WHO: Lucius Malfoy & Rabastan Lestrange. WHAT: Three times Lucius and/or Rabastan strike out. WHEN: 1992 - 1996. WHERE: Various locations. WARNINGS: None!
On one of the last days before he had to go back to school, Lucius found himself at the Parkinsons' summer party. The annual event was a staple on the Malfoy social calendar and he would have never been allowed to miss it. Normally, he found their parties bearable enough, often finding someone with whom he could talk to, but it seemed like no one he knew was forced to attend as well. He had scanned the room multiple times already; at this point, he would even take Narcissa Black for company.
He could feel his mother's eyes urging him to move around the house, and with great reluctance, he did so. He was seventeen and about to start his last year at Hogwarts, he should've been allowed to skip the party. An obligatory smile pasted on his face, Lucius nodded at all the right people and fielded questions about his summer and the impending school year. Yes, he was excited, he told Ned Nott; of course he wasn't disappointed to not be named Head Boy, he lied to Elodia Greengrass, because he would rather focus on his studies. Finally, he spotted a familiar face and sighed with relief.
"Rabastan," he called out, approaching him quickly. "Thank Merlin you're here."
“I didn’t have much of a say in the matter,” came Rabastan’s dry response, but he smiled over the rim of his champagne flute. He did not care for champagne nor fancy parties, but his parents had insisted he attend. He had immediately sought out a dark corner as refuge, eager to get drunk enough to make this gathering bearable. He was already slightly lightheaded, but the champagne wasn’t strong enough.
Patting the pocket of his suit jacket with his free hand, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “You have good timing,” he told Lucius in a low voice. “I was about to break out my flask of firewhiskey.”
He pulled out the aforementioned flask, popped the cap off with his thumb, took a long swig, then held it out for Lucius with an expectant look.
"It's less timing and more desperation," Lucius was quick to correct, despite a poor job in masking that he actually was very glad to see his friend. "Had I known you were here, I would have checked the corners first and avoided all this unnecessary interaction." He eyed the flask Rabastan held out in front of him and grimaced; firewhiskey was never his drink of choice, but it would make the party go faster. He grimaced again once he handed it back to him.
Joining him against the wall, Lucius gestured to the room. "Their guest list was better last year." He was, of course, only saying this because last year, Bridget Rowle had actually attended and he had gotten to speak to her for a total of ten minutes. Last he heard, this year, she was travelling the world with some French Quidditch player.
Rabastan nodded in agreement. “More and more elderly witches show up every year. They’re only concerned with O.W.L. scores and setting you up with their beastly great-nieces.” He waved his flask in the direction of a wrinkled, grey-haired woman wearing a bright purple hat. She was chatting animatedly with a bored looking boy Rabastan recognized as a Parkinson cousin. “That one, Meliflua? She wants me to have tea with her granddaughter, the one with all the acne. She’s flat as a board, too.”
His gaze swept over the room, dismissive and disinterested, until it landed on a blonde girl he didn’t know. “She’s fit, though.” Rabastan canted his head to the side as he gave her a once over, then let out a huff of laughter. “Much too pretty for you.”
Lucius had to take a few minutes to think of the girl's name. He had seen her around before, but since she was two years older than them, he had to scour his memory for a name. She had a relative, an uncle maybe, who was involved in the cause. That helped. "Eugenie Avery is not too pretty for me," he finally said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Rabastan lifted an eyebrow as he leaned back against the wall. He made no attempt to suppress his amusement. His attention swiveled back to the blonde — Eugenie Avery, apparently — and a half-formed idea ricocheted through his thoughts. He drained the rest of his champagne, then handed the empty flute off to a passing house elf. “Why don’t we go talk to her, then? She looks like she likes Quidditch players.”
A category that excluded Lucius. Rabastan laughed again as he took another drink of whiskey, though he immediately winced — champagne and firewhiskey didn’t pair well together.
Instantly, a scowl appeared on Lucius' face, his lip curling in distaste. It was just like Rabastan to make that comment — again — just because he had admitted once that he wished he was better at Quidditch. He vowed to never tell him anything again. "I disagree," he said. "She obviously prefers Prefects."
The flask found its way back in Rabastan’s jacket pocket as he pushed himself off the wall. The girl was older than them, that much was obvious, but Rabastan thought their respectable surnames canceled out any potential reservations about their age. Who would pass up a chance to talk to a Malfoy and a Lestrange? “Let’s go find out.”
Eyes bright with amusement, he grabbed Lucius’ arm and tugged him forward, weaving around small clusters of partygoers until they were standing in front of an unimpressed looking Eugenie Avery.
Rabastan only relinquished his grip on Lucius’ arm in order to extend a hand to the girl. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Rabastan, this is Lucius.”
Eugenie’s eyes coolly flicked over them. “Hello,” she replied, obviously feigning polite interest. She did not accept his hand. “I believe we met at the Yaxley wedding.”
Rabastan blinked at her in confusion. “We did?” A beat. “Oh, right. You’ve had your teeth straightened.” Eugenie’s eyes narrowed, and Rabastan pushed Lucius forward as he abruptly changed the topic: “Did you know that Lucius here is a Prefect? We’re quite proud of him.”
Up close, Eugenie was still pretty, but more intimidating than he imagined she'd be. Her perfectly arched eyebrow would have dissuaded anyone else — anyone who could read relevant signs of disinterest, for instance — but Lucius' pride was wounded and he had a point to make.
He smiled at her, flashing her what he knew was his most charming smile. "It's a position that commands a lot of respect, naturally, and I was very nearly chosen to be Head Boy," Lucius lied easily.
"Very nearly," Eugenie echoed, adding a terse nod at the end.
Mistaking Eugenie's nod as an indication that she wanted to know more, he continued, "Last year, I was able to prevent a class-wide fight from occurring — just stepped in and diffused the situation." He suddenly remembered that Rabastan was there and probably ready to contradict his false claims. "And Rabastan —" (sullenly), "—plays on the Quidditch team."
“I’m the captain of the Slytherin team,” Rabastan amended, straightening up to his full height. It didn’t have the desired effect; at five feet and ten inches, he stood at roughly the same height as Eugenie. Chest puffed out with pride, he beamed widely at the girl. “We almost won the cup last year.”
“Almost?” Eugenie repeated, eyebrows elevating a few degrees.
“I think Ravenclaw cheated,” he admitted, unable to mask his bitterness. He scrubbed against the underside of his chin (he was making a poor attempt at growing a beard), then shrugged one shoulder. “You know how they are.”
“I don’t think I do,” was the blonde’s icy reply. “You see, I’m a Ravenclaw.”
Rabastan opened his mouth to reply, promptly closed it, then looked helplessly to Lucius.
Even Lucius knew enough to know that this was about to turn into a disaster, so in an attempt to salvage it, he quickly stepped in. "You'll have to forgive him for his Quidditch rivalries. Ravenclaw is an exceptional house — it doesn't hold a candle to Slytherin, of course—"
Eugenie crossed her arms and interrupted him. "Of course," she said, voice devoid of understanding. "My mother is calling for me. We'll have to continue our conversation some other time." With a brief nod of acknowledgment at the two of them, she walked away, her steps brisk and angry. It happened so fast Lucius barely had time to realize that she had rejected them.
He turned to Rabastan. "Well," he said, with an affronted sniff. "Her mother didn't call for her."
Rabastan shrugged again, though a flicker of irritation passed over his face. A Lestrange deserved great acclaim, not a brush off. This would never have happened to Rodolphus. “Maybe she already has a boyfriend,” he suggested, though it was a half-hearted one. He was much too sober for this.
“I think her nose is crooked,” he lied, reaching for his flask again. “And all the Averys are a little, well, you know.” He trailed off, confident Lucius would come up with something suitably insulting.
"Uptight," Lucius supplied, as if he wasn't guilty of this exact offense. He brushed off some imaginary lint off his clothes and then grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "And she was only an Avery." Hardly comparable and certainly not good enough for a Malfoy and a Lestrange. That settled it.
The Rowle-Selwyn wedding reception was held in the sprawling lawn of the Selwyn estate. A warm summer breeze drifted through the white tents, through the crush of people — respectable purebloods and halfbloods — milling around the grounds. Rabastan weaved through the crowd with a cool drink in hand, squinting through his sunglasses. Wedding season always dragged on, but this year was especially unpleasant. He offered a close approximation of a polite smile when he was flagged down by a great-aunt, a woman whose only interest seemed to be questioning him about marriage.
“You just need to find the right girl,” Theia Lestrange told him, patting his cheek affectionately. Rabastan stamped down on the urge to recoil. “If you’re interested, I have a few friends with lovely granddaughters—”
“No thanks,” was Rabastan’s blunt reply, though barely a beat passed before he amended it to, “I mean, no, thank you, Aunt Theia. I appreciate the offer, it’s just that—” His eyes searched the crowd for a good excuse and landed on a familiar head of blond hair. “—I have to talk to my friend Lucius about important Ministry business.”
Before his great-aunt could get another word in, Rabastan was striding over to where Lucius was standing. “Why isn’t some old crone trying to set you up with someone?” he asked, skipping over a proper greeting.
As he had made his way through the estate, Lucius had spotted Rabastan's previous conversation with his great-aunt. Although he couldn't hear what was being said, he knew — because what else did old women with unattached relatives — what was being discussed. It was why he wasn't surprised when Rabastan escaped as soon as he could. In a supremely satisfied tone, he said, glancing over at him, "I told my mother I was intent on Julia Selwyn and now she's giving me a reprieve to tend to my heartbreak. I suspect she's also trying to remember if I ever expressed an interest in her before." He hadn't, but his mother didn't have to know that. He had only left Hogwarts a few months prior. He wasn't planning on marriage for another few years — and certainly not to Julia, with whom he had only shared three stilted conversations.
“I told my mother I was going to run off with some halfblood,” Rabastan replied, grinning at Lucius over the rim of his glass. The drink was too sugary for his liking, but it was strong. The combination of the alcohol and the sun on his skin made him feel pleasantly warm, lifting his mood. “She still isn’t speaking to me. It was just a harmless joke.” He had no idea why his mother was so offended; the fresh brand on his arm was proof of his commitment to preserving pure blood.
"Your jokes do often leave a lot to be desired," Lucius remarked. If he ever told his mother the same thing, he was quite sure she'd fall right over. He disliked being set up, but not that much. "She's probably busy drawing up a list of women for you right now. When you get home, you'll be whisked off to a series of dates."
Lucius’ words were met with an eye roll. “I don’t know why they can’t trust us to find our own partners,” Rabastan groused. “There’s no shortage of eligible young women. You’re the Malfoy heir, I’m a Lestrange.” A Lestrange who had never properly dated anyone, but that was neither here nor there. “It’s not like we’re going to have trouble finding someone in a few years.”
"It's the constant weddings." The Rowle-Selwyn wedding was the last in a string of weddings this month alone, all seemingly coordinated so that every weekend, he would have to put on his dress robes and stand around while he was being married off in a variety of matches. "They make them anxious that we'll never settle down." Lucius nearly scoffed, but, at the last second, his attention was diverted by the appearance of Bridget Rowle, whose blonde hair stood out in the sea of brunettes that was her family.
He cleared his throat and turned back to Rabastan. "They've forgotten we have more important things to take care of first."
Rabastan’s attention drifted over to Bridget Rowle. Golden blonde hair, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones — he could understand why Lucius was so taken with her. His attention snapped back to Lucius and he gave his friend an encouraging smile. “I think she’s single now.”
In truth, he couldn’t remember if Bridget Rowle was single. But Lucius was a Malfoy and surely better than anyone she was currently dating.
He jerked his head in Bridget’s direction and motioned for Lucius to follow him. The blonde noticed their approach and smiled politely at the both of them, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Hello, Bridget.” Rabastan offered her his most guileless smile. “You remember Lucius, don’t you?”
Panic briefly overtook Lucius' body, forcing him to play catch up once it released him. As a result, he looked awkward walking behind Rabastan and the smile he flashed at Bridget was a little forced. "We talked before — at the Parkinson party. About Victorian shoplifters."
It took a minute or so for Bridget to recall, or at least, look like she recalled. She recovered with grace. "Hello, Lucius. It's nice to see you again. How have you been?"
"Well," he answered, still with the same discomfort that came with spontaneity. He searched for something else to say. "Your cousin's wedding was — well organized."
“Beautiful, really,” Rabastan hastily put in, eyes darting back and forth between Lucius and Bridget. He mentally pleaded with his friend to relax, to be as smooth and charming as possible. “But, in my experience, weddings are always more, er, moving, I suppose, if you attend with someone.”
He gave Bridget what he thought was a pointed look, but the only girl only nodded and smiled.
“I do hate going to weddings alone,” she replied. She looked past them suddenly, as if she was searching the crowd for someone. “It’s always so awkward.”
Luckily for Rabastan, the more time they spent here, the easier it was to relax. Lucius no longer felt stiff and awkward, but, though normally confident, his words still carried an air of uncertainty. "It can be, yes," he said, smoothing out his smile. Bridget's eyes were still searching behind them. "But it's also an opportunity to see people you haven't seen in quite some time. In fact, I was wondering if we could continue our previous conversation — a new topic, of course —"
"There you are," Bridget interrupted abruptly, only giving them an apologetic look for the volume a second later. Lucius turned around, curious as to who she was talking to, and saw a tall, dark-haired man striding towards them. He was big and burly and he came to stand beside Bridget. "Finally!" With a bright smile, she grabbed onto his arm. "My boyfriend, Hugo. He plays for the Quibberon Quafflepunchers. Beater."
Lucius' smile dropped dramatically. He practically sneered as he said, "Lovely to meet you. Big fan." Bridget frowned. "I'm afraid we'll have to make our exit now. Give our congratulations to your cousin." He turned on his heel and only just avoided making a scene.
An awkward pause lingered between Rabastan and the couple for a beat. His eyes followed Lucius’ retreating figure before he shrugged. “It really was a beautiful ceremony,” Rabastan said, offering up an apologetic smile as he took a few steps backward. “And the canapés are great.”
He gave Bridget and her boyfriend a little wave before he turned and trailed after Lucius, briskly striding across the grass to catch up with him.
“Well.” Rabastan dragged out the vowels of the word before taking a sip of his drink. “I thought she was single.”
Lucius kicked the grass petulantly. "That was a terrible idea."
“It wasn’t a terrible idea. You didn’t know she was still dating—” Rabastan affected a falsetto voice, “—Hugo. He plays for the Quibberon Quafflepunchers.”
Despite the poor imitation that was intended to make him feel better about what had just happened, it did not. He couldn't believe that she was still dating the Quidditch player from last time — weren't they supposed to be wildly flighty? Wasn't Rabastan proof of that? He scowled at his shoes. "A terrible career choice, honestly. He'll be thirty-five and retired with a broken knee soon enough."
“Jealousy is unbecoming,” Rabastan teased, lightly punching Lucius on the shoulder. Unbecoming, yes, but amusing (to him). He plucked a cocktail off the tray of a passing waiter and shoved it at Lucius. “But there are lots of pretty girls here.”
There was a weighted pause before he added, in a forced casual tone that didn’t sound casual at all, “Maybe Narcissa Black is here.”
Lucius wasn't jealous. He was only stating facts. Everyone knew that Quidditch careers were short-lived, and more often, unfulfilling. If Bridget Rowle wanted to date some French Quidditch player, he earnestly hoped that she was prepared for a life of fleeting fame and general mediocrity. As a Malfoy and a newly minted Death Eater, he would obviously provide a much better life. But he wasn't jealous, and if he wanted to argue the point, he would have. Instead, he grunted and took a sip of his drink, a concoction that was too sweet, which did not take his mind off rejection.
The mention of Narcissa Black broke him out of his sulk. "So that she can make this day worse?"
“Narcissa is…” Rabastan took a moment to search for the right word. There was a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks as he mulled over his options. Adjectives like enchanting and captivating rose to the surface of his mind, but he was not the sort of person who called anything enchanting and captivating, let alone the girl his best friend detested. Eventually, he settled on, “...agreeable company.” Suddenly nervous, he paused to rapidly polish off the rest of his cocktail. He shrugged one shoulder as he added, “I just thought it would be nice to see her.”
"I'd much rather have to endure a conversation between Bridget and her Beater where they coo over each other than pretend it would be nice to see Narcissa Black at this wedding," Lucius said with a roll of his eyes. When it came to Narcissa, he was often prone to exaggeration. "I can't imagine why you'd want to see her."
Rabastan was careful to avoid Lucius’ eye as he asked, “You don’t think she’s good looking?”
"She's…" Lucius started, trailing off as he realized he was about to compliment her. "Of course she's good looking. She's a Black. Aren't they all? Looks are hardly the most important aspect. Georgina Macmillan is good looking, but she's an insufferable bore."
It took a moment for Rabastan to reply, as his thoughts were still focused on Narcissa Black and her good looks. But his attention snapped to the topic at hand a beat later, and he made a noise of disgust. “Don’t mention her name to me. I’m still not over the incident from sixth year.” He scrubbed a hand against the underside of his jaw as he shook his head. “Who breaks off mid-snog to talk about their Chocolate Frog card collection?”
Lucius smirked and tried to hide it behind his drink, failing at the attempt. "I had forgotten." He hadn't; it was too good of a story to ever really forget and it was always something he could use against Rabastan. "Everyone warned you about her unhealthy obsession."
Rabastan waved a hand dismissively. He had little interest in ruminating on his own romantic failures. His eyes swept over the grounds, scanning the crowd for other interesting girls to talk to, like Narcissa Black. He didn't see her, though, and a crestfallen look passed over his face. However, he did recognize a tall figure holding court with other partygoers.
“Come on, let's go bother my brother for a while,” he suggested, grinning deviously. “He's talking to some fit girls so clearly I need to tell some embarrassing tales.”
If Lucius had it his way, he wouldn't be caught dead in Knockturn Alley, but as it turned out, it was Rabastan's new haunt and he'd made the amateur mistake in letting his friend pick their meeting location. It was just his luck that he had worn his new shoes too; he could feel the grime of the place stick permanently to the leather. After what felt like a century of avoiding every suspicious glance, he finally arrived at the pub Rabastan had named. He was met with multiple raised eyebrows, a short man with only one arm, and a hag with terrible breath.
"This is worth more than your life," he hissed at the hag, who was clinging to the sleeve of his robes. Yanking the fabric away from her clutch, he found Rabastan by the bar and hurried over. They needed to get out of here as soon as possible. "I'm burning this place down," he said with a huff.
There was an amused snort from Rabastan before he replied, “You’ll do no such thing.” The seedy pubs lining Knockturn Alley had become a second home to Rabastan over the past few months. He preferred them to the more upscale restaurants and bars of Diagon Alley. He knocked a fist on the top of the bar to get the bartender’s attention, who hastily slid over two smoking concoctions. The drinks smelled strongly of licorice and a strong alcohol — it was one of the reasons Rabastan preferred Knockturn over Diagon.
A slow smirk made its way across Rabastan’s face. “You’ll change your mind once you chug this down.”
"Do I look like someone who would do that?" Lucius asked, unamused. He contemplated sitting down next to Rabastan, but decided not to once he imagined who could've sat there earlier. It was most likely the hag. He was fine standing. "This is an uncomfortable establishment."
“You need to relax.” Rabastan inched one of the glasses closer to Lucius, a plan that seemed like a good one until it emitted a puff of smoke directly in Lucius’ face. Undeterred, Rabastan simply shrugged and added, “This will help you. Plus, you might make a few new friends.”
He jerked his head toward the hag, who was staring at Lucius with a toothy grin.
Lucius coughed through the smoke and held his hand up towards his face to block any future attacks. Behind his hand, he glared at Rabastan, but nonetheless came closer so that he could get farther away from the other encroaching customers. "Fortunately, I've found myself with enough friends and no need to expand beyond them. Far be it from me to intrude on your... " He looked around with distaste. "Budding friendships."
“Right.” The word was punctuated by a pause as Rabastan threw his own smoking drink back. Throat burning, he immediately made a face at Lucius. “It’s not bad,” he began, his voice hoarse and low. He pounded a fist to his chest as he cleared his throat, then looked at Lucius with raised eyebrows. “Drink up and tell me whatever it is you wanted to tell me.”
The drink looked more appealing now that he actually had to tell Rabastan what he had done. At first, he had wanted to commiserate over his decision making, but he could just hear his laughter and frankly, it wasn't how he wanted to spend his time at a seedy Knockturn pub. Then again, he was already spending enough time at a seedy Knockturn pub and didn't relish spending more time here. His mind made up, Lucius only spluttered helplessly for a minute as he swallowed the drink and had to hold onto the counter to steady himself.
He coughed a few times. Then: "I've accidentally started seeing Narcissa Black."
An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Rabastan replayed the words in his mind. Gales of incredulous laughter spilled from him as he stared at Lucius in disbelief. Lucius and Narcissa? It was impossible — everyone knew those two despised each other. But as one moment slipped into the next, as Rabastan carefully read the expression on Lucius’ face, he realized this wasn’t a joke. There was a flash of anger in his eyes before he schooled his expression into something neutral.
“How the fuck do you accidentally start seeing someone?”
That was a question he had been asking himself as well. Pretending to date Narcissa had been an accident, and in that case, there was a much clearer answer to that question, but actually dating her clearly involved a conscious choice that was made. There was no accident there. "I suppose it wasn't much of an accident. We're seeing each other. I… have feelings for her. Positive ones this time."
The admission took Rabastan several seconds to process. Lucius and Narcissa, dating. His best friend and his longtime… whatever Narcissa was to him, dating. Anger and jealousy surged through him, and he forced himself to stare at the shelf of liquor behind the bar. His eyes quickly flicked over the labels, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the brewing storm of rage swirling around his mind.
Jaw set, he slapped Lucius on the back with a little too much force. “Well. Good for you,” he said, in a tone that was downright murderous.
Caught off guard by the slap on the back, he faltered forward and tossed Rabastan a disgruntled look. There was no need for that. "Yes, you do sound extraordinarily pleased for me."
“It’s just that—” Rabastan quickly broke off as he realized what he was going to say. It’s just that I liked Narcissa sounded petulant and selfish. Then again, how hadn’t Lucius noticed? He thought his feelings were obvious. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. Forcing himself to smile, he smoothed out some of the anger in his voice. “I want you to be happy and all that, so if Narcissa makes you happy… good.”
"You sound like Rodolphus," Lucius remarked, his displeasure evident at the sound of his well-wishes. "I see enough of him already, please don't start echoing him." He paused for a moment, moving the glass around in a circle. "She's… surprising. I was wrong about her before." It was as much of a concession he was willing to make.
“I told you you were,” Rabastan shot back, waving a hand in order to flag the bartender down again. Frowning, he glanced over at Lucius. “Are you going to sit down or not?”
"Yes, you told me so," he said with a wave of his hand before casting a disapproving look at the seat. "Will you be here for long?"
As if on cue, the bartender slammed down two glasses in front of them, both filled to the brim with a bubbling green liquid. Gesturing toward the drinks, Rabastan gave Lucius an expectant look. “We have to stay long enough to finish at least two more drinks. These are the bartender’s specialty.”
More importantly, they were strong enough to drown out all thoughts of Narcissa Black.
"Wonderful," Lucius muttered, although he did sit down. He could just burn the robes when he got home. "We wouldn't want to disappoint the bartender."