Chapter Text
You're Not Like the Others
─But I Am...
“Who, Petunia Evans? “
He had always viewed her through a lens of ingrained prejudice. In his eyes, she was nothing more than another Muggle-born witch, unworthy of his time or respect. This belief was a legacy of the Lestrange family, passed down through generations, shaping his view of the world. Their paths inevitably crossed in the corridors of Hogwarts, as they were in the same year and shared a few classes. Yet, Rabastan never gave her more than a cursory glance, tinged with a hint of disdain. Petunia, a Hufflepuff, was known for her kindness and civility, traits that earned her admiration among her peers. Rabastan recalled a younger Petunia, one who couldn’t hide her tears when faced with cruelty. But as the years passed, she seemed to grow stronger, more resilient. The barbs and sneers thrown her way by some of his housemates for her blood status no longer seemed to pierce her as deeply. She faced their cruelty with a quiet dignity, turning the other cheek with a resolve that Rabastan found puzzling.
“She is just some Muggle-born witch! ”
Her conduct had garnered the respect and admiration of her fellow Hufflepuffs, and by her fifth year, Petunia Evans was rightfully appointed as a Prefect. Her new role, emblematic of order and exemplary conduct, wasn't lost on Rabastan, though he often thought she erred on the side of leniency. Her approach, favoring encouragement over penalties, seemed at odds with his own values. Watching her handle a minor infraction among younger students with a mere conversation and a gentle warning, he felt a twinge of irritation. Her methods, favoring guidance over punishment, seemed alien to him. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss the unmistakable respect she garnered from her peers, a respect born not of fear, but of genuine admiration.
“I heard that she used to cry in the girls' bathroom, but it could have been another, why would I care?"
In the Prefect meetings, where they frequently sat opposite each other, Rabastan found his gaze involuntarily drawn to her. Despite himself, he noticed her enthusiasm for new ideas, her eyes sparkling with a fervor that inexplicably quickened his heartbeat. It compelled him to look away, wishing he were anywhere but there. He respected the honor of being a Prefect, but the meetings could be dreadfully dull, unlike the monthly Prefect parties. It was there, amid the casual revelry, that his irritation grew. He couldn't help but watch Petunia as she glided across the dance floor, her 'Muggle grooves' captivating her audience. Her immersion in the dance, in a world seemingly of her own, was strangely enthralling. Each time he caught himself mesmerized by her carefree spirit, he hastily dismissed it as a mere curiosity, attributing his attention to a disdain for her 'appalling Muggle ways'. Yet, deep down, he knew there was something more, something he wasn't ready to admit.
“Should I ask her for a dance? just to test her reaction.”
Despite himself, Rabastan couldn’t help but be aware of Petunia Evans’s considerable magical talent. As a Muggle-born, she defied his family's staunch prejudices by excelling in Advanced-level classes in Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration. Even in the classes they shared – Care of Magical Creatures and Potions – her proficiency was undeniable. One particular Potions lesson stood out in Rabastan's mind. It was an afternoon where, by a twist of fate or perhaps a deliberate arrangement by Professor Slughorn, he found himself paired with Petunia Evans for a complex brewing task. The idea had initially irked him - working alongside a Muggle-born was not something he would have chosen willingly.
"She's talented, so what? It's not like it changes anything.”
However, as they progressed through the intricate steps of the potion, Rabastan couldn't help but notice Petunia's adeptness. Her movements were precise, her knowledge evident in the way she effortlessly added ingredients at just the right moment. He recalled a brief moment when they both had reached for the moonstone, their hands briefly met, and Rabastan felt an unexpected jolt — a startling, unwanted spark. He recoiled inwardly, veiling his confusion with a mask of disdain. “Sorry,” Petunia murmured, her voice as calm and steady as ever, as if such moments were nothing but trivial. She had let the moment pass without pause, not once lifting her eyes to seek Rabastan's expression. With seamless grace, she redirected her attention back to their task, her hands moving with practiced precision. This swift return to focus revealed her adeptness at prioritizing the task at hand, her concentration undisturbed by fleeting distractions. Rabastan sneered privately, deriding himself for the absurdity of being unsettled by such a mundane touch. Yet, the unexpected warmth of her skin lingered against his, an unbidden contrast to the icy doctrines he had been steeped in. It was unsettling, this reminder of her humanity, so at odds with the labels he had been taught to assign
“Her understanding of potion-making was more than proficient. It was almost... impressive."
The rest of the lesson passed in a blur for Rabastan, his actions in completing the potion purely mechanical. His thoughts kept drifting back to that brief, unexpected touch with Petunia, a moment of unintended connection that seemed to echo in his mind. The potion they had crafted together, largely due to Petunia’s skill, was acclaimed by Professor Slughorn as one of the best in class. Though Rabastan begrudgingly acknowledged her contribution internally, he wasn't prepared for the way this acknowledgement would begin to reshape his perceptions.
“Yes, I've washed my hands a dozen times, but I still can't seem to get clean,"
Petunia, previously just another face in the crowded halls of Hogwarts, might have remained a mere peripheral figure in Rabastan’s world. However, as they entered their sixth year, something subtle yet profound began to shift in his awareness. This change was not something he could easily admit, nor did he fully understand it at first.
“Who, Petunia Evans? Don't know her“
The true genesis of this change traced back to an incident that seemed inconsequential at the time. It happened on the Hogwarts Express at the start of their sixth year. In a moment of frustration, Rabastan had left his friends behind, seeking solitude to cool his temper. He barged into what he believed to be an empty carriage, only to find Petunia Evans there, midway through changing into her school robes.
“...”
The unexpectedness of the encounter, intimate and startling in ways he had never known, triggered a whirlwind of emotions within Rabastan. Instinctively, he wanted to turn away, to give her the privacy she deserved, yet for a brief, arresting moment, he found himself unable to move. It was not just the grace in her movements or the quiet confidence she exuded even in such a vulnerable state; it was their eyes meeting — a connection as surprising as it was brief. Her gaze, wide with shock, met his, and a flush of red crept over her face, mirroring the embarrassment that suddenly flooded through him.
"I... erm,”
In that fleeting exchange, something shifted palpably in the air between them. The surprise on her face, swiftly morphing into a blush, was an image that imprinted itself on his mind. Conflicted feelings – embarrassment, confusion, and a fascination he couldn’t quite name – tangled within him as he quickly stepped back, muttering an awkward apology before hastily retreating from the carriage. The moment lingered, the memory of her gaze and the unexpected flush of her cheeks haunting him long after the carriage door had closed behind him.
“Fuck of Avery, I was just appreciating nature”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Now he was seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Rabastan found himself unable to focus on the food at the Great Feast. A burning sense of shame engulfed him, stemming from the impropriety of what he had witnessed. He knew it was unseemly for him to have seen a young, unmarried witch in such a state of undress. His actions, though unintentional, gnawed at him. He had been brought up with strict standards of decorum, and invading someone’s privacy, even inadvertently, was not something he could easily forgive himself for.
Occasionally, his gaze flickered towards the Hufflepuff table, where Petunia was seated. He wondered anxiously if she might say something about the incident. Would she tell others, and if so, would they believe her? The thought of being labeled a pervert for a mistake, an accident of timing, and being judged by someone like Petunia Evans was deeply unsettling. It seemed profoundly unfair – the carriage door hadn't been locked, and there had been no way for him to know she would be there, in such a state. He tried to justify to himself that it was merely an unfortunate coincidence, that he had been powerless to react differently in the moment.
Yet, these rationalizations did little to assuage the turmoil within him. The memory of the incident, the surprise and embarrassment in Petunia's eyes, replayed in his mind, leaving him restless and conflicted. The dinner continued around him, a blur of noise and movement, but Rabastan remained ensnared in his own thoughts, grappling with feelings he could not fully understand or articulate. As Rabastan's gaze inadvertently drifted back towards Petunia, he couldn't shake off a certain realization – she seemed different than he remembered. There was a newfound maturity in her figure, curves that hadn't been so pronounced before, or perhaps they had always been there, and he had simply never noticed. The memory of the accidental glimpse he had caught on the train surfaced unbidden, highlighting changes he hadn't been aware of. He quickly chastised himself, “Nope, don't think about it!” he mentally admonished, trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts. It was improper, indecent even, to contemplate such things. Yet, despite his efforts, the image lingered, a testament to a change he was only now beginning to acknowledge, both in her and in his perception.
Compelled by the dictates of social etiquette, Rabastan knew an apology was not just appropriate, but necessary. The thought of anyone discovering the incident, particularly his own father, sent a wave of dread through him. What if rumors began to circulate, suggesting he harbored an interest in Muggle-borns? The very idea was unthinkable, both socially and personally. His father's reaction, should he come to hear of it, was a prospect too dire to contemplate.
Resolved, albeit with a heavy sense of resignation, Rabastan decided on his course of action. He would pen a letter to Miss Evans, articulating the innocence of his intentions, and framing the entire episode as a regrettable mistake. Such a gesture, he hoped, would not only convey his apologies but also secure her discretion in the matter.
With these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Rabastan abruptly rose from the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, earning surprised looks from his housemates. Avery called out after him, but he paid no heed. His movements were brisk and purposeful as he made his way back to the dormitory. There, he faced the daunting task of composing a letter, one that required delicate wording and careful diplomacy. The sooner it was sent, the sooner he could consign this entire unfortunate episode to the past.
─────═◈═─────
Miss Evans,
I am writing to extend my sincerest apologies for the incident that occurred on the Hogwarts Express. It was never my intention to cause you any discomfort or distress. Upon entering the carriage, which I mistakenly believed to be unoccupied, I found myself in a situation wholly unbecoming of a gentleman, thanks to your unexpected presence. The values I have been taught, particularly regarding the respect and decorum owed to young, unmarried women, make it all the more imperative for me to express my deep regret. The lapse in judgment that regrettably resulted in my witnessing you in a state of undress, though entirely unintentional and not something i found enjoyment in, I esure you!
In my society, the reputation and honor of a young lady are of the utmost importance, and I am acutely aware that my inadvertent intrusion could be perceived as a slight against your virtue, although I trust your own judgment in such matters despite your background. This, I assure you, was not my intention, and I am deeply sorry for any embarrassment this may have caused you.
However, I must express a concern of a delicate nature. I fear that if word of this incident were to spread, it could lead to damaging misconceptions, not only about my character but also about my views towards Muggle-borns. Such misunderstandings could cause irreparable harm to my reputation within our community. Therefore, I request your discretion in this matter.
Please understand that this letter is written not only to express my regret but also to uphold the values of respect and propriety that I strongly believe in. Furthermore I hope that you can learn to lock doors in the future. If you require assistance, the charm “Colloportus” was, of course, taught to us in our very first year at Hogwarts, in Charms, from 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1'. It might be useful for you to revisit!
Regretfully
~R.L
─────═◈═─────
Rabastan set down his quill with a sense of satisfaction, watching as the final words of his letter dried on the parchment. He leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips as he admired his handiwork. The loops and flourishes of his handwriting, each stroke a testament to the confidence he felt. The act of writing the letter had been almost liberating, a declaration of his innocence, he was certain it would sway her.
Rabastan folded the letter with a determined glint in his eyes. Contemplating whether to seal it with the Lestrange family seal, he hesitated briefly, wondering if marking it with his seal was wise. In the end, his determination won over any doubts. His hand moved with purpose as he sealed the letter shut, watching as the green wax solidified, proudly imprinting the Lestrange seal.
With newfound resolve, he slipped the sealed letter into the inner pocket of his robe, feeling the satisfying weight of it against his chest. He strode out of his dormitory, his steps purposeful and confident as he made his way toward the owlery.
Upon reaching his destination, Rabastan surveyed the perches for a suitable messenger. His gaze settled on a sleek owl that exuded an air of calm and dependability. With confidence, he carefully attached the letter to the owl's leg and whispered, ""Petunia Evans, Hufflepuff dormitories, before breakfast."
Initially docile, the owl suddenly took off with an unexpected surge of energy, its flapping wings stirring a small commotion among its fellow owls. Rabastan watched as it vanished into the night sky, a feeling of inevitable success washing over him.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Rabastan had risen early, savoring a solitary breakfast in the Great Hall while most of Hogwarts still slumbered. The morning air was crisp, a hint of frost lingering as he made his way through the corridors towards his first class, advanced-level Defense Against the Dark Arts. His mind was at ease, she would read the letter, forgive him and it would all be like before, nothing of significance had truly happened, he was overreacting, it's not like she expected him to apologize.
As he chatted with his friends, Rabastan was jolted from his casual conversation by a voice, sharp and unmistakable, slicing through the morning's tranquility. "RABASTAN LESTRANGE!" The voice reverberated off the stone walls, stirring a few nearby portraits from their slumber.He tensed, reluctant to turn around. But the gaze of his friends shifted to a point behind him, compelling him to look. There, approaching with determined steps, was Petunia Evans. Her usually serene expression had given way to a storm of emotion, her eyes alight with a fire he couldn’t identify.
Rabastan's instinctive surprise quickly morphed into feigned ignorance. He straightened, assuming a facade of confidence. "Miss Evans," he greeted, his voice smooth, betraying none of his inner turmoil. "To what do I owe the ple-"
His attempt at pleasantries was abruptly cut off as Petunia came to a halt before him, her gaze searing. "How dare you?" she demanded, her tone low but resonant with anger. "How dare you write such things, and make such presumptions of my character and virtue?"
Rabastan, taken aback for a moment, quickly tried to regroup. This confrontation was nothing like what he had expected. What had he been anticipating, exactly? Perhaps a shy smile from Petunia in the hallways, or a polite hello in their next shared class? These were the reactions he had envisioned, subtle acknowledgments that would validate his gesture. Instead, he found himself facing her unbridled indignation, a response that left him scrambling for the right words.
"Miss Evans, I believed-" he began, striving to regain some semblance of control.
"Believed what? That a few lofty words would sway me?" she interjected, her voice intensifying, drawing the eyes of nearby students. "That I would be charmed by your arrogance?"
Rabastan's confidence began to waver, but he was not one to easily concede. "I recall writing that you act with discretion," he retorted, maintaining his poised exterior.
Petunia's expression twisted into a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Discretion?" she echoed, her voice laden with incredulity. "Then why would you choose the most mischievous owl in Hogwarts for your letter?" As she spoke, she gestured dramatically towards her hair, now a disordered cascade of blonde curls, far from her usual meticulous styling. It was as if the owl’s chaotic arrival had played a part in ruining her carefully arranged hair. “And if you genuinely seek my forgiveness,” she continued, punctuating her words by jabbing a finger into Rabastan’s chest, “then I suggest you get down on your knees and beg for it.”
Rabastan stared at her, his initial shock turning into disbelief. Was she serious? Surely she was jesting, using sarcasm as retribution. The idea of Rabastan Lestrange, a member of one of the most distinguished houses at Hogwarts, kneeling and begging was absurd, almost laughable.
Feeling the situation was spiraling, and not wanting to further this discourse in front of his friends and a crowd of random students, he suggested, "Perhaps we can discuss this, in a more... private setting?"
Petunia, however, was unmoved. “Be alone with you? No thanks,” she said firmly, as if implying danger in his company – a notion he found ludicrous. “I do forgive you for your previous actions,” she continued, her tone softening slightly but her disappointment still clear. “But I will not forgive this ridiculous letter! Do not write to me again, Lestrange.” With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Rabastan in the corridor, a rare sense of defeat washing over him.
"What in Salazar's name was that about?" Avery prodded, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Rabastan's evident discomfort. He bent down, retrieving the crumpled paper she had left in her wake. Straightening up, he waved the letter in front of Rabastan. "Is this the masterpiece you sent her?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.
A flush of embarrassment crept up Rabastan's neck. "It's nothing," he muttered, trying to dismiss the incident with a wave of his hand. "Just a misunderstanding." He reached for the letter, torn between the desire to burn it or to revisit his own words. His fingers hesitated over the paper before he snatched it up, unfolding it to glance over the lines that now seemed alien to him, tainted by Petunia's reaction.
Avery's chuckle broke through his thoughts. "A 'misunderstanding' with a Muggle-born, eh? That's not the Rabastan Lestrange I know. What's gotten into you?"
The probing eyes and teasing tone from Avery were the last things Rabastan needed. Yet, part of him wanted to explain, to justify himself. He leaned in, lowering his voice so only Avery could hear. "I accidentally walked in on her changing”
Avery's eyebrows shot up, his voice a loud whisper filled with disbelief and intrigue. "You saw Evans naked?" he asked. Avery's tone shifted to a mockingly serious one. "You know what this means, right? You have to marry her now," he said, barely concealing a grin.
Rabastan rolled his eyes at Avery's ridiculous suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous," he hissed, glancing around to ensure no one else overheard. "And keep your voice down, will you?" Avery's jest, though light-hearted, only added to the awkwardness of the situation.
Chuckling, Avery seemed to relish in Rabastan's discomfort. "Just think, if it were a pureblood girl from our house, her father would've already drafted the marriage contract," he teased, giving Rabastan a sly wink. "Imagine, you and Evans, a blissfully wedded couple."
The thought was ludicrous, clashing starkly with Rabastan’s beliefs and desires. He snorted in response, trying to dismiss the absurd image Avery had planted in his mind. "In your dreams, Avery," he retorted, yet a part of him was unsettled by the thought.
Avery clapped him on the back, grinning. "I'm just messing with you," he said as they began walking to class. "But seriously, be careful. You don’t want this turning into a scandal. Think about your family's reputation."
Rabastan nodded, feeling the full weight of Avery's words press upon him. The Lestrange legacy, a mantle he bore with both pride and burden, left no room for even the slightest scandal. As he contemplated the potential fallout, a sense of dread unfurled within him. The mere thought of his Father hearing rumors about him pursuing a Muggle-born was unsettling. But the prospect of his brother's reaction was far more daunting – he imagined it would be akin to finding himself in the Forbidden Forest, standing before an enraged centaur with a drawn bow aimed directly at his heart.
As Rabastan stepped into the classroom, his thoughts were swirling. The recent confrontation with Petunia, coupled with Avery's teasing, underscored the possible repercussions of his actions. It dawned on him how quickly a seemingly minor incident could escalate if not managed properly.
Avery, however, wasn't ready to drop the subject. "Be glad it was Evans," he commented nonchalantly. "At least she's pretty, even for a Mudblood."
Rabastan, reacting without thinking, agreed, "That's true, she isn't bad looking." The words had barely left his lips before he regretted them. Avery responded with a knowing side smirk, almost as if he had expected such a remark, reinforcing an unspoken understanding between them.
Settling into his seat, Rabastan silently resolved to put the incident behind him and focus on safeguarding his reputation and personal life. Perhaps the best strategy would be to avoid Petunia entirely. He hadn't actively sought her company before this episode, and he decided it was prudent to keep any future interactions with her strictly formal and brief, should they happen at all. This seemed the simplest solution to avoid further complications.