"Repeat Offender" - Rabastan Lestrange/Dominique Weasley
Title: Repeat Offender. (088. School)
Characters/Pairing: Rabastan/Dominique, Ron Weasley.
Rating/Genre: PG/Somethingorother.
Word Count: 835
A/N: Founders AU. Won't make sense unless you're familiar with the plot from lumos_founders.
Dominique always took longer than almost everyone else to leave the Potions classroom. Leaving any given lesson required a full check of hair and general appearance before she could be seen in the corridors. She always knew who was watching her by how many students had stayed behind without reason. Bill was always among them. Nevertheless, she would leave the room feeling good about herself - back straight, hips swinging - glancing back at her audience with a final flick of her hair. Yes, she was shameless, and she would be the first person to agree with that statement but not even Bill had found sufficient evidence to reprimand her over her behaviour thus far, and he had had six years in which to do so, so she did not worry.
She walked far ahead of the group of classmates who began to vacate the room as she did, expecting Bill to take his usual place at her side to ward the others away. However, the boy who walked beside her was a fair deal taller and wore the wrong house crest. Had she been the sort of person inclined to panic, she would have glanced over her shoulder to make sure her seventeen year old father was not watching. Instead, she kept her eyes ahead.
“Go away,” she hissed as she adjusted the strap of her bookbag and smoothed down her hair. He replied in French, refusing to do as he was told and reminding her that the boy following them was not yet her father and reserved no rights over her. The mention of her father threw Dominique and her brief shift in focus gave Rabastan the chance he needed. He doubted anyone had noticed him bundle her into the storeroom, and those that had noticed probably didn’t care or just thought him to be a lucky git. He allowed himself to muse over the latter until her foot collided with his shin.
“Let me out of ‘ere, Lestrange, and let me out now.”
“No one says my name with quite as much contempt as you.” Although now that he thought about it, his name sounded much better through a French accent.
“I doubt anyone else ‘as the chance to,” she replied, elbowing him in the ribs and fumbling for the door handle in the dark. Stepping on his feet several times, she gave up on the door and repeated her attack. When his hands found her wrists, she hissed French obscenities at him until she realised she was quite stuck. He had pinned her arms firmly behind her back.
“Careful, I’m better at that game than you are. Stop that, your arm will break and I’d rather you were in one piece.” Gripping both of her wrists in one hand, he drew his wand - lumos - and brushed the stray hairs from over her eyes. She looked fairly annoyed, but he liked that. It was something about her eyes. “Come on, you can’t be that upset with me or you’d have brought the roof down with that unholy scream of yours.”
Narrowing her eyes, Dominique purposefully grew her claws and dug them into what little of his hand she could reach. “Satisfied?”
“Not by a long shot,” he said through clenched teeth, waiting for her to stop trying to tear into his skin. She struggled again his injured hand and he let go, somewhat surprised when she took his hands in her own.
“You can’t keep doing this, Rabastan. You’re trying to get me into trouble.”
“If that’s what you’re calling it, then yes. I’m trying to get you into trouble as many times as possible.” Tipping his head back against the shelves, he sagged a little. “Why do I even need to hide you in a cupboard? I shouldn’t have to kidnap you every time I want to talk. He’s not your father.” He chose not to mention that, in his own time, many girls with any sense - and some completely without - would die to be in her place right now.
“He will be.”
“He is seventeen.”
“And you’ll be a murderer.” She pushed him away.
“Never had a murderous thought in my life.” He shifted his weight onto one hip and something on the shelf stabbed him in the back. What was that, some kind of divine justice? It was only a little lie. There was a loud knock on the storeroom door and seconds later it opened. Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, flushing at the sight of his niece with the boy who set him on fire in first year. “This had better be good, Weasel,” Rabastan warned. Dominique’s foot met his shin once again and he shouted in frustration and pain as she bolted. “Dom, I didn’t mean it like that!” Resigning himself to an evening without her company, he whirled back to Ron. The redhead handed him last week’s assignment before following Dominique at a brisk pace. Full marks. At least some things were as they were meant to be.
Characters/Pairing: Rabastan/Dominique, Ron Weasley.
Rating/Genre: PG/Somethingorother.
Word Count: 835
A/N: Founders AU. Won't make sense unless you're familiar with the plot from lumos_founders.
Dominique always took longer than almost everyone else to leave the Potions classroom. Leaving any given lesson required a full check of hair and general appearance before she could be seen in the corridors. She always knew who was watching her by how many students had stayed behind without reason. Bill was always among them. Nevertheless, she would leave the room feeling good about herself - back straight, hips swinging - glancing back at her audience with a final flick of her hair. Yes, she was shameless, and she would be the first person to agree with that statement but not even Bill had found sufficient evidence to reprimand her over her behaviour thus far, and he had had six years in which to do so, so she did not worry.
She walked far ahead of the group of classmates who began to vacate the room as she did, expecting Bill to take his usual place at her side to ward the others away. However, the boy who walked beside her was a fair deal taller and wore the wrong house crest. Had she been the sort of person inclined to panic, she would have glanced over her shoulder to make sure her seventeen year old father was not watching. Instead, she kept her eyes ahead.
“Go away,” she hissed as she adjusted the strap of her bookbag and smoothed down her hair. He replied in French, refusing to do as he was told and reminding her that the boy following them was not yet her father and reserved no rights over her. The mention of her father threw Dominique and her brief shift in focus gave Rabastan the chance he needed. He doubted anyone had noticed him bundle her into the storeroom, and those that had noticed probably didn’t care or just thought him to be a lucky git. He allowed himself to muse over the latter until her foot collided with his shin.
“Let me out of ‘ere, Lestrange, and let me out now.”
“No one says my name with quite as much contempt as you.” Although now that he thought about it, his name sounded much better through a French accent.
“I doubt anyone else ‘as the chance to,” she replied, elbowing him in the ribs and fumbling for the door handle in the dark. Stepping on his feet several times, she gave up on the door and repeated her attack. When his hands found her wrists, she hissed French obscenities at him until she realised she was quite stuck. He had pinned her arms firmly behind her back.
“Careful, I’m better at that game than you are. Stop that, your arm will break and I’d rather you were in one piece.” Gripping both of her wrists in one hand, he drew his wand - lumos - and brushed the stray hairs from over her eyes. She looked fairly annoyed, but he liked that. It was something about her eyes. “Come on, you can’t be that upset with me or you’d have brought the roof down with that unholy scream of yours.”
Narrowing her eyes, Dominique purposefully grew her claws and dug them into what little of his hand she could reach. “Satisfied?”
“Not by a long shot,” he said through clenched teeth, waiting for her to stop trying to tear into his skin. She struggled again his injured hand and he let go, somewhat surprised when she took his hands in her own.
“You can’t keep doing this, Rabastan. You’re trying to get me into trouble.”
“If that’s what you’re calling it, then yes. I’m trying to get you into trouble as many times as possible.” Tipping his head back against the shelves, he sagged a little. “Why do I even need to hide you in a cupboard? I shouldn’t have to kidnap you every time I want to talk. He’s not your father.” He chose not to mention that, in his own time, many girls with any sense - and some completely without - would die to be in her place right now.
“He will be.”
“He is seventeen.”
“And you’ll be a murderer.” She pushed him away.
“Never had a murderous thought in my life.” He shifted his weight onto one hip and something on the shelf stabbed him in the back. What was that, some kind of divine justice? It was only a little lie. There was a loud knock on the storeroom door and seconds later it opened. Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, flushing at the sight of his niece with the boy who set him on fire in first year. “This had better be good, Weasel,” Rabastan warned. Dominique’s foot met his shin once again and he shouted in frustration and pain as she bolted. “Dom, I didn’t mean it like that!” Resigning himself to an evening without her company, he whirled back to Ron. The redhead handed him last week’s assignment before following Dominique at a brisk pace. Full marks. At least some things were as they were meant to be.