Accidentally Impressive
The training room was dimly lit, and Rabastan did his best to blend into the shadows, gripping his wand tightly as he tried to stop his hands from shaking. Alright. Dueling practice. With Death Eaters. No pressure. I just have to duel against people who definitely know how to use magic.
His heart was racing, and he glanced around the room, watching the other Death Eaters effortlessly casting spells, sparks flying everywhere. Okay, don’t panic. Just blend in. You can do this. You’re Rabastan. Definitely Rabastan.
The problem was, of course, that Rabastan had no idea what he was doing. He had a wand, and it seemed to vaguely like him, but he knew about ten spells at the moment and none of them were suited toward combat. He’d been trying to piece together the little knowledge he had from pop culture, but “Dobby dies” and “Ron and Hermione get married” wasn’t enough to navigate dueling practice with seasoned Death Eaters.
“Rabastan!” a sharp voice barked.
Rabastan snapped to attention, turning to see Rodolphus standing with his arms crossed, frowning deeply. Oh no.
“You’re up. Duel with Travers,” Rodolphus ordered, jerking his head toward a tall, lanky Death Eater across the room who was already twirling his wand like some kind of magical gunslinger.
Duel? With him? He looks like he actually knows what he’s doing!
Rabastan swallowed hard and forced a nod, stepping into the dueling circle. His legs felt like jelly as he stood across from Travers, who was grinning wickedly, clearly enjoying the prospect of humiliating him.
Okay. Think. What did they do in movies? Flick your wrist, say something Latin-sounding, and hope you don’t die.
“Begin!” Rodolphus barked.
Travers wasted no time, launching a streak of red light straight at Rabastan. Rabastan’s mind went blank, and his body moved on instinct—he ducked. The spell flew over his head, hitting a chandelier, which groaned ominously before crashing down with a deafening thud.
Rabastan blinked up at the wreckage. Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.
The other Death Eaters watched, some with bemused expressions, while others whispered to each other, clearly impressed by the "dodge."
Travers, however, was not deterred. He fired off another spell, this time a sickly green color. That looks important. Probably shouldn’t get hit by that.
Rabastan raised his wand and shouted something that was supposed to be latin but really just sounded like a garbled mash of letters, intending to block the spell with something, anything (his hope?) but instead tripped over his own foot. As he fell to the ground, his wand went flying, and the green spell ricocheted off a nearby pillar and hit Travers squarely in the chest.
Travers let out a grunt, staggering backward, his wand slipping from his fingers as he collapsed onto the floor.
What. Just. Happened? Rabastan blinked, still lying on the ground. Did I just… win?
There was a murmur of approval from the gathered Death Eaters. Rabastan’s heart pounded in his chest as he slowly pushed himself up, glancing nervously at Rodolphus.
Rodolphus’ expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something like pride in his eyes. “Impressive,” he muttered, his tone begrudging.
Impressive?! How is this impressive? I tripped! Rabastan looked over at Travers, who was still groaning on the ground, and felt a pang of guilt. Oh no. Is he dying? Did I kill him?
“Good technique, Rabastan,” someone said from the side of the room. It was Lucius Malfoy, who was watching him with something like approval. “That deflection spell was elegant. Though you’ll need to practice such a powerful spell to keep your wand from ricocheting out of your hand. Did you craft it recently?”
There is no deflection spell! I tripped and threw my wand!
Rabastan forced a tight-lipped smile, giving a shaky nod. “Uh, thanks. Yeah, I’ve been working on it.”
Before he could process what had just happened, the room fell silent. Rabastan’s stomach dropped as he felt a chill in the air. Oh no. He’s here.
Voldemort entered the room, his pale, snake-like face unreadable as he surveyed the scene. His eyes landed on Rabastan, and for a terrifying moment, Rabastan was sure this was it, and he’d be found out for the fraud he was.
But then, much to Rabastan’s confusion, Voldemort smiled.
“You continue to impress, Rabastan,” Voldemort said, his voice a low hiss that sent shivers down Rabastan’s spine. “Such… unpredictability. It will serve you well.”
Unpredictability? Is that what they’re calling tripping over your own feet now?
“Thank you, my Lord,” Rabastan managed, trying not to sound as bewildered as he felt. Okay, play it cool. You totally did that on purpose.
Voldemort’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he turned his attention to Rodolphus. “A formidable display from your brother. I was unsure about bringing him into the inner circle due to his age. However, you were correct when you told me he would make a good addition to our elite forces.”
Rodolphus, ever the loyal soldier, gave a sharp nod. “He is full of surprises, my Lord.”
Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Even I’m surprised by myself. Shocked I’m still alive, maybe.
As Voldemort turned to leave, Rabastan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Okay. I survived. I survived Voldemort noticing me two times.
Lucius clapped him on the back. “You’re making quite the name for yourself, Rabastan.”
Oh god. What have I gotten myself into?
000
Rabastan sat stiffly at the long, dark table, trying not to look completely out of place. Around him were the highest-ranking Death Eaters, people who had been plotting with Voldemort for years. Rabastan, of course, had no idea what any of them were talking about. Strategy meeting. Okay, just nod along. Smile when appropriate. Blend in. You’re Rabastan. You’ve got this.
Voldemort sat at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping over his gathered followers with a cold intensity. “Our efforts in the Ministry have yielded some results,” Voldemort said smoothly. “But we need to be more unpredictable. Our enemies grow bolder.”
Rabastan nodded sagely, then tried not to panic as Voldemort’s eyes landed on him. Oh no, not again.
“Rabastan,” Voldemort said, his voice smooth but expectant. “What do you suggest?”
What do I suggest?! I suggest you ask someone who knows what they’re doing!
Rabastan swallowed hard, panic rising in his chest as every pair of eyes at the table turned toward him. Think. Just say something.
“Well, my Lord,” Rabastan began, stalling for time. What magic thing do I remember from Harry Potter memes? “Perhaps we could, uh, send owls?”
The room went deathly silent.
Oh no. Oh no, I’ve done it. I’ve ruined everything. Owls? Why owls?
Voldemort tilted his head slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he considered Rabastan’s suggestion. “Owls,” he repeated slowly.
Rabastan nodded frantically. “Yes, my Lord. A, uh, swarm of them with, uh... fake news! What the fuck, brain? “You know… to confuse the enemy. They wouldn’t expect it.” I’m dead. I’m so dead.
Voldemort’s gaze lingered on him for a long, terrifying moment. Then, to Rabastan’s utter shock, Voldemort smiled a thin, calculating smile. “Yes… yes, they wouldn’t expect it. A swarm of owls, delivering false information. A brilliant distraction.”
Brilliant distraction? Did he just call it brilliant?
Rabastan forced a smile, trying not to look as confused as he felt. “Exactly, my Lord. They’ll be completely disoriented. Won’t know what’s real and what’s not.”
Lucius Malfoy, seated to Rabastan’s right, gave a slow, impressed nod. “Ingenious. Simple, yet effective.”
Ingenious? What is happening?
Bellatrix, seated across from him, was staring at him with narrowed eyes, clearly trying to figure out what kind of game Rabastan was playing. Rabastan resisted the urge to squirm under her gaze. Oh no, she’s onto me. She knows I have no idea what’s going on.
Voldemort continued, clearly pleased with the idea. “Yes, Rabastan. Your unpredictability continues to serve you well. I will leave the details of this operation to you.”
Rabastan’s stomach dropped. Wait, what? I have to plan this?
“Yes, my Lord,” Rabastan croaked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. Plan? Details? What details? I don’t even know how to send a single owl! I have no idea what the real news is, let alone the fake news.
Voldemort’s eyes flicked over the rest of the table. “Now, for other matters. We’ve had success in securing additional allies. Sanguini and his coven have agreed to join us, thanks in no small part to the efforts of the Lestranges.”
Rabastan’s heart skipped a beat. Wait—what? Sanguini? The pushy vampire?
Voldemort’s gaze landed on Rabastan again, and there was a gleam of approval in his eyes. “Sanguini was very impressed with you in particular, Rabastan. You made quite the impression.”
Rabastan’s mind went blank. Oh no. What did I do? He tried to flirt with me, and I basically ran away. How is that impressive?
“Very impressed,” Voldemort repeated, his voice carrying an edge of something that made Rabastan’s skin crawl. “He will be a powerful ally.”
Rabastan could feel Bellatrix’s gaze burning into him from across the table. Oh great. Now everyone thinks I’m some kind of vampire seducer.
Voldemort nodded, clearly pleased. “With Sanguini’s support and the plan Rabastan has devised, we will move forward with some of our more sensitive missions. The Ministry won’t know what hit them.”
Lucius leaned toward Rabastan, whispering, “You’re becoming indispensable, Rabastan.”
Indispensable? I’m just trying not to die.
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, with Voldemort discussing plans that Rabastan barely understood, but all the while, Rabastan could feel the weight of the room’s attention on him. Every nod, every approving glance from Voldemort only made Rabastan more nervous.
As the meeting finally came to a close after Voldemort tortured some poor sod who had missed a deadline and the Death Eaters began to disperse, Rabastan lingered near the door, hoping to slip away unnoticed.
But Lucius caught up with him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your suggestion about the owls—genius. Truly. I never would have thought of that.”
Rabastan gave a weak smile. “Oh, you know, just thinking outside the box.”
“Unpredictability,” Lucius said with a smirk. “The Dark Lord values it greatly. You’ve impressed him more than you realize.”
Yeah, more than I realize. Definitely more than I realize.
As Lucius walked away, Rabastan sighed, rubbing his temples. Okay, just breathe. You’re Rabastan, the brilliant strategist, apparently. Just don’t think about how none of this makes any sense.