Vacillation

by fairmaidofkent

Coming together is not always an easy feat, but the rest of the time, things fall apart. As Narcissa and Lucius navigate whether or not to trust one another, the Wizarding world begins to bend to the power of a Dark Lord and everything they've ever known starts to unravel.

18. Chapter 18

A Brief Interlude: Bellatrix and Rodolphus

Thursday, 4 November 1965

Bellatrix whirled around at the sound of a soft chuckle behind her, her wand aloft and poised to strike. However she needn't have worried— it was just Rodolphus, and he was leaning with one shoulder against the wall of the corridor and watching the scene with darkly gleaming eyes. She hadn't heard him approach, but if there was anyone at Hogwarts that would not pass judgement upon her for hexing a Mudblood, it was Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Bonsoir, Roddy," she greeted with a coy smirk of her own and turned back to her victim, a fourth year Gryffindor who was far less brave than he'd been five minutes ago now that he was Petrified with tentacles sprouting from his arms. She cast a quick stinging hex at the boy to ensure that her full-body bind still held— it did— and she sauntered closer to determine which spell she should practice next. Rodolphus pushed himself easily from the wall and sauntered over the where she stood, grinning down at the scene.

"Go on then," he encouraged. She pointed her wand squarely at the boy's forehead, savoring the flash of apprehension he fought to suppress, and clearly pronounced, "Anteoculatia."

At once, two lumps began to bulge from his skull just in front of his temples, stretching the skin grotesquely until two boney protrusions split forth, elongating into a rather impressive pair of antlers. She cast a Rodolphus a triumphant smile, and found that rather than admiring her handiwork, he was gazing at her intently. Bellatrix did not find Rodolphus frightening or, even intimidating, but as he towered over her, mere inches away and staring down at her as though his black eyes could bore into her, she supposed she could see why others might.

"Amusing," he acknowledged, flashing a deeply dimpled smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But I know one that's even more fun."

She quirked a brow expectantly, standing aside and sweeping her arm towards the boy, indicting that he should demonstrate. He pulled out his own wand with a lazy smile, and performed several spells in quick succession.

"Finite Incantatum." The boy's body relaxed and the tentacles melted away, but as soon as the rigidity left his body he sprang up and launched towards his wand, which lay several yards away. "Locomotor Mortis." The boy's legs snapped together and he fell once more, this time immobile from only the waist down. "Silencio," he added for good measure. The boy continued to struggle for his wand, so to buy time, Rodolphus summoned it and stowed it safely in his own pocket. Bellatrix was still waiting expectantly— he'd performed no more magic than a third year Hufflepuff could manage— but instead of performing some stunning feat of spellwork, he sidled up behind her, placing his left hand on her left shoulder and sliding his right hand down her right arm, encompassing the hand that still grasped her wand with his own. He guided her to once against point it towards their target.

"I want you to say it," he murmured. She began to turn her head towards him in confusion, but he tightened his grip on her shoulder to force her to maintain her stance. "Don't look at me, look at him. Look at the Mudblood, besmirching the halls of this ancient institution. His presence here is an insult to you. An insult to your bloodline. And how do Blacks respond to insults? Don't you want to punish him, Bella?"

On the floor, the boy was touching his newly sprouted horns in horror, clearly trying to shout obscenities at them through Rodolphus's Silencing charm.

"You have an instinct for violence, Bella," he purred, dropping his lips to her ear. His breath was hot against her skin, and she found she didn't mind in the least. "I want to see how you can use it." He squeezed her wand hand and then let his own fall away to stroke her hip. "You know the word."

She did. With a deep breath, she pointed her wand at the boy and announced, "Crucio."

The boy's eyes widened in stark fear, but it was obvious the curse had failed.

"Mean it, Bella," he growled, and the hand that had rested on her shoulder fisted suddenly, painfully in her thick raven hair. He dragged her body against his, and in the split second of forced contacted she felt that he was hard.

"Expulso!" she screamed, whirling to direct this curse instead at Rodolphus. Caught entirely off-guard he was flung down the corridor and slammed against the far wall. "What do you think gives you the right to touch me, Lestrange?" she shrieked, but before she could assess the damage she had done, she realized her original victim was using her distraction to drag himself away. Eyes blazing, she spun back around and, with a surge of adrenaline, shouted, "Crucio!"

This time, it worked. Though still Silenced, the boy crumpled at once and his arms jerked wildly. A swift, pressing need to hear him scream filled her, and she almost succumbed to the urge to free his voice, but Rodolphus's presence at her side once more shattered her concentration.

"Good!" Rodolphus was laughing now; his lip was bloodied and he was absently rubbing what was sure to be a painful welt on the back of his head from hitting the wall, but his features were painted with glee and his raucous laughter echoed where she had longed for screams. It thrilled her, and she answered with a smile of her own. Rodolphus did not touch her— he had clearly learned his lesson, for the moment— but shot her a look of immense hunger before drawing his own wand and pointing at the still-twitching boy. "You did beautifully, but we can't have the Mudblood running off to tell anyone about your flawless spellwork. Obliviate."

The pained expression melted off the boy's face, and Rodolphus carelessly tossed the wand he had stashed at the boy's feet. He would come to with antlers and no memory of how they got there, quite alone. Bellatrix, still beaming, took Rodolphus's arm and led them back towards the Common Room.

"Well, Roddy," she began conversationally, the excitement still surging through her barely leashed, "that was fun. Shall we do it again sometime?"

Friday, 10 December 1965

Bellatrix slammed A History of Magic closed. For four and a half years the text had been sitting in her trunk, unopened, and now mid-way through her fifth, she at last had to acknowledge that she was running the very real risk of failing her O.W.L in the subject. It was well past midnight by now, and the Common Room had mostly emptied. She let her eyes move idly to where seventh year Britt Parkinson was playing chess— and losing, by the looks of it— against first year Lucius Malfoy. The younger boy seemed to be rambling about Quidditch and gesturing to an open copy of Seeker Weekly on the side table; Britt was frowning at the board trying to determine his next move. Several members of her year were up revising as well; Sinclair Crabbe had fallen asleep with his face on his open Herbology book, and Darla Bulstrode was attempting to Vanish her ink bottle, though so far she'd only managed to turn its contents a watery grey. Perhaps that was because her focus was divided— the girl kept sending hopeful looks in Britt's direction, though he did not appear to notice. Britt made a move of his bishop and looked smug for a moment but, with hardly a glance at the board, Malfoy captured his castle and continued blathering about the new chaser on the Appleby Arrows, leaving his handsome opponent looking crestfallen. A movement by the entrance to the sixth year boys' dormitory caught her eye; a disheveled girl emerged, gaze twitching almost guilty across the room.

Bellatrix fought the urge to roll her eyes. Even though she was only in her third year, Francesca Zabini was already gaining quite the reputation, and now that she thought of it, Bellatrix had seen the girl flirting with Rodolphus at supper. But Francesca did not look like her usual overly-confident and made-up self; her robes had clearly been thrown on and fastened quickly and sloppily, and the girl darted towards her own dormitory without preening about to see who might be watching; very uncommon behavior for one who so often sought to be the center of attention. She was not the only one who had noticed Francesca's appearance. Malfoy had perked up as well and finally stopped talking sport, and Bellatrix almost laughed. Although she supposed his interest was only ridiculous for the moment: in a few years the Malfoy heir would be able to have his pick of any pureblooded girls he wanted. As Francesca passed near the table where Bella sat and had spread out her books and papers, she noticed the unmistakable bloom of bruises on the girl's dark skin at her throat. So no question that it was Rodolphus she'd been with, then.

Perhaps another soul might have felt some sympathy for the obviously shaken girl, or at least pity, but Bellatrix felt only vaguely scornful. Everyone knew what Lestrange was like, and it was her own fault if she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

With a sigh, she reopened A History of Magic and found her place and began to read about why Urg the Unclean had been such a pivotal figure in the eighteenth century. Because of this, she did not immediately notice that another figure had entered the room.

"Hey Bella." Rodolphus grabbed one of the other chairs from the table and pulled it next to her, so close that when he slid his body into it, his thigh was pressed against hers. He hadn't bothered to shower, and he smelled of sex and tobacco and myrrh and his chocolate curls clung to his temples, pasted there by drying sweat. "What are you doing?"

"I'm reading about Goblin Rebellions— do you know they were proponents of dismemberment as punishment?" she asked archly. "And I can't help but to agree." He stared at her nonplussed, so she clarified, "Move back, Lestrange, or lose the leg."

He laughed, far too loudly for the hour and hush of the Common Room, and obligingly slid away several inches so they no longer touched. "History of Magic is a waste of time," he insisted, reaching out to close the tome and capture her full attention, but in a flash she had lifted her wand and laid it gently upon his knuckles in a palpable threat.

"It's late and my patience is very thin," she explained lightly, as he slowly withdrew. "I'd watch where I put that hand, if I were you."

He flashed a wolfish grin. "I can think of other places I'd rather put it," he insinuated, but his smile turned into a grimace of pain as she cast a quick stinging hex at his open palm.

"Like around Zabini's neck?" she sneered, turning back to the chapter in front of her. Rodolphus did not look chagrined by the accusation; instead, he watched her thoughtfully as he rubbed his injured hand.

"Are you jealous? Say yes," he continued quickly, "I'd love to have you jealous."

"Of her?" Bellatrix snorted. "What's there to be jealous of any girl you've been with? You'll put out for anyone, I could fuck you if I wanted to."

Rodolphus laughed again, drawing a perturbed glance from Parkinson, but Lucius seemed accustomed to the noise and took the opportunity to covertly switch the location of his rook with one of Britt's pawns. Cheater, she thought, with nothing more than detached amusement. "Check," she heard him announce, and the older boy turned back to examine the board in dismayed confusion.

"That's true, you could," Rodolphus agreed, leaning in close. "I'm free now," he offered, his voice no more than a persuasive rumble.

"I'm not," she yawned. "My first priority is learning about these goblin massacres, and my second is sleep. If getting off were on my list, I certainly wouldn't entrust the task to you anyway."

Rodolphus did not look offended by this statement, merely curious. "Who then?"

"Myself," she snapped. "Can't be bothered to outsource." This was not strictly true. Bellatrix was not a virgin, but she genuinely had no desire to permit any of the boys at Hogwarts to fumble ignorantly between her legs and then allow themselves the privilege of saying they'd had her. All her conquests had been older— most recently, at the Flint's Summer Solstice gala, she'd convinced Edward Nott that she was in fact in her seventh year and of age.

"What I wouldn't give for a ticket to that show," Rodolphus groaned, leaning forward on his elbows but apparently still taking her threat to his limbs seriously enough to refrain from touching her. He had the same hungry look in his eyes that he'd had a month ago when he'd found her in the Charms corridor after hours and shown her how to cast the Cruciatus Curse. Despite herself, she still felt a thrill of titillation at the memory.

"Even all the gold in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts couldn't buy that," she purred, closing the book and rising to her feet with a feline arch of her back. He watched the movement greedily, and with an impulsive laugh she ducked down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, almost-but-not-quite letting her lips touch the corner of his mouth. "But if you play your cards right, maybe one day I'll let you lend a hand," she whispered against his cheek, liking the way his stubble scratched her delicate skin. She laughed again and turned towards her dormitory. Rodolphus half rose to follow her but, without looking back, she held up a hand to still his movement.

"Not tonight, Roddy. I'll see you around."

Wednesday, 6 July 1966

The seat of the Lestrange family was located in England's Lake District, hidden in the shadows of two fells and overlooking a remote shore of Windermere. Built in the first half of the eighteenth century, it was an austere neoclassical edifice, unwelcoming and imposing. The Lestrange home in France was much older and admittedly grander, but the last Lestrange in that country had died during Grindelwald's rise to power, and the ancient palace seized for reparations.

Alcindoran Lestrange was the younger of two brothers, though the elder was now many years dead. He had died in the lowest manner possible, in Alcindoran's opinion— a drunken duel, likely over some woman. The date of death had been some seventeen years prior, and even at the time Alcindoran had not bothered to hide his glee from his heavily pregnant wife when he announced that they were now the sole inheritors of his father's estate in Cumbria. He'd never liked his brother. Half-brother, at that— his father had been married twice, and both his wives had died in childbirth with sons. The best possible outcome for them, perhaps. Marcellus had been taller, louder, and handsomer than his younger brother, and on top to that lazy and cruel. Even Alcindoran's demure wife had not been able to hide a skittering of relief across her brow when he'd shared the new that Marcellus was no more. After firmly establishing himself in their ancestral home, he had had Marcellus's portrait relocated to an anonymous corner of the attic (it had enchantments upon it that prevented its obliteration or removal from the home— Alcindoran had tried everything), and felt a icy sense of relief that he would never have to see his brother's smug face again.

Imagine then his dismay as his firstborn grew into the mirror of the man he'd so despised. By now the sixth anniversary of his wife's passing was nearly upon them so there was no one to suffer the brunt of his suspicions aside from his sons. Rodolphus had been eleven when he'd inadvertently killed her, too young then to bear more than a passing familial resemblance to his uncle— or at least, young enough that Alcindoran had still been able to convince himself that's all it was.

It had been an accident. Rodolphus was a reckless boy to to say the least, but he'd always been happy. Jubilant, even. As fast as he could break a toy he could rebuild a laugh, a joke, something that would temper his ferocious grin. He hadn't meant to kill his mother. He'd only just brought his wand home from Ollivander's and it was a momentous occasion— he waved it around, he was yelling, six year old Rabastan was in the room too, shouting in excitement when the flowers flew off the table, when a chair went flying— Mrs. Lestrange was flustered and trying to repair the small damages and keep her youngest son out of harm's way, and so was caught unaware when tipped the china cabinet— more than a tip. More of a sudden crash, it came down so abruptly and his mother had been standing there only a moment before… well, no matter. He was a Lestrange and it was covered up quickly. Unfortunately there was no spell to undo an abruptly severed spinal cord and crushed skull…

There was no question of Rabastan parentage, however. It seemed the mother of both boys was no more than a vessel to carry Lestrange genes, as none of her own characteristics were present in either son. Rabastan had Alcindoran's lean frame and black curls, long legs and slender hands. Alcindoran would be dead years before Rabastan reached adulthood, but neither would ever fully grow into their ears or possess the ability to produce more than a sparse goatee in the way of facial hair.

Most of the year, Alcindoran was able to put the thought of the boys out of his mind, but both were back for the summer holiday. More problematic was the fact the Rodolphus had only one year left in school, and had yet to demonstrate the slightest desire to pursue employment or further education or anything that would take him out of the home. A co-habitation with only the two adult men in the house could not end well.

He started when the door to his study flew open without warning, worried that his anticipated visitor might have arrived early, but it was only Rodolphus, wandering in without warning, invitation, or permission.

"Evening Father," he waved a careless hand in greeting and moved over to the liquor cabinet on the far side of the study, helping himself to a glass fine brandy. Alcindoran watched him with unmasked dislike and did not return the greeting. This did not deter his son from strolling over to the desk and throwing himself into a chair. Rabastan must have retired for the night and he was now seeking further amusement; Rodolphus grew restive if left alone for too long.

"The Malfoy boy was over earlier today," he began conversationally, swirling the dark liquid in his tumbler with a lazy quirk of his wrist. "He and Bash found the portrait of Uncle Marcellus in the attic. Thought it was a portrait of me until they got to talking to it. Odd, isn't it?"

"Not particularly. Your whore mother—"

"My mother was not a whore," Rodolphus interrupted, rising quickly to his feet.

"No," Alcindoran conceded slowly, with malice. "Likely not, she didn't really have the spirit for it. And she became inexplicably terrified of Marcellus about a year before you were born… it seems likely that he raped her and she was too frightened to do more than try to pass of his son as mine, but there's no one left who knows the truth, is there?"

In truth, Rodolphus cared very little if his biological father was the man before him who had claimed the title for his entire life or his supposed uncle— the reality of his paternity between one brother or the other did not greatly change his self-identity. If Marcellus was his true father, that still made Rodolphus the firstborn male heir of the Lestrange line. Hence, the cutting comment did not have the devastating impact he had intended; Rodolphus merely wandered over to one of the curio display cabinets and began to fiddle with a Grindylow skull.

"I heard on the WWN this morning that Margred Dearborn was found dead this morning," Rodolphus changed the topic idly, seeming to have already forgotten the insult to the late Lady Lestrange. "One less Muggle-lover in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is no tragedy; they're calling it murder, and crediting the death to the Dark Lord."

"You've never been very bright," Alcindoran said coldly. "Marcellus was at school with this so-called Dark Lord. Worshipped the boy— he was called Tom Riddle back then. If the name sounds common, it's because his father was a Muggle. This half-blood, the champion of our cause? I think not," he spat, his hand coming down emphatically upon a parchment on the desk before him. "Marcellus would go on and on about the powerful and brilliant Voldemort; oh yes, Tom Riddle has been Voldemort for longer than you've been alive, boy. And what's he been doing in all this time?"

"Gathering an army," Rodolphus replied easily. He had returned to the desk and still stood— he towered over his father, even if he'd been standing as well, and Rodolphus suspected that was why Alcindoran remained seated: to give the illusion that he had some control over their disparity in height. "Honing his magic. No one since Grindelwald had represented a chance like this— the possibility to crush Muggles and Mudbloods underfoot, where they belong. And Voldemort is willing to go further, do whatever it takes. He's smarter than Grindelwald was, taken more precautions. He isn't afraid of Dumbledore, that's why he's growing more powerful right here—"

"Enough!" Alcindoran shouted, hating that he had to raise his voice to make himself heard over his son's naturally strident tone. "This Dark Lord of yours is coming here tonight. I've already composed a letter," he jabbed his finger at the parchment again. "To Bartemius Crouch; he's the only Pureblood in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that will take a sensible stance on the matter… and as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he can be counted on to handle the situation discreetly and efficiently. If I send the owl now, he should arrive shortly after Voldemort does; just in time to ask him a few questions of his own."

Feeling vindictive, Alcindoran turned to the golden perch behind him, where an eagle owl waited patiently. He lifted it from the stand but when he moved to face his son once more, Rodolphus had drawn his wand.

"I can't let you send that." There was an odd lack of emotion in the words, as though he were simply stating a bland bit of fact. Alcindoran scoffed.

"You think I'm afraid of you? You're a brute, just like Marcellus, but stupid like he was too; you barely managed four O.W.L.s. Do you really think you can outduel me? I wouldn't trust that you could transfigure a teacup into a tea cozy."

A slow smirk curled the corner of Rodolphus's mouth at these words; it was not the reaction Alcindoran had been anticipating.

"You're right, Father. I never bothered to learn such things. Not a valuable use of my time, you see. But there's plenty of magic outside of what you can learn in class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Indeed? Well I doubt you could master that either," he sneered, beginning to roll up the parchment to affix to the bird's leg. And this snide, casual comment would be his last, because without preamble Rodolphus raised his wand and spoke two words. A flash of green light and Alcindoran dropped to the floor, his features not having had time to register fear or surprise. There had been no buildup, no exchange of curses or even insults.

Rodolphus walked slowly around the large mahogany desk to nudge his father's shoulder with one booted toe. He had practiced on insects and animals, and would have imagined it would be far more difficult to execute a human, but it was not. It certainly felt different, far more magic was required, but it had been fueled by hatred and as such was perhaps actually easier to cast. Apathy was not a strong motivator for an Unforgivable Curse, though he'd managed it on hapless creatures. At last, his terrible calm began to ebb away, replaced by a new new emotion: excitement.

Rodolphus felt his blood moving through every artery; he imagined every vein. Hot, percussive fluid, that beat insistently in his temples, throat, and wrists as he poured himself another drink, sat down in the dragon leather armchair before the hearth, and waited. It didn't take long before he heard a sharp knock on the front door, and the elf that showed the guest in was visibly shaking.

The visitor was tall, slim, and pale. His dark eyes took in the scene with wary curiosity; his eyes lingered for several seconds on the elder Mr. Lestrange's body near the ebony desk, but there was no sign of concern in his gaze.

Rodolphus broke the silence first. "You are the Dark Lord?"

There was a long pause. "And who are you?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange. You came here tonight expecting to meet my father but he was— forgive me, my Lord— unworthy to serve you. Even before what I understand was your initial contact, he planned to betray you." Rodolphus stood and passed the parchments he'd taken from his father's desk into the spider-like fingers of Lord Voldemort. His cold gaze swept over the words, absorbing their implications in a matter of seconds.

"Did you find him like this?" he asked, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"No." Rodolphus's face on the other hand, was painted clearly with defiance and a wild sort of fanaticism as he lifted his chin. "I killed him. For you."

Voldemort swept across the room and lowered himself into the high-backed armchair across from the one Rodolphus had occupied. Eagerly, Rodolphus poured another glass of brandy and offered it to the other man, who took it without thanks but did not drink.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he replied honestly, though knew he could easily have passed for twenty five.

"Too young." He shook his head. "Perhaps in a few years—"

"That's where you're mistaken," Rodolphus blurted, unable to stop himself, unwilling to let this opportunity pass by in silence. "Men like my father— they're past their prime, they're set in their ways, they're too old to fight or gamble all that they have on the future that you're promising. The idea appeals to them, very much, but they aren't willing to take risks." He leaned forward eagerly. "But I would do anything— anything—" Here he gestured towards his father's corpse without taking his eyes off the Dark Lord and continued with his rapid speech. "To further your cause. To prove my loyalty. And there are others who are just recently of age, or will be soon, that might do the same. My younger brother, naturally, and old families like Travers and Shafiq, and even more in the next few years: Carrow, Malfoy, Rosier, to name just a few. Families that have long been disgruntled with Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts and in the Wizengamot."

Voldemort absorbed the impassioned speech in silence, and rose without comment. He walked over to the body in the room and considered it thoughtfully once more.

"You can cast the Killing Curse," he surmised the cause of death accurately. "What about the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Of course," Rodolphus leapt to his feet, withdrawing his wand. "Tanby," he barked, and the quaking elf reappeared. "If I may?" The Dark Lord dipped his head once, and Rodolphus rounded on Tanby with a grin. "Crucio."

The creatures gasping shrieks and convulsion were less satisfying than that of a human, Rodolphus felt, but there were no Muggles nearby on whom to demonstrate his skill. Neither of them spoke for nearly a full minute as the elf contorted, throwing random shrieked pleas out but mostly unable to form any coherent words through its desperate screams. At last Voldemort raised his hand, signaling that he should cease, and Rodolphus let his wand fall. "Stop sniveling," he snapped, and at its master's command, the elf's hysterics went silent at once.

"An inferior creature. But what about against the spell against a human? Something more with a will more self-determined."

"Yes my Lord, and I look forward to the opportunity to demonstrate my ability when the situation arises."

Voldemort regarded him thoughtfully. "But we are not alone here, are we?" His silence stretched on for several long beats before he insisted, "You mentioned a brother?"

At last, he hesitated. "Yes," he agreed guardedly. He knew what would come next, but did not volunteer before it was asked. Rabastan would understand. It was necessary.

"Bring him down here."

It took more than a few minutes after the elf vanished to fetch the youngest Lestrange; he'd been asleep for hours. The pair did not speak as they waited.

Rabastan rubbed his eyes sleepily as he stumbled into the study. "What's going on, Rod? Tanby said you needed to see me—" he fell silent upon seeing the Dark Lord there; it was clear he did not know who the older man was, but it was far too late for regular callers. Rodolphus wondered if he should try to explain, or preemptively apologize for what he was about to do— but he was't really sorry. If he were, he wouldn't have been able to complete the task before him. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Rodolphus lifted his wand.

Rabastan's screams were more than that of an elf because he was human, but he was only a child and it did not offer the same pleasure as reducing a man to his most helpless self. In fact Rodolphus found for once he felt very little pleasure at all, but certainly not the guilt once might associate with torturing ones own twelve year old brother. He did not cease the curse until the Dark Lord raised his hand once more.

"What are you doing, Rod?" Rabastan sobbed, dragging himself up onto his knees and wiping snot from his face with the sleeve of his pyjamas. With pity or irritation— it was hard to tell which— Rodolphus seized his brother by the elbow and dragged him to his feet so he would no longer humiliate himself before the Dark Lord. This turned out to be a mistake, however, as it allowed the boy to see what lay on the other side of the desk. His eyes grew huge and what little color remained there drained from his face. "Father?" The single-worded question was high-pitched and tremulous.

"Gods, Rabastan," he groused, shoving him into an armchair and summoning a glass and bottle of whiskey. "Father really didn't leave me much of a choice." He poured a heavy measure for his brother— perhaps his first taste of liquor— and pressed it into his hand with a glance that served as an unspoken threat: he would take a drink and calm himself or suffer the consequences. The boy's hands were shaking badly as he obeyed the silent command, and he gagged on the burning liquid and sloshed some down his front.

"Would you kill him?" An inquiry of poisoned silk from the opposite side of the room, spoken with curiosity and perhaps a hint of amusement.

Rabastan froze, then forced down the rest of the contents of his tumbler, spluttering but pouring himself more from the nearby bottle. His eyes shone but he did not cry. The silence was even longer now than it had been before.

Rodolphus selected his next words carefully. "His blood is pure and it is mine own, Lord. I wouldn't wish… It is not something I desire."

"But if I commanded it?"

This was a greater sacrifice than he'd anticipated. But to ask such a sacrifice could only be repaid in an unimaginable reward. "… My Lord. Yes. I would. I would do whatever was required. If what you claim to stand for is true, and my own brother fought it, I would not hesitate."

At last a small, terrified sound escaped Rabastan's wet lips and Rodolphus shot him a warning glance, then jerked his chin almost imperceptibly. Keep drinking, he tried to telepath. The alcohol would dull any further pain, cloud his memory of the night, should he live to see the morning. In fact Rodolphus was not entirely sure his magic would not fail him if forced to attempt the Killing Curse once more, but knew his hands would not; if his brother had to die, he would ensure it was clean. A snapped neck would be swift.

Voldemort rose, lynx-like, and approached Rabastan at last. "Just a boy," he murmured, placing a long finger beneath his chin to tilt his small, pale face upwards. "But you'll be loyal to me too, won't you? Just like your brother?"

Rabastan nodded quickly, hope flaring in his dark eyes. "Y-yes," he gasped. "Of course."

"Good." He swept a white hand towards the door. "Leave us now."

He didn't need to be told twice. Staggering from abject terror and encroaching inebriation, Rabastan rushed from the room without a backward glance. After a long silence, Rodolphus dared to speak once more.

"My father may have been a traitor, but he was the exception. I will be faithful, as will Rabastan. And I think you knew my uncle before he passed— I think he was your friend at school."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Marcellus would have been a useful ally in my current situation, had he lived. As he did not, I thought his brother could be of service." Snakelike eyes flickered once more to Alcindoran's corpse on the other side of the room. "Very well, Rodolphus. You are young, but you shall have the opportunity you so desire." He drew his wand with an easy elegance. "Give me your arm. Your left one."

---

Breakfast the next morning in the Lestrange household was a solemn affair. Rabastan had almost finished eating by the time Rodolphus appeared and, as though it had always been the way, sank into the seat at the head of the table.

"So it wasn't just a nightmare," Rabastan muttered dully. He looked dreadful; his hair stood off in different directions and deep shadows ringed his eyes.

"Cheer up, Bash," Rodolphus replied brightly as began to shovel food onto his plate, feeling positively famished after a night of deep and restful sleep. "Father hated me because I reminded him of our uncle, and he hated you because you reminded him of his own failures. We're better off."

"You told him you would kill me." They were no longer discussing Alcindoran. Rabastan pushed has plate away, looking ill. "I know why you said it, I do, but I don't know if you meant it."

"Look at me," he commanded, and waited until Rabastan dragged sunken, accusatory eyes from the table and met his brother's gaze. "It's just me and you now, Bash," he said softly, with a sense camaraderie and empathy that managed to ignore the fact that Rodolphus was the sole reason for this fact. "And we're not just going to be fine, we are going to be even better than before." He paused to let the impact of his words sink in and be felt, then picked up his fork once more. "After breakfast we need to move Father to the crypt."

Monday, 1 August 1966

No one had expected see a Lestrange attend the Lammas gala, hosted by the Blacks this year. The widowed patriarch had died just three weeks prior, and the eldest son was only newly legal. Yet when Rodolphus arrived, dressed resplendently and beaming at anyone who caught his eye, no one dared question his presence. Druella Black had just welcomed Amon Shafiq and his son Idris, but could not entirely disguise her surprise when Rodolphus strode over to her and bowed deeply.

"Lady Black," he began with a wide, dimpled grin. "You look well. Thank you for your gracious invitation to this spectacular event."

"I… of course." In coloring, she resembled her eldest daughter very little; Druella had dark blonde hair and lapis eyes. However, her high cheekbones, pointed chin, and suspicious gaze were very familiar to him. "I was so sorry to hear of your father's unexacting passing—" she began formally, but broke of abruptly at his bellowing laugh.

"Were you sorry? Gods, did you never meet him? Not a great loss, Lady Black, I assure you. Can you tell me, is the captivating Miss Black attending he ball tonight?" Rodolphus spoke very loudly and stood uncomfortably close to the hostess as he spoke.

"Bellatrix?" she frowned, both at the boy's breach of social niceties and his query. "Yes, she's here somewhere…" Not that she could be kept away. Druella did not think a girl who was not yet of age should attend a ball, even at her own home, but since she had turned fifteen Bella had been attending all events the Blacks hosted, and somehow even managed to secure invitations from other families. She simply came downstairs in dress robes that were the very height of fashion, presumably purchased with funds furnished by her father, and began interacting with guests at her leisure. Druella was loath to make a scene and send the girl to her room, particularly as she always had her father's blessing, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Still, perhaps it was best that one of her schoolmates was seeking her— Druella had spotted the girl hanging around several older bachelors at the past few events and, given her eldest daughter's tendency towards unpredictability, it made her nervous. At least, she was fairly certain that Rodolphus was still in school; over the past few weeks she'd heard it many that it was such a tragedy that two schoolboys were orphaned by Alcindoran's passing, yet the young man standing before her could have told her he was in his late twenties and she would have easily believed it. "I last saw her by the refreshments," she supplied at last, and with a final deep bow, Rodolphus turned and headed off in the direction she had indicated.

Bellatrix was not difficult to find. She was currently threatening a cowed-looking house elf that hovered near the bar, hissing obscenities and pointing furiously at her pumpkin juice.

"Miss Black," he beamed, slipping beside her and leaning one elbow on the gleaming wood. He signaled the dwarf that was pouring beverages for a Firewhiskey. "Anything for you?" he asked chivalrously, earning himself a sharp glare.

"My mother has this blasted creature hanging around, ostensibly helping keep service up, but in fact reporting back to her if I dare take anything strong than Butterbeer," she snapped irritably. He laughed loudly, and took her by the arm to steer her away from the elf's frightened but watchful eyes.

"Aren't you its master too? Can't you tell it to fuck off?"

"My mother's word takes precedence, unfortunately, though it punishes itself quite spectacularly for having to disobey me."

"Take me somewhere it can't get too close," he suggested, voice low and persuasive, and after a moment of consideration she nodded and led him up the grand staircase and down a corridor lined with alcoves, and each depression framed a window, offering a few feet of privacy from anyone not standing directly in front of the cutout. Seeming to believe her safely away from any intoxicating substances and wanting to avoid her violent outbursts, the elf mercifully remained at the end of the hallway. Rodolphus withdrew a flask from the inner pocket of his robes, and she snatched it away greedily to take a long swig. He did not interrupt her or make any attempt to slow her consumption; in fact he nodded that she ought to continue drinking when she half-heartedly offered it back to him. As she proceeded to drain the vessel, neither of them spoke, though after some consideration he did run his fingertips down her ribcage and waist to settle possessively just above the outer curves of her thighs.

"I read that your father died," she said at last, little sympathy making its was into her tone as she screwed the top back on the flask and tucked it back into his pocket.

"He did." Rodolphus's tongue darted over his lower lip to moisten it, and he dropped his voice until even she could hardly hear the next words. "I killed him."

At this she recoiled, though she couldn't get far with his hands still locked on her hips. "And why would you do such a thing?" Bellatrix demanded sternly, though she did not seem afraid.

"He planned to betray the Dark Lord. I couldn't let that happen."

Even if she didn't wear her emotions plainly upon her haughty face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest and pulse beating at the base of her pale throat would have betrayed her excitement.

"I don't believe you," she whispered, although he could see plainly that she wanted to. Craved to have found a link so close to the enigmatic and fearsome warlock, just as he craved her.

It did not frighten her that Rodolphus stared at her as though she were something to be hunted; he treated all women like prey. She likely could not even defend herself from him in this moment: her reflexes might be faster and spellwork more elegant, but her wand was not easily reached in the folds of her gown and he could physically overpower her without a thought. But none of that mattered— he could pin her to the floor and rape her in this moment and still would not be getting what he truly wanted from her.

"You can believe me or don't," he breathed, backing her slowly against the window and pressing his thigh intimately between hers. "I've taken a vow. He's given me his mark."

"Mark?" echoed, and he lifted his left hand from her body to shake the sleeve of his outer robe back. His right remained firmly on her body, so she would need to complete the task.

"Go on then," he encouraged, and she unfastened the cufflink of his inner sleeve and rolled it downwards. There, upon his forearm, was branded the symbol that had begun appearing in the skies lately; the mark that appeared when death had visited.

"That could mean anything," she breathed, though for some reason she dared not touch it. Instead, she laced the fingers of her hand with his and lowered her head to the divot beneath the side of his thumb, and her teeth found the tendon. At some point she'd begun to rock against the leg that dared press against the apex of her own. "You could've given yourself that tattoo." He had others, after all, hidden under his dress robes. She'd seen glimpses of them; somehow, more often than not, his shirt seemed to end up unbuttoned halfway down his broad chest during parties at school.

His forearm became an iron rod across her chest as he forced her backwards against the cool glass. "I could have," he agreed, hungrily studying her features, lapping up any hint of lust in her eyes. And she did desire him— there was no point in pretending otherwise, he'd only need to delve his fingers briefly beneath her skirts for the evidence. "But I didn't."

In truth, she had perhaps spent some small amount of time wondering what it would be like to be seduced by Rodolphus. She supposed she'd been planning to allow it to happen for some time now, and she was not disappointed thus far. He did not kiss her, instead electing to drag the rough stubble of his jaw across her cheek and neck, the friction burning pleasantly, creating added heat between them.

"I want to hear you scream for me, Bellatrix," he murmured huskily in her ear, biting and sucking the lobe as he added, "In pleasure or pain, I can't decide which…"

She sighed and let her head fall back to give him better access, and the arm pinning her to her window moved upwards, to press against her throat. She found she rather enjoyed the primal surge of adrenaline that coursed through her at the insinuation that her air supply might be restricted, and her hands moved over his chest and hard, muscled torso, wondering if it would be too risky to unfasten the brocade robes here, in their semi-private enclave. Could they make it back to her room without being spotted?

"Bella?" A small, cherubic face peeked into alcove a second after the voice found them.

"Get lost," Rodolphus growled savagely over his shoulder at the tiny blonde child, who gave an indignant gasp and repeated more insistently, "Bella!"

Bellatrix hesitated, her hand still resting on his abdomen as she regarded her sister. "I said—" Rodolphus turned towards the tiny blonde threateningly. "Go!"

"Rodolphus!" Bellatrix chastened, slipping from between his body and the glass and reaching for her sister as the girl turned to flee. "You can go. Cissy," she pulled Narcissa close, glaring reproachfully at her companion. "It's alright, Cissy. What are you doing out of bed?"

Rodolphus raised his brows, clearly taken aback by this maternal display of protectiveness. Bellatrix had not been seeking an excuse to put him off, but his evident frustration brought a wicked smirk to her lips.

"I was watching the guests from behind the statue of Agrippa," Narcissa confessed. "I saw you come over here, I thought to admire the view but then when you didn't return..." she trailed of and chanced another nervous glance in Rodolphus's direction. Bellatrix looked over as well, scarcely able to swallow her haughty smile at his outraged expression.

"If you'll excuse us, I need to see my sister safely returned to sleep. I'll see you at school."

Thursday, 1 September 1966

Though she would never admit it, Bellatrix felt an unprecedented anticipation for the fall term to begin following the ball. If anyone had noticed her eagerness she would have excused it as a happiness that at last both her sisters would be joining her at Hogwarts, but she managed to maintain a facade of icy indifference well enough that no one noticed her impatience to leave.

The train ride was uneventful, but there would be no avoiding once they arrived at the castle. Upon entering the Great Hall, she saw right away that Rodolphus was seated beside his brother and across from Idris Shafiq, the seventh year Slytherin Prefect. Bellatrix, who normally paid attention to none of her housemates, made a point of heading as far down the table as she could, her hand clamped on Andromeda's elbow. She selected a seat towards the front of the Hall, leaving a space between the two of them and snarling at anyone who dared attempt to sit in the gap.

"That's for our sister," she hissed at Sinclair Crabbe when he moved towards the space. There wasn't any doubt that Cissy would be in Slytherin— even if it weren't Black family tradition, Bellatrix was certain there had never been as shrewd and manipulative a child as her little sister; the girl was the very embodiment of a Slytherin. As she walked to the stool at the front of the Hall, Narcissa looked considerably more confident than the rest of the students in her year. Sure enough, the hat had barely touched her shining gold locks before it was shrieking their house name. A tiny smirk lifted the corner of her lips, and she floated over to the long table bedecked in green and silver to sink gracefully between her sisters. There, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the school, she allowed herself a brief, ecstatic grin: first at Bellatrix and then Andromeda. Andromeda ducked her head to press a swift congratulatory peck to Narcissa's cheek, and even Bellatrix could not resist the urge to stroke her sister's long blonde hair affectionately.

"Glad Mother won't have to blast you off Aunt Walburga's tapestry," Bellatrix congratulated wryly, and Narcissa's glee and relief were apparent in her louder-than-normal giggle in response to the quip— at eleven, she was already in the habit of policing her visible emotions.

"Congratulations, Cissy." The voice came from near Bella's right ear; she did not need to turn to know it was Rodolphus leaning over her shoulder. The Sorting wasn't over; had hardly begun, in fact, and more than a few professors were shooting disapproving looks at the large boy who'd risen during the ceremony, casually strode to the opposite end of the Slytherin table, and now spoke as though he were quite alone with the three sisters and his timing was not poor to the point of bordering on offensive.

Narcissa stared up at the intruder with a hard and unfriendly gaze. Clearly she had not forgotten his behaviour at Lammas over the summer.

"I prefer 'Narcissa,'" she corrected coolly, causing him to laugh loudly and draw even more irritated stares.

"You're too small for such a big name," he replied dismissively, turning his focus instead to Bellatrix, who had obviously been his intended target all along. "We've some unfinished business, my pet. You haven't answered any of my owls."

"You haven't sent any owls," she returned, sounding bored, although she could not fully suppress a slight shiver as his fingers found the curve of her spine.

"Well, no matter. I think tonight you and I should—"

"Take your seat, Lestrange," Idris had marched over as well, looking livid. "I won't miss my sister's Sorting because you can't wait ten more minutes to gossip with Miss Black."

Rodolphus sneered but followed the other boy back to the far end of the table, winking at the Black sisters as he went.

"He's dreadful, Bella," Andromeda whispered several minutes later as 'Shafiq, Ghada," was also sent to the Slytherin table amid thunderous applause. Ghada's relief was palpable as she hurried over to sit next to her brother; across the table, Rabastan extended a friendly hand for her to shake. Between her own siblings, Narcissa nodded in fervent agreement. "What did he mean, 'unfinished business?'" Andromeda pressed on.

Bellatrix shrugged but kept her eyes fixed with suspicious interest upon the few remaining first years waiting to be Sorted. "We were talking at the gala last month. Didn't get a chance to finish our conversation."

Here Narcissa gave a tiny but revealing cough, and Andromeda blinked at her older sister in disbelief. "No, not Lestrange. Bella, you know what everyone says about him." Their small blonde counterpart looked up curiously at these words— she did not know what people said about Rodolphus, but evidently hoped to learn. "He could really hurt you, you know what he did to the poor Bletchley girl…"

"Hearsay," Bellatrix waved the old accusation aside. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Bellatrix stayed close to both her sisters as the meal ended and they headed to the Common Room. Narcissa was absorbing everything with wide eyes, and when they reached their destination it was with some pride the Bellatrix saw her move away to join the other students of her year rather than remain in the familiar and secure company of the older two girls.

"She'll do so well here," Andromeda spoke aloud, echoing Bellatrix's silent sentiments. Already some of the young girls were exclaiming in envy over Narcissa's elegant robes (she'd taken the plain black uniform off at once, something Bella too was in the habit of doing; Andromeda, on the other hand, was content to wear hers in the Common Room and on weekends, in additon to classes where they were required).

"You should send an owl to Mother tonight to let her know Sorting went well," Bellatrix suggested, in part because she knew Narcissa would be too distracted to write until the following day, but mostly because she saw Rodolphus cutting a path through the throngs of Slytherins directly towards her.

"Be careful, Bellatrix," Andromeda murmured, only to be brushed off with a dismissive hand.

"Drink?" Rodolphus produced a bottle of elf-made wine and goblet; she quirked a disdainful brow at the label.

"Really? This swill? I'd be better off with pumpkin juice."

His eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth curled up into a smirk. She wondered how much abuse she could dole out before he lost either his temper or interest in pursuing her. They were standing in a rather central location, and she could feel many pairs of eyes upon them— not unusual, she was used to being watched and so was he, but both were well known to be unpredictable and destructive; most were wise enough to give the pair a wide berth as they stood with their gazes locked.

At last he raised his wand, and pointed it towards the seventh year boys' dormitory. "Accio Macallan." A new bottle soared through the air, clipping a second year boy as it flew across the space. Ignoring his shout of indignation, Rodolphus offered the scotch to Bellatrix with some impatience.

"Better?"

"Hm." She made a show of studying the label before breaking the seal and taking a deep swig. "It will do," she conceded at last, not returning the liquor but turning away.

"Bellatrix…" He reached out to grasp her arm, but she caught sight of the movement in her periphery and spun easily away.

"Don't be grabby, Roddy," she chided with a cruel laugh, taking another long pull of the expensive scotch and twirling lightly on her toes as if they stood on a ballroom floor, dancing out of reach when he tried again. "Greedy as a goblin, counting all his gold," she began to sing the tuneless nursery rhyme with wicked glee as she spun around him gracefully, "Tried to use a freezing charm, but it only made you cold." It was a childhood game of chase and capture, and a few of the amused watchers dared to join her in chanting the familiar words. "And now I've run, you've been told, you can't tell your left from a lethifold!" His dark eyes stayed fixed on her flitting form, though he moved after her only very slowly, taking careful steps in her frolicking wake and never coming quite near enough to put an end to her antics. She continued to drink and sing as she wove through clusters of arm chairs and knots of students, picking up more voices as she went until half the house was chanting along with her. The game, usually played in a group, required one player to capture another by the end of the song, and that child would be "it" for the next round. If the child could not claim another by the last word, he would generally be ejected from the game and subjected to jeers and ridicule from his playmates. The swell of voices was reaching a crescendo; they had come to the last verse: "We'll cast a spell, we'll be so bold, Flagrante and Geminio! And now I'm something you.. can't… hold."

Like a flash, his hand shot out to curl around her wrist in a crushing grasp just as the word "hold" was shouted by all— cheers erupted around them but neither noticed as he dragged her body against his. It was hard to say whether she'd allowed him catch her or simply underestimated his reach. At first she thought he was angry— humiliated, perhaps, by being paraded amongst their peers in a foolish game— but it was merely impatience that darkened his expression as he curved his free hand, the one not currently grinding the bones of her wrist together, around her waist to press into her lower back, forcing out any space that might try to linger between them. Her chin jutted as she met his gaze without fear, and she tipped her head back to take another gulp of scotch. The bottle was half empty by now. To Rodolphus, it was as though the rest of the house had vanished. He didn't hear their chatter, didn't see their covert, or blatant, glances. All he saw, the only things that existed to him in that moment, were her flashing black eyes staring up at him in an inescapable challenge, and the shine of alcohol clinging to her startlingly red mouth. A small amount beaded on her lower lip, but since she held the bottle in one hand and he held her other wrist in captivity, she had no means to wipe it away. It was his liquor, after all, he'd been remarkably generous in sharing it with her; he felt he deserved a taste.

Despite her teasing, and his insistent pursuit, and his reputation of insatiable appetites, Bellatrix had genuinely not believed that he would dare to kiss her in front of a quarter of the school. If you could even call it that— his lips scarcely touched hers, the coarse hair on his face grazing rather then abrading her skin, and his tongue moved once in a single upward stroke over her bottom lip, then again, slowly, as though to ensure he hadn't missed anything. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the gesture that kept her rooted in place, or perhaps it was the unexpected heat the unusual, primal caress ignited low in her gut. He drew back fractionally.

"Come upstairs," he whispered roughly. An invitation, a command, a plea? It was impossible to say.

"Now, what sort of example would I be setting for my baby sister if I did that?" she replied silkily, pressing the pointer finger of the hand still wrapped around the neck of the scotch bottle emphatically to his chest.

"I truly do not care," answered Rodolphus, loosening his breaking hold on her wrist only to twine his fingers with hers. "Enough of the games, Bella."

"The games are what make it fun, Roddy," she whispered and rose once more to her toes, having the dual effect of bringing her face closer to his and sliding her body suggestively against his. He wasn't smiling. Later, years later, she would think back on this moment with wonder and amusement; how badly her usually-flippant and laughing husband must have desired her to be so serious and intent. How unsure he must have been of her imminent capitulation to his needs. This was, of course, before the many years later, when she wouldn't think of him at all.

"Not when neither of us wins," he groaned, the fingers laced through hers tightening, his other hand digging painfully into the small of her back. "Can't I have you?" he murmured, dropping his head so that his forehead rested against hers.

"No, of course not," she laughed, twisting out of his hold once more but not releasing his hand. Bellatrix watched the different emotions darken his features with amusement, taking a long drink of his scotch and thinking he resembled a Byronic hero when so tortured. "I won't be owned by any man, I've no use for such arrogance. Now, if you're quite done sulking, perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private. Not that I'm opposed to a bit of exhibition, mind you, but as I said, with both my sisters in the room... it does sort of put a damper on things."

Rodolphus brightened at once, eyes lighting up with a wild sort of flame as he absorbed the meaning of her words. With a final smirk she turned to lead him from the Common Room.

Saturday, 5 November 1966

Bellatrix watched as Rodolphus poured out a bit of butterbeer and refilled the space with firewhiskey. "Lucius, here," he called the young seeker over, and pressed the bottle into his hands. "Well done, mate."

The blond grinned and took a deep gulp before turning back to his conversation with Laetitia Avery, a pretty fifth year who looked utterly amused by the precocious twelve-year-old's attempts at flirtation. "Just watch," Rodolphus murmured, his lips to her ear, "I'll bet I can get him unconscious by half nine."

"He's ninety pounds, it's hardly a challenge," she drawled, reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey that dangled in his hand and taking a pull. "Have you got a cigarette?"

"I've got something even better," he announced, reaching into his pocket. "Lifted it from Slughorn's office last night in detention." Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"I don't want a cigar, I want a fag," she snapped, her eyes wandering the Common Room. "Crabbe will have one." She hopped up off the couch, but Rodolphus caught her wrist to prevent her escape. She paused with an impatient scowl as he pressed his lips to her palm.

"Hurry back," he grinned devilishly up at her and she rolled her eyes. Just to annoy him, as she could feel his eyes on her even as she walked away, she draped herself over Sinclair Crabbe's arm and put her lips close to his ear to make the innocuous request. The hapless boy was more than willing to supply her, but before she had a chance to light it, another voice spoke at her shoulder.

"Do you believe this?" Bellatrix turned to see her sister standing beside her looking scandalized. "She's eleven, for Circe's sake!" Bella's head jerked in the direction that Andromeda was staring, and sure enough, Lucius Malfoy, holding his third spiked butter beer of the night, was lounging against the mantle by the fireplace and chatting to the youngest Black with the same interest he'd been showing Lettie only minutes before.

"Oh I don't think so," Bellatrix hissed, seizing Andromeda by the elbow. "Come on, let's go put a stop to it."

"Yes, alright," Andromeda agreed, attempting to free herself from her sister's vice-like grip. "But do try to be delicate about it, Cissy looks rather pleased with the attention." Sure enough, Narcissa was beaming up at the boy and speaking animatedly, but rather than evoke any tenderness in Bellatrix, the uncharacteristic display of joyful emotion only served to enrage her further as she marched over to the pair.

"You flew well today, Malfoy," Andromeda began, slipping an affectionate arm around Narcissa's shoulder. Immediately Narcissa scowled and tried to shrug her off, but the grip was firmer than it appeared.

"And you should stick to flying," Bellatrix added hotly, crossing her own arms to glare down at the boy. "Flying away, that is."

Narcissa flushed an angry pink. "Lucius, I imagine you know my sisters? Bella and Annie?"

"He knows us," Bellatrix answered shortly, watching him with narrowed eyes as he finished off his drink. "Knows what we're capable of," she added in a dark undertone, gratified to see him choke slightly in alarm. "Need another butterbeer? Let's go get you one." It wasn't really a suggestion, and the two older Black girls flanked him as he regretfully withdrew from more pleasant companionship and headed towards the drink table.

"You and Cissy seemed to be getting along well!" Andromeda started brightly. "What were you talking about?"

"Erm, I dunno…" he frowned— Bellatrix was now blocking the path forward so he was forced to stop and speak to them both. "Classes?"

"Classes, right. It's so important to focus on studies your first year, don't you think?" she pressed on cheerfully while Bellatrix glowered at him.

"Yeah, I suppose—"

"We're saying she doesn't really have time for boys, Malfoy," Bellatrix interjected, at last lighting the cigarette she'd bummed with a snap of her fingers. She took a long drag and not-so-subtly blew the smoke directly in Lucius's face as Andromeda chirped,

"Nothing against you! We'd just hate for her to be distracted while she's settling in and making friends."

"And I can't be her friend?" Lucius snapped, waving the smoke away irritably.

"No," Bellatrix replied swiftly, at the same time that Andromeda assured him, "Just friends is fine!"

"Ladies, what's all this about?" Rodolphus approached the trio with a grin, a newly-opened bottle in hand. "Here Malfoy, for you." He slipped an arm around Bellatrix's rigid waist as he handed the 'butterbeer' over to Lucius.

"Malfoy's just met our baby sister," Bellatrix replied drily, leaning into him despite her annoyance. "We were confirming that he knows who he's dealing with."

"Yes, alright, I've got it," Lucius muttered, taking the opportunity to slip away from the conversation. Bellatrix followed his retreat with her gaze suspiciously, only turning away when she saw him strike up conversation with fourth year Francesca Zabini and knew that Narcissa was no longer a subject of his interest.

"She could do worse than Malfoy, he's a bright kid," Rodolphus added idly, then winced as Bellatrix stomped on his foot.

"She's eleven!" Andromeda repeated, aghast. "She's just a baby." She shot a glance at the Malfoy heir once more. "He's a little young for Francesca though," she added with a sniff, with some judgement towards her dorm-mate.

"Leave them be," Rodolphus suggested offhandedly. Andromeda nodded once, tersely, before slipping back into the crowd; she never stayed for long when Rodolphus was around. The arm not wrapped around Bellatrix's waist crossed over her chest, and he dipped his head to rest his lips on the curve between her shoulder and neck. "M'bored," he mumbled against her skin, widening his mouth to sink his teeth into the soft flesh.

"You still need a team photo," she reminded him, pulling her shoulder away irritably when he bit down harder. "To commemorate this momentous occasion."

"Right," he agreed, lifting his head and looking around the room. "Shafiq!" he barked, causing several people nearby to jump in surprise. Idris, the captain and Keeper, glanced over from his conversation with a tired sort of expression.

"Yes?"

"Get everyone together for the picture, I have more important things to do with the rest of my night," Rodolphus called, his grip tightening suggestively on Bellatrix as he spoke. The command resulted in no necessary action on the part of Idris, as the entire team had heard the request and began to assemble in the middle of the room. Six of the seven had gathered within a minute or two; Rodolphus frowned as he counted. "Bash... Rosier... Flint... Carrow... Where the bloody hell did Malfoy go?"

Rabastan snorted. "Over there," he jerked his head towards the stairwell of the second year boys' dormitory. "With Selene Fawley."

"She's chatting his ear off, I suppose?" Amycus wheezed a laugh. "Never met another girl who talks so much as her."

"She's doing something to his ear," Evan drawled distastefully.

"Malfoy!" Rodolphus bellowed, and at last the blond stumbled out of the darkened alcove, running his hand through his hair to tidy it and tugging the wrinkles out of his shirt. He was remarkably composed by the time he reached the group.

"Yes?" he grinned crookedly.

"Look sharp," Rodolphus grumbled good-naturedly, seizing the younger boy by the shoulder and turning him roughly around to face the camera.

Saturday, 25 February 1967

"Roddy? What are you doing?" She couldn't keep the confusion and wonderment from her tone as she approached the table where he sat. "Surely not…" Bellatrix's gaze wandered over the open pages before him, the small bubbling cauldron and assortment of potion ingredients beside it. "Surely not revising for your N.E.W.T's?" She was fairly certain the Rodolphus was literate, but only from the obscure and odd poetry references he occasionally tossed into conversation. She'd never seen him open a book or read the paper in all the years she'd known him. He was taking only four classes: Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't sure any of them required the ability to read or write English.

"No, pet, of course not. Never fear." He reached for her hand and pulled her into his lap with a grin. "I'm glad you're here. You're going to help me with something."

She rolled her eyes, though even as she dismissed him, her hand began to find its way towards the buckle of his belt. "Fine, but if Slughorn comes in I'm inviting him to join."

"Not that," he snatched her hand up to his lips before she could distract him, but then confused the situation further by casually unbuttoning his shirt. "Not yet, anyway." He shifted her so she was facing away from him, forced to study the items laid out upon the table more closely. The tome was a runic text, and he'd circled several symbols and scratched illegible notes in the margin. A smaller, dogeared journal lay on top of it, open to a page with a detailed illustration of a human arm. She realized after staring at it for several moments that the text matched the unreadable notes in Rodolphus's hand— it wasn't poor penmanship, it was written in a language with an alphabet she didn't recognize.

Giving up finding any deeper meaning there, she shifted her attention from this to the cauldron, where a tar-like substance bubbled unhurriedly despite no visible source of heat. She hoped he did not plan on drinking the potion; it looked as though it would burn away lips, glue a throat closed. A silver dagger was next— this she was familiar with, had seen in his hand before— and finally a fine-tipped quill and ink pot.

"Alright, I give up. What am I helping you with?"

He had cast his shirt aside by now. "You're going to use the quill to draw these—" he leaned forward to point at the circled runes, "on my arm, here." He pointed out the area on the anatomical diagram, and then brought her fingers to the same spot on the back of his right bicep. "And then you're going to take the knife—" but by now she understood. He had several other of these markings, self-inflicted, already in place, though the area he had indicated would be hard to reach on his own, especially since he was right-handed.

"A numbing potion?" she asked foolishly.

"Of course not. You'll rub that into the cuts to ensure the raised scarring, while you speak the name of each rune to seal the enchantment."

She smiled gamely and lifted the quill. He described the order and the positioning of each symbol and she drew each one carefully, standing back to allow him to examine her work with a small mirror once finished. He had her make several small changes, and then instructed her to take the knife. She hesitated for only a moment before pressing the blade into his flesh.

"Deeper, into the muscle." His voice was relaxed but arm stiff, and she bit her lip to suppress a grin as she tightened her grip on the handle. It was mesmerizing, watching the honed silver disappear beneath his skin, and the blood welling to the surface in response. She began at the bottom as to avoid smearing the ink, taking her time to trace the angular shapes with precision and feeling a dart of exhilaration each time he grunted in discomfort.

"Finished," she breathed, running her hands, fascinated, over his bicep as she admired her work. He tore the page he had been referencing from the book and handed it to her so she could see the phonetic spellings of each rune, and moved the potion to the floor beside her.

"Uruz," she whispered huskily. The potion stung her fingertips as she smeared it into the fresh wound, but she could tell it seared him; his muscles were tense and he'd begun to sweat. "Eihwaz," she continued, pressing harder and watching the dark rivulets of blood run down to his elbow and drip to the stone below. "Hagalaz!" And she could tell that the spell was working— the runes were beginning to radiate heat and light. "Nauthiz," she breathed, and with this rune, the symbol of pain, his whole body lurched, and the four symbols composing an ancient spell flash briefly white, then returned to their blackened, bleeding state once more.

"Good," he panted, holding out a roll of gauze she had not previously noticed. When she wrapped the wound, she found that she did so rather sloppily— so much easier to damage than mend. His arm was strangely limp in her hands, and when she released him it fell uselessly to his side. "The pain and numbness will wear off in a few hours," he explained before she could speak, and used his left hand to pull her onto his lap again. "You did it perfectly."

She gave a contented, catlike grin and began to hastily draw the hem of her robes upwards. He kissed her like he wanted to consume her and touched as though he wanted to hurt her; it was the norm, but now he could use only one hand, and this handicap added an unexpected element of interest. She unfastened his belt and trousers and curled her hand around his stiff length to position herself, sinking down with a heavy sigh of satisfaction to impale herself upon him. Titillated as she was by the thrill of his blood on her hands and brush with the Dark Arts, it didn't take her long as she mercilessly ground against him, rocking backing and forth— he met her climax with a harsh, guttural chuckle, and when she grew still, panting, she realized he was still huge and hard inside her. He didn't give her time to catch her breath, increasing the tempo of his thrusts in an effort to find his own release, but was struggling to do so; it was not a typical issue for him and after only a few minutes Bellatrix moaned in impatience, "Come on, Rod..."

Abruptly, he wrapped his one good arm around her back to seize her waist on the opposite side. Before she could react, he'd jerked, hard, and simultaneously rose to his feet, dislodging her and causing her torso and face to slam against the table, momentarily knocking the breath from her. With a with a low snarl of frustration he slammed into her once more, furiously seeking that which eluded him. The heel of his palm at the base of her skull her kept her cheek pinned against the table, and her fingers curled around the first heavy item she could locate— the pestle he'd been using to grind herbs for the potion. With an unfailing aim, she swung it behind her and made contact with his right arm, near the newly engraved symbols. He stumbled back at once with an agonized shout and Bellatrix straightened up with an imperious scowl.

"I've told you not to do that!" she started furiously, shaking her skirts down and smoothing them. "I know you get off on it and I put up with a lot, but you could have broken my tooth. Oh get up." She spat a mouthful of blood from her split lip and glared down at him. Down, because he was on the floor, cradling his right arm in his left hand and taking short, hissing breaths through his teeth. "Stop being a baby," she insisted, though with some curiosity. She'd seen him take a bludger to the face and break his nose and orbital bone without even calling for a timeout. If she recalled correctly, Slytherin had even won that game. "Is it supposed to hurt so much?"

After a moment of hesitation he nodded, but still seemed unable to speak or rise.

"For Merlin's sake," she grumbled in exasperation, bending down to seize his arm— the uncut one this time. "Get up." She had to tug with all her strength several times before he at last staggered to his feet, and gave a grunt of surprise when he immediately began to tip forward. He had not lost enough blood to account for the vertigo; she could only guess it was a combination of the pain and spellwork. Leaving him alone seemed like a poor idea— if there had been any doubt before that he'd asked her to aid him in Dark Magic, it was evident now and her mother would be furious if it was traced back to her. With a martyred sigh she brought his arm around her shoulders and let him lean heavily upon her. Bellatrix was five foot ten and in no way frail, but standing upright under the weight of his six and a half foot frame bearing down upon her was not a negligible task. She managed a wave of her wand to vanish the potion and send the rest of the paraphernalia into her school bag, but left this behind to fetch later. Rodolphus was taking Ancient Runes at the N.E.W.T level, and if they were found she was fairly sure there was nothing inherently forbidden in the books— though the practice was quite a different matter.

Fortunately they didn't pass Slughorn or any other professors in the corridors between the dungeon and Common Room; she hadn't bothered with an attempt to get his shirt or robes back on, and fat beads of blood left a macabre trail in their wake. A few curious eyes acknowledged their unconventional entrance, but only one rose to offer any assistance.

"Circe, done this again has he? Hold on, I'll get a potion that will knock him out for a while." Rabastan rose slowly and padded off to his dormitory, muttering under his breath. Bellatrix half dragged Rodolphus up the stairs to his dormitory and deposited him with a sigh of relief onto his bed.

"Bloody fool, does this even do anything?" she tutted, carefully removing the soiled dressings. Rabastan appeared with a vial of azure potion, humming absently as he came in.

"Down it goes," he mumbled in a sing-song voice, tipping the contents into his brothers mouth and clamping a hand over his nose and mouth until he swallowed.

"Aren't you meant to just use a drop or two?" Bellatrix asked suspiciously as Rodolphus went suddenly limp, his eyes shading but not entirely closing.

"Yes," he confirmed absently, pointing his wand at the messy wound. "Aguamenti." A jet of water bathed his arm and Rabastan used the duvet to wipe away the blood and excess black residue. With a flick he conjured a clean roll of gauze to apply a new bandage. "All set. He'll wake up in a few hours feeling much better."

"Thanks Bash," she sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted and sinking onto the bed beside Rodolphus. Rabastan gave her an oddly bright smile and pulled another stoppered bottle from the pocket of his robes. "Want something for your face too?"

"My face...?" Bellatrix blinked in confusion before reaching up to gingerly touch her swollen lip. "Oh, yes, I suppose if you've got something."

"Did he hit you or were you dueling?" he inquired conversationally, tossing her the potion. There was a strange lack of empathy in his voice, only detached curiosity.

"Neither," she replied, dabbing the yellow paste on her lip and cheek, but she could tell from his expression that he didn't believe her. He reached into his pocket and this time withdrew a pack of cigarettes, offering one to her before taking one for himself. Bellatrix ignited hers with a snap of her fingers, Rabastan with his wand as he sat down on the opposite side of his brother. She watched him thoughtfully as they smoked in silence for several minutes. On the small side for his age, Rabastan both looked and was young, and she felt a fleeting moment of pity that both of his parents were deceased.

"Well, he's dead to the world for a bit, no use in hanging around here," Rabastan spoke first and stood, illustrating his point by callously pressing the still-glowing end of his cigarette into his brother's shoulder. He held it there for a few seconds with a blank stare until the smell of cooking meat reached Bellatrix's nostrils, and then tossed the extinguished butt carelessly to the floor. "See you later, Bella."

Friday, 30 June 1967

"Will you miss me, Bella?" The dormitory beds were not intended for two, and Rodolphus alone was already rather too large to fit comfortably on his own. However he did not resent the narrow, foreshortened mattresses when she joined him there, and tonight was the last time she would do so; the last night she would be forced to twine her nude body with his as there was no space to roll away, the pair ensconced between walls of green velvet, waiting for the rest of the seventh year boys to fall asleep so she could slip back to her own bed.

"Probably not for a while," she yawned carelessly. "You've been dreadfully clingy these past few weeks, I should say I'll enjoy some solitude back at Grimsden Hall."

He growled and raised his head to bite her shoulder in reprobation, and she laughed. "I suppose you'll be bored," she posited. "No more school, no need for a job— however will you fill your time?"

"I'll stay busy enough in service to the Dark Lord," he reminded her, and she reached for his left arm to admire the tattoo there, her favorite by far of the many markings on his arms and chest, even above the ones she carved into his flesh. "You should marry me, don't you think?"

The statement hung in the air for a long moment and neither of them moved. At last, Bellatrix asked, "And why should I do that?"

It was not a "no," which was frankly rather more promising than Rodolphus had anticipated for a first attempt. This has simply been a test to see where her mind currently rested on the matter, and that she had not yet scoffed or hexed him was highly promising.

"It would be fun," he replied with a shrug, reaching with the arm not wrapped around her back to blindly fumble on his nightstand for a packet of cigarettes.

Bellatrix snorted. "I doubt it. Sex is fun and we're already doing that." To emphasize her point, she rolled over on top of him, draping her legs on either side of his hips and folding her hands on his chest, upon which she rested her chin. Rodolphus grunted in agreement and the hand that had been resting on her shoulder moved lower to grip her arse, but he was not quite ready to drop the subject. He'd managed to extract a cigarette from the carton and placed it between his lips, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Lazily, she lifted her fingertip to its end, and a small flame erupted there. Bellatrix waited for him to take a long drag, and then plucked it from his mouth and did the same.

"I'm very rich," he suggested, and she laughed with only a hint of derision.

"So am I, and my father doesn't have any male heirs. Keep trying."

Rodolphus took the cigarette back, buying time. "Erm…" he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "We could travel the world."

"We don't have to be married to do that," she pointed out reasonably. "And I could do it on my own too. Besides, I can't go anywhere for another year anyway. So what I'm really hearing is you don't have anything to offer me other than your admittedly magnificent cock, which you've made the grave mistake of letting me have out of wedlock." She tapped his nose in mock reprobation. "Didn't your mother every warn you that you ought to protect you virtue at all costs?"

"Don't you think that your mother, and father, for that matter, will make you marry eventually?"

"I think they think they will," she responded evasively, finishing off the cigarette and dropping it carelessly on the stone floor beside the bed. She began to shift against him, inching her way downwards with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before she had successfully distracted him from the matter at hand.

"What to you want then?"

This question, unlike his previous one, captured her full attention and interest. "I want to meet him," she said at once; Bellatrix kept no secrets from her own heart, and at last here was the opportunity to share the dearest one with someone who might be able to grant it.

A slow frown crept across his brow. "There are no women in his service," he protested in confusion. Bellatrix sat up with a swift scowl.

"What does that have to do with anything? I'm a better duelist than you, and just because I don't know as many curses doesn't mean I can't learn them. I'm much smarter than you are," she snapped.

"Not very smart to insult someone you want a favor from," he countered lazily, starting to reach for another cigarette but she slapped his hand to keep his full focus on her.

"I'm not asking for a favor. Just an exchange of more or less equal value to each party."

Rodolphus stared up at her with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and frustration. "You'd marry me if I gave you an introduction?" he clarified, just to confirm he was not misunderstanding. Bellatrix shrugged, shaking her long tangled curls down her back.

"I don't see why not."

His hands flew up, wrapping around her arms just above her elbows and yanking her back down so she was pressed against his chest once more. "Don't lie to me, Bella," he growled.

"I'm not!" she huffed in indignation, trying to break free but failing. Tomorrow there would be bruises, but that was nothing new.

"I don't think you fully understand the enormity of that request, Bellatrix. The risk—"

"I'm not afraid!" she interrupted, raising her voice and glaring at him from her locked position.

He chuckled at her indignation, releasing her to slide his palms over her bare back. "Not the risk to you, pet. The consequences I would face, the humiliation and punishment for bringing someone…" It was on the tip of his tongue to say "unworthy," but the appellation could never apply to the seething and wildly beautiful creature before him. "Someone he would not have." A pause. "But there could be danger to you as well," he added, almost as an afterthought as he wound his hands in her raven locks and tugged.

"Well now you have my terms." She was no longer struggling; instead, she let her eyes fall closed and she nuzzled against the coarse hair on his chest. "If mine are unconscionable to you, well," she yawned. "Yours are to me too."

"They aren't unconscionable," he murmured, running his fingertips up the curve of her spine, massaging the nape of her neck thoughtfully. "I just… let me think about it, Bella. Give me a bit of time."

Saturday, 11 November 1967

It was a crisp, clear autumn morning, and Bellatrix was in a foul mood. Two and a half months of her final year at Hogwarts had thus far produced nothing more interesting than mounds of schoolwork, and if she didn't come up with a thesis topic for Charms by Monday she'd have to drop the class. She was flicking listlessly through a book on weather-changing charms; it seemed like a valuable skill to have, but she was failing to come up with any sort of research inquiry that she could pursue for a final paper.

It was also the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. She'd elected not to go. It would have been refreshing to get out of the castle, perhaps, but she was tired of the quaint village. What thrill was there left in Zonko's or Honeydukes? She'd spent the summer with more freedom she'd ever before been granted— although admittedly that largely revolved around slipping out after her mother retired and back in before dawn—and she longed for the thrill of traipsing about London with no one to answer to, dining and drinking out late, no essays hanging over her head...

If she missed the partner she'd enjoyed on these excursions, she would certainly never admit it. She hadn't heard from him since the week before term started, and supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by this fact. Never had she known someone more distractable and restless, what had she been expecting, a daily owl?

With an irritable hiss she scratched a quick note on how basic Drought Charms were modified to expel rainclouds, but the modification was ridiculously complex, hardly even the same spell...

"Bellatrix Black?" A young boy with a colorful bruise across his jaw and bleeding lip was staring at her sullenly, shuffling his feet. She didn't recognize him, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Who's asking?"

"Dunno, do I?" he snapped. "And I got this for trying to find out," he pointed angrily to the injury on his face. "There's someone at the gate who wants to talk to you though. Said he'd do worse if I came back before you did. I just want to see Hogsmeade, it's my first time going and—"

"Yes, yes, alright," she interrupted, rising quickly to her feet. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."

"I'm not an owl!" The boy snapped, and then cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. "And I'm not going back there before you."

"Well, I won't be rushed," she replied haughtily, stacking her books neatly and placing her parchments and ink bottles into her bag with uncommon consideration. After a moment of deliberation, she decided to return to her dormitory to fix her hair, and once there elected to put on a new set of robes as well. The boy was gone by the time she returned, but she thought she caught sight of him lingering behind a suit of armor near the front doors of the castle.

She crossed the lawn at a leisurely pace, refusing to let even a glimmer of excitement or anticipation reveal itself in how she moved. The cool air could be blamed for pinking her cheeks, and she kept her expression carefully aloof, even when the the gate came into view and she saw a tall figure slouched indolently against one of the stone pillars that flanked it. Chin lofted and shoulders squared, she glided over to him with an indifferent air.

"Hello, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus, on the other hand, demonstrated no such reserve. He tossed his cigarette aside at once— the ground by his feet was littered with butts, he'd been waiting for some time— and seized her by the waist, lifting her easily into the air and spinning her around as though she were no bigger than a child.

"Bella," he murmured, ignoring her splutters that were half laughter, half indignation as he kissed her, his fingers rooting in her hair. "Bella, Bella, what took you so long?"

He didn't give her a chance to respond right away as he turned to pin between the column he'd been lounging against and his body. When his mouth moved to her throat she managed to reply at last, "How was I meant to know you were waiting?"

"Where else would I be? I've taken a room above the Three Broomsticks for the weekend and we've wasted enough time already."

"You could have sent word," she breathed as he brazenly moved his hands from her hair to her shoulders to her breasts, tilting his hips suggestively and nipping at the tendons of her neck.

"No need, I knew you'd come," he grunted, pulling himself away reluctantly. "Let's go, pet, unless you want me to take you here in broad daylight in front of whatever child might wander by... I'd be happy to oblige but thought you might want to maintain the last shreds of your reputation since you haven't even agreed to marry me yet..."

She hit his arm in reprobation and he dimpled at her, sliding a hand down her back to rest somewhere between her lower back and curve of her bottom. With a small, satisfied smirk she permitted him to guide her towards the village.

"Get up to anything fun lately, Roddy?"

"Derailed a train full of Muggles outside London on Sunday."

"That was you?" she laughed. "The train from Hastings? I read about it in the Prophet."

He grinned and nodded in affirmation, and her continued laughter sifted brightly through the leaves above.

Saturday, 13 April 1968

"It's so nice to have all my girls home for the Easter holiday," Druella sighed, walking over to the double doors which were thrown open to allow the golden morning light to pour into the intimate dining room.

"Maman," Narcissa began, smiling in contentment as she followed her mother's gaze over the the Loire river. "Pouvons—"

"There's something I'd like to say," Bellatrix announced loudly over her little sister's voice as though she hadn't spoken. "Now that everyone is here." She placed her fork down and glanced about to ensure she had captured the full attention of all present. Satisfied that she had, she focused her gaze on her father. "I am going to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. He'll be coming tomorrow to ask your permission officially, Father, but you should know that I have agreed and it is happening as soon as possible. I suggested June, the week after term ends."

A stunned silence filled the room for several long seconds, and then everyone began to speak at once.

"You can't get married in June, it's less than two months away! What will people think if you have such a short engagement—"

"I rather think the decent thing to do would have been to ask my permission before—"

"Will I get a new dress robe for the reception?"

Only Andromeda remained quiet, staring at her older sister with a sort of horrified disbelief. This Bellatrix ignored, and addressed Druella first.

"I hardly care what people will think, Mother. And he asked me at end of term last year, I've only just agreed, so it's similar to having a year long engagement. I won't wait until next year."

"Darling, is there… are you…" Druella did not articulate the vulgar thought, but glanced meaningfully at her daughter's flat stomach. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, do you really think I'd marry him just for getting me pregnant? Of course I'm not."

Druella flushed but pressed on. "But what of Evan? Surely you understand there's always been an agreement that you two would wed when he comes of age."

"I agreed to no such thing. Andromeda can marry him if you'd like, and Cissy can marry Sirius. You had a surplus of daughters and one of us was going to get to choose a husband anyway; I'm the oldest and I've made my choice."

Both the younger girls began to protest this suggestion, but fell silent when their father spoke. Unlike their parents, they had seen Bella and Rodolphus together at school, so the announcement took them somewhat less by surprise. "Are you sure you've thought this through?" Cygnus demanded sternly. "The boy has no parents, he's young to be on his own in the world and I would feel better if you were marrying someone more grounded."

"You needn't worry, Father. I'm very sure of my decision." She took a sip of tea and made a face at Narcissa, who was still waiting in glowing anticipation for a response to her own inquiry. "And of course you'll get a new robe, don't be a flobberworm."

The small blonde beamed at this outcome, but looked up at her mother for a nod of confirmation. After she had received it, she went on. "But Mama, I don't want to marry Sirius. He's very rude and dirty."

"Boys outgrow that," Druella replied in clipped tones. "And you're only thirteen Narcissa, ages away from thinking of your own wedding. Sirius doesn't even start school until next year." She turned her attention back to her eldest daughter. "June simply cannot be done. The planning involved… why, even a year is short notice for such a production."

"I'm marrying Rodolphus this summer," she repeated steadfastly. "Whether your production is ready or not."

"August, then," Druella insisted pleadingly, knowing that every additional second would drastically improve the overall outcome, and that four full months would almost be enough time to satisfy everyone present that the pair was not marrying due to an unexpected conception.

"Fine, August," Bellatrix relented grudgingly. "But not a day later."

"I'll start composing an announcement at once," Druella swiftly replied, already sweeping out of the room. "Make sure Mr. Lestrange is here early tomorrow, so we can publish the announcement in the evening Prophet!" she trilled over her shoulder as she vanished in the direction of her study.

"I've invited him for supper, not breakfast," Bellatrix told her father dryly, not bothering to inform the more interested party. "But he won't care when the notice comes out."

Narcissa was happily listing off to Andromeda, the only one who deign to listen, all the boys she would prefer to marry over Sirius if given the choice. Predictably the neighboring boy Michel Robillard was at the top of the list ("The spring holiday at Beauxbatons doesn't overlap with ours," she was explaining sadly, "so I won't be able to see him while we're here this week.") but several Hogwarts students made the roster too ("Well I suppose Lucius Malfoy is rather…" and here she blushed and took a bite of a croissant). Naturally Andromeda encouraged her association with Robillard, a soft option if Bella had ever seen one ("I remember you two listening to records for hours in the conservatory!"), and had nothing positive to say about the far more suitable pureblood heirs at Hogwarts ("I don't know Cissy, with a father like Malfoy's… surely you've read the papers?"). Still, the conversation was for naught because Narcissa was still a child and almost certainly destined to marry one of her cousins.

Rodolphus was late for dinner, and Bellatrix judged him to be a little drunk by the way he kissed her in front of her family, but was unconcerned. He shook Cygnus's hand with too much enthusiasm, complimented Druella's beauty too loudly, and had the audacity to ruffle Narcissa's carefully brushed hair, sending the young girl into silent paroxysms rage. He likely would have offended Andromeda as well, had she not insisted that she had an unbearable headache that no potion could cure and refused to be present for the meal.

"Gods, it's bloody warm here, isn't it?" Rodolphus began causally, throwing his traveling cloak at an elf and loosening the filigree fastening of his dress robes at his throat. "Nothing a cool glass of Sancerre can't help, of course."

An elf supplied one immediately in response to Druella's nod and Rodolphus took a deep gulp, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one else was drinking. Dinner was a strained affair for three of the attendees. Rodolphus made virtually no effort to censor his usual volume and vulgarity. When Druella politely inquired what he had been doing since leaving school the year before, she certainly had not expected to be subjected to a detailed description of animal husbandry as he told them about the Granians he was breeding. She looked faintly ill and kept sending anxious glances in Narcissa's direction, worried perhaps that she was discovering for the first time how new life came to be. Narcissa however had been scowling since the enraging hair-ruffle incident and seemed entirely absorbed in her own small fury; apparently she had decided to block his words out for the rest of the night to the very best of her ability. Cygnus worried over his wife's discomfort and Narcissa's pout, trying and failing several times to steer the conversation to more suitable territory. For her part, Bellatrix seemed entirely unaffected by his behaviour, even smiling indulgently, although in all fairness she had ruined more than her fair share of family dinners in the past.

After the meal Rodolphus and Cygnus disappeared into the library to discuss more technical details of the engagement, and Bellatrix retired to the music room. Druella went upstairs ostensibly to check on Andromeda but more probably to find a Calming Draught, and after only a few minutes Narcissa followed her oldest sister.

"Bella," Narcissa seemed pleased to have caught her sister alone, and squirmed onto the seat beside her. She was still small enough that sharing a single armchair was not terribly invasive, and Bellatrix permitted it. "I have a question," the small blonde continued, blinking innocently and tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Yes, Cissy?" Bellatrix felt indulgent, even willing to pet her sister affectionately, although at thirteen she was getting too old for it.

"I know there isn't a baby, you told Mama and I believe you. But you've been dating Roddy for ages. Why the hurry to get married?"

Bellatrix hesitated and then laughed, scooping her sister close and kissing her forehead. "Oh Cissy baby, you're so much brighter than anyone gives you credit for!" Though Narcissa was clearly annoyed by the observation and tried to pull away, Bellatrix kept her close and pressed on. "Mother had so many questions but never thought to ask the only one that truly mattered. And you've asked just the one, so I'll tell you the truth." When Narcissa was an infant, Bellatrix would sit and cradle her for long minutes; never too long, as she was a restless child, but now she pulled as much of her sister onto her as she could manage and continued conspiratorially. "Rodolphus knows someone very important. Have you heard of the Dark Lord? The papers are calling him He Who Must Not Be Named, or colloquially You-Know-Who."

Narcissa nodded but did not speak, so Bellatrix went on. "Roddy know him well. He supports and helps him reach his goals… they're rather like friends. And he promised me that if I marry him, I will meet the Dark Lord too. Isn't that exciting?"

"Isn't that awfully dangerous?" Narcissa protested.

"It's a little dangerous," Bella admitted. "But it's worth the danger to keep all magic safe, isn't it? Imagine if you didn't have to hide your magic everywhere outside of Hogwarts, Cissy. We can do it here at home, of course, but even when we visit Aunt Walburga in town… there's so much of ourselves we have to stifle, and it isn't fair. Muggles are so much weaker than we are, yet we mask ourselves for their benefit. And why? Because there are more of them? There are more birds in the sky and fish in the sea, but we harness those to our benefit. Why not the same with Muggles?"

"You're right," Narcissa agreed, "But why must you do it? We're ladies, Bella. The Ladies Black. Shouldn't we let boys take care of it?"

Bellatrix laughed again and rose from the chair, setting her sister on her feet. "You should let the boys take care of it, Cissy," she agreed. "You're a perfect little lady. But I prefer to have a bit of the fun for myself. That's why I'm marrying Rodolphus."

"Not because you love him desperately?"

Bellatrix laughed outright once more. "Oh Cissy, darling, no. I like him well enough, and… and other things that you'll understand one day when you're older, but love is a bit silly."

"I don't think so," Narcissa argued. "I think it's the nicest thing there is."

Bellatrix couldn't help but to smile down at the girl, her head so full of romantic ideals and so little else. "And so you shall have it. As you said, we are Blacks, and we shall have what we want."

---

In the library, Cygnus offered Rodolphus a glass of port which, unsurprisingly, he accepted. Though he didn't often drink, he poured a glass for himself as well, feeling certain he would need it to make it through this conversation. They each took a wingback chair by the hearth, and Cygnus spoke first.

"I know your father is no longer with us, but have you no other relative with whom I could discuss this matter? An uncle, perhaps? It's rather unorthodox for a groom to negotiate his own marriage contract."

"I have a brother," Rodolphus suggested, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs. "He's fourteen but you're welcome to try hammering the details out with him if you'd prefer."

"How old are you?" Bellatrix had claimed that he'd asked her to wed him at the end of last year's term, implying that Rodolphus had been at school then as well, but he found it improbable that the young man before him was only a year out of Hogwarts.

"Nineteen. How old are you?" he replied with snide impudence. Cygnus scowled. Admittedly he had been very young when he'd married Druella, it had caused some whispers when Bellatrix was born promptly nine months after their nuptials, but any scandal around the matter was long past.

He decided to let the impertinent reply pass and tried again. "So tell me, why do you want to marry my daughter?"

A slow smirk began to twist the corners of his mouth upwards, but as he opened his mouth Cygnus held up a hand to cut him off.

"Think carefully before you speak, Lestrange, about what you stand to gain by your answer. I am not so naive as to believe that Bellatrix will not marry you with or without my blessing if it is what she desires, but I have a great deal to offer in addition to my approval, should I choose to bestow it. As you know I have no sons, and I would prefer to leave the majority of my holdings to my children rather than my sister's, despite their misfortunes of being born female."

At last, the lazy, insolent expression left Rodolphus's face, and he stared thoughtfully at Mr. Black for several long moments. "I'm not sure what you want me to say," he admitted after a pause. "Both our families are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it's hardly an illogical match. As you pointed out I have no father, so I'm not relying on a dowry of any sort before I come into my inheritance. Is that not reason enough to want her as my wife while asking nothing of you? I'd have thought this was every father's dream if he were unfortunate enough to be saddled with three daughters."

Cygnus took a careful sip of port. "I supposed I rather hoped to hear you say that you want to marry her because you love her."

"'Love?'" he echoed disdainfully. "My good man, that's rather sentimental, don't you think? And a rather hollow purpose. What is it that you fear for her? That she won't be provided for? Of course she will, she'll have anything she desires that is within my power to give her and more. That she won't be protected? Even if she were defenseless, which I think we both know she is not, I would kill for her without a second thought. That I will be disloyal? She will consume my thoughts until my dying breath. But love? What of it?"

Rodolphus did not love her because he had no capacity to love; but he could worship, he could adore, and the manic fire in his eyes spoke plainly of his devotion to Bellatrix. Satisfied, Cygnus nodded.

"Very well. I'll have to look over assets and discuss the matter with my wife; she'll insist on giving this house to Narcissa, and Grimsden Hall will have to stay under the Black name. Druella and I will live there until we pass on, but I don't see a way to avoid leaving it to Sirius. Still, if Sirius and Narcissa wed... but that's not a concern for years yet. Andromeda will marry first, likely to Evan, and the two of them will inherit the Rosier estate in Cornwall..." Cygnus drifted off with a rueful smile. "You'll have to forgive me. I don't relish the thought of all my girls leaving home, but I suppose I can no longer avoid confronting it."

Rodolphus nodded, but his eyes were beginning to wander in boredom. He rose to his feet to examine a collection of intricately etched Remembralls on a display shelf.

"Each time we've hosted Michaelmas I've gifted Druella with a commemorative Remembrall; they're one of the symbols of the holiday, you know. That one you're holding was owned by Dorcas Wellbeloved, founder of the Society for Distressed Witches. It's one of Druella's favored charities, she's on the board."

"Hm." Rodolphus tossed the delicate crystal sphere high in the air with a flick of his wrist and held out his hand to catch it on its descent, but it remained suspended several feet out of his reach. He glanced over his shoulder to see Cygnus with his wand out, carefully levitating the Remembrall back to its place on the shelf.

"It's her favorite, I'd hate for anything to happen to it," he explained lightly. "My barrister will send you a notarized contract later this week, feel free to have your own counsel review and send back any comments."

At the prospect of receiving a legal document he would have to review, Rodolphus did not bother to hide his annoyance. "Send whatever you think is reasonable, I don't want to haggle over her."

Cygnus regarded him with mixed emotions. He did not like him in the least, but neither did he doubt Rodolphus's sincerity when he claimed to want nothing besides Bellatrix. It was an unexpectedly ingratiating quality in the eyes of the father, and he supposed he would have to simply overlook the many flaws of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Well, we should return to the ladies," Cygnus sighed, rising slowly. Rodolphus was already halfway to the door.

"An excellent plan."

They found Druella and Bellatrix on the terrace, speaking softly and enjoying the warm evening air. Upon closer inspection it turned out Narcissa was there too, but has fallen asleep with her head on her mother's lap as Druella stroked her long golden hair. Celestina Warbeck was playing somewhere nearby, harmonizing nicely with the gentle chirp of crickets. Cygnus sat in a chair near his wife and youngest daughter, smiling gently; Rodolphus sank onto the bench beside his fiancee and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"So, what did you get in exchange for taking me off their hands?" she whispered, nuzzling the abrasive stubble on his jaw. "I hope you at least asked for the flat in Monte Carlo."

"I told him I couldn't possibly endure the trials of taking a spouse without at least a dozen castles, three Quidditch teams, and a dragon."

"Seems reasonable. He'll have a contract drafted soon though?"

"Ah, Bella. I have always had more dread of a quill, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper than of a sword or wand."

She frowned; he was quoting from something, but she couldn't place it. "No matter," she continued impatiently. "You'll let me look over it once it arrives?"

"Of course." He reached into the internal breast pocket of his robe and pulled out a cigar. With a practiced ease she lit it for him with a snap of her fingers, and after he exhaled the first puff of smoke he took it from his mouth to free his lips for a brief kiss. "When do I get to call you wife?"

"August. And when do I get to meet the Dark Lord?"

"August."

Monday, 12 July 1971

"Abraxas! It's been too long."

Abraxas looked up slowly from the tome on generational curses he'd recently acquired from Borgin's shop, his confusion betrayed only by a faint creasing of his brow as Rodolphus Lestrange strode familiarly into his study and closed the door behind him.

"Looking for Lucius?" he asked guardedly, his eyes following the younger man as he began to wander through the cavernous room, stopping to examine a collection of dragon fangs on display.

"I asked your elf to take me to its master, clearly I should have been more specific," he replied idly, nudging a Fire Crab shell cauldron with the toe of one polished boot to better admire its gemstones. Privately Abraxas doubted that his elf had misunderstood the boy's intention, but assured him the creature would be dealt with accordingly. By now Rodolphus had reached an elegant globe, glowing with pinpoints of light. He smirked, giving it an irreverent spin.

"I suppose you knew from this when my father died," he murmured, sounding unconcerned. "And who else was there?"

Cautious now, Abraxas closed his book and rose to his feet. Rodolphus laughed, a sound not often heard in the room, and shook his head. "Don't worry, I know you aren't the fool he was. That isn't why I'm here. I just wanted to stop by to see if Lucius would be joining me and my wife in Germany this summer."

"Lucius hasn't lived here for a year," Abraxas replied, though knew this was news to no one. Rodolphus stopped his ceaseless investigating and feigned shock.

"Of course! How could I forget? He's been difficult to pin down lately, hasn't he?" He picked up one of the larger fangs and tested the sharpness with his thumb. "My wife and I were hoping he could visit," continued Rodolphus with an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose you have rather a difficult time keeping track of him, since you had to turn over all public responsibilities and most of his inheritance when he came of age to keep up appearances. That must be frustrating. All for nobly attempting to keep the position of Minister a pure and magical institution," he tutted with mock regret, and Abraxas's expression tightened.

"Unproven allegations. Now, if that's all you were looking for, could you please—"

"It's just that my wife and I were so looking forward to his presence at the lodge this year— you know my wife, don't you? Bellatrix? Ah but of course, you were at our wedding. I hate to disappoint her just now... she's had some unfortunate luck with one of her sisters recently. Would you believe it, but the girl ran off with a Mudblood."

"Yes, I'd heard something of the sort," Abraxas agreed cautiously. He wasn't sure why Rodolphus would bring up the humiliating affair; after all, it reflected poorly upon him to have a sister-in-law that would sully herself in such a way.

"Yes, my darling Bella is distraught." He sighed again, and despite his sardonic tone this one had more of a hint of truth to it— he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure her daily screaming rages, furious tears, and hysterical vows to eradicate this Ted Tonks at the first possible opportunity. "Although, I daresay it's even worse for the youngest Black girl. You did know, I suppose, that she has another sister? Little Cissy. Well, not so little anymore. She's just finished school. A charming, lovely creature. Most people say she takes after her mother; all the traditional Rosier grace. Poised to make the perfect wife for some young man, but with this scandal... well, I hope it doesn't cause anyone to forget that the Black name still denotes one of the purest lines of Wizarding ancestry." He'd cut his finger on the fang but didn't seem to notice as he stared at Abraxas pointedly. Blood was dripping from his hand, vanishing into the dark ruby pattern of the Turkish rug beneath his feet.

"Anyway, I must be going. Important to be home before supper." He set the incisor down carelessly, not even on the same shelf he'd picked it up from and now covered in sanguine smears. "Funny how a waiting wife can tame a man," he added with a meaningful grin. He paused halfway out the door and, perhaps concerned that his heavy-handed allusions had somehow gone unabsorbed, added: "You can generally find Cygnus at the Walpurgis Club on Thursdays."