InsaneJournal

Who: Rodolphus Lestrange
What: Riding the high of The Dark Lord's Work Rodolphus takes out some pent up energy on a family of unsuspecting Muggles.
Where: Dartford, England
When: Sunday night early Saturday morning Feb 12-13
Status: Complete
Rating: R for extreme gore and death including children

They think that I must be a monster, but actually I have the heart of a small child - I keep it in a jar on my desk.




Rodolphus stretched his arms and legs as far away from his body as he could until his joints ached before relaxing with a deep sigh feeling both a few centimeters taller and certainly more awake than moments before. He hadn't been sleeping, merely resting his eyes, but he realized it had definitely gone on for longer than he'd intended when he discovered the soaked clothes he wore had lost their slickness and had instead begun to stick to his body almost like they were covered in a gummy syrup.

"I think I may have over stayed my welcome," he murmured in an intimate rumble of a voice and rolled onto his side to face the companion on his left. The tip of a ruddy finger ran over the slope of the blonde's forehead and off the soft peak of her nose before he tapped his nail against her front teeth visible through parted lips. She didn't move, not even to focus her wide brown eyes on him as he leaned over her visage. Of course, he didn't expect her to. He'd already exhausted any fight she had within her petite frame. Curiously, his exploratory finger hovered over one chestnut colored iris. Slowly, as if it were still possible to build up dread and anticipation, he lowered the digit until it made contact with the gleaming orb and then descended beyond, inside, with less resistance than he would have imagined.

Narcissa would have a hell of a time cleaning that out from beneath his nail.

Turning to his other side, Rodolphus smiled and reached out to smack the equally as still man on his right. "Thanks for everything, old boy!" Hefting himself up off the large and surprisingly comfortable muggle couple's bed he unceremoniously stepped through the puddles on the carpet and slipped out of the room.

The house was still, silent, but as he gathered his things in preparation to leave he could still hear the screams and pleas, the running feet, the slamming doors, and the breaking glass like a ballad in honor of his evening's exploits. It was the first time in his life he'd ever allowed himself complete freedom and he doubted it would be something he'd be forgetting any time soon.

It began when Rodolphus looked up the Fenwick family name in a directory and had visited the first one on the list. He didn't know for sure if they were the parents of the same Fenwick he knew from Hogwarts but he did know he lacked the patience to figure it out in order to determine a proper victim. The events at Hogwarts, with the vanishing cabinet and Sirius Black, had left him high on adrenaline, punchy, and eager for more. His first task to prove himself to the Dark Lord had hardly been anything at all and he had so much remaining energy he needed an outlet or he really would be up all night.

The wand work had been minimal, a silencing charm cast around the area as a precautionary detail to insure privacy, before he kicked in the door with a loud snap of splintering wood and a furl of his cloak and robes just as he'd always pictured in his daydreams. A response came in the form of sharp scream from somewhere within the homey abode followed by a shrill cry for "Jody" from her mother. Mr. Fenwick appeared brandishing a muggle device attached to a curling tether that disappeared behind a wall. He dropped his weapon like a coward and tripped over the runner in the foyer in an attempt to get away.

Rodolphus had smiled at him, a grin so large it hurt as it split his face and reached behind him to push the door closed.

Once he had his shoes on and retrieved his wand Rodolphus returned to the bedroom where he'd left Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick fully clothed but painted in red on the center of the bed. He tarried a moment, sitting at their feet as he healed the scratch marks on his forearms and face as well as the bite mark that had torn into the webbing of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. All of his wounds were minor and in his time with them he'd grown attached, especially where Mrs. Fenwick had ended up with his pure blood in her mouth, but he knew he couldn't come home looking like he'd been in a fight. Thankfully he'd had enough foresight to keep his cloak clean so he could properly conceal the gory mess his other clothes had become.

When he was finished, he turned to the muggles. One at a time he grabbed them by their ankles and pulled them through the house, out the front door into the cover of night just barely infiltrated with the coming dawn and deposited them in center of the street. Mr. Fenwick's eviscerated guts briefly got caught on the leg of a hallway table but one good yank had been all it took to set him free and once he was in a pile on top of his broken wife, Rodolphus wiped his hands off on the front of his robes, took one last look at the house, and vanished.

In a few hours the scene he'd left would definitely be discovered and the authorities would arrive to pick apart what he'd left for them. Upon autopsy it would be discovered that both Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick had suffered multiple broken bones, contusions, and a number of savage cuts many of which were nearly deep enough to sever appendages but oddly matched no blade in the house or found on the property. The thick sanguine trail of carnage that started with the pair of cold corpses would lead them into the home, past blood spattered walls, foot prints and finger smears and eventually to his masterpiece.

Jody Fenwick, when he'd gotten his hands on her, had to have been seven years old at the most. He'd been kind in her death if mercy could be found in a handful of botched Avada Kedavra curses before he finally managed success. He'd sat with her for some time after he'd done it, after he'd dealt with her parents, and stroked his fingers over her yellow hair streaking it sorrel with the mess that went up nearly to his elbows. He was without pity when it came to the lifeless hunk of rotting meat she'd been reduced to and certainly lacked regret for what he'd done to her but her small body and skinny arms made him smile. One day, after the Dark Lord had conquered the Wizarding World and he had conquered Bellatrix Black they would have children of their own, far more than little Jody Fenwick could ever have hoped to be, but probably just as small as she was at this age.

Moved by the soft mounds of her pale cheeks, the colored streaks of ink on her fingers, and the unicorns that galloped across the folds of her night dress, Rodolphus slammed her still body against the wall with his wand, made it jump up along the glossy, painted surface between a portrait of her parents and a drawing of a family of cats, and thrust the speared end of a fireplace poker through her ribs, past the drywall and into a wooden beam. He plastered her hair around her head with blood like a halo and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

He had a wall in his bedroom lined almost from floor to ceiling in shadow boxes each containing a single specimen whether it be butterfly, beetle, spider, or snake each pinned down with dexterous care for his own private admiration. In her state, Jody Fenwick reminded him of papilio glaucus, especially when he held her arms out like wings. Both were pale and fragile looking, mottled and mortal. His only regret was that he wouldn't be able to hang her up at home with the rest of them.