FIRST: Happy Eighteenth Nimiko. You're a doll. Thanks for sitting through all my HP nerdiness and obsession. Hope you have a fab day. ^_^
Disclaimer: Not even such a minor character as Rabastan is remotely mine. JKR you are the amazing creator. I merely play with your designs.
R A B
It had been so simple.
Instead of complexly hiding his identity, he had signed the offensive note with the first three letters of his name, and let everything fall into place of its own accord. The Dark Lord – blinded by his own ideals - would never uncover the true loyalties of this younger son.
It was one folly that Voldemort – Tom Riddle Junior - had never foreseen; Slytherins could never be trusted in times of danger. Self preservation was too embedded in their way of life to make them good soldiers.
Hufflepuffs, the man thought to himself. If Riddle had wanted an army, he should have searched through the house of Badgers; hard working, loyal and content to follow, they were. Not leaders. Rarely leaders.
He remembered the sense of accomplishment he had felt as he'd secured the slip of parchment into the locket.
It had all been so convenient.
The Dark Lord was angry with Regulus already at that time; the boy had failed in his task, but his desire to please Voldemort had increased ten-fold. Sadly, in an attempt to repair his misdeed, he had done something stupid, and he had paid for it with his life.
The man smiled grimly. He didn't feel remorse for what he had caused; the Black boy was too far gone by then - like Bellatrix, he was consumed by the Dark Mark.
The falsity surrounding Regulus Arcturus Black's death had given him redemption in the eyes of the Light, even if it was underserved.
The man glanced at the old clock that sat on the mantelpiece as it signalled the eleventh hour. He returned from his thoughts to finish the half written note before him.
Rodolphus,
I will be out of town for three nights. Official business, unable to be discussed.
- Rabastan
He read over it once, suddenly scribbling out his name, replacing it with the informal nickname his older brother hadn't called him since school.
Rab.
It had been so easy to frame the younger Black.
Rabastan tied the parchment to his eagle owl's leg and watched as the bird flew off through the cloak of darkness that surrounded the house.
Dun dun dun. So, this is totally a what-if-RAB-was-actually-Rabastan-and-Reg-was-really-a-bastard. Because I'm a little bits nuts, and thought it was cool. I like Rabastan. Sometimes. He's cool in a creepy way. =D
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