He waited for her to come to him. He waited in his chair, his back straight, his expression calm, his fingers moving over the hand rests, anticipating the moment when it would be her skin they touched. He waited in silence, but not patiently, never patiently. He hated this as much as he loved it, hated to need something, hated someone else to have power over him, even if she didn't know she had it. He, who had defeated death, he, who had brought the Wizarding world to its knees, he, who held more power than any other wizard, had one weakness. Bellatrix.

The door to his chamber opened and she stepped inside, closing it behind her, leaving the two of them alone. He didn't want others to see what happened between them, even if they already suspected as much. He didn't care about what they thought they knew, but he wanted no witnesses to this, no one to see his weakness.

She turned to him, her smile taunting, her eyes shining with that gleam of madness that had always been there, but Azkaban had brought forth and she hadn't lost since. She took a step forward, and he didn't move, affecting indifference they both knew he didn't feel as her hands slowly moved to the clasps that held her robes together. His expression remained blank as her robes slid off her shoulders and pooled around her feet, the light of the candles drawing shadows on her pale skin.

A small twitch of his finger was all the command she needed to move forward, her steps slow, teasing, even as her breathing betrayed her anxiety, her desire. But he didn't care for her feelings; he only cared for his own.

She watched him for a second, waiting for another command, and when she didn't receive any she moved forward, sliding onto his lap, his chair just wide enough for her legs to fit by his sides. He focused on keeping his body still and his expression blank as he watched her hands move towards the many buttons on his robes, undoing them with an ease that showed just how often he let his weakness dictate his actions, and he could almost see the red shine from his eyes as her fingers first touched his cold skin.

Warm, so very warm. Just the feel of her fingers close to him sent shivers through his body, reminding him of how much he had needed it, had needed her. As his robes fell open she leaned forward, her breasts barely grazing his chest, her nipples hardened from the contact with his cold flesh. He, who could command and control any type of magic, could not recreate the effect she had on him, no matter what he tried. The very magic that had saved his life, and had later provided him with a new body, kept the blood in his veins running cold, kept his skin almost like marble to the touch, and only she could return some of that lost warmth.

No spell, no charm, no potion, could give him what she could. Not even fire could chase the cold away, yet the lightest touch from this woman could affect him entirely, mind and body. She breathed back some of the life he had lost, while she took his coldness with her.

Her breath was warm against his neck, and he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling. Her hands moved down his chest and she shivered, as if she enjoyed the touch of his cold skin as much as he enjoyed her warmth. When he could take no more he moved, pulling her closer, a mere thought making his robes disappear, so he could feel her entire body against him, skin to skin.

He was hard, he had been hard since that first touch of warmth, but now, with her so close, it was almost unbearable. His long fingers wrapped around her thighs and pulled her hips closer, lifting her up enough to align their bodies and push inside her.

It wasn't easy to remain silent, to hide what she made him feel. Her body was so hot around him it almost felt as if she were burning him with just a touch, but it wasn't too much, it was never too much. He felt the warmth spread through his body, and felt himself grow harder inside her.

She moaned into his ear, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance as she started moving above him, leaning forward at the same time, keeping as much contact between them as she could. He tilted his head to the side running his lips down her neck, feeling the warmth emanating from her body, the blood running hot through her veins, and her moans grew louder when she felt his teeth on her throat, just teasing at first, but then pressing harder, deeper.

As the skin broke a small drop of blood rolled down the white column of her throat, and he caught it with his thin lips. Then a second one followed, and he hissed at the taste, at the way it felt against his tongue, his lips, thick and burning. But it only lasted a second, and soon it grew cold in his mouth, and he needed more.

She groaned as she felt his teeth on her neck again, biting hard, and her hands moved to the back of his head, pulling him closer. She didn't understand why he did this, why he wanted her blood running down his face, why he loved to cut her skin, to feel her blood covering every inch of him, making him feel as if he were burning.

She was proud of her blood, she thought it was its pureness that attracted him. She thought what he did was because she was a pureblood, the best the Wizarding world could produce. It had nothing to do with that, of course. It wasn't the magic that ran in her blood, the centuries of tradition, the power of the Black family that he craved. It was just the warmth from her body he wanted, and nothing more. He would tell her, perhaps, one day. He would love to watch the anger flash in her eyes, igniting that spark of madness, when she found out the real reasons why he sought her out. But not yet, not while he needed her, not while he was cold, and she was the only one that could make it stop, even for a few moments.

Instead, he focused on her touch once more, on her body tightening around his erection as he licked the wound on her neck, trying to draw more blood out. A whispered word did what his teeth would take too long to achieve, and soon her blood was running down her neck, its warmth touching his lips, his chin, his chest. It wasn't the sound of her groans as she came, or her body spamming around his erection that drove him to the edge and over, it was her blood, running down his face or still inside her, heating every other part of him, that did it, as it always happened.

She took a moment to catch her breath and then moved off him, knowing better than to stay any longer. He cleaned himself and willed his robed back on, watching her as she dressed. She ran her fingers through the wound on her neck and then took them into her mouth, perhaps wondering what it was he tasted in her blood. He remained sitting, in same position as when she had walked into his chambers, and waited in silence until she healed her neck and walked out of the room without a word.

His body was cold again, her warmth barely a distant memory after merely minutes, and he cursed the price he had to pay for staying alive. He would call for her again, when the cold became too much for him to bear, and she would grant him momentary relief, and his life would go on that way, as it had for years now, because she was his weakness. That warmth was the one thing he needed above all, and she was the only one that could provide it.