the streets of knockturn alley reek of smoke and anxiety, and evan is sauntering down its paths with his hands dug deep into the pockets of his robe. he eventually stops in front of an abandoned store window, his feet crossing in front of him, his back leaning against the wall. hands are still hidden away from sight. the alley is busier than usual, and he doesnāt hesitate to establish himself. make it known why heās there, how he fits into this puzzle. so he gives a nod to the person next to him, his gaze steady, showing no signs of wavering.Ā āseems like business is booming around here, huh?ā he says, voice smooth, maintaining a certain sense of warmth, but also a cruel sort of amusement lingering right below the surface.Ā āno, really, iām just a concerned citizen. trying to keep some peace in this world.ā at that, his lips tug upwards into an agreeable grin. after all, lies are easier sold with a smile.
rodolphus had not hesitated to wander away from the crowds, excusing himself from the same old conversations with relatives he had not seen in years with vague memories and an overly sweet smile written across his face. the wedding had been nothing less than perfect, his mother had really out done herself seeming so proud of her eldest son finally getting married at twenty four considerably a little too old compared to many other purebloods who followed the tradition of arranged marriages. bellatrix had been a friend, the marriage between them was not surprising and it was incredibly convenient for them both yet despite that he might have actually been somewhat happy or close as could be when there was still one thing left on his mind ā evan. approaching his former friend with hesitation rodolphus tried to think of an excuse that the other man might believe but any failed, evan knew him well enough to see right through any facade that he could manage to put on. no amount of forced smiles and drinks could cover that. the music was faded on the other side of the closed glass doors, rod leaning against the railing himself contemplating smoking himself before reminding himself of the harsh standards his mother still held over something so silly. ā not missing much ā just a lot of old drunk family. ā within the last couple of months their relationship had shifted into a grey area that rodolphus did not fully understand, never particularly thought theyād be in fact but there was nothing to say on the matter. ā sheās dancing with her sister, wonāt even notice iāve wandered offā¦ i didnāt think youād come. ā icy hues could not leave the otherās face observing him carefully, for once left unsure of how someone he thought he knew better than himself would react. if he thought about it too hard the tightness in his chest could have been mistaken for anxiety, an uncertainty of where the two of them stood. ā c'mon, donāt do that. ā
thereās an urge to break something --- to crush bones, spill blood. but he ignores it, instead focusing on the feeling of smoke in his lungs, the warmth of the cigarette between his fingers keeping him chained to reality.Ā ā what do you think it would look like if i refused?Ā ā he asks, sourness ingrained in his tone. so very bitter. ā i am just here for show. thatās all.Ā ā he turns around, and elbows place themselves on the railing, his fingers linking in front of him, gaze focused on something far off in the distance. not exactly keen on the idea of looking theĀ groom straight in the eye ---- but what is he so afraid of? seeing happiness?Ā he dares a quick glance anyways, but ash grey eyes quickly find another, less painful target in the clouds above. for someone who supposedly doesnāt have a heart, the emptiness in his chest sure still makes itself known --- itās a tormenting ache, a hollowness where a beating heart should rest. he raises the cigarette to his lips one last time, before offering it to rodolphus. doesnāt know if itās out of habit, or because of something else. but maybe this, right here, will be their swan song ---- one last shared cigarette, before they go their separate ways. a long sigh is let out into the midnight air, and he finally gives his former friend a long look, their eyes meeting. his are empty, showing no emotion, only darkness.ā you lost the right to tell me what to do a long time ago, rodolphus. i thought youād know that by now.Ā ā
ā that was the last time,Ā ā he mutters, but he doesnāt know himself who heās saying it more to. as if that isnāt something he has said the last.... five times. maybe more, he doesnāt like to keep track. anymore. eyes filled with hatred glaze over her, as he quickly zips up his pants. shirt soon follows, flying through the room from its abandoned place on the floor with a flick of his finger. theyāve been at this for a while now ---- too long ( which is something they might finally be able to agree on, too ). it makes him feel disgusting --- loathsome, but still, he canāt stop himself. so really, heās weak, more than anything else.Ā ā unfortunately, this wonāt be the last i see of you, bones,Ā ā he says, and voice becomes a little lower, a little more disgruntled. around her, the chivalry that runs so deep in his blood seems to fade, just a little bit. she makes him a little bit worse, a little bit more vile. if thatās even possible, when it comes to him.Ā ā or will i be so lucky that you wonāt attend the ministerās meeting tomorrow?Ā ā at that, fingers move on to his shirt, quickly running over the buttons, slowly restoring himself to the image of perfection that allows him to sleep at night.
ā better itās you, than them,Ā ā he says, clouded eyes never averting from the baby, who is currently gripping evanās finger, about as tightly as evan suspects he can muster. heās watching draco with shallow interest ( not quite invested enough to care ), and keeps half an eye on his father. an insincere smile plays on his lips, and he wiggles his finger loose.Ā ā i suspect that a lestrange child would be... something else.Ā ā
rodolphus shifted through papers on his desk, shifting between writing things down and occasionally taking drags from his cigarette. the office was for once well lit, dark curtains wide open with the door creaked to allow the faint chatter of all those wandering in the ministryās surrounding offices. while he couldāve give two fucks about the dead journalists, it was his job to handle it.Ā ā what is it?Ā ā the death eater mutters just loud enough to hear not wanting to be bothered in the moment.Ā
" ---- norwegian human rights groups are asking a lot of questions,Ā ā he says, as he enters the office. thereās a cup of tea in his hands, steaming hot, the aroma encasing the room with the subtle smell of strawberries. he doesnāt even bother saying hello ( theyāre way past pleasantries, when no one else is around, arenāt they? ), instead going straight for the chair.Ā ā should i tell them that we are planning on killing all the journalists, or do you think theyāll take offense to that too?Ā ā he says, his voice a little dry, soaked in sarcasm. but thereās also some truth to his words, as it is something he has... considered. after a few seconds, he turns more somber, more serious. brows furrow into a tired frown. ā wizards all over europe are watching us, lestrange. we should do well to proceed with caution. ā
@viiolentminds // FLASHBACK: the wedding party of bellatrix and rodolphus lestrange, 31st of October, 1974.
the slow, melodic tunes of the live band can be heard faintly in the distance, though evan doesnāt seem to notice. heās standing leaned against the railing on the small balcony, a cigarette placed between his lips, his gaze completely cold, lifeless. all emotion ( be it anger, resentment, disappointment ) has seemingly been erased, no longer existing. he snaps his fingers, lighting his cigarette. pretends not to notice when HE appears next to him --- rodolphus lestrange is about the last person evan wants to see right now, anyways. so he stands like that for a while. blowing smoke into the night air, arms crossed over his chest. refusing to say a single word. eventually ( after what seems like an eternity ), he dares a look at his former friend. cloudy eyes are still dead, revealing little of what he thinks of this spectacle.Ā but he does speak.Ā āyouāre missing the party,ā he says, and takes another blow on his cigarette. the smoke feels comforting against his tongue, dulling his senses. making all this a little more bearable ----- as if he didnāt know all along that this day would come. it had always been the inevitable end, no other future in sight.Ā to think anything else would be irrational ---- and evan may be many things, but he is not that.Ā āyou should go back inside before my dear, dear cousin starts to miss you. never know what that one will do next.ā another breath of smoke leaves his lips, and he refuses to meet rodās gaze. instead, heās staring off in the distance, his eyes seemingly locked on something intangible. voice is lowered when he speaks again, becomes a little raspy, uneven. he hates himself for it. āweāre not doing this. just go.ā
001. he wears his hair (sort of) short, in a honey toned blonde shade. this and this is peak evan. itās always styled, never out of place. unless he wants it to be.
002. while at work, evan mostly wears tailored, expensive suits. theyāre always black.
003. honestly? evanās style is a mix of newt scamander and whatever jamie dornan wears when out and about / at premiers. super specific, but try to change my mind ! x
004. so. he wears a lot of warm clothing. maybe heās cold blooded. but he gravitates towards wool shirts, knitted sweaters, plaid shirts, cardigans, long sleeved shirts. he usually wears a nicer shirt underneath.
005. i sort of picture evanās style as wholesome?? he dresses like the boy next door.
006. as for death eater stuff / death eater robes, i totally forgot to include that in my graphic so thatās my b. but he wears death eater robes too of course !! i think thatās about the only time he wears those really dramatic, elaborate wizard robes? evanās more one of those lowkey wizards that wear wizard clothing that could technically pass for muggle clothing, unless you look close enough.
007. favorite colors to wear are probably: black, yellow, brown and red. evan gravitates towards more earthy tones, mostly.Ā
008. favorite fabrics are probably wool, plaid ( which... is made of wool.... ) and cotton. he also likes jeans, but doesnāt wear them too often.
009. heās very rich so he obviously spends a lot of money on clothes. imagine lots of wizard designer clothes, only the top notch brands, i suppose. but also the kind of brands that donāt really look... like theyāre that expensive... #the aesthetic
010. though he is also the type to wear vintage stuff !!! thrift shopping for nice briefcases? sure !!!
011. owns way too many shirts. also a lot of suits that he definitively doesnāt need.
012. has an affinity for leather boots !!
013. carries a pocket watch that used to be his fatherās.
EVAN ROSIER is A DEATH EATER in the war, even though HIS official job is as THE HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF INTERNATIONAL MAGICAL COOPERATION AND FOREIGN AFFAIRS. the THIRTYĀ year old PUREBLOOD is known to be PERSUASIVE and SHARP but also CORRUPTIVEĀ and DESTRUCTIVE. some might label them as THE DEVIL ON YOUR SHOULDER.Ā fc: chris evans
