Chapter 12
Rabastan stormed out of the sprawling Lestrange mansion, his dark robes billowing around him like thunderclouds. The ornate building, once a symbol of pride, now felt like a prison conspired against him. Outside, the chilly air cut through his anger, sharp and biting. Behind him, his friends Evan and Antonin rushed to keep pace, while Narcissa trailed reluctantly, her heart heavy with concern.
Inside the mansion, Reinhard Lestrange, Rabastan’s father, grimaced as he felt the weight of his son’s rebellion. “Rodolphus Burn him from our family tree!” he thundered, feeling the pressure of the myriad scandals and responsibilities that had become a storm in his life. “He is not worthy to carry the Lestrange name!”
Rodolphus, the eldest son and often the voice of reason, raised an eyebrow. “Father, I think you’re exaggerating,” he said cautiously. The reality of the situation hung heavy in the air, like dark clouds blocking out the sun.
Reinhard felt a headache rising, fueled by family drama and the looming threat of the Ministry’s wrath. Bellatrix, his fiercely loyal daughter-in-law, spoke up, her voice laced with a mixture of defiance and reason. “He’s right, Father. If we remove Rabastan from the family tree, Fudge won’t hesitate to throw us all in Azkaban. Think this through; we can’t afford rash decisions.”
Reinhard paused, the clarity of Bellatrix's words cutting through his frustration. He knew they needed Rabastan to marry the Muggle girl Fudge had chosen—after all, it was the only way to protect their family from further scrutiny. He nodded slowly, settling into begrudging acceptance.
Rabastan Lestrange navigated the bustling streets of Diagon Alley with a sense of urgency propelling him forward. His friends, Antonion, Evan, and Narcissa, hurried to keep pace with him. The noise of vendors and chatter filled the air as they moved, but Rabastan's mind was clouded by a storm of emotion.
“Rab, wait!” Antonion called, catching up to him and grabbing his arm.
Rabastan turned, irritation and confusion flashing in his deep-set eyes. “What?”
“You can’t just walk away from your father like this,” Evan chimed in, finally catching up. “Just because he slapped you.”
A harsh laugh slipped from Rabastan's mouth. "You don't get it, Evan. My whole existence has been nothing but an act. I've been taught to loathe Muggles and to detest Mudbloods, all to satisfy my father’s desires. The truth is, I don’t hold any bitterness towards them; I simply did what was expected of me." He took a moment, his face tightening with irritation. "And now? I'm meant to marry a Muggle. What a delightful turn of events."
Narcissa stepped closer, her eyes reflecting years of friendship. “Well, isn’t it joyful? Three months ago, you were jesting about how you’d rather date Lily’s Muggle sister than her,” she reminded him gently. “And now look at you. Your future bride is a Muggle.”
Rabastan chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “It gave me great joy to toy with that Mudblood back then, but now?” He sighed, the weight of his reality pressing down on him. “Now I find myself caught in this ridiculous web. Fudge is pulling my strings like a puppet tied to my family’s name.”
Antonion, always the pragmatic one, interjected, “If you don’t actually hate Muggles, then maybe marrying one isn’t such a bad idea.”
As they walked further, they passed a cozy pub. Antonion pointed toward it. “Come on, let’s go have a drink. You need it.”
Inside, the pub was warm and filled with laughter. Antonion ordered “four Butterbeers my friend” at the bartender, and soon enough, the friends were settled at a corner table, Rabastan gulping down his drink more quickly than the others.
Minutes passed, and just as Rabastan was about to drown his sorrows in another swig, Lucius Malfoy entered the pub, his ever-present confidence radiating from him. He spotted Narcissa, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Love, everything alright?” he asked, noticing the commotion.
Rabastan, now slightly tipsy, slurred his words. “Lucy, just the man I wanted to see! Do you know anything about my future bride?”
The rest of their group glanced around, sensing the discomfort in the air. Lucius hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “Actually, I do have some information… her name is Petunia, and she lives with Dolores Umbridge.”
A cynical laugh escaped Rabastan’s mouth. “Petunia? Just my luck! My bedmate is uglier than that pink toad!” He took another swig of his Butterbeer, the bitterness of the situation mingling with the sweetness of the drink.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and a group of individuals from the Order of the Phoenix entered the pub, filling the air with an almost unbearable tension. Among them were Arthur and Molly Weasley, James Potter, and Sirius Black, Peter, Remus,Frank Longbottom,and Billius Weasley, their presence unsettling the atmosphere.
Arthur stepped forward, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “I guess money can buy your freedom now that you’ve escaped Azkaban.”
Evan, not wishing to entertain the confrontation, responded quickly, “Shoo, go away, Weasley. We’re only here to drink.”
James approached Rabastan, his tone accusatory. “I heard about the trial. Is it true? That Fudge is forcing you to marry a Muggle girl?”
Rabastan feigned indifference, his sarcasm dripping. “As a matter of fact, Potter, he did. And guess what? I’m the luckiest groom to be!”
Laughter erupted among the Gryffindors, while Frank Longbottom decided to join. “If I’m not mistaken, I heard that she’s the ugliest bride-to-be.”
Narcissa, always the peacemaker, leaned in. “Oh, don’t worry, Frankie. She won’t be as ugly as your current fiancée.” The laughter intensified, and for a moment, it seemed that every rift had disappeared.
Bill, ever the defender of his family, scowled, “Shut up, Black.”
Lucius stood up, wand drawn, a menacing glint in his eyes. “Watch your mouth, Weasley. You’re talking to my wife.” He sneered at Arthur. “It seems the Weasleys don’t value respect among people, am I right, Arthur?”
Arthur's face flushed red, and before things escalated further, Rabastan seized the opportunity to poke fun. “Speaking of wives, Arthur, why did you marry Molly Prewett? I would have bet money back in our Hogwarts days that you’d marry a Muggle, considering your fascination with their technology... and yet you ended up with…” he continued, taking pleasure in the tension, “a breeding mare.”
Gasps and muffled laughter mixed in the air, the Gryffindors caught in the crossfire of caustic humor and unyielding rivalry.
“What’s the matter, Weasley? Did the serpent get your tongue?” Rabastan taunted, watching as eyebrows raised and tension thickened.
James, defensive, shouted back, “Shut up, Lestrange!”
But Rabastan was on a roll, and he didn’t care. “Oh, Potter, I haven’t forgotten you either. Don’t you remember when your dear fiancée, Lily Evans, had a little crush on me back in Hogwarts? Good times, really.”
Narcissa, desperate to maintain the fragile peace, stepped in. “Gentlemen, let’s not fight over who married the most beautiful brides.” She winked at Lucius before adding, “Alright, I think you’ve had enough drinking for today, Rab.”
With that, she rallied the rest of the group. “Boys, Apparate my foolish best friend back to Malfoy Manor.”
As they left the pub, the laughter and banter continued, but Rabastan couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in his chest. In the end, he felt neither like a puppet nor a prince; instead, he was lost, embraced by the chaotic tides of loyalty, love, and an uncertain future. All he could do was sip his Butterbeer and hope for a sweeter taste in the days yet to come.