Feat. Rabastan Lestrange. - Blog Posts

"Liar," Daphne responded with a look at the sight of his eyes roaming, though the effect it was meant to have was significantly diminished by the sudden nasal quality of her voice — caused by the tissue pressed up against it. The nosebleeds were a byproduct of some experimentation with spell invention during her youth, and her father had discouraged her from getting it fixed — what better way to support the family blood curse with evidence like that, after all?

Once the blood had stopped, Daphne finally had a hand free to reach for her wand, casting a simple Tergeo to take care of the blood on her paperwork, though small pink-toned splats still remained, already seeped through too far for her to clean. With a sigh, Daphne accepted the drink, raising it to Rabastan in cheers before taking a sip.

"Thank you, I did need that, yes," She responded after savoring the drink, nodding towards the mountains of paperwork before her. "Germans do so enjoy doing everything by the book, which means endless proposals to file and documents to spit through." It was a miracle Daphne wasn't nursing a migraine yet. "And what has gotten you drinking this early in the day?"

Having just spent too much time on the wrong side of the Leaky Cauldron, Rabastan determined he deserved a firewhisky or two. Muggles repulsed him. He could practically feel their filth tainting his existence. It was most undesirable. But he would not complain about such things, and had completed the task assigned to him by the Dark Lord efficiently.

As he waited for his drink at the bar, he considered that he would visit Gringotts next. He desired an assignment from the goblins; something that would permit him to practise as much magic as possible, to remove the smear of muggle inadequacy from his day. Turning, glass in hand, he noted Daphne attending to a wealth of work so impressive it rivelled even his own overzealous tendencies.

"I was not staring," he asserted, as he did precisely that. His eyes roamed her features, noting the nosebleed and the crimson smatters on the parchment in front of her. "Miss Avery," he drawled, sitting beside her without an invitation. "You appear to have greater need of this drink than me." Pushing it towards her, he then gestured for the barmaid to send another firewhisky to their table.