There hadn't been another time in her entire existence when she'd wanted so badly to die. Her stomach twisted into a dozen different knots of anxiety and nervousness and a fair amount of heartbreak that she would never admit to. She sat silently, wringing her hands and trying to remember a time when she was fearless, back when walking away from him was simple; before love was involved.
She'd known when she confessed her love to him all those months ago that she was signing her death certificate. She knew even then that by allowing him to own her heart completely she was entering a bond so violent that it would consume her entirely. But she'd done it anyway, despite her better judgment.
Barely a month had passed when she realized at last that she was right. Her ears were probably the last to hear, but the rumors eventually made their way to her. She had noticed Rodolphus's eyes as he watched the Ravenclaw prefect Jaqueline Flint but she didn't want to believe. And now he was here to prove her right.
Bella counted the seconds, watching the sun slip down across the sky, brilliant rays of light filtering in through the panes of glass. She'd very nearly given up, lost her will and courage when he rounded the corner. A smug and satisfied expression that hardened her heart. Of course he would make a scene. He would settle for nothing less than a grand exit.
She stared at him for a while, allowing her fury to brew, her angry heart pumping fire and venom into her veins. When, after a terrible silence, neither had spoken, she sighed. "You proved me right, you know. Everything I was afraid of, you confirmed." Her voice was strong by empty. It was no exaggeration to say that Rodolphus Lestrange had exhausted her of all emotion. She was too tired now.
"And you let go so quickly," she shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I thought we were actually going to try this time. But you know," she said, looking him in the eye, "I took a good long time examining myself, and as much as it kills me, I finally realized the most important thing." She stood, closing the distance between them, one hand cupping his face. "It will never matter how much I love you, Rodolphus. It will never be enough. I will never be able to make you love me."
She shook her head again, letting her hand fall away from his face. The words tasted like acid, burning her tongue as she spoke. She had to believe them, she had to feel this burning, this anguish and know that he was the reason for it. She had to know that he was no good for her, that he would destroy her; that he had destroyed her. "I will never be good enough for you to love only me."
A glimpse at her was enough to tell him of her anger and he could feel the rage rolling off her without even needing to look into her eyes which would be blazing like hot coals, he knew. "I do not know what to say, Bellatrix," he said softly, spreading his hands apart, surrendering entirely to her fury. He had no excuses left to attempt, and her only weapon would be the truth. "You feared too much and lived too little before you knew me. Better to have loved and lost then never loved at all, right?" Even now, he mocked her. He was a coward, too much of a coward to love her and endure. She was right, she was good, and she had never been good enough for a monster like him. He was bitter and lost and there was no one to blame but himself.
And then Rodolphus realised. One simple thing. He had been so selfish for so long, that it had taken him until now to see it. But he couldn't go on being selfish anymore, the time for that was over. His own twisted version of love had dragged her through hell and back and she deserved none of it. She did not deserve his lies and his deceits. Bellatrix was no angel, but to him, she was simply fallen and not lost. He could save her soul yet.
But could he lie to her? He had to. All it would take would be a few cruel words. And she would be free from his destruction. "No, you were never enough." He cast his gaze to her finally, staring straight into her endless black eyes (they'd shone for him once like stars in a night sky, but now, they held only an emptiness that crushed his nonexistent heart). "I never loved you, Bellatrix. It was all a lie. Such a beautiful lie that you fell for so easily." He forced a smirk onto his face, usually they came so naturally to him, he hoped she could not tell the difference. "I let go because there was never anything to keep me here. It was never real."
He stared into the whirlpools of her eyes, facing her destruction, the destruction of his own making and forced himself not to look away. He watched as she broke, listened as her heart shattered. "You were never good enough for my love, Bellatrix. I don't have a heart, remember?" He told himself he had done it for her, but really, it was as much for himself, as much for his own protection as hers. They would have destroyed each other eventually, better that she believed this was the worst than find out later they had gone too far to return. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her, he chanted inside his mind. But it was not enough. It was not her love, but he that was not enough.
Underneath it all, Rodolphus knew that they were terrible for each other. Because they loved with everything they had and they felt with every ounce of emotion in their bodies and they would reduce each other to ashes if given enough time. He'd rather be destroyed by Bellatrix than anyone else in the world, but he refused to let his own love destroy her.
Let her feel this small pain now, before she realised how much more he had yet to love and to sacrifice, so that he might sacrifice his own heart for hers. He did not deserve her fire or even her fury, that was better wasted on people who could feel in return. She had given him everything, and that would be her downfall. His suffering would be a thousand times more than hers, but he would bear it because of her. If he could convince himself of that, at least, than the rest should be simple. Rodolphus Lestrange was an empty-hearted monster. He was a monster who could do nothing but leave destruction in his wake.
But he'd underestimated the fight in her, as he somehow managed to do at times. His fatal flaw was obvious: he could not lie to her. His words were like cellophane and she could see straight through them. He wanted to lie to her, tried valiantly to make her believe him. But it would never work. Nothing could cover his innocent fears. He was pushing her away, just as she was pushing him. This war of words was miraculously irrational; both too stubborn to admit defeat and allow destruction to cover them in ash and fire. They were in the worst kind of love and neither was willing to accept it.
He looked at her with forced hatred, and her anger grew both with him and with herself. Why must they try so deftly to cover the tracts that their love made in their fragile skin? Why must they hide the fact that neither of them cared what happened to them? There was no future without him. The thought stuck her suddenly, words she hadn't allowed to enter her mind for fear of this exact realization. Without Rodolphus, she might as well be dead. No one would ever want her as damaged as he'd left her, as vulnerable and scarred. No god nor devil could save her; no heaven nor hell would take her.
Through his lies she thought she could hear regret, wanted to believe that he felt remorse. He could say anything he wanted. He could swear his monstrous ways, declare his lack of a soul, a heart; he had a heart, infact he had two; for she had given hers away before she knew the consequence, back so many years ago when she thought that happiness was possible.
His words did not hold the impact they should have, knowing that they were in vain, a pathetic warfare. Instead, they simply angered her further, knowing that they were standing here, hearts on their sleeves and still lying to one another. Both of them too selfish to change their minds. They'd sacrificed it all, given a million times what anyone would have ever expected of two stupid children. They loved with their entire hearts and they died with them as well.
"You're lying," she hissed, the words escaping her lips like an avalanche, unable to stop them. "You're lying because you're a goddamned coward, Rodolphus. You don't care about any of this? Yeah, you really expect me to believe that? You're disgusting," Bella swallowed, fighting her quivering lip and her burning eyes. "You're afraid to risk it all. You're terrified of what could happen. And I suppose I ought to be flattered, but I'm not. I'm not some damned damsel in distress, Rodolphus. You don't have to try and fucking save me. Don't you understand that? You're not rescuing me by walking away. You're taking every part of me with you. And you need to know that, because it will always be with you. I don't care how pathetic it sounds, Rodolphus, you know it's true as well as I do; I'm not me without you. It's our burden to bear."
He eyed her with an uneasiness that began settling itself deep in his stomach, doubt ebbing its way through the walls around him he had once believed untouchable. He could feel everything slowly disintegrating inside of him - his resolve, his decision, everything. He had come to break her, to break up with her, and yet it was himself he found he was truly breaking. How was he supposed to convince her when he couldn't even convince himself? He had come to sacrifice himself for the sake of selflessness, for the sake of her, and she was throwing it all back in his face like his efforts were dust. This was a test, Rodolphus realised, a cruel test of fate or hell he did not know, but it had to be done. If she would not surrender, then he would simply have to try harder.
"I'm not lying, Bellatrix. I'm always lying, but not now," he said slowly, forcing a feigned sincerity to flood his eyes and making them glint even in the darkness. "I'm not saving you. I don't want you. What don't you understand about that?" He spoke with exasperation, as if he could not understand why she insisted on clinging on when there was nothing left to hold onto. It was a lie, of course it was a lie. But he had had enough. He had had enough of putting her through suffering when he could not help but stray. And therein lied his answer. "I'm not terrified of anything. This has always been just a game to me, love." He curled the word around his tongue, mockingly twisting it into an empty nickname. "You have always been my game."
"Why do you think I'm always turning to other women, darling?" He hardened his gaze, steeling himself for what he was about to do, the pain he knew he would inflict on her. "Emma Vanity? Felicia Zabini? All the rest?" He raised his eyebrows at her, his eyes turning cold with cruelty. "Jaqueline Flint?" Rodolphus smiled, his head tilting to one side as he always did when he was torturing his victims. "It's simple - you can't satisfy me, Bellatrix. You're not enough. I want more than you can give me, I've always wanted more. You've given me everything you have, but I've been disappointed by what I've seen." He advanced, pressing his advantage of height as he towered over her, merciless in his taunting.
"I don't want you anymore, Bellatrix Black. I've used you, fucked you and broken your heart and now you're useless to me." Each word was like a dagger held against his own chest, carving the words into his heart as he said them. He snorted, rolling his eyes upward before glancing back at her. This was it. The final blow. "The love I have for you is no more. You're worthless now. And if you continue, all you'll be to me is the pathetic girl who hung on when there was nothing left."
How dare he. The voice in her head, the one that sounded just like her mother, taunted her, mocking her stupidity, her niavety. It grew louder, covering his voice in her ears so that she didn't even hear his cruel accusations anymore. I don't want you anymore, Bellatrix Black. Suddenly, the voices came to a halt. He used his height to his advantage, an intimidation factor that she knew too well.
A pained cry escaped her throat, her knee lashing out by it's own accord, contacting roughly with his groin. The blow brought him to his knees, though he worked to stifle the groans of his pain. She grabbed him roughly by the collar, pulling tight on his tie and forcing him to look up at her for a change. "I don't think you understand me, Rodolphus," she snarled, her lip curled in a fury new to even her. "Look at me!"
Rodolphus gasped out as Bellatrix's knee collided with his groin, his legs giving out from the pain as he collapsed onto the ground. He winced as she seized his tie and pulled it taut against his neck, twisting his face up towards her. Gritting his teeth against the mind numbing waves of pain radiating outwards from his crotch and his knees. When he finally looked up at her, it was not a look of defiance or anger, but torture. He deserved it all, and more, for what he was doing to her. He deserved every insult and injury and he would willingly take it all in punishment. He would have suffered this pain a hundred times for her to save her from the pain he would cause her himself.
It was stupid, it was ridiculous and yet in that moment he could think only of her. He deserved every bit of this pain, it was an atonement for the sins he had inflicted upon her. It was all true. He had ruined her. Everything he touched could turn only to ashes. He had loved foolishly, blindly and far too much. He had burned her and himself and together they created their own destruction.
"You don't get do this. You're not allowed to just decide to walk away, not after all we've been through. You're not heartless, Rodolphus Lestrange, but I swear, if you continue in this way, you will surely wish that you were," For the first time this night, his eyes were unreadable, clouded by something that confused her. She watched him with disgust, knowing that lying must have been killing him and yet he persevered anyway. How stupid they were, to fight both sides of a losing war, no way to win at all. Neither would ever finish this fight.
He could never be the man she wanted him to be. She had seen glimpses, he had given her moments, where he could have been. But he was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough because Rodolphus Lestrange would never measure up. His entire life had been failure after failure hidden behind pride and arrogance. His father tortured him with his inadequacy and his mother had love only for herself. His own brother despised him for the man he believed him to be, but it was better than knowing the truth.
He looked straight into Bellatrix's eyes, seeing only love and hatred entwined together as one and felt only loathing for himself. He deserved all her hate and none of her love. "But you see, Bella. I am heartless, and the only thing that is keeping your tiny little feet planted there is that you are too weak to accept it," he said softly.
"You have left me in a state of disrepair so vast that there is no one capable of repairing it. And you don't even wish to own up to your destruction. I have given you everything; my soul, my devotion. Never once have I strayed from your side, and I watched patiently while you had your go at the lot of all of those girls that I always compared myself to. And you repay me by telling me that I'm not good enough." Bella stared at him for a moment before she could control her anger no more, slapping him with as much force as she could manage. "No, Lestrange," she hissed in his ear, pulling on his collar, "You aren't good enough for me."
"You have nothing to compare yourself to. In my eyes you were always perfection," he said firmly, allowing himself this small luxury of truth. "You are right. I am not enough. I will never be. That is why I am letting you go." He paused, the brokenness of his mind and body showing through for only a moment. "I am defeated, Bella," and then his voice cracked and he had to fight to keep the wince off his face. He was weak, so weak.
She didn't say, here, that it didn't matter whether he was good enough or not. That she'd chosen him and would always choose him, that she loved him regardless of the shards of her once beating heart that begged her not to. "I will die before I allow you to paint me a fool. We are not stupid children, Rodolphus. We knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into. And now we're paying for it. I am, at least."
She pulled him closer, envisioning for a split second twisting, snapping his neck and ending it then and there. "You have never loved me like I deserved; not even comparable to the love I have for you. Yet, in spite of that, I did love you. More than you ever deserved. And you throw that back at me like I've committed some crime. My only crime was not seeing sooner what you would do to me."
He was paying for his mistakes a hundred times over. But releasing her from his darkness, from the twisted clutches he had over her heart, perhaps that would be enough to earn redemption. Even if it wasn't, the attempt was all that mattered. I love you, I love you more than you will ever know and it is because I love that you that I have to let you go. I have to let you try and be better, even if that means I have to let myself hurt. He stared at her with unsaid words, a haunting emptiness in his crystal gaze. His jaw clenched at her words, and he yearned to prove her wrong, to tell her, to show her how wrong she was. But he was not that kind of man, he would never be. Not even for her. "It was not your crime, but mine. Never yours."
He was kneeling in front of her like the damned begging for forgiveness, but he did not deserve her forgiveness, no matter how much he wanted it. It was too late for that, far, far too late. Their story was not one of only love but hate and pain and torture. "I have… no love left within me to give… Forgive me for wasting your time." Forgive me, at least, for this, he begged her in his mind. "We end here as lovers. It will be easier if you hate me." If she hated him, he would feel less guilt. Selfish, selfish monster, his mind screamed at him.
He stood up slowly, easing his collar out of her grip, wincing as he straightened. "Goodbye, Bellatrix." He rose slowly, loosening her hand from his collar and she allowed it. She watched him sorrowfully, knowing that the only way to give him what he wanted, what he deserved, was to kill her emotional self.
Her fury faded, replacing itself with a hollow emptiness, an earth shattering brokenness. She felt nothing and everything all at once, her heart begging for mercy. Breathing required conscience effort, standing became nearly impossible. Her knees gave as she collapsed back onto the bench looking up at him, his height-given intimidation increasing tenfold now. She was choking on her own words, nothing seeming to make sense.
"If you truly believe you have no heart," she shook her head, not understanding. "Then why—" her voice shattered into a pathetic crack, an underlying sorrow shining in the emptiness. "Then why does she get to love you? Why do you love her when refused to love me?" She knew the answer, of course. It always come down to one of them hurting the other; to one of them trying everything in their power not to hurt the other; to one of them failing miserably and leaving the other shattered in a million tiny pieces. Fear; it was the fear of ruining something that was already destroyed. It was a barrier between them, a wall.
But with Jaqueline, perhaps he could be free. She could let him go, set him free of his bounds and chain ans he could love her with reckless abandon, the way a man was supposed to love a woman. She might be able to put him back together. She might be able to comfort those wounds, those scars and aching bruises. But there would never be a man that could love enough to cover the gaping emptiness that she had. It was only fair to let him go, to let him be with the person he truly wanted, to cut his ties and let him try to live a life free from her. It made sense to let him be happy while she ruined.
It didn't matter how it hurt her, she had to let it happen. She had to let him be happy. Even if it meant that she was miserable.
"This is—" she swallowed, a chill shuddering through her. "It's really goodbye this time, isn't it?" There was no response needed.
His eyes closed with a pained finality, words he couldn't allow himself to say struggling in his throat. He didn't dare speak; didn't trust his tongue not to leap at the chance to beg for forgiveness and explain how much he needed her. He turned, unable to bear the sight of her shuddering form any longer, and left her standing dumbstruck in the alcove.
As his footsteps echoed through the hallway, his heart pounded louder and louder in his ears. He ducked into the first classroom her came across, silencing the room before he let out a cry of anguish. He pounded his fists on the wall, covering his face with his hands. It shouldn't feel like this, letting her go. He was doing it to save her, so why did she look so.. ruined?
Back in the alcove, Bella listened in disbelief until the sound of footsteps disappeared. She half expected him to reappear, scoop her into his strong arms again and joke about how foolish she was for believing the lies he had just spilled. But even though he did not return, she still felt like a fool.
She felt her body come to a halt, the world paused. Silence like white noise stabbing her ears with an answer she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. Her heart had stopped beating, so why had the world not ended? Why was she alive? Why couldn't this end? Finality washed over her like a furious flood, crashing into her chest with the weight of a thousand memories and burns of a million fights.
So simply they departed, how, how.
It had been nearly three months since they'd spoken and she still struggled to look at him. But he didn't seem to want to look at her much these days anyway, so it didn't matter much. She avoided him at all costs, unable to stand the way his piercing blue eyes tore her apart as they roved her skin.
She'd counted the empty bottles a dozen or more times, not quite believing the sight. So long she'd fed that angry monster within her, so long she'd let herself burn in pain and self hatred. She'd wasted most of the previous weeks in a sad, whiskey-tinged shadow. She didn't care about seeing anyone, about any of her schoolwork. So many times she'd waken up to tear soaked pillows, her throat hoarse and hands twisted tightly in the sheets. Her roommates stopped caring; even bitter Alecto had stopped mocking her for her pitiful and pathetic show.
After their tug of war that had gone on nearly their entire lives, she still couldn't believe they'd lost it all. She searched for pieces to try and rebuild what they'd had, but fell short every time. No, he had the upper-hand in walking away first. He held the most important pieces in his hands, locked away somewhere within him in those dark recesses that had never known light. He had the pieces and he didn't wish to share them, didn't wish to reassemble their house of cards and her conviction was being forced to live with that.
It had been a moment a weakness and yet somehow she knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life. He'd merely been the unfortunate one she came across. It could have been anyone that she stumbled drunkenly towards, whispering lies and enchantments. It could have been anyone but it wasn't just anyone; it was Alexander Mulciber, one of Rod's closet friends. And it would never have mattered otherwise, two drunken friends falling haphazardly into one another's comforting arms. But she'd let her conviction, her dignity and good sense slip away from her long enough to ruin so many new parts of herself. Any growth she'd had since losing half of herself those weeks ago vanished, shriveled and died when she awoke in that bed the next morning.
She hadn't intended for it to happen. In fact, when she awoke the next morning, finding herself in Mulciber's bed, she all but panicked. She fled from the dormitory, praying that she wouldn't be spotted on her way back to her room. And though she was fairly certain that she had escaped unnoticed, she knew it was only a matter of time before Alex began running his mouth.
Only a matter of time until Rodolphus found out. She didn't dare let herself imagine the things Rodolphus would— and suddenly it struck her. He wouldn't care anyway. He had moved on, she had been strung along; things were so different now. She gave up, relishing in the way the world could disappear in a few smoky-sweet drags and a bottle of liquid courage. She didn't need friends, she didn't need family. She was the best company for herself.
Dragging herself from bed took all the energy she could muster. Her eyes were red and burning, muscles aching from exhaustion. The purple circle under her eyes that she'd long since stopped trying to conceal shown even brighter now. Her stomach twisted in and out of knots, the pounding in her head making it nearly impossible to even stand. She dragged herself to the bathroom for a drink, avoiding the mirror at all costs. The water seemed to take most of the fowl taste from her mouth, revitalizing her momentarily. She made her way back into her room, digging through her trunk until she found the little bit of the potion Andromeda had given her for Christmas. It was precious gold to her, but it was nearly gone now. She'd been saving it and now it would be put to good use. Within minutes she felt life seeping back into her bones, her throbbing head relenting and her stomach resting. She pulled herself to her feet, her eyes still burning, knowing that the potion could heal many things but brokenness was not one.
She couldn't possibly have known the warfare that he was experiencing as well.
Where else would Rodolphus Lestrange be found on a Friday evening but lounging in the Slytherin common room, drowning his troubles in alcohol and chasing away the demons that plagued him day and night? He had dragged out the best whiskey in his stash, an aged vintage he had been saving for a special occasion, just for this night. Since finding alcohol at the young age of twelve, it had become a steady source of salvation and comfort, one that would never betray him, never leave him, never lie to him. The only thing he had ever hated about drinking were the blinding hangovers the morning after, and even those he had grown used to. He could have let himself stay forever in this alcohol-induced haze, living half between life and nightmarish worlds. He could have pretended the entire world existed free of pain and misery, he could let it make him forget, burying his guilt with the slow, sweet burn of liquor. And even as he gazed into the bottom of his glass, disappointed by how fast it had all disappeared, all he could see was her in his mind.
He had given himself exactly one week to mourn the loss of their relationship, and had firmly resolved to move on and forget entirely about her after that one week was over. Rodolphus was pragmatic, not foolishly idealistic, but he had never believed he could miss a single person as much as he missed Bellatrix. He missed her like a blind man might have missed his sight or a deaf man might have missed his hearing. He didn't know how it was possible to miss something he had never known he could lose in the first place. She had been half of his life for so long, he had forgotten what was it like to have her and be with her. Bitter regret taunted him with the image of her face and in his dreams his mind replayed the moments they had spent together over and over in his mind. A hollow emptiness stood where he had once fooled himself his heart had been, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fill the void within him with alcohol and meaningless sex. Only his self-loathing and hatred for all that he had ever done to her kept him from crawling back to her like the selfish animal he was. He had used her and her emotions for so long, it would have been so simple to slip back into the self-destructive routine. But if the slightest shred of humanity within him could try and save her from him, then surely it wasn't too much to hope for an escape from this madness.
He had spent too many sleepless nights plagued by her and her godforsaken voice. The rings around his eyes, heavy, dark bruises that stained his already pale skin were proof of the fitful nightmares. His fingers were curled around the glass he had refilled with shaking hands and his eyes stared unseeing into the emerald flames of the burning fireplace. The light reflected from the fire was the only movement in his dead eyes, soulless black pupils that stared ahead with an intensity that could rival the fire. Bellatrix was not his anymore, she was not his and he had no claim over her now.
But that had not stopped the green eyed beast from rearing its ugly head within him and poisoning his every thought of her. She had moved on so swiftly, so seamlessly from him to Alex fucking Mulciber, perhaps he had been right to give her her so-called freedom from his torture. Bellatrix would be happy with him, he thought viciously, they would breed lovely children with stunning psychological defects.
Rodolphus had been so engrossed in his visions of Bellatrix's torrid love affair with that Mulciber bastard that he hadn't even heard the door of the common room swing open and then shut. Footsteps nearing him made him look up slowly through slightly bloodshot eyes. His pulse came to a stop as he realised who it was and his lungs shuddered as they tried to draw breath. Of course it was Bellatrix, here to mock him in his pathetic state and wave her victory sex in his face.
She had won the rebound game by being the first to sleep with another man, and naturally he expected the worst of her mockery and self-indulgence. She didn't see him at first, as she came off the stairs into the seemingly empty common room. She made her way towards the bookshelf near the fire, running her finger absentmindedly across the spines.
He narrowed his eyes into slits, knuckles turning white as he clenched his hand tighter around his glass. "Have a nice evening, Bellatrix?" he said softly, voice dangerously low. "You must have had a brilliant time fucking Mulciber." He twisted his lips into a sneer, the hatred and furious jealousy igniting like a spark by her unexpected appearance. "It must feel so gratifying, to be such an example to your sisters. But you Black sisters have always been such wonderful whores."
The hiss sent a chill down her spine as she whirled to face him. A sharp intake of breath as she laid eyes on him for the first time in what felt like years. She'd purposefully avoided interaction with him one on one, not knowing if she could hold herself together long enough. All those good intentions went to waste. "I— uh, I gue—"
Her throat closed, she found herself unable to swallow, a suffocating feeling settling over her. She'd imagined this inevitable confrontation time and time again, where she'd assert her new independence, claiming her rights to do as she heart surely had stopped beating, giving up under this torture, ceasing to pump blood through her godforsaken veins. She pressed on, taking a single step toward him.
"I see fit that if my betrothed seems to do as he pleases I should have the right to do the same," she said matter-of-factly, grateful for the way her voice seemed so sure and confident. "My actions are no business of yours. That was a choice you made." Could she convince him that he'd lost her? Even if she could, it wouldn't matter. He had chosen to let her go. But then, why did he seem so positively ruined?
Blind fury welled up in him like an uncontrollable beast, rearing its ugly head and slamming its fists against what little remained of Rodolphus's self-control. It taunted him, laughter pealing through his head, as he pictured the two of them together: Bellatrix and Mulciber in the throes of passion. It sickened him, a wave of nausea sent straight to his stomach and filling his veins with simmering rage. His vision flashed red, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her down to his misery and make her feel his suffering and bitter anger.
"The moment I leave you, you go and find the nearest boy that will take you and fuck him instead?" he spat, voice laced with pure venom. "My own friend and roommate, Bellatrix, really?" His fingers clenched around his glass, and his intoxicated state blinded all reason in his mind. He raised his hand and suddenly it was flying across the room, shattering against the wall behind her as shards of glass scattered over the floorboards.
She jumped back, looking down at the shards of glass sliding across the floor towards her. How could he really reserve the right to be angered at her, after all that he'd put her through? She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed in disgust and anger.
"I don't think my parents or yours would be happy to hear that my future wife, the future Mrs. Lestrange has been busy being Mulciber's little whore," Rodolphus snarled in reply. He shot her a look of pure disgust, handsome face twisting in his anger. He didn't care anymore, what she felt or said. He wanted only to make her feel as pathetic and weak as he was. He wanted her to burn with jealousy and rage at him for his indecencies like he was now. Alex fucking Mulciber, he hissed in his mind.
He had one last weapon in his arsenal of poison and fury. One final word to destroy her entirely. It didn't matter anymore. She obviously had no love left for him in her twisted little heart. If it was Mulciber she wanted to fuck, then so be it. He was lost to her now. "You disgust me, Bellatrix," he said, voice deadly quiet. "I don't know how I could have ever loved you."
"Love? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Rodolphus?" she spat, navigating around the shattered glass and crossing towards him. "You've never loved me. You want me to feel guilty about doing exactly what you've been doing? You said it yourself," she snarled, "You left me. As in, I do not belong to you."
She shoved him, both hands pushing against his chest angrily. "And you know? Over the past two weeks I'm pretty sure I've said "I'm fine, thanks," at least five hundred times and I haven't meant it once, and no one has even noticed. Look. You made it clear that you didn't want anything to do with me so I backed away. And I tried my damnedest to stop thinking about you and I couldn't but I left you alone because I knew you didn't want me, Rodolphus."
Bella shook her head, disbelief for the entire irony of the situation flooding her mind. "God.. I couldn't breathe without missing you but I stayed away and now you want answers as to why I'm moving on with my life? Trying to control who I spend my time with? Who's obsessed with who, Roddie; you tell me."
She'd thought of this exact moment, when maybe she could finally convince him of how stupid he'd been in ever letting her go. She knew her lines by heart, nothing but pure denial at still being helplessly in love with him stopping her. "I don't owe you an explanation. You said you didn't want me, Rodolphus; what, did you just expect me to seal myself off in a bubble for the next century? Accept that you can't control me."
"And what about Jaqueline, yeah? Don't think for a moment that I'll ever allow you a double standard. You cheated on me more times than I can even remember, Roddie. At least I waited until I had no other commitments. You don't get to have it both ways, dammit. You have to decide what's more important; who's more important, to you, Rodolphus?" she screamed. She'd promised herself years ago that she'd never give him an ultimatum. Not because she thought it unfair, but because she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what he'd choose. It all fell to hell now, in the wake of her destruction when there was nothing, not a damn thing worth living for anyway. "You have to choose."
He eyed her cautiously, refusing to accept that she could test him this way. His emotions battled inside him. All at once he felt crashing waves jealousy which caused pain; anger that burned within him; longing to reach out and earn her trust again. If he could know that she'd been drunk, that she'd not been in her right mind at the time, maybe it would be easier. Maybe then he could stop envisioning himself murdering Mulciber.
Her words, admittedly, had surprised him. She had to love him still, had to want him more than she wanted anyone else. She was crumbling into a pile of rubble - as she had been for the past month - and yet she still offered him an ultimatum, a chance to win her again. 'Don't you get it?' he thought. 'I can't choose. If I choose I'll be selfish; if I'm selfish, you'll be mine again.'
She watched his eyes, the way they shifted. She wanted to use her adept legilimency skills to see what was causing him so much strife but she wouldn't allow herself. Bella stood her ground, trying desperately to hide the way the lump in her throat was growing with every aching second that passed. 'Say it, Rodolphus,' her internal monologue begged. 'You love me. Just say it," she had to believe it.
"How can I trust you?" he asked. He knew it was unfair, accusing, even. But part of him still stung terribly, even knowing that she wanted to be with him. What if traces of Mulciber would be laced within her mind forever? "Where else should my loyalties lie? There's nothing between us anymore. We aren't friends, or lovers… we're barely acquaintances, Bellatrix."
"That was your choice," she choked. It sounded far more weak than she'd intended.
Rodolphus swallowed, pressing his lips together into a line as he gazed at her, allowing no emotion to flicker through his cold gaze. "My choice, to do what was right for the both of us," he said, voice strangely soft, unwilling to let her look away. "Aren't you happier without me, Bella?" His heart begged her to lie, to tell her that she had never been better without him, but he wasn't quite sure which answer was worse. Either way, he was without her and she was free from him.
"Right for us?" she couldn't have hidden the disbelief on her face if she'd wanted to. Her jaw dropped, her eyes questioning. He couldn't be serious. There was no way. "Rodolphus, no," she shook her head. Her throat was tight. She managed to speak, through her words cracked. "Haven't you seen that? It's been months and I still wake up every morning wondering if I'm even going to be able to get out of bed that day. I don't know what you expected me to say, and I'm sorry — because I know this isn't it."
Bella crossed her arms, her chin quivering. She knew, even standing weakly before him, that she should have lied. She should have tried her damnedest to convince him that leaving was the best thing he ever did. He had a better life now without her, and yet here she was, still standing at his feet as she always had. She couldn't lie to him, hide the fact that months in his absence had only managed to ruin her. It was plain on her face, she knew, and she made no effort to hide it. "I'm sorry, Roddie. But this wasn't the best thing for both of us."
Yes. Right. Because Rodolphus could do a thousand and one things wrong in his life but the one right thing that would ever count was letting her go. And as he watched the disbelief cross over her face, it only made him more sure of that fact. The tightness in her voice, the haunted look of suppressed pain and painful nostalgia in her eyes spoke volumes she didn't need to put into words. "You don't have to be sorry. You don't ever have to be sorry," he murmured, stepping forwards instinctively, the reflex to comfort, to soothe innate in him as she crossed her arms protectively over her chest.
"I'm wrong for you, Bella. What we have — had, is wrong." Rodolphus shook his head, teeth catching on his lip, apologies he would never speak aloud heavy in his mouth. It might ruin him, and destroy her, but they were both better off without each other, that he knew more clearly than anything else. He didn't deserve her, didn't even have what it took to hold onto her, and he would never be the one who could make her happy, without simultaneously breaking her heart. "We aren't good for each other. We never were."
His voice was soft in his defeat, surrendering to the only shred of morality he had left while the rest of him burned. How long he had tortured himself over her, how long he had longed to have her back by his side, to fall on his knees and beg for his forgiveness… Countless hours, days, lost to alcohol and drunken misery, he'd never know. Love hadn't been enough to keep them together and it wasn't enough to bring them back now. He couldn't chance pleading for redemption when he knew that ruining it all again would be inevitable. Rodolphus was simply unfit, undeserving of it all, of her. Merlin knew what Bellatrix had done in a past life to be cursed in this one to love Rodolphus but he wouldn't wish that kind of pain on his cruellest enemy. "You would be happier with any other man but me, Bella: Mulciber would. Carrow, if you must. They wouldn't… they wouldn't do what I did to you."
She would never have words like he did, never have the quiet resolve to be able to accept fate. She envied him that, his denial so much stronger than her own; it made him able to live his life and for that she was thankful. She would never wish bad for him, least of all the pain of the previous months. She wished strongly, more than ever in her life that he were half as selfish as he made himself out to be. That he would throw caution to the wind like it deserved to be tossed, take what he wanted without worrying for her wellbeing. For the pitiful truth was all too obvious, she would rather be miserable with him for a moment than to be without him for two. She wanted so badly to break her own rules, to sacrifice her pride and dignity on the altar and run to him again.
But in the pit of his words, even her blinded heart knew he was right. Those others, the trusted few, they could never hurt her as he had. They would never be able to thrust the daggers so keenly into her chest; careful to leave her bleeding and breathless, but not so generous as to kill her and end the suffering. He thought he was saving her, he thought he was doing he a favor. And she didn't have the ability to say otherwise. Though she knew the truth, the words were forbidden. They hung in the air before her, words of her undying devotion not needing to be said. They were obvious to see.
"I've had a lot of time to think," she nodded, not quit able to muster the sound of the underlying sadism. "I know it's wrong. You don't have to tell me that." She danced around a million different things she wanted to say and yet knew she couldn't. She didn't possess the confidence to throw herself in front of that arrow a second time. She held so many things back; they clawed, scraped angrily inside her as the begged to be released. Bella knew what she wanted to say: that it didn't matter, would never matter how much he'd hurt her. That like powder and lead, innocent on their own and so deadly combined, they were meant to be together.
The relentless tide of excuse after excuse washed through him, eroding tirelessly at his restraint, begging to be released from this pointless torture. He had no need, no purpose to prolong it, but the end result was always the same. The bitter irony that sliced through the regret as cleanly as a knife, was that it did not matter who broke who this time and who won or who lost. There was no victory, no triumph in love lost. He needed her as much as she needed him and they were both too stubborn, too foolish to seek out the happier, though lesser endings that would give them what they wanted. What they wanted was each other, broken and shattered but made whole together, two jagged pieces that fit so imperfectly it was impossible to see any other way they could part.
He didn't know if it was selfishness or sacrifice that kept him from walking away at that moment. He should have done so the moment he saw her, forbade himself any contact at all when he knew just being in her presence was slow agony at its worst. How long had it been since he had last kissed her or touched her? It was by sheer will of the mind that Rodolphus remained where he stood, his fingers itching to reach out. His skin, his lungs, his chest, all of it burned for her. Burned to touch and taste and feel what used to belong to him and only him. Flames that would burst across his skin and fill him where emptiness had scoured his soul. Physical want — need, so thick and undeniable as it rose in his throat, pounding against his ribcage and in his ears, through his bloodstream like molten fire.
She took a step away from him when he advanced, the proximity too much for her sore and pleading heart. She stared at the floor, not trusting her voice, until she'd gathered the strength to speak. She looked up and met his eyes with a painful stab at her chest again. "How long until you see what I see?"
His breath hitched, unsteady in his throat, struggling to still his racing pulse, the defeat in her tone did nothing to discourage him, not when her eyes gleamed with the same longing need and wanting hunger. Hunger not just for him but for his affections and his words, and a thousand things that would never pass through his incapable lips. Rodolphus longed to be the man that could give her what she needed, to be loved like she deserved. But he had only his inadequacy, his scrabbling attempts and weak defences against the indisputable truth. He moved without knowing, stepping towards her, gaze locking on hers, refusing to break and release her from the momentary spell that had been cast over them both.
And as she stepped back, he only tread forwards until his face was hovering inches from hers, his breath fanning out across her lips. He waited, with all the patience in the world as she dropped her gaze, composing herself, drawing her shattered armour back on before lifting her eyes to meet his. The almost imperceptible flash of misery in her eyes was too obvious, too painfully familiar. His hand slipped forward to cup her cheek, withholding the sound of contentment he wanted to make as his fingers made contact with her skin, heat igniting along his own. "I'm only going to break your heart again. Can't you see that? Are you really willing to risk it all just we can have this?" Rodolphus canted his head, pressing his lips together, the creases by his eyes so much wearier than they should have been for such a young man. But he felt a thousand years old, standing before Bellatrix, begging, pleading for some kind of redemption, some kind of release from his forced exile into purgatory.
His eyes were saying all the things he couldn't and the unspoken words hit her with a force unimaginable. The quiet irony of everything they shared was beautiful and tragic at once. It was the way that neither would give in, for risking breaking all over again was too terrible to imagine. The pass times in the moments between life with each other meant nothing. The way they loved only the monster before them, the black eyes that matched the winter sky, and yet they were both too afraid of failure. Failing to be what the other deserved. The pedestals that they set each other on were immensely out of scale, for neither was great at all without the other in tow.
At first, his hand on her cheek twisted her stomach into such a knot she thought she might run away. But a moment later she found herself all but leaning into the touch, welcoming the warmth of the only one ever truly worthy of her. "I'm only going to break your heart again. Can't you see that?" And of course he was right, his whispered words speaking truth unsurpassed. He would break her again, and she knew he would. But the trouble was not being broken. No, the trouble was that she was already irrevocably devoted to him. There existed no torture bold enough to ruin her love for him. It was a fact he denied to accept, that no matter what he did, she would always be his.
"You don't want this," he said softly, lips forming the words on his tongue yet his tone beseeching her to want him instead. If it had only just been the two of them to begin with, just her and him, lost to the world in each other, inhaled in the other's every other breath… They might have survived. "You don't want me." His tongue flicks out from his mouth to lick at his lips, coveting the memories of how perfectly her lips used to fit against his own — how they might have used words as weapons but their tongues were the true swords, battling for dominance, lust against lust as the heat mingled in their open lips. "We'll only end in tragedy," he murmured hoarsely, his thumb brushing against the arch of her cheekbone, memorising all over every inch of her face with his eyes. Their love had never been anything but a tragedy, and there was nothing else holding him back. With the slightest inhale of breath, any hope he had had for letting her go, setting her free… broke, and his lips sealed over hers, gliding into place as if they'd never parted. Every moment, every ache of pain fell away at that moment, and it sunk deep within him, submerging itself in a place deeper even than heart or soul could reach — a place that had only ever been reserved for her.
Her lips were claimed as his once more, her surprised gasp almost unnoticeable. Quick as a bolt of lightening the electricity surged through her, winding around her heart and bringing her to life again. Those dark pages seemed to vanish, to never have existed as long as his lips were on hers. Her hands rose to his face, holding him near her. The bittersweetness could not have gone unnoticed for long, a pang of devastation racking her bones.
The insurmountable choice between the selfish and the righteous was the only thing left that could possibly stand between him and the burning desire within him to claim her as his once and for all and never again let her go. And all this time, that he had walked amongst the living like a shell of a man, lost to the world in his aching misery, acting like he cared nothing for anything by day and torturing himself with regret by night. How could he condemn her to a life by his side knowing it would be half pain, half pleasure and never able to fully believe his love — or hers — was enough? He couldn't. Not when she was the one and only good thing in his life who had ever had the misfortune to be dragged from heaven to be tied to him in hell.
But at the same time, he was deluding himself if he thought he could live without her, and her without him. She wasn't nearly as pure and perfect as he thought, it was his twisted guilt - magnified and stretched wide - that made him see her as so. Their fates were entwined, whether or not they had a choice and husband and wife they would be, regardless of whatever outcome they thought they could determine with their own wills. Her soul was as dark and twisted as his own, and he was a liar in denial if he believed he could survive in a world without her.
He'd stood before her only moments before, explaining in riddles how he couldn't love her again, a fact she already knew. She'd known her entire life how unworthy she was of Rodolphus Lestrange. She knew how he was so desired by those far superior to herself; knew that in light with the rest of them, she was nothing.
It's almost as if he's fooled her into loving him, tricked and deceived, beggared and stolen her heart to take it within his clutches to tear into shreds piece by piece. But she's the sort of fool who only returns for more, crippled by her misjudged love for him, something as deeply engraved in her heart as it is in his. Words etched across skin and blood, burned into their souls, marked for each other from the very beginning of all they know. And Rodolphus knows without doubt or hesitation, that Bellatrix is the only woman who will ever love him like he loves her, the only one fit to love and accept his love, however broken and destructive it is.
She pulled away from him, looking down a moment, begging the tightness in her throat to cease. When at last it did, she looked to him again. "I love you. I always have. But I know now that that's not enough," she shook her head, her lip quivering dangerously. Her thumb ran over his lips, her eyes scanning his face. She committed him to memory, every centimeter of his perfection. Her dark eyes met his once again, her eyes burning as she spoke. "I can't be what you deserve."
"No," he muttered firmly, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him, eyes blazing with fierce determination. "No. Don't you understand, Bellatrix? It's me. I'm the one who can't be enough for you. But you're the only person who could ever stand to love me back." His voice broke on the last word, teetering and slipping on that edge before it shattered entirely on his lips. Leaning forward to steal another kiss from her lips, stealing it like he's stolen her mind and heart and soul for his own, claimed her as his before he even realised what love was, he gave into the kiss, letting the taste of salt and sweetness mingle in their mouths.
It's intoxicating, and maddening, how easily they could fall back into the same patterns, lips moulding across hers as if they were made to kiss her, and only her. His hand fisted in her hair, threading through dark, tousled curls and clenching tight around them. The other moved to frame her jaw, tipping her face up towards his, lips claiming hers in a crushing, demanding kiss; fighting as they always were, for dominance. The push and pull of control and surrender, tongues colliding like a burst of sparks and heat, never taking in enough to satisfy the fires burning deep within the pits of their stomachs. "I just want you," he gasped at last, chest heaving and struggling to draw breath into protesting lungs. "You're the only thing I've ever wanted."
He could have stolen her away right then and there, torn the very life from her fragile bones and it wouldn't make any difference. She belonged to him now as well, fully and wholly with mind, body, and soul. To be alive in his presence, a blessing. To be loved by him, a fantasy. She trusted his words, even now when the devil stared her plainly in the eye; she believed with blind inhibition. So badly she'd wanted to hear those words muttered, to caress his face once more. If this be some trick of Satan, it was has finest work. She gave so willingly to her temptations, no longer strong enough to resist.
Even now as his lips pressed rough against her own, the taste of whiskey drenched desire on his tongue, she thought back to those days. The time she had spent living in the shadowy gaps between helplessness and denial, the weeks of aching loneliness and devastation that howled louder than the fiercest of beasts. And yet somehow she cherished that darkness, knowing how mush it destroyed her to lose him enforced that she must fight with every fibre to keep him. Her stomach, still in knots, fluttered with the familiar scent of him. His hands crept over her, surveying his property with quick awareness as her teeth caught his bottom lip.
His eyes met hers with the kind of intensity she had seldom seen from a sober soul. He watched her like she might vanish if he blinked, like she were no more than a whisp in the air, a fleeting vision in the night. She was a siren of these hallowed halls, worshiped and revered and yet even she had her master. Though none — not even herself — could figure out what chemical bond had them so tightly gripped together, it was plain that they were bound. The string that linked the two was knotted and frayed, winding around every obstacle imaginable but there, underneath it all, it survived. The two were the darkest kind of wonderful, a match forged in some fuming bowel of hell that even the devil himself feared.
"I lied to you," he admitted, as redundant as it may have seemed. His confession fell from his lips as he held her, knowing that she already knew, but recognizing that he had a sin to repent for. He names off his lies one by one. "I have always loved you; I have never wished for you to be different; I have never used you," he said in gentle tones, trailing soft kisses over her forehead. "And you are the furthest thing from worthless."
It was unbelievable, in short, that they could manage to reconnect in the wake of such disaster. How many days had it been? How many restless nights had passed? How many bottles had been emptied with intentions of numbing the pain? The days since his leaving seemed to all blur into one long, miserable chapter. There had been a time when she wanted nothing more than to be able to rip those pages from the binding, toss them to the fire as if they'd never existed; to go back to better days. A time when a wedding dress in a tiny shop in Paris had been on reserve. When the tiniest things became fights and yet, still vanished in an instant. Those pages were kept safe, apart from the others they were cherished. For in these dark volumes of her life, the bright spots deserved their glory, to be marked and displayed proudly.
How she'd so longed for him in these days. How cold an empty bed could be in the dead of winter. She'd fought against herself time and time again, the life left inside her begging for relief. She'd given it all away, all her heart, her soul, her body too was his alone. She could never belong wholly to another, it was pointless warfare to even attempt. She'd sold her soul to the devil himself with the promise of forever in the fine print.
"Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are of the same."
- Catherine in Wuthering Heights (1847), Emily Bronte.