going, going, going - gone

{ i think you clipped my wings to save me from the sun } Lestrange, Rodolphus

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

"Thank you–– I do think it’s a very worthwhile career," she said, smiling. It was nice being appreciated for her work even if it wasn’t a direct compliment. "Not everyone is suited for teaching but I can’t imagine doing anything else. It’s very fulfilling." The statement wasn’t entirely true–– she had considered giving up teaching, briefly, for the sake of working full time with the Order. However, she was aware of how much she was needed at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had discussed the issue with her and the students needed her more.

Minerva frowned, remembering the career counseling sessions. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly changed your mind about your career path?” she asked carefully. It was rude but couldn’t help her curiosity. The career choice seemed entirely incongruent with his personality during the time he was at Hogwarts. She had fully expected him to work somewhere with a bit more prestige–– a bar didn’t seem to suit him. Even if it hadn’t been the Ministry, everyone had expected more out of him. He may have genuinely changed over the years, but the idea of him being pleased by working at the Spiny Serpent didn’t make sense to her.

Though she was still somber over the talk of the war, she half smiled a little at the mention of her brother. “I assume that he has completely forgotten that we were supposed to meet up. I doubt that he will even show up at this point. Him being shocked about me relaxing a little isn’t much of a worry,” she said, although she still set her glass down self consciously. He didn’t seem dangerous–– which her brother would have worried about even though she was fully capable. Even if he were pureblood and a Lestrange, it was all too easy to believe the best of her former students. “I have two brothers–– Malcolm would have remembered that we were meeting up but Rob is still the baby of our family. That’s not too unusual for younger siblings. I’ll be surprised if he ever grows up. He might even be enjoying himself at a different pub right now.”

She sighed. “There’s really nothing I can do to get him to take my time more seriously. Actually–– I’m not keeping you from anything am I?” she asked, concerned. “I’ve been prattling on while I was waiting to see if Rob would show up but I didn’t ask if you were busy.” He did invite her to sit down and bought her the drink, but he probably hadn’t anticipated spending part of his evening with a former professor.

[hrodwulflestrange]

Rodolphus was used to thinking fast, as he usually had to whenever anyone asked him what he's been up to doing. However, any reasonable answer to a question such as hers was likely to sound unrealistic, or untruthful. Within seconds, he considered the options in his head, breezing past them and mentally ticking off each with a not bloody likely as he did so. I didn't fancy much that career anymore. What? No one just decides to drop the ambition they'd been aiming for their entire childhood. I needed a job quickly out of school, and this was the only one available. Believable, but not for a wealthy man like him. Why he'd need any job was a question in itself, though she'd already asked and answered that for him, so he was on the clear for that. The bar relaxes me. Ha! The bar was the most unsettling place he'd ever been in. Drunkards and homeless men in abundance –– truly, genuinely relaxing.

[ The honest answer –– I haven't had any bloody time to go job-seeking at the Ministry. Voldemort keeps me quite busy. ]

"My wife thought it the best for me," he said, before he could stop himself. Everything always seemed to go back to Bellatrix, even when it didn't. In fact, he'd gotten the job at the bar before he even married Bellatrix, but the woman before him did not need to know that. "As Lestranges, we've enough attention as is, so keeping a low profile would be better for us –– " He paused, hoping she wouldn't mentally wonder why they'd need to keep a low profile, because certainly simply because they received enough attention as is wasn't good enough a reason. "You know –– since we're starting a family and all." The lie came smoothly and easily, followed by a small, modest smile. "I mean, not just yet. She's not with child, but we're getting there." That was true, at least. They had been trying for ages.

"He seems the careless sort," said Rodolphus, watching for signs of offense in her facial expressions. "If I were you, I'd send him a very verbal and wordy Howler right this moment, embarrass him where ever he is –– hopefully, he is at a pub, much more embarrassing then, I think." The empathy he expressed was not entirely false; he'd actually done such a thing when Rabastan had forgotten to meet their mother at the Lestrange Manor to discuss his behavior at school. "Well, I am supposed to be behind the bar at the Serpent by now...actually, was supposed to be there hours ago. Talk about late blokes, eh? No worries, though, I'm sure Vlad won't mind." He very much won't, because he was quite glad to have a Lestrange working for him, so much so that he disregarded mostly anything wrong the lad did. "You've nothing to worry about. If I had anywhere important to be, I'd be there."

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & alastor

[enmatthison]

Alastor grinned widely, “I appreciate the thought, mate.” He gave Rodolphus a curt nod, “No offense taken. I s’pose it would’ve made me a very different man today if what you say is true but-” he shrugged, “Can’t very well change that now.” His chuckling subsided before he took another swig. He used to wonder what sort of person he’d be if he had been placed in Slytherin. Would he still be an Auror? Part of the Order? He would never truly know. Curious. There was an almost imperceptible pause from the other man, possibly nothing, but probably something Alastor would ruminate over later. He was a detective in a sense, gathering clues and hints before jumping to conclusions. Being wrong and acting on his beliefs could spell disaster so he always proceeded with utmost precaution… though the whiskey in his veins did little to help his state of mind. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek, just enough to draw blood and reignite his senses. He best be observant and subtle with the man sitting before him. "Ahh," Alastor nodded, a little more knowingly that he had hoped. "Only the most noble of pureblood families for the eldest Lestrange, ey?" he teased, raising his flask in cheers, hoping the fact that he was already well aware of his and his wife’s history wouldn’t deter the man. The last thing he wanted was to send the man hiding deeper in the shadows - it’d be impossible for Alastor to keep a tab on him then. "Ah, nae," he answered, waving a dismissive hand, "Ah’m past my prime anyhow, Lestrange. Besides, ah’ve got more interesting things to do with my time than entertain a wee lass." He gave a wink before he could stop himself, unsure where the action stemmed from, but he chuckled to hide his uncertainty. He supposed opening up about his lack of significant other would be beneficial to his cause. Rodolphus seemed like a smart man so offering details of his own life would hopefully elicit more information from the other pure-blood. Alastor would have to find out as much as he could if what his superiors were worried about holds true.  "Y’aren’t wed long are ye, mate? Marriage can’t be bad enough to send you drinking away yer problems already, can it?" 

[hrodwulflestrange]

It had just recently occurred to Rodolphus that both he and Alastor were dropping the word mate so casually, so comfortably, as if they've been 'mates' all their life. It wasn't as if they were never friendly towards each other, that wasn't it. But they were never exactly friendly either, were they? They were simply just. Just two beings coexisting. Now here they were, drinking together, reminiscing on old times at school as if they were good friends catching up on each other's lives. He had to admit though, it did not alarm him too much. The man was easy to play off of and quite the conversationalist. Rodolphus made sure to keep a good distance, however. As easygoing the man may seem, he was still an Auror, and he would still have someone like Rodolphus behind Azkaban's cells within seconds.

Perhaps if he had been in Slytherin, there would have been a potential friendship. Rodolphus sought out those with self-posession, those who lived for more than just purely living. It was obvious Alastor was a dedicated man, hesitant to just live life in a flimsy manner. Still though, being an Auror meant his dedications lied elsewhere, and Rodolphus could not, and should not, forget that. As alike as they were in confidence, their futures lay on different paths.

Rodolphus nodded, can't helping the grin sliding across his face. "It's not even entirely just that. I just got lucky, mate." Mate. "The woman I fell in love with happened to be a Black, is all. I know what you lot think of us. Shallow. Vain. Marriage for just that - marriage. But it''s different with the Missus and I. Not a doubt in my mind." This was perhaps the third time Rodophus mentally marked that he had used 'you lot' as in reference to Alastor and his sort of company. It was a clear sign to him that he did not think Alastor as existing within the same sort of universe he did, that they were on different teams.

"Ah, nonsense, Moody. I'm sure someone out there fancies the rugged sort. Besides, you're an Auror. Isn't that a charm with the women?" Rodolphus imagined it would be, as any career in the Ministry was one of power of some sort, and if there was anything he'd learned from his marriage, it's that Bellatrix lived for control and power.

The idea of his marriage being terrible enough to drive him to the point of alcohol made him want to laugh. If there was anything Rodolphus was ever entirely sure of, it was his relationship to Bellatrix. He chuckled a little - "Nah, no, of course not, oh hell. I just like to drink, you know? Why do people think that someone's life 'as got to be completely at rock bottom for them to have a good gin now and then? Why can't people just drink for the sake of drinking?" With that, he threw his head back and attempted to finish his flask, before he realized it had already been emptied. Disappointed, and a little embarrassed, he called for the barkeeper.

[toujoursbellatrix]

Chance Encounters || Bellatrix & Rodolphus || Early January, 1967

The woman wound her way through crowded street much like any of one of the shoppers out in the cold end of the afternoon. Diagon Alley was full of families spending their last few days together before their children would return to their schools. The atmosphere was pleasant nearly warm despite the harsh winter chill. It was too loud and full of potential recognition for the witch to be comfortable and she was glad when she reached the mouth of Diagon Alley’s darker sister street.  Those few who found their interests turning toward the dark shops lining the cobblestone street had little cause to laugh and chatter and any curious looks in her direction were carefully warded off by the hood of her dark fur lined cloak. She was glad for once of the natural cover that the cold weather afforded her wardrobe. 

Although she was used to being recognized and honestly took no small amount of joy in the reputation that her name alone carried with it she found that some circumstances called careful discretion. Perusing shops known for their dark and unsavory wares was certainly one of those circumstances. Although she was sure that many of her acquaintances frequented the shops with less care to avoid detection she knew the scandal that might come with her face spotted among rows of poisons and knives. It might even warrant a headline in the gossip rags that so delighted in finding the ‘dirty’ secrets of the opulently rich. She could see the headline in her mind. Heiress Spotted Slumming the Streets in Search of Illicit Potions.Her mother would be despondent and her father would stand behind her with a slight twist of disappointment on his lips that would hurt worse than all of her mother’s frantic reprimands. 

Of course the best way to avoid such a scandal would have been to avoid the dark alley altogether but she had never been very good at containing urges. She’d first decided to make the trip some weeks earlier when she was in her father’s study. She’d reached for an interesting looking statuette and he had sharply ordered her away from it. “That is not for you to touch Bellatrix, it’s a curiosity I have been working on and I’ve not quite tamed the curse yet.” A cursed object! and one she couldn’t touch! It had not taken her long to remember the man who had visited just before the curiosity had arrived on her father’s desk. She had overheard once that he worked at Borgin and Burkes and so her hungry mind had sent her off towards 13B Knockturn Alley. She told herself she was only going to look but she was already thinking of ways she could make the clerk tell her more about the nature of his delivery to her father. It drove her mad that he would not tell her when he was usually so open with her. What could be so forbidden that he would not teach her about it?

Her mind was so coiled up with frustration that she nearly missed spotting the familiar man on the other side of the street. He was a relation of her mother’s not important enough to be invited to smaller family events but still quite capable of trying to gain favor with her mother through gifts of information. He was sure to ruin her entire trip if he spotted her especially if he felt the call to escort her home away from her goal. “Salazar,”she cursed under her breath when he started to glance in her direction and she ducked into the next door that she came to finding herself in a dim lit pub. It was unpleasantly crowded and it didn’t take long for a man to jostle into her his eyes were bright with drink and he grinned at her with shocking familiarity despite being a stranger. “‘Ello darlin’ what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ ‘ere? Looks like you could use some company,” he reached for her and she sneered fiercely drawing herself up in a perfect display of well-bred Black posture her fingers already curling around the wand in her robe pocket. Fury at his manner of speaking to her began a fast boil in her chest. No one spoke to Bellatrix Black with disrespect. She would show him that. Unfamiliar as she was with such shady settings she hardly understood that a drawn wand could easily become a spark to a powder keg in a lawless pub so she was surprised when she felt a hand curl gentle but full of warning around her tensed arm. An angry curse flew to her lips before she tilted her head and found herself locking eyes with an unexpectedly familiar face. 

[hrodwulflestrange]

Business was lousy that morning, as it always seemed to be at the beginning of the year. It was still the time when people were attempting to stick to their New Year's resolutions (many of which surprisingly involved 'stop the alcoholism') and they were actually sticking to them. It wouldn't be long though, for Rodolphus knew too well the effect alcohol had on one's needs and they'd come crawling back to Spiny Serpent for a refreshment as soon as they caved in. He'd stopped trying long ago, for he was a bartender, and if it was inevitable for anyone, it was him. He was only fooling himself if he thought otherwise.

Rodolphus glared at the inhabitants in his pub that had clearly only entered it to escape the January cold. They sat in his booths, arms wrapped around themselves in an attempt at warmth, watching around warily to assure themselves that this simple pub was safe enough, that no one should harm them here, despite the fact that this was Knockturn Alley and all anyone ever did in such a place was harm. One caught eyes with him and he gave them a raise of an eyebrow, lacking the subtlety he was usually quite good at maintaining, but didn't care for in this moment. Vlad's policy was order something or you'll be hexed out, and Rodolphus had little trouble on seeing it through. The inhabitant got the message and - as if it was his idea - raised his hand to order. He called for Rod - barkeeper, he said. Another reminder that it was all Rod had been reduced to since he left school. No matter - he had connections at the Ministry, and he should be on his way quite soon.

The man ordered a pint, and as Rodolphus made his way back to the bar, he made sure to stop by the other tables and take their order, whether they wanted to or not. With a list of quickly-decided orders in his hand, he was back behind the bar, and finally busy as his hands moved with rapid movement, pouring drinks here and there.

The darkness of the pub seemed to follow him as he delivered the customers' drinks - they all stared warily at him as he passed. They must knew he was a Lestrange, for stares like that don't come with a simple threat to be kicked out of a pub if they didn't order something. His father had made quite the reputation for the Lestranges when he became a powerful man of the Ministry, working just a few steps below the Minister himself. Mildly bitter, Rodolphus was certain he'd get there as well; that'd he'd be able to instill more than just intimidation in these vistors' eyes. He wanted to be feared, admired, and looked up to, but preferably, all three.

As he turned to return to the bar, a small commotion at the pub's entrance caught his eye. Flickers of sudden movements and barely whispered words of obvious sleaze were heard, and it had piqued his interest enough to head over. A woman stood there, shadowed by her hood was her face, all but her lips, which pressed into a snarl. She faced a man who was standing entirely too close, and Rodolphus understood the situation at once, and if he didn't before, he definitely did as he watched the woman reach inside her robes for what was most clearly her wand. The woman was obviously already on high alert, and so he took care to not alarm her. Gently, carefully, and with all the patience he could muster, he placed his hand on her arm. Almost immediately her face turned towards him and he was momentarily worried that he might be the new victim of the curse playing on her lips. It took him several seconds, but there was no mistaking the woman before him. It had been years since he last saw her, not since Hogwarts, and though she meant little to him, he was intrigued, and almost glad, that he had come across her today.

"You don't want to do that, lass," he said, eyebrows raised in warning. "Not here. Handle your disputes elsewhere. I've no time for a war in my pub."

Bellatrix Black had always been a point of interest to him. He knew her only through rumors he heard while at Hogwarts, as well as the stories his mother told of the Blacks, which weren't always very pleasant. What she was doing here was beyond him. From what he's heard, the Blacks were one of such high prestige, higher than even that of the Lestranges, that they'd be unlikely to be caught in disreputable, grimy place such as Knockturn Alley, let alone a pub that belonged to it. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued, and he certainly wouldn't let her go now without a story.

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & alastor

[enmatthison]

"Ah, yes," Alastor agreed, "the reckless lion-hearted… There wouldn’t go a week without one of ‘em destroying some part of the building." He released a fond chuckle. Many of the Aurors he worked with now were Gryffindors, all hard-headed, firy, and stubborn as hell. Evidently those traits had useful applications in the real world. "I s’pose no one can be as brash as those lot." A smile stretched across Alastor’s face. Though some darker memories were still attached to his former school, his love for his house always seemed to remain. “Ravenclaw, thankfully. Though, I was a hat-stall. Asked the old sack about it a few years later an’ he said he nearly placed me in Slytherin,” the smile opened into a grin as he shook his head. “Don’t think it would’a been a particularly good fit for me, to be honest,” he admitted, remembering how -for a time after he’d discovered what path his life could have taken- he had wished he’d been a part of a closer-knit house like Slytherin. Something about academia made Ravenclaw extremely competitive… but soon after he grew out of his phase of adolescent existentialism, he realised being in Ravenclaw worked in his favour. Alastor almost raised a questioning brow at the man’s sudden change in tone, but managed to keep his expression placid, as if he hasn’t noticed in his current state. “Ah nae, I don’t have to do much paperwork over at head office as an Auror. Good thing too; ah’m a foot soldier at heart, mate.” He watched carefully for Rodolphus’ reaction, curious how the man would feel knowing he was speaking to someone at the fore front of the fight against the dark arts. Alastor was always subtle in his means of testing where people stood- it was an essential skill in his field of work. “Hmm,” was all the sound he made, a slow nod tipping his head. Alastor wasn’t sure what he was expecting of the man’s current occupation, but judging by how he had pursued leadership at Hogwarts… bartending was a rather interesting path to take. It didn’t seem like the man was very fond of the topic either so Alastor flashed a courteous smile and continued to listen. He would ruminate over this newly acquired information later when he had a clearer mind. "Ah, yeah? Congratulations, ey," he said, pulling out his flask from his inner breast pocket to raise into the air before taking a swig. Though Alastor’s superiors refused to use the title ‘Death Eaters' -as not to promote the use- during meetings he had been debriefed on numerous occasions on several powerful pure-blood families that he and his fellow Aurors should be wary of. The Lestranges and Blacks had both been included, as was the detail of the marriage between their eldest children. “Who's the lucky lass?” he asked with forced ignorance.

[hrodwulflestrange]

"Really? I believe you would have made quite the Slytherin, mate. I remember thinking so too. Ravenclaw...that house is too limited, I think. Forgive me if I offend. Slytherin is where you get it done." Says the bartender. The house of the eagle was far too involved in trying to develop their knowledge and all that philosophical nonsense, while Slytherin, in Rod's eyes desired to develop themselves personally, working towards their goals and aiming for the future. Nonetheless, it seemed Alastor Moody got where he wanted to be despite not being placed in Slytherin. Rodolphus was a biased man and he couldn't really regret it.

He mentioned he was an Auror, and this threw Rodolphus off. Mid-sip, he pauses and glances at the man. Auror - those specifically meant to capture dark wizards and investigate crimes having to do with dark magic. This man should be arresting him and instead, they were having a casual conversation about 'good ol' Hogwarts days' while drinking carelessly. Nonetheless, he shook of the wary feeling quickly, as continued drinking, hoping the momentary pause went by unnoticed by the man, though Rodolphus doubted it. He was an auror, trained to detect the slightest of clues and movements. But Rod was clever and deceitful, and he was sure he'd have the man on a good side again, should he now become suspicious. He was a Lestrange, after all, he had every right to be suspicious. Perhaps he should start developing a new reputation for his family, one that gives them the utmost protection, one such as those bloody Weasleys...but his father would have his head if he began to behave like those blood traitors.

He said with great pride and dignity –– "Bellatrix Lestrange. Well, Black, formerly, but I do love hearing Lestrange tacked on instead." And if Alastor wasn't dubious before, he surely was now. The Blacks were perhaps the most superior of them all, and with their name came more than just a few wary glances. Even so, he couldn't very well lie to the man –– he'd end up finding out some way, some how, and he'd have to question why Rod had lied in the first place. Protection, for himself and his wife.

"And you? Is there any lady out there proud to call Alastor Moody her very own?" Returning the question was only polite, but he was genuinely interested.

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

Minerva eyed the drink, hesitating over it. She picked up the glass, absently drumming her fingers against the glass as she debated the merits of actually drinking some of it. ‘Letting loose' was not in her plans for the evening. He seemed genuine and she did deserve to relax a little but it was difficult to let her guard down; she always needed to anticipate the worst.

[ What if another attack happened tonight? ]

"Thank you," she said again, merely politely holding the drink as she debated the decision.

She was still cautious after he mentioned Knockturn Alley––– yet he seemed just as worried about the times they were living in and the risk of death. He wasn’t likely to end up dead though, given his status–– no matter what he said. “Yes that’s precisely the sort of thing that helps me–– I think I would dwell on everything and never get anything useful accomplished if I didn’t have all of my students to worry about. I’m sure that the mischief my students get into is every bit as entertaining as the stories you hear in the bar–– a bit more cheerful though, I’d imagine,” she said. It was impossible to admit to how much she grieved for former students, sometimes even friends, who were attacked.

"A bartender isn’t the worst option–– but it’s not something I recommend students consider pursuing during career advice sessions, no," Minerva said with a small smile. Her shoulders relaxed, the stiffness in her posture eased, and she finally took a sip of her drink. "Teaching isn’t too different from when I taught your class. I’m a little better at it now, but students seem to develop more creative troublemaking over the years. Students mostly stay the same."

"Of course, the younger students can’t remember a time before the war–– so there are some differences," she admitted before taking another small sip. "Sorry–– the idea is to keep our minds off of it and I’m still talking about it."

[hrodwulflestrange]

The idea of reaching over and pouring the drink into her mouth himself crossed his mind once or twice...though the notion was simply ridiculous because she was his former professor and he a (usually) polite man. However, alcohol coursed through his veins and he could not think clearly. He also debated snatching the drink for himself, but he would not let her off that easy. Anyway, he would think it amusing that he got one of his former professors to drink a bit.

"I couldn't imagine being a professor, to be quite honest. I couldn't handle the students when I was a student, so how in the bloody hell am I supposed to as an adult? There's something to admire about you folks, I s'pose. Educating the next generations, building the Wizarding World, really." He wouldn't quite admit it out loud, but he too would not have been where he was without Hogwarts. Not that he was anywhere he'd particularly like to be, but he was not talking about that aspect of his life. Though he first discovered the Dark Arts in the library of Lestrange Manor, it was that Restricted Section in the old castle where he built upon it. It was the friendships that he made that encouraged him to push on in the subject, and it certainly wasn't hard to, considering how addictive it was.

He watched as she drank, glad at last that she had proved to be more than just an older woman with no idea on how to let go sometimes. "Ah, yes. Those career sessions –– I remember telling you I wanted to work in the Ministry. I was so excited, I was, to get out there and begin my own life and contribute to society. I suppose I am contributing now, in a different way. Alcohol does have its pros, after all."

The words war and children within the same sentence reminded him again of the recent article in the newspaper. He forgets sometimes that ordinary people have something sorrowful to look into when a child's death is involved . He supposed he should as well, and he did, really –– but none for any muggleborns, muggles, or any other breed that wasn't pure. They were doing them a justice, he thinks.

He considered ordering another drink for himself, seeing as his flask was empty and talk of war only pushed him to more alcohol, but he decided against it, not wanting to return home to Bellatrix in a complete state of inebriation. It was unfit for a man like him and he'd gone far enough.

"Right. Let's talk about your brother instead. The lad is really late now, what d'you suppose he's even doing?" In truth, he was only interested in hearing her answer to relate it to his own, and how younger brothers always seem to disappoint. "Imagine if he walked in now –– seeing his proper sister drinking alcohol and chatting it up with a Lestrange! Bewildered, he'd be, I'd imagine."

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

Minerva had started to shake her head and decline the drink but Rodolphus had already anticipated her protests.

"I really shouldn’t," she said. "Thank you. I couldn’t possibly… I appreciate it, but I think I could just have a gillywater." She didn’t ordinarily drink and when she did it was her usual gillywater but with a little gin added to it. She held her tongue rather than comment that she doubted she’d be in a similar state to the one he himself was currently in; other than a compromising incident in her younger years with firewhiskey she had never really been so much as slightly tipsy. It wasn’t apparant how insistent he was going to be about it but she was still hesitant.

Her eyebrow raised when he mentioned Knockturn Alley. She was well aware of the area’s reputation and exactly what sort of shops were open there. “I’ve never spent much time in the area,” she lied, her tone mildly disapproving. All of her excursions were in her animagus form during Order business. Her arms crossed and she shifted uncomfortably in the booth. The fact that he worked in Knockturn Alley made her nervous. She wouldn’t allow herself to become overly suspicious–– but she would be a bit more cautious.

"I didn’t think that you would need to work–– but I suppose keeping busy can be helpful during hard times. That’s what I do to cope with–– well, everything," she said.

"Teaching and waiting around for my brothers seems to occupy most of my time," she replied with a smile even though she was still uneasy. The Order meetings took up a significant amount of her time as well, though she didn’t mention that. "Hogwarts keeps me very busy. Someone has to deal with the paperwork involved–– even over the summer. We don’t get as much of a vacation as the students do. I don’t have time for much else."

[hrodwulflestrange]

The drink arrived and Rodolphus immediately slid it towards Minerva, the bartender in him gliding it with ease. "Gillywater's not nearly enough to let loose. You said it yourself - professors have lives as well, and though I'm definitely not equating alcohol consumation to having a life, it surely helps with one."

It's clear from the moment he mentioned Knockturn Alley that she's wary. The mood shifts, and it causes Rodolphus to become more aware of just exactly who he is. Even so, a part of him becomes begrudging towards her, as it was obvious from her answer and from her actions that she did not approve of the darkened alley. It seemed stereotypes came to even those who were believed to be intelligent. Though, how could he blame her? He was exactly the sort she should be wary of - everyone from Knockturn Alley was either a disgusting, homeless drunk or a Dark Arts practitioner, or, in a few cases he's come across, both.

"Exactly. Hearing these folks' stories day in and day out...it distracts you, y'know? It's good. Good for the mind. Besides, what else would I have to do with my time? Sit around and wait to die? Not likely." He was known to be blunt at times, so as he hinted that death was inevitable - especially in such a time as theirs - he eyed her expression. 

It sounded fulfilling enough - something Rodolphus could hardly say for himself. "And the students these days? Are they as promising as I was?" He said this with a grin, remembering the easier days of knowing exactly what he wanted to do and how simple it was to achieve it. "Just keep a closer eye on them so as to make sure they don't turn out to be bartenders."

       [ –– or, you know, a follower of the Dark Lord. ]

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & alastor

[enmatthison]

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his hazy state making it increasingly more difficult to keep a firm grasp on the other man’s trail of words. He raised his glass, mirroring the other’s actions. “Mm,” he hummed, “I s’pose yer old enough to make these decisions for yerself then, ey?” He hid a grin behind his tumbler before taking a hearty gulp. His amused expression promptly changed at Rodolphus’ following statement, a look of false-offense falling on his features. “I resent that, ye pretentious bastart. Society folk are just as foolish as the rest of us, no matter how much ye lot try to hide it,” he retorted, directing a pointed -but almost playful- look at the man, emphasizing a glance at the darkened patches of alcohol that still stained the former Slytherin’s robes. He found that most students in the emerald house held an air of pretentiousness about them, even the ones he could have possibly deemed friends. Alastor had no problem with people who had confidence in themselves -in fact he rather liked it- but during his time at Hogwarts he saw far too many Slytherins reduced to a shade of green that matched their ties once their inflated pure-blood egos were punctured by the exceptional performance of a ‘lesser' student. Though, the mindset was hardly ever limited to Slytherins and naive students; Al soon discovering adults deluding themselves just as often. He remembered one of the first cases he was assigned to after becoming an official Auror involved a heated tousle between a pure-blood witch and muggle-born wizard. It had all seemed so ridiculous at the time… Yet now people were being murdered in its name. Alastor’s train of thought abruptly brought him to wondering with what reasoning had he brought himself to be seated before Rodolphus in the first place. Now that he gave the situation serious consideration, a marriage between two noble pure-blood families, especially at times like these, were just enough to rouse suspicion in the distrustful Auror. "Ah- yes, the older one," he said, smiling warmly at Rodolphus to mask the thoughts flowing just below the surface as they shook hands. "And yer doing a mighty good job of that, mate," he added with a curt nod. With the question, Alastor glanced briefly at the already near-empty tumbler in his hand, a familiar pang of guilt bloomed in his chest. “Apart from the obvious,” he replied, lifting his glass slightly, “I’ve been at the Ministry for.. what is it- over a decade now I s’pose. It’s hard to imagine any of that would be changin’ now.” He threw back the last bit of whiskey, swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed from the guilt over his alcoholism, easily forgetting it as the liquid warmed his blood. "And what have ye been up to?" he asked, "Rich, pure-blood society boy.”

[hrodwulflestrange]

"Frankly, I remember the lot of Gryffindors and...Merlin, they were a mess. Surely you can't compare me to the likes of them. I believe...I believe it was one of them that flooded the...fourth floor corridor, was it?" The memory was vague, but Rodolphus remembers heading down to his common room from a class when he felt water under his shoes. He recalls the eye roll that followed, the feeling of wishing to hex whomever had been an idiot enough to do such a thing, and the mental promise that he should never associate with anyone outside his own house.

"What house were you placed? Clearly not Slytherin, I remember that...I wouldn't guess Hufflepuff, either." That left either the house of the lion or that of the eagle. Rodolphus had little more respect for the latter, simply because you couldn't have cunningness without wits, really, and additionally, the eagles tended to hold themselves with a little more dignity than the others.

A pang of envy hit Rodolphus unexpectedly, hearing that this man has a place in the Ministry. He wasn't fond of the little moments where he was a jealous, self-pitying man, so he kept this hidden as well as he possibly could, even with mostly alcohol controlling his mind. He imagined Alastor heading into work every morning with that big, jovial smile of his, alternately paralleling that of Rodolphus's hidden scowl when he clocked in to the Spiny Serpent.

"The Ministry, mm? Big man with a briefcase and all?" There was a certain bite to his tone, one he couldn't resist and almost regretted, except that he didn't. He deserved to be exactly that 'big man with a briefcase', had worked towards it all his life, and here he was, a filthy drunk with alcohol-stained robes.

"Me...? Well, I've got a great position at the Spiny Serpent...bartender and all...I love it, really, just my kind of job...Not that I need a job. It's my choice, see...I fancy having one...makes me feel -" Useful. But he cut off before he could properly finish and cleared his throat before downing the rest of his drink. "And, er, what else since Hogwarts...? Well. Got married. That's one. Not much else, really."

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & alastor

[enmatthison]

"Hmm, it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea," he said, his own third year eliciting more painful memories than not. He tipped his head back ever so slightly as the other man corrected his statement. "Perhaps that was the case, ey," he added simply. "Ah, I see. An’ how did— does that benefit us lot then?” he asked, narrowing his eyes,  ”Can’t be too important if y’aren’t makin’ an awfully big effort, mate.” He found himself teasing the other man, unsure why since they never spoke so much as a word to each other back when they attended school together. He would’ve given this more measured thought if it weren’t for the alcohol in his veins, hurrying his thoughts along. Rodolphus -the older one- his brain supplied suddenly, the figurative lightbulb flickering to life. His intoxicated mind raced unhelpfully with jumbled thoughts, his purpose for coming over here almost completely lost in the mess. He scratched at his stubbled chin blankly. "I suppose it may be unnecessary, but- I’m Alastor Moody if ye don’t remember," he said, his courteous side making an appearance, extending a hand across the table. "S’been a long day, ey?"

[hrodwulflestrange]

"Ah. Come on. That 'rich-pureblood-society-boy' thing only applies to one if they're still under the watchful eye of their strict society parents," Rodolphus said. He held up his flask –– "Which, you can see, I am not. Still, I had enough manners not to act a fool, like the rest of you." 

It seems he was always expected to put up this polished and refined demeanor he had perfected throughout his school years. As anyone would, he did grow tired of it –– the suits and  'pleasant' conversation with wealthy strangers. It was the only thing he occasionally liked (and similarly, hated) about his occupation at the Spiny Serpent –– the people there were nothing like the socialites of galas, ready to vent their entire life story to you if you got them drunk enough. Those at the galas chose instead to hide behind small glasses of wine while disallowing secrets to fall from their thin, made-up lips. 

"Unnecessary, indeed, actually. 'Course I remember you." Rodolphus jovially took the offered hand, shaking it with enthusiasm. His intoxicated mind was making him more keen than usual, as it usually did, Rodolphus being the chatty sort when under the influence. "Lestrange. Rodolphus, that is. Rich, pureblood society boy, currently drinking carelessly in a bar where everyone can see him, and not giving a single damn. That's me."

               [ –– and part of his intention, of course –– ]

"What of you? What have you done with your life then?"

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

Minerva eyed the flask when he held it aloft but didn’t comment on it. She naively wondered if he had lost friends–– it wasn’t likely that he had lost family to any of the attacks. It would have seemed implausible if he weren’t affected enough by it to be evasive about the subject. She wasn’t going to press the matter–– it would be rude–– if all he had volunteered to her question was the gesture to his flask.

"One of my brothers, yes," she confirmed. "He can be a bit forgetful. You’re right of course–– he could be running late. It’s not unusual for him. He’s also prone to forgetting that we were supposed to meet up," she said with a sigh. "It’s typical with younger brothers–– they never change."

She debated taking the seat, not sure if she wanted to spend time with someone that was currently intoxicated–– but then he was a former student. It wouldn’t hurt to wait around and see if her brother showed up and it was nice to know what her students were doing with their lives now. The rest of the pub was teeming with activity now and standing around while chatting was only putting her in other people’s way.

"Thank you," she said as she took the seat across from him. "He may not show up but I should stick around a little longer just in case. It’s not that he takes me for granted or anything of the sort–– but he can be a bit careless and insensitive." Her tone belied her statement however–– she did feel as if her brother didn’t value her time.

"Forgive me–– I have so many former students that it’s difficult to keep track. What have you been up to lately?" she asked, struggling to keep up with where all of her students now worked or what they were doing after their time spent at Hogwarts. She knew he was wealthy enough that he wouldn’t have to work, though she assumed he did; she paid enough attention to the news and gossip to know that he was married and to whom. They didn’t exactly travel in the same circles though, and other than that she was at a loss.

[hrodwulflestrange]

Rodolphus considered, once again, telling her of Rabastan. It would certainly give her something to relate to, something to have in common with this man –– 

              [ something to protect Rodolphus ]

–– but, again, he decided against it, only nodding nonchalantly, pretending to be vaguely interested. Instead, he watched her take the seat across from him, hiding his slight astonishment. He had not anticipated that she would accept his offer, but he accepted things as they had happened and gestured to the barkeeper, raising his hand and pointing a finger towards Minerva. He gave a small smile as a thanks to the barkeep, and turned his gaze to his former professor, expecting some sort of protest. 

"You look as if you need a drink. It'll be on me," he said. "Don't worry. I'll stop you before you go too far, so your brother won't see you all...well...this." He motioned towards himself, his inebriated, unprofessional self. 

"Nothing much, really. Keeping up with the Spiny Serpent and all...y'know –– the bar in Knockturn Alley?" Rodolphus eyed her warily, expecting a reaction of some sort. "I'm the barkeep there...I know,  such an ambitious career for a bloke like me, hm?" There was a tone of bitterness to his voice, and he instantly regretted it. He didn't love his job, but he loved to pretend like he did, for the sake of his reputation. 

Nothing much, really. It was the default answer for anyone who didn't want to conversate about what they were actually doing. For him, 'nothing-much-really' was 'a lot, actually'. There wasn't ever a day where he was doing 'nothing much, really,' (aside from now, obviously, but the break was clearly needed). He was nearly always occupied with something, be it at the bar, or tending to his wife's needs, or ––

          [ –– or breaking into a house, silent as a lamb, armed                                  with a wand and an explicable thrill to harm –– ]

"And yourself? Besides the teaching,....and the waiting around for forgetful brothers?" 

[hrodwulflestrange]

there's no time anymore — drabble

—  circa 1967

"You shouldn't have done that."

The beauty of Rosamunde Lestrange had clearly faded away years ago, the youthful face replaced by decades of stress and her lovely chestnut hair now a dull gray. She was weak, her back hunched and her face in her hands. Her dress was perhaps the only feature of her that remained untouched, still as new and elaborate as the day it was tailored.

She lifted her head from her hands and Rodolphus first saw red eyes. Then, he scanned over the trembling lips, the tears threatening to pool over. There was an ache within him that longed to stop everything he was and was becoming in order to convince her all would be alright.

But there were things to do, and a weeping mother would not be the deciding factor for him. He was doing what was best for them all, and though she'd be hurt, her well-being would be intact and that was what mattered.

— "What was I to do? You are my son, Rodolphus. I cannot allow a father to speak to his son that way."

"I am your son, but I am no longer a child."

Her eyebrows crinkled in pain as she accepted this, turning her eyes downward. She folded her hands in her lap and pursed her lips. Guilt ate at Rodolphus, seeing her this way. The last thing an aging woman needed was a reminder that the past was just that — in the past, gone from present existence. 

With a sigh, he stepped forward and knelt before his mother so that his eyes met her stained ones. Hesitantly, he took both petite hands in his one right and clutched it.  

Her eyes opened to see her son, and behind them, Rodolphus could see slight shock. It was obvious that she clearly was surprised by Rodolphus's present actions, as nowadays, he was hardly one to comfort. But this was his mother, and she was everything, and of course he would have eventually. He had to.

In his own way, of course. After all, Rodolphus could only take things one step at a time.

— "Look at me. I'm grown up. I've moved past the part of our lives where it was all... sweets, and naps. You need to as well."

And with that, he lifted himself from the porch floor and released her hands. She did not call after him as he walked off the path leading to the gate. She only watched wistfully, pathetically wishing that Rodolphus had never grown up. 

—  circa 1953

[ Stubby legs swung nonchalantly from the bench. Rodolphus, at the meager age of six and with the genuine innocence of a child, sat perched at its edge, his hands wrapped around the sides. He tugged at his tie, attempting to reposition it from  its uncomfortable placement. Frowning, he began to grow frustrated, until a hand reached from out of nowhere to assist him.

He looked up. His mother stood before him, unsmiling, adjusting his tie. When finished, she knelt to Rodolphus's height and gently smoothed his hair to one side. Rod gave her a smile of reassurance. He saw the affect it had on her, her features immediately softening as she allowed for the corners of her lips to turn up. Without a word, she took the seat besides him. 

"This place is really rather big, isn't it?" said Rodolphus. His mother turned her gaze to him. He was staring out across the front yard, into the woods beyond. 

"I - I suppose so, yes."

"Much too big for a family of three," he continued. "Well, and Harold, but he doesn't really live here so he doesn't count." His mother said nothing to this — only pondered where he was going with this topic of conversation.

"Yes, too big. Too big. And dangerous." At the last word, he turns to look at Rosamunde, his face suddenly serious, though still not without the child-like optimism ever present. He takes the opportunity to hold her hand in his, and she could feel her eyes welling up. She was always very sensitive, triggered by the smallest of things. 

"It'll be alright, mum. You'll see. Whatever's out there, we'll go see it. You and me. We'll get away from this place, and dad, too. He can stay, if you like. Would you want him to? I think so. It'll be alright."

By this point, she's crying completely, her free hand muffling her mouth so her sobs are not entirely heard. Rodolphus remains fixed on her, holding her hand and watching as her emotions pour relentlessly out. She never likes to say she hates her life, because that would mean she regrets it, and she would never regret Rodolphus. He was the light in her darkness, the only quality of her existence that she was thankful for. She hoped, in this moment, as she took his hands in hers and held them to her heart, that he would never change. ]

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & alastor

[enmatthison]

Alastor found himself sat at the bar, the laughter and flurry of noise fading into the background as the steady flow of alcohol mixed into his veins. It had been a long day, consisting of meetings with various Ministry administration and further investigation at the Bandhold residence. He was more drained than usual and his only solace lay in the auburn drink before him. After a few glasses, Alastor turned to gaze out at the patrons of the pub, their happiness puzzling him as his own troubled thoughts bubbled at the back of his mind. Among the happy faces he picked one out that was on the cusp of recognition… Lestrange. The politically inclined Slytherin boy a few years below him from back in his time at Hogwarts. He always remembered those who placed themselves in positions of leadership, the ambition and confidence drawing his attention. He couldn’t quite recall hearing much about him after graduation, and he wondered idly why that was the case for the promising Lestrange Heir. After tossing back the most recent tumbler of whiskey, he ordered another and as it arrived, he saw the former Slytherin empty the contents of his own drink onto his robes. A small amused smile spread across his face in his drunken state. He rose from his seat -uninhibited in his inebriation- and strode over to the other man’s booth, placing down the glass in front of the brunette before occupying the seat across from him, signalling the bartender for another. He was curious as to what the man had gotten up to in recent years, the once famous surname now on the back burner of the public eye, so why not find out now?

"Bleedin’ shame, that,"

He pointed at the alcohol soaked clothes, arching an eyebrow.

"If memory serves, ye was less clumsy and more well put-together back at Hogwarts. Or- as well put-together as a third year could be a’least."

[hrodwulflestrange]

He's initially offended, for some off reason. It'll drive him nuts for the next twenty minutes because he knows why, he just simply doesn't like the rationale. Why would one approach a man who appears to be off his rocker, drunk and pouring alcohol onto his robes? Pity, perhaps? A chance to gain a bit of truth from a man who so rarely yields it? Either way, the joke was on him. Within the ghost of a smile playing on the older man's lips, Rodolphus could almost see his own pathetic reflection.  

—  "Ah. Third year. Those were the times, weren't they? You might also remember that back then, we weren't dealing with a war." Rodolphus considered this before shaking his head and correcting himself. "Well, perhaps we were, but we weren't too well aware of it.

"Also, you've no idea what went on in the Slytherin common room, alrigh'? That 'put-together' act? That was for you lot's benefit. Still is. I just don't bother to hide this anymore." He gestured to his appearance, disorderly and shaken. "No point, anyway."

Alastor Moody was something else, Rodolphus had always thought. He was certainly a lot bigger than the other kids back at Hogwarts, but this provided little intimidation factor for Rod, as size proved nothing. He remembers thinking how much of a Slytherin the man made, with his ambition and calculating mind. Otherwise, not much was ever felt about the man. 

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

Minerva primly smoothed out her robes as she eyed his disheveled appearance.

"Times have been very hard," she agreed quietly, though she didn’t comment on the alcohol consumption. Normally she drank Gillywater rather than firewhiskey or anything else–– even while out with friends. She was less than thrilled by his drunken state but wasn’t going to be rude about it (intoxicated people weren’t exactly amenable to those sorts of comments–– there was little point). He had obviously had far too much to drink and Minerva suspected the bartender should have cut him off a while ago–– though the flask he held in his hand partially explained his current condition. She never wanted to pick up that particular vice and didn’t see much sense in drinking; she liked being completely in control of herself.

Everyone was dealing with the hard times in their own ways.

The corners of her mouth almost flickered up in a smile. Almost. “Professors have lives too, you know,” she told him, amused. It seemed that some of her students never really stopped thinking about her as their professor–– even over a decade later. “I realize I spend more time in Hogsmeade than London, but I do leave the castle sometimes. I was supposed to be meeting a relative of mine. It seems that he forgot about it.”

Her lips pursed together, disappointment evident.

"It doesn’t matter though I suppose. How have you been?" she asked–– as it was obvious what he was doing here.

[hrodwulflestrange]

Chuckling a bit, Rodolphus held up his flask as an answer to her question. Alright, it's not as if he was an absolute alcoholic –– though, he was certainly making himself out to be one. In fact, he could actually handle his alcohol quite well. Exaggeration for the benefit of others, one could say. Or himself, more like. It would go like this –– That 'drunkard Rodolphus Lestrange' is the least likely bloke to be a man-murdering Death Eater! Don't be ridiculous! The man can't even hold his drink down, what makes you think he's capable of the Cruciatus?" People were basic and easy to fool, so eager to believe something if it meant they were never wrong about someone. Of course, there was always the matter of his brother to give him off. The sheer fact that he was related to someone as reckless as Rabastan would be enough for authorities to gain suspicion. Perhaps Rodolphus should keep his distance. 

"A relative, you say?" He sees the dismay in her eyes and he is reminded of Rabastan yet again, how this very relative of his did not always show up for their monthly catch-ups. Well, that was not true –– he did show up, only, usually an hour and a half after the appointed time. Rodolphus was a patient man, and he wasn't going to let Rab off that easy. He knew what the latter was trying to do with these late arrivals –– make him furious so as to never have to make another appointment again. 

Rodolphus thought of relating this to his former professor, but decided against it. She did not need a reminder that he was related to that chaotic man. 

"What if 'e's jus' runnin' a bit late?" His speech slurred clumsily –– all for show, of course. "It happens, you know.

"Then again," he continued, "Family'll do that to you. Too often we'll forget what's most important to us." He gestured towards the empty booth seat opposite his table. "Why don't we both wait, see if they turn up after all?"

[hrodwulflestrange]

secrets of the darkest art —— drabble, circa 1954

Summer time was his favorite time, because it gave the library a more vibrant atmosphere. It could get lonely and dark in there, but Rodolphus was more concerned about the dull aspects of it all. It was tiring, having to read about spells and how magic came to be every single day. Repetition is education! Certainly, drilling the same information in his head every single day was not a legitimate way of education.

One evening, as the words on the page of his book began to blur from staring at them far too long, Rodolphus's mind wandered away from the text. No longer was he thinking of bloody Chauncey Oldridge and the first case of Dragon Pox. He blew air through his lips noisily as he hung his head in his hand, its elbow which rested on the table. Dark brown eyes wondered around the grand library in boredom, taking in the wooden beams intricately carved with various symbols unknown to Rodolphus. He scanned over the rows of books and wondered if he'd ever get to read a book that didn't have to do with boring old wizards. 

Curiosity got the best of him and he leaped off of his chair, not bothering to keep an eye on the door should his father pass by and catch him neglecting his studies. (At this point, he'd rather be punished for ignoring his work than actually do his work.) 

He found himself by the shelves, bending his stubby legs to peer at the bottom row. He pouted his lips in frustration when he saw that they were all some variation of the book he was assigned today  —  essentially, the same information, only in different words and phrasings. He stood straight and peered upwards, at the books beyond. Surely they were a bore as well. There had to be something here of moderate interest. 

Then, something caught his eye.

—— Now, when a child is faced with something such as a secret, it piques his utmost interest. It gave him a chance to know something utterly delicious, dripping with possibilities and mischief. Children thrived on secrets, and what they did with them was ultimately up to them. Entirely.

So of course, when Rodolphus Lestrange's seven-year-old eyes glanced over the title Secrets of the Darkest Art, it remained there. He tilted his head, in the way all children do when inquisitive or interested. Hesitantly, his hand reached out for the book on the shelf, clad in leather and bound by a thin rope. He tugged it from its place and it fell loosely, a puff of dust coming out after it. After a soft cough or two, he patted away the dust and clearly read the title out loud, eyes beaming with excitement. 

Outside the library entrance, Pyrus Lestrange stood, watching his son. At this moment, he remembers very clearly what his wife says to him constantly when they spoke of matters such as what to teach their son. "That's ridiculous. You absolutely cannot allow a seven-year-old child to read such matter." Pyrus, faced with the undeniable fact that she was , perhaps, right, would grumble quietly and throw Rodolphus yet another book on the bland history of some ancient sorcerer. 

Now, however, he watched keenly as his son flicked through the pages of a Dark Arts book. What he should have done was gone in and snatch the book away from his hands. What he should have done was scold him for navigating away from his assigned text book. 

What he actually did was walk away, the beginnings of a smile upon his aging face. 

[hrodwulflestrange]

                    REFRAGATIO DEVELOPMENT - THE TRUTH INSIDE

MBTI  — ESTJ

Alignment - True Neutral

Temperament - Choleric

ESTJ - ESTJs are noted for their take-charge attitude, and this is perfect for Rod because, well, this is his primary attitude. He hates having to follow orders and he hates not being in control, because in his eyes, he knows best. 

They are described as dedicated, honest, and loyal. When Rodolphus commits to something, there's very little that will sway him from it, be it a person, relationship, or cause. He has a firm belief in remaining true - otherwise, what is life for? He is extroverted in the way that he enjoys company and thrives on social situations, even depending on them to make a name for himself. He uses his senses in the way that he remains realistic in day-to-day situations and chooses reason and logic over any gut feelings he may have. He focuses on his thinking rather than feelings because he knows how easy it is to be lost in one's guilt, terror, or love. He is judging rather than perceiving because order is necessary for him, and he can not be at rest when there is work to do.

Alignment - I was a little surprised at first to see that Rod had gotten the True Neutral as a result, but as I read on, I found that it made sense for a character such as he. Admittedly, I was expecting a result along the lines of ~Something~ Evil, but Death Eaters can be much more complicated than that. Basically, he does what is best for him and the people he cares for. He has little care for what happens to others, whether it be good or bad, and he has no real urge to implicitly harm people, unless given a reason - and unfortunately, his poor reasoning has to do with their blood status. 

Temperament - "From one extreme to another," it reads. This is Rod in a phrase, essentially. One evening, he could be chatting it up with his social standing mates at some ball his mother made him attend, laughing and drinking his way through the evening rather boisterously, earning the attention of everyone in the room as they marveled. The next evening he could be in a terribly piss-poor mood, a wand in his hand and some poor muggleborn on the other end. His high and lows were just that - and perhaps only that. Additionally, he was rather controlling, and leader-like, as the choleric description calls. It's one of the reasons Rodolphus does not favor the war - he did not start it, and therefore he must either be uninvolved or a follower, the latter of which was the least beneficial.

[hrodwulflestrange]

{{ solitude — rodolphus & minerva

[hopeforredress]

Minerva had spent an entire half hour waiting for her youngest brother Rob at the Leaky Cauldron to meet with him, irritable over his lack of punctuality at first and eventually miffed that he hadn’t bothered to show up. He knew that her time was important –– it wasn’t that she minded visiting with her youngest sibling, since she did care about him deeply, but his lack of organization bothered her and not showing up when he said that he would struck her as very insensitive.

She was stuck in a pub when she could have been working on Order business, work for Hogwarts, or even enjoying the day. If she weren’t so preoccupied with those very important duties she could have used time spent with needlework and her newest copy of Transfiguration today or visiting with one of her friends. It was rare that she wasn’t working and she did enjoy spending time with friends. 

Now she was just irritable, though she supposed she could salvage her evening (it wasn’t completely wasted)–– after she sent an owl to Rob asking him to either remember their planned visits or tell her if he couldn’t make it.

There was no sense on waiting any longer –– she walked towards the door to leave.

“Ah! Do be careful!” Minerva snapped as the usually patrician looking man–– he hardly looked that way at the moment–– sloshed alcohol down his robes, some of it getting on her emerald ones on her way to the doors.

The stern tight lipped disdainful expression she wore was similar to the ones she gave students–– though he was only a former student and that had been years ago when she was still relatively new to teaching. Her expression quickly changed to a more stoic one that concealed her slight nervousness (not fear) over running into him. If she hadn’t already been irritable she wouldn’t have snapped.

She flicked her wand and wordlessly dried the spilled alcohol.

[hrodwulflestrange]

In his drunken haste, he had failed to notice anyone else around him. The sudden yelp yanked him from his stupor and he stood abruptly, turning to his left. 

–– "Ah. Professor?" Rodolphus peered over at the woman and saw his alcohol upon her robes, as well as a not-very-pleased look on her face. Though, granted, she generally did never look too pleased. He seemed to be eleven again, having just been caught in the Quidditch changing rooms with a stolen pint of firewhiskey. By a force of habit he began to hide his flask inside his robes, but not before realizing how foolish he was being. "Well, this is just slightly embarrassing." 

He took a look at himself. His robes were crumpled and various spots were soaked with alcohol. He was unrecognizable; how did he let himself stoop this low?

Clearing his throat, he straightened his back, pulled his robe lapels even and sat back down in his booth. "Apologies. Rough times like these, one can't exactly control their alcohol consumption properly, can they?" 

Though he was intoxicated, unprofessional, and improper, some part of him was glad for this run-in. Minerva McGonagall had always rather been one of the stern sorts and it was as amusing for him as he probably appeared to her, that she was at a pub. "What's a woman like you doing here of all places on a day like this?"

[hrodwulflestrange]

"Leave this place and don’t return."

— “Got nerve, have you? Stop yourself before you do or say something you’ll regret.” 

He knew what she must be feeling. It wasn’t so long ago when he sat at the back of her classroom, back straight, quill posed to write - a student marked for success. He remembers running through the halls of Hogwarts past curfew and watching around the corners for this woman in particular - the only Professor who wasn’t fooled by his slick excuses. Oh, how they used to talk about him. How he was fated for a life trailing behind You-Know-Who’s feet, doing his dirty work. And now, he could see in her eyes and words that she realized all that talk was not for nothing, that they were right about him. 

Of course they were right. Was he really fooling anyone? No one tinkers with the Dark Arts and comes out unscathed, unaffected. Once they were in, they were in for life. To add on, Rodolphus was good at it. It took him a while to admit, but clearly, this was what he was meant for, and if anyone thought differently, then, well, they were the fools. 

— "I won’t return if you won’t give me a reason to." That they should be fighting on opposing sides, that they were enemies in this lethal, childish, bloody game - it was irony amusing itself once again, as it tends to do in war times. 

[hrodwulflestrange]

"D-don’t approach me."

It seemed his name had made it around even to the civilians. Something about that fact made his lip curl in satisfaction, and he took a step closer to the girl, even if just to frighten her. He threw his hands up, as if to prove he had nothing up his sleeve (though, this did not prove anything, because he could reach for his concealed wand and have it out within two seconds, should he needed to).

In all truth, she really was in no danger - that is, if she did not have a reason to be in opposition against him. 

— “I wouldn’t dream of it, lass.” 

Before, he was uneasy from the fact that his name had made the papers, that the civilians he often chatted with in the pubs would now give him wary glances rather than a decent tip. His cover was blown, his character in risk -  he would have to go into hiding, like the others. But now, now that he saw the effect he had on people, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed not having to pretend, not having to shake hands with those whose head he desired to see on a spike. The terror in eyes as he walked past, there was something gratifying about it all. To be feared - it gave him the greatest vigor, the greatest confidence, to do something just a little bit wicked.