Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 5
Team: Wimbourne Wasps
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: (Multi-verse Dimension) Write a story about a character meeting his/her doppelganger from another universe.
Optional Prompts:
14. [Word] Sarcasm
2. [Object] Portkey
8. [Dialogue] "Love is one long dream… and marriage is the alarm clock."
12. [Last Line] Gladly, I succumbed.
15. [Color] Black
Rodolphus kicks a shard of glass out of his way, scowling at the broken prophecy. This mission is turning out to be a failure, and he can only hope the Dark Lord won't punish him badly. If only that Unspeakable dolt had known a little more. The Dark Lord wanted better weapons—the bloody Order of Phoenix was becoming more than a pest, what with people like the Potters and Longbottoms joining.
Rodolphus turns around a corner and immediately shields his eyes, squinting through a glaringly bright glow. Silver light ripples off an object sitting on a shelf in waves. He brandishes his wand as he approaches the object.
A mirror framed in black steel sits at the center of the light. The glass is riddled with dust with only faint glimmers of a reflective surface. As he peers at the mirror, a flash of black curls appears in the glass.
Bellatrix.
Rodolphus inhales sharply. The Department of Mysteries holds many bizarre creations—this must be one of them. Still, he feels like he needs to touch it, needs to know. Something is calling, something is crying out, waiting for his touch.
He lifts his hand, his fingers wavering. The moment his skin grazes the glass, he is jolted by a sharp tug on his navel. The world starts to spin around, a blur of broken glass and shelves and darkness. A Portkey, Rodolphus realizes, fingers clammy around his wand.
The world around him rearranges into a setting that seems almost familiar. He sees the Lestrange family tree, the grey walls of Lestrange Manor.
Rodolphus manages to land somewhat gracefully as the Portkey drops him into his new location. Why would a Portkey to Lestrange Manor be in the Department of Mysteries? he wonders, teeth worrying at his lip. The mirror lies at his feet, still glowing. His brows furrow when he catches sight of the row of pictures adorning the hallway.
There's a photograph of his wedding day. It's fixed in the same place on the wall, in the same gilded frame. It shows the same people, the same venue. Only something strikes him to be different.
The Bellatrix in the photo is wearing a grey dress. And she's looking at Rodolphus, looking at him in a way she's never done before. It almost seems like she's smiling—no, it isn't the sadistic smile that usually tugs on her lips, but it's a smile that looks like she cares.
Bellatrix hadn't worn grey for their wedding. She'd worn black, as she always did—it is her favorite color.
Bellatrix hadn't smiled. Her face had carried the same haughty expression it always did.
Bellatrix hadn't cared.
Rodolphus pulls his eyes away from the smiling Bellatrix and scans the rest of the photos. Each one tugs at his heart, with every Bellatrix wearing grey, with every Bellatrix smiling, with every Bellatrix caring.
Rodolphus clenches his fingers into a fist. When he releases them, his palms are peppered with pale crescents. Suddenly, he hears voices coming down the hall, accompanied with soft steps.
"Well, that was an eventful meeting," a low and gravelly voice mutters with sarcasm, chuckling. Rodolphus sucks in a breath. That's his voice.
"I'll never forget the sight of Yaxley begging for mercy," says a high-pitched voice. Bellatrix.
She'd called him—whoever this person with Rodolphus's voice was—love.
Bellatrix loved someone.
Rodolphus draws in a shaky breath, standing still as the footsteps approach. He hears the swish of robes, coming closer and closer and closer until suddenly he sees himself.
Rodolphus rubs his eyes. Surely this must be an illusion. Only it's not. There's Rodolphus, standing before him with his wand pointed at him. There's Rodolphus, a living, breathing copy of himself.
And there's Bellatrix, dressed in grey robes. Grey, of all colors.
"Who the hell are you?" the other Rodolphus growls.
"I'm… you," Rodolphus whispers, eyes roving over his doppelganger. He had the same blue eyes, the same chocolate brown hair. But unlike Rodolphus, his lips showed no sign of a perpetual frown.
Bellatrix points her wand at the mirror and whispers, "Wingardium Leviosa." The mirror rises in a slow glide, drifting towards them. The glow bathes all of their faces in silver light, and Rodolphus finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from Bellatrix.
"Look, Rod. It says something on the back." Bellatrix squints, brushing a black ringlet out of her face as she reads. "I show only yourself." She releases the mirror, letting it drop to the floor softly. She purses her lips as she turns her eyes towards Rodolphus. "So you're from… what, an alternate dimension? Where did you find this?"
"In… in the Department of Mysteries," Rodolphus says. And then the words tumble out of his mouth. "You're wearing grey."
Bellatrix furrows her brows and turns to her husband. "Your twin is quite stupid, love."
There it is again. Love. "You never wear grey," Rodolphus mumbles.
"She always wears grey," Rod says, a bemused frown tugging at his lips.
"And… and you love him?" Rodolphus asks.
"Of course," Bellatrix responds, interlacing her fingers with her husband's. She lifts her chin and glares at Rodolphus.
"But you love black. You don't like grey. You don't love him," Rodolphus says, his voice rising. His heart thuds. "You can't love him."
"You do not get to tell me who I love or don't love," Bellatrix hisses, her black eyes glinting. "Crucio!"
Rodolphus falls to the ground as agony washes over him. His limbs feel like they're on fire, his bones like they're being cracked, his skin like it's being poked with needles. But nothing is more painful than knowing that in this world, Bellatrix loves Rodolphus.
He sees the mirror beside him and, groaning, he drags himself over. As the other-Bellatrix shouts the next Crucio, his fingers latch on to the mirror.
And then he's spinning, Lestrange Manor turning into slashes of grey and shifting into the blue-black of the Department of Mysteries. Rodolphus lands with a thud. His body aches.
He scrambles to his feet, pressing his back against a shelf as he glares at the mirror. He drags in a breath and closes his eyes, wishing he had never seen that possibility.
Rodolphus takes another breath then pushes himself off the shelf. Fingers clenched around his wand, he Apparates with a pop.
Lestrange Manor appears around him. There's Bellatrix, in her black wedding dress, with her haughty face. No grey.
He turns the corner and comes face to face with Bellatrix in her not-grey robes. Rodolphus meets his wife's eyes hesitantly. His heart beats like a drum. "Was there ever a chance for us?"
Bellatrix furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"
"Did you ever love me?" He hopes, wants—no, he needs her to say yes. He remembers the other-Bellatrix calling the other-Rodolphus love. He remembers the grey wedding dress. He remembers how the other-Bellatrix cared.
Bellatrix's eyes become steely. "No." A soft cackle escapes her lips as she takes in the way his face crumples. Then she turns around and leaves her husband behind, just as she always does.
Rodolphus sucks in a breath. And then he reminds himself; he knew. He knew what she was going to say, knew that there was never a chance, knew that he and the Dark Lord held very different places in his wife's heart. Black is the color she's always loved, and he isn't dark enough for her.
But he had still hoped.
He remembers what his father had said, all those years ago, as they sat in his office. Rodolphus had just proposed, and his heart was still drunk on the feeling of hearing Bellatrix say yes.
"We'll be married this June,̈" Rodolphus said, leaning forward. He already had the wedding planned out in his head; Bellatrix would, of course, be wearing black even though he rather liked grey—that was what she would want.
His father sipped his red wine, fingers gripping his glass tightly. He swallowed and then closed his eyes. "Do you love her?"
Rodolphus stared at him, eyes wide. "Of course."
Corvus sighed and lifted his glass to his lips again. "And does she love you?"
Rodolphus hesitated, chewing on his lip. Bellatrix has never said the words; not yet, Rodolphus told himself. But she would. He knew she would. So he swallowed his doubts and said, "Yes."
Corvus regarded his son with a look that hinted at pity. There was a sad glimmer in his eyes as he set down his glass—the look of a man resigned, a man who knew all too well what hopes and dreams could do to a person. "Love is one long dream… and marriage is the alarm clock."
"It won't be like that with us," Rodolphus muttered. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince—his father or himself.
Corvus merely nodded, but his mouth remained in a contemplative frown.
Rodolphus had been right. It hadn't been like that.
They never had the dream.
No, all they had was a woman who loved black and a man who could never be more than grey.
Yet every night, as Rodolphus and Bellatrix head into different bedrooms, as they pull up different covers, as they turn off different lights, Rodolphus closes his eyes and hopes and hopes and hopes.
Dreams of a world where his wife loves grey, a world where love isn't a wish but a reality, wash over his mind. They come in waves that soothe his heart one second and stab it the next.
The pain is horrible, yes, but the comfort is worth it.
Gladly, he succumbs.