holyserpent microfics

day 7 / recover / @holyserpent-microfics / mary macdonald x rabastan lestrange / wc 312 / slight nsfw

He will recover. He will. This is totally normal. It must be.

Evan said everyone feels confused about some people once in a while — nothing bad with that. Mary Macdonald was just his type, and that was fine. Rabastan was confused. All this was just a phase. Nothing was actually happening. He was, of course, not gay. It wasn’t gay to think a girl who’d been born male could be attractive.

Granted, Bruce and Antonin said otherwise — but who the hell listened to those two fuckers, anyway?

Rabastan could absolutely do it — get over this little crush that wasn’t even a real crush. Mary Macdonald just had great tits. That was all.

Great tits that were currently bouncing as she danced on a table in some bloody club during his cousin’s birthday. Which was fine. He was fine. Rabastan will recover from this nonsense.

And it wasn’t like he had a thing for girls who didn’t wear bras, had currently very hard nipples poking through a too-tight hot pink tank top — and said nipples were pierced. No man liked that. Like, ever. He thought as he toyed with his own lip piercing, wondering idly how metal-on-metal might feel.

But nothing was going to happen anyway. Rabastan Lestrange was not a gay man, and you had to be gay to have sex with someone with a dick and—

“Oi, Lestrange!” Mary shouted across the noise. “Body shots. You in?”

“You want me to take a shot off your body?” Rabastan asked, licking his lips involuntarily.

She just laughed. “No, you fucker. They need another bloke,” she pointed to the scene unfolding on the table.

Mary laughed so hard at him it set off others nearby — the kind of laughter that made your ego bleed.

Oh, fuck recovery. Rabastan Lestrange was going to end up sucking a dick somehow.

God help us all.

day 6 / silhouette / @holyserpent-microfics / mary macdonald x rabastan lestrange / 408 wc / slight nsfw (maybe)

Smashing her head against something — or maybe his face, or just the nearest wall in this cursed classroom — was the real question. Wonders never ceased.

“Remember, class, you want to absorb the model’s silhouette,” the art professor’s voice rang out above the low murmur of sketching. Mary recoiled at the sound, painfully aware that she had too many half-formed studies and not a single usable piece among them.

Mary had only signed up for this bloody body composition class to help with her paintings. She knew the models would be naked. She was a professional, after all. She’d painted nudes before.

But none like this one.

Did he really have to look like that? And with that many piercings?

Fucking hell.

No, Mary, concentrate! So what if the bloke was half-hard? He was just a bloody pervert for being horny by the thought of being watched like this. With devastating black eyes and a pierced dick, granted. But still. He probably wasn’t even into trans girls.

She tried once more to sketch his perfectly toned legs, but her B5 pen kept drifting higher… just like every other time.

“Oh, Mary, dear,” the professor giggled from behind her. “Let’s get to the rest of the body as well, shall we?”

That made the man at the front of the room raise a brow and lazily lick his bottom lip, the silver barbell gleaming as he dragged it across. Mary flushed instantly.

“You a size queen, Miss Mary?” The man teased, clearly enjoying himself.

“Not now, Rabastan,” the professor cut in, stern.

Oh, he had a beautiful name.

But he just kept going.

“After class, you could return the favour and show me your cunny,” Rabastan said, making half the class break into laughter.

“I’m trans,” Mary blurted, the words slipping past her lips before she could stop them.

Fuck.

He laughed, and for one wild second, she couldn’t tell what direction this was going to take.

“Then show me your dick,” he said with a crooked grin.

Gasps rippled through the room.

“You two!” The professor snapped. “That’s enough. Everyone take fifteen. Now.”

“Oh, I can be so done with Miss Mary,” Rabastan muttered, voice low but audible as he stretched, accepting the single-use robe the professor handed him. “She won’t even last ten minutes.”

He straightened, cocky as ever, dark eyes still locked on her. “I’ll just have to show her my silhouette a bit better, then.”

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.”

kanra-writes

peace - @holyserpent-microfics - wc: 140

The world that Rabastan knew was made out of fire, death, and chaos. Being raised by Bellatrix and Rudolphus did that to a person – not that Rabastan ever complained. It was the only thing he knew. It was comfortable.

Rabastan Lestrange had never been the type of person to ever crave peace. Relationships included.

And so, it was only natural that the woman he sought was chaos wrapped in pretty dresses, shiny lip gloss, and polite smiles.

No one knew who Mary Macdonald was. Sometimes, it even seemed that Mary herself didn't know who she truly was – but Rabastan could see it. Could sense it.

Rabastan Lestrange was raised to seek fire, death, and chaos. Mary Macdonald represented all of it, even though, not too many people saw that.

It was alright – Rabastan deemed them all to be stupid anyway.

day 3/melancholy/@holyserpent-microfics/519 wc/Mary Macdonald x Rabastan Lestrange

Bloody fucking bint! Shit! Shit! Fuck. Holy fuck.

Oh, how he hated that fucking woman! Who did she even think she was?

Well — alright — Bellatrix was, technically, his sister-in-law, and yes, she had sort of raised him and all that. But did she really need to get him a bloody English tutor? It wasn’t his fault that poetry was not his fucking forte.

No, she couldn’t just stop there. Of course not. Bella had to go and get him a younger girl. By two whole bloody years. It was humiliating, being tutored by a sixteen-year-old.

“Can you pay attention for two minutes, Lestrange?” Mary snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“We were working on your essay for this week,” she added with a sigh.

She exhaled, long and loud. “Look, I get that you’re both dyslexic and entirely uninterested — and that’s valid, fine. But at least pretend to pay attention to me.”

Oh, I’m paying so much attention to you you’ve no idea, Rabastan thought annoyed. That was the bloody problem. The girl had an oral fixation worse than his, a voice louder than his entire family’s combined, and he was so not okay with any of this.

It was also highly improper, considering the one year and seven months between them. Right? Evan said so, anyway.

“So,” she prompted, raising both eyebrows. “Melancholy. You’ve got to write the essay. Any ideas?”

“We could snog,” the words slipped out before his brain had the chance to stop them.

A beat of silence passed.

Rabastan forced a laugh. “We could snog, and then I’d write that I feel melancholic about no longer kissing you,” he added with a smirk.

Mary rolled her eyes, though she clearly fought a smile. “Let’s look over the prompts your professor gave again.”

This girl was absolutely going to be the end of him.

day 2/headquarters/@holyserpent-microfics/519 wc/Mary Macdonald x Rabastan Lestrange

“You are such a piece of shit, Rabastan Lestrange!” Mary shouted as loudly as humanly possible. “I fucking hate you with everything I have in me.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, catching his lip ring between his teeth. “Ah, look at her go!”

Rabastan snorted, clearly unimpressed. “You are such a stereotype.”

Mary lunged at him, slapping him square across the face and watching his cheek bloom red. “If you call me a feisty Black woman one more time—”

“Oi!” He tilted his chin. “Easy there. I was going to say you’re a bloody chav,” he added, raising both eyebrows like he’d just caught her in some grand act.

“But of course, Miss Mary,” he said, shaking his head and pouting in mock sympathy. “Such a performative little cunt you are — aren’t you? Tut-tut. All white men must always be mad and bad.”

There was truly nothing more infuriating than sharing your living space with a man you despised this bloody much. When Sirius suggested that a family member needed a flatmate in one of the best neighbourhoods in London, she’d assumed it’d be Regulus. Maybe one of the Rosier twins. Not this fucker. But by the time she’d terminated the lease on her old flat, it was too late to back out.

“You know,” he smirked, leaning just a little too casually against the kitchen counter, “we should fuck. That’d let out some of the steam.”

Oh, she was definitely going to murder him in his sleep.

…or actually fuck him.

z-eel

elegance | @holyserpent-microfics | wc: 435

The flashing lights were blinding, unlike most places Rabastan had a tendency to visit. The music's pulsing bass was headache-inducing but not completely unbearable.

At least not to the point where he couldn’t find the atmosphere pleasant.

Barty had insisted on coming to this place for his birthday and Rabastan, ever the good friend, made sure they were reserved a section. He would much rather Barty's proclivities be kept away from the general public, even if he was making it difficult by grinding on every person out dancing on the ground floor.

Next to him, Evan handed him a drink.

“Loosen up Rabastan. He's not going to keep over if you take his eyes off of him for half a second.”

Rabastan scoffed as he took a drink from his glass. Strong liquor, Evan had plans on getting him at least tipsy tonight.

“Take a break from babysitting, we'll manage without you for one night.”

Rabastan doesn't believe a word that comes out of Rosier's mouth but if he was confident, he'd be more than happy to see his group of friends struggle for a night.

Regardless he remained leaning over the balcony, looking down at everyone dancing. His eyes only briefly looked over Barty and the other as they spread out and began to dance. His glass never fully empty since their personal wait staff was hovering close by.

An annoyance really but one he could withstand for the time being.

Looking back down he noticed Barty dancing with someone, a girl. Nothing like the blondes Barty tended to favor.

Pink mini dress, glittery makeup, and pretty glossy lips she didn’t dance with Barty like the others he had seen tonight. No, she moved with a form of elegance, as if she knew she was above the careless dancing the others were attempting.

Like she knew that she had all eyes on her and she pressed close to Barty and pulled away.

Barty must’ve felt his eyes on them because when he pulled in the girl again he pointed up in his direction and before he knew it Barty was walking her over.

“Rabastan, I'd like to introduce you to the platonic love of my life, Mary Macdonald. Mary, this is my glorified babysitter and best friend Rabastan Lestrange. Now that you've met, share a drink. It's on me.”

Barty grinned before leaving on their own.

“I'm the one paying for the drinks actually.” and that caused Mary to smile.

“Then do you mind paying for mine?”

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have such a pretty girl pay for her own drinks.”

day 1/elegance/@holyserpent-microfics/519 wc/Mary Macdonald x Rabastan Lestrange

Mary hadn’t even known the meaning of the word before coming here — before attending this bloody school and joining this damned world. And well, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d never known it before meeting him.

She could blame her mother for it. Some people would even say she should do just that. And are they right? Oh, but that is so very complicated, you see.

There had been years and years — like a never-ending row — when she would’ve hated her parents for allowing her the misfortune of being born into a poor, labour class, Muggle family. Ah, but the stars never align quite right for girls like her, that’s for sure. That was always going to be for the white witches.

But then again… and it’s not like it doesn’t hurt just to think about it.

Doesn’t matter anyway! As Lily so kindly put it, this was a puppy crush — quite normal for a girl only in her fifteenth Autumn of life, of course. And surely—

“My, my,” two women halted in front of Mary and her mum, just outside Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

Mary recalled recognising the one who’d just spoken. Blonde and quite thin, very ravishing. The other she’d only ever seen in Sirius’ family pictures, but she was rather certain these two were Narcissa Black and Bellatrix Lestrange. Behind them stood a tall, bored, beautiful boy — one who was always going to be far too posh, too rich, too white, too wizard, and far too interesting for Mary’s poor soul and frail heart.

Because Mary Macdonald was never going to be the elegant sort of young witch someone like him would end up with.

“And you are?” The blonde woman tilted her head. “I believe we’ve never met before.”

“She’s one of the Gryffindors Sirius hangs about with,” he rolled his eyes, though not even that could stop Mary’s mother from making moony eyes at the annoying prat.

“Mary Macdonald, my Ladies,” Mary introduced herself with a soft smile, trying to mimic the way she’d sometimes seen Marlene behave around the Potters.

Narcissa blinked. “What a wonderful young lady,” she said, seemingly impressed. “Which family are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the Macdonalds before?” She then turned her attention to Mary’s mother.

“I’m a Muggleborn,” Mary said quickly.

“And an annoying one at that,” he muttered under his breath. “Bloody woman hit me with a hex just this year. Remember I told you about it.”

Woman? Oh, she’d never been called that before.

“Pity,” Narcissa’s voice pitched as she turned to leave.

But the brunette and her brother-in-law were still looking at Mary.

Bellatrix laughed. “My sister,” she said, rolling her eyes in a fond sort of way. “Ever the proper, elegant bint,” and she too turned to go.

As he started after the two women, he looked back at Mary with a smirk. “Oi, Macdonald? I, for the matter, have never been much of the sort to like elegant witches.”

Ah, but Rabastan Lestrange was going to be the death of Mary’s very soul.

#marauders era #holyserpent #mary macdonald x rabastan lestrange

holyserpent-microfics

August prompts!

Posting the prompt list early, just so more people have a chance to find this blog and this ship. And also giving you some time to prepare if needed.

Rules:

Just tag us and TW when needed

Mention the day

And well, have fun with it

Not quite sure how you feel about this ship? Fear not and head to @holy-serpent to find out more about these two wonderful characters and their dynamic.

Prompt list under the cut:

holyserpent-microfics

Just a reminder! Holyserpent prompts are out!

kanra-writes

elegance - @holyserpent-microfics - wc: 116

Rabastan leaned his elbows against the rock windowsill, looking at the scene before him in the courtyard.

"There's this... elegance about her," said Rabastan, not tearing his eyes away.

Evan gave him a non-committal hum, looking completely unimpressed. "She's about five seconds away from setting Avery on fire, mate," he said, slowly pronouncing all the syllables. "Or does that not click in that thick skull of yours?"

Rabastan only shrugged one shoulder, almost nonchalantly. "Fire is good," he noted.

Evan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sure," he said after a moment.

Rabastan didn't understand what Evan's problem was – because the fire in front of him was glorious. The fire with the name Mary Macdonald.