#bazlestrange

So it went without saying that when Gil accidentally stumbled into speaking distance of Rabastan at the ceilidh, his life flashed before his eyes. At least if he died and the Christians had it all right, he’d get to see Regulus again.

“Rabastan!” He squeaked, one hand going to fluff his hair nervously. “So, err, lovely to see you here, of all places.”

@bazlestrange

Zahi didn’t like Diagon Alley. It was took crowded, and he could get most of what he wanted right in Hogsmeade. Occasionally he had to stray, and he was officially of the opinion that he never wanted to come back here again.

Zahi slipped down a side street, hoping to avoid the chaos. Unfortunately his gamble proved to be a bad one. As he walked past an open doorway, he heard growling from instead. Zahi paused, not walking to look back and make eye contact.

He looked straight ahead, vaguely relieved when someone ambled around the corner, even if it was Rabastian Lestrange. Not his favorite Lestrange. Not his least favorite either. Also, better than Bella.

Eyes scanning along Bas from top to bottom, he wasn't surprised that Bas seemed unharmed following the attacks, but he still had to check. "I don't have yogurt in here, but there's jello. And fruit, but it's mixed together." Alaric warned, pushing his picked over lunch tray away from himself. @bazlestrange

The Slytherin common room was dim, the light on the walls a combination of sconces and the wavering green waves that came from the wall of glass just across from the fireplace, where the black lake stretched out with all its mystery. Every so often you’d catch an upperclassmen teaching a gaggle of first-years sign language so they could communicate with the mermaids who sometimes swam up to tap the glass. Other times there were study groups, or even wild parties when Slytherin won a quidditch match or a wizard chess tournament. 

Now, however, at 2am on a Wednesday night, everyone with half a brain was in bed. Whether they were asleep was another matter entirely, but the fact was that the common room was empty, so there was no-one on earth to interrupt Lucius or his thousand-yard stare. 

The letter from his parents burned a hole in the couch next to him, but he hadn’t opened it yet, afraid to. That would mean having to confront the whirlwind of emotions beating just behind his ribs, pressing behind his eyes, stabbing each of temples in a rhythm. 

And then someone cleared their throat, and Lucius was pulled from his empty musings with all the grace of being shoved into a freezing-cold lake. 

“I- I’m sorry, what?” he glanced over at the intruder, still blinking away the imprint of the fire behind his eyes.

Rudolphus resisted the urge to tap his fingers against the desk: the clock on the wall had ticked five past. Five past five. Five past when his brother was supposed to be here. He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he was disappointed enough to heave a sigh and pull open the desk drawer to the left of him. 

If Rabastian was going to keep him waiting, he might as well get some work done. He methodically placed each different front page draft across the space of the wide oak desk that was the crown of his spacious office, each bearing a slightly different layout for what the next morning’s Prophet would look like. He scowled when he saw that one of Gilderoy Lockhart’s puff pieces had been snuck above the fold on one of the drafts. It was all according to plan, of course; push the gossip columns, the society pages, take people’s minds off of the politics. That didn’t mean that Rudolphus liked having to do so. The Prophet was a propaganda machine, and he ran it well, but one day he’d make it a legitimate business again and be proud to run it. 

He went about with his quill noting changes, striking pictures, resisting the urge to send howlers to his page designers. 

He found himself resisting a lot of things, lately. It was harder to keep his composure as the war escalated, as people tested his patience, as cracks began to spread through the spun-glass image he kept in the back of his mind, of the world he wanted to create. That world couldn’t exist without his younger brother. Of course, their relationship had been... strained, at best, of late. 

It was time to repair that. If, of course, Rabastian ever decided to show up. 

He didn’t glance up when the door swung open, waiting. 

“Mr. Lestrange?” It was his secretary, her blonde hair spelled into a perfectly revolting coiffeur. 

Rudolphus looked over at the clock; it was now twenty past five. 

“Your brother is here, sir.”

He rose from the desk and crossed to the bar cart along the far wall. He poured himself a shot of firewhiskey, downed it, and looked down at the streets below through his window. 

“Send him in.”

“BAS. I’d kill for Bas. I do kill for Bas. And with Bas. He’s such a great little weirdo. We go shopping together! And he’s got so many cats. I mean, they’re not better than birds but they do purr and that’s wild. Listen, anything Bas needs I would do for him. He’s a good friend. He’s good. Love Bas.”

Bas and Alaric, Volume One

i: please don’t leave me - p!nk. ii: c’est la mort - civil wars. iii: i don’t know why - imagine dragons. iv: the anchor - bastille. v: church - fall out boy. vi: king of the clouds - panic! at the disco. vii: lift me up -onerepublic. viii: hiding - florence + the machine. ix: one foot - walk the moon. x: polarize - twenty-one pilots. xi: lovesong - kevin devine. xii: note to god - charice. xiii: waves - dean lewis. xiv: i will follow you into the dark - death cab for cutie. xv: into the storm - banners. xvi: sinner - andy grammar

Bas and Alaric, Volume Two

i: #1 crush - garbage. ii: young and beautiful - lana del rey. iii: one way or another - until the ribbon breaks. iv: wherever you will go - charlene soraia. v: every breath you take - chase holfelder. vi: drop the game - flume, nick murphy. vii: bury a friend - billie eilish. viii: i got you (I feel good) - jessie j. ix: umbrella -ember island. x: here with me - marshmello, chvrches. xi: oh my love - the score. xii: i won’t let you go - james morrison. xiii: heaven’s gate - fall out boy. xiv: doubt - twenty-one pilots. xv: say amen (it’s saturday night) - panic! at the disco. xvi: dangerous - david guetta, sam martin.

Lucius felt his stomach tighten when he approached the younger Lestrange. Rabastan scared him more than Walden McNair did, but he needed to speak to the other man and it couldn’t wait. Not when Lucius was in such desperate need, and he knew Lestrange could do what he asked. 

“Lestrange,” he greeted, though his gaze darted slightly past Rabastan when he saw Narcissa dart through the crowd, practically glowing. His beautiful wife. The light of his life. The best thing to ever happen to him. He would do anything to protect her. To protect the life they were building together. “I don’t suppose you’ve tarot cards hidden in that kilt of yours?”

Alongside your knives, he didn’t say, though he knew there would certainly be plenty. 

“I’m sorry to pull you away from the dancing but- well. I’ve a favor to ask you, and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”