Rabastan kept his eyes down, letting his brother lead him into the manor. He loathed company – the kind his parents kept, at any rate. Bellatrix and Andromeda hadn't said anything about being hosted at the Lestranges' for dinner that night, so it couldn't be them… perhaps the Malfoys would be spending the evening.
Oh, that would be especially horrendous, Rabastan thought, his nose wrinkling a little at the mere idea. He despised Abraxas Malfoy more with every passing visit, very nearly as much as he despised Druella Black. He, Abraxas, was haughty and arrogant and fancied himself much more interesting than he actually was – all traits that he had passed on to his brat of a son, too.
Rabastan could just remember a time when Lucius Malfoy had been almost tolerable – when he and Rodolphus and Rabastan had made up the group of three decent boys who would someday make excellent husbands, but, until such a time came, made excellent friends. Rabastan could remember a time when he and Lucius had gotten along quite perfectly.
A very long-ago time now, he thought.
Since that horrible year when Rabastan had turned thirteen and everything that had been perfect about his life had come crumbling down, Lucius had distanced himself from him. They barely glanced at each other now, and Rabastan could hardly say that he blamed Lucius. He wouldn't have glanced at Lucius if their roles had been reversed…
"Are the Malfoys visiting, Rod?" he asked, and Rodolphus shook his head.
"The Dark Lord," he said in a quiet, reverent voice.
Rabastan's heart skipped a beat.
When he listened in to discussions of politics, the Dark Lord was a title that seemed to come up often, and every time it did, it made Rabastan's heart skip a beat. The way people said it – as though it was the name of Satan himself – made him equal parts nervous and fascinated.
"Why is he here?" he asked in a hushed voice.
"Mother and Father are hosting him for dinner. That's why you need to look proper, they say…" Rodolphus ushered his brother upstairs, and Rabastan followed him without protest. His heart throbbed against his ribs, and a few stars were flashing in the corners of his eyes – enough to make him feel just a touch lightheaded.
"Are you going to be all right?" Rodolphus asked, and he nodded.
"Just… I need a moment…" He gripped the banister, breathing deeply to steady himself, then managed a small, rather wan smile. "There. I'll- I'll be down in a minute."
Rodolphus nodded, retreating back down the stairs and leaving Rabastan to make his way to his bedroom, still feeling a bit shaky. Splashing cold water on his face helped only a bit, and even once he had combed and groomed himself so that he looked more like a decent Pureblood boy and less like a street urchin half-dead of consumption, which was how he thought he normally looked, he was still shaking on his feet and having trouble drawing breath.
But he would be all right, he told himself. He would not faint in front of the Dark Lord.
Repeating that in his mind, almost as a prayer, Rabastan made his way back down the stairs and into the dining room.
Rodolphus had already taken his seat, and Joseph and Maria opposite him, leaving a spot open for Rabastan beside his brother. The table was laid with all the finest silverware – heavily jewelled goblets and goblin-made cutlery, lying tidily on top of crisp silk napkins (napkins that, Rabastan knew from experience, were never to be used to clean oneself) – but all that paled in comparison to the sight of the man who could only be the Dark Lord, sitting at the head of the table.
Upon first glance, he looked nothing like the God that Rabastan had been expecting from the way people talked about him. He had thought that he would see a man like the paintings that lined the halls upstairs – a man so grand and imposing that one could not help to be in awe of him. But the Dark Lord was not like that.
Oh, he was handsome. He was very handsome. His skin was pale and smooth and tight enough over his skull to show off what Rabastan had heard referred to as fine bone structure – a strong but graceful jaw, high cheekbones, and a lovely, straight nose. His eyes, half-narrowed and focussed upon Rabastan's father, were dark and there was a hint of redness about them that Rabastan found only made them more attractive.
Yes, he was very handsome.
But very humanly so.
"Our younger son, my Lord," Joseph said, indicating Rabastan, and when the Dark Lord turned and fixed him with his piercing, penetrating gaze, Rabastan had to struggle to keep his breath from leaving him.
"My Lord," he murmured, quickly sitting beside his brother and twisting his hands in his lap so that he might have something to focus on. "It is an honour to have you in our home."
"Yes," he said, and his voice was just as Rabastan might have imagined it – higher than most men's, cool and perfectly composed.
He, Rabastan, did not dare to look at the Dark Lord again, and only half-listened to the conversations between him and his parents, but his head jolted up and he looked sharply at the Dark Lord when he heard him his name.
"Rabastan and Rodolphus would make fine Death Eaters, I think."
Rodolphus looked up too, and Maria and Joseph exchanged worried glances. There was a moment of silence before Maria cleared her throat, and said, in a strained voice, "Why, I- I know not what you mean, my Lord. They are only boys… surely they can be of no use to you…"
"Boys can be of great use to an army, Madame," the Dark Lord told her. "Surely you know that – you and I both have lived through wars and seen how every person can have a role in fighting for the greater good…"
"But- they are so young- still in Hogwarts…"
"We need not rush the matter," the Dark Lord said. He picked up his goblet, swirling it slowly and letting the wine in it slosh against the edges. Rabastan was transfixed by his every movement. "They need not join the Death Eaters this very day…"
"But my Lord," Joseph cut in, "perhaps… perhaps there can be use found for my eldest – he is strong and hearty, after all – but Rabastan is weak- sickly…"
Rabastan burned with shame as he felt all eyes turn to him. If he had dared to hit his father, he would have. It was no wonder that Bellatrix and Andromeda thought him weak, if his own father did.
"I am not weak, Father," he said, but his voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
"Nonsense, Rabastan, you are–"
"Let the boy speak," the Dark Lord cut across Joseph, holding up one hand to silence him. "If he does not think himself too weak to be of use, then it is of little concern to anyone what you think of him."
Rabastan felt as though he had been slapped about the head. It was all but impossible for him to believe that the Dark Lord would say such things of him, but he managed to squeak out, "Thank you, my Lord."
"No thanks are necessary," the Dark Lord said. "You may simply tell me… now… would you desire to be a Death Eater."
"I… I do not know, my Lord," he whispered, petrified.
The Dark Lord shifted closer to him, and Rabastan bit his lips, his head spinning at the proximity.
"Rabastan Lestrange," he said in a low voice, "I do not think you understand what it would mean for you to become a Death Eater. Few people ever do understand, true," he added, "but… listen to me…"
"I- I am listening, my Lord."
"If you became a Death Eater, Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, in the same low, almost conspiratorial voice, as though he was discussing a matter private to him and Rabastan that had nothing to do with Joseph or Maria, or even Rodolphus who he was leaning over to speak to Rabastan, "then think of all the things that you could have… that could be yours… think of the power."
"P- power?"
"Power," he confirmed. "Anything that you desired… anything that you could imagine… you could have for yourself – for your family – for people who you care for…"
Rabastan swallowed hard. Visions were already dancing of his head of what he would take for himself if he could – health would be the first thing he would desire, and then perhaps something for Andromeda – something for himself and Andromeda…
"What say you, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked. "Would you care to consider joining me and my… cause?"
Rabastan swallowed hard. The way that his parents and Rodolphus were looking at him left an ache of guilt in his stomach, as though he would be doing something wrong by saying yes – but they all but worshipped the Dark Lord, and had had no qualms about the suggestion of Rodolphus joining him, so why? Why would it be wrong?
Because I am weak.
Because they think that I am weak.
But I could prove them wrong, if I only got the chance.
And this is a rather perfect chance…
Rabastan drew a deep breath, then looked the Dark Lord squarely in the eye and nodded decisively.
"Yes," he said. "I would like to be a Death Eater."