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She never looked at him like that. Never.

                                                                    …

A congregation of the most immoral kind, they gathered. Cloaked in sins and shadows they stood side by side; an army fit for battle. Prepared to end lives, at His command. Prepared to give their own, at His demand. Power reverberated in His voice, His words meant to bring them to their knees. He was the last to bow; it was his own personal demise, without magic or wand, he was stricken to a life in death. 

With this final act, he resigned himself to his fate. His demons had claimed him; aided by propriety, guided by loyalty, and enchained in the fleeting emotion of love, they had consumed him. Now he could be melded and used to His will. A slave, with a most cruel master. 

But She looked at Him like a King. As they rose, his eyes drifted to her. Emerald and piercing, they looked in awe and admiration. She stood with such pride, as if it was her moment to be crowned, by her one true ruler. His hands shook beneath his shielding cloak. 

                                                                    …

The day of their union came, and as such formalities took place, so did their matrimonial ceremony. She walked to him like the Queen he believed her to be; his Queen. But as she cascaded down that aisle, her eyes bright and only for him, he stood with one ringing thought in his mind; he was not her King. Again, his hands shook, hidden with the false notion of nerves. 

                                                                    …

An argument ensued, lashing words echoing around them. They spoke with the purpose to injure, for they knew each other’s weaknesses better than anyone. He flinched from a particular verbal blow, anger rising in him without trepidation. His hands wrapped around her upper arms, pulling her to him. He shook her with violent rage, his eyes boring at hers, searching. “Look at me!” His voice hoarse with screams. Her eyes met his with venom. Hands shaking, he let her go. 

 …
She never looked at him like that. Never.

2

R: I had a riveting conversation with my father last night, Bells. If it hadn’t been for the copious amount of alcohol I had drowned myself in, I don’t think I would have survived.

B: About what did he bore you with this time?

R: Oh, my in-capabilities as a man; the usual of course. He went on, and on, and on about my priorities; my duties; my responsibilities. ‘You are the eldest, Rodolphus. You must ensure the Lestrange family name continues on through the generations.’ It was merely an elongated speech of what I’ve heard countless times before.

B: -Rod…

R: Though this time, he decided to add a few lovely new details. One involved him detailing my mother’s finesse at pro-creation. The other involved him quite literally instructing me how to 'handle’ you. 

B: …-Rod

R: You can realize that my pride was understandably a little bruised- 

B: -Rod I have something to tell you!