March 28, 1889 — Grounds of Oakshire Hall

Tiberius hadn't been surprised when Antigone had stormed out, or when she hadn't returned to the house for days following. That behavior was standard for her at this point. He hadn't wanted to intervene during the following weeks, either, because he didn't want to talk to her yet — not while they were still on unequal footing. Not when she could still feel superior for her successful Animagus transformation. He'd finally been able to make another attempt at it a month ago, and had succeeded in transforming — but it had taken him days to be able to find his way back to his human form. For nearly a week, the house had been empty except for the servants and the baby — but no one thought that was particularly odd, it seemed, because no one had opened his in case of my death letter. That was fortunate — it made things easier for him when he had returned home.

He'd sent the letter to his wife at that point, and had expected her to come home. He expected that she had enough respect for (or fear of) his magical abilities not to intentionally and willfully disobey him — but it seemed he'd been mistaken. He'd given her more time than he might otherwise have done to return, because the truth was he didn't want to go looking for her. His Animagus form would be the only logical choice, the only way to cover that much ground quickly and efficiently, but he was hesitant to transform again. What if it took him just as long to change himself back? What if he couldn't change himself back?

What was the point of having studied to become an Animagus, however, if he didn't feel confident enough to use the skill? He'd have to demonstrate it to Antigone, he'd realized, if he wanted her to believe that he'd really accomplished it (which was, for some reason he couldn't articulate, important to him). She would never believe it based on his words alone, especially since she knew that he'd had a failed attempt in October. He'd done it, then — in his room, where he could look over his form and ensure the transformation went smoothly as he practiced changing from bird to human and back again. When he was confident that he wouldn't have an issue with it again, he opened his bedroom window and set off to look for her, soaring over the treetops.

Why was he bothering to look for her? He could have just staged her death and moved on. He could have done that even before he'd completed the Animagus transformation in the first place. There was no reason that he needed to accomplish it — no reason to want her to know that he had. No reason, really, to keep her alive when he did find her. He should kill her, with the way she'd been acting lately. Then again, he should have killed her a year ago when she'd been rendered infertile, or a year before that when she'd run away, and he hadn't. Antigone had a knack for surviving encounters with him that she really oughtn't to have.

A set of suspicious tracks caught his eye, and he swooped down lower, below the tree cover, for a better look. There was no reason not to kill her, he thought to himself — but just as every past instance when he'd had that thought, it lacked a certain degree of resolve. Besides, he had to find her first.

  

As soon as she had calmed down she'd realized what a mistake she'd made in her moment of fury. While she might still resent Tiberius, leaving him in so final a way had not been smart and she wished she could undo it but such a thing would require forgoing her pride and groveling. Even if he thought having her back was for the better he was hardly likely to accept such a change without making her grovel for it first. She would not be groveling.

To her surprise he'd written her a letter but upon opening it found herself oddly disappointed though she had no recollection of hoping for it to say something in particular. No, she would not be summoned like a house elf, especially not when he was probably scheming to kill or mentally incapacitate her so he could present his preferred narrative to society. She wasn't stupid. She also wasn't going to let him think she'd come running the moment he lifted a quill.

That had been weeks ago and she'd seen nothing of him, meanwhile her self-imposed exile was wearing thinner by the day. Now that she'd sentenced herself to it for life, it no longer felt like freedom but a new prison. He'd probably told everyone she was dead by now, or at least missing without hope of finding her. Where would they hold her funeral? Would he write to her one more time to let her know? Surely he would, not that it would fill her with a desire to obediently keep up the charade, but she did like the idea of attending her own funeral.

Now was not the time to be thinking about such things, however, she had far more important matters at hand like stalking a particularly meaty looking deer. She had managed to scale a nearby tree without it noticing and was now waiting for just the right angle to pounce. It seemed as though she was just about to get that prime opportunity to take it down when it froze for a second and then bolted. Her ears twitched and she remained poised for an attack as she tried to figure out the disturbance that had sent the deer running because it certainly hadn't been her. She couldn't hear much but she did pick up a confusing scent on the breeze. If the scent wasn't adulterated by that primarily of bird, she would have thought Tiberius was nearby. Perhaps he'd sent another letter and he had a different bird delivering this one. Well it'd serve him right if she ate his damn owl especially after it scared away her ambitious dinner.

It didn't take long for a bird to enter her periphery. With little thought thereafter, she waited for what seemed like the right moment and then propelled herself into the air, claws at the ready to snag her quarry as she took it down with her. Provided she didn't miss her mark.
""

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Without warning, something launched into his side with such precision that on seeing it out of the corner of his eye, Tiberius thought it was a projectile from some sort of human hunter. As soon as it made contact, though, he knew better — it was a mess of claws and teeth and definitely animal. It was her.

Had his animagus form been smaller he would have been in serious trouble. A kestrel might have been entirely incapacitated by such an attack. A peregrine (the type of bird Tiberius had decided he'd become, after examining himself in the mirror and flipping through a book on ornithology) was much larger, and had she attacked an actual peregrine falcon she might have been in over her head. Tiberius was hardly an experienced flyer, however, and it didn't take much to throw him off balance. The two plummeted towards the ground, a tangle of fur and feathers.

Is she trying to kill me? Tiberius thought irritably, forgetting that she had no reason to suspect he'd be patrolling the premises as a bird of prey. Eager to defend himself, Tiberius wrenched his body around and went after her eyes with talons barred.

  

It wasn't until they were on the ground that she realized that what she'd tackled from midair was not an owl. Since when did Tiberius have a bird like this and what could he possibly want with it? It was now making a play for her eyes which she didn't much appreciate. Maybe she'd kill it and then leave it on the doorstep for him to find. Tig hissed and tried to pin its wings down with her paws so at least it couldn't lunge for her eyes anymore.

She probably ought to kill it before it could blind her but if she wasn't going to eat it then she might as well play with it a bit first - how often did she get the chance to take down a bird of prey let alone succeed? Still, the stink of Tiberius was oddly strong, would it really permeate a mere pet so thoroughly? Her nose might be sensitive but it probably shouldn't smell that strong.
""

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They'd hit the ground, and Tiberius realized immediately that she had the advantage here; she had four sets of claws, and he had only two feet. His wings were worthless in a fight out of the sky. Giving up the idea of trying to blind her, he instead flailed his wings furiously into her face to force her off of him.

He may not have been intent on blinding her, but his anger had hardly subsided. As soon as he had breathing space, her transformed back into his human form — and immediately drew his wand and fired a hex at her.

  

Distracted by the bird's scent, she realized a fraction too late that she'd failed to completely pin it down and subdue it. She recoiled a little from it with every intention of maiming one of the bird's wings so it couldn't escape or flap them so violently at her as it was at that moment but before she could make a move, the bird was gone.

Tig was frozen in shock at the sight of her husband where the bird had been. So surprised, in fact, that the hex hit her with ease. She snarled and yelped as a loud ringing in her ears grew to an eye-wateringly painful level. It wasn't until she was confident she could turn back without showing herself to be in a great deal of pain that she actually did, although crouched on the floor in the same tattered undergarments she'd disappeared in was hardly dignified either. She stuck her fingers in her ears but it made no difference. "YOU CAN STOP IT NOW!" she shouted, unable to gauge how loud her own voice was over the din.

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   Tiberius Lestrange

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The spell hit its mark, and the cat transformed back into his wife. Regardless of anything that had taken place during their last interaction, the sight of her in her dirty and torn undergarments left him feeling nothing but disgust. She had chosen this. She had preferred to live in her own filth rather than return to him, even when he had written instructing her to do so. Antigone was irredeemable at this point. He could never make a wife out of a feral cat — and perhaps that was what she had really been all along, even before completing the Animagus transformation had allowed her to life as one.

He took a step forward and nudged her shoulder roughly with one foot, intending to send her sprawling down on the forest floor. Only when he was towering over her and had his wand at the ready for a second spell, should he need it, did he cut off the hex he'd hit her with.

Just kill her, he told himself. There was no point to doing anything else; there was no benefit to keeping her alive. She had nothing left to offer him. She couldn't produce a child for him, and wasn't even willing to behave herself long enough to keep up a passable charade at being a wife and mother. She was more use as a corpse than she would ever be to him alive, at this point. Still, he hesitated. "You should have come when I wrote," he said with a bitter ring in his tone.

  

She probably should have been intimidated the way that he was stood over her, his wand pointed right at her, but all she could think at first was thank goodness the ringing in her ears had stopped. "Why, so you could kill me? Anyway, I said I wasn't coming back, if I returned the second you summoned me my word would mean nothing." Smirking probably wasn't the wisest of expressions to be making when her life was probably on the line but she figured it was a foregone conclusion either way.

"So do I get any last requests?" She started to reach for her wand when she remembered once again that she'd left it in the house with her clothes.

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Last requests? The phrasing surprised him. She was expecting to die. But of course she was; it was the only logical end left to them. He'd come here to kill her, hadn't he? If he couldn't assume her cooperation even in something as minor as returning to the house to talk, what choice did he have?

"Like what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He needed to decide how to kill her, anyway. The Killing Curse was simple, but too much so; a young corpse with no signs of accidental death would point to magical murder. He needed something that could seem accidental. He ought to have thought this over and decided before coming to find her. Why had he been so ill- prepared? He'd known this was what needed to happen.

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   Antigone Lestrange

"Don't use magic. And look into my eyes while you're doing it. I want it to take long enough that I'll know it's happening." It would just be insulting if all he had to do was wave his wand, if she had to die he could at least put a little effort into it. Best case scenario he'd regret it and forever be haunted by her last moments. Well, the best case scenario was that he'd get cold feet before he went too far but what sort of existence waited for her on the other side of that? "And I won't fight back, not unless you want me to." She was a little surprised by how accepting she was of her fate but hadn't she been living on borrowed time for years anyway?

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   Tiberius Lestrange

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Tiberius blinked at Antigone in surprise. He hadn't exactly known what to expect, but certainly not that. She could have pleaded with him to spare her, or at least asked for something that would prolong her time alive. Her actual request was intriguing. She seemed to have accepted her imminent death, and the way that she wanted to die...

Tiberius had never killed someone without using magic before. He didn't kill for fun, but only for a purpose, and magic was the cleanest and most efficient way to accomplish that purpose. He didn't dirty his hands with anything gratuitous or unnecessary. The idea of actually putting his hands on her and snuffing out her life the way a muggle would stirred up a strange mix of distaste and fascination in him.

He put his wand away without a word. Keeping his eyes on hers, he knelt down with a knee on either side of her waist, straddling her. Maybe her request had been a roundabout way of trying to save her own life, he thought as he reached up and ran his thumb along her throat. Maybe she thought he wouldn't do it if he had to do it without his wand. She would have known that coming right out and asking wouldn't have worked — and it would have cost her too much of her pride, besides.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he wouldn't do it.

"You're sure?" he asked, leaving his hand against her throat but applying no pressure.

  

A part of her was a little surprised that he was willing to oblige her but perhaps that was just the reality of what was to come starting to assert itself. By the time his hand was on her throat she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her. "Yes." At least if the choice was between being suddenly snuffed out like her entire existence had been meaningless and insignificant and making him get his hands dirty then it was easy. "Don't you want me to suffer?" Not that she wanted him to enjoy killing her, but if he didn't feel enough animosity towards her to wish her a painful death then what was she even dying for?

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Want her to suffer? The entire concept was foreign to him. He had certainly done plenty over the years to cause her to suffer — etching adjectives into her skin came to mind, as did the poison that may have ultimately been responsible for deforming their last child — but the suffering had never been the point. He always had some goal in mind when he did these things, even if the goal was just to try to teach her to behave better.

"Of course not," he answered honestly. "What would be the point of that?"

He wouldn't be considering killing her in the first place if she had just given him some alternative. But what else could he do, with an errant wife who refused to live in his house? He wasn't going to waste the prime of his life tethered to someone who was absent more often than not, when he could be married to someone who would give him children.

  

"Satisfaction," she stated incredulously. "Retribution. Amusement. Haven't I been a thorn in your side, don't you hate me?" Her eyebrows were raised in disbelief. Surely he fostered enough resentment towards her that he'd enjoy it? "Aren't you at least angry at me for leaving you?"

Something like panic was starting to set in but not for the obvious reason. If he didn't resent her, if she didn't make him angry but for brief moments, then what kind of impression had she made on him? Had she made any? He was going to kill her and then he'd never think of her again, as if she'd never existed. Tig couldn't understand why it bothered her so much, certainly it hurt her pride to think she'd be swept under the rug, but it was more than that.

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Antigone certainly had been a thorn in his side, there was no denying that. More often than not, he considered her more trouble than he was worth. And yet he hadn't killed her before. He'd even gone to great lengths to keep her alive when she had been on the verge of death during her last pregnancy. Hate was, at best, a hyperbolic way to describe the way he felt about her, and on some occasions it was wildly inaccurate.

When she said for leaving you, it was hard to tell exactly which occasion she was referring to. She'd left the house most recently in January, but she hadn't really been present all that often before that. She'd taken to the woods over the course of the summer, when he'd been abroad trying to focus on rushing through the last of his Animagus studies. He'd left her first, really. Her absence from the house had been infuriating before he'd managed the transformation, because it seemed as though she was deliberately flouncing about as a cat just to spite him — to prove that she was better. Now that they were on more equal footing in that regard, it was hard to conjure up the same level of ire he'd felt the last time they'd spoken.

"You should have come back when I wrote," he said, ignoring her questions. "Then I wouldn't have to do this. I wasn't going to make you stay. I told you I didn't want you back."

  

Considering she was the one who had walked out it was somewhat ironic that she should be affronted that he didn't want her back. "What alternative is there? I'm either with you or I'm dead!" Or waiting to die. If she did so much as steal some clothes she'd be violating her vow if she didn't let him know about it.

Why wasn't he killing her already? She didn't get him at all, he wanted nothing more to do with her but it almost seemed like he was a touch reluctant to kill her. "I don't understand you!" For the first time her voice started to rise, although it was veering more on the side of frantic than aggressive. "I don't understand!" At least for a moment it had, confusion, like most things, frustrated her and it quickly started to show through her agitation. "What am I to you?!"

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