No one, she doesn't want a lover, just to be Voldemort breeder

Rose stare at the dark Lord. She manage a small smile despite the turmoil within her. "No one, my lord. I don't want a lover. Just to be your breeder. To carry your heirs and watch your army grow from my own flesh. My purpose is to serve you."

She let the words hang in the air, each one a heavier chain around her soul. Every syllable was a betrayal of the boy she once was, a sacrifice to the god of fear before her. She could feel the weight of the life growing inside her, a tangible manifestation of her failure. The thought of all of them, of them, was a strange, churning mixture of horror and a terrifying, blossoming pride. They were his. And she was the vessel.

Voldemort's laughter was a dry, rustling sound, like ancient parchment being torn. "Ah, Harry. You learn your lessons well. Better than even I had anticipated." He rose from his throne-like chair, the black robes whispering against the stone floor. "You say you want no lover, but that is not entirely true. You will have a mate. For protection, for discipline, and to remind you of your place when your Gryffindor spirit attempts to resurface."

He stopped before her, so close that she could feel the unnatural cold radiating from him. He grip her arm staring at her belly. A strange hunger in his red eyes.

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