A Captive Path Chapter 2: Strangelove, a harry potter fanfic

Strange Love

Can you look out the window,
Without your shadow getting in the way?

Oh you're so beautiful,
with an edge and a charm
But so careful
When I'm in your arms…

Rabastan Lestrange was still adjusting to the shift in tides, even after a year of Voldemort's reign. At times it felt as if he should still be on the run, hiding in deserted cabins and stalking potential victims for The Dark Lord's purposes. Instead he was living in one of the grandest houses in the warded Salem quarter in America, one of those over-seeing the eradication of the muggles. It had been difficult work at first, and work that had to be done quickly, after word spread of what had happened in England. The first few days had been tireless work, murdering their leaders and rendering their armies helpless and warded. But afterwards, it had only been a matter of cleaning up…months upon months of cleaning, which still went on. And for their tireless work, the Death Eaters had been richly rewarded in their spoils…Bast perhaps most of all.

True, he'd always enjoyed things that sparkled. He and his older brother had been surrounded by shiny things all of their lives, after all. Rodolphus had married himself something dark and wild, who dragged all three of them into Azkaban after her. She had always said they would have their nice things back ten-fold, and Bast had been only slightly inclined to believe her. But then, here he was.

It still amazed him that he'd found Orla before the Death Squads in Brittan had. In fact, as soon as things were somewhat in control in the States, Rabastan had raced back for her, storming through the streets under the perpetual green glow that settled over London for at least a month. He'd found his little half-blood hidden away in the attic of her house, clutching her younger brother, staring up at him defiantly as she did. She did not recognize him, of course. She'd believed that it was only a schoolboy who sent her secret notes in school. Not a grown Death Eater of thirty-five.

Imagine her shock then, when they were not killed…when he slipped a black cloak over her shoulders, hiding her face under its hood. Orla Quirke looked on in half-awake shock, as Rabastan Lestrange passed her off with the Ministry as a pureblood with a squib sibling, from a poorer class. No one seemed to notice his lie. Only then, after saving her from death or enslavement, did he tell her who he was.

It was early February, and Orla Lestrange was restless. Sure, it was easy to pretend that people weren't being killed daily, when one spent all of their time indoors. It was easy to think that her friends were simply busy, instead of…well; most of them were probably dead by then. But Orla had no proof, and thus she could stay in her bubble of denial. Still, it would have been nice to go outside.

But this was why she had her indoor garden, in the middle of the house under a glassed in courtyard. She spent an awful lot of time there in the winter, sometimes with her brother Quentin, but most of the time on her own, reading. This day, she was sitting on her bench by the fountain, her journal set on top of the growing lump in her lap that was incubating another little human being. She remembered when almost all of her friends had the same journals, linked and charmed for communication. Now the pages were silent, mostly, an ear for her thoughts.

Today she was feeling somewhat amusing in her script. She began writing a long rant about the discomfort of the proper, old-fashioned dresses and robes pureblood women were wearing those days. Oh sure, she'd liked them at first, they were flowy and fancy and made her feel like she was living in a storybook. While pregnant, however? They were a royal bloody nightmare, and Orla went about in something long and flowy as often as she could…and barefoot. Her feet were quite pained by all forms of shoes in her current state.

Rabastan had once hated himself for feeling compassion for her. She had been a schoolgirl of thirteen when he'd started writing to her, anonymously. Even then she'd had an impressive wit to rival many of his peers. The first time he'd seen a picture of her face, he'd felt an odd stirring that frightened even his rather twisted mind. He found himself sending her paintings, sweets; all the while insisting to whomever knew that it was all just a manipulative amusement, including himself.

Now he watched her from one of the courtyard entrances, scribbling in her journal as the noon sunshine drifted in through the glass above her head, lighting her long, light brown hair. She hadn't cut that hair in three years, Bast realized, eyes lingering on her figure for a moment before he slipped silently toward her. Standing behind her, he rested his hands on her shoulders, enjoying the fact that she looked up slowly, resting her head again his chest,

"Greetings," She yawned, setting her book aside.

"Greetings," Bast replied quietly, playing with a few waves in her hair, "How are you feeling, love?"

"Large," Orla said flatly, before giggling, "Awfully large, and awfully sore."

"So sorry to hear that," Her Death Eater husband said smoothly, starting to braid a bit of her hair idly, "Bit over-due now, aren't we?"

"Yep," She nodded, poking her stomach lightly, "Somebody's getting a bit too comfortable. I'm beginning to think she's started decorating in there, in fact. At least, I feel like I have curtains and a desk inside of here."

Rabastan smirked. Honestly, what would he do without her bubbling voice after a long morning? He came around the bench and sat beside her, brushing the hair back from her brow softly, "I have to return to London for a few weeks tomorrow," He informed her, resting his hand on her stomach, "And as much as I'm sure your young brother would be of help to you," He inwardly cringed. The boy was a risk to keep, but of all the things he'd given her, all she had ever asked for was that he keep her brother safe, "I would feel more at ease, had you someone here…"

Orla bit her lip, hoping to Merlin, God and Elvis that he didn't mean Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange, her delightful sister in law. The woman scared Orla out of her mind, and she still didn't trust Bast or the papers that said Orla was of pure lineage. But then, if The Dark Lord was calling him to London, he'd likely be calling Bellatrix too. The older woman didn't seem to like domestic things very much, "…oh?"

"Yes," Bast replied, looking her in the eyes, "We're having company tonight…an old school friend of yours."

"Really?" Orla's eyes brightened. Heck, it could be Pansy for all she cared; at least she'd be her age, somewhat. Rabastan just smiled, standing.

"I will see you tonight," He assured her, bending down to kiss her lightly.

Luna had been in Boston for three weeks, before Theodore had informed her that they were relocating to Salem. She'd been told that Death Eaters were being moved about often those days, due to their still relatively small number. But Theodore implied that Salem would be a more permanent residence, despite his having to return to London for a short time. So she went, leaving their rather fine flat in Boston for another large, cold house.

Their things were moved into the house on a cold February morning, as Theodore put up wards around the old Colonial, so that the Witch's Quarter extended to include the place. With slightly trembling hands, Luna went through every room, removing photographs of the muggle family that had lived there before. She took down personal items, spiriting them away to the empty attic with her new wand. The photographs she tucked into her bureau. It seemed wrong not to.

"We're going out tonight?" Luna asked a few evenings later, standing in front of her armoire. The subject had been rather up in the air all day…as many things were with Theodore Nott. She had quickly gotten used to the fact that he did not let on much.

"Yes," Theodore replied, entering their room and pulling out his dress robes, "Rabastan Lestrange has asked a favor of you,"

Luna pressed her lips together, looking back at the various dress robes that had been fitted to her in Boston. At least she knew it would be nothing repulsive, as Antonin Dolohov had asked a 'favor' as well. Luckily for her, Theodore did not like sharing his things. She did wish though that she did not have to endure another night surrounded by Voldemort's most trusted. Also, she had been feeling rather ill as of late. Plus…well, it was her last night before he left her for a few weeks…

"We'll be home early," He startled her by saying, standing directly behind her. He was silent, and he seemed to read her mind. Rightly, she should be terrified. Instead, Luna shut her eyes, tilting her head back as he kissed her temple.

"Right then," Luna said softly, pulling out her dark maroon dress and robe.

"Mr. and Mrs. Nott," Bast greeted quietly, when the two arrived at his home. The sound of talking and music drifted down the hall, as a House Elf took Luna's black cape, dusting off the snow. Rabastan and Theodore regarded each other coolly as they shook hands, and Theodore gave the older man a hard stare when he formally took Luna's hand in greeting. Luna caught sight of another slight figure over Rabastan's shoulder, "Do say hullo to my wife, Mrs. Nott," Bast told her, turning to go. Theodore gave Luna a long glance, his face stoic but his eyes flashing at her slightly, before he followed.

It took a moment to register in Luna's mind, as she stood in Rabastan Lestrange's entryway. The two men moved on, and Luna took a tentative step toward the younger girl standing in front of her. Her hair was longer, and she was a bit taller now, not to mention she looked ready to pop. But there was no mistaking Orla Quirke.

"Luna!" She squealed, pulling the older girl into a hug. Luna blinked, hugging her back numbly for a moment. Then she drew back, looking her straight in the eye,

"Orla?" She breathed. This wasn't right, all of her friends were gone, all of them were…well no, not all of them were, "You? Him…?"

"Journal boy!" Orla squeaked back. Luna shook her head,

"That was…?"

"Yes!" Orla glanced back the way the men had gone, her own eyes going wide, "You and…?"

"Yes!" Luna nodded, feeling like she was going to fall over. Orla blinked,

"Has he….are you okay!" She cried. Luna nodded furiously,

"…are YOU okay!" Orla nodded back, in much the same manner. The girls paused, looking at each other. And then they were hugging again, tightly, as if afraid the other would suddenly disappear. Luna felt tears building up in her chest, as she clutched her old Housemate,

"I thought for sure you had been killed," Luna pulled back again, this time gasping, eyes wide, "Orla," She whispered, looking around wildly, "But you're muggle-born, how…?"

"He drew up papers," Orla replied, in the same tiny whisper, "That I was pure and Quentin was a squib. Nobody asked twice. Well, almost nobody…" But few people listened to her sister in law's rantings those days. Speaking of which, "We should go in," Orla said aloud, smoothing her long black robes over her swollen mid-section. Luna nodded, pushing her hair back over her shoulders.

"When are you due?" She asked as they walked down the hall, in the voice she had practiced for these sorts of situations. Orla caught on, speaking the same way. She never had quite gotten the hang of it, she was glad Luna was there to help.

"Three days ago," The sixteen year old smirked, taking a deep breath before they entered the parlour, "Here we go," She whispered…

Without another word, Luna and Orla slipped into the room, the elder finding her way to sit by Theodore in the corner, and Orla sitting in the comfortable chair near Rabastan. The scent of the drinks made Luna slightly ill, as she'd felt that morning, and she dipped her head a bit to avoid it. From across the room though, she heard someone laugh above the conversation, and lifted her head.

"I almost didn't believe it, but there you are," Draco Malfoy laughed, nodding at Theodore, "Good show Nott, you got yourself Loony! Tell me, has she started collecting garden gnomes yet, or did you…work that out of her system?"

"Oh honestly," Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes from the opposite corner, where she sat with Daphne Greengrass, "Will you ever learn to stop using such vulgarities in these settings, Draco?"

"Nope," Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair. Luna was trying to place the girl that was sitting beside him (as a means of ignoring the fact that the last time she saw him, he was torturing her old boyfriend to death), but she couldn't quite. Perhaps she'd gone to another school, "Come now Pansy, this is hysterical!"

"You'll note that I'm not laughing," Theodore said coolly, looking Draco in the eye. The other boy's smile faltered slightly, before he looked away, shrugging. From another part of the room, one of the senior guests laughed lightly,

"Having the younger set present does add something to these events," noted Jugson, a Death Eater Luna did not know. Between him and Rodolphus on the lounge, Bellatrix Lestrange scoffed, the lines on her forehead apparent with her scowl,

"Honestly," She shook her head, glancing between her brother in law and Theodore Nott, "Aren't you both a bit old to be playing with dolls?" Her eyes settled on Luna, narrowing, "I could snap that one in two."

Luna glanced over at Orla, who was carefully trying to make herself small in her chair, her hands wrapped protectively around her stomach. Orla wasn't used to this, Luna realized. She had to have been with Rabastan from the start, to be so far along. He had probably kept her carefully put away, with as little contact with other Death Eaters as possible. Luna however had spent a year listening to Voldemort hiss in Aeneas Nott's ear, thus she was almost unfazed by someone like Bellatrix.

"But you will not, thank you," Theodore replied in a calm, yet respectful voice. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, she nodded.

"Well at least you know what's yours," She allowed, "Still. I am not sure how wise this is."

"Ah, here we go again," Rodolphus looked at his brother with a wide smile, shaking his head, "Ready yourself for the scripted rant…"

"I am serious, Rodolphus!" Bellatrix snapped, as the whole room's attention fixed on her, "These pureblooded children, who once opposed us, now getting pawned off? Is that any good for the blood lines?"

"They are pure though," Rabastan reminded her, with an exaggerated sigh that said he'd had this conversation before. Bellatrix shook her head,

"It was still in them to rebel!" She insisted, fixing her eyes on Orla, "How do you know she won't provide you with spawn that rebels, Rabastan?"

"Because she is mine," Rabastan said evenly, not batting an eyelash. He reached over, petting Orla's hair lightly in what might be seen as a patronizing manner, though the look he gave her was significant, and just between the two of them, "And just because she is not eager to go out and kill people, does not mean she was a rebel. Young Miss Parkinson hasn't the disposition to killing, now does she?"

"Goodness, no," Pansy shook her head, "Too messy," She raised her glass of wine to Bellatrix, dipping her head a bit, "But cheers to you Mrs. Lestrange, you certainly have my respect."

"There, you see?" Rabastan said lightly, and Orla managed a very believable, easy smile at her sister in law. Bellatrix sat back, sighing,

"As you say," She noted flippantly, fixing her eyes on Luna again, "Our Lord has passed the laws supporting it, of course, so far be it from me to argue his wisdom," She sipped her wine slowly, "Still," She looked at Luna closely, "Do not be swayed by pretty things, young Nott. Such was your father's folly more than once. Sometimes, trophies bite."

"Oh, I certainly hope they do," Theodore replied with complete seriousness, before giving that famous, unsettling smirk of his through ever growing hair, making a show of resting his hand on Luna's shoulder, running a finger along her jaw. Luna had the good sense to smirk as well. Funny, how quickly she'd trained herself to go into 'around-scary-people-mode' so easily. In his corner, Draco Malfoy choked on his vodka. Bellatrix just sniffed.

"So you have agreed?" Theodore was asking later that night, as Luna tucked away their dress clothes, hers in her armoire and Theodore's in his suitcase. She nodded, walking back across the thick, soft carpet to sit on the edge of their bed, brushing out her hair,

"I will stay with Orla until you both return, yes," She said quietly, setting her brush aside when she was done, her hair falling all around her. Slipping off her white robe, she set it on the chair beside the bed, before untying the bed curtains and drawing them closed, "Assist her with the child when it comes," Luna bit her lip, running her fingers over the wine-colored, translucent fabric. She did so like their bed, "She is awfully young to be having one…"

"Indeed," Theodore said quietly, leaning back against the pillows. Luna turned, slipping under the bed covers and moving to his side, lying down and resting her head on his chest. He in turn ran a hand through her hair, using his other hand to pick up his wand and nox the lights. Luna shut her eyes,

"How long will you be gone?" She asked in a whisper in the darkness, her breath moving over his skin.

"Two weeks at most," He murmured back, running his hand up and down her spine through her nightgown. Luna was quiet for a while. She thought of Orla, so small and so suddenly round, ready to give birth to a Death Eater's baby. And looking at Rabastan with such an admiration…

"I realized something this evening," Luna said quietly, after a few moments, during which Theodore had been enjoying the scent of her hair. When he said nothing, Luna went on, her voice shaking just slightly, "I am with child as well,"

Again, he was silent at first. Luna bit her lip, as the hand on her back stopped moving. But then, she felt a kiss being pressed to the top of her head. She let out the breath she was holding, shutting her eyes…

The following morning dawned foggy and grey through the naked trees, and over the pocked and slushy snow. Orla stood on tip-toe outside of her house, kissing Rabastan goodbye as he held her heart-shaped face in his hands. Walking towards them, Theodore paused, turning and looking down at Luna, who lifted her chin to look back at him.

Odd, how two girls who'd once been fiercely independent now found themselves forced to depend on two murderers. Odd, that they hadn't once complained. Theodore reached around, gripping the back of her hair and staring into her eyes for a few moments, before kissing her once, one of those long, fierce snogs he was so fond of giving her, that made the back of her knees give out just slightly. And then he was gone.

Luna took a deep breath of the icy air, turning and making her way to Orla's side. The younger and considerably more pregnant Ravenclaw was still staring at the spot her husband had apparated away from, shivering in her warm robe. Luna touched her arm, and she looked up,

"He's never left me alone before," Orla said by way of explanation. Luna blinked once,

"And he still hasn't?" She smiled a little, tugging her toward the door, "Come along, Lady Lestrange, we have chocolate to consume…"

Author's Notes: Ah, so you think things are murderously calm, do you? Next installment: We see where the resistance is at! The plot thickens! Cats and dogs rain from the heavens! Read & Review!