I don't know about this one. This is more or less a narration...or...something. I just love Rodolphus. I sympathize for him. All hail Roddy!

I do hope this 'fic doesn't go that bad. .

Disclaimer: Hahahaha...you'd have thought that after writing a few fics I'd own the show/movie/book/characters. Well. You're wrong, darling. I don't own Harry Potter still.

P.S: Kuroshitsuji is an awesome anime! Grell-kun! :D

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Between the good and bad's
You'll find me
Reaching for heaven
I will fight
And I'll sleep when I die
I'll live my life I'm ALIVE!

- I'm Alive - Kuroshitsuji Ending song; By Becca

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The Note

Bellatrix was gone. She was never going to return. That was the only thing that Rodolphus knew. His wife was forever lost. She was murdered. Murdered by a member of the Order of the Phoenix just two nights ago. That night, their precious Dark Lord perished as well. Perished in the hands of Harry Potter.

Rodolphus? He counted himself unlucky. He wanted to die. That fight in the Department of Ministry two years ago raised something in him. He was sick, he knew of it, with an illness he did not want anybody to cure. He was also sick with life, with everything. He didn't want it anymore. He wanted the Dark Mark to disappear, wished he could erase it. But he couldn't. And when he thought that he could truly die, get himself killed, he didn't. That was the Second Wizard War, for Merlin's sake! And he didn't even have the decency to get murdered!

Rodolphus was in rage for the past day. His wife died, more than half of the Death Eaters died, Lord Voldemort, darkest of dark wizards, died as well. But how come he, Rodolphus Lestrange, still lived? The question burned him. Burned his insides. He had expected deaths, so he was ready. But when his wife died in the hands of Molly Weasley, he was taken aback. And before he knew it he broke off into a run. He had killed three wizards on his way out. Stunned an Order member and hexed that Collin boy out of his way. He had escaped the Aurors, escaped Aberforth Dumbledore and that Weasley girl and hoping against hope, escaped the terrors of his past, of that night – or day.

But he didn't. He turned as he ran out of Hogwarts, looked at the dim sky, the sky shrouded in thick dark clothes, hiding the stars. He took one last glimpse of the school of which he first laid eyes on his now deceased wife and started running. He reached Hogsmead sooner than he expected and he turned for all he's worth, turned on the spot. He dissaparated. Where he was going he did not know.

His first stop was Malfoy Manor. It was foolish of him to go there so he dissaparated. He stopped in front of Grimmauld Place and he could've slapped himself. The building had been taken over by Death Eaters just a few months ago but it was useless if he were to stay there. He paced outside and then decided to head away again. He appeared in a place which wasn't crowded and just overhead he could see towering lights – the Eiffel Tower. He was back in Paris, the place where he always spent his summer holidays along with Rabastan. Where was his brother now, he found himself asking. Hoping that Rabastan was just taken away by the Aurors and not killed, Rodolphus sat on a bench.

It was a few moments, more or less, before he stood up and decided that the only place he could stay was the place where dreams and bliss once grew, but now, as he looked at the shabby yet large mansion, he felt that those dreams and feelings of happiness was no more, that even from that start it had all been an illusion. So was Bellatrix, the woman whom he thought he loved an illusion? Did the war really happen...was he himself an illusion?

But he ignored that and made his way inside. The house was the same as it was years back when they had fled it – the same night they were captured by the Aurors. He climbed up the stairs and found himself turning the knob on the master bedroom. Once he stepped inside clouds of dust greeted him. He coughed. He didn't bother with magic because he knew, sooner or later, he was going to die. And he refused to be taken to Azkaban; he'd rather die in his own house.

So here he is, sitting on a moth-eaten bed, his face hidden from view because of his hands, his usual messy brown hair messier. Rodolphus was a mess.

He finally looked up and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't bother with things anymore. Standing up, he scoped the room. Nothing. Nothing but gray and dust. He walked over towards the table just beside the bed and his fingers found three frames facing face-down on the table. His brown eyes which were so dead a few moments ago sparked with something – keen interest and curiosity it was. He picked up the first frame and slowly dusted it. There, the man in the photo stirred. Brown hair and brown eyes to match. The man was smiling wearily, his curly brown hair getting into his face. Rodolphus found himself staring at his own photo. It seemed like ages ago that this was taken, and perhaps it had been ages ago.

He sat it down and turned towards the frame in the far left. He turned it over and dusted it as he had dusted the first one and his hold on the frame tightened. Bellatrix. Bellatrix looked young, her face beautiful yet gaunt, her chin strong and her unruly black hair swaying in the background. Her dark eyes seemed to burn. This picture was one that was taken before they were captured and placed in Azkaban. He smiled slightly at the sight of his wife – she looked so arrogant yet so beautiful and graceful in the picture.

Rodolphus slowly put it down and sighed. Bellatrix was never the same after the Dark Mark was branded on her arm. She never was the Bella he had known and loved.

He didn't bother to look at the frame in the middle because a part of him knew what it was going to be. Instead, he picked it up and sat back down on the bed. Finally, going against it, he dusted the frame and stared at the inhabitants. A younger Rodolphus, looking rather dashing in his robe, was fixing his collar. Bellatrix – young Bellatrix – was clinging on his arm. She turned just in time to smile brightly for the picture. The Rodolphus had stopped with fixing his collar and was now looking at his soon-to-be wife. They smiled at each other. The picture captured a moment of pure bliss. It was evidence that they once shared something. Say it again, think about it more, Rodolphus did.

He was now shaking his head and lowering the frame. How could it all have happened? How, how, how!? How could he not have seen it coming, that she would drift away? He did. He did and that was the problem. But he didn't do anything...You're a mighty fine git. Rodolphus cursed himself, his hands were trembling with anger or with shock. The frame fell to the floor with a clatter and the sound of glass shattering.

Something had fallen. Not the frame, of course, but a piece of withered old parchment. He picked it up and his brown eyes raked the note. He couldn't control himself. He was shaking, not only his hands, but his body as well. He closed his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek. The note fell back on the ground, opened, and Rodolphus fell back on the bed, his eyes closed.

The note which had shocked him so much was lying open and slanting writing could be seen...

Rod,

You're a keeper. I can't wait to be known as Mrs. Lestrange.

Bellatrix

Such a short message yet the impact was so strong. He opened his eyes now and stared at the ceiling. The message playing in his mind. "You're a keeper." That brightened him up slightly. Rodolphus allowed a smile to grace his face – he looked years younger when he smiled. And then he closed his eyes for which he knew was going to be the last time.

And Rodolphus will sleep when he dies, knowing and reassured that Bellatrix did love him – maybe once – and that it was not all a lie, not an illusion. He lived his life. He fought for the Dark Lord. He fell to no wizard, no Auror. He was not murdered. But he knew Death's arms were waiting, wide and open for him to fall back. He knew and he welcomed Death.