WHO: @soclearwater WHERE: Rodolphus Lestrange’s Office, Level Two, Ministry of Magic. WHEN: 23 April 2003.
Even all these years after their exoneration, there was still an underlying thrill to walking openly and boldly through the halls of the Ministry of Magic.
There had been a time when the rabbit warren of offices and cubicles that made up the main hub of magical governance in their country would have been of as little interest to him as the people who inhabited them. Their tedious and dull existences had never held any particular interest for him, despite his father’s most convincing arguments, and his brother, in their father’s absence, had fared no better.
What had captured his interest increasingly of late (which had no correlation whatsoever to his brother’s increasing interest in Rabastan’s own business) was his brother’s Ministry office. Or rather, the extent to which Rodolphus seemed intent on keeping him out of it.
Nothing ever succeeded in making Rabastan want something quite the way that trying to deny him of it did. The Wizengamot offices were grand, in the sad, faded, Ministerial kind of way, and Rabastan’s feet took him to the right door of their own accord, rather than go for the door handle however, he raised his hand politely to rap twice upon the door frame and tugged his bribe du jour from the inner pocket of his jacket to wait.
The woman who inhabited his brother’s office for large parts of the day (in a curious arrangement that Rabastan might have looked twice at, if he were anyone else) was a curious creature, but Bash had always had his mother’s knack for charming people. Elaborate schemes and concocted hexes may have passed the time, but he suspected she enjoyed the research more than the prospect of actual success. The passes were proffered first as the door cracked open, his smile second as he offered, without a pause, “Hello again, Pen. How do you feel about Abraxans?”
