Winging It
The room was dark and foreboding. Hooded figures stood in silence, forming a semi-circle around the cold stone floor. Rabastan blinked slowly, trying to keep his face calm and neutral. Right. I’m Rabastan Lestrange. Hanging out with Voldemort is totally a normal thing for me. This is fine. Everything’s fine.
Sweat trickled down his back as he surveyed the room. Why is everyone wearing hoods? This is so dramatic. Why can’t villains ever do casual Fridays?
Oh god, what if they did do casual Fridays but he doesn’t know that because he’s not actually Rabastan and he shows up on a Friday in his stupid hood and everybody laughs at him?
Voldemort was speaking, but Rabastan only caught fragments. Something about blood purity and power. Okay. Focus. ‘Voldemort is the Dark Lord and a big bad.’ That’s about all he knew from his past life. Well, that, and a few scattered pop culture references he half-remembered from before he’d been dropped into this body. Why didn’t he just give in and watch the damn movies? Why did he have to be so counterculture? Ugh.
You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Just… nod when appropriate. Blend in.
Rabastan nodded slowly, hoping it looked thoughtful. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellatrix Lestrange shot him a glance, her eyes narrowing slightly. Oh god, does she think I’m not paying attention? Is she suspicious?
Voldemort paused, and Rabastan realized he hadn’t been listening at all. He scrambled to recall the last thing he heard—something about "crushing the blood traitors." Uhh, yes. Crushing. That sounds right.
"Rabastan," Voldemort's cold voice echoed through the room.
Wait. He’s talking to me.
Rabastan straightened up so fast his neck cracked, sending a sharp pain down his spine. “Y-Yes, my Lord?” he stammered, hoping to sound sufficiently evil yet deferential. Is this what villains sound like?
"Your thoughts on the matter?" Voldemort asked, his voice dripping with something that could be amusement, or impatience...yeah, probably impatience.
Thoughts on what?! Rabastan panicked internally but outwardly gave what he hoped was a sinister smile, stalling for time. “My thoughts, my Lord?” he repeated, trying to sound ominous. Great. Just repeat the question. Perfect.
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. Rabastan felt his skin prickle under the weight of his gaze. This is it. This is how I die. I made it in this world for a whole three weeks. Not bad, considering.
“Of course, I believe we should…” Think of something dark. Evil. Villain stuff. “…press forward with… uh, all the vengeance we can muster?” He ended on a high note, like a question, hoping that was somehow the right answer.
Voldemort stared at him in eerie silence. Rabastan felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple. Vengeance is an evil word, right? That’s evil? That’s got to be right.
There was a tense pause. Then Voldemort's lip curled slightly. “Well said, Rabastan.”
Rabastan exhaled too sharply and immediately caught himself, nodding once to seem professional. Oh thank god. Or thank… evil snake man.
Bellatrix shot him another look, and Rabastan noticed her lips twitch into something like a smirk. Wait. Is she laughing at me? Did I just say something ridiculous? Oh god.
Lucius Malfoy, who knelt nearby, gave him a small, approving nod. What’s his deal again? All I know is that he’s Luscious Lucius Malfoy. Don’t call him Luscious out loud. Do not call him Luscious.
As the meeting progressed, Rabastan did his best to keep his mouth shut, pretending to be in deep contemplation. Mostly he was trying to get his stupid brain to remember absolutely anything useful to help him get through this meeting alive. Okay, Voldemort… evil snake man. Death Eaters, bad people. Is Dobby around yet? No idea. Harry Potter is not born yet, pretty sure.
In reality, Rabastan knew next to nothing beyond a few first-year spells he’d been secretly teaching himself with an old schoolbook. Every spare moment he wasn’t being dragged to some Death Eater event by Rodolphus and Bellatrix, he was hiding away in his room, desperately trying to catch up on even the basics of magic.
Voldemort dismissed the group with a flick of his long, bony fingers, and Rabastan shuffled toward the exit with the other Death Eaters. Bellatrix appeared at his side, and his heart sank.
“Rabastan,” she purred, her voice low and dangerous. “You seemed off today. Are you well?”
Rabastan shot her what he hoped was a casual smile. “Just, uh, thinking about all the vengeance. You know how it is.”
Bellatrix blinked at him, her expression briefly flickering with confusion. Then she let out a wild, unhinged laugh that echoed down the dark corridor. “Oh, Rabastan,” she cackled. “Always with the vengeance.”
What the hell is going on? Rabastan tried to laugh along, but it came out as a weird, strained chuckle. Bellatrix sauntered off, still giggling to herself, leaving him standing in the hallway alone.
Lucius Malfoy appeared next, offering a small, tight smile. “You impressed the Dark Lord today,” he said in a measured tone. “Quite a feat.”
Rabastan blinked. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Lucius.” Ha! Not Luscious.
Lucius raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. He inclined his head and walked away.
Once everyone was gone, Rabastan let out a long breath and leaned against the cold stone wall. Okay. So far, so good. I think. Voldemort didn’t kill me. Bellatrix thinks I’m crazy but didn’t stab me. Lucius… no idea.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to think. Alright. I’m Rabastan Lestrange. Voldemort is bad. Everything else? I’m just going to wing this whole Death Eater thing.
With that, he pushed off the wall and made his way down the darkened corridor. How bad could it be?