It is night when Rodolphus Lestrange dies. It is night and he is in Azkaban. No one sits at his death bed, but he is not upset. Time has killed off the few people that he has loved and the fewer people that have loved him. He knows he deserves this, to die alone in a reeking prison cell, after everything he has done. It is night, and as the last bits of life are drained from him, he is reminded of seven other nights. The only ones, he thinks, that ever mattered.

i. April 18, 1967, 1:05 am

Rodolphus could feel cold sweat clinging to him as he snuck through the halls of Hogwarts. It was hard to believe that after seven years at this place, he had never been outside his dorm at night, but he could now see it was with good reason. Rodolphus wasn't a Gryffindor, and had no delusions of being one, so he would be the first to admit that he was scared out of his mind.

"Just don't get caught… don't get caught… don't get caught…" he whispered to himself. When he got his hands on his brother…

"Going somewhere?" The girl's tone was smug, the voice of predator who had cornered her prey. It was vindictive, ruthless, cruel, and yet somehow extremely attractive.

Rodolphus spun around to the face of a familiar looking girl, black curls springing wildly from her head and a look of malicious glee dancing in the black depths of her eyes.

"Um…" he began, "To the boys' dormitories. I was just, er, on my way…"

She sighed, excitement turning to boredom with a blink of an eye, "And where were you before then?" Before he could answer, she continued, "Well you and your girlfriend are just going to have to meet up during free period like the rest of us, unless you want this conversation to take place a second time. And believe me; I will be much less pleasant than I am now."

Rodolphus glared at her. Who did this girl think she was? Besides very, very attractive— which she was—but that was hardly enough to make up for a girl his own age, probably younger, talking down to him. "I don't have a girlfriend!" he said indignantly, and glared as she raised her eyebrows, "Well… I mean... my brother… he set me up with this girl at Hogsmeade but she never showed up and… Well anyway, you're one to talk. You're out in the halls as well!"

She pointed to a silver badge on her chest, "Prefect," she grunted, "Dunno why anyone thought that making me one was good idea… following rules isn't exactly my style. The different houses and years are supposed to take turns patrolling the halls at night. I'm actually supposed to be patrolling with the male Slytherin prefect in my year, but Malfoy and I decided that we would have to do even less of this not particularly enjoyable task if we just took turns doing it ourselves."

The fact that she was a prefect and prefects were allowed to give out detentions did nothing to quell the nervousness gnawing its way through Rodolphus' stomach, but something had surprised him.

"You were supposed to be patrolling with Malfoy? You're a seventh year?" she nodded in bemusement, "But I'm a seventh year! And a Slytherin! Why don't I know who you are?"

"You don't know who I am?" she indignantly, "But—but—I'm Bellatrix Black, the eldest daughter of one of the wealthiest and most influential pureblood—"

"Well you don't know who I am, do you?" Rodolphus said crossly to Bellatrix.

"Er… it's a foreign name, right?" For the first time since he had met her, Bellatrix seemed flustered, "La Bizarre or something?"

"Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange," he extended his hand to her, hoping to distract her from the fact that she was supposed to be getting him in trouble.

She took it, "Black. Bellatrix Black. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you but I don't make a habit of lying."

Rodolphus started to walk away, "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Probably," she sighed, "We have had every class together since we were eleven, though that never stopped us from not noticing each other before," she started to walk down the hall, but called over her shoulder, "And don't think I've forgotten that you're supposed to be in trouble; I just don't underestimate the value of good blackmailing material."

When he was seventeen, Rodolphus Lestrange fell in love (the feeling was not mutual).

ii. August 1, 1969, 11:32 pm

That night had been a flurry of emotion and confusion for Rodolphus, and he wasn't particularly sure what was going on. What he did know was that his parents had been trying to get him to marry ever since he'd graduated from Hogwarts ("Someone pureblood and respectable," they liked to tell him, as if he needed to be reminded) and had persuaded him to come meet this really, really nice girl that you'll just love and there's some sisters too for your brother and maybe we should bring along a few marriage certificates just in case you really hit it off.

Of course, Rodolphus hadn't counted on the "really, really nice girl" being Bellatrix Black or on one of her sisters apparently deciding that night that she had really had enough of meeting pureblood boys and running off with a Mudblood. This had left the Lestranges in an awkward position. The Blacks had not wanted to be rude and tell their guests to leave and the Lestranges thought it would be rude to leave before they were asked to, so Rodolphus' mother, who had gone to Hogwarts with Druella Black, was left to comfort the rather hysterical woman and her sobs of "What did I do wrong with her?" while Cygnus Black went to officially write Andromeda out of his will and the Lestrange men sat awkwardly in the sitting room.

Rodolphus stood up, "I'm just gonna walk around a bit," he announced to the room, which was not listening," Just going to stretch my legs…" he looked up at decapitated heads of House Elves hanging from the wall; the Blacks were strange people, "Yeah, I'll be going."

Black Manor was a big place, as the Blacks were extremely rich, so Rodolphus didn't think that he was running the risk of actually running in to anybody. He was wrong.

The second time he met Bellatrix Black late at night, it was in much different circumstances than the first. For one, the first time Rodolphus had been scared out of his wits and Bellatrix had been sarcastic and imposing, not… not like she was now.

"What?" said the blotchy faced girl who wasn't Bellatrix because Bellatrix would never have to wipe away drops of water that looked suspiciously like tears from under her eyes like this girl was now.

"I… er… you alright?" stuttered Rodolphus, eloquently as always.

"Fine," she said, "Just… fine."

"Oh…" he said, and turned to leave, "Alright then, sorry to bother you."

"Oh get back here, you moron," she snapped, "You're supposed to make me feel better, idiot."

"Oh. Okay. Er… so your sister's a blood traitor… that's… that's unfortunate."

"She's not my sister anymore," the girl sniffed, "not now that she's been associating with that scum."

"She's still your sister," Rodolphus found himself arguing, "Or at least she was, and that's got to count for something."

He was aware that this was probably not going to make her feel any better, but the idea of just tossing aside a family member, someone you had grown up with, made him feel a little sick.

"Maybe, I don't know," Bellatrix admitted, "She… she was a good sister. The best, really. She was a year younger than me but we may as well have been twins. I never thought that she wasn't… wasn't right."

And then she started crying, Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black was crying, "I never really cared for any of my friends," she sobbed, "And Father's so distant, and Mother's so shallow, and Cissy's… just Cissy—Andromeda was the only one who I ever actually cared about and now she's gone, might as well be dead. Better that way, really."

There was crying and Rodolphus found himself whispering it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay… and then he was leaning over and pressing her lips into his and his eyes closed and for a moment everything felt completely and utterly right.

When he was nineteen, Rodolphus Lestrange kissed a girl (it was his first time).

iii. March 13, 1970, 11:53 pm

"Come on!" Bellatrix shouted to the boy in the next room, "Honestly, how long do you take in the bathroom?"

"Forever," his brother laughed, "This one time, I just need to brush my teeth, but I had to wait an hour before he'd finished—"

"I'm coming!" he wiped the sweat off his forehead before leaving. Oh dear Merlin what am I doing?

"Well hurry up," said Bellatrix as Rodolphus glared at Rabastan, "I am not going to be late for this; I'm going to make a good impression if it kills me."

"Fine, fine, sorry," said Rodolphus, "I just… Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course," she said with a roll of her eyes, "So are you coming or not?"

"I'm coming," he said, trying to sound sure of himself.

"Good. So, the place is Borgin and Burke's," said Bellatrix.

"Classy," said Rabastan.

Bellatrix ignored him, "You can both Apparate, I assume?"

"'Course."

"Great, let's go," she waved her wand, and she was gone, Rabastan following shortly after.

For a moment, Rodolphus thought about staying. But like four years earlier, he had no delusions of being brave, so with a crack, he Apparated after them.

When he was twenty, Rodolphus Lestrange became a Death Eater (he wasn't sure if it was right).

iv. September 11, 1973, 2:03 am

After several years of waking up every few nights from the stab of pain in his forearm, Rodolphus had become something of an insomniac. Now, as the Dark Lord's assent to power took up a more rapid pace than ever, Rodolphus had begun to see more and more of the dark circles under his colleagues' eyes that he had grown so used to seeing in the mirror.

That night, there was no pain, no call to do the Dark Lord's bidding, but the eldest Lestrange twin found himself awake, pacing the streets of Diagon Alley, peering through the dark windows of empty shops for lack of anything better to do. He noticed a dark figure in the distance, as he so often did, and waved to her.

"Hello," he said and fell into pace with Bellatrix.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked disinterestedly.

"Do I ever?" She shrugged and walked in silence.

"I heard your sister's getting married."

"She is," she said again, her bored face looking the tiniest bit forced.

"And your opinion on that?"

She shrugged, "I expected it, I guess."

Something was wrong, something Rodolphus could not quite place, "Are you jealous?"

"Of her?" she snorted, "Hardly. I just expected… you know my family is old fashioned, I thought that I would be the first one to get married, not the last," she smiled," It's a relief though, to be honest, though Mother and Father are bound to get on my back about getting settled down eventually."

The two walked in silence, but there was an unspoken question that hung between them.

"I wish he would call me tonight," she breathed into the night air, but Rodolphus couldn't bring himself to listen to the words she was saying; he didn't want to know, he just wanted to watch the wistfulness in her dark eyes, just wanted to kiss her again like he had four years ago… "I want to see him again, I want to do what he wishes; I want to kill… I want to make people hurt…"

He didn't listen. He couldn't listen, not without realizing exactly who he was falling in love with.

"Shh," he said and kissed her softly.

"Do you love anyone?" he asked.

"Yes."

He didn't ask who; he didn't want to know, "Will you marry me?"

She said yes, and Rodolphus hoped that that was answer enough to the question he hadn't asked.

When he was twenty three, Rodolphus Lestrange got married (he was the only one who wore the ring).

v. November 4, 1981, 12:23 am

There was something in his wife's eyes that terrified Rodolphus a bit, an anger, an unspeakable volume of hatred and desperation that had been there ever since they had heard about the Dark Lord's downfall. It bordered on madness and that was what frightened him most of all. There were a lot of things that one could say about Bellatrix, but until today, insane had never been one of them.

There weren't many of them left now, most of the Death Eaters had been rounded up and put in Azkaban. Rodolphus had heard that a few of the others had managed to evade prison with stories of the Imperius Curse and a few coins placed in the right pockets, but as one of the Dark Lord's most faithful, he knew that wasn't an option for him and his wife.

They were in hiding now, at Rodolphus' urging, in a small country home that he had inherited after his father's death. Rabastan was with them as well and now sat leaning into the fireplace, rubbing his hands together; although it was not cold in the small house, just looking outside at the pouring icy rain made one tempted to stand by the flames and soak in their warmth.

Bellatrix seemed to have no such temptations, she paced restlessly by the raindrop soaked windows and the anger in her eyes had more heat than a thousand fireplaces. Rodolphus knew that he wouldn't be able to convince her to stay here much longer— it had been a miracle that he had managed to stop her from running rampant, killing every member of the Order she could get her hands on in the first place—no, soon enough she would leave to seek her revenge.

There was a sharp crack and a familiar looking young man stood in the middle of the room.

"Bellatrix!" Rodolphus said sharply, "You said that you put wards on this place!"

The witch smirked and twirled her wand around with her slim fingers, "Trust me, if the Aurors come here, I won't be complaining. It's been so long…" she gazed the wand longingly.

Rodolphus sighed, "What are you doing here, Barty?"

The younger wizard smiled slimily, "I've looked everywhere for you. I need help and I knew Bellatrix would be eager to give it…"

"Help with what?" Bellatrix asked excitedly.

"Word has it, the Aurors and Order members, Alice and Frank Longbottom, are staying at a house in Cornwall; here, I have the address…"

And Barty gave some half reason why they should go find the Longbottoms, but Rodolphus need only see the hungry look in the man's eye and way that Bellatrix's fingers twitched toward her wand to know the real reason, the raw sadistic need for revenge, and a nauseating feeling overtook him, especially as he remembered that the Longbottoms had a child, a little boy only about a year old. And he wanted to speak out, to find a way to stop it somehow, and maybe he would have, maybe he would have let whatever pieces of Gryffindor he had come out, but Bellatrix just looked so happy and when he opened his mouth, no words came.

When he was thirty one, Rodolphus Lestrange watched as his wife tortured a little boy's parents into insanity (he would never forgive himself).

vi. February 3, 1996, 3:11 am

There was a silence between Rodolphus and the woman who lay in bed beside him. Azkaban had left its scars on them both; Rodolphus had become more nervous than before and had taken to laying down for long periods of time, staring blankly at the wall and Bellatrix's dark eyes had been deprived of the wholeness that sanity brings. Of course, Rodolphus supposed he was a bit insane too; one didn't spend fourteen years in Azkaban and emerge unscathed.

Rodolphus coughed loudly, hoping to fill the silence. Bellatrix continued to feign sleep, but her breaths were uneven and soft, and Rodolphus wasn't fooled.

"I know you're awake."

"Hmmph," she said, and rolled onto her side.

"It's so strange," he said, half to himself and half to part of him that liked to pretend that Bellatrix was actually listening, "Sometimes I wake up and think I'm still there. I can feel them with me, even though I know they're gone," he didn't need to say who they were; the Dementors were part of them now, of everyone who had been to Azkaban, and they would never leave them.

"The Dark Lord says that the Dementors are on our side," Bellatrix mumbled into her pillow sleepily.

Somehow, Rodolphus wasn't all too surprised.

"When did he tell you that?" he asked.

She smiled almost dreamily, an expression that would better suit a lovesick schoolgirl than his wife, "He tells me things," she said proudly, "He says that I'm his most loyal, his favorite follower." And the smile on her face made Rodolphus feel a little bit sick.

"That's… nice," he forced himself to say, because he couldn't bear to ask the question he wanted to.

"It is," she said and because Rodolphus couldn't take any more of this, he kissed her and there was that unmistakable rightness and Rodolphus would forget his hurt, forget how he felt, but between the kisses, Bellatrix whispered, "My Lord…" and in those two words, there was a wish, a hidden fantasy revealed, and an answer to a question that no one had ever asked.

Rodolphus pretended not to hear, but he did.

When Rodolphus Lestrange was forty two, his heart was broken (it had been before; he'd just never realized).

May 2, 1998 12:53 am

It was the Battle of Hogwarts and the world had become a confusion of colored lights. Rodolphus moved instinctively, curses rolling off of his tongue without thought. In the distance, between the flashing of spells and the screams of the fallen, he could see Bellatrix, laughing and moving gracefully through the battlefield, as if she was doing some sort of morbid dance. There was a mixture of fascination and disgust as he watched her, a sort of dark curiosity that had defined their entire relationship.

The battle raged on in a blur and somehow Rodolphus found himself standing at what appeared to be the end of it, unharmed. He and his colleagues waited in the forest, listening to the Dark Lord's insistence that Potter would abandon his senses and come to the forest on a suicide mission, and he put his arm around Bellatrix's waist. To onlookers, it would seem like a comforting, romantic gesture but he knew that in the end, all it was was another lie to himself.

Potter came, a Gryffindor in the end, and even though Rodolphus knew it was stupid, he couldn't help but admire the boy. The admiration left as he watched Potter fall dead to the ground.

The Dark Lord fell to the forest's floor as the life left the boy's eyes. Bellatrix took a step toward her master, her eyes lovesick and concerned and Rodolphus couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his wife's arm.

There was an unspoken ultimatum in his eyes, the silent whisper of stand by me, you're my wife, don't go to him.

And for a moment, her dark eyes were lit with the spark of understanding, but it dimmed and she ran to her lord, and again, the question was answered.

In the end, it never mattered, because the Dark Lord was alright, and Potter was really alive. Victory had turned to battle once more and Rodolphus watched Bellatrix take on three young witches nearly effortlessly. The three witches were pushed aside by an angry, plump witch with a murderous look in her brown eyes.

Rodolphus knew that the witch was going to die; she was no match for the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange. He began to resign himself to the plump witch's death, but in Rodolphus was born yet another Gryffindorish impulse, one made of both revenge and a refusal to see any more of this, and as the witch angrily raised her wand, he silently slipped out his own.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, and when the witch shot her curse at Bellatrix, his wife did not retaliate, for she was already dead.

When he was forty four, Rodolphus Lestrange killed his own wife (no one would ever know).