A Change of Feeling

Rabastan's Wicked Ways

Rabastan counted the scratches on his wall. More than three weeks had passed since Harry's last letter. He had expected that boy would send him a letter. A thank you at the very least. But after three long weeks, staring without hope, Rabastan felt betrayed. Used. His father had spoken highly of the Potter boy. Called him literate, polite, and handsome. But if that boy was so polite, why didn't he send anything? Had he forgotten Rabastan?

A stone hit Rabastan's forehead. He looked up in irritation. Another pebble landed full on his nose.

"Stop throwing, you little childish nitwit!" Rabastan snapped.

"Only if you stop sulking," Fenrir said in a gruff voice.

"It is that I'm behind bars, Greyback, but otherwise I would have filleted you. And show you what I can do, sulking or not." Rabastan said halfheartedly.

He also knew that he was posing and that he liked talking to Harry ... yes, Harry ... a little too much. But what else could he do? For the first time in years, he had contact with a young, handsome and ambitious man. He tried to woo him, from a distance. He had even caught that impudent snake that usually burned and then ate the food of his cellmates. He still had blisters on his hands from the little cheeky thing. Well, he hoped he burned Harry... A little.

Rabastan sighed, who was he kidding. He hoped the little boy had a friend in that little crazy snake. When Rabastan read how Harry was treated by his friends and so-called 'family' - if Muggles may be called that - he wanted to protect and help him. But he had expected the boy to care about him too if only a little. He had expected a poorly written letter, but full of good intentions. A letter from which Rabastan could draw hope. Enough sense of friendship to help him endure on this terrible island.

Rabastan heard a heavy door open and slam shut in the distance. A few footsteps approached quickly. A soft knock came on his door.

"You have another letter, Lestrange. And this time also a parcel. We, unfortunately, had to open the parcel and checked it for contraband. We found nothing. Our apologies, it took a few days to have the parcel tested for everything. It's a blanket, a thin one. But it's nice. "

With those last words, the Auror pushed the parcel and letter through the opening under the door.

"Thank you Auror Bree. Any news from the Magic Community?"

"No, it's quiet. The Minister of Magic has appointed someone from the Ministry in Hogwarts to keep an eye on things. Dumbledore is not highly regarded these days. I'll bring you a newspaper soon."

Not much later it was quiet again on the highest division in Azkaban.

"What have you got there little brother? Have you finally got your love letter?" came Rodolphus's gruff voice.

"Dolf! You sound more like Fenrir every day! Where has your beautiful polished voice gone to, brother?" Rabastan teased. "I received a package. I'm going to check it out."

Rabastan opened the package with trembling hands. He took out a beautiful green blanket. It was indeed made of thin fabric. Not something he could lie under, warm and cozy. But it was a beautiful fabric, green with a black snake pattern. He saw runes embroidered on the sides. But he couldn't feel any magic. The runes were without magic. Bitter disappointment clawed its way through Rabastan. What good was a nice, but thin blanket?

He opened the letter. A photo fell out of the envelope. Curiosity won over his interest in the letter and he examined the photo. The photo showed a handsome young man. He had dark hair and bright green eyes. His eyes reminded him of the scales of a Romanian Longhorn, as green and dangerous as the dragon. The boy had a trained body, the clothes seemed molded to his shape. A wave of desire swept through Rabastan. A possessive feeling came over him, he wanted this boy. This young man.