xrodolphusxlestrangex

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus looked upon the inferno with something like serenity — as though the world, finally, was beginning to reflect what had always burned behind his eyes. Destruction suited him. It always had. And Rabastan, his beloved brother, wove chaos beside him like a second wand-hand, as if they'd been born in the same breath, forged from the same incantation if only a few years apart.

He turned to his brother, the firelight flickering wildly in his dark eyes, shadows rippling across his sharp features. His wand still hummed with the remnants of the crow curse, the air itself hissing with lingering traces of dark magic. He stepped forward through the smoke with a predator’s poise, eyes glinting with admiration and something bordering on glee.

The sight of the muggles cowering, burning, collapsing to their knees -- it was art and Rabastan was the artist. It was proof. It was the future, just as they'd always dreamed it.

"You're enjoying yourself," he remarked, voice smooth, edged with amusement. The kind that only came when power was being rightly used -- violently, precisely. "I can always tell. You get that look -- like Father when he taught us how to bleed a man properly without killing him outright. You're always so cool and collected but now -- now I think I'm rubbing off on you," Rodolphus smiled like a wild man.

He flicked his wand again. A shriek pierced the air as another muggle, panicked and trying to climb out of the pit they had created and was yanked back down by an unseen force. The crows surged, feathers catching a stunning fire they could handle as they descended in a flurry of screams and flames.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Rodolphus said, voice low, exultant. “How they beg without words. How easily their pride breaks. They are nothing but ash waiting to happen.” Rodolphus chuckled, low and reverent. “Do you feel it, Rabastan?” he asked, now almost solemn. “The cleansing. The purity of it. This order we bring. All that filth, all that noise. And they will remember who brought it.”

He glanced at the burning building, then toward the trembling street of officers and civilians frozen in place by Rabastan’s last spell. Rodolphus looked at them. His wand flicked lazily -- a gesture of elegance -- and a second squad car was lifted into the air, then smashed down with thunderous force. The sound was satisfying, final.

“Our father would say this is the natural order — us above them. And he was right, Rabastan. We are right.” He stepped over the shattered remnants of a man still feebly trying to crawl away, giving him no more regard. “But they’ll remember. They’ll remember the Lestranges.”

He looked at his brother again, pride unmasked now, worn openly. “You’ve always had that calm precision. You kill with art. I destroy with joy. Together, we make something holy.”

With a sharp incantation, the black clouds above them split. Massive, daggers, shaped like the Lestrange crest, curled over the street, burning, proclaiming to the world whose work had been done there tonight.

“Shall we leave a mark on the next block? Or would you rather let them suffer here for a while longer, breathing in their own fear? Our Lord would want spectacle.”

His grin was sharp, gleaming with that rare joy only he and Rabastan ever got to share -- the joy of righteous wrath.

There was nothing in Rabastan that doubted their cause. He grasped onto Rodolphus's words, finding them suitable and impeccably thrilling. Everything in life had a correct place. Their world had become irrationally disorganised. People had stepped out of their designated lines. It would mark the end of magical supremacy if they were not careful. They didn't know it yet, indeed. But once this war was done, they would all believe. They would have to, or to face death for their refusal.

They reacted swiftly to each other, every spell cast by one fuelling the next by the other. Restraint was not a Lestrange tendency. The building was imploding with flamboyant extravagance, self-destructing with slowly unfurling glory. It was beginning to kindle even Rabastan's stoic delight. He wanted to complete their task well, and he wanted to enjoy it. The flames danced around them, launching grotesque shadows against the crumbling walls. Furniture was going up in the hellish fire, as it climbed and twisted unnaturally. There was truly nowhere for the muggles to flee. The fire encircled them, and Rabastan did not care.

Watching as the bullet almost hit his brother, he laughed, finding a moment to consider how tragic it would be to die from a muggle-induced wound. The horror. Their parents would be wholly ashamed. "Try not to die yet, won't you?" he said lightly, sending up a block to prevent any further errant bullets. Then he caught the rest in a looping motion and hurled them back towards the officers. They ran, sheltering behind their vehicles and shields. One car exploded, the street now becoming as rampant as the building's interior, just as Rodolphus's curse turned the man's arms into shattering ice.

He felt Rodolphus's spell before he saw it. It breezed past, like a shroud destined to suffocate. The effect was stunning, the crows a fitting tribute to their name and their legacy. House Lestrange bore crows on its armoury. Their father's name honoured them, too. It was the perfect calling card, and it filled Rabastan with swelling pride. The front door continued to slam, sirens continued to wail. Muggles screamed and burned. He dealt with the officers still pounding haplessly at the door, causing the ground to drop into a hole that spread around the building like an abyss. They fell inside, some catching the edge and scrambling to get free, only to be consumed by the burning crows.

"This is easy," he said simply, turning to his older brother while casting a spell that made most of the muggles outside bow down on the ground, as though submitting to the building's magical wrath. "These creatures are not worthy. But if our Lord demands it, they will serve him, whether or not they agree."

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

He lay sprawled like a ruinous god, the ghost of Bellatrix’s scratch trailing a fresh line of crimson down his sternum. Her laughter rang out sharp and sweet -- addictive as pain and poison mixed -- and he drank it in with a satisfied exhale, tongue running over a split lip, half-healed from the last bite she gave him.

"Mm, you always were greedy," he murmured, voice like velvet. "That’s why I love you." His head tilted back, exposing his throat in a gesture that balanced surrender with defiance. “Greedy enough to want everything -- my blood, my breath, the bones. I’d gladly snap if it meant seeing that look in your eyes again.”

His hand scraped across the sheets -- torn and ruined long ago, not unlike them -- fingertips pressing into the carved muscle of her thigh, tracing the arc of her muscle with cruel reverence. Magic hummed faintly in his fingertips.

“You cut like you mean it,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But if you're going to carve into me, Bella, don’t be delicate about it. You know I don’t flinch. Not for you. Never for you.” His grin was pure menace. “Dig deeper. Make me remember you every time I breathe.”

Then he kissed her -- vicious and possessive. His blood smeared between them as their chests met, raw wounds rubbing like ritual. He was hers as much as she was his. More, maybe. His desire to serve her rivaled his desire to serve the Dark Lord, and if one ever demanded he betray the other, well, the carnage would be beautiful.

At her mention of the goblins, his expression turned from intoxicated lust to contempt.

“Gringotts,” he spat, as though the word burned his tongue. “Slimy, coin-counting little rats. They forget who we are. What we’re capable of. Let them delay us. Let them think their locks and ledgers make them powerful.” He sat up, chest smeared red, eyes aflame with fanatic fire. “When the time comes, we’ll bleed them dry too. For now, patience. For now.”

He ran a bloodied finger along her collarbone, reverent like she was sacred and profane all at once.

“We keep the cup safe. Because he trusted us. Not the Malfoys, not Macnair. Us.”

He leaned closer, his voice dipping into a hushed, electric whisper.

“And when the time comes, when he calls, we will burn villages to the ground to bring him what he desires. And he’ll know we were the only ones strong enough, mad enough, perfect enough to do it.”

Their mission awaited. The world would burn. But for now, the fire was just between them. “Cut me again, Bella,” he murmured, with a smile that bled devotion. “Let’s celebrate being monsters.”

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were no good for each other. So in their warped version of reality, that made them perfectly suited. Pulling those sounds from him only spiked her adrenaline, fierce eyes widening to avid saucers as he took whatever she threw and countered it tenfold. It took a special kind of wizard to keep her interest. Perhaps it was the unhealthy competition, the way they forced each other to spiral into ever-increasing extremes. Or maybe he just looked delicious covered in blood.

Her head tilted at his tease, her serpentine grin expanding with devilish delight. Long hair cascaded forward, trailing against his chest, blood cloying its strands and turning it to an even darker shade of black. Deeper? She scoffed, the noise transmuting to a thrilled hiss as he pushed his thumb into a savage slash that adorned the length of her thigh. Pain didn't trouble her. It made her feel alive, setting cold flesh ablaze with starved anticipation. She loved dancing with death, waltzing from one indulgent gamble to another, gloriously hedonistic. Pain merged with pleasure made a cocktail so potent, she could no longer do without it. It was a goddamned drug and her threshold was sky high.

So she laughed, the sound like a blade cutting silk. "You're a fine one to talk about depth and greed, my love. Any deeper, you'd be fucking me through the bed and into next century." An arching eyebrow, a nail scratching down his chest. She followed its path lazily, watching the way he breathed. She wouldn't deny the thought of stilling his chest entirely made her wet with bloodlust. He'd make a lovely corpse. But she wanted him alive and by her side far more. She trusted no one more greatly. They shared a history and a name, united in their desires and ambitions. A desecration, but unbreakable.

The kiss tremored through her skin. He was bold and unashamed. She valued it. Remaining where she was as he lay back, propped onto her side as their wounds magically began to heal, she did nothing to hide her nakedness. They were equals. They had no secrets - none that mattered, anyway.

"I would go tonight if the wretched goblins permitted it." The fact that their gold and the magical economy was controlled by these inferiors made her incandescent. On the other hand, the alternative - the Ministry in charge - proved such an absurd concept, absolutely certain to fail. So she didn't complain beyond her usual level of detached distaste. "The Dark Lord gave us that cup. It's a great honour, his treasure in our care. He was most anxious to know it would be safe. I have never seen him so concerned." Her tone heated, a personal touch. It wasn't just about obeying an order and staying in his good books. She wanted to please him, craving his approval so she could wield it like a weapon and stay at the top of the totem pole. But more than this, she cared, obsessively and fanatically.

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Standing silently, even statuesque in the dim chamber Rodolphus didn’t flinch as Nick breached that sliver-thin crack. He didn’t blink, didn’t even sneer. But there was a flicker in those dark, calculating eyes. Not approval. Not yet. But something.

Rodolphus’ voice filled Nick’s head. Not spoken, but thought, clear and cold as winter steel.

“You got in.”

There was no praise in it, just acknowledgment. Barely that.

“And yet you hesitate. You feel awe? Good. Respect for power keeps you from foolishness. But awe doesn’t break minds.”

He studied Nick with the gaze of someone appraising a weapon in the making.

“You want my approval?” His lip curled slightly, just enough to show a hint of disdain. “Then take it. Rip it from my mind. If you can.”

Suddenly, he pushed back. Hard. His mind lashed out. No subtlety now. He wanted to crush Nick, to drown him in thought, memory, will. There were flashes: blood in snow, laughter twisted into screams, whispers behind locked doors. Then silence. A wall.

“I have killed men who could not hold my gaze. If you're to learn this art, you must learn that sentiment is weakness. Focus is everything. You will master this. Or you will break.”

He drew back, both mentally and physically, folding his arms behind his back, gaze as sharp as ever.

“Try again. And this time, don't just push. Listen.”

A test, perhaps. Or bait. Would Nick see it? Would he dare take it?

Rodolphus said nothing more. He was watching now. Measuring.

Nick couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine. The press of Rodolphus's mind against his, the raw power behind it, this was nothing like the lessons with his father. This was sharper, more directed. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff as a storm blew in.

He refused to waste Rodolphus' time. He absolutely refused. Nick wouldn't let him down.

Intent. He could do intent. He could become a storm.

He wanted this, Rodolphus' approval, these lessons, like an ache.

There was a barrier around Rodolphus' thoughts, and Nick pushed at it, making his thoughts into needles and knives as he did so. Barriers could break with enough pressure. He would get in, he had to. He would not waste the older man's time.

When he did manage to forge a crack, a small sliver to force his way in, Nick almost stumbled back with the sheer force of will and power that was Rodolphus' thoughts.

"I want it. I am not wasting your time."

It felt like shouting into a hurricane, but at least he had done it.

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus tilted his head, just slightly, like a predator indulging the final moments before a kill -- not out of need, but curiosity. Her defiance was quaint. So many had broken with far less.

“Charming,” he murmured, the word curling from his lips. “You mistake this for a conversation. That’s adorable.” He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, boots silent against the floorboards, but every motion etched with intent. “You draw lines in the sand, little shopkeeper, as if I give a damn.”

His eyes, cold and pale, lingered on the open window behind her. “You speak of sleeping like a rock,” he mused, voice low. “But rocks can be broken. Or buried. Or used as gravestones,” he whispered in her ear. It was intimate, threatening and suffocating. “Do you really believe I need to scare something out of you?” His fingers flexed once at his side, and the lights flickered -- just briefly. “You’ve already handed me more than you realize. That sigh, that pretty speech -- it’s all theatre too, isn’t it? I almost applaud it.”

He leaned in. “I’m not here for tricks and pranks, Charity. I’m here because your name was spoken in a place it doesn't belong. Just like dear old dad's.”

He straightened with unsettling grace. “So you can fetch your wand. Summon your neighbors. Whatever you like, but there's no escaping me."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, all cold teeth. “Because sleeping like a rock only lasts until the ground begins to quake.”

"You really enjoy the sound of your own voice, don’t you?" Charity drawled, stepping back just slightly—not out of fear, but to reclaim the inch of space he'd stolen. Her expression didn’t shift, but her fingers tightened briefly at her sides before relaxing again. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not even a flicker of discomfort. "All this theatre for a girl who sells prank sweets. I must be terribly important."

She let out a soft, unimpressed sigh and walked calmly toward the window, pushing it open as if to air the place out from his presence. "You’re not wrong about the world taking notice. People like you tend to drag the spotlight whether we want it or not." She turned to face him again, arms crossing loosely. "But let’s be clear: I’m not playing anything. I live. I work. I drink a bit too much. And I sleep like a rock—usually without unwanted visitors whispering riddles in my ear."

There was a flicker of steel behind her words now, subtle but unmistakable. "Whatever you think you know, whatever it is you’re trying to scare out of me—I hope it’s worth the trouble. Because I’m not in the habit of handing out pieces of myself to men with a flair for dramatics."

Her chin lifted just a touch. An invitation to strike her down, if that’s what he wanted. But no fear crossed her features.

"Now, if you're quite done breathing on my neck and monologuing about inevitability, there’s the door. I won’t stop you. I won’t beg you to stay either." A pause. "But I do suggest you use it before the neighbors start asking questions, or before I remember where I put my wand."

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus looked at the younger wizard, eyes sharp like ice under pressure. “We don’t embellish,” Rodolphus said, voice low but laced with an unmistakable authority.

He turned slightly, scanning the area in case anyone was still lurking, then leaned closer, more conspiratorial than kind. “We say the Order came through loud, fast, and gone before we could catch more than the back of a cloak. That it wasn’t worth pursuit. That nothing was taken. That neither of us fell.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth, crooked and cruel. “And you didn’t scream. I didn’t hear it.” That last line had the weight of a pact -- dangerously fragile.

He tilted his head at Beck. “If Bellatrix smells weakness on either of us,” his expression darkened, “we’ll wish the Order had done more than scratch us.”

Rodolphus turned, walking a few steps before pausing again. “Say we scouted. Say we saw movement and held back. But we agree: the evening was uneventful.”

Beck's wand was held down at his side, tensing in preparation for the Order's inherent return. They might have sustained some wounds, but nothing was like the one that cut through his pride. Beck didn't have high stake in the Death Eaters like the others, but even losing to anything only brought upon his faded habit of competition. "We can say nothing unless someone asks," he replied, glad that he and Lestrange were at least in agreement over this.

At least it was just a duel and the Order didn't take anything important. Maybe if they were lucky, the Order also managed to get some cuts in to slow them down. Beck hated thinking like that, not wanting harm on anyone. "I didn't scream," he snapped. "We just fell. We have to say something." He came to the realization slowly. "What are you saying to Bellatrix and I'll get my story to sound the same."

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus' gaze remained fixed, deep and unreadable. The boy had nerve. Nerve was a beginning. Nerve could be shaped.

He felt the brush of thought, tentative but directed, pressing against his barriers. A whisper of intent. A tap at the door -- not a knock, not yet a true entry. His voice did not rise, but it cut.

“No.”

Sharp. Final. And then, quieter --

“But better.”

A flicker of pride passed through him, invisible on his face but unmistakable in the current of his mind. It was not approval. Not yet. But it was not disappointment either. And for Rodolphus Lestrange, that was rare currency indeed.

He reached, not with his hands, but with his will -- grasping at the boy’s thoughts with precision honed by years of unrelenting discipline. Not to invade, not this time. To test.

“Again. But this time -- mean it. I don’t want obedience, I want intent.”

He leaned in the smallest measure, enough that Nick could feel the intensity like a storm about to break.

“Because if you can’t want it -- truly -- then you’re wasting my time.”

And Rodolphus Lestrange had no time to waste.

Hearing Rodolphus directly in his mind was a thrilling thing. Yes, it meant his Occulmency wasn’t as constant as it ought to be, but he was here to learn after all. It sent a shiver down his spine and forced him to stand up straighter, look Rodolphus in the eye.

Set aside his shame. He could do that. It took a moment to recalibrate himself and set aside what was from what could be. This would work because it had to. Letting Rodolphus down simply wasn’t an option. He didn’t allow himself to entertain the concept.

He took a deep purposeful breath. One. Two. He put his hand on top of Rodolphus’s hand, looked into the man’s eyes, and pushed with his mind. ‘Like this, sir?’

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

"My teeth are only one part of the entire package," Rodolphus stated with certainty. "This smile," --though rare -- "doesn't come close to anyone like Dolohov. I adore the man, don't get me wrong, but we're not exactly in the same category. He may not agree but who wouldn't want to be on the top rung with me?" Rodolphus couldn't help but flash a winning smile full of blinding teeth and full lips and a shake of the head as though he were washing a full head of hair. He was one for flair when the timing was right. Complementing himself was always the right time.

He cleared his throat. "Your brother. He is smart but I have a question for you. You admit that he's mouthy -- true. You also say he's smart and it should help him keep his mouth shut. If he's mouthy how smart can he truly be when it comes to shutting up?" Rodolphus wanted more intel on Beck. He always needed to know more about those surrounding him.

"Bellatrix is a credit to either sex. And a powerhouse, yes. Nothing gets by her. She's smart, volatile, calculating, chaotic, stunning -- should I continue? There's certainly a reason we belong together, don't you think? She has won some awards in her day as well. You should see her trophy room."

"Those blinding teeth have won at least two awards right out from under your feet." Clyde pointed out. Honestly if he had to pick a man, one of those two weren't bad options. Though maybe Leta Rosier had beat him to Dolohov, if his rumor mill was correct. Good for her, a loss for his imaginary dating potential. "So on accolades alone, you're probably well matched.

His parents had barely made a first soldier, just an heir. One hell of an heir if he did say so himself, but not that great a soldier. "He's always been mouthy, it's true. He's smart, though. That ought to help him know when to shut up."

Clyde snorted. "That just sounds like a standard martial dispute in your household. She's truly a credit to her sex, honestly. A powerhouse of a woman. I'm glad she chose you. You suit each other."

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus let out a low, guttural sound as her blade left its final kiss across his skin. The pain barely registered anymore -- not in the way it used to. His body was alight with something far more insatiable than agony. Her chaos wrapped around him like smoke -- invasive, beautiful, and damned near holy.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that bubbled through blood and broken breath. “You call that a good cut, Bella?” he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing. “I’ve had more from your curses.”

Still, he didn’t move. Not yet. His chest rose and fell erratically, eyes drinking her in as she stretched above him like a dark goddess. He hated her. Oh, how he hated her. Every sharp-toothed grin, every flick of the wrist that sent pain or pleasure or both shuddering through him. And still, he ached for her. And yes, he loved her.

“Is that all, Bellatrix?” he breathed, reaching up with a hand slick with both their blood to drag his fingers along her thigh. “Or do you want to mark me deeper next time?” A cruel smirk touched his lips as his thumb pressed into a fresh wound, hissing through clenched teeth.

“You always were greedy,” he said with a goating glee.

The bed still radiated her heat, the silk sheets twisted between them in afterglow. Rodolphus’ chest rose and fell slowly, his body sated.

At her words, he turned his head just slightly. Enough to see the glint in her eye, that cool fire that never slept. He almost smiled. “Gringotts?” he murmured, voice rough from disuse, low and amused. “We’ve barely caught our breath, and you’re already thinking of wards and vaults.” But there was no mockery in it. If anything, there was admiration. That was why he trusted her -- trusted her, in a way he trusted no one else. Because even in the dark lull of pleasure, she was calculating survival.

He shifted, propping himself on one elbow, the sheet falling from his waist. “You’re right,” he said, voice hardening. “The enchantments are old. And the Lestrange vault has been too quiet too long.” A beat. “If the Dark Lord finds a crack in our defenses, he won’t ask who was supposed to patch it. He’ll just watch us burn.” His fingers brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “We’ll go tomorrow."

He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her collarbone -- brief, distracted. The moment was over. He laid back, running his hands through his own hair. Strategy called.

Starter for: Rodolphus Lestrange @xrodolphusxlestrangex Where: their bedroom When: after a raucous night

God, Bellatrix hated Rodolphus. Fuck, she wanted him. The bastard.

There was something divine about riling him up to the point of violent agony, his face twisting between rage and tortured lust. Having that power over him only vaguely made up for the way that he pinned her down, using brute masculinity against her female frame. But no matter. She got what she wanted, reaching her pleasure with her knife digging between his ribs at the same time. He would pay for the liberties he took, and he would enjoy it, just as she did.

The blood on the sheets certainly wasn't only theirs. Objectively speaking, the night was still young. They'd returned from a battlefield and ended up where they usually did, sating feral urges in the only way they knew. Lying back, she caught her breath, her hair like a tangled black halo as she gave her weapon a final perfunctory twist before pushing her husband onto his back and stretching like a cat. A few moments, then she rolled over, smirking as she looked upon her handiwork. She'd cut him up good and proper this time. She was hardly unblemished, either. Drawing the blade up his torso, she dashed just a little extra scrape for fun, then threw the knife aside, done with all the excitement.

"I want to go to Gringotts." Not traditional pillow talk, but when did she ever conform? "We need to strengthen our enchantments. It's wise to change them regularly. If anyone gets inside, the Dark Lord will slaughter us." And they would deserve it for being careless fools.

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus turned his head slightly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to imply thoughtfulness. “So eager to finish before we’ve even begun,” he murmured, voice low and rough-edged. “No wonder I’m going with you.”

He nodded his head with a smirk. “I’ll see your little town burnt,” he added, brushing past Lucius with a faint sneer. “But if we’re doing this your way, best keep your nerves steady. I’m not dragging you out of a mess if you get sentimental about being home with darling Narcissa. This gets done and it gets done right.”

Lucius had no doubt Rodolphus would come through, he was reliable when it came to handling these… inconvenient little errands. The last thing Lucius intended was to disappoint the Dark Lord. If he wanted the town reduced to ash, then so be it.

Draining the last of his drink, Lucius rose smoothly, reaching for his robes and settling them over his shoulders with practiced ease. “Shall we get on with it, then?” he said, tone cool. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can return home to Narcissa.”

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

“You should be focusing on your footing,” he said over his shoulder, tone dry. “First mistake most make is thinking magic will protect them before their legs do. It won’t.”

Rodolphus glanced at her as she kept up. She had that look -- the one that hovered between awe and calculation. She knew he was a monster and still wanted to learn from him. That made her dangerous. Or stupid.

“As for the man,” he gave a slow, deliberate smirk, letting the silence stretch. “Let’s just say we had a mission to complete and we could finish it as we pleased. For all his pleading, he didn’t make it out alive,” Rodolphus’ smile wasn’t hidden.

He stopped near a crumbling wall, wards crackling faintly beneath his fingers. It shimmered for a moment. Alarm wards. Crude ones. Set by amateurs. “Sloppy,” he muttered. “This place was meant to be untraceable.”

Then he felt it. A flicker of pressure against his ribs, like the shift in air just before a curse is thrown. He grabbed Valeria by the shoulder and shoved her back hard behind the alcove, just as a blazing white jet of light shattered the stone where he'd been standing.

He stepped out, wand already up, voice a calm, cruel whisper: “Focus on survival.”

Then the alley exploded with magic.

Her eyes were focused on the man next to her. Val wanted to learn off him, see what he did so she could use it to her advantage. Despite the fact that it was only a quick check up that they were doing right now. So the sly grin on his face didn't go unnoticed to her. It made her curious. More than her usual self. "What is it that the two of you did to the guy here anyways?" Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were one of the most dangerous married couples in this world and it filled her with both admiration and feelings of dread at the same time.

Val followed Rodolphus into the alley and nodded slowly. Walk and focus. That shouldn't be too hard. "Any specifics I should focus on?"

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus tilted his glass toward her in a silent toast. “Of course it’s a compliment. You’re the only one in this family who still remembers what we’re fighting for. Most of them have lost the plot somewhere between bloodlines and ballgowns.”

He caught the flick of her wrist -- decanter pouring as though it feared her, which it probably should -- and allowed himself the indulgence of a smirk in return. She had control and elegance. No wonder Rabastan had fallen for her. His little brother had done something right.

“Let them drink and dance,” he said, rising. “We’ll make an appearance. Smile. Pretend. That’s the real gift, isn’t it? Letting them believe they matter.”

He offered her his arm -- not in courtesy, but alliance.

“Happy birthday, sister,” he said in a low voice. Then, together, they stepped into the noise and glitter of the party.

[ END ]

Alecto let out a snort at what Rodolphus called her birthday present. “How generous of you,” she said, voice laced with dry amusement, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d never cared much for gifts.

Still, he had a point. She had no intention of losing herself. Yes, she was a mother, a wife, a sister, but first and always, she was a soldier for the cause. Carefully, of course. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, and part of her meant it, especially when she thought of Rabastan, who never once asked her to be anything less than what she was.

With a flick of her wrist, the decanter poured fresh drinks into their glasses. “Shall we go find the rest of the party?” she asked, already imagining the nonsense the other guests might be getting into.

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus stood at the threshold of he and Rabastan’s masterpiece, the very air around him filled with heat and old magic. The scent — burning flesh, scorched concrete, the sharp bite of fear — was intoxicating. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Rabastan’s voice behind him had that familiar tone — cool, dark, resolute. It settled deep in Rodolphus’s bones. His brother always knew. Not just what to say, but when to say it.

Rodolphus gave a slow, measured grin. “They’re watching already,” he said at last, voice low and nearly drowned by the groaning structure around them. “They just don’t know it yet.” The weak would always call it madness, what they didn’t understand. But what they were doing here? This was order. The kind carried in blood. The Lestrange name would not just be feared—it was to be revered.

The staircase twisted and burned like a demon, but none touched them. They parted before the Lestrange brothers, respectful like. The curse he had unleashed was ancient, stolen from pages long buried. It fed on panic. He could feel it growing stronger with each scream.

When Rabastan disappeared in a sharp crack of magic, Rodolphus followed without hesitation. His body reformed at the top of the stairs, shoulders back, wand out, smirk widening. The scene delighted him. Below, muggles cried and stumbled, trying to flee an enemy they could not understand.

Water erupted through the ceiling at Rabastan’s call. It was beautiful. Even more so when his brother sculpted it midair — glass, serpentine. Rodolphus let out a soft, appreciative chuckle “Exquisite,” he murmured.

A few bullets snapped through the air, harmlessly striking the glass snake’s hide. One pinged past Rodolphus’s shoulder. He tilted his head toward the line of police below, eyes shining behind his mask.

Muggles and their guns. How quaint.

Crack. A quick flick of his wand, and the man’s arms turned to ice and shattered, his scream swallowed by the wailing alarms.

He lifted his wand again, casually. The west wall detonated outward — not into splinters, but into a sweeping gust of black ash mingling into dozens of burning crows. They shrieked once and dove, setting alight whatever they touched.

“Let them see,” Rodolphus said, gaze never leaving the chaos. “Let them remember us.”

They were two peas in a pod, despite their striking differences. The brothers were attuned completely, bound by blood and years of shared, dutiful experiences. There was nothing they wouldn't do for each other. Rabastan understood his brother's need for fire and wrath. He was more than happy to enable it, always keen to see his considerable skills at play. Such things pleased him. It was correct for a Lestrange to wield his power.

Paying no attention to the silenced woman, Rabastan merely observed her knitted skin then turned to Rodolphus with a dry, curt chuckle. Sometimes it was easy to see why he and Bellatrix worked so well together. The idea that they were being watched, and the thrill it brought Rodolphus, was as manic as it was unlikely. But he didn't bother to question the statement, choosing instead to believe that they would be watched - if not right now, then once all was done. Their efforts would be judged accordingly.

"They will all watch us one day, brother," he said smoothly, following behind Rodolphus as he led the way to the staircase. "When we stand at the top of the pyramid, they will have no choice but to look up."

The fire was perfect. He clasped a hand to Rodolphus's shoulder, not that he needed a pat on the back, but the occasion called for sporting camaraderie. It was an intriguing spell, coiling the stairs like a living beast desperate to devour. He felt a pang of excited greed, not for the destruction but for its potential, for the sheer dark power of the magic. He could feel it from where they stood, his skin prickling with far more than merely the flames' heat.

Outside, the sirens had grown to a wailing shriek. Several cars screeched in front of the building, armed officers moving quickly over the ground. Rabastan didn't blink. They could not get in. Primitive bullets were no match for centuries of purest blood. He looked Rodolphus in the eyes, seeing the spark and returning with a blazing grin of his own. "Let's", he agreed, then he was gone, apparating to the top of the stairs just as the building's internal alarm unleashed with deafening insistence, its fire sprinklers suddenly activating and failing, miserably, to eradicate Rodolphus's curse. He blocked them with lazy wave of his wand, diverting the water up and out through the ceiling in a controlled blast. Another charm decreased the alarm to a manageable volume. Cast in quick succession, he had neither mercy nor patience. The flames were doing their work, muggles already shepherding from their holes into the open. They were panicking, unable to proceed past the fire or the two masked men.

Once Rodolphus joined him, he began. The water had made a rather large hole, soaring up towards the sky as it was. He sent the closest two muggles up and out, those on higher floors screaming as they saw the hapless people rocket pass. They were launched towards the police offers, drenched and worthless as they slammed into the cars. Another spell turned the water into glass, forming into a large, glistening snake that unfurled above the building and bared its fangs. Just a little dark conjuration - not even very difficult - but it was effective and did not shatter despite all the bullets that were suddenly fired towards it.

Downstairs, the door began to slam as force was applied from the outside.

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus leaned back slightly, a shadow flickering across his face before his usual composed expression settled in. “Bellatrix. She’s as fierce as ever. Sometimes I wonder if she’d consider me a challenge rather than a partner.” His voice was low but steady, the hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Marriage with her is never dull. She demands loyalty, yes, but also expects me to match her intensity. It’s a game we play and it works out nicely,” he smirked.

He took a slow sip from his own glass, eyes meeting Agatha’s. “I’m lucky to have her fire, and I think she’s found in me someone who won’t shy away from the storm.” A long pause followed, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the walls.

He smiled faintly, nodding toward the idea of a meal. “A meal sounds excellent. Let’s just hope that house elf of yours doesn’t poison me with his concoction.”

He shifted slightly, warmth creeping into his tone. “How’s Emir holding up? I imagine married life has its own peculiar enchantments, yes?”

The wizard's words were true, unfortunately, but they couldn't keep discussing Alara when a decision had been made on both parts. It was hard and she sometimes still felt a sadness taking over when she thought of the younger witch. She'd left and they'd all turned the page. "Right, better to move on, there's plenty for us to focus on." Whatever was to come for the girl, she'd rather not know.

Agatha took a seat on the couch herself, grabbing a sip from her own glass, eyes following the wizard with honest curiosity. A pleased smile formed on her lips as he mentioned Bellatrix's thoughts on her, she was one of her closest friends even as they were quite opposites. "Well, it's always good to hear such a compliment. He's definitely lucky, but so am I-- he's been wonderful so far and I can't wait for the rest of our life together." The witch offered him a wide grin, nodding her head at his next words. "I'll keep that in mind, perhaps we could ask him for a meal as we wait for Emir and you can judge for yourself how good or bad he is?"

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus stopped before Nick, the dim light dancing against his angular face, casting deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. His expression was unreadable. Stoic, cold.

"I know you will." The words meant to come from his mind rather than from Rodolphus’ lips but directly into Nick’s mind, steady and clear.

And then, aloud, in a low voice, "But you will not be better by will alone." He took a step closer. "Desire without discipline consumes rather than builds."

His eyes locked onto Nick's. There was no anger in them, only relentless expectation. "You carry your shame like armor. You think it protects you from failure, but it only weighs you down. Set it aside." A pause. Silence.

"Now. Do not hope it will work. Know that it must." He extended a hand, palm facing upward, ready to test him. "Intention. Confidence. Execution. Show me."

Shame rose in his throat, hot and cloying. He didn't like letting Rodolphus down. Nick wanted to be the best, he deserved to be the best. He'd have to do better. He made sure not to look away as Rodolphus approached him. No more weakness, no more doubt.

"Intention." Nick repeated under his breath, "and confidence." Pressure, timing, those things he had. Those he knew already. His father had hadn't coddled him, but maybe he'd let Nick loose a bit too early. He needed to do better, he had to do better. Impressing Rodolphus matter. "I just need practice. I'll be better. I know will."

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

Rodolphus Lestrange tilted his head, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth -- feral, knowing, devoid of warmth. He didn’t sit. Instead, he circled the chair with a predator’s patience, letting his fingers brush over the wood where the drink had slid. and, for once, did not take it.

He stopped before the object, eyes narrowing as he studied the silver piece. The air around it whispered, like breath caught between screams. Runes bled ancient magic -- old, hungry -- the kind that didn’t whisper obedience, but demanded blood.

“How quaint,” Rodolphus murmured. “You always did have a taste for cursed curiosities and drawing room dramatics. But this --” his fingers hovered just above the artifact, the skin on his palm tingling in warning “-- this is no mere trinket.”

He turned his gaze to Lucius, eyes gleaming with a dark kind of thrill. “A village of mudbloods, you say? If our Lord wishes spectacle, who am I to disappoint?” he replied with a laugh.

“You have your monster,” he said simply, voice calm as smoke curling from a battlefield. “Now point me to the village, and I’ll show you what happens when I'm let off my leash. But first --" he interrupted himself, "tell me more about this beauty."

Lucius didn't rise from his chair when Rodolphus entered; he merely lifted a crystal glass with an elegant tilt of his wrist and let the amber liquid pour into a glass. “Still as charming as ever,” Lucius drawled, sliding the drink across the polished desk with effortless grace. “If only the Ministry would let us bottle your attitude, we’d have enough poison to wipe out half of Knockturn Alley.”

He finally stood, hands smoothing out the front of his robes. His expression, however, held something sharper beneath his usual demeanour. “But I didn’t call you here for your wit, Rodolphus. There’s something I want your particular brand of talent for. A mission, discreet, dangerous, and far more interesting than hexing house elves.”

Lucius moved to a locked cabinet in the corner of the study and removed a velvet-wrapped bundle. He placed it gently on the desk and unfolded the cloth to reveal a dark object: tarnished silver, runes etched so deeply they looked like scars. The air seemed to thicken around it. “A cursed item. Recently… recovered from a collector in Prague who was fool enough to think he could control it. He couldn’t. Now he’s dead, and the Dark Lord wants death upon a some mudblood village." Lucius met Rodolphus’ gaze. “I trust you haven’t completely dulled your senses since the wedding.”

[xrodolphusxlestrangex]

The wizard didn’t move when Charity spoke, not even a twitch of irritation. Instead, he smiled. "Oh, Charity --" His voice was velvet; soft, deep and dangerous. “It’s endearing, that act. You speak of neutrality as if that absolves you of consequence. As if the world allows observers anymore," he chuckled.

He turned now, slow and deliberate. His eyes, unnaturally silver in the light, pinned her where she stood -- no wand in his hand as it was unneeded. The air was already tight with hardly any magic used.

“You should be frightened. Not because I broke into your pathetic little flat but because I know.” A pause. A tilt of the head. “You’ve kept it buried deep, haven’t you? The thing you were born with. The reason you never quite fit. You think I threaten your life, Charity. But I’m here to offer you a very different kind of death. The death of pretending.”

He stepped toward her, the floorboards groaning like they knew something terrible was in the room. And it was.

“You don’t take well to threats? Good. I don’t make them. I make promises. And here’s one for you: keep playing the bystander, and someone far less reasonable will come knocking. Someone who won’t offer a choice.” Naturally he spoke of another visit by himself. Perhaps he would fill Bellatrix in on his scheme. Wouldn't that be something.

Now, he was close -- too close -- but never touched her. His breath was cold as he whispered, “You may not want to shape the world. But the world has already taken notice of you.” The Dark Lord had known something was different about her. And Rodolphus loved being the man to dig his nails into her.

Someone else would've been scared, a visit of the like all too dangerous and terrifying to react to, a simple nod and beg for your life. Charity had dealt with one too many bullies throughout her life, having learned her way around her own oddity, not letting them hurt her even if that was their goal all along. She knew how to stand her ground, how not to care about anything at all, not even a powerful wizard threatening her, breaking into her flat without much a do about it. "I don't take well to threats." The blonde responded, a ferocity burning in her gaze as she stared at him, yet her tone remained neutral and unwavering. "I fail to see the point behind all of it, I'm not meddling nor intend to. You can all kill each other if you so want to, perhaps you can even kill me, but how does any of it affect the way I live? If you kill me, then my life's over, done with it. If I live, I do it however the hell I want to." She was apparently rambling, though her words were true as ever, stepping aside from the wizard cornering her and walking towards the front door. "There's no predicament here, Mr. Lestrange, I'd say you'd be wasting both of our time staying her any longer and I believe you have a busy schedule." Determination clear on her next words, the witch was growing all too tired of these pureblood men and their belief that they could stomp all over her at will. "Perhaps you should pay other people a visit, certainly someone who's actually standing between you and your goal of making this world the place you want it to be."