Who: Atticus and Rodolphus Where: Lestrange Manor, North Wing When: After this What: Manly stuff
Rating: G Status: Complete
It wasn't his home, but Atticus had managed to settle rather comfortably into his quarters at Lestrange Manor and establish something akin to a normal routine. And so he was seated at the desk in what was temporarily his study, trying to determine a way to resolve the situation with Amycus Carrow. He knew they had all been quite distracted with the battle at Hogwarts and its aftermath but he was still irritated with his colleagues' inaction in getting the veritaserum antidote to their mole within the rebels which was why he had decided to simply take matters into his own hands.
They had to assume by this point the potion was either ready or close to it and the antidote would still take ten days to brew. Which meant they needed to determine a way to protect Amycus until it was ready and find a way to get the antidote to him without raising any suspicions.
The pile of work he had brought home from the Ministry sat on his desk, neglected as he filled a spare piece of parchment with notes and ideas, most of which were promptly crossed off, deemed ineffective or unnecessarily complicated. Nothing was coming to him and reluctantly he realised he was going to have to enlist help in this endeavour. Frowning, he flipped open his journal and started to write a few quick messages.
Rodolphus was having an exceptionally bad day -- year, really, and for one of the first times in his life, strongly desired not to be alone for the night. Reluctantly, he decided that Atticus would be better company than Corbina right now, and climbed the stairs to the north wing.
An answered knock later, and Rodolphus was slumping into a chair a few feet away, hand over his eyes.
"It appears Bellatrix was more gravely injured than I had anticipated," he grumbled.
Atticus looked over at his friend's announcement and his frown deepened at the sight of Rodolphus's obvious distress. His journal was forgotten for the time being and there was a moment of brief confusion. But Bellatrix was fine. Granted he had not seen much of her since taking up residence in the house but that was at least partially by design and on the few occasions that he had seen her there was certainly nothing to suggest that something was amiss.
"What is it that ails her?" he asked, favouring the direct approach to resolve his confusion.
Deciding that scotch would help this conversation along, Rodolphus summoned a bottle from the cabinet across the room, along with two glasses, and poured himself a rather full glass before sliding the bottle over to his friend across the desk.
"Her memory ails her," he said bluntly. "She does not remember anything of the last seven years." Or their marriage -- but that went unsaid.
Atticus reached for the glass with a grateful nod and as he lifted it to take a drink, his hand froze in midair at Rodolphus's words. His eyes widened in disbelief and a stunned "What?" was the first word to come clumsily from his mouth. And then he began to actually process the implications of Bellatrix's memory loss. Seven years meant the loss of much of her work for the Dark Lord, of her promotion to the Inner Circle and... oh.
The glass was set back down on the table and Atticus turned his chair to more fully face his friend. It was rare that he found himself at a loss for words, but he did not know what could be said. Rather than addressing the unfathomable notion of a wife who did not remember her own marriage, he decided instead to focus upon the no less complicated, but less emotional problem that this presented. "Is our Lord aware?" he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.
Rodolphus finished his glass within seconds and then filled it again. A cigarette was discovered in some inner pocket and he put it to his lips, almost unconsciously, lit it, and exhaled blue smoke everywhere. "I do not believe he is aware, yet," he replied, final syllable making it clear that he did not intend to keep any secrets from their master. He would learn of it when Bellatrix was ready for him to do so.
Awkwardly, he shifted, and then drank down another half glass. "I believe I should stay in another area of the house for some time. These would be preferable if you have no objections." He didn't want to be alone, but admitting so out loud was a bit beyond Rodolphus's capabilities, no matter how emotionally compromised he was.
"Of course," Atticus replied without hesitation. Even if it had been his own house, he certainly would not deny the space to Rodolphus under such circumstances. As it was, it seemed rather odd to be granting the other man permission to take up residence in his own house, but he understood the courtesy of asking. "You are welcome to stay with me as long as you wish. It is the least I can do."
He took a long sip of his own drink and considered the impossibility of this entire situation. Memory loss was certainly not something he had experience with but dwelling upon how this had happened was hardly a worthwhile pursuit. "Does she intend to inform him?" he asked. "It is certainly her news to tell, but if she has not done so by now..." he said carefully. That she had not seen fit to inform her own husband was hardly a testament in her favour and the more Atticus thought on the matter, the implications of that were frankly, rather appalling.
Rodolphus didn't answer at first, as the issue hadn't quite occurred to him. "I do not know," he admitted, realising he ought to have asked. "I assume she must intend to -- if she does not he will see it in her mind before the month is through." He hadn't even begun to comprehend what it meant for anyone but him. Seven years of their marriage were gone, but so to were seven years of training, seven years of rising through the ranks. He closed his eyes a minute, and flicked his cigarette so that the magical ash twirled a few seconds in the air and consumed itself.
"I have no idea what she intended. If I am to be honest, the news was a shock and I did not think to ask these questions."
"I would hardly fault you for that," Atticus replied mildly. He drained the rest of his glass before refilling both of theirs and leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. He could only hope - for Bellatrix's sake - that she would inform their Lord before he discovered the news for himself, although he knew full well that she was quite the stubborn woman. "But it is a conversation that needs to occur at some point soon, if only to protect her from herself in her present... state." It was hardly the most sensitive discussion to be having, but these were issues that needed to be considered and under the circumstances he figured it was his responsibility to raise the more practical concerns.
But he was not unsympathetic to the personal issues for his friend and after another sip of his drink he finally asked the more difficult question. "And what do you intend to do? Do you have any idea? I cannot even imagine..."
A shrug rolled off of Rodolphus's shoulders before he'd even made up his mind that he wasn't sure. "I cannot divorce her." The why remained unspoken, and could have been any number of reasons. He loved her. He didn't want to shame their respective families. Damn, he didn't know what to do. "Re-acquaint ourselves, I suppose." But he was noncommittal. He was getting older. Not old -- yet -- but he was at a point in his life where change of this sort was extremely unwelcome, and he did not know that he was flexible enough -- if he ever had been -- to handle this younger version of his wife.
"If she is returned to the outer circle, I will mentor her as I did once before. As to our relationship..." a troubled expression lingered at his lips a moment before it was gone into smoke and liquor. "I have lost one wife in my life. I suppose the loss of another cannot be too grave a matter to handle." He knew it was a lie the moment he opened his mouth.
"Do not say that," Atticus replied with a quiet sort of firmness. He knew all too well what it was to lose a wife and it was not something to be dismissed. Not that he believed Rodolphus's statement in the first place but calling him a liar did not exactly seem to be the most productive way to handle the conversation. "Perhaps Antonin may be able to provide some insight into her condition. If there is any hope for her memories to be somehow restored..." But he knew it was unlikely. A lie for a lie then. It was at least a more palatable one than any trite sentiments of how the two of them would overcome this, how they would re-acquaint themselves to each other and all would be well once again.
Rodolphus sighed out a breath of smoke and said only "perhaps." He held no hope. Antonin was the one who had healed Bellatrix after her injuries and, assuming he was aware of the damage (and Rodolphus suddenly had a flash of angry jealousy), he had clearly not been able to fix it. A headshake and a half shrug that they both knew was another lie (for what was one more?), and he pulled himself up and out of the chair, drained the glass, and put out his cigarette.
"Thank you for allowing me to impinge upon your space, Atticus."
Atticus did not deal particularly well with problems to which there were no clear solutions (of which there seemed to be several at the moment) and he was, frankly, rather disturbed by his own inability to provide some notion of comfort to his friend. It was this uneasy state that prompted him to do something that was quite thoroughly out of character for the man who valued self-preservation above nearly all else. But distraction seemed to be the only remaining course of action.
"Would it help matters if I permitted you to hit me? I would prefer if you did not but under the circumstances... Or no, shall I summon Graley? He is accustomed to it at least." Yes, that seemed to be a marginally less suicidal plan.
Rodolphus looked startled and then made a meagre attempt at a smile. "No, I do not think that would be very wise of me. I doubt you could withstand such a thing, and Graley has enough troubles as it is." It was a nice thought, though and he appreciated the gesture. "I do appreciate the sentiment, but I believe it may be more productive if I found my bed."
Although Atticus was rather relieved that Rodolphus did not intend to take him up on his offer, he was still not particularly pleased with the notion of his friend wallowing in solitude at the moment. But pushing the matter further was not in his nature and instead he nodded and stood. "If there is anything I can do, I hope you will not hesitate to ask." He knew Rodolphus was no more inclined to actually ask for assistance than he was himself, but the offer was made regardless. "And I will have the others over in the morning. Presuming you are not up for their particular brand of company tonight. We will see you through this."
Rodolphus nodded, though part of him was inclined to reject the offer of outside company; he would not deny his oldest friends the comfort they would seek to give. It was too much effort, and if he had to subject himself to sympathy, he preferred it to be from them. "Good night, Atticus."