Rodolphus shifted restlessly in his seat, every movement steeped in discomfort. His body felt heavy, worn-out—like simply existing took more effort than it should. Nausea churned relentlessly in his gut, twisting and clawing at him, while exhaustion settled deep in his bones, pressing down on every limb. His thoughts, once sharp and calculating, were now dulled by a constant haze of dizziness. Even breathing felt like a task, the air thick and uncooperative.
Three weeks had passed since that night with Harry—the night that changed everything. The shock of discovering he was Harry Potter's soulmate, of being thrust into a role he never anticipated, still lingered like an ache in his ribs. But even that paled in comparison to the relentless fatigue and sudden, violent nausea that had taken hold of him. He still remembered that morning, the scent of breakfast sending him rushing to the nearest bin, his body betraying him in front of everyone. And Harry—steady, unshaken—had been there, catching him before the dizziness could drag him under.
That moment had shattered his reality. The healer's words echoed in his mind even now: "Congratulations, he's pregnant—three weeks along." The weight of that revelation had crushed him. He had cried, something he never allowed himself to do, and Harry had held him, saying nothing, just grounding him in the storm.
Now, six months in, the toll was unbearable. He was always tired, always aching, every step an effort. The nausea clung to him, lurking at the back of his throat. Even the smallest movements drained him. He shifted again, wincing as his back protested, frustration curling in his chest.
Rabastan, ever perceptive, took notice. "You're fidgeting a lot. You alright?"
Rodolphus exhaled sharply. "I'm tired. I'm sore. And I have to pee." His voice cracked slightly, irritation threading through his exhaustion. The mere thought of moving sent a wave of agitation through him, but his bladder wasn't giving him much of a choice.
Reluctantly, he pushed himself to his feet, every movement sluggish, his balance unsteady. The world tilted the moment he reached the bathroom, his vision tunneling, and then—thud. A low, pained groan escaped him as he slumped against the wall.
Harry was there in an instant, bursting through the door, eyes wide with worry. "What happened? Are you alright?" His voice was gentle, but the concern was unmistakable.
"I'm fine," Rodolphus muttered, though the tremor in his voice said otherwise. He forced himself upright, the effort leaving him drained, and made his way back to the couch. The second he collapsed onto it, he exhaled heavily. "I'm gonna nap for a bit."
Rabastan shook his head, arms crossed. "He's been like this all day."
Harry frowned, sitting beside him and taking his hand. He wished there was something—anything—he could do to ease the strain, but nothing seemed to help.
The call for a meeting came later, and Rodolphus groaned, dreading the thought of moving again. But Harry was there, offering silent support as he helped him to his feet. Each step was a struggle, each breath a chore.
As they entered the room, silence fell. The gathered Death Eaters turned to stare, their eyes heavy with curiosity and judgment. Rodolphus glared back, patience frayed. "Can I help you?" he snapped, his voice edged with irritation. "Use words, not your faces."
Harry stifled a chuckle, but the tension in the room was thick.
Tom, seated at the head of the room, barely concealed his amusement. Over time, he had grown oddly fond of Rodolphus, despite their rocky start. Even now, he could see the strength in him—pushed to its limits, but still present.
Rodolphus sank down between Tom and Harry, his body protesting the movement. Across from him, Bellatrix sneered, her envy as sharp as a knife. He could feel it radiating off her—the same resentment that had festered since their marriage contract had been torn apart, her once-certain future reduced to dust.
Harry noticed the glare. "Is there a problem, Bellatrix?" His voice was light, but there was an edge to it. "Please, do share with the group."
Her lips curled in distaste. "Nothing," she muttered, but the hostility remained.
Rodolphus barely glanced at her before leaning toward Harry, voice low. "She's pulling her wand."
Harry's reaction was instant. With a flick of his wrist, Bellatrix was bound before she could even complete the motion. "And what, exactly, were you planning to do?" His voice was like ice.
Rabastan was already on his feet, wand in hand. "Well? What made Harry pull his wand on you?"
Bellatrix's hands trembled in the magical binds as she pointed an accusing finger at Rodolphus. "I was where he is. Now, I'm not."
A bitter laugh escaped Rodolphus before he could stop it. His exhaustion had finally cracked into frustration, and it spilled out in biting words. "Will you stop being a bitch? Tom doesn't want you, and there's a reason I sit between them—for my own safety." He leveled her with a sharp stare. "Not only does Tom not want you, but I sure as hell don't. Our marriage contract was burned by my father because he knew you were insane. So do us all a favor—shut the hell up, stay in your lane, and stop making this my problem. Because if you try this again, you'll find out exactly why my family rejected you."
He leaned back with a heavy sigh, the last of his energy spent.
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Then—Harry laughed. "Well, he told you. Are we going to continue to have a problem, Bellatrix?"
She scowled but said nothing. At a flick of Harry's wand, the binds disappeared, and the room settled back into uneasy silence.
Tom, his amusement barely hidden, finally shifted back to business. "Lucius, my lord—the meeting?"
The discussion continued, but Rodolphus barely absorbed any of it. His world had become a blur of discomfort, nausea, and exhaustion, the words around him muffled and distant. Even Tom's carefully laid plans couldn't break through the fog pressing down on him.
It was all too much.
He was just too tired.
