The Writer and the Death Eater | Rabastan Lestrange

Chapter Four

 Tommy had been staring at his typewriter for about half an hour. 

 He had been letting his family think that he was perfectly fine, that he was writing as usual, that he had all these great ideas. But that wasn't the truth at all. The truth of the matter was that Tommy had writer's block, and he didn't know what to do about it. 

 This wasn't the first time Tommy had been through any kind of writer's block. It had happened to him a few times before in the past, but those times he would a short break, then brainstorm and write some things down until he had something. It really hadn't been that hard to handle. But this was different. It had been four weeks, and he still had nothing. 

 Tommy couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He must have done something to himself to make this happen to him, but he couldn't think of anything; he hadn't been doing anything out of the ordinary lately, so he couldn't think if any reason as to why he would be having such terrible writer's block. 

 Tommy looked around the room, and then at the open door to his bedroom. He got a glimpse of the closed door to Gustav's bedroom. It had been closed since he'd left the week. Staring at that closed door, Tommy felt very alone, and he wished his little brother was there. He didn't know what Gustav knew about writing a book, if anything, but he might have at least been able to help with ideas. 

 Tommy jumped up out his chair when he heard someone knocking at the door. A distraction! That was exactly what he needed right now. He hurried to the door, ready to thank whoever that was for giving him something to do besides think about his problems. 

 It was Rabastan Lestrange. He gave Tommy a shy smile when he answered the door. 

 "Hello," he said. "I'm glad I remembered which door you said was yours." 

 "Oh. Hi." Tommy was surprised to find it was Rabastan. It had been a week since they last saw each other, and Tommy really hadn't thought the Englishman was going to show up. 

 "I know it must be a bit of a surprise, me showing up," Rabastan went on. "After you told me where you live, I didn't when would be a good time to show up, or if there even was a good time." 

 "Well, now actually is a good time," said Tommy. "Come right in. I, um..." 

 He paused when he turned back around to face the apartment, realizing the place was actually a bit messy. 

 "Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, feeling incredibly embarrassed. "I really haven't been giving much thought to the cleaning lately." 

 "Ah. Well, you haven't made much a mess," Rabastan replied, glancing around the living room. "It's not as bad as you think. Here, I bought a few pastries from The Resort. You seemed pretty fond of them, and I felt like I ought to bring something with me." 

 "Oh. Thank you, Rabastan. That's very thoughtful of you." Tommy was secretly very fond of the pastries at The Resort, and it made everything even brighter to know his guest had brought some with him. He was going to look in the bag and see which pastries Rabastan had picked, but then he remembered it was probably more polite to let the guest pick from them first. "Um, well, you're my guest, so you can pick first." 

 "Oh, don't worry about me. I already had one. Besides, they're meant to be for you." 

 Tommy smiled shyly and took the bag. "Thank you. So...what brings you by? Oh, sit down, please." 

 "To be honest, I'm not sure," Rabastan answered as he sat down on the sofa. "I suppose I was curious as to what the home of a great writer might look like." 

 "Oh. Um, 'great writer'? Well...I'm sorry if it's disappointing. I haven't really been doing much cleaning lately," Tommy mumbled, and then remembered he had mentioned that part already. "Oh, I feel like I can't do anything right, even write a novel." 

 Rabastan raised his eyebrows. "Really? Well, I read-" 

 "That short story book. I know. But I've terrible writer's block for the last four weeks, and I can't get rid of it. I have no clue what to write, or where to even start." Tommy turned his head away. "I'm sorry. I must seem really miserable for a man people think is a great writer." 

 Rabastan didn't reply right away. He looked like he was thinking about something, and Tommy knew from experience that people don't like to be interrupted while they're thinking. 

 "Have you thought about writing a story about a man looking for redemption?" he asked. 

 "A man...no, I don't think I have," Tommy answered. "I don't think I'd know where to start." 

 "Hmm. I think, if you wouldn't mind it, I might be able to help you," Rabastan said. "I know you must be used to working on your own-" 

 "No, no. I think help might be what I need. Yes, of course I don't mind. Why don't we meet at The Resort tomorrow morning for breakfast? We can go over it then." 

 "Oh. All right. Um, see you tomorrow morning." 

 After Rabastan had left, Tommy couldn't believe what he just done. He, who always wanted to work alone, was suddenly willing to work with someone. He had to be going insane.