#lestrange sr

[konstantynowitz]

I fancast her as Madame Lestrange, Lestrange Senior’s mother.

COSTUME APPRECIATION Princess Sophie, Archduchess of Austria, The Empress

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Overheard in the Hogwarts library

Abraxas, happily shaking a bag of money: Nothing in life is free. Hagrid: Love is free. Minerva: Knowledge is free. Myrtle: Friendship is free. Alphard: Self-respect is free. Tom, playing with "his" harmonica: Everything's free if you don't pay for it. Everyone: ... Minerva: Tom, that's illegal- Lestrange: No, let him finish!

[konstantynowitz]

Riddle era headcanons

Walburga, like her son Sirius, was very rebellious in her youth. Wally’s parents had difficulty suppressing her recalcitrant tendencies and it only got worse once she got to Hogwarts. 100% bullied Muggleborns, probably even tried to hex Tom maybe once or twice before he earned his reputation.

Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy were the first of Tom Riddle’s peers that he befriended during his first year at Hogwarts. In spite of this, Malfoy was the only one out of the two who joined the Knights of Walpurgis.

There is no doubt in my mind that would lead me to believe that Orion was not a pure-blood supremacist, but I don’t think he was much of an extremist when it came to blood purity. It definitely comes down to how far you are willing to go in order to preserve your own ideals and for Orion that only went as far as to marry your own cousin.

Alphard Black was a metamorphmagus like his grandniece Nymphadora Tonks. Being a metamorphmagi was not widely accepted back in the ‘30s and ‘40s, especially for witches and wizards born into influential pure-blood families so I don’t think Alphard’s parents approved of his abilities and probably implored him not to use them in public.

Cygnus and Druella were a love match which was a rare occurrence for pure-blood marriages at the time.

Tom Riddle’s classmate Rosier Sr. was the father of Evan and Felix Rosier. Rosier Sr. is also the brother of Druella Rosier, which therefore makes him the uncle of her three daughters Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa.

Druella inherited the lighter Rosier traits such as blond hair and blue eyes from her father, while her brother Rosier Sr. got the gene for more darker features from his family like his aunt Vinda Rosier.

Birth order of the Black siblings: Walburga (b. 1925), Alphard (b. 1927) and Cygnus (b. 1929). Canonically, Cygnus was born somewhere around 1938 which would’ve made him thirteen by the time Bellatrix (b. 1951) was born. Most fans have considered this a mathematical error made by J.K. Rowling and so I’m going to put his date of birth around the late 1920s.

Lucretia Black was not a pure-blood supremacist like her family, making her much like her cousin Alphard in that regard. She would later become an ally to the Order of the Phoenix when Voldemort rose into power.

Rodolphus Lestrange is said to have the gift of foresight, which I headcanon he gets from his father Lestrange Sr. Ironically, the raven is the family emblem of the Lestrange family, and in Greek mythology, a raven is the sacred bird of Apollo, God of foresight.

Lestrange Sr. married Tasoula Shafiq, a pure-blood witch from the Shafiq family who are listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Shafiq family are of Middle Eastern origin which is where I assume Rabastan Lestrange got his name from; the name Rabastan is Arabic for ‘Head of the Serpent’.

Euphemia Potter and Walburga Black were actually very close friends during their time at Hogwarts. The two grew apart especially once they graduated and Euphemia went on to marry Fleamont. Walburga didn’t approve of the match, because even if the Potters were a respectable pure-blood family they were not supremacists.

Orion and Walburga saw their marriage as more of an obligation than a partnership. It was a practical match which neither Orion or Wally were hesitant to accept. The two of them believed that it was their duty to keep their bloodline pure and if that meant marrying each other then so be it.

Due to the House of Black’s constant inbreeding, Orion was born with hemophilia.

[capriddle]

Voldemort feels a little relieved when he sees himself disfigured, he no longer resembles his Muggle father. Initially, however, he finds himself ugly after having been Tom Riddle, but thanks to Bellatrix he returns to accepting himself completely.

[konstantynowitz]

This is how I see them.

Knights of Walpurgis is such an interesting concept to me because I imagine them to be nothing like Death Eaters.

I like to think of the Knights of Walpurgis as not Lord Voldemort’s first followers but as Tom Riddle’s only friends.

To me they are Slytherin boys in Tom’s year: Malfoy, Lestrange, Mulciber, Avery, Rosier, Nott & Riddle.

They first became acquaintances and then quickly became friends– and only agreed to be called Knights of Walpurgis because they thought their group lacked an aesthetic name.

They were a warm knit of Slytherins and Tom basked in their presence. They were his friends and his family and there was a time– before killing curses and tattered bits of soul– when Tom Riddle was truly happy.

[your-girl-nina]

Who said Lucius was abusive? Who said mulciber was a rapist? Who said Sirius was dumb? Who made barty a himbo? Who said Snape was a bad person? Who said regulus was shy and fragile? Who said the lestrange brothers were bullies? Who said Peter was ugly? Who said Bellatrix was crazy? Who said walburga and Orion were emotionless? Who said barty's mother was neglectful? Who said barty sr was physically abusive? WHO SAID ALL THAT?! cause I will find you. And I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully.

[saintsenara]

i'm on an Alastor Moody kick and have been once again reminded that he'd be extremely shippable (the tortured past! the snark! the magic eye that can see through your clothes!) if fandom was at all fair. so! some moody love for the deranged ships game, even if some of these aren't particularly deranged. Moody/Tonks, Moody/Bellatrix, Moody/McGonagall, Moody/Crouch Sr., Moody/Lupin, and Moody/Lucius.

(bonus round: what's your fave Moody ship? i was genuinely on board with Moody/Tonks the first time i read the books to the point that remadora blindsided me badly)

thank you very much for the ask, anon! which had some overlap with a second batch of ships for the man, the myth, the legend alastor moody:

so let's get into it!

alastor moody/nymphadora tonks

i am afraid i can never get into this as a pairing because tonks and moody have the exact vibe of my two cats, one of whom is big and tired and the other of whom is small, cheeky, and desperate for his approval. he just wants to sleep in the laundry basket without her coming to sit on his head! moody, in much the same vein, just wants to be constantly vigilant without her giving out about it being cold in the sky or pestering him with questions about who it is he knows that blasted their own arse cheeks off with an improperly-stored wand.

i accept that this may, for many other people, be the exact appeal.

bellatrix lestrange/alastor moody

while in disguise as moody, barty crouch jr. heavily implied that the two of them had a torrid little affair in the late seventies. this was a lie - bellatrix either wants a man with a nose or a man without one, not someone faffing about on the fence with half.

minerva mcgonagall/alastor moody

i fully back this one, on account of the fact that celts need to stick together.

and - of course - that moody [even if he wasn't really moody at the time...] needed disciplining for his behaviour after transfiguring draco malfoy into a ferret.

barty crouch sr./alastor moody

an absolutely huge potential for shenanigans here.

we know - for example - that moody is raging about crouch agreeing a plea deal for igor karkaroff, and i also can't imagine that crouch had much time for moody's more paranoid traits… not least because they had the potential to uncover what he'd done with his son.

all of which is to say… there's a hot premise lurking here, either for enemies-to-lovers or the equally exciting enemies-to-enemies-who-fuck.

remus lupin/alastor moody

i back this entirely. it's clear on several occasions in order of the phoenix that moody has appointed lupin as his right-hand man, and that he trusts and respects any information lupin provides for him.

[lupin also insists on accompanying bill to look for moody's body in deathly hallows.]

which means we have to speak frankly... lupin was clearly having a bit of fun on the job in his year living at grimmauld place. and it wasn't with tonks or sirius...

lucius malfoy/alastor moody

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.   "Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son... you tell him that from me."

canon.

alastor moody/lord voldemort

which had its own request, from a lovely anon.

i genuinely really back this one, because - much like pairing voldemort with barty crouch sr. - it offers so much potential for political shenanigans.

moody was obviously hugely important during the first war - not only to the order, but within the ministry-coordinated response to the death eaters - and so i think that we can assume that he had numerous opportunities to meet voldemort for a bit of… back room negotiation.

after all, what are we told in canon? that moody never killed voldemort's forces if he could help it. why? because forcing your situationship to come arrange the release of hostages is a god-tier way of getting round his refusal to text you back.

[i also think there's something really interesting which could be done with the fact that moody's body is altered so profoundly by the course of the first war. just like voldemort's.]

when it comes to these two as each other's teenage sweethearts, i will... also back it.

i agree that moody and voldemort are probably roughly the same age - and i'm also quite invested in the idea of moody, given how paranoid and off-putting he is, being in slytherin. while there's a clear discrepancy in both the looks [there's no suggestion moody's much of an oil painting even with his original face] and the social status [moody doesn't strike me as somebody who'd be willing to pretend to enjoy the slug club, for example, whereas voldemort has a much greater tolerance for the act] departments, i have a great fondness for the teenage voldemort simply being annoyed by someone into a life-long relationship.

they could wile away the hours yapping about foe glasses and coming up with increasingly unhinged conspiracy theories about dumbledore.

pure romance.

barty crouch jr./alastor moody

flopping.

barty had a go - obviously - because teaching a full course load after you've been under the imperius curse for a decade must be mind-bogglingly stressful, but moody wasn't having it.

barty retreated to his room with his series of long-lens paparazzi pics of seventies-era voldemort on holiday.

alastor moody/horace slughorn

slughorn tried to woo moody once, but he became convinced that the bouquet of roses slughorn turned up on his doorstep brandishing was cursed and punched him in the face.

[simping-4-voldemort]

Onion Headlines and Harry Potter Characters part 23/?

[dystopianrebel]

What We’re Fighting For

“Don’t worry,” Harry replied instead, “we’re not squeamish, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” the smile on Lestrange’s face briefly reminded Harry of Sirius, hitting a sensitive cord.

This Tomarry (& other ships) fic is for Lex, for Fandom Trumps Hate! You can check it out now!

[nikolai-alexi]

hey so I’ve had a horrific awful heartbreaking thought about barty crouch jr after watching GoF again and I need all of you to suffer with me through this strange almost fic/HC/character analysis thing don’t judge me it’s 0300 and I haven’t slept in like 32 hours, thanks

Has anyone ever thought about the fact that Barty may have been Imperioused to torture the Longbottoms?

Like, think about it for a minute.

(TW: this whole thing is sad and fucked up be prepared)

Karkaroff names Barty Crouch Jr during his own interrogation to try and lighten his own sentence, and Barty is immediately apprehended by Moody and the other stationed Aurors as he tries to escape (or attack Karkaroff, which I think is more likely at that point). Barty obviously doesn’t deny his involvement in the torture, but he doesn’t admit to it either, which strikes me as strange.

Everything we know about Barty Crouch Jr’s character, canonically anyways, says that he wouldn’t be the type to allow others to take credit for his crimes, not out of any misplaced loyalty of course, but because he wants the credit for them. If you recall his reaction to Dumbledore instructing Snape to call the Aurors in GoF, he’s almost excited to go back, and says “they’ll welcome me as a hero” or some such. Especially in the lead up to being given the Dementor’s Kiss, he acts proud of the crimes he committed. So that poses a question in my head. Why on Earth would Barty not admit to it right then and there? He’s already going to Azkaban purely on Karkaroff’s word, and his father is right there. It’s the perfect opportunity to destroy Crouch Sr’s career, to force him to look at the shell of his son and see what his own casual cruelty has done, and it’s the perfect opportunity for Barty to cement himself as a devout follower for the other Death Eater sympathisers in the Ministry. With a crime of torturing one of the most promising and outspoken Aurors on the force and his wife to insanity, what better way to do all of that and then some?

So…why didn’t he?

We know Evan has only recently been killed at the time of Karkaroff’s interrogation. And likely, Barty is out of his mind with grief. Regulus is missing, if not already declared dead, Evan is dead, Dorcas is dead, and Pandora may not be dead yet but she certainly would have cut all contact to Barty by this point. Barty Crouch Jr is completely and utterly alone. He has no one to comfort him, no one to keep him from letting the grief consume him. He’s missing the very people who used to keep his inherit craziness in check. It only makes sense that in that grief-filled haze of anger and crippling sadness, that he might not be all there, really.

So, he gets sent to ambush the Longbottoms with Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphous by the Dark Lord. He goes, because he’s been told to and no one defies the Dark Lord. He gets there. He fights. He goes through the motions like he’s supposed to do. He enjoys the adrenaline rush from a fight, it’s the first thing he’s felt since that neon jet of light hit Evan’s chest from Alastor Moody’s wand. He expects things to end as they usually do, with bodies on the ground and their orders completed. But nothing really goes to plan when Bellatrix Black is involved, does it?

Perhaps he’s aware, perhaps not, but one minute they’re fighting four on two, and the next, Frank and Alice Longbottom are on the ground, stunned, not dead like they should be, and Barty’s being snatched up side-along by Rabastan as they apparate away. He has no idea where they are, he doesn’t have any time to try and figure it out either, because the room is already filled with tortured screaming and maniacal laughter. He’s disoriented, his brain is fogged, he’s wholly and completely lost.

And perhaps Rabastan Lestrange looks over at Barty Crouch Jr, a boy not much out of school, a boy who’d lost everything, a boy who certainly was a little mad, but a boy who he knows doesn’t quite have the merciless capability of violence that his brother and his insane fiancé do. And perhaps, in what he thinks may be a mercy, he whispers the imperious curse underneath the screams of the Longbottoms, and instructs Barty on what to do.

So Barty doesn’t admit to it in that court room. Not because he didn’t do it, but because he knows his father. Knows that no matter how much he’ll proclaim to the jury that Barty is no son of his, that he has to know the truth. He knows Crouch Sr will come and question him personally. So he says nothing. He has every opportunity to ruin his father once and for all, every opportunity to cement himself as a loyalist, every opportunity to take credit for a monumental tragedy, but he admits nothing.

His father comes to the dark, damp holding cells and he tells him then. Tells him, yes! I was there! But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I was imperioused. I swear to you. Father, please. He begs. Barty Crouch Jr begs. Please, believe me, please.

And Barty Crouch Sr laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until tears roll down his cheeks.

Perhaps it’s that very moment when the last strand of Barty’s real sense of humanity snaps. Long before he ever suffers under the captivity of the Dementors, his father severs that last thread with a brutal swipe of his hand across a track of mirthful tears. And he leaves the hollowed out shell of his son behind with a chuckle. Leaves him to spend yet another night awake, replaying the horror of having his will stripped from him, of being completely aware of his actions, and being unable to do anything to stop them. Leaves him to his gut wrenching sobs and desperate gasps for air. Leaves him to the rare moments of fitful sleep, where he calls out for his mother, for his dead lover, for his dead friends, and for his father. He leaves his son, who calls for anyone to help him, to save him, to hold him. None of them respond.

Barty Crouch Jr is a shell of a human being long before he ever gets his first glimpse of the sea-surrounded prison.

He spends a year nearly motionless. He eats when he is forced by the Auror guards. He sleeps when his body can no longer stand to be awake. He moves cells when he is forced to. He speaks rarely, and usually only to one person who bears a frightening resemblance to one of his frequent hallucinated visitors. But mostly, he just stares at the grey bricked wall in front of him, eyes unseeing, unaware of time passing, and hardly even affected by the Dementor’s presence as empty as he is.

He doesn’t react at all when his mother and father appear in front of his cell. He isn’t even aware of them, really. They’re common enough hallucinations for him, but they’ve never appeared on the outside of his cell before, which is strange, but he hasn’t eaten in Merlin only knows how long, so it takes far too much energy to question it. It isn’t until his cell door swings open and his mother’s bony hand runs across his gaunt face that he sort of begins to comprehend that they’re real this time. He’s still trying to wrap his brain around that fact when a horrid tasting potion is forced down his throat and he feels his body being morphed by magic into something - no, someone - else. He’s so far behind what’s happening, he doesn’t understand the words being spoken to him, he’s lost again, doggy paddling against the roaring waves of grief and pain and madness in his mind. If he had been a second’s breath faster, he would have comprehended the terror his body felt at the spell that falls from his father’s lips, but he knows nothing as the spell takes hold and his will is ripped away from him once more.

He spends eleven years just the same. Eating when instructed. Bathing as instructed. Sitting, sleeping, waking, walking, and dressing as instructed and only when instructed by his captor. He knows nothing under the spell. His own awareness is trapped so far within himself, he knows nothing except for what he’s told and he does his instructed tasks with robotic motions. He does not speak.

It should be surprising, what wakes his conscience, but it isn’t. Not really. He is instructed by his captor to leave his cell and walk downstairs to the parlour. He rises and does as he is told. He walks into the parlour and stands motionless just inside the door. He has not been given more directions than this. He does not move a muscle. There are voices around him, their words are meaningless to him. He understands nothing. He is instructed to come forward, to sit on the sofa, to look his captor’s guest in the eye. He does as he is told.

He does as he is told and pure, unbearable fury engulfs him.

He looks into the eye of his captor’s guest and all he sees is the light draining from Evan’s unmistakable eyes and feels the weight of his grief and anger and loneliness break through the emptiness that has been his protection underneath the chains of the spell. It doesn’t break the spell itself, but it releases him from the confines of himself. He is aware again. He understands again. He feels again. The only one who notices his re-emergence is the house-elf who wrings her hands nervously in the corner of the room. She can feel the fury-filled flare of his magic. She knows he’s been awoken. She feels the spell’s hold falter for a moment and knows it won’t be long before he breaks free from it.

She’s right.

He breaks through the spell not half a year later. He has to unravel it slowly. It’s been so long since he’s felt his own magic that he can barely tell the difference between his own and his father’s. He was a deft hand at wandless magic back in school, but he doesn’t recall his own birthday, let alone how to coax his magic into his hands and bend it gently around his wishes. He has to make sure his father is none the wiser, else the sick bastard may renew the spell again and render him a puppet once more.

He starts to remember some things as he unwinds the foreign magic surrounding him. He remembers his name again. It’s Barty. Barty Crouch Jr. He remembers his birthday is the seventh of August 1962. He remembers he was officially sorted into Ravenclaw in school, but by the end of his schooling, he lived in the Slytherin dorms. He doesn’t remember why. He remembers Evan, remembers loving him and remembers the pain when he loses him, and remembers another boy who fades away from his discombobulated memories. He doesn’t remember the other boy’s name, but he remembers him being pale, with icy blue eyes, and dark curls. He remembers he used to annoy that boy endlessly by tugging on those curls and teasing him fondly. He remembers the feeling of agony when that boy faded away. He remembers two girls, one with shockingly blonde hair and serene eyes, and the other with dark skin and long braids. He doesn’t remember their names either. He feels like he should.

He gains more and more awareness the more he chips away at the spell. Soon enough, he’s ready to sever it once and for all. He waits patiently at the floo for his father to come home from work. He has not been instructed to do this.

Barty Crouch Sr steps through the floo to his home, and knows immediately that he is in immediate danger. He is pinned to the wall behind him by his throat before he can even think to slip his wand from its holster. He understands very suddenly what his son has felt the last twelve years as he fall victim to the Imperious Curse. He might’ve felt guilty if he could’ve felt anything at all.

Barty’s plans have always been half-cocked at best, he’d always had Evan and Regulus, who he remembers now, to fix his mad schemes. He feels like getting into Hogwarts disguised as the most recognisable Auror on the force, who he currently has trapped in a chest and was also ridiculously easy to capture, should be much harder than it was. He hadn’t expected the gaps in his own memory to be his worst enemy on this mission. Often, he struggled to remember that it was 1994, not 1974, and that the students sitting in front of them were not their parents.

He struggled to remember that Luna Lovegood wasn’t Pandora Rosier. Or that Harry Potter wasn’t James Potter. Or that Draco Malfoy wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. Or that Hermione Granger wasn’t Mary MacDonald. Or that Susan Bones wasn’t Imogen MacMillan.

Or that Neville wasn’t Frank Longbottom.

Everything else was far too easy.

Keeping his father under his control even from far away? It was nothing with all the excess magic stored up over twelve years of imprisonment.

Brewing Polyjuice and stealing from Snape’s private stores? The most fun he’s had since his fifth year of school.

Keeping his constant hallucinations from breaking his cover? More difficult than he’d like to admit, but still nothing to break a sweat about.

Getting in contact with Pettigrew after the whispers of the Dark Lord gaining power once again? Too simple.

Entering Potter in the tournament? Like stealing candy from a firstie.

Weasling his way into Potter’s confidence? Pathetically simple, Dumbledore had manipulated the boy into a perfect pawn.

Setting the hints in motion to get Potter through the tournament alive so the Dark Lord could rise again? Please, he could do it in his sleep.

Creating the port key to the Little Hangleton graveyard? He’d been fucking with illegal port keys since he was fourteen years old, nothing stumped him there.

At least this time around, when he tortured and murdered someone in cold blood, he did it of his own freed will. The fact that it was his own father he did it to only made it that much sweeter.

Perhaps he could have planned his own escape better, but after thirteen years of emptiness, he didn’t quite know how to think for himself any longer. The Dark Lord hadn’t told him to save himself, so he didn’t. He let the Aurors drag him away, and stared at the grey bricks of a prison cell once more. He let the emptiness swallow him whole again, and let the gavel seal his fate without a word to his defense. He let the Dementor close in on him without a single reaction. If someone had looked closely enough, they may have seen a tear roll down his gaunt face, but no one did so they didn’t see anything.

But, as he felt his soul being ripped from his body, he finally heard the last words his father had said before he murdered him.

“My son,” Barty Crouch Sr had said, blood coming from his mouth and voice hoarse from hours of screaming, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I do, now,”

The last thing he thinks, is that living without a soul is rather familiar, after all, it’s all he’s done the last thirteen years. It feels like it should be painful, but the emptiness in his body is comfortable. He’s found protection in being a shell of a person since Rabastan Lestrange rendered him empty all those years ago. He only regrets they didn’t just kill him outright, he might have gotten to see Evan, and the others he’s forgotten again, on the other side if they had.

But that’s okay.

He’d never deserved a happy ending anyways.

The emptiness closes in around him again. In the space between one breath and the next, there is nothing left of Barty Crouch Jr besides a shell of a creature that certainly can’t be called a human. The creature knows nothing of life and death. Just that at some point, its body begins to shut down until its heart stops and nothing else.

There is no one to mourn, but the fish are grateful for the free meal.

[midnightstargazer]

Aesthetics for my fanfics, part 13

Heart of Stone

Teen & Up, No Archive Warnings Apply, ~1,300 words

Narcissa Malfoy attends the Lestranges’ trial

[nicos-oc-hell]

Fankids appreciation week: day 7 - family dynamics

This moodboard could fit a lot of my families but ofc I’m doing the Perphyra’s. The Perphyra’s consist of Ayas Perphyra and Cassandra Salas, Jason and Yasmine Shadid, Viktor Sr and Elizabeth Somerset (@camillejeaneshphm), Viktor Jr, Pietro, Anatoly and Ashley Lestrange, Sinncere, Jebron and Jimena Galardo (@endlessly-cursed). With a family who has so many different personalities, they are bound to clash at some point and in this family…it might as well be a daily occurrence. Most of the clashing is just them asking stupid scenarios which leads to a whole bunch of arguing.

Will they always be there for each other? Sure! Do they honestly wish they weren’t related? Most definitel

[alwaysunabasheddelusion]

Part I

A continuation of the Barty Crouch Sr. fic I am slowly poking my way through. 

His blood ran cold as he approached the holding cells, and not because of the ominous sentries stationed nearby, grim and silent beneath dark hoods.

“Father?” The youngest of the prisoners gripped the bars of his cell with both hands, eyes wide and terrified as he stared up at the newcomers.

The color leeched from Barty’s face until he was as white as the boy. “What have you done?” He demanded in a hoarse voice. His chest constricted, his breathing labored, but he forced out the words. “I taught you right from wrong! I taught you the dangers of associating with…with Dark Arts scum!”

He pointed a shaking finger at one of the men sharing a cell with his son. One of the Lestrange brothers, although he didn’t know which was which. They seemed to come as a pair. The man spat contemptuously at his feet.

“Father, I didn’t do it!” His son pleaded, pressing his face against the bars.

“Do not lie to me! You were caught red-handed!” His gaze swept his son, taking in the state of his robes. They were as burnt and torn as those of the Aurors.

“I’m not!” The boy said. “I swear I’m not!”

“Daddy doesn’t look happy to see his son,” A singsong voice came from the lone woman of the group.

Barty regarded her coldly. She would have been beautiful if not for the haughty sneer marring her face. Thick black wavy hair fell past her shoulders. She, at least, was no surprise. Her grandfather had been his mother’s cousin, but their descendants had diverged sharply on which side of this conflict to ally with.

“Bellatrix Black,” he said, matching her contempt. “As happy as your cousin will be to see you join him in Azkaban, I expect. You can explain to him how the Ministry stopped both of you in your foul tracks.”

(He knew that wasn’t precisely true; they had caught both of them only after they had committed shocking atrocities. But he was scrabbling for any sort of mental foothold in the wake of seeing his son in chains.)

“Lestrange,” she corrected with a cackle, seemingly unperturbed by the position she found herself in.

Unlike the pale-faced boy, manacled arms wrapped around himself, who had fallen silent but continued to watch Barty in mute supplication. Barty glanced at the two men sharing the cell with his son and then back at Bellatrix, ignoring the younger Barty’s pleading face with difficulty.

“Rodolphus and I are married now,” Bellatrix said. “A little spot of torture was such a nice way to celebrate.” She cocked her head, smiling mockingly. “You should have been there. It would have been such a lovely way of bonding with your son, hmm?”

“If I had been there,” Barty said, one hand curling into a fist in the pocket of his robe, “all of you could have been rotting in Azkaban sooner.”

“Yes, why ever did you hide?” Carmichael asked. “We’ve had to postpone your Azkaban honeymoon.”

“It’s hardly a honeymoon,” Wardell Crickerly corrected. “We don’t place married couples in the same cells, you know.”

A headache was building in Barty’s temple. He massaged his forehead. The nearness of the dementors wasn’t helping, but he wouldn’t risk sending them away.

Rabastan stuck his face through the bars of his cell and glowered at Barty and the Aurors. “Laugh all you want. You’ll get what’s coming to you one day, blood traitor.” 

Crickerly leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded. “Is that so? It seems to me you’ll have a frightful time carrying out that threat when you’re stuck in Azkaban. You ought to have learned to listen to me when I was prefect, Lestrange.”

“Listen to you? You’re conspiring with Mudbloods.” Rabastan cast a venomous look in Clive Carmichael’s direction. 

Carmichael was at the cell doors in a flash, brandishing his wand in Rabastan’s face. “Look here–”

Barty stepped between Carmichael and the cell, lifting his own wand in warning. “Put that away. This isn’t an interrogation.”

Carmichael grudgingly slid his wand into the pocket of his robes.

“Tell nobody we’ve apprehended the suspects until we’ve set a date for the trial,” Barty said.

Carmichael stared at him in astonishment. “But everyone should know they’re no longer at large! This is headline news! We—”

Crickerly flicked his wand in Carmichael’s direction, silencing him. Barty didn’t bother reprimanding him. He didn’t want to hear the rest of Carmichael’s foolish, insensitive sentence.

Headline news indeed! The Daily Prophet would certainly find this worthy of the front page, but not for the reasons Carmichael was thinking.

Barty dreaded the day the wider wizarding world found out his son’s involvement. Which they must, of course. But he wanted it to be on his own terms, when he could forestall speculation that he’d known and turned a blind eye due to favoritism.

“Send them to Azkaban until their trial.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from his son’s cell, followed by frantic pleas. “Father, father! No! Don’t leave me! Father!”

Neither of the Aurors reacted to the younger Barty’s cries, although Carmichael nearly drew his wand again when Bellatrix called after them, “The Longbottoms were the lucky ones! The Dark Lord won’t be so merciful to the rest of you!”

Crickerly grabbed Carmichael’s wrist. “Don’t let her rile you up,” he whispered. Bellatrix laughed in response, a shrill sound that echoed throughout the dungeon.

Carmichael glared sourly and allowed Crickerly to lead him out of the dungeons, taking a moment to point his wand at his mouth as they left.

Barty stalked behind them. His son reached through the bars as he went past, still babbling in near incoherent fright. “Father! Please! Wait! Listen to me! Father! Don’t go, don’t leave me! Father, wait! Don’t go!”

Barty yanked his robe away from the boy’s grasping fingers, refusing to answer. But his son’s piteous cries echoed in his mind long after he’d left the dungeons behind.

[konstantynowitz]

Lestrange Sr. headcanons

Lestrange sr was the grandson of former Minister for Magic Radolphus Lestrange. It became a family tradition to give the boys within the Lestrange family a name that bore the first initial ‘R’ after Radolphus.

I headcanon Lestrange sr’s first name to be Radolphus in honor of his grandfather, so he’d technically be Radolphus Lestrange II.

His nicknames are Rudolph or Ru (but anyone besides Tasoula who dares call him these is a dead man).

Other than being British, he is of German and French descent.

Lestrange had three children with his wife Tasoula Shafiq: Rodolphus, Rabastan and Renissa. Renissa is Lestrange’s youngest child and only daughter, and in spite of being a girl she was included in the family tradition of being given a name that started with an ‘R’.

He and Tasoula were a love match, they were betrothed to each other since by their parents since they were seven. The match may not have been their choice in the beginning but they were undoubtedly soulmates.

Lestrange definitely had his fair share of relationships outside of his betrothal to Tasoula, but believe me when I say she was his queen. If he had to choose over his side whores and her, it would be her without question. She is the only one he ever truly loved.

He became a Knight of Walpurgis in his fifth year at Hogwarts when Riddle first started recruiting. Lestrange was second in command of the Knights, if Tom wasn’t there then Lestrange was in charge. Even since the early days of the Death Eaters the Lestrange family always held a position of power amongst Voldemort’s followers.

Close friends with Rosier Sr. — judging by the the French branch of the Lestrange family tree I’d say the two were probably distant cousins.

Lestrange is a seer, which was both a gift and a curse. He passed this ability onto his eldest son Rodolphus Lestrange.

He spoiled his children rotten, especially Renissa. She was daddy’s little princess in all regards. He’d do anything for her, she was the mini version of Tasoula and Lestrange adored her. There was nothing he wouldn’t give her, she was his whole world.

Lestrange held high expectations for Rodolphus as he was the eldest of his children. There was no doubt that when Rodolphus got older he would become a Death Eater like his father, much to Tasoula’s chagrin, although there was nothing she could really do about it.

Rabastan was of course going to follow in his father and older brother’s footsteps. All the sons of Voldemort’s Knights went on to become Death Eaters, especially if they were from prominent pure-blood families such as the Lestranges.

Radolphus and Tasoula would never disown their children if they decided not to fall in line with their family’s purist beliefs. This is mostly because Tasoula refused to abandon her children, she loved her sons and daughter too fiercely to ever cast them out. If Radolphus ever disowned one of his children then he better be prepared to lose his wife as well because wherever her kids go, she goes.

Don’t get me wrong, Radolphus was a pure-blood supremacist, he hates muggles and he doesn’t want them anywhere near his family, nor does he want any of his kids to defend or protect the very people threatening the magical integrity of the wizarding world. But family is family and he loves his kids and Tasoula, and I don’t think he’d be willing to just let them go like that.

Radolphus definitely had this talk with Tasoula when Walburga disowned Sirius. Tasoula was probably the one who started this conversation saying something along the lines of: “you can cast them out, you can disown them and pretend they never existed, but if you do that then you may as well erase me too, because wherever my children go, I go.”

I don’t think Radolphus would have ever considered disowning any of his kids anyway. I believe the Lestranges are a really loyal, tight knit family and they look after their own. After all their family motto is: Corvus oculum corvi non eruit (The raven did not pluck out the raven's eye), which essentially means they’d never betray each other.

[leogichidaa]

What’s even more baffling about the Lestranges talking their way out of Azkaban initially is that, presumably, this is not long after Sirius is thrown in Azkaban without a trial. The whole thing couldn’t have been long after Voldemort fell, because I’m pretty sure Neville wasn’t that old at the time (don’t quote me on that, it’s impossible to sort out a timeline in this series. The only time I’m certain of is when Harry was born and when the Potters were killed), so like, they really went “throw this man in without a trial, but give sham trials to almost everyone else we suspect of being a Death Eater.” Sirius’s alleged crimes seem to be about on part with what we hear the actual Death Eaters were doing. His crime was murdering Peter and 12 Muggles; we later hear of the Death Eaters attacking bridges and such, killing countless Muggles. Frank and Alice were tortured into permanent insanity, Dolohov tortured and murdered countless Muggles and Voldemort non-supporters (he even has this one spell that almost killed Hermione even through the silencing spell, she’s stuck resting Hospital Wing and taking 10 potions to recover), Benjy Fenwick was evidently torn apart, the Bones and McKinnon families were practically annihilated. It’s clearly not that Sirius’s crime was particularly heinous in comparison to what we canonically know the Death Eaters did and that there are even more acts we don’t know about (per the statements about how horrific the First Voldemort War was). The Ministry may have just been trying to put the war behind them and decided to forego trials, but that wouldn’t make sense with the number of Death Eaters who claimed the Imperius Curse and went free. At what point did the Ministry decide to give trials? Sirius was thrown in Azkaban roughly a day after Halloween, so evidently they adopted the “trials optional” stance early on in the war, so when did they decide to start giving trials again? They had to have at some point for so many people to walk free.

No, listen, what really gets me is that Crouch Sr was ready to throw Ludo Bagman into Azkaban for unwittingly passing information on to a Ministry worker who later turned out to be a spy for Voldemort, but Bella and the terror twins? Free to go. What the fuck?

(Tangentially related, but I feel some type of way about everyone calling Ludo a dumbass for giving Rookwood information when Rookwood worked for the Ministry and no one in that courtroom knew until Karkaroff snitched. He fooled the entire Ministry. So. Fuck all of you, leave my man Ludo alone)

I think it's likely that throwing suspects in Azkaban without trial happened primarily while the war was still actively ongoing. The Ministry was frazzled and scrambling and Crouch was advocating for killing suspects and using Unforgivables on them. Trials probably seemed like a luxury and they decided they didn't have the time and resources to give everyone trials so they'd just go with their gut and hurl people in jail based on vibes.

When Voldemort fell, I suppose Crouch decided that Sirius didn't need a trial either because the evidence was so overwhelming and what was the point? I don't know. I can't really fathom his motivation for not giving Sirius a trial, since the trial might have been a moment of triumph for Crouch. He had the opportunity to sit in the courtroom and sentence Voldemort's alleged right hand man, the man who betrayed the Potters. It seemed like a slam dunk trial too, given the evidence available at the time. He couldn't be bothered, though, for whatever reason.

After Voldemort fell, the Ministry was less terrified and overwhelmed and they had more time to spend rounding up Death Eaters and putting them on trial and pretending that they were a functioning government again. And, I suppose, letting actual war criminals get away with horrific crimes based on bribes and vibes.

[capriddle]

It makes sense that Voldemort didn't believe in love. His father obviously never wanted it, his mother chose to die instead of surviving for him. Parents are the first people who have to love you and Voldemort for one reason or another didn't have the love of any of his parents. Furthermore, if he had discovered that Merope chose to die for love (or rather, for lack of love) things would have been even worse, he would have linked love to death and so he would have tried to escape from love too. So he would have silenced Bellatrix every time she told him she loved him and he would have convinced himself that he couldn't love. He would have died anyway after seeing the woman he (unknowingly) loved.