The Lestrange Ménage

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Helena Lestrange

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The Lestrange M?nage

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It was a warm evening at the Lestrange Ménage, and a quiet one at that. Songs of birds carried through the large garden while two house elves worked themselves slavishly in perfecting their mistress' beautiful garden. All was well deep within this area of the countryside. Or so it appeared to be from outside the ménage.<br/>
"Rabastan we must do something! This is just as much our business as it is her's." Helena was standing before her seated husband in the family room. She'd lost what little patience she had at this point and her voice was above that of civility. "I have grown tired of your obstinacy!"</r>
 
Throughout his wife's angry outburst, Rabastan remained seated, his expression blank as though the topic at hand held no interest to him at all. "Helena my dear, there is no need for hostility. And as for the matter of which you speak, I have told you already that our daughter can handle herself. She is a grown woman now," Rabastan replied calmly, his eyes still attached to the copy of the Daily Prophet on his lap.
 
"I don't understand how you can be so tranquil about this when we haven't even heard from her since she left in search of her runaway child! It disturbs me that you haven't even voiced a single concern for your grandson's health!" Helena was pacing now in agitation of her husband's lack of interest.
It was almost exactly a year ago that their grandson, Blake, had run away. And shortly after their daughter Cloe had quickly followed after her son. Within the period of close to a year, Helena and Rabastan had not received news of their daughter and grandson's whereabouts.
 
Rabastan lifted his head to meet his wife's troubled eyes. He wanted very much to comfort her and promise that indeed their daughter was safe and very much capable of handling the situation. But a promise he had made kept him quiet, his expression evermore blank of emotion.
"Helena, of course I am concerned about them. There's simply nothing either of us can do about it until we hear from them. So for now dear, stop worrying and be a little more patient." Feeling like he'd been a little too cold, Rabastan turned back to his newsletter and tried to look convincingly indifferent.
 
Angrier than ever, Helena stomped out of the room. This did not seem like her husband at all, and his behavior was only making her more wary. The Lestrange family house was as large as it was glamorous, and in the early years of her marriage to Rabastan had seen Helena to a lot of stress simply trying to avoid getting lost within it. But as she'd now lived there for more than thirty years, she did not need to think of how to get through the mazes of corridors and rooms. Picking up her pace and concentrating on nothing but getting as far away from the family room and her husband, it was not long before she came to a stop. It was not until she felt tears pouring down her face that she realized she was at the room her grandson had stayed in. The room that had once, long ago, belonged to her daughter.
Every inch of the room was covered in the colours of Slytherin, the crest itself taking up the whole ceiling canvas. There was not an object in the room that did not reflect Cloe's pride in her house. Except, of course, the one which belonged to her son. All that was left behind, and most likely by accident, was a picture that Helena had found under Blake's pillow days after he had run away. There on the night stand it stood, clearly out of place in this room that was oddly covered in much more black than green, and in a sad way, it stood also as evidence of the distance that existed between Cloe and Blake.
 
It was with a heavy heart that Cloe apparated before her house. She wanted to visit her parents for what she was certain would be the last time, and hopefully just relieve her father of the burden she had placed on him and leave a trace of truth behind for her son. It was the only way, and it was without doubt, the hardest way.
Cloe lifted her hand to the doorknob, but then hesitated before finally deciding to ring the doorbell instead. She already felt like an intruder here, and entering without announcement would just have made her feel worse. As the bells rung through the door, Cloe waited patiently for the sound of her father's heavy footsteps.
 
Rabastan heard the doorbell ring and quickly pulled out his wand, wondering who in the hell it would be. He was not expecting visitors, and the muggle alarm had not gone off. And if it was Cloe, she surely would have just entered.
Just then, Talcien, the eldest of the house elves appeared before Rabastan, bending into a low bow. "Master, I shall answer the door."
"No no, Talcien. I'm curious to see who would dare arrive unannounced." Grumpily, Rabastan stood and made his way to front door, his steps echoing as he trudged down the stairs. Peeking through the spyglass, Rabastan's mouth opened in shock, stuffing his wand back into his robes.
"Darling!" he said, his voice ringing with delight. Fumbling for the doorknob, Rabastan quickly wrenched it open so that he could properly greet his daughter. "How pleased I am to see you! And you cannot be here if it were not to bring good news? Oh your mother! She'll be pleased to have you back. She's been worried sick, and giving me a hard time too!" Throwing his arms wide open, Rabastan stepped forward and hugged Cloe, pulling her into the house.
 
Helena tore her gaze away from the photo on the nightstand, the resounding doorbell throwing her into an even more sour mood. So Rabastan was having a guest, if not guests, over and had not even thought to warn his wife! Helena stepped into the room and slammed the door behind. Seating herself on the bed, Helena sighed deeply and picked up the photo to properly look at the two familiar faces.
"Oh Amycus, why did you have to leave Blake behind?"
As her tears began to fall on the glass frame, Helena quickly wiped them off of the young Blake in the photo, letting her touch linger over her grandson's face, and that of her deceased son-in-law. How she wished she'd accepted him when he was alive, perhaps then she would have understood Blake more.
 
As her father's arms came around her, Cloe could not help but fall apart. Hiding her face in his shirt, she began sobbing loudly, releasing all that she had kept within. How could she not have seen this? How could she have thought she could run away from her past, and protect her son from it? And how could she not have seen the consequences her actions would inflict on her loved ones?
"Daddy..." Cloe sobbed, "I'm sorry."
 
Rabastan had been so happy that Cloe had returned home that he had not considered that she would be returning broken, and a mess. As she sobbed, all that Rabastan could do was continue to embrace her, rubbing her back like he used to when she was younger and crying over a cut. His eyebrows creased with worry as he thought of the many reasons why she'd be like this. Obviously, she had not been able to retrieve Blake. Which meant that he was still and very much in danger. "Cloe dear, we'll find him. And I'll help you. Now stop crying, please."
 
At her father's efforts to console her, Cloe felt the tears fall even heavier than before. If only he knew the real reason as to why she was a total wreck, then perhaps he would not be embracing her like so. She dreaded the next time she would see him, his eyes scrutinizing and disappointed that she'd given in. Ashamed that she had succumbed again to fear, no matter how valiant her intentions.
Finally pulling herself together, Cloe pulled away from her father so that she would be able to better meet his gaze. "Promise me that you'll give this to him..." she began as a few more tears trickled down her cheeks. Pulling out a letter from the inside of her robes, she handed it him and muttered heavily, "Please."
 
Rabastan's eyes grew wide in their sockets as he processed what his daughter was asking of him. "Cloe, you mustn't! You know he will never understand! He will never forgive you!" Even though he wanted desperately to talk her out of it, he knew that it would be impossible. She was like her mother, Cloe was, born with a determination that they carried with them through whatever decision they chose. Many years ago he'd been more than grateful that Helena carried such a great feat, as it had seen to the life he now lived. But as he stood here pleading with his daughter, he would have sacrificed such a gift just for his daughter to understand the severity her current decision would lead to. "If you love him as much as I know you do, then you will protect him from this! He should not know!"
 
Cloe closed her eyes, pursing her lips into a thin line. "It is because I love him so much that I need to do this. It would be selfish of me to deny him this truth... and the chance to see me for who I really am." Though I don't doubt he already sees me as a monster. "Dad, my decision cannot be changed." Meeting with his gaze once more, she allowed herself a second of hesitation before she slipped the letter into the breast pocket of her father's shirt. "For me..."
 
Shaking his head with a look of defeat, Rabastan then quickly moved to change the subject. "You're mother has been worried about you and Blake. I hope you'll be staying long enough to at least appease her for the moment?" Calling upon one of the house elves, he quickly ordered them to take Cloe's traveling cloak and see to it that Mistress Lestrange be brought to the family room immediately. Guiding his daughter up the stairs, Rabastan could not help but let silence slip upon them, even though he had so many questions he wanted to ask her, so many things to say himself. It was as if the letter resting in his pocket was weighing him down severely, it's contents working their grim darkness upon him like the heaviest of burdens.
 
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