WHO: Owen Dearborn, Zef Dearborn, and unexpected special guest Rabastan Lestrange WHAT: Skype night doesn't go as planned WHEN: Tonight WHERE: The winternet WARNINGS: Language, sads, doom
Owen briefly considered setting up candles around the room behind him to give things a little bit more atmosphere. He'd decided against it; there was no sense in making the bedroom look like a cheap boudoir if Zef wasn't actually home there with him. He had spent an embarrassing amount of time watching youtube tutorials learning how to properly blend away some of the cuts that were still on his face from the battle with foundation. (He left one or two strategically placed ones in aesthetically badass spots to try to cancel out wearing makeup.)
He switched off the overhead lighting and waved his wand to turn on the two lamps next to his computer screen. The post-it note full of topics he for sure wanted to hit sat next to the keyboard. The mic was working, the camera was working, his hair looked good, the internet connection was strong. Go time.
Owen dialed into Skype right at 8:30 on the dot, a wide grin of excitement already on his face as he waited for his wife to connect.
The ringing seemed to go on forever.
When the call was finally answered, the screen was pitch-black. Muffled sounds could be heard off-screen, but they were indistinguishable. Then, suddenly, there was an unmistakable voice and a flash of green light—
Rabastan Lestrange’s bruised face came into view, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Hello, Dearborn.”
Owen’s world screeched to a halt in an instant; it probably seemed, from the other side of the computer screen, that Skype has frozen. Aside from the slight shaking of his hands outside of the camera’s view, it might as well have. All the air had been sucked out of the room, out of his lungs; his eyes were wide with confusion and horror and some sort of deep indescribable devastation that he felt with every ounce of his being. This wasn’t right. This didn’t make sense. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.
He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into his palms, trying to wake up. Lestrange was still on the other side of the screen when he opened them again. He couldn’t reply. He couldn’t do anything but stare, waiting for Zef to come onto the screen to laugh about what a terrible sense of humor she had. They hadn't talked since before April Fools Day. Zef loved pranks.
But Zef was nowhere to be seen.
“What’s wrong, Owen?” Rabastan asked, in the smug tone of someone who was very obviously pleased with themselves. “Are you wondering how I got here? Are you wondering if your darling mudblood wife is still alive?” The smirk transformed into a cruel, knife-sharp smile. “I’m not going to tell you anything. I’m just going to let you fill in the gaps yourself.”
“She—“
The words died in his throat. He couldn’t make himself believe that it was true, because the world wouldn’t make sense anymore if it was. “She doesn’t- she doesn’t have anything to do with this. This… it’s between us. This is- Whatever you want. Whatever you want, I swear,” he begged, Owen’s voice cracking, his trembling hand running back through his hair. “Don’t do this. Don’t do this!” he yelled, his fist cracking down onto the desk so hard that the monitor shook.
“She has everything to do with this,” Rabastan replied, infuriatingly calm in the face of Owen’s rage. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he continued, “I’m ridding the world of another mudblood. One who thought she was smart enough to evade capture when I tracked her down ages ago. I was just waiting for the right opportunity and—”
Rabastan tilted his chin up, revealing the distinctive scar across his throat. “You two almost killed me. I’m going to make you suffer.”
"Then come the fuck here and do it, you piece of shit," Owen yelled, the sob in his voice negating any threat that might've been there. "You know where I am. Fucking just-- just leave her alone and come finish this then."
He grabbed for his phone on the desk, sliding it out of frame to try to text an S.O.S to Jeremy, to the Order, to Zef's relatives overseas, to everyone that could possibly do something to stop Rabastan, or distract him, or anything. He'd barely typed two indecipherable words into a text message when his trembling hands lost their grip on the phone and it toppled out of his hands and smacked onto the ground.
"FUCK," Owen yelled, his wild grab for the phone missing as he burst up out of his chair, pacing in an abrupt frantic panic before launching himself back into the chair, hands clasped together in front of him to beg. "Just let me see her. Please. Please just let her go. I'll turn myself in to you. You can do whatever you want. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he pleaded, not sure if he was apologizing more to Rabastan or to Zef, not knowing if she could hear him anyway.
There was a long pause as Rabastan weighed his options. Now that he had the mudblood, he couldn’t afford to stay at her home for much longer. He liked the idea of Owen forever wondering about the fate of his wife, but a tearful goodbye would be entertaining. And, more importantly, it would devastate the former Auror.
Finally, the Death Eater vanished from view. He was replaced by a bound Zefiryn Mikolajczyk-Dearborn, whose mouth was magically sealed. A rivulet of blood snaked its way down her forehead.
Then, suddenly, she could speak. "Owen?" was all she managed to say before collapsing in tears, struggling weakly against the bindings.
"Zef." Her name was like air finally filling his lungs again, knowing that she was at least still alive, that the flash of green when the video connected hadn't been what he'd feared. "Zef, babe, it's okay, you're going to be okay," he promised (lied?), the words spilling out of his mouth as his hands rested on the sides of the monitor, the closest thing he had to touching her. He should've been there with her. He should've gone when he'd first started thinking about it months ago. "I'm coming to get you. It's okay. You're okay. It's okay." He needed to go, he needed to get to her, but he felt frozen in place, terrified to look away even for an instant.
Zefiryn shook her head no, her hair hanging in her face, strands matted to her cheeks where tears streaked down them. It wasn't going to be okay. It was never going to be okay, and they were stupid to pretend they could be. "I love you, Owen. Tell… make sure that Kevin knows I love h-" Zef tried to say before immediately breaking down again. She was never going to see her son again. She didn't get to see him grow up.
Owen couldn't accept that. "No. No, Zef, no. Zef, I love you, I love you too, I'm going to be right there; Lestrange I swear if you fucking hurt her…" he yelled to the Death Eater off screen, absolutely shaking with fury and terror for his wife before his tone softened again. "I love you, Zef, I love you so much."
“How touching,” Rabastan cut in, pulling the woman aside so he could sneer at the camera. “I’ve given it some thought and the Killing Curse is too good for your mudblood wife, Dearborn. She’s going somewhere you won’t ever see her again.”
Tears were fully running down Owen's face now Rabastan's words cut deeper into him than any knife could. The uncertainty was worse, because not knowing meant that there was still hope, and he'd had that sense of hope crushed again and again thinking that maybe someday his father would be back, that he was maybe still alive out there somewhere. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't let Kevin go through that same hell of never knowing what happened. "Please. Please don't do this. Lestr-- Rabastan. Please. We can work something out. I'm begging you, please. Let her go."
“We can work something out?” Rabastan echoed, laughter creeping into his tone. “I don’t bargain with vigilantes, Dearborn. I certainly don’t bargain over mudbloods.” He paused long enough to yank Zef back into view, then reached for the laptop’s lid. “And on that note, I think it’s time to go. Goodbye, Dearborn.”
Rabastan slammed the laptop shut and the Skype call disconnected.