iambetadraconis: (Uncertain)
[personal profile] iambetadraconis
Dawn broke just before Rabastan woke up again for the second time that night.

He'd had a fitful sleep after Rodolphus and Bellatrix had appeared earlier, and he knew without having to look in the mirror that it would show on his face, and Elea would be concerned about his health.

Again.

He got up, and made his way over to the bathroom to run the sink full of cold water.

Something to splash his face with. Get the tiredness out of him. Make himself look less like someone to fuss over in the morning.

Water dripping from hair and skin, he stared at his reflection.

It had been some time since his appearance had changed. Gone were the usual brown eyes, to be replaced by that bestial yellow he'd somewhat grown accustomed to.

And almost let slip from his mind.

It meant nothing. Heralded nothing.

After the Slenderman, and his healing, everything was pretty much back to normal.

Rodolphus was only taking note of a change that had occured since the last time the two had met.

So why did it bother him so much what Rodolphus had said?

"They all fight it, but they lose out in the end."

"Shut up, Rodolphus," he hissed at the echo of his brother's voice. "Shut up."

He emptied the sink, toweled himself dry, and went about looking for something to put on before going downstairs to put a kettle on for tea.

Because as hungry as he was, he still remembered the advice he'd been given so long ago about what he ate, and if the wolf was getting stronger, he'd need to do something about his diet.

The kettle began to whistle just as Elea stepped into the kitchen, where Rabastan was busy chewing thoughtfully on an apple.

"Some particular reason you're not having bacon as you usually do?" she commented.

Rabastan was not a morning vegetarian.

"Thought I'd try something different for starters."

"Do you want bacon?"

"Not today, thanks."

She looked at him quizzically, then proceeded to crack some eggs to make an omlette.

They didn't say much that morning, and, in a way, he was glad for it.

"The mail should be here by now. I'll go have a look."

He watched her go. He knew she'd be asking questions about his odd change in routine eventually.

"So. That's Elea."

Rabastan let out a cry of surprise, and dropped the core of his fifth apple.

"Who's there?" He paused. "Father? Is that you?"

He turned in his chair. For the second time that day a family member had made a ghostly appearance.

"Father. I—"

He stopped short. He had so much he wanted to say, and no tongue to say it with.

"I suppose you're expecting me to say something about your choice in partners, aren't you?"

Mutely, Rabastan nodded.

"You're expecting me to say that you should get rid of her, go home, and get yourself a proper wife, aren't you?"

Another nod.

"I could say that, but death seems to have mellowed me out."

"Papa. Father," Rabastan croaked.

"Say nothing. I am only here for a short time. The veil may be thin, but then, so is the time granted to us who visit the living."

Rabastan waited for his father to speak.

"You know how your mother and I felt about Muggle-borns and half-bloods. You know how we thought about those of us who were of pure heritage. We were not exactly cruel, as the Blacks were, and yet, like the Malfoys, we saw them as something beneath us. To your mother and I, they were curiosities that should keep to their own, and not involve themselves in the lives of proper witches and wizards."

Rabastan remembered all this. He remembered how his parents would talk to non-purebloods. As if they were oddities, something to be polite to, but never to accept in one's own world. The Lestranges were from one world, the Muggle-borns another. If they could not be removed from wizarding society, then they should keep to their own kind.

The two were simply not compatible, and should keep apart.

So why bring this up now?

"Well, death seems to change us, as I've said. It's sent Bellatrix over the edge, and caused your brother to adopt a new kind of cruelty."

That didn't bring Rabastan any comfort.

"Is he right?"

His father continued as though Rabastan had not said anything.

"You're not the first werewolf in the family."

It made his heart freeze.

"Anyways, about me, and about Elea."

The ghost paused for a moment.

"You love her?"

"Yes."

"You hope someday to marry her?"

"Yes."

"Then I suppose that settles the matter. See, if I were still alive, I'd have set you an ultimatum, and you would've obeyed it. But death seems to have changed me, and if you love her, then I suppose that will have to do. She's not my first or even last choice for my son, but if you love her..."

"Rabastan, are you talking to someone?"

"I must go. My time here is almost up."

The visage of the elder Lestrange began to dissipate, then vanish altogether.

He was alone again.

"Rabastan? I thought I heard a voice. Were you talking to someone?"

"No, love. I wasn't. It was probably just a voice coming in through the window."

Elea looked skeptical.

"If you say so."

"I do."

First his brother and sister-in-law; then his father.

What else did he have to look forward to this Halloween?
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Rabastan Lestrange

April 2016

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