Lovefool - Friday evening, 16th of June, 1978

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Another word of caution and now Dora’s heart was racing, wondering if she had made a mistake. What horrors were about to be released to her? War was not a gentle thing; she knew that at least. A warrior in battle would not have jolly tales to tell her as their sweat-coated skin dried in the cool summer breeze. Rabastan spoke and she was enthralled.

Her skin tingled as adrenaline pumped through her body, a sudden urge to leap from his bed and run was sated only by the look in his eye. He spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, as if speaking on the process required in securing a portkey for weekend travel. His calm, perhaps, was what kept her there, despite that being the very fact that perhaps sent shivers up her spine. It was a job, just as any other, and what he did, he did for the betterment of them all.

“They don't always make it back to him.”

She squeezed her eyes shut at these words, holding her breath without realizing it as Rabastan finished speaking. One of us, or one of them. The words seemed to echo inside her head as silence filled the room. She knew this feeling within her, this terror. She had sensed it before to varying degrees; her first night away at school as a girl, the perilous journey to the hospital wing aided by Kingsley after a duel gone awry in her sixth year, her father’s absent gaze as her parents gave her a deadline to leave their home, and the first nights alone in her Cardiff flat. Dora was no stranger to fear but this was different somehow, in a way she could not identify nor explain. It didn’t quite feel as though she was afraid for herself, but she had meant it when she told Rabastan several hours earlier that she only expected him for his bar, his body, and his conversation. It made sense then that this terror she felt would be for her own safety but were that the case she would have ran as her body had urged her to.

“And if he were to call you now…” she started slowly, thoughts not completely formed before falling out of her mouth, her eyes finding his yet again to share in his calm. “There would be a possibility you would not return.” It was not a question but more hesitant than a statement, regardless of its validity. “It’s either incredibly brave or terribly stupid,” she murmured quietly as she lifted her lips to meet his, not knowing whether she was speaking of herself or him.

[Rabastan Lestrange]

She took in his words with a stark stillness and wide eyes, and if Euphadora had to learn of the dirty work that must be done - Rabastan was glad, in a way, that he was the one to tell her. It was dreadfully easy to spot the new recruits or married-in's who weren't given one tenth of the truth before they were in too deep and began to drown. Those among the ranks who were equal to, or even surpassed, his skill - but wasted breath and energy with flamboyance, grandiose sentiments, narrow vision - their exaggeration could do more harm than they knew, and took focus from the actual work at hand. His was a far more level interpretation, or so Rabastan felt, and even so, her eyes squeezed shut as he let on to of the realities of the work. He continued, and quieted, and waited for her. To separate from him, to bolt, to cry, to scream...All would be fair reactions, he knew, but none were what he received.

Euphadora looked to him, still wrapped up in him, and spoke. A tremor ran through otherwise even words, as she sought to balance herself as her understanding of him - of all of them - shifted underneath her. Her words took him aback. He had all but admitted to killing for the sake of the Dark Lord and his cause, and Euphadora was concerned that he would fail. Fall, be taken, lose - fail. Had she so little trust in his abilities? Was she so unaware of the lengths he would go to, to keep not only his wits but his life? To be fair, she didn't know. But, regardless, he bristled,

and felt neither brave nor stupid, but took her kiss anyway. Rab felt...he didn't know what he felt, beyond defensive, and it felt like he was picking at scab, uncontrollably. Even if, at the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't exactly fair of him. Euphadora cared, and so she worried, and just because that was as foreign of a notion as anything - "I know what I'm doing," he asserted, "I wouldn't still be here if I didn't. I wouldn't have chosen this if I didn't."

[Euphadora Parkinson]

As she laid against him, wrapped in his arms, still listening to the rhythmic thumping within his chest, she felt him stiffen beneath her. His words, courser now than they had been a moment before, seemed agitated. Unsure of what she had said that would elicit such a response, she conceded. “Obviously you know what you’re doing. You’ve had that tattoo for four…five years now? Before you left school, certainly. And I suspect you were doing Merlin knows what for Him before then, as well. Were you not? With your brother, father. Even Bellatrix, perhaps. Five years of scars and bruises yet you’ve still got all your important bits attached. I didn’t take you for a muppet, Rabastan, I just…” Her words trailed off, her thoughts not fully complete yet as she still worked to make sense of what he was telling her.

Rabastan sought out those who attempted to defy his master’s plans and on occasion that meant death. She was relieved to know that, when death was on the line, it was not Rab who would fall, but wrapping her head around the idea of him ending someone’s life was a challenge she had not foreseen. Dueling in school was one thing; Dora was handy with a wand and aside from a few notable instances she was rarely on the losing side, but what must it take to be able to do what he did? “I suppose it’s not as dangerous as it initially sounds. You’re seeking out…hunting, perhaps would be a better word for it? You’re hunting certain muggleborns. They’re not as powerful as us, as you. Dangerous yes, but it’s not as though you’re going after pureblood blokes.” It was common knowledge that magical abilities was directly related to the purity in one’s lineage. When witches mingled with muggles it weakened the bloodlines, tainting their magic. The need to survive without magic was, of course, hard wired into muggle blood, so they were dangerous still – that was the very reason wizards were forced to keep themselves hidden from the muggle population, after all – but what could a muggle do against a wizard if their numbers were even? The sheer volume of muggles was the real threat, and the weakened magical abilities of muggleborn and halfblood wizards was a growing menace that needed to be stopped before their vast numbers outweighed the power of pure magic, but in a one on one conflict there would be no reason for Rabastan to be anything but the victor. “So, I ought not to worry,” she told herself, her eyes flashing up at him. “Not that I worry.”

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Euphadora was backtracking rapidly, and he worked to lower his hackles. She deserved answers after all this time, not an outburst. It wasn't as though he wasn't ever surprised in the field, or even in the office, from time-to-time, and Rab managed those moments with more deftness than he'd shown her tonight. He and his fellows were playing the long game, for high-stakes - and tonight, with this witch whose affections he so often took for granted, Rabastan had the sharp, acute sense of something similar. Risking losing her as she gained this knowledge of him was as difficult to stomach as her response.

For whatever variety of responses he'd flashed through her having to his admission of the work - concern for him, doubt of his abilities, they had not been on the table. But they were as valid as the others, even if they were more difficult for Rabastan to accept. Accepting them was accepting that he was deserving of them, and if he was deserving of them, he was weak in her eyes. She wasn't afraid of him - she was afraid for him, something he'd hardly sensed from anyone since they'd banished Mother. As she spoke, acknowledging the efforts and the impact and the whole of him that had made it through thus far, she masterfully soothed his slighted ego enough for him to settle more comfortably again into the pillows. She hadn't meant him to take it as he had, she didn't think less of him - she simply still had a kind enough heart to worry for a friend willingly engaging in this war. Rabastan silenced, nodding as she spoke, and his body shook with quiet laughter as she talked herself into not needing to worry - for at least he wasn't going after other purebloods. She's right. As long as they've fallen in line.

"Precisely," Rabastan affirmed as he met her watchful eye. "We go hunting, and the prey is often no match for us. Simple as."

Her earlier assumptions were quite on the money and, feeling he owed her something more after being so uncouth, he gathered himself. The story was his and familiar to him, remembered and retold in private, but those who knew it were those who were present for the event. He'd told bits and pieces to others over the years if he found them worthy of the Lord looking into - but that night was kept close to his chest. It was the night to change his life, after all, and under her ear, his quickening heart betrayed him. "I was fifteen," he told the ceiling, measured, arm wrapped around her. "It was Rodolphus and Bellatrix more than our father who prepared me, no matter what he claimed back then. I was invited to a dinner, your dear friend Narcissa was invited too. She witnessed my Marking, as I witnessed him denying hers." Rab grinned, the memory of his uppity relation's devastation one of the finer points of the evening. He couldn't imagine the witch sharing such a colossal failure with anyone not at that table, and while he wasn't typically one to stir the pot - habits were well out the window now, weren't they? 

"It's all worked out for the best, as you can imagine. This would have severely limited her wardrobe choices, and she's never had a high tolerance for pain." He gave a chuckle and shifted, pulling the pillows up behind them so they could sit and lean against them instead. He extended his Marked arm to her for inspection, its inactive red stark against his skin. He breathed, settling, as he debated entrusting her with another truth. Whether it was the touch of her hands, the feeling of her beside him, using this to keep her close - or knowing he could call in a favor at Obliviator Headquarters if this all went to hell - Rabastan quietly continued. "That night, my brother warned me to only share these things with those I absolutely trust. That's a very short list, Euphadora. Why do you want to know, now?" 

[Euphadora Parkinson]

His frequent fluctuations in mood were difficult to track throughout their conversation and Dora hesitated to feel too at ease even as he agreed with her assumption on the level of danger of his hunting trips. She thought herself a competent communicator, but that had been proven false on a number of occasions, with several instances tonight alone. Was it foolish for her to be concerned? It seemed a perfectly logical response when someone she cared about admitted to killing people. Whether for sport or survival, ending a person’s life seemed violent and utterly terrifying. Despite having refrained from asking after his work so directly all these years, she had made assumptions before now. Those assumptions were precisely the reason Dora had avoided those questions in the past and insisted to herself that it was none of her business. But perhaps it was her sustained avoidance of this topic that incited such a tumultuous reaction from her friend when she finally had the need to bring it up. She nodded her understanding silently and let a quiet fall between them for a moment. He seemed to be contemplating as much as she was, or perhaps he was simply tired – not only of her questioning but from the evening’s fun as well.

The quiet fell over them and Dora closed her eyes, prepared to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and, as usual, make an escape in the early morning hours before he woke, but Rabastan spoke and drew her full attention. Calico eyes watched as he stared at the ceiling, recalling the evening he was inducted into the Dark Lord’s forces and then -

“Wait, what?!” Dora sat up in bed, unbothered with covering herself in his presence, and turned to stare at him fully. “Cissa was there? And she was hoping to…” She was shocked to find that her friend had been in attendance at such an event and had not even bothered to tell Dora about it! Although not explicitly stated as such, there was no question with whom Narcissa and her husband sided in this war. The more logic-minded of her friends were all similarly aligned as she, but to willingly take up arms was something Dora could not see Narcissa ever doing. Yet she was immediately offended on Cissa’s behalf that her attempt had been refused. How could anyone possibly find Narcissa lacking? Though not nearly as intimidating as her older sister, Narcissa was not some dainty wallflower, but even Dora had to admit that after hearing what work Rabastan did for the Dark Lord, she couldn’t see Cissa doing anything similar.

Rabastan was being awfully glib about the whole Narcissa matter, although in fairness these details were old news to him. He shifted the pillows behind him casually as he carried on, as if recounting nothing more significant than what he had had for breakfast. The shock of learning her childhood friend was at one time in line to join the Dark Lord’s ranks to fight alongside Rabastan and his brother had hardly any time to sink in before Rabastan entrusted her with another bombshell. This one was, perhaps, not as jaw dropping as the previous details he had shared with her tonight, but the weight of it was palpable and she took her time digesting it.

“If it wasn’t you that sent Bellatrix to question me, then I have to assume it was someone else because nothing about me warrants her interest otherwise. Why else would she even know about me, let alone bother to talk to me.” Dora was weary of agitating him again by saying something stupid, but he had answered her questions so she would answer his in return. “And if someone did send her… I couldn’t do what you do, Rabby. I couldn’t…” kill someone. She shook her head slowly, her gaze shifting to the twisted sheet spread across her otherwise bare lap. “I know its selfish of me to want the rewards of your bravery without the work, but I can’t do it.” Head still tilted down, she looked up at him through her lashes, hoping she had not angered him again. “Tell him I can’t do it.”

[Rabastan Lestrange]

She reacted, as he'd hoped she would, when he brought up Narcissa. He had hardly set out tonight to cast doubt on her friendship with the blonde, but he wouldn't deny being opportunistic - and as counter-intuitive as it may seem to the witch in his bed, the right Black sister to have on her side was Bellatrix. The Lestranges were better placed in this war than the Malfoys, were more trustworthy, and when he had answers about the incident at the Ministry, perhaps they would be so innocuous that they could laugh at the concerns of this night. Rab was not convinced of that yet himself, but as he could still speculate, he could still have a sliver of hope. "She was," he affirmed, eyes drifting to her nakedness as he shifted to face her, match her, as he continued pointedly. "I have no reason to lie." Euphadora was taken aback, uncomfortable with the knowledge - was it this that would prove to be too much? 

His ask hung in the air between them, thick with tension and summer heat and breaths that were too shallow and too fast, and he should have anticipated this. That she was still upset by the lack of answers about the conversation with Bellatrix. She could barely meet his eye, fearing that she may be called to fight, fearing how he would judge...

"It won't come to that." The words came harshly, too quickly, before he could think them through, and he took her face in his hands. Gently, awkwardly, as he was too full of the realization that she knew they had blood on them. Would she flinch away when he touched her now? Rabastan wasn't prone to making promises he couldn't keep. If Euphadora's name came out of the Dark Lord's mouth - what could he do to sway him? Had he done enough to prove himself to ask for such a favor? And if he did, if he was granted that mercy, how could he ever pay that debt? And what argument could he have to keep a pureblooded witch from taking up the fight? What was her life, what was his life, in the grand plan that the Lord had? But the words were out, and he had to hope that he would not have to find out if it was a promise he could fulfill, a choice he'd have to make. If there was interest in Euphadora, in her family...would it be safer to bring her in closer so he could protect them both, or cut her off entirely so there was a chance to get away? He breathed, thumbs rubbing across her cheeks to bring life back into them, and focused in on her eyes. "I'll find out what she was up to, and take care of it. For all we know, she was just making conversation because - because I haven't been careful enough to keep her in the dark about us."

Rab was grasping by this point, he knew, but tried to continue with confidence. Because maybe Bellatrix had had nothing more on her mind than trying to get to know a girl he saw frequently. That was, perhaps, the best they could hope for. Unless it was a fluke, and she had simply been bored, seeking out someone new to kill time with at the Ministry, and Euphadora had been the nearest person to engage with. "You wouldn't know it by what people say about her, but she's been protective, in her way, all my life." Now was not the time to get into why such protection was needed, if there ever would be, but maybe this was all that that day's encounter had been. It wasn't so far fetched, no more so than the Dark Lord suddenly taking an interest in the Parkinsons. He grasped, and he held on, and he smiled. "And if she was bothered by you or what you spoke about, she would've already made sure I knew it."

[Euphadora Parkinson]

He seemed amused at her reaction to the news of Narcissa’s attempt to join the war. Perhaps even more so at the memory of the witch’s dismissal. It was evident that Cissa didn’t particularly care for Dora’s connection to Rabastan, oft suggesting other suitors that were “more appropriate” for the younger witch, but Dora maintained that she was not looking for anything serious with Rabastan. Or with anyone else for that matter – a concept seemingly lost on the posh blonde. But now Dora saw more clearly that those feelings between her friends were perhaps reciprocated, and it brought into question all the seemingly civil interactions she had witnessed between Rabby and Cissa over the years. There was no reason for him to lie, but were there more secrets about her dear friend that Rabastan was privy to?

Rabastan took her face in his hands, and Dora braced for impact. She was startled at the speed with which he responded, fearing anger at her selfishness for not being as willing as he was to take up arms but the words that came from his lips were comforting despite the harshness with which they were spoken. The caress of his thumbs on her cheeks and the assertion that she did not need to worry about being asked to do what he did caused a rush of relief to sweep over her. “Thank you,” she whispered, eyes closing as she caught her breath. His promise to her now felt more secure than it had hours before, the full impact of Dora’s fears having been laid on the table and reviewed with sickening detail. And despite knowing with full clarity now the things Rabastan did for work, she somehow felt safer in his arms. He could hurt her just as easily as protect her, his hands could slip to her throat within seconds and the skill she now knew for certain he possessed could end it all, but she smiled and cupped one of his hands with hers. Her body was tired, and with her worries slowly subsiding she could feel the exhaustion of the day’s events finally catching up with her. “I trust you. I’ll try to trust her as well.”

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Rabastan's inner cynic would have a field day with this sometime soon. Perhaps tonight it would trick him out of sleep as he became suddenly, acutely, wary of the witch in his bed and the game she could be playing. There were those that would do anything to survive this war. Disguise and lie and cheat and squeeze and claw their way into protected spaces, do whatever they had to do to gain the trust of those in power, regardless of their convictions - or lack of them. That was what his family would certainly, to say it lightly, caution him about when it came to her. Euphadora had been a friend before his Mark, true - but he had always been a Lestrange. Rab had been born into power, and it was no secret that he was raised for this fight. What was worse - someone after his gold, his name, or his shield? Was there a difference, really? Had she kept up with him all this time to get to this moment, this promise? Could her parents even be in for the long game, cleverer than he'd wanted to give them credit for? Could they have distracted him, taken him in, through their beautiful daughter?

How easily Rab could see the hurt flash across her face, just as quickly masked with a dismissive sneer and a hex before she left for good, if the question ever came from him. To think that she was using him for more than chat, drinks, sex, with such underhanded purpose. 

Her sheer, pure, instantaneous relief to his words made it harder than ever to imagine that there was anything between them other than trust, built together over these years, coming to this natural extension. If Euphadora was an actress, she was excellent, and Rab liked to think he was a decent enough judge of character to know that she was earnest. To know how difficult it was for her to come to him with her concern, what it meant to have his assurance, how she could have feared him but instead understood him more. They all had to be paranoid, to an extent, to survive this. But she had come to him as a friend...

"Good - then it is settled," he whispered into her hair as he held her, breathing her in as the night settled around them. "Should I send for Farkey to bring you anything? A vial of Dreamless Sleep?" 

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Rabastan’s breath was warm against her neck, his voice muted slightly by her hair. Dora smiled; her eyes shut as she melted into his embrace. She shook her head at his offer. “I don’t need anything.” She hoped she was right. Would images of Rabastan’s work, or the ominous man that he worked for, infiltrate her dreams tonight? If they did, she could always accept his offer for a sleeping potion later and knew that the house elf would provide promptly.

The luxury that was experienced in her time spent with Rabastan was impressive. She wouldn’t deny that at times she had felt envious of his upbringing amongst his family’s wealth; riches her lower middle-class family had only dreamt of, but tales of his actual childhood were not as lovely as one might imagine for a man of his standing. There was no number of house elves that she would accept in exchange for the horrors Rab’s father had pushed upon him growing up. For all the nightmare her own mother had been – and continued to be whenever Dora attempted a visit – Dora could say for certain that she had the more favorable childhood. At least her daddy loved her properly, even if he didn’t show as others would expect. Dora knew that when he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes every time she spoke to him, that was in actuality his way of expressing his adoration for her without making her mum jealous. Rabastan’s mum, perhaps, had shown him love in the same manner her father had for her, but the very real horrors inflicted by his father far outweighed the emotional trauma Rebekah Parkinson had caused her daughter. One parent who tormented the children while the other tried their best to make up for their partner’s failings – she and Rabastan had more in common than just their mutual adoration for each other’s bodies.

Yet again Dora repositioned herself on the bed, gently guiding Rabastan to lay beside her as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. His heartbeat kept time, thumping softly as her conscious thoughts left her and she fell asleep. Plans to sneak out before sunrise, as was her usual, were lost to exhaustion.