#thread;evan

Rabastan would not stay for long. He barely knew the Borgin girl, but he did know her parents well. It was due to their respectful business dealings that he'd accepted the invitation. Twenty-one seemed like a long time ago, though in reality it was not so far away. At that point in his life, he was committed to the war, with a black skull already blazoned to his arm to prove it.

Truth be told, it was peculiarly refreshing to be doing nothing at all. He usually made an effort to force social occasions to become beneficial, taking the opportunity to seek prudent company and to discuss whatever would be useful. But he lacked the will, tonight. An hour or so of mindless chatter was all he desired. He reasoned that the break would do him well, then he would return home and work on the remainder of his tasks for the Dark Lord before he slept.

Gravitating towards the drinks, he obtained a glass of scotch then looked around for snacks and pulled a hefty tray of canapés towards himself with a finger crooked against the plate's rim. May as well line his stomach.

Hello, Evan.

I hope the trials were successful. How did she do? I am eager for your opinion.

Best,

If not for Evan, Bellatrix would have declined the Selwyns' invitation. He was her favourite cousin. She was hardly going to leave him alone with the viperous future in-laws, though she had absolutely no doubt that he could more than look after himself. Frankly, his engagement was infuriating. He was clearly thinking with his dick instead of his brains. Idiot. The most stupid and absurd thing about the whole charade was that she knew he did, in fact, have a rather intelligent brain in that stubborn numbskull of his. He just seemed to have forgotten about it. Well, she was hardly going to allow it.

So here she was, sauntering through the ballroom as though she owned it. Her eyes were fixed upon him like two gleaming bullets, and she gravitated through the dancing couples, paying them absolutely zero heed. Not a single one bumped into her. Perhaps it was the force of her pacing, or the air of utterly impatient distaste that emanated from her elegant figure. She was a slender thing, but tall and imposing despite her femininity. In a dress of blood red, she stuck out like a sore thumb - just how she'd designed - and as she drew beside him, she placed an openly affectionate kiss to his cheek.

Rabastan had not yet slept. Neither had Knockturn Alley. It never did, thrumming instead with dark deeds at any time of day - even at this unseemly hour. He appeared in sudden silence, still enlivened by the thrill of lingering adrenaline. There was not much that could tip Rabastan from steady calm to thrilled excitement, but the progress of the war was doing a fine job. He threw himself into it wholeheartedly, fiercely committed to ensuring the correct outcome. As he pulled away from the shadowy corner in which he stood, he slipped his mask into his cloak and moved seamlessly into the steadily flowing traffic.

Evan Rosier's presence by the door of the shop was unexpected, but not undesired. Rabastan thought nothing of it, only wondering if he was there for a purpose that had not been resolved this night. He could not imagine what he had left undone before leaving the Dark Lord.

"Hello, Evan." Stepping beside him, he removed the wards from the door, pushed it open and stepped through. Leaving it ajar for the other man, he pulled off his cloak and threw it roughly towards a coat stand, whereupon it affixed itself to a hook. He waved his wand towards it, a more gentle spell removing blood and other stains. "Do you require something? And would you like a drink?"

Evan Rosier had been on Rabastan's mind. Of all the horrors that could occur during battle, losing one's magical ability was his worst fear. He could think of nothing more terrible than being rendered as useless as a muggle, stripped of the tradition to which he was entitled and the power he had worked so hard to nurture. He would rather be dead.

So when he learned of Evan's fate, he responded with unusual empathy. Rabastan was a selfish man. He rarely felt the weight of another person. But this news struck a chord and filled his stoic bones with bitter rage. Yet another injustice to be suffered by a Pureblood. They were persecuted in this world. They were being driven to extinction and yet the other side preferred to elevate mudbloods, letting them reign free. The fact that he could no longer wreak bloody vengeance drove him to the brink of his self-control. Rabastan was on a sharp precipice; it would take only the right circumstance for him to return to his usual ways.

He waited a long while before deeming it appropriate to visit. Not wanting to give Evan the advance opportunity to refuse company, he arrived unannounced. He would leave if truly undesired. But he wanted to see how Evan was faring; the element of surprise was the most efficient way to obtain that information.

"Good afternoon, Evan. I won't keep you long."