Vicious Visage

A warm hand cupped the nape of his neck, squeezing it hard as his old friend rounded to stop before him. He leant into the hug for a second longer than he should have, embracing the familiarity that came with the proximity of the other. He wouldn’t call himself nervous, but his nerve endings were alight with the evening’s events. He’d waited so god damn long for this night and now it was finally here, Rodolphus didn’t know what to do with himself. Not that you’d know it by looking at him.

“There was a point in time where I wasn’t sure, either.” Purely for the length of time it took for the pair of them to get here. It didn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t change a second of his life with Bella, and could only hope for another twelve years of the bliss they’ve since shared. “Thank you for being here with me, Rookwood.”

Ice blue eyes locked onto the dark brown of the older male. “Don’t worry, we’ll still be living in sin, Bella’ll just have a different last name.” He took the scotch pressed into his hand, “Thanks mate. Enjoying yourself?”

There were a hundred work-related things in his mind that he needed to tell the man before him. A thousand loose threads from as many conversations that would have to wait because Augustus would have to share Rodolphus with the world tonight. Would have to share him with Bella for the rest of their lives, but that was no great labour. Rodolphus seemed incomplete without her now. 

“It’s a bit late for cold feet now,” Gus thought to point out quietly, humour in every line of his face and he was caught by a sudden affection for the man. Augustus alway respected him, and there were times when he even feared Rodolphus and what he might do if Augustus’ lack of fealty was ever discovered. But all of that was overshadowed by the inescapable glow in his chest. “Course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” 

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, biting his tongue at the retort that itched the tip of it. He knew exactly what had gone on the night of the Wizarding Statute and both were as equally to blame as the other. And if he recalled correctly, which he did, the older Lestrange had warned both of them to be on their best behaviour that night. A warning which had been promptly ignored. Their actions did not come without consequence, however and Rodolphus could only protect them from so much. If Voldemort knew just how deeply the Ministry was looking into these deaths, there was little Rodolphus could do to protect them. He hated the fact that they continued to put him in such predicaments. If they didn’t start listening to him, Voldemort would be the least of their god damned concerns. 

“Yes, well. Let’s not go that far, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction.” He responded smoothly, the ice blue of his stare locked on the younger wizard. “After tonight, you need to stay away from forest’s for a while.” It seemed nothing good ever came from them… he thought of the Veela residing in his guest bedroom with a pent up, pissed off wolf pacing tracks into the floor beside her this very moment. “I do hope this meeting pans out, Rosier. We can’t afford another loss right now.” 

Evan chuckled, “Come now dear Rodolphus, have I ever let you down? My methods may vary according to my mood but I always get the result required.” Evan didn’t fail, that was likely one of the reasons he was still held in high regard despite his penchant for grisly murder. “Even if it’s not all the goblin’s we’ll have enough of an in to learn more of Gringotts matters. If there’s one thing that holds true among all wizarding kind it’s a lust for money.” he chuckled, “I’ve suspected several individuals have been making it in ways we could use to our advantage. Plus our… activities aren’t cheap,” War was always rather expensive, even when they had magic at their disposal. Despite how good people like he and Rod were, a war couldn’t be won on skill alone.

Displeasure tinged the air with a sharp tang that burned his nostrils. But not like how he was expecting. It wasn’t anger. Anger had a fiery smell to it, ash and embers, and brimstone. This was the kind of displeasure between pack mates, between brothers. The kind of displeasure that needed reprisal before it could be shrugged off and forgotten.

Rodolphus was agitated with him. Reparations meant he’d need to make Fenrir bleed. But it wasn’t anger. He couldn’t put a name to what this was. It didn’t matter. If Rod needed him to bleed, then Fenrir would bleed.

He gave the space the briefest appraisal before their gazes met in the mirror, glacial blue to autumn hazel. Fenrir noted how deliberately Rod had undressed, his clothes and jewelry hanging neatly and lying in a methodical straight line. It was a ritual. A pre-battle centering. This fight –if it could be called that– served a purpose.

Aware of that purpose, he didn’t look away from Rod as he reached behind him and turned the lock into place. They stared at each other for a moment, understanding passing between them like it always had. Wordless and instinctual. Fenrir’s grit his teeth against his own instincts, against how his hackles rose at the thought of submitting, how his blood burned with a defensive kind of violence.

He broke his hard gaze to walk into the small living room attached to the dusty foyer. Fenrir shrugged out of his duster and tossed it onto the sheet covered armchair, the moonlight illuminated a plume of dust as it landed. Watching Rod’s back, seeing the tension in the male’s muscle corded body, Fenrir bit down on his molars and began to remove his weapons one blade at a time. The table glinted with silver and steel, his knives, daggers, and hatchets laid out and far from reach. He’d even removed the stiletto from his boot, and the brass knuckles from his pocket. They fell onto the table with a clunk, before he raked his fingers through his hair and fashioned the strands into a bun, out of his face and out of the way.

Looking up to meet Rod’s gaze again, he pulled his henley over his head and tossed it with his overcoat. A sharp nod at his brother motioned that he was ready. At the scent of discomfort, Fenrir wondered if he should pretend to fight back, if that would make this easier for him. The thought was shoved down and stomped out before it fully formed. Rod would kick his ass just for thinking it.

Pain exploded in his jaw with the first strike, the metalic taste of blood already on his tongue. Fenrir exhaled a heavy breath, shut his eyes, breathed in deep, and opened them again, sure there wouldn’t be rings of gold glowing in his gaze. He locked eyes with Rod without a word. Didn’t bother with excuses or an explanation. Didn’t retort beyond clenching his jaw and preparing for the next blow.

They came in quick succession after that. Each impact made his nerve endings bark in pain. Blood filled his mouth, ran from his broken nose, his split lip, down his chin and onto his bare chest. A crack burned his face like a sunburst, and the fracture in his cheek made his eye swell within seconds. Fenrir uncurled from the blow, caught himself on the mantel and pushed off of it to stand upright again. He faced Rod, spine straight, face bloody, not a hint of gold in his eyes.

Not until he sensed Rod’s shudder. Not until he scented the unease that came with whatever memory had just surfaced. Then it’d been all he could do to smother the snarl that raged in his chest, to keep his instincts on a tight leash and himself from grabbing Rod by the face and demanding answers that would result in more bloodshed.

His jaw unhinged with the last blow. It wasn’t until Rodolphus stepped away from him, fists loose at his sides, his pound of flesh claimed, that Fenrir reached up and set it back into place. He spat blood onto the ground before tonguing his teeth to see if any had been punched loose. More blood splashed across scratched and rotted hardwood, and he looked up at Rod again, holding his gaze as the wizard stepped in close and grabbed him by the nape to press their brows together.

A chuckle rumbled up in place of the growl that had formed in his lungs. Fenrir grabbed Rod by the back of his neck and gave it a squeeze, his breaths whistling out of his broken face. Voice ragged, wet with blood, he grumbled, “You know I can’t promise you that.” Another squeeze and he pushed away from Rod, bringing both hands to his face to realign his nose, which snapped painfully back into place. Another mouthful of blood was spat onto the ground before he captured Rod’s gaze and held it with his.

Voice hard with sincerity, he said, “I meant no disrespect, brother. I didn’t intend for you to answer for my actions.” Rod had warned him. It wasn’t that Fenrir hadn’t cared, he just… hadn’t realized he’d pushed the boundaries too far beyond the Dark Lord’s specifications. He’d told him not to get caught, and to keep it quiet. In Fenrir’s mind, he’d kept to the parameters given to him.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t making excuses. He’d broken trust, and had now answered for it. The pain in his face was already starting to ease a bit as his accelerated healing slowly knit torn flesh back together. His eye would be swollen for a while yet, his face sore for twice that. Fenrir had expected worse from Rod, but if he was satisfied then he’d leave it alone. Even if everything in him was bristled with a demand he couldn’t give into. Not if he wanted to keep benefitting from this cause.

He sidled over to his shirt and sopped up his bloody face with the cotton, grumbling, “You’re still leaving your flank open when you come in overhand.”

The fact that Fenrir didn’t say anything made it easier. Marginally so. At this point, it was all he could do to keep it together, to dish out the punishment and get it over with. If he said anything, anything at all, his stone cold facade would falter, would slip and he’d crumble under the notion of the things he was doing.

Fenrir’s irises flashed neon gold, like a vibrant honey that had Rodolphus cursing himself. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to put him in this kind of position. Fuck. If it were anyone else.... he fought to maintain his emotions as he doled out the punishment. The kind that the great wolf only took because it came from him. 

Blood splattered across them both, spraying the room with flecks of crimson red. Fenrir’s face was a mess, almost indistinguishable by the time Rodolphus was done with him. His own fist bruised and broken, bleeding from places as the hot liquid dripped onto the ruined floor. Fenrir never back away, never shielded himself. He took the beating with all the strength of the warrior he was.

His heart ached at the words spoken. He couldn’t handle the thought of hurting Fenrir, of hurting his own kin. It broke him in ways the Dark Lord could not. The memories of the torment he’d endured at the hands of their leader was enough to had him clenching his eyes shut. The things he did to protect the life of his brother was beyond words, beyond comprehension.

After a heartbeat staring into the others eyes, he was pushed back. Two hands raised to reset Fenrir’s face and Rodolphus had to grind down his molars to stop from wincing and the bone crunching sound. He hated himself for doing it. Catching himself in the mirror, he loathed the person he saw in the reflection. He had never batted an eyelash at the life he’d chosen, but moments like this had him wondering if he’d made the right choice.

“I know you didn’t.” The words his way of saying it’s ok. He wasn’t angry at him, he just felt numb. The echo of his own screams rang through his mind, like a siren song that reminded him yet again how far down the plank he’d walk for the man standing before him. He’d do it all again, in a fucking heartbeat if it meant saving him. As far as Rod was concerned, they were good now. Water under the bridge. Which brought them to round two of this evening.

“Yeah? We still ain’t dating.” He shot back in retort. Leaning against the nearest couch as he waited for the other to clean himself up. Rodolphus didn’t bother with himself, it made for better intimidation with what was coming next. “Now that’s done, I have a present for you.” He cocked his head in the direction of the room behind them. 

At Fenrir’s raised brow, he grinned. 

Rodolphus lead the way, the wolf trailing behind him as he punched open the door to the other room in the cabin. Tied to two wooden chairs, with black bags covering their hoods were two wizards. “Look, I wrapped them for you and everything...” He winked as he took up his position in the middle of the room, staring down the barrel at two doped out bodies. 

They had found themselves packed into an ante-chamber, a haphazard boy’s club congregating. Men milled about in dinner jackets and stuffy dressrobes. A dark hand finally found its way to the base of the groom’s neck as Augustus finally caught him alone for the first time after the ceremony. Gus gave it a hard squeeze as their eyes met and the vivid blue of the man’s expression caused Gus to smile until his cheeks ached from it. In all the years that he had known him, Augustus had never seen Rodolphus so happy. “Hello, boss.” He said, pulling the man in for a one-armed hug before Rod could protest and giving the man a very wet kiss on his perfect cheek.

“I never thought it would come, you know.” He smiled at the raven-haired man, pressing a glass of scotch into the man’s fist. “Today, that is. Not after the first five or six years, anyways.” Augustus grinned, voice playful. “Living in sin, as you two were.”

A warm hand cupped the nape of his neck, squeezing it hard as his old friend rounded to stop before him. He leant into the hug for a second longer than he should have, embracing the familiarity that came with the proximity of the other. He wouldn’t call himself nervous, but his nerve endings were alight with the evening’s events. He’d waited so god damn long for this night and now it was finally here, Rodolphus didn’t know what to do with himself. Not that you’d know it by looking at him.

“There was a point in time where I wasn’t sure, either.” Purely for the length of time it took for the pair of them to get here. It didn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t change a second of his life with Bella, and could only hope for another twelve years of the bliss they’ve since shared. “Thank you for being here with me, Rookwood.”

Their kiss earned whistles from the wedding party and cheers from the rest of the crowd, laughter quickly following suit when she and Rod were promptly reminded of their rather large audience and forced to pull apart. She nudged the tip of his nose with the point of hers, grinning at him as she lifted her hand from his lapel to wipe the smear of lipstick from his mouth. Bellatrix was almost beyond caring. These people had come for a show. They may as well give them one.

Biting into her bottom lip as she watched her thumb swipe across his bottom lip, clearing away the smudge she’d left behind. A heavy exhale breezed from his nostrils and Bella shook her head, muttering, “Newlywed and surrounded by cockblocks.” Her chuckle was quiet, soft and warm as her gaze flicked up from Rod’s mouth to peer into those glacial blue depths.

Hand dropping from his face to land on his thigh, she pulled further back to request his company outside these suffocating tapestries, low hanging chandeliers, and gilded architecture. Her husband was immediately on his feet and she laughed as he pulled her up beside him. The farewell given to their companions was brief before he was escorting her out of the main hall and onto the attached balcony that descended onto the groomed grounds, and toward the flowering gardens.

The train of her dress dragged behind her as they strolled, along with the long, lacy sleeves that parted at her elbows and cascaded down in thin sheets of chiffon. Always so aware of him, she could feel the weight of his gaze on her as they walked together, the familiar caress as he took her in. Bella smiled to herself, the simper widening as he complimented the dress and how she looked in it.

Glancing up at him sideways, Bella arched an immaculate eyebrow and purred, “I could stand to hear it again.” She gave him an appreciative once over, sizing him up from his perfectly coiffed hair to the polished shine of his shoes, and back up again until their eyes met. “You also clean up rather nicely, Sir. If I weren’t a married woman, you might have stood a chance.”

His smile widened as they stepped out onto the moonlit path. One of the reasons he’d loved this venue more than any other was the gardens. They were resplendent in their beauty, rivalled only by that of his bride. The weight of the new ring, the one replacing the promise ring he now wore on his right hand struck him as he reached a hand out for her.

The ring on her own shone brightly as her smile, the one she reserved only for him. Rodolphus gave the smaller female a light tug, until she fell into his arms. Tattooed hands wrapped around a petite waist, holding her firmly against him. 

His head dipped, lips brushing against her ear as he murmured lowly, “And if I weren’t a married man, I’d ravage you right here, amongst the rose bushes.” The grounds were still, quiet. The sounds of the wedding locked up behind the monstrous walls of the castle. Here, in this brief moment- it was just them.

“Why Rod, I never knew you to be a romantic,” he teased. There were few people Antonin was free with. Rodolphus was one of them, one of the only ones who could be considered Antonin’s equal. He had a vicious streak to match Antonin’s own, and intelligence to keep him on top of the pack. The Dark Lord was lucky to have found a man like him.

There was some derision in Antonin’s gaze as he looked across the crowd. For all the people who agreed with them and their cause, there were just as many who didn’t. Yet they flocked to the event nonetheless, wanting to see the splendour that the Lestranges and Blacks came up with. Hypocrites, the lot of them, content to feast when convenient, but throw a fit because others were starving.

He nodded. “Well enough. And they won’t bother you while I’m here,” he smirked. Antonin’s was a commanding enough presence on his own. When he and Rodolphus were together, it made them quite an intimidating pair that few dared approach. “Let’s get you something. I don’t want you to faint on me.” Lips twisted up in amusement as he teased the man.

Antonin barely had to raise a hand before one of the waitstaff was in front of him. He had made eye contact with the girl early on, and had been playing with her from afar ever since. “Be a dear and make Mr. Lestrange up a plate,” he told her.

There was no question as to her doing it, which is why he didn’t phrase it as one. He had no doubt the girl would comply. Aside from it being her job, the looks she was throwing him made it clear she wouldn’t mind following whatever order he gave her.

“Done. Now was that so difficult?” 

Rodolphus all but rolled his eyes at his old friend. As if he’d faint, honestly. He knew the other was joking, however and honestly couldn’t be more grateful for the plate of food. He’d spent today making sure every little bit of it was perfect for Bella- and it had been. The whole fucking thing went off without a hitch and hell if it didn’t make his chest puff out that little bit harder.

He’d checked his baggage at the door the minute this day started, leaving all the problems he was facing with the rebellion aside for 24 hours. She deserved that much, and if anything went wrong, they’d face the full wrath of one pissed off groom with a bridal party that’d make Halloween look like a damn joke.

He speared a delicate fork into what looked like broccoli, covered in some kind of sauce and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t even know what was on the menu. That had been Bella’s domain and frankly, he didn’t care. They paid enough for the venue, he knew it’d be good, whatever she chose.

“What has it been twelve years?” he asked. He would have said something about Rod finally sealing the deal, but he knew that had happened with Bellatrix long ago. She had insatiable appetites for a great many things, did their Bella.

“Seems like it must have taken that long just to plan all of this.” Antonin gestured to the room at large. He had an eye for detail, and could see all the extra care and effort that had been put into decorations, fabrics, and clothing. While he might have the patience for it when it came to things he was interested in, he knew that if the time ever came, he would be having someone else plan his wedding.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the extra glass of scotch towards his friend. “Have you been heartily congratulated by all yet?”

Rodolphus clasped his hand to his heart in feigned offence. “Please, it is I making an honest woman out of her.” He shot his old friend a wink, knowing neither of them were truly honest- but he did love her, more than anything on this earth and that was really all that mattered, wasn’t it?

“Twelve years, three months and 24 days. But who’s counting?” He remembered the first time he’d laid eyes upon his bride as if it were only yesterday, and she hadn’t changed. Had only grown more beautiful with every passing day. 

He nodded, ice blue eyes scanning the room around them. “Only the best for the pure bloods, you know how it is.” He and Bella had planned the wedding to within an inch of it’s life, but they’d done so together and he was quite proud of how it had all turned out, if he could say so himself. He took the glass with a thankful nod, lifting it to his lips and downing half of it before refocusing on Dolohov. 

Her emerald gaze slid onto Rodolphus beside her and the subtle upturn of her lips turned feline as she observed him. Merlin, he was perfect. And all hers. Her husband. She was all the more aware of the weight on her finger, the heavy ring that encircled it, beautiful and glittering, as good as a crown.

Bella lifted her chin from her fingers, her elbows from the table, and leaned into her husband’s side to murmur in his ear. “Brains and brawn, I knew I married you for a reason.” She lifted delicate fingers to his jaw and pulled his cheek to her lips, pressing a kiss onto his stubbled face, another onto the corner of his mouth, before her touch urged him to face her so she could kiss him on the lips, smiling into the affection, her blood cells alight with joy.

When she pulled back again, Bellatrix bumped the tip of her nose to his and purred, “Aside from you being an incredible lay, that is. You’re not going to make me wait for you to ravish me, are you?” Her bottom lip jutted out into a playful pout. She leaned in again to nuzzle her way to his ear, murmuring, “Don’t you want to see what’s waiting for you under this dress?” and kissed the soft spot under his ear before pulling back again.

They couldn’t leave just yet. The reception had only just started and there were expectations for them to fulfil before it was polite for them to disappear into the shadows and consummate what had been true the moment they laid eyes on each other. She was his, he was hers, as true as gravity and as lasting as time. But that didn’t mean that they had to stay cooped up in here.

Hand on her husband’s knee, she said, “I would like a breath of fresh air. Might I interest you in a turn about the garden, dear husband?” Her vixin’s simper hid just under the surface as she raised an eyebrow and waited for his answer.

This night was fucking dragging. The fat that they were only thirty minutes into the reception made it even worse. He was meant to enjoy the wedding night, the special moments shared with friends and family, showing off his new bride and all that jazz.

But frankly? He couldn’t give a fuck. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of here with his bridge, and ravage her. There was literally nothing better that he could possibly be doing with his time right now. 

She was watching Antonin tell some lavish story about their past escapades, and he was watching her. Soft features and delicate expressions, leaning forward as if she actually cared about what he had to say. She probably did, that light in her eyes reserved for only those nearest and dearest. 

He’d glanced back at Antonin for but a moment, pretending to listen when those soft fingers of hers found the hard line of his jaw. Pressing her lips against his cheek, he had to bite the inside of his lip to stop from growling at her. It was taking every ounce of control that he had not to snap and take her right there on the bridal table.

She tugged until he was facing her, eyes blue eyes locked with her own. Pressing his lips against hers, his free hand slid up to lock against her cheek, fingers curling around the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss, letting the rest of the world slip away.

When she pulled back, he almost growled again... but then her hand found his thigh and the suggestion in her voice had him shooting straight up from the chair and excusing the pair of them without a second glance to the rest of the boys perched at the table. Tucked in against his side, Rodolphus happily lead his new bride out into the crisp, cool night. The grounds were filled with roses, his favourite flower and Bellatrix, in all her beauty looked absolutely resplendent against the backdrop. 

Without his mate to anchor him, Fenrir had drifted through the crowd, prowling between partygoers, not sure where he was going or what he’d do when he got there.

Somehow he’d ended up in the smoky interior of a parlor room, trapped in a conversation with some business mogul hoping to expand his trade into France. Since Fenrir was posing as Rod’s cousin who’d come all this way from the prospective frontier, clearly he’d been the ideal person to corner. Rolling his shoulders and biting down on his molars, Fenrir missed his knives. He missed his claws. Staring at the stout man in front of him, he imagined the warmth of his blood spraying as Fenrir slashed open his throat.

Fenrir’s French was pretty good. His French accent? Not as good. So, he nodded his way through the conversation, eyeing the nearby sculptures and busts of old nobles, and plotted the best way to bludgeon the man, and his way out of this.

Fingers raked through his hair, mussing the strands. Continuing to absently nod, he tried to loosen the tie choking his neck. He needed out of this room. It was stifling, and the man’s voice was grating on already frayed nerves. Licking his lips, he felt them twitch into a snarl, and ground his teeth against the urge to bash the man’s skull into the nearest corner if it meant him leaving him the fuck alone.

Rod stiffened. Some idiot had cornered Fenrir, and was apparently yapping his ear off. By the expression on his brothers face, he was about... three seconds away from smashing his head into the marble, and we can’t have that now, can we? The elves that ran this place just polished it.

He casually excused himself from whoever the hell was talking to him in that moment- he wasn’t even paying attention- and made his way through the crowd. Nodding and smiling at anyone who caught his eye as he closed the distance between himself and Fenrir.

Slipping in behind the not so large werewolf, he slid an arm casually over his shoulder- “Hey, Nigel. I see you found my dear old cousin here. If you don’t mind, I need to borrow Jean... Grooms business and all that.” 

His tone was light and airy but the ice cold stare could wither the warmest of souls, and the poor sod nearly tripped over himself backing out of the room. “Sure, no worries Rod... you got it.” The smirk didn’t cross his features until the idiot was gone and the pair were left alone in the room. 

“Can’t leave you alone for a second, can we?” He jabbed with a low chuckle, turning until he was standing before the werewolf. A clap of his hand on the shoulder that was far too thin to be real in comparison to Fenrir’s normal form, he shook his head. A small sadness washing over him.

But maybe the Death Eaters wouldn’t be as bold if they knew that Aurors could use Unforgiveables against them too. That was exactly what worried Rodolphus.  The one thing the rebellion had going for them was the red tape, the rules that the Auror’s had abide by. 

They already had the Order to deal with, which had decided to cut through the bureaucracy- the only upside to that fun little faction was that they had to live in the shadows, just like the rebellion- which meant both sides toed a very dangerous line and kept this little game of cat and mouse going.

“I appreciate where you’re coming from, Auror Scrimgeour.” He finished dotting the fake notes in his pad, raising his gaze to level with the older man boasting an expression of utter seriousness. Like every little thing he had said mattered, was taken into consideration. “I’ll be sure to raise these points to the Minister in my next meeting with him, see if we can expedite the Wizengamot’s trial regarding this matter for you.

Sensing the end to their meeting and not wanting to stay longer than necessary, he rose from his chair. “Thank you again for seeing me,” he nodded. There was little he could do now without making himself annoying. The only thing he could do, really, was wait. Wait to see if Rodolphus wanted to talk more about, or wait to see what the decision would be.

Rufus didn’t care if Moody found out about this conversation; knowing that someone higher up had listened to him was worth it. Rodolphus would have to make up his own mind, but he hoped that his points had tilted the scale favourably.

He turned and walked out of the office. The receptionist gave him a polite smile before he left. His own expression, as he headed to the lifts, held mild smugness. There was no guarantee that his visit would work, but Hell, the possibility of it succeeding made him have just a little more hope about winning.

Fenrir hadn’t needed the warning, knew Rod well enough to know that matter hadn’t been settled. The only reason they hadn’t had this talk sooner was because the Lestrange heir had given him space. With Ari hurt, then recovering, this conversation needed to wait. Rod knew him, too. Knew him better than anyone. Enough to know that while his mate was weak Fenrir wouldn’t give a shit about anything other than protecting her.

All criticizing him would’ve accomplished was piss him off. Besides, he didn’t understand what the problem was. Two deaths was a record low for him. It’d been away from the party, in a clearing outside of Hogsmeade, soundproofed, their tracks covered. As far as Fenrir was concerned, he’d done the Rebellion a favor. He was still waiting on his ‘Thank You’ basket from the Dark Lord.

So when the owl dropped a note onto his lap and he saw the familiar, meticulous scrawl, he’d known. Arielle was healed now, safe. His grace period was over, and he’d been summoned. That the rendezvous was at their spot, the cabin that didn’t have neighbors for miles each way, no one to hear the screams, meant that Rod was more pissed than he’d realized. He was expecting things to get ugly, and didn’t want to wake the neighbors while he and Fenrir cleared the air.

Listening to the chorus of nocturnal life, teeth clenched as he climbed the hill, Fenrir resigned himself to something he’d never done in his life. He wouldn’t fight Rod. Not after everything he and his mate had done for him, for Ari. She was alive because of them. Because of Rod, they were going to find her brother. If submitting to whatever Rod needed was how they started balancing the scale, then… he’d do it.

He crested the hill and stopped at its peak. A single lantern glowed at the door of the cabin at the end of the drive. Rod was home.

A slow breath filled his lungs. Exhaling just as slowly, he rolled his shoulders, swivelled his head on his neck, loosened his arms. Fenrir grit his teeth and reminded himself that this was necessary. He needed to let this happen. If this was what Rod needed so he knew that Fenrir hadn’t meant any disrespect, he’d do what he had to.

An ache was already starting to form in his jaw as he strode the rest of the way toward the ramshackle cabin at the end of the drive.

He knew the owl was received. In all the time the pair had known each other, Fenrir had never ignored him. The woollen overcoat was the first to be removed. It had been hung delicately upon the iron hook of the rack near the door of the cabin. Fingers moved to unlink the cuffs in his sleeves, placing the 24k gold on the table, next.

Ice blue eyes pierced the mirror he was looking into as skilled hands unbuttoned the white shirt. Slowly, methodically. Un-tucking it from his belt, he shrugged the shirt off too, hanging it on the hook next to the coat. His gaze ran down the length of the mirror, assessing himself as he waited. The watch was next, along with any jewellery on his person. God, he hated this.

When the door swung open, he didn’t move, merely looked at Fenrir through the mirror. He knew what was coming next, and his heart ached. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t care. If it were anyone else, they’d be dead. The silence in the room deafened him, and the Death Eater waited for the door to shut and the look to turn, even though there’d be no one coming. It was a metaphor, more than anything else. An invitation to begin.

He caught sight of the dark mark on his forearm as the wizard turned to face his brother. There was no fight in the other’s face, no anger, no rebellion. Merely acceptance. That hurt him even more. He took a step towards the wolf before a right hook connected with Fenrir’s jaw. Hard. It barely moved, the blood that welled upon his lip only the beginning. “You should have listened to me, brother.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, maintaining a facade he knew Fen could see straight through. His fist connected again, and again, andagain.. Over and over, until his knuckles bruised and the wolf’s face was bloody. It wouldn’t last. He’d heal within the hour but that wasn’t the point, was it? “It’s not that you took them out, I don’t care about the pathetic mudbloods.”

Rodolphus stepped closer still, until they were all but chest to chest. Eye to eye. “I told you it was my ass on the line.” The punishment he took from Voldemort, to protect Fenrir and Evan- to keep their names out of it. He shuddered at the memory. “You should have listened...”

A final hit to the jaw had his own knuckles swollen and aching but he pushed it aside. One more and he’d break the bone clean off his face. Not because he was stronger than the wolf, but because he was letting him. Because Fenrir was standing there and taking the punishment without a single groan or sound of protest. He came here knowing why, came with his guard down and defences dropped. Which is why Rod stopped, why he held back any further.

The same bruised hand that hurt him, clasped hard to the back of his neck. Pressing his forehead against the other, a silent plea in his eyes. “Don’t make me do that again, brother.” He can’t always be the one to protect him, Voldemort had eyes and ears everywhere... and a part of him wondered if the Dark Lord knew. It didn’t matter, just like his wolf- he’d stand there and take anything Voldemort gave him if it meant keeping him safe.

“I knew you’d be pleased.” he said, that grin still present on his face. “I’m sure it’ll make up for the little fun Fenrir and I had. Besides, the party was a farce, why would we want to celebrate hiding ourselves?” he asked dryly. As always, he had a speech prepared should the Dark Lord wand an explanation. “The meeting will be this evening. In a forest just outside of Cumbria.” he said lightly, though his interest was much more peaked by Rod’s next words. “Reeeeeeally? Aren’t you going tell me who who who? You know no one keeps secrets better than I.” He knew almost everyone’s business in their social circles after all and wouldn’t ever reveal it. Unless of course, it better suited his needs. “Hmm, isn’t it? Things really are going swimmingly. Between this and the impending wedding what’s there to be unhappy about?”

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, biting his tongue at the retort that itched the tip of it. He knew exactly what had gone on the night of the Wizarding Statute and both were as equally to blame as the other. And if he recalled correctly, which he did, the older Lestrange had warned both of them to be on their best behaviour that night. A warning which had been promptly ignored. Their actions did not come without consequence, however and Rodolphus could only protect them from so much. If Voldemort knew just how deeply the Ministry was looking into these deaths, there was little Rodolphus could do to protect them. He hated the fact that they continued to put him in such predicaments. If they didn’t start listening to him, Voldemort would be the least of their god damned concerns. 

Rufus nodded at the man’s comment. “Maybe. But maybe the Death Eaters wouldn’t be as bold if they knew that Aurors could use Unforgiveables against them too. It would no longer be just Azkaban on the table.” It was tempting to add that even though there would be more bureaucracy, he hadn’t known the Ministry to avoid it.

“I know there’s an argument to not be like the Death Eaters - not stoop to their level, so to speak, but this is a war we’re in. We need to evaluate how important it is to win it. The cost is going to be high, but anyone who doesn’t already think that is an idiot and naive. Allowing Aurors to use Unforgiveables might just help reducing the cost though.”

But maybe the Death Eaters wouldn’t be as bold if they knew that Aurors could use Unforgiveables against them too. That was exactly what worried Rodolphus.  The one thing the rebellion had going for them was the red tape, the rules that the Auror’s had abide by. 

They already had the Order to deal with, which had decided to cut through the bureaucracy- the only upside to that fun little faction was that they had to live in the shadows, just like the rebellion- which meant both sides toed a very dangerous line and kept this little game of cat and mouse going.