This collection is written for the "Minor Character Bootcamp" challenge, along with the "Fifty Shades of…" challenge. Enjoy.

Velvet

It was a hair past noon on the 13th of November, 1959 when the Lestrange family was graced with another child. A beautiful baby boy with tan, flawless skin, a head of thick black hair and clear grey-blue eyes that would later darken into a deep forest green. Ophelia Lestrange, the child's mother, had sweat beads across her forehead, but reached out her frail arms to her child. The mediwitch placed him in her arms and she cooed, rubbing her thumb across the child's smooth forehead.

"He is not crying," she observed quietly, gazing into her child's eyes. Her eyes were the eyes that he would later inherit; he would wind up looking more like his mother than his father. His mother was tall and thin with the black hair and forest green eyes, and quite beautiful; his father was short and stocky, with brown hair and deep brown eyes, more burly than handsome. The baby's brother, Rodolphus, would wind up looking almost identical to the father. He would even one day have the twin snake and skull tattoo that his father did. Both of them would, in fact.

"Yes, er, sometimes they don't, Madam," the mediwitch stammered, severing the cord joining mother and son and cleaning up the baby with a few non verbal spells. The mother snapped her eyes to the mediwitch.

"Did you just use magic on my child?" her previously soft voice hardened as she stared at the mediwitch. The mediwitch was young, experienced, but obviously had not made too many house calls to purebloods; more likely than not, the woman was not pureblood, and had no idea how to interact with them, based on the shaking and stammering.

"Y-yes, madam, it's what we typically do-"

"I want you to leave." Madam Lestrange stared at her, her voice quiet, yet deadly. The mediwitch could hear the threat underlying her voice, and quickly stood up and swished her wand to collect her things; instead, the table next to the new mother blew up. Shielding her child with her hand, she calmly pulled her wand up from the space next to her with her other hand. Keeping one hand on the child's head, still stroking the smooth skin with her thumb, she pointed the wand at the mediwitch. "Avada kedavra." the room lit up in a bright green light. She put the wand down, turning her attention to the child in her arms.

"You will understand one day, little one," she whispered, smiling at her child. "Rabastan. Rabastan Acelin Lestrange. You will achieve great things one day." the child never took his gaze off of his mother throughout the entire ordeal, and her thumb never left the feel of his forehead; it was like velvet.

And that was how they were found when Rodolphus Lestrange entered the room hours later after his shift at the ministry; the dead body of the mediwitch near the doorway, and his wife lying in the bed, mesmerized by the feel of her son's forehead, murmuring a word to herself repeatedly.

"It's like velvet," she muttered to her husband, smiling at him. It was then, really, that they should've predicted her mental decline; he realized that she was saying "velvet" over, and over again.