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Bellatrix, to her credit, was a magnificent actress when it came to feigning interest in anything this Catelyn woman was saying, and the fact that Rodolphus’ wife was able to control her reaction when the blonde tried to play dumb to the initial invitation to their hotel room made him give her a little squeeze as he gently pushed her from his lap. The couple stood, and Roddy waited for the ladies to walk ahead of him as they exited, watching the sway of their rear ends in their respective dresses, excited for the moment when those frocks would be disheveled on the floor.

The air was brisk as they made their way up the alley toward the hotel, Rodolphus standing on Bella’s right nearest the street, with the two women on his left where they were less likely to be splattered by muddy snow from a passing vehicle. Even if his plans for the evening were dastardly, even if and Bellatrix were planning to shag and murder this stupid witch, there was no reason for him not to be a respectable gentleman until the time came. Walking with his wife, and not beside the stranger they had met at the bar, would appear to onlookers to be a casual evening among friends instead of the libertarian scene that it was. He wrapped his arm around Bella’s shoulder as they walked, making conversation with the blonde as they headed into the hotel and through the lobby.

“Would either of you lovely ladies like another drink?” The suite had a fully stocked bar, a single drink from which would cost most wizard’s a month’s salary but to Rodolphus it was mere knuts. He had already removed his suit jacket, tossing it over the arm of the sofa in the lounge, and loosened his tie. Lulling Catelyn into a false sense of security and comfort would be easy here. She hardly needed anymore drinks but a casual air about things would help her settle in and Rodolphus was always up for a scotch. Rodolphus handed the blonde a glass, then another to Bellatrix, lifting his wife’s chin with his finger and tilting her head up to look at him. His lips curled and his expression darkened. Of all the alluring acts his wife had performed in their seven – eight? – years of marriage, homicidal group sex was most certainly his favorite.

His own glass he summoned from the bar as he sat in across from the blonde and evaluated her. She was thin but not waif-like. She took care of herself but there was a tiredness that pulled at her eyes saying she’d seen more in her years than she had wanted to. The Lestranges would be doing her a favor, then, by cutting her life short before she had time to add more lines to her face. She would die pretty, which was all any woman wanted out of death.

Catelyn had been finishing her the same dull story she had been telling in the bar and she made a joke to which she laughed lightly. Rodolphus smiled as he pulled his drink away from his face. “Take you dress off,” he commanded, disregarding her supposedly humorous anecdote. The blonde was taken aback by the sudden request but she soon set her glass down on the table, stood, and begin to strip for the couple.

***

The blonde's legs were willingly around his waist and his hand had moved from her breasts up to her throat. He kissed Bellatrix deeply as he squeezed his fist tighter around the whore’s neck. Her face began to turn red and her eyes widened. Tears formed in her eyes and her moans turned to gasps. Catelyn swatted at his arm, trying to pry his fingers from her throat and clawing at him with her long, painted nails. Roddy kept his eyes locked on his wife’s as the blonde struggled beneath him, desperately trying to regain her breath but Rodolphus persisted until he was finished. He released the woman as he pulled away, panting slightly from the event. The blonde instantly moved her hands to her neck in shock, tears pouring from her eyes. There was a red outline of Rodolphus' hand wrapped across her pale white skin. Catelyn began to yell at him for turning so harsh and she pulled herself, completely naked, up higher onto the bed to be further from him. Rodolphus looked to Bellatrix lazily. "Shut her up, darling."

Murdering the Netherlys had been an enjoyable evening. Rodolphus had taken care to ensure that the blood traitors suffered greatly for their crimes against wizardkind, and to that end Rodolphus understood what could hurt them worst of all. Rod himself had had this exact dream a number of times, waking from his sleep in a thick sweat and an illogical fury that could only be settled by seeing his sweet daughter sleeping soundly in her bed followed immediately by hearing someone cry out in mortal agony. To a parent, the worst thing in the world is seeing your child in pain. Rodolphus would easily slaughter anyone who dared harm a single hair on his daughter’s head, and Merlin save the fool she brings home as a teenager to meet her parents.

The moment he heard the youngest gasp at the sight of him inside their home, Rodolphus knew it would be the most heartbreaking moment the Netherlys would ever experience. It would also be their last. He took pleasure in watching Agatha smile absently as she slit her daughters’ necks, Archibald watching impotently from the sidelines. The more gruesome details had been kept out of the papers but there was enough noted that their enemies could venture a guess at the excruciating details of the Netherlys last moments, and potentially rethink defying Lord Voldemort. If that didn’t work, Rodolphus had no qualms with slaughtering the whole lot of them.

He had been here before, hearing the quickly passed over praise of his work for the Dark Lord. It did not discourage him. Rodolphus did not require the praise of every witch and wizard in the room, he knew his value in his master’s eyes and in his own. He stood tall, noticing the subtle added height to his father who stood beside him, clearly proud of his eldest son even if his face was hidden behind a mask. Roddy felt Bellatrix’s attention turn to him as well. The deep rift between them was slowly mending but he doubted this renewed interest would last without a little rivalry. He was not a stupid man, Rodolphus could see that Bella’s interests lied in Lord Voldemort in a completely different way than his own, or even any other witch in the room. Bella was fiercely loyal and Rodolphus was not at the top of her list of those who had earned her loyalty, but he was rising. Slowly.

Voldemort’s speech was riveting and the purpose of their meeting had become clear. They were take on the Ministry. Finally. Rodolphus’ eyes flashed over to the masked figure he recognized as Fin Avery. Fin’s father, the tall bloke standing near Fin presumably, worked in the Ministry but while Aurelius had helped them out a time or two by setting up undocumented portkeys to aid in their travels, the senior Avery wasn’t providing any usable intel as far as Rod was aware. Thick eyebrows furrowed behind his silver mask as Rodolphus considered what connections in the Ministry he could exploit to bring to the Dark Lord’s feet. Perhaps his young cousin Jovi could take up a position there upon graduation. She was eager to prove herself to the mysterious dark wizard she had heard so much about and taking on an internship or becoming a secretary inside the Ministry of Magic wasn’t nearly as degrading as some of the other positions she could take to prove her worth. It seemed a little chat with his cousin would be in his future.

He could feel Bellatrix’s eyes on him and he turned his head slightly to look over at her. What was she thinking? He couldn’t tell. Rodolphus had trained to keep his mind private but he did not yet have the ability to see into others’. It would have been an extremely useful power in navigating the choppy waters of his marriage with the attractive psychopath but then he really never needed to guess when she was mad at him, only why, and for the most part Rodolphus didn’t care about the why. He knew the grander offense in her eyes was his reaction to the news that their child was a girl instead of the boy he had been expecting, the boy he deserved. But there were more minor offenses in their day to day lives that Rodolphus neither recognized nor cared to ask about. Being a Legilimens would not have made up for the apathy he had felt before.

“Quite finished?” “Fuck no,” he replied, an incredulous expression on his dark features. “But I suppose I can wait until her highness has eaten.” He smirked again, a constant sight when speaking with his mistress. “Then it will be my turn to eat.” He made a crude gesture with his fingers and tongue. By this point in their bizarre little relationship, all of the innuendos had been made, all the pervy jokes shared. He did not care in the slightest. Dorcas made him feel like a teenager again. He could almost always go for a round with any pretty little thing, but there was something about being around Dorcas that got Rodolphus riled up like no other woman could. It didn’t hurt that she was alright to be around when their clothes were still on, or while he was recuperating for round two, three, or six. She was clever enough to hold a decent conversation without reciting the contents of her latest shopping bag like most witches he had dated in the past, before Bellatrix. She made him laugh and didn’t mind being rather ridiculous with him at times. Most importantly, well, most importantly after being a fucking fantastic shag, Dorcas was confident and strong willed and all every sort of sexy you could be. Roddy would always take fucking over chatting but in the interim, she was good enough company, aside from muggle-loving and thinking wizards should have to hide like vermin from the lesser beings without magic. Oh, and not being a blonde, that was a big tick on the con list as well.

He shut the fridge just before she told him to, not having been born in a barn as she clearly was. A barn where they stole food from each other’s plates. My, she was savage. Growing up poor must have been a bitch, he was glad he never had to deal with that. Rodolphus had always been rich, owing to his grandfather who topped the Fitzroy list of Wealthiest Wizards in the UK back in the early 1920s. A place that the Lestrange family has maintained for nearly sixty years. Dorcas, on the other hand, thought this squatty little cottage was a decent home, and judging by the place her parents have lived for the past decade (or possibly longer, he really only started having chats over tea with Dorcas’ mum after she graduated from Hogwarts) she was probably sincere in her thinking. As Rodolphus explained upon his first visit to the miniscule Welsh cottage, it was just about the same size as his daughter Aurora’s playhouse, though Aurora’s had finer furnishings because she didn’t bitch and moan when Rodolphus wanted to buy her something.

He took his plate and the beer she had found for him and followed her over to the little table in the kitchen. He would never be comfortable with this, eating in the kitchen like a servant. It was one thing if they were grabbing a snack while they talked but this was a full bloody meal he had brought over for her and they were sitting down like peasants eating in the sodding kitchen. He knew it would make no difference to mention it, not that that knowledge ever hindered him from pointing out how utterly pedestrian Dorcas was. In fact, he was about to complain when she spoke. “You don’t know how to use them anyway. Just use your fingers. I’ve seen you eat pasta with your hands, you can pick up a sodding piece of fish.” She made a mess with chopsticks as well. Half her rice would be on the table once, in an almost glorious display, she managed to launch a spring roll halfway across the room when she tried to take a bite. It was impressive how uncoordinated she could be with the simplest of tasks, yet with a wand or a knife she was bloody brilliant.

Despite his complaints, Rodolphus stood only a second after taking a seat, and crossed the tiny kitchen in two steps, grabbed her a pair of chopsticks, and jiggled her breast with them as he passed them to her. “Try to keep the soy sauce out of my eye this time, love.”

Come morning the muggle news papers would all be a twitter with the latest story, but only the wizarding papers would have any of the facts right. It would be curious to see how the muggles try explaining it all, or more accurately, how the Ministry goons manipulated the tiny minds of the muggle witnesses and police officers to feed them lies so that they could go on pretending magic was only for fairy tales while the wizarding community continued to hide out underground, shut away in the shadows. The Ministry was having one hell of a time catching up with them, though. Already there had been reports on the muggle news that ‘a fireworks accident’ left a strange symbol in the sky over Maesteg a fortnight ago and some surprisingly quick minded muggle had managed a picture which no one had been able to explain; an outline of a skull hanging in the clouds, a serpent slithering from its mouth. The picture has since been ‘lost’ and reporters seem to have forgotten about the incident, but the image was beamed into the living rooms of millions of muggles for one glorious night and even the Ministry of Magic couldn’t obliviate the entire population of Britain after that.

The trio had been sent to the home of a muggle politician in Leeds. Apparently, Edgar Clearwatter was the son of a witch and a muggle, granted none of the magical gifts his mother wasted by marrying into the muggle world. Harriet Clearwatter, the muggle politician’s long-dead mother, had not kept to the Ministry’s strict laws about wizarding secrecy, and Edgar was using his knowledge of both the muggle and wizarding worlds to conspire with the Ministry of Magic to create stricter laws which would further push wizards into the shadows. By eliminating one of the Ministry’s muggle allies, Lord Voldemort would be in a better position to draw power away from the corrupted politicians, rewriting the laws to the only standard that made sense; wizards first.

Clearwatter’s head had been pinned to his desk with a fire poker Rodolphus had pulled from the man’s fireplace. The sound of the muggle’s skull cracking under Rodolphus’ force was music to his ears. Blood and bits of flesh flew at Roddy’s face as he grinned, teeth clenched in concentration. His generally light eyes were dark as he watched the pointed metal pierce the man’s brain, causing his body to twitch, and then driving it further into the wood of the desk. Covered in blood, under Clearwatter’s now limp body, was the final drafts of a new bill that was going to be introduced to the House of Parliament the following week.

A few other political targets had been on their list for the night, and Rodolphus took pleasure in partaking in the deaths of each and everyone of them, muggle and wizard alike. The Dark Mark hung in the sky for nearly a collective hour before the Ministry’s Hit Wizards could get to them all, and by then Rodolphus, Fin, and Hickson had already cleaned themselves up and had been seen at several pubs drinking and having a riotous good time. It was easy enough to charm someone’s wristwatch back and ask them the time to confirm in their minds that they were meeting with the men earlier in the night than they actually were.

After leaving Hickson for the evening, the more seasoned Death Eaters returned to Finley’s home to discuss the evening and have a few laughs. While Fin changed into something not laden with the stench of booze, Rodolphus made himself at home in the younger man’s manor, helping himself to a drink. Fin was playing host to his girl friend who had fallen on hard times, Rodolphus had heard all of the gossip about the Parkinson’s fall from grace and he’d insinuated several times to Fin that all the girl really needed to get back on her feet was a good toss in the hay. Apparently, they weren’t that sort of friends, a concept lost on the older man, but still he respected the fact that the little witch was apparently sleeping, and he tried to keep the ruckus to a minimum. Violence always got him riled up and had he been on his own he might have popped off to see Dorcas to let out some of this excess energy, but burgers and beers with Fin would do for now.

“A test for everyone, no doubt.” Rodolphus took another swig of beer, having tolerance enough to not need to settle down with a glass of water like young Avery. “I’d say Nigel passed all right, good enough for the Dark Lord not to slaughter him, at least. He seemed a tad uneasy at first but, you know, once you’ve seen someone’s skull crushed in there really isn’t much point in hemming and hawing about on the next one.”

“Make it go,” Aurora wiggled her arms above her head and shook her little body, a crayon clenched in each fist as she demonstrated what she wanted her daddy to do. “You want it to dance?” Rodolphus clarified, looking down at the coloring book they had been working on. Aurora had chosen for them to color a picture of dragon and she had insisted daddy make it look like Thwaite, the little stuffed dragon Rodolphus had given his daughter upon her homecoming from the hospital when she was born. Thwaite the Destroyer, as he was known properly, had belonged to Rodolphus as a young boy. It was his absolute favorite thing in the world until he began noticing the fairer sex at the tender age of twelve, and soon left Thwaite to sit on a shelf, collecting metaphorical dust (the house elves would have been hung by their ears if any real dust had been accumulated anywhere in the Lestrange family manor). Despite Aurora’s insistence that her father make the dragon in her coloring book look like her toy, she also demanded the dragon be pink and red, and when Rodolphus pointed out that Thwaite was blue she shrugged her shoulders at him and demanded pink.

Rodolphus withdrew his wand and watched as his princess’ eye grew twice as large at the sight of it. Aurora loved magic and she often begged her parents for her own wand, not satisfied at the dozens of toy wands and broomsticks she owned. The dark-haired little witch wanted to be just like her mummy, using spells to make things appear and disappear or to become something else entirely. Aurora was already showing signs of magic, as was to be expected from her practically royal pure bloodline. On occasion her tantrums would shake the room, quite literally, and she even made glitter rain from the ceiling like snow when her daddy told her she was finally big enough to fly on his broomstick with him. There was no doubt in the Lestranges’ minds that Aurora was going to excel in her magical studies, she was born for it and her interest and demand for magic at such a young age was promising. Dropping her crayons onto the carpet, Aurora danced with the two-dimensional, poorly colored pink dragon as it wiggled on the parchment in front of her. Rodolphus smiled as he watched her.

“Alright, love. Daddy has some work to get back to.” Rodolphus pressed his lips to Aurora’s forehead and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want to work, too,” she demanded. “Pretty girls don’t need to work, princess. You get to have fun and play all day long. Why don’t you go play out in the garden,” he suggested, getting to his feet from his place on the floor of Aurora’s bedroom, the little brunette still clinging firmly around his neck as he moved. Rodolphus moved his arms under her bum to support her as he stood, she was clearly not giving up on holding on to him. “Take your broomstick and Mopsy will go with you. Then maybe later if you’re a good girl, daddy will take you flying on his broom. Alright?” He gave her another kiss, this time on the nose. Aurora grumbled but agreed and she sulked the entire time as her father set her on the ground and she opened her wardrobe and pulled a sparkly purple broomstick out. By the time she had passed through the door of her bedroom and into the large corridor the sulking was gone and she ran down the hallway shouting for her house elf.

Rodolphus wasn’t long in his study when a familiar owl came resting on the window ledge, giving the pane a good peck with its beak. Roddy smiled involuntarily and the pulled his wand to open the window without moving from his place behind his desk. The bird swooped in, dropped an envelope in front of Rodolphus, and then stood on the desk as if waiting for praise or a treat. There had never been a back and forth correspondence between the two, so the owl knew there would be no message to deliver in return, but it had apparently not gotten the point after all these years that Rodolphus was not the cuddle and coo sort of bloke when it came to thanking a creature for doing a job. “Off the desk,” he ordered, staring at the bird’s claws on his polished wood desktop. The bird obeyed and rather than wait around any longer for affection it would not be receiving, it took off out the window back to its owner.

The envelope was not addressed and when he turned it over he saw it had been sealed shut with what at first glance looked like spellotape but upon closer inspection was in fact muggle tape. Dorcas was playing games with him already and they weren’t even in the same country yet. The letter inside was simple, as a woman’s mind often was. She wanted food and, though the letter didn’t state as much outright, sex. It was a booty owl and Rodolphus rarely declined.

He couldn’t be sure how long she had been kept waiting, knowing Dorcas was bright enough to instruct her owl to deliver the message when he was alone, or maybe he was giving the witch too much credit and it was really savvy on the part of the owl, but Rodolphus arrived some time later with a takeaway bag full of sushi. He let himself into her cottage which was unlocked, though if it had been locked he would let himself in all the same, owning to the fact that she had long ago taken to giving him a key to wherever she was staying at the time. “You had better not be cooking anything,” he hollered into the tiny cottage as he pushed the door shut behind him. “There’s no need for such vicious threats.”

On several occasions Roddy had tried to gift Dorcas cooking lessons or the use of a personal chef in order to keep her from accidentally committing suicide by wayward roast. She always refused and threw an annoyingly adorable tantrum to which Rodolphus was forced to shut her up by shoving some part of his body into her mouth, usually his dick, but his tongue or fingers worked just as well. He had never known someone of her age to consume so much cereal, but he presumed cereal was preferred over her dying in a kitchen fire or poisoning herself, so he rarely made mention of her poor eating habits anymore. Rodolphus moved through the little cottage and into the kitchen where he set the bag on the counter and began to pull out Styrofoam containers of sushi rolls, nigiri, seaweed, and edamame.