t r a i t o r

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard Some do it with a bitter look Some with a flattering word The coward does it with a kiss The brave man with a sword” Rabastan Lestrange

[lionheartmarlene]

The relationship between herself and Rabastan was a strange one and certainly a tenuous one at its very core. There was something in his personality that fundamentally aggravated her, which had done ever since they’d both been at school and she had been too young to really recognise that her crusading ways were not the greatest way to avoid making enemies. Despite that, Rabastan had never seemed like an enemy and she trusted in him more than she was sure he knew. Her glass raised with his and she clinked the glass together with a brilliant smile before sipping the drink.

“Yes, I’m that bored. Perhaps he’d even spit in your face and then I’d get to see you look surprised. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you look surprised. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you with an expression which isn’t smug or bored.”

[traitorovs]

The smirk growing upon his lips curled upward in a display of false pleasantry, for there was nothing he liked better than proving Marlene wrong. He maintained the smirk artfully, keeping lips upturned over the rim of his glass as she spoke, the bubble juice within keeping all characteristic snark deep within the pit of his stomach -- along with the pink fizzies at the bottom of his glass. Were it not for that drink he might have been much more eager to jab, for there was no surer way of showing his respect and camaraderie than through a little bullying. Genuine compliments were not his style, anyway. 

“Well, I’m smiling now, Blondie,” he grinned, a hyena’s smirk, soon to be followed by a harmless jab -- but the swift approach of another diplomat stopped him dead in his tracks. “Come on, we’re dancin’,” he muttered, setting his drink aside before quickly taking her arm and giving her a great yank toward the dance floor, “Not shaking another bloody bureaucrat’s hand; I’ll owe you one.”

[purebloodperfection]

Narcissa was on her way to find her sister, when a familiar voice caught her attention. Rabastan. The poor man was being bombarded by handshakes and pats on his shoulder, so much so that the Malfoy witch actually pitied the poor man. Once the last man turned around and walked through the doors, Narcissa approached her brother-in-law’s brother, laying a soft hand on his shoulder. 

A small smirk twisted her lips when she spoke, “Be careful, you don’t want that quote to end up in the Prophet.”

[traitorovs]

He would have recognized the gentle hand, the voice made of both ice and silk, just about anywhere; the smile had spread in its entirety across his face before he could even think to turn around. “You and I both know I’ve had much worse statements in the Prophet, Miss Cissa,” he smirked, turning beneath her hand to give her a broad smile, if admittedly sympathetic, “I hardly think that would be much of a scandal -- some might even agree with me.”

He paused, then quickly, before he could regret it: “I’m glad you’re here.”

[greybvck-blog]

“That’s not true. I don’t hate you, do I? Or my pack?”

Fenrir matched Rabastan’s smile; it wasn’t the same bubble-juice induced smile as Rabastan’s or the majority of the attendees, but it was a smile and an easy-going one more so. Rabastan seemed to have at least kept his common sense and dignity even after a few drinks which Fenrir was more than grateful for. “I’m rather certain my own curiosity can’t be blackmailing me but if you would to believe that, go ahead,” he replied. “But yes, I’m here of my own free will. Unfortunately.”

[traitorovs]

“Yes, well I’m special.” 

If there was one person that Rabastan trusted implicitly -- as insufferable as he could be, or as persistently as he continued to make the subject of each conversation result in wet dog smell -- it was Fenrir. With his life, his secrets, his fears; the bubble juice certainly did wonders for how giddy he suddenly felt at the presence of his hulking guard dog of a friend. Good for a drink, a laugh, a fight, and all things between. “And how much do I have to pay you to convince you to dance?” he raised one brow, arms crossed over his chest, “I hear wolves are great at the waltz.”

[traitorovs]

                     the last will and testament of rabastan lestrange, as written on                         may 12, 1982

two whomever may read this will: i don’t know shit about writing wills, but something’s coming, and i need to get my shit in order. tho whoever reads this, i’m sorry that i failed, and i’m sorry that i couldn’t do enough for you all while i was still there with you. i believe in you all more than i ever said. go do some good. 

     to marlene mckinnon, i leave the following: 

- the contents of the safe in my bedroom, the combination to which is enclosed - the files kept in my cubicle at the ministry; third from the door, the key to the drawer is taped underneath  - whatever remains of my half of the the lestrange properties in london, including the unused flat by the tower of london - whatever beer is left in the cellar 

      to bellatrix lestrange, i leave the following: 

- the list. you know the one. it’s in my sock drawer.  - my father’s china and silverware. he wanted rodolphus to have them if i went, but you’ll take better care of them - a letter, for your eyes only, hidden in the floor panel underneath my bed. there’s a valentine’s day present there too, which i never got to give you. sorry about that. 

      to molly and arthur weasley, i leave the following: 

- the contents of my gringotts vault, the number and combination of which are enclosed. in total, a sum of ten thousand galleons, eight hundred sickles, and a handful of knuts. 

     to mary macdonald, i leave the following: 

- the book “Oddities and Olden Tales” by Gurthur Mugwamp, located on the bookshelf in my brother’s study. it’s a good read, and it’ll chase the shitty memories away - the condition that you share that book with hookum and vance

      to james potter, i leave the following: 

- my old broom, it’s a piece of shit, but i owe you that much. it’s in the shed behind the house. enjoy it.

well, that’s it. i don’t know how to end this sort of thing, so here it is. don’t fuck it up. 

signed,  rabastan lestrange 

@prodigious--skill @lionheartmarlene @lovingxmother @artweasley @theconstellationsinhereyes @jamespotter-x

[xoxogossiprita-deactivated20160]

Rita was pleased to find that he wasn’t just a younger version of his brother as some often made him out to be. Rabastan appeared much less tightly laced, and while it was evident that he was not exactly thrilled to see her there, she was hardly facing the Arctic front that she received from Rodolphus. There was a chance that something could be salvaged here.

“Well, I hardly need to hunt them down; they’re parading people for me to pick apart on a stage. Saves me a lot of work.” She shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of her drink before continuing. “But no, this is not exactly how I want to be spending my evening either. The atmosphere in here is so forced I’m surprised we’re all able to breathe freely. If it weren’t for the Bubble Juice, this would be a very different scene, I think.” Rita glanced at some of the figures passing them, lips pursed with displeasure. There were many other reasons that she didn’t want to be there, of course, but she was hardly about to reveal them to the brother of the man who wanted her dead.

“Seen your brother around?” she asked casually, as though she had made a passing comment about the weather rather than attempting to prompt a reaction from him.

[traitorovs]

“So is that what you’re doing here?” he smirked, genuine interest and amusement mingling behind his usually deadpanned expression, “You’re the fashion police? Must be thrilling. A truly intellectual challenge.” And as much as he wanted to bloody clock Rita Skeeter from time to time, he couldn’t deny that she was a smart woman. Over the rim of his glass, he watched her observe the rest of the crowd, with disdain and judgement that matched and even surpassed his own. “Thank Merlin for the Bubble Juice, then, yeah?” 

He snatched a glass from the tray of a passing waiter and held it out in a gesture of goodwill; it truly was a strange night, in which he was willing to reconcile with Rita Skeeter. “Want it? If you don’t drink it, I will. Then who knows what sort of shit I’ll come up with for that article of yours.” 

A conspiratorial smirk, and then -- his brother. The smile immediately fell. 

“No,” he grunted, “I don’t see much of brother dearest anymore. Not that I’m complaining.”

[areufauxreal]

Visit Original Link

[glendachittalk-blog]

One of the first words out of his mouth to her was “fuck” and oh was Glenda going to have fun with him. He was just what her evening needed. Refreshing and brusque and unfiltered and perfect. “Glenda Chittock,” she answered calmly, with a smile the betrayed her amusement. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s just that you weren’t actually speaking as quietly as I imagine you thought you were.” There was still the smirk on her lips.

“Isn’t that always the way with events like this?” she lamented. “Everyone forced to tolerate and pretend like they don’t want to just rip the larynx out of the person next to them.” Her eyebrows went up. “Another drink could help you with the smiling and nodding. Either that, or it’d make you spill your true intentions even louder than that last time.”

[traitorovs]

“Maybe,” he raised one brow, “or maybe you’re just a terrible eavesdropper. Either way, couldn’t give less of a fuck whether or not you heard; not like I was spillin’ my secrets to the bastard.” All he had talked about was remodeling his office, and what a strong grip he had, and his relationship with Millicent; it had been a horribly boring conversation. Served Glenda right for listening; he could only hope that she had been as bored as he was. 

He couldn’t help but snort at her observation, nodding in a chagrined manner as he stared, lamenting, down into his empty glass. “You’ve got a point, Chittock,” he huffed, “And, hell, do I want to rip out a larynx or two. But this is a nice party. No fuckin’ larynxes today.” At the mention of another drink, his eyes widened by just a margin; seemed as if everyone was determined to get as drunk as possible. And Rabastan was no exception. “Listen, if I’m gonna handle this night for another second, I’m gonna need a drink. You want one, too? That fuckin’ waiter’s around here somewhere.”

[prodigious--skill]

“Don’t go pulling anything on my account,” she quipped, noting the strain behind his smile. “And I might have been. There’s this vein in your neck that I was counting on to burst at some point and liven the place up a bit, but now I stand corrected.” She followed the portly nuisance of a man who’d been trying his nerves earlier with her gaze, watching as he corralled another innocent bystander into conversation. Her lips quirked. “Promise to run interference for you next time.”

Grudgingly, Bellatrix took the champagne flute, her amusement dissolving into wariness as she eyed the bubbly drink like one would a rabid animal. “Whatever this is spiked with has half the people in this room ready to hold hands and skip in circles together,” She held out the drink to him. “We both know I gave that up my second year, thanks.”

[traitorovs]

“You look nice,” he muttered, gruff and unintentionally brusque atop such a genuine sentiment. Of course, Bella always looked nice, but it was rare to see her so pristinely dressed up. It was a horribly masochistic thing, to want to stay there with her, to talk to her, to spend as much time with her as he possibly could, but he had nothing left to lose. Were he to die right now, at least she would be smiling at him -- and Rodolphus was not around to ruin it. “Wouldn’t want that old drooler messin’ up your pretty dress. I’ll take the fall for you if he comes back.”

His smile could only grow as she took the champagne flute, her skeptical gaze an amusing thing atop the pink glow. “Come on, Bella,” he laughed, “You don’t want to hold hands and skip in a circle with me? I’m wounded; thought I meant more to you than that. Hell, I stayed half-sober just to wait up for you.”

[greybvck-blog]

“I hate every politician.”

He spoke from behind Rabastan, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He’d been watching with amusement from the sidelines (which is probably what he should’ve with this war in the first bloody place but this was neither the time nor the place and what was done, was done – shit like that), having decided he needed a break from the ridiculousness of the drunken attendees or the glares for the remaining sober people who either knew he was out of place or knew who he was. While giving them the finger might’ve been nice, he was an adult and this was a gala and he should be try to be at least decent. 

[traitorovs]

“Yeah, well you hate everyone.” 

He turned on a dime to face his unlikely confidant, Bubble Juice making his smile an easy one. Rabastan couldn’t help but think that it was surprising that Fenrir had decided to come; but he had to admit that he was glad that the other man was here. He was an oasis of sense in a desert of stupid, and he would be perfectly content if the rest of the night was spent sitting in the corner, judging the rest of them. “Who actually managed to get you here, then?” he wondered, brow raised, “Who’s blackmailing you?”

[prodigious--skill]

“Don’t think he’ll be bending down on one knee for you anytime soon either, love.”

She appeared over his shoulder with a half-smile, having spent the last ten minutes watching her brother-in-law wade though a sea of Ministry stiffs in a state of repressed agony. It would have been kinder to intervene, to tear him away from the suits with a chagrined curve of her lips, but it would have also robbed her of a sure source of entertainment. And entertainment was in drastically short supply tonight. Bellatrix leaned in conspiratorially. “Might sully those fancy new dress robes of his.”

[traitorovs]

Oddly enough, his sour mood remained constant as a once-comforting voice and an amused smile appeared at his shoulder; her presence was usually a catalyst in the marked improvement of his mood, but perhaps he hadn’t consumed enough bubble juice to make him any less bitter about the night. Nevertheless, he turned to her with a forced smile; pinched as it was, the effort was still evident. “Have you been standing there the whole time?” he questioned, brow raised, “I’m sure he would have loved to hear your opinion on his fancy cress robes.”

As a waiter passed, he took full advantage of the full tray upon his outstretched hand, plucking a pair of glasses from the tray. “Drink? I’m not opposed to drinking both; take one while you can.”

[glendachittalk-blog]

Glenda smirked to herself as she heard an undertone biting comment. Another unhappy man in a handsomely-cut suit. Glenda followed the man who had incited such ire…no one she recognized, so that was a bust. But she wanted to talk to someone who was so free with his opinions.

Leaning a bit into the other man’s space, she asked, “Has he made a personal affront to you or is he just a terrible bore?” Her eyes sparkled a bit as they sought his out his, heads and shoulders above her. “It seems too many are guilty of the latter in this crowd.”

[traitorovs]

Eyes narrowed, the biting question slipping from his half-drunk lips before he could bite down upon it: “Who the fuck’re you?” Hers was not a face he recognized, but a voice he knew; perhaps it was terribly rude to speak to a stranger in such a way, but he had little to lose. 

“Latter,” he nodded, eyeing her suspiciously, “Much like most here; can’t count how many goddamn times I’ve caught myself smiling and nodding when I should have been answering a question. Not nearly drunk enough for this shit.”

[xoxogossiprita-deactivated20160]

“Travers? Everyone hates him, he’s an imbecile. Paid his way into a high position though he can’t tell his quill from his wand half the time.”

She had been watching the conversation with half-interest, half-amusement. Ordinarily, Rita would have avoided Rabastan like the Black Plague - he was a Lestrange after all, and given her experiences with his sister-in-law and elder brother she was not entirely comfortable with approaching anyone bearing the infamous name. But tonight, with Bubble Juice and champagne fuelling her, she was more than willing to take the risk. He was the lesser known Lestrange after all, and if rumour was to be believed, she and he had a mutual disdain for the better known brother. And if the rumours were false, hopefully he’d have had enough alcohol that they’d be able to avoid any drama. 

“Not enjoying your evening, I take it?” she enquired, holding a glass out for him to accept.

[traitorovs]

“And apparently he can’t tell his cock from his right leg either; thank God he’ll never reproduce.” 

He doubted that speaking with Rita Skeeter was a good idea; standing within a ten-foot radius in general led to ruin and irritation and equal measure, though Rabastan was not in the public eye enough to be ruined too easily. Though, of course, he’d made himself quite the public figurehead as of late; diving in front of a killing curse did that for a person, it seemed. And it was only appropriate that his public torture would be punctuated by an unpleasant presence such as this one. But mutual distaste brought people together, it seemed; but distaste about what he would soon find out, to be sure. 

“Is it that obvious?” he chuckled, taking the offered glass gladly, “What, and you’re having fun? Taking notes on who to slander next?”

[lionheartmarlene]

After dancing with various friends, there seemed to be a limit on what else there was to do at the gala. Especially after the bubble juice was starting to fade in influence. Marlene had soon decided on lingering around both the food and the alcohol, still not managing to fully relax at the gala despite the fact that it was supposed to be a celebration or at least somewhat relaxing. She hadn’t even noticed Rabastan, but both the cursing and the tone of voice easily told her who it was that she had her back to. A smile crossed her face as she turned, though she’d never been sure if they were friends or not. It was always hard to categorise those in Janus.

“You know if you said that just a little louder, he might have heard you. I wish you had, an argument would really liven this place up.”

[traitorovs]

He’d never been certain of Marlene; most days he couldn’t stand her, but there had always been an underlying current of appreciation and understanding that ran between them -- or, at least, in one direction, from marked man to traitorous woman. She was, at the very least, not a pimply old man, and for that he was thankful. Holding out his glass in a halfhearted, one-sided toast, Rabastan sighed, casting a cursory glance over his shoulder at the retreating hand-shaker. 

“Wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he snorted, “Hell, all he’d be able to do is spit on me, drool on my shoes. Man couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if he tried. Are you that bored?”

[traitorovs]

April 25. 1982 7:00 PM OPEN

Bureaucrat, after bureaucrat, after bureaucrat... one after another, each with variations of the same thanks, the same gratitude which he did not feel comfortable answering for in the slightest. Rabastan had shaken more hands and kissed more cheeks tonight than he ever had before -- and he hated every bloody minute of it. It was a painful thing, to pretend to like each stuffy one of them. The man at present was the head of an entirely irrelevant department, and he’d been shaking Rabastan’s hand for what felt like upwards of fifteen minutes. Nods, thank you’s, and a goodbye, and Rabastan finally let his falsely gracious facade fall. And once presumed alone -- 

“Merlin, I fuckin’ hate that guy.”

[traitorovs]

✉

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

[ unsent ]: would you be pissed if i fucked your brother hahahahaha[ unsent ]: kidding [ unsent ]: I DON’T LIKE YOU

[traitorovs]

✉ $

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

[ unsent ]: you’re hot and it’s fucking me up[ unsent ]: are you a moaner or a screamer? 

Send “$” for an “ACCIDENTAL” text.

[ text ]: PICTURE SENT [ text ]: whoops

[traitorovs]

✉#%

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

[ unsent ]: you’re a good leader. don’t let them push you around[ unsent ]: fuckers

Send “#” for a RANDOM text.

[ text ]: listen, we’re both blonde. we can talk about this shit. [ text ]: is it weird for a bloke to use conditioner? 

Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.

[ text ]: did i see little sneep’s hand on your knee earlier? [ text ]: and did i see you smiling about it?[ text ]: that’s fucking gross, mckinnon