In the last precious hours leading up to dawn, a man was escaping the coming light by walking swiftly down several weathered staircases of stone. As he descended further down below ground, his body expected the temperature to drop, but it remained strangely pleasant for someone dressed in robes. As he reached the first of several corridors he was dreading to walk along, he turned suddenly stiff upon hearing approaching footsteps. It did not make matters better when he recognised the face of his brother-in-law, framed by unnaturally well-kept hair and displaying its usual arrogant expression. The special smirk the blond man seemed reserve for his least favourite associates crept onto his features as they approached each other.
“Lestrange.” The man’s nod was elegant, and so superior.
“Malfoy.” His reply was but a grunt, and he bowed his head with even less grace than Goyle usually displayed.
With an even more prominent smirk, the pale man kept on walking. Rodolphus Lestrange resisted looking over his shoulder, knowing that he would only catch the silvery glimpse of a snake’s head. Instead, he continued on his way. The winding corridors and steep staircases were all softly lit by torches and candles, decorated in a fashion to suit the dark and powerful. Rodolphus knew the area only too well, as he had been sent along with some junior servants to clean up and transfigure the place to suit their master’s purposes.
The surroundings might look nice to anyone walking past in a hurry, but all he saw were the slimy walls and damp stone that lay beneath the magic. The alluring smells of fine wines and dark magic might be pleasant to the unaware, but he was constantly noticing the suffocating stink of sea water and rotting algae.
He was really not supposed to be down here, he knew, and the impropriety of his actions frightened him more with every step. He could no longer remember why he had come, but it must have been something important because he kept walking, despite the cold sweat that was breaking out along his spine.
“What are you doing here?”
It was only the extensive training they had all undertaken that kept him from jumping in fright. He spun around, and all the brittle remains of his composure slipped away when his gaze fell upon her. She was simply standing there, sprung from the darkness without a sound. Her voice had been icy like a midwinter night and barely shown recognition of who he was.
“I’m looking for you,” he replied, annoyed by the bluntness of his own tone.
She did not make any further inquiries at that, but simply looked at him for a while. He could not believe that he had once thought that the woman in front of him was beautiful. All of the people who had been imprisoned in Azkaban had been marked in body and mind, but no one more than his wife. The eyes he had once thought seductive with their hooded lids were now simply terrifying with their obvious clear lack of sanity. Her hair, which had been wavy and thick, was still as black but had turned thin and tangled. Rodolphus did not know if she had simply stopped caring for combs, or if the rough look was considered attractive by their wicked master. Judging from how the black robes hung from her, there was not a lot of flesh left on her bones; in fact, her whole appearance called images to his mind of the skeletons he had removed from this place. Her high cheek bones, once marks of beauty, now just underlined the hollowness of her face. That haunted face, together with her thin, wax-coloured hands, was all that he had seen of her body in longer than he could recall.
“How convenient that you should find me. I’ve got an assignment for you, from our Lord.”
With one of her bone-chilling smiles she handed over a flat wooden box, about thirty centimetres long. Rodolphus, now convinced that he had walked all the way down there on her unspoken command, accepted it. He instantly wished that he had not, feeling how an invisible web of evil spun around his hand. He looked questioningly at her.
“It seems that my master has found a purpose for you, after all. Try not to disappoint him.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“It’s an item of risk that has no purpose. It’s for… disposal.”
Trying not to look at the box, Rodolphus had little choice but to keep his eyes on her.
“That would be all. I suggest you go back upstairs… before anyone else sees you here,” she grinned and he suddenly felt nauseous from watching her.
Without a word of goodbye she melted back into the shadows. He did not want to think of where she could be heading, of whom she would rejoin. He had never been important to Bellatrix. She had always had other men who could do her bidding, faster and better than him.
When they had met all those years ago, back at Hogwarts, she had at least been somewhat interested in his person. This had inevitably led to their set up marriage, although she had lost all interest in him long before their worthless wedding day. His own parents had been jubilant to be able to marry into the celebrated Black family. Bellatrix Black was to add both to their status and wealth, they had thought. But she had never displayed any will to associate herself with the Lestranges and she had accepted his name only with the greatest reluctance.
She had been disappointed with her parents for accepting the deal, and Rodolphus knew she would have preferred someone like Malfoy. Not because she was attracted to him or even remotely cared for him, but because he was rich and well-connected. One time, when she had been particularly annoyed with her husband, Bellatrix had even said she would have preferred his younger brother, Rabastan. He who had, as she had so delicately put it, ‘at least shown enough dedication to get himself killed’. That was back when she had still recognised their marriage. She did no longer; her existence had long since become wholly committed to the Dark Lord.
Most people surrounding the darkest one were there because they had no choice, but Bella had come more willingly than anyone else. Rodolphus knew that some Death Eaters played subtle games and plotted against each other to gain respect and become closer to their master. Anyone succeeding in these dangerous games always regretted it and wished they had stayed far, far away. Except Bellatrix. There was nothing separating her from… Voldemort. Rodolphus shuddered even at the mere thought of the name. No, nothing stood between the two of them, least of all himself.
He began to make his way back upstairs. The darker and deeper the rooms lay, the higher the status of the Death Eaters who resided within them. Lesser followers were harboured above, further up, closer to the stinging light and unwelcome guests that might have to be taken care of.
Many of the Death Eaters may have wished for, dreamed of and imagined a special bond with the Dark Lord, but Rodolphus knew that his connection to their commander was unique. It had nothing to do with the master or the unworthy servant Rodolphus was, but all to do with the woman between them. Granted, neither of them loved her, but something within the simple Death Eater still felt a right to claim Bellatrix as his own.
And the Dark Lord knew, oh, he always knew. Rodolphus had never been skilled at Occlumency, and it had not mattered if he had been. He would still not have been able to hide his feelings or thoughts on the matter. His Lord liked to mock him about it, and on the rare occasions they met and Rodolphus was spared a glance, it was always filled with glee. He was being dared to protest when the meanest of men would place a spider-like hand on Bella’s waist, or touch her hair. Rodolphus was always surprised by the flame of jealousy it ignited within himself, seeing as the only thing he felt for his wife was revulsion. However, simple as he might be he was not stupid, and would never give voice or direct thought to his objections.
His feet had led him to the uppermost levels of the deserted castle, where not even the most undeserving servant of the Lord was forced to live. No one had bothered to waste energy on transfiguring these lighter halls; several walls were cracked and every window frame gaped naked without glass. The sea breeze whistled through the gaps in the ancient stone, creating a chorus of thrilling tones.
One last spiral staircase brought Rodolphus up the tallest tower. The Eastern wall of the top chamber was simply missing, and none of the remaining ones would suffice as support to anything heavier than a sea gull. The sun was just peering up over the horizon, causing a million reflections of light to be thrown back at him. It was light like he had never seen it in years, but instead of covering his eyes he stared straight into it until he was almost blinded. It awoke something undefined in the greying man, a phenomenon he did not dare approach.
His gaze was eventually torn away from the scene of dawn by the box he was holding. There was something familiar about the feel of it. Not because he was feeling curious or reckless, but because he knew it was expected of him, he opened it.
On a bed of black velvet lay a silver knife. It was a plain instrument without decorations or inscriptions, as if the crafter had not wished to be known or associated with it. Rodolphus could not see a single mark as he picked the weapon up and examined it. It was not until he let his hand close around the handle that recognition slapped his mind. He knew this knife - he had held it before and felt its deceiving powers try to lure and trick him.
It was well over twenty years ago, when he had been sent undisguised to Borgin and Burke’s to pick up an item for a considerably more human Lord. Borgin, unable as ever to shut up about his products, had given Rodolphus a fairly good idea of what the blade was. It had scared him then, and it scared him now. He knew what it was supposed to awake in the person holding it, of the thoughts it would bring into a victim’s mind. And the Dark Lord wanted to get rid of it? Surely it could hold no power over him, surely he knew how to…
And suddenly Rodolphus understood. It was not the knife that was to be disposed of.
Stepping closer to the space of the missing wall, he kept gazing downwards. Had the Dark Lord known back then, so long ago, what role the silvery knife would play? Was that why Rodolphus had been sent to retrieve it, for the sake of sheer irony and humiliation?
Of course it was. His master always knew.
He looked back up to the East, and was surprised to see how clouds had gathered from seemingly nowhere. They did not block out the intense light, only surrounded it, reflected it and created a great display of colours and heavenly motions. Some small part of Rodolphus, the same part that had been stirred by the sun, felt blessed at the sight of black cliffs far beneath. There was no escape from the Dark Lord’s decision, but if he could manage to avoid the horrifying call of the knife, at least that would be one small victory for the last remaining member of the Lestrange family. He gave the blazing sky a final look, and wondered if he would ever be fortunate enough to come across something so beautiful again.
The decision was not difficult for him. He held no significance, and he would not be missed.