Author's Note: Completely insane. I got bored, and figured it'd be fun for a five-minute story xD
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, eh-yeah. They all belong to JKR, and, um, hopefully Spain belongs to itself.
"Give me the map, Rodolphus Lestrange, before I hex you into a compass," she glared, her left hand reaching out for the map that Rodolphus had stretched out between his two arms—in her right, she twirled her wand very ominously. There, they sat in Spain, in the middle of a back-alley, both in their finest clothing—well, as fine as Muggle clothing could be considered to be.
Bellatrix stood there in a summer dress—silky blue material fell over her body with grace and liquidity, while her hair, held back in a sleek braid, fell over her shoulder as she continued to snatch at the map which Rodolphus held a foot away from his face. He arched his brow, and turned his back to her, walking down the dark alley—his black shoes thudding on the cobblestones. One of the Spanish breezes, full of summer and the smell of salsa, raced through the alleyway—ruffling Bellatrix's dress, her bangs flaring out around her face. Rodolphus' white Oxford was pressed against his back, his black slacks ruffling as he continued walking, paying no need to Bellatrix's huffs of indignation—or her sneers of annoyance.
"I shouldn't have married you, if you can get lost."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"Just let me look at the map, Rodolphus?" She sighed, leaning against her husband's arm, her brows pulled up as her lips twisted into a puppy-like pout. Her hands wrapped around his arm, her fingers inching closer to the piece of paper which they had received in the Spanish Ministry. However, that attempt failed, and she allowed her anger to flare once more as he jerked the map away from her. She let go, throwing her hands up in the air, and turning around in a circle in exasperation, before following him at a distance, "I speak Spanish—if you would just let me look at it…"
"I have no idea why the hell they gave me a Spanish one—I'm not even English!" Rodolphus replied with a frown, pulling the map closer to his face, so that his nose was but an inch away from the little dot that wound around the streets, following their path, but on paper. And, due to being distracted, he did not notice the curb—expecting an even step, he fell forward, regaining his footing, but sloshing through a puddle. Bellatrix squealed behind him as he grabbed hold of her skirt to keep himself from falling—he didn't even hear the silk rip as the map slipped out of his hands, landing in the smelly water—the ink smearing all across the front.
"RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE, I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU!" He heard the shriek behind him, his brows arching and his eyes turning as he glanced over his shoulder. However, he didn't frown—he laughed. There stood the queen of Hogwarts, her hands holding up the remains of her ripped skirt, her face a deep red—but not due to embarrassment… He was as good as dead, he knew, but he took the chance to laugh at her situation. The seam on the side of the dress had ripped as he had grabbed it to keep himself from falling—the smooth fabric now blew freely in the breeze, revealing, behind her, more than she would want revealed to the world, he imagined, as she had backed up against the alley wall, her face twisted into a hideous growl, and her hands fumbling around as she tried to gather the ripped pieces to hold together.
He straightened up, smoothing his shirt, his shoes full of the smelly water, and the puddle still circled around his ankles, but he took a moment to remove the Wizarding camera from his pocket. He moved slowly, grinning at his wife's, now, shocked expression—her eyes as wide as saucers as she mouthed over and over 'you are a dead man'. He tilted his head, taking his time to adjust the zoom—stepping up to proper height, and removing himself from the puddle that he had tried to avoid—removing the cap from the lens with a smile. He looked at Bellatrix through the focus, smiling, "Can you inch a little bit to the left—you are in shadow… It may not turn out…"
"Do not dare…" She hissed; her eyes narrowed so she resembled a viper. She gripped her skirt—and as if on cue, another gust of wind whipped through the alley—she lost hold of her skirt and Rodolphus clicked the camera. That moment, where her skirt was up over her head and she had screamed, was framed forever in a memorial of the Lestrange honeymoon. However, Rodolphus was not completely unintelligent. With a smile as bright and cheery as one could find on Dumbledore's face, he tucked the camera back into his pocket, and took off down the alley way at a full out run.
As soon as he started his sprint, he heard Bellatrix's shrill squeal of rage, and heard the heels on the pavement a few yards back. Oh, he knew he was a goner—but, before he was going down, he knew his goal had to be to place the camera in a safe spot—he simply could not allow it to fall into her hands to be destroyed… after all, he needed a good laugh sometime, and he knew that she would not physically repeat the process if he asked her. The photo was his only hope… So, he took a sharp left at the first corner that he could find, and he took a chance to glance back. Bellatrix rounded the corner—her black hair falling out of it's braid, her face twisted into the most angry expression he had ever seen… But, he had the advantage—he wasn't in heels. As she came nearer to finishing the corner, her heel slipped out from under her, and she grabbed hold of a windowsill—a Spanish lady screaming as the drapes were tugged out of the window by a falling Bellatrix.
Rodolphus paused, catching his breath, leaning over on his thighs, laughing as Bellatrix pulled herself back up. And it was there, in slow motion, that Rodolphus could swear he saw his life flash before his eyes. She straightened herself, he mimicking her stature, and she smirked at him—with a flip of her hair, she kicked off her heels. He turned tail then, and ran once more—brushing past a few other tourists—hearing Bellatrix do the same behind him, and he made a right, running out of the alley, and down one of the main streets. He heard tourists and locals alike gasp, or laugh, as Bellatrix sprinted after him—her lace undergarments round and bright for the world to see.
"Getting tired?" He called out behind him, sparing a half-second to flash a smirk over his shoulder. He got not answer, save another shriek of rage—and he took another sharp turn, tracing his way through the alleys once more—and she followed him. However, as he took another sharp turn, he took one more—right, left, right… and slowed to a stop. He walked down the alley, his chest heaving with the attempt to catch his breath—and as he reached the end, he came to a pause underneath an arch.
The ancient stone was as bright as it was the day it was built—the occasional black metal fixture accenting the archway, along with a small railing that traced the edge of the pathway. And an edge it was indeed—it fell two hundred feet to a street below—but, the view from this area was beautiful. It looked out over the main of the city—red clay roofs, with people walking through the streets in the sunset. Over the buildings, music drifted lazily from one of the many festivities, along with echoes of gunshots and voices of the many Spanish singers that were located throughout the city. He tiled his head, walking to the right of the edge, his lips curving into a smile as he looked down at a small table. A table set for two, nestled in the corner of the balcony—rose petals sprinkled over the white lace, and a bottle of wine cooling in a small bucket of ice. As mean and childish as Rodolphus could be, even Bellatrix should have known he wouldn't have put her through that without a reward at the end of the race.
And so, as he heard her dash down the alley, having probably passed it in the first place, he leaned against the side, out of sight, and as she ran by, he reached out, catching her around her waist. She shrieked once more, wiggling, and as he swung her up in his arms, she paused—her eyes caught sight of the table. She arched her brow, looking at Rodolphus, who smiled, "What…?" His voice came out smooth and soft, his lips pulling into an accomplished smirk.
"You planned this?" She asked, as he set her down in her chair, her eyes leaving his for a moment to observe the view, her hand tracing one of the rose petals on the tabletop.
He leaned against the banister, his head tilted as he looked down at his wife, "Oui. Of course, the chase was an accident… but easily the best part."
She smiled, standing up, and jumping over to wrap her arms around his neck, her lips pressing to his. She ran her hands through his hair, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. However, unaware was he that she still had her wand. She twirled it in her hands behind his back, and with a smile as they broke apart, she muttered the hex under her breath. His brows arched as the seam in his trousers ripped open, and he narrowed his eyes—"And the point to that was…?"
"I decided I like to feel the breeze," she said, unwrapping herself from his arms, and taking her seat, "I thought you would like it, too, after you have the experience."
Thus, the newly wed couple enjoyed their first meal as such, with moons below as well as one above.