Rodolphus Lestrange, May 1998, Pensieve Memory
Name: Rodolphus Lestrange
Date: May, 1998
Format: Pensieve Memory
Relevance: Rodolphus escapes after the Battle of Hogwarts
Pain. Pain such as he had never known brought Rodolphus back to himself. What had happened? He had been in the battle, the battle at Hogwarts and he remembered…what? Noise. Lights. People. And now…there was just pain. He head throbbed and he could feel the stiffening of blood drying on his face. But where was he? Was he dead? He didn’t think so. The dead didn’t hurt like this. Not that he’d ever noticed anyway. He lay still, for indeed he thought if he moved his head might explode. He listened, listened hard. Nothing. No sound. The battle must be over. Had they won? Had Lord Voldemort been triumphant after all this time? He heard the tread of heavy feet and made himself hold his breath. He heard the sound of something heavy being set down and then the footsteps retreated. He risked opening his eyes to slits. That’s about all he could manage. His nose was broken and his eyes were swollen nearly shut. It was dark. Something was covering his face. A cloth of some sort. He pulled it off. His forehead throbbed as well and he dared to raise a hand to it. There was a gash in his forehead and his face was covered with blood. He looked at his fingers, wet with the tacky red fluid. He moved his head, trying to see where he was and he thought he’d faint with the nausea that swirled through his body. He lay back, panting softly, his ears straining for any sound. He heard nothing. He tried raising his head again, and the nausea wasn’t as bad this time. He looked down at himself and saw that he was lying on a low table. They must think I’m dead, he thought. And no wonder, with his face a mass of blood the way it must be. He heard the footsteps again and hurriedly lay back down; hoping belatedly that whoever was coming wouldn’t notice that he was no longer covered. He kept his eyes slitted open and saw the enormous form of Hagrid duck through the door. He was carrying something. He was carrying someone, Rodolphus realised. His breath caught in his throat. Another Death Eater, Rodolphus wondered?
“Should just burn ‘em all an’ be done with it!” he heard Hagrid mutter as he set the body down on a table across the room, covering it negligently with a sheet. “The Death Eater’s dunt deserve nothin’ better, “he declared, leaving the room.
So they had lost, Rodolphus despaired. And now their bodies awaited whatever fate Harry Potter and the others decided for them. He didn’t know how he had been mistaken for dead, but if Hagrid had anything to do with it he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t THINK!! His head pounded. He had to get out! There had to be others who were still alive and captured but they would have to wait. Voldemort would understand, though Rodolphus was sorely tempted to look for his master. If he was still alive, there would be a heavy guard on the Dark Lord and there was nothing Rodolphus could do to rescue him, injured as he was. Even his beloved Bella would have to wait.
Rodolphus stifled a groan as he sat up. Fresh blood trickled down his chin from his ruined nose and he swiped at it with his hand. He waited briefly until his vision cleared as much as it was going to and, gritting his teeth, he got to his feet. He took a step and fell against the table with a clatter. He crouched down next to it, like an animal, waiting to see if he’d been heard. Nothing. He moved toward the door, still crouched over. He then blessed whatever good fortune there was looking out for him. Under the table next to the door was a wand, no doubt dropped by the unfortunate victim lying there. Rodolphus didn’t waste time looking under the make-shift shroud. He picked up the wand and peered around the door jamb. No one was coming and he couldn’t hear anything. He looked around. It had been years since he’d been a student but he thought he recognised one of the corridors off the kitchens. Appropriate place to store the bodies of your fallen enemies, he thought to himself. If he hadn’t been so woozy and so concerned with escape, he would have appreciated the irony.
He moved out of the room, staying close to the wall, as he was still very wobbly on his feet. He came to the end of the corridor and peered around the wall. Still nothing. Maybe the body Hagrid had just brought had been the last. He didn’t know and couldn’t afford to care. He had to escape!
Rodolphus had been right about where he was, so he crept cautiously along the corridor, wand held out in a shaky hand. He hoped the ghosts and house elves were occupied as well. Slowly, oh so slowly he made his way through the halls. He couldn’t understand where everyone was. He negotiated a narrow stairway, making for the third floor and the entrance to the secret passage to Hogsmeade he hoped his malfunctioning mind was remembering properly. He climbed another staircase, and the exertion left him panting and with purple lights flashing in front of his eyes. Concussion at the very least, Rodolphus told himself, maybe a fractured skull. He waited until he could make out the stone walls once again and made his unsteady way to the statue of the hump-backed witch that held the secret entrance.
“Dissendium,” he muttered, tapping the hump with the wand he had found. The hump opened and Rodolphus slithered into the secret passage. He heaved a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. He still had to get to Hogsmeade and apparate away before anyone found him. Muttering to himself, he lit the wand and plodded through the passage, grimly determined not to pass out.
How long the journey took, he had no idea. He fell down numerous times, once knocking the breath out of him. It took him several minutes to regain enough strength to continue. But at last he reached the trap door that lead into Honeydukes. Rodolphus cocked his head but heard no sound. Cautiously, he pushed the trap open a bit and listened again. When he didn’t hear anything he risked opening the door all the way, making up his mind that he would fight if anyone discovered him. But there was no one in the storeroom. He crept out and made his way to the stairs, listening. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart. He made his way unsteadily up the stairs and into the shop. It was deserted, as was the rest of Hogsmeade as Rodolphus discovered when he ventured outdoors. They must all be up at Hogwarts celebrating, he thought savagely. He hoped that there were more dead on their side then he had seen of his comrades.
He decided to make for the Shrieking Shack as no one would come looking for him there. There was no doubt in Rodolphus’ mind that he would be missed sooner or later and a party would be sent looking. He made his way cautiously, still unsteady on his feet but he was careful to go stealthily, no matter how deserted the village seemed to be. He heard a dog bark in the distance.
He opened the door slowly, wondering if the ghosts that were rumoured to haunt the place would hear him. But there was no sound and he entered the shack and closed the door firmly behind him. The light was dim through the cobwebbed windows and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When they finally did, Rodolphus thought he must be hallucinating from the concussion.
A body lay on the floor before him and the dark stain on the floor around it could only be blood. He crept forward until he could see well enough to identify the person.
“Oh no!” he moaned, low. “Oh Severus, you big idiot! Whatever in the world were you doing here?!” He leaned forward to touch the body. Severus was still as warm as life. He hadn’t been like this long.
Rodolphus held the lighted wand aloft. He wanted to know what had happened to his friend. He saw the gash on Severus neck and wondered what had caused it. It hadn’t been done by any sort of bladed weapon. And no spell left wounds like that.
He glanced around, as if to see if whatever had killed Severus might still be lurking. He looked at the blood, which was still quite liquid. Rodolphus frowned at it. If there was one thing he knew, it was how much blood there was in the human body. And the amount of blood on the floor wasn’t nearly enough to have bled Severus out. He stared at the other man and gingerly touched his face. Could it be? Severus made no sign that he was aware of Rodolphus at all, his black eyes staring straight ahead and his skin white as paper. But he was still warm and there was still blood and…Rodolphus moved Severus’ arm. It bent easily at his touch. Rigor hadn’t set in yet. If Rodolphus could get Severus someplace safe there was a very good possibility he could revive him. Rodolphus’ mind reeled. Severus was clever, Rodolphus reminded himself. If he knew they were losing, it was entirely possible he’d made his way here and dosed himself with something, a draught of living death perhaps, and so escape from the dratted boy who had beaten them. Of course he would have! Rodolphus thought fiercely to himself. He had to get Severus out of here! But where?! He couldn’t think! His head ached so! Then he remembered a little cottage his father had on the edge of the moors. He had kept it mostly for a hunting lodge and Rodolphus hadn’t been there since he was ten or so. But it had been made unplottable so it had to still be there untouched and unseen! It would be perfect! Rodolphus almost shouted with relief and exultation and remembered only just in time to remain quiet.
“Don’t you worry Severus,” he told him. “I’ll get you out of here to fight another day.”
He did a skin-sealing spell on the gash on Severus’ neck so he wouldn’t lose any more blood. It wasn’t a pretty job and would probably leave a scar, but it would keep the rest of Severus’ blood in his body.
Rodolphus picked Severus up and slung him over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here Severus,” he gritted and apparated away with a resounding crack!
Date: May, 1998
Format: Pensieve Memory
Relevance: Rodolphus escapes after the Battle of Hogwarts
Pain. Pain such as he had never known brought Rodolphus back to himself. What had happened? He had been in the battle, the battle at Hogwarts and he remembered…what? Noise. Lights. People. And now…there was just pain. He head throbbed and he could feel the stiffening of blood drying on his face. But where was he? Was he dead? He didn’t think so. The dead didn’t hurt like this. Not that he’d ever noticed anyway. He lay still, for indeed he thought if he moved his head might explode. He listened, listened hard. Nothing. No sound. The battle must be over. Had they won? Had Lord Voldemort been triumphant after all this time? He heard the tread of heavy feet and made himself hold his breath. He heard the sound of something heavy being set down and then the footsteps retreated. He risked opening his eyes to slits. That’s about all he could manage. His nose was broken and his eyes were swollen nearly shut. It was dark. Something was covering his face. A cloth of some sort. He pulled it off. His forehead throbbed as well and he dared to raise a hand to it. There was a gash in his forehead and his face was covered with blood. He looked at his fingers, wet with the tacky red fluid. He moved his head, trying to see where he was and he thought he’d faint with the nausea that swirled through his body. He lay back, panting softly, his ears straining for any sound. He heard nothing. He tried raising his head again, and the nausea wasn’t as bad this time. He looked down at himself and saw that he was lying on a low table. They must think I’m dead, he thought. And no wonder, with his face a mass of blood the way it must be. He heard the footsteps again and hurriedly lay back down; hoping belatedly that whoever was coming wouldn’t notice that he was no longer covered. He kept his eyes slitted open and saw the enormous form of Hagrid duck through the door. He was carrying something. He was carrying someone, Rodolphus realised. His breath caught in his throat. Another Death Eater, Rodolphus wondered?
“Should just burn ‘em all an’ be done with it!” he heard Hagrid mutter as he set the body down on a table across the room, covering it negligently with a sheet. “The Death Eater’s dunt deserve nothin’ better, “he declared, leaving the room.
So they had lost, Rodolphus despaired. And now their bodies awaited whatever fate Harry Potter and the others decided for them. He didn’t know how he had been mistaken for dead, but if Hagrid had anything to do with it he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t THINK!! His head pounded. He had to get out! There had to be others who were still alive and captured but they would have to wait. Voldemort would understand, though Rodolphus was sorely tempted to look for his master. If he was still alive, there would be a heavy guard on the Dark Lord and there was nothing Rodolphus could do to rescue him, injured as he was. Even his beloved Bella would have to wait.
Rodolphus stifled a groan as he sat up. Fresh blood trickled down his chin from his ruined nose and he swiped at it with his hand. He waited briefly until his vision cleared as much as it was going to and, gritting his teeth, he got to his feet. He took a step and fell against the table with a clatter. He crouched down next to it, like an animal, waiting to see if he’d been heard. Nothing. He moved toward the door, still crouched over. He then blessed whatever good fortune there was looking out for him. Under the table next to the door was a wand, no doubt dropped by the unfortunate victim lying there. Rodolphus didn’t waste time looking under the make-shift shroud. He picked up the wand and peered around the door jamb. No one was coming and he couldn’t hear anything. He looked around. It had been years since he’d been a student but he thought he recognised one of the corridors off the kitchens. Appropriate place to store the bodies of your fallen enemies, he thought to himself. If he hadn’t been so woozy and so concerned with escape, he would have appreciated the irony.
He moved out of the room, staying close to the wall, as he was still very wobbly on his feet. He came to the end of the corridor and peered around the wall. Still nothing. Maybe the body Hagrid had just brought had been the last. He didn’t know and couldn’t afford to care. He had to escape!
Rodolphus had been right about where he was, so he crept cautiously along the corridor, wand held out in a shaky hand. He hoped the ghosts and house elves were occupied as well. Slowly, oh so slowly he made his way through the halls. He couldn’t understand where everyone was. He negotiated a narrow stairway, making for the third floor and the entrance to the secret passage to Hogsmeade he hoped his malfunctioning mind was remembering properly. He climbed another staircase, and the exertion left him panting and with purple lights flashing in front of his eyes. Concussion at the very least, Rodolphus told himself, maybe a fractured skull. He waited until he could make out the stone walls once again and made his unsteady way to the statue of the hump-backed witch that held the secret entrance.
“Dissendium,” he muttered, tapping the hump with the wand he had found. The hump opened and Rodolphus slithered into the secret passage. He heaved a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. He still had to get to Hogsmeade and apparate away before anyone found him. Muttering to himself, he lit the wand and plodded through the passage, grimly determined not to pass out.
How long the journey took, he had no idea. He fell down numerous times, once knocking the breath out of him. It took him several minutes to regain enough strength to continue. But at last he reached the trap door that lead into Honeydukes. Rodolphus cocked his head but heard no sound. Cautiously, he pushed the trap open a bit and listened again. When he didn’t hear anything he risked opening the door all the way, making up his mind that he would fight if anyone discovered him. But there was no one in the storeroom. He crept out and made his way to the stairs, listening. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart. He made his way unsteadily up the stairs and into the shop. It was deserted, as was the rest of Hogsmeade as Rodolphus discovered when he ventured outdoors. They must all be up at Hogwarts celebrating, he thought savagely. He hoped that there were more dead on their side then he had seen of his comrades.
He decided to make for the Shrieking Shack as no one would come looking for him there. There was no doubt in Rodolphus’ mind that he would be missed sooner or later and a party would be sent looking. He made his way cautiously, still unsteady on his feet but he was careful to go stealthily, no matter how deserted the village seemed to be. He heard a dog bark in the distance.
He opened the door slowly, wondering if the ghosts that were rumoured to haunt the place would hear him. But there was no sound and he entered the shack and closed the door firmly behind him. The light was dim through the cobwebbed windows and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When they finally did, Rodolphus thought he must be hallucinating from the concussion.
A body lay on the floor before him and the dark stain on the floor around it could only be blood. He crept forward until he could see well enough to identify the person.
“Oh no!” he moaned, low. “Oh Severus, you big idiot! Whatever in the world were you doing here?!” He leaned forward to touch the body. Severus was still as warm as life. He hadn’t been like this long.
Rodolphus held the lighted wand aloft. He wanted to know what had happened to his friend. He saw the gash on Severus neck and wondered what had caused it. It hadn’t been done by any sort of bladed weapon. And no spell left wounds like that.
He glanced around, as if to see if whatever had killed Severus might still be lurking. He looked at the blood, which was still quite liquid. Rodolphus frowned at it. If there was one thing he knew, it was how much blood there was in the human body. And the amount of blood on the floor wasn’t nearly enough to have bled Severus out. He stared at the other man and gingerly touched his face. Could it be? Severus made no sign that he was aware of Rodolphus at all, his black eyes staring straight ahead and his skin white as paper. But he was still warm and there was still blood and…Rodolphus moved Severus’ arm. It bent easily at his touch. Rigor hadn’t set in yet. If Rodolphus could get Severus someplace safe there was a very good possibility he could revive him. Rodolphus’ mind reeled. Severus was clever, Rodolphus reminded himself. If he knew they were losing, it was entirely possible he’d made his way here and dosed himself with something, a draught of living death perhaps, and so escape from the dratted boy who had beaten them. Of course he would have! Rodolphus thought fiercely to himself. He had to get Severus out of here! But where?! He couldn’t think! His head ached so! Then he remembered a little cottage his father had on the edge of the moors. He had kept it mostly for a hunting lodge and Rodolphus hadn’t been there since he was ten or so. But it had been made unplottable so it had to still be there untouched and unseen! It would be perfect! Rodolphus almost shouted with relief and exultation and remembered only just in time to remain quiet.
“Don’t you worry Severus,” he told him. “I’ll get you out of here to fight another day.”
He did a skin-sealing spell on the gash on Severus’ neck so he wouldn’t lose any more blood. It wasn’t a pretty job and would probably leave a scar, but it would keep the rest of Severus’ blood in his body.
Rodolphus picked Severus up and slung him over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here Severus,” he gritted and apparated away with a resounding crack!