Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.

Author's Note: Occurs shortly after the mass Azkaban breakout. Credit to Etta James for the classic, "I'd Rather Go Blind," from whence inspiration sprang.

~Juilliard Nights~

January 1996

There is nothing more deplorable than knowing your wife is bedding another…

…except, perhaps, breaking bread with said perpetrator.

Rodolphus swore, on all that was holy, he hated the Dark Lord. Rabastan didn't believe a bit his brother divulged; his only response was to chortle, pat Rodolphus on the shoulder, chortle and gasp, "That's a good one, bro."

But Rabastan was a fool, a delusional fool holding on to the notion that Andromeda might just come crawling back to him. Rodolphus relished exploiting his brother's naivety at each and every assembly, loudly reminding him, "Another night, Rabastan. Another night. Where is your love?"

"She'll be along, Rodolphus. Just you wait and see." He'd answer pitifully, staring downward as tears flooded his soup.

"It's been almost 25 years, bro." Rodolphus would mockingly reply, rolling his eyes as fresh tears swam in his sibling's. "Your turncoat won't return."

In retrospect, it'd been quite foolish to confide in the lonely, wifeless simpleton. Azkaban broke him, ripped his mind from its hinges, and left him hanging by a thread, clinging to the unsteady string for dear life.

Only a strong man survives the madness within. Only a real man retains his dignity, within the hysteria, upholding the superiority of his bloodlines.

A real man is also entitled to cry…

…especially when in jeopardy of losing his wife.

"You shall be in charge, Lucius."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you." Came the swift, smug reply of the perfidious, peacock owner.

Rodolphus was aware of the renewed conversation, but only just. He leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, transfixed on his wife, who sat to the right of the Dark Lord—and gulped, feeling his Adam's Apple catch in his esophagus.

One wonders why Bellatrix isn't a Gryffindor alumna.

Rodolphus was a forgiving man; he was an understanding man.

For instance, he forgave Bellatrix a the night before when she casually entered their bedroom with red grazes along her neck.

Red grazes Rodolphus had not inflicted.

He also forgave her, despite his confusion over her bloody, bruised lips.

Lips which Rodolphus had never—would never—bloody, nor bruise.

But this was crossing the line. Bellatrix hadn't even bothered to cover the grazes marring her pale skin. If anything, she was flaunting them, stroking them with an all too endearing, loving touch.

Her eyes were alive, not with their usual feverish glow, but with a fondness, a strange longing…

Lust. It is lust.

His eyes blaze with jealously, racing between his wife and his master, particularly the latter, who overlooked the bold display of affection being afforded him.

"My Lord…"

Bellatrix spoke as if in the throngs of passion. The wine Rodolphus swished recklessly in his mouth nearly choked him. Yaxley sensed him shift and hit him roughly on the back, all the while muttering something unintelligible, but unquestionably condescending.

Rodolphus inhaled deeply as the Dark Lord prepared to depart.

This is mad. I am a man, this is my house, and I am not about to succumb…

"…and when the Ministry has fallen—"

A strangled cry tore from his throat. The room froze as the Dark Lord averted his attention to the source of the noise. Bellatrix's head whipped around so fast it was a miracle it hadn't been severed.

Rodolphus recognized none of it, the hand now covering his mouth useless to stifle the sobs emitting through the room.

"Really, Rodolphus," taunted the Dark Lord, ignoring his most faithful as she eagerly pushed his chair underneath the table, "A sympathizer in my ranks. This is how I am rewarded, after all of my efforts…"

It took everything within him to resist tackling the deformed Deity to the floor. The average idiot could discern what efforts he had exhausted on Bellatrix. But Rodolphus's eyes darted to the hissing Nagini…and he thought better…

He was alone now, with Bellatrix. The grandfather clock ticked, the fire crackled…

…and his face stung.

Having collided with the floor, Rodolphus shook his head furiously. "What the hell—"

"'What the hell, indeed," Bellatrix spat furiously, glaring at him. Her loathing is unmistakable. "What the hell was that? I have never—"

Bellatrix stopped abruptly, opened the door, and cast a spell resulting in an anguished scream.

"Go home, Lucius!" She shouted as he slid away, clutching his face. "And if you dare eavesdrop on me again, you'll get much worse than a Stinging Jinx!"

Rodolphus rose from the floor and quickly pinned Bellatrix to the door.

"What—"

His kiss silenced her. It was fast, desperate, needy. Bellatrix gagged and kicked him in the crotch.

"Never do that again!" She ordered, voice full of venom as dark grey eyes reverted to their Azkaban-induced glow.

"You're mine, Bella! Mine!" Rodolphus barked, jumping in a fit of rage, as tears fell, making him indistinguishable from a five-year-old. "You wear my ring, live in my house, and I forbid you to carry on this illicit affair any longer!"

Bellatrix's eyebrow, which was cocked in annoyed interest, relaxed as she howled with laughter.

"Rodolphus," she warned, wand tip against his forehead, "You've always been…theatrical, but this is extraordinary."

"You're extraordinary, my dear," he snapped, no longer wincing at the sensation, "How do you do it, huh? The man has no eyebrows, no nose…hell, he probably has no reproductive—"

Rodolphus's words caught in his throat as ropes contorted his body, twisting it into every angle imaginable before he finally crashed into a portrait, binding him there.

"'Back against the wall' is its literal sense. Fitting." Came the disdainful remark of an ancestor who exited the frame just in the nick of time. "I told your mother about these English women. You and Madamoiselle Clairoux had much promise."

"Such blasphemy, Roddy," Bellatrix said contemptuously, satisfied with his struggles. "That muggle was blasphemous as well. Juilliard is now one student short; perhaps you're interested in applying?"

Confused, the Frenchman gaped at her. "What?" He demanded, understanding none of what was stated.

"You're a character, Rod," she laughed, looking him over. "Challenging me, insulting Him—so full of bullshit. What an asset you'd be to the Americans."

Rodolphus gritted his teeth in frustration. "Bella, what are you talking about?"

"I finished an insolent brat from the American conservatory during rounds last night. I've no idea how he even knew of us, but he was very lippy. Very lippy indeed," she repeated, more to herself than her husband. "Anyway, as you can see, he put up quite a fight."

Rodolphus stared at her. He never claimed Ravenclaw intellect, but surely Bellatrix didn't think him that dense. Yes, muggles may value their worthless lives, but it was nonsensical to suggest a muggle had done that. Bellatrix was a proud woman. She would never permit the evidence of such alleged retaliation to remain visible. Rodolphus smiled. He could read her like a book.

Bellatrix flicked her wand. The ropes disappeared in an instant and Rodolphus tumbled face-first.

"Regardless, dear husband," she continued, pressing the toe of her heel into his neck, "I'll do as I please. He made me a woman long before I even considered you."

Rodolphus remained tense, despite the door having closed fifteen minutes ago. His tears, much like his pain, were eternal. Rabastan entered, chuckling, and he raised his head slowly, mucus coating his nostrils.

"My, my," he laughed, clearly enjoying himself, circling his brother. "She'll come around. Just wait and see, bro."

Inept at thinking of a retort, Rodolphus lowered his head.

"Prison has impacted her the least." His brother assessed, tilting his head back towards the door. "To her, you've forever been the basest of all."

Rabastan lifted a glass of white wine to his lips.

"My brother, the actor…"

Fin.

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