RP: Short notice

[pb_rabastan]

Characters: Rabastan Lestrange & Pansy Parkinson
Location: The apartment/respective --> Pansy's apartment
Date: 26th April 2000
Status/Warning: Private/swearing
Summary: News gets around fast
Completion: Incomplete

Comments

[pb_rabastan]

"What? No." Another brandy was called for. If only because he'd realised he actually used the phrase 'Mr Right' in a serious conversation. "Life is. It has very little to do with boys and men." He swilled the brandy around the glass for a moment before knocking it back. "And boys disappoint you regardless, so what do you care?" It wasn't that he wanted to burst any romantic bubble Pansy may be living in, he just couldn't deal with having to be on the other end of that kind of discussion. Life is fucked, move on. Nothing to see here.

Rabastan tilted his head to one side, an almost mournful smile ghosting across his lips before immediately fading again. "We tried that little crusade. I ended up in prison." He regarded Pansy with a degree of interest for a moment. Why she bothered speaking to him at all was beyond him. "Have you ever met a Dementor? Really met one?" He wasn't trying to drag up old wounds, and he certainly wasn't looking for sympathy. But it was hard to 'make yourself happy' after fourteen years of playing with the bastards.

Biting his tongue before he voiced her likeness to Till regarding persistence, Rabastan did at he was told. He had cleared half a meal while considering the answer to Pansy's question. It ought to be a simple answer. But. "You are. But if the mood takes them, the walls will be nothing more than a hindrance." His tone remained perfectly casual; after all, he was telling her nothing that she couldn't work out for herself eventually. "Perhaps you should look into making the wards on your premises a little more aggressive." Or lethal.

[pb_pansy]

"I care because I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy." Even Mudbloods and blood traitors were happy these days. She certainly deserved it more than they did.

"Not personally. I've been around a Dementor though. They were on the train to Hogwarts and around the grounds the year that Sirius Black person escaped Azkaban." They made her feel as if she'd never be happy again. It was awful.

"I set all the wards you taught me and told me to before. Do I need more? I don't know any more. Will you help me? I am dreadfully afraid of werewolves." She'd probably not have run off despite needing to see to her business if she hadn't been positively frantic once she knew they would be gathering werewolves.

[pb_rabastan]

"Not that I'm disagreeing with you, but how did you figure that one out?" Rabastan shrugged with one hand and shook his head. He was far too jaded to have this conversation with someone who clearly still held a lot of hope. "People don't get what they deserve, they get what comes along at that specific moment in time."

"Yeah, well he's dead now," he stated with a smirk. Killed by an archway. Now that was how to go out. "I like Dementors as long as they're annoying someone else. Removing someone's soul -- that's hard to top." But he'd love to try.

"Those were intended for Fenrir," he pointed out. And there was only one of him. They were bringing in packs. "And I hate them in general, but what can you do?" There was little he could do past what he had already done. The wards he'd initially given her were stronger than they needed to be for one wolf and anything stronger risked drawing the Ministry's attention. Instead, he shrugged in a manner that was almost apologetic but mostly half-arsed.