riddlelog | only the pleasure of a private life [closed]

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only the pleasure of a private life [closed]

Who: Lucius and Bellatrix
What: Just a witch and a wizard having a lazy weekend breakfast
When: Over the weekend.
Where: Malfoy Manor
Warnings: Disturbing levels of domesticity. Dark Arts Nerds, probably.

He still goes back and forth between Malfoy Manor and the far more distant and isolated Lestrange property where he had been living - but more of his nights are being spent in his own home, and it has its advantages, no matter how many times he contemplates just moving to the cottage in Cornwall and leaving them to it (a brief and unrealistic fantasy, honestly). One of them, frankly, is his kitchen elves are better than Rodolphus' are - and the spread includes coffee and tea, of course, but also chocolate and almond croissants and his favorite éclairs.

One might posit that after months of breakfasting with likeminded friends, a solitary late breakfast at Malfoy Manor - long after the boys have gotten themselves out of the house - might be lonely. It can be, certainly, Lucius thinks as the coffee pot raises in the air and pours the perfect amount of black French coffee into one cup. But not always.

His arm stretches across Bella's back as he reaches for the sugar. Which obviously he doesn't need to do, either, but. Well. "Cream, darling, or are you too busy stealing books from my library?"

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There has been more than just one occasion when Marlene McKinnon was distracted with some curse to break and they've been left alone, Lucius thinks as his thumb rubs absently against a patch of skin near Bella's shoulder, where her robes have dipped slightly. Those are the times when, deep in a quiet store, deep in stacks that few others use, things have...escalated. His father would be horrified at his lack of decorum.

He laughs a little. "With the two of us puzzling it out? I doubt it'll take much time at all." And neither is expected at the Ministry on a weekend morning, though he fully expects Bella to head in. There's no cure for her particular kind of workaholism. "There's a ritual in here that requires the heart of a man."

No one ever said he doesn't know how to charm a girl.

Her mother would immediately drop dead, although possibly not without having Walburga burn her off of the family tapestry first. Actually, scratch that: her mother would drop dead, and then her ghost would haunt Bella forever, just to make sure that nothing like this could ever happen again. Her father hasn't really looked her into the eye since the whole dead cat thing – she reckons she would be good on that front.

"I suppose there is a first time for wanting anything." Does she really need to assert her views on romance over semantics and heavenly, chocolate-y breakfast foods? She does look entirely sold already, though. And she leans into his touch, truly, the way to a woman's hear––– increased interest in solving a puzzle over breakfast is through ritualism. "We may as well start," and she doesn't need to brush her hand against his thigh, but she might as well, especially since it doesn't stop her from pointing the croissant at the part she refers to, "here. I recognise the first bit. It is the same as the preamble to the Sacrifice of the Twelve. Author's identifier."

Despite appearances - and appearances are pretty damning on that score, given their heads are together over a book and they're both in a chair strictly meant for one - neither one of them would accept even the idea that what they're doing here is romantic. It's breakfast. It's coffee. It's a very, very intriguing book that they'll both use for their shared extracurricular hobbies.

The soft humming sound he makes close to her ear is entirely academic. "That's a nice one. We haven't done it in some time." Twelve disappearing at once tends to inspire more questions than the Minister would prefer to answer, after all. Unfortunately. "You're right, though. And if you continue with his runic style, then this next part: to clarify and empower magic inborn, on Samhain night, bring the bodies of three girls, for each aspect of Hekate.." Surely three Muggle girls wouldn't be missed, he thinks as he reaches for his coffee and takes a sip.

How could it possibly be romantic? After all, so much of what they're doing can be twisted so it looks as though it is all going toward a shared goal that is so much greater than the two of them. The ritual, for instance. Sharing a chair just... helps making sure that neither of them has to crane their neck. Breakfast is an important meal. She's pretty sure she's heard Dolores Umbridge say 'Mr. Malfoy smells nice' at least once before, so not that out there a thought.

But she isn't really busy digging that particular mental hole for herself, because there are rituals to be riddled. "Oh, this explains the suffixes on most of these. It's in trial." Shut up, she is absolutely not sounding excited about the use of a rare grammatical number. Totally drinking some coffee to mask that nerdy joy. "It does imply that every follow up instruction needs to be carried out simultaneously. We'll need a third."

They've never been romantic; it's not them. But they are - have become, at least - partners. The work with the others, of course, and often. If a mission is particularly critical, Tom Riddle is more likely to send the two of them and Rodolphus than the others. But even more often, it's the two of them, and as often as not because one or the other has an assignment that seems...

Fun.

"Mm, you're right." He trails a fingertip across the runes on the page, tilting his head slightly. If he notices her breathing slightly deeper, he says nothing. But he doesn't edge subtly away as he tends to with Dolores, either. "Rodolphus?" No. Rodolphus, for all that they had several sorts of games in common, wasn't much for this sort of ritual.

"I will ask him," of course she will, even if he isn't a real fiancé, he is still a close friend, "but I doubt he would be terribly interested. Alecto, perhaps?" She wraps her hands around her mug and focuses on the runes again, not at all shifting in his lap. Not at all. "At the very least, it would be an excuse for her to get out of her tower. Besides, I reckon she would enjoy most of this."

She doesn't see his eyes heat slightly when she absolutely does not shift on his lap. In turn, he certainly doesn't tuck her hair behind her ear and bend so his lips are nearly against her ear. None of these things are happening. "There's enough torture and pain required in this ritual to pique her interest." Besides that, he thinks, he's heard through the grapevine that Petia is hosting a masque - most likely being strongarmed into it by either her father or one of the other Parkinsons - and he can hardly show up alone.

Nor can he always escort the woman currently draped across him, when she's publicly engaged elsewhere.

"We should get Alecto away from Hogwarts more often," he adds, leaning away from Bella a bit. "Samhain Night's just about the perfect time."

Truth be told, Bellatrix has avoided the thought of Hallowe'en so far, largely because she had made good use of all the work during the last few months, and spared herself plenty of parties. But this particular day is a given, someone is bound to throw one, and there are some freedoms she doesn't have: being as unavailable for such festivities as she wishes to be is one of them.

It isn't finding someone to take her that is a problem. It's being able to stomach that person for at least a part of the night that causes great difficulties, and just because she can act as if she does, doesn't mean she wants to. Rodolphus is out of question, as is Lucius – they have been spending far too much time together as is, and while she doesn't have a cut off date for the engagement, she does know that she is ever approaching thirty. It won't last much longer, and the last thing she needs is a rumour to imply that the end of the engagement is entirely on her.

Fortunately, she is far too content to really want to think about anything but the inevitable afterparty. Which is to say that she isn't smirking a feline smirk when he purrs in her ear, not at all.

"We couldn't wish for abetter timing for deciphering this, either. Marlene certainly does us a favour with her bookshop, doesn't she?"

He'd allowed himself to be briefly cornered by a giggling Greengrass recently - it kept his father mostly off his back, even if Abraxas had been avoiding Malfoy Manor like the plague since the time deviants began to show their faces - and the only thing of note that the girl had really said was that it was such a shame that Bellatrix was engaged, because they made such an attractive pair. While technically true, Lucius has no desire to be the public catalyst for a broken engagement, thank you.

He picks up his éclair in an effort to delay what they're tumbling towards (which probably, at minimum, involves one of them flat on their back on his Turkish rug) and takes a bite before giving her a sidelong look. "Do you ever wonder," he says thoughtfully, "if Ms. McKinnon has a bit more than a professional interest in the dark arts? She gets far better volumes than any of the shops in Knockturn."

One of the good things about Rodolphus' taste for the territorial, Bella ponders as she helps herself to an éclair of her own, is that Lucius can't bring the elf responsible for this. She may be an adult woman, and she may have a fair deal of self control, which is why she is keeping her hands mostly in check, but she is almost certain that she would find out just how long she could live off of chocolate treats alone.

"Her father is Pure." She frowns. "And I suspect a few of her connections were made through him." Academics and treasure hunters alike could, of course, be decent (by Bella's standards, so this reads as very, very racist), but knowledges and riches for one or the other could make them forget about these values just as easily. It would explain how she got the books, at least. "I highly doubt she practices the Arts, but I wouldn't hesitate to assume that she reads up on them just as keenly. After all, she doesn't seem to be terribly troubled by the curses on some of them."

It's difficult; it's perhaps part of the reason why he's moved into Lestrange Manor. One part convenience, one part avoidance of Scorpius and his pet Potter, and one part desire to continue to fit into his clothes. Sunny is a menace, he thinks as he licks chocolate cream off his thumb, and a menace who's been with the Malfoys long enough to know exactly the way into Master Lucius' good graces. That way, undoubtedly, has always been via sugar.

"Likely," he drawls out. "My father had some dealings with Iain McKinnon before he retired himself up to Scotland." It had been an oft murmured refrained when he'd stood at attention in this very library - that the man had been ruined by that Muggle, who'd left McKinnon as if it were his blood that was filth. "I daresay one cannot be troubled by curses for long and be in that line of work." After all, they knew perfectly well who the clientele was. It was them, and several of their very dear friends. Marlene was hardly an interesting topic, though, Lucius thinks, that might change should she actually be practicing the Arts. Unlikely, though; for all her practicality, Marlene McKinnon had the same annoying righteousness as Bella's cousin Sirius.

"So, shall we plan something for Samhain?" He says. "Probably ought do it some distance from London."

Bellatrix isn't in the habit of suggesting Black property for these things. Her family is deeply entrenched in the Dark Arts, but she isn't technically among the half of the human population who ought to have those rights, not according to her family's philosphy. She owns land in her own right, inherited in the one hand, bought in the other, but particulary the inherited places are largely out. Being a Black meant being in touch with family, and family meant too many spontaneous visits, too much power-based sharing, too many old women who thought she was busy being rebellious rather than murderous.

"I am sure a Muggle would lend us some land, if we were to ask nicely." She's thinking murder, yes, but the Highlands as well. Or perhaps something on the Irish side.

Lucius isn't averse to using Malfoy property, but then - especially lately - Abraxas Malfoy has largely removed himself, which leaves Lucius a twenty-six year old head of several households while his father stays at the old chateau in Normandy. Still, caution isn't unwarranted, especially when it comes to this sort of ritual. It's not the sort of thing one wants to be caught with in one's backyard.

And the Highlands, or the north of Ireland has several advantages to offer - distance, and stronger magicality than many places in England proper. His laugh is soft and directly in Bella's ear. "I'm certain you're right," he says. "Or else there's all those islands with nothing but lighthouses to keep their ships from crashing into unnoticed rock. I'm certain a solitary, lonely Muggle keeper could hardly resist you." Or him. Or Alecto. They were all so very convincing, after all.

"An island would be tempting, wouldn't it?" He knows her well enough to recognise the expression on her face, that point where she is about to change a spell, a ritual, any piece of magic into something else. Sometimes, it is merely more devious. At other times, more potent. "We could simulate a world, I reckon. All inhabitants of an area dead on this particular night could do something to a small island, no?"

She is sure to have read something along those lines somewhere, but it's practical conjecture, anyway. And it can hardly be impossible to find a lighthouse keeper with a wife and two daughters, or any three females next of kin nearby.

There are some who frequently underestimate the both of them, for different reasons, but anyone who does it after seeing this sort of look on Bella's face deserves exactly what they get. It mostly makes Lucius smile to think about. "Almost certainly," he says. "Especially on Samhain Night."

Samhain is some time away, he thinks, which gives him time to do one of the things he really does do best - namely, ferret out information about such a place. There are a few eager to please types in the Ministry likely to be able to help, he thinks. "I think I'm going to go to Hogwarts next weekend," he says. "Alecto may have some ideas, too."

“You do you.” Sitting in his lap, one hand dropping down to entice his cat to join them, feeling a nearly foreign sense of contentment, she does realise that some appearances need to be made by their respective lonesomes. It wouldn’t do to frown at her initial impulse to suggest to accompany him. “I suppose her new lesson plans are due, too.”

Look, if one thing never fails to amuse her, aside from torture, it’s that Alecto wound up Divination professor at Hogwarts. Bless her for taking this curse upon herself.

He blinks when Thessaly leaps up on him and then promptly curls up half on his lap and have on Bella's, and then glances over at Bella as she starts to scritch the cat behind her ears. "Indeed," he says dryly. "She can't rely on tea leaves for the entire year, the headmaster's bound to notice."

There's probably a bit of inherent sexism going into that appointment, Lucius often thinks. Of course, it was important to get a second presence at Hogwarts. Of course, the only position regularly open was generally Divination - so of course, the Death Eater sent to Hogwarts was one of the few women. It probably ought to have been him, but he's just as glad that their Lord overlooked him for the position. He rather likes the Ministry, thank you.

Bellatrix does pet the cat, but Tess has found her point of interest in a loose corset strap, pawing at it and making it dance. Really, there is room for the theory that, when she had first become an irregular guest at Malfoy Manor, her main appeal had not been ear-scritches or conjured mice for play or no hesitation to let her sleep on the bed, but rather the fact that nearly nothing Bella wears comes without straps that are bound to be undone and just plain a delight to play with.

“We could have bade our time and waited for another position to open up.” Or open one up by force, but with their luck, it would have been Muggle Studies, and none of them were qualified for that. “But we don’t have forever. Besides, you do make an excellent team.” As of yet, she has no idea just how uniquely suited Lucius would have been for the position, nor does she really see the sexism in sending Alecto. The Death Eaters are arguably a boy’s club, and it is, again arguably, due to the nature of their ideology, and as much as she had to fight teeth and claw to gain a rank that, were she a wizard of equal skill, would have been handed to her on a silver platter by her supposed peers… she agrees with the concept. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black does quite well on the mind-washing front, and Bella’s compartmentalising is truly impressive. She will violate plenty of rules regarding her position – her refusal to have children, her refusal, even, to marry, quiet and secretive and temporary as that is, only stretches to herself.

We all have our defence mechanisms.

It's true that Lucius' clothing is, in a word, less interesting than anything Bella wears. He doesn't even disagree with Tess on this point, as it's quite beyond him to argue with corsetry, garters, loose straps and dangling ribbons. Tess is only a cat and Lucius is only a man.

"We could have," he agrees. But Muggle Studies was the most likely. The others - charms, defense against the dark arts, transfiguration, arithmancy and ancient runes - those are all pure professors and there'd be a bit of an outrage if any of them were removed. Divination does make sense, as it's the most frequently vacated post.

Bella's got no idea how well Divination would suit him, he thinks, and he'd prefer to keep it that way. As close of friends as they are, as tangled as they tend to get together, as many years as they've known each other - there are some secrets to big to keep. A Seer among the ranks of the Death Eaters? Lucius is not entirely certain he wishes to be so useful. "The lesson plans are amusing, at any rate," he murmurs. "My father is rather of the opinion that I ought to have been an academic. Isn't it an amusing thought?" Perhaps in a different life, but there are things he loves more than seeking more knowledge.

Or, well. Ways of seeking that go beyond the pale for academia.

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only the pleasure of a private life [closed]

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