#rlestrcnge

Dear Rab,

I do hope you receive this letter and actually read this as well. First of all, I hope you are well. And I hope Alecto and the little ones are well too, she must be getting very close now. I saw your wife at St. Mungo’s the other day.

It seems that I am able to ramble on paper as much as I am able to do so in person when I don’t know how to say things.

All I can do is hope that you are willing to listen. I know I have done something perceived as unforgivable by many. But all I have done in the end, is following my heart. I needed to choose my own happiness after having ignored it for years. But despite this choice, I do miss my old life. I miss my brother. I miss you, my other friends that I no longer have.

So where I know that Lucius would not even read this letter, let alone open it. I’m hoping you will.

Like I said; I miss you and I hope you are okay. And I hope we can talk.

For the entire night, Cressida had been bothered by a bit older employee from the Ministry. A man who could not take a hint because she had been trying to get rid of him for a majority of the evening now. He was clingy and he was showing way too much interest in her and the blonde just wanted to get out of there. She wanted to get out early, telling her parents that she was returning home early, so she could sneak over to Tib's place instead. But so far... That was not going to happen.

Cressida nodded slowly as if she was listening to what the man was telling her, when her eyes caught a familiar appearance near her. Rabastan Lestrange. Someone who she had been once so familiar with but only was acquainted with now. But the look in her eyes said enough when she finally caught his attention; please help me.

Whether reality or simple illusion, the brilliance of it remained all the same. There was something regal and ancient about the place, sophisticated and yet not all that full of life. It held class, no denying there. No would Rita ever have dared to consider the mere notion. The soft sounds of a piano still playing in her ears from the home of hers she’d left behind, she’d been sitting, listening to the idle chatter of a certain portrait. Rabastan’s home certainly held a charm not many could match for reasons all together unique.

How many times had the witch found herself in the same spot? Waiting for the master of the house or the house elf to come pick her up. It wasn’t surprising to receive an owl with an invitation nor did she mind it. No, quite the opposite. Each time the younger Lestrange had summoned her it had been for good reason and never something she wished to deny the other.