It wasn't often that Rodolphus was even at home in the night, especially as of late. The night live of England's many cities, the Dark Lord and his business, his desire to grow up, get out of the house, and be on his own, all kept him far away from Lestrange manor. This weekend was different, for obvious reasons, and the only thing that kept Rodolphus up was the promise of the smell of smoke once Amycus returned home. At first he'd begun to think that it would never come. Had Rabastan taken down all his traps? But soon his patience and effort was rewarded.
He sat up in his bed at the smell of smoke, the pounding on his door, and he grinned widely as he went to answer. If he didn't, undoubtedly Amycus would wake the whole house and his mother would probably get back at him for ruining her sleep the next morning. Tugging the entrance open and taking a step back as he did, Rodolphus allowed Amycus into his lair.
Not that the male Carrow would look but Rodolphus' room was rather neat, dominated by a large bed. The windows were covered by heavy curtains and against the wall between a bookshelf filled with few books and more trinkets, jars filled with blood and bugs, weird animals in foggy liquids and collections of bones amidst pads, balls, and gear for Quidditch and a wardrobe sat a writing desk. In the center of it was his journal and a stack of newspapers. The walls were filled with columns of shadow boxes each filled with one or a group of different bugs are carefully pinned and preserved.
"What's wrong?" He asked innocently. "Can't Rabastan handle it? You're his friend."