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Cause she's just like the weather,
Can't hold her together,
Born from dark water,
Daughter of the rain and snow,
Because it's running through the bloodline,
Cutting down the family tree…
-Florence & The Machine - Landscape
He's tried – oh, he's tried; tried to tame her, control the wildness and insanity that has shown itself to him since the day he met her.
His parents were invited, and as they were the most powerful Pureblood family they knew of, the Lestrange's accepted the offer from the Black's to come to their daughter's birth party.
Though he was too young to remember them, he had also been taken to Bellatrix and Andromeda Black's birth parties. According to his Mother and Father, Bellatrix was a talented, pretty little thing, though feisty and slightly odd – an oddness that Lupus and Cervae Lestrange had not been able to place their fingers on.
Two years younger than Bellatrix, Rodolphus had also been told that Andromeda was plainer looking than her sister, and where as Bella had first shown signs of magic at just three days old (Druella and Cygnus had been ridiculously proud and stated it was because of the families she came from), 'Dromeda had taken over a year; which was still impressive, but had worried her parents.
As he'd arrived at the Black's manor, he'd spotted a girl with looks he'd never seen before. She was only six years old, but looked mature. With waist-length black, glossy, thick curls, and a pale, arragont face, Bellatrix had interested Rodolphus from the first glance.
She'd been staring into a small pond, head tilted to one side, concentrating. He had walked over to her side, and though he was noticeably taller than her at seven years old, the height difference was not as pronounced as he'd have liked.
When Rodolphus looked down into the clear water, he saw an odd creature he didn't know the name of, that was jerking in a way which made it obvious it was in pain. He asked Bella what was making it hurt, and supposed she hadn't realised he was there, as the dark eyes that met his own showed signs of confusion. However, she answered anyway.
"I am."
To him, her voice was like a melody: sweet; sad; and something about it made him want to listen again and again. It was as if it told a story.
"Why?" he'd asked, frowning.
"Why not?" she'd said, smirking.
"What's it ever done to you?"
"Well, it's hardly going to anything for me."
And from then on he knew he wanted possesion of this girl – the girl that had new views on things he would never have been able to make up himself.