r-lestrcnge

[r-lestrcnge]

Rabastan had proceeded with business, but truly his thoughts remained on more personal affairs. He worried for Emmeline. She was usually a calm and collected witch, unruffled and logical. But her news had disturbed her greatly, as had Evan's unexpected betrothal. He believed she deserved better. Her father should be held accountable. It was her right to take vengeance if she so chose. He would be more than happy to assist her.

So he sipped his drink, listening while continuing to observe her. She appeared improved, but she was skilled at wearing a mask. "That would be helpful, Emmeline. Between us and Dolohov, we will surely find the accursed place soon. I fear the Dark Lord's wrath if we don't deliver. He has trusted us, but he's been waiting for a long time." The words were far from empty. Rabastan did not want to anger the Dark Lord. His fury was notorious, his forgiveness not easily earned. "Knowing when the Aurors are in the same building is another issue. We must compromise it without their knowing, then wait for our moment. You will still join us when the time comes? I want you beside me to unravel these enchantments. I trust no other with this delicate work."

Sliding his glass onto the table beside the unopened letters, he then sat back, more relaxed. "How about the shop? Is that cat still hanging around? And how are you, generally?" He'd asked at last, nonchalantly, added to the end of a string of questions to dampen its significance. He didn't want to put Emmeline on the spot. This way, she could choose not to engage, by focussing on other responses.

"By which time we no longer need the answers needed now. But I'm sure it will answer plenty other questions the future will undoubtedly throw your way." Emmeline had no doubt that Rabastan and Alecto would manage just fine, even if she had not necessarily been picturing her friends with that type of challenge quite so soon. In fact, plenty other things came to mind the brunette could see her friends wading through much sooner than this, but life had a funny way of twisting the path that lay ahead. Either way, she couldn't deny that fatherhood looked good on her friend; committed, dedicated, determined.

The hug was yet another thing, pathway to the witch fully letting her guard down as much as she ever had around another person. In fact, she could count the people on one hand. Even less than that. Drink in hand she could only chuckle, amused by the way the conversation flowed so nicely right back to the important matters at hand. Delicate fingers reached for the letter, scanning the neat font that listed auror houses. "I know plenty of these. I placed plenty of these, in fact." That and various spells that disabled detection and other things; requested by the ministry. "Some of these cannot safehouses cannot be hit. It would make it a little too obvious and I fear some locations are made up entirely, but the list of curses is entirely accurate. The auror department is in no position to risk their operatives having to make do without protection."

And yet the brunette was very much capable of providing a list, further beyond this. If they'd work together the list would be neat. "I can make suggestions regarding which of the safehouses could be cracked." It was important the witch kept up appearances; doe eyed and loyal to the ministry and its aurors - no matter what. It was the way she'd gone about, holding all that trust despite her circle of friends and family. "If need be I can get us a list of safehouses not secured by me." Oh, she loved leaving the blame with others. - @r-lestrcnge

[r-lestrcnge]

Starter for: Wendy Slinkhard @wendyslinkhards Where: the Daily Prophet offices When: some point after the Potter Polyjuice Incident

Currently, Rabastan was waiting in the Daily Prophet offices. He'd received an invitation from Wendy Slinkhard. It hadn't taken much thought to decide to accept it. She wanted to discuss the incident with his doppelganger. Since Rabastan was reeling with the desire to bring the Ministry to its knees, he was more than happy to entertain her questions and fully intended to present himself as a good, law-abiding family man, while communicating he believed an Auror was behind it. Two birds with one stone.

So he sat patiently, watching the hustle and bustle from a window seat in the reception area. Offices were awful places, full with people who barely used magic to complete their work. It was almost a pitiful state of endeavour. But the press was important. Propaganda and the power of the media were essential. He did not devalue their craft. Leaning back idly, he scrutinised the surroundings, noting its occupants and points of interest. Since he'd been given a cup of sweet tea, it wasn't too tedious an occupation, though he'd have much preferred to conduct this meeting from his own home. It was a shame she hadn't accepted his offer to join him there. He could have used his children to illustrate his nature. But such was life; disappointing and unpredictable.

Upon seeing the witch approach, he stood and pressed a polite smile to his lips. "Good morning, Ms Slinkhard. Are you well?"

[r-lestrcnge]

Despite his malfeasant intent, Rabastan exhaled a chuckle. It was more of a breath, a whispered amusement. Longbottom had balls, he'd give him that much. He could appreciate a person who stood by their principles and achieved prowess in their field - even if those areas were wrong. He looked down on those who defected from the Order, viewing them as weak and disloyal. He set far greater store in their initial choice. Therefore, someone like Frank was a lost cause. It was a great pity to spill pure blood. But sacrifice was necessary for the greater good.

It was dim in the barn, though the afternoon sun was still bright outside. It shone through the wooden beams, illuminating floating dust that was disturbed only by the few birds flying between the rafters. As Frank circled, Rabastan watched. It would be easy to curse him from where he was concealed. A strong Cruciatus would impair him immediately. But that would not equal his wife's suffering. It would not bring him close enough to death, neither would it make him fear for his life. He'd had months to imagine this moment. He was going to take his time, selfishly enjoying it in a way that did not often characterise his actions in this war.

Not a word left his lips as he cast his spells. There was a danger that Frank would identify the magic's origin, noticing the tell-tale signs from his position on the balcony. But he didn't care. His work was swift, his reactions secure. He'd see and move. If a duel broke out, so be it. He could handle a single Auror.

The dirt around Frank began to churn, swirling quickly against the ground and spiralling up like a tornado. It was only dust. But it encased him and began to force itself down Frank's throat, heading towards his lungs. Suffocation was a fitting method. For now.

Shit. Shit. This is what he got for going out without his partner. Though what a partner could’ve done in a situation like this, Frank didn’t know. One minute he’d been safe in Hogsmeade, guard up, and the next he was in what looked like a barn in god only knows where. Brilliant. Wonderful. Alice was going to freak out. He hated worrying her, especially this late in the pregnancy.

Frank turned in a slow circle, scanning the room for any signs of his captor. Whoever had him had moved fast and efficiently and Frank doubted they’d give anything away about their current location or their plans. But it was worth a try.

“If you wanted a lunch date,” Frank said, knowing it wasn’t likely to lure out whoever had him, “you could’ve just asked. I have plenty of availability and there are better locations than a barn.”

[r-lestrcnge]

Starter for: Frank Longbottom @franklongbottom-fm Where: Hogsmeade When: afternoon

Revenge had been a long time coming. Rabastan was a very patient man. He was not easily riled. Frankly, he should have been sainted for his self-control with Longbottom until now. It had been many months since Frank nearly killed Alecto. Rabastan's temper was hanging by a thread, not because of Frank, but because he'd been dealing with Hestia Jones and the case of his mysterious doppelganger. He'd spent the afternoon in the Auror Department, answering questions and insisting on updates, while trying to get a look at every one of their wretched staff to see if any had yet fallen victim to the curse that would identify them. Nothing of interest happened. He didn't even have the enthusiasm to toy with Hestia's memory of when he cursed her.

So when Rabastan's path crossed with Frank's, he found himself unreasonably angry and decided - there and then - that he had finished biding his time. He was tired of witnessing injustice. He was done with the Ministry's hypocrisy and the oppression of purebloods. The war was still raging, its end far from sight. But this was a correction he could easily achieve. It was necessary to rectify the balance. It was correct to punish this crime.

He'd overheard where Frank would be sent later that afternoon. So he got there first and waited. He'd already cleared his schedule, having expected to be at the Ministry for some hours. By the time Frank appeared, Rabastan had calmed. He followed him with his eyes, his ice-like stare honing onto the other wizard's back as he moved through Hogsmeade's bustling streets. Hogwarts' students were out in full force, filling the cobbles and causing convenient distractions. Setting off behind Frank, he stepped quietly and decisively, moving with practised, predatory ease. The children ignored him, too engrossed in their antics to notice as he moved silently past. He caught him in an alley between two buildings, grabbing him from behind and forcing him into the shadows with his wand shoved firm against his neck. The sense of impending vengeance was exquisite, his stoic heart pulsing into life. Behind his mask, he smiled, satisfied.

Then they disappeared, heading to a Death Eater safehouse; a disused barn in the middle of nowhere. Rapidly, Rabastan released Frank and disapparated once more, moving to a higher vantage point to get a better look at him, trapped like a rat in a cage.

[r-lestrcnge]

Starter for: Peter Pettigrew @ptpeter Where: Dervish and Banges When: Midday

Rabastan was self-sufficient and skilled at manipulating spells. But sometimes, puzzles eluded him - primarily on days when he lacked time and patience. Today was one such example. In his hand, he held an heirloom clock, which was charmed to show not only the time, but also the weather, the phase of the moon and the alignments of the planets. All were visible in the space where the pendulum swung, drifting across the glass like clouds on a breeze. Except for now, when they seemed frozen in a state of perpetual rainstorm. If he'd had more foresight, he might have considered it a sign. But he didn't, so he thought nothing of it and had spent a mere ten minutes trying to get the damned thing to resume its function before deciding he had better things to do and giving up.

Approaching the counter, he barely looked at the wizard behind it. He opened his mouth, placing the clock down. A millisecond from stating his purpose, he noticed who was there and faintly froze. Peter Pettigrew. He was not exactly an enemy in the violent sense of the word, but there was no love lost between them. Rabastan's grudges ran deep - even those from childish school days, which now seemed so long ago.

"Pettigrew," he greeted coldly, pressing a polite curve to his lips. He would make an effort to appear cordial. He wanted him to look at the clock. It would be inconvenient to take it elsewhere. "Do you fix the items in here, or should I speak to someone else?" With the palm of his hand, he slid the clock closer. "I don't have time to repair this myself. It's a very valuable family heirloom. Enchanted and cursed. I've removed the more deathly curses myself, so it won't harm you. Not too much, anyway."

[r-lestrcnge]

[r-lestrcnge]

Rabastan was now accustomed to life as a married wizard. Truthfully, not much had changed. The children had turned ordinary routine upside down for a short while, igniting paternal instincts that he'd never expected. It was a devotion more than any he'd felt before. His emotions were not easily triggered. But he had never known as a fierce a desire to protect, as he felt for his own offspring. That had not faded. But his need to be close to them had. These days, he rarely spent much time in the nursery, content to allow the nanny to do her job while he did his, returning to his work and his duties. He had been raised with cold vigour, so he saw no need to diverge. Nonetheless, the house was warmer than his childhood home had ever been.

It was with a whimsical sort of interest that he'd visited the broom store during his lunchbreak. He wanted to look at the children's brooms, thinking it appropriate to begin magical activities at the earliest opportunity. Hearing Emma scolding another witch, he knew her voice immediately and laughed quietly, turning to see the offending woman scurrying away.

"Hello, Emma," he greeted lightly, still gripping a tiny broomstick. He raised an eyebrow. "It wouldn't be anyone's business if you were buying a new broom."

status: open to anyone location: Quality Quidditch Supplies

Emma's pregnancy announcement and interview with Rita Skeeter had been published in the daily prophet just days before and she could feel eyes on her as she set foot into her favorite store as she was running low on broom polish. It was different than the looks she got due to her fame of being a professional athlete, she noticed people's linger on her stomach, trying to see a bump that was not yet visible. Emma had wanted to keep playing but she'd been overruled, the state of her baby's health too fragile should she fall off her broom. Apparently she should have stopped as soon as she had found out about her pregnancy, but she had not been ready to do so. It's not like she was planning to fall of her boorm. She was no fool, she had not fallen of her broom in years. And yet here she was, only allowed to fly up to a certain speed and height, effectively forced to take a leave of absence from the job she loved. "What?" She sighed before even looking at who was standing behind her, feeling their stare. "Do not look at me like that. I'm just here to buy broom polish, not a new broom."

[r-lestrcnge]

Continuing to sip his heavily sweetened tea, Rabastan watched Antonin and listened intently. He found himself curiously pleased by the other wizard's judgement. Perhaps it was selfish arrogance that caused subtle pride to curve his lips. The gesture was sly and self-assured. He'd be more than willing to test a memory modification or two on Dolohov if he changed his mind. So they looked at each other with mutual approval, though Rabastan wondered what was truly mulling through Antonin's complicated head.

"I think that's the correct decision. It's far better to put others at risk than yourself. There are plenty of test subjects available in the world. There's no need for you to be one of them. Fear can be channelled usefully, indeed." Finishing his tea, he pushed the cup and saucer onto a table and looked absently through the window at the loch. It was a calm day. The water hardly stirred. To an outsider, it might be absurd to think that such an idyllic location housed a hostage in a dungeon basement. If Rabastan hadn't been so focussed, he'd have found it entertaining.

He got to his feet, wanting to proceed with business and get to Gringotts at a reasonable hour. "Let's move him to your place, then," he said, leading the way from the room while wryly turning to Antonin. "As for my wife's hexes: we were children once, you know. I've been on the receiving end of her spells. She's endured a few of mine, too."

End.

Antonin seemed to mull the idea over wishing he had a drink as strong as the ideas they contemplated.  “I think if I was going to have it done I wouldn’t mind you being the one to test my mind, but like the idea of having poisons tested it might be an undertaking with more detrimental side effects than I might wish.”  He thought about Rabastan’s other words. “I’m sure you trust Alecto much more than I do, but I doubt she has ever had occasion to hex you.”  He looked hard at Rabastan, seeming to judge the man in front of him as satisfactory in whatever inner thoughts he was measuring him to. “I don’t doubt your professionalism, but I find I’m much more willing to alter the minds and bodies of others in the name of completing our mission than my own, maybe that’s a failing, but I think not being caught gives something to the fight that is in a wizard, without any kind of fear people are often unreasonably overconfident in their abilities and that is something that can’t be afforded in our line of work.”

[r-lestrcnge]

Rabastan did not interrupt. There was no need. They'd struck the truth and opened a floodgate. He did not doubt the honesty in the old wizard's words, seeing it in his eyes and in his actions. So he stood in silence, observing and absorbing. He would need to consider everything in detail, before making his own judgement. But it seemed that Regulus had either wanted to harm someone else, or to prevent it from befalling him. He didn't know what tasks the Dark Lord had assigned to the young man, only aware of what they'd worked on together. Some things were always secret. But Regulus was young and inexperienced. Rabastan doubted he'd been doing anything too essential or too dangerous.

Permitting Alecto to leave, he remained in the apothecary and paid for the tonics with a pouch of gold. He placed it weightily in the old man's palm, its galleons far more than the potions were worth. They may need to return in the future. It didn't hurt to pay for information, when the investment could yield further results.

Then he joined his wife on the cobbles and they disapparated, landing in their dining room in a swirl of black robes and chilly air. From upstairs, the sound of a mechanical nursery rhyme could be heard, the children most likely settling down for the night. Placing the potions onto the table, he removed his cloak and threw it haplessly over the back of a chair.

"I thought I knew Regulus, Alecto. I thought he trusted me." Waving his wand, a cupboard opened and he summoned a bottle of scotch into his hand. It was followed by two glasses. "It troubles me that he may have been in danger but said nothing. Or that he may have been attempting some kind of poisonous research alone. We must tell Rodolphus and Bellatrix. But no one else. If he was wary, perhaps he had good reason and the cause is in our midst."

Alecto’s expression twisted in disgust as her lips curled ever so slightly as the old man spoke. She didn’t interrupt, not yet. She let him trip over his own excuses and justifications, his hands working faster now, almost frantically, as though movement could scrub the guilt from the air. When he finally looked up, she tilted her head, the shadows under her eyes deepening with the curl of a slow, dangerous smile.

“How convenient,” she drawled, tone laced with venomous amusement. “You didn’t believe him, yet you told him anyway. You didn’t want to help, but you did.” Her fingers traced a meaningless pattern along the countertop. “And now you want us to believe your conscience caught up with you after the Prophet printed his name?”

Alecto’s gaze darkened letting her gaze settle on the freshly corked bottle. “He was playing with something far beyond what he was capable of, and you handed him the matches.” She stepped forward, voice dropping to a cold hush. “Don’t pretend innocence now. If there’s anything else he asked....any detail you’ve kept tucked away....you will tell us. Because if he comes back, it won’t be you he speaks to. It’ll be us. And we won’t be nearly so patient if you had more of hand in this."

She let the words hang between them before turning her head slightly toward Rabastan.

The old man swallowed hard, wringing his hands around a damp cloth. His eyes flicked between the two of them. The shop felt colder now, the candlelight no longer warm but flickering like a warning. “I...I didn’t know what he meant to do,” the man said, voice cracking under the weight of fear. “I thought… if I cooperated, he’d go away. I didn’t think it would come to anything. Please… I didn’t tell him everything. Just the basics. I swear it.”

Alecto’s attention returned back to the man, her smile didn’t waver. It only deepened with something unreadable. “Then I hope, for your sake, it stays that way.”

Her attention deferred back to her husband. “Well. I’d say we’ve got what we came for.” The information gathered, she stepped away from the counter and without another word, she turned and walked out into the night, the door chiming faintly behind her.

[r-lestrcnge]

They were two peas in a pod, despite their striking differences. The brothers were attuned completely, bound by blood and years of shared, dutiful experiences. There was nothing they wouldn't do for each other. Rabastan understood his brother's need for fire and wrath. He was more than happy to enable it, always keen to see his considerable skills at play. Such things pleased him. It was correct for a Lestrange to wield his power.

Paying no attention to the silenced woman, Rabastan merely observed her knitted skin then turned to Rodolphus with a dry, curt chuckle. Sometimes it was easy to see why he and Bellatrix worked so well together. The idea that they were being watched, and the thrill it brought Rodolphus, was as manic as it was unlikely. But he didn't bother to question the statement, choosing instead to believe that they would be watched - if not right now, then once all was done. Their efforts would be judged accordingly.

"They will all watch us one day, brother," he said smoothly, following behind Rodolphus as he led the way to the staircase. "When we stand at the top of the pyramid, they will have no choice but to look up."

The fire was perfect. He clasped a hand to Rodolphus's shoulder, not that he needed a pat on the back, but the occasion called for sporting camaraderie. It was an intriguing spell, coiling the stairs like a living beast desperate to devour. He felt a pang of excited greed, not for the destruction but for its potential, for the sheer dark power of the magic. He could feel it from where they stood, his skin prickling with far more than merely the flames' heat.

Outside, the sirens had grown to a wailing shriek. Several cars screeched in front of the building, armed officers moving quickly over the ground. Rabastan didn't blink. They could not get in. Primitive bullets were no match for centuries of purest blood. He looked Rodolphus in the eyes, seeing the spark and returning with a blazing grin of his own. "Let's", he agreed, then he was gone, apparating to the top of the stairs just as the building's internal alarm unleashed with deafening insistence, its fire sprinklers suddenly activating and failing, miserably, to eradicate Rodolphus's curse. He blocked them with lazy wave of his wand, diverting the water up and out through the ceiling in a controlled blast. Another charm decreased the alarm to a manageable volume. Cast in quick succession, he had neither mercy nor patience. The flames were doing their work, muggles already shepherding from their holes into the open. They were panicking, unable to proceed past the fire or the two masked men.

Once Rodolphus joined him, he began. The water had made a rather large hole, soaring up towards the sky as it was. He sent the closest two muggles up and out, those on higher floors screaming as they saw the hapless people rocket pass. They were launched towards the police offers, drenched and worthless as they slammed into the cars. Another spell turned the water into glass, forming into a large, glistening snake that unfurled above the building and bared its fangs. Just a little dark conjuration - not even very difficult - but it was effective and did not shatter despite all the bullets that were suddenly fired towards it.

Downstairs, the door began to slam as force was applied from the outside.

Rodolphus Lestrange thrived in the chaos.

The flickering lights, the thick scent of blood, the rising, clashing pitches of shrieks and sirens -- he wore them like a second skin. The moment Rabastan locked the building down with that elegant charm of his, Rodolphus felt the drums of his heartbeat with brutal joy.

He looked over his shoulder briefly as his younger brother worked his efficient brand of horror. Rodolphus had always admired that about him: precision wrapped in cool indifference. Where Rodolphus was fire, Rabastan was ice. But both could kill just as easily.

A woman screamed near the staircase. He turned, pointed his wand with a lazy flick, and her mouth vanished entirely. He didn’t need silence, but artistry was always appreciated. A small gasp followed --her daughter, perhaps -- and he tilted his head, eyes gleaming beneath the mask.

“She’s watching, you know,” he said to Rabastan, voice low and rich with meaning. “Somewhere. She always watches when we do good work.” He didn’t say whose eyes he meant -- Bellatrix’s or the Dark Lord’s. Either would approve. Tonight was meant to send a message, and he intended to spell it out in entrails and ash.

He paused near a new entrance, stepping over a twitching body with all the indifference of a man avoiding a puddle. Then came the sound of hurried footsteps upstairs. Good. They were listening.

“Let’s give them a real story to whisper about, shall we?” he said, slipping through the shattered doorway with the grace of a predator. He raised his wand and whispered, “Pestis Incendium.”

A burst of green-black fire roared from his wand, crawling up the staircase like it was alive, hissing and hungry. It wouldn’t kill -- not yet-- but it would sting, and drive them down into the open like rats from a burning nest.

Turning back to his brother, he grinned under the mask. “Not nearly thrilling enough. But we’re getting there.”

The firelight gleamed in his sparkling eyes. “Shall we take the next floor together?”

[r-lestrcnge]

Having made his request, Rabastan trusted Evan not to break his word. He would not take kindly to losing staff. The nanny was an employee, but she was engrained into his household and trusted with his children. She was an extension of his immediate family. Thus, she benefited from this connection. She had his loyalty and dedication in the same way as those joined by blood and name. "Future generations are already here. Time is ticking. The war must be won before they grow old enough to see the world and witness its unjust disappointments." He would have stopped at nothing before. Now, his devotion soared to new heights, fuelled by the existence of his own bloodline. He would force the world to be worthy of his heirs, even if he paid the cost with his life.

He hadn't anticipated the admission. Shrewdly, he studied his friend, attempting to seek emotion in his features. It was not an endeavour he attempted with many, and neither did he expect to see anything telling. Evan's words were revealing enough. He would not have spoken them unless compelled by honesty.

"You thought she was less than pure," he replied, since that was truth of it in his opinion. Toying with those who were lesser was one thing; marrying them, another. "That is understandable, Evan. I don't know why you rushed into a betrothal, and that is neither here nor there. Merely be grateful that it's over and that you are free. Now you know Emmeline's truth, it is up to you to act on it and face the consequence, or to ignore it and wonder if you made the right decision."

He could've certainly gone after their nanny, only if to spite his friend's wife, but the question had been asked because he couldn't help himself-- no real intention behind it. There were many entertaining him currently, no lack of options and a gnash of picking the best for each moment. Evan was comfortable with his new arrangement, being done with the betrothal had meant a signficiant gain for the wizard, tranquility etched with pleasure, perhaps so his favourite combination. "I'll keep my hands to myself." He assured the other, taking the glass to his lips before offering an amused smile. "As you should, we are making the world a better place with our actions, can't waste time if we want ourselves or future generations to live as they deserve."

A part of him should've expected the next line of question, he knew Rabastan was no fool, having wondered countless of times just how much he was aware of and how much he had willingly overlooked. Had it been anyone else, Evan was certain he wouldn't have been so flexible, but he knew for a fact his opinion on the witch had always been favourable. "I behaved badly with her." The wizard admitted with a short exhale, confiding in his friend for the first time ever. "I should've believed in her like you always did, instead I walked away when things were pressing. Chose another over her." A pause, chuckling softly. "Look how that turned out."

[r-lestrcnge]

He returned her smile with mirrored cordiality. They were both accustomed to playing polite games. It amused him to think that they could have married. His parents' faces had been a picture of exquisite horror, the day he'd told them precisely why he'd never touch Mira Selwyn. If he hadn't been so wrathful and outraged, he would have found it hilarious. But it had all worked out, albeit in an order that was not ideal. He was grateful to Mira for keeping their secret. He had trusted her absolutely.

"Yes, and they interact with each other already. It's very entertaining. We are quite certain they're plotting against us." Taking a hefty gulp, he faintly laughed. His eyes had not left Mira. He had spoken sincerely, so his attention was intently focussed. It was ironic that he didn't think twice about the discarded alcohol. The hand at her stomach, however, he did observe. While she spoke, he studied her more closely. She had been his healer for years. He knew her well. Her eyes were dark with barely concealed exhaustion - not uncommon for any of them, these days. But there was a hint of emotional fragility, a little redness, perhaps some puffiness. "Duty or not, I have never been so thankful." They were strong words, coming from him. He did not like to wear his heart on his sleeve. As cold as he was, he cherished his children in his own way - with unfaltering devotion and resolute protection. They would grow knowing they were valued and safe. "Longbottom told me his wife is expecting. How tragic it would be if something were to befall her, in the way it befell Alecto."

Revenge was necessary. It was correct to instate justice. How and when remained to be decided. He was in no rush, content to bide his time and await a suitable method and opportunity. But it would happen, sooner or later.

Mira's lips twitched at the tone of Rabastan's voice. She was pretty sure her parents had sounded much the same way about how long it had taken Emir. If it weren't for Agatha she doubted the two of them would have ever made it to the wedding. As he turned to face her she offered a smile, grateful that she'd become quite good at faking happy. At least for tonight it was necessary to try and hold it all together. "I'm glad to hear it. I saw Alecto making her rounds but haven't had a chance to say hello, I'll be sure to do so." It was best to be polite after all, keep up appearances.

She set her untouched glass of champagne on the table beside them before she turned her attention back to him. "They certainly do grow fast, have their own personalities too I imagine?" It was strange to be talking about his children, knowing now that she carried one herself. Without thinking her hand went to her stomach briefly before she caught herself, letting it drop once more. She shook her head. "It's nothing, I was only doing my duty. I'm glad that Alecto healed well and that the babies are alright. That's all that matters."

[r-lestrcnge]

As much as it ashamed Rabastan, this conversation was quickly becoming more interesting than Sock Man or their task. He liked this side of Antonin Dolohov. His working mind was truly a nuisance when it came to straight-thinking, but the other wizard considered things intricately and thoroughly. Rabastan could not fault him on that. In that respect, they were similar. But Rabastan saved cogitations for private theorising, favouring precision and logic when action was concerned.

He laughed, leaning back and extending his legs. Crossing one ankle over the other, he was utterly relaxed in his own home. "Yes, I wouldn't want Rodolphus traipsing through my mind, either. I'm quite certain he'd find mischief to cause. I would trust Alecto with anything. But you misjudge me, Antonin." Arching an eyebrow, his glance was lightly accusatory. It mellowed a moment later, Rabastan taking no true offence. He would simply state the facts as they were. Dolohov could take them or leave them. "We have made our plan. Its successful execution depends on your expertise. Therefore, if it will help you refine your tactics, I would assist without ulterior motive. I do not diverge from plans well made, neither do I break my word. Would you like me to test some spells on you?"

Antonin smiled, something about strong and heady magics being discussed not to mention complicated tests of trust and reasons to scrutinize even his friends made him breathe deeply he took to the theoretical of it like a fish to water.  “I would say I would trust anyone as people would be too afraid to do too much harm, but really I would trust very few, first it would need to be someone I trusted not to do harm, even small harm.  I would trust your brother with my life, but this, I think even he would be hard pressed not to alter small things like he owing him a few galleons or how he came off in school or making me infatuated with a particularly homely house elf or troll or some such nonsense, ultimately harmless, but still not desirable. I think the temptation for you would be less, but perhaps not insurmountable especially if it would affect the scope of our mission.” He looked over Rabastan, keeping his eye for a moment.  “Besides in the talking of it can’t be too sure if I’ve given you ideas.  I think sadly your wife I would rule out, I think she would jump at the chance to adjust my attitude and I’ve grown rather fond of it.  Yes it’s not as simple as poisoning, with that you can tell more easily if you have been killed or weakened, but I guess a master could leave you near death and not knowing it, it’s interesting to think of the implications is it not?”

[r-lestrcnge]

Rabastan caught the bottle, turning it in his hands in mindless examination. He did not intend to give his children anything concocted under such circumstances, and thus he slid it onto the counter with impassive dismissal. It was simply a convenient reason to be here, should their movements be traced or questioned.

Alecto's tactic became clear. She latched onto the information like the splendid snake that she was, coiling around the man's morals as though preparing to squeeze the truth from his very lungs. It was clever to imply that he was culpable. No one liked to be accused of dark deeds in these times - or any. The old wizard's discomfort was as obvious as Rabastan's own relentless ambition. He watched and listened, resting his palms against the countertop in a stance that bled contained aggression. He knew his status. He knew the strength of youthful masculinity, and he knew this visit would - at last - yield a result.

"Tell me what he asked."

Polite appearances thrown to the wind, these words were a demand that he would see fulfilled. His tone was final, his manner precise and abrupt. Still, he tolerated yet more hesitation, willing the old man to speak with nothing more than a glacial stare. The wizard continued with the second tonic, finding stability in the action while he began to stumble over his words. His eyes were fixed on his actions, as though not looking at his company would make it less threatening.

"Potions to cause nightmares.... I mean, he didn't want one, just to know the possibilities. What could cause a person to see their worst fears, to feel them as though they were true? What could make a person want to die? Was there an antidote? That kind of thing." More slicing, more crushing. The ingredients were soon arrayed in front of him, his expression now open and strained. "I didn't want to discuss it but he was insistent, said it was for study, for research.... Well, I didn't believe him. But I wanted him to go. So I told him about the Draught of Devils' Dreams, but it wasn't enough, he kept pushing, then we were interrupted and he left." Corking the second bottle, finally, he looked up. "He said he'd return, but he never did. Then I read about him in the Prophet."

Alecto didn’t need to exchange words with Rabastan to feel the shift in his posture beside her, the unease that ran deeper than the man’s trembling hands. The tone in his voice, the subtle distress beneath the surface, it was the kind of detail she didn’t often miss.

She let the silence stretch a beat too long after the wizard finished speaking, watching the sealed tonic float to the counter as though it were something far more damning.

Then, slowly, she stepped forward, her tone calm but edged with suspicion. “And yet you gave him what he asked for.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it was close. “Even when it unsettled you?”

Her eyes narrowed, no longer interested in the contents of the potion bottles but in the flicker of guilt behind the man’s eyes. “Tell me, did he seem frightened? Angry?” She paused, letting the words land. “Or just… determined?”

There was a story here. And if Regulus Black had wandered into darker waters than they’d anticipated, then they needed to know just how deep.

The old man hesitated, fingers curling slightly tighter around the spoon as though it might steady him. His gaze dropped, voice low.

“Determined,” he said quietly. “And... tired. Like someone running out of time.”

He didn’t look up again.

[r-lestrcnge]

Rabastan was making a remarkable recovery from his sleep-addled state. Snapping to his full senses, he was severely tempted to curse this imposter with a few spells that would end him locked firmly in Azkaban. Eyes cold and wild, they searched his mirror image and found fear staring back. It was a foreign sight, and not one that he enjoyed. Just as he flicked his wand to begin a devilish spell, James spoke. The bizarre words halted him. They rang like an ominous riddle and renewed his wrath, causing him to grit his teeth as his fury seethed. But in the split second that passed, James's elbow collided with his nose and his spell was forgotten.

No time was wasted. He broke chase, parting the crowd with an unforgiving spell as he rapidly pursued. Passers-by were hurled out of the street by his curse's force, their objections fading promptly as the two identical men raced past. He aimed a few more hexes at James's back, but the other wizard was moving quickly. Seeing him dart into the alley, Rabastan took a chance and went the other way, circling around to cut him off. It worked. Wand outstretched, this time he did not fail. He hit James squarely in the chest, just as he disapparated. Then he stood there, catching his breath and glaring at the spot where James had just stood.

Returning to the café, he questioned Abigail and the staff, and retrieved the Auror Department quill. By the time he was done, he was in a state of frozen calm. Whoever it was, he'd find them. He was convinced the Auror Department was involved. All he needed to do was wait to see which of their sorry lot became ill with curse damage. But he wasn't going to let them get away with breaking the law. Fucking hypocrites. So he summoned an Auror to report this crime, and insisted it was committed by one of their own.

End.

James was more than happy to get away from the situation, carrying with him good information that he could use for later. Or at least, someone who knew more than him could apply it. He was about to slip the hood of the robes over his head to find a good spot to apparate or floo when his back pressed hard against the brick wall. And then he was staring at possibly the worst case scenario, a walking nightmare, Rabastan Lestrange himself. This would've work a lot better if the Lestrange brothers were twins, but instead, he couldn't work up a lie in time. "I'm your past, your future, and I don't think we're in the mood to talk right now," he says, lifting his arm to elbow the real Rabastan in the face to make a clean escape. James didn't know where he was running, his heart acting like a hummingbird in his chest as he chose a direction. There was probably enough polyjuice potion to last him another thirty minutes, but he needed to apparate somewhere safe. Now. Thirty minutes or seconds before Rabastan found him. How did he find him? James cut for alley, following the twists of the streets.

[r-lestrcnge]

Dear Cressida,

Quite. But you are committed. You know how I value such things.

I hear you now work at St Mungo's. I hope it suits you, but you'll forgive me for saying that I also hope I don't encounter you there. The last time I required hospital attention, it did not end well. Horrible place, full of the sick and injured.

With best wishes,

Rabastan.

End.

Dear Rabastan,

I kept my wizard a secret as he is a Halfblood and my family did not exactly approve of it, but I don't have to tell you that. But yes, he's been a constant for years now.

Love, Cressida.

[r-lestrcnge]

Quirking an eyebrow, Rabastan's smile broadened as he paced towards a small liquor cabinet beside the fireplace. "I fear it will remain a mystery to us all - until they begin speaking, of course." That would bring a whole other set of problems to address, but he chose not to consider it for now. The children were small and helpless. His attention was still centred on them with protective possession. He anticipated loosening his hold as they grew, and letting the nanny do her job. That was her purpose, after all. His childhood had been largely devoid of parental attention. Though he intended for the children to be more involved in family life, he saw no need to diverge from tradition too greatly. He wanted them to grow successfully and appropriately. But it was not his role to raise them.

Pouring drinks, he extended a glass to Emmeline and took a long sip of burning scotch. It was refreshingly rich. The gesture was nonchalant. But his eyes were affixed to the witch with studious intensity. He knew she was more than able to cope with work in his absence. It was other matters that concerned him, more innately caring than he would wish to admit aloud. So he returned the embrace with genuine affection and paused her before she pulled away, scanning her eyes with a more sincere smile than most would ever see.

"I'm glad you've been busy. I hope you haven't endured too many absurd customers." Accepting the letters, he filtered through them and moved to sit with her on the couch. The whole place was more welcoming than his townhouse. He still owned the building and liked it greatly. But it was his, alone, and unsuited to a family. Placing the letters onto a table, he opened only the final one and scanned its contents briefly. It contained notes on curses and a series of numbers that were map co-ordinates. He handed it to Emmeline. "Suggestions for Auror safehouse curses. Do any look familiar?" Her position in the Ministry was essential. She was in an excellent position to complete the Dark Lord's work. In this case, she knew what curses and enchantments might await them when they finally found the damned place. Patience was a virtue, but not one that their Leader particularly possessed. Rabastan was also losing his own, wishing to locate it more swiftly.

Emmeline couldn’t help the amused grin or the laugh that followed. “Damn, you are asking the easy questions, hm?” A moment to nod. “I must admit, I am out of my depth here. If I come across any miracle methods to soothe children toward a shared mealtime in the case of twins you will be the first person, I’ll tell. Until then I’m afraid I cannot do much to help with that.” Curses, dark arts and charms, that she could do. Fly on a broom like an ace, certainly. If she got to then yes, Emmeline was determined to buy little training brooms for the children if permission was given. But altering the laws of time – as this appeared to be – she could not.

“I have been well, I would say. Yes, I think well is quite the word to describe it. Busy. The shop has been a nice thing to keep me occupied. Then again, it wasn’t I who had to weather storms over the past few weeks. I think I got away rather lucky.” The brunette allowed herself a sentimental gesture for once, moving toward him to offer a hug. It was his to take, should he wish so. After all they had not seen each other for what felt like an eternity.

Then another thing popped into her mind, instead pulling a couple of letters from her pocket. “These arrived over the last few days and weeks. I doubt they’re all that important. Given the timing I would say some are just well wishes, the usual. And this was delivered directly. Into your hands only. I think I can consider this delivered?” Not that she was someone to deliver whatever owl mail would float in. This was an exception. - @r-lestrcnge