“I’ve been giving my brother patience since before you were born, Miss Rowle” he responded, flashing her a charming smile. He didn’t go into details on how his little brother was basically parasiting the family vault while he had his own money to use. “They are also blessed with freedom, Lyanna” Rabastan could do pretty much whatever he pleased that it wouldn’t matter, as opposed to Rodolphus who was constantly under the most strict scrutiny. “You are too kind and my brother certainly does not deserve such kindness from a wonderful lady like yourself” he responded before taking his coffee and sipped it. “Spiders?”
Rodolphus nearly choked with his coffee when she said she was learning necromancy. “Necromancy?” He asked, raising a brow but visibly interested in what she had to say. “Who are you planning to bring back, my dear?” He smiled. “I have a friend who might be able to help with that, if you’d like me to, I can ask her if she has good material on the matter” he offered. “Me? I am always overworked” he laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Normally it’s a good thing, I like my job and I like living the way I do” he told her, winking at her playfully.
“So, my dear, what brings you here? What can I do for you?”
She’s not sure freedom is the word she would use to describe being the spare and not the heir. The expectations were different, the rules of engagement altered but they were there. Lyanna knew she could never understand what Thorfinn or Rodolphus had gone through to be the perfect son, but she thought, they also would never know what it was like to live in the shadow of another simply for having been born second. “He’s my friend, I care for his safety and happiness very much,” is all she can offer in rebuttal; meek demeanor once more superseding her desire to make Rodolphus understand that Rabastan is so much more than his tardiness. He is exciting and smart and brave and a Ravenclaw like her.
“I love spiders,” she says quickly, as if that’s enough to make it make sense. A million words rattling around in her head and she really never picks the right thing to say. She fidgets nervously under his scrutiny, as kind and welcoming as it might be. “That would be very helpful if your friend is amenable. I’m always interested to meet another interested in the art,” her hands wring one another, creating red spots on her ghost-white skin, “well I thought the Dark Lord for all of us, but I can’t find him no matter how much I look. . . maybe he was too small. In the end? Maybe he doesn’t want me to find him. . .” she sucks in a deep breath, courage faltering and grateful for the change of subject. Although her reason for visiting is just as nerve wracking, the examination of another failure to put beneath his lens.
“I want a baby, Mr. Lestrange. I want a family. I’m tired of waiting and I was wondering if I had enough money maybe I could buy a husband? Like sometimes how men buy wives? It doesn’t matter what language he speaks. . . but I thought we could look over my finances and see if I have enough?”
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