Lovefool - Friday evening, 16th of June, 1978

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Euphadora smiled, holding herself a little taller, and he was pleased to see the effect of his words on her. She was spending too much time with a diverse crowd, clearly, but Rab was here to remind her - and any similarly minded pureblood on their periphery - of the higher place awaiting her so that she would be ready to step up in time. He smiled himself as she spoke and chuckled as she finished. His position at the Portkey Office allowed him access to the Ministry and a paycheck so low it was insulting to his name. But the insult could be swallowed, as it allowed him an opportunity to learn the details of such transportation, the maps and enchantments and loopholes, who was involved at each checkpoint, who was amenable and who could be manipulated with some effort, the ability to arrange transportation in secret for his true business partners when they needed. It allowed him to be useful to their Lord in his daytime hours, an additional incentive for efficiently completing his Ministry work. And when he had first begun, the extra time with his sister-in-law had been amusing - still was, sometimes, they had their ongoing bets and games to move the slow days along. He was patiently awaiting the day when his work for the Lord was proven valuable enough for him to do away with the charade, but until then... 

"No, not that work," he reiterated wryly. It did flummox him at times that Euphadora had no questions for him about the all-important part of his life, seeing as she would benefit so keenly from their successes. She was more intelligent than most gave her credit for, and surely did have ample questions that he could assist with answering. But some were not prepared to know how their progress was made, and accept the necessity of what could seem so cold-hearted. She was content with what their relationship was, as was he. It was not as if Rabastan was searching for a lady of the house - but if he ever did, she would need to be at peace, as he was, with what had to be done.

"That may be a problem," Rab returned, blithe as he plated their steamed greens and began on his plate with relish, putting the earlier unpleasantness out of his mind. "I have plans with a lady, and its services will be needed here. Although," he consented, chewing thoughtfully, "I imagine it would give your neighbors quite a waking-up, should it step outside. You have been there for months now - they are truly none-the-wiser to who you really are?" 

[Euphadora Parkinson]

He gave good banter, that was for sure. Dora smiled to herself as she rested her wine glass on the table and listened to Rabastan speak of his lady friend who would be requiring the use of his elf in the morning. Arrogant. Presumptuous. She adored it all and would likely give in to his whims, but she would make him work for it a bit, at the very least. She raised her fork to the lamb, which practically fell apart upon contact, but hesitated as Rabastan asked her about her neighbors. “You know how daft muggles are. They don’t notice much of anything, do they? Though, I did have my friend King help me with a few protection wards when I first got the place. And I’ve had my own fun with various charms to keep them oblivious.” She grinned proudly yet modest as her wrist rested on the edge of the table, fork aloft. Dora had received accolades from her Charms professor in school, something of a rare occurrence in her other studies, particularly History of Magic which she found boring and tedious. She had a skill with wandwork and Charms had been her favorite subject, so it was of no surprise – at least to the brunette – that she played with charms and spells around her home. “They’re not bursting into flames when they knock on my door or anything, but a few well-placed muffling charms and a disillusionment charm on my wee balcony, and they’re none the wiser.” It beats paying London rents, she assured herself, but in reality Dora had opted for the illusion of safety that being near her parents gave her, over the obvious benefits that living in England would have afforded her social life. “Nothing like what you’ve got to deal with, I’m sure. You must be hexing the local infestation away daily out here.” She chuckled slightly before finally taking a bite of the delicious meat.

Tagged: Rabastan Lestrange
Outfit: friends with benefits

[Rabastan Lestrange]

He was not inclined to offer his elf to make house calls - that would certainly blur the line between them, wouldn't it? - but was nevertheless amused to picture Farkey giving the muggles an unintentional scare. It was too eager to please him, and would do so if ordered, of course, to the benefit of its species. But Rabastan was content in letting the moment pass on to more favorable discourse, especially as Euphadora had nothing to say against his implication of her staying the night, even if sharing a meal with her here like this was strangely new. They would see what they thought of it, he supposed, of his impulsive invitation and the added time to their usual exploits.

He initially grinned - "daft" couldn't begin to cover it - but looked to her with increased attention as she spoke, torn between admonishment and praise. Did she delight in perplexing him so? "King" must be Kingsley Shacklebolt, no? How many others in the Ministry or her other various circles could claim that moniker? And so, "King" - the do-goodery Head Boy of his year, a waste of pure blood to boot - had had a hand in protecting Euphadora's home, and had secured against muggles, at the very least... He did no help beyond that. Interesting. If there was an entrance alert for someone bearing a Mark, you would know by now. He paused to take his first bite, not wanting to sour their night again with rash words.

"Interesting choice, to get assistance from the Auror department," Rabastan spoke with only a tinge of annoyance. "That is very clever of you to use your own charmwork to supplement, well done." It made sense that Euphadora would seek some help, not everyone was taught the methods of securing wizarding property after all, and even if she had come to him... You would have tried to convince her out of that place. There were benefits to it for her, naturally, but to Rabastan, they paled in comparison to the cons. He had to remind himself of the differences in their situations at times like this. Unless her Ministry work led to a significant promotion, or one of her "friends" offered security with an exchange of rings, she would be on her own in Wales. It was intriguing to hear how she lived shoulder-to-shoulder with the lesser population, and they truly had no perception of her innate ability. He had not had to have a conversation with one in his memory - a casual conversation, at least, when he was not working - but that was something she must face often... Unreal times we are in. 

"They do love to wander where they shouldn't, like wayward sheep," he chuckled, returning to his plate, "sometimes even through the repelling enchantments. Perhaps I should have found something suitable further in town, away from where they frequently walk the hills, but I needed space for the falcons on the property. It's bad luck for the intruders whoever they face, should they make it through," he shrugged, taking his wine and biting back further candor that threatened to come forth. For their father, may he roil below, had no qualms of spilling blood of any kind, should the possessor step out of line. They were no saints, he and Rodolphus, but their line would progress in a more favorable direction from here on out. Once they took their place in the Dark Lord's reign, once the dust settled.

[Euphadora Parkinson]

There was something in his tone as he remarked about her having sought Kingsley’s assistance that gave Dora pause, but she had rather disliked the earlier feeling of being chastised for her assumptions so, ever the pretender, she carried on as if she hadn’t noticed. “You know King then, I take it? Such a lovely chap, isn’t he. Could do with getting out of the office a bit more, but then who better to help a witch out than tightly wound Auror. He’s basically required by law to protect me.” She smiled and took another small bite, this time of greens, and pushed off thoughts of how much King needed to get laid. He had been ever so gentle in rebuffing her advances, but a girl couldn’t help but fall for his white knight persona. It wasn’t often Dora was turned away completely by a bloke. Sure, they might pass a time or two, if they’ve got interests elsewhere and are the proper monogamous sort, but eventually anyone she made eyes with was between her legs at some point or another. Never Kingsley Shacklebolt, the sodding gentleman.

“No, this place is perfect. I mean, you could obviously do with a few more rooms,” she said with a dry sarcastic smirk, “but as far as starter homes go you’ve got a lovely one. Perhaps someday you’ll be in a space as luxurious as mine, but then where would the falcons go?” Dora had been overjoyed for Rabastan when he first purchased this home for himself a few months ago, not only because he seemed quite proud of himself which she found simply adorable, but also she was truly taken by the home itself. There were, of course, added benefits to Rabby having a space of his own, particularly as it gave her a wider berth to avoid being spotted by his brother and sister-in-law on the occasion they fooled around at his family’s home instead of hers or a hotel, something that seemed even more vital now than it had before. Perhaps she had been careless on her last evening at the Lestrange Manor and Bellatrix had caught wind of them? But that had been at least four, maybe five months ago now and it still didn’t give Bellatrix Lestrange the right to snoop around Dora’s life. “Maybe a few wolves roaming the grounds could help keep the pests away,” she thought sincerely between bites. “I’d suggest a dragon for your wayward sheep but I can’t imagine the disillusionment charm required to keep that sort of things under wraps from the muggles, even if you could manage to get a license.” Sadly, dragons weren’t legal here, but they were gorgeous and Dora wouldn’t mind one day owning a pair. She had already decided in her wildest daydreams that owning just a single dragon would be cruel, as he’d be lonely, so of course she would own two. Beyond an idle daydream, she’d not looked into any of the specifics of raising such incredible beasts – what would have been the point? - so she imagined them like large puppies that would of course need a pack.

Tagged: Rabastan Lestrange
Outfit: friends with benefits

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Perhaps he was being irrational, even paranoid, concerned as he was about Kingsley's intimate knowledge of Euphadora's whereabouts and its security. She had been faithful to him thus far - in keeping his allegiance under wraps to traitors like Shacklebolt, which is all he would ask. Still, it would do him no good to run into that particular old classmate at Euphadora's door. The fewer interactions had with those like him, the less scrutiny Rabastan would be under, and that was how it had to be for now. "Indeed, I know him. He was in my year, and a pain in my arse once he started getting badges and the little bits of power that came with them." Not that Rab had had to serve most of the detentions he was assigned - if there was one thing his father had been good for, it was striking the fear of hell into the board of governors - but the constant surveillance by the broody Hufflepuff, or so it had seemed to him, had been particularly annoying. "It's good to know he hasn't changed," he chuckled, returning to his meal. "Tightly wound," she'd said? That meant the bloke would be easy enough to snap, when the right moment came.

He met her eye with a slow grin as she continued, trying not to laugh - Rab knew he was particular, and this space was his first real shot to make something to his own liking - but housing the falcons' enclosures and allowing them room to roam had been a legitimate concern in his pursuit of a new home. But then where would the falcons go? "Much appreciated, Euphadora, I knew I could count on you to understand." 

Wolves? A dragon? Rabastan let his grin flourish as he met her eye. Just when he was questioning the judgement of bringing Kingsley in to assist, she hits back with something so vicious? He was often strategic with his gifts, giving enough to keep her pleased but not so much that she got the wrong idea, but felt the sudden impulse to reward her with a dragon-hide clutch or some such for the idea. "No - a dragon is the perfect solution. They would not dare." When we have won, and no longer need to hide. He had been training falcons since his youth - how different would it be, really? Everything to a larger scale, naturally, and the addition of the fire-breathing element. But an intriguing pursuit, nonetheless, and his mind latched onto the idea, however low the chances of this coming to be. It was an exciting distraction from the present and from his path, to be sure, and he rarely allowed himself to go there. The wine and the woman, however... "What do you say, a Hebridean Black?"

[Euphadora Parkinson]

She wouldn’t be so foolish to assume the annoyance that was so clearly evident now in his tone was due to jealousy, though she did have a short-lived urge to assure Rabastan that she’d not shagged the Auror. Yet. But she did not speak of her bed friends with Rabby, just as he did not speak to her of any of his girlfriends – aside from that fiancée of his. What was her name? Annabelle? Belinda? It was a fat girl name, that was all Dora bothered to remember as she didn’t often think on Rabastan’s lady friends regardless of their importance to him. And Georgette was no longer in line for the Lestrange name, so there really was no point in thinking of her, just as there was no point in talking of her unrequited feelings for King. She fancied a number of blokes, all for various reasons, but there was nothing serious with any of them. Not even Rabastan, and that was the way they liked it. Still, she could take the hint and try to remember in the future to not bring her Auror friend up in Rabastan’s company.

Batting her eyes at him, she slid her hand over his thigh slowly, as if a reflex to his words. She may not have had pets of her own, but she understood what his falcons meant to him, even if she had only been teasing about the size of his home. It was massive compared to her flat, and quite a bit bigger than the home she had grown up in with her entire family. The grounds, not only lovely from what she had seen were plenty large enough for any number of birds, should he choose to breed them or purchase more. Narcissa’s husband seemed rather fond of peacocks at their estate, but while they were gorgeous creatures to look at, they were horridly aggressive birds that Dora did not recommend. Rab’s falcons were far more civilized, even if their talons did make her a bit weary.

Rabastan seemed keen on the idea of a guard dragon, requiring far more space than a falcon for sure but also being that much more intimidating to intruding muggles, or anyone else stupid enough to attempt to sneak onto Rabastan’s property without his consent. She leaned in slightly, her hand caressing his leg. "What do you say, a Hebridean Black?" The British dragonologists who named the creatures so long ago did her the biggest favor by throwing their colors into the names. Foreign dragonologists had not been so kind, and thus she really couldn’t identify one breed over another if given a picture, but she at least knew of the native breeds. Black and Green. “Are they more ferocious than the green ones?” she asked legitimately, forgoing all pretense of their meal and instead turning fully toward Rabastan. “You’d want them to be quite nasty, I would think. Though trainable.”

Tagged: Rabastan Lestrange
Outfit: friends with benefits

[Rabastan Lestrange]

The girl was mollifying him at his jest, hand creeping up his leg, looking up at him through her lashes, and Rabastan was of no mind to protest. The bites so far had taken the edge off of his hunger, and in Euphadora's company it was easy to let other appetites take over. She turned towards him, table forgotten as she seemed to be as taken with the idea of a dragon around as he was. Or, at least, wanting to humor him and continue making her interest clear. Whatever her reasons, it was working, and his attention took a pleasant shift. He set his cutlery aside, moving his seat to face her, laid back in it as she leaned forward. "Oh, pet," Rabastan tsked, grinning. "They're in a whole other class."

These days, his mind had more important information to memorize and store than the endless factoids on creatures that had amused him in school, but he remembered that much. The Scottish dragon was immense, aggressive, troublesome enough that they'd had to remain under the watch of a family dynasty for an age - while the smaller Welsh one was content to live peaceably atop its mountain reserve. Neither could exist on his land without the most extreme of modifications, and he would not endanger the house that had just become his to satisfy a teenage dream. And unless the changes that he and his fellows were bringing to this world included immense changes in the dragon trade too, Rabastan knew this was simply a fantasy. He was too much of a realist for his own good, most of the time, which could get in the way of the lighthearted fun he was envious of others for having so easily. But indulging in this mythical what if together...Rabastan was having an unexpected lark. 

"Having one around wouldn't keep you from visiting, would it?" he asked, Lestrange-blue eyes lit with mirth as they traveled over her, landing on her own. The beautiful witch's earlier sentiment - "Not that talking requires clothes..." - hit him differently now that the serious business was out, and while he was glad that they had had that conversation while buttoned-up...it was difficult to not be tempted by her. When she was close enough for him to smell her perfume, when her hand on him was exciting rather than settling, when she thought he could handle having a dragon on the premises that was quite nasty, ferocious...Rabastan leaned towards her, shaking his head as hair fell into his eyes, and raised his brows. "Then again, if you're not frightened off by my family, I suppose a dragon's nothing to worry yourself about."

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Rabastan tsked her, speaking down to her as though she ought to have known better. No one, Rabastan likely included, expected her to know anything useful about dragons or of means to guard one’s property against intrusive species like muggles or wild beasts, but the confidence with which he spoke was intoxicating and she bit her lower lip to keep from grinning.

The idea that any guardian creature he might one day own would keep her from his bed was laughable. The suggestion that she ought to have been more frightened of his family than a dragon however, that point wasn’t so easily dismissed after today’s conversation. Dora knew of Rab’s family’s allegiance, and she suspected Bellatrix was similarly aligned. If it had not been at Rabastan’s request, then why had his sister-in-law bothered to start up a conversation with Dora at all? Was she simply being friendly, prompted by something Dora had overlooked, or had she actually been trying to spy on her as the brunette had initially assumed? Either way, Dora did now feel a bit uneasy toward Rabastan’s family, at least enough to be mindful of it in their presence.

“I trust you to rein in any beast better than your family,” she replied, her voice breathy, ignorant to any potential insult he might take from her well-meaning attempt to woo him away from a meal she’d not prepared for. If she had known she would be dinning with Rabby tonight she would have planned differently; she would have dressed nicer, spent more time on her hair, and more importantly she’d have forgone any earlier meals so as to keep her trim figure. She supposed she could always work off the few bites she’d had with a couple of rounds in Rabastan’s bed, since foresight had not suggested she plan for tea with the man she had simply wanted to shag and chastise for spying on her. We make plans and the gods laugh...

Tagged: Rabastan Lestrange
Outfit: friends with benefits

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Her words had a greater ring of truth to them than the witch could possibly know, and his face admitted it even if he couldn't confirm such a thing in speech. It wasn't Euphadora's fault that he went right to the fight, just as it wasn't her fault either that it was still so high in his mind months later. It was among the worst, if not the worst, that he and Rod had had, and that everything had gone down as it had still irked him. And it wasn't as if he had confided every detail to her when, in a moment of weakness, he'd shared about the night with his brother that had almost cost him this very house. Rab hadn't wanted her to know all of the doubts that had plagued him then, to know that she in particular had been on his mind as he faced losing access to his family's fortune. That wasn't something to admit to her, not when this was all he could allow them to be.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix had gotten it right, and they were the exception. He had seen no one else he was in leagues with, who was partnered, as content as they were with their lot. They knew the risks that each undertook for the good of furthering their cause, they knew that they had to prioritize the will of the Dark Lord above all else. It was a life of compromises in ways, but none that seemed to bother them, because the undertaking was theirs - together. While he could never admit it to them, he could privately acknowledge that they had found the right complement in each other, for better or worse. 

Rabastan wasn't envious - but he was realistic, and knew that that was something he would not find during this war. Of the few women in the ranks, after all, he was either related to them or related to someone who was already shagging them. When this all came to an end, when their Lord took his rightful place and they did along with him, perhaps he could let down his guard. But until then, he was determined to be content with what he did have. Which, at present, was the attention of his favorite bedmate. Conversation, naughty bits, the bar. And, yes, something unresolved between her and his sister-in-law. But that dilemma could wait until morning.

Determined not to dwell any more tonight, Rab reached out to grab her chair, sliding her towards him with a quick pull and the quirk of a grin. "I vote that we forget about them," he returned, voice low and laced with alcohol, "and take advantage of the night ahead of us."

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Had their conversation strayed farther than Dora had intended? She had only wished to distract him enough so that he did not think her rude in forgoing the meal he had extended to her, most likely in a bid to simply be polite. They had agreed, not even an hour ago, that theirs was a relationship consisting of nothing more than sex, chat, and drink. Rabastan, like the other men she spent her time with, had no interest in progressing their carnal activities to something more legitimate. She acknowledged her good fortune in being able to hold Rabastan's interest beyond just sex, she rarely conversed with her other bedmates about subject matter so serious as she was able to with him. She counted herself lucky to be able to consider him a truer friend than any of the others, which was why the idea that he had sent his sister-in-law to spy on her had struck her so harshly. And why she believed him whole-heartedly when he said promised to fill her in after speaking with Bellatrix about the witch's true intent behind their workday chinwag. Dora felt even that she might know to which familial scenario his mind flashed to now, though he had no need to voice it. They shared details of their lives with each other, and the argument between Rabastan and his brother about his moving out had seemed a troubling one. Though, at the time, Dora secretly felt a pang of jealousy that Rabastan's family had cared so deeply about his departure from their family home, whereas Dora's parents had seemed to celebrate her absence when she announced that she was using her grandmother's gift to acquire her little flat in Cardiff.

Before she even had time to react to his silent expression, Dora felt her chair being pulled toward her handsome friend. "Consider them forgotten," she cooed, eagerly throwing herself against him, lips pressed to his as her fingers moved to the buttons of the shirt he had so recently put on. At undoing the last button, she pulled the shirt aside and relished once again at his strong, lean build. He was magnificent. Repositioning herself on the table in front of him, swiping aside their dishes despite having plenty clear table space available to them if she could have simply waited the few seconds it would have taken to sidestep two or three paces. She could wait for him no longer, and pulled him toward her, kissing him again deeply, excited for the night ahead.

[Rabastan Lestrange]

Euphadora's lips claimed his in moments, a hunger for him far more evident than any otherwise displayed at dinner, and she made quick work of his shirt. Quicker still was her hop onto the table, and the proper mess that would have entirely derailed him had it come at another moment, from someone else. But no - they were here, all pretense done away with, and not even the clatter of cutlery and the toppling of a glass could take him from these moments. For this was what they were best matched for, was it not? It was hard to remember when they began - fourth year? fifth? - intentionally goading each other on or otherwise stealing attention in school, her uniform skirts a sight and cut even shorter than this one. From skiving off and making a wreck of far less suitable locations than this, to making their own fun at events of society when he should have been strengthening his relationships with people of influence, to now, when they could see each other almost entirely when and where they wished with the luxury of time...

He was glad that they could have their chats, share drinks and a meal with leisurely conversation instead of willing the time away to get to this point, and even oddly glad that she had surprised him tonight. His quiet evening was something he'd looked forward to, to be sure. But it was no replacement for having her laid back on his dining room table, pulling him to her in impatience as he was too long away from her lips.

Later, Rab would consider that he could have let the situation with Bellatrix lie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stuck his neck out for anyone besides himself. He hadn't needed to volunteer to confront her on Euphadora's behalf, to get to the bottom of the conversation between the pair of witches. And, once he'd stopped being petulant about it, without being asked to act - he'd taken it upon himself to not only declare that he'd figure it out, but that he'd bring her an update as soon as he did. 

No, that wasn't something he could allow himself to dwell on for long.

Far more satisfying things awaited him in the present, and Rabastan followed her down, chasing her kiss. He pressed his body against hers and hiked her slender legs around him, not a care in the world for the elf that had skittered into the room at the abrupt clamor and vanished just as rapidly, or the show they were putting on for any magical passersby who sought to pry through the windows. For she was eager and wanting, and tonight she was his. He pulled the thin shirt over her head and tossed it away, eyes hungrily raking over her as he felt at her back for a clasp. "You're paying for this mess," he teased in cocky promise as he released it, heavy breaths far from settling, and grinned. Not that there was any lasting harm done with the food and the dishes and the spilled wine creeping their way and dripping off the edge, nothing that couldn't be amended with a bit of magic - but when she was so ready for him and they were just getting started, was he supposed to resist an opportunity to rile her up?

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Legs wrapped around his waist, Dora put up no fight as Rab relieved her of her top, flinging it to join the mess she had already made of their meal. Wine trickled from the table and pooled on the floor, but it was hard to feel guilty for such waste when his lips were so enticing. Rabastan was wealthy, he could replace what was lost in an instant and while Dora wasn't one to purposely waste his money, she couldn't be bothered to even consider caring in that moment. Staring up into his blue eyes as he gazed down at her, there was a notable thrill of excitement as Rabastan chastised her. "Punish me, daddy." Her breathy voice betraying her eagerness to discover what fun he would deem appropriate as retribution for this slight against his normally orderly and governed sense of home and being.

The sky outside the window darkened long before Rabastan escorted her to his bed. Panting blissfully and laying across Rabastan's chest, Dora allowed her fingers to lightly trace the outline of the tattoo on his left forearm, touching it delicately almost as if expecting something to happen if she pressed too firmly on the mark. She had never before asked him anything directly about his work for the Dark Lord. She had always contended it was none of her business, and it would do her no good to better familiarize herself with the plot of a battle she was not a part of. Dora, her friends, and her family would all benefit as a result of the work Rab and his colleagues did, she knew that, but it was their burden to undertake, not hers. Or so she had previously believed.

Vain attempts to guard herself from the horrors of this political war had been relatively successful up to this point, especially considering she was only a month shy of having worked in the Ministry building for a full year. It was the longest position she had managed to keep of any she had obtained since her graduation, and it put her squarely in the heart of the beast she tried so earnestly to ignore. The effects of the ongoing war were evident, even for a lowly Reception Witch. Whole departments were sacked and replaced, Dora having to direct incoming applicants to the proper location for their interviews in droves. Magical citizens protesting policy changes in the atrium as she watched from her desk. The increasingly tight lipped auror agents as they passed by her station on their way to and from wherever their duties took them, and the increased frequency of outings by Violet and her colleagues in the obliviator headquarters. Everything seemed to be ramping up around her and yet she willfully turned a blind eye, adamant it did not concern her, but with this week's puzzling event and Rabastan's earlier suggestion that someone must've been interested in her, Dora couldn't help but broach the subject with him and perhaps open a door that she may not be able to close.

"What is it you do for him?" she asked tentatively. "I know its more than just eavesdropping at the Wyvern. I've seen the marks its left on you." Rabastan had never arrived for any of their encounters bloody or disheveled, but fading bruises and healing wounds were not an uncommon sight. They were signs that his work was dangerous, a signal to her to keep her head down and not ask any questions. He wasn't hers to worry about but now she needed to know.

[Rabastan Lestrange]

A summer breeze flew in from the open window and cooled the sweat on his skin as they lay in bed, hearts yet pounding, satisfied and free. It was quiet but for their panting breaths, still but for the grounding, lingering touches still given. Euphadora lay on his chest and he drew runes on her bare back, she traced his Mark with delicate fingers. With idle curiosity or something else, Rab wasn't yet bothered to know, preoccupied as he was in running through some of the finer points of their evening...feeling her squirm in blissful agony and tug his hair when he was on his knees, pushing her to the edge until she begged for him, to hear his name come gasping from her lips as he emerged from between her legs to take her...

He was debating calling the elf for drink before succumbing to the contented lull, when she spoke. Rabastan found her eyes, and kicked himself at being caught off guard by her words. He should have prepared for this, but through all five of his years bearing the Mark, Euphadora had seen it, and had never once asked for exacts. He assumed she heard one story from Narcissa, and would be interested to hear that diluted version of events. And the others she fraternized with on the other side, they had their own false takes. She knew of his cause, of what he worked towards and why - and he had already revealed, tonight, a second purpose for their visits to the pub. Was she concerned for herself, for what being tied to him really meant? Was she concerned for him, for what events had had to transpire to leave him with scars and aches? The details of his duties were not things he shared with anyone outside of the ranks - for security purposes, in more than one sense. No one but those allowed into the halls of their Lord knew what had to be done, the lengths they each had to commit to, to bring about the proper world order.

If she knew, if Euphadora knew - with certainty, not the guesswork that she had surely already done - if she knew the skills he had honed to track down enemies who looked just like them, that the work required him to be merciless and he was, that he had taken lives with his wand and his hands, when the alternative was to risk losing his own - what then?

She had remained with him this long, loyal in their way, and had earned the right to question...

"It's more than eavesdropping," Rabastan began in fair acknowledgement, shifting to look at her properly, "and it's nothing pretty. I haven't kept it from you without reason." He was proud to be among the Lord's trusted few. He had been chosen, raised for this, and he did what he had to do well. But those who lived other lives, they were content to keep their blinders on to what really happened to make the world turn, and while Rabastan was sure that his companion had already made some assumptions, he doubted she'd let her imagination take her to the places he'd been. They weren't places for her to be. "If you truly want to know, I'll tell you what I can," he promised, taking up her hand, "and if it is too much, Violet can take this memory. But you have to swear to me that you won't repeat what I say to anyone, Euphadora. The world is not ours yet."

[Euphadora Parkinson]

Her body was happily exhausted, as was often the case in Rabastan’s presence, but her mind was restless. In an attempt to put together the pieces of the puzzle she had so recently discovered, it was evident that she knew nothing of the picture that was forming, but she was in so deep now it almost felt as though there was no turning back. Could she simply stop here and return to her life as if nothing had changed? Her position at the Ministry was not reliant on her understanding of the political strife of the world, and her bed would be warmed by men so long as her looks remained intact. She had survived nearly a year on her own already, and she held no foolish ideations that her life would ever resemble anything like that of Narcissa’s, or even of what Wyn and Lydia dreamed of for their more modest futures. She was accustomed to her lot in life, and perhaps if she just pretended that she had not started to connect the dots, she could continue on as she had been before. She struggled, but didn’t everyone? Whether it was a lack of money or those pesky dark thoughts, she believed herself to be on par with the rest of the world as a whole (present company excluded), and it would be enticing to simply remain there and feign ignorance to the rest while Rabastan and his kind took care of what they needed to.

Rabastan turned to look at her more fully, taking up her hand and she shifted in his arms, turning her eyes to his. He was gentle with her and his eyes held a warmth and tenderness now that he kept for their private moments. He was always kind, even in public when he had no need to be gracious of her presence, or still in private when his desires had been sated. Whereas others would play nice until she inevitably gave them what they sought, Rab’s attitude toward her rarely shifted so easily. She had learned early on in their affair that he was not like other blokes, or at the very least he played it off better than most. He was incredibly similar to his brother, not only in their features; dark hair, light eyes, and command of a room the instant they walked through the door, but also in their ability to play to their audience. Dora had never witnessed the brash side of Rodolphus Lestrange herself, but she had heard tale of some of his crude jokes and angry outbursts from Rabastan and that simply did not match the regal, sophisticated man she had observed on the fateful occasions they were in attendance at the same event. Likewise, the scars and bruises Rabastan bore did not match the care behind his eyes as he looked at her, warning her of the information she was seeking.

Chewing on her lower lip, her gaze dropped, and she tucked her head into the safety of his chest as she considered his warning. She could stop now… Or Vi could fix it if she didn’t. Dora wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of having her memories altered, she preferred to do that the natural way – with too much drink and good times, but the fact that Rabastan had even suggested the need for Violet’s skills… Dora took a steadying breath as she raised her head, calico eyes locking onto his blues. “I won’t tell a soul, not if it would put you in danger.” She could feel his heart beating within his chest as she splayed her fingers out beneath his hand. The rhythm was steady, slower now than it had been a moment ago. She knew hers was going in the opposite direction as she awaited the answer to her foolish question. “I swear it.”

[Rabastan Lestrange]

The moment stretched and dragged as she seemed to take his warning to heart, and Rabastan wondered if she'd look up with a tired smile, laughing away her question before letting sleep overcome them both. It would be simpler that way, to keep her in the dark. Surely that was the route of greater happiness, to not know what he and the others she knew did when they were away for their Lord. But if she was truly interested, it was his duty to inform her. The Parkinson family would rise with the rest of them, honored and reinstated, and she should know this war would not be finished without blood. There was a cost to this belief, and when they won, they had to remember what they had lost, even if it was bits of themselves that had long been on their way out. If she would not take up the fight herself, perhaps her curiosity was for her brother and the future that could be his, if he chose.

Her cheek was soft against his chest as she retreated in thought, and all too soon, Euphadora rose, hand still to his chest as she accepted. Her care for him was evident, and Rabastan was tempted to turn away from it. He didn't want her to think that he was in need of protection, he wasn't. However...such a thing would be useful, wouldn't it? To stop her from getting in deeper with "friends" on the other side of this war? If she swore to him, and if she meant it...

"Careful. Words have power, pet," he cautioned quietly, still debating, himself, despite his declaration to tell her if she wished.

If she's lying...

    She's not. She cares. Too much.

Could he explain what it was that he did without sending her running away? Without sounding like a mercenary?

It is what it is. She can handle it, or she can't.

"He calls for me, or another like me, when someone needs to be found." The words were straightforward and detached, without the coloring of a boast, as he chose to believe her. Test her. He kept hold of the hand on his chest, and his heart kept a steady, practiced rhythm beneath. "When someone thinks they can betray him and get away with it," Rab continued, holding her eye, "when they think they can escape his reach - I prove that they cannot. They don't want to be found, and they don't come easily. They don't always make it back to him. Not if it came down to one of us, or one of them." He paused to let the weight of meaning sink in, watching her with more intent than he'd gambled for.