Bellatrix

People always say like, "That's not realistic".

Not for you, you unwhimsical bitch.

#bellatrix;soundtrack

If Malcolm could have it his way, he wouldn't invite the Lestranges at all. Malcolm didn't feel necessarily warm to either of them, but he did believe in holding alliances and keeping his reputation afloat by inviting the other purebloods in the society. It was why Agatha and Emir probably invited most of the people to their wedding when half of those who made up the attendance were merely just a number a seat number. That's what the opening night for his and Evan's lounge would be as well. "As long as you bring respect and a good endorsement by passing along the word. I am trying to get more people like you and Rodolphus to come for the first night. And hopefully continue coming and be regulars."

"Certainly," she glimmered, as though she hadn't just been mildly irritated. It'd probably be a good time, after all. She wasn't one to turn down a rowdy affair. "I'll spread the word for you, Parkinson. Us old families have to stick together, don't we? Pureblood allegiance and all that... Speaking of-" Bellatrix inhaled audibly, a thin hiss that seemed to grate the roof of her mouth. It could have resembled surprise, and indeed she'd forgotten until that very moment. "Better get a spot by the fountain if you want a different sort of good show. The fayre will end with a bang." More like a goddamn eruption. She could barely wait for the fireworks. The only thing compensating for not being involved was watching the chaos delectably unfurl.

#thread;malcolm #malcolm;1 #//sure! 💪🏻

end.

alectocarrowx

Dear Bellatrix,

I hope all is well.

With the return back to Hogwarts, it has kept me busy between school and home, however, I do wish for your request to join me one evening soon. There is information I wish to share.

Please let me know which day works for you.

Best,Alecto

Hello, Alecto.

I don't know how you can bear that castle full of brats. The things we do for the cause, hm? We should be sainted.

Any day this weekend. I'm having a tame one.

With best wishes,

-Bellatrix.

#thread;alecto #alecto;5

If Malcolm could have it his way, he wouldn't invite the Lestranges at all. Malcolm didn't feel necessarily warm to either of them, but he did believe in holding alliances and keeping his reputation afloat by inviting the other purebloods in the society. It was why Agatha and Emir probably invited most of the people to their wedding when half of those who made up the attendance were merely just a number a seat number. That's what the opening night for his and Evan's lounge would be as well. "As long as you bring respect and a good endorsement by passing along the word. I am trying to get more people like you and Rodolphus to come for the first night. And hopefully continue coming and be regulars."

#thread;malcolm #malcolm;1

"Certainly," she glimmered, as though she hadn't just been mildly irritated. It'd probably be a good time, after all. She wasn't one to turn down a rowdy affair. "I'll spread the word for you, Parkinson. Us old families have to stick together, don't we? Pureblood allegiance and all that... Speaking of-" Bellatrix inhaled audibly, a thin hiss that seemed to grate the roof of her mouth. It could have resembled surprise, and indeed she'd forgotten until that very moment. "Better get a spot by the fountain if you want a different sort of good show. The fayre will end with a bang." More like a goddamn eruption. She could barely wait for the fireworks. The only thing compensating for not being involved was watching the chaos delectably unfurl.

themaxgoldstein

Max's first instinct was to throw up guards, both around his mind and his other defenses. Preparing to be in a fighting stance was all too familiar in moments of tension and there were other ways to fight than using his wand, tucked in his back pocket. Max stepped to the side, his eyes remaining on the witch. There was also something particular about her that Max couldn't find. It was like knocking on a wooden door to her mind with no answer. It wasn't unusual but he could at least steal two good thoughts before a person felt someone in their mind. Hers was a forcefield. Max stilled in his pace, his head tilting to the side in thought. "That would be great if we were," he lied easily though some people were keen to know his family's history and how the ability skipped through generations like a rock sliding over water. Sometimes it skipped one generation, sometimes two, there was once it skipped five. "It was nice meeting you though...Miss Lestrange."

Max's retreat was thrilling. He stepped away and Bellatrix smiled, a moth to a flame. He was a good liar, indeed. But it took one to know one. She didn't believe him at all, searching his features like a claw raking into glass, seeking weakness or revelation. She found neither. Their absence only piqued her delight, causing heady breath to catch against her throat in oblique anticipation. She paused. Silence swelled at his dismissal, not offended but bristling. "Mrs," she corrected, joining him in his newly instated space. She trailed a finger over a dusty shelf as she went, examining it distastefully, as though the heedless action had consumed her thoughts. It had - for that second - until she reached his side and leant close to his ear. Whispered words fell promptly, both accusatory and full with admiration. "I can feel you trying to break through. Better luck next time." She pulled back, lips curved into a scandalous beam. "Goodbye for now, Mister Goldstein."

End.

#thread;max #max;1

Her laughter ricocheted off the dome, a chorus of mockery, and it only widened his grin. Bellatrix turned everything he gave her into spectacle, ropes into a whip, flame into a showpiece, and he admired it, in his way. But admiration did not mean mercy.

The whip of fire hissed toward him, and this time he didn’t dodge. Instead, he snapped his wand toward the drifting bubbles she had tossed at him in jest. With a muttered word, their gleaming surfaces swelled, bursting not in empty pops but in sudden torrents of conjured water. The flood met her flames with a vicious hiss, steam rolling thick between them. Dolohov laughed, a low rasp of satisfaction. “You mock me with soap, Bella, and I’ll mock you with steam. Seems we both like to play thief with each other’s spells.”

The ropes she’d enchanted crumbled to ash with another flick, the remnants drawn into the currents of heated air, spiraling around them like cinders. The bubble constricted tighter, its invisible walls humming now with palpable pressure. He could feel her reveling in it, daring him to be the one to yield first.

He moved in a slow circle, wand still raised, but his tone dropped into something smoother, more dangerous. “The difference, Bella, is that you burn for spectacle. I wait for the silence that comes after. No matter how bright the fire, it always chokes on its own smoke.” His eyes gleamed, and he tipped his wand in mock salute.

“Now, shall I let the air run thin? Or will you admit defeat before the walls close in?”

#thread;antonin #antonin;2

See, this was why she enjoyed these frisky little tête-à-têtes. Dolohov was quick. He was smart, inventive and he challenged her. Not many could boast such a novelty, let alone wizards with far too many serious thought processes for their own good. But here he was, bold as brass, twisting her spells with the alacrity of a school boy in a sweet store. Not a spark dulled from her eyes. Her laughter didn't cease, but it drifted into a bizarre chuckle, part hiss, part sumptuous adoration. He was turning the dome into a cataclysmic bombshell, and she revelled in the danger, directing her wand at his chest and beginning to circle in turn.

"I don't just burn for spectacle, my darling. I burn because I can, because I want to, because crisping everything to cinder fills me with such pleasure I couldn't even begin to describe it." And sure enough, she shone elated, as though this were the freest she had ever been. Dark hair whipped around her chiselled features, caught up in the ever-heating currents, turning her obscenely into part of the ash-filled destruction. She could feel her heart racing, thundering its escape from a body that was never quite alive enough. Chasing thrills, that was her game. Seizing whatever she could to get her kicks. Right now, it was the press of the bubble, slowly asphyxiating them both. She wasn't afraid. Her threshold was higher than most. So she sank into a curtsey to match his salute, a titter parting parched lips in a manner too girlish to match the sheer devilish anticipation wrought all across her face. Fingers twitched like knives yearning to slash, her grip around her wand deceptively loose. Down she dropped, head tilted up as a smile expanded lavishly, eyes fixed on his in a challenge that silently screamed.

"You should know me better. I don't give up. And I don't mind holding my breath." She stood, twitching her wand skyward. Lightning flashed within the dome, electricity sparking through the humid heat in a single, penetrating flash, aimed right at Dolohov's back.

rsrevan

Evan basked in the warm, familiar glow of Bellatrix’s presence, a rare and potent elixir. Among all the tethers he allowed himself in the world, she was the closest to something constant-- chaotic, yes, but aligned with the precise frequency of his soul’s darker rhythms. Others craved command or chaos or fear; he craved understanding, and Bellatrix, in all her blood-slicked brilliance, understood. There was no one he trusted more in the battlefield or the drawing room, no one who’d ever made violence feel more like art. Devotion to the cause and to her-- they’d become synonymous. They weren’t fighting for glory or politics. They were cleansing. Elevating. Becoming.

The wizard's grin deepened, teeth bared like a wolf at the scent of blood. “Then let’s make it count,” he said softly, voice a dark hymn. “No more skirmishes in the shadows, no more warnings. When we strike, I want their minds splintered and their homes razed to salt. I want them weeping in circles, too stunned to speak names, too broken to remember their own.” His fingers tapped once on the rim of his glass, eyes narrowing as he stared into the depths. “The Longbottoms are still out there,” he said eventually, voice low, almost absent-minded.

He turned, setting the glass down with a click, then moved closer, his tone softening to something more reflective-- dangerously so. “You know,” he murmured, “I still haven’t decided what happened to Regulus.” There was something thoughtful in his expression, but it twisted with bitterness just as quickly. “The Order might’ve taken him. Broken him. Or maybe he let them. Maybe he believed whatever honeyed little lies they poured into his ears.” A beat. “But if that’s the case… if he betrayed us --betrayed the noble House of Black-- then perhaps his disappearance is only the beginning of what he deserves.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes now, sharpened and slivered like cut glass. “And Sirius.” The name landed heavy on his tongue. “I expected disloyalty. He never had the stomach for discipline. But to side with them? To help them-- maybe even lead them to Regulus?” Evan exhaled, almost laughing. “He always did enjoy ruining beautiful things. I suppose it’s time someone returned the favour.” His gaze flicked back to Bella, glinting with cruel amusement. “He’s got such a lovely little circle. So beloved. So brave.” His tone darkened into something velvet-slick and venomous. “Would be a shame if something were to happen to one of them.”

In the blink of an eye, the conversation changed direction, not once, but twice - and with her heart on her sleeve, Bellatrix's emotions blazed as vibrant as her love for this cousin. Oh, he started well. Her joy swelled irrefutably, stoked by his vivid imagery in a way that was unique to them. She could practically feel her skin itching, the mere suggestion of destroying their enemies with fire and brimstone enough to get her adrenaline flowing. But it was the fact that he was speaking which truly set her on delicious edge, because she knew he meant every word.

She clung to that mood in the next breath, holding fast to the idea of massacring the Longbottoms as he moved onto Regulus. It was a dangerous topic. She had searched every corner of this blasted country searching for the selfish little squirt, dredging up nothing but disappointing dead ends. Her faith and her hope were waning. She loathed herself for it, building walls higher than Azkaban's most deadly to keep failure at bay. Were anyone but Evan speaking, she'd have stopped them savagely for suggesting Regulus had defected. But for this wizard she held her tongue, settling for a glacial stare almost bursting from its sockets. Her fingers clenched her glass, nails clacking and liquid swilling as she reminded herself with every last reserve of patient sense that Evan was only theorising - not accusing. Regulus was not a traitor. She would never accept it. The Blacks could suffer no further denigration. Not for a third time.

So it was a good thing he switched to Sirius. She honed onto his name like a missile destined to destroy, finding suddenly that she was more attuned to his demise than she had ever been before. It gripped her like the sweetest vice, lifting her expression into one that was as relieved for distraction as it was devoted to devastation. "I will kill him," she promised, her words a concrete oath. She had never felt more certain. Desperation stung behind her ribs, her heart throbbing violently for the truth. She knew she would never find it. That certainty was infuriating, the lack of control too much to bear, too upsetting. Her own guilt lay suppressed, forced into submission by her iron determination to ignore it. She had done everything she could for Regulus and she would admit no fault - no matter how much she regretted not having done more to help him, wondering if she had forced him into shape, whether he would still be here. She wanted none of this nonsense. So she rejected it. When it boiled down to it, Regulus would never have been in his position if Sirius hadn't fucked off. "One day, he will pay for his brother's trials. I will make sure of it."

She placed her glass beside Evan's, the heated whites of her fingertips having left prints upon the crystal. Then she turned back to him, utterly consumed and ready for the night's second chapter.

"It would be a tragic loss." Her grim musings broke, amusement piercing shadowed intent and a drawl so sarcastic it could have shattered a mirror. "I wouldn't mind picking them off one by one and making him watch."

End.

#thread;evan #evan;3

Antonin’s fingers closed firmly around hers, his grip deliberate, the kind of shake that tested as much as it agreed. He gave a low chuckle, head bowing just enough to let the sound rumble like gravel in his chest. “Hufflepuffs, perhaps. But you and I, Bella? We were never meant for such purity. Too much in the marrow, too much ink on the soul. Still” his mouth curled, dry amusement flickering across his features, “it’s worth the experiment. Let’s see if we can manage civility for the span of a game.”

When he released her hand, he didn’t immediately reach for the darts. Instead he gestured for her to take the first throw, an elegant little bow of the wrist that was half courtesy, half provocation. “After all, ladies first. And besides” his eyes glinted, voice dropping slyly, “I’ve always preferred to watch the opening move before I decide how hard to crush the board. Gives me time to see how steady the competition really is.”

He leaned back slightly, posture deceptively loose, though his gaze never strayed far from her face. There was something hungry in it, the curiosity of one predator recognizing another in the dark. “Go on then,” he murmured, almost inviting, almost taunting. “Make it worth the wager.”

#thread;antonin #antonin;3 #//is she applauding herself? probably yes lol

"I have faith in our abilities, Antonin. We can achieve anything we set our minds to - even this redundant simplicity."

Returning Antonin's grip with lithe, demanding fingers, Bellatrix kept her stare on his, pupils wildly darting back and forth as she absorbed his thrill. Her own lips arched broadly in sympathetic unison. His use of imagery was highly entertaining, the notion that they were not pure, when they were two of the purest beings in existence - at least where blood was concerned - almost made her laugh aloud. Instead, she ran her tongue between her teeth and held it tightly, willing to engage with this little show: a clean game, indeed. It was only darts at a fayre, all said and done. It wouldn't kill her to lose, for once.

Twirling a dart between her fingers, she considered Dolohov and for a moment she imagined how completely delightful it would be to spear him through an eye. He was always so controlled, so methodical. It drove her quite insane. The thought of his screams was far more exquisite, and she was very sure he'd find release in the pain. It would be a kindness on her part, truly. There was nothing quite like screaming into an abyss, after all. You never knew who - or what - might scream back in return.

So with that thought in mind, she turned away with an indecent smile and hurled her dart at the board, much like she would toss a dagger - with merciless vigour and savage intent. It was too much. It rebounded and hit a child bluntly in the head, the latter inane result only mildly compensating for the disappointment of the first. Smoothing her palm against her dress to wipe it dry, while the child's mother fussed and glared, Bellatrix shrugged off the mishap and tossed another, completely undeterred. She learned quickly, adaptable and shrewd. The second dart did not fail. It struck like a bullet and she turned to Antonin triumphant.

"Suppose it's your turn, then. Let's see what you've got. Next time, we do it with knives."

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.”

#thread;rodolphus #rodolphus;8 #//lowkey erotica & kissy gif beneath readmore

Love. That word had her laughing even more, but the sound had deepened to a drawl both scathing and reluctantly vulnerable. Their marriage was a sacrilege, their approach to their vows as flawed as it was imperishable. Bellatrix was not supposed to love. But here she was, lying beside the wizard she'd deemed acceptable, wand out of reach and as bare as the day she was born. He surrendered to her more brutal urges, and through that action she was inspired to do the same, to return what he permitted her to take. One day, they'd probably kill each other. For now, it was enough to simply toy with death, and she would gladly perish for him just as surely as she'd destroy the world in his name - in their name.

Her fingers crawled higher, wrapping that exposed neck and pushing her thumb against his lips. He spoke an awful lot, this husband of hers. Good thing she liked what he had to say - on the whole. But she felt his words. They pierced her bones like a javelin, binding them together yet more forcefully. She sought the same glint in his eyes; the mad, unstable yearning to steal every part of her and claim it for himself, the frantic possession, the hatred for this power she wielded, the way she made him yield with wanton weakness. They'd come all this way together, freeing their needs and feeding each other like starved beasts. When you danced with the devil, it was sacred, in its way - like being blessed by the side of god that no one dared to see. It was glorious. The glory of daring to suffer, of mastering torment. They did this together. No one else. Who wanted to be normal, anyway? Certainly not Bellatrix Lestrange.

He was right again. Turned out Weasley had more brains than Bellatrix had given him credit. Such a shame that he wasted them with his pure lineage, rotting away in this Ministry hole, devoting time and support to ridiculous topics. They would need all the pure blood possible to fuel the new world order. Those who stood against it were an atrocity. Remaining immobile, she scanned her eyes over his, mulling upon the disappointing truth while listening to him circle around mysteries and devilish plots.

Humming as though the idea of ruins was a disagreeable fate, she didn't trouble to conceal the mischievous taint from her expression. If she were to follow her inclinations, she'd raze the world to the ground before it'd be rebuilt. But that wouldn't be useful. Winning required stealth and subtlety. She could manage both when she put her mind to it, even though the effort made her want to implode.

"Action doesn't need to be ruinous," she pointed out, her voice lilting over the facts. "And clarity cannot be achieved by sitting and waiting. As for the mind behind the message-" Smiling pointedly, she paused. What she was indicating would remain unclear, ironic considering they'd been talking about directness. "I'd wager a deranged one. Or an egotistical sadist." A glorious genius. "But perhaps I do them a discredit. Maybe something is achieved if the message plays through until the end - aside from insanity, of course."

She noted his hesitation. Oh, she saw it and knew he was nervous. She would never give anything away explicitly, but the thrill of dancing on a highwire never got old. The Lestranges and the Blacks could not have been more wrapped up in right wing ideals. They were as deeply reliant on dark magic as they were on breathing. It amused her, shamelessly and frivolously. Her eyes flickered between his, absorbing his uncertainty and the way he physically reacted, as slight as it was. She wanted to force that reaction into something more obvious. The thought sparked slyly through wicked veins, sending goosepimples onto skin as cold as the horror she adored.

"Only fools close doors and imagine monsters cannot break through." Quiet and careful, she enjoyed those sweet words. Her look was only just polite, the sense of veiled judgement far more apparent in a statement that meant everything - to her, at least. In the next breath, she changed tone, moving abruptly to the next idea with typical flippancy. "Never call us 'bedfellows' again, Weasley. I'm a married woman. What would my husband say..." Probably nothing. A curve edging her lips, she studied the parchment and memorised the archive location before folding it carefully and neatly and tucking it into a pocket. "Cursing Ministry property? I wouldn't dream of it. I'll see how I feel if I crack it. Didn't think you'd want to see more of me. Who'd have thought?"

arthurxweasleyx

He gave a soft, dry laugh not quite a dismissal, not quite agreement. Something in between. The sort of sound one might make when spotting storm clouds and still choosing to walk into the wind. “You know, for someone who prides herself on clarity,” he said mildly, “you do a marvelous job of wrapping your meanings in lace and thorns.” He didn’t shift, didn’t fidget, but there was a subtle pull in his posture, like a tree creaking slightly in a breeze it wasn’t sure would turn gale-force. Still, his gaze held hers, steady but not confrontational. Curious. Unsettled, perhaps, but still grounded. “There’s something seductive about endings, isn’t there?” he went on, voice low and contemplative. “The idea that if we push a little further, hold our breath a little longer, the meaning will reveal itself. All the chaos will make sense. Or at least justify itself. But most messages, I find, are clearer if you don’t burn the page before reading it.” He gave her a brief, wry smile. “Then again, I imagine that’s half the thrill for you. Seeing if it all still makes sense while it’s going up in flames.” Arthur tilted his head slightly as she spoke of doors and monsters, and though his expression didn’t shift much, something flickered behind his eyes. Thoughtfulness. Resolve. Maybe even pity. “Monsters rarely need an invitation,” he said. “But some of us still believe in locking the doors out of principle. It may not stop them, but it reminds us who we are when we do it.” He let that sit for a breath, then exhaled softly at her sudden shift in tone. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of sullying your good name. You’re quite right, ‘bedfellows’ was a poor choice.” His mouth curled in a restrained, ironic smile. “Let’s call it what it is, professional proximity. Or would you prefer ‘colleagues in contradiction’? I hear that’s the new term for politely hostile collaborators.” His eyes dropped briefly to the now-folded parchment in her hand before flicking back up. “I’ve no illusions about your intentions, Bellatrix. But it’s not lost on me that you stayed longer than you needed to. Or that you’re listening more than you’d like.” He stepped back, a quiet movement, a retreat without surrender. “Do as you like with the file. But if something starts hissing in the dark, don’t pretend you weren’t warned. Some traps were laid for bigger beasts than even you.” Then, after a beat, with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes: “And yes. I thought you might enjoy yourself. I suppose that’s what worries me most.”

End.

#thread;arthur #arthur;1

siriusbpadfoot

While Sirius might remind Bellatrix of his brother, Bellatrix reminded him of his father. It was a similarity that he disliked though felt totally deserved to him; the Black similarities shining though in both of them. It annoyed him that he had these features too, that however far he went he would always look like a Black. So seeing her felt like a cruel twist of fate. There was one Black he was hoping to catch a glimpse of and Bellatrix was somewhat of the opposite; someone he would pay money to never have to see again.

It was because of this that he barely glanced her way, hoping she would turn off somewhere else eventually. When she didn't and instead turned towards him he cursed any god that would listen, his gaze falling lazily onto her as she spoke. "It would appear so," he replied, having come to the same conclusion. His jaw ticked with irritation as she blocked his path. tempted to shove her out of the way purely because he knew the muggle display of violence would annoy her. "No thanks," he said cheerily, side stepping her to continue towards the elevators.

Facing her with his customary heedless manner, nostalgia threatened like a noose. Bellatrix had adored her cousin - once. She'd thought him brilliant, destined for greatness and more like herself than any of the others. She'd trusted him with her worries when her parents had wanted her to marry, and with her sorrow when Andromeda left. Now, she loathed him, but not more than she loathed the fact that she'd misjudged him.

Her demeanour had hardly been pleasant in the first place. But now it shifted to something more wretched, lips becoming a line thinner than her patience, tweaking only momentarily with subtle satisfaction as she noted the tell-tale twitch of his jaw and knew he was equally annoyed. About to renew her insistence, he chirped happily and waltzed towards the elevators. For a moment she glowered, her mouth still open with vindictive words yet unspoken. Then she clenched her teeth and pursued, batting several inept witches aside to catch-up with him.

"Get in then," she snapped as the doors opened, as though yielding to a misbehaving child. But she stepped across the threshold first, and no sooner had she done so, she turned and shut the gate, waving impishly through the bars as the elevator began to move, leaving him in the foyer.

#thread;sirius #sirius;3

It wouldn’t do to waste his advantage just sitting around, but something to immobilize her quickly and embarrassingly would be best or set her up to be, give him time to really rub it in. Something big, and easy, not too flashy a silent Ebulio, invisible closing in plenty of time for her to admit he had won while he set up other spells in case she was a sore loser. The threat of leaving her beaten and bloody for Rabastan usually did the trick, a fate worse than death, the thought made him smile as he summoned his magic. The large bubble closed in on the area invisible, slowly closing in and keeping them contained, only giving off a faint air of magic to betray it. He waited until it closed in a bit to reveal himself. There was something delicious about using non lethal spells against someone so chaotic, so bloodthirsty, beating her and making it seem effortless. Though he wasn’t above more powerful things or tricks. “Too bad Bellatrix, it seems like you didn’t count on me trapping us both, have to do something to make our fights more interesting don’t I?” He moved his wand and suddenly ropes shot out of it seeking to bind her. He was sure she would relish cutting them to ribbons, but they were meant more to distract her than anything, he only had to buy time as the invisible barrier closed in and if he immobilized her that would be enough to count as a win especially if he was able to get her wand away from her. He tried to think of what kind of curse she might send at him and if it would be better to dodge it or try and counter it, that was the problem with chaos, though he knew it would be something interesting she tended toward the flashy and painful.

#thread;antonin #antonin;2

The more she moved, the more she felt his spells prickling the air around her. His magic was sharp yet subtle, the type of spells that could worm their way into a person's lungs and suffocate them before they'd even realised they'd stopped breathing. Bellatrix would never admit it, but she admired the accursed wizard. Rodolphus had chosen a good friend. He'd proven himself useful more than once, and for that she had to give him at least some credit.

She shot spell after spell as she paced, no time permitted for pause or thought. Pure instinct drove her actions, gut reactions and years of intuitive warfare carving her into a witch who trusted herself absolutely. Pausing only when he spoke, the break was barely noticeable, her outstretched wand twitching upwards after a millisecond's recognition. The spell slashed towards a weakness she'd identified in the building, a laugh erupting at the same time as she realised what he'd done: a fucking bubble. Honestly, she couldn't have found it more hilarious. Her merriment ricocheted hideously, wild echoes clattering around the area as she turned and risked disapparition, noting with absolute jubilation that his ropes were off-piste thanks to her precautionary charms.

The bounds unleashing several feet in front of her, she caught them before she disappeared, wrapping them into an enchanted whip which turned against its master. Reappearing to his left, she turned that whip into fire before her feet had even found purchase, a second, rapidly executed spell hacking the ground behind him into a crater.

Then just for fun, she shot some bubbles towards his face. Just for the hell of it, while the Ebublio continued to shrink. She certainly wasn't going to deal with it. That was his problem. He'd have to end it at some point, then she'd have his guts and strew them all around deliciously. If it was a battle of wilful tolerance, she'd sure as hell beat him on the stubborn scale. No doubt he'd think those harmless bubbles were acidic or something equally merciless. She only wanted to make a point, acknowledging his novel approach with a humorous spell to break up the carnage.

Malcolm gave Bellatrix a considerate nod, glancing over her as she read it. It would be good to have other pureblood and influential society members be at their opening which could mean he needed to get along with Bellatrix for at least this short conversation. "I'm inviting you to a lounge with burlesque dancers," he corrected her sharply. "I am not surprised that Rodolphus would be a more suited guest," he said with a brazen and smug grin. "Your husband would probably have a better time than you at most establishments."

#thread;malcolm #malcolm;1

"He certainly has a way of forcing proceedings into his liking." That smug smirk. Part of her wanted to wipe the floor with it. Another larger, more trivial part was still mulling over the thought of her husband losing his senses. So she chortled darkly, shrugged a shoulder then fixed Parkinson with an unyielding stare. "And I'm only joking. Just a harmless jest. I don't mind anywhere with good drinks and decent entertainment." A pause, a sly gleam. "Half the enjoyment is watching everyone else get sloshed and reckless, anyway."

“All the better to keep people out of it. Can’t have someone rooting about in my head until I’m left a drooling idiot, buying used socks and calling it a bargain.” His mouth twisted into something wry, his voice pitched low enough for her alone. “What would you want, hm? Because I’ll give you this. If you win, I’ll help you pull something over on Rodolphus. And if I win, you’ll help me. Simple as that. No quibbling. No objections. Winner takes the reins of the prank, loser follows along. Tell me, does that sound like a tantalizing enough prize?”

He tilted his head, studying her with a predator’s patience, as though her laughter and the brightness in her tone were another layer of disguise he meant to peel back. She was fascinating, chaos wrapped in porcelain, the kind of woman who turned men to kindling just by standing too close to the fire. It wasn’t his burden to manage; he left that to Rodolphus, though he pitied his friend the task.

Antonin gave a short breath that might have passed for amusement, eyes flicking to the darts. “Best to keep it clean. Anyone can hex the board or charm the aim, but where’s the satisfaction in that? Besides...” his smirk sharpened, “…if you caught me at it, I’d be liable to end up with a dart buried somewhere inconvenient. And I’d rather not test your aim at close range.”

#thread;antonin #antonin;3

Having scoffed dryly at the sock comment, Bellatrix now considered Antonin, a smirk unfurling delectably across her features. It was the type of grin that mirrored her rampaging thoughts, her imaginings whirling pleasantly with all sorts of possibilities. Life was full of surprises. Most of them were unpleasant, but she had an excellent feeling about this deal. One way or another, it'd be fun to see it through. Even if she ended up with the short straw, she'd make helping Dolohov's miscreance worth her time. Let no one say she couldn't have fun every once in a while.

"It'll do," she said, as though her face didn't give away that she found the suggestion completely engaging. She didn't mind his study. He could look all he wanted. Bellatrix knew a kindred spirit when she saw one, and they had enough years between them for her to know he was a dark soul. She could practically feel his eyes sharpening, perhaps itching to get beneath her skin and tear her apart, maybe to see how she worked, perhaps to find a way to get her under his thumb. She was quite the same. It would have thrilled her to force someone like Antonin into submission, but some were better left as equals. They were more use that way. More interesting and more exciting.

"You're a wise man, Antonin." Laughing again, she tilted her head and extended a hand. "We shake on it. A clean game. Like a pair of Hufflepuffs at a charity fundraiser."

Then it was their turn, darts soon placed into their hands and the board magically cleared.

where: end of summer fayre who: open to all

Malcolm didn't like to do promotion but it was part of the bigger picture and he was willing to market Cachette like it was meant to. They weren't done with it quite yet as there had been some hurdles in the way, but they were getting closer to an opening date which meant putting it on people's radars. "La Cachette, remember that name," Malcolm said as his friendly house elf handed out flyers for a save-the-date. "It'll be the best place you've ever been to in only a few weeks."

#thread;malcolm #malcolm;1

"Parkinson." Well, it was a half-decent greeting. He was a pureblood and a Death Eater, after all. However, Bellatrix was waiting for the day he'd prove he wasn't as stupid as his parents. Moving her weighted stare from his expression to the flyer in her hand, she studied the contents then looked back up with sudden humour. It expanded over her features like a bubbling wave, raising her sly mouth into a curve that hit her eyes with equally bright attention. "You're inviting me to a strip club? I don't know about that, Parkinson. I go weak at the sight of ankles, let alone busts and behinds. But I'm sure my husband would have a wonderful time." No doubt he would. She could see him now, getting hot and bothered by all the witches, while bemoaning that none of them were her. With that self-congratulatory and egotistical thought in mind, she wryly chuckled, folded it neatly and tucked it into a pocket.

“Darts?” Antonin echoed, his voice carrying just the right note of intrigue, as though the thought of her at such a game had merit. His smile stayed small, deliberate, almost hidden—he would not give her the satisfaction of full amusement. “I confess, Bellatrix, I did not expect you to waste your precision on painted boards. You’ve always struck me as someone who plays with higher stakes.”

He tilted his head, eyes lingering on her with quiet admiration, measured but unmistakable. “Daggers, curses those suit you. Swift, decisive, devastating. Your aim is not in question. But this” he gestured lightly to the glittering targets as another dart went wide and laughter erupted in the queue “this is about restraint. About proving you can hold fire in your hand without letting it consume the aim. That, I would find impressive.”

He leaned a touch closer, lowering his tone so that it brushed the air between them. “Indulge me. Show me there is no arena too small for you to dominate. If you can master something as trivial as darts, then there is truly nothing beyond your reach.”

A pause, a soft breath that could almost pass for a laugh. “And I, for one, would enjoy watching the crowd discover that.”