#lestrange sr

The house elf knocked sharply, only to disappear with a pop. This left Rabastan to glare at the space it had once stood, feeling suddenly abandoned. In the few seconds before his father’s response, he briefly wondered if he had time to fetch Rodolphus.

In any other situation, Rabastan would've shunned the need for the older boy’s support, especially with the air still not cleared since their most recent argument. If he was preparing to face anyone else, facing them alone would be a matter of pride. But, there was something about their father, an intimidating man at the best of times, that left Rabastan somewhere between desperate to prove himself and feeling five years old again; startled by his father's temper and taking cover behind his brother's legs. 

“Enter”.

At his father’s command, Rabastan braced himself. Despite his reluctance, he knew better than to keep him waiting, if only because it would betray his nerves. Not allowing himself time to pause, he pushed open the door, entering the room in what he hoped was a casual manner.

“You wanted to see me?”

Rabastan’s father, Aldéric Lestrange, gave a short wave of his hand, gesturing for him to come closer to the desk. The man didn’t look up from the parchment before him, brows furrowed as he signed something with a swipe of his quill.

There was a long pause before he turned his attention to Rabastan, allowing the boy a chance to gather himself. He stood with his shoulders straight, chin up and hands clasped behind his back, being mindful not to slouch in his usual manner.

“Where were you on the sixteenth of September?”

There was no prelude, no greetings or pleasantries, because that was not how Rabastan’s father worked.

Aldéric glanced up, if only briefly, to fix his youngest son with a sharp stare.

It was a silent challenge, daring him to lie.

Again, Rabastan steeled himself, struggling to predict how the man before him would respond.

“I was in Hogsmeade Village”. Perhaps it had been his father’s accusing tone, but the reply had come out sounding closer to a confession than an answer. Rabastan knew this was his first mistake.

There was another long pause.

It was a tendency of his father’s, to leave people waiting. He was not a man who allowed himself to be rushed. Over the years, this was something that infuriated Rabastan. It left him feeling impatient, a sense of doubt creeping over him as he waited for a response.

“And did you not think to inform me of this — neither before nor after?” While there was certainly a scathing edge to his words, a belittling tone Aldéric saved for his youngest son, it also held an unnerving calm.

In the days he’d been preparing for this meeting, Rabastan had always expected his father to be angry. Yes, he would've supported the attack on Hogsmeade, but Rabastan’s decision to join had been reckless; his fleeing at the first opportunity only further proof to the fact he was the lesser son.

But, his father simply laid his quill to one side, as if he had also been preparing for this conversation — with considerably more success, if his demeanour was anything to go by.

“You have always been irresponsible, Rabastan. But, this is not the time for rash decisions and callous behaviour. If you have any desire to be part of this cause, you must learn to grow up”.

To punctuate his words, Aldéric rose to his feet, watching the boy’s expression carefully. Under his father’s scrutiny, Rabastan couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably, bristling at the remarks being made. “Is that what you want?”  His father continued. “To become fully involved?”

This was it.

This was what Rabastan had spent his summer hoping for.

Even before news of the first attacks started to make the papers, his father had begun to have secretive meetings with family friends. They would speak quietly in small grounds, clamming up as soon as he approached.

Of course, Rabastan knew what they were discussing. The reasons behind the attacks were not a secret, both he and his brother being made to understand they were merely extensions on the beliefs they’d been raised with.

Yet, the conversations themselves were exclusive, open only to family friends and, from what Rabastan could tell, his brother.

But, this was the question he had been waiting for; an invitation into the private discussions, to be deemed capable and given the opportunity to prove himself.

If his father had asked a few months ago, the answer would have been simple.

Yes.