#ch: rabastan lestrange

[rreeaahh]

We are both filthy now | R. A. B.

Third chapter of "One way ticket" | Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

READ THE AUTHOR NOTE, THANK YOU.

taglist> @my-beloved-fandoms

pair> regulus black x lestrange! reader (slytherin)

summary> a birthday party means, for most people, a way to celebrate your existence - for purebloods, however, is a good way to spent time together with their master. regulus and y/n are not fond of the event, but no matter the traumatic experience they both go trough, they are still enemies - and y/n should've know that.

word count> 4.5k (wtf)

warnings> some type of angst; slow burn af; family toxicity; female discrimination; description of getting the dark mark; regulus hitting reader's hand; not proofread!

a/n> hi m'loves<3 do not forget that the tag list is open, feel free to ask to be added! im sorry for the long wait, it was one tricky chapter to write and from now on im gonna stop hunting the perfection, ill just enjoy writing. im more than happy to see all the notification from you on this series, and im beyond grateful - ill love to read your reaction, it makes me incredibly happy and helps me write. any comment is more than welcomed<3 any reblog helps this series to get to more people and it only takes a minute to do so. thank u for reading, ily all<3

Dear Y/N,

I hope my letter finds you well – your cousin’s pathetic owl is one lazy bird, let me tell you, but Rodolphus seems to be quite fond of it, and won’t let me get a new one.

Anyway, I write to you in hope that you’ll make me the pleasure to attend my birthday next weekend – I already spoke with Rodolphus and your father and they assured me you’ll come, but I still think it’s better to write to you personally.

We’ll also have a little meeting, besides the party itself, so I’m sure you’ll find it rather educative than a silly simple ball – do not worry, I know you tend to get anxious when surrounded by people you don’t know that well, but my cousin Regulus is coming too! I’m sure you two young purebloods will have all the fun you need.

Don’t worry writing me back, just come along with Regulus back from Hogwarts. Your presence if the only gift I need.

                                                                                                      Lots of hugs,

                                                                                                                                    Bellatrix L.

Y/N puts the letter on her desk and grabs the other envelope – this one also has her family’s wax seal, the L and the raven on top of it sending her chills on her spine.

            Y/N,

Don’t even think of not attending Bellatrix’ party. You cannot let this family down. Your cousin, Rabastan, will wait for you on the Platform 9 ¾, since me and Rodolphus have a lot of work to do for the meeting. Saturday morning, no later than 10 A.M. The meeting will be at our house.

                                                                                        Don’t disappoint me.

                                                                                                                        Cyrus Lestrange

She scoffs and lets the paper fall from her fingers. She was only a child when her cousin, Rodolphus, married Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin. They were the youngest at that party so all the adults expected them to spent time together. Truth is, however, that Regulus was shy and quiet and only stayed by her side, listening to all of her questions and never responding back. After the wedding, when her father seemed to be so pleased with little Regulus, with his manners and his obedient nature, Y/N decided that she hated Regulus Black. He was just a little prick, and she decided that she’ll be better than him – always.

As her roommates are deep asleep, Y/N stays at her desk and watches the two letters. She grabs again the one from her father and watches how the flame of the candle on her desk dances on it, the paper getting warmer and warmer, until it’s lit on fire. She hates to keep her father’s letters – it’s like she’d want to ever see them again.

With the burning paper still between her fingers, she gets out of her dorm and walk on the dark corridor of the Slytherin Girls’ Wing and goes to the Common Room, where the fire seems to be burning with green flames. The Black Lake is silent behind the large windows, only the water’s movement being heard. She throws the letter in the chimney and smiles at the sight of the fire eating up her father’s words. It’s like she’s watching him get eaten up by the flames.

“It’s late, Lestrange.”

Y/N jumps on her feet and gets a grip of her night robes. The light green material covers her body now that she’s tugging her fingers into it. From the dark green sofa, Regulus Black watches her with a bored expression. He was reading a book and in front of him, on the small black table, is a cup filled with tea, she could guess.

“Always staying in the shadows, like a rat,” Y/N mutters and walks to him, staying on the couch in front of him. While she sits down, she lets the robe fall from her shoulder, exposing the skin. She’s dressed in a dark purple pajama set, made out of silk, and the little string of her tank top falls with the robe. Regulus seems to notice the bare skin just exposed and he gets his eyes to look at her face fast, before she could sense his gaze. He feels… disgusted.

“Always speaking like you own the whole place,” he talks back and smirks, “when we both know it’s nothing like that.�� His voice is flat – no matter his facial expressions, Regulus Black always had a boring voice when he’d talk to her.

Y/N just watches him for a second. He’s still in his Quidditch equipment, even if the Slytherin team came back from practice a few hours ago. His hair is messy, his eyes are circled by a dark color, in comparison with his light skin, and he looks tired.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she lets the question escape her lips without even thinking.

“I could ask you the same thing, if I really cared,” he says and grabs his cup, drinking slowly from it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Black,” Y/N laughs and puts her hands over her chest. Regulus notices that, too. “I’m sure you got an owl from Bellatrix.”

“Yes, Bella wrote me about her birthday. Unfortunately, if you’re telling me about it, it means she wrote to you, too,” he says in a quiet voice, letting out the air in his lungs.

“She’s part of my family, too, Black,” Y/N says and surprises herself – she never gave that much importance to the family relations. She only had herself, at the end of the day, no matter how much her father would scold her for being an absent member of the House of Lestrange.

Her father never really showed her love – he was meant to be her father, but he was just a kind of legal tutor who raised her and was responsible for her well-being, and her cousins looked down on her – she was just a silly girl, meant only to bear children and get more powerful connections for her family. Her uncle and her aunt were distant, and maybe that was better than giving her reasons to hate them, like the rest did.

“Please, do not remind me – I still can’t get over that.” Regulus seems annoyed, bored, tired of her presence. And, yet, he stands there, face to face with her, watching each other – studying each other with such attention like they’re looking for a weak point.

“Why are you such a hypocrite, Regulus?” Y/N suddenly asks. He just smiles in the corner of his mouth, grabs his cup of tea and gets up from the sofa.

She feels him getting closer to her and in a second his breathing is hitting her face. “Don’t act like I’m the only one putting an act on, Miss Little Perfect,” he says amused.

Her brows drop. The skin on her forehead wrinkles and her eyes watch his, wanting to see behind them – they are empty. “I know you look up to me, Regulus, but there’s no need to remind me,” now she’s the one to smirk, and he’s the one to frown.

“Please,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t look up to a pathetic orphan even if you’d be hanging out from the ceiling,” he mutters and gets back up on his feet, looking down to her. Regulus is not the tallest boy Y/N knows, but that position gives him a more decent posture.

“That orphan is better than you,” she whispers. “That’s why your momma always prays the ground I walk on, right?” she laughs and she can sense his body getting alarmed by her words. “My dad just wanted an heir, someone to get his name far – but Walburga wants more than that, right? Now that Sirius, your disappointment of a brother, left, she only has you, but she doesn’t seem to be fulfilled,” the air leaves her lungs when Regulus drops the cup of tea and gets on top of her. The liquid spills on the stone floor.

His hands grab her bare shoulders, his leg is between her hips and he presses her body into the couch. Her back is arched into the plush material of the sofa and her eyes widen at the proximity. His jaw is tightened and his breathing is deep while Regulus watches her face with a spark into his eyes. “Do not, ever again in your filthy, pathetic, good for nothing life, talk about my family,” he mumbles and his grip only gets tighter – his nails digs into the skin of her shoulders like he wants to rip it off.

Y/N shoves him away and quickly gets up from the couch. Regulus is on the floor, right into the tea puddle he made, and he seems to be caught with his guard off. “Do not, ever again in your pathetic, sad, good for nothing life, call me an orphan – I have a family, Black. The blood in my veins is just as pure as yours, and my name is just as important as yours.”

And she leaves him there, into the Common Room, to take a bath into his own mess. She needs to go back to sleep – tomorrow she has to go back home and get ready for a birthday party.

The whole night she tried to forget Regulus’ hands onto her skin – her shoulders felt like burning, like they got marked by his touch. She tried not to think about the anger in her soul the whole ride back to London, when she was forced to be in the same wagon with Regulus – apparently, they both wanted to travel into the Prefects’ cabin. At least, they both kept their mouths shut and didn’t even looked at each other.

She didn’t have to have a very warm welcoming back home – Rabastan waited for her at the station and kept his eyes on the road the whole time. He only asked about other Slytherin kids in her year and some older ones – he wanted to know if she was behaving well enough towards them. Once she got to enter the big mansion she called ‘home’, there was chaos – all the house elves were running left and right with platters, candles, flowers in their hands and all of them stopped to look at her and welcome her mechanically. She just got up to her room and closed the door behind her. When she dropped on her bed, there was silence – there was no longer Regulus Black, or Cyrus Lestrange or any other dumb man who made her angry.

Once she woke up, she started to get ready for the gathering she was forced to attempt. She got dressed in a dark grey dress, elegant enough not to make her father a fool and yet, simple enough not to make Bellatrix feel left out – it was her birthday, after all.

“There you are,” says her father as she gets out of her bedroom. “I thought you’re still asleep.”

“I was getting ready.”

Cyrus looks her up and down in a judgmental way – he points to her neck. “Make sure the chain is visible, nothing else.”

Y/N forces a smile and a hand travels to the gold flower at her neck. “Yes, father.” He gives her his elbow and the two of them go down, where the elves decorated the whole floor with black and purple roses and white candles. There’s a long table near a wall, right at the fireplace, where are plates with food and glasses of expensive champagne.

“Here,” Cyrus whispers and gives Y/N a red box, and before she could question his action Bellatrix is right in front of her, laughing happily.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to see you, how are you?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, is a very… bipolar witch. Once, she’s loud, smiley, in a good mood, and then she acts like the Devil himself. Y/N could never figure out why her cousin, Rodolphus, wanted to marry her – there were plenty of purebloods who wished to be married to him, but all his attention was on Bellatrix ever since they were in school together, despite the fact that she didn’t show any kind of interest in him during those years. Now, Rodolphus would do anything Bellatrix asks without blinking twice.

“Happy birthday, Bellatrix,” Y/N smiles and hugs her in a soft manner. While giving her the small box, she can see her cousin behind his wife, watching them carefully.

“I told you there was no need for gifts,” Bellatrix says and gives Rodolphus the box to take care of it. “I assume you just got down here,” she continues and grabs her hand, getting her away from her father – he doesn’t seem concerned about that. Cyrus always said that Bellatrix was a good wife and that Y/N had a lot to learn from her. What he did not know is that Y/N really wanted to learn a lot from Bellatrix – she wanted to know more about the power a witch could hold.

“Yes,” she said and looked around her own house. It was full of wizards, all of them being purebloods and talking to each other with a clear superiority in their voice. “I hope I’m not late to the party.”

Bellatrix scoffs. “The true party begins only when he gets here,” she smirks and Y/N freezes, knowing who she’s talking about. Tom Riddle was certainly not her favorite person, no matter how much he convinced her father that she will be a good daughter for him.

“Wonderful,” she manages to say and walks beside Bellatrix to greet her guests. She smiles and greets Bellatrix’ parents and gets a deep breath when her aunt and uncle come to wish her a happy birthday.

“Y/N, how are you, dear?” Walburga asks and kisses her both cheeks. Bellatrix seems busy talking to her uncle about the upcoming meeting, while Regulus sits behind them and only listen. “How is school?”

“It’s good, wonderful, even,” she smiles and Walburga laughs happily. “I’m working on some essays for Potions and Transfiguration, maybe they’ll be published after I finish school.”

“Did you hear, Regulus? Y/N plans to publish some essays after graduation,” she scolds her son and now his attention is on them. He only smiles to his mother and she goes on with the talking. Neither of them seems to be truly focused on what she’s saying – they look at each other like they’d snap each other’s neck if they could.

“Regulus, why don’t you invite Y/N to dance?” Bellatrix pops between them and her aunt claps her hands satisfied with her proposal. “You know how much joy it brings me to see you two together, Reggie,” she continues and puts her arm around his shoulders. He looks at his cousin with doubt in his gaze – she made them dance together at her wedding, too, like they were some monkeys to entertain the adults.

With a silent scoff, he forced a smile in his cousin’s direction and looked shortly to his mother, who only seemed to tell him the same thing with her eyes. “Shall we dance together, Y/N?” he asks and gives her his pale hand.

No matter how much she’d like to hit it, getting it away from her, she grabs it lightly and smiles. “With pleasure,” she mutters and the adults all clap their hands and smile in their direction as they go to the center of the room, where other people are dancing slowly.

Bellatrix flicks her wand and the room is now filled with a more vibrant music – they smile to each other and Y/N’s skin is burning under her dress where Regulus’ hands touch her. He cups her hand into his and the other one rests on her back, bringing her closer to his body. She has a hand on his shoulder and they both move synchronically to the rhythm.

“You disgust me,” he whispers into her ear, sending shivers all over her spine.

A big smile appears on her rosy lips and she looks behind him, where her father is beside Orion and Cygnus Black – they all had firewhiskey glasses in hand and talked with serious expressions on their faces.

“The feeling is mutual, my dear Regulus,” she mumbles and steps on his foot, careful to put the heel right into his toe.

“Then, you could’ve save us both and deny Bellatrix’ stupid wish.”

“On her birthday?” she scoffs. “Yeah, right, you tell her no, I like to be alive.”

Regulus lets a small chuckle out and before she could look at him, he spins her away for a second. When her body is back into his arms, her vision is blurry. “You better keep your mouth shut during the meeting,” he says in a cold tone.

“Why, Reggie?” she mocks the tone Bellatrix used. “Scared the Dark Lord will see more potential in me than in you?” She’s joking. On Merlin’s beard, she’s only trying to piss him off.

“Tonight is my night and you better not do anything to steal it from me,” he spits the words into her ear. Her skin becomes ice cold and all her blood runs faster into her veins because of the way he presses his fingers into her back. “I warn you, Y/N, stay in your place,” he mumbles and when the music changes, he lets go of her and smiles, before going away.

After some hours, the chaos in her house begins to cool down – the guests start leaving until there are only the usual people. They all sit at the long table, talking about some things that happened in the Muggleworld and how unacceptable they were – for someone who said they despised the muggles, they sure talked a lot about them. The conversation dies when the chair at the end of the table is occupied by the tall, dark haired wizard. They all rise from their sits and greet him with joy.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear friends,” Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort says and he shakes her father’s hand. Her lungs take the air in with great difficult, given the fact that there’s only a sit between the dark wizard and her. “I assume I need to apologize to Bellatrix,” he speaks and looks to his left, where the witch smiles from one ear to another. “I did not bring any gift with me, Bella,” he explains.

“You are my greatest gift, My Lord,” she says and from her left, Rodolphus and Rabastan just nod their heads. “Your presence gives us hope for a better future for us, the right titled wizards,” she continues and everyone agrees.

Bellatrix is one of the most loyal followers the Dark Lord has besides Cyrus Lestrange and the rest of his friends from when they were in Hogwarts. He saw the potential in her, just like he saw it in Y/N.

“Then tell me, which is the reason of this meeting?” Voldemort asks and looks at every face at the table.

It was not Y/N’s greatest pleasure to sit at that table from time to time – her father thought it was good for her future to assist those meetings, but they were incredibly boring. There were many parents of her housemates and from other kids from school, but not even a single person her age – that until Bellatrix brought Regulus to join her. Apparently, he was quite a fan of that man because of his cousin’s stories.

“We think it’s the time to welcome another wizard between us, as an official member, my Lord,” Lucius Malfoy speaks and his voice is just as annoying as ever.

“Oh, really?” Voldemort smiles. “And who might that be, Lucius?”

“My cousin, my Lord,” Bellatrix says and points to Regulus. “Regulus is one of the most dedicated wizards to your plans,” she continues and the air leaves Y/N’s lungs.

Looking over the table to Regulus, she could see Walburga smiling proudly while he just looks to Tom Riddle. “My Lord,” he says, “I swear I’ll serve you with every power I have.”

“Then come closer, young Regulus,” the dark wizard says and plays with his wand between his fingers. The boy gets up on his feet. From his right, Cyrus Lestrange clears his throat. “Yes, Cyrus?”

“My Lord,” he begins, “I was not aware that the Death Eaters were open to new members.”

“We always have free spots for the one who wish to serve our believes,” comes his explanation.

“In that case, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that Y/N is just as worthy of getting the mark as young Regulus is.”

Her heart stops beating. What did he just say?

“Right, Y/N?” his father touches her back, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are desperate. There is no way, in his opinion, that his only child will not be recognized as a worthy follower of Lord Voldemort.

All eyes are on her. She can feel them. However, she does not care about them – the only ones that matter are her father’s, and the one from across the table who looked down at her.

“Yes, My Lord,” she says that quietly that she barely hears her own voice. Her father pats her back and goes back to Voldemort. Y/N can’t gather the courage to look at Regulus.

“You said she was worthy from the first day you saw her, My Lord,” Cyrus says. “You said she will be a powerful witch, with a great future – how is she supposed to be powerful if not under your command?”

Voldemort smiles pleased. “You’re right, my old friend. Come, child, let me get a better look of you.” Her father looks at her and orders her to do as asked just with his eyes. Do not disappoint me, hesays with his burning gaze.

Mechanically, Y/N is on her feet and walks behind her father, in front of the sick looking wizard. His hands are cold, like he’s dead, when he touches her jaw. He looks at her like she’s some kind of animal that needs to be inspected.

“Are you willing to follow my orders, whenever you are needed, child?”

There’s a knot in her stomach. She wants to say no. She wants to leave that house and never come back. She’s scared.

“Yes,” is the only answer she can give in return.

“Very well,” Tom Riddle smirks satisfied and gestures to Regulus to come closer too. They are now next to each other. She can hear his breathing from her left and her knees are about to go numb. “Who wants to go first?”

Before she can say anything, Regulus already has his shirt lifted from his left arm and brings it closer to the man. Y/N can hear the soft scoff of his father.

“You need to swear to always serve me, boy,” Voldemort demands, the tip of his wand pressed into Regulus’ arm.

“I swear, My Lord. Whenever you’ll call for me, I’ll be there, ready to do everything I’m capable of for you,” Regulus speaks.

With a big grin on his face, Voldemort begins to press the wand deeper into the skin, until Regulus grabs his arm with his free hand. From under his skin is visible a dark smoke that lingers there, running like it’s chasing his blood. His nose is twitching from the possible pain, but besides that, his expression is blank. When the wand is lifted, the Dark Mark is on his white skin. There is silence, like the rest would wait for him to scream. His parents have a proud expression on their faces as Regulus watches the crowd with a blank, serious stare.

“Your turn, Y/N” Voldemort says after a few seconds and puts his hand out there to grab her arm. She lifts the sleeve of her dress and looks at her father – Cyrus Lestrange watches her with a demanding manner, like he’s forcing her to go closer to Voldemort. Which she does.

“I always knew you’d be a great witch, child,” he says with a proud tone in his voice. He wanted her to be his weapon. “Say you’ll serve me without question, Y/N. Let the others know that from today, you’ll become one of the most powerful followers of mine.”

“I do, My Lord,” is the only thing she says like she’s hypnotized – her body doesn’t listen to her commands, it acts on its own.

The wand is cold against her skin, but as soon as Voldemort presses it harder into her arm, a burning sensation hits her entire being – she needs to grab her arm in order not to get it away from the unspoken spell. The black smoke feels like venom and she wants to scream from the bottom of her soul. Instead, she just bites the flesh inside her mouth, the taste of blood blooming from her cheek. When the wand is lifted and the mark is done on her arm, too, there’s silence again – and when there’s no screaming, all the Death Eaters gets up and start to applause them, to congratulate them.

“That’s the best birthday ever!” Bellatrix laughs maniacal and jumps from a foot to another.

She still has her left arm in her right hand, looking at the black drawing on her skin. She’s too afraid to touch it, like it could burn her fingers. Two arms wrap around her in the noise and she’s hugged by her father. Cyrus Lestrange hugs his daughter, and a single tear rolls down on her cheek.

“Good job, Y/N,” he says in her ear. “Now you’ll show everyone what you’re made of.”

She gets slightly away from him and she can feel the vomit sensation grow in her stomach. While everyone clink glasses of champagne and laughs with joy, she excuses herself and leave the dining hall.

She could not see Regulus in the crowd. She needs to see him to be sure it was all real. And she finds him on the corridor near the bathroom, at a balcony with a view to her garden. His shoulders are moving up and down and his breathing is accelerated. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t guess he was… crying. She stepped closer to him slowly and put her hand on his back.

“Regulus…” she said softly and tears started to form into her eyes, too. What have they done?

“You couldn’t contain yourself, right?” he screams and turns around to face her. “You got to be the center of the attention tonight, too,” his voice is full of hate, which she ignores when she sees his wet blood-shot eyes. Her hand tries to touch his shoulder, wishing to show him… empathy?

“Regulus…” she mumbles again and her voice is hurt. Maybe they are in this together; she just needs to explain everything.

“Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” he says and slaps her hand away.

Y/N doesn’t know what hurt more – the slap, the burning feeling in her arm or the fact that she thought that maybe, just maybe, Regulus was willing to show her kindness then, when it was clear that neither of them was feeling good with their actions.

She looks at his hand – the one he slapped hers with – and at his arm. His left arm.

“We are both filthy now,” she says with despair and turns around, leaving him alone.

[rollercoasterwords]

hello rae! atwmd has been absolutely eating lately and i'm very excited for the next chapterrr also i was wondering if there are any deleted scenes/bits from the previous chapters you'd wanna share with us? maybe a line that got cut but you liked the wording a lot ? i love learning about writer's editing processes plus would be fun to see any snippets you may have floating around :~)

hi thank u!! responding 2 this a bit late lol sorry but. i don't have any like actually-written scenes that i cut bc normally if i'm writing a scene & realize it isn't gonna work i stop pretty quickly & usually just delete the few sentences etc...also usually i've got everything shifting around in my head like a puzzle til it clicks before i write so. generally speaking i just am not cutting things after writing them...however! i did have one specific scene that i was planning to write in atwmd which didn't end up working out (got 2 the scene & felt like i was hitting a mental wall bc i couldn't make it fit into the plot) so i can like. share that i suppose lol i'll put it under a cut:

so originally around like...ch 17 i think? like after they destroy the diadem when they're trying 2 figure out what the next horcrux is & destroy it, i really wanted 2 write like. a scene where, for some reason, sirius has 2 go undercover pretending 2 be a werewolf & in doing so encounters like a well-meaning rich guy who essentially parallels what he was like w remus in the early parts of the fic 2 like...have this moment of growth where sirius realizes what that dynamic was like for remus & why it was fucked up etc. so i was like uhhh how can that happen...maybe there can be some fun fancy party where rich people bring creatures as escorts & sirius wears a glamour or takes polyjuice from a werewolf's hair...also love in werewolf fics when like. character a wears character b's clothes 2 smell like them & thought that would be fun lmao so i was like what if sirius also wears remus's shirt or something so he smells more like a werewolf...the sexual tension of it all...

so anyway i was like i need this party-undercover-fake-werewolf scene 2 somehow connect from where the fic is at (just destroyed diadem) to the lestrange crypt horcrux part, bc i already knew what i wanted 2 do w the crypt etc. so i was like maybe somehow this party is how they get to rabastan lestrange?? but it didn't end up working out bc it just felt too similar to the whole original mission remus was on w malfoy so it just felt repetitive, and i couldn't figure out how 2 make it logically connect to the crypt in a way that felt believable...and then i had the idea of having rabastan hunt magical creatures & i was like this fits so much better so i went with that instead! rip sirius undercover-fake-werewolf scene...4ever in my heart <3

[sofoulandfairaday]

Please can you tell us about:

Madame Lestrange

Rigel Lestrange

Glory and Gore

And the marriage counselling one (the premise of this already has me in a chokehold)

This is very very long so I will put it under the cut. Thank you for the ask!

Ch.11 - Madame Lestrange Contrary to popular belief, Bellatrix Black was thrilled with her wedding day: the food was perfect, the music was perfect, the groom was perfect. In the whole history of weddings, there had never been one more perfect than hers. Or 1972. Bella & Rod's ridiculously expensive wedding day and all of its shenanigans, including but not limited to: a mopey and very drunk Rabastan losing his virginity, Bellatrix and Andromeda's last conversation, the Dark Lord's failure to RSVP and the trouble it caused, and (ofc) the wedding night *wink wink*

Ch.26 - Rigel Lestrange 1975. A very sad one, quite gory too and definitely not for the faint-hearted, but also one of my favourites to write because I've always been fascinated with Bellatrix's missed motherhood. (All my readers know what I think of TCC by now, and anyway, this story takes place from 1969 to 1981, so no Delphi). The day of her miscarriage.

Ch.39 - Glory and Gore 1979. Still unwritten. The story of the third time the Potters defied Lord Voldemort. It's basically a long battle sequence with a special focus on Barty, Severus and Rabastan (Alastor Moody is horrified with this new generation of Death Eaters). By reading Regulus' journals, Bellatrix realizes that the gold cup her Master entrusted her is a Horcrux. When he later summons her, she chooses not to tell him that she knows (Bellamort moment, idk if smutty or not yet). Rodolphus visits his mistress (who is NOT AT ALL a shameless self-insert, nooooo) to make amends for stuff he did previously; they make peace, but it's pretty clear that they are not going to last.

The Lestranges go to couples therapy A comedy; still unwritten but fully outlined.

Ch.1: The explosion 1996. The Lestranges are having yet another Earth-shattering row that just so happens to blow up almost half of Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and Lucius threaten to notify the Auror Department of their whereabouts unless they agree to go to therapy. They recommend a Diagon Alley marriage counsellor who worked wonders for them: she's discreet, will keep quiet for money and has a strong stomach. Bonus: they show up either Polyjuiced or with some other shitty disguise and are immediately found out.

Ch.2: Mr and Mrs Lestrange's marital problems General bickering in their second session, we get a look at the therapist's notes. They are the worst patients ever, but she takes them on as her personal project. Both of them hate her but they really don't want to end up in Azkaban again. Rabastan finds out they are going to therapy and immediately he tries to hijack their third session. He is quickly put in his place.

«Roood» Rabastan practically sang, plopping down onto the couch, right between the couple. «Bella. You didn't tell me the lady was a hottie». He winked at [insert name]. She did not look impressed. «Rabastan, I presume». «Oh, you guys! You talked about me! Wait», his tone darkening in mock horror, «did they do it in a weird way? While discussing their sex problems?» Rodolphus looked ready to murder him on the spot. [he proceeds to basically sexually harass her and cause a disruption to their therapy session] «I do, Rabastan. I do. I find you utterly fascinating» she said, staring at him over her glasses. «In your opinion, on a scale from one to ten, how much do you use sex and alcohol to numb the pain of an unfulfilling life, completely devoid of ambition and genuine connection?»

Ch.3: The Lord Voldemort Factor The Lestranges are absent from one meeting or another.

«It's important that you try to be present for these appointments without too much rescheduling, Bellatrix. It shows that you are making an effort for each other, that you care about the other person's time». «The only thing I care about is my Master's time!» «See? She always does this! She's flaky». «Who are you calling flaky?!» «We agreed there would be no name-calling». Bellatrix shot him a triumphant look. «And we also agreed there would be commitment».

Lord Voldemort inquires after them and finds out (either from a terrified Lucius or from a still butthurt Rabastan) where they are. He decides he has to see for himself. Our dear therapist is terrified, but then again his disguise is the worst one yet. Truly laughable. Voldemort has her cancel all her appointments for the day so that they can have a longer session (he desperately wants to be included). It's not like she can refuse.

«It would be my professional opinion that you try and find a balance, an arrangement that works for all parties. Something to satisfy Mr Lestrange’s frustration, Mrs Lestrange’s exhibitionist behaviour, and Mr... Um... the Dark Lord's need to be the centre of attention». «We murder Rodolphus?» «It would be my professional opinion», she straightened her spine, «That you have a threesome».

Ch.4: Yet another satisfied client I'm still not sure whether I want them to divorce or not lmao. What I do know is that there will be a plot twist. Let's just leave it at that.

[lockwords]

His goal had not exactly been to ruin Marlene’s chances of getting closer to catching the Death Eater who was dispatched to kidnap one of the Order members who was meddling with too many of the Dark Lord’s plans. He would have dealt the same way with anyone in her place, it just so happened that she was the witch involved. Once he found out how close she was to putting a stop to one of their biggest missions, he had to step in, the Mark in his hand meant he was bound to do so. Except there was no way anyone could have known about this except maybe someone who had spent the night with her a couple of days ago and looked through her things when she had fallen asleep. He knew she would know it was him, and so when an angry Marlene apparated to his door and knocked furiously, he knew exactly what it was about as he opened the door. “You want to come in?” he said lightly, even though the fury in her eyes said their conversation was going to be anything but light. @athcnewrites​  

[helblazer]

wanted to do the lestrange twins & my girl calpurnia 💕 picrew

[amorfatihq]

I spotted RABASTAN ACHERON LESTRANGE in Diagon Alley early today. Have you heard the rumors? Supposedly the PUREBLOOD is affiliated with THE DEATH EATERS. Born on NOVEMBER / 1 / 1958, they are TWENTY FOUR and identify as CIS MALE (he/him) and HOMOSEXUAL (CLOSETED). They are UNEMPLOYED; it makes sense, given they are ABRASIVE & VOLATILE but also CHARISMATIC & ZEALOUS. When I think of them, I think of having everything you could ever desire within the reach of your finger tips, except for the one thing you want more than anything else;  a large house to remind you just how alone you really are; a shirtless male standing in front of a large window, his hand reaching out to gently touch the grass, longing to be on the other side.

the story of rabastan acheron lestrange is a tragic tale of a boy so caught up in the antics of his family, that he never truly got the opportunity to be himself.

the second of two sons born to one of the wealthiest, most prominent of wizarding families, he was born into a life of luxury and expectations. his older brother, nearing the age of eleven, had already proven himself more than capable of carrying on the family legacy. and it was expected that his brother would follow in his footsteps.

a multitude of tutors in subjects ranging from french to the very specific history of pureblood families were hired to educate him, in hopes of giving him an edge over the other students. he was a good student, earning praise from his teachers, but always falling short in the eyes of his parents. his brother, they told him, had been able to recite their family tree going back centuries, he messed up naming his great-great grandparents. they branded him a failure, telling him that he needed to take a page out of his brother’s book.

he became desperate to prove himself, to show his parents that he was just as worthy as his older brother. but it seemed as if he was always destined to fail, to never be as perfect as his older brother, as his parents often liked to remind him. and desperate to be seen as worthy, rabastan clung to his brother ever chance he got, trying to learn whatever he could from the older male.

by the time he reached age eleven and left for hogwarts, his parents had all but given up on him- deciding that he would never be his older brother. even after he was sorted into slytherin, even though he earned outstanding marks, and was one of the best students of his year, they still found a way to pick at his flaws.

it was the summer after his fifth year at hogwarts that things really started to change, his o.w.l. results had came in the mail, nothing below an exceeds expectations. he could remember his father smiling at him as he read the results out loud, the first time he could remember his father smiling about anything.

the next two years were supposed to be some of the best of his life, he had finally earned his parent’s approval, he was nearly done with school, he had the rest of his life in front of him. it was during this time, that his world came crashing down around him. the war had been going on for years by this point, but rabastan had always remained fairly blind to his family’s role. in fact, it wasn’t until his father invited him into his study over christmas break that he realized just how deeply involved they were.

rabastan left hogwarts without a clear cut plan, without a real idea of what he wanted to do with his life. he could have gone to work for the ministry, or even at the bank, but he didn’t want to spend his life sitting behind a desk. so much to the dismay of his parents, he decided to travel.

he return home to a full blown war, the world he had left behind seemingly errupting into chaos. people were dying left and right and his family seemed to be caught up right in the middle of it, and without hesitation, without bating an eye he rushed to their aid.

he never once stopped to think about what he was fighting for, not until recently when he read about the death of a classmate in the daily prophet. rabastan started to contemplate his involvement in the war, he had joined the cause because it was what his parents wanted, and certainly he had risen through the ranks, killing without hesitation. but now, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps, he didn’t want to be a part after all. but he feared, it was far too late to go back.

RABASTAN is played by Maeve and portrayed by MIGUEL BERNARDEAU.

[savkennas]

a Gwendolyn Flint and Rabastan Lestrange moodboard aesthetic

[crowalecto]

WHO: @strangerthanfiction & Alecto

WHEN: February 1, 1980

WHERE: A park in Manchester

The whole of Alecto’s being generally revolved around trying to find the clearest path between what she wanted and where she was. Her brother generally got every single leg-up and she was forced to play the semi-airheaded socialite; she was meant to worry after her robes and her status more than the things she truly gave a shit about. It led to a lot of discomfort in her, and generally when she was uncomfortable for too long she exploded outward and didn’t care who got caught in the cross-fire.

It had been harder as a child -- to sit in Amycus’ shadow and be overlooked even though her accomplishments were just as glorious -- and to be treated with kid-gloves when in reality her stomach might be more steel than any of those around her. Murder was a fanciful thought in her head that sometimes provided opportunity, and became easier even when she learned to dabble in alchemy.

The one part of her childhood that had made it bearable was first meeting the Lestrange’s -- sitting across from a moody boy barely her junior and noticing the same fire in his eyes she had in her own in regards to an older sibling -- and kindling within him the same joie de vivre, or at least for snuffing it out, that she had found solace in. 

To be overlooked was a nightmare, but to find ways to use that to your advantage was entirely different.

Rabastan had become more than just her dearest confidante. In truth, if the world were to burn to smoldering ashes because of their Dark Lord or otherwise -- she was sure she’d survive, it is what she did -- she would only feel loss over Rabastan, truly. Her brother she would miss, and be mostly upset that someone else had taken him out, and the world itself was nary a thought in the back of her mind... but they’d found solace in each other. Love was a strong term, and not one Alecto would use, but still he measured up to something akin to.

As she settled on the mottled wood of the park bench with her hands delicately across her lap, wearing robes so dark a shade of green they looked more black, she thought back on her childhood and how -- more so than her own brother even -- Rab had been family.

Why meet him here, of all places? On this day? He had big things in his future, this she knew, and she wanted to make sure he had proper support. Perhaps he was not so much wanting of the approval or even needing it, but Alecto did not want him to perish -- especially not so soon -- and so she’d do what she could.

A rustling nearby draws her eyes from a parcel in her lap and she glances sidelong to see nothing; Antonin really did keep a chokehold on the Manchester area... as much as she’d hoped to stumble across an unwitting victim in her time waiting for Rab, she sat idle instead.

[dulcepericulum-rp]

CLASSIFIED INFORMATION: DEATH EATERS

NAME: Rabastan Lestrange AGE: 26 BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood OCCUPATION: Unemployed PORTRAIT: Penn Badgley

IMPORTANT CONNECTIONS

Rodolphus Lestrange: His older brother and the heir to the family, Rodolphus and Rabastan have a strained relationship. Their parents had a clear preference for Rodolphus, which extended towards his wife when she joined the family. He was always second fiddle, and hates that knowledge. He is getting more dangerous and reckless with his missions, in the hopes that he can demonstrate to the Dark Lord that he is worth more than his brother. 

Marlene McKinnon: There’s no describing their relationship; there is an orbit between two lost souls ensnared by one another, two snarling wolves still circling & looking for a fight. Marlene is less afraid of the darkness than her peers, as shown in the basement of the Spiny Serpent late one winter’s night, and if Rabastan didn’t know any better, he would think she wanted him to pull at the strings so barely keeping her together. She wanted to be untied, untethered, too much ease in the way she slipped into a cold-blooded rage when he poked and prodded; Rabastan can’t get the girl out of his head ever since, the term ‘obsession’ putting it mildly. Fragile like a bomb, that girl is armed for war, and Rabastan can’t help but be enraptured by the idea of setting another monster free. Kindred spirits, indeed. 

Corban Yaxley: The closest friend of his missing brother (arguably the closest companion the man kept in general), Yaxley cares more about finding Rodolphus than Rabastan. If the younger Lestrange boy happened to mention a certain fuzzy bastard of a wolf as the alleged cause of his brother’s disappearance, it’s mostly on Yaxley for believing it. It seemed like the most efficient way to rid the Death Eaters of the beast without getting his own hands dirty.

Frank Longbottom: Frank almost unmasked Rabastan on a dangerous heist mission that he undertook, and Rabastan is now paranoid that Frank knows his identity. He has taken to watching the man from afar, and is prepared to take Frank out should he learn that the man knows more than he should. 

MENTIONED CONNECTIONS: Fenrir Greyback { coming soon! }, Bartemius Crouch Jr { coming soon! }, Fabian Prewett { x }, Sinistra Lowe { x }, Rodolphus Lestrange { x }  

FREQUENT LOCATIONS: The Spiny Serpent, Lestrange Manor, His Apartment (Canal Street, Manchester.)

CURRENT MISSION: Sergeant

STATUS: T A K E N

[marlmckitten]

Dorcas: So then, are you going to break up with Rab?

Marlene: Well yeah, cause I have to break up with someone. Okay so Rabastan is sensitive. But now so is Sirius. *puts up a finger on each hand* Plus, Sirius has the body you know... *puts up two more fingers on her 'Sirius' hand* It's really just about the math.

[pottermetaarchive]

His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby’s head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions…

Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 25

Does this Death Eater ever recover from this? It seems like pretty complex magic, not something that can be undone with a simple spell. 

By process of elimination, considering which ones they came across later and which ones Harry recognizes, we can determine that the pair of Death Eaters in this room is most likely Crabbe and Rabastan Lestrange, with Crabbe being the baby-headed Death Eater and Rabastan getting stunned by Hermione moments before. 

I’d have to feel a bit sorry for Mrs Crabbe, if there is one - her husband gets a possibly irreversible head transplant now, and within two years, her son will be dead.

[reguliesblack]

✶ characters tag drop pt.5 

[crownofwishes]

walking the wire | emmastan.

Four times emmastan were idiots, and a fifth time they were idiots | for @senmitsuji happy really, really, really late birthday loser, have 3000 words of these losers to celebrate it. 

i.   ❝ do you feel the same when I'm away from you? do you know the line that I'd walk for you? ❞

Rabastan looped his arm around Emma’s waist, pulling her down into his lap. Despite her protests ( something about wanting another drink -- rabastan wasn’t listening ), she didn’t resist, choosing instead to curl into him with a pout and mild complaining. He much preferred Emma here to Emma all the way over at Rodolphus’ bar. Rabastan was fairly sure Rodolphus probably preferred Emma here rather than there, too. Emma, despite her pout, preferred his lap to a bar stool -- this much he knew for certain.

“You can have my drink,” he soothed, tugging playfully on the ends of her hair until she looked at him. His other hand stayed firmly on her hip.

“Or,” she said, shifting so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “I could also go and get my own.”

He hummed in response, lips grazing her ear. “Now, where's the fun in that?”

“That’s not the point. What --,” the rest of Emma’s sentence was doomed to remain unsaid as Rabastan’s fingers teased below the waistline of her jeans, not stopping in their merciless pursuit to make Emma squirm.

They were succeeding.

“Arse,” she hissed.

Rabastan merely laughed, pressing a kiss to a sensitive spot on her neck. Emma inhaled sharply. He relished in the effect he was having on her, how he could make her breathing change so easily, make her forget everything but him, and, too, the effect she had on him — the tightening of his trousers was obvious enough. Neither paid any heed to the patrons of the bar — most of whom were part of Rabastan’s fight club and had long ago gotten used to the public antics of Emma and Rabastan. With the hand not teasing her inner thigh, Rabastan shifted Emma so she was facing him, smirked, but complied when she leaned in to kiss him.

“Still wish you’d gotten that drink?”

ii. ❝ you make me laugh until i die, can you think of any better way to choke? ❞

If Emma had to pick one place in the entire world to be her favourite, it would be this roof. Aside from various permanent paint stains and scratches they’d etched into it over the years, there was nothing overly special about it. It wasn’t an artistic masterpiece like the bars of Rodolphus’s that Emma and Rabastan had decorated together, nor was it furnished to the height of luxury like Emma’s apartment. It was just a roof. But it was their roof. Untouched by anyone but them. Many a storm had been weathered by the two of them on this roof, with Emma’s paints and Rabastan’s cigarettes there to see them through. It wasn't special, but it was sacred, and that was all that mattered.

It was moments like now that made it matter.

Emma inhaled, feeling the warmth of the smoke from the cigarette rush down her throat and curl around her lungs. Emma wasn't particularly fond of the act itself ( even now, after so many years of doing it, the sensation burned — it was like swallowing hot ash ) but she loved the aesthetics of softly exhaling the smoke, watching it leave her mouth like a sinuous cloud, delighted by the formation of smoke rings.

Today, Emma leaned back on her hands, blowing the cloud to the sky, content to watch it linger in the brisk air before fading away into nothing. Rabastan, however, had other ideas. Before the smoke could dissipate completely, he blew on it gently, using his wand to rearrange its shape.

“You know,” Emma said, tilting her head this way and that as she considered Rabastan’s artwork, “from the right angle that almost looks like your brother — see? there’s the unamused eyebrows, the deadpan stare, the impossibly sharp cheekbones are there. I swear it’s like he’s glaring at us. Can you see it?”

Rabastan burst into laughter. 

The sound was warmer than any cigarette.

Emma took another drag, this time allowing the smoke to swirl in her mouth rather than inhaling it. When she blew it out, it was a near perfect ring. She turned to Rabastan, her self satisfaction obvious in her grin.

“I think that was my best ring yet — definitely better than yours, anyway.”

“That a challenge, Vanity?”

She shrugged. “It might be.”

“You need to up your game if you think you’re any match for a master like myself.”

Rabastan, never one to resist a challenge with Emma, reached up from where he was lying with his head in her lap and took the cigarette from her, adding his own rings to the collection. 

“There,” he said, shooting her a smug look. Emma rolled her eyes. “All perfect.”

“They look a bit sad, don't you think?” She gestured vaguely at the rings. Emma’s had half dissipated in the wind, leaving her oddly misshapen smoke shapes looking even sadder in comparison to Rabastan’s fully formed concentric circles. “All grey and fading amd miserable.”

Rabastan hummed in agreement. They did look rather plain. Well, Emma’s did. With a flick of his wand, Rabastan changed the colour of the smoke, each ring a different, vibrant colour against the smoky grey backdrop of London’s dusk.

Grinning, he shot Emma another smug look as he moved one of the rings to sit over the fading cloud they had named Rodolphus, making it hover like a halo, or a crown.

Now it was Emma’s turn to burst into laughter.

“I don't think he suits a pink halo — seems too bright. Though, a halo of devil horns. Now that he could pull off.”

Rabastan chuckled, changing the ring’s’ colour to black.

“Better?”

“Much. Seems more fitting, don’t you think?”

Rabastan moved the golden ring to hover over Emma’s head. “Every queen needs a crown, no?”

“True. Not every queen needs a king, but,” she said, moving one of the others over Rabastan’s head, “I’ll make an exception for you.”

Both of them dissolved into laughter again, the smoke vanishing into the sky but neither of them cared much about the smoke. There was nothing special about this roof, but when they were on it together, there was no better place in the world.

iii. ❝ if you ever wanna join me, baby, i’ll be dancing in the dark. ❞

“I’ll have to check my schedule, being an international Quidditch star keeps me busy, not to mention the modelling.” It wasn’t really a lie -- technically she didn’t model in any official capacity, but modelling for Rabastan’s portraits ( sans clothes ) counted, right? Emma flashed the boy a coy smile. It wasn’t as if he was going to question her anyway, not when he was looking at her with that smug expression boys got when they thought they had an easy catch. It was always so funny to wipe it off their faces later. “But I’m sure I can make time for someone as pretty as you.”

Out of the corner of Emma’s eye, she could see money slyly exchanging hands, heads bent together as they hotly debated the outcome of this exchange. 

The seasoned fighters of Rabastan’s club had long ago given up participating in these sorts of exchanges -- they’d watch this story play out too many times to question the ending. It was less about what the ending was, and more about when it would occur. Betting on it grew tiring The newer members had far more enthusiasm, particularly those few who’d been the poor sod on the receiving end of Emma’s attention upon their arrival. There was a feline amusement in Emma’s gaze as it dropped from the bloke’s eyes to assess the rest of his physique. One that would put most people on their guard. 

It wasn’t his fault, really, that he didn’t notice. No one had bothered to tell him, after all. It was only his first day in the club, he saw a pretty girl and thought he might want her attention. How was he to know that Emma’s flirting like this meant trouble? He’d only just met her, after all. Hadn’t even known her name. Really, it wasn’t his fault at all. 

He’d just called her gorgeous and likely would’ve asked for a phone number had an arm not come out of nowhere and snaked over Emma’s shoulders, tugging her into the side of Rabastan Lestrange -- owner and operator of the fight club. 

“I see you’ve met my best girl,” he said casually, flashing the new recruit a grin.

No, it definitely was not his fault at all.

“He was just complimenting my exceptionally good looks.” Emma tilted her head up to face him, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Aren’t you lucky to have such a stunning best friend?”

Rabastan, of course, agreed immediately. 

More money changed hands, and Emma knew some of them had been betting on how long it would take for Rabastan to show up. They weren’t dating -- no one really knew what they were, actually -- but the specifics hardly mattered. Dating or not, Emma was Rabastan’s and Rabastan was Emma’s -- he’d only announced to the world ( oftentimes drunkenly ) that he was going to marry her someday about a hundred times. If you hit on Emma in the club, Rabastan would show up, and if you hit on Rabastan, Emma would show up. It was fact, everyone knew this. Except, of course, the poor new bloke. 

Understanding hit, eyes flicking back and forth between Emma, Rabastan ( his sort of boss ), and the arm Rabastan had over Emma’s shoulder, to the way his fingers played with the ends of her hair, how she leaned into the embrace like it was the most comfortable place in the world. The smugly self satisfied grin changed slackened, his mouth falling open in a small ‘o’. That was the part Emma delighted in, the part where he realised he was never going to get that date, where he never stood a chance. 

It really, really, wasn’t his fault. 

iv. ❝ you’re my horizon, you’ll always paint my sky. ❞

“Lie still,” Emma chided as Rabastan strained his neck to see what she was painting. “You might think your abs are solid as a rock, but unlike a rock, they do actually move when you move your head and mess up my painting.”

“It would help if I knew what you were doing,” he grumbled but obliged nevertheless, allowing her hand to push him back down. Emma tucked the paint brush between her teeth, rolling her eyes at his impatience. She wiped off a bit of smudged paint with her thumb before leaning back to admire her creation. “Are you painting a portrait of yourself again?”

Emma flicked paint on his face.

“That was a masterpiece -- naturally, it was my face -- but no. Be patient, I’m almost done.”

Her favourite thing to paint on him, when she got the opportunity to do so, was various creative versions of ‘I love Emma Vanity’. Because, well, who didn’t love her? She experimented with font styles and paint types, sometimes using a brush and sometimes just using her fingers. One time, she’d tried to use her foot but the results had been messy. Partially because painting a person’s back with your toes was harder than anticipated, and partially because Rabastan couldn’t stop laughing. It didn’t take long for the painting to be forgotten and the paint used for more creative purposes.

Actually, a lot of their painting sessions ended up like that these days. 

 Whatever she painted, though, he always wore it with pride.

This time she wanted to try something a bit different. It was neither ‘I love Emma Vanity’ nor, nor her face -- shocking, she knew -- nor some other artful image she liked to paint from time to time. This time, she wanted to do something a little more personal. Using their matching tattoos -- ‘igni’ on his wrist, ‘ferroque’ on hers, meaning with fire and iron -- as inspiration, Emma put the words together on his back. The words were encased in a flame, a vibrant dark blue at the base to be her iron which blended into a fervent red at the top to be his fire. The flame started at the small of his back, going all the way up to spill over his shoulders. Emma shifted more comfortably on her perch on Rabastan’s hips, leaning over to wipe away a smudge from the thick, block lettering of ‘igni’. ‘Ferroque’ she’d done in cursive, red to stand out against the inky blue backdrop.

For good measure, while she had her paints out, Emma added “I <3 Emma” down the arm not covered in tattoos. Rabastan was sure to appreciate it.

“There,” she announced triumphantly. This was one of her better works. “It’s done.” 

This was her favourite part of the whole process, arrogant as it seemed. Watching for the reaction, seeing the emotion colour their face whether it was good bad or something else entirely. Especially Rabastan’s. Rabastan did not disappoint -- when it came to Emma, he wasn’t in the disappointing business. 

He stood up slowly, giving Emma enough time to slide off of him somewhat gracefully. The last time he’d accidentally unceremoniously made Emma fall did not end well for him. Rabastan turned to the mirror, using his reflection to see the painting on his back, and his breath caught. 

"You,” he said, turning slowly to face her, something like awe on his face, “are a bloody masterpiece.”

Emma inclined her head, an amused but pleased smile playing on her lips as she teased, 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

v. ❝ i know when you’re around because i know the sound of your heart. ❞

"It’s bloody freezing,” Emma crumbled by way of explanation as she burrowed into Rabastan’s side. She was supposed to be mad at him for some ridiculous incident from earlier that she’s half forgotten, but, well, there were some things were worth more than her pride. Like being warm.

Rabastan chuckled. He wrapped his arms around her obligingly and tucked her head under his chin. Emma wouldn’t put it past him to have orchestrated this entire situation to stop her being mad at him. He was devious like that. Devious enough to try and feeze her to death knowing, knowing she would inevitably come to him. 

Prick. 

But, well, Emma had other priorities at the moment then not playing into his ridiculous schemes. Like being warm. 

Besides, surely it was better to go to him now than for her body to turn traitor in the night and she wakes unexpectedly in his arms?

At least now she could snuggle while retaining a shred of her dignity. And, of course, she was warm. And comfortable. So very comfortable. Especially when his fingers started threading through her hair in that very way he knew she loved and his other hand soothingly trailed her arm. Relaxing into him was pure instinct. Snuggling deeper was habit. It did not mean she had forgiven him. At all. 

“Arse.”

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear over the sound of you falling asleep in my arms.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

His breath was so warm on her ear and his finges were so soft in her hair and his voice was that perfect pitch she hated how she didn’t want him to stop tracing patterns on the bare skin of her arm. Shred of dignity indeed. Emma was on the verge of losing even that -- if she hadn’t lost it already. 

“Are you?”

The muffled “yes” was somewhat undermined by the fact that Emma had wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. He hummed and the sound reberverated through his chest. Why did that have to feel so nice? 

"I don’t believe you.”

“I know you did this on purpose.”

“Did what? Made you cuddle me?”

“Made me forget I’m mad at you.”

Rabastan laughed again, delightfully amused. It made Emma simultaneously want to kiss him and kill him. 

"How devious of me. Pray tell, how did I manage something so terribly wicked?”

“I take it back, I am definitely still mad at you.”

Rabastan nudged her back, tugging playfully on her hair so she had to look at him. Emma was acutely aware of the cool touch of his fingers against the bare skin of her waist; of how, when he angled his head down, his lips were barely a hair’s breadth away from hers. 

“I still don’t believe you.”

Emma’s breath hitched as his hand moved higher. “I am.”

His lips brushed her ear. “Liar.”

This was just unfair on so many levels.

She should’ve just stuck with ignoring him.

But then her hand was in his hair, pulling his face down to hers so he would finally stop talking and it was far too late for regrets. Rabastan didn’t seem to have a problem with this turn of events. 

Later, Emma would blame the liquor. Nevermind that she’d last drank several hours before she ever tilted her head up to murmur you’re my favourite against his jaw. When that failed, as it was doomed to, she would blame the sound of his heart beating a rhythm in chest, soft and steady as she lay her head on it; how he kissed the top of her head and it felt like a whispered declaration; her traitorous mouth moving before she’d had a chance to think things through.

When his gaze flicked down to hers, fond and surprised, but pleased with a sparkle of mischief, she’d blame that for her answering smile -- softly content and achingly genuine, disgustingly affectionate. Rabastan’s hand stroked her hair and the sparkle of mischief became a smirk and lips hovering teasingly just above hers and the words, “I knew you weren’t mad at me.”

She was going to smack him, but, well,  later. She had other piorities right now, like ensuring the only other thing he’d be saying for the rest of the night was her name.

[sofoulandfairaday]

Can you tell us more about The Death of Regulus Black, The Prophecy, and the Hurt/Comfort??? ❤️

Sure thing, my dear!

Ch.36 - The Death of Regulus Black 1979. Still unwritten. I already know that it will be more than 10K words long. I haven't yet decided if there is one last Bella-Voldemort scene before everything goes downhill. Regulus disappears in late August; N.E.W.T. results still haven't come. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is on the verge of collapse after the tapestry in 12 Grimmauld Place confirms his death. Bella already knew, though. She had asked the Dark Lord to call him through the Dark Mark and He had told her he felt no connection there at all. Like a severed cord. Walburga is in hysterics. This cold, haughty woman is crumbling to pieces. She is not the only one. Bellatrix is mad with grief; Cissy too, maybe even more so, but Bella can't help but feel personally responsible because she was supposed to look out for her baby cousin (she had sworn to do so when Sirius had left and Orion and Walburga say nothing to refute this). Walburga is also convinced that Voldemort is responsible for her son's death. As everyone descends upon n°12 to try and make sense of this tragedy (and decide what the fuck happens now since Sirius is a traitor and there are no Black heirs left), Bellatrix is alone without the Dark Lord by her side (and her aunt is being Very Mean). Both Barty and Rabastan, who had loved Regulus, are not doing well at all. In all of this, Rodolphus ditches his mistress (the Lestranges aren't exactly living together at the moment) because his wife needs him (and his little brother too, although Rod doesn't know that they were more than friends). She is NOT happy about it at all. The task of consoling Bella is left to her estranged husband because the Dark Lord is nowhere to be found at the moment and the Lestranges' marriage starts to improve. Before leaving Grimmauld Place, Bella goes up to Reggie's room in search of answers, a trail, anything. She only finds a series of journals that Kreacher is attempting to destroy. Later, she asks the Dark Lord if he was responsible for Regulus' death and he denies any involvement. The scene is from his pov and we get confirmation that no, it wasn't him, but at the same time he really doesn't care what happened to the boy who was a mediocre Death Eater at best and a weakling at worst. Once again he is not the centre of Bellatrix's world and he is (irrationally and selfishly) mad at her for it. (#thegirlsarefighting, once again) [I've debated on whether or not to give him an on-screen death or not, between chapters 35 and 36, and while I might write it in, I am more inclined to say no at the moment. I feel there are hundreds of Reggie death fics, since that's basically the only bit of character info we get on him in canon; it's already been done, time and time again, and I wonder if I can make it more impactful by having it happen off-screen]

Ch.40 - The Prophecy February 1980. Severus Snape goes for a drink at the Hog's Head (where he might or might not have a side hustle selling dubious potions/poisons) and overhears the first part of the prophecy. He then goes to his best bud Lord Voldemort to tell him what he heard. Suffice it to say, he does not take it well. Harry's birth is about five months away. Do you know who else's birth is about five months away? Draco Malfoy's. Narcissa is absolutely terrified that the prophecy could be about Draco and she gets into a furious argument with Bellatrix, who is always on the Dark Lord's side. Horrible things are said. In the end, Bellatrix says something along the lines of 'I would gladly give any child of mine up to the Dark Lord' and Cissy is like 'Even if it means their death, Bella?' and well. Rodolphus is not pleased with the answer. He goes to see Elizabeth (did I mention that's his mistress' name?) who is tutoring Severus at the time (in potion-making; loooong story). She feels guilty about things that have happened in the past and makes an effort to be there for Rod but at the same time, she is pissed because lately he seems to only seek her out when he wants to bitch about his wife and how poorly she treats him. [this chapter is unwritten, it hasn't been completely fleshed out yet and to be honest I don't really love it; I have a clear picture of how it begins, which I like, but I'm not sure of any of the other scenes. I hate filler chapters. I want it to be snappy/interesting but I can't figure out how to make it work. Bella's fight with Cissy and Rod's bitching to Elizabeth are both scenes that don't really progress their characters/have happened before, so they might get scrapped. I also have no idea what to do with either Rabastan, Evan or Barty in this chapter because I suck at side-plots and this story is in desperate need of them. So this chapter might get entirely re-written based on story needs; in all of this, Voldemort still has no idea what his last Horcrux should be] Hurt/Comfort is not even a draft, just a file with jotted-down ideas in my WIP folder. It's Bellamort. It's explicit. It's basically smut-with-psychological introspection where Voldemort tries dominatrix therapy. I have a very clear idea of their sexual dynamics and in this story I wanted to subvert all of them. I wanted to make him submissive and her dominant. I also wanted to explore his childhood trauma (and give him sexual dysfunctions in the meantime??? who knows, it's like three lines of meta and that's it). I can't see him being into humiliation, honestly, but I can see him having a fucked-up relationship with pain. Anyway, good stuff. If I ever get around to writing about it again.

[izzythehutt]

For the writing meme: it's too long to paste here but the part of the Sirius/Orion convo (i think from black mask ch 6?) after Orion catches Sirius at the party.. all the dialogue between "If you really want my gratitude, you'll tell me what you heard them say" and "It would be unwise for you to continue on your present course, Sirius." I love that whole chapter-- the whole story lol-- so much!

This scene was really nice because it was really the first large sequence where Sirius really gets to let his dad have it. In the first fic he was basically curb-stomped by everyone, and people kind of accused me of whitewashing the parents because I presented them sympathetically and I guess didn’t fully present Sirius’s “side of things” as justified? So it was good to have this really necessary scene where Sirius lays some hard truths on Orion. 

"If you really want my gratitude," he said, quietly, at last. "You'll tell me what you heard them say."

The sheer audacity of this demand took Mr. Black by surprise for only a moment. His eyes narrowed into slits.

"Do you think that is a wise course for you to take with me, just now?"

The thing that I love writing about these two characters together is that their priorities could basically not be more different if they were trying, and each of them is 100% convinced that theirs are the correct thing that needs to be addressed. Like, Orion literally just revealed to him that he saved him from a trap and that he would, in all likelihood, have been killed if his father hadn’t intervened, and all Sirius can think about is the intel he blew getting and seeing if his father will salvage the mission so he has something to bring back to Dumbledore. It doesn’t even occur to him that he really worried his dad.

Whether his son did or not—he was willing to try, wisdom be damned.

"So you did get the information, then," Sirius pressed—recklessly. "The message—that Rabastan Lestrange passed on to one of the other Death Eaters—you heard it—you probably figured out what the coded bit was, too—you're not stupid."

"Your confidence in my intellect is flattering," Orion shot back, coldly—but Sirius, thrumming with manic energy, didn't seem to have heard him.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Sometimes I worry that Sirius comes across as unrealistically stupid around his parents (and that it seems contrived for the purposes of drama~) then I remember that book Sirius straight-up broke out of prison to commit the murder he was falsely imprisoned for. Once he gets an idea in his head he manically obsesses over it and does not think it through.

Mr. Black raised an eyebrow—then marched back around the desk and sat down, face placid again. He steepled his fingers on the table-top. Sirius spun around in his chair and gripped the corners of the desk.

"It would be…unwise for you to continue on your present course, Sirius."

Orion is so passive-aggressive. Dealing with him would make me incredibly aggro. Who can blame Padfoot for going full petulant teenager around this cold asshole? 

[trashforliza-blog]

Rabastan smirked. “So, how’s that for a kiss?”