#a quick overrun on the abusive guy remulus lestrange is

[rodolphxsheir]

     Rodolphus was laying on the floor of the spacious living room, dark wood intertwining with the reddish strands of his hair, wand in hand and blood dripping down his lips. His head was pounding not much because of the screams but because of the words.

             “An heir should never lose.”

     Romulus’ voice spread through the room like ichor, all sense of focus and concentration returning to the boy’s brain. Rodolphus took his time to bring up his fourteen years old body, and get into a defensive stance once again. Hazel eyes squinted ferociously while dark crimson dripped down the floor. A quick healing spell and all wounds and imperfections would be gone but now something else was important. Showing strength. His father attacked as abruptly and unexpectedly as last time, a blast of orange met with a protective spell. While taking his rest, the younger Lestrange attacked his inferior just as fast and kept going. A loud groan left Rodolphus’ lips and his father only cackled back. 

     An heir should never lose, the words repeat themselves in his mind and moved his spiritual body somewhere else. In that one night, he had seen his father in action, dueling, but then also beating Rabastan. That one moment, where Rodolphus’ position as an heir did not matter. The idea of the younger Lestrange becoming a pawn in his fathers’ hands was dominating, even though Romulus always stated else — “You are born to be a leader, a king.” — yet abusing his children was all he did. Rodolphus wasn’t blind, he understood and assimilated the importance of showing strength. He would not fail and definitely show his father that what he was doing was not anything loyal towards the family.

     Perhaps the need to become a leader but not a pawn is why the older brother was still on his legs, trying to bring his own father down for mercy. It was the strive to show him he was not a figurine made of wood to be played on a chess board, that manipulators bred manipulators, but he would refuse to obey. He would lead on his own one day, Rodolphus needed no guidance or false words. When the boy snapped back to reality, a red thread of light was flying towards his leg in slow motion, the color of it specific and vague for his hazel eyes. He lunged to his right side and evaded the spell, his own wand attacking with a quick Knockback Jinx which failed to work.

     Romulus stood straight and placed his wand back in the inside of his coat, light-treading steps leading him to Rodolphus. “You need to work more.” Voice cold as ice and an undeniable expression of disappointment; his father’s hands gently landed on the boy’s shoulders, softly pressing down. The touch intensified until it became a force to be reckoned with as if the patriarch was trying to bring Rodolphus on his knees. But oh, the older brother did fight back. He forced his body back, eyes gluing to his father’s and matching his coldness. The heir knew that the finishing spell was the Cruciatus Curse but only made a mental note of disbelief. A gentle, respecting smile and a nod of his head, followed by a twirl of his wand in between sore fingers. 

                                              “It was a pleasant meeting, father.”

     Perhaps one day the two would have a duel, in which both of them would exchange curses as practice. Perhaps that’s what all fathers did with their heirs. It was a matter of time for the heir to win the duel, though — no matter the spells used.