Prologue - Rabastan Lestrange
Title: The Only Engine of Survival (010. Years)
Characters/Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange.
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 566
Summary: The breakout of Azkaban from Rabastan's slightly off-kilter point of view. I just really had to get it out of my head. Written in a bit of a rush; please forgive me if the writing is horrendous. Also written in present tense because it didn't seem to work in past tense.
A/N: Um. I've merged several AUs with HP canon. Parts may only make sense if you've read the specific fics by dramathique19, which is where half of Rabastan's brain resides these days. Blame her. Oh, and more than likely to be the beginning of a series. >.>
Rodolphus. Rosalind, Rashnu, Calliope… Rose? Rosalie, Briallen, Rivalen, Ruslen, Reia. Till, Lind. The cups. Evan, Lucius. Charlie? Weasel. Lestrange, Malfoy, Rosier, Black, Bungs. Mistress Rosalind.
Names. So many bloody names and all paths lead to home. And what are names, really? Words with more meaning than those in the dictionary. If they even have that. Meanings are projected depending on perspective. It all lies in one’s perception.
Rivalen, Briallen, Rosalie, Till, Rashnu, Calliope, Rosalind, Reia, Ruslen, Rodolphus. Evan, Lucius, Narcissa. Lind… Cuppycake?
The damned cups. They were never thrown away. Till could never part with them. Could never part from her. Never warmed to her replacement. Replacement? No, she wasn’t even that. He is willing to place a bet on where those cups are now located. It has always been unheard of for a Lestrange to walk into a wager blind.
Dolohov, Bellatrix, Rookwood, Selwynn, Malfoy, Rosier, Lestrange. Ruslen, Reia. Mine. My own. By my own hand. Rosalind.
Rashnu has been right about this for decades. Everything is subjective. He can’t remember why that philosophy was so important. He remembers his ex-wife. He remembers who he named the twins after and why. He knows he deserves to be here, but does not remember why. Not the finer details. There are too many. He is aware there are details he doesn’t want to recall and hasn’t be forced to since the Dementors left. It has been very quiet without them.
He does not notice the first time the floor begins to shake, nor does he hear the excitement brewing several cells to his left. Rodolphus has stopped singing. Fourteen years of listening to Rabastan muttering the words and he still can’t get the lyrics right. As the delighted shrieks of various inmates grow louder, he begins to hum to himself in a vague effort to drown them out. Listening to anyone but himself has become a chore.
You’re my honey bunch sugarplum, pumpkin. You’re my sweetie pie.
He seats himself against the bars of his cell, arms covering his head as the debris that used to be the rear wall hurtles towards him. Unlike the others, he has not fallen into any form of hysteria - not that his brother can help it any more.
Rabastan just has to remember. Names, words, perspective. Subjectivity.
Lind, Fiji. Rosalind. Rosalind, Rosalie, Briallen. Ruslen and Reia. Till. Rodolphus, Rashnu, Calliope. Remember.
He is still humming as Bellatrix takes those first few tentative steps towards the open space that now replaces the wall holding them back from the rest of the world. As he looks down to the water below, Rabastan briefly considers killing her - but his brother is in the cell between them and he is without a wand. The sheer desire to live drives him to take the wand and broom from Alecto’s hands, though he has no recollection of when or how she appeared beside him. She passes comment on his new-found freedom and he turns to look back through the bars of his cell door. One of the wardens is witnessing the end of his life approaching earlier than originally supposed, courtesy of some of the less stable inmates.
Rabastan grips the wand tightly, for he has no pockets, only a new perspective. He mounts the broom and follows the swarm of convicts, unsure as to whether he is heading for bedlam or leaving it behind.
Characters/Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange.
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 566
Summary: The breakout of Azkaban from Rabastan's slightly off-kilter point of view. I just really had to get it out of my head. Written in a bit of a rush; please forgive me if the writing is horrendous. Also written in present tense because it didn't seem to work in past tense.
A/N: Um. I've merged several AUs with HP canon. Parts may only make sense if you've read the specific fics by dramathique19, which is where half of Rabastan's brain resides these days. Blame her. Oh, and more than likely to be the beginning of a series. >.>
Rodolphus. Rosalind, Rashnu, Calliope… Rose? Rosalie, Briallen, Rivalen, Ruslen, Reia. Till, Lind. The cups. Evan, Lucius. Charlie? Weasel. Lestrange, Malfoy, Rosier, Black, Bungs. Mistress Rosalind.
Names. So many bloody names and all paths lead to home. And what are names, really? Words with more meaning than those in the dictionary. If they even have that. Meanings are projected depending on perspective. It all lies in one’s perception.
Rivalen, Briallen, Rosalie, Till, Rashnu, Calliope, Rosalind, Reia, Ruslen, Rodolphus. Evan, Lucius, Narcissa. Lind… Cuppycake?
The damned cups. They were never thrown away. Till could never part with them. Could never part from her. Never warmed to her replacement. Replacement? No, she wasn’t even that. He is willing to place a bet on where those cups are now located. It has always been unheard of for a Lestrange to walk into a wager blind.
Dolohov, Bellatrix, Rookwood, Selwynn, Malfoy, Rosier, Lestrange. Ruslen, Reia. Mine. My own. By my own hand. Rosalind.
Rashnu has been right about this for decades. Everything is subjective. He can’t remember why that philosophy was so important. He remembers his ex-wife. He remembers who he named the twins after and why. He knows he deserves to be here, but does not remember why. Not the finer details. There are too many. He is aware there are details he doesn’t want to recall and hasn’t be forced to since the Dementors left. It has been very quiet without them.
He does not notice the first time the floor begins to shake, nor does he hear the excitement brewing several cells to his left. Rodolphus has stopped singing. Fourteen years of listening to Rabastan muttering the words and he still can’t get the lyrics right. As the delighted shrieks of various inmates grow louder, he begins to hum to himself in a vague effort to drown them out. Listening to anyone but himself has become a chore.
You’re my honey bunch sugarplum, pumpkin. You’re my sweetie pie.
He seats himself against the bars of his cell, arms covering his head as the debris that used to be the rear wall hurtles towards him. Unlike the others, he has not fallen into any form of hysteria - not that his brother can help it any more.
Rabastan just has to remember. Names, words, perspective. Subjectivity.
Lind, Fiji. Rosalind. Rosalind, Rosalie, Briallen. Ruslen and Reia. Till. Rodolphus, Rashnu, Calliope. Remember.
He is still humming as Bellatrix takes those first few tentative steps towards the open space that now replaces the wall holding them back from the rest of the world. As he looks down to the water below, Rabastan briefly considers killing her - but his brother is in the cell between them and he is without a wand. The sheer desire to live drives him to take the wand and broom from Alecto’s hands, though he has no recollection of when or how she appeared beside him. She passes comment on his new-found freedom and he turns to look back through the bars of his cell door. One of the wardens is witnessing the end of his life approaching earlier than originally supposed, courtesy of some of the less stable inmates.
Rabastan grips the wand tightly, for he has no pockets, only a new perspective. He mounts the broom and follows the swarm of convicts, unsure as to whether he is heading for bedlam or leaving it behind.