━ lestrange, rodolphus.

Rodolphus wondered if he looked as out of place as he felt. Too much joy. Too many children. Maybe it said something about his childhood, but his parents wouldn’t have taken him somewhere with singing teapots. They wouldn’t have let him fly on a makeshift Quidditch pitch under the questionable gaze of a twenty-something quidditch “coach”. He’d grown up in dress robes and dinner parties and auction fundraisers. And those were the social events that didn’t always make him desperate for a drink. Of which he wasn’t having much luck with finding. Merlin, he’d even settle for a beer without butter in the name. 

But when he spotted Walden, it seemed his luck might just being turning.

The enthusiasm that surrounded Rodolphus was not a feeling he shared -- and he doubted he was alone in that, although maybe for different reasons. He felt no need to look over his shoulder or shrink in on himself when someone reached for their wand. His lack of enthusiasm wasn’t due to anxiety; it stemmed from being completely and utterly out of place. Well, completely and utterly may have been an exaggeration, but not by much. What worth was he going to find in a festival booth? A bonfire? Or the child-oriented creature shows he could overhear from his spot by the lagoon? The one spot he’d found that held even a modicum of peace. Leaving early was not yet an option, not least of all because he suspected the witch -- his wife -- coming towards him might mock him for being a spoil sport.

“I am.” It seems that Rodolphus has done his homework as well. Ambrose didn’t expect anything less. He has a sinking feeling that the other Death Eater wouldn’t have agreed to meet him if he didn’t think that Ambrose was worth meeting in the first place. “From New England.” He didn’t say it with the usual pride in his voice. That would just be foolish considering they were actually in the original England.

Ambrose sighed as he nodded. “It is getting quite crowded, yeah.” By muggles, nonetheless. But Ambrose didn’t think that needed to be said. The wizarding community was never going to be big enough to outnumber those with magical abilities. “It makes land more valuable.” His lips almost split into a conspiratorial grin before nodding. “Which is why we’re investing land here as well. Who knows? There might be a market for American purebloods looking for sanctuaries here in England in the future.”

New England meant extraordinarily little to Rodolphus. Upper East Coast of America. He thought New York might’ve been one of the States in New England but he wasn’t positive. Probably one of the better options to visit if he felt so inclined to take a trip across the Atlantic. And that was about it. “Is it nice, New England? Does it compare much to old England?” he asked, with a humorous grin. No would mistake Rodolphus for a comedian, but he wasn’t completely dead inside.

Bellatrix hadn’t heard that phrase, but wasn’t quite upset about that fact when he mentioned it was Muggle created. “And you know what kills them?” she asked, tilting her head. “Fire.” She much preferred getting rid of pests, after all. Although, she understood why his honey was particularly helpful. “But I appreciate that we’ve got a good trap going.” 

A roll of her eyes followed his words, although it was soft ( or as soft as Bellatrix Lestrange could really be ). She didn’t mind his sarcasm; had never minded it. Maybe that was why they were a good pair, because neither was quick to jump to conclusions. That, and he was the only person outside of her sister that she trusted. He was the only person she knew who wasn’t out to get her. “Alas, I seem to have convinced them that I’m more useful in the field,” she said, with a sigh. “But it turns out the field isn’t what it used to be.” And the Ministry was growing soft on their Obliviations. 

“Well, I know that,” Bellatrix sighed, looking over at him. “But unfortunately I need some of that honey you speak of. Fire, it seems, would only burn away any chance of us finding these seers.”

Of course that was her answer – to kill. To burn, at least. He appreciated how willing she was take fate into her own hands, and how willing she was to get those hands dirty. More so than him, generally. He didn’t love it, but he preferred backroom dealing and under the table offers. Poisoned words, not potions. Though, sometimes he got his hands dirtier than anyone. “And if fire is need, your eagerness is appreciated.”

“More dangerous or less exciting?” He’d hazard the latter but figured some of those bureaucrats would exclaim the former. Idealists were terrifying. Change was terrifying. But it all was necessary for safekeeping the future of wizarding society and for preserving its legacy.

It was a convoluted way to get attention but then Brenton had always been like that. Part of him would always be the teenager who got himself expelled six times for little reason more than to elicit a reaction from his parents. “Oh, of course,” Brenton said. He wasn’t at all surprised by Lestrange wanting to throw money at the carnival in a show of support. In fact, he was banking on it. “The other auction is a little tame, though, isn’t it? And I’d hate to see the people in this one who take the most money be the mudbloods and other scum. Who knows, perhaps your participation will even encourage other purebloods to bid.” His lips quirked into a smile as Rodolphus seemed to consider the suggestion, though he fought against looking too smug. “That’s all I’m asking.”

it had been a foolish comment, one that rabastan had regretted the second it had left his lips. but he was far too stubborn to admit that, and very unwilling to allow his brother any sort of satisfaction. so instead he simply pursed his lips, an attempt to subdue the scowl that wanted so desperately to spread across his face. it would have been wise to excuse himself, avoiding any further arguing. but between his inebriated state and the uncertainty if he was still welcome in the other’s home, he stayed put. 

“thank you,” he responded, cooly, as he moved to leave the room. he didn’t see the need to bother rodolphus by asking where he’d be staying, he’d spent more than enough time at the manor to have an usual room. before exiting the room, he paused and turned around to look at rodolphus. “and don’t worry, cat and i will be gone before you wake up.”

Maybe if he were less serious – maybe if they had a more normal sibling relationships – Rodolphus would’ve teased his brother for pouting. Because that was what Rabastan was doing, pursed lips and sullen posture. Instead, a soft sigh escaped his lips as he nodded. He turned his head slightly, glancing away from his brother, a momentary break for his expression.

When he looked back, Rabastan had risen and walked to the door. “That’s not necessary, I hope you know that,” he said quietly, just loud enough for his brother to hear him. “Sleep well. Sleep as long as you need. Call on the house-elves if you want breakfast in the morning.”

If he were in the other man’s shoes, Ambrose wouldn’t have promised a second visit right away. But since Ambrose was in the position of looking to earn the other’s favor, Rodolphus’ reply works in his favor. “Another time indeed.” The American smiled right back. He made Rodolphus chuckle. Surely that was a good sign. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. I expect nothing less befitting for a Lestrange.” Of course, that wasn’t the same reverence he gave the man’s younger brother a few months prior when he practically demanded Ambrose to bed him. But Rodolphus didn’t need to know any of that.

Ambrose led his guest through the antechamber and into the parlor where a tray filled with Ambrose’s best liquor greeted them by the chairs. “Please take a seat, if you’d like,” he offered before heading straight to the alcohol to pour his guest a glass. “Would you like anything to drink?” he asked before continuing their conversation. “Ah, yes. Just one of the benefits of having an ancestral home. I’m afraid that’s a luxury not all people have nowadays. Especially back home.” Ambrose tsked. “It’s becoming overly crowded everywhere. Don’t get me wrong. We still have our quiet estate. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for every land we own.”

Another time. Yes. Rodolphus nodded with a polite, pleasant expression. Schmoozing was as painful as pulling teeth sometimes, but it was what he did. It was necessary. And Ambrose seemed to be at least a half-decent connection to make. That was something he’d already decided before showing up. The high-quality liquor Ambrose presented him in the antechamber just reinforced that. Good taste. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe they’d get along swimmingly.

“ecstatic? or perhaps over the moon?” rabastan mused, a snicker escaping his lips as he sunk back in his chair. for someone that rarely experienced happiness, he could easily go on listing synonyms for days. though, given the current situation he thought it might be best to stop there. “i was thinking more along the lines of if you stopped mothering me,” he responded, rather flippantly for such a strong accusation, a sigh escaping from his lips as he leaned forward, even going as far as narrowing his eyes as he studied rodolphus. 

“and to think i was actually coming around to the idea of spending the night,” rabastan announced with a loud sigh as he once more sat back in his chair, “but if you really don’t want me.. i’ll find my way home,” he continued, carrying on with the rather unnecessary theatrics. “how do you summon the knights bus? do i just step into the street? perhaps it would be easier to fly,” he mumbled, as he reached for the coffee. “i do think a bath would be nice,” he stated, hoping the house elf would get the idea. 

“I would not need to mother you if you did not break into my house while drunk,” Rodolphus snapped, with all the cold concern of their actual mother. Except, would their mother even tolerate this? It had always been clear: Rodolphus was the heir, Rabastan was the spare. Perhaps he was even a mistake, based on the years between their births. There was certainly things Rabastan had confided in him that he couldn’t tell their mother until he was ready to be disowned.

They would probably never be friends. Even before, Rodolphus wasn’t someone Brenton had made a huge effort to get to know. There were plenty of other people who seemed a lot more fun to Brenton and that mattered to him a lot more than the potential usefulness of a kinship with a powerful family. Then, Rabastan had come along and Brenton had enjoyed that other form of fun with him, all the while keeping it as quiet as possible because of the knowledge that his family wasn’t so accepting. Part of Brenton had long been aware that Rodolphus knew about the relationship but it didn’t make the elder Lestrange brother into somebody in whom Brenton wished to confide. Still, they were allies in a sense, and as Brenton found himself coming around to the idea of trying to be there for Rabastan as a friend, rather than a lover, reaching out an olive branch to Rodolphus as well seemed like a good idea. They were all on the same side, after all.

“It would, but only a bid or two. I’m not asking you to try to win, just to give the bidding a good nudge in the right direction. In fact, I really think there are people who would work pretty hard to make sure you didn’t win if you were to bid on me. We all get a bit competitive from time to time, don’t we? Call it my generous nature or… what you will, but the more we raise for our wonderful hospital the better, don’t you think?” Brenton couldn’t care less about the hospital or even the appearance of being an upstanding enough citizen to raise money for it but competitiveness was true enough. He wondered if Rodolphus would pick up on the fact that one of the people Brenton wanted to beat was his brother and if that would bother him or help encourage him. If someone asked Brenton to bid on them so they could beat Freya he would… Well, actually he wouldn’t because he didn’t really have the money to risk winning but he would definitely make an effort to help them. Sibling rivalry was healthy.

A muscle in Rodolphus’ jaw strained as he listened to Brenton’s speech. Or was ramble the better word? It was a whole lot of words for what appeared to boil down to: bid on me to make Rabastan bid on me. Maybe Brenton wasn’t referring to Rabastan at all when he suggested that there was some who would work pretty hard to make him lost. Perhaps he meant sister; he didn’t Freya well enough to know if she was the protective sort, the sort to try and save him from the Lestrange brothers after Rabastan and Brenton’s relationship. Maybe he already knew of some who had an active interest in him and he wanted to drive their prices up.

A snort followed his words, although that was like her husband, doing something nice that would hopefully be good for them in the long run. She’d always appreciated that about him; he was willing to do the menial tasks in order to better their future. Whether or not she wanted to actually be with Rodolphus was another story; Bellatrix didn’t particularly want to be with anyone, but it was nice to have someone who understood her. 

“Yes, well, they’ve seemed to appreciate the effort, anyways,” she teased, pouring them both a glass with wandless magic before standing up and passing him a glass. “It seems your methods pay off, although I really was looking forward to pressuring them a bit further.” Of course, the Fawley’s were too weak to join the cause, at least in Bellatrix’s mind. They at least had an ally on their side for the time being, whether or not they took the mark was ultimately going to be up to Voldemort himself.

She waved a hand at his question. “I’m actually quite bored,” she said, shrugging ever so slightly. “But, my next big scheme is coming up and I was hoping I could get your help. I still need to talk to the Dark Lord, of course, but…” Bellatrix waved a finger and book flew out in front of them. “I’ve got a few questions I’d like answered.”

Rodolphus had learned better than to react to her snort. It wasn’t meant to start an argument. Maybe his methods – the wining, the dining, the charismatic lies – weren’t hers, but they complimented each other well. Just… Platonically.

Face unmoved, he accepted the glass from her with a small nod and took a small sip. “Have you heard the phrase ‘honey attracts more flies than vinegar’? I suspect it’s of muggle origin”—and his expression did convey what he thought of that—“but it’s not without merit.” It described his outward approach to society quite well, actually. But, with a small, wicked smile, he added, “Some of the time.”

Ambrose opened his door wide open and waited for the man to come in. “Ah. Will it? That’s a shame. I was hoping for a chance to show you around outside. But I’d rather not take the risk. Let’s head inside then. I’ll have a lovely fire going for us.” As he led the man in, he waved his hand for the door to close behind them. 

“I’m certain that it is still quite lovely,” he said as he led his guest through the hallway. They weren’t lined with photos or paintings like most manors that have been passed down through the ages but Ambrose was sure to get a wallpaper with a classic print that disguised the modernity of the house. “I’m quite lucky I got myself a place with a nice view. But I would understand if someone desired to give their house a little more privacy. Or if they’d rather not see the eyesores all around them.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he said, following his host inside. Rodolphus’ eyes covertly searched his surroundings as the door shut behind them. He offered the man a smile at the comment regarding his home. “I would not live there otherwise. I was raised with standards,” he added with a chuckle.

Andromeda adored the Oxford Magical Library, as she adored most libraries. There was a deep sense of peace to be found among the books and knowledge - she felt safe here, almost as safe as she did at home. She come out of frustration mostly, having hit a wall with her current thread and in search of inspiration. The director was a friend, likely one of the few outside of the department who had any sort of idea what exact it was that Andromeda was researching. But, as the witch at the information desk had told her, he had an appointment and so Andie wandered.

It was then that she saw the man browsing through some strange looking cookbooks and felt a slight chill. Of course she knew who he was, the man her eldest sister was married too. Rodolphus Lestrange, she could only assume what dark shit he was into given that her father had evidentially been quite please with the match. But Andromeda did not worry for Bella as much as she worried about Narcissa, gods help the man who tried to get Bella to do anything she did not want to do.

“Yes, once I believe.” She matched his soft tone, surprised at her own anger bubbling up at how rude the question seemed. Did Bellatrix hate her so much as to not even mention her? Did the man really not know who she was? “You know my sister, quite well I assume.”

...

He knew a great many sisters. Pureblood circles were tightknit, after all. It took a moment of inspection, a second or two at most, to recognize her. Andromeda Black. Or was it Tonks? Yes, that seemed like the name he’d heard from Bellatrix. They didn’t discuss her often. He married into the family years after Andromeda had left, her portraits burned and her pictures tossed. She’d likely been a decade younger the last time he’d seen her, which had probably only been in passing at a dinner party or something similar.

“You might say that,” he replied. Rodolphus looked away from her back at the books. His tone was measured and coldly polite. They were in public, after all, even if it was a secluded corner of the library. He couldn’t do anything to her, though he little desire to. She was not his problem. They had never had enough of a relationship for him to be angry at her. Did her choices baffle him? Disgust him? Sure. But Andromeda would be a special type of fool not to know that.

Had Rodolphus asked for something stronger, she wouldn’t have reacted other than to ensure he got his drink but Melaina also knew not to push the matter. It was early in the day so she could use that to grip onto rather than worry that he was visiting with a more serious agenda than a social call. “Nixie,” she called, summoning a different elf than the one tasked to disturb a stubborn master of the house. “Bring a tray of tea up.”

A moment later a tray appeared and she gestured for Rodolphus to take his cup first. “It is a most terrible affair, indeed. Fortune has not been on his side. If only the Ministry would focus on the real malefactors here. If they didn’t keep putting pure families down to appease those who are less than pure, none of this would have happened.” She knew that wasn’t true, really, but she didn’t want to focus on either her father’s so-called grief or the very real pain she was herself experiencing. She certainly didn’t want to be talking about it to Rodolphus Lestrange. “It’s my brother I feel bad for, more than myself. Time heals. I was already an adult when my father married Fauna. I have never called her mother. He is too young to understand why she is no longer around.” She took a sip of tea and looked at him. “Is there perhaps a message I can pass along? I would hate for you to wait around only for him to never emerge.”

...

Rodolphus didn’t bother to glance at the house elf either time it appeared, simply taking the cup when Melaina gestured for him to do so. Steam rose from the surface of the dark amber liquid, too warm to take an immediate sip. His gaze remained focused on her. He took a sip when she finished speaking, mulling his response over as the borderline burning liquid touched his tongue. “I’m afraid I must not know the circumstances well. I’ve heard the Ministry has been… nosy. I was not aware their behavior contributed to their deaths in some way.” He had no love for the Ministry, and agreed with her, but also considered her words a paltry way to save face. The truth regarding her father and his wives was easy to figure out.

who: @rodolphos​ where: the lestrange manor. when: february 15th, 1983. 

Bellatrix was bored. 

That wasn’t an uncommon emotion, of course. Bellatrix was often bored; bored of the mundane, bored of the usual repetitive day to day activities that came with her job. The only part of her life that didn’t bore her was being a Death Eater, but she could really only talk about that with so many people. The carnival was a bore in and of itself, but at least she got a little tipsy and hexed a man who had run out of the robes off tent to lose his clothes permanently. It was fun, for a second, to see him scrambling, trying to hide himself behind something.

Still, it wasn’t the kind of chaos Bellatrix craved. 

She waited for her husband to get home, one leg lazily draped off the edge of the couch, until finally she heard the door open. “Darling,” she called. “Care to join me in the study? I’ve got a few questions and a whole bottle of brandy that the Fawley’s were kind enough to send over. Whatever did you do to impress them, because it surely wasn’t me.”

...

Well, the carnival hadn’t been a disaster. It hadn’t been particularly fun either – auctions were a dime a dozen among the charity events he regularly attended. Bachelor(ette) auctions less so, but that was fine with him. Out of morbid curiousity and a bit of needling from Brenton Avery, he’d even attended that won, but all he’d likely won was a future rant from Rabastan. Rodolphus was almost delighted to be home.

Bellatrix’s voice reached him as he was shrugging out of his overcloak. “Coming,” he called, knowing his voice would echo through the halls of Lestrange manor. The house-elf took his cloak, popping away just as he started in the direction of the study.

Where: A secluded spot, outside of the carnival

when: Around 10pm, 14th February 2083

Who: Thea and Rodolphus ( @rodolphos​ )

Valentines day was always pretty interesting for Thea. She didn’t tend to celebrate it usually. It was pretty hard to get into the spirit when the man you loved was married to someone else. Of course, Thea knew what she had got into when she’d gotten into a relationship with Rodolphus. But it didn’t make days like this any easier. This year was different, and Cordy had managed to convince her to come spend the day with her and the twins. Considering she had the day off, and hadn’t seen her best friend in a while, so she’d said yes. At least it had kept her mind off of things.

She hadn’t really had many plans for the evening, apart from maybe spending a little time with Rodolphus. She hadn’t thought coming back to the carnival would have been on the agenda. They couldn’t be a couple in public, and it sucked. “I was surprised you wanted to come….” She murmured, looking up at him. They were stood in a little secluded spot, not having made it into the main area yet. This was the only time they could really be them selves, when they were away from others. It was risky, being out in the public, but Thea was pretty certain nobody would find them here, otherwise she wouldn’t have done it. She leant up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Happy valentines day”

He'd much rather be somewhere actually secluded with Thea, but that rarely happened. As big and empty as the Lestrange Manor was, he didn’t live alone. And as many times as his office felt like their escape from the world, it wasn’t secluded either. So an alcove on the outskirts of carnival? It was par for the course for these two.