Chapter 21
The Lestrange manor, normally a labyrinthine fortress of cold stone, was now teetering on the brink of absolute chaos. Every echoing hall seemed alive with whispers, screams, or the occasional crash as Bellatrix’s temper burned through like wildfire. Rodolphus Lestrange had set a silencing charm on the doors of their bedroom after Bellatrix had successfully destroyed not one, but two ornate vases and now threatened destruction upon the grand tapestry of the Lestrange lineage.
Yet below, in one of the guest quarters, Rabastan Lestrange sat with his newly wedded—and highly unconventional—wife, Petunia Noel Evans know Lestrange . A wooden breakfast tray lay between them, stacked with toast, eggs, and tea, though Rabastan barely touched his plate. Instead, he leaned forward, utterly engrossed in his wife’s tale, his sharp features softening every time Petunia flinched or frowned.
“So,” Rabastan mused, elegantly dragging a silver fork through the surface of his eggs as he studied his wife with piercing, calculating blue eyes, “if Fudge orchestrated all of this as you say—forcing our unholy match, clearing your debt at the cost of shackling you to the likes of me—then what’s stopping you from running off, darling Petunia?”
Petunia’s lips tightened slightly as she sipped her tea. Her once-flinty eyes, now softened with St. Mungo's miraculous intervention, darted toward Rabastan, trying to read the subtle playfulness beneath his words. He wasn’t mocking her exactly, but there was a teasing edge, as if her answer might genuinely amuse
Petunia pursed her lips, her face turning ashen. “I had no choice,” she admitted quietly, studying the floral pattern on the teacup as though it might contain the answers to all her woes. “My life has been nothing but struggle and humiliation since Lily left for Hogwarts. I lost everything. My family, my savings—everything. I needed to survive.”
“And Running off to where?” she echoed dryly. “Where exactly would I run to? Back into anonymity? Back to a life where everyone I once knew thought me lesser, thought me unworthy? No, Rabastan”—her voice hardened like steel—“I’ve seen enough of how your kind operates to know that running from the magical world only gets you swallowed by it.”
The corner of his lips tilted upward ever so slightly, a smirk tugging at the edges. He liked her answer, though he was far too disciplined to say so.
“Well spoken,” Rabastan admitted with a lazy drawl, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, I expected you might say you enjoy the luxuries of our little... situation. You seem to have taken to the manor quite well.”
Petunia sighed, resting her teacup on the silver saucer as she contemplated her answer. “It’s not about the luxuries. They’re nice, yes, but it’s more than that. For once in my life, I hold some level of power. Not my husband’s kind of power, of course. Not curses and wands and killing. But power all the same. People can’t dismiss me here the way they did when I was merely Lilly‘s magicles sisters or simply ‘the Muggle’ in your world. Now, I’m a name. A Lestrange. And no one ignores a Lestrange.”
Rabastan chuckled, his deep voice reverberating around the room. “Oh, darling, I assure you. Being a Lestrange doesn’t mean they won’t try.” He raised his crystal goblet in mock toast. “Here’s to being feared, loathed, and tolerated. Welcome to the family.”
Their tense camaraderie was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Bellatrix’s shrill screams piercing the silence-charms above. Both of them froze instinctively, and one word stood out amidst her furious screeching.
“MUGGLE!”
Rabastan grimaced, glanced toward the ceiling, then back at his new wife. “Ah,” he murmured, as if this were the most natural development in the world, “Bellatrix has officially become aware of the situation.”
Petunia eyed the ceiling with an uneasy expression. That woman’s screams could have rivaled a banshee. “She sounds… upset.”
Rabastan smirked devilishly. “Upset is… understating it. She’s probably deciding whether to set you on fire or demand a duel. Or both.”
“That isn’t funny, Rabastan!” Petunia hissed, her calm demeanor faltering as she tightened her grip on her knife and fork. “Your sister-in-law is completely unhinged! She’ll kill me!”
“Yes, well, she’s always been a bit dramatic about bloodlines,” Rabastan remarked with a shrug. “Don’t take it personally. She once hexed our cousin for shaking hands with a half-blood. We’ll just need to keep her away from you until she calms down. Which…” He paused to consider. “...could potentially take months years or maybe never.”
Petunia frowned at his words, muttering, "Oh, how reassuring ."
As if on cue, Rodolphus’s strained voice bellowed from somewhere within the chaos upstairs. “Rabastan, she’s coming for your wife! Hide her! Now!”
Petunia shot to her feet. “Hide me? Hide me where? This house has no closets, only dungeons! Your idea of hiding would probably involve trapping me in some enchanted chest that tries to eat me alive!”
Rabastan sighed, finishing his tea with infuriating calmness. “Do you have any better ideas? Because I assure you, Bellatrix will happily fight through an army of Aurors to get her hands on you.”
“I don’t even have a wand!” Petunia hissed, panic bubbling in her tone. “How am I supposed to defend myself without magic?”
“You aimed your knife at the Minister of Magic last night, and you tormented black and potter in the most delicious way darling,” Rabastan pointed out. “Personally, I think you’ll do just fine.”
Before Petunia could retort—or perhaps throttle her apathetic husband—a loud bang echoed through the halls, followed by the sound of shattering china, undoubtedly one of Bellatrix’s tantrums reaching the lower floors.
Rabastan stood, brushing off his robes with the air of a man resigned to a particularly bothersome chore. “Come along, Petunia. I believe it’s time we introduced you to some of the darker passages of this lovely estate. Bellatrix is bound to find her way down here eventually, but in the meantime, you might as well get comfortable with the knowledge that no one survives her wrath without a few scars.”
Petunia groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Rabastan smirked, reaching for her hand. “Why, marriage, my dear. Isn’t it grand?”
And with that, the peculiar pair vanished into the shadows of Lestrange Manor, leaving Bellatrix to scream her fury to the heavens above. It was unlikely this would all end peacefully, but Rabastan knew one thing for certain: his wife was no ordinary Muggle. And, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, he found himself rather enjoying this unconventional arrangement.