#03091979

[rascal-rab-blog]

03/09/79 | The Masks Come Off | Evan + Rabastan.

There were few disadvantages that came with his job as an Unspeakable and with most of them he could easily brush off or adjust to. The tedious deskwork; dealing with bratty interns; keeping his work in discussion on the down-low - these were a few of which he could adjust to. When it came to the long hours a shift required, however, he just couldn’t get used to it. He had things to do during the day and work at night, if work carried on into the day this constricted him from keeping his regular schedule and sometimes he would simply have to do without sleep to keep up with the rhythm. He did that to counter the disadvantage quite a lot and this is why after so long his body would be to the point that the moment he reached home, without much thought he would make his way upstairs and candidly pass out on his bed – not bothering to remove his work clothes and sometimes even his shoes.

This was one of those nights. Rabastan was never a hard-sleeper. The slightest shift in clothing would normally have him alert with wand in hand, but on nights like this a Hippogriff could destroy his room and he would simply curl into a ball and continue his drowsy state. He had arrived home at three from what he could remember and now as the sun peeked through his window, he felt like he could’ve slept well into the afternoon. He would’ve done that had a ray of sunlight not hit his eyes and as he shifted on the bed he had the oddest feeling he was being watched. 

He cracked open a brown eye and came face to face Evan Rosier. He brought his hands up to his face to rub away the grogginess that was his expression. After he gained the ability to actually register that Rosier was in his house – not just his house, but his room – he opened both eyes to stare at the man in silence for a moment as everything around him became clear.

Rabastan’s eyes narrowed to glare at the man above him for waking him up at such a time. It wasn’t as if he needed sleep or anything. That thought being sarcastic. He rose from the bed, dropping his work cloak and doing well to ignore Evan as he moved around his bedroom to gather up a fresh pair of clothes to sit on the bed. He had shared a dormitory room with boys for seven years; on top of that the fact that he had nothing to be ashamed of: therefore he removed his shirt to replace it with the new one. After buttoning the shirt up, he figured he had right to question the man now that he was half decent for the day.

“Care to tell me why you’re in my room, and why I shouldn’t hex you for breaking and entering?”

[rascal-rab-blog]

03/09/79 | The List | Lucius + Rabastan.

Rabastan often became lost in his thoughts when at work. At this moment it was one of those times. He stood to the side of the room with a clipboard in his hand, leaning against the wall casually. He was supposed to be showing an intern around – showing the boy the ropes that were needed knowledge to become an Unspeakable, but his mind kept warping around the Prophet article he read earlier in the morning before he traveled to Hogwarts with his brother. Such a list it spoke of would be highly valuable in the hands of the Dark Lord – and it would put the Lestrange name in good graces with said Lord. Not that the Lestrange’s were out of his good graces, but a bit of sucking up never did any harm.

He was brought out of his muse by the sounds of screams that were much louder as they echoed through the nearly-hollow room. Shifting his gaze towards the large tank in the middle of said room he found his intern on the ground fighting off tendrils that were tightening around his neck. Rabastan’s normal blank expression shifted to a grimaced one as he watched the boy writhe on the ground for his life. “I told you not to touch them,” he pointed out boorishly as he began examining his hand. After a few minutes, the screams began to die down as the tendrils tightened around the throat which cut off the intern’s ability to vocally show his discomfort. “When your air supply is cut off the best thing to do is not panic but approach the situation calmly. Relax your muscles and do with what oxygen you have left in your lungs,” he explained as he watched the boy roll about on the ground. “Relax or I’m not going to help you!” Rabastan snapped which must’ve caught the intern’s attention – that or the word help.

After the movement ceased out of his peripheral vision – which signaled the boy stopped squirming or was dead (Rabastan found he didn’t care which it was so long as the thrashing stopped) – brought his eyes up to see the boy was still alive though his face was flushed due to loss of oxygen. He brought his wand out of the holster on his side to flick his wand, causing the brain to untangle itself from his neck and fly back into the tank. Rabastan let out a sigh just as the boy gasped his lung full of renewed air. “I’m taking my lunch break; don’t touch it again or nobody will be around to save you,” he articulated before slipping out of the room without another word – not even saying when he’d be back nor checking if the boy was alright for he simply didn’t care.

He headed down the dark hallway passed each door of the Department until he came to the elevator, stepping inside rather than pushing to go to the Atrium he headed straight to Level One for support staff. He’d been working at the Ministry for quite a few years starting directly after school and now being twenty-three; but he normally kept to the Atrium and Department of Mysteries unless he was needed for a brief meeting on another floor. This meant he had no idea where the list would be stored, which raised a problem in stealing it to make a copy for the Dark Lord. Luckily, he knew of a man who (hopefully) knew the Ministry inside and out: Lucius.

As he came to the needed floor, he slipped out, heading straight down the path towards Lucius’ office not even getting a second glance from those he passed.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door below the aristocrat’s name, not waiting for permission to enter but instead just opening the door and slipping inside. “Lucius, care to spend your lunch hour helping me with something?” He asked curiously.

[rascal-rab-blog]

03/09/79 | Absurd Questioning | Rodolphus + Rabastan.

Rabastan sat at the table in the Lestrange’s dining room, an amused smile played out across his lips from the article he was reading in the ‘Daily Prophet’. With each word things became funnier and funnier to him, not that it was odd. Thirteen children had gone missing. Not even he was sure who the culprit was, but that didn’t stop him from giving his silent props. Thirteen was considered a very tragic number and the man – or woman – had managed to take them right from under the great Albus Dumbledore’s nose. That deserves props; the article was showing to be one of great amusement – amusement which Rabastan hadn’t felt in quite some time.

But the best part of it all was not mentioned as of yet. They were holding interviews for players who attended the ‘Alumni Quidditch game’ last week in hopes to find out if the players saw anything out of sort (or so he assumed). And one of the names on that player list was who else but his older brother: Rodolphus Lestrange.

It just made the event all the more funny. Rabastan had always hated Quidditch, and now his brother was being looked at by a Ministry official with suspicion just because he – at times – enjoyed participating in the sport. He didn’t like the whole suspicion part, just the fact that he was being questioned which he assumed would be a great annoyance for Rodolphus. He was a little brother; he lived for his brother’s annoyance.

If he was anyone else but a Lestrange, he would be worried about the Ministry sticking their noses’ in places which it does not belong; but he knew the chances were slim to none they could prove anything by looking into his and his brother’s background. Not that he believed they would do that, they – after all – just wanted to question him about his day.

It was time to be a younger brother who was true to his nature, was his first thought as his brother made an appearance. He knew it wouldn’t be long for the two to wake up. He had arrived at the Lestrange manor hardly an hour ago and made himself right at home with the copy of the paper, a tobacco pipe that had just been finished, and a glass of Ogden’s (paying no mind that it was so early in the morning).

“Have you read the paper?” Rabastan asked knowing full-well that the man more than likely hadn’t. He folded up the paper in a neat pile to place atop the table, reaching for his glass before he continued: “it seems that your presence is requested at Hogwarts for an interview on those poor children who disappeared,” he said before he took a sip of his drink, swishing it about in his mouth to get a good taste, flashing a – what could only be called – mocking smile.

“Hah, someone's in trouble,” he said childishly not caring if he was a twenty-three (almost twenty-four, thank you very much) man. He’d always be the younger brat of a brother to Rodolphus unless they were in public.

[rascal-rab-blog]

03/09/79 | Devising Bloodshed | Bellatrix + Rabastan.

They were given a communication assignment. Orders were easy enough to follow: masks to stay firmly on, meet upon one of the many rooftops of Knockturn Alley, and discuss how to make the streets run red. It was stupidly simple, really. Even with the given information orders were just that; orders. Rabastan had learned at a young age that when given an order, one must follow it; whether the order was from a parent, boss, teacher, or leader. He had learned quickly after graduation to add the word ‘especially’ before the listed word: leader.

And with that said he slipped on two masks: the silver snake-eyed mask given to each Death Eater after initiation and the metaphorical mask he had become a master at hiding behind.

He ran his hands through the black locks that was his hair to slick it back for it to be unseen in the unlikely case that his hood could somehow slip off. Next was the black cloak he snapped on and finally the hood. He gave himself a look in his mirror, nodding his head in approval at the fact that he would now blend in with his accomplice. Only one thing left, he thought as his hand was brought up to silence the charmed violin that played in the corner – to ‘Apparate’ to the given position.

Rabastan brought his hand up holding out two fingers, impacting them against his wrist bone causing it to flinch. A punishment for thinking such a thing as the orders of the Dark Lord as stupid simple earlier in his thoughts. And with the atonement of his transgression the process of ‘Apparition’ could begin.

The world went black. His chest tightened uncomfortable, inhibiting him with the ability to breath. If he had inhaled or exhaled – he figured he would be in a lot of pain. He’d never get used to the feeling of the immense pressure to his head, the buzzing in his ear that made him wish he were deaf, and the feeling of being slammed against several walls.

He landed on the roof of the Knockturn Alley shop, stumbling to the side and expertly catching his footing to straighten his body. His hands moved to straighten the nonexistent wrinkles on his black robe before his eyes darted about in search of partner for the night. He had become used to seeing in the dark, which made it easy to identify what was a cloaked Death Eater with their back to him and what was just a chimney pipe.

Turned out his search was futile as he was the first to the spot. He brought his sleeve up to reveal the silver wrist-watch he often wore, reading the hands to find he was a few minutes early: 2:56 AM, it read.

All there was left now was to wait for his partner. So with his sleeve dropped, he leant against one of the earlier mentioned chimney pipes, his hands resting together in front of him, giving him a patient-stance.