WHO: Noëlle Zabini & Rabastan Lestrange. WHAT: Discussing the future. WHEN: 15 May 2018. WHERE: Noëlle's home.
Noëlle greeted Rabastan with a kiss on the cheek before ushering him to the lounge, where her house elves were quick to bring them both their favourite drinks as they told them that dinner would be ready shortly. It wasn’t until she was settled on the couch, leaning against Rabastan slightly, that she noticed the papers in his hand.
“What’s this?”
“That’s a very good question,” Rabastan replied, his voice calm and steady. He thumped a finger against the cover of the brochure in his hand as he gave Noëlle a sidelong glance. “These are engagement ring brochures. From you, I assume, as I can’t imagine why anyone else would be sending me these.”
Noëlle’s face crinkled in genuine confusion, reaching for a brochure. “I didn’t — oh, that one’s beautiful,” she folded a corner down to mark the page she’d just flipped to, “I didn’t send you these?”
Rabastan thoughtfully scrubbed a hand against his chin. Noëlle had always been upfront about her intentions — there was no reason for her to lie now. “Lucius, perhaps,” he suggested, eyes dropping to the remaining brochures in his lap. “Or Narcissa. As if this would work on me.”
“It would be nice if it did work,” Noëlle replied, marking another page just in case Rabastan ever changed his mind. “But you seem resolute in your decision to never marry, and I don’t think it is just to avoid dying.”
“I’ve never been interested in it.” That wasn’t quite true, but there was no point in dredging up old history. “It isn’t personal, I assure you.” Beat. “It’s a little personal, I suppose. I don’t want to die.”
Noëlle looked up from the brochure. “Would you believe me if I said I've stopped planning different ways I could kill you?”
The Death Eater threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t realize I looked so gullible. Are you going to try to sell me a genuine Invisibility Cloak too?”
Noëlle shook her head in amusement. But it was true; she’d found herself plotting ways to kill Rabastan far less often over the last couple of months. Jasper was a more deserving target. “Maybe I just have enough options now that I don't need to think about new ones anymore,” she teased.
“Are you going for a younger man?” he asked, granting her a rueful smile. “I hear Dante Avery is available. Then again, he has an heir on the way.” Rumors were swirling around that Violet Slughorn was no longer in the country, but Rabastan wasn’t certain that was true. He barely paid any attention to gossip concerning the youths.
“Or you could go older,” he continued. “I’m certain Winthrop Abbott would welcome your company.”
“I do like older,” Noëlle admitted. They were already closer to death that way. “Maybe you could put in a good word for me. I'll keep you alive to be my character witness.”
“There are very many good things I could say about you.” It was a rare moment of sincerity, and Rabastan averted his gaze as he leafed through another brochure.
Noëlle was more than used to compliments, but there was something about the sincerity of it coming from Rabastan that made her stomach flip in a way she couldn't remember experiencing since she was a teenager. She smiled, head ducked. Usually she would take this opportunity to comment on how he was looking through the brochure, nudging him towards the idea of an engagement but instead she wrapped her arm around his, hands interlocking.
“There are very many good things I could say about you too,” she told him. And then, feeling a little uncomfortable in the emotional honesty, added “And not even just the size of your vault.”
Rabastan gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Or,” he began, with a wolfish grin, “the size of other things.”
Noëlle rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop an amused smirk, glad that Rabastan too had gone for a light reply rather than making her dwell in an uncomfortably honest place. Even though one of the things she appreciated about him was that she could be honest (usually about her intentions of murder). It was something she’d never had in her former relationships where she’d been desperate to separate herself from being Poor Noëlle Shyverwretch.
“That is a very compelling reason to keep you alive, ring or no ring.”
His brow crinkled as his mouth tilted into a rueful smile. “I’m quite fond of you, Noëlle, but I know you’re keen on marriage. That is something I cannot give you, and... “ Rabastan trailed off, looking mildly uncomfortable. “If you want to pursue an Avery or Abbott, I would understand.”
Noëlle pursed her lips, considering this. If marriage was off the table, pursuing someone else would be the smart move, yet the idea didn't seem as appealing as it once might have. “You're sure nothing can change your mind on the marriage issue?”
“I—” Rabastan cleared his throat, hearing the rough edge to his voice, and his brows drew together in regret. He almost brought up Azkaban — some small, insane part of him almost brought up Narcissa — but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to go into detail about why he didn’t want to get married. “It isn’t for me,” he said, after a long moment.
Noëlle was silent for a moment. She'd always known this would be a challenge, but she’d been confident in her charm, especially since Rabastan was also interested in her murderous side which should have made her almost doubly charming. But she couldn't force him to marry her.
“Do you want to keep dating me?” She asked.
“Of course,” he replied.
Noëlle responded with a kiss, smiling when she pulled back, her fingers tracing lightly down Rabastan’s jaw. “I doubt Abbott or Avery would claim to have attempted to murder Jasper for me.”
“It seemed like the gallant thing to do.” Rabastan smiled down at her, content and admiring. “I’m more than happy to finish the job for you, you know.”
“I’d like that very much,” she replied seriously. “That may be more romantic than a proposal anyway.”
“Consider it done,” Rabastan promised, fingers tilting Noëlle’s jaw up to claim her mouth in a lingering kiss.