Sometimes I write things
Hey LJ. Sorry that I fail at posting -- I still read everything! I just spend all my time on tumblr because I have a short attention span. Over there I am also novangla.
I figured that since I actually bothered to write a story for a h_e contest for the first time in... a long time, ahaha, and actually placed (3rd, behind two AWESOME entries), that I'd post it, along with the sketch that I drew while figuring out the dialogue. The prompt was to write about a Slytherin doing something brave or good. Sad Death Eaters and Marauders under ze cut. I've also been slowly occasionally updating my Tiny-Rabastan-Lestrange stories over at venture_further (chapter list here).
Into the Lion's Den
Walking through the streets of London had never been a favorite pastime of Rabastan Lestrange’s. Today’s walk, though, was much worse than any other. He’d not heard a word from one of his closest friends in a fortnight. He was desperate enough for hopeful news that he was going to the last place in England he’d be welcome. And on top of it all, it was raining. He stopped abruptly, and checked the address on the rowhouse to his right. “Four-Six-Three,” he read.
Each step required the whole of his will, and cast away all he held dear. His pride. His defenses. His privacy. His control. He was entering the lion’s den, and perhaps he would never emerge. You fight in a war, he reminded himself. Surely you can gather enough courage for this.
He knelt, cast a quick spell to dry off his boots, and placed his wand at his feet before standing again. A heavy knocker adorned the door, as did a metal door-bell chain that hung from above. Rabastan opted for the knocker. BDACK. BDACK. BDACK.
On an ordinary day, at an ordinary door, Rabastan would have turned and left. But today, he waited. Two minutes after the first knock, the sounds of locks and chains greeted him, and the door opened hardly two inches - just wide enough for him to see the tip of a mahogany wand pointed at him.
“I’m unarmed. My wand is at my feet. I need to speak with Sirius.”
“Let’s see it, Lestrange.”
Rabastan flushed with humiliation, knelt again, and slid his wand handle-first through the opening in the door. Immediately, the door flew open, hands grasped his arms from either side and pulled him in, and a slam and sudden warmth indicated a closed door. Rabastan blinked, and saw three unfriendly faces: James Potter, wielding not only his own wand but Rabastan’s also, the Muggle Lily Evans, and the wide-eyed Peter Pettigrew. A quick scan of the apartment revealed Remus Lupin and Sirius Black strategically placed further back in the room - in case the first line of defense fell, Rabastan surmised.
“Honestly,” he sighed. “If I were posing a threat, would I come to a home of eighty Gryffindors who hex first and ask later? Alone? Without a wand?”
“Oh, sorry if we don’t trust someone who’s tried to kill us,” Evans snapped.
“Regularly,” added Potter.
“For Merlin’s sake, this is important!” He leaned into the last word and narrowed his eyes, daring one of them to start up an argument about what qualified as important. They were wasting time. He ignored the others, and looked to the familiar grey eyes so characteristic of the Blacks. “It’s about Regulus.”
Apparently, he had hit the right note. The front guard all turned their attention to Sirius, even Potter. Some invisible communication passed between them, and Potter lowered his wand and turned back to Rabastan. “Fine. But we’ll stay here, with your wand. Anything funny, and we’ll be on you in half a second.”
Rabastan shrugged and followed Sirius through a door into a bedroom. It was like passing from day into night: while the rest of the flat had an open plan, with sleek lines and modern designs, the bedroom’s rich and heavy crimson fabrics and dark wood furnishings looked plucked right out of any wealthy magical home. The likeness was betrayed only by strewn articles of rather Muggle-ish clothing and questionable magazines.
“Well,” Rabastan said lightly, “this looks familiar.”
Sirius kicked a pair of combat boots to the side and leaned against a bedpost. “Regulus,” he growled.
“Right.” The young Death Eater swallowed, willing the words to come to his lips. He knew them, but he did not want to face the possible truth. This, in some ways, was worse than getting through the door. “Have you heard from him?” It came out hoarsely, but then the gate had opened and the words flooded out. “I mean, I know sometimes you two still spoke, and if you’ve seen him or if he told you of any plans to run off, or you’re somehow harboring him somehow -”
Sirius shuffled his feet, unsure how to process the questions. “Why would I tell you?”
“Sirius.” Rabastan’s usually restless eyes focused, and displayed his total desperation. “I swear on my honor and family name that I’m not tracking him down. I don’t even want you to tell me where he is. I don’t want to endanger him. I just need to know if he’s safe.”
“You’re not telling me something,” accused Sirius sharply. “Why wouldn’t he be safe?”
That was not what Rabastan wanted to hear. He turned away, and looked out a tall window. “Because he’s a blasted fool and a coward,” he muttered, forcing his emotions away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and spoke more clearly now: “Because he was an idealist and a boy and couldn’t handle the realities of the war he’d joined, and he was getting a reputation for being weak link. And weak links aren’t exactly treasured.”
“You think those people - your people - did something to him?”
Rabastan’s head fell. “I’m afraid that... most likely, yes.”
“Who?”
"I certainly don't know. Anyone. The Dark Lord himself. Even if I knew, I wouldn't hand over a list; I’m not a moron." Rabastan sighed. “I’m sorry. I truly am. You know he was like a brother to me. I--”
“Then you would have acted like a brother!” shouted Sirius. “You would have kept him from joining a band of genocidal maniacs. You would have found him a way out. You would have protected him.”
The words stung as much as any curse. “I tried to protect him,” he snarled. “You think I could have stopped him from trying to win the affection of his parents, with all that burden on him? You think I didn’t do everything to put him on safer assignments? To fight anyone who accused him of having a bit too much of your influence? And now I can't even speak highly of him, because he'll be known as a deserter.”
Sirius's grey eyes flashed. "Then why do you STILL fight for that lunatic?"
The air in the room felt distinctly cooler. Rabastan clenched his jaw and adjusted his collar. He, unlike Regulus, was confident in his choices, and that was enough. An argument would be futile. They both knew that. "I should be going."
"Yeah. You should."
The door swung open in front of him, but Sirius's voice held him back. "What will you do?"
"Get absolutely pissed, I imagine. After I stop by Grimmauld Place." He bit his tongue and kept himself from adding, "to tell Walburga she's alone now." Instead, he looked back with a softer expression. "I'll let you know if the tapestry proves me wrong."
"Right. Thanks."
The two reentered the bright and airy living room, quiet and sincere. Potter had been waiting hardly a yard from the bedroom door, and trailed Rabastan as he headed for the main entrance, where Evans was standing guard. Sirius cut across to the kitchen, where Pettigrew and Lupin were making something elaborate, and leanedheavily against the counter. "Pete, drink. Give. To me. Now."
Rabastan looked back at Potter. "My wand?"
The gangly young man balked. "You can't really think I'd just turn this back over and let you go, right?"
The stranger in a strange land stood his ground, calmly. “Yes, I can.”
A short, humorless bark of laughter came from the kitchen. “Just give him the damn wand.”
Potter seemed less than convinced, but Evans touched his shoulder. “James, not now,” she whispered. “Sirius needs us.” He loosened his grip, and her fingers took the cedar wand. Rabastan flinched as such unworthy fingers handled something so dear to him, but knew better than to say anything snide. Not today.
“Thank you,” he said, slipping it back into his sleeve.
“Why even come here, in person?” Potter pressed, as he opened the door and the chilly, damp air drifted in. “It wasn’t exactly prudent.”
Rabastan’s eyes flickered around the room. “It was the right thing to do,” he answered. That, at least, they could understand, he thought, as he walked back into the rain. He had braved it and survived after all, fairly well intact. But in the cold rain, with his last hope dashed to bits, he didn’t feel very good about it.
Fin.
I figured that since I actually bothered to write a story for a h_e contest for the first time in... a long time, ahaha, and actually placed (3rd, behind two AWESOME entries), that I'd post it, along with the sketch that I drew while figuring out the dialogue. The prompt was to write about a Slytherin doing something brave or good. Sad Death Eaters and Marauders under ze cut. I've also been slowly occasionally updating my Tiny-Rabastan-Lestrange stories over at venture_further (chapter list here).
Into the Lion's Den
Walking through the streets of London had never been a favorite pastime of Rabastan Lestrange’s. Today’s walk, though, was much worse than any other. He’d not heard a word from one of his closest friends in a fortnight. He was desperate enough for hopeful news that he was going to the last place in England he’d be welcome. And on top of it all, it was raining. He stopped abruptly, and checked the address on the rowhouse to his right. “Four-Six-Three,” he read.
Each step required the whole of his will, and cast away all he held dear. His pride. His defenses. His privacy. His control. He was entering the lion’s den, and perhaps he would never emerge. You fight in a war, he reminded himself. Surely you can gather enough courage for this.
He knelt, cast a quick spell to dry off his boots, and placed his wand at his feet before standing again. A heavy knocker adorned the door, as did a metal door-bell chain that hung from above. Rabastan opted for the knocker. BDACK. BDACK. BDACK.
On an ordinary day, at an ordinary door, Rabastan would have turned and left. But today, he waited. Two minutes after the first knock, the sounds of locks and chains greeted him, and the door opened hardly two inches - just wide enough for him to see the tip of a mahogany wand pointed at him.
“I’m unarmed. My wand is at my feet. I need to speak with Sirius.”
“Let’s see it, Lestrange.”
Rabastan flushed with humiliation, knelt again, and slid his wand handle-first through the opening in the door. Immediately, the door flew open, hands grasped his arms from either side and pulled him in, and a slam and sudden warmth indicated a closed door. Rabastan blinked, and saw three unfriendly faces: James Potter, wielding not only his own wand but Rabastan’s also, the Muggle Lily Evans, and the wide-eyed Peter Pettigrew. A quick scan of the apartment revealed Remus Lupin and Sirius Black strategically placed further back in the room - in case the first line of defense fell, Rabastan surmised.
“Honestly,” he sighed. “If I were posing a threat, would I come to a home of eighty Gryffindors who hex first and ask later? Alone? Without a wand?”
“Oh, sorry if we don’t trust someone who’s tried to kill us,” Evans snapped.
“Regularly,” added Potter.
“For Merlin’s sake, this is important!” He leaned into the last word and narrowed his eyes, daring one of them to start up an argument about what qualified as important. They were wasting time. He ignored the others, and looked to the familiar grey eyes so characteristic of the Blacks. “It’s about Regulus.”
Apparently, he had hit the right note. The front guard all turned their attention to Sirius, even Potter. Some invisible communication passed between them, and Potter lowered his wand and turned back to Rabastan. “Fine. But we’ll stay here, with your wand. Anything funny, and we’ll be on you in half a second.”
Rabastan shrugged and followed Sirius through a door into a bedroom. It was like passing from day into night: while the rest of the flat had an open plan, with sleek lines and modern designs, the bedroom’s rich and heavy crimson fabrics and dark wood furnishings looked plucked right out of any wealthy magical home. The likeness was betrayed only by strewn articles of rather Muggle-ish clothing and questionable magazines.
“Well,” Rabastan said lightly, “this looks familiar.”
Sirius kicked a pair of combat boots to the side and leaned against a bedpost. “Regulus,” he growled.
“Right.” The young Death Eater swallowed, willing the words to come to his lips. He knew them, but he did not want to face the possible truth. This, in some ways, was worse than getting through the door. “Have you heard from him?” It came out hoarsely, but then the gate had opened and the words flooded out. “I mean, I know sometimes you two still spoke, and if you’ve seen him or if he told you of any plans to run off, or you’re somehow harboring him somehow -”
Sirius shuffled his feet, unsure how to process the questions. “Why would I tell you?”
“Sirius.” Rabastan’s usually restless eyes focused, and displayed his total desperation. “I swear on my honor and family name that I’m not tracking him down. I don’t even want you to tell me where he is. I don’t want to endanger him. I just need to know if he’s safe.”
“You’re not telling me something,” accused Sirius sharply. “Why wouldn’t he be safe?”
That was not what Rabastan wanted to hear. He turned away, and looked out a tall window. “Because he’s a blasted fool and a coward,” he muttered, forcing his emotions away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and spoke more clearly now: “Because he was an idealist and a boy and couldn’t handle the realities of the war he’d joined, and he was getting a reputation for being weak link. And weak links aren’t exactly treasured.”
“You think those people - your people - did something to him?”
Rabastan’s head fell. “I’m afraid that... most likely, yes.”
“Who?”
"I certainly don't know. Anyone. The Dark Lord himself. Even if I knew, I wouldn't hand over a list; I’m not a moron." Rabastan sighed. “I’m sorry. I truly am. You know he was like a brother to me. I--”
“Then you would have acted like a brother!” shouted Sirius. “You would have kept him from joining a band of genocidal maniacs. You would have found him a way out. You would have protected him.”
The words stung as much as any curse. “I tried to protect him,” he snarled. “You think I could have stopped him from trying to win the affection of his parents, with all that burden on him? You think I didn’t do everything to put him on safer assignments? To fight anyone who accused him of having a bit too much of your influence? And now I can't even speak highly of him, because he'll be known as a deserter.”
Sirius's grey eyes flashed. "Then why do you STILL fight for that lunatic?"
The air in the room felt distinctly cooler. Rabastan clenched his jaw and adjusted his collar. He, unlike Regulus, was confident in his choices, and that was enough. An argument would be futile. They both knew that. "I should be going."
"Yeah. You should."
The door swung open in front of him, but Sirius's voice held him back. "What will you do?"
"Get absolutely pissed, I imagine. After I stop by Grimmauld Place." He bit his tongue and kept himself from adding, "to tell Walburga she's alone now." Instead, he looked back with a softer expression. "I'll let you know if the tapestry proves me wrong."
"Right. Thanks."
The two reentered the bright and airy living room, quiet and sincere. Potter had been waiting hardly a yard from the bedroom door, and trailed Rabastan as he headed for the main entrance, where Evans was standing guard. Sirius cut across to the kitchen, where Pettigrew and Lupin were making something elaborate, and leanedheavily against the counter. "Pete, drink. Give. To me. Now."
Rabastan looked back at Potter. "My wand?"
The gangly young man balked. "You can't really think I'd just turn this back over and let you go, right?"
The stranger in a strange land stood his ground, calmly. “Yes, I can.”
A short, humorless bark of laughter came from the kitchen. “Just give him the damn wand.”
Potter seemed less than convinced, but Evans touched his shoulder. “James, not now,” she whispered. “Sirius needs us.” He loosened his grip, and her fingers took the cedar wand. Rabastan flinched as such unworthy fingers handled something so dear to him, but knew better than to say anything snide. Not today.
“Thank you,” he said, slipping it back into his sleeve.
“Why even come here, in person?” Potter pressed, as he opened the door and the chilly, damp air drifted in. “It wasn’t exactly prudent.”
Rabastan’s eyes flickered around the room. “It was the right thing to do,” he answered. That, at least, they could understand, he thought, as he walked back into the rain. He had braved it and survived after all, fairly well intact. But in the cold rain, with his last hope dashed to bits, he didn’t feel very good about it.
Fin.