So what happens when you don't really feel like studying, and Spotify throws you Mr. Sandman by SYML, followed by Carry Me by Eurielle? This.
This is an insight into Rodolphus Lestrange mind during his second imprisonment in Azkaban.
Meant as a side-piece to Birds become Dragons, it stands on its own.
If you are reading it, this doesn't parallel any chapter specifically.
If you are not, I think you already have all the information you need.
As always, reviews feed the bunnies that keep the author going.
Bring Me a Dream
He begs the night to bring him slumber, amidst the cold and the howling wind. He begs the night to bring him a dream. His favourite dream, his only remaining treasure in the wet and freezing darkness.
The night isn't a generous mistress. She will often deny his pledge; even more often she mocks it for weeks, giving him only nightmares.
Galloping creatures that storm into his sleep for nights and nights unending, relentless. He almost wishes for his guards those nights, when the nightmares bring his Master back and he has to watch her die again, unable to wake, made to dwell in all the things he could have done to prevent it.
But every now and then, the night is giving and his shattered mind welcomes the true owner of him.
He dreams of her, of her lips like roses and her dark tresses like the night. Of her wide grey eyes, like stormy seas that he had looked into so many, many times without ever seeing past the surface, yet drowning every single time. Of the feeling of her against his body, like a wave crashing on his skin turned sand, welcoming her cool in his warmth.
Sometimes she comes to him laughing and smiling, spinning around and around on bare feet amongst freshly moaned grass. Her hair dancing in the wind, her laughter filling every nook of his soul.
Sometimes she comes as the dark powerful temptress he adored the most. Walking ahead of him, leading him by the hand as her hips move tenderly. They never reach their destination.
Sometimes she is lying on their bed, giggling in a silk nightgown mostly concealed by the sheets. Smiling up to him as he plays with her curls. He lowers his head to kiss her, but never reaches her lips.
Those nights are his quiet nights. He doesn't kick the remainder of his blankets, he doesn't struggle on the mattress, no screams break the seal of his chafed lips. He only hums comforting sounds.
Bella.
She is always smiling and always peaceful. So he knows he is dreaming. Because he can no longer remember that Bella, that careless gorgeous creature of the purest wizarding blood. Those memories are no longer his. They couldn't wait to take those away the first time, why would they allow him such comfort now?
Come the morning, and the insult of the pale sun shining down on him, reminding him of what he cannot have, the spectres will come.
They will feel the hint of happiness in his mind, as he dwells on the last threads of his dream.
They will come to him and take those threads, take his whole dream, all the warmth, all the happiness, her laughter of a time gone by.
They will leave him almost empty again. What does he have if he doesn't have her? What is there to keep him bound to his body?
Bella.
The mere hope of her is enough to keep him here, for he does not know if dreaming is allowed on the other side.
Her. Another her. A girl that was so much like her that he could almost pretend she was his own.
Like he pretended with her Mother.
He wonders about her. He would like to see her again, just once. He wonders if she still looks like her Mother, or if she has grown to look like their Master. He doesn't know how old she is now, he lost track of time long ago. Or maybe just a couple of weeks ago. He doesn't know. And the Dementors can't speak. Not that they would ever tell him the truth.
They have taken most memories of Delphini, but he keeps one. Not because he can hide it, his mind has too many cracks to keep anything safe but the one thing he must keep safe. It is the first memory he has of Delphini. The happy part of it, the one where Bella looked at peace with a bundle in her arms, has been left behind shredded. A part of the memory remains untouched by cold long putrid fingers though. The first time he had seen her.
In her Mother's arms, looking so much alike that she could have been his. That is why that memory is still his. It wasn't happy. The first time that little girl had opened her eyes all his pretending had come undone. For her eyes were his. Not her Mother's, so that the fantasy could go on. His Master's eyes, his true eyes, looked up to his Bella. She said something at that, he thinks Bella presented him to her, but he doesn't remember anymore.
When the Dementors leave, he begs whatever there is, he begs his own body, to let him go. To take him away, over the sea and the clouds. To take him to wherever she is. Because even if she is not his, he is always better by her side.