the spare

Benjy had a very simple choice to make, and for the moment, he was using it to stare right at Rabastan’s hiding place. There was every chance whoever was chasing him would make it before he decided if his distaste for Rabastan extended far enough to get him in trouble or if there was something to be found in letting him have this.

Ultimately, it wasn’t the goodness of his heart that pulled his gaze away as Slughorn rounded the corner. He had no reason to know it was a “pay it forward” for the trouble he’d managed to get out of for breaking curfew while being on castle arrest. That, and he found a way to entertain himself.

“Who?” Benjy asked, playing it up a bit too far for simply not having heard him.

“Rabastan… Lestrange,” the professor huffed.

“I guess I did hear you right the first time,” Benjy said, shaking his head like he was about to break some truly distressing news. “The name’s just not ringing any bells. Wish I could help.” He remained steady under what was clearly Professor Slughorn trying to decide if he was messing with him, and if he was, whether or not Benjy was worth his time. Apparently, he wasn’t, and he was dismissed with a wave and a “Right, right,” before the professor walked by him before resuming his urgent pace as he reached the corner.

“You’re welcome,” he said to the suits of armor. If he came back for another pass, Rabastan was going to have to fend for himself. He tried. Sort of. As much as could be expected of him.

From the top of his head (groomed often enough that it’s honestly more accurately described, specifically, as luscious locks rather than hair) all the way down to his currently wiggling and impeccably manicured toes, Rabastan’s entire vibe was very much: lead me on. The anticipation, the simmer, the tantalizing trail of heat slowly leading to a scorch? He loved it. Could never get enough of it. But, boy, was this so not the time.

His heart was still hammering from having tried his best to convey this to Benjy, who had continued to stare directly at him until the last possible second. The sported deadpan, borderline stony expression had been super endearing — in a sort of ‘wow, that is definitely how someone who might hate me would look’ kind of way — and, of course, totally did it for him. It honestly took Rabastan by a bit of surprise, too. As far as he knew, the other boy had always seemed too busy trying to fix the world rather than live in it. He was one of those people that worked so feverishly that things like eating and breathing seemed genuinely irritating, a waste of time as much as it was a necessity. Even with talking — as much as the Ravenclaw seemed to never not be doing it — Rab always had the distinct impression that for him it was less ‘for fun’ and more cracking his brain open so that enough ideas could spill out solely to make room for new ones. Considering all this, it was only now that he realized that he didn’t have any hard data for Benjy’s modus operandi on flirting.

But he’ll be damned if he had yet to see a more flawlessly executed tease.  

“You know, I’ve had my heart broken exactly forty-seven times,” Rabastan started, two beats after the echo of Slughorn’s footsteps finally petered out. It was the least he could do, to not get immediately caught, after Benjy’s splendid performance, “But that was the first time it’s happened by a single word.”

In fact, if he racked his brain enough, that might have actually been the first time he’s heard ‘Rabastan Lestrange who?’. But he refrained from mentioning it — there probably wasn’t enough room in his head for a big brain and ego anyways.

“Oh, right, thank you! I gotta say, just in case nobody’s told you, this whole ‘screw you, you, and especially you’ thing you’re doing is a really good look. Like, sexy even. No, seriously, are you totally getting some ‘rebel with a heart of gold saves innocent damsel who shouldn’t be seen with such a convicted cad lest papá finds out’ vibes here? Because I am.” 

All That Glitters...

I guess it goes without saying, but that is an exquisite cloak. I understand that this isn’t a far stretch from your usual style — there’s always a fair bit of excitement to see what you’ve got to showcase during Ministry events — but are you now trying to make a statement in your selections?

Well, first of all, thank you for the compliment. I feel like I’ve gotta mention that this is occamy-inspired, native to and currently endangered in the Far East. Hunter, he’s always got these bursts of inspiration from the world around him, you know? He, like, cares and wants to spread awareness not to their, um, their plight but more on the beauty that they offer. So he spends, like, weeks — literally weeks — trying to get, like, this little bit right here of my sleeve to match a single feather. It’s pretty insane.

Anyways, right, a statement. I mean... I suppose so. I mean, I agree with everything he’s trying to say with this, and I guess in turn I’m saying it too.

Right, of course. And when did you start working with Hunter Claremont? He graduated a few years ahead of you in Hogwarts and was last heard to be apprenticing in Twilfitt and Tattings. That is, of course, before his line Praemium quite literally burst on the scene. Now it seems like you can’t go four blocks down Diagon Alley without seeing one of his cloaks.

Two blocks, actually. I checked.

Hunter’s always been a good friend. I was actually still in school when he released Praemium but it wasn’t long after its success that he reached out to me. Rogues Robes has always been his brainchild — in fact, I’m sure you can still find his early sketches scribbled in the margins of books scattered around Ravenclaw tower. If any current students find those, by the way, I’ll totally get it signed for you.

Anyways, he showed me his ideas, his, I guess, blueprints for what’s next and all that was missing was a muse. That sounded a whole lot more fun than sitting at some desk, and I’ve been given the opportunity to see that I look just as good in a corset as I do a tie. Hunter’s looking to dismantle boundaries and those have never really applied to me. 

It certainly seems that he’s picked the right guy! I absolutely adored the cloak you wore to the wedding. It’s often the bride wearing lace, but I must say you pulled it off marvelously.

Thank you. And, actually, both Rodolphus and I were wearing his designs during that happy day!

Is that so? Simply stunning. Is it not a little ironic that the tagline for Rogues Robes is ‘for paramours, not husbands’? I guess exceptions must sometimes be made, especially for such a dashing groom.

Oh, exceptions are always made for Lestranges.

Well, congratulations to the newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange. I’m sure your parents are quite proud.

They really are. I do also just want to take the time to thank, on behalf of my brother and sister-in-law, everyone who donated to the Society for the Preservation of Historical Magic. Now more than ever, we must take care to remember the work our forefathers put into molding the society and practices we have the safety and comfort of challenging today. To forget our past is to walk blindly into our future.

That’s a good point. Do you have anything else to add — some advice to anyone looking for beauty during these trying times, maybe?

I’ve been traveling a whole lot, you know, just seeing the world through a new lens and gathering inspiration. And I’ve got to say, we’ve got it good here. I mean, everybody’s looking too far inside themselves right now, looking at what’s ‘different’, and it’s... really just not that deep. You control what you put out — nobody else. That’s why I’m content, that’s what these beyond extraordinary designs mean to me.

Look like magic, feel like magic.

By this point, Davey was familiar with the signs of someone dodging detention. Merlin knew he’d been in the same situation himself a dozen times, and being in a year with plenty of pranksters and daredevils to go around, he carried a distinct sympathy for all of them. And, well, even if this wasn’t exactly what he’d want any of them to do for him, he would’ve helped Rabastan out anyway.

“Oh, yeah, just missed him,” Davey answered. “Rounded the corner going the other way, so you’ve got a bit of distance to makeup.” He knew the Potions master had absolutely no love for him, and he didn’t blame him. With all the truly accidental damage he caused his classroom, it was entirely fair. After two years, though, it seemed enough had been forgotten that Slughorn believed him and went off in the direction he suggested. “Best of luck, sir!” he called after.

Only when he was sure he was gone did he say without fully looking at Rabastan, “So what’d you do?” He was certain enough he was in the clear, but that was one of few risks that wasn’t his to take.

There were very few things in the world that made Rabastan blush. It may actually be directly diluted from the stony glare Rodolphus had inherited from their father, the way Rab could lead a debate over breakfast on whether or not the Bloody Baron got pegged without so much as a blink. His very own version of the Lestrange Lour, and usually just as impenetrable.

But, Slytherin’s sins, Davey Gudgeon was so tall. Far stronger men have been toppled by less.

Which is why Rabastan, distinctly aware that the heat on his neck was no longer due to being chased halfway around the castle, ducked down further. Slughorn was thoroughly distracted but he needed time to fix his hair. By the time the professor was once again huffing away, he was composed and prepared and the top two buttons of his shirt had magically become undone.

“What’d I do?” he repeated, slipping out from his hiding place. Rabastan crossed his arms, oh so casually leaning against a knight. The smile he shot at Davey was one that he’s been practicing since he was fourteen — wide, inviting, and spotlighting both dimples in dazzling fluorescence. “Now, Davey, I don’t want you getting the wrong impression of me. Admitting fault and therefore imperfection is, like, second base — I haven’t even taken you out for dinner yet!”

Rabastan had to fight to water down the shot of eagerness riding on his next words. He was sure he succeeded, but if so it was only thinned to an aftertaste.

“I’m completely free now though. For dinner, I mean — not second base. I am a gentleman.”

Remus was no stranger to hiding in the halls of Hogwarts - it had been a long time since they’d had to, obviously, due to Invisibility Cloaks and generally being busy, but he’d hidden behind many a statue in his day. Holding his breath and praying for Filch to carry on his merry way.

Hiding from Horace Slughorn was - not something he could say he’d ever done, at least not to the extent Rabastan Lestrange currently was. Remus had spotted him immediately behind the suit of armor as he turned the corner, eyebrows raising in comical surprise; only supplemented by the wheezing appearance of Professor Slughorn a few moments later.

“Oh, hello, Professor,” Remus greeted Slytherin’s Head of House cheerfully, despite all the stress and trauma he was currently projecting on the man by virtue of the Potions NEWT he was dreading on the very very near horizon. He didn’t need to glance back at Rabastan to know what was happening, and a pleasant smile was on his perpetually revisions-induced sleepy face. “I think I saw him go past me just now, yeah, he took a left by the statue of Eupraxia Mole - but, Professor, I was hoping I could ask you for a bit of - “

“Not now, Lupin, sorry - office hours are - you know,” Slughorn huffed, not unkindly, already on his way following Remus’s bogus directions. Remus snorted to himself, muttered a soft “Right,” and watched the man disappear, then turned towards Rabastan’s hiding place with a cheeky smirk.

“I think Professor Slughorn was just looking for you, mate.”

Rabastan almost effectively and immediately blew his cover with a muffled ‘ah, shit’. Not that he had anything against Remus — in fact, the boy’s been a popular constant in his Top Ten Would Love to Run My Hands Through Their Hair list. It’s just, out of all the prefects, he still wasn’t entirely sure how lenient he’d be on his antics. Everyone knew and (some with debate) loved their chaotic knot of Gryffindors, of course, were aware of the hijinks they got into, but it also wasn’t too hard to miss their dynamic. If you were to snap a photograph of that particular group at any given moment it would be James and Sirius in the middle, up to something, Peter tottling after them, and Remus laughing but with the unmistakable air of someone determined to be patient. Rabastan knows the look rather intimately, because his own friends gave it to him all the time.

So he couldn’t really blame Remus if he decided ‘well, not one of my designated problems’ and gave him up. He figured he still had it in him for one more sprinting escape, prepared himself for launching to do so, but stopped short when Remus instead easily conjured a smile. Impeccably darling, by Merlin maybe he’s got it all wrong — maybe the chief charmer in that group was him. The other boy wasn’t looking at him, so he probably didn’t see the surprise evident on his face. It was a fully blown grin by the time Slughorn heaved a sigh and started off down the hall.

Rabastan waited two beats and then shimmied his way out from his hiding place. The smile that he shot Remus was saturated with gratefulness, but a wink was hot on its heels and accompanied by a blithe, “Oh? What makes you think that?”

Perhaps he owed his savior an explanation, but he also had the distinct impression that Remus was secretly a fan of plausible deniability. Especially considering that the taller boy looked like he was one more stressor away from splitting at the seams.

So instead Rabastan leaned against his other savior — the suit of armor— fished a flask out of his pocket, and took a long swig. 

“It’s mango-guava shake,” he said quickly, offering it out, “But also maybe you should check yourself, since I am absolutely not as good of a liar as you. If you fail your NEWTs and crash under the pressure and spiral into oblivion with nowhere else to turn, send me an owl. My mother’s got contacts with the headmaster of the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts and you’d look wonderful as a tortured artist. Say, is that grey in your hair — Salazar’s sins, you’ll be getting knickers in the fan mail for sure, lucky bastard!”

There are a lot of things in life that Rabastan runs from, actually. Responsibilities, negative thoughts, unsavory experiences. Oh, and spiders too — creepy fucks. There are a lot, so much so that he is neither unused to or ashamed of doing so by now, but he did have to admit that dodging corners to keep away from an out of breath, very balding middle-aged man was new.

“Rab...as..tan...!” Professor Slughorn huffed, really at this point waddling after him rather than chasing. As he has been doing so for the past fifteen minutes (on top of the past couple months) Rabastan feigned obliviousness to his Head of House’s attempts. Simply proceeded down another corridor, one very much in the away direction from the History of Magic lesson he should have been heading to. What he really needed was some stairs — the wheezing potions master certainly wouldn’t be able to take another one of those — but all he came upon was yet another assembly of metal knights. Starting to run out of breath as well, he decided to duck and crouch behind some but not before spotting another student appearing at the other end of the hall.

As Slughorn’s footfalls began schlepping towards them, he had just enough time to catch the newcomer’s eyes. Just enough time for them to surely see his panic. 

“Ex....cuse.....me...” the professor’s voice appeared somewhere to the right of Rabastan. Desperately, he put a finger to his now pouting lips, summoning the best performance of ‘please don’t rat me out’ that he could silently muster as Slughorn asked, “Did you happen to see Rabastan Lestrange come through here?”

GENERAL INFORMATION ➤

Full Legal Name: Rabastan Entlain Lestrange  Nickname(s): Rab, Rabunctious (from himself), Rabblerouser (from himself), Mr. Vanity (from himself), Ugh Him (everyone else)  Age: 18 Gender & Pronouns: cisgender male, he/him Sexuality: disaster poly pansexual prince.