Back to Black - Wednesday, 21st of June, 1978

[Euphadora Parkinson]

An emotionally (and physically) draining evening spent with Rabastan had yielded some resolution to her confusing, although apparently benign conversation the week prior with Bellatrix Lestrange. A friendly interrogation had led to dinner, which inevitably led to sex, before Rabastan was able to soothe Dora’s worries and put her mind somewhat at ease. She may have seemed paranoid to the handsome socialite, and more than a bit naïve in her approach, but she felt an intense relief in knowing that her friend hadn’t been spying on her. The culmination of their night’s discussion was Dora agreeing to not being as distrustful of her bedmate’s sister-in-law as she had initially been. If there was any hope of such a feat being accomplished, it would mean getting to know the witch better. She was not quite ready to take Bellatrix up on her apparently innocent invitation to Pandemonium, so the next best thing was a trip to a part of the Ministry building that she typically avoided during the busier working hours, for sake of keeping the disreputable part of Rabastan’s private life private. Dora was more than aware of the reputation her friendliness garnered, not to mention some of the nicknames she’d earned (Evan not even having the decency to say them behind her back, the arsehole), and with the way people gossiped around the Ministry breakrooms, she was not about to sully Rabastan’s good reputation by throwing herself at him at his place of work. But she certainly couldn’t be faulted for visiting a new friend and climbing the social ladder through more respectable means, could she?

It was nearly lunch and Dora put up the little sign on her desk that claimed she’d be back in 30 minutes. She could count on a single hand the number of times she had actually returned from her lunchbreak on time in the nearly a year she had been employed here. She wanted to make her daddy proud, he had pulled strings to get her this job after all, but the desire to chat up attractive aurors and visit with her friends who also happened to work in the massive building was just too alluring. Depending on how awkward things with Bellatrix were today though, she might be back at her desk before the betwitched sign got annoyed apologizing for her temporary absence.

“Wotcher” she said cheerfully as she pushed open the door to the Portkey Office and instinctively looked to Rab’s desk first before averting her eyes and instead scanning the room to find Bellatrix. “The lads on Level Four were celebrating some new something-or-other about werewolves that’s just passed, and I managed to nick this.” She raised a bottle of champagne and wiggled it in Bellatrix’s direction. “I figured this could hold us over until we can schedule a proper drink outside the office.” Was Dora trying too hard to make a good second impression? She had replayed every comment and question from their first conversation over and over in her head even before confronting Rabastan, hoping to figure out what the older witch was playing at, but without an ulterior motive would she even have remembered an offhanded suggestion that they get drinks after work? Dora set the bottle on a small, seemingly vacant desk sat next to the one that Bellatrix appeared to be occupying. “Shall I conjure up some glasses or am I interrupting things?” Calico eyes moved between the Lestranges, unsure of whether she wanted to be welcomed or brushed off.

[Rabastan Lestrange]

While he typically wasn't engrossed in his Ministry work - no more than he had to be to maintain his reputation, after all, he would never be known for shoddy workmanship - Rab was glad for the muddy distraction. The Quidditch World Cup was mere weeks away, and the portkey schedule and arrival map provided by their international counterparts was, to his eye, a disaster waiting to happen. While allowing such a wreck on the onset of the event would make it easier for those who bore the Mark to slip in with the chaos, there was no world in which he could sign his name to it. As this was his first - hopefully, only - Cup, he'd been forewarned of the difficulties of working at such distances with departments of other participating countries; but this was, truly, absurd. He was not alone in the work, naturally, even within this office, even though he worked better on his own. But the lot were insufferable, laughing off his concerns, the chaos simply part of the "expected experience" - there had to be a free spot on the grounds for them to stake a claim to, and cycle their arrivals and departures through. Let the others do as they would at the entrance, falling on top of each other from the sky, a perfect way to start a week of civility among a crowd known for thoughtful interaction...

The work was, admittedly, helpful in distracting from the thoughts that wanted to occupy him regarding the weekend. When Euphadora had arrived unannounced, at her wit's end about what had turned out to be completely innocent attention from Bellatrix, and he'd revealed more than he'd meant to, more than he should have, to her and to himself. He was no grand protector, and she was not defenseless. And yet - she needed him. She hadn't just needed someone - she'd turned to him, needed him, and he'd responded. She knew him more, understood him better, accepted the part he played. And she hadn't turned away, run scared, at the realities he'd kept at arm's length from her all this time. She hadn't hesitated. She'd slept, head to his chest, as she had before.

It was a disorienting thing, a different kind of intimacy, a more vulnerable extension of trust by them both. He'd followed through with his hasty promise to investigate and report back - yes, Bellatrix was simply being friendly with the welcome witch - and now...

Now, he looked up from the dizzying confines of the map at the sound of her voice, and smirked.

Bottle in hand and, as always, dressed to kill, Euphadora made an entrance. He didn't miss the quick look she gave him, and chuckled quietly at his desk as she turned her attention to his sister-in-law. Making nice already? A drink at work was one way about it - and wise, given her apprehension, he supposed. Better to take a chance here, where he and others would reliably be present, than run into the unknown with the Bellatrix Lestrange. He straightened and rolled his shoulders, stretching as he rose. Conjuring a trio of tall, slender glasses, Rab closed the space between their sections in a number of steps and set them by the bottle. "A welcome interruption - so long as I'm not intruding," he said with a grin, prodding a magazine out of the way and leaning against Bellatrix's desk. "What do you say, Bellatrix?" he asked over his shoulder, scanning for her daybook. "No plans for lunch, hm?"