A Change of Feeling

Slytherin Ways in Azkaban

The air is chilled, and Rabastan braced himself for the dementors that he knew were coming around again. He bowed his head as the nightmares were brought to the surface, and took refuge deeper in his mind, as he'd been training himself to do since his second week in this hellhole. He curled into a fetal position, in the farthest corner of his cell. The cell itself was bare, only a thin mat, with a thin blanket on it. There was a toilet in the other corner, which was magically emptied every other day.

The top floor of Azkaban was always silent, the greatest fighting spirit had long been sucked away by the Dementors. Every now and then someone remembered something and was happy to share this with the rest. This often sounded like an utterance of a lunatic to an outsider. But, yeah, well they might be insane.

Rabastan had been talking to one of the human guards for the past few months. This resulted in an extra task: two days a month, after the full moon, injuries from Fenrir Greyback had to be treated. The Aurors preferred not to do this themselves, Fenrir had already bitten someone twice during his imprisonment. By doing this, and being his charming self, Rabastan had the opportunity to receive and send a letter once a week. He was only allowed to correspond with his father. His father still had a lot of respect among his peers. This resulted in the letters being checked quite lax. His father informed him about the political climate, about his own ups and downs, and about Harry Potter.

Harry Potter proved to be a true obsession among the prisoners on the top floor. Early in his imprisonment, Rabastan often philosophized with Rookwood and Macnair about the Dark Lord's disastrous night. They concluded that Potter's parents had provided Harry with blood protection, which had reflected the Killing Curse. One other option had some merit: if Potter was also a descendant of the Slytherin line, and his magic fulfilled certain conditions, then it was not possible to kill another Heir. The advantage of this theory was that the Potter could not kill the Dark Lord either.

Rabastan could not resist asking his father about Harry Potter. He soon heard about the lack of public outings, and his father was also unable to find out which tutors young Potter had for Magic Theory for Minors. When he learned that Potter was living with Muggles just weeks after the Dark Lord's return, Rabastan decided to send a letter to Potter himself. Was it all ignorance, or was Potter not interested in the Magical World? Potter's first letter was an eye-opener. The brat had a lot of repressed anger, especially aimed at his filthy Muggle family. Rabastan could sense that young Heir was being abused by his Muggle family. This raised further questions: why did his Magical Guardian allow this abuse? The other interesting fact about Potter was that he was a Parselmouth. This strengthened Rabastan's theory of another Slytherin descendant. Yes, Harry proved to be an interesting person.

A soft knock on his cell door pulled Rabastan out of his musings. "Another letter, Lestrange." Auror Bree said softly, shoving the letter under the door.

Rabastan got to his feet and quickly reached for the letter. It was a letter from his father informing him that he had delivered his letter to Harry. He also reported that the last part of the letter already contained Harry's response and that it had turned out to be interesting again. His father reiterated his concerns, both in his interest in Potter, but also in his health.

Rabastan snorted about this, his health had been declining for years. The information from Potter made him feel more like the man he used to be. He scanned his father's letter briefly and quickly went to Pott- no Harry's part of the letter. He scowled. This was concerning. Two Dementors in Surrey? This was certainly not the Dark Lord's doing. It did not fit in His ways, once the Dark Lord regained control of the Dementors, they would no longer be here in this section of Azkaban. Rabastan was sure that as long as you were loyal to the Dark Lord, He would reward it. No, he was convinced that the Dark Lord was going to fortify his base first and only then would look at his supporters. His freedom was coming, but this still didn't explain the two Dementors in Surrey. All he could think of was that they had been sent by the Ministry to get rid of Harry. A freak accident.

Rabastan read Harry's letter again. A scratch that turns into a tattoo... Lots of bitterness and anger. Doubts to embrace his gifts. His father was right, this letter was interesting. Harry was expected at the Ministry soon. He wondered what his father would think of the young Lord. Maybe he could ask his father for a photo... Rabastan thought about Harry's tattoo again. He read about this, somewhere, some time ago. 'That damn cold! Those horrible creatures that turned his brains to a pulp.' Rabastan thought angrily.

"Hey, Dolf! Dolf! Still alive, brother?"

"Little brother, yes, I am still here." Rodolphus's voice was faint, but it still had a stern ring to it.

"Can you remember a reference of a tattoo made from black veins, caused by a Dementor scratch?"

"Were you attacked, little brother? Are you okay?" Rodolphus sounded worried right now.

Rabastan gave a short laugh. "Good to hear that you still care about me. Warms my heart. But no, it's not for me. It's an academic interest."

This made Rodolphus laugh out loud. "Are you starting up a public library, little brother? I appreciate your commitment, but I am more in need of a warmer blanket."'

"Indulge me brother." Rabastan sighs.

"I can't remember, it's a big mess in my head. Wait, let me ask Rookwood. He might have some inkling... Oi! Oi! ROOKWOOD! Are you still breathing!" Rodolphus yelled.

Somewhere at the back of the hallway, he could hear some shuffling and cursing. Something fell to the floor and he heard something hit the metal bars.

"Who dares to disturb me! Guys you know I love you, but I love my wife more. And I just had, finally, a beautiful dream about her. This better be good! " Rookwood sounded grumpy.

"Yeah, yeah... we all know that is a lie! You don't love your wife! We all know you dream about us, in various positions!" Rodolphus laughed at his own joke. "But, erm, Basty had a question for you. Do you know anything about a tattoo made from black veins? Oh yes, caused by a Dementor scratch."

There was a long silence. After a few minutes, Rodolphus began to speak again.

"Rookwood? Augustus, mate? I know you do love your wife. Come on! Look at me! I am still pining after my pretty lady!" Rodolphus whines.

"Oh shut up, little maggot. I am not mad, I am thinking. Well, better: Occluding. My mind space is still intact, but it's hard to reach everything. Wait for a second..... Ekrizdis! Yes, the dark wizard Ekrizdiz! He wrote a grimoire, your father got a version in his library, I believe. A dark tattoo was mentioned. I don't know the specifications. Does this help you?" Rookwood shouts back at Rodolphus.

"Yeah, this helps Augustus. Thank you. You'll get Rabastan's shower time for this week!" Rodolphus exclaimed.

"Oi! Brother! What are you doing!" Rabastan says to Rodolphus. "I like my warm shower, thank you very much!"

"You needed information? You'll have to pay for it. You can thank your secret lover for the lack of a hot shower. You didn't think I didn't notice your secret letters, Basty. I saw you smiling last week, and you never smile. But keep your secrets, for now, little brother. I'll always find out myself. Call it a new daytime activity." Rodolphus let out a booming laugh. "Thinks got a lot more interesting these past weeks, Basty. And I've got you to thank for it."

Rabastan dropped onto his mattress. The dark wizard Ekrizdis, of course. He had lived here on Azkaban for a while. He would write to his father to pass the information on to Harry. His father was creative enough to do this in an unobtrusive way. If he was quick, it could be done before Harry had his hearing. Perhaps this would provide an opening for his father. He quickly picked up a piece of parchment and began to write.