What a strange and domestic moment occurring in this cottage. Most who knew Rodolphus (and likewise in regards to Rabastan) would probably never even dream that Rodolphus goes to sleep, wakes up, eats breakfast and so on and so forth. Weren't dark lords causing horror all the time?
Hair a mess of dark tangles, Rodolphus rubbed at his eyes and walked into the kitchen, looking moreso a disheveled family man than one who lives on torture and terror, "What are you making?" Rodolphus didn't bother to ask whether Rabastan was making enough for him as well, he knew that the younger Lestrange would do so without even a thought otherwise.
There was no deatheater garb. Only a rumpled shirt and a pair of boxers.