October 31, 1981:
Rodolphus Lestrange peeled back a spiderweb, transformed from a tapestry for the occasion, and entered the main ballroom where the Halloween soiree was in full swing. He removed a strand that got tangled in the horn of his devil costume. A tipsy guest, dressed as King Henry VIII, bumped into him and spilled some wine on his chest. The man muttered his apologies while a flock of six women dressed as his wives attempted to wipe away the mess. Rodolphus politely declined their help and quickly stepped into the shadows.
The guests he met in the manor's winding corridors informed him that he must sample the pumpkin wine. Evidently, the house-elves had really outdone themselves this year. Word spread among the disguised guests that the host had spared no expense. He sent a small team to a town in the States called Philadelphia to procure the world's largest pumpkin, which weighed a little over 35 stones. Rodolphus was hardly shocked to hear the lengths the host had gone to make the party a success. Nevertheless, he could not help but scoff at the unnecessary extravagance. Like these people will even remember this in the morning!
He stood in the shadows for a few minutes as he waited for the heavy crowds to disperse. The many costume choices amused him. Ha, as if she is a Queen, he thought eyeing a pale, plain brunette who only held their company since she married a relatively well-to-do Death Eater. He laughed at a portly Death Eater's attempt to fit into a tuxedo two sizes too small. The man looked like an overstuffed butler, which Rodolphus highly doubted was the image he was trying to project. He determined rather quickly that none of the guests deserved to wear their costumes. That's the point of dressing up, right? We're all pretending like we're someone else for one night. If only these people could see the real masks we wear. He plucked a flute of pumpkin wine off a tray carried by a house-elf and took a sip. Damn, that is good.
He downed the rest. He crept out of the shadows toward the table that held most of the beverages. Along the way, he bumped into Crabbe and Goyle who dressed as Bobbies. You're kidding me, he thought eying their costumes, probably authentic and stolen. They talked his ear off about their sons and their excitement for them to grow older so they could serve The Dark Lord. They inquired about when Rodolphus' wife would bear him a son of his own. Rodolphus avoided directly answering their questions, stating only that they were trying without much success. They didn't deserve to know the truth about his sham of a marriage. Ha, she won't even touch me. We're clearly not having children any time soon! Crabbe and Goyle sympathized with his troubles, and they told him to keep his hopes up. Rodolphus nodded and tuned them out as they chatted away.
His deep brown eyes swept across the room and took in the lavish decorations. Tablecloths, also transformed into silky spiderwebs, hung off the various tables scattered around the room. Fake spiders, black candelabra and skeleton heads lay atop the tables. A shiver ran down his back as he looked at the heads. He didn't doubt that they belonged to those who chose not to give into their cause. Various dark objects from the host's personal collection were also displayed.
The room was dim, and most of the light came from the candles on the tables. The sounds of laughter, whispered conversations, glasses clinking and soft classical music filled his ears. Subtle scents of pumpkin, apple and cinnamon filled his nostrils. The guests scattered about the room represented the upper echelon of their society and included high-powered Ministry of Magic officials. The Dark Lord's finest Death Eaters were also in attendance.
He let his gaze linger on the side profile of a gorgeous woman dressed as Aphrodite. Her floor length white gown, cut from the finest, most expensive silk clung nicely to her toned figure. A light grey sash topped with a braided rope adorned her slim waist. The strap on her left shoulder held a delicate metallic brooch fastened to an elegant knot of braided rope similar to the material around her waist. Five thin strands trailing off the brooch cut across the bodice of her dress. Her milky white right shoulder remained bare. The hem of the dress had a small portion cut higher than the rest, exposing her delicate manicured toes encased in a pair of silver open toe T-strap stilettos. Her flaxen hair, arranged in a messy bun at the back of her head, glittered in the light of the ballroom, and a few curled tendrils framed her face.
She wrapped her manicured fingers around the stem of a champagne flute and tipped the golden liquid into her mouth. She took a small sip and pulled the flute away from her soft pale pink lips, which did not leave a mark on the glass. He bit the insides of his cheeks to prevent his mouth from dropping open. She's the only one in the room worthy of her costume.
He cringed at the sight of the man beside her. He dressed as Zeus, but couldn't be bothered to transform his hair to match his costume. A white velvet hair bow held his straight blond hair together. His trademark snake's head walking stick resembled Zeus' trademark lightening bolt. At least he got that right! Rodolphus' blood began to boil, and he fisted his trouser leg. She stood beside him, laughing at his stupid jokes and engaging in polite conversation with the powerful man he was attempting to charm and win over for their cause.
His eyes narrowed, and a scowl appeared on his face as he watched the man pull the woman against him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and his fingertips dug into her hip. The woman's face showed nothing. It was as if his possessive nature hardly bothered her. Rodolphus watched the man's eyes roam up and down the body of a pale woman dressed up as Cleopatra. Her black dress, decorated with gold accents, hit the tops of her thighs and showed off her long, milky white legs.
The man politely excused himself, detached himself from his wife's side, and crawled across the room to the other woman. His body moved gracefully, like a lion crawling through the savannah in search of his prey. He'll have her tonight. Philandering bastard.
Again, the woman's face remained impassive. Instead, she conversed with an elderly Ministry official's wife. She nodded, smiled and interjected a few choice words at the right moments. She played the role of the perfect Pure-blood wife and mother to perfection. Her head turned slightly, and her striking azure eyes, as blue as the sky on a clear, sunny day, locked with his. Her eyes widened, and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. He flashed her a large smile, the first genuine one of the evening. He feigned sleep, pressing his palms at the side of his cocked head. The woman bit down on her bottom lip to suppress her laughter, a genuine twinkle in her eyes.
He opened his eyes, saddened to find her being dragged halfway across the room by another woman. He sighed deeply and made his way to the bar. He ordered a tumbler of Firewhisky and retreated to a dark corner to brood. He sipped slowly resisting the urge to get completely pissed. He frowned as he caught sight of his wife, dressed up as a black angel.
Truth be told, his heart wasn't into their marriage either, but he couldn't get out of it now. He initially married her out of obligation. In time, he grew to develop feelings for her, but wasn't sure if he'd classify it as love. He respected her. After all, she was quickly climbing through the ranks and winning her way into the Dark Lord's inner circle with her steadfast belief in their cause and willingness to do whatever it took to further it.
He watched in disgust as she threw herself at a new recruit, no doubt, using her feminine persuasion to entice him and ensnare him in her spiderweb of sinful seduction. Her hands flitted across the man's broad chest. Waves of jealousy hit him. Granted, he desired another. But, as a man with certain needs, he'd rather have his wife pretend to at least care about him. He remained faithful, resisting the opportunity to stray, despite knowing how little she felt about him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the blonde slip out of the room. He downed the rest of his Firewhisky and set it on the table beside him. To him, she was the picture of perfection, a flower he'd chase through the fields if only for one look, one word and one touch. He followed the sound of her heels, clicking against the tile floor of a deserted hallway. A few minutes later, he spotted her, partly concealed by an ornate tapestry. She yawned gracelessly and kicked off her stilettos. She wiggled her toes and performed a series of toe raises. He eyed her stilettos and shook his head.
"Oh… hullo," she greeted him, giving him a soft smile. His chest heaved, and his mind went blank. The words he so longed to say remained trapped on the tip of this tongue. He managed to smile back.
"Will you please help me?" She gestured to the complex bun at the back of her head. He stepped toward her. His fingers shook mercilessly as he thread his fingers through her silky locks. His calloused fingertips brushed against the soft skin of the base of her neck. He took a deep breath, indulging in the sweet smell of her perfume.
"Thank you," she said turning toward him. "This party is awfully boring." She reached across him, picked her stilettos off the floor and stepped back into them. "But, he insists." She straightened out her dress. Rodolphus nodded, and his chest filled with warmth. She excused herself to check on her darling baby boy. On her way out, her bare shoulder grazed against his shirt. His face reddened. He took her place, covered by the tapestry, and banged his head against the cool, stone tile.
What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Absolutely no good can come from this.
Against his better judgement, he followed her up the marble staircase to the family's bedrooms. He heard a soft melody coming from the baby's bedroom. He peeked inside the door, which had been left slightly ajar. She sat in the handcrafted rocking chair he gifted her upon the birth of her striking son. She cradled him against her chest and sung him a lullaby to sooth his cries. Rodolphus' heart tightened as he watched her.
She had embraced the role of motherhood well. Again, he couldn't help but noticing how her body did not show the telltale signs of a woman who had given birth. Her skin was flawless, if not more radiant. Her stomach remained flat. If anything, her body held on to, what he believed were the best parts of pregnancy – a more filled out chest. Not that she'd been lacking in that department.
Waves of jealousy ran through him. He wished she were holding him in her arms. He attempted to push his thoughts from his mind only to fail miserably. Your unfounded feelings must cease to exist immediately.
She noticed him and called him over. He automatically moved to her, mesmerized by the softness of her voice. He did not break his gaze from the baby in her arms.
"Would you like to hold him?" A soft look of hesitation graced his face. Rodolphus shook his head. He backed away from her, doubting that she wished his presence despite her offer. "Rodolphus, it's OK. He won't hurt you," her playful voice called to him, beckoning him back to her. She gave him no time to reply. She stood up and thrust the baby into his muscular arms. He tensed, unsure of what to do.
"Sit down." She placed a hand on the small of his back and guided him to the rocking chair. His skin burned at her gentle touch, and he immediately obliged.
The baby boy, dressed as Cupid, looked up at the stranger with a twinkle in his cool grey eyes. Rodolphus imagined for a brief second what the boy would look like with his dark hair, dark eyes and tanned complexion. Or, would he look like her?
A tiny hand reached up and grabbed his nose, lightly tugging on it. The other tiny hand attempted to wrap itself around Rodolphus' wavy, dark brown locks. Rodolphus' eyes widened, his body stiffening as he allowed the baby boy to continue his assault.
"Oh, don't worry about him. He's got a thing for noses," she interjected, pointing to her reddened nose. Again, Rodolphus nodded at her, still unable to trust his words.
Rodolphus savoured the silence that engulfed the room. In that moment, he felt as if he'd finally attained his innermost desires. Rodolphus, at the heart of it, was a simple man, despite growing up wealthy. He'd make better use of his hands carving furniture. They'd have as many children as she wanted. He doubted that she'd want to work, but he'd let her if she wished.
"Is everything alright?" A look of concern filled her azure eyes, which radiated warmth. She stepped forward and placed her hand on his right forearm. The soft touch startled him, and he almost dropped the baby. His deep brown eyes met hers again. She noticed a teardrop forming in the corner of his left eye. She gasped. He still couldn't form a proper response. How could she read right through him? Was his unhappiness obvious? He dropped his guard, allowing the teardrop to fall. It fell on the baby's stomach. He wiped it away. He shook his head. She reached over, cupped his cheek and wiped away the teardrop's path with the pad of her thumb.
"Oh, Rod, don't worry! Everything will work out. You just have to give her some time to see that this will be a good thing," she said, gesturing to the baby sleeping soundly in his arms. "Lucius resisted at first. He eventually came around."
He locked eyes with her as another teardrop ran down his cheek. She'll never come around. She'll never be like you even if she tried. Run away with me. Pick me. Choose me. Love me. She bit her lip and glanced at him, unsure of what else to say. He schooled his face, stood up and placed the baby back into her arms.
The arrival of his wife and her husband interrupted his internal pity party. Their flushed faces immediately caught his attention. Her lips, once painted in her trademark blood-red, were now nude. Her hair was even messier than it had been at the start of the evening. A long, curly dark hair stood out against the white of Lucius' toga. A pair of lips, the colour oddly similar to his wife's lipstick, marked the skin at the base of his neck. His toga barely concealed the mark.
"We have to go now," his wife hissed. "I don't get what's so great about babies!" she sneered as she turned from the room, her black travelling cloak billowing behind her. Lucius stepped toward his wife, whispered something into her ear and pecked her lips. She nodded at him, her face impassive, refusing to give anything away. Rodolphus departed the room last. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her one last, longing look.
December 1995:
A long, rattling breath awoke Rodolphus. His cell felt colder than usual. He turned and found a dark, imposing figure hovering above him. He felt a cold hand tilt his chin up. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable pain.
His left forearm burned as the Dark Lord branded him with the Dark Mark.
His right forearm burned with the imprint of her dainty hand.
Power surged through him after he successfully cast his first Unforgivable Curse, an Avada Kedavra, which he fired into the chest of an Order of the Phoenix member. The man's lifeless body hit the ground with a loud thud.
Warmth coursed through his chest when she smiled at him as she walked down the aisle to her husband-to-be. Oh, how he wished she were walking to him!
His ears bled with the sounds of the trio torturing the married couple as their baby boy howled in the background.
The gentle giggling of her baby boy filled his ears as the boy tugged on his hair.
Every argument he had with his wife replayed before him. He heard every evil word uttered, dish broken and door slammed.
Her gentle, encouraging voice filled his ears with advice on how to talk some sense into his stubborn wife.
When it ended, he turned over and pulled his blanket over his head. He was thankful that he hadn't been kissed. He had no idea why they allowed him to live. He assumed it was only a matter of time.
Despite it all, he couldn't help but smile softly. The Dementors, no matter how hard they tried, had yet to suck the happiness out of him. His happiest memory lay hidden in the deepest crevices of his mind, masked as his saddest. And every time he relived it, he thought of her – her beauty, her compassion, her perfection – his one and only love.
A/N: Written for the Unrequited Love challenge with spiderweb, sleepy and cringe as prompts. Thank you to Bex, Dad and co-worker, R. for reading, editing and giving me suggestions on this piece. Pick me, choose me, love me is a nod to Meredith's epic speech from Grey's Anatomy.