#rod 001

[missus-lestrange]

These Hearts of Ours | B&R

@viciousvisage

“Miss, you can’t--” a withering look cut off the rest of the sentence and an apology was quick to follow. 

The book snapped shut in her hand. You can’t. The words stirred something wild in her. You can’t. Her palm twitched for her wand, and she felt its blackthorn length wriggle at her near-command. Teeth clenched, brows narrow, Bella resisted the impulse to demonstrate the limits of what she could and couldn’t do. She wouldn’t lower herself to it, wouldn’t condescend to a lesson he’d learn sooner rather than later. 

Instead she paid him precisely what the book was worth, in a spray of sickles that clattered to the ground at his feet. If he protested she didn’t hear it, just strolled past him toward the exit, blind to the patrons that made a path for her. Looking down at her book, a small smile crept over her lips. She traced gloved fingers over the embossment, heart warming at the somewhat worn gilding. 

She’d parted ways with Cissa to peruse the bookshop, not in search of any particular title but because she had a fondness for books some found surprising. Spotting the poetry book had been pure chance. She’d have called it fate if she believed in that kind of foolishness. 

Now, outside, features made rosy all over again by the bracing wind that cut through Hogsmeade, she looked up from the old, leather bound pages and searched her lively surroundings. Gaze drawn to him by a magnetic pull she could neither name nor deny, her small smile warmed at the edges before she dismissed it altogether and closed the gap between them. 

Book held behind her back as she approached the tall, smartly dressed wizard, Bellatrix purred, “Rodolphus, my love, if you look any more grim people might think you’re headed to a funeral.” Her lips pursed, but her smile was in her eyes. Bella sucked her bottom lip, nibbled it lightly, then allowed her smirk to surface again with the confession, “I bought you something. Guess what it is and I’ll give you a prize.”

[remoonusarchive]

When: October 31st, 9.30pm Where: Forbidden Forest Who: Remus && @lestrangeness​

A bit of firewhiskey intermingling with a high from both pre-party weed and the absolute hilarity of getting ready and Remus felt like he was walking on air. He barely had  to fake James’ charisma and optimism. He took a great deal of amusement out of the costumes surrounding him and the comments of a few students who had avoided the forest in the past spreading rumours about the creatures which dwelt there. And yet, Remus also felt like his feeling comfortable in the forest put him in an important position to keep an eye on those who might fall under suspicion. There was a thread of fear between the students, wondering if this night would end the same as the welcome back party. So, Remus found himself gravitating towards people he would rather have nothing to do with. He was in the Order and he was a prefect. His job started now.

“Lestrange,” he said with a nod, as he took a chocolate skeleton from the snack table. “I didn’t take you for a Halloween costume person.” The line was delivered drily, only a hint of irony despite the way he looked Rodolphus’ ‘costume’ up and down. And here he thought he hadn’t gone to much effort, doing no more than taking his dormmate’s clothes and dying his hair.

[thehunteternal]

Of Devils and Wolves | Closed Starter

Fenrir had been summoned. For what, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. The mutually beneficial symbiosis of his relationship with the Death Eaters meant that, whatever this was about, it’d eventually lead to bloodshed. It was his most valuable contribution to their little crusade, after all. His eagerness for discord.

Coattails flapped in his wake as he marched through the estate toward the study, footfalls heavy and commanding. Glinting with grandeur and excess, the manor was an elegant homestead; even if it didn’t feel like a single soul really inhabited the place. It was all for show. A safe place for a meeting without raising suspicions.

Private talks with Fenrir Greyback would raise some eyebrows, after all.

Once he was at the study’s shut door, Fenrir didn’t bother knocking. He pushed inside, throwing the door open as he stepped over the threshold. Sharp hazel eyes landed on the finely dressed man on the other side of the room. A nod in the warlock’s direction was his only acknowledgment of the other man.

Without a word exchanged between them, he strode over to the wet bar and prepared himself a drink. He tore off the stopper of an expensive looking crystal decanter and lifted the bottle to his nose to sniff what was inside. Whiskey. The good stuff by the smell of it. He grunted an approving sound before a generous amount was poured into a glass.

Several gulps warmed his chest before settling in his gut. With a quarter of the whiskey left in his glass, he finally returned his focus on to Rodolphus Lestrange. There was a tenuous respect between them, an understanding that Fenrir didn’t share with most people. Least of all the snivelling welp that was Malfoy.

Narrowed eyes deadlocked with the other man’s, Fenrir wondered at the purpose of his summons with a deeply growled, “What.”

@viciousvisage

[trackitbinch-blog]

21/03/2017

THREADS

Rodolphus : 001

Regulus : 001

STARTERS 

Greer : 001

MEMES

Relate to a muse : 002

[frigore-ollivander]

@rodolphusleperfect

It was becoming a bit of a routine for Garrick to end up stumbling halfheartedly back to the workshop. On this particular night he’d ended up being fairly light with his drinking, on account of being out of funds to do otherwise. It was a mixed blessing to not be able to go back into Gringott’s after the attack, perhaps, but Garrick thought of it only as an annoying inconvenience right now as he walked along the dimly lit streets in his slightly uneven, dejected walk.

Rodolphus Lestrange was certainly not someone he expected to see wandering the streets at this hour, but he recognized the other man’s familiar walk and posture, and he was caught for a moment between hurrying to catch up with him and letting him go. He was saved the decision by the curb, which tripped him up as he continued to walk, and he stumbled with a bit of a swear before righting himself again. When he looked up, Rodolphus was looking at him. 

“Evening,” he mumbled, discovering of course too late that he didn’t want to talk to Rodolphus at all. Still, he tilted his head to the side. “Little late to be out and about for you, isn’t it?”