riddlelog | so here i am {closed}

Bellatrix is twenty-nine years old and has never been inside a muggle convenience store. She has also never really felt the need to go inside one. As a matter of fact, she hasn't had much of a taste for Muggle London as a general rule. Things had happened, working for the D.M.A.C. will do that, but this is her spare time, so why would she –– well, the explanation is simple: Bellatrix just so happens to be right and proper sloshed; in fact, there might be things at play here that aren't necessarily alcoholic or legal in nature. That and it was an equally inebriated Lucius' idea, or so she swears.

There is exactly one reason why Draco can't spot them from a mile away, and that reason is a gaggle of teenage goths who block them from his view for long enough to turn this into a proper horror show. One moment, it's just Draco, unsuspecting muggles, and his groceries, and in the next, there's Bella, steadying and steadied by Lucius, less than an arm-length away, gesturing towards his shopping, and informing Lucius with amused haughtiness: "Look at this mu-– peasant, he obviously can't find the sweets section, either."

Lucius isn't twenty-nine years old, and despite what most might expect of him, he has been inside Muggle retail establishments. It's just that it's been about a decade, and most of the time it was music stores with Petia dragging him from one Muggle band to another. Tescos hadn't exactly been on the menu, though probably only because his girlfriend hadn't thought of it. One thing is true, though, they're quite drunk, and since Lucius has a lamentable habit of self-medicating with alcohol, it takes a not inconsiderable amount of substances, legal and otherwise, to get him to a point where he's staring rather intently at a display of crisps. In fact, Bella has to poke him twice.

"Darling," he whispers when she has his attention. It is 100% the kind of whisper that everyone can hear. "Don't call them peasants. They'll ask you if you think you're the Queen." For a moment he idly wonders if it's the same queen. It's been a while. Do they cycle through them like Ministers? Someone ought to ask. "Besides, we're not lost. Eventually our sense of direction will prevail." Either that or they'll run out aisles, he thinks pragmatically. There has to be some chocolate in this place somewhere; if there's not, Rodolphus will lock them out of the Manor and they'll have to terrorize Tweedledum and Tweedledee with their presence tonight at Malfoy Manor.

Draco is in his forties and he's left peering-staring at his father and aunt in abject horror and something like cold terror in the pit of his stomach, though years-neglected occlumency locks down instinctively and his expression remains mildly interested as though he's simply watching a couple of inebriated young people wandering around a bloody store. Peasant almost makes his eye twitch though. Almost.

Darling makes him feel a little like he's going to be sick and not because he's frightened of them figuring out who he is anymore.

Taking a slow breath, he ~~sneers~~ smiles. "The sweets," Draco drawls lazily, "are directly behind you." On the opposite side of the aisle. Even as he speaks, he's trying to mentally do damage control. If there's no scene made he can just obliviate Lucius and Bellatrix. If there is a scene, he's going to have to obliviate everyone present, which is going to take time and effort and he'd rather put forth effort into preventative measures instead. The sooner this is over with, the sooner he can pay off the pub owner he's taken a room with and move somewhere else.

"Oh," she mock-drawls in return, though mostly directed at Lucius, "he has your tone down pat, love." It's not entirely sure if she laughs at her own observation, the fact that she quickly discovers that the only way to cross the aisle safely is to keep clinging to her partner in crime, or the absolutely horrible and not-thought-out-at-all plan that makes its way across her substance-addled mind next.

"Peasant, I am the Queen." There is a vague concept of nobility in some wizarding fairy tales, she can make it work. It's not like he has ever been anywhere near a castle, he is obviously going to have to make himself a sandwich, judging from his shopping, so how would he know any better? "As my... something... tried to conceal. And we are forcibly seizing your aid."

The fact that she can still sound vaguely menacing speaks entirely against her nature, let's be honest. They could do with a muggle, though, because left to their own devices, she suspects they would be spending a significant chunk of the night in some state of inconvenience store confusion. Besides, he's a muggle. This could get all sorts of fun, as soon as they have sobered up enough to use magic without great risk to their own health.

"Mm, looks a bit like Father, too." He doesn't think he is a Malfoy, of course; he's in a Muggle store and is clearly not wasted. What would the sense be in that? Still he tilts his head and stares at the man with what appears to be an incisive stare but is really just Lucius Malfoy forcing his eyes to focus.

He smiles, after a moment, catching Bella's drift the way he's caught it countless times before. Of course, he has a different style than his most favorite senior, and he smiles a gentle smile that has lured in many a Muggle fooled by his blond looks. "My most abject apologies, Your Majesty," he says to Bella before he aims a we're in this together please save me from this madness look at Draco. "I'm really very sorry, but we promised her boyfriend chocolate. He has cravings, and he's impossible if he doesn't get it." Not entirely a lie, honestly. "If you could assist, we can get out of here, and you can get back to...."

He peers into the basket. "Your cheese sandwich? I hope you're toasting it." Well, something was probably going to be on fire tonight, that much is true.

Draco should continue to be worried. He really should. But he's quickly come to realize that these two are far too pissed (or otherwise) to actually figure out who he is, observations aside. And so: his smile is a little more like gritting his teeth, but he could still have some fun with this. They're not going to remember it later. "Begging your pardon, your Highness. It's just that you look even younger than you do on the ten pound note," they're not going to know what he's talking about - he barely does - "I could hardly recognize you."

His lips curve up further at the corners as he looks at Lucius, giving him a look that appears to be I know, I know, I'll play along. It's not really, but it's a good fake. If Draco felt more in danger he would probably have more of a meltdown right here in the aisle but... He knows that this is just a game they're playing to try and lure the muggle in, but, well... Right. Chocolate for Rodolphus Lestrange. Who is, thank Merlin, definitely not here with them. "I don't mind helping out the Queen and her entourage," he adds on, mildly.

A beat. "Yes. Wife's out of town and I'm useless in the kitchen." Might as well play along for now.

"Dolph is not my boyfriend, he is my fiancé, do try not to make it sound like we are dating," she says, managing a sentence that features: a nickname that could see her killed, a straight-up lie, and the most questionable addendum possible. Even drunk, she's still got it.

What she absolutely does not get is all that muggle jargon coming out of this bloke's mouth, and honestly, her eyes are very much glazing over as she tries to listen. What she does pick up on is Highness, at which she mutters something to the effect of "I am high, alright", but unlike Lucius, she does manage to say it under her breath. Considering that close proximity, it's not helping.

"What are they good for?" She means muggles, as a general rule, but honestly this could easily be read as incredibly sexist, and neither would be surprising.

... And all of that completely side-tracked her from the chocolate.

A nickname that earns her an arched brow from Lucius. He is wasted enough that only pride and superior balance are keeping him on his feet, but a Malfoy who can't raise his eyebrow at foolishness is a Malfoy that is fully dead. Which he would be, if Rodolphus was actually there. Very dead. Extraordinarily dead. Bella might make it solely because the man needs an heir, but even that was hardly a given.

He pats her on the arm, though. "You certainly are, darling," he says, and then sighs a little as she goes straight into anti-muggle. It's not surprising. It's exactly what he expects. It's going to scare away the evening's entertainment. "I swear, you'd try to end him if...Dolph suggested anything like that." He, at least, has something of a one track mind. It's probably all the times she brought him chocolate frogs from Hogsmeade, to be honest, and then told him stories about practicing Obliviate on third years. "Chocolate? He's a sucker for the high quality stuff, but I know we're in a...." Shit, what's the name of the store? His eyes zero in on a store brand. "Tescos. We're in a Tescos. So we'll take what we can get." Does he pronounce Tescos correctly?

No. No, he does not.

Draco is extraordinarily glad that Rodolphus isn't here at the moment - his stomach does a sickening flip at the nickname because he knows it would never be allowed but he recovers quickly, licking his lips and swallowing while they're not looking at him properly.

It's Bellatrix's comment about muggles that makes Draco's eyebrow raise too, though thankfully it's hidden by his hat—mostly. His smile's a little haughty, a little condescending, but it appears genuine enough, which is what's important. "Plenty, I like to think." Ahem. Anyway, chocolate.

"The best you're going to get here is something by Cadbury," Draco says, absolutely pronouncing the company name wrong, but he saw the brand here and he isn't going to bother to actually figure out what's good chocolate or not in this sudden hell-scape situation he's trying to escape as quickly as possible. He pauses, eyes, scanning the shelf of chocolate. "A Crunchie, probably. Or a plain... Dairy Milk, if that's more his speed."

Why is this happening to him? He's a good person now. Kind of.

Even sober, Bellatrix would laugh in their faces. She would ten times rather take her chances against Rodolphus with his mind set on fucking her up, than cower before him. It's not fear that motivates her relative care around him, but respect – and that respect is driven by some seriously misplaced positive emotions. So nobody let her use her m.i.a.v.i. tonight.

Fortunately(?) she switches between friendly, teenager-esque boredom, and lairy even faster than usual when intoxicated, and the chocolate has re-entered her mind, though the sudden focus on Dolph has sort of brought other questions back as well. Like how wise it would be to return to the manor, with or without the muggle, in their current state.

"Just get some of everything. We have," and here she would love to insert a number, but she hasn't checked and can't remember what the poor clerk had told them when they traded their galleons, "a lot of paper."

Lucius is, when it comes down to it, a rather self-serving type. This remains true across the timelines, though there's no telling whether, if it came down to it, he'd tell a convincing and bald-faced lie to keep from Azkaban in this world. Still, there's enough of the same personality as Draco knows for him to what he'd consider reasonable precautions. Directly annoying Rodolphus is an unnecessary risk. Of course, directly annoying Bellatrix would be what most would call an unnecessary risk, but she knows how to get under his skin and does so, frequently. He does the same, though it has to be noted that Bella lacks the same concern for unnecessary risks in general. That's why he'll probably be the one confiscating the m.i.a.v.i. later.

It's also why he's the one who just eyes her, then eyes Draco, then eyes the chocolate. No, he's not entirely sure he wants to stagger into Lestrange Manor, Malfoyesque Muggle in tow. Rodolphus will either really enjoy the surprise or...really not. Mm. Maybe a good night to see to his supervisory duties, he thinks, after a bit of play. "They're called pounds, love. She gets confused. Still calls everything a...." What had they used when he was at Durmstrang. "Kroner." He smiles beatifically. "Have you anything exciting other than sandwiches penciled in tonight?"

Draco knows what they're doing. He knows what they're doing and it makes his stomach churn unpleasantly - as much as the old views have had to be worked out of him, he's never been able to stomach the violence, the torture, anything of that nature - and why should he? It's abhorrent. He regrets every second of pretending to be all right with it. When he'd seen the Mark in stark black against his skin instead of as an angry red scar, he'd almost vomited.

He scratches the back of his left arm habitually while he thinks, tipping his head aside as though he's giving the inquiry its due consideration. In reality he's trying to think on whether he can finish this up and get away clean or not. If not, his work here is going to end very, very quickly. He can tell Lucius is sobering up, which is going to become a problem very quickly.

Finally Draco huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "No," is the reply, "unfortunately not. The life of the middle-aged is relatively boring, I'm afraid." Forties is middle-aged for muggles, right? Fuck it, they won't know that either.

Bella, who insisted on matching Lucius drink for drink for whatever else earlier, is considerably less likely to come to her senses anytime soon, in part because she isn't nearly as much of a drinker as he is, and in part because there is less of her to go around to begin with.

She reaches out to Draco, then, a delighted smile on her face. The kind that would be nice on another person, but considering that he's only ever seen her not refuse the touch of someone she considers 'lesser' in her twisted worldview usually saw that person dead, it's probably not all that convincing. Well, it's just his coat she is touching, but the movement has her sleeve slip up enough for him to see ... nothing. However out of it she might be, she is still managing to keep the concealment charm up.

"Then you should join us. The night is still young, isn't it, Lucius, darling? We should all live a little."

Lucius distinctly remembers saying the words alcoholism has its perks, Bellatrix earlier in the night, which just goes to show: veritaserum is practically pointless when you have Macallan's best single malt on the table. Of course it also meant his tolerance is much higher, that the drunk fades faster. He's nowhere near sober; he still has the urge to do a number of unwise things, like kiss Bella full on the mouth in the store, pick the redheaded cashier up to take her apart, piece by piece, and just. Lean against the display of Ricicles cereal boxes and take a nap.

He shows great restraint and does none of these things, instead tossing a half dozen candy bars into Draco's basket as Bella seduces or terrifies or molests. One of those, at any rate. "She can't bear me to be less drunk than her," he says, enunciating with extreme care. "So if you've got nothing on, you really ought to join us. If she gets a bit more vodka in her, she might hop up on a table and sing." That is absolutely one of the biggest lies Lucius Septimus Malfoy has ever told.

Bellatrix's smile and her touch to his coat means it takes everything he has to not flinch away. Old habits die hard and even so many years after her death at home, seeing her again like this is just... Seeing both of them is harrowing. Seeing them like this is somehow worse. He wonders how differently they'd act if they knew. Merlin, but if they knew. An errant thought floats through his mind, wondering what would happen if he killed them now, but even if he could kill anyone at all he could never kill family. Especially not his father.

Instead he leans in a little, laughs, shakes his head like he's considering and losing the battle. If they were sober, they'd notice the sharpness in his Lucius-eyes.

"What do two young people like you want with someone like me?" Yes, that's good. Draw it out. Good job, Draco. Still smiling, he nods toward the alcohol section, moving toward it. "Suppose we should get some vodka, then," drawled. Even if it wasn't a lie, he wouldn't want to see it.

"That's not at all what happened the last time you had me drinking vodka," she replies, and somehow manages to have no aspect of her tone sound anything like an engaged woman ought to sound like when talking to her 'friend'. If she had wanted to suggest something sexual less subtly, they should have gone with Lucius' impulse and just made out.

"Perhaps we are just looking for someone responsible and mature."

She does amble towards the general direction of the liquor as well, which means Lucius has to follow suit or she is at a serious risk of falling, having fully resigned herself to the fact that Rodolphus would have the manor to himself tonight, while Lucius' grandson winds up with the worst kind of company. But who knows how long they can have fun with this assumed muggle man? It might be a while. She wouldn't mind it being a while.

"Mm, well, a table was involved, no?" Lucius says as he oh so casually loops an arm around Bella's neck. His knuckles skim gently against her throat as he gives her an intimate smile. That's before he remembers they aren't alone, and their Muggle companion is looking oddly...transfixed. Mm, probably nothing to worry about. "We do lack both responsibility and maturity at this point of the evening," he says lightly as they turn into an aisle full of glass bottles, and he looks blearily at a display of clear alcohol. Beefeater's gin. No.

He's reached the same conclusion as Bellatrix, of course. He'd mostly reached it earlier, because it would be patently unwise to amble into Lestrange Manor at this hour. Bella's barely standing at this point as is, and Rodolphus has the place booby-trapped to all get out. He might know them as well as the back of his hand, but he's also not entirely sure he's going to recognize the back of his hand if they drink more. So Malfoy Manor it is. But somewhere else first, he thinks, turning to look at Draco again. Some things you don't bring home.

Draco is lucky that he's been taught to compartmentalize so well because he manages yet again to keep himself in check and just pretend like he's glossing over the fact that these "friends" are too intimate with one another when in reality he just wants to vomit at the sheer thought of their implications. He's going to be taking this alcohol back with him and then he's going to make himself a stiff drink or three once he's settled somewhere safer.

As they move toward the liquor, he almost snorts. Or you're itching for torture and murder, he thinks bitterly. Instead of gin he focuses on vodka, though he does put a bottle of whiskey that looks promising enough into his basket while he's here. He's going to need it.

His stomach is twisted in knots even traumatizing actions aside - he knows this is a very dangerous situation and he's not sure when the bile is going to leave his throat. "Supervision, eh? Or near enough. Seems a lot of people need that these days." Deftly, he picks a bottle of vodka and puts it into the basket. "Anything else?"

Bella gives the aisle a cursory glance, but everything is rather blurry, and she is mostly indifferent here as long as it contains a substantial amount of alcohol. Her main focus, for a brief while, is to lean into Lucius and think murderous thoughts. There is whole ritual they discussed, earlier, when things still mostly involved wine. She does shift to look Draco up and down, and it could count as sexual harassment only if he didn't know her way, way better than she could guess.

"Oh, it will do." What? She did sort of look at the bottles there.

There is something like sentience flickering across her face though, at what he said before that. Her voice is positively friendly, neutral, not really a tone that she can manage outside of this timeline. "Why would a lot of people need supervision here?"

Edited 2017-09-19 20:18 (UTC)

Lucius's arm slides around Bella's waist as she leans in, and he seems to be watching Draco choose alcohol with a rather avid gaze, his eyes just a bit unfocused from the alcohol and drugs already consumed. Murder is, however, the very best stimulant - a lesson Bella taught herself once he was away from Hogwarts and then Durmstrang. The prospect of it - the prospect of a Muggle's blood soaking into a ground - is better than coffee for pulling him out of the haze, at least a little bit. It's funny, he thinks. He's not heard that supervision is much of a feature of British Muggle life. If it was, their extracurricular activities would be harder. Wouldn't they?

If he were a little less drunk, he might try to puzzle that idle thought out. It's easier to just let his lips curve in a lazy smile as they turn back up the aisle. He's got Bella to keep upright as it is. "It's a dangerous world, I suppose," he drawls. It really is just like Draco's from earlier. "Who knows what creatures may stalk the night." One finger twines idly around one of Bella's glossy curls and his smile widens just slightly.

Their gazes on him make his skin crawl and he scratches at his arm again nervously, still on the outside of it, glad that it just makes him look a little oddly shy. It will do like he's some kind of fucking cattle. He knows she's not talking about the alcohol.

Disgusting. He manages to keep the sneer off his face.

He's begun to move them toward the checkout line, which is blessedly short this time of night, and speaks companionably with a huffed out laugh. Like nothing is wrong. Like his father and aunt aren't looking at him like a piece of meat to rip apart piece by piece. "Sometimes when one's associates are too far gone," he says, grinning, "they do foolish things." It's a bit wolfish, but he knows they still think he's a muggle - they're like to find it more hilarious than anything else. "It can be dangerous around the wrong sorts, you're right."

The checkout presents a... particular problem, for two people with a distinct British drift to their English, who still act like they are foreigners in about a hundred little ways. It also means talking to a muggle girl she doesn't have the means to guide to certain death right now, and dealing with the ridiculously flammable paper, and she would much, much rather not. And that is clearly written on her face. Better to think of positive goals. Like the prospect of bleeding out this muggle – she gives him another glowing smile – and, well, after that, drunk on murder but sobered in general... at least smiling up at Lucius, her smile is actually genuine.

Which is probably disconcerting all by itself. Never mind that this degree of physical closeness, in public, for no other reason than enjoying his company would actually quietly unnerve her when sober. It's a bit unlike her.

"Well, wouldn't it be best to stick with the right sorts, then?" She does laugh, at the idea of foolishness and how easy this apparently is, from her entirely blind standpoint. "Join us for a drink?"

They might be slightly less drunk, but still wasted enough that, Lucius thinks as he fumbles with pound notes enough to buy the chocolate, alcohol and cheese that he doesn't intend the Muggle to actually eat, any bored late night worker probably thinks they're just drunk and strange. Perhaps they are, by normal people's standards. He hands Draco the bags; solicitude only goes so far, even in the service of luring a man to his death, and he indicates the man ought to go in front with a sweeping motion of his hand as Bella glomps onto his side. It's not until they're near the exit that he actually speaks, though, and only after finally leaning down to kiss Bella on her brightly smiling mouth. He imagines they look cute. Probably.

"We know a good pub, but it's a bit far. If you want to stay close by..." The trail off seems to indicate they'd be amenable. What it really indicates is they'll have to come up with an alternate plan for delivery to Bella's wonderfully distant Black estate.

Draco is momentarily distracted by a security camera and it takes him a bit to realize what it is. He snorts even though it worries him because he has no idea what to do with it. He remembers that Bellatrix is part of DMAC which means she should know and--"eyes everywhere these days," he says, sounding put out as he gestures to the camera with his free hand, "can't even do your shopping without someone watching."

They don't look cute, for the record.

As they walk out and Draco moves in front of them, the knuckles of his left hand just barely touch Bellatrix's arm - where her Dark Mark must rest. He wonders if it makes her feel a spark of magic. He hopes it makes her feel ill. "I'm amenable," he finally says, looking over his shoulder at them both, free fingers twitching slightly hidden in his sleeve, "to whatever you like."

Bella could kick herself for not thinking about the cameras sooner – they were certainly on record for an unfortunately long while. In on itself, not a problem. Sure, they dressed 'odd' by muggle standards, but that is hardly going to break the Statute. What is going to be a problem is the potential of a missing person notice for the muggle, last seen in their company, including... handage? Leggage? Footage. Footage of them. "Watching and storing it on tapes."

But Accio is such a basic spell, they don't need to pause for that right now.

So out is the way to go, and that's all well and good, better with Lucius by her side and the muggle up front, except his hand brushes against her skin, against her Mark, and she jerks her arm back instinctively. It's not the first time the mask slips, but unlike the badly concealed serial killer stare, or the brief moment of genuine fondness when Lucius had kissed her, the unadulterated hatred in her expression isn't in the least dimmed by substance use and/or abuse. She catches herself, but she is almost dizzy with the urge to harm, she could just gauge out his –

"It is odd. I always thought your eye colour was so rare, Lucius."

Only because he knows Bella so well, only because they've been something of a mismatched set of fair and dark for more than five years now - only because of these things does Lucius note the sudden rising rage. Sometimes he tries to make it rise on purpose, for that deliciously electric effect it had at certain times. This isn't one of those, and the analytical part of his mind pushes through the chemical haze. His own hand on Bellatrix isn't soothing or staying so much as urging patience. Soon enough she can vent her anger, soon enough, except...

His eye color is rare, except among Malfoys who tend to breed along similar lines. Gold hair that pales with age. Patrician bone structure. Height, near or at six feet. Lean lines. And storm-gray eyes with barely a hint of blue. He tilts his head, and when he narrows his own eyes they are startlingly clear for right now.

"They are not as common as brown," he murmurs. But it's not the eye color, really. There's hardly something so English as gray eyes. No, it's the combination of things; the overlong blond hair beginning to pale, the face, the drawl, the smirk. The Muggle's not as tall as he is, but the way he holds his head...Malfoy. He'd almost wager galleons on it.

Especially when he recalls his drunk words from when they'd first stumbled into the store; he looks almost exactly like Abraxas Malfoy, almost exactly, and Lucius turns his head to look at Bella. "What did I say Scorpius called his father? Draco?" He'd thought, when Scorpius had arrived, that perhaps he'd feel more kinship with a man meant to be his own son, but it turns out that's not the case - not if what he's suspecting is true.

Mostly just annoyance.

He'll know to take the tapes, which is the most important thing here besides not dying. First take care of one, then the other. Thank you, auntie.

They're outside, at least. And practically alone. "They run in the family," Draco drawls slowly as they slowly make the connection, setting down the bags (holding on to some of the chocolate) and turning toward them so that no one can hex him (or worse) in the back. He's smiling, that slow Malfoy smile, infuriating and knowing, and he lets them finish before he speaks again.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," easy as anything. "In any case I don't expect you to regret very nearly attempting to torture and murder a pureblood, because you won't remember it."

When he moves it's swift. Reaching for his wand strapped to his other arm makes his sleeve shift up, clearly revealing the Dark Mark seared into his skin before he's tossing the damned chocolate bars at Bellatrix to distract her and pointing his wand at Lucius first. "Obliviate."

Obliviation may just feature one incantation, but it is a lot trickier than that, if you would rather go big than go home. She is shocked, when it hits Lucius, but she remains, within her means, on track. This has not been a thought-through attack, this was the spell in its simpler version. Recent memories wiped, not a whole life. She sways slightly, now that Lucius has gone blank beside her for a moment, and it may be cover enough for the glimpse of the Dark Mark she got. He should be one of them.

Were she sober, were she at least not about as far away from sobriety as a person can be without succumbing to a poisoning, she would opt for stone cold murder. As it stands, she might miss, she might fail, and even with her mind numbed to this degree, the only thing that can make this situation worse is absolutely proving him right and then failing to get rid of the evidence. Him. She doesn't dodge, nor does she conjure a shield, and she doesn't draw her wand, against every fibre of her being. She holds her hands up in surrender, and her aim is obviously to talk him down.

Her wrist is still entirely blank.

"Your time must be darker than ours, Draco."

There's a moment, a space of a few seconds between when Draco tells them his full name and when he's pointed his wand at Lucius's face. It's enough time for his own wand to find it's way to his hand, and were he sober, enough time to block the incantation. He spent time as an Obliviator, after all, he certainly knows how to avoid the spell. But he's not sober, he's far from sober.

He uses that time to think, then speak, instead of defend, and the only thought that manages to form is that he needs to figure out what exactly occurs in this future. "Your son," he begins, and really, that must be the last straw because then he thinks nothing at all.

Obliviate is, for several long seconds, like being trapped in a bubble as memories are locked away to where they can't be accessed. He's still there, but he's not really aware. He's frozen in place as Bella tries to talk Draco down. But if he weren't, he'd likely tell her it isn't worth the effort. That they'd been pushing in a way that a Muggle wouldn't have realized but a Malfoy certainly would; that in Draco's position Lucius would be doing far worse than Obliviate.

"Nothing will happen to my son," Draco says coldly, "I'll be making sure of it." But Lucius is already gone - and it's true. Lucius would have done far worse than Obliviate them. Draco would have if it were someone else. When Bellatrix speaks Draco turns to her, wand pointed directly. He's smiling but his eyes are like ice chips, sharp and bearing down on her. Bellatrix... Her he might had been able to kill, were she alone.

His smile widens. "No, Bellatrix. Auntie. My time is free of tyranny and war and the fear of something like this. In my time, Tom Riddle is long dead."

He lets it sink in like that for just a moment. Just long enough. "This time is the dark one. Obliviate."

By the time they both come back to Earth Draco and his cheese and whiskey will be gone - Lucius will be holding a bottle of vodka and Bellatrix will have the candy for Rodolphus.

Draco has a lot of work to do before he moves places to stay tonight.

She is very much about to argue that this time is entirely free of war and fear and tyranny, as is the government's official stance, and she even keeps the friendly-ministry-employee voice for her attempt – and then he tells what she knows is a blatant lie. Tom Marvolo Riddle, dead? Impossible. Terrifying and impossible and making it impossibly difficult to resign herself to being obliviated for the sake of not handing him any proof for his entirely true torture-murder-claims.

He is gone before she comes to again, and when she does, it takes her a moment of abject confusion in the face of the muggle sweets in her hands before she recognises this particular sense of disorientation not as part of the drug haze, but as a sign of having been obliviated. Lucius is there – she remembers drinking with him, remembers one of them mentioning Rodolphus and chocolate and – blank.

"Did you obliviate me?" She takes a staggering step towards him, incredulous and trying to work around the sudden gap in her memory, while having trouble holding onto more than one piece of the puzzle at a time thanks to their previous escalations.

He's holding a bottle of vodka, which would be confusing even if he remembered the events of the the last few minutes; he would have taken the vodka and the damn chocolate. As it is, he lifts it and gives it a puzzled look before he catches Bella's arm as she staggers towards him. "Did you obliviate me?" He asks. It's...not entirely outside the realm of possibility, he thinks. They've done dumb shit and pointed wands at each other before.

One might even go so far as to say must be a day that ends in y.

He frowns a little harder, looking down the street as if its likely to give him an answer.

"Are we in Mu...the other London?" he whispers.

Her eyes widen and she steps even closer, steadied by his arm, but also unarguably crossing the line between 'normal interpersonal distance' and 'entirely in his space'. It looks a bit like she is trying to prevent icky muggle contamination by stepping close to all the amazing blood purity he represents, and that makes it more than a little funny. We––"

She is fully taking in her surroundings now, the shop not far from them, cars, streetlights. What, by Merlin's sodding testicles, had they taken to think this was even remotely okay?

"Did we obliviate each other over this?"

Alright, maybe it's the sudden nervousness, or the shock, but she is genuinely laughing at that. She isn't going to laugh tomorrow, but as of right now, she is nowhere near a state of mind to fully judge herself for the stupidity of it all.

It's fine. His hand can slide to her waist to make anyone passing think they're just a pair of tipsy lovers. It's odd, he thinks. He never realized Obliviate acts almost as an ice cold shower when it came to sobering up, he thinks. It's not worth it, but.

"...We must have," he says, murmuring in her ear. "No one else could have, right? Not here." Because he might be more comfortable in Muggle London than her, but only by a miniscule degree. That's how it was for most witches and wizards. Wizarding and Muggle worlds weren't meant to mix.

He chuckles a little as Bella suddenly laughs, and it's a little rueful. "Let's get back," he says. "And - Malfoy Manor, tonight. I'm not sure I wish to see Rodolphus' face just now, mm?"

"No, I don't think so." She pauses, making an effort to collect herself, before whispering back. "We can check the registry tomorrow, see if any of the... lesser kind live in the area, just to be safe."

It feels vaguely familiar, the idea of going back to his estate rather than Lestrange Manor, but she can't place when the thought must have first come up. Then again, even after the obliviating, she is still not in a state that she would want to face Rodolphus in – actually, make that 'especially because of the obliviating'. Somehow she felt as though he wouldn't find it quite as bizarrely funny as she did.

"I can do without his judgement right now. Are you good to apparate?" Sober, she would be loathe to ask, it's almost like admitting to a weakness, but she is in a state where she considers splicing a serious risk – and while she can fix it, she would just rather not want to deal.

If, Lucius thinks, they're registered. It's been much of DMLE's headache in recent weeks - chasing down the ones who've decided they're not to be trusted. Still, the registry is the first place to check, just to cover their bases.

He can't place the thought, either, but it's the only reasonable course of action. Rodolphus would be extremely unamused by the whole thing, and the Obliviating most of all. No, best to sleep this off and come up with an explanation in the morning, when they both have clearer heads. His hand rests at the back of Bella's waist as he looks down, a little assessment in his eyes. He is, of course, still not sober. But he's not wavering on his feet the way she is, and he nods as he leads her into the nearest alley. "I'm fine to do it," he says easily, and his lips twitching slightly.

"I swear neither one of us will lose a leg into the ether."

Bella is thinking of the other registries, too – muggleborn and half-blood, anyone who might have an address in the area – but she isn't particularly optimistic. There doesn't appear to be anything else amiss about them, either, and when she checks, her wand is still, or perhaps again, in its sheath.

She is a friend of the most simple solution, and it ties in with the family way: if it's not going well, just lie about it. And if lying is made exceptionally difficult because it is Rodolphus Lestrange you're trying to lie to, just pretend nothing is wrong and hope it doesn't catch his interest. But she'll take a better plan, once they're sober and can properly talk about it.

"I would much, much rather lose it to the ether than have to explain how it ended up on a muggle street during a disciplinary hearing," she says lightly, as she follows him into the alley, briefly looking over her shoulder to make sure no-one is watching. "We should be clear."

They're both accomplished liars, though Lucius' is hardly a family trait so much as a line of defense, necessary with the associations he's developed. Either way, Bella's right, it doesn't really work with Rodolphus Lestrange. Somehow he knows, somehow he sees through, and certainly he's not susceptible to the emotional manipulation Lucius excels at.

He glances out towards the street, just confirming what Bella says is true, and then he wraps his arm around her. Closer is better when you're apparating two, but this close? Probably not strictly necessary. But she doesn't protest, and there's only a soft popping sound before they appear again, this time in the master bedchamber at Malfoy Manor. "All present and accounted for, I believe."

She doesn't protest then, and she doesn't seem to have any intention at all whatsoever to bring distance back between them when they re-appear in his bedroom. All the better for his current houseguests – she isn't planning on leaving this room.

"I reckon so. Or else I can't bring myself to care, which makes me wonder what we thought we needed the vodka for." And it definitely seems to be very sincere wondering, that absolutely has her focus, because she is absolutely not kissing him right now.

Oh, wait. No, that's what's happening.

"I haven't the slightest idea, unless one of us was exhibiting signs of sobriety." Which seems incredibly unlikely, given the way his head is swimming. Obviously that feeling is exactly why he keeps his arm tight around her; they're keeping themselves upright in a world that somewhat resembles a carousel at the moment.

He doesn't have such an excellent excuse for why, when she leans up and kisses him, he not only kisses her back, but shifts his grip so he can lift her just a little higher as he leans against the post of his bed. But then, why does he need an excuse? It's not the first time this has happened. It won't be the last, and as the fingers of one hand thread into her tousled hair and fist there, he's very glad of that fact. It would be a sacrifice to give this up.

The sweets are dropped and forgotten in the moment of it. She does find that the spinning is less of a problem when she focuses on one thing at a time, and if that one thing is pressing her body against his, that's just as well. It's true, though: there is no need for excuses, not with all their previous arrangements in place. It isn't as if Rodolphus has to be here for this. He isn't always, and neither is Lucius, and neither is she. Sometimes, closing the doors on one is necessary, isn't it? And if she can cope being on the other side of it, so can he.

But honestly, that is a lot of thought for this time of night in this compromising a position, not that it stalls her. When he grips her hair, she grins into the kiss, and eagerness (and practice, perhaps) makes up for steady fingers when she begins to unfasten his robes. It would do her some good to think about the inevitable walk of shame to the apothecary tomorrow before work, or to think about the fact that work is lurking and sleep could do her some favour before that, but she is in an entirely single-minded mood right now.

The vodka is set on the floor, a dull clink of glass against stone, and then he has both hands free. He's not thinking of Rodolphus right now; perhaps he'll recall later that Bella is, in the eyes of the world, another man's fiancee. Or perhaps he won't. She wears his ring, after all. Regardless, right now, he's a little too drunk and a little too distracted to think of anyone who isn't in this room. Instead, he focuses his attention on the far too many buttons that close her robes, and then the far too many buttons that close the equally black top beneath.

"You always have too many clothes on, Bellatrix," he says, and because he knows her and knows her well, he tugs sharply on her hair, forcing her hair back with just a bit of a burn. His teeth scrape against the pulse in her throat as her robes float to his floor.

"It is called propriety, Lucius," a paradox statement that just about loses all of its arrogant force when it is partially gasped; he does know her very well indeed. She puts up just enough of a fight to make it worthwhile when he forces her head back, and then bares her throat, eternally grateful for the power of concealing charms. Stepping out of her clothes unseeing means doing an even greater number on personal distance, and she slides her hands up to his shoulders so his robes may follow suit.

"But you are entirely lost to polite society tonight, aren't you?" Teasing comes easier than haughtiness, and she shifts just enough to press her thigh against his crotch, bless the fact that she hasn't bothered to rid herself of the heel height advantage just yet.

His teeth first merely scrape against her skin, but he rewards that arch haughtiness with the kind of sharp bite that will be red, even blue the next morning. Then he leans back, his hand tight in her hair until he needs to let go in order for his dark robes to fall to the floor. Too impatient for anything else, he unlaces his boots with a wordless point of his fingers and steps out of them as her fingers unfasten the smooth buttons on his shirt.

"You know perfectly well, Bella," he says, and it'a a heated purr. "I'm nearly always lost to polite society when you wind me up this much." He doesn't remember the night, of course, the obliviation took care of that, but he's sure they must have wound each other up. "I expect if I had a mother she'd say you're quite ruining me." Desiderata Malfoy has, of course, been dead since he was thirteen, and even before that...had mostly left the rearing of the Malfoy heir to Abraxas. But he could pretend that she'd be concerned.

Not that his mother is first in his mind, not when Bella has her thigh grinding up against him. Lucius' gray eyes go nearly black with lust, and he drops his hand to her other leg, hiking it up to hook around his hip as he again uses magic to dispense with the rest of the fabric between them. "Tell me," he says, placing another sharp, hard bite along her jaw. "How do you want me tonight, darling?"

so here i am {closed}

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YOU BET I UPLOADED THIS SILLY ASS ICON

EXCELLENT USE OF THAT PAID ACCOUNT

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