Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Five (Breakups, breakdowns, and break-ins)

Breakfast passed in a surprisingly uneventful, quiet manner on the first day of school after Easter holidays…aside from the not-so-covert pointing and whispering at the fact that Severus and Aline were seated next to each other for the first time ever at the staff table. And students appeared to have noticed, too.

When Hermione, who'd sat beside Aline, noted Snape in conversation with Professor McGonagall, she leaned over with a curious glint in her eye. "It's rather unusual for you to—I thought you hated him." She stopped, thunderstruck, then chattered in an excited whisper, "Oh my God, are you seeing Professor Snape?"

Aline smiled and nodded. "For a few weeks now." Why did everyone seem so surprised by that revelation? Oh, yes, now she remembered: for the most part her relationship with Severus had been banshee versus bastard. A precedent like that shattered by romance was bound to bring attention.

Hermione absorbed the information in silence, wondering why the news didn't bother her as she'd thought it would. Apparently she'd gotten over her silly crush ages ago! She remarked, "I can't think of anyone more suited to him."

"I hope that's a flattering commentary," Aline returned wryly.

"Oh, of course!" Hermione assured her. "Professor Snape is intelligent—brilliant, actually, at Potions—he truly cares about the welfare of his students, he's loyal and devoted. You're very lucky." The more she talked, the more glum she became.

"Hermione, has something happened? You look sad." Aline resisted the urge to reach out and lay a hand on the other woman's arm. As much as she'd like to comfort the young witch, she'd prefer not to incite more visions.

Hermione frowned and her face fell. "I broke up with Ron."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aline murmured. She didn't know Hermione well enough to ask for details, sparing her the awkwardness it would undoubtedly cause, and she wasn't exactly stellar at dealing with breakups, whether her own or another's. "Would you like me to offer the customary platitudes? Let's see: he didn't deserve you, you can do so much better, and he was undoubtedly a dork and a fool for letting you go."

Cracking a grin, Hermione said, "That's what his sister told me! Don't get me wrong, she loves Ron, but she always said she didn't understand why we were together when we have so little in common."

"Even though common ground isn't necessarily a deciding factor, a witch of your intellect and talent will have no problem finding a wizard more in line with your thinking." Aline grimaced, mentally kicking herself. "I'm sorry, that sounded so callous. You must miss Ron."

Here Harry, who'd skulked up behind them, broke in, "She ought to, she and Ron have been an item for ages."

"I don't recall inviting you to join the conversation, Harry," clipped Hermione icily.

"I heard you talking about Ron," retorted Harry. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't shove all the blame off on him."

"It's none of your business!" hissed Hermione. "How dare you sneak up and spy on my conversation! If you'd kept your nose where it belonged, none of this would've happened!" She got up, pushing Harry backward so hard he stumbled as she grabbed up her bag and stormed out.

By now their quarrel had invited Snape's attention. He'd turned halfway around in his chair to pierce Harry with cold, steely black orbs, his whole being emanating a seemingly out of place malevolence. In a smooth, low tone he drawled, "I've always compared you to your father, but it appears everyone was right—you're very much like your mother, meddling in things you don't understand."

Harry gaped at him, thrown for a loop at the reference to his mother, not sure what to say.

Severus sneered at his discomfort. "In case you're baffled, and Merlin knows it doesn't take much to get you to that point, that's not a compliment, Potter. Lily wasn't the saint people at Hogwarts thought she was."

"She died for me!" exclaimed Harry, fortunately not loud enough for the pupils to hear, though a few of them had noticed the unusual exchange going on at the staff table.

"Any decent mother would die for her child!" hissed Severus, losing the sneer only to have it replaced by a sudden look of fury. For a split second Aline feared he might spring from his chair to attack the young man. "How many would feed a love potion to a boy and let him suffer for the rest of his life over it?" At Harry's puzzled, incredulous visage he spat, "Yes, that's what she did to me. And following in her footsteps you take it upon yourself to insinuate yourself into other people's affairs where you're neither wanted nor needed."

Harry felt the sensation of an odd weight crushing his chest and thought he might start to hyperventilate. Snape couldn't be saying these things, he loved Lily! Maybe he was an imposter! "I don't believe you," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Of course you don't. Lily Evans could do no wrong." The sneer had returned, though it was a distinctly malicious variety. "Regrettably, I was of the same opinion for far too long. Why don't you scurry on to my office and view the memory yourself? You're familiar with pensieves."

Panting in helpless rage, Harry balled his fists so tight his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands. "You're lying! My mother wouldn't do such a thing!" All at once he bolted out the side door.

Severus reclined back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. The brat would look at the memory, he wouldn't be able to withstand the temptation, and he'd get to see how flawed his 'perfect' mother had been after all. If she couldn't suffer for what she'd done, it fell to her whelp.

"Severus, that was a tad mean," said Aline quietly.

"But accurate," he replied, swiveling to face her head on. "Under Dumbledore we had secrets and half truths that bred mistrust and enmity. It's time we told the bare facts."

Rather than argue, Aline merely clasped his hand in hers under the tablecloth, their fingers intertwining. He couldn't deceive her so easily, it was plain to see he only desired to hurt Harry with his declaration about Lily. He demanded the truth when it was convenient, yet he harbored a multitude of his own secrets. Not that she'd compare Severus to Dumbledore; the old wizard had been a genius and a fool at once. Severus had told her in a bitter diatribe all about his spy work for Dumbledore, of putting his life on the line over and over while being reminded of Lily time and again, of Snape's guilt being used against him while Dumbledore refused to tell Harry or Severus everything they needed to know. It must have been hell for him working for the old professor.

She didn't have to hear Severus say it to know it was so, for his body language and treatment of Potter spoke volumes; he was angry and resentful about the whole love potion affair, and who wouldn't be? He felt betrayed by a girl he had always held on a pedestal as the epitome of a good person…a good person who watched him agonize over her for years and didn't lift a finger to help him.

It made Aline's blood boil to dwell on it. Had Lily enjoyed Severus' suffering, his hanging after her like a trained puppy? She must have or she'd have put a stop to it. Or in her infernal flakiness had she simply forgotten about the entire thing like Severus had? Did his love mean so little to her? Evidently it did. How could it fail to make Severus feel worthless, so insignificant that his 'friend' either liked to see him in pain—not surprising considering how her Marauder cronies loved to torment him—or she merely couldn't bother to recall she'd dosed him with a powerful love potion? Aline experienced a vivid, violent desire to throttle the bitch.

"I should get to the lab," she said, looking up into his eyes and expecting fury. While relatively inscrutable, they held no animosity toward her—a nice change of pace, really, from their vitriolic beginnings. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. "See you soon."

"I'll see you later," he answered softly. He started to lean in for a kiss and halted abruptly. They could both do without the mortifying fallout of the students witnessing that. "Soon."

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Wallace Marshal gave himself a final once-over in the mirror, angling his face and wiggling his eyebrows as he grinned at his reflection. Yes indeed, he was one handsome wizard. As Walden Macnair he'd been good looking, but that Muggle surgery had straightened out minor imperfections and smoothed away a few years while giving him new features and a new identity. He'd gotten used to wearing a short ponytail, he'd even learned to live without a mustache, not too hard to do when pretty witches eyed him the way they did. All in all, despite the disgust of having to associate with sub-humans to achieve the look, he was extremely pleased with the result.

"Stop admiring yourself, you wanker," Rabastan snorted as he entered the room.

"I've got a date tomorrow, I won't be wanking for long. How about you?" returned Marshal cockily, shooting him a withering glare. "And like you haven't spent hours inspecting your new face?"

"Not all at once. We don't have all day, let's go." If he faltered now he'd lose his nerve.

"Your brother's gonna shit a brick," laughed Marshal, his rumbling tone lower…sexier…than it used to be, thanks to the voice-altering potion Malfoy had forced him to drink. "But I suppose he'll be glad to see you."

Rabastan didn't answer. He wasn't even quite sure how he felt about meeting with his brother after the last fight they'd had. There was no telling how Dolph might react—to his running away, to getting his face changed, to…everything.

"Of course, if he finds out you've been hiding in my flat he'll A.K. my ass, so keep your mouth shut about it," warned Marshal.

"I'm not planning to discuss you at all, get over yourself," griped Rabastan. He picked up his cloak. It was late April, he wouldn't need it, would he? Then again, the gusty wind up at the castle was perennially cold. He swung it round his shoulders and fixed the clasp about his neck. "I'm ready."

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Marshal hadn't been back to the Lestrange place since Malfoy's temper tantrum over teaching Draco to throw axes. Honestly, Lucius mollycoddled the kid. Why, when he was a boy his father had trained him in all manner of weapons from the time he could hold them. Oh sure, there'd been the occasional bad accidents, but luckily his mother had studied medicine and had almost become a medi-witch. Without her, he'd be stumping along on a wooden leg with three fewer fingers. What was his point again?

He arrived and called out to the occupants of the house. Better to be safe than sorry. "Rodolphus! Nott! It's Mac—Marshal!"

Udo Nott ambled around from the side of the house where he'd been planting a vegetable garden with his wife. "Hey, Marshal, what's up?"

"I'm looking for Rodolphus."

He didn't need to wait at all, for Lestrange had come out onto the porch. "Marshal. Do you need something?"

Wallace shook his head as he approached. He didn't remember the porch looking this good; in fact, as he recalled it had been a dilapidated wreck when he stayed here. The bottom of the stairs was close enough. Strangely enough, somehow his hand had crept into his pocket and latched onto his wand. "Roddy, I have news. It's about your brother."

The tan in Rodolphus' face paled without so much as a blink to indicate he felt anything, tribute to the discipline established from years of serving a madman and having spent a good part of his life in prison. Macnair wouldn't have come unless it was bad news. How was he to brace himself in the face of what was surely a terrible portent? He'd lived with death all around him for most of his life, he'd dealt out the death more times than he cared to count, yet it cut him to his soul to imagine Rabby meeting his end. Gruffly he asked, "What news?"

"Rabastan wants you to meet him at the old castle ruins." Instantly Rodolphus began to pound down the steps, and Wallace backed up in alarm, drew his wand, and aimed it directly at Lestrange's chest.

Rodolphus stopped cold. "What the f—k, Macnair!"

"I don't want you attacking me," replied the other calmly. "And it's Marshal."

"Why would I attack you, you dumbshit?" exclaimed Rodolphus. "I'm clearing the anti-apparition barrier."

"Wait." Marshal lowered his wand, the seriousness in his tone evident. "He doesn't look like himself anymore, he's had surgery like I did. His voice is still the same, though."

"What does he look like?" asked Nott, who'd listened in on the entire conversation and finally came over to join them.

"You'll see soon enough," said Marshal, waving Rodolphus by. "Right now he's anxious to talk to his brother." He turned to look behind him but Rodolphus had already gone.

An excited yet wary Rodolphus apparated to their old stomping grounds where a man in a black cloak sat hunched over on a portion of the rubble wall, his head resting in his hands. If Marshal had set him up, he'd kill this wizard then track down the traitor and torture him into insanity. And then butcher him. Slowly.

Stealthily, wand in hand, he shortened the distance between them, carefully keeping watch on the surrounding area. It took three tries for his mouth to cooperate. "Rabby?"

The wizard jerked upright and whirled, his wand pointed with unerring accuracy. Seeing his brother, he let his arm fall to his side. "Hi, Dolph."

"Rabby," Rodolphus repeated in a near whisper, head tilted slightly, eyes studying this face for signs of familiarity. The dark hair was the same, a surgeon couldn't change that, though he now wore it in a cropped military style instead of a wavy mane to his collar. He sported a thin mustache that made him look a bit rakish. The nose that had been broken from too many bouts with their father was straight and smaller, rounded gently at the tip. Like Macnair, his cheekbones had been made more prominent. Even the skin above his eyes had been pulled up tighter to give a more youthful look. Everything said, it created a pleasing picture that was different enough to fool the casual observer, or anyone who didn't know he'd undergone surgery.

"You healed really fast," he blurted without thinking. He ought to have commented that the bloke looked good or something.

"Healing potions," Rabastan murmured. Perplexingly, he couldn't think of what he'd meant to say.

"I missed you. Rab…I'm sorry." Rodolphus held out a hand in supplication, desperately wishing for his brother to take it, yet he didn't. It made his stomach sink until he felt ill.

Rabastan's gaze didn't waver, though his chin quivered. "Sorry for what? Do you even know?" He sank back onto the crumbled wall and pulled his cloak around himself like a womb.

For the briefest moment Rodolphus thought his best bet was to lie—lie through his teeth, say whatever his brother needed to hear, anything to break through the cloud of tension suffocating them. Yet he couldn't. He could lie to anyone on Earth without qualms if it served his purpose…anyone except his little brother, the only one who truly meant the world to him. His falsehoods and omissions, while well-intentioned, had opened an enormous chasm between them that more lies could never bridge.

Slowly he shook his head and sat down heavily on the rock heap next to Rabastan. "I'm sorry I hurt you, and that I wasn't honest with you. I wish—I wish I could say I'm sorry about Uncle Varden, but I can't. He was a filthy pervert and he got what he had coming."

There was a horribly long period of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity.

At last, in a soft trembling voice Rabastan said, "I've had nothing to do but think in these past weeks, and I've spent a good deal of time doing just that. I understand why you killed him, I really do. You wanted to protect me or avenge me, or both. And I love you for that." He averted his face and dropped his head as a tear coursed down his cheek. "The thing is, it was my right to exact revenge and you took it from me. All my life, decisions were made for me and I went along. Even in Varden's death, you made the decision and I have to live with it. Do you have any idea how powerless I feel?" A wash of tears swept over him and he dragged his sleeve roughly across his face.

"You're a very strong wizard, nothing close to powerless," objected Rodolphus, his heart feeling quite a bit warmer from his brother's declaration of love.

Rabastan wheeled on him, his tear-smeared face full of anguish. "Don't you get it?" he shouted, suddenly shoving Rodolphus in the chest with both hands, almost knocking him off the short wall. "I've always been powerless! Dad beat me into submission, Varden manipulated me into doing what he wanted, and you used your status as big brother to dictate the rest of my life and I let you because I didn't know how to live without being ordered around!"

Rodolphus righted himself from his brother's shove in time to avoid a nasty fall that in all likelihood would have involved severe head trauma. "You don't understand—"

"Don't tell me I don't understand! For once just listen to me!" Rabastan swallowed a lump, took a deep breath to calm himself, and continued on more quietly. "I made a superb Death Eater because the dark lord took dad's place, all I had to do was obey. Torturing and murdering people was the only thing that made me feel in control. How bloody sick is that? I was good for nothing but mayhem and destruction. In analyzing my pathetic life, I've finally figured out my place in the world: I'm a puppet, Dolph. I'm not a human being, I'm a f—king useless puppet!"

If it didn't ache so much inside he'd have laughed; it hurt too much even to cry, so he simply stared lifelessly at the other man. He didn't anticipate what Dolph's response would be, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He said what he had to say, and now he had nothing to show for it except a gaping hole where his heart ought to be.

Listening to Rabastan pour out his pain was like having boiling oil poured over his skin to Rodolphus; to comprehend the depth of the man's self-loathing and the worthlessness he'd carried like a burden his entire life crushed Rodolphus' heart. To learn that he was a big part of the problem made him wish he'd managed to dash his brains out on the stones earlier in hopes of easing Rabastan's misery.

"Rabby, that's not true." He stretched out a hand to his brother, only to have the latter shake it off his shoulder. "Alright, you're right. Maybe you were sort of a puppet, but you're not now. Dad, Varden, Voldemort—they're all gone." Only they're not the problem now, are they? He sucked in a sob with a hard breath, his chest aching from what he had to say. "And if—and if you want me to leave you alone, I will, but please don't do that to me. You're my brother, you're the only one that really means anything to me—"

His voice cracked, he dropped his head, and all at once he started to weep as he hadn't done since prison when he'd found out about Bella's death. He couldn't lose the only person he had left in the world, it would kill him!

Startled and bewildered by the unexpected breakdown, Rabastan started to go to pieces. Dolph was the strong one, he'd always been. The few times he'd seen his older brother cry had unnerved him terribly, as it did now. He leaned in and grasped Rodolphus' arms to shake him lightly. "Come on, Dolph, you're scaring me. Don't cry."

"What do you want me to do?" bellowed Rodolphus, manfully struggling to contain the heartrending sobs begging to burst forth. "I need you and—and you don't need me. I'm just hurting you." Try as he might, the tears continued to flow. He slammed a hard fist onto his thigh; the pain helped to remind him he was still alive. He lifted the fist for another blow.

"Stop it!" snarled Rabastan, grabbing Rodolphus' fist to prevent him from striking himself again. "I do need you, I just—I need things to be different. I don't want to live in Varden's house anymore, I don't want you telling me what to do. I want a life!"

Through the agonizing haze of guilt and grief the words reached Rodolphus. Hesitantly he asked, "And can I be part of that life if I stop being bossy?"

"I want you to be. You and me, we're all we have, Dolph. It's kind of sad and pitiful, but it's the way it is," Rabastan said softly. Friends were fine if they could be truly trusted; experience at the dark lord's side had taught him that friends were only too willing to flip allegiance to save themselves, and he counted himself among the culpable there. Brothers were forever. "If you get the surgery like I did, then we can go wherever we want, change our names…be somebody decent. It's not too late for that, is it?"

Rodolphus wagged his head as he fetched a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. This idea of Rabby's was insidiously contagious. Why couldn't they start over, make a whole new life? Marshal had become a wizard butcher in London and had his own flat and a girlfriend, he seemed to be doing great. They could move far from their old home, find a nice mid-size town where no one knew them or would question their presence. "No, it's not too late. I have that potion Lucius gave me to alter our voices, too."

Suddenly animated, excited to see his brother engrossed in the plan, Rabastan added almost shyly, "I chose a new name. Jorab Goodman."

"Jorab?" asked his brother, brows furrowed.

"So you can still call me 'Rabby'," replied Rabastan, grinning now. "And—and I thought you could be Wendolph Goodman—you know, so I could still call you 'Dolph'. Rudolph and Randolph are a bit too obvious, yeah?"

Rodolphus, observing the eagerness he'd rarely seen in his brother, started to chuckle deep in his stomach, his body shaking with silent laughter. With one hand hooked behind Rabastan's neck, he drew his brother into a rib-crushing embrace. "That's the best idea I've heard in a good long while, Rabby. Whenever you're ready, lead the way to that Muggle doctor."

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Diagon Alley in front of Gringotts Bank was jammed with people, all of them clamoring for answers from the Head of Gringotts, demanding he make an appearance. A break-in at the bank was no small matter, investors and customers alike were both angry and concerned with good reason: if such an occurrence had happened with their tight security, what might happen without the dragons?

In the basement of the building adjacent to the bank, two goblins watched the scene through the filth covered, ground level window. A plump witch in a purple robe that made her resemble a plum had gotten up on the steps of Gringotts.

"We all know they're trying to blame W.A.W.M.U.M.A. for the break-in and for freeing the dragons from the wicked bondage those goblins use. We are innocent, but I bemoan the fact that we didn't think of it first!" A segment of the crowd erupted in cheers.

"W.A.W.M.U.M.A.?" asked Karnak, turning to Griphook with a curious expression.

"Wizards and Witches for the Moral Usage of Magical Animals," translated Griphook, rolling his beady eyes. "They think we were 'mean' to their precious beasts."

"You were," said Karnak bluntly, not caring one way or the other. He shifted on the box they shared to stand on in order to see out the window. "I'm wondering how secure the most valuable vaults are now with those creatures out of the picture."

The woman outside continued to rant about the plight of the dragons, accompanied now by a nondescript wizard with an enchanted quill taking notes. "What do they even need dragons for? They've got their goblin magic to reinforce special vaults. I've heard if a thief even touches the door, he's sucked inside to suffocate."

"It's true," Griphook giggled, and was joined by Karnak in laughter. Soon they sobered; if the Gringotts goblins had indeed protected the vaults in this manner, and they very well may have, they could kiss goodbye all hopes of tunneling in and swiping some glorious loot.

"So," said Chadwick Tolman loudly in order for the throng to hear. "Even though a witness saw an old witch and wizard apparating away, which disputes the theory of an inside job by goblins, you deny that these people are involved with your organization?"

"Yes, I deny it," snapped the witch. "Sympathy in the face of animal cruelty doesn't make us criminals!"

"Do you plan to use this break-in to push for a new law against the use of dragons?" asked Chadwick enthusiastically while his quill scribbled away.

"Certainly—and there are plenty of influential people on our side…"

"Get your elbow out of my face," complained Griphook.

In response Karnak slammed the offending elbow directly into Griphook's eye. The latter howled and fell off the box. "Better?" sneered Karnak, showing his pointy teeth.

Griphook swore under his breath as he climbed back up nursing his swollen eye, then his clawed hands clutched the stone windowsill tightly. Mounting the steps of the bank to talk to the reporter was Lucius Malfoy! Oh, how he despised that yellow-headed wand carrier, more so since the attempted robbery and subsequent torture at the human's hands.

Lucius wore a serious face, one that promised to delve into the matter and find answers. "Yes, Mr. Tolman, it is true that my vault had been guarded by a dragon. While I agree in principle with W.A.W.M.U.M.A. that the goblin treatment of the dragons was abysmal and despicable, this really isn't my fight."

"But you're one of the prominent members of the community, your vault contains more wealth than probably any of the others. Aren't you concerned that your possessions are no longer secure?" inquired Tolman in surprise. He'd have thought Malfoy would be bouncing in rage.

"Not at all," smiled Lucius. Not when his was protected by the strongest of blood wards; the dark lord had assured his few select followers when he taught them the spell that NO ONE could cross if they were not of the same blood. That included the filthy goblins. He'd have used it on his house if it didn't completely preclude having guests.

"What if someone tries to breach your vault?" insisted Chadwick.

"I have to believe our goblin friends of Gringotts are intelligent enough to have immediately placed spells to secure our possessions." And if they haven't, this might serve as a reminder for them to do so.

"You have this on authority?" panted Tolman. That would explain why he wasn't upset!

"Not yet. My main concern is this: who is responsible? For all we know, the goblins wanted for murder and burglary may be the culprits. Griphook used to work for Gringotts, he knows the system like the back of his swarthy, grubby little hand!" A new cheer rang up from the crowd along with cries for goblin blood. Malfoy smiled demurely; nothing like throwing old enemies to the lions and shifting the blame at the same time. All in a day's work.

Karnak spat on the ground. "He blames us? And you know why, you pile of dung? Because you had to go and break into his house after I told you to wait!" A kick to the stomach sent Griphook tumbling back onto the floor holding his gut. "Now they won't give us a moment's peace, they'll be after us in full force."

Karnak jumped down off the crate. "Let's go consult the Mirror again. Maybe this time it can give a clear picture of what's to come if we try to enter the bank. The others are getting restless, we need to find another job soon. We're all tired of robbing graves."