AN---Right; so this was originally my contribution to The Reviewer's Lounge group project, titled 'The Rainbow Project', where I was writing for Rudolphus Lestrange. However, it ended up being too Bellatrix centric, and too crappy, so it's been tossed into the reject pile that is more commonly known as my account, and another Rudolphus piece is in the works!
The Reviewer's Lounge - The Rainbow Project. Look 'em up! You recognize, I don't own. Enjoy - and review, or Bella will be forced to hunt you down. And that would be bad.
The Reviewer's Lounge - The Rainbow Project. Look 'em up!
You recognize, I don't own. Enjoy - and review, or Bella will be forced to hunt you down. And that would be bad.
Rudolphus could sense her fading away from the very beginning.
He had never quite managed to fool himself into believing that she loved him. He knew that the Dark Lord was her first and only love and that he, as her husband, was merely standing in for the Dark Lord until he, in her eyes, finally realized how perfect they could be and accepted her.
Of course, Rudolphus knew otherwise. He'd always been less of an optimist and more of a realist then his wife, but it was both a blessing and a curse. He never feared the Dark Lord taking his place, but he could also never believe she loved him.
And so they would act their way through their days, clinging to each other's memories and depressions in Azkaban, praying, waiting, wishing for it to end.
And so it did. The Dark Lord regained power through old Barty's son, they were told, and they were freed. The mighty walls of Azkaban were knocked down, and they were released into the general public (and yet so separate from them) once more.
Two years went by, with failure after failure, Bellatrix sinking lower and lower in the Dark Lord's eyes while he only gained ground in her's, and Rudolphus could only watch and pretend that his wife's love for their master was only a charade and not the other way around.
Bellatrix had always been so vibrant, gleaming red lips and cheeks, bright beautiful eyes, shimmering skin. Others looked at her and saw only the white of her and skin and the black of her hair and garb. But Rudolphus looked at her and his world lit up, every breath she took, every move she made sent a wave of contentment and a barrage of colors barreling towards him.
But heartbeats and breaths and movements can all stop and colors can fade, as Rudolphus knew only too well. When she died, he didn't notice who killed her. He didn't notice how, he didn't notice the expression on her face as she breathed her last breath or wonder about her last thoughts or feel any sadness at her loss.
All he noticed were that his colors - his lovely, vibrant, beautiful colors - were gone.
As he flees the school, the sky is no longer blue, the trees green, the castle brown. They're all a dead, mournful shade of grey. And suddenly he wonders if this is how everyone else sees the world; everyone who never got to love Bellatrix. Or maybe it's just for everyone who doesn't know her. Or maybe it's not just Bellatrix, and this grey is referred is especially for everyone who never had anyone at all.
And even though he loved her - at least, he assumes he loved her - he does not mourn her loss. He mourns the loss of his rainbow.