DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
Drabble Club: candle (item)
Quidditch Pitch: Rabastan Lestrange (character)
Emotion Challenge: Heartbroken
Greek Mythology Category Competition: Tartarus: Write a fic with either Angst or tragedy for the genre
If You Dare Challenge: 75. Sprawl
200 Characters in 200 Days: Rabastan Lestrange
Cinema Competition II: The Silence of the Lambs: Write something that shows sympathy for a bad guy.
Potions Club: Lacewing Flies: Write about beauty being devoured or snuffed out.
Fairy Tales Challenge: The Adventures of Pinnochio - Write about a lie.
Optional Prompts: fury, "Beautiful Crime" by Tamer
Challenge Your Versatility: Tragedy
Rabastan watches as a robed figure steps forward, carrying itself in a regal, ladylike manner.
"Who are you?" the Dark Lord asks, leaning forward.
The figure pulls the hood of its cloak down, revealing a torrent of tangles molten gold. "My name is Ila. Ila Vyras."
"Vyras," the Dark Lord says. His eyes narrow. "I'm not familiar with that. Pureblood?"
Ila swallows before replying. "Halfblood, my lord."
"Are you any good at duelling?"
"Best in my class, my lord," she says, raising her head with a hint of pride.
Rabastan's eyes narrow in interest. Best in her class? She must be good.
"Come here, Vyras," the Dark Lord says, waving a hand at her.
Ila walks up with trembling feet. The Dark Lord takes her arm and pushes back the sleeve. He presses his wand against her pale, ivory skin and whispers a spell: "Morsmordre."
Ila hisses as the mark burns itself onto her skin. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
"Vyras, you are now a Death Eater," the Dark Lord says, wearing a cold smile.
She bows.
"Vyras. Lestrange. You two will be leading the raid at Hogsmeade," the Dark Lord says, tapping his fingers on the wood of his chair.
"Very well, my lord," Rabastan says, shooting a glance at Ila, who has come to stand next to him.
The girl had proved herself to be a fierce fighter and had risen to the inner circle of the Dark Lord with ease. Her duelling was famed to be incomparable.
"Who will we be taking with us, my lord?" Ila asks, cracking her knuckles. Her amber eyes are guarded as always.
"Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Goyle, Crabbe, and Dolohov." As the Dark Lord says each of their names, the Death Eaters step forward from the sea of black robes.
Rabastan scans the Death Eaters carefully, analyzing how to use them. Goyle and Crabbe—the dunderheads—would not of much use, other than to simply keep an eye for Order members—though, Rabastan doubts that they had the capacity to do even that.
Bellatrix looks indignant, as if she had been expecting to lead the raid as she usually did. Her black eyes are lit up in fury.
"Do you have a problem with this arrangement, Bellatrix?" Rabastan asks, smirking.
"I don't understand what gave you that idea, brother-in-law." Bellatrix puts on a sickly sweet smile. "This is perfect."
"Good," Ila says, fixing her amber eyes on them. "I expect all of you to follow my orders without question."
Bellatrix is clearly resisting the urge to pull out her wand and hex Ila. Rabastan put an arm around her, smirking again. "Have anything to say?"
"Not at all," Bellatrix grinds out, forcing her face into an emotionless mask. She shrugs off Rabastan's arm.
"We'll discuss plans later," Ila says from behind Rabastan. She turns to leave when Rabastan grabs her arm.
"How about after the meeting?"
She doesn't meet his eyes. "I'm busy then." She pulls her arm free and walks out.
Rabastan leans back, resting his legs on the table. A yawn escapes his mouth. His eyes have long strayed away from the mess of parchment on the table; instead, they are fixed on Ila's face, scouring it for every little detail.
That little dent in her bottom lip is cute. The way her eyes lit up when she had an idea—cute. Yes, he's a Death Eater, and he's calling his fellow Death Eater cute.
What in the name of Merlin is wrong with me? he thinks.
Ila frowns. "Pay attention, will you?" She shoves his legs off the table.
"It's late."
She raises an eyebrow. "Do I look like I care?"
Rabastan laughs. "Touché." He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to at least crack a smile.
But she doesn't. All she does it sit there and purse her lips, occasionally biting her lip. Her nose seems to crinkle up in an adorable way.
For some strange reason, Rabastan wants to be the one who will finally bring a smile to her rosy lips.
"Rabastan?" she says, snapping her fingers in front of him.
He blinks and shakes his head. "Just thinking."
"Penny for your thoughts."
He manages to keep a cool face. "Say, how about putting Bellatrix at the front line?"
Ila frowns again as if she knows he's lying. But she doesn't say anything. "Sure."
Please smile for me. Just once, Rabastan finds himself thinking.
Rabastan pulls her behind the door, his hand wrapping around her wrist. "Come one!"
Ila pulls her hand away and stands there. For once, her eyes aren't guarded.
They're distressed.
Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Her eyes dart around in a frenzy.
"What's wrong?" he asks, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms.
She swallows. "I can't… I can't do this." A tear slips out of her eye, a perfect drop. It slides down her cheek, stopping at her chin for one, precious moment. Then it falls.
More follow.
Rabastan can't believe that he is seeing her unravel like this.
"Ila."
She wipes her tears away hastily. "Forget what I said."
"Ila—" he says, but she cuts him off, her eyes hardening.
"You didn't see me… cry."
He grabs her, holding her face in his palms. She stares up at him in bemusement as he leans closer. Her eyes are still slightly clouded, the amber covered in a shimmering sheen.
"Rabastan, what are you doing?" she asks, biting her lip. "We're supposed to be out there. Fighting."
"Telling you something I should have told you long ago." He leans even closer.
Their lips are only a breath away. He can feel her warm breath graze his chin, a soft caress that leaves him longing for more.
"Ila…"
Her eyes are worried now. "Rabastan, what is this?"
"Something I shouldn't be feeling." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "Love."
He closes the distance between them, his lips crashing onto hers.
At first, Ila hesitates. Then she responds, her lips moving with his. It is a dance of passion and hesitance, force and gentleness.
Ila breaks apart suddenly, her cheeks dusted red. She gapes at him.
"What did we just do?" A hint of a smile graces her lips.
He stares at her for a moment. Then he smiles. "Shared love."
The next few weeks passes by in a blur of kisses, secret hugs, and shared glances.
The taste of Ila's lips was intoxicating. It was like an addicting drug that Rabastan needed every day, every second.
Ila still had her secrets; her eyes were guarded as usual, but it didn't bother Rabastan. All he needed was her. Not her secrets.
And then, in just one sentence, it all crashed.
"My lord," Bellatrix purrs, bowing so low her lips nearly brush the bottom of the Dark Lord's robes.
"What is it, Bellatrix?" the Dark Lord asks, a hint of annoyance showing through in his voice.
"I have some… interesting news." She glances at Ila.
Rabastan has a bad feeling about the glint of triumphance in Bellatrix's black eyes.
"Really?" The Dark Lord doesn't look up from his examination of his wand.
"Concerning Vyras. Ila Vyras."
Rabastan's heartbeat starts to race. He squeezes Ila's hand as he glances at her. Her face is pale and distressed, eyes full of anxiety.
The Dark Lord looks up. "Oh?"
"Vyras… is a member of the…" Bellatrix trails off tauntingly, leaving the words hanging in the air. She is smirking.
"Finish your statement, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord says, leaning forward.
Ila has become even more frightened. Her eyes are wide.
"Vyras… is a member of the Order."
Order.
Ila.
Order.
"You…" He closes his eyes, hoping that this all just a nightmare.
"Rabastan, please—"
"Please don't tell me it's true," he says, holding back tears. He almost pushes her away.
"I had to," she whispers, making no effort to stop her tears.
"Why?"
"Enough, Rabastan," the Dark Lord says, standing up. He pulls out his wand. "Bellatrix, how did you find this… information?"
"I saw her, my lord. She was talking to an Order member—Sirius, I think." Bellatrix's eyes gleam in the dim light.
"Is that true, Vyras?" the Dark Lord says. He twirls his wand languidly.
Rabastan's eyes are fixed on Ila's shaking figure. "Tell me."
"My lord, it's— it's… true."
Rabastan gaze travels over her tear-streaked face, her watery amber eyes. Then to their hands. He jerks his hand away in horror.
"You… you lied to me."
"Rabastan, I—"
"Don't give me any of that nonsense. You made me fall for you, the spy."
"I—"
"I gave you everything," he whispers, closing his eyes. "Everything. And this is how you return it."
"I love you, Rabastan."
"You say you love me, but I don't think—"
"But our love is nothing compared to the whole world. I had to this for the sake of this world."
"Why can't I hate you?" he says, turning away. "Why do I still love you?"
"Because our love is stronger than this," she whispers, taking his hand in hers.
"Ila…"
"Don't call her Ila, brother-in-law," a sickly sweet cuts him off. "Her real name is Iskra."
"Iskra," he says, rolling the name on his tongue. "Spark."
Ila—no, Iskra— stares at him before pulling him in for a small kiss.
"I love you, Rabastan."
"How… touching," the Dark Lord says. He waves his wand, and Iskra is bound by ropes in an instant. "Bring her before me."
"With pleasure, my lord," Bellatrix says, flicking her tongue across her lips in a serpentine manner. She grabs Iskra by her hair and drags her to the Dark Lord's feet. Iskra lies sprawled on the ground, her golden hair a halo of light.
"Lestrange, come here," the Dark Lord says, waving a hand at Rabastan.
"Yes, my lord." Rabastan walks forward. He is careful to keep his eyes trained away from Iskra.
"I want you to kill her."
"My lord?" Rabastan says, blinking. Then the words settle in.
Kill Iskra.
"My lord, please don't make me do this."
"Weaklings should be punished. Kill her." The Dark Lord wears a cold smirk.
Rabastan raised his wand, quivering.
"I'm sorry," he whispers as he points his wand at Iskra.
She looks up at him, her eyes still strong. "I understand."
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light speeds toward Iskra, hitting her chest. The light in her eyes leaves slowly.
Iskra falls limp.
"I've blown out the candle," he whispers, falling to his knees. He buries his head in her hair, ignoring the jeers from the Death Eaters.
He has snuffed Iskra. Taken away her life, her beauty, her everything.
The Death Eaters slowly leave.
His sobs echo in the empty room. "Iskra."
He lifts his head and stares at her, stroking her hair.
If this is what heartbreak is, then it is the most painful thing in the world.
"I gave you everything," he says, "but life."