The Lestrange house was dark; it had been for nearly a decade and a half, unseen and uncared for. Servants and houseelves were gone, and the garden eaten by the few remaining horses who'd managed to break free in starving desperation. The house itself stood tall and proud, and although its exterior seemed to gleam as it did upon the day of its erection, once beyond the door the decay could be -felt.-
Dust and mildew tainted once beautiful paintings and furnishings. No light at the fireplaces, no candles to be burned... and the January air had chilled the house to its core. Misery and isolation were palpable in each empty room, but there was something more ... there, in the library - a hint of life.
The escape, like everything that had come before it, come after it, had been time-excluded. He remembered only the howls of rage, of triumph, that had erupted in voices he had not heard for ... time uncertain. Power, then, and freedom, although he did not, could not, have known where to go, how to escape. Yet, hours later, curled into a desolate heap in his ruined library, was the wreck of Rodolphus Lestrange.
She had learned of the escape from Lucius, but not until after it was over and done with. He knew all too well that his wife would have been a wreck of nervous energy, waiting to hear of the outcome and worrying over his safety. Now, though...now Narcissa had apparated directly to the manse her sister shared with her husband, hoping to see the faces she had long missed. Covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her thick wool cloak, she made her way through the halls and towards that spark of life in the library. Her other hand she kept securely on her wand, just in case.
He could hear it. He could hear the footsteps outside the entrance, and something akin to an emotion Rodolphus had never indulged in pressed hard against his chest. Terror. Teeth clenched in agonized effort as he pulled himself back harder behind his leather chair, now dark and dingy. It had literally been months since he'd stood, and the burst of adrenaline used to escape Azkaban was gone, and he, helpless.
It could have been anyone. His hand flopped to his chest and his eyes half closed in wry acceptance. Of -course- there was no wand, fool.
It was thus that Narcissa discovered her brother in law, smiling in hollow resignation, looking very much unlike her last memory of him. Hollowed collar and sternum were visible beneath the now-loose grey shirt, and above were blank eyes, devoid of recognition.
To see her friend - her family - like that was too much for Narcissa to bear. Delicate fingers clenched around wool, pressing it harder to her mouth so the building sob would drown before it escaped. Slowly she lowered herself by the side of the chair, wondering if her sister looked likewise - could her fiery Bella ever look so devoid of that spark that made her live?
When she was sure she would not cry, Narcissa spoke softly. "Rodolphus? It's me...Narcissa."
Her voice jarred him; an instinctive tremor pulled tight, hollowing out the side of his neck even further. Name recognition was not reflected in his eyes, and he simply stared at her, brow furrowing, knowing that he should know what Narcissa meant. What Rodolphus meant. What identity meant.
Tiredness, then, swept across him, and his eyes closed for a long moment. When he reopened them to stare at her again, the shadows beneath seemed even deeper, marred by exhaustion and, worse, helplessness.
What could she possibly do? Not ready to touch him, yet, Narcissa walked around the room until she found an old bottle of brandy and a glass. She cleaned the glass and poured a small amount in, returning to Rodolphus' side. Carefully she reached out, placing the glass into his hand and wrapping his fingers around it. "Remember how we would sit at night?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "We would talk about old times, and about the future we hoped to create?"
Her fingers; they were so warm, so dreadfully, frightfully warm. Against his chilled, numb hands, they burned like fire, and he breathed out, sudden and uncertain, and looked down to the glass in his grasp. He remembered how to drink and eat. They had not taken that bestial ability from him. It took long moments before he even realized that she spoke, before the words found meaning in the confusion that addled his mind. He remembered... he remembered long nights of cold and stone and sleep. Death and sleep. Eyes closed and brows furrowed again as he lifted the glass to his lips. It was painful how his wrists shook beneath the weight of the small brandy glass, wasted and still broad in bone.
Viciously, the brandy seared across cracked lips and a dry tongue, and he coughed as it warmed his frozen organs. "I don't know." Harsh and weak, the voice regained only an insinuation of the depth and power it once had.
"You will," she tried to assure him, though her voice was shaky. "This place...I wish I could take you back with me to the manor. You need food, and a clean bed...and clothes." She couldn't though, she knew that. Lucius would never allow her to endanger them like that. "I will bring back supplies with me, next time, and some of your House Elves to help clean this place. It will be fine." Hesitant, but she had to know. "Rodolphus...is Bella here, with you? Is she safe?"
It was so much information, so much when he had been living a day for each second that past... he didn't know how to speak or interact or really, even, how to listen. Kindness and worry were processed, and he was silent, drowning in his own feebleness. Bellatrix. The question sparked him, and a sudden illness swept across him. "I don't know." If the man remembered any emotion other than hopelessness, it wasn't clear on that miserable ruined face. He just didn't know. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her in the cell across him, much less in the insanity of hours ago. "I'm sorry." Still rasped, still dead, but his hand hung now, glass trailing precariously from it - his head dipping lower.
Narcissa ran her hands over her face, trying to stay calm in a place that had too much calm. "It's fine. I'll find her. I know she escaped, Lucius promised me she did." Bellatrix could survive anything - she had to believe that. Reaching out, she caught the glass and put it aside, making a face at the dust the action stirred up. "You're both away from that horrid place, and that is what's important." Steeling herself, she placed her hands over one of her brother-in-laws and forced a smile. "There is so much to tell you - so much for you to see - but it can wait. We must get you well, first."
Rodolphus braced himself against that touch; it was too human and it frightened him. His head went up, then, to the window, to the books, and dead eyes raked over what once was his - unrecognizing - but uncomfortable with looking Narcissa in the eyes. "Go. I will wait." Power summoned to give those words some sort of certainty. Bellatrix was the weaker. He remembered the importance of that. Strong but weak. Confusing. Maybe he had it wrong. "Go." Too confusing.
Patting his hand, Narcisa nodded, refusing to cry on what should be a happy occasion. "Alright. I will come back with something warm to eat, I promise. Don't...stay safe until then. I want you to get to meet my Draco, all grown up." She stood then and looked around. With an angry wave of her wand she started a fire in the flue and hoped it would keep going until she returned - she hoped it was enough to keep the man going, as well.