Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the lyrics are borrowed from Amanda Palmer's incredible "The Bed Song".

Characters: Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange

Summary: Pureblood marriages are complicated issues to begin with. They are even more complicated if you are supposed to marry a friend. And for Rodolphus Lestrange, the thought of marrying Bellatrix Black is a very strange thing indeed.


Rodolphus Lestrange had known that he would be part of an arranged pureblood marriage ever since he was old enough to grasp the concept.

"What is a wedding, dad?", he asked his father when his parents started to make plans to marry his elder sister off with the French branch of the Malfoys.

"A wedding is when a man and a woman join for life to keep the blood line pure," his father explained. Rodolphus nodded and pretended to know exactly what his dad was talking about.


He is sixteen when his mother spills the news over dinner.

"Rod, dear, I have talked to Druella. It is fixed now."

"What is fixed, mum?" Rod asks, not really listening, because his younger brother Rabastan is hexing the house elf's ears.

"Your engagement, of course."

"My… wait, you have talked to Druella who?"

His mother frowns about her son's foolishness. "How many Druellas do we know? Druella Black, who else?"

"But Narcissa is betrothed to Lucius Malfoy, and her blood traitor sister … oh!" Only one sister left.

He is not able to look Bellatrix in the eye once they return to Hogwarts.

They have been friends since the Sorting Hat had sent them both into Slytherin six years ago. They have played pranks on Gryffindor jerks together, they have laughed at Severus ere they befriended him, he has helped her with Ancient Runes, she has helped him with Potions. They have taught Avery how to dance.

The worst thing is that Rodolphus has been infatuated with her since he was old enough to grasp the concept of having a crush – and he knows exactly that he is nothing more than a pal for Bellatrix.

She will go through with it, of course. She is a good pureblood girl. She does as her parents tell her, if only to make her mother proud. And of course she supports the idea of keeping their bloodlines pure. She even goes as far as saying: "We make quite a striking couple."

And they do. She, with her waist-long black hair, her heavy-lidded eyes and her sensual beauty, he with his thick brown curls, his handsome features and his broad shoulders. They are the dark twin couple of Lucius and Narcissa, who are both fair as spring flowers. They are cunning, skilled, intelligent, witty. They have the potential to be amazing. Needless to say that the Dark Lord approves. He even gives them his blessing: "I appreciate that two of my most loyal servants set out to create a new and perfect dynasty," he says, and these words make Rodolphus proud as well.


And yet, he feels sick as he strolls down the aisle on his wedding day. His stomach revolts as he puts the fragile diamond ring on Bellatrix' slender finger.

"It was a nice wedding, wasn't it?" she says as she removes her earrings when the celebration is over. Casually, as if she's talking about the wedding of strangers. The comment makes Rodolphus' skin crawl.

The thought of their wedding night has made him nervous for weeks.

He had desired his wife for years, and now she is all his. He can touch her without hesitation, kiss her without embarrassment. Theoretically. Yet, he undresses her and beholds her without touching her. Her waist is slim, so are her hips – almost too slim to bear children. Her breasts are small, and his fingers trace her nipples before he can stop himself.

Bellatrix smiles and says: "Well then, let's get to work."

Let's get to work. Work. She considers their wedding night work. Her words make him so angry that he forgets all the gentleness he has ever connected with lovemaking. Their first night together is raw, but to his (and her) utter surprise, she seems to take pleasure out of his lack of tenderness. There is no room for tenderness in work, but nobody said that work has to be unpleasant, either. In the pale light of the early morning hours, they lie next to each other, silently, inches between them. They barely touch each other, and when Bellatrix casually reaches out for him to brush a curl out of his eyes, it feels as if she is pushing him away.

It doesn't matter that they both enjoyed the night. Rodolphus knows that his wife is quietly praying for the seed to reach its aim so they won't have to repeat the deed too often. He knows that she has imagined another man's face over her, but whether this face belongs to the Dark Lord or somebody else he cannot tell.

And he also knows that she will never lose a word about it to him, because they are still friends, and even though she has not married him for love, she does not intend to hurt him.

As the sun climbs over the horizon, he cannot lie next to her anymore. He escapes the bed and quietly, dressed only in a thin pair of shorts, finds shelter in his sheet music and the piano keys – the only place in the world where black and white were easy to separate.


Bellatrix' prayers find a merciful ear. Two months later she vomits during breakfast. When the nurse in St. Mungo's confirms their suspicion ("Congratulations, Madame Lestrange, you're having a baby!"), the embrace each other, and for the first they actually feel like a married couple. For a short time, they are happy together. They laugh together, think of baby names and find a steady rhythm at night that satisfies them both. Rodolphus is tempted to call it lovemaking.

They have the potential to be amazing – a good or a bad kind of amazing? Rodolphus cannot tell. But in those weeks, he is happier than ever, and he knows that the Lestranges are a good team. An astounding couple.

Bellatrix loses the child a few weeks later. The bed is full of blood, and Rodolphus cannot help but wondering whether her excessive use of the Unforgivables has caused the miscarriage.

In all those years, he has never seen Bellatrix cry. Not once. Not when her father died, not when Andromeda left the family, not after the first time the Dark Lord used the Cruciatus on her, but now she weeps relentlessly for her lost child. She wraps herself into the blanket, as if it was an armour to shield her from the world for the rest of her life. She won't let him touch her. So he caresses her back through the blanket and plays songs for their baby (and her) on the piano and wishes that she would let him comfort her properly.

"And I lay there wondering what is the matter
Is this a matter of worse or of better
You took the blanket so I took the bed sheet
But I would have held you if you'd only let me."


Three years into their marriage, Rodolphus feels like he is in a hardcore version of his 7th year at Hogwarts. They live together, they scheme together, they practice curses together, they attend the Dark Lord's meetings together. They are partners in crime, as they have always been. The rings on their fingers are mere decoration. They fuck twice a week (yes, they fuck. Rodolphus cannot remember the last time they made love – maybe before the second miscarriage) to satisfy their physical needs – that's what you have a spouse for in an arranged marriage, when you can't make the offspring happen, right? – but there is little tenderness between them. They do not talk about how they feel when they go out to hunt down muggles and mudbloods. They do not talk about the humiliation when they fail to satisfy the Dark Lord's wishes and end up screeching with pain from a well-placed Cruciatus.

They don't talk about Bella's two other miscarriages, or about his decreasing will to try to secure their bloodlines (they have a war to fight out there, isn't that enough?). They also don't talk about the name she mumbles in her sleep, even though Rodolphus is sure that she knows that he knows.

They do talk about their appearance, though. The ministry has not fallen yet. Being a Death Eater still equals being a terrorist. They are illegal, so they need to put some effort into to image they present to the world.

He works for Gringotts. She is a skilled healer at St. Mungo's – for the gynaecology ward, of all places. Both of them are in the Daily Prophet at least twice a month – he with the goblins, she with chubby newborns. They appear at benefit dinners and donate money for the hospital, for London's Wizardry University and for Hogwarts.

It is a cleverly constructed picture. How essential they are for the wizarding world, how reassuring to know that young, brilliant graduates work so hard to support their society in these hard times. Rodolphus occasionally finds amusement in the way the Daily Prophet celebrates them. The healer, who is more often than not called from the gynaecology to the emergency room to treat the cursed aurors she has injured herself the previous night, and the banker, who secretly directs money to equip his fellow Death Eaters with expensive and rare poisons to blur the traces.

It takes time and effort to maintain the picture. And in the few nights they spend at home, they lie in a bed that seems too big, and stare at the ceiling in silence. Rodolphus feels lonely. He works for the Dark Lord's approval, but he sees the Dark Lord only once a week, and he longs for a bit more intimacy with his partner-in-crime. With his wife. With his friend.

One night, he reaches for Bellatrix' hand. She does not pull away, but she does not react either, and Rodolphus knows that she feels uncomfortable next to him. But she feels lonely, too, and so he does not let go of her hand. They fall asleep hand in hand, and as he wakes up at dawn, he is surprised that her fingers are still entwined.


As the war rages on, he feels that his wife's sanity is slipping through her fingers. All she wants is the Dark Lord's affection. His respect. She hungers for it, chases it, as if his approval alone had the power to keep her from falling into the deep hole that threatens to devour her. Her mind is a scary place sometimes.

Her devotion scares Rodolphus. No, not devotion. Obsession. She doesn't even try to hide it anymore, as Evan kindly points out after his sixth shot of Firewhisky (because Evan Rosier cannot endure this war anymore without alcohol or heroin). "The Dark Lord is the other man, Rod," he hisses. "And you can't even go and break his nose. I mean… even if he had one."

He laughs – a bitter sound. Evan is worn out – he utters blasphemous nonsense all the time, as if he secretly hoped that Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Barty, anyone lost his temper and finished him. Six weeks later, he is dead (killed by Alastor Moody), and Bellatrix is late for the funeral because… well, because the Dark Lord is everything to her, and planning the McKinnon murder is more important than bidding one of your best friends farewell.
Rodolphus, too, admires the Dark Lord, but he fears him as well. He fears what he is doing to this country.


When the news spread through the land on that fatal morning of November 1st, 1981, Rodolphus is surprised to find a notion of relief lurking beneath his initial shock and disbelief. The Dark Lord is gone. Finished by a toddler. He cannot blame Bellatrix when she starts laughing hysterically. All they have worked for in the past few years lies in ashes – but nobody knows who they have worked for. Nobody has accused them – they are part of the establishment, and contrary to Lucius, they don't even have to blame any actions on the Imperius curse. They have the chance to move on with their lives. It will be hard, of course, but they have been given a chance.

But there is a strange light in Bellatrix' eyes. She has not shed a single tear – she is too devastated to cry. She lies awake at night. "He is not gone," she mumbles, again and again. "He is not gone, he cannot be gone! We have to find him!"

And for the first time since the night after they found out about her first pregnancy, Rodolphus takes her in his arms and cradles her head and kisses her messy hair. He could move on with his life – but he knows that she can't. And he won't move on without her. They are friends after all. Spouses. Partners-in-crime. And lovers, maybe.

"We will find him, Bella."

"And I stood there wondering what is the matter
Is this a matter of worse or of better
You walked right past me and straightened the covers
But I would still love you if you wanted a lover."


He should have known that it was a bad idea to hunt down the Longbottoms. He should have known that they did not know anything about the Dark Lord's whereabouts. He should have known that two aurors like Frank and Alice had the right temper and sharp tongues to drive Bellatrix and Barty over the edge. There was nothing Rodolphus or Rabastan could have done when Bella and Barty lost control. Even Rodolphus had to admit that they deserved their sentence for Azkaban after for what they did to Frank and Alice, who would not even remember their own names.

Nothing could have prepared him for the dementor-pested hell of Azkaban. In this hole, even the most half-hearted Death Eater would have started to tell himself that he did everything to ensure the Dark Lord's return, and neither Bellatrix nor Rodolphus are half-hearted. The bright burning flame in their hearts gets them through these fourteen years, even though they barely recognize themselves when they finally manage to break out. In the guest room of Malfoy Manor, they gaze at their reflections for the first time in fourteen years – strange people in the cold glass. The gaunt woman with the thin hair cannot possibly be Bellatrix, and Rodolphus flinches when the hollow-eyed man in the mirror imitates his motions.

But they are alive! They are alive, and the Dark Lord lives, and he will honour them!

But while they managed to stay halfway sane in Azkaban, the Dark Lord has obviously lost his mind on his way back from the not-quite-dead. Rodolphus knows that Bellatrix is still attracted to his power. But after his second escape from Azkaban, he only remains with the Death Eaters because he has nowhere else to go anymore. His brother and his wife are still here, so he will stay as well. But he feels just as shitty as Lucius looks, and he displays the enthusiasm of one Severus Snape – maybe even less, if that is possible.

And for the first time he wonders: Was it all worth it?

Hell, no. It wasn't. But who cares?


They take the ministry, they take Britain. They almost take Harry Potter, but that one never quite worked out.

They attack Hogwarts, and Rodolphus watches his old school burn as he steps over the corpses of children who tried to defend their home-for-seven-years.

They retreat to the forest, and they all gasp in disbelief as Harry Potter practically throws himself into the Dark Lord's arms to die.

Rodolphus should have known that it was a bluff. The boy-who-lived was harder to kill than a cat with eighteen lives. And as Potter actually turns out to be alive, Rodolphus is sure that Bellatrix will burst with rage. To his surprise, though, her first reaction resembles his own: She lets out a deep sigh, her shoulders fall, the passion fades from her eyes and her exhausted face speaks volumes: Do we really have to hunt the kid once more? Does it never stop?

And then the madness returns and she leaps forward to attack the Weasley girl.

Rodolphus is too tired to fight. He tries to keep Narcissa's back free as she looks for her son. His sister-in-law seems to be one of the few people he knows who really haven't lost their minds yet.

Rodolphus himself isn't quite sure anymore whether he is sane or not, what he knows and what he doesn't know. All his truths are burning and turning to ashes, along with the walls of Hogwarts.

He returns to the Great Hall just in time to witness Bellatrix duelling with Molly Weasley. He clenches his teeth and irrationally hopes that his wife will kill the old mother hen – if only because she and her shameful blood traitor husband managed to produce a whole house full of children without even trying, while he and Bellatrix had to deal with the pain of three miscarriages.

But Molly Weasley strikes his wife with a clean Avada Kedavra, right in the chest, and Rodolphus thinks that the Order of the Phoenix is barely better than the Death Eaters. They use the Unforgivables as well, they murder just as well. He spends the (short) rest of the battle defending his wife's corpse. If he's lucky, he'll be able to arrange a proper funeral from out of Azkaban. They shall not toss her body away, like they did with the Dark Lord's corpse. He will not let them toss her body away like a piece of waste. She was his friend, after all. His wife. His partner-in-crime.

"And I finally ask you what was the matter
Was it a matter of worse or of better
You stretch your arms out and finally face me
You say I would have told you if you'd only asked me
if you'd only asked me
if you'd only asked me."


He is allowed to say farewell before they take him back to prison. He closes her eyes – those empty eyes with that surprised look that has hit Molly Weasley a few hours earlier. He takes the locket from her neck and opens it with stiff fingers. He expects it to be empty, but instead of air, he finds a crumpled picture, barely moving. The kind of picture they took in the gynaecology at St. Mungo's to locate an unborn baby's heart. Their unborn baby's heart. The first one. He had not known that she had cared enough to save this picture through the hell of Azkaban and everything that came afterwards. May 1978, it says in the backside, in Bellatrix's narrow handwriting. And next to the picture, a crumpled note, saying. "You never knew how much I loved you."

Rodolphus stares at the small letters. To whom did she dedicate these words? The baby? Him? The Dark Lord? The mysterious other man? Why has she written it down at all? Why has she kept the note? It takes him a while to find out what exactly is perplexing him so much.

He is already on the boat back to Azkaban, shivering in the cold wind, clutching the locket to his chest when he realizes it.

He had never known, had never been sure whether Bellatrix – his friend-lover-wife-partner-in-crime – could love at all.

He smiles as they take him back into the dementor-pested hell.

FIN.