Rated t for teen
Disclaimer: Fester belongs to Charles Addams and probably a host of other people who aren't me, Bellatrix, 'Rabbie' and his brother belong to JKR.
Notes: Set before the first fall of Voldemort.
Walking down the cobblestone road, the man glared at the hedgerows, with their cheerful green leaves threaded through with blooming white and yellow morning glories, infested with rabbits and chipmunks and other furry little creatures. Behind the hedgerows were rows of whitewashed cottages with trimmed lawns and beds of bright flowers, some of them thatched with soft yellow, others covered with shingles in shades of russet, grey, and an off blue. There were birds singing in the trees, perched on the rooftops, scattered across the neat little yards – far too few of them with hungry cats stalking the feathered nuisances – and even in those appalling hedgerows. It was the sort of peaceful day that was so often immortalized in paintings.
Fester hated days like this.
The hedgerow became wilder, less trimmed and the vines held fewer flowers, for which Fester was grateful. He kept walking, hoping to at least find a few useful plants on his walk, or some interesting ruins, or even one of the many old stone circles scattered across Britain. He wouldn’t mind watching an old bridge be destroyed either – the round faced woman running the bed and breakfast had mentioned that some of the older bridges on the back roads were being replaced with newer, sturdier models. Or maybe if he was truly lucky, he would see someone driving along one of the now bridge-less roads and see them careen into a river.
He heard voices. Two men and a woman, shouting at each other. He wasn’t certain if they were arguing or having a tryst – the terms ‘wretched sniveling worm,’ ‘mentally deficient catamite’, and ‘frigid bitch’ were being bandied about, and while quite rude, some people did things that way. Shouting and insults giving way to heated passions… His Grandfather had done that with his third wife, the only one that Fester and Gomez could remember. So did Uncle Calliban, for that matter, though Aunt Lucretia kept trying to kill him, so far she’d only left him an interesting collection of scars and an astonishing resistance to poisons even for an Addams.
Finally, there was a gap in the hedgerow. It wasn’t enough for Fester to walk through without becoming tangled in branches, getting leaves and twigs in his clothing, and his skin covered with sap. He might even be allergic to the sap, leaving his skin covered in welts and hives… but probably not. Curious, Fester looked through the wide space in the hedge, looking to see who was shouting.
All three of them wore long, dark robes, with the woman’s robe open and falling over a dark dress that revealed a slender pale neck and a lovely set of collarbones while hugging her breasts and ribs and falling loose to her ankles, hidden under high buttoned shoes. Both men wore closed robes that reminded him of his own, though they looked to be a somewhat lighter fabric, and the sleeves remained open at the wrists. The men were about half a head taller than the woman, both with similar unremarkable builds, dark brown hair tangling to their shoulders, and faces flushed red from anger. The man to the right had a short, uneven beard, a wand brandished in his right hand as he snarled at the woman, hurling unimaginative insults at her in German, Hungarian, and English. The other, without a beard, held something else in his hand, something not quite flat and rather pale. The woman’s own curses were far more creative, and also covered French, Italian and Spanish as she insulted both of the men’s intelligence, moral character, ancestry and sexual performance.
Far more interesting that singing birds and fluffy bunnies.
The bearded man snarled some sort of word at the woman, causing a red light to shoot from his wand. Fester didn’t quite catch the word, but he knew it couldn’t have actually been ‘crucify.’ The woman collapsed to the ground, shrieking and writhing in a way that made Fester wonder about dislocated joints and torn ligaments. The man’s wand kept a red glow around the end, rather like embers, as the woman screamed.
When the red glow around the wand stopped, the woman stilled. The beardless man moved closer, clearly unconcerned about the woman on the ground. They spoke to each other, looking so much alike that Fester was certain that they had to be related to each other.
He couldn’t tell if the woman was alive or dead. The spell – and he had no idea what else it could possibly have been – looked to have caused excruciating agony, but he didn’t know if it was also fatal. She was too far away for him to tell if she was still twitching, or even still breathing, and neither of the men looked to be concerned about her.
The men were still talking, the bearded one gesturing towards the grey stone building in the background while the other shook his head. Slowly, unnoticed by the men, the woman rolled onto her side, producing a wand of her own from one sleeve, her dark hair tangled and holding more than a few leaves. She pointed the wand at the men, and a pale shimmer, like heat over sand, shot towards the beardless one, though Fester hadn’t heard her shout anything. It had no visible effect, suggesting that either the spell had failed or the spell was something more subtle that screaming agony. Another spell, this one a pale grey, shot towards the beardless one, and he swatted at the air around his head, as if trying to chase away gnats.
“Bellatrix, you foolish woman, what in Salazar’s name do you think you’re doing?” the bearded man snarled, finally noticing that the woman was no longer limp along the ground.
The woman recoiled, one hand curling towards her body as the one with the wand flicked at him, sending him flying towards the nearest tree.
All the way behind the hedge, Fester could still hear something crack when the man hit a large, gnarled tree. He grinned, wondering just how many bones had broken and if the man would be able to walk. Bellatrix seemed to be a powerful witch, and she certainly didn’t seem to mind casting spells at the backs of those two. From a distance, she also seemed quite striking.
Fester wanted to know more. He wondered what color her eyes were, if they changed color when she worked magic, if she could brew poisons and potions with the same skill that she had flung the bearded man into the tree. He wanted to know if she enjoyed roast pork or steamed lobster.
“Damn it, Bellatrix! What did you do to my brother?” the beardless man shouted. He dropped whatever he’d been holding and ran to the crumpled man at the base of the tree.
Bellatrix laughed, a sound of wild desperation and madness. She backed a few steps, shaking the leaves from her hair as she cackled, purple sparks dancing about her. “Poor wittle Rabbie… he can’t take what he dishes out so easily. He can’t deal with someone actually fighting back. He’d best stick to attacking muggles and children… probably the pretty little boys.”
“I order you to go back to the manor, you insane hag!” The beardless man was glaring at her, one hand resting on his brother, who wasn’t moving at all that Fester could see, and the other holding a wand.
Bellatrix vanished with a pop, her laughter fading from the air.
Fester watched as the beardless man knelt beside his brother before they both vanished with a slight swirl.
Far too curious, Fester moved over to where they’d been standing. The object that had been dropped turned out to be a white mask resembling a skull. With a shrug, Fester pocketed the mask. He would learn more about those three… more about the fascinating Bellatrix. Granted, Rabbie and his brother hadn’t left a good impression, but he didn’t know enough to do anything about it yet. At a minimum, he needed to know the simple things, like where are they right now.
Definitely more about Bellatrix.
the plot bunny bit me. I hope it will stay away, but won't count on it.