Who: @marymacd Where: Ministry of Magic atrium, Rufus Scrimegour’s swearing in ceremony When: February 29th, night
Rabastan didn’t know why he was still here. Perhaps a morbid curiosity to see how the night ended, perhaps a self-destructive desire to cause a scene, perhaps a little bit of both. He was verging on too far gone, the edges of his vision starting to blur, and god help any poor soul who came across his path. He’d tried to slow dance with a house elf, spilled punch on Scrimegour’s aid’s shoes, and toasted to the health and good fortune of Albus Dumbledore loud enough that several people had squawked their disapproval. The Lestrange boy is making a scene again, he’d heard someone mutter from behind him, only to promptly confront them about how rude it was to talk about someone literally behind their back and also to insult the man’s coat because, well, it was ghastly, and how much did he even pay for it, a chicken and his firstborn child?
The night felt like it was winding down, but Rabastan was only getting started. He refilled his glass, took a large swig, and turned to the person next to him: a pretty, affable looking brunette with large eyes, who looked mildly out of place at this whole thing. “Have you lost your chaperone? Do you need me to take you back to the kiddie table? Or wait, don’t tell me...despite your youthful appearance, you’re actually three thousand years old and here to deliver an ancient prophecy, that I, Rabastan Edric Lestrange, will befall an untimely demise if I don’t learn the error of my ways. And what error do you think that might be? My proclivity for pretty things? My rampant alcoholism? Or my abhorrence for fast fashion? I’m inclined to lean, all of the above, but you tell me, O Wise One, what I must repent for.” He gave the girl a wry smile before holding out his glass to her and offering, “Drink?”