Chapter 22
The morning sun cast long shadows across Reinhard Lestrange's meticulously manicured garden. The air, crisp and clean, was a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning within him. He sat at a wrought-iron table, a heavy goblet of wine in his hand, the day’s Prophet spread before him. The headlines jumped out, a chaotic jumble of words detailing the previous day’s forced wedding and its aftermath.
He, Reinhard Lestrange, Lord of the Noble House of Lestrange, a bastion of pureblood supremacy, a staunch follower of the Dark Lord, had been humbled. Voldemort's demise had shattered the world he knew, leaving him and his family vulnerable to the whims of the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge, a man more interested in political posturing than true power, had forced his hand. To avoid Azkaban, his son, his precious Rabastan, had been forced to wed a Muggle, a stain upon the family lineage, a blatant act against all he held sacred.
Yet, a slow smile began to spread across Reinhard’s face as he reread the article. It was a twisted, dark smile, born not of happiness but of a perverse amusement. His new daughter-in-law, Petunia, a name that tasted like ash on his tongue, had not cowered in the face of pureblood pomp. Instead, she’d apparently turned the wedding into a scene of utter chaos for two specific wedding crashers, Sirius Black and James Potter.
The Prophet recounted, in breathless, scandalized prose, the torment suffered by those “Brainless Gryffindors” as they had boldly dared to disrupt the wedding. Small cuts, according to Rita Skeeter’s excitable account, and then the humiliating application of Polyjuice Potion, transforming them into figures of ridicule. Reinhard chuckled, imagining the expressions on their faces, the horror in their eyes. He knew exactly who she had changed them to and he found it hilarious.
He mumbled, "Clever girl, indeed," a sliver of admiration worming its way into his heart alongside the bitterness.
A small pop echoed, and the house-elf, withered and ancient, appeared before him. "Master Lestrange, you have guests."
Reinhard looked at the elf, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "And who are these guests, thing?"
"Lord Abarax Malfoy, Lord Cygnus Black, and Lady Druella Black, Master Lestrange."
Reinhard's eyebrow quirked. A gathering of the old guard, no doubt here to pass judgement. “Send them in.” He knew why they came by.
The trio strode into the garden, their faces hard and their eyes burning with barely suppressed fury. They were an imposing presence, their aristocratic hauteur palpable. They stopped before Reinhard, their disapproval radiating like a physical force.
"Abarax, Cygnus, Druella, lovely as ever," Reinhard drawled, his voice dripping with false cordiality. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"
Abarax’s face was a mask of rage. “Pleasure, Lestrange? There is no pleasure in seeing our sacred customs defiled. What in Merlin’s name have you done?”
Cygnus added, his voice tight with barely controlled anger, "A Muggle? A Muggle woman in our ranks? You've disgraced us all, Lestrange. You've made us a laughingstock!"
Druella, surprisingly, spoke next, her voice sharp as broken glass. "And what about the Potter boy? And that Black nephew of mine, that… filth? You know we had plans to handle them properly ever since the Dark Lord died!"
Reinhard leaned back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Ah, so that's what has your knickers in a twist. Not the perceived stain on my bloodline, but the missed opportunity for a bit of torture? I should have known." He gestured to the Prophet, still spread open on the table. "Did you not read the Prophet? My daughter-in-law certainly had a unique way of handling the situation, don't you think?" He then added, a hint of mischievousness in his tone, "Oh, and Abarax, have you not seen what Lucius commented on the wedding day? He called my daughter-in-law, Petunia, his new bestest friend. Ironic, isn't it?" He then turned to the Blacks, "And let's not forget my lovely eldest daughter-in-law, Bellatrix. She shared drinks with the Muggle you despise so much and practically offered Petunia a seat in our circle! Isn't that lovely, Druella?"
"Enough" Abarax roared, his face contorted in fury. "She is an abomination! She has no right, no breeding, no understanding of pureblood ways! And you allowed this mockery!"
Reinhard waved a hand dismissively. "Calm down, Abarax. Your blood pressure is going to kill you someday." A genuine, albeit dark, smile graced his face. He then added, “Besides, this gossip is good for us. I must thank Fudge for forcing this marriage. Hahaha. He made a big mistake throwing her at us."
Cygnus bristled. “How is it good for us? That a Muggle is now married to your son, and she might bear half-bloods in the near future?”
Reinhard laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “Yes, you are right. She will bear half-bloods in the future. However, I'm not talking about the future. I'm talking about the present." He gestured to the chairs around the table. “Sit, friends, sit.” They did. "My dear friends, who do you think will be most upset by Potter and Black being tortured?"
The three looked at each other, puzzled.
"Let me answer that for you. It’s none other than Albus Dumbledore." A glint appeared in his eyes. "What do you think the old goat's reaction will be when he sees the Daily Prophet? He'll have to deal with the fact that, not only did I humiliate his pet Gryffindors, but a Muggle did it, with such… relish. He'll have to deal with the fact that the Muggle he sees as ‘innocent’ has claws." He leaned forward, his eyes shining with dark amusement. "And perhaps, just perhaps, it’ll make things very interesting in the long run. Dumbledore is going to have another headache, I can guarantee you that”
A silence fell as his words sank in. Druella was the first to react, breaking the silence with a sharp, almost gleeful laugh. “Oh, I can imagine!”
Abarax chuckled, a low, guttural sound that was more sinister than mirthful. "Or he might even barge into Lestrange Manor, demanding a confession from you about manipulating the Muggle and turning her against his precious Gryffindors."
As if summoned by the very thought, a pop echoed through the garden. All heads turned towards the entrance as Albus Dumbledore, flanked by Aurors Alistair Moody, Frank Longbottom, marched through the gate.
Reinhard's smile widened, a predator finally cornering its prey. “Speak of the great wizard and he shall appear.” He rose from his chair, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore, the chessboard finally set for the next move. His new daughter-in-law, the Muggle, was proving more useful than he could have ever imagined.