Trust Me || 3 January 1979, 7:00 am || Rabastan & Cyrus
“Trust me I'll be there when you need me You'll be safe here And when you finally trust me Finally believe in me
I will let you down”
Nerves buzzing from the vestiges of Alice’s dreamscape still clinging at the edges of his mind, Rabastan’s shaking hands poured whiskey into a tumbler by the table where the empty potion bottle sat. He had left her inside. Taking his first sip, he turned to look at her. Hair damp with sweat, her eyes twitched beneath closed eyelids and her limbs jerked against their invisible bonds periodically. Left to its own devices, the mind was a beautifully efficient thing--dredging up memories and what-ifs and blending them into something uniquely her own, something that Rabastan wouldn’t have been able to conjure up himself.
Just as the sound of the ancient grandfather clock in the foyer of the mansion finished chiming out seven o’clock, a searing pain cut through his thoughts and he bent over, a hand pressed to the side of his head. The wards around the mansion had fallen. Stumbling forward, he slammed the tumbler down on the table and took hold of his wand, leaving the room at a run. Through a set of doors and up the stairs through another, sealing them all behind him, he rushed to the foyer. Rabastan heard the painted tile outside the door crack, the pair of gargoyles perched on either side of the stone arch above the door dropping from their places to engage the intruders. Raising his wand, he whispered spells intently and the metal snake adorning the massive oak door uncurled to slither through the braces on either side. But just as it settled into place, the cathedral windows flanking the doors exploded inward in a shower of glass and stone and he threw an arm over his head to protect himself, the other sweeping out to blow the trio of Death Eaters running to his side back out of the range of the debris. He searched for Cyrus among them, but he wasn’t to be found.
Then they were in, crawling through the destroyed windows like termites from wood. And from the masks on their faces, a mockery of his own, he knew this was not the Order coming to collect their own, but Aversio. Against all logic, a feral grin cut across his face. Finally.
“Come on!”
Rabastan slashed through the air with his wand, the heavy tomes lining high shelves along the walls flying into a whirlwind around them, pummeling the bodies of the attackers. Time became a blur and action became instinct. He didn’t stop to wipe the blood from his eyes or slow to compensate for his twisted knee. Lightning hummed in his veins and he released the storm. Books littered the floor and the grandfather clock behind him had exploded, the engraved wood charred and the inward components warped by a curse that had missed him by inches. It had struck down the Death Eater by his side and passed right through to the wall, leaving the masked man’s twisted body in a heap on the ground.
He deflected attack after attack, but was backed like a dog into the corner until one inevitably slipped through his defense. He couldn’t draw the breath to scream as he felt his ribs crack, the residual force enough to toss him against the wall like a ragdoll. Stumbling, he lashed out with his wand and snarled, “Avada Kedavra!”
{ @cyrusborgin }
