Topic: CHALLENGE #21 !

Hellooo my lovelies !

I AM SO PSYCHED TO READ YOUR GUYS' STUFF.

So here's your guys' latest challenge : Amortentia.

Amortentia is, if anyone has forgotten, a potion that to each individual will possess the unique smells of things connected to their love interest, or whatever they most love. Like for example, Hermione's Amortentia was freshly mown grass, fresh parchment, and in the movie, Crest toothpaste or something like that =P

This challenge has lots of options; there are many things you can do with it. As usual, pick any character you want, and in your responses write them ... ;

wondering what their lover/love interest's Amortentia is, being jealous because it wasn't what they had expected it would be, brewing their own Amortentia potion, smelling Amortentia for themselves, feeling the potion's effects, pondering these effects, or even planning to use some for some seductive plan, etc, etc, etc. !

Basically, any plot your little hearts desire (:

Word count must be a multiple of 100, but can be 15 words over or under whatever multiple you get to, if you're stuck or inconvenienced by this.

Go wild, my friends. Go wild.

Lots of loveee,,

xox Sacha

Amortentia

Rabastan was like a child. Stroking the mantel piece, crooning to the chandelier, summoning the House elves every five seconds, for no other reason than he could. He prowled round the old Lestrange Manor, practically purring with glee. He was home. Home. After so many years of chains, cold , squalor, and the ever present despair that had been part of their lives so long, they had forgotten what happiness was. Until now.

Now they were back where they belonged. They would live the lives they rightly deserved as Purebloods and would, at their Lord's command, purge the world of its filth.

And all Rodolphus did was sit staring intently into the fire, frowning.

Rabastan endured it. Childhood had taught him it was best to leave Rodolphus alone, and get on with more exciting things, like setting the curtains on fire. Let him sulk.

"Do you believe in love?"

The hoarse voice reached him just as he had pointed his wand at the velvet drapes. Frowning himself, Rabastan paced slowly to the fire. Rodolphus still stared into it, the flames creating dancing patterns across his face. He was still as death but he spoke again

"Do you believe in love?"

"Why do you ask?"

Hands resting on the back of his brother's armchair Rabastan regarded his brother closely. There were bags under his eyes. His face was wasted and thin. Azkaban had not been kind to him, but then, was Azkaban kind to anyone? Rabastan need only look in the mirror to find his answer. No, Azkaban was not the answer. Something else was etching grooves onto the skin of Rodolphus's forehead tonight.

"They believe in it. The Order."

A sneer was etched on his face even as his eyes burned into the fire. As if he could burn fire.

"It's Dumbledore's favourite mantra, isn't it. They will defeat us because we can't love. Muggle scum will rule our world because they have love on their side."

He broke his fire-bound vigil to stare scornfully at Rabastan.

"Do you love me brother?"

Rabastan stared back, as stone like as Rodolphus had been.

"I suspect you don't. And neither should you. It's a pity for I love you, but what would loving me do for you? Nothing! But this is what they promote! These blood traitors, with minds as dim as their heritage. WHAT DO THEY KNOW OF LOVE!"

The glass of firewhiskey shattered against the hearth. Rodolphus began to pace angrily as Rabastan stared silently at the pool of amber liquid. The roles had been very much reversed.

"I lied you know. Do forgive me dear brother. Loving me would not do nothing, it would make you miserable. That's all love is truly good for. You would feel pain at my pain. Anguish at my anguish. Despair at my despair."

Robes swirled angrily behind Rodolphus, slicing through the air, cracking with each turn he made.

"Is it not enough to carry your own pain. Love is a rope that binds others to you and no matter how hard you try to break it, it will not be severed. You will carry the pain of others, no matter how much you dislike it."

Rodolphus finally came to rest by the window. The moonlight lit his face as the fire lit his back, casting unnatural shadows that made him seem more dangerous than his outburst had been violent.

"What do they know of love? Nothing! No one can know anything of love until he loves someone that does not love him back. No one knows anything of love except me. They think love is flowers and sweet words and kindness. It's an illusion. Like Amortentia. Love is not kind. Love is cruel. Oh they call us cruel, but we are not half so cruel as love. She is a cruel mistress. She will beat you, starve you, ridicule you and ignore you. And what will you do for her? Everything! Praise her. Adore her. Worship her. Die for her. Love her. And know that nothing could ever make her love you back."

Momentarily he stopped, too overcome with passion to continue. All that could be heard throughout the vast drawing room was heavy breathing.

"Love is dangerous," he finally choked out. "I sincerely hope you never suffer from it."

Rodolphus left. Crashing through the manor, in search of a bedroom that was once his. Rabastan stood to stare at the portrait above the fireplace.

It's occupants were not yet dead, and as such they were as of yet unnaturally still. But magic still shone in the dark eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, framed as they were by her white wedding veil.

Smiling Rabastan once again turned to direct his wand at the curtains. The moths had been undisturbed for too long.

Reviewing is very good Nargle repellent.