Recent Posts

Jaw clenched and fist tight around the glass, Rodolphus stared into the darkness. He might have had a son. All the heartache that Aurora’s birth had created could have been alleviated if he had had a son. A rightful heir. A dark haired boy with his father’s height and his mother’s hazel eyes. Their child’s eyebrows would have been the envy of both sexes. Rodolphus’ grip around the glass tightened until a sharp cracking sound came and he looked down to see that he’d broken Dorcas’ glass. It hadn’t shattered but it was unusable. If he returned upstairs it would be with a different glass but his mood was not yet improved and the return journey to the bedroom was still up in the air.

Logic hadn’t crept in yet. He wasn’t thinking about the shitstorm having a child with his mistress seven years ago would have been. There was no reasoning away his anger in this moment. Rodolphus wanted children, he wanted a son, lots of sons. Bellatrix, the murderous, vengeful bitch that she was, was refusing him that right as a man, as her husband. Now Dorcas had let it slip that she was much in the same way as Bellatrix; a spiteful witch who would deny him his children. He was divorcing Bellatrix over the matter, it was a recent revelation, but it was already in the works. It should have been no problem then for Rodolphus to walk out the front door, hop onto his motorcycle, and speed off into the sunrise to find another whore who would not be so foolish as to betray him the same way Dorcas had, yet he carried her drink through the kitchen, then the lounge, and straight passed the entryway. He stood at the foot of the stairs and could see into her bedroom through the still open door. It was quiet.

He took the stairs slowly and purposefully, having decided it best to not stay any longer than he needed to. Dorcas was laying on the bed, facing the door as he entered. He set the drink on her bedside table. “Ring your friend and tell her to come round to sit with you. That hot reporter that wants me to stick it in her,” he clarified. He knew Dorcas and Tersha were close friends, close enough that Tersha found it amusing to suggest to Rodolphus that he ask Dorcas out on a proper date, despite the fact that she and the rest of the bloody nation knew that Rodolphus was married at the time. That had been a while ago when Rodolphus had happened upon the women in a café, but it was made clear to Rodolphus that Tersha knew of his dalliances with Dorcas behind his wife’s back so she would be an acceptable person to pass Dorcas off to this morning. He wouldn’t leave her unattended but he would leave.

Her silence seemed to last an eternity and, in that time, Rodolphus’ anger grew. “Yep.” What sort of sodding answer was that?! She couldn’t even be bothered to say words properly. Her poor upbringing was on full display. She didn’t even turn around as he commanded her to do, she simply stood from the bed which brought a whole other level of emotions into play. Rodolphus stood quickly, preparing to catch her should her legs wobble or block her should she attempt to leave. She needed rest, and even in his fury Rodolphus knew she needed to get her arse back in bed, but it was the anger that kept him standing beside his side of the bed and watching from a short distance instead of moving to help her as she dressed herself. She turned back to look at him and they stood silently for a short moment.

“When?” he demanded, her petite figure standing in the darkness facing him. He could hardly make out her expression. She still appeared a bit pale but that could have just been the strange angle of the moonlight breaking the darkness between them like a dividing light that made everything on either side seem that much darker. On one side stood Dorcas, the woman who had apparently carried his child inside of her, for however long that had lasted, and seemed completely flippant now about having kept such a fact from him. On the other side was Rodolphus, boiling with anger that was, perhaps, misplaced. He wanted a son, several more children if he could have them, but his petulant wife had taken to playing games with him for years, depriving him of the one thing she was supposed to provide in their marriage. The wounds were still fresh and now Dorcas was stood there, nonchalantly talking about how she threw his child away without ever even telling him.

Logically, Rodolphus wouldn’t have wanted a bastard. Even if Dorcas had given him a son, he wouldn’t be a true Lestrange, he wouldn’t have inherited the family’s fortune. He would have been a mark on the family name. An embarrassment to both the Lestranges and the Blacks, although what the fuck did he care if Bella’s family was embarrassed? Fuck the Blacks, and fuck Bellatrix, and fuck Dorcas for keeping this monumental secret from him. How long had it been? How long had she been playing Rodolphus for a fool, just like his own wife had done?

The darkness was uneventful. Rodolphus laid awake, his mistress wrapped in his arms as he watched her breath. Her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that soothed him for more than one reason. He watched her like a hawk; every move of her eyes under her eyelids, the shifting of her weight on the mattress. He was keenly aware of everything except the images that passed through her head. He caught glimpses, though. There were little moans and groans that accompanied small movements. A word here or there that seemed to be building up to something, but it made no sense to him. Not at first.

The moonlight had shifted, casting its pale rays across the foot of the bed, where Rodolphus’ large feet extended well beyond Dorcas’. Her legs were short and she barely took the length of the bed, whereas Rodolphus filled it out completed. On several occasions over the years, Dorcas had twisted herself far enough into her blankets that Rodolphus’ bare feet were left exposed to the cool night’s air while she was burritoed in a warm comforter, completely unaware. He had taken to tucking the edge of the blanket under his heel to combat the petite blanket hog. She stirred in her sleep, and Rodolphus’ eyes flicked upward from her chest to her mouth and a strained voice spoke out.

"I shouldn't be here." He ran his hand through her hair to calm her. “You’re aright, love.” She was, and by the gods, she would be come morning. Rodolphus trusted Hanley, he was a straight forward sort of man and if there was even a doubt that Dorcas wouldn’t see the sunrise, Hanley would have said as much. Unlike much smarter men, Hanley did not fear the wrath of Rodolphus Lestrange. There would be no need to appease him. Dorcas would be alright, but the tossing and turning that was starting was enough to worry him ever so slightly.

If her movements were worrisome, it was nothing to the words that followed. She wasn’t known for talking in her sleep, which made the statements all the more troublesome. "I'm not pregnant, get away from me." His brow quirked and his body twisted to look at her more directly. The sleep talking continued and it made more, and simultaneously less sense the longer it went on. "There is no baby!" She shouted and Rodolphus propped himself up on his forearm. "I had an abortion, I got rid of it, it doesn't exist!" A cold chill ran over Rodolphus’ figure as he laid there, staring at the woman whom he had just killed and had brought back to life. Her eyes were opening, confusion to match his on her face. “An abortion?” There was a quake in his voice, due to both nerves and anger. “What are you on about, love? When did you have an abortion?” His hand had recoiled from her waist as he looked at her. What sort of dreams was she having? Was there any truth to the words her subconscious self was spouting off?

Her features instantly changed as Rodolphus’ words sunk into that pretty little head of hers. She was not stupid, he knew that, but she sometimes liked to act as though she might as well be for all the attention she paid her elders. Rodolphus was only a decade older, not even a full generation, but her elder nonetheless and she seemed to enjoy giving him attitude. He couldn’t resist giving it right back at her some days. It was lucky they did not spend as much time together as he did with some family members because, just as he had on that summer’s night in question, he could easily picture himself killing his little cousin and wouldn’t that just be a shame?

With her attention gained, Rodolphus sat upright a bit more. He was certain there would be much less teenage angst in her demeanor for the rest of the conversation – which he prayed would be short. “I expected as much.” Rod could practically see her mind churning with ideas as to what fun she would get to embark on in the role of loyal servant to the Dark Lord, and he was sure she was getting away with herself. “You’ll need to prove yourself to Him when the time comes. But for now, a pledge of loyalty and getting you placed properly in the world is all that’s needed. If you can manage that much, I’ll put in a good word for you.” There was a well-deserved arrogance in his words, though Jovi wouldn’t know of exactly how well deserved it really was.

Rodolphus was not just a Death Eater. He was not just a trusted member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle. He was the Dark Lord’s personal Hit Wizard. His go-to man. If there was a problem that needed sorting, Rodolphus was sent in to deal with it the best way Rodolphus knew how. He had made a reputation for himself among the other Death Eaters, one that mainstream society knew nothing of. One that would get him a bed in the highest security ward in Azkaban, should he ever be captured but there was no chance of that happening. Rodolphus was quick and clever, he was skilled having been trained since a young lad by private duelist tutors and then by the Dark Lord himself. He was the shining example of Death Eater, and he was Jovian’s way into that realm, and he expected to be revered as such.

“With a pretty face like yours, I’ll bet you’d be hired up as a secretary for some fat old codger at the Ministry, like that.” Rodolphus snapped his fingers to accent his words. “The closer you can position yourself to intel, the better.” Any intel, at this point, would be best. They had Death Eaters staged in the MLE departments, and of course Rodolphus’ own brother was part of the Minister’s private guard, but the Ministry was large and there were several departments vacant of their spies. The Wizengamot. The Department of International Affairs. The Department of Mysteries. The Department of Magical Education. The Department for Regulation of Magical Creatures. The lists went on and on. All Jovian would need to do is position herself close enough to someone in the know, relay any pertinent information to the Dark Lord’s trusted few, and sit back painting her nails while the big boys took care of business.

"You're finally going ahead with it." The word ‘finally’ struck a chord. He took another drink and sat in the armchair nearest his brother. How many times had Rodolphus intruded upon his brother’s solitude to bemoan his failing marriage and laugh at the idea of killing her or disgracing Bellatrix by dragging her name through the mud and mentally torturing her in a way that would far exceed the shit she had put Rodolphus through over the years. Ten years they had been married, and not only were they parents to a single child – a daughter, no less – but Bellatrix was now adamantly refusing to give him anymore children. For years it wasn’t something discussed at all, then it was only discussed when tensions were already high, and tempers flared. It was a way for them to hurt each other. Rodolphus truly thought the winds had changed. She was acting different lately, more romantic and supportive. And yet when the subject was broached yet again she put her foot down. He had closed the door on the opportunity for more children by his behavior when his daughter was born. A reaction now that Rodolphus regrets, but he was young and foolhardy, and was so certain that it was Bella’s family curse that had stolen away his heir, his son, and left him with a daughter who’s only worth would be in marrying her off to another family and losing the Lestrange legacy.

Leaning forward in his chair, Rodolphus rested his forearms on his thighs, his drink in his right hand. He heaved a heavy sigh as his brother graciously offered to murder his wife to avoid a public divorce. Rod gave a single burst of laughter at the suggestion. “Thank you, brother.” He clapped his free hand on his brother’s knee. “If anyone could do it cleanly, it would be you.” That was the truth, if you didn’t include Rodolphus himself in the pool of potential murderers. Rabastan very much looked up to his older brother and as such he followed Rodolphus into the service of the Dark Lord where he honed his skills as a murderer and spy. “But I’m afraid I cannot ask that of you. I want there to be nothing that could possibly come between you and Aurora. She needs her Uncle Horse Arse, or whatever the fuck she calls you. Besides,” Rodolphus straightened himself, resting his glass on the arm of his chair, “the Dark Lord wouldn’t be pleased if his little pet wound up dead.” In the chasm of his relationship with Bellatrix had grown a new relationship between his wife and their master. Rodolphus wasn’t certain it was sexual, but he could see that Bella wanted it to be. She had said as much straight to his face, claiming she would give Voldemort as many children as he wanted but Rodolphus would have none. Selfish fucking cunt.

Rabastan made a joke and Rodolphus gave another short chuckle. He raised his glass to his face and stop just before the rim touched his lips. “She’s been trying that for years,” he retorted, then took a large swallow of his scotch.

It was a pleasant surprise to see Nic back in England and to find out that the man had plans to stay in the country long term, well, as “long term” as Nic ever managed. The pair had chatted at the Minister’s gala the weekend prior and Rodolphus learned of his old friend’s new position as the French ambassador for the British Ministry of Magic. It was a position that suited the older man, something dignified and political enough to keep him close to the action without becoming a target for regular media slurs and tabloid gossip. Roddy had jokingly asked who’s dick Nic had to suck to get such a cushy job in the Ministry but their casual guy talk was interrupted by a few of Rodolphus’ father’s acquaintances wanting to express their dismay at Rodolphus’ failed marriage and offer their support to Rodolphus who “ought to have a wife who could bear a proper heir,” as they had said. The conversation had definitely derailed at that point and instead of attempting to skirt around the older wizards who only wanted to talk business, the friends had decided to catch up in a more private environment.

For obvious reasons, the Lestrange Chateau was not the ideal setting for a friendly reunion, what with Bellatrix still making a fuss over the divorce that she was staunchly against (because how could she possibly make his life a living fucking nightmare if they were no longer married?) and throwing a tantrum at every possible turn. Technically she was living with her parents again, but she was at the mansion enough that she might as well not have bothered claiming to move out in the first place. Of course, she hadn’t offered to move out, Rodolphus had kicked her out. His parents had purchased the exquisite mansion and the 300 acres of land it sat on as a wedding gift for them, the deed to which was in Rodolphus’ name. It was a no-brainer to Rod but to Bella it was an opportunity to drag out her torture a little longer.

Rodolphus appeared in front of the old castle, the residence of the new French ambassador. He carried in his hand a bottle of aged scotch as a house warming gift; the label of which had been enchanted to throw humorous, vulgar insults at Nic. There was much to talk about, and with Aurora having a playdate at her Grandfather’s and Grandmother’s home, there was no need to rush. They could get as drunk as they liked – and Roddy most definitely liked to get drunk – and discuss all of the current happenings in their lives. Or just get drunk. Either way was good with Rodolphus.

A few moments later, Rod appeared in the doorway of the Great Room where Nic stood like a fucking tosser admiring the architecture or something. “I don’t see a fucking bar in here, Bellerose.” Rodolphus’ voice signaled his arrival before the pretty little veela girl could announce him. “Is this how you treat your guests? We get something pretty to look at,” he was speaking of course of the servant witch, not the scenery through the large cathedral-like windows, “and I have to make my own sodding drink? You’re in the United Kingdom now, adopt the culture, mate.” He was of course joking with his friend, and the expression on his face showed as much. A handsome smile and a twinkle in his caramel eyes. Roddy approached Nic, giving him a rough pat on the shoulder in greeting and thrusting the bottle of scotch into the man’s hand. “How the fuck do you get anything done around here with a pretty little piece of ass like that hanging around?” The veela woman, part veela, clearly, was blonde and slender. She was completely Roddy’s type and that could be said even if you didn’t include the charm she was putting off naturally.

Jovi hadn’t kept him waiting long and soon enough Rodolphus was joined by his younger cousin, who promptly commanded things move along quickly. That was fine enough by him, he would rather be taking care of more interesting matters but this meeting was in the service of the Dark Lord and he wouldn’t ignore it. “Very good then,” he replied, leaning back in his seat and looking up to the redhead who was absentmindedly playing with his letter opener. “You no doubt remember the conversation you so rudely interrupted last summer, and your little realization about what your favorite cousin gets up to in his spare time.” He stressed the words ‘favorite cousin’ just to take the piss out of her. “You’re graduating soon and you’re going to find out right quick how different the real world is when you’re no longer in school. It seems like the perfect opportunity to get your feet wet. That is,” he folded his arms over his chest as his eyes connected with Jovi’s, “if you’re actually interested. This isn’t a game any silly little school girl can play, and you’ll be expected to show loyalty even if you’re not treated to a posh lunch in Hogsmeade.” If Jovi’s inability to retain a boyfriend for more than a few months was any indication of her attention span, then it wouldn’t bode well for her in the Dark Lord’s service. However, she was young, and one couldn’t be expected to retain relationships that had been forged in one’s youth into adulthood. Besides, if anyone really knew how many women Rodolphus had gone through before settling down with Bellatrix – and of course the term ‘settling down’ was used only in the loosest of terms in this context – they could have said the same thing about Roddy. It was really less of a remark on her attention span than an easy jab at her for sport.