Part I Who: Fabian & Gideon Prewett; Alcander, Rodolphus, Thubana, & Corbina Lestrange, Orion Black, Graley Rosier, Walden Macnair What: Prewetts attack card night at the Lestranges Where: The Elder Lestrange Manor, Breckland, Norfolk, England When: 19 July 1979
Rating: R at least (violence, death)
Gryffindors might be berserkers and Hufflepuffs vicious in defense and Slytherins calculating in their revenge, but a Ravenclaw tipped across the line into cold, murderous furiosity was really not someone you wanted as your enemy. Someone should have told that to Rodolphus Lestrange before he dismembered the Prewetts' best friend and owled them the pieces. Because said furious and murderous Ravenclaws were currently lurking just outside Lestrange Manor, and they were not here to sell girl guide cookies.
Fabian had a pair of binoculars - Merlin bless Muggle ingenuity - and Gideon was frowning down at the ward detector. Since the library (which was the only way he could think about it, his brain skittering away from any more specific terms) he'd been working on it with an avid fixation that elevated his efforts from mere "tinkering" to something from which should possibly be restrained. It and the bypasser both. It should have worked... fuck everything and the horse it rode in on: it should have fucking worked.
It was bloody well going to work this time, because Gideon was getting in there if he had to tear the walls down with his bare hands.
Fabian's heart was pounding like a drumbeat in his ears, but a strange sort of calm, grim resignation had settled over him. He gazed through the binoculars in the rapidly fading daylight. He felt like a predator in wait, his muscles coiled for the pounce, anticipating sharp teeth sinking into the jugular. He could, in a way, sense his brother's neurotic preoccupation, and almost absently (yet with every deliberation and intention of slow movement), he reached out with one hand to rest it on his brother's wrist.
"Wait," he said, a moment later, confusion in his soft voice. "Look-" He lowered the binoculars and indicated with one steady finger the direction. There, distant enough that they would not be seen, was a figure on horseback who could be, based on his size, no one other than Rodolphus Lestrange. Fabian's mind raced. Their initial plan had been to enter the Lestrange Manor with all stealth, find Rodolphus, and murder him, but this conception was clearly going to have to change. He looked down at the ward detector. "Do you think he'll ride off his property?"
Gideon's head came up the moment Fabian spoke, turning to follow his pointing finger. From this distance, without the aid of the binoculars, details were impossible, but from the ferocity of the gaze Gideon fixed on him, he didn't have any doubts about Fabian's identification of him. As they watched, the rider turned his horse through the gates of the estate - the detector in Gideon's hand showing a faint blue-shimmered blip as he passed through the outer wards. Once on the road, he kicked the horse into a canter.
"Come on," Gid said, standing up without taking his eyes off the horseman.
It was more difficult than he'd thought it might be, following Rodolphus on his horse. He was moving at a brisk pace, and they had to stay far enough back from the road that the faint pops of their apparition wouldn't be audible. There was a time or two when he thought they'd found a good enough vantage to take him out, but he couldn't be sure in the gathering dusk, and he needed to be sure. Didn't want to miss and give Lestrange a warning. Benjy hadn't had a warning.
And then, ahead on the road, there was another house, of a typically arrogant pureblood construction and with external lights to welcome visitors with the night closing in. The horse slowed to a canter, approaching the gate that led onto the drive up to the house, and the ward detector that Gideon had tucked under his arm gave a shudder. Which meant...
"The wards have been lowered," he said, and grabbed his brother's arm to drag him along as he seized this unexpected moment.
Fabian stumbled after Gideon, the relative placidity he'd kept while following Lestrange giving way to a sudden, nervous turn of the stomach. Despite whatever danger there was from initiating a new plan on such short notice, there was really no turning back now. The leaden, frigid hand of grief was guiding them now. Lestrange had gotten away with murder for much too long. The immediacy of their actions lay in the despair that they might never bring him down unless they did it now. Fabian could not bear to even think upon observing Lestrange carrying on with his life whole while their friend lay in bloodied pieces.
What warning his instincts gave him in a certain sense of uneasiness and dread were ignored in favour of following his brother. He would follow his brother anywhere. He allowed Gideon to lead him only a short while before he caught sight of a dark corner of the house that remained mostly unlit by the welcoming lights or the lamps inside. "There," he whispered, tugging on Gideon's hand and pointing again. "I'll Apparate us." He did so, and swiftly. He oriented himself with his back to the house, then turned sharp eyes to the identical, if uncharacteristically dark, face of his brother.
Gideon glanced up at the house, dropping the detector down into his hand again and bringing it up to look at the display. The modifications they'd made had had their effect on the simplicity of the read-out, and the additional levels of complication meant that it was slightly more a matter of instinct than straightforward interpretation to follow what it was saying. But this sort of thing Gideon was good at, and though he couldn't have explained what the thing was telling him to a third party - at least, not without taking at least fifteen minutes and perhaps using diagrams - he gathered in one glance that the wards were being relaxed at the front of the house, presumably to permit Rodolphus to enter, which was leading to an overall relaxation of tension in the structure overall, rather like in Muggle elastic. It was fascinating and Benjy would particularly--
"Come on," he said, face getting even colder, and he turned towards the back of the house. With the wards lessened like this they'd be able to use the bypasser on a back entrance and not worry about the sudden shock of it doing... whatever it had done last time.
The first door they came to - who knew how long they had? - Gideon stopped at, passing the detector to Fabian in exchange for the twisted-wire coil of the bypasser. With his wand, he drew a shimmering x on the door, and another on the frame beside the door handle, before he tucked his wand behind his ear and took the bypasser in both hands. Taking one of the wires, he wrenched at it, and what had been whole came apart, each end sprouting four hook-like tendrils. One end in each hand, Gideon pressed them against the marks he'd made on the door and frame, and the tendrils seemed to burrow in. The entire span began to shimmer faintly as it took up the load of the ward.
Taking his hands away from the bypasser, Gideon retrieved his wand, and cast alohomora. He didn't even hesitate, laying his hand on the doorknob and turning.
Fabian swallowed, fear suddenly crawling up his throat. Without even thinking about it, he reached to clutch suddenly at Gideon's arm, with no intention of stopping him, but only to let them take just one moment before they went in. He wasn't sure what grasp Gideon had of the situation, but Fabian had a grave certainty that they were facing more than one wizard in that house, and beyond that, more than simple revenge and escape. If he was honest with himself, he knew, somewhere inside him, that this might be the last time he might even speak with his brother. And yet, he could think of nothing profound enough to say. With a small, shuddering breath, he released his brother's arm and met his eyes instead, hoping that somehow, in that way that his brother always did, he would understand.
He nodded at the door, holding his wand up.
For that moment, looking into his brother's eyes, a little of the knife edge that had been driving Gideon chipped away, and he wondered if perhaps this had gotten out of hand.
Only for a moment, though. Because Rodolphus Lestrange was somewhere in this house, enjoying an evening visit when they would never laugh with Benjy ever again, when he would never worry about his sister or see her grow up, when he'd died in front of Gideon's eyes and it was all his fault and bleeding Lestrange white wasn't going to change any of that but it was the least Gideon owed him. Fabian was with him and there was nowhere else they could possibly be.
So he turned back to the door, pushing it open and ducking under the stretch of the ward bypasser into the house.
It was dimly lit in the house, though certainly not dingy. They stepped with caution through the little lobby, and it was soon apparent that they had entered by the servants' quarters. Initially, Fabian took them to be unoccupied, but just as they were clearing a doorway, a maid strolled busily through the entrance into the main house. She barely had time to make a sound before Fabian sent a knee-jerk Stunner in her direction, though he was careful to also cast a cushioning charm before she hit the floor. There was no sense making any noise, and though Fabian disapproved of the woman's employer he certainly couldn't begrudge her.
He stepped over her and peered quickly out into the hallway, which held no sight or sound of anyone, servant or otherwise. He beckoned to Gideon to follow him. The adrenaline creeping into his arteries made him hypervigilant, and as they followed the silent corridor, his eyes darted uneasily about. He paused before turning a corner, and when he stuck his head out, he spotted a portrait of a stern but somnolent Lestrange relative, and withdrew. "Other way," he mumbled, tugging at Gideon's sleeve.
Following his brother without question, Gideon glanced around for portrait-free options. Listening at a nearby door suggested the room on the other side was empty - edging the door open a crack and peeking inside confirmed it. Gid led the way through a... well, he didn't even know what the room was called, but it had some dainty little chairs and heavy curtains and a piano and, most importantly, landscapes hanging on the walls. On the other side, he listened-and-peeked again at another door, and then poked his head out into yet another corridor. Bloody hell, was this a house or a labyrinth?
No portraits on the walls in this one; Gideon opened the door further and slid out, then paused, finger to his lips, as he heard something. Waiting in silence, it came again - the faint sound of voices.
Perhaps it was odd, but hearing the soft, muffled conversation, Fabian felt suddenly very calm indeed, almost detached. He should, he thought, have been shaking, if not from fear then from adrenaline, but his hands were steady as he raised his wand and advanced slowly toward the door just down the hall, which was slightly ajar. The distinct smell of tobacco drifted from the room, and he was certain he heard the rare but recognisable irony of Rodolphus Lestrange's voice. He was certain, upon listening, that there were at least four people in the room, and that they were playing cards.
--
The evening was going as it typically did on such nights; card-playing amongst his fellow male Purebloods and social peers was on the agenda, and Orion Black had emerged from his personal study in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for the night, deeming the get-together among the occasions that socializing was worth the effort. Most everyone had arrived promptly at the elder Lestrange manor, Orion had noticed, and it was as they sat around the table, observing the shuffling of the cards, that he caught sight of Graley Rosier entering to the room to join them. The man was his son's mentor for the Death Eaters, that much he knew, and it was a fact that he approved of – so long as there was success, naturally.
"Good evening, Graley," Orion greeted in a subdued but not unpleasant drawl, "Lovely of you to join us."
Rodolphus sat beside Walden and his sister (who had been allowed to join them as a measure of whimsical indulgence on the part of their father, who sat upon her other side), as he was wont to do when forced to socialise with the masses. Granted, those in this room did not qualify as 'the masses' in the typically irritated fashion that Rodolphus referred to those whose company he loathed, but in truth he would have been far happier in a corner of the room with a book and a fine glass of wine, socialising by proxy rather than here in the centre of it all.
Graley stepped into the room, pulling his coat off as he sat down, slinging it over the back easily as he leaned back in his seat. He was sitting across from Walden and next to Alcander. “You too,” he said raising two fingers in a hello gesture as he leaned back against the table, looking around at everyone as he settled in the seat. “So what’s the game tonight gents, and what’s the bet?” he asked unable to help himself. He liked the gamble.
Walden glanced up from his hand of cards to give Graley a welcoming nod and then he went back to focusing on his strategy. He'd been quite the gambler in his younger years, blowing his father's money without a second thought. Cards and wagers had been a big part of his life at one point but it had been quite a few years since he'd attempted to win at cards and because of this he found himself concentrating a bit too hard.
He took a quick second to shift around a few of his cards and then he folded his arm down to rest against the table as he leaned back in his chair. " It's a game of cards and I bet that I can take your money. Is that a sufficient answer?"
It could not be said that Alcander's presence was not, at least, strongly felt as he held court behind a miasma of cigar smoke though he had held his peace as each guest entered and seated themselves. Silence was his way. But he liked to fill his house with the right kind of people, listening as they sparred with one another, content to bear witness until Walden spoke.
He smirked, made one florid gesture toward the centre of the table (where the cards lay) with his hand and gave his cigar a long, leisurely drag. "High stakes, Rosier?" and then, "Blackjack, my good men -- " one sly look to Corbina -- "Or did you think I'd put you to Gobstones and Exploding Snap?"
Corbina found being allowed to sit in -- to join in -- on Card Night to be both an extreme honour and incredibly amusing. It painted quite the picture, herself barely out of school a year, sitting around the table with some of the most powerful and most respected wizards in all of England while her mother hovered and fussed about the room, knowing that she could quite potentially send them leaving with empty pockets at the end of the night. Life with Alcander and Rodolphus Lestrange had taught Corbina many things, proper Blackjack strategy being only one of them.
"Shall I deal?" Corbina asked innocently, shuffling the cards in her hand and looking towards her father, wishing somewhat that she could partake in the cigar smoking along with Card Night. It was best not to expect too much. "Unless you would like me to run to get Rabastan's old Gobstone set, of course."
"Tempting though it might be, that shan't be necessary," Orion began, giving a little nod of acknowledgment to Corbina. He could appreciate the brand of humour in a typical, unexpressive sort of way. It was not common for females, much less children, to join in on such a thing, but if there was any young woman to take part, it was certainly the sister of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, that much was certain. "I believe it is about time we begin. And you are welcome to shuffle if you wish."
Although never much of the gambler or card player himself, Orion prepared himself for the game of Blackjack. He was not particularly skillful, but he was tight-fisted enough to bring no fortune to blow amongst peers. The Blacks were quite wealthy enough to last through a night of money blowing without true damage, but that did not mean he wished to set himself up to lose an abundance. A modest, reasonable amount would do when the time came, he felt. Nothing to scoff at as far as bets went, but by no means generous to the winner, either.
Rodolphus, on the other hand, was more skilled than tightfisted, and though he wasn't in the habit of carrying around masses of galleons with him, did have a significant little pouch in his inner pocket. Betting against Walden was more of a competition than the game itself, and Rodolphus glanced sidelong at his friend with a semblance of a smirk insinuated into his features. "Hope you brought your coin in an easily carried pouch, Walden," he rumbled lowly, pulling two cigarettes out of his case with an almost perfunctory absence of mind (he passed one of these two Corbina, ever mindful of the fact that his father was less likely to criticise her behaviour when he had an older, more interesting target). "Wouldn't want to strain myself carrying it home."
Graley merely shrugged his shoulders looking over at Walden. "Well now," he said before falling silent and tapping his fingers against the table. He smirked slyly at Alcander and shrugged. "I've always been a bit good with Gobstones," he said absently as he watched Corbina shuffle the cards before his eyes looked up at Rodolphus and grinned slightly. "It would be helpful if you did as well, so I wouldn't strain myself taking it back to Siberia with me," he said before sitting forward.
Walden returned Rodolphus's smirk and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his own cigarette case. Now that there was a significant cloud of smoke floating above the table he felt he could light up without feeling too guilty. " That's very sweet of you, Rodolphus. It's so nice to have someone look after my well being like you do. If you're as bad at cards as I remember I might have to bring my winnings home in two separate trips." He flicked his lighter, lit the cigarette, and then held out the lighter in case anyone needed a light. " I do have a strange feeling that Corbina is going to wipe us all clean, however. She's shuffling those cards with purpose."
"Ah, Graley forgot his pack mule." A short, barking laugh. Nodding to his daughter as she shuffled, Alcander invariably ignored the cigarette being passed to her for far more interesting game. With the implicit knowledge that his son would do this - would expect it - even among their friends and contemporaries, he merely twisted his thin lips and let the smoke pour fog-like over the table. Walden's remark left the perfect opening, one that he strode through with much confidence, clearing his throat. "Rodolphus, ever taking after his mother -- " was a subtle insult, with "I should have liked to have had a son like Corbina. Look at her there, shrewd-eyed as she sizes all of you up and decides just how unmerciful she shall be."
Corbina took the cigarette from Rodolphus with a thankful but subtle nod, resting the unlit stick behind her ear for the moment as she finished riffling the cards, clapping the stack on the table for a few brief seconds before giving the men an enigmatic smile -- no reason to confirm nor deny their jests of the likelihood of her sweeping them under the table -- and dealing them each two cards. She set out her own hand (a nine overturned next to her own face-down card) before sliding her cigarette back into her hand and lighting it her wand. She took her father's remark as a compliment, however much she would have preferred one that wasn't a backwards insult to her brother, but rather than make any reference to it simply noted, "Dealer has nine."
Looking down at his own cards – a three of hearts and a seven of spades – Orion needed little time to acknowledge that ten was not nearly close enough to twenty-one to pass. He was no card game expert, but he knew within such company one needed to consider actions with care, and even if she got a card equivalent to one, the cards would be tied – so with a quiet "Hit," Orion waited for his third card to be dealt. A six, bringing the count up to sixteen. That left roughly a fifty-fifty chance of getting something that left him at or below twenty-one, but he was not feeling warmed or risky enough to tempt fate just yet. "Stay."
"Wouldn't want you to strain your back, Walden - I know how easy it must be these days." Rodolphus trailed off, perusing his cards without so much as a blink at Alcander's razor-like criticism. Indifferent, jaded, call it what you like, but Rodolphus had spent too much time with his father and his sharp tongue to take it very much to heart. Deep down, certainly, there was a certain discomfort at being called out with an unyielding consistency by someone he expected to have a measure of pride in him, but the time for self-pity or shame had long passed, and he remained as stoic as ever. If anything, he felt a measure of pride for Corbina. Ace and three. He was tempted to swap out his three for Corbina's nine, but he imagined she'd notice if her showing card was suddenly taken, and his ace was showing, which made the opportunity ripe for a bluff. "Two galleons," he said vaguely. "Stay."
Graley looked at his cards, spotting the seven and the two. "Hit," he said easily when it was his turn, getting a jack before waving his hand. "Stay," he replied tapping his fingers against the table, looking bored at the entire process. He glanced up around the table before back down. "I'll meet that," he said pushing the two galleons into the middle of the table before setting back.
--
At least four people, Gideon agreed, catching his brother's eye and nodding. This hadn't quite been the plan - what there was of a plan, at least - and even Gideon wasn't quite so far gone that he thought barging into a drawing room full of inhospitable purebloods was a good idea. Of course, if they could whittle down the numbers, separate the herd, divide and conquer...
They drew back from the door again, Gideon looking back down the corridor, searching for inspiration. They needed, "Some sort of diversion," he whispered, leaning close enough to Fabian to speak in nothing more than the faintest whisper. What had they passed that could serve? "The portrait," he realised, and they tip-toed back, past the room they'd cut through, to the corner.
A quick glance around the corner showed the situation of the portrait, its occupant still dozing against the frame. On a lovely little side table just near where the Prewetts were flattened against the wall stood a marble urn, a beautiful and no doubt priceless piece that was absolutely not going to benefit from being, say, picked up, hefted, and then flung with excessive force at the portrait. Which was unfortunately just what Gideon did.
The instant the urn left his hand he was grabbing Fabian's arm and bundling them both into the room they'd come through previously, closing the door almost entirely and leaving just the faintest crack for watching the corridor through.