Lestrange Journey Part 1

Chapter 1

Rodolphus shifted restlessly in his seat, every movement a quiet battle. His body felt like it was sinking into quicksand—heavy, worn down, and barely able to keep itself upright. The relentless nausea churned inside him like a wild storm, twisting and clawing until he could hardly think past the sick weight in his gut. Exhaustion draped over his bones like a suffocating blanket, each breath an effort, each muscle trembling under the invisible load. His thoughts, once sharp as a knife, now muddled and swimming in a thick fog of dizziness. Even the simple act of breathing felt like trying to drag air through molasses.

Three weeks. Three weeks since that night with Harry—the night his world shattered and reformed into something unrecognizable. The shock of finding out Harry Potter was his soulmate hit him like a punch to the chest, but it was nothing compared to the slow-burning hell of this overwhelming exhaustion and the sudden, brutal waves of nausea that stole his peace. He still remembered that awful morning: the scent of breakfast turning sickly in the air, the desperate rush to the nearest bin, the hot sting of tears he never thought he’d let fall. And Harry—steady, calm, like a lighthouse in the storm—had been there, catching him, grounding him when everything felt like it was slipping away.

That moment had fractured his sense of reality. The healer’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clinical: “Congratulations, he’s pregnant—three weeks along.” The words crushed him beneath their weight. He’d cried. Real, messy tears, something Rodolphus never allowed himself. But Harry held him, wordless and unshaken, holding the shards of him together.

Now, six months in, every day was a battle he was losing. The fatigue was relentless, the ache in his back a constant reminder of the war his body waged against itself. The nausea never quite left—always lurking, waiting to rise like a cruel joke. Simple movements drained him until even sitting became a task. He shifted again, a sharp wince breaking through the dull fog of pain as his back screamed in protest. Frustration curled tight in his chest, sharp and bitter.

Rabastan’s voice broke through the haze, soft but concerned. “You’re fidgeting a lot. You alright?”

Rodolphus let out a sharp breath, the kind that rips from deep inside when you’re just so tired you can’t even hold it in. “I’m… tired. Sore. And I have to pee.” His voice cracked just a little, betraying the threadbare edge of irritation and exhaustion twisting inside him. Every little thing felt like a mountain, and the bladder was just another cruel reminder of how little control he had over his own body.

With a reluctant groan, he pushed himself up, movements slow and shaky like a puppet with tangled strings. The world tilted sickeningly as he reached the bathroom—vision narrowing, breath catching—and then, a heavy thud against the wall. A low, pained groan slipped out, raw and unfiltered.

Harry was there in an instant, bursting through the door with wide eyes full of worry and something tender that almost cracked Rodolphus’s armor. “What happened? Are you alright?” His voice was gentle, but the anxiety beneath was unmistakable.

“I’m fine,” Rodolphus muttered, voice trembling despite himself. He forced himself upright, the simple effort draining what little energy he had left. He shuffled back to the couch and collapsed onto it like a broken man, exhaling a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I’m gonna nap.”

Rabastan crossed his arms, eyes dark with concern. “He’s been like this all day.”

Harry frowned, sitting down beside him, slipping his hand into Rodolphus’s with quiet devotion. There was nothing to say, no magic to fix the ache, but he stayed. Just being there was all Rodolphus could ask for.

When the summons for the meeting came later, Rodolphus groaned, dread settling thick in his chest. Moving felt like dragging chains. But Harry’s steady presence was a lifeline, his silent support grounding Rodolphus as they moved forward—one painful step at a time.

The room fell silent as they entered. Eyes—curious, judgmental, cold—turned toward him like a storm of unspoken accusations. Rodolphus met their gazes with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Can I help you?” His voice snapped, brittle and laced with exhaustion. “Use words, not your faces.”

Harry stifled a laugh, tension crackling in the air like static.

Tom, seated at the head, barely hid a small smile—his amusement tempered by something close to respect. Rodolphus was fragile, pushed to his limits, but not broken. Not yet.

Sliding down between Tom and Harry, Rodolphus felt his body protest the motion. Across from him, Bellatrix’s sneer was like poison, her envy radiating in waves—resentment sharpened by the shattered remnants of their past.

Harry’s voice cut through it, light but sharp. “Is there a problem, Bellatrix? Please, do share with the group.”

Bellatrix spat a bitter “Nothing,” but the hostility clung like a storm cloud.

Rodolphus leaned in, voice low and rough. “She’s pulling her wand.”

Harry’s reaction was immediate. A flick, a shimmer of magic, and Bellatrix was bound before she could even draw her wand. “And what exactly were you planning to do?” His voice was ice—cold and unyielding.

Rabastan rose, wand ready. “Well? What made Harry pull his wand on you?”

Bellatrix’s hands trembled in the binds, her finger accusing Rodolphus. “I was where he is. Now I’m not.”

A bitter, exhausted laugh escaped Rodolphus before he could stop it. The frustration and weariness cracked through his calm. “Will you stop being a bitch? Tom doesn’t want you, and there’s a reason I sit between them—for my own damn safety.” His stare was sharp, cutting through the room’s tension. “Not only does Tom not want you, but I sure as hell don’t. My father burned our marriage contract because he knew you were insane. So do us all a favor—shut the hell up, stay in your lane, and stop making this my problem. Try it again, and you’ll find out why my family rejected you.”

He slumped back, every ounce of energy gone, the room heavy with silence.

Then Harry laughed—a clear, genuine sound that broke the tension like a sudden burst of sunlight. “Well, he told you. Are we going to have a problem, Bellatrix?”

She scowled, but said nothing. A flick of Harry’s wand released her, and the uneasy quiet settled once more.

Tom shifted back to business, eyes sharp. “Lucius, my lord—the meeting?”

But Rodolphus barely heard. His world was a blur of pain, nausea, and crushing fatigue. The voices around him were distant, muffled by the fog pressing down on his mind.

It was too much.

He was just… too tired.