“I cannot believe we were stuck on the runic alphabet the entire hour, as if it’s so difficult to remember that a fwooper represents the number four.”
Pulling out a chair and sitting herself down directly across from the older boy, Narcissa put into motion the very simple routine she had with Rabastan that followed many of their tutoring sessions. They both knew they were some of the brightest people at this school and it was up to them to teach the poor souls who just weren’t up to par with the two of them. Unfortunately, that felt like a herculean task and dealing with students who just could not grasp something so simple resulted in the two of them coming to one another to discuss the issue, or rather mock those they were meant to be helping.
“I wish I had the faintest idea of what's going through their heads when they pretend to listen.” Rabastan flips through the book in an idle and unimpressed fashion, making notes in the margins in hopes to recuperate from the latest tutoring session. At times it seems like this kind of task demands someone with far more patience to spare, and for someone who learned most of the things in life by being thrown into the deep end and told to make it work, the whole hold their hand through the most basic tasks thing is really doing wonders for his ability to remain at least semi-pleasant, or at least not outright insufferable. It’s hypocritical to a degree, looking down on people who require help with academia while he himself is struggling with the subject a Slytherin should have locked down the minute they learn to read, but it at least he has the sense to not make it public knowledge, and to try to fix his potion problem himself. Regardless, he rarely makes fun of any of this, and only discusses the matter if a particular student is being so purposefully uncooperative they truly do deserve it.
He reaches over to Narcissa’s notes, angling his neck just so to take a curious look, for once not having made a point out of sitting on the other side of the table from someone. The utter misery of this selfless task they both found themselves signed up for is mutual, and at times he wonders if the fact that her suffering is just as abundant is the only thing that gets him through checking assignments.
“You should count your blessings and be grateful you got him through the first three,” his eyes widen comically, conveying nothing but the desire to drown himself in the great lake, and he slides the parchment back to Narcissa as if it has fleas. “You owe me a coffee just for making me read this with my very own eyes. Are you actually going to let him submit it?"
Barty was sitting under a tree on the castle grounds, staring blankly at the book in his hands though he’d already read the same two sentences about 10 times. This whole business with whoever this Miss Echo was should’ve been the farthest thing from Barty’s mind. It was all a bunch of bullshit, of course. All caused by someone who was probably taking advantage of people’s heightened anxieties due to what was happening outside the safety of the castle walls. It all made sense that way. A few vague fortunes that sounded threatening here, a few good ones there. It was almost enough to make people turn against their friends if they got too ingrained in their own fortunes and their friends getting ones better or worse than theirs. It was absolutely chaotic and that was when he realized the exact reason why he was so interested in all that fortune shit.
A small smirk crept onto his face despite himself and he was about to go back to reading his book when a shadow passed over him. Barty snapped the book shut, raising his gaze as a scowl replaced the smirk on his face. “What? Do you have a problem with people trying to read or something?”
Why Barty thinks anyone would give a damn about what he’s reading is unclear, nor is his reasoning for a reaction so obvious, but Rabastan can’t muster up enough caring to be judgemental. It’s okay. They’ve all been there. Some literature you read at home and your parents pat you on the back, yet read it at school and the DADA professor confiscates it with a slightly disturbed look on their face. A pureblood’s forbidden textbook is a muggleborn’s porn, he supposes.
“I have a problem with people accusing me of things for no reason. You done being psycho?” Leaning against the tree and not bothering to lower himself and cover his pants in dirt, Rabastan drags his eyes from the book to Barty, reaching out a hand in hopes of taking a look at the thing. “Or need a moment to take care of your boner for Unforgivables?”
ALRIGHT i’m Yas, she/her, gmt+3 but keeping vampire hours. very excited to be here !! pls come @ me with plots/connections/just to chat, and meanwhile i’ll be reaching out to do the same <33
here’s some mildly useful info about this grumpy trashcan, and it got super long for no reason whatsoever so apologies lkfdjlds
is a busy bee and prefers to keep it that way, since avoiding everything that matters maketh for a good coping strategy. a prefect, a tutor, hurls himself into potions & the slug club to fool himself into thinking he actually enjoys it
ironically, knows his life after hogwarts won’t be anything academic or meaningful. given his family is...well, his family, he expects gradual descent into chaos and violence that most likely ends somewhere in azkaban. i’d say foreshadow foreshadow, but i think he’s just :) hopelessly pessimistic realistic :)
thinks he’s self-aware -> violently deflects when talking to anyone who calls him out or is relatable in any way. probably gaslights his own ass like you wouldn’t believe, and is disastrously out of touch with most of his feelings about his personal/family life & his parents. instead prefers to pretend he hatched out of an egg in the advanced DADA class :)))
INTJ, virgo, enneagram type 1
is passively bitter about the whole yanno?? war thing?? knows his part in it is inevitable, lacks ideological fanaticism but is aware that his life isn’t really his own and never was. mostly thinks muggleborns are only making it worse for themselves by trying to fight this and should’ve just stayed in their lane when they had the chance. but in terms of day-to-day interactions, blood status doesn’t matter, rabastan’s a piece of shit @ everyone
loves quidditch, would like to travel back in time and take whoever invented it out to dinner for it’s the only damn thing keeping his sanity intact. doesn’t care much for house rivalry or team spirit, he’s just there to do his thing. ruin it & he’ll send a bludger to your head, then pretend his aim was just off ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
is a demiromantic pansexual, hopelessly unfamiliar with any sort of intimacy & is more scared of caring about someone like that and being shit at it than he is of people finding out that he swings all the ways.
ANYWAY. all of that aside, rabastan’s not a hateful person, he’s just. really hard to tolerate ldksfjd but i would LOVE all sorts of connections for him, especially something intricate and meaningful and unlikely because yall i’m a slut for those
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
areudirty
stormborns
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
