Wrath - Rodolphus Lestrange
He was gone. The Dark Lord…and Bellatrix with him.
Rodolphus stood and began to pace his cell. He was familiar with it, having spent fifteen years in an identical one, if not the same one. Those years he spent for his Lord, his master, and his wife, along with the other Death Eaters.
He scowled at the wall as he spun on his heel. It was hard to believe the Dark Lord could be so easily defeated by a boy who was barely of age, who lacked talent and sense. It was almost as hard to believe his lovely Bellatrix, strong and fierce, could be so easily defeated by an old foolish blood traitor of a witch!
No. It couldn't be. The Dark Lord could not possibly be gone. Had he not said himself that he'd taken steps down some path of immortality or something? And he'd miraculously come back after many believed him gone, one of the most extraordinary feats of magic previously unseen or unheard of. No, he had to be alive somewhere.
Rodolphus would make sure he came back. For his friends among the Death Eaters, for Bellatrix, and for the cause they had all been fighting for. He would escape, and the bloodtraitors and Mudbloods who believed themselves victorious would suffer.