Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, okay? Are the lawyers happy now? I do suspect that I effectively own Rab, though, considering how little I pay him.
A/N: Hi. I have my half-mad prettyboy (cough) office boy going around collecting tickets, so if you see a kid in a dress hopped up on caffeine rummaging through your wallet, somebody please whack him with something.
This chapter is going to be from Rodolphus's point of view, so the style, narration, whatnot will all be different. (Slightly) less melodramatic. Less ominous. Less purple. No less insane.
...no, you can't skip it, it contains vital character development, dammit!
Also, I've noticed a continuity error. In the second chapter, Narcissa is briefly mentioned as being seven. Later on, she's eight. Take it as a sign of Bella being utterly mad and unable to accurately remember. (I'm going to go with eight.)
The Plot So Far: Bellatrix and Rodolphus both have letters to mail, in a rather contrived coincidence. Rodolphus attempts to turn it into a date. Bellatrix, with great effort, manages to refrain from vomiting all over her nice clean robes.
In This Chapter: New readers become firmly convinced that they're reading a romance. Many of them abandon it in disgust. Other readers lap it up, abandoning the story when they realize that it ISN'T, fundamentally, a romance. Or at least not a very romantic romance. (Love at first punch?) Although Rodolphus might disagree. Also, there is a backstory infodump. Yes, it WILL be relevant later. (How dare you suggest that I came up with a lot of unneeded backstory for Rodolphus and Rabastan and then was so proud of it I just HAD to use it somewhere? That's not what happened at all!)
Warnings for this chapter include insanity, convoluted backstory involving brother-sister incest, brief mentions of violence, a very twisted narrator (Rodolphus is undoubtedly intelligent, philosophical, physically attractive, and affectionate. He's also a violent, amoral psychotic with the conscience of a teabag.), extreme length, pigeon death, and first-person narration.
Share and enjoy.
They say there's no such thing as love at first sight. Or at least Rabastan says that. Like he would know. He's EIGHT.
He's wrong, anyway. There is such a thing.
She's so pretty. Smart, too, and a decent witch. Almost out of my league, as they say. But it's all good. She likes me. Tries to hide it, but she does. When she hit me on the train, she held back once or twice, didn't leave any bruises that lasted more than a few days. We run into each other all the time, don't we? It's almost like she's following me. Wherever she is, I'm there with her. We sit together in class with Jonathan and Edmund and Evan, but they aren't that important. They're just there for decoration. Really it's just me and her. And yesterday when she was getting her books out of her bag, she touched my hand for a few seconds. It looked like an accident, but I don't think it was. I think she wanted to tell me something, but she was too proud to say it to my face. It's all right. I can wait. I wanted to ask her about it during class, but she told me to shut up so she could listen to McGonagall talk about whatever, and when I asked her again a few minutes later she got McGonagall's attention and I got lines. She's pretty serious about her education, I guess. Almost too serious. Like she wants to be Minister or something. I asked her if she wanted to be Minister a few days ago, actually. She just looked at me for a minute, and then she said,
"The Ministry? You think I'd be suited to the Ministry of Magic?" And then she laughed. I like her laugh. It's so pretty. "Lestrange, they're a bunch of incompetents. My uncle's been trying to get rid of them for years. No, I won't be their Minister...", and then she went on to talking about her uncle, who, I guess, is not the best man for the job of reforming the country. Actually, I think she thinks he's kind of stupid and...what was the word she used? Frivolous. She's so serious when it comes to changing the world. I don't think she's really like that, though. I think it's a front to impress people, get them to listen to her, all that. She's not as good an actress as she thinks she is. They might be fooled, but I'm not...she's like me, really. She enjoys the power she has over people, controlling them, making them hurt. She likes it, it's a game to her. The best game in the world. Like chess, if you have a queen and two rooks and two bishops and your opponent has only the one king. And they know they've lost, and you can see the humiliation and anger in their eyes. She likes that. I've watched her with Jonathan, with Evan (she leaves Edmund mostly alone), with that stupid Hufflepuff girl. They all respect her, or they fear her, if there's any difference. She doesn't even have to use any force, the way she did with me. But then, we have something special, so I shouldn't be surprised. She can do whatever she likes to me. Or to Rabastan, I guess, if she ever meets him.
I think she'd like Rabastan. He's so...innocent. Cute, almost. Sweet, fragile, brilliant, sensitive, volatile, annoying, sickly, effeminate, and beautiful. Beautiful. The way the blood contrasts with his pale skin, the way the bruise on his shoulder didn't heal for a month, the look in his freaky mismatched eyes when I tell him what I want to do to him. Pain, fear, anger, betrayal, forgiveness. Always forgiveness, in the end. He's like the heroine of some tragic opera. Dramatic. Beautiful. Sad. Suffering so nobly, all so the audience can watch her pain and find it beautiful. He never says anything to Father, or to Grandmother or Grandfather. He likes me too much for that. If he told, I would be punished...I might be tortured or killed for what I do to him. But he never tells anyone. Because he wouldn't want me to suffer. It would hurt him, it would break his mind. And I would never let anyone hurt him. I care about him too much. But Bella is a special case.
Interesting how one person can be the center of your life, you can live only for them, and when someone else comes along and turns your head you'd betray them in a minute, you'd sell them, you'd kill them if you had to, just for the chance to spend a single minute with that new person. I'm sorry, Rabastan...but you don't matter much anymore. It's not your approval I'm living for, I won't give up my life just to see you smile.
Bella can hurt me all she likes. Emotionally, mentally, physically if she wants to. I'll never say a word against her. Because she's Bella. And I love her. If I told her I love her, she might hurt me. She might make my life hell. But I'll endure that for her. I don't care if she won't admit that she loves me. No matter how much she hurts me, I'll still love her. If she slit my throat right now, with my last breath, I'd apologize for putting her to the trouble and bleeding on her robes and ruining the letter she was going to send. Because I love her enough to endure anything for her. When we're seventeen, we'll marry. She'll have my children, and we'll raise them together. And I'll be by her side every minute of every day, forever. We'll die together, and be buried in the same grave...and if she dies first...
Look at her. She's beautiful.
"Bella?" Strong, too, and good at fighting. I'm going to have a black eye. She doesn't hit anyone ELSE when they call her Bella--oh, she makes it plain she doesn't like it, but doesn't hit them. Hits me all the time. If she wasn't uncomfortable with someone, someone she liked, using a pet name for her, she wouldn't bother...well, she has to have her pride, doesn't she? But to me, she's Bella.
Besides, she looks so adorable when she's angry. I don't care if she says she hates me. I know she doesn't really.
"Lestrange, do you see those stairs?" She's smiling, pointing to the staircase down to the first floor, but her eyes are furious. Vindictive. The love of pain.
"Yeah...?"
"Are you really stupid enough to think that I'd hesitate to push you?" She expects me to say no, flinch, apologize like mad. But it's just one staircase. I'll do anything to prove to her that I adore her. The staircase is right behind us. Be a nice little dramatic gesture, like something from an opera or something. No, I don't like pain, who does? But doing something sweet and stupid and romantic for Bella, that's worth it. And if I get hurt, she'll like that...it's a game, really. It's all a game to me. And her too, of course.
I step in front of the staircase. Wait for a second. She doesn't push me. Now she's smiling like a cat, her left hand on her hip and her right hand flat against my chest. Is that a gesture of affection? Condescension?
"...you're not going to do it?"
"No. Not now," she says, sounding less threatening than before. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." I smile at her.
"Thanks, Bella." She doesn't push me now, either. But she buries her fingers in my shoulder, still smiling. Weird smile. If Rabastan were here, he'd run away screaming. Actually, he'd probably do that if her fingers were in his shoulder. I've done that to him before. It hurts.
After a minute, she lets go, still smiling in that weird way, like she's planning to drag me off and kill me, and we keep walking. She's more talkative now, friendlier. Guess I've passed some sort of esoteric test that makes sense only to her. It's like opera. The temperamental heroine who won't admit to her feelings, the masochistic love-struck hero who puts up with it all and enjoys it, and the scene where they finally admit to their love in a touching duet. And then they die. The end. Or maybe it's a comic opera, where the hero gives as good as he gets, the duets are filled with witty banter, and love triumphs over all. Or maybe part of both. Life is melodrama, when you think about it. So many people around you are raging and loving and dying senselessly, and you know you'll be next, and you just don't care. Because you would do it. You would lose your mind and yourself and everything you ever were, and you WOULD die for love.
"So. The letter. Who's it for?" Her smile fades for a second, and then returns, sweeter and softer and no longer for me.
"Narcissa. My sister Narcissa. I told you about her, did I not?" No, you didn't.
"Her name. You mentioned her name. Nothing else, though."
"Oh, I see. I tell you about her pretty dollies, which I HAVE told you about, Lestrange, even if you're too dull to remember, and you still can't guess what kind of little girl she is?" It takes me a minute to realize that she's called me stupid again. True, I'm no intellectual. Rabastan calls me apathetic, hedonistic, amoral, blah blah blah, guilty as charged. And I live in my own mind most of the time. But I'm not stupid. Maybe she is. Maybe she's not what I've been thinking. Maybe she's just a sadistic little girl with a pretty face.
"The evil kind? Like you?" And I'm calm again, the pain and the fury and the lust to destroy leaching out of my mind. These rages come and go in a second, simmering and boiling over and going back to whatever well of resentment and suppressed anger they come from. Long enough for me to get my hands around her throat. My hands are around her throat. She's said worse to me before. And I've never hurt her, had all the opportunities in the world for a week, never have, don't think I ever will again. The shock and anger in her face is enough of a lesson on keeping my temper under control.
"Don't you DARE ever touch me again!" Her skin is so soft and warm. I can feel the muscles in her neck, tense from anger and violation and...surprise? I don't want to take my hands off her. She's trembling with indignation. Her flesh and blood and bone feel so good against my hands.
I let go. She's breathing hard, eyes fixed on mine, pretty face twisted. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. "...Bella..." She doesn't even notice that I used her nickname. That's a bad sign, isn't it? "I'm so sorry..." She scowls at me, drawing her wand and pressing it to my throat.
"You hurt me, I can't forgive you, not yet--!" Her voice rises sharply, melodramatically, and sparks shoot out of the end of her wand. Don't think it was intentional--her eyes widen, surprised, and then she smiles. "NOW I can forgive you. And I have. And we won't speak of it anymore, will we?" No. No, we won't. She's being so kind to me. Poor messed-up Rodolphus, not quite right in the head, loyal and docile and occasionally stark raving mad. That's what Father thinks, I heard him telling his woman friend, trying to impress her. Probably what Bella thinks, or what she pretends to think, because I KNOW she likes me. She doesn't pity me at all. She knows we're equals. But she has to pretend to, of course, she has her pride. I can live with that.
"No. We won't." We walk quietly for a minute. She runs her hand across her throat, checking for damage. If I could take that back, I would. But it's over now, isn't it? She won't hold a grudge against me for snapping just once? No. "...what's Narcissa like, then? What sort of little girl is she?" She avoids my gaze, her expression unpleasant.
"She's an innocent, Lestrange. Naive. Sweet, fragile, sensitive, delicate, angelic, and beautiful, more's the pity. Oh, she's MORAL enough, I can't fault her there, and she understands her place in society and acts accordingly. She's a very good person, Lestrange. An utter angel." I listen for sarcasm, but she's being serious. "But...she's stupid. Incompetent. She knows the rules, she plays by them, but she doesn't UNDERSTAND...take marriage as an example. There are a million reasons for marriage. Senseless, lascivious passion for some no-doubt-he's-charming rake is near the bottom of the list." She sounds far older than eleven. I know I don't talk that way, I don't think that way. Who cares about the rules of society? "Children, social standing, politics," she glances briefly at me, "sometimes political assassination, marriage makes that easier, too, and the need to carry on the traditions of Wizarding society. Not love. As a matter of fact, love gets in the way, it complicates things, there's no happily ever after. But that's what she expects, that's what she doesn't know that she's never going to get..." Bella pauses, stops walking, staring at the tapestry in front of us. "We're going in circles." She turns and starts walking back down the hallway. I follow her, trying to make sense of what she said.
"You've thought about these things?" She laughs bitterly.
"Oh, really it's all nonsense, I'm parroting my grandmother almost to the word. Mother made it very clear what Grandmother said to her when she got married. Mother herself doesn't agree too terribly much...but then, she's a dunce like Narcissa." That sounds more like Bella. "They're all stupid, I don't know HOW they produced me"
"Now you sound like Rabastan. Or Father. Or maybe both. Ironic, that." She looks puzzled, oh, of course she does. I never explained that to her, did I? "Why? Why is it ironic?", she asks, looking genuinely confused.
And so I lay out the train wreck of our family tree for her.
"Basically it's something like this. Back when Grandfather, Rabastan II (my brother is Rabastan III), was a few years older than I am now, his father died unexpectedly. His mother said at the time that she WAS pregnant when her husband died, but her descendants generally understand that she was not, and that Lucienne was fathered by an unknown. "
"So was this 'unknown' a pureblood, Lestrange? Or do you not even KNOW?" "Well, we were quite sure, yes," I tell her, "but if I tell you any more you might freak and not want any more to do with me." She doesn't ask me again, and I continue with the little family drama.
"Two decades later, Lucienne and Rabastan...well, due to an oversight in the Wizarding laws of the time, they...well, they married. Legally it was annulled as soon as someone had time to look at the paperwork, but they, half-siblings, yes, continue to live as husband and wife to this day." Yeah, I KNOW, okay? Bella looks sick for a minute, and then bursts out laughing. "It's not so uncommon in the old Wizarding families, just considered a bit sick nowadays," I tell her, "I don't like it any more than you do." She hits me, laughing, not really angry or even upset, just playfully disgusted.
"Oh, you're a liar, Lestrange, and a freak and a filthy child of incest, we should all put you down right now!"
"Yeah, well, the way I look at it, it's only a little worse than cousins, right? Bet your family's got some of that in it." She goes quiet, nodding. Cousins aren't so bad, it's just siblings that people say is disgusting. I don't understand it. "And they had a son. Aldebaran the first (and last, most likely). My father. Stop looking at me like that, Bella, the man's fine. Bit stupid, but okay in theory. Now, the guy was an idiot. Still is. When he was at Hogwarts, he met this girl, rich, pretty, naive, big dreams, thought she'd change the world"
"Like Narcissa," Bella says. Or like you, I don't say, because I know the comparison'd make her furious.
Anyway, thing is, he also met this boy, brilliant, powerful, knew he'd change the world, blah blah blah. And Father got into some sort of alliance with him, don't know the details, I heard all this from Grandmother and she didn't know the full story either, really. Somewhere along the line, anyway, he had to choose between them for whatever reason, and he picked the girl and got married. The man, wish I knew his name, Father calls him the Dark Lord when he mentions him at all, wasn't too happy about being abandoned for a woman, though, and after Father and Mother got married he dragged Father back to work for him--"
"He should never have chosen her in the first place," Bella says. "He deserved whatever he got." I can't answer that honestly, half because I think I'd do the same.
"Yeah, maybe he did. Anyway, Grindelwald was defeated when Father was a teenager..."
"Lestrange," she says, looking exasperated, "I KNOW about Grindelwald. Everyone knows about Grindelwald. It's your own ignorance that leads you to think that you have some sort of elite knowledge."
"I do." She goes quiet, stops walking, turns to face me more directly. I feel pleased, proud even, for a moment, but it's not me she's in awe of, it's my family and the things they've done. "Grandfather and Grandmother worked for Grindelwald before his capture. They were two of his nearest and dearest in Britain, and they were never arrested...so yeah, Bella," she scowls at me but says nothing, "I have some elite knowledge." She stares. I can feel myself blushing. Merlin's pants, I sound like an idiot, I don't usually talk this much, she must think I've cracked.
Finally, she takes pity on me. "I see. Now, why have you brought it up? A chance to brag? Or does it, perchance, have something to do with...anything, really"
"Yeah. It does. Grandfather and Grandmother found out, see. They weren't keen on the new man, the Dark Lord, trying to take power so soon. And he was taking power, Bella"
"Lestrange, I know about the Dark Lord, my father works for him, he mentions him sometimes. Always, always assume I know more than you do..." She trails off, smiling. Yeah, she's probably right. "Well? Go on."
"Anyway, they didn't want their son working for him, they were still loyal to Grindelwald even though he'd failed, and the Dark Lord was doing so well. Is. Doing well, I mean. But you know that. And they didn't like Mother much, Grandmother says she was deluded and maybe a little dangerous to start with, and then when Father went back to the Dark Lord...she went mad, and when she had her first child..." It's odd talking about my sister. I can't really be sad for her, because I never knew her and anyway most of the time it's like she never existed, but if I had known her... "I had a sister, once. But...Bella, she didn't live, Bella, Rabastan doesn't even know she existed. And if she'd lived..." I don't start crying, like I'm sure she expected, but my voice goes up almost an octave, I have a deep voice for my age but for a minute I sound like Rabastan, and Bella doesn't look sympathetic on the outside but she doesn't complain about me calling her Bella and I think I see a little bit of sympathy in her eyes.
"So you had a sister, and she died when she was a baby. Don't get so upset about it, that's just pathetic, most families have lost a child, and if your mother's as bad as you say she is, it's only to be expected, isn't it? Did your father know?" She's right, I should get over it, I'm acting like a child.
"Yeah, of course he did. And he somehow talked the Dark Lord into giving him a break so he could make sure his next heir survived, which was me, and then four years later Rabastan was born, and that was the end of that, because...Mother never really recovered from our sister, and she got really weak and when Rabastan was born she...I don't remember her much. I don't really care, tell the truth."
She smirks at me like she doesn't believe me, but it's true. All I remember is this waif with big green eyes who talked to herself a lot. Calligara Lestrange, 1927-1955. Nice legacy. "Father did, though, he blamed Rabastan, they don't get on very well. And he started drinking, and bringing home women, and he never really went back to working for the Dark Lord." Bella looks scandalized. "I actually overheard Grandfather and Grandmother wondering whether or not to, well, poison him and blame one of his mistresses. He never remarried, but he keeps talking about marrying both of us off as soon as we're old enough to...to produce heirs for him."
Bella rolls her eyes, smirking again and walking a little faster.
"I knew there was a perfectly unreasonable explanation for why you're following me around like a lovestruck puppy." Almost can't speak. My heart feels like it just crashed through my ribs.
"No! Bella, that's not it at all! I don't give a--I don't care what he wants! Come back here!" We're almost to the Owlery, and she could easily just run to the door, slam it in my face, and hold it closed, but she actually slows down a little, turning to look at me again, grinning, looking more carefree and playful than I've ever seen her.
"You idiot, I didn't mean that at all. Unless Daddy's given you a few complexes...your family sounds normal enough, really. Mother's said almost the same things to me. Oh, we're scions of the greatest, Lestrange (and I don't understand why you won't call me by my surname, the Blacks are a perfectly respectable family, you know), upholding our family traditions, and surrounded by idiots to boot. Think of Rosier! My mother is a Rosier by birth, her whole family's like that, fops and twits and the idle rich. Oh, we're all scarred by upbringing, it's the burden of society, one of them anyway. Think of Narcissa!" She laughs, her face brightening. I've unlocked some floodgate in her mind. "What about dear scarred Mother herself?"
"What's your mother like?" Her smile twists momentarily into something rather disturbing.
"Oh, I'll tell you later. She's not a subject for polite conversation, is she? When we know each other a little better, then I'll tell you, see if you scream. Come on, let's get our letters sent, or don't you have an owl?" I still don't understand her sudden happiness, but I follow her into the Owlery, hoping she'll explain.
As soon as I walk in, my vision fills with owls. Big owls, small owls, white, gray, brown, perched everywhere in the room. Rabia could be anywhere. Bella, of course, has already found hers, or at least her family's, a little gray one that sticks out its leg right away. When it takes off, she comes over to me and playfully jabs me in the eye with her finger.
"Bella! Stop that!" She looks sulky for a minute but stops. As soon as she does, I feel bad for telling her off, but my eye still hurts enough to keep me from feeling too sorry for her. "Help me look for my owl, will you?" She rolls her eyes but nods.
"Oh, why not, it isn't as if I have anything else to do. What's its name?"
"Her. She's a girl owl. Named Rabia." Bella smiles viciously.
"Rabia? After Rabastan? Oh, that's sweet, isn't it. A little brown one, I suppose."
"Yeah. Don't know what kind. She's a good owl," I add, a little defensively. Bella's smile gets even wider and more twisted.
"It. It's an OWL, Lestrange, not your brother--or your sister. If you miss them that much, why don't you add something to that letter to Rabastan and ask him to send you a goldfish in a bag? Something to love..." My face is burning, probably bright red too. She's being VICIOUS.
"Right, what did I do?"
"Pardon?"
"You're not normally like this." She looks confused, and then smiles again, running a hand distractedly through her hair.
"Oh, well...this IS me, Lestrange. That other person, I don't know, maybe she's Andromeda or Narcissa or Mother pretending to be me, or me them. You've been oh so vulnerable, I thought I'd share a few things with you, too, in the interest of a long and enduring friendship." I knew it. She really is like me, underneath, not half so serious as she acts. Sadistic, petty, fickle, emotional, intense, and just a little annoying, tell the truth. I'll get used to it, though, I guess, the real person is always so much more interesting than the facade. More lively. Still not the sort of person you can talk to easily, but now it's because half the time she isn't listening.
"Oh. I thought so, actually." She smirks.
"No, you didn't, Lestrange you idiot." Again with the 'idiot'. I hate being called that.
"Call me Roddy." She pretends to hesitate.
"Uh...no." A pigeon flutters into the owlery, landing on the floor beside us. We both look down at it, then back up at each other.
The blood pours down the walls.
Hope you enjoyed that little piece of...bonding. Yeah. Bonding. Yeah...
Next Chapter: By Request, Pigeon Goes Boom!
By Request, Reviews Are Answered:
tarak795: Well...I made Rabbie look up your address so I could mail you Bella, but all he turned up was an eighty-year-old lady in Norway. He is currently being punished by withholding his caffeine.
Lioness-of-Tortall-7: (updates) Well...um...sort of both, actually. Rab is most definitely his chewtoy, and yet they have a very close and very unhealthy relationship. Kind of an "I'm the only one allowed to drive you into paranoid, gibbering madness" thing. Complicated...and no doubt beyond my ability to write. But we'll see.
Sienna Rhiannon Chase: No kidding. It's probably best that I don't acknowledge that I have actually done that when homework interferes with ...oops. Forget I ever said that.
Review. Please. Pretty please with a cherry on top?
