Knowing, a harry potter fanfic

-Read and Review. Skim and Review. Don't read but review. I'm not picky.

From the moment he set foot in Hogwarts School, Rodolphus knew he was going to be great. He was a Lestrange after all. His father was one of the first friends of the greatest wizard of all time. His mother was a Cromwell, a family which was synonymous with greatness to anyone in the magical world who knew what they were talking about. Why, with all that powerful magical lineage-shouldn't he be great as well?

It was no surprise when he was sorted into Slytherin. Every member of his family had been one before him. It was both expected and an honor to be chosen to be a member of the same noble house as his forbearers had. In Rodolphus' young mind, his sorting validated his own sense of self-worth. He was special. He was powerful. He was feared. Fear. That above all he craved. He was feared, it even tasted sweet on his tongue. Rodolphus could see it in their eyes, even as he walked to his seat. He could recognize it, even if they didn't even know it yet. They feared him. They could feel his power. They could feel his determination. Even that crazy old man his father hated at the staff table lost that twinkle in his eyes as when he looked at him. And when Roldolphus Lestrange sat down at the Slytherin house table, he knew he had never felt more at home.

It was a blessing that his cousins were there for him to lean on. He, Vladimir, and Gulliver had never got on much as children, but now that they were at school, it was nice to have a familiar face or two to talk to. Daniel Yaxley was an unbearable lout and Amycus Carrow was even worse. No, he was glad to have his cousins by his side. With them, he was strong. With them he ruled over his peers. When they cowered he laughed, when they flinched, he scorned them, but when they forgot to be afraid of him, (as they only sometimes did), they had to be punished. It wasn't through any fault of his. It was just how it was.

From the moment he saw her, Rodolphus knew she was going to be great. He had met her a time or two at some ball or tea (he couldn't be bothered to recall which), and he had noticed her then. But now when he saw her standing in the front of the tiny cluster of first years, holding her head like a princess, refusing to be afraid, refusing to be anything but the blue-blooded noble she was born to be-he knew he had found his queen. It didn't matter that she was little more then a baby-two whole years younger then he was. It didn't matter that he was going with Cynthia Rook. They were ment to be together. He knew it. It was just a matter of getting her to know it too.

He didn't know when he fell in love with her. It just happened. One moment she was standing there, one of his closest friends, drenched in mud from the Quidditch field and grinning in the deliciously mischievous way only Bella knew how, and the next moment she was the only woman he could ever find beautiful. And it killed him. Because for all his planning, for all his scheming, for all his knowing that they would be together-he had never planned on actually falling for her. Such a thing was unthinkable. Such things did not happen in his perfect pure-blood world. And now, if he should fail…it would hurt. And he wasn't strong enough to face that possibility.

When Bella agreed to go to Hogsmede with him, it was the best moment of his life. Until she agreed to let him kiss her that is. Some guys, he mused, as he pressed his lips to hers, would find her regal coldness off putting-but not him. He grinned as she bit his lip and deepened the kiss. No, he didn't find it off putting at all.

"I love you, Bella." There, he had said it. In the dark, cold midnight hair, on the top of the Astronomy building, he had said it. The wind was so loud that he half hoped it had swept his words away, before they reached her delicate ears. He said it, even though he knew there were others. She was a Black-she was insatiable. He knew that she was no longer a pure little angel, like all good pure-blooded girls were supposed to be. No. She was wicked, she was wild, she was Bella. And that was why he loved her. So when he whispered that he loved her-he ment it. And when she smiled at him-that deliciously mischievous smile that he loved-and pulled him in for a kiss, his heart filled with so much warmth and love and happiness, that he almost didn't notice that she never said it back. Almost.

When his father told Rodolphus that he was to marry Bellatrix Black, he tried not to let his happiness show on his face. Instead he nodded solemnly like he was supposed to and inquired as to when the ceremony was to take place. When he found out that it wouldn't be until Bella graduated Hogwarts, he tried to ignore the sinking of his heart. He had waited years for Bella to be his-truly his-he could wait a few more months.

Gulliver brought him to his first meeting. Rodolphus knew that Gulliver was a member of a secret club-had been for some time-and he knew, whatever it was, that Vladimir disapproved. Too messy. His refined cousin had sniffed whenever Rodolphus had broached the subject with him. But Gulliver was insistent and persuasive. You are a powerful wizard of noble blood…our side could use more wizards like you cousin….Don't you want to be part of a revolution for the betterment of wizard kind?

Rodolphus knew his father was a member of that dark and secret society, but, for some reason, never felt comfortable talking to him about the possibility of attending meetings. But he went anyway. He saw their leader. The tall, thin, pale man with thick, dark hair and blood-shot eyes. He left the meeting. He wasn't sure. But something from his younger days, before his all consuming love had drowned him, the desire to be feared, to have power over life and death, called to him. Moved him in a way that nothing but Bella had in a long time. Heady with this surge of greed, he took the Mark. And regretted it every day since.

Bella should have been happy on their wedding day. Weren't all girls supposed to be? He was. It was the happiest day of his life. He was happier then when she had let him kiss her; happier then when she allowed him to hold her hand in public, happier then when he had told her he loved her and she hadn't hexed him. All of those days paled in comparison to his wedding day. Rodolphus had dreamed of her surrounded by their children, kissing him when he got home from work. When she walked up the aisle, stiff backed, face drawn, he convinced himself that she was just nervous. When she stood beside him on the alter, he swore she was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. When he said his vows, he ment them. And as they walked out of the Church, arm and arm, man and wife, he realized that he had finally won his Queen. He was finally victorious. So why, he asked himself, as he stared into his bride's dull grey eyes, didn't it feel like one?

He had never wanted this for her. Rodolphus stared at the back of his wife's head as she knelt before the Dark Lord. He had never envisioned this path for her. He had seen her with children and house-elves and a manor to call their own, not joining him in this dark underground of malice. He had wanted to protect her from this, shield her from this side of him. But then, he thought, as the dull glow from the many illuminated wands lit his wife's delighted face, when had he ever been able to protect anyone from anything. Even themselves.

From the moment he saw them together he knew Rodolphus had been deceived. The Dark Lord could never love anyone-this much he was sure of. But he was still a man, however much he didn't look like one, and Bella was beautiful. The Dark Lord had wanted her, and so the Dark Lord had taken her. And Bella had not protested. Because one thing was certain in all of this- Bella did not love him.

And probably never had.

He remembered the moment she told him she was pregnant. At first he was hesitant to be happy. Was it his? And when she had answered in the affirmative, sullenly, he knew she told him the truth. It was a moment for him-a proud moment all his own. For the Dark Lord could not take this from him. This child would just be his and Bella's, and nothing could change that. Nothing.

From the moment he saw her he knew she was perfect. Cassiopeia was her mother's daughter- a true Black princess. But she had his chin and for that tiny detail, he loved her best. For she was his. Something tiny and warm and wonderful to call his own. He cared for her (because Lord knows Bella wanted nothing to do with her), and he finally knew what it ment to love something with everything you had.

He thought he had suffered before. He thought he had died a little every time Bella told him the Dark Lord needed her for a 'special mission'. He thought his heart had cracked in two when Bella had screamed that she never loved him, never. He thought he knew pain. He had suffered the Cruciatus Curse on more then one occasion. But that was nothing compared to this. She was dead, gone. His little Cassie, his little angel, was no longer in this world. He had failed her; he had failed his precious treasure, his living proof that Bella felt something for him once. Never again would her big grey eyes stare up at him with a mixture of curiosity and mischievousness in their depths. Never again would he hear her cry "Daddy", the first word that she had ever uttered. Never again would he hear the pitter patter of her little feet, or feel the warm pressure of her tiny arms around his knees, or feel the light brush of her eyelashes when she gave him butter-fly kisses before she let him tuck her in.

And as he stood at the foot of her fresh grave beside his wife, he was overcome with the need for Bella to just feel something. He reached for her hand, but with and irritated huff she shook him off. "Oh, Rod, get over it." She snapped, before turning on her heel and walking away. But for once-he didn't listen to Bella.

Her ruthlessness disturbed him. He loved blood and power and the screams of the dirty, but not like she did. There was something manic in his wife's eyes when she killed. It wasn't just that she enjoyed the act of purifying the wizard race. No, she enjoyed inflicting pain. She enjoyed the actual act of killing. Rodolphus loved the feeling of fear that permeated the air whenever he was around, but he never got off on the actual killing. Not like she did anyway.

From the moment she told him her plan-Rodolphus knew they were finished. It was insane down to the last detail. It couldn't possibly work. Nothing Bella said made any sense. How would Alice and Frank Longbottom possibly know where the Dark Lord was hiding? But Rodolphus had long since stopped caring if Bella made sense. She was his wife. He loved her. She was Cassie's mother. He loved Cassie. Cassie loved Bella. The Dark Lord was gone. And maybe, just maybe, if he tried to help Bella in every way she asked, his queen would finally recognize her prince, and allow him to rescue her from herself.