Starter for: James Potter @mr-potter Where: The Ministry of Magic
These days, Rabastan was spending far more time than desired at the Ministry. Every time he entered the building, it felt like walking into the den of the enemy; one that he dearly wished to send up in fiendfyre and brimstone. He desired war more than ever. To Rabastan, the peace that occupied the wixen world was nothing but a silent grace; it was the calm before the storm, the deceptive appearance of defeat. But his passion for the cause had only grown, and there were many others who felt the same. It was only a matter of time before they rose again. When they did, the world would not see them coming.
Today, for once, he was not here to meet with lawyers about Rodolphus. A more mundane purpose had occupied his time, keeping him in the Department of Magical Games & Sports for the best part of the morning. Something to do with storing foreign teams' artefacts in Gringotts vaults, with or without their curses - or something like that. Truly, he was not listening all that attentively. It seemed a rather lacklustre use of his time. So he was pleased when the discussions ended and he slipped away into a side room whereupon he proceeded to search for a stiff drink. These Ministry hags always had something stashed away in their desks.
Just as he pulled a half-drunk bottle of scotch from a cupboard, a look of self-satisfied glee glimmering his expression, the door opened and he turned to observe James Potter. "I suppose you've caught me," he said, acknowledging the theft. Then he opened the bottle and summoned a glass nonetheless. "Well, would you like some?"
He may as well get the man on side for this little crime. Their differences during the war were undeniable. Rabastan did not know if James was aware of his position among Death Eaters, but he certainly knew which side the Potter heir had supported. It was a pity he had chosen treachery.
