Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the HP world….
Chapter 2
"You can surely do better than that Prince." Roble groaned as he rolled to his feet. Mumbling under his breath about idiot crazy black haired women. Turning his head at just the right moment to avoid being hit and probably receiving a black eye for his not paying attention.
Reaching for the knife sheaf attached to his upper thigh, Roble thought to himself that he could play dirty as well. Drawing the blade in a movement so refined after many years of practicing that exact move. The throw was dead on and would have caused dear Bella to go down screaming if only she had not moved. Thus landing the blade in the wood wall behind her. Grunting in frustration, Roble ducked under the sickly orange spell speeding his way. Deciding to end this exercise, if it could be called that, Roble lunged toward his opponent's feet in a spectacular tackle that succeeded in downing the witch.
A slow mocking clapping made Roble straighten abruptly and turn to face the intruder.
"Father," he greeted. "Roble. You were late and I was concerned over what may have kept you. I know that Bella here can sometimes be….a tad ….wanting in manners."
"We only got carried away, My Lord," interjected a sallow looking Bellatrix Black.
Her appearance reminding Roble of the traitorous snake Severus Snape.
Of course his father knew of this betrayal. How could he not?
With a loyal son and heir almost ready to take his place in leading his followers, Voldemort was well off for his age. Roble was a perfectly crafted tool, sometimes more. All of the Gryffindorish qualities had been squashed out at a young enough age as to not cause any lasting damage.
"Come," Lord Voldemort commanded of Roble. Without any complaints Roble went.