Yeah. Well, that was an understatement

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

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@rblcstrange
Yeah. Well, that was an understatement
rodolphuslestrxngeâ:
rblcstrangeâ:
Everything seemed to blur, his eyes watering against the light that sifted through the things he saw, the things he heard barely making any sense. Passing moments of silence used to piece what he could together as he wrapped his hand around his brothers wrist. Fear trickled in beyond the recesses of what he thought he could feel. Of course heâd been reckless, over and over again, and death didnât scare him; a necessary evil in this world, but the unknown; not knowing what the hell was happening to him, that bothered him beyond comprehension.Â
Closing his eyes against his brothers honesty, he could have laughed had it been any other moment, that now he chose honesty. The open book splayed out between them that seemed to be closed for so long. âWhat do you mean.. this has..â before?â When? And how the hell had none of them ever heard about it? Some mysterious curse, a fucking plague on the magical world..â You jus..â you just have toâŠâ A heave of lungs, a reach for air and his body snapped against the curse working in against his system. The world swam and all he saw was black. Rab pitched forward into his brothers hold on him, none of it seemingly enough to keep him upright any longer, every ounce of motor control he might have had an echoed reality that he could no longer comprehend. He could have called out, he could have screamed for his brother to stop the spinning in his mind; the rapid desperation he felt for something as simple as oxygen as his lungs burnt in such a dull way that he wasnât sure he even felt it. Weakened hands slipped free of the hold he had on his brother arm, everything disappearing right through his fingers as hues rolled into the back of his head. A moment later, his skull cracked against the cobbled stone at their feet with a sharpened crack of bone.
They were similar enough in that regard- the not knowing was torture. For two boys given answers by their family, eventually even those they didnât want to hear. Knowing was half the battle. Knowing Rapheal had been killed for betraying the cause made them cautious. Knowing Voldemort was a half-blood made them angry. When you didnât know you couldnât decide how to feel, how harrowing or desperate a situation really was.
Usually, anyway. Even knowing he was close to a cure didnât make watching his little brother deteriorate any easier, too close to the pained stares heâd caught when their father would punish him.
âRab?â He muttered, feeling more of his weight fall against his frame. Rod stumbled only for a second before he steadied himself, finding a firmer hold on his brothersâ arms.
âRab!â He scrambled, hands grasping at nothing but air, his brother falling, failing, cracking against the ground. Rod was by his side immediately, uncaring of the dirt on the floor for once. He hauled up his brothersâ body and apparated them both, crashing into their home and laying him gently as possible sofa, house elf snapping to his side. âHealers.â He muttered, shaking Rabâs shoulders. âAs many private ones as you can get, and as many as you can bribe away from Mungos.â
END
rodolphuslestrxngeâ:
The Hunters had done this. The problem was that there were too many battles to fight- well, only two really, but they were both so big, so baffling. And both so fully factored into the world Rodolphus was battling to have- the hunters were killing his brother, voldemort was taking everyone else. There was a way to temporarily derail both but he was becoming impatient with all the searching, scouring the mansion top to bottom with Rab wasted away in his room and apparently stumbled blindly around the streets.Â
He kept his hands steady on his brothersâ shoulders as he crumbled, hoping his strong hold might illogically force some energy back into him. âYes.â Rod sighed, reluctance colouring his tone. With everything that had happened he was trying a new tactic- not lying to his brother, but in this case especially it was hard to tell the truth. âYes, itâs bad. But look at me, listen to me. Weâre going to beat it. I found something, some writing by one of our great great whatever grandparents. Rab, our family has been hit with this spell before! Weâre here at all because they figured out a counter spell. I just have to find the fucking thing.â
Everything seemed to blur, his eyes watering against the light that sifted through the things he saw, the things he heard barely making any sense. Passing moments of silence used to piece what he could together as he wrapped his hand around his brothers wrist. Fear trickled in beyond the recesses of what he thought he could feel. Of course heâd been reckless, over and over again, and death didnât scare him; a necessary evil in this world, but the unknown; not knowing what the hell was happening to him, that bothered him beyond comprehension.Â
Closing his eyes against his brothers honesty, he could have laughed had it been any other moment, that now he chose honesty. The open book splayed out between them that seemed to be closed for so long. âWhat do you mean.. this has..-- before?â When? And how the hell had none of them ever heard about it? Some mysterious curse, a fucking plague on the magical world..â You jus..-- you just have to...â A heave of lungs, a reach for air and his body snapped against the curse working in against his system. The world swam and all he saw was black. Rab pitched forward into his brothers hold on him, none of it seemingly enough to keep him upright any longer, every ounce of motor control he might have had an echoed reality that he could no longer comprehend. He could have called out, he could have screamed for his brother to stop the spinning in his mind; the rapid desperation he felt for something as simple as oxygen as his lungs burnt in such a dull way that he wasnât sure he even felt it. Weakened hands slipped free of the hold he had on his brother arm, everything disappearing right through his fingers as hues rolled into the back of his head. A moment later, his skull cracked against the cobbled stone at their feet with a sharpened crack of bone.
meadowesandswordsâ:
Despite being a strong spell inventor, this curse had stumped her entire department and the ministry as a whole. Doe handât quite accepted that this was going to potentially eradicate her people, but that didnât stop her from trying to solve it. The brunette was brought out of her thoughts as a hand latched onto her shirt. Her eyebrows knitted together in concern at the the familiar face, âBas? Easyâ she soothed, throwing out a hand to catch him. As he backed away, she watched his features contort into a glare and she sighed as he put up a strong front, void of vulnerability. âI think itâs pretty obvious that Iâm staring at you Rabastan, you nearly collapsed. You need a hospital, or at the very least somewhere safe to restâ she warned, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Growing up together did little to stop the divide from being cast between them, but that didnât mean she cared for him any less. Watching the symptoms hit someone she cared for first hand did little to ease her concern.Â
He could have seethed through his teeth had lungs held enough capacity to breathe so much air in, however, he knew heâd throw himself into a coughing fit if he even tried, his hand held out to force the distance between them. Another facet of his childhood stripped from him by the woes of war, of choosing a side and falling further into darkness than heâd ever intended to. âMarly..-- whereâs.. where is she..â Words barely strung together as he blinked forcefully, the reflection of the sun blaring hot and white against his senses. âNo hospitalsâ Rab growled out, if Mungoâs had been an option, heâd have already been there, cured -- fixed and not tripping the fuck out in the middle of the street. âIâm not going to fuckin..-- mungos.âÂ
arthurweasleyxâ:
Heâd moved forward as he spotted the body falling for as Rabastan grabbed at his shirt he had secured him by the arms to ensure that he didnât topple over. Arthur shook his head at the off handed sneer and took a step back only once he was sure that he wasnât going to fall over. âYouâre not looking too good there. Is there someone I can summon for you?â His mind was drawn to the paper that he had read this morning and he recalled the warning that had been issued as he looked over the state of the man in front of him with pursed lips. âPerhaps you should let me escort you to Mungos, mate.â Arthur was certain that he was familiar and the name was on the tip of his tongue but his mind was fogged by the sight before him and how ill the young man looked. âTheyâve got the resources there to help you out.â
The stifled laugh in his throat barely made it past his lips. Not looking too good there, understatement, he knew that. The reflection of the window heâd caught moments before hand had cast him ashen, his forehead slicked with sweat heâd barely noticed until now. The heave of his chest and the ache of bones enough for him to wholeheardly agree. Red hair.. lackluster clothes.. Weasley. --- âNo..-- No, mungos. Got it?â He snapped out sharply, the effort a little more than heâd been willing to part with just yet. âThey donât know shit.--â Propping his shoulders against the wall, he felt a momentary relief in the cold brick before he turned to the same familiar heat that he held in his palms. â--- Lestrange, find.-- find Rod.â But Rodolphus was dead --- the greater part of the world still believed him to be dead. âFind my brother.--â
mothermollyweasleyâ:
With a little bit of spare time, since her boys were spending time with their Grandparents, Molly offered some of her healing knowledge to Mungos. She found herself moving from one room to the next, offering to help people as much as possible. Knocking on her next door, she paused a moment before entering. âGood morning, Sir. My name is Molly, Iâm stopping by different rooms to see if the patients need anything. Would you like some tea or cookies? I know sometimes that hospital food can get a little boring.âÂ
@rblcstrange
âYou..-- youâre kidding..â He coughed violently, his body trembling with the after affects, âright?â He didnât need to be here, Rab would swear by it. Better he died in his own fucking bed, after hearing whispers among nurses that theyâd yet to find something to even slow whatever this was down, heâd felt even more reluctant about being here. Heâd resorted to waiting for the right person to come through that door so he could beg them to get him out. âDo I...-- do I look like..â Words strewn to the side as he wheezed in a sharpened breath.
Oh, Brother || Ev & Rab
oceaneyesrosierâ:
Time to panic. Evan reached for the male, gripping his wrist; two fingers pressed to the pulse point. His eyes closed as he concentrated, counting the weak beats of his heart. He pulled away seconds later. âYou wouldnât wake up,â he bit, the back of his hand falling to rest on Lestrangeâs forehead. Evan knew that he was past the point of a pepper-up potion, and there was likely nothing he could do to help Rabastan- and Mungosâ would be stumped as well. Of course it was the spell that had been cast. That much was obvious.Â
âWeâre going to Mungos and youâre not bloody arguing me back from that decision. Give me your hand.â Heâd been trying to keep his own from trembling with the rising feeling inside of him. Another wave to add to the already tidal one looming in the background.Â
âLike hell.â He wheezed out against the lacking air in his lungs, hocked up through another strain against his throat as he fought back a cough. He had no intention of going to Mungoâs -- of going anywhere. Wizards didnât suffer colds, it simply didnât happen. If Evan were so intent on him getting some treatment to whatever this was, he could damn well call out a mediwitch to the house. Heâd barely felt the others hand against his forehead, the heat of his skin burning up the sense of touch that should have been there, Rab only noting the shadow of Evanâs hand moving in the first place to know what he was doing. It blurred, all of it swimming in his head as if heâd been turned upside down. His hand curled; weakly, into a fist at his side, fingers barely cut into his skin like they once had -- the fighting nature of the youngest lestrange slipping through his grip effortlessly. âMânot goinâ there.â The thought of moving along turned his stomach.
Harry Potter Characters from A-Z: @hp-moods vs. @ibuzoo
L - Lestrange Rabastan
Oh, Brother || Ev & Rab
oceaneyesrosierâ:
Everything happened quickly; and some believed for a reason; and the moment heâd seen the decline in Rabastan, Evan thought he might lose his mind. Officially, so completely that he mightâve been thrown into Mungosâ dangerous ward, just for the safety of everyone else around him. Evan had never dealt with fear well. Fear meant panic, panic meant loss of breath and suffocation- inability to think clearly. And he relied heavily on his observational and logical skills. Then again, if he was better, he mightâve learned how to snuff out all the pesky emotions that kept him on the edge of himself.Â
Heâd never mastered them- and had chosen since to let him happen because it meant his magic was stronger. But now, he stood at the bedside of someone who heâd called family for far too long. Rabastan meant a great deal more to Evan than most anyone knew. He was, effectively, the last brother Evan had left. And thankfully Rosier knew not of his other brotherâs death. A soft groan fell from parted lips, hand falling to grip the mahogany post of the headboard. Heâd been trying to wake Rabastan from slumber for quite some time, trying everything in the book aside from throwing a batch of ice water over his face.Â
The sweat on Rabâs brow was enough for Evan to panic mildly, but he held it back as best he could before he bellowed out his name. âRabastan!â
@rblcstrange
It sounded distant, an echoed memory. Rabastan hadnât realized how much he hated not seeing what was right in front of him, like the black and dark blur of the world when he could manage to peer through heavy lids only brought back memories of eyes swollen shut, of squeezing them so tightly as he fought the cruciatus curse on his own living room floor. Open your god damn eyes. A weak attempt to convince himself as muddled thoughts grew muddier, the soft wheeze of his breath a silent whistle on the wind, shallow and barely enough to sustain him. Weeks and weeks of some silly fucking cold had debilitated him slowly, piece by piece as if he were quite literally falling apart. It grew hotter, everything burnt, his face, cheeks, the slick of his chest felt like heated oil pressed to his skin, Rabastan frowning beyond the feeling as the sound of his voice registered the presence of another within his room. His voice cracked, dehydrated, his throat raw from simply trying to keep up with his breathing, âThe f..--fuck is all the..â He breathed in slowly, half lidded eyes cast over at Evan, half rolled into the back of his skull. â--- yelling for.â He wheezed out, the roughness of his voice a testament to the coughing fit that damn near choked him.Â
rodolphuslestrxngeâ:
He felt⊠Something. A little lethargy, perhaps, a small ache radiating from his sinuses. The house elves clattered about every morning asking after his well-being and every morning he said the same. That he was fine, that their focus should be on his brother who he had not seen much of- whether down to schedule clashes or Rabastan choosing to keep him at arms length he wasnât sure. But heâd heard his sniveling and the smashing plates of magic gone awry. No, Rodolphus was not sick, he was in fact hyper focused on trying to find a way to end all this. In his research heâd stumbled upon the journal of an ancestor who wrote of this soul stealer spell, and the magic his family had used to counter it.Â
Now all he had to do was find that counter spell again, centuries later, when it had originally been hidden with the intention of never being found. Easy.
After fruitlessly searching all day, heâd gone for a walk to clear his head. Perhaps his brothersâ intentions had been similar, perhaps by this point he was blindly stumbling towards whatever part of the world might feel less painful. Rod caught him by the shoulders, steadying Rab until he wrenched himself away to lean against the wall.
âThe fuck am I staring at?â He repeated with a startled laugh, âmy sick brother, thatâs the fuck what.â Rod shook his head, fond and fearful all at once- they were in public, someone couldâve tried to hurt him, weak and wandering as he was. âWe should get you home.â Rod insisted, âIâll call in a private healer if you donât want Mungos- donât blame you, probably full of whiny pricks at this point. Just⊠Come on, youâll do yourself no good ambling about like this.â
If he could have kept the breath in his lungs, he might have laughed bitterly.. A private healer, mungos.. He was out of his mind, clearly. Word had already spread of the fact they lacked any sort of cure, the curse already claiming a small handful of those that attended the gala. The means to make people more comfortable. Rabastan wasnât interested in living his last days, if thatâs what this was, being pandered to by medi-witches and healers that already knew there was nothing they could do. He shook his head adamantly, though the movement looked little more than a weak attempt, âDonât bother.â Was it defeatist? Without a doubt. Rabastan was one of the best in his field --- a curse breaker, and fucking good at what he did. His extensive knowledge of them ran an expanse that has bewildered people even at a young age; and heâd barely made twenty yet. Still, even he had no idea what this was -- how to reverse it, every moment he felt his body give in, the slip of magic that no longer did as it was meant to, an assortment of simple tasks heâd set out to do as always gone wrong as spells backfired or twisted themselves into something they werenât, misfiring --- heâd almost taken his own foot off two days ago. âI sa..-- said..â Lips rolled together as he coughed roughly, the wheeze more effort than was ever really necessary to draw air to his lungs, the movement along forced his eyes into the back of his head as vertigo rocked him, every worth intended to be heard lost to the scatter of his brain. Just a kid --- he was just a kid. Ironic, he thought, that his brother would metaphorically come back from the dead, and Rab would find itâs doorstep. Another fit of coughing tore through his chest that left him reaching for his brother, doubled over almost heaving as fingers curled weakly into Rodolphusâ shirt, âIâm ..-- this thing..â The smile that split features rather gently void of anything but bitterness, acidic on his tongue, âitâs bad,.. isnât it?â A lot of things in this world were bad --- but fewer still were considered bad by the men of the Lestrange name.. Dragged through hell by his father, nothing could really seem so bad after that.
It swarmed in his head like thunder that refused to let up, the ache paired with the vying scratch in his throat that had so quickly ended raw from the near unyielding stress of what surely might have been the common fucking cold. However, news of Mungoâs taking in those with similar symptoms and then some, for the pure purpose of making them comfortable twisted his stomach in defiant refusal, Rabastan had done all too much to cover up what he could manage through potions and the like --- nothing worked for too long before he was forced to feel the detriment of fever and his waning loss of control over his magic. Broken vases, shattered windows, a curse or six hitting the wrong target. Piece by piece, heâd come undone. As the world spun violently, he reached out for the body in front of him, catching the fabric of their shirt as he stumbled, something wholly unlike a boy growing up with legs so long. âSorry..--â He snatched his hand back with some gained balance, shoulder wedged in against stone as apology was replaced with a negligent glare, â-- The fuck are you staring at?â
#EXCLUSIVEFRIDAY đž
oceaneyesrosierâ:
Evan wasnât a stranger to feeling the depth of betrayal- he might not have been the brother of Rodolphus, but their history spoke for itself. Losing Rodolphus had been harder than heâd ever thought it could be- and it didnât help that heâd still been in the throes of grief from what had been done to the other piece of his soul. And heâd leaned heavily on Rabastan, tried to hold him up above the water for his own sake. Couldnât lose them both, after all. Anger burned in his chest, a feeling not uncommon with him; so much so that it had just become such a constant emotion he assumed that was all heâd ever be anymore; the flickering flame threatened to consume what was left of everything else at this point. Rodolphus didnât deserve to be forgiven for this- âI donât know, nor do I care. Betraying cunt,â his voice fell on a murmur for the last bit. Let Rod rot indeed. âThis movement died with him. What is the point of him returning now?â He went to thinking out loud again, avoiding the urge to pace because years of being grabbed each time he tried had taught him that the movement was stressful for most everyone else but him. âWeâve been through too much, Bash. Far too much to let him just barrel in and think he can act like it never happened.â
âNo it didnât.â Too many of them already stood against Voldemort in the most silent manor, standing by his side like the puppets heâd always wanted while wishing heâd drop dead by their hand or anyone elses. âThis movement isnât dead and you know it.â If anything, most believed in it more without Rodolphus than they ever did with him around. Whatâs the point --- a question that heâd asked both himself and his brother without any solid answer. It didnât seem right, that Rodolphus would return with nothing more than time having changed; Bella still knew, the psychotic bitch likely still on his heels for him to pay the price of betrayal even if it lived on within her veins just for turning Rod in. âI donât know, he wouldnât come back without a good enough reason, not after faking his own god damn death.â It irked him that he didnât know, but allowing himself into the spiraling dive of trying to figure it out seemed like too much effort when he could just wait it out for it to become obvious. Clearing the tickle in the back of his throat, Rab shook his head, âWhat is there to do? He does whatever the fuck he wants, whenever he wants, clearly.â
rodolphuslestrxngeâ:
It was being the middle child and the man of the house all at once. Rodolphus was stuck between being ignored and being in charge. Maybe he didnât understand grief properly, heâd never been permitted to mourn for Raphael. After branding him a traitor and burning him off the family tree his father had forced Rodolphus to burn him out of his mind too. Bringing him up, staring at his bedroom door, hiding a photo of him at the back of your closet. These were all things youâd be severely punished for, and Rodolphus had learned that the hard way. To this day he was not sure how to feel about the matter, and as such it was not something he thought about often.
That was what made Rabastanâs rage difficult to process- he was here now, wasnât he? Surely that was what mattered. It had been a necessary evil, it had been the best way to keep his people and his Revolt safe.
Rodolphus did not often raise his voice. Something about control, probably, about seeming to have a handle on your emotions. But of course even he couldnât always contain it when he was hurt. Few people in the world were capable of cutting to his core the way his brother did, but what he said, it felt like an attempt to throw all of Rodâs risk back in his face. Not just now faking his own death, but everything heâd done in the pursuit of making a better life for them both. âIt is always going to be my job to keep you safe.â He yelled, emotion finally winning out over composure.Â
For a moment he just stood there. Shaking, sad. âI admit, I may have peaked early on in the role.â He laughed and it came out reedy, pathetic. âWhy come back? You think I wanted to spend the rest of my life as Ted fucking Tonks? I never planned on being away forever.â He sighed, kicking at the dirt. âI didnât want you to do anything rash to Bella.â Rod admitted softly, shrugging. âI know itâs âtill death do us part and all that, but I wasnât quite ready to part so I had to make sure sheâd survive too. Even if she didnât afford me the same courtesy.âÂ
However difficult it seemed for his brother to comprehend, Rabastan wouldnât afford him the luxury of being so easily forgive. Whether he understood or not, it didnât take or ease the betrayal that latched itself to ribcage and tightened until he thought something might break. That he could so easily stand there and find shock in his younger brothers anger left him with little to grasp for. Composure and dignity still lived within the chest of his brother, that much was obvious, even if Rabastan had since let go of the tightened reins of his upbringing, of every lesson heâd ever been taught. Control and order had befallen Rodolphus like a crown heâd been fated to wear, all the while Rab closed hands around the chaos and destruction that the Lestrange name could so easily be labelled against. Theyâd hand in hand become two sides of the same coin, but without the other for so long, heâd slipped from the expectation their name carried with little care for anything other than destroying the ache in his chest, filling the cavern left by a brother thought to be dead. âYou think keeping me in the dark is keeping me safe? You ignorant prick, Iâm not a kid anymore. You canât just pick and choose when to protect me and when not to.â If heâd known --- if heâd known his brother had been alive this whole time, he mightâve taken fewer risks, mightâve cared more about his own sense of self destruction. He didnât want to think about it -- their height of idolization for his brother had stemmed from the agonizing state their father had left him in, a boy so willing to please as long as he could hold onto some semblance of childhood cast aside as little more than a plaything and the spark object of their fathers brutal punishment for little more than a childhood friend. âIf you had every intention of coming back then..-- what the fuck was all of this for? How are any of us supposed to trust a single thing you say anymore?â He bit down hard against the inside of his cheek to will the swell of his throat not to construe his words, âHow do I trust you?â But just as soon as such shocking ripple of feeling tore through him it was gone, the sneer that fell to disgust at the mention of his sister in law barely hidden. âFuck her, you did this because of her --- Iâd kill her now if she wasnât so far up Voldemortâs ass.â Tactful; though he didnât assume his brother intended to divert Rabâs anger, even if heâd seemingly always known how. The marriage between Bella and Rod didnât at all garner her an ounce of his forgiveness for ripping his brother from him so fucking easily. â---- get inside before I change my fucking mind.â
undxraviolxtmoonâ:
It didnât surprise him that the hunters were getting braver. Their first attack had been successful enough for them it seemed, and it was harder now to focus on who was really the enemy in all of this. Torn between the silent man at the head of the table those who wielded guns instead of wands. Severus shifted uncomfortably, willing his mind to focus so that it couldnât be probed or infiltrated by anyone in the room. A chill ran down his spine despite himself, eyes shifting to settle on Dolohov. His words, however, were directed at his friend. âI heard somewhere the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Do you think that perhaps we should try to team up with the fire pigeons to get rid of our common threat?â Heâd never dream of saying that to anyone else in the room- heâd be tortured or worse for even thinking it. And he hoped that Rabastan wouldnât judge him for the idea.Â
Hues lifted from the mottled grain of the table, Rabastan finding more sense in tracing lines that never seemed to end than paying too much mind to a meeting that wasnât going anywhere. Heâd long since grown accustomed to only speaking up when he was called upon, his wild card stature among so many of them didnât always bring his opinions to hold much meaning until he was needed to cause trouble somewhere along the line. âLast I checked, they didnât ask which side everyone was fighting for last time they open fired on us all.â He wasnât entirely certain that hunters could so easily differentiate between death eater and the like -- and really, if they did, would they really side with the likes of Lestrangeâs, Rosier and the Carrows? He doubted it. âYou think that would work? What incentive would they get from that?â Because everyone worked for incentive, what they could gain, what favor theyâd hold.Â
a-box-of-hopeâ:
pandora lifted her hand, staring at the dyed fingers from an experiment before she left. creases and lines, small faint scars and new cuts made up the palm of her delicate hand. why she was staring at her hand she was unsure but it seemed appropriate. the room itself was panicked, mysterious words flashing in her head, pandora was calm, her mind already turning with ideas logical and illogical. death was permanent. but she knew what that meant. of course she did the words made sense, but she knew what it meant in her own life. unfinished thoughts left upon a table, her scribbles forever encoded and ideas never brought forward, her cat thinking she was abandoned. death made sense. she once read in a muggle book that âdeath would be an awfully big adventure.â the blonde agreed. but stillâŠ..reaching into her bag pandora pulled out a small empty vial. she reached for the knife on the table and drew it across her hand letting the blood fall into the vial. she wrapped her hand with a napkin and calmly stood up. âI should like some pudding.â
He knew more than enough about the likes of curses for the impossibility of hunters imposing such a thing on a room filled to the brim with people to pique his interest only momentarily. To last years? It didnât seem likely, the amount of fire power theyâd have needed on their own side alone, might have easily contrast their supposed hatred of their kind. Memories of the bonfire left him skeptical of any help they might have found in the will of some of their own. Though a myriad of possibilities spun webs within his mind, it would have been near impossible to consider Rabastan worried; curious, definitely. Heâd barely noticed her, the small woman of strawberry blonde hair, at least until the ever familiar metallic scent wafted with air shifting from the panic around them. His nose twitched upward, halfblood, heâd wondered if she couldnât spill a little more of the crimson to save him the trouble. âIf you get blood in the pudding, Pandora....âÂ