Disclaimer: Rabastan Lestrange and all other Death Eaters belong to the incomparable J. K. Rowling, as does Azkaban and anything else you recognise.
The few OC's mentioned belong to me.
Behind The Mask:
Resigned To His Fate
I know I'm probably the last person you would want to hear from. At the moment, I'm the last person I want to hear from.
I really did try to save you that day. I really did want that to be the last fight I was involved in. My, how six months can change things.
Seeing you lying there
Rabastan tore off the top of the parchment and threw it out his barred cell window into the icy waters below in frustration. How hard could it be to write a bloody letter? Willing himself to ignore the stinging in his eyes, he began again;
Aoife,
I honestly don't know what to say. Or if you will even know I'm writing this. But, knowing you, you would probably already be trying to write this for me.
What I said to you, about the two of us just running away until this was all over, was dea- very serious. I only wish I could tell you that in person.
I never thought much about what I was doing, I just joined because my father and my brother joined. but now that I know first hand what it feels to lose someone who you would give anything to protect...well, this impending sentence hanging over my head? I will complete it happily once I know that you have received this.
Seriously, the only bad memories I have are
Rabastan roared angrily, throwing the entire piece of parchment out of the window, followed by one of the two quills he had managed to scavenge.
Still thinking hard, his cell door creaked open and a Dementor came in with a tray of food.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, Rabastan chanted in his head repeatedly, thinking of the time he threw some of his brothers' wedding cake at one of Lucius Malfoys' peacocks. It didn't seem like much of a memory, but it was enough to keep his most terrible memories at bay until the Dementor glided away, locking the door behind it.
Under his plate of dinner, Rabastan noticed an envelope. Running his long fingers through his long brown hair, he ripped it open.
Your trial will take place tomorrow afternoon at 3:30pm.
His heart sank, and he sat down on his hard bed, rubbing his temples and running his hands over his once clean-shaven face. Rita Skeeter would have a field day at the papers over what he looked like now.
He thought about the charges hanging over his head. He could always show remorse for what he had done - and he did want to - but if he did, he would have an even bigger bounty on his head by both sides. And Bellatrix would probably murder him in cold blood, but that he could handle.
He left his plate of disgusting looking food uneaten and fell into an uneasy sleep, always hearing Aoife's last scream at that homely house, but always sounding louder and shriller than what he remembered.
He was at the Cartwell residence, a well known family of mudbloods. They had fled there after the Longbottom's had fallen to Bellatrix's skill, and he had been in somewhat of a daze ever since.
Behind his mask; the obligatory one all Death Eaters wore, his eyes stung with tears as he watched his deranged sister-in-law torture the young Cartwell parents in front of their three innocent children. He guessed that their eldest daughter was no more than five, and her two brothers were no more than three.
When the girl screamed, for her mother had shrieked at Bellatrix's Cruciatus curse, his heart was wrenched in two. He and Aoife had wanted children - three girls was what they had decided on. Aoife had always wanted to be a mother, and it wasn't until he had seen her with her nieces and nephew did he realise that he would be honoured for such a woman to continue the Lestrange blood-line.
Feeling light-headed, he mumbled something about looking around the house to his brother, but wanting nothing more than a cup of tea and to lie down. He felt in his pocket unconsciously for the small, emerald green velvet box he had kept with him.
He found himself in the Cartwell living room, several plates of cakes and assorted biscuits were on the coffee table, looking untouched, and the soft lounges looked new.
He heard a scream again from the other room. We're tearing families apart, he thought, shaking.
He took out the small box from his pocket, admiring the emerald and diamond ring that lay in it. He had given it to Aoife not even a week ago.
She had thrown it back at him two days later, after hearing of the death of her sister Clodagh at the hand of Augustus Rookwood and Amycus Carrow.
The next morning - or was it afternoon? - Rabastan was pulled roughly out of his cell by two Dementors, their scaly, rotting hands cutting into his arms. He nodded to Rodolphus when he joined him in what was a sort of waiting room. The Dementors never left and their decaying smell was continually wafting through the air.
Finally, after the rest of his co-accused; Bellatrix Lestrange, his infamous sister-in-law, and Barty Crouch Jr., son of the ministry heavy-weight Barty Crouch Sr., arrived, Bellatrix muttering darkly and incoherently. The four of them were pushed harshly from the room and out onto a slimy jetty, where a boat that looked on the verge of sinking was waiting for them.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Barty squeaked as he was pushed into the boat after the Lestranges, his brow covered in sweat.
"Perfectly safe," a portly ministry wizard said, sitting at the prow with his own personal patronus for protection.
For the first time, Rabastan looked at his brother and sister-in-law. They both looked thinner than the last time he had laid eyes on them, but they didn't look completely miserable. Bellatrix's thick black hair, which was wild at the best of times, was blowing around in the wind, and her black eyes looked slightly mad. It suddenly downed on him why Bellatrix was feared before she had even drawn her wand. Despite the depression he felt, Rabastan managed to crack a small smirk that went unnoticed by everyone else.
His brother, Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband, was looking rather shaken. His once perfectly quaffed hair was long, greasy and matted, and his nose, which was broken a fight just before he was imprisoned, had been mended off centre-
Barty screamed, interrupting Rabastans' thoughts. "Lemme off, lemme off," the kid, for he was no more than nineteen, shrieked whilst trying to jump overboard and into the murky, rough sea.
Two Dementors grabbed his hair sandy and pulled him back to his seat. Although Rabastan wasn't sure if Dementors had emotion, he could tell that Barty's misery excited them.
"How far to land?" Rabastan croaked after a while, feeling sea sick.
"Not far now," the ministry wizard replied, dabbing at his sweaty brow and looking slightly green himself.
Rabastan checked the pocket of his ragged black robes again, making sure he still had the letter he had managed to write and that it hadn't blown away in the fierce wind.
Finally, the rickety boat reached land, much to Rabastan's relief. The four accused were lead from the boat onto a beach, their hands shackled in iron that glowed, as though it were enchanted - which it probably was, Rabastan thought - and were told to wait for the Ministry wizards return while the Dementors would guard. The ministry wizard then apparated, and Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan and Barty had their first reminder of freedom in over four months.
"We're faithful, we'll be rewarded," Rabastan heard Bellatrix chanting softly while she drew odd symbols in the sand, occasionally flicking her eyes to her Dark Mark.
Mimicking her, he looked down at the tattoo on his left arm. Unlike her, he did it in disgust.
Not a moment later, a loud crack sounded and the ministry wizard returned, along with four other wizards.
"We're using side-along apparation to get you to your trial," one of the wizards explained curtly.
"You two may go," he added to the Dementors who had patrolled.
Rabastan was pulled up by a wizard he vaguely recognised, although he couldn't place a name to the face. Instantly, he was sucked into the pressing darkness of apparation. Just as quickly, he found himself, along with the other ministry wizards and his co-accused, in a corridor he assumed was in the Department of Mysteries.
Rodolphus gave him a reassuring smile as they were lead roughly into the courtroom by Dementors and forcedly sat down in some chairs.
As his arms settled into the arm rests, the chairs glowed and bound him there in golden chains. He was on the far left, with his brother on his right. He wearily glanced up at the wizards present for the trial and noticed they were all glaring down at he and his co-accused. On the far right, he could hear Barty whimpering.
Then, the trial for the torture and incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom, along with other crimes of sinister nature, began...
The sound of many loud cracks signified the Aurors had arrived at the Cartwell home, just after one of the girls had screamed. He hoped that the half-breed Greyback was not responsible for her pain. Her agonising screams, combined with her mothers, made Rabastan physically sick. He wanted nothing more than to help her, to get the family to somewhere safer.
For once in his life, Rabastan was glad the Aurors had come in time. He prayed that there was still hope for this family. Automatically, and feeling repulsed by what was happening, he tore his mask off and threw it into the fire, hoping he would never have to wear it again.
He sighed heavily, however, he was not prepared for the sound of breaking glass and someone flying in through the window.
"I should have known," a voice growled dangerously.
He looked up from where he was sitting on the lounge to see Siobhan, one of Aoife's triplet sisters, glaring daggers at him, while tying her short blonde hair back by a black bandanna. He hung his head.
She opened her mouth to say something else when more yelling sounded from the next room. Both of them turned, and Rabastan saw the commotion that was taking place, and heard the unmistakable sound of Bellatrix's mad laughter echoing.
"Well, I guess your friends will be expecting you to fight, Lestrange," Siobhan yelled over her shoulder as she ran for Bellatrix, who was making her way up the stairs.
He didn't want to listen to the fighting, but felt that, like Siobhan had said, it was expected of him to try to fend off the Aurors.
Half-heartedly, he shot an insult at Garry Burke, one of the more senior Aurors, and followed with the red stunning spell. He prayed that it would miss him, and maybe hit Yaxley instead.
Of course, Bellatrix had to say that she felt no remorse. Rabastan didn't hold it against her. He finally understood her absolute devotion to the Dark Lord and realised that she would continue such devotion to her dying day. She was in love with him, and Rabastan knew what one would do for love.
Crouch didn't say anything back to her, which infuriated her even more.
Once Bellatrix's rant was cut short, the sentencing was handed down. Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Barty Crough Jr. were sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.
One of Rabastan's few ministry friends, who was present at the trial, slowly walked past him, pretending to make sure the shackles on the chair were sturdy.
"Top pocket," Rabastan breathed nonchalantly, and his friend took the letter he had finally managed to write.
"I'll make sure it arrives safely," his friend muttered. "Good luck, man."
He hadn't seen her at first. Garry proved to be quite the dueller, and the roof was slowly caving in amidst the chaos. He had noticed, to his relief, that the children were nowhere in sight, and hoped desperately that the right side had taken them.
Shooting another stunning spell at Garry, he looked towards the kitchen.
His mouth dropped when he saw her duelling; shooting numerous spells, blocking others and dodging around the cupboards, while still managing to throw a knife at Avery at the other end of the kitchen. Rabastan was pleased to see it hit it's target. She let out a laugh as her victim disapparated. Her blonde hair was flying behind her, and she looked as though she were having the time of her life. She looked exactly as she did when they first met.
She looked up, her delicate features looking confused as her green eyes widened, surprised.
Pushing Garry out of the way, he ran towards her, embracing her tightly. Her hair still had the trademark strawberry scent which he had grown rather fond of.
"I love you," she shouted over the noise, tears streaming down her face, "and I still want to be the one who tames the legendary Society bachelor."
Oblivious to the fighting around them, and not noticing the many spells that were shooting over their heads, he quickly pulled out the emerald and diamond ring he had given her and slipped it onto her dainty ring finger, kissing her passionately.
She broke away, smiling at him, but then her big green eyes widened once more, but with horror this time. The words "Avada Kedavra!" were yelled from behind.
"No!" Rabastan screamed, trying to get in front of his fiancé before the spell hit.
He didn't make it, and was forced to watch the body of Aoife Adel, the future Mrs. Rabastan Lestrange, hit the kitchen tiles in what felt like slow motion.
"Why didn't you kill her?" Evan Rosier yelled at him, his brown hair partly singed. "She's an Adel, you would have been dead if you stayed a moment longer-"
Rabastan turned around slowly, his aristocratic face white with shock, to look at Rosier. The room blurred for a moment, and clawed at the kitchen bench to steady himself
Rosier laughed uncertainly, ducking from a yellow curse. "What's wrong, Lestrange?"
Rabastan wanted nothing more than to kill the man, to destroy him. Two deaths surely make a right, don't they? Swallowing the bile that had risen to his throat, he slowly raised his want to point directly at Rosiers' chest.
As he opened his mouth to say the spell, Rabastan saw a red light coming towards him over Rosier's shoulder. Changing his mind, he had a smile on his face as he was stunned, falling hard into the blessed darkness, not feeling a thing. He landed next to Aoife's small, cold body, but he didn't know...
Rabastan accepted his fate; the fact that freedom would never again be his, the fact that he was to rot in Azkaban, the fact that he could never see the grave of his dead fiancé.
And as Aoife was no longer in the world, he didn't care where he was, just as long as he never forgot what an amazing woman he had been able to call his own.
Sailing back to Azkaban in the same rickety boat, the only thing Rabastan thought of was the letter he had managed to write. It was neither happy or sad, so even with the dementor's presence, he could think about it all he liked...
Aoife
I'm sorry
I love you
and I miss you...
'till we meet again,
whenever that may be
R