day 4/peace/@holyserpent-microfics/519 wc/Mary Macdonald x Rabastan Lestrange
“War and Peace?” A large hand landed over Mary’s book as she sat alone in the Hogwarts library.
“Piss off, Lestrange,” she said, rolling her eyes without even looking up.
But instead of leaving, the older boy slid into the chair across from her. “Russian literature, really? Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type to like that shite.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Rabastan Lestrange didn’t know her — not properly. A few run-ins in the corridors, a sparring match or two at the duelling club. Different years, different houses, different circles. That was all they’d ever shared.
“I have a twin brother,” she replied, rolling her eyes again as if that explained everything. “He’s a Muggle, obviously. My mum wants me to follow Muggle schooling alongside the wizarding one — as much as possible.”
“That’s stupid,” Rabastan shrugged. “Not like you’ll do anything with it.”
“Anyway,” Mary exhaled and turned the page. “So I have to read whatever he reads in school. This month it’s War and Peace.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Mary read. Rabastan watched her and idly spun one of her quills between his fingers.
“What do Muggles know about war, anyway,” he murmured, brow furrowed. “Or peace, for that matter. They don’t know war like we do.”
That made Mary finally lift her gaze to him.
“There’s no peace without war, nor war without peace that could ever last,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “But I reckon I like war.”
“You like war?” Mary asked, surprised — her voice a quiet whisper in the tall shadows of the shelves.
“I like knowing who people are,” Rabastan replied, eyes distant, fixed somewhere just past her. “Peace can’t show us that. War does. So then I wonder, like I said, what do Muggles really know about any of this.”
Mary closed the book gently, setting it on the wooden table between them.
“But you wouldn’t do it,” he added, voice dropping even lower as he leaned in slightly, arms braced on the tabletop. “War, that is. You wouldn’t fight. Maybe not peace either — so this book might not suit you after all.”
“You don’t know that,” Mary tilted her head. “I’m a rather skilled duellist.”
Rabastan smiled faintly and almost sad. “Sure,” he nodded. “But you’re a better person. If war came, you’d sooner walk away from the wizarding world and forget it all than join it. You’re the type who wouldn’t kill. Not even the bad ones.”
He stood, and Mary wanted to say more — ask him what he meant, why he’d even said any of it — but something about the moment held her still.
“Oh but…” he paused, half-turned now, tall frame caught in the low lamplight. “Like I said, you wouldn’t like peace either. I reckon if there were only peace, you’d have nothing to fight about. So maybe… maybe there’s something in the middle, for people like you.”
Rabastan paused once more.
“Or maybe you’re the only one like that — I’m yet to decide.”