LESTRANGE, Rodolphus Marcus

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WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES I SEE YOU
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RODOLPHUS MARCUS LESTRANGE!
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IN MY DREAMS YOU WILL BE NEAR[/center][/b][/color]

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I WON’T LET YOU DISAPPEAR
BUT I’M HERE ON MY OWN
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I AM CRYING OUT FOR YOU
IN THE CENTER OF MY HEART
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OVERALL PERSONALITY: Cold and cunning Rodolphus thinks little of people and their attachments, they are all merely hinderences, things to be toyed with or used for his own advancement. His intelligence and callously pragmatic nature make him a brilliant tactician and strategist. A man of a thousand faces he offers most people the mask he believes they want to see to make them most compliant, able to switch from charming to monstrous in a matter of seconds. A creature of luxury Rodolphus takes his enjoyments from the finer things in life, living a life of decadence as all pureblood wizards deserve to.

He gladly portrays himself as cold to the state of unfeeling, even to those very few that have managed to get close. However beneath the frosty exterior lies a vicious temper he keeps well intrack, though upon the rare occasions, if provoked in just the right places he will 'lose it'. This almost resulted in a expulsion at Hogwarts several time during his time there. Obsessive through fickle Rodolphus will constantly find new intrigues that consume his every thought, be it the cause, a new found wine or someone new to play with though in the majority of cases within weeks he grows bored and the obsession is replaced with something newer.

Above anything Rodolphus desires the purity of the wizarding world and power, he will gladly do whatever is needed to achieve them. Many have speculated that Rodolphus is in love with his wife no matter how desperately he attempts to hide it. Truly this affection is burnt from more a self serving desire to own something so untameable and a obsession only fuelled by years of rejection when all others would have long since yielded. But that is perhaps the closest to love he'd ever be able to feel. Other then Bellatrix the only other's to hold anything close to affection in his eyes are the dark lord and his brother Rabastan though their relationship is troubled at best.

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YOU USED TO HEAR ME BREATHE
WHEN YOU TOUCHED ME DEEP
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OVERALL DESCRIPTION: Since he was a young boy Rodolophus had always been praised for his rugged good looks. Gifted with the pure blood striking features, a sharp jaw and high set cheekbones. His dark green eyes peer out from their pale surroundings, brimming with malevolent cunning. Perhaps the most endearing part of him lies in a mischievous, boyish grin that when rarely shown makes him appear ten years younger. Tall and wiry he casts an imposing and unquestionably masculine shadow. Well tamed cropped auburn hair falls around the tops of his shoulders. Ever he can be found well dressed, groomed and kept, money never a question and indulgence never limited. Though he does not indulge in the latest fashions, he keeps to the aristocratic looks of his ancestors, the long robes and tailored jackets suit him and his pomposity well.

His voice is cutting, dark and silken, filled with an overbearing charm, a well read sophistication barely masking a haughty mocking. From an early age Rodolphus learnt how to best utilise his looks, how to smile to avoid being chastised, the look to use to make grown women swoon, how to stand, his shoulders squared and proud. However the years of Azkaban and decades of dabbling in the darkest of arts have certainly left their marks. He stands deathly pale, his face growing gaunter with each passing week, cheeks sinking into his skull, dark circles lining haunted eyes. Age has began it’s slow creep into the creases of his eyes something he detests with a passion.

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CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUNDS?
CAN YOU FEEL THE HEAT?
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Rodolphus was born the eldest son to the diminishing Lestrange family. Much of their numbers had been lost with the fall of Grindelwald decades earlier and from an early age Rodolphus had known the responsibility to uphold the family lay heavy on his and his younger brothers shoulders. Little affection came from his parents, he was left mostly to his own devices, one aging nanny to supervise and a large estate to roam and explore freely. Money was the family’s replacement for love; he received a privileged upbringing receiving anything and everything he could possibly dream of asking for. Pureblood ideology was ingrained in him from a very early age, his bed time stories those of muggles burning witches, mudbloods stealing away with magic in the depths of the nights. His parents were content to sit and do nothing, to smile falsely as they flittered around the ministry of magic, playing the well to do high society and only discuss the issues that plagued their society when no others but their pureblood friends and relations were present. Rodolphus never had an intention of following their suit.

It was clear from a early age that Rodolphus was talented when it came to magic able to grasp and perform spells some adults could barely manage, charming and handsome he soon learnt how to get what he wanted from people, how to manipulate and beguile. Hogwarts had been easy for him, sorted into Slytherin the moment the hat had touched the top of his hair. He soon found he had ‘friends’, purebloods who shared his own ideology and latched onto the famous family name, none were true friends, none holding any affection in his gaze, nothing but cronies and lackies that could be used to further himself. For many years his brother Rabastan was his only confidant and even they were not truly that close. He received dazzling grades as his parents instructed though often was found himself in trouble be it for his smart mouth or having been 'grassed up' for less then savoury activities, by the end of school he had served a record amount of detentions and more marches to the headmasters office then he would care to remember.

It did not taken long for the mundane magic’s of normal lessons to grow tedious, by his 4th years most of his evenings were spent sneaking into the restricted section. Naturally Dumbledore had known in his irksome way and ensured life was hard for him. But he failed to stop his orders to Borgin and Burkes, his rummaging through the Lestrange library, his experiments in the forbidden forest against whatever animal was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Each year his mothers harassing letters grew more and more frequent, pleading that he must be betroved, that he must find himself a proper pureblood wife. Certainly he had toyed with the many pureblood girls of the school, but soon bored of them. None were suitable, none enough to be his wife. Until he met Bellatrix Black a witch a few years younger. From the first fateful meeting, he had known she was the one, the only one suitable to stand at his side, he had to have her, had to win her. He had not known then that it would be a lifetime’s task he had signed himself up to.

His later school years had been filled with the whisperings of a growing strength, a new rising that shared all he had ever believed of wizard supremacy, of the importance of pureblood, of hunting and removing those filthy mudbloods that contaminated their society. One man governed them it was said, christening himself ‘Lord Voldemort’. Rodolphus was obsessed, collecting anything in the newpapers, any whispers from his father and other purebloods. It had been an obvious choice upon graduation to seek out these ‘death eaters’ and meet this Lord in person. Never had he thought himself one to kneel, one to follow. Yet there he found himself bent in the dirt, more then willing to follow a man he accepted was his better, a man who had achieved more then he could hope to, a man that would see an end to the taints in their world, that would lead him to the power and ambition he so readily sought. The jealousy that his wife had been the one chosen to be taught personally by the dark lord is a sting that remains to this day, though never the less he worked, perhaps as the dark lord knew he would, pushed himself further then ever before. He proved that he was loyal, more loyal then any of the fearful dogs who dared call themselves followers, more willing, more skilled he soon raised to the very tops of the ranks alongside his brother and wife.

The Dark Lords fall reached him at first in only rumours, whispers. He had known it was not true. Known he had not have been, could never be truly vanquished. Frank and Alice Longbottom’s answers had shed no light, but their evening together had been a pleasant, if rashly foolish distraction from his grief. It had taken the pathetic auror’s weeks to finally find them. It was Alastor Moody who triumphantly bound his hands roughly behind his back and marched him to the cells of Azkaban, gloating with every step. He had gladly joined his wife’s screams, clutched his brothers shoulder and known as fiercely as he had ever known anything that the Dark Lord would return, that they would be rewarded above all others for their loyalty, that the tortures of Azkaban, no matter the years that passed would never diminish his allegiance but only strengthen it’s resolve.

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I HAVE LEFT PARADISE AND
I DID NOT EVEN SAY GOODBYE
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ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE:

There was no denying the Malfoy manor was impressive, with it's large dark brick homestead and elaborate, neatly kept grounds. But it was no Lestrange mansion. Moving in with Lucius and his sister-in-law had not been what Rodolphus Lestrange had dreamed of when finally free of Azkaban's clutches. No, he'd dreamt of lying beside the lake of his inherited manor, surrounded by the acres of trees, the mansion filled with his treasures, his libraries. Begrudgingly he had accepted it would be foolish to return home, even for but a moment to collect a few possessions, no matter the moron the currently occupied the office of minister of magic he no doubt would have placed aurors to watch the ancestral home day and night.

With a soft pop Rodolphus apparated to the mansion he was now forced to call home, gravel crunching beneath his long strided footsteps. Several of the white peacocks strutting about the lawn gave a high shriek at being disturbed. Peacocks... only Lucy would keep bloody peacocks. The moon was high tonight, lighting the grounds in a eerie glow. Rodolphus' deathly pallor glowed almost as white as the damned peacocks against the dark grass. Slowly the years of Azkaban were beginning to vanish, the once knotted and matted auburn hair now perfectly cropped around his features, hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks slowly returning to a more human appearance as each meal started to return the lost weight to a long emaciated form. His eyes no longer lay dead and hollow, the sparkle of dark cunning starting to return.

Soon he would be back to his old self, soon Azkaban would be a unpleasant dream. It was easy to accept such lies in the light of day, at night, when sleep alluded him, when he closed his eyes he knew it wasn't true. He was transported back, to that rotten cell, to the screams, the cold and the dementors. The dementors and all the hopelessness they brought, all that brought him joy forgotten, his cause meaningless, lost, the dark lord gone, escape impossible.

The door was propped open by two house elves as he passed through, their squeeks of greeting ignored as he dropped his outer robe unceremoniously atop of them. The house was silent, the inhabitants no doubt having retired many hours ago. The house elves soon got the message and scurried back to whatever hovel they had emerged from when he continued to ignore their questions, whether he wished for a fire or a late super and made his way to one of the many fine drawing rooms.

The disproving looks of many a fair haired Malfoy glowered down from the portraits as he jimmied the lock to the liqueur cabinet, really Lucius should have known to try harder then that if he'd wanted to stop him. Rummaging to the back he found the good stuff, no doubt kept for when the minister of magic and other important riff raff Lucy had so happily consorted with came to dinner. Selecting two of the bottles of elven wine and a large crystal goblet to accompany Rodolphus made his way for one of the livingrooms, not bothering to hide his break in. Tonight he had no intention of revisiting Azkaban, no tonight he'd polish off the bottles of Malfoy's wine and when dawn came fall into a stupor the dreams wouldn't touch. Kicking off the dragon hide boots and shrugging off the well tailored emerald jacket he made himself quite at home, sprawled out across the large leather sofa, a simple spell uncorking the wine and pouring an all to generous glass. No doubt he'd regret this decision when he awoke, but that was a bridge he'd cross tomorrow.

THIS FORM WAS MADE BY MISTRESS SNAKEY OF CAUTION PLEASE DO NORT REMOVE THIS PART.
SONG LYRICS ARE HERE ON MY OWN BY SWEETBOX.

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