MAUGRIM (maugrim) wrote in raveled, @ 2016-10-25 15:20:00 |
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In the vanity mirror, Bellatrix's reflection adjusted her heavy emerald earrings and scowled at him. "Honestly? Just because they keep sending us thank you cards doesn't mean you have to keep bringing it up." "Squibs, Bellatrix." He stood behind her chair, a tall and immaculately dressed figure made ridiculous by his crumpled tie. Pulling it free for the third time, Rodolphus reminded himself Christmas with the Blacks wasn't so bad. As long as no indiscretions reached their ears. "They used the same stationery as the Melifluas' donation request," she said through gritted teeth, watching him struggle with the tie until it became unbearable, at which point she stood up and reached for it. "I've told you a hundred times. I don't know what you expected." "I expect you to read, not divine contents from the colour of a parchment." His hands dropped in exasperation. It was only seven years of marriage that convinced him she wouldn't strangle him with his own tie. "Apparently, I expect too much." "And I expect you not to just go off and leave me with the paperwork!" Bellatrix retorted. No strangulation, perhaps, but her hands on the tie were not gentle. "For Merlin's sake, just write them another letter saying squibs are abominations and we're not donating again. It's that simple." "Go off and leave you?" "Yes..." Bellatrix's lips pursed, wavering for a moment at her earlier word choice for 'badly injured.' It disappeared beneath a haughty look. "More or less, anyway." He squinted at her and thought better of tugging that particular loose thread. The searing judgement of Druella Black could turn even the hardiest death eater to ash if they dared to be 'fashionably late' on Christmas. Under his fussing hands, her perfect knot crumpled again. "I'll write them." She slid the parchment envelope across the breakfast table. Embossed at the top was Annual Giving Letter. Inside, 'Dear Mr. & Mrs. Lestrange' had been crossed out and replaced with a handwritten, more personalised 'Rodolphus & Bellatrix.' "I thought we wrote." His expression was dark as he pushed away his third soft-boiled egg for the letter. His mother would have been momentarily proud: he rubbed the paper between his thumb and forefinger and made an irritated noise at its quality. "I see they misunderstood my missive." In his tone, an implication that he should never have expected those people to follow up properly. Then: "Unbelievable." He threw the paper back onto the table. Bellatrix picked it up. On a list of donors, arranged by tier, the Lestranges were at the top ("Platinum Squib Allies"). Despite the deeply unfunny nature of the situation, she let out a shriek of laughter—this unfortunate tendency had strained relationships on both sides of the family. Shoulders shaking, she wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. "B-but this says we would have received a sample of their Squib-made products, where's—" An elf walked in, stumbling under the weight of a cellophane-wrapped gift basket. "Ah." Bella's frayed reaction threw his into relief: all of Rodolphus's soft edges became hard, his jaw set and eyes narrow. "Out!" He barked archly, sending the elf spinning on its heel and popping out of existence. He picked up the egg cup, as if a bit of tepid yolk might somehow make this more tolerable. "I can't wait to hear about this." He mentally calculated whether his father or Bella's aunt would be less bearable. It was a draw. "Platinum Squib Allies," she winced, all traces of laughter gone. "I'll go see them in person and get them to retract it. I'm fairly persuasive." "Done," she sauntered into Dolph's study, a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips. Proserpina padded in after her, wearing a matching smug expression (to the extent an Irish setter could). "They were reluctant, but it's all taken care of." "Reluctant." The grim line of his mouth could have expressed anything from irritation to fury, but his hand was soft in the dog's gleaming fur. Under his palm, she thrummed with a gentle growl at an elf setting down the latest owls, all but invisible to the Lestranges. "They should be apologetic." For what, Rodolphus didn't specify. When Proserpina squirmed away, he reached mindlessly for the top letter. "They certainly should be, but considering the circumstances, I'll accept…" she trailed off, a funny expression appearing on her face as she looked at the letter in his hand. "Accept wh—" He turned the envelope over in his hands. Friends of Squibs Society. |