A response to the 31st October Prompt of the Day on the Hogwarts Online forum.
Prompt: "When shall we three meet again?"
I was also inspired by the prompts:
April 21st: "Don't hurry, there is all the time in the world. There always is, if you let there be."
October 25th: "rainy nights"with the extra prompts: "Cant take it any more", "it takes two to tango", "love me for me".
October 29th: "Scared."
Offbeat
The air feels heavy between them, tension – despair – weighing them down with every breath they take. Rodolphus tries to shake it off, but it can't be helped.
Of course it all feels wrong – without their master they're like puppets brutally set free. They ache for their bonds, and crash to the ground.
Rodolphus looks around the room; a cellar in Lestrange Manor, where they retreated to meet up in secret, for they know they are being watched – a brief hideaway. Tiny and dark, the room is clouded with claustrophobia, hopes chained to the ground, choking them when they glance down.
His wife looks like she's burning with fever or possessed by the devil. Maybe both. He glances at his brother again, to find that he has shut up at last, now looking at him with something in his eyes almost akin to expectation.
What do you want me to do? he wants to shout.
He's the one to decide, of course. His brain is the clearest after all.
"But where should we look first?" he murmurs, more to himself than to his family.
Bella stiffens, and his hand slides smoothly towards his wand. She can't be controlled, he reminds himself.
Watch your back. She's losing herself.
But Bella just shakes her head, and starts pacing the room. The sound of her breathing, harsher than usual, makes his heart clench in his chest. Her steps quick, restless, jerky – dancing to a staccato they can't perceive, the hiss of destiny or the voices in her head – her eyes leaping from one side of the room to the other, from one face to another.
They can't handle her – they're not enough to calm her down, he can feel it. One-two-three-one-two-three – dueller extraordinaire, she automatically slides in sync with them, vibrates to the low rhythm of their hearts, and it doesn't fit her. They're rigid in their wordless anguish. She's wild.
One-two-three-one-two-three – a waltz of errant thoughts, its tempo caging her. She's going to break loose; she's like a cornered animal, and soon they will feel her claws. The storm in her chest, the scream building in her throat: he perceives it all, every blink of her eye, every jerk of her fingers. He has to do something. She can't let her shatter them.
We're broken too, my love. You can't take us down, you won't make it alone.
"So when shall we three meet again?" Rabastan asks, before he has time to open his mouth.
Time seems to freeze as she whirls around, her wand high in the air – but he is trained to her fits, and with a flash of red light, her wand flies through the room. One – the sound of wood colliding with the wall, and his sharp intake of breath.
Two-three – in the same breath she's across the room, two long strides and her slender hand gripping his brother's collar.
"Because you think we'll meet again, and spend ages here making plans?" Her voice is two octaves too high, biting and shrill, and he flinches.
He reaches out, and grabs her arm, pulling her back; her thin body collides with his chest.
"We can't wait!" she cries, her nails digging into his restricting arm, "We have to strike, now! You don't understand!"
But he does. He holds her thrashing body as she writhes against him, struggling and then sobbing, and Rabastan turns away, red in the face, scared and embarrassed. He holds her for what feels like centuries, until she's limp as a doll in his arms.
For now, that's all he can do.
Partners
It can't possibly be Aurors – the house won't let anyone but Death Eaters in, or they'll hear the alarms – but all the same they jump when the door is thrown open, and before he can as much as blink an eye, the intruder has three wands pointed right at his chest.
Then he blinks. And starts laughing.
They put their wands down, and stare.
The young boy looks a right mess – but they all do by now. His yellow hair is pointing in every direction and his skin looks a grayish, unhealthy kind of pale, and his lips are white as he laughs his head off. Rodolphus thinks of his father, always eerily perfect in his outfit and demeanour. The irony fails to make him smile. His wife's skirt brushes his leg as she steps forward.
"What are you doing here?" she asks the boy.
He resumes his laughing so abruptly it's almost as if it had been false. All of a sudden his eyes are serious – not quite serious, burning – and he says "What do you think? I'm here to fight."
Rabastan lets out a tiny, nervous giggle. The boy's eyes jump to his face.
"You're just a child," he says. "We don't need – "
"Shut up," Bellatrix snaps.
Rabastan blinks and Rodolphus remains frozen. It is not his place to intervene, he can feel it.
He feels change in the air.
He breathes, slowly, deeply, and the air he inhales feels real. Bellatrix stands just a few steps before him, a slight shiver the only move she makes.
"You only just got the Mark – " Rabastan interjects.
"Shut up."
This time her voice is a growl, and Rabastan flinches. The boy doesn't, he just faces her.
Their eyes have the same fire to them.
Rodolphus hears the slightest hiss as his wife takes a deep breath. He doesn't see her smile, but he sees the boy do so, and somehow he knows that they are perfect reflections. His lips are tilting up, a little at first, then frankly. White teeth showing slightly, he looks like he's going to bite into something.
Bellatrix's laugh surges out of her lips, wild and tameless – it sounds like the scream of an animal, and Rodolphus knows that this boy was what she needed all along.
A snarling laugh, a sadistic glint. Burning insanity to feed her own fire and push her into the fight.
One-two-three-four-one-two-three-four.
Sharply-paced like tango and death rolled into one, their maddened quest can begin.
First strike
It's a rainy night when the hunt begins. They slide in the darkness, among the shadows of the garden – they are shadows themselves, ready to strike, their hearts beating to a pitiless tempo. It usually takes two to tango, but tonight they are four. Maybe it's for the best. Two and two, moving in sync, breath-taking grace – the kind you only see once in your life. They'll see it tonight, Alice and Frank, not two Aurors but two prey. They won't join in the dance, no; they're puppets to be tossed around, until they break, until they talk.
Rodolphus shivers. The magic isn't yet in the air, yet his sense of anticipation is keen. They will burn tonight, oh yes they will.
A beautiful firework, blinding flashes of light, and the Dark Mark, of course. Their last masterstroke.
The alarms of the house are off. Naive Aurors, thinking the war is over.
Well, he ponders, maybe it is. This is no battle. This is unleashing.
Bellatrix moves like a shadow in front of him, gliding smoothly, panther-like – snake-like – but no, nothing can quite compare to her. She is one of a kind, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, born a mere warrior and become death's favourite dance partner.
She is his.
Somehow, in a way, she is.
Her scream is only let out at the very second she strikes, perfect control suddenly breaking into a mad dash of fury, and it's already too late for the Aurors as she leaps into the room, and as a limp puppet Frank falls.
Another scream rings shrill in response, and a woman bolts into the room with her wand held high.
A deadly snap, and the wood is broken, the skin is bleeding. The woman bellows in terror and Bella laughs, laughs, laughs.
Let the fun begin.
Rise and fall
They're broken, long broken. Rodolphus knows it. Rabastan has long retreated outside. They didn't know, he yelped in horror when he understood that sanity had been ripped from the man's eyes, by their hand. The screams were turning into whimpers, the souls into emptiness. His brother's eyes were wide and terrified. Those people didn't know theyhadneverknown. The Dark Lord wouldn't be back.
And them, they would be caught.
Rabastan wants to flee but Rodolphus knows better. He knows just how useless it is and he knows what shall happen now. No matter what happens they're caught. They can't run forever. They have no place to hide. Their former friends are a bunch of ugly cowards. Their wands have touched levels of torture never known to man. Their eyes scream of cruelty, and yearn for blood.
There is no way back so they'll bloody go forward.
Better take all the fun now. God, they'll need it for later.
Barty got it. Barty has the man and he won't come out no matter how loud Rabastan calls. Come on, boy, get out of this bloody hole! his brother bellows. And then it's his name. RodRodRod. Rabastan won't leave them behind, he won't run off alone. He's not quite like them but close enough.
Maybe he's the only one sane, Rodolphus thinks, and he lets out a sharp bark of a laugh.
He leaves Barty having his fun alone, and heads off to find his wife. She's letting all her rage out on the woman. They left the baby alone, at the time they couldn't tell why. Maybe right from the beginning, they knew that with the baby in their hands the Longbottoms would have talked if they knew. Maybe they just didn't want to face the truth, or maybe this wasn't just bare sadism. They didn't want to grab a Muggle, a baby, a dog anything alive and let off the steam. This was about Aurors, and the war they didn't want to ever stop fighting.
They didn't analyze but Rodolphus does. There isn't much left to do but ponder and watch.
He's a madman of the quiet kind.
Bella isn't. Bella screams almost as loud of the woman as she stands rooted on the stop and Rodolphus knows that she wouldn't run if it was possible and clever, and he wouldn't go without her, and the boys wouldn't leave them behind so really, no one cares about possibilities and the future, they were doomed anyway because Bella will always be Bella. And Bella without the Dark Lord doesn't have a straight way ahead so of course she will get out of hand – he can't stop her.
All he can do is follow her and try to make sure she doesn't get killed.
They won't get killed this time so maybe prison was the best option for her all along. Without the Dark Lord her fate was bound to take a drastic turn.
Without the Dark Lord she wouldn't be herself and so he will neverever resent whatever she feels and does. He takes her the way she is.
"Love me for me," she murmured in his ear once, after sex when they were nestled together. He groaned and bit her neck in response and she moaned. This was a stupid thing to ask, really – he couldn't love her because she was beautiful or enthralling, surely she did know what he was like after all this time.
So when she screams louder still and the curse stops, he steps behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders.
She turns her head and their eyes meet.
All along, he was there to push her forward when she couldn't take it anymore. He was there to walk beside her.
Always.
"Don't hurry, there is all the time in the world," he murmurs.
Her smile is tiny.
Broken.
"Liar," she says hoarsely.
She looks down at the body.
"She's already broken. Why should I need more time?"
He squeezes her shoulders. "You do."
Again a tiny smile. "There isn't time, Rod."
"There always is, if you let there be."
She closes her eyes.
We are doomed, my love.
But I'm with you.
"You have her," he tells. "It would be an awful waste to leave her now. We won't be getting them this far everyday, you know."
Her laughter is high and shrill.
The screaming starts again.
Broken grace
The silence is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Rodolphus can feel himself slipping away. It's cold – so cold; and there is no sound, he knows it – yet still he hears things.
They shriek and murmur sweet nothings inside his own head, and he knows, he knows that they won't ever let him sleep in peace.
Welcome, sweetheart. We've been waiting for you.
He tries to keep in control, but oh how hard it is, he wants to scream already, silence the voices. Yet they won't be silenced.
If he concentrates really, really hard, he can recognize the inhuman screech of Alice Longbottom, and his wife's cackle, and a baby crying in the distance.
He can't really tell.
He feels that it's too late.
Welcome into your own head. What a shame, you never really knew yourself. We'll show you what you were like, all along. We'll show you your reality, and it will be worse than your very worst nightmare.
Oh, the fun we'll have together in that handsome head of yours.
Trembling, he looks up, trying to see reality. Trying to see sanity. Anything at all really – he'd give anything to be lent a hand, to be supported for one second, because he's not alone so why would he feel so cold?
He looks up and there sits his brother, hunched over hugging himself. Beside him, the boy's eyes are wide, yet unseeing.
He, too, sees into his own head. He, too, is haunted by a ghost whom he knows both too little and too well.
Where is his wife? Again and again he turns his head, but she is right beside him. He can hardly recognize her though. She sits small and colourless, looking straight ahead – through everything. He can feel how cold she is and how desperate – a little. But his perception feels quite numb, and he can't handle everything that's coming upon him at once.
Slowly he looks around. The island is the first thing he sees. Oh, it is quite far still, but its shadow is upon them and shall never go away.
He looks at them, his partners in fight and dance and death, their fate linked in a way they can't quite understand – yet.
We will wait, he thinks; those are Bellatrix's words. He will rise again. He will free us.
Broken.
They'll be broken together, he knows it and he doesn't know anything else anymore. They're so alone in their alikeness. Cold washes over Rodolphus' soul, and he closes his eyes briefly.
When they blink open again, the world has turned gray.