#thread;emmeline

A week or so had passed since Rabastan returned to Lestrange Manor. Having spent the majority of his time languishing asleep or barely awake, he was now relieved to be rounding a corner. With his focus returning, he set his attention back to more pertinent matters and took to attempting light work from his childhood study. His efforts were slow and laborious. It frustrated him and therefore was likely not very conducive to his recovery. But he was stubborn and determined.

Having considered everything he could no longer complete for the Dark Lord, he then turned his thoughts to Emmeline and their shared enterprise. He'd sent an owl inviting her to the Manor to collect scrolls, neatly written with instructions to take over and complete his cursed items - if she had not done so, already. It would not have surprised him if she had. She was as devoted to their craft as he was, and committed to their clientele. But he'd completed the scrolls nonetheless, mostly to give himself something to do and to create the illusion of responsible activity.

Currently, he sat in the library. Another matter had started to plague him, seeming to rise from some distant corner of his mind as it returned to clarity. That wretched cursed book. Sitting around had given him plenty of time to think, and he was increasingly convinced that he had not overlooked anything when ridding it of its enchantments. The only explanation was that Emmeline was, in fact, a pureblood. But he would not voice this thought without researching further and testing his theory. If he was correct, the news would upheave poor Emmeline. He would not subject her to distress without being absolutely convinced of the truth. This truth would thrill him to no end. He wanted more for her; she deserved it. She deserved to be pure.

A number of books surrounded him, on the topic of blood curses and blood magic. He had scanned them a number of times, but despite feeling improved, he was unable to remain active for too long. He'd forced himself to locate a charm which was easy enough to cast without exerting too much effort, though he was not entirely convinced of its accuracy and would have far preferred to replicate the curse and test it again. Since he dared not attempt any demanding magic, the charm it had to be for now. He'd cast it over one of the scrolls and had set it aside for her to take later. To a pureblood, it should feel warm to the touch; a friendly magic, melting through veins to seek kindred spirits. It would prove no ill effect to anyone with lesser blood.

Feeling a magical shift in the air, he knew that Emmeline had arrived and turned to find her in the room. He was pleased to see her, a curve raising his lips in a way that could almost have been considered warm.

It had been a slow morning, which was precisely what Rabastan had desired. He had taken to loitering in the workshop when finding himself at a rare loose end, happy to entertain himself with the simple bric-a-brac that was brought in. He was a diligent man and took care to devote enough time to this shared enterprise with Emmeline. But it was not difficult work, and he did not need it. Neither of them did. It was a selfish pleasure, permitted under the guise of something more profitable. He enjoyed it, and that was that.

So far, he'd uncursed a watch in the space of seconds, and had pretended to uncurse a harmless doll brought in by a little girl who swore blind that her brother was trying to kill her with it. He'd done the second job for free.

It wasn't until lunchtime that anything happened interesting enough to make him abandon his copy of the Daily Prophet. He now slid the paper to the far side of the counter, reaching instead for a hefty book brought in by a wizard. As the man explained what it was - an object deadly to anyone who was not pureblooded - Rabastan hovered his hands over the thick dragon-hide leather. He could feel the electric prickle of evil intent, flowing through parchment and bindings. Yet it wasn't threatening. He opened it, satisfied that nothing would happen, and was delighted by the contents.

"Emmeline, look at this." Calling the witch from the other room, he inclined the book towards her, revealing page upon page of names, blood status and dates of death, some of them not so long ago. The ink was red. He had no doubt it was blood. "It will lose its value without the curse," he warned the wizard, though he did not look up, far too engrossed in studying the book. It would be almost criminal to unravel this magic. If such an object were his, he would not change it. But that was irrelevant. He agreed to return it by the end of the day, and once the man had left, he followed Emmeline back into the workshop.

"I will do this one," he told her frankly, without skirting around the reason why. There was no point in being precious about it. They had known each other too long for that. "I know you are more than capable. But since it's no risk to me, there's no point in putting yourself within harm's reach."