to go like this," Barty admitted quietly. "I'm not complaining, I just…"

"Mh, worry not. I share the sentiment," master huffed. "Just know that I will never forget this service. You saved my—life."

Barty merely hummed in response. He felt like, except for when master had marked him as his, this was the first time his mind had quieted down completely. 

"I was made for serving you," he finally whispered, and master groaned.

When Barty looked up incredulously, master's expression looked almost pained. 

"Did I upset you?" Barty asked carefully.

"No, silly boy," master admonished him gently. "You are being good. A very good boy."

Barty's response was almost frighteningly visceral: He felt like all the air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving him panting, and at the same time felt close to throwing up and also like he'd never been better in his life?

"Thank you, master," he stuttered helplessly and reached out to grab the ends of the man's robes between shaking fingers.

"A servant's love is a curious thing, Barty," master mused. "You would kill and die for me in equal measure if I asked, yet all you really want is to spend your life kneeling at my feet."

"That is my greatest pleasure," Barty agreed easily enough. "Being close to you in whatever way you deem fit to bestow upon me is enough. This, here, is almost too much for me to handle even though I appreciate it more than I can say."

"To think I could have been this blind to the depths of your affection for me… And you were ready to sacrifice all we could have had on the off chance that a prophecy might actually be the cause of my demise?"

It sounded silly, stated as matter-of-factly like this but at the same time… well, it was true, wasn't it? "I always put you before me, master," he said truthfully. "I only care for my own life insofar as I can use it to make yours better."

Master chuckled darkly. "What inspired this devotion in one such as you? Surely I have never treated you better than any of your peers before this day? Why would the only son of one who calls himself my greatest enemy come to adore me so?"

Barty felt another shiver run down his back, yet this time it was one of disgust. "I don't like my father."

"I know. I also know the reasons: emotional neglect, high expectations without praise upon reaching said high expectations… yet why me? I would understand a jaded son turning on his father for a perceived slight but this is much more than that. You love me. You worship the very ground I walk on. Why is that?"

Barty was at a loss for words. How did you explain the sort of feelings he felt for Lord Voldemort? 

"You… saved me from the darkness within myself," Barty started to explain. "I was… adrift. I don't do well with, with being alone even though I've spent a lot of time alone by necessity. I've always yearned for someone exactly like you. Someone powerful who would, well, see what I can do for them and appreciate it in turn. I just… I want to be useful."

"And I fill that dark abyss of absent parental affection?" Master asked with an amused quality to his soft voice.

"Not parental," Barty argued and pressed his forehead harder against the man's thigh. "Well, not just that. I want… need to follow. I used to feel like a weapon ready to strike, just needing to be aimed and let loose. I still feel that way, and…"

He paused. Master didn't know about this, not yet, and Barty was wary about sharing it lest master think less of him. But because master was smart, and empathetic, he noticed how Barty was warring with himself and pulled a little at his hair. "Go on."

"I used to believe I had found someone to follow before I met you."

"Oh? One of your contemporaries? I hear Evan Rosier was quite the little ring leader."

Barty shook his head softly. "No, I didn't know any of them before I knew you. I'm talking about… well, about Albus Dumbledore."

Master inhaled sharply and Barty screwed his eyes shut in response. "Tell me more, Barty. Now."

And Barty did. He told master about receiving a summons from Dumbledore early in his fifth year. About meeting the old man in his office and being told his prowess in Transfiguration wasn't going unnoticed, and that Dumbledore was considering private lessons. About how elated a younger Barty had been about this kind of attention when no one had paid him much mind until then.

"And I told him about my home life when he asked how my summer had gone," Barty admitted. "Father had been… talkative during the meals he had been in attendance for, and Dumbledore was just, he was so interested in what I had to say about father's opinions on the ministry, and on the effort of countering the rising Dark Lord, you know?"

Voldemort listened quietly. All he did was pet Barty's hair softly, urging him to go on.

"He taught me about Transfiguration, too, and it was just… no one had ever taken an interest in me before, never like that, and it was, I was—I was smitten. But eventually, I seemed to have used up my usefulness since I never heard anything new from father during school, so…"

"The invitations stopped coming?"

"He avoided me after a couple months of meeting regularly. I had, I had told him many things, about myself as well, so I was left adrift, and–" Barty was fumbling for words. "I felt like less than a speck of dirt when I realised what had happened. What he'd used me for. I hated it."

"Early during your fifth year… your first letter came to me after Yule that year, did it not?"

Barty grinned into master's leg. "It did. It was the first Yule break I went home for because I just wanted to get away from the castle and not sit at the same table as Dumbledore during the small holiday feast. I decided that if neither father nor Dumbledore wanted me, I would… I would make them regret it."

"So you came to me: Their enemy."

"At first, it was meant to be to spite them," Barty shrugged, "but then you answered my letter and I just…"

Master's hand stilled in his hair and Barty looked up inquisitively. "How fortunate for me," master purred at him. "To think these two idiots failed to see what a good boy you are. How powerful. How devoted! They signed their own death warrants by sending you into my arms!"

There was a manic glint in master's eye. Barty didn't think he warranted quite that much glee but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth so he grinned right back and ducked his head a little. "I wouldn't mind either of them dying. They hurt me a lot."

"I think I will taunt Dumbledore with this when I next meet him," master mused. "After this, I cannot let you return to your previous life—I will not suffer you working in the ministry any longer, boy. You are more valuable to me where you are now."

Barty felt a storm brewing in his chest upon master's decision. The flames flared behind him in the fireplace, and the windows rattled in their frames while he tried to control the depth of what he was feeling. It had been many months since he'd last had his magic lash out so.

"So powerful," master repeated and put his hand on Barty's cheek. "I am powerful, too, boy. I can repair anything your magic touches. Let it go."

Barty felt a blush rise to his cheek. He knew he had an awful lot of dormant magical power he could count on in a strife, but he struggled with control sometimes. He'd always been told to clamp down on it when he accidentally overpowered a spell, but no one had ever told him to simply—let loose.

When he finally did so, when he allowed his magic to flow freely across the room, it felt as if a very great weight had been lifted off his chest. The flames positively sprung from the fireplace like tendrils, and a couple of the windows burst outward. 

The torches on the wall exploded into a shower of sparks and light, and the expensive hardwood furniture started vibrating. 

The whole room was a mess of noise and rattling, and it still didn't feel enough. Now that he allowed his magic to go where it wanted, he wondered why he would stop there when he'd always had to reign himself in before? Why not go bigger? Bolder? Stronger?

"Barty," master's calm voice drifted through the haze, and Barty groaned when he met the man's hypnotic crimson eyes. "You are quite powerful. But can you control your power now that you have unleashed part of it?"

Barty was a very good boy—master had said so. And when master asked something of him, Barty made it happen. So he clamped down on the bleeding edges where his power trickled out of him and sealed it tightly into his core once more. Then, he exhaled haltingly and looked up when master's hand in his hair pulled at him.

"That was very impressive. Has everyone always told you to keep it all bottled up, boy?" Barty nodded helplessly. "I will allow you to use that delicious power you have been gifted, Barty. I will fashion you into a weapon I can point and sic on people. Is that what you want? Do you want to be useful to me like that?"

Barty felt tears form in the corners of his eyes. "Yes, I do. I want to be… always wanted to be yours. I exist to be used by someone more powerful than I."

"I am still a lot more powerful than you, though you are quite impressive for your age. To think you bottled it up so well…" Master shook his head. "Dumbledore was a fool to cast you away when your loyalty was with him."

"Master…"

"I am not jealous, Barty. I know Dumbledore can be charming when he wants to be but he has never learned to cultivate and harness that power he has over people," master said. "But I have. I know just how to use you. Will that be thanks enough for you saving my life, boy?"

Barty nodded eagerly. "Of course, master! I'll do anything!"

"As I thought," master nodded, and then he took out his beautiful wand and repaired the damage Barty had wrought without uttering a single spell. 

"I love you so much," Barty whispered reverently, and master's answering smile was dark and brilliant in equal measure.

-o-

Barty had slept in a guest bedroom because master had been loath to part with him. He repeated that sentence three more times to himself and hugged his pillow tightly to his chest. 

The Potters were dead, and master was alive and unharmed. Emmett Avery and Jackson Mulciber were dead, but master was still here because of him. Would the nursery have exploded if it had been master who'd fired the curse? He shuddered because there was no way he was going to go down that line of thinking.

When he was done showering and putting on yesterday's robes after applying a quick freshening charm, Barty was left to wonder where he ought to go now. Was he supposed to wait until he was collected? Was he expected at breakfast in a dining room somewhere? He vaguely knew his way around Lestrange Manor, but not master's personal wing.

He did know where the sitting room was. Master wasn't fond of house elves, Barty knew that much, so he supposed he'd be able to make himself useful and tidy things up a little? After making his bed, he went to find the sitting room just as they'd left it the day before and tried not to think about the fact that behind one of the closed doors he'd walked past in the corridor, master might have been sleeping right this moment.

To distract himself, Barty set to work cleaning the fireplace of ash and dust and set everything up for a new fire that evening. Afterwards, he went to fold master's blanket and wiped the side table with a cloth. Some more household spells took care of accumulated dust on all surfaces and the floor, and then he was left to wait. 

He didn't dare enter any room he hadn't previously been allowed to be in, so he walked up to the high windows and looked at the grounds sprawling outside Lestrange Manor. It was still rainy and gloomy outside but none of that was enough to chill the flame burning bright in Barty's chest.

Surely, after having been this close to master, he could die happily.

He must have stood there for at least half an hour before he could hear soft steps behind him. 

"There you are," master said and Barty turned around eagerly. "And here I was worried you had disappeared on me."

"I would never!" Barty replied quickly. "I am exactly where I want to be."

"You keep saying that," master said with a smirk. "Watch out—If you keep it up, I might believe you."

"I will keep it up for as long as you let me," Barty promised and crossed the room.

When he made to kneel, master's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "We are going to breakfast, boy. No need to kneel anytime you face me."

"But I like the kneeling," Barty argued almost petulantly.

Master snorted. "Come."

Barty followed eagerly and found out that one of the doors in the corridor led to a small dining room. The table seated merely six people and was set for two people this morning.

"This is the only room I suffer the house elves in," master explained. 

Barty nodded and wound around master to pull out the man's chair for him. 

"You never ended up answering me yesterday," master reminded him as he sat down. 

The man's gaze kept him in place way after Barty had pushed master's chair in.

"Excuse me?" Barty asked carefully.

"Why you revere me so. You explained your father's neglect and Dumbledore's betrayal, yet we never quite made the leap as to why you are… quite as devoted as you are."

Barty considered that statement with the gravitas it demanded of him. He made to kneel again, but master gestured toward the open seat.

"I would have you sit with me."

It was an honour he couldn't refuse. Barty went around the table and sat opposite the man he loved most in the world. "I'm… not sure I can put it into words," he started uncertainly. "In the beginning, I wanted to spite my father and Dumbledore, yet then you answered my letter and told me those things…"

"What things?"

"You wrote I had to be resourceful and brave to be able to provide you with documents as classified as the ones I sent you," Barty remembered fondly. "That you… appreciated my service, and hoped to hear from me again."

"That then was the root of your obsession?"

Barty frowned and made to argue but then he stopped himself. He was obsessed, wasn't he? Master was the first thing he thought about in the mornings and the last thing he thought about before sleeping. Not to mention all the countless hours in-between spent thinking about–

"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "Your letters were the highlights of my week, and when we finally met face-to-face… I don't claim to be one of those who are able to visualise magic but I could feel the magic radiating off of you. And then your presence! You command all the attention in the room, even if you don't flaunt your magical power."

"You are gushing," master chuckled.

"As everyone should be!" Barty scoffed. "You finally gave me a purpose in life, master, and I couldn't wish for a better man to follow. You deserve the world, and I'm prepared to give it to you."

Master looked deep in thought as he grabbed a croissant and cut it open with a wandless spell. He put jam on it, and Barty was delighted to find that master enjoyed a sweet breakfast. He himself was too excited to eat but he put some scrambled egg on his plate and poked at it with his fork.

"Tell me, boy: Do you want to be like me?"

"No," Barty answered decisively. "I'm no leader. I don't want to make the decisions, and I'm not interested in having followers. All I want is to be close to you."

"I see," master hummed. "I can… facilitate that. You are magically powerful beyond your years; you must understand that I have to assess this as the potential threat it could be."

Barty frowned unhappily and master chuckled indulgently. 

"I know you, Barty," the man clarified. "But needs be. Come, eat your meal and then you can kneel at my feet some more."

"I'm not hungry," Barty shrugged uneasily. "I'm too excited."

"Of course you would be. Come here then while I eat."

Master patted the side of his thigh and Barty rounded the table before his fork had stopped clanging on the plate after he'd dropped it there. He pressed his forehead into master's robe and breathed in the man's scent greedily.

A large hand landed on the crown of his head again and Barty groaned and shuddered. "Master…" he whispered, completely overwhelmed. 

"Shh, I know," master hummed. "You are such a good boy."

It… almost made him feel like a pet but without it being degrading. Barty supposed he'd fancy that: be at master's side like a loyal guard dog; taking care of him, protecting him, getting his ears scratched from time to time… 

"The Prophet is full of stories on the attack on the Potters," master told him. "I will have to meet Avery and Mulciber Snr today but those are visits I need to do on my own."

Barty didn't quite understand why master was telling him this. It wasn't like Barty suddenly expected to be at master's side all the time? This was a boon for saving the man's life, nothing more. Wasn't it?

"While I am gone…" Master hesitated so Barty looked up questioningly as the silence dragged on.

Master looked down at him, and Barty met his gaze evenly because he had no secrets the way some of his brothers and sisters did. 

"You have a flat, do you not?"

Barty nodded. "Yes, I have a small flat in one of the side streets of Diagon."

"I see. Terminate your lease, effective immediately. Pack up what belongings you are attached to, and then come back here and wait for my return if I am still gone."

He had an idea of what master was suggesting but surely not… "And what then?" he asked cautiously.

"Did you like the guest room?" master asked innocently, and Barty had to avert his eyes lest he start crying.

"What will be my job? Will I continue at the ministry?"

"No. I have enough spies in the ministry but I have no suitable manservant in my service yet."

A manservant. Master's manservant, no less! Had sweeter words ever been uttered?

"I would like that very much, master," Barty whispered. 

"I thought you might."

Barty stayed silent while master finished his breakfast and had a bit of a proper British mental breakdown that consisted of privately panicking and trying to work things out without anyone noticing. He was reasonably sure master was aware of his turbulent state of mind but was polite enough not to mention it.

Barty was to live here and serve master as his manservant. They might be seeing each other daily. While he tried to wrap his head around that fact he couldn't help but feel bone-deep relief at not having to return to his boring ministry job. He might have been on track to join the Department of Mysteries in a couple years of proving himself, but they already had Rookwood there and Barty was better-suited to his new task anyway.

No more Carol and Bryan asking him how his weekend went. No more father snooping around behind the scenes to find out whether he'd been doing his dues. Barty's heart almost stopped. No more father. 

"I won't make you regret this," Barty promised and reached out with shaking fingers to stroke over master's robes. "I will be ever so good. I'll make you proud."

Master chuckled and petted his hair one more time before pushing his chair back and standing up. "Come, boy. There is much to do."

Barty scrambled up and hurried to keep up with master's long strides. They left Lestrange Manor through a side entrance and walked to the edge of the wards in silence.

"Clear your apartment," master commanded once they'd cleared the wards. "Your job will be terminated without need for your assistance in the matter. When you are done, you may return here and put your things away in your room."

His room.

Barty felt like screaming but held it together quite admirably. "Will the side entrance work for me?"

"I keyed you into the wards yesterday."

Master looked smug when Barty's knees buckled so hard he had to hold onto a tree lest he topple over. "You want me here," Barty realised aloud. "You've literally thought about this, and you want me here."

"I need people like you, Barty. Now go, we have plans this evening."

Barty felt a relieved grin stretch the skin of his face. How odd to think he'd never smiled as much as in the presence of the Dark Lord…

-o-

There hadn't been much to pack. Barty only had his clothes, books and some assorted knick-knacks and utensils to put away in his new room and was done well before lunch.

Master still hadn't arrived back but the dining room was set for two again so Barty went and ate something because surely he'd be allowed to take his meals even if master wasn't present?

Master finally returned during the early afternoon and found Barty tinkering with setting up his desk.

"No pictures?" master asked from the doorway and Barty flinched because he hadn't heard the man's approach. 

He dropped his inkwell, but master caught it with a wandless spell before it could burst into pieces. Rather whimsically, Barty considered that might have been a fitting metaphor for himself after Dumbledore had dropped him. And just like right now, master had caught him back then, too…

He turned around, heart overflowing with tender feelings, and bowed low in greeting. "You have no pictures either," Barty reminded the man when he rose again and master smirked in response.

"That is true. Are you finished then?"

"This is everything," Barty replied. "I don't… the ministry doesn't pay amazingly, so I don't—have much, I suppose."

"You need more clothes," master hummed when he opened Barty's rather empty wardrobe. "If you are to be my manservant and accompany me to places, you must look the part. We shall take care of that in the coming days." 

"You said we had plans this evening… Will my clothes suffice for those?"

"Merely a Death Eater meeting," master informed him with a wave of his hand. "You will wear your usual attire."

Merely a Death Eater meeting. As if those hadn't been the highlight of his life!

"As you please, master," Barty replied with a small bow. "Is there anything I can do for you until it's time for the evening?"

Master regarded him silently and seemed to be mulling this over before he spoke. "I have my correspondence to take care of. How do you usually spend your time outside of work?"

Barty felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He spent no small amount of his down time daydreaming about the exact same scenario he now found himself in. His embarrassment must have shown on his face because master shook his head with a dry laugh. 

"I see. Come on, then."

"I don't only dream about spending time with you," Barty protested half-heartedly even as he hurried after the man. "I'm also quite proficient at spellcrafting. I had vague plans of becoming an Unspeakable."

"Uninspired fools," master spat. "Among the blind, the one-eyed is king, Bartemius. As long as any department is shackled by the whims and fancies of the incompetent halfwits Wizarding Britain calls their pitiful government, there is no freedom of science—no unfiltered research!"

Oh boy, he'd struck a nerve. Barty listened in silence while master ranted about the ineffectiveness of the ministry during their short walk to the library room Barty had walked by the previous day. It turned out to be master's study as well, complete with a beautifully-carved hardwood desk tucked into a corner. 

All in all, the interior design in the rooms Barty had seen was a lot more welcoming and homey than in the audience room. He wondered which of these designs master had chosen himself—the cold, sterile marble of the audience room or the rich fabrics and lavish furniture of his private rooms. Or maybe he'd chosen both of them himself because he liked to live in the kind of decadent splendour one such as he deserved…

"–will not stop until the ministry is abolished completely. I will rebuild it from the ground up!"

With that, he seemed to be finished. Barty liked it when master went on tirades like this because his face became more expressive than it usually was. "You will be an amazing new leader."

"I will be, yes," master replied rather smugly. "Not that the competition is anything to write home about… Anyways. This is my personal library. You may read… no, I think you are allowed to read all of it."

He wasn't proud of it, but Barty made a bit of a high-pitched keening sound before veering to the left and investigating the shelf closest to him. Master's snort of amusement was merely catalogued as a small background noise as Barty dove headfirst into the thick, ancient tomes dealing with—ah, this was the section on curses.

He pulled out three books he'd read about but had never managed to get his hands on and plopped down right where he stood to dive into the first one.

"-ty. Boy."

Barty felt as if he was roused from a dream when he looked up only to be confronted with the sight of master's robes and bare feet. "What?" he asked dumbly. "Did you… I spaced out, didn't I? I do that a lot when I'm engrossed in a book."

When he looked up with an apologetic smile, master looked unimpressed, and Barty realised it was already getting dark outside. "Get dressed, boy. I am summoning your brothers and sisters shortly."

"Right away!" Barty replied quickly. He crouched down and made to grab the books he'd been reading to put them away.

Master's foot on his arms stopped him from lifting the stack and he looked up inquisitively. "Leave those. You have not finished them."

Barty nodded breathlessly. He found he desperately enjoyed master holding him down like this and realised just how much he wanted to experience this more often. "Thank you, master."

Fuck, but his voice sounded wrecked. All hoarse, and needy, and he loved that master had this effect on him with one simple touch.

The foot stayed on his arms. Barty could have let go of the books, lowered his arms further and just slipped out, but… 

Suddenly, master's foot changed its trajectory and collided roughly with his chest which caused him to stumble backwards from his crouching position. Master kept pushing, and Barty was soon flat on his back with master's foot on his chest.

Master no longer looked unimpressed—if he'd ever truly been unimpressed in the first place. He was toying with Barty, and Barty found he truly enjoyed being important enough to someone to be toyed with.

Now, master looked… calculating but it wasn't the cold kind of calculating gaze he used when people had wronged him and he was plotting their demise. Rather, he looked like a cat chasing a little mouse.

"Do you like it when I use force on you, boy?" master purred.

Barty swallowed heavily and nodded. "Yes, master. I want to be good."

"Ah. So you want to be disciplined? I see." Master pulled his foot off of Barty's chest and crouched down next to him to speak in a low voice. "You are not enough of a brat to warrant much disciplining." 

"I'm no brat," Barty agreed quickly. "Never have been."

"Mh, yes. Not simple force, then. Not as a discipline tool, in any case."

Was master seriously pondering how best to cater to Barty's needs? Surely Barty did not warrant that much consideration by someone as great as–

Some of his doubt must have shown on Barty's face because master grabbed him roughly by the jaw to make him look at the man. "I decide what is important to me, Barty. Do you understand that? Yes? Good boy. You chose to serve me, so serve me you will. Now, do you remember the way the audience room is set up during summons? Think of that image for me."

Barty did as he was told and felt master's Legilimency stroking its way into his mind. He let the man in easily and fought to keep his eyes open against the feel of their magicks mingling. 

When master was done, he looked down at Barty with a dubious expression. "My Legilimency is very strong," the man mused. "I have always wondered… By rights, you ought to be screaming at the intrusion like all the others."

"But I want you inside me," Barty said earnestly which made master draw away from him, clearly taken aback. When Barty realised his double-entendre a second later, he felt mortified. "Oh. Oh! I didn't mean it like that, master," except he totally did, "I spoke… completely out of turn, and I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"Ridiculous boy," master sighed. "Lord Voldemort knows you desire him completely, and that you would suffer him in all the ways he would have you be his. You said you ache to be used as a weapon. What kind of weapon can you be, Barty?"

Were they really having this conversation with Barty on his back and master looming over him like this? Barty trembled a little because somehow, things had gotten all intimate all of a sudden and he felt like he was losing his mind.

"I can be whatever you need me to be, master," he choked out. "Whether it's stealth missions, or raids, or, or more personal matters…"

"If I had asked yesterday, I could have bent you over the armrest of my armchair and taken you right there, hm?" master asked and moved his hand so the pad of his thumb was splayed on Barty's lips.

Barty swallowed thickly, again, because master was an incredibly handsome man, and because said incredibly handsome man was currently staring at him with unabashed hunger gleaming from his red eyes. His mouth was too dry to speak so Barty simply nodded. Then, he realised… "I've never—but I'd do my best!"

Master snorted. "Ridiculous. Look at you, with your pretty blond hair, and your big blue eyes… you might be the most innocent-looking Death Eater I have, and here you are, offering me such filthy acts…"

"Doesn't have to be filthy," Barty argued quietly. "I could make it nice, and very not filthy."

"I believe you," master sighed and stroked over Barty' lip. "You love me—Properly, I mean. You know the kinds of things I have done – murder, treason, blackmail, torture – and all you ask of me is to grab your hair and tell you you are a good boy. What good does praise like this do from men like me?"

"You're the only one that matters," Barty explained. "I love only you, so when you say I'm good, I'm good."

Master stared at him. Barty couldn't feel any Legilimency but that didn't mean anything where master was concerned so he simply stayed still until the man seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion. 

"After the meeting, you will come here with me when I leave the room," master commanded.

"I will," Barty agreed immediately. 

"Now go, and prepare everything."

Master lifted his thumb off Barty's lip so he got up and hurried towards the audience chamber.

-o-

When his brothers and sisters started appearing, Barty was already kneeling in his spot in their circle. Even he didn't know all the Death Eaters, but he knew his immediate neighbours Severus Snape and Regulus Black. Both of them didn't even say hello or acknowledge his existence in any way the way they usually did, which was… more hurtful than he'd imagined.

"Hello," he tried quietly.

Severus scoffed lightly and Regulus minutely turned his head away. Maybe they thought Barty was still a pariah? Barty's defiance against the Dark Lord had happened at the last meeting a couple weeks ago. Barty had tearfully begged master not to attack the Potters, at least not himself, and while he hadn't been tortured for his insolence, his fellow Death Eaters had jeered and mocked him cruelly.

He waited in silence until everyone had arrived. 

"Welcome," master greeted the attending Death Eaters. "As you can see, and as you have no doubt heard, two of our brothers are no longer with us."

Barty frowned under his stuffy mask. The Potters had been a bit of a big deal. Both beautiful and long-limbed, head boy and girl, whirlwind romance, mudblood and Pureblood… their death would have been all over the news, only Barty hadn't even read the Prophet that day.

There were murmurs of agreement and some muttered condolences, but master hissed something in Parseltongue and everyone shut up uneasily.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen. Show of hands: Who of you thought the possible threat to your Lord and Master by a true prophecy so laughably small that you made fun of the one person among you who sacrificed his standing in this organisation to warn me?"

Master's gaze was hard and unrelenting as it roamed over his gathered Death Eaters and Barty had never before felt so vindicated in his entire life. He watched as, slowly, hands were raised. Of course master would know exactly who'd jeered when Barty had burst into the middle of the circle to beg the man to reconsider.

When Barty looked at the sheer number of hands he felt dizzy. Had they all jeered because it was him? Most of those who knew his identity had made it very clear that he wasn't wanted here because of the way his father handled the war. As if that was Barty's fault! 

Then, he met Bellatrix' gaze and shuddered. The sheer intensity with which she was staring at him caught him by surprise. He was vaguely frightened of her on a good day, but this was entirely too much for him. They were almost opposite each other, and she looked close to flying straight towards him and gnawing his face right off.

He wished she'd wear a mask like the rest of them and quickly looked away. Finally, when he saw Bellatrix raise her hand in his peripheral vision, master continued. 

"My well-being is your primary concern," he commanded. "Crucio."

Barty gaped when all those who'd raised their hands, at least two thirds of the gathered men and women!, started squirming and screaming at the same time. Just how much raw magical power did master have?

Regulus shuddered beside him, and Barty could relate. He also took a second to feel glad that neither Severus nor Regulus were among those who'd made fun of him.

When the screaming stopped and turned into pants and groans as the curse released his fellow Death Eaters, Barty breathed out as evenly as he could. He hoped he'd never warrant a Crucio from master's own wand.

"See now how Lord Voldemort rewards those who serve him well."

Master held out his hand towards him and Barty realised this was his cue to step forward. The hand kept beckoning, so Barty only stopped once he was in front of master and kneeled down at his feet.

"I owe you a life debt," master declared grandly, "and I–"

Someone scoffed, and Barty cringed because the hopeless fool would regret this.

"Do you have something to say, Bellatrix? Was one curse not enough for you?"

"The boy hardly saved your life, my Lord," Bellatrix said loudly. "Emmett and Jackson were strong, but Evan is stronger, and he survived. Who's to say you wouldn't have been strong enough to take care of the Potters on your own?"

Someone close to her stepped forward, and when he spoke, Barty recognised Evan's pleasant baritone: "I survived because I was downstairs, Bella. I heard Emmett kill the mudblood, and when Jackson went to kill the brat, the whole room fucking ex-plo-ded. When I went upstairs, nothing remained of them except scorch marks where their bodies had stood!"

"What kind of mudblood sorcery–"

"Be quiet, Bellatrix," Evan spat. "I didn't take any chances because it wasn't the girl, it was the child. I killed him with my own hands, not my wand."

Barty had killed people before, but to kill a small toddler with your bare hands? Maybe Evan would be better-suited to take Barty's place and–

Master stepped closer and put his hand on the top of Barty's hood. "You will be rewarded for your service, Evan."

"My Lord." Evan stepped back, head bowed demurely. 

"Now, if there are no further objections? What is the price you ask of your master, Bartemius?"

There were some hissed intakes of breath. Not everyone here knew Barty's identity, or at least there were those who hadn't until now. The even bigger problem was that they hadn't rehearsed this bit at all! Master hadn't mentioned a life debt in name, only in vague concept, and Barty hadn't expected to be called upon like this.

"All I ask is to serve you, master," he improvised quickly because this was what they'd talked about before, wasn't it? "I ask no more than that."

Master's hand pressed down on his head which Barty interpreted as master being pleased. More contact was always good.

"Look at your brother—he could ask anything of me, and he asks to serve me instead. What honour could you bestow upon someone as subservient as this?"

Barty wasn't entirely sure whether master was really asking for input but at least one person must have understood things that way.

"An apprentice," Rookwood's deep voice suggested. "What better way to both honour the boy and upset the public's trust in the ministry than to take him on as your student and reveal his identity during your next public appearance?"

Barty could tell how this suggestion surprised master by how rigid the man became. Hell, he himself was shook to the core. He would be content with manservant, but an apprentice… Barty giggled very, very quietly when he imagined father's face, confronted with his renegade son's new allegiance.

"Augustus, your creativity will never cease to astound me," master said softly. "It is decided. Bartemius, rise and take off your mask so we can hold the ritual."

Barty rose and took off his mask with trembling fingers. When master reached out to tug the hood off his head, there was more mumbling from behind him. Seemed like some of his siblings needed visual confirmation before they believed what they were hearing.

And quite before he knew what was happening, master had Rookwood come forth and perform the ritual to bind Barty to Lord Voldemort, again, but this time with Barty's own magic, too. Because while the feeling was strangely reminiscent of gaining his Dark Mark, this ritual felt more like they both shared their magic between them for a joyous, short moment whereas the Dark Mark had been only master's magic pumping into him.

It felt amazing to be connected like this. Master seemed not entirely unphased either by how strongly he set his jaw, and Rookwood groaned when the ritual was done. 

"At least you'll be evenly matched," the man coughed which led to some murmuring among the Death Eaters. 

"Why is that?" Barty asked before he could stop himself.

"The officiant channels both participants' magic during the ritual," master explained, "so I chose Augustus who is one of the strongest sorcerers in my service. It seems he, too, has seen your worth."

Barty felt his mouth run dry once more, so he simply inclined his head to master and turned to bow to Rookwood to thank him.

Rookwood's gaze was, of course, unreadable behind his mask but the man returned Barty's stare for a good ten seconds before bowing to him as well. 

"Meeting adjourned," master suddenly said in a low voice that carried throughout the room, and when he turned to leave, Barty remembered his orders. 

He quickly bowed once more to Rookwood and then turned to leave after master who had already almost made it to the door. Barty slipped through just as it was closing and was surprised to find master waiting for him just behind it.

"Master," he whispered and took care to close the door gently behind him. "I didn't know you'd… that you'd want to…"

"Neither did I," master mused. "Yet when Augustus suggested it… Well, I am merely human, and I like collecting pretty things."

It took Barty a second to parse out that master was talking about him.

"I'm… flattered, master, but you don't need to be so accommodating. You've already given me much more than I ever thought I deserved."

"Silly boy," master laughed. "You think they all wanted to take your place, did you not? Evan and Bellatrix might have, but the rest quivers in fear when I so much as look at them. No. Do you know what they wanted? All these men wanted to be me. They all want to possess the pretty little son of the man who gives us so much grief…"

"I'm not pretty," Barty shrugged because no one had ever told him he was even remotely attractive. 

"Oh please," master scoffed. "You might not be a teenage girl's wet dream of built like a brick house with brawns for brains but the sophisticated lady or gentleman will see the merit of your cheekbones, and those mesmerising, blue eyes… and then there's all that devotion! Why think, half the people back in that room would kill to have someone who looks at them the way you look at me."

Barty slowly began to see the truth in master's words. If he was being honest, he'd never considered himself ugly but his fellow students had seldom shown any interest in him. But then, he had felt watched on the rare occasions when he'd attended functions with his parents. He'd chalked it up to paranoia and had tugged his left sleeve further down but maybe…

"People like being worshipped, don't they?" he asked slowly. 

"Do they ever," master agreed, "and your face is simply perfect for gazing up adoringly. Yes… just like that."

Barty blushed and looked away but master grabbed his chin and turned his face back. The man's gaze was intent, and searching, and Barty found himself blushing again. "So what you're saying is… people who are older and taller than me want me to tell them how amazing they are?"

"And they want you to mean it," master added. "Deep down, everyone wants to be wanted, Bartemius."

Barty found no fault in that statement. Rather, he felt like he'd just heard a big revelation and filtered quickly through the people he knew.

Regulus wanted to be accepted by his family which is why he became a Death Eater. Severus, Slytherin Halfblood, unpopular and with a too-big nose, wanted to feel like he belonged which is why he became a Death Eater. His father, loathsome though he was, was revered by most loyal Aurors in his service. Bellatrix wanted master to want her and wore revealing clothes during meetings. 

The list went on. What did Barty himself want? His earlier assessment still stood: What he had here and now with master was everything he'd ever wanted.

"I want you to want me," he admitted softly. "I love you, master."

Master's gaze went from searching to amused. The beginnings of crow's feet crinkled around the man's red eyes and Barty couldn't help but stare first at those and then at the upturned arc of one corner of the man's mouth.

"I want you here, Barty," master hummed. 

"I love you so much…"

Barty felt like a silly little kid proclaiming their love for a grown man. 'When I grow up, I'm going to marry you!' He'd never heard of any of that working out.

"My little apprentice," master said as if tasting the words for the first time, and then he pulled Barty close again. "I know I chose well. Serve me truly, and I shall never cast you away."

"I swear it," Barty replied breathlessly and hugged master back.

After all, he'd sworn two oaths of obedience to the man already and he was prepared to swear a thousand more. Hell, he'd have sworn a thousand more even without the honour he'd received today!

-o-

At lunch the next day, master received a Howler. Was that allowed? 

"Leave it," master commanded when Barty took out his wand. "I need to know who is foolish enough to send one to me. And powerful enough to get past the wards I put up, I suppose."

The howler was already beginning to glow white-hot with unbridled rage but Barty didn't want master to suffer through something as stupid as a howler.

"I know a spell that disables them without destroying them," Barty informed the man quickly. "Aurors use it secretly for evidence collection."

Master's eyebrows rose and he motioned towards the letter. After Barty had performed the spell, the letter fell onto the table like a dead fish and remained still. 

"You are full of surprises, boy," master said and took the letter. "Ah. Not unexpected but nevertheless tiring."

"Who is it from?" Barty asked carefully. 

"How can you get around a howler ward raised up by yours truly, Barty?" master asked casually as he started to read.

Barty frowned because master's ward work was legendary. "Not at all."

"Exactly."

So how… Barty's face fell. "It didn't come from outside the house at all," he said quietly. 

"Bellatrix Lestrange is green with envy," master sighed. "No matter. I have stayed here for too long as it is."

"You're moving?" Barty asked.

"We are moving. There is this house I have recently… acquired. I was loath to move there since it needs some work and house elves are the bane of my existence but with you…"

"I'll do it!" Barty grinned brightly at master over the table. "I can cook, too, you know? Not as fancy as this, but I'm passable!"

Living in a house all alone with master? No threat of Bellatrix Lestrange's overbearing presence? Sign him in!

"Then it is decided. I have a busy week ahead of me, so you will be on your own."

That was only a small setback. Barty dug into his soup to get the energy he needed to make the new place perfect for master and was rewarded with that perfect, small smile he liked so much.

-o-

Barty's week was spent cleaning, tidying and banishing everything that needed banishing in the summer house of the Ogden family. They had graciously gifted the house to Lord Voldemort by right of conquest and the falsification of a couple documents, and it was simply perfect.

A proper library, a kitchen, a dining room and a sitting room on the ground floor and four bedrooms with en suite bathrooms upstairs. 

Barty took care of the bedroom he selected for himself first so he'd have a place to crash in the evenings and then went about methodically combing through everything to spare master some nasty surprises. There were doxies in the master bedroom's cabinet and some curses on a couple drawers here and there but overall nothing that proved much of a challenge. It all just took time.

He sent status reports to master every evening of the week and received short replies in the mornings that invigorated him for the long day ahead. Finally, on Friday evening, he could report that except for the surplus bedrooms and the cellar, everything was done. 

Instead of a letter, master himself appeared on Saturday morning and inspected the house to Barty's great inner turmoil. What if his work wasn't good enough? Everything was shiny and repaired and he'd really done the best he could but what if–

"Well done," master commented once he'd reached the master bedroom. "You outdid yourself. No magical exhaustion?"

"No, master."

"Good boy."

Barty preened at the praise and had to turn around to get his nerves back under control. Master let him have his moment and inspected the ornate chest of drawers next to a window. "This has not been here before, has it?" 

"No, it was in the basement," Barty shrugged. "I rearranged some furniture here and there as I saw fit, to be honest. I can always change it back if you want?"

"Mh, no, I like it. I think I did not expect you to have the nerve to rearrange things but… It really ought not to surprise me. You are fearless."

"What? No! I care a lot about what you think."

"That is not how I meant it," master mused as he opened one of the drawers experimentally. "You are unafraid of my judgment because you have my best interest at heart and are secure in the knowledge that I will not strike at you for doing your best."

"Well, of course."

Master laughed softly. "That is not how your brothers and sisters operate, Barty. They would not have changed a thing in here except removing dust and broken furniture. Maybe not even that. Everyone is so afraid of upsetting me that their carefulness alone upsets me."

"Oh…" 

That had to be terribly lonely. Was that why master appreciated him so? Barty had never been afraid of the man, at least not in the way his fellow Death Eaters or their enemies were.

"But what does that matter now," master shrugged. "Come, I started packing but I am nowhere near done with the books."

They spent all of Saturday moving things to the new house. Barty was in charge of the books and his own things and master took care of his personal effects. It was only when they were just about done that master excused himself to inform Lord Lestrange of his departure.

Barty went ahead to the house and unpacked the latest load of books from the bottomless bag that was very much not bottomless when confronted with a literal shit ton of ancient tomes. Master arrived shortly after and lounged in the comfortable armchair Barty had taken from the sitting room in the guest wing and put into a cozy corner of the library.

"Corvus was not best pleased at my departure," master mused. "I think he will have words with Bellatrix."

Barty was not going to go on a rant about Bellatrix Lestrange. He was better than that. He simply bit his tongue and continued working. Still, he could feel master's meaningful gaze on his person while he did his best to put books away just as master had had them stored.

"Speak freely," master commanded and Barty sighed deeply.

"You have, of course, noticed there is a certain… rivalry between Bellatrix and me?" Barty asked cautiously and master nodded indulgently. The man's smirk said more than a thousand words. "We… both think we know what's best for you. She thinks it's her, I think it's me. I feel like she will be insufferable towards me now that she will have perceived me to have won this round."

Master leaned forwards in his armchair and rolled his shoulders. When the man rested his elbows loosely on his knees and stared at Barty, unmoving like a snake, Barty stilled like a rabbit. 

"Did I speak out of turn, master?" 

"No. You are very observant. Your analysis that Bellatrix perceives you to have 'won this round' as you so aptly put it, puts me in a bit of a strife." Master smiled darkly. "She is an accomplished witch and has completed most of her tasks in my service quite conscientiously. Hmm. Tell me, boy, what would you have done if I had announced her divorce from Rodolphus Lestrange only to introduce her as my fiancée during the last meeting?"

Barty couldn't help the face he made. "I would have been quite sad I imagine?"

Master nodded. "Would it have changed things between us?"

"You and me, you mean? Well, if we're talking after this week, then yes. But before the whole prophecy thing… no, I don't think so. I might have pined after you a little more quietly so as not to jeopardise your new, uh, relationship, I guess. But before this week, I never thought I even had a chance of becoming more than just one of the Death Eaters. So… take it with a grain of salt, I suppose."

"And that, Barty, is why you are now my apprentice and she will never be my fiancée. It all boils down to respect."

"So I would have been a fiancée if I wasn't a boy?" The question was out before he had thought it through. Barty realised his insolence immediately and dropped to his knees. "I beg your forgiveness, master. I was completely out of line."

Master stayed sitting as far as Barty could tell from this angle but a shift in how his feet stood on the ground revealed a shift in posture at the very least. "Our relationship would have been different from the start if you had been born a girl. A young girl in my ranks would have gotten a lot more attention than yet another young man looking for a purpose—especially one with your heritage! No, it is quite fortunate you were born a boy."

Barty, who had spent quite some time imagining how his life might have been better if he'd been a short, slim girl with big blue eyes instead of a short, slim boy with big blue eyes, doubted this. 

"A Dark Lord with a young Pureblood lady as an apprentice? Now that would have set tongues a-wagging," master sighed, but he looked amused once more. 

"Judging by all the muttering, last week's meeting was enough to start countless rumours."

"You get used to it," master smirked. "I have lost count of all the rumours surrounding my person. Apparently, I eat children or bathe in their blood, or both, depending who you ask, celebrate orgies with all my Death Eaters, have a harem of kidnapped young Pureblood girls, have personally raped enough muggleborn to fill a whole church… you get the idea. What does it matter if I take on the son of one of my enemies as my little apprentice after he saved my life?"

Barty had heard many of these rumours and then some. If master kept a harem of kidnapped girls, he supposed they had to be among his personal effects since Barty had packed up all the rest and found no girls at all—either Pureblood or Other. He snorted in a rather undignified manner and finally dared to look up again.

"You're right, it's all silly. No one should pry into your personal life in the first place."

Master looked incredibly handsome in the dim light of the shadowed corner he was sitting in. "They really should not," master agreed in a low voice and held his hand out for Barty to come to him.

Barty left the books lying as they were and crawled the short distance towards master. When he reached the man, he sat back on his haunches and gazed up at the aristocratic face with more love in his heart than he'd ever felt for anybody.

"I love you," he said when his heart became too full to contain the strong emotions he was feeling.

Master smiled at him once more and stroked gently over Barty's cheek. "So what if their little rumours are true?" master asked conversationally. "So what if the terrible Dark Lord has taken a liking to his little apprentice? Is he not allowed to have nice things? What do I do all this shit for if not to take the things I want for myself?"

Barty thought those were some of the sweetest words he'd ever heard, even if he'd never heard master swear like this before. "You are the strongest wizard of our times," Barty said reverently. "If anyone's allowed to take what they want, it's you."

"And right now, I want you."

"Again, master, you honour me too much."

But master reached for him and grabbed both sides of Barty's face with his large hands. "And I keep telling you that it is not true, boy."

Barty closed his eyes because their faces were too close and because master's eyes saw too much.

"I know what you want, Barty," master purred, "even if you are too shy to say it."

"Not too shy," Barty whispered because anything louder than a whisper seemed obscene in close quarters such as this. "I just… I wouldn't dare to ask anything of you when you've already given me so much."

"You really are quite droll, has anyone ever told you that?"

Barty felt a wave of shame wash over him when he realised that no one had ever quite told him anything of the sort. "I'm… not used to compliments, I'm afraid."

"Then I shall pay you some and watch you blush," master decided. "I have always been fascinated by your eyes."

Barty opened his eyes, the ones master was fascinated by, apparently, and looked at the man as if he'd sprouted two heads. "Don't make fun of me, please. Not you."

But master's smirk, while playful, had no malice to it. "I mean it, you ridiculous boy. Your face is… very pleasing to look at."

Barty couldn't help it. He giggled, blushed, and looked away. "But you're so handsome, master. To think you could like the way someone like me looked… it's unfathomable for me. It's like, like… like a diamond calling a piece of coal beautiful."

Master's eyebrows rose, and before Barty could prepare himself, master was laughing, properly—so much so, in fact, that he had to let go of Barty's face to hold his belly. This laugh was nothing like the high, cruel laugh he affected when surrounded by Death Eaters and Barty could simply watch on in wonder. 

"I think this is going to fuel a Patronus in the future," Barty muttered, which prompted master to keep grinning even when he stopped laughing out loud.

"What an inadvertently fitting and yet comical allegory you used, my dear little apprentice," the man said with a shake off his head. "You do, of course, realise what every single true diamond started out as?"

The scales fell from his eyes immediately and Barty closed his eyes in frustration with himself. "Coal," he whispered.

"Coal," master agreed. "Just watch me apply some pressure and mold you into my perfect little diamond."

If only things were that easy… but diamonds needed time, and Barty dearly hoped that master would keep him around long enough to make him go from coal to diamond. 

"Mhh," master hummed. "I have seldom wanted to crush someone as much as I want to crush you."

"Crush me?" 

"Yes. I am an unstoppable force, Barty, and you are not afraid of me. I want to see how hard I can squeeze until you break."

That sounded dangerous and exhilarating. "I won't break. Not when it's you."

Master's red eyes glinted mesmerisingly in the dim light. "I know."

And with that simple admission, master leaned forward and renewed his hold on the sides of Barty's face to pull him in close and seal his lips with his own.

If Barty had thought that life had already been perfect before, he realised now he couldn't have been more wrong. This, kneeling in front of master while the man devoured his mouth with teeth and tongue, was the pinnacle of human bliss.

When they parted, Barty was left gasping in more than shortness of breath and stared up at master with awe and hunger.

"No one's kissed me before…"

"Oh, I am well aware of that fact."

Was this supposed to be a slight? Barty frowned lightly, but master didn't look mad about Barty's first attempt at intimacy. Rather, he looked smug above all.

"Tell me, Barty, has anyone ever tried?"

"Kissing me, you mean?" A nod. "There was—a boy. Two, actually, and a girl as well. I met the boy during Quidditch, but I didn't, he wasn't right? I studied with the girl for a while but she… I don't like girls that way. And lastly, well…"

He couldn't rightly tell master about the long glances he'd exchanged with Regulus, could he? Nothing had come of it, and he'd already been lost to master at that point anyway. When he looked up again after reminiscing and met master's eyes, the man hummed in understanding. Barty hadn't even felt the Legilimency.

"There's only you," Barty reiterated. "I want only you."

"Good boy."

Master's voice was a purr and Barty ducked his head with a bashful grin. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing this.

"Tomorrow, you will come with me and help me kill the Longbottom family. We will take all the precautions we can, but it will inevitably end with all three of them dead. Can you kill for me, Barty?"

Frank had been nice to him when he'd saved Barty from the occasional bully over the years. Alice had been in his year in Ravenclaw—they'd even shared a cauldron in Potions for their first five years. The decision was easy.

"I'll kill anyone for you. Whether by wand, or by hand, I don't care. Say the word, and I'll do it."

"Even your father?"

"Come on. Especially my father."

"Your mother?"

"She's barely alive as is."

"Regulus?"

Barty reached up to take master's hand in both of his own. "I said anyone, master, even myself."

Master looked down at him with a mixture of confusion and indulgence. "Yes, I believe you."

-o-

That following evening, master spelled the blood from Barty's hands and kissed his knuckles before Disapparating the both of them away. Master kept his hold on Barty's hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

"It was not easy for you."

Barty shook his head. Their stares had been heartwrenching, especially because they hadn't yet done anything wrong. Especially the little–

 "It wasn't."

"It will get easier. Every kill makes it easier." Master seemed awfully melancholy once more, the way he sometimes did in the evenings, or after raids. "You did well today."

"Thank you," Barty whispered. "You know… I'm not even sure you owe me a life debt."

"And why is that? The lack of my sad remains splattered in the Potter's nursery would disagree with that notion."

Despite the nausea he was still experiencing because he'd just killed three innocent people, Barty chuckled and felt a lot better afterwards. Master's black humour never ceased to surprise him whenever he got to experience it. "No, that's not it. I did save your life, it's true, but you saved mine as well. I was… well. I was this close to, eh, ending it all? My life, I mean. After sending you those reports, my last big fuck you to everyone who'd never cared about me, I was going to, well, you know."

Master stilled. "You are not to commit suicide."

"I'm not–"

"I do not care, Barty. You are not to commit suicide. Not now, not ever. This is a direct order. Do you understand that?"

Master's voice sounded strained and Barty's heart did a little tug that hurt something deep inside of him. Was this what it felt like to know that someone was going to miss you when you were gone? "I do. I'm… not planning on doing that anymore, and… I won't do it. At all. No suicide. I love you way too much!"

"Yes. You will stay with me."

Master wasn't asking but Barty wouldn't want it any other way. He had, after all, risked everything by defying the man on that gloomy October evening and had gained everything and more in return for his selfless loyalty.

When master kissed him again, Barty was glad that his morality was flexible. What was one murdered family compared to the overwhelming bliss of master's rapt attention on one's self?

Barty was soon crowded into the wall behind him and decided that if it could save master's immortal life, he'd burn down the whole world for him.

"Red suits you," master muttered against his lips and Barty grinned in the way he'd seen master grin. The fire behind his own eyes was mirrored in the man's beautiful crimson irises—Barty didn't know you could drown in flames.

"I'm sinking," he whispered into the negative space between their lips. 

Master chuckled. "Well, you know what awaits at the bottom."

"A hungry leviathan, waiting to wreak havoc onto the world."

"No… a basilisk, chained up and furious." Master's eyes gleamed even more ferociously than they usually did. "Say, how do you feel about raiding Hogwarts and freeing something so ancient, so powerful, that my enemies will quiver where they stand?"

"A weapon?"

"Better…" Master tugged him close and whispered into his ear. "A friend."

Barty's heart started beating erratically. "The Chamber of Secrets… Slytherin's monster! It's a basilisk, of course it is!"

"Good boy. Come, we have a headmaster to feed to my friend."

Barty grinned and followed. "Yes, master."