rodolphus lestrange @theelderlestrange - Tumblr Blog

LOCATION || Helena Rosier’s home TAGGED FOR @helenahuff-rosier

Rodolphus was very aware that he was bleeding, but that was low on his list of priorities at the moment. First on his list – always first on his list – was his family. Rabastan had not been involved tonight; Evan had not been involved tonight. Once that was squared away, he could move on to secondary concerns. He had not been caught and the mission had been a success, no fuck-ups and no failures he’d have to report back to the Dark Lord for punishment.

But he was bleeding. With everything else checked off his list, that became more important by the moment. He was bleeding – but that was not all. His rib was broken. It was only a vague awareness that he felt toward that. His left leg was unable to support his weight; his shoulder was disastrously out of place. He was broken, broken, broken in a way that Rodolphus Lestrange did not become.

And yet, he was. He had.

He was not sure how he arrived at Helena Rosier’s front door...but it was no mystery why he had arrived there. From the first breath of his life he could remember, Rodolphus had been taught that family was everything. There was a dual meaning to that, that clever little saying: family is everything. It was not just the fact family was all one could rely on. It was because family relied on one, too.

The meaning was twofold. Rodolphus knew that his family would always be there for him – and, by extension, that that he had no choice but to be there for them. That meant: do not bleed in the street. That meant: do not get arrested. That meant: Rodolphus, if you don’t think you can apparate and the two choices available are risking being seen or relying on even a distant, by-marriage relative like Helena Rosier, always pick the option that includes family.

Reaching her door, Rodolphus lifted one hand to knock. She lived alone, which was bloody stupid of her if not bloody convenient for him tonight. He ran through a loose script in his head, tried to think of something to say that was passably commanding – without jeopardizing the hospitality situation, no matter what reception awaited on the other side of the door.

I need... No, no, he wasn’t going to say that. Rodolphus was not raised to need things, much less to admit it. That wouldn’t do.

The door swung open and, despite his better insticts, Rodolphus fixed Helena with a cold stare.

“How are you with bone-setting?”

#c:helena

gigicatchlove‌:

Greta shivered when he spoke to her again. She hand’t felt this belittled in quite some time. She felt small and stupid - like a little girl that was being scolded by an adult. His ice cold voice and distant eyes made Greta want nothing more than to push past him and just get out of his way but he had provoked something inside her and she was simply too proud to do that. So she pulled herself together.

“Of course I’m going in. Why else would I be here?” She said plainly and pushed the door to the bar open. She didn’t bother holding it open for him and actually pushed it a little as she let it fall back towards its frame. Greta hoped he would hit his head on it. Hard.

When she got in, she took a moment to take in the place. She liked what she saw. The room was dimly lit and had a fireplace that strange looking man where sitting in front and whispering adamantly. There were other customers but as she knew noone, she found her best chance was the bar. She walked towards it, ordered a Scotch on the rocks.

Rodolphus blinked at the door that had shut in his face – blandly at first, then with an unpleasant, curdling frown of shock. It was not that he wasn’t used to people being icy; one look at his wife, and several of the other headstrong women that ran circles around some of the lesser Death Eaters they were closest to, was enough to prove that. Honestly, he just hadn’t thought of that meek, sparkling, doe-eyed thing as anything capable of leveling up – producing any hint of a spark, much less one that could catch him off guard. However momentarily.

With a scoff, low and under his breath, Rodolphus pushed open the door for himself and strolled across the familiar threshold. When he’d set out for the evening, he’d wanted nothing more than to drink deeply and shut out the world around him. Now, there was an annoying buzz of curiosity, nagging at the sharper corners of his brain. He wanted to know who this girl knew; why she was here.

“Drinking alone, or did you get stood up in spite of your shiny personality?” Rodolphus asked under his breath, sidling up beside her at the bar. Despite their proximity, he did not make eye contact with – or even look at – the blonde. He signaled the bartender instead, his usual order placed with just a small wave and a wink. “Color me surprised.”

#c:greta

lyinginthemeadowes‌:

Dorcas hated losing, but lately it seemed to be the one constant in her life. An assignment gone awry landed three of her squad members in their assigned beds at St. Mungo’s, shorting her hit squad an adequate amount of bodies to continue out in the field for the day. Not only did the highly sought perpetrator escape in a haze of smoke and choppy confringo charms severely injuring half their unit, but now the remaining hit wizards were stuck on godforsaken desk duty until their counterparts recovered ( which might as well have been the unforeseeable future ). Dorcas couldn’t shake this feeling of defeat; to be so close, to almost have what you want in your grasp—until it’s suddenly ripped away in the most devastating way. It was unnerving to say the least and the hit witch was gravely in need of a heavily spiked drink to take the edge off the day’s harsh sting.

When the time finally came she couldn’t flee from the confines of The Ministry fast enough. Her steel toed combat boots scuffed along the payment as she absentmindedly paced the streets in her woe. Dorcas had no particular destination in mind; she was well-acquainted with these parts of London, often being assigned this particular region for patrols during her earlier days working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She paused when she reached The Raven Call’s low-key entrance. The hit witch had a few encounters at the lounge in the past, all of which were always work-related, though she would be lying if she didn’t admit she was intrigued by its allure.

It was like a vortex that drew her in—as most things did that she couldn’t quite understand. Though she stood frozen in place, there was a roaring ocean beneath her still carefully collected exterior. She obsessed over the outcome of the day, playing it over in her head again and again until she arrived at the point where she stood outside of an establishment that didn’t exactly scream ‘ her type of crowd, ’ but that had never deterred her ( after all, it came with a day’s work ). She was blissfully unaware she had ventured so far into her own head until a stranger’s voice came booming from behind: “ I’d like to see you try, ” Quipped Dorcas as she turned to sharply lock eyes with the man who hastily approached. “ I’ve had quite the day and I’m just waiting for the opportunity to take it out on something—or someone. ”

“Either way, you’d be out of my path and I’d be satisfied,” said Rodolphus, lifting his eyes so that he could see the witch better – and so that the shadows that hugged the alley walls fell away from his face, highlighting the proud Lestrange cheekbones and a glare that might have been called cold if it didn’t inspire the word amused at that very moment, instead.

There was something to running into someone like this woman – though she was a gnat in his eyes, fit to be shooed away or else crunched under the wingtips of his shoe if he felt like indulging himself.

He could still recognize the spark in the eye of someone looking for a fight; someone that spent their time looking at enemies in every passing face because they’ve already resigned themselves to a life of arguments and fighting, tried to see the best in it because looking for peace never really occurred as an option.

He could recognize it because he had the same spark.

“Take it out on yourself, then,” said Rodolphus, indulging himself in an overdrawn eye roll. Despite his words – and the glib tone that accompanied them – he made a point to locate the familiar weight of his wand up his sleeve. “This cloak is expensive, and you’re not the only one whose had a long day.”

#c:dorcas

gigicatchlove‌:

“Excuse me, Sir?” Greta was thoroughly irritated by the deep and harsh voice that had appeared behind her. Bad manners were one of her pet peeves and she most certainly was not in the mood to be spoken to like that tonight.

She had set a meeting with a source she barely knew who had claimed to have inside Information to the desaster at the Fundraiser and as a writer, Greta had been intrigued immediately. Who knew when she would get another chance to speak to someone like that? They were supposed to meet at the front door of the Raven Call, a bar that Greta had never been to. But of Course, her source never showed up. Again. That was the second time this had happened to her. How was she ever supposed to write a book if she couldn’t even get the research started. Even getting to the bar had been a struggle. She almost didn’t find the place on the first try and now that she was here, the small alleyway didn’t look inviting at all.

She had been hesititating to enter the place for more than 10 minutes now but Greta wasn’t sure if she was ready for what was waiting behind the door. The entrance most certainly looked dodgy enough to her.

"That’s what I was saying to you, actually,” said Rodolphus, his voice dropped low yet full of ice. It was not hatred weaved into his tone, not pure intimidation. That wasn’t his style. He preferred to opt for the same tense, palpable formality his father had used on him – used on Rabastan, to greater offense – as a child. It was ice without cracks; it was a grin without teeth, or warmth, or smile lines.

“Are you going in?” he asked, in a way that suggested he didn’t care much for her answer, so long as it got her moving in one direction or another. “Or just too drunk to leave properly?”

#c: greta

strange-lestrange‌:

“Don’t tease me, I don’t like it,” said Bellatrix in a tone that was a warning for everyone. She had no time for jokes, especially the ones that came out her husband’s mouth. She could endure his brother, somehow. Rabastan always had a way to convince her. He did it when she wasn’t going to go to that stupid ball but he gave her a good reason and at the end it worked out pretty well with all the chaos. It had been glorious and she returned home with a big smile on her face after pretending to be concerned by the guests and the people who died. Her dear parents made no question about it but she was sure Cissy suspected something.

“I don’t even remember seeing you there, husband, but you know what happened. Everyone is talking about it and how some victims are still at the hospital.” Bellatrix took her glass and sighed.

"That’s the only reason I do it,” said Rodolphus and, though he was too polished in public to allow himself to roll his eyes, the gesture was implied alongside his voice, dropped low, meant for nobody outside their unit of two.

There was no denying that Bellatrix was intimidating. After years of marriage, he didn’t think of her as less scary than he had seeing her in passing as a child, or at school. But her constant threats were just that: constant. He didn’t doubt she meant them, didn’t doubt she’d follow through if pushed. That didn’t change the fact that the sharp rush of worry had turned into a dull roar over the years, easy to ignore especially when they didn’t share a bed and he didn’t have to worry about her smothering him with a pillow in the night or anything like that.

“Well,” said Rodolphus, managing to sound bored even while talking about hospitalized victims; even while accepting his newly-poured drink and lifting it to his lips. “Isn’t that quaint? They got to go to a party, and then they got a few weeks to lay around in beds in a hospital our ancestors built. Cushy life. Sounds like someone did them a favor.”

#c: bellatrix

It had been a long day at the Ministry, and Rodolphus was eager to leave. His feet had no interest in carrying him hope – to his manor, and the either complete silence of an empty house or the hostility of one where his wife was home and stalking about – but they could not get away from the Ministry fast enough.

He liked his work in the Department of Mysteries well enough; he liked even more the solitude and the ability to work closely on something that others weren’t privy to.

But today, throughout the building, the only mystery seemed to be: when would people start talking about anything other than the fundraiser, than the poisoning? It didn’t make him nervous, and he had no fear that people were closing in on the true culprits or motive. It was just another tiring reminder that some people were so small-minded, so incapable of doing anything but chirping about the headline of the hour. Office gossip was a tedium on even the best of days, but it was rare that it leaked down into his Department.

Reaching a corner, Rodolphus turned left and pulled his collar up against the nighttime breeze. He did not realize where he was heading until he was nearly there, but he was satisfied with his muscle memory for knowing exactly what he needed: a stiff drink, some hushed conversation. The Raven Call was a cocktail lounge off the beaten path of Wizarding London. Low lighting, plush carpeted floors, and a crowd that oscillated between foreign dignitaries, the company their paid for, the contacts that were selling them out behind their back, and some of the pureblood community’s finest.

There was no rule that kept other people out, of course. The doors were, technically, open to all. But ostracization was a powerful tool. The others never lasted long; that was how Rodolphus liked it.

He reached the mouth of the alleyway, eyes peeled for the Raven Call entrance – but, before he could get any closer to the door, he realized with great annoyance that someone was in his way.

“Move before I move you,” he said, callous and too tired after a long day to put on his usual syrupy facade of charm.

#belloopen #** STARTER

strange-lestrange‌:

Bellatrix was sitting at the Leaky Cauldron with the news paper in front of her. There were like eight pages of what happened at the ball and she couldn’t help but smile at it. Some people died and some were still alive but at the hospital because of the poison that worked pretty well. It had been luck that her sister and family did not drink it but if they had, she would have taken them to Gracie inmediately. She had thought about it, even about drinking the poison herself to make it look like an accident. Bella was not going to go to the ball when the invitation arrived but her dear brother in law convinced her and of course, she wanted to have some fun at the place and the poison provided the best entertainment. Drinking a sip of wine from her glass, she passed the page and then looked up at the person who had taken a seat next to her. “I’m sure you saw the news already, right? Or maybe you were there to see it first hand?”

"The news?” Rodolphus asked, sarcasm lining his voice. He was only pretending to be curious, to not know what she was talking about. There was only one thing being written about in the papers, talked about over meals and whispered about in back alleys. Rodolphus flagged down the bartender with one disinterested hand, but didn’t need to place an order; he was well known enough here, after passing through so many times. It was a testament to his habit that he hadn’t known that Bellatrix would be here today...but he wasn’t exactly surprised to see her, either.

“Why do you ask, has something happened?” He’d never been good at joking, Rodolphus. But he was doing a good enough job at it today, a sharp smile playing across his face. If it was really a knife, not just smart as one, his smile would have glinted in the light.

#c: bellatrix

royalophelia‌:

Sitting in the cafe with a copy of the Daily Prophet spread out in front of her, Ophelia sipped her tea as she ready casually. The ball had been charming, until of course the chaos of everything broke out. She was as shocked as everyone else, and had gotten the hell out of there as quickly as possible. She had no idea how it spread and didn’t want to risk it. “Well, the auror department certainly has an interesting way of trying to celebrate and prove their worth.” she mused aloud.

Rodolphus scoffed as he passed Ophelia’s table, and heard her voice – familiar enough, even in passing. It was hard to mistake a fellow Death Eater these days, especially when paranoia ran so high and sticking to what one knew was more of a wise battle tactic than a comfort. Normally, snob that he was, he’d make a point of avoiding speaking to any secretary in pubic, even one from a well-respected family like the Wilkeses. He had a reputation to uphold and, more importantly, he had a reputation to remind people of.

But what could he say? It was a nice day. He’d even whistled as he locked his door that morning, in a pleasant mood from the success of the poisoned champagne at the fundraiser. Rodolphus wondered if Ophelia knew. Rodolphus wondered if he even cared, before deciding quickly that he didn’t.

“I think it’s rather fitting, don’t you?” Rodolphus asked, voice low – private, meant only for her, and not because of her occupation. He rested his hands on the chair across from her, lifted a brow. “They wanted to celebrate themselves, and they did so by remaining as useless and bumbling as ever.”