Come rest your head, come stay with me awhile

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*Bellatrix has never been maternal--even the suggestion of such a thing would send more than a few titters around a drawing-room and she knows it. She has patted the odd child on the head, certainly--cooed a bit over Draco a handful of times--admonished older children at family gatherings who were misbehaving or loud or simply too close to her. But that is all, and all she has any desire for. So maybe it's odd that at Barty's incomprehensible, dense, very much fucking Bartyesque letter she's immediately set off for the house without so much as a pause for reflection. Perhaps it's odd that an overwhelming urgency, a sense of this is not right is thrumming in her veins and urging her to hurry, as she's always heard it does in the veins of mothers when their children are in need.

Considering her singular fondness for Barty, perhaps it isn't odd. Considering her connection to Regulus, perhaps it's anything but odd.

Either way within minutes she's dressed and ready--robes as grim and utilitarian as she owns, and for some reason she's braided her hair flat against her head as she does when doing the Dark Lord's work--like she's spoiling for a fight. For some reason her hand is wound rightly around her wand and her heart is in her throat as she straightens her cloak around her and Apparates into the ever-shifting house: a grim, black-robed apparition no less frightening for its lack of a mask.*

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[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*The little elf begins to bustle around their elbows, taking cloaks but rather conspicuously leaving the toothbrush where it is. Bellatrix avoids her husband's unspoken question--there's just a pointed look, please just trust me, before she rushes on.*

You'll have to make do with things of Roddy's for tonight but we can get you proper clothes in the morning--a late dinner, perhaps? You both look--

*As though it's almost eleven at night and they've subsisted on stale biscuits and toothpaste for days on end.*

Famished.

[spindleform.livejournal.com]

*Still hovering near the fireplace, Regulus bends slightly to drape his cloak onto the elf's waiting arms, but his shadowed eyes stay on Bella. He doesn't know to what effect, but he's had people talk purposefully over his head long enough to know she's completing sentences in her mind. He actually is exceptionally poor at even guessing other people's thoughts, still there is an almost creepy effect that a toothpaste-centric diet gives. It's the closest his pinched little face will ever come to looking as though he can read one's thoughts.*