ϟ — { brenton thwaites / cis man / he/him } ♫ a burning hill by mitski —— isn’t that RABASTAN LESTRANGE walking down the corridor ? aren’t they 24 in MARAUDERS ERA from SLYTHERIN ? they’re INTP which makes sense as they’re notoriously known for being DUTIFUL, RESILIENT but also PASSIVE, RIGID. though when i see them i can’t help but think of THE SPARE TO THE HEIR, YOU ARE NOT A WEAPON - YOU HAVE A HEART OF GOLD, YOU WERE NOT FASHIONED FOR WAR, YOU WILL DO ANYTHING FOR LOVE EVEN IF YOU BURN IN THE PROCESS, CLENCHED FISTS, WORDS LEFT UNSPOKEN, A GUARD DOG'S LOYALTY, TORN PARCHMENT. with war looming they have chosen DARK. ( mia, 25, she/her, gmt+1 )
oh, golden child, you have so much love to give. your joy and laughter fills the quiet lestrange manor, but even your warmth isn't enough to melt the ice. father finds you too emotional, your tears are weakness, he says. mother does not possess much interest when it comes to you - you are far from being her golden boy and you are far too awkward with the guests she brings over. but yet, you love them so much, you will do anything to make them happy, even if it means to change yourself. you don't cry anymore ( not in front of them, at least ) and you are not as nice to the house elves anymore, even if it hurts.
you are ecstatic to go to hogwarts. the sorting hat reads your soul - hufflepuff, it says. you have to bargain and beg for ten full minutes - it cannot be hufflepuff, every lestrange for decades had been sorted in slytherin, how could you not? you were a real lestrange, you insisted. and the hat agreed. you do not possess the effortless cruelty your friends there do, but you love them anyway and you want to make them happy. you have no desire to hassle others, bully or torment - and for the most part you don't. you watch. but you know your friends, you know how good they can be.
you take the dark mark, because your brother and father did before you, because your friends do, because it is the path you must take as everyone around you. you keep your hands clean, but for how long? the sight of your fellow death eaters', your best mates' deeds haunts your mind for months. you clutch your wand, your hands tremble. you watch. why does it come so easy for them? why do they revel in it and you cannot?
it is all taking a toll on you. you grow more distant, miserable, unhappy. if that was your destined path, why aren't you happy? why is fitting in even harder? you watch alice and frank, familiar faces from hogwarts halls. but you cannot keep your hands clean any longer, so you raise it, wand pointed. it wasn't so hard, was it? you scrub your hands, hard, that night, as if you can wash the deed off. it takes time, months even, for you to become indifferent, suppress the feeling hard enough so you do not feel it anymore, even if it threatens to come back to the surface anytime.
voldemort falls, and here you stand, in court, family by your side. rodolphus doesn't budge, but reality settles in for you, wide-eyed, nervous, crowd's eyes on you, your life is over. and for what? azkaban's walls suffocate you, the dementors torment every corner of your mind.. and then..
you are back. the dark lord had gives you your lost years back. would you give them away for him once more? dutiful son..
