Behind the Mask || Riddle

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Behind the Mask || Riddle Mar 29, 2013 15:41:28 GMT -8

Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2013 15:41:28 GMT -8

The weekend had been hell in a hand basket. To put it lightly. Suicide wasn't even on his mind and the constant bickering of teachers and nurses was getting out right annoying. Mortelle and Adams had this thing about wanting to talk to him, but Rabastan didn't need them, not anymore. There was a revelation in his unconsciousness the stirred up his emotion, now was not the time to wait and Rab was just happy to be out of the Hospital Wing. Showing up at the fall formal for a few moments before he was too tired to continue. He and Integra took back to the Slytherin to lounge where he soon fell asleep. Upset wasn't even on the menu for Rabastan. Devoid of most emotion he only thanked Integra for sticking up for him, and he had to do the same to Bells. As much as the younger Lestrange hated the idea of being related to the eldest Black sister, she wasn't all that bad. He just didn't think Bells was right for his brother and he hated that.

Even through the chaos, Rabastan's mind seemed clearer than it was a few days ago and he hated to appear weak and helpless, even though that was exactly what he was. The entire school was now aware of what happened as rumors spread, so instead of appearing like it effected his mental state, Rab embraced what happened and accepted the consequences. When Lyra was found beaten half to death it only made him smile. Knowing exactly who was behind it before Echoes came clean. That was a woman he wanted to keep in his life. Grabbing a few things off the coffee table that sits so elegantly in the center of the Common Room, Rab knew what he had to do, and breaking down his family was a huge part of that.

Ambition. That is a quality of Slytherin, and Rabastan knew damn well he had it. Potions was going to rule his life and he knew exactly what he needed to do. That little Hufflepuff girl would do just right by him, and at no expense. Looking over the book Professor Slughorn up and gave to him, Rab marked a few pages for potions that were to be brewed beyond his years at Hogwarts, but he was thankful. In just a few moments his fate could be set into stone, but Horace Slughorn's words rang true in his head. All Rabastan needed to do was step from the path, just ever so much, and he could take control of his own life and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Cunning. Already in the process has it begun. Rabastan made a visit to Gringotts and opened his own vault. Slowly every so often he would transfer funds over to his own personal account, and within maybe a year his parents would be left with nothing. It wasn't noticeable now as it was such a small amount, but at the same time he deposited everything he had saved up on his own accord. The amount was staggering, but not nearly enough. By the end of his seventh year, the Lestrange's would be left with nothing while Rodolphus and himself would be swimming in the riches. It was part of his greater plot.

Straightening and tucking in his black button down, Rabastan adjusted the silver belt buckle that was strapped across his waist. For getting out of the hospital wing only days ago, he looked like a man with a mission and that was precisely what it was. Grabbing the cloak that was draped over the back of the long couch, the emerald lining touched his back, while the black protective layer was shown to the world. Purpose, that was all he needed in order to get his ass kicked into gear. Rabastan would stop at nothing to protect Rodolphus from his parents, even if it required a hundred more lashings from Phraxos, but in the end they would be nothing but tainted memories.

A smile spread across Rab's face as he exited the Slytherin common room. Unlike other times when students wouldn't budge for him, Rabastan commanded their attention. The boy had perfect posture, always had and always will and even now with the healing process upon his ribs he held his head even higher. Turning down a corridor, potion book in hand Rab made way to the office of Tom Riddle. Pushing open the door a crack to make sure lessons weren't in process the tall and lean Slytherin stepped in almost silently, save for the click of his heel on stone floor. "Professor?" He questioned to the emptiness of the classroom, but began to climb the stairs toward the office.

Letting his fingers connect with the wooden casing. Rabastan waited for any sign of Professor Riddle. At first he would play it off as though he has questions about his progress and what more he could do to further his lessons and become quite the god at casting. Other than that he would just see where it was going to go from there. It's been a year or two since the both of them had a sit down, and back then he was just a scared, lonely boy.

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Behind the Mask || Riddle Mar 30, 2013 7:43:43 GMT -8

Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2013 7:43:43 GMT -8

Tom Riddle was not a patient man. That was perhaps what made him one of the most disliked Professors at Hogwarts. Late work was not accepted, tardiness to his class was met with an iron fist, and insubordinate students? Well insubordinate students were almost subject to the most painful of tortures. that were on his mind. Or at least, they would be if he didn’t feel currently bound by the professorial contract that he held with the Headmaster. Sometimes it was difficult for Riddle to fathom why he had ever wanted to take a job here in the first place. It was just a stepping stone for him, a way to gain followers, he knew that to be true. But he couldn’t help but feel as if he was being hindered perhaps more than he was surging forward with his plans. That would all have to change soon.

”Professor Riddle, might I-” There was a young Hufflepuff girl standing at his office door, her face all alight with childish wonder as she stood before him.

He could feel his insides rebelling against the girl that now stood there. He had no reason to talk to her, she was insignificant. He could practically smell the muggle stench that was coming off of her clothes. She was a mudblood. A dirty one at that. Riddle felt the corner of his mouth twitch with danger, however, he momentarily managed to silence his emotions for a response, ”Miss Trent.” He said starkly, as if he was in no mood to deal with her. Which wasn’t too far from the truth. He honestly had no time for children like her asking questions from men like him.

”I just wanted to ask if-”

He could hear the thoughts in her head, pounding through her skull as she thought about them much too hard. Honestly, it was like watching a small child try and talk around the statement that she was trying to bring to light. ’Why couldn’t children learn to bring forth what they were trying to say in the first place?’ He asked himself, becoming increasing frustrated with the task at hand, ”You are failing my class with below significant marks, Miss Trent. Not because you do not work hard enough, but because you lack conventional wit and knowledge of such basic terms as Lycanthrop and Vampire and-” The small girl looked as if she was going to start sobbing right then and there and Riddle reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, ”Take your questions up with Lanye Rosier. She will happily be your tutor.” He finally managed to say, although even that was a struggle.

The girl, whose face was now white as a ghost clutched her bag to her stomach and stared at the man for long time, ”Well?” Riddle looked up again and caught her eye, and at that point, the girl went running out of his office, obviously scared with the first solitary encounter that she had had with the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

His patience wearing thin, Riddle shook his head as the girl shut the door quietly behind her. He leaned forward and began to observe the essays that he had presented his older, more advanced students with a couple of classes ago. Picking up a quill and dipping it into blood-red ink, Riddle set to work. He marked almost every student’s answers wrong: Erixon was too hasty in his answers, Miss Vaisey was too lengthy. He came to James Potter’s essay and nodded his head, giving the boy partial credit - because he was fascinated with him. Bellatrix Black, Rodolphs Lestrange, and Integra Echoes all received nearly perfect marks. And last was Rabastan Lestrange’s essay. He eyed in carefully, unsure of the boy’s writing style, however as he began to read, he found himself increasingly interested in the boy’s point of view. He was thoughtful and insightful, if perhaps a bit brash in his understanding of the world.

It was in that moment that he heard footsteps coming toward his office and someone touched the doorknob, ”Mr. Lestrange.” Riddle said, not bothering to look up from the paperwork that was on his desk. He could hear him from outside the confines of his office and slowly, the man raised his hand, flicked his fingers to the left, and the door opened wide, revealing that Rabastan Lestrange was indeed standing on his door-step.

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Behind the Mask || Riddle Apr 1, 2013 1:35:06 GMT -8

Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2013 1:35:06 GMT -8

Rabastan Lestrange always had a motive behind the things he did. Taking care of Evan Rosier, was one of those things. Pulling out a caring front and appearing as someone that could be used as a support, Rabastan made certain people would know who he was especially after the attempted suicide. Still weak from the medication and the large amounts of blood loss, the boy really needed to build up his reputation. Unlike what most of the students were thinking, it was not a cry out for attention or help, but just an act of numbness. Living with Lyra and Phraxos Lestrange and always in the shadow of his older brother Rodolphus, Rabastan's home life was much worse than anyone let on. The secret keeper, the brains behind the situation. You know that essay Professor Riddle just read? Yea, that was Rabastan's work through Rodolphus. Rab did everything he could to keep Rod on top, to keep his parent's proud of the one thing they loved, and Rabastan loved Rodolphus more than the air he breathed, its the question if anyone noticed or not.

Wavering slightly on his heel, Rabastan was passed by a blonde Hufflepuff girl who was sobbing uncontrollable, but that coming from Riddle's office should have been expected. The lessons were very difficult and she looked up at him with those big blue eyes. Rabastan instead turned up his nose as she stared on at the man dressed in black. Sixteen years, that was how long he had been taught what being a pureblood meant, and it was second nature to frown upon those who were anything less. Clearly his presence even scared the young girl as she took off like a bat out of hell without any word.

Finding himself at the entrance to Riddle's office, Rab let his hand rest on the polished door handle. Taking a breath he waited a moment, but the door opened nearly at the same time his name was called. Looking up, his green eyes rested upon Professor Riddle and he nodded his head after stepping in quietly. If this were to have happened before the incident he probably wouldn't even have shown his face, but Rabastan had dreams and revelations that lingered in the back of his mind, and he had to take charge of his future. That involved removing his parents from the picture by any means possible.

"Professor Riddle." It was a short response, but the tone of his voice resonated respect as well as a small amount of authority. Unlike the previous version of himself, Rabastan's life altering event led him to keep up his appearance, it was as if nothing had ever happened and he was open about the accident whenever confronted with it. Still the silver straight-edge was mixed within his effects, but he's been feeling less numb as time passed and he felt more connected to reality than ever. Maybe it was that eye opening event that he needed in order to set his feet on the proper path.

Taking in a sharp breath, not so much of a smile crossed his lips, but he did adjust his shirt on the left side to ensure nothing was rubbing against the scabs. The attention was what he hated most, but he did pull off a strangely open front. Polite was a better way to put and all he wanted was to make sure if someone had a problem the could be sure to come to him about it. That was step one of his entire plan. Get people to like him and Integra, get them to understand what it was they stood for in a twisted sense, deceitful and sly. They are Slytherin's after all, it was whether or not people believed them. Not only did he want to get on the seemingly irritated Professor Riddle's bad side, Rabastan knew better and if he said no, that would be the end of the conversation. Obey.

"I was curious if I could trade a few words with you for a moment. I did come here with the intention of asking for more work. Even though I am aware that I am passing your class with satisfactory mark, they are still not excellent nor outstanding and that is unsatisfactory by my own expectations. So i was curious if you'd be willing to work with me?" Rabastan's words were laced with undertones and motives, but at the same time his honesty was blunt and very straight forward. With Professor Riddle, Rabastan knew not to talk in circles and most definitely not to lie to the man. Respect, remember? He did want to up his grade as it had been on the front of his mind all year and he's always struggled when it came to this subject, but if he didn't have perfect marks, he was less than perfect and that was an issue.

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Behind the Mask || Riddle Apr 18, 2013 11:51:03 GMT -8

Post by Deleted on Apr 18, 2013 11:51:03 GMT -8

It wasn’t until the boy spoke that Tom Riddle actually raised his glance from the parchment in front of him and met the bold eyes of Rabastan Lestrange with his own icy stare. Observation began quickly, Riddle eyes scanning over the boy’s attire, the lines in his face, the way that he was holding his posture erect and slightly leaned forward. And then there was the matter of his fixing his shirt, obviously adjusting his appearance to fit the situation that he currently found himself in. There was something seemingly different and strange about the boy that stood in front of him. Riddle knew of the pureblood families, had ties to every single one of them, but never once had he paid attention to the younger Lestrange boy. It was as if, until this moment, he had been rendered inconsequential in the mind of The Dark Lord, ”Mr. Lestrange.” The man said again, pressing his thin lips together into a line that was sharp and straight across his face.

Riddle was slightly annoyed at the pleasantries, as he most often was when it came to everyday greetings and encounters. Even now, he couldn’t keep the annoyance at bay. It was making itself obvious in the way that he tapped the edge of his quill tip upon the paper that he was marking over and over again, staring directly at the boy who had just walked into the den of a sleeping lion. Riddle believed that it was trivial to greet someone if they had already greeted you. At precisely the moment that the thought crossed his mid, Tom stopped pressing the quill into the paper and let it fall next to his hand.The professor used his now free hand and waved his fingertips again, a slight swaying motion and the door to his chambers slammed shut behind Rabastan. If they were to discuss whatever it was that had brought him to the office, then they would do so in absolute privacy - the way that Riddle chose to conduct most of his conversations.

”I do not trade words,” Riddle returned as he stood up and pushed his chair backwards, ”Trading implies a magnitude of fairness and that is not how I choose operate.” He placed his bony fingers on the desk, leaning slightly forward so that he was in a more offensive position with the way that his body now looked. He was tempted to send the boy away. His lessons were not something that you could simply waltz into his office and demand like a child throwing a temper tantrum. They were something so much more than that. His private teachings were considered, by the few students that he had begun to instruct, an offering of death defying power and greatness.

This was a very curious situation indeed, and then last time that something such as this had come to his attention, he had immediately dismissed the student and thought nothing more about the subject. The previous student had been too quick to bore him with dire monologues of her apparent greatness and her willingness to push herself to the extremes of her being. And yet, Mr. Lestrange had offered him none of that. The boy had offered a simple request to learn more, push himself further. There was something much different about the younger son of the Lestrange clan. Some sort of fire in his being that Riddle couldn’t quite understand yet. There was something that was burning him from the inside out, sending him straight into the arms of the Dark Lord. And that was a thought that he was willing to entertain for the time being. ”Sit.” The man demanded and walked around the desk to the bookshelf that was on the right side of the room.

”You wish for me to give you supplementary lessons.” He said, raising both of his eyebrows as he removed a volume from the collection of literature that was upon the shelf. Riddle began leafing through the pages, his mind combing through the details of the current situation, ”Have you considered a peer tutor?” He mused dully and slammed the book shut. If Rabastan knew that he was offering lessons in extracurricular magic, this would be the breaking point.

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Behind the Mask || Riddle Apr 22, 2013 10:43:46 GMT -8

Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2013 10:43:46 GMT -8

Falling quite in the presence of an older, much more skilled man was the only way Rabastan knew how to get his attention. Acting out would do nothing to gain an introspective look from his elder. The cheeky bastard. Rabastan had nothing against the man aside from the fact that his parents were slaves to his will. If he were to join the ranks he would not be treated as a dog, he would not run around treating his children with disrespect. Instead Rabastan would work his way to the top, he would do everything in his power to be heard and not killed for speaking. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Rab looked across the desk at Riddle while he stood.

"I understand Professor." Silence encased the pair for a few moments until Riddle's voice pierced the air once more. As he demanded the boy to sit, Rabastan found himself easing into the chair with a rigid spine. This was one step he had not expected, but greatly appreciated. Ever since he was young he had learned to stand until offered a seat, especially before someone with great power. Allowing the host to offer a seat was a motion he noted as acceptance, for the most part. If he had not, Rabastan would have continued to stand instead uncomfortably and allowed the conversation to move on.

Closing his eyes slightly, but still entirely aware of his surroundings, Rabastan listened. It was something he was good at, noting for any change in tone of voice, anything that would set him on edge, but there was nothing, nothing until the book slammed closed. Judging the motion and words that coursed through his thoughts the boy looked up. "That is what I was thinking." Quick to make his words seem more adult and void of all hope, Rabastan crossed his arms over his chest to appear in a more defensive manner as Riddle circled him. It wasn't that he was afraid of the man, okay, so maybe he was a little startled by the great power in the room, you would have been a fool if you were not.

Mulling over the next sentence he was going to speak, Rabastan judged the situation thoroughly, there was something he was missing, a small piece to the puzzle. Ever since the incident, it was apparent Rabastan had shifted into high gear, he had grown up, had become more of a man in a few short days. The only issue that presented himself was the apparent view of weakness. In two hours time, Rabastan was at the lowest point in his life and everyone was aware of what had happened. "Unfortunately, no Professor." A peer tutor. Keeping his thoughts locked down tightly, Rabastan's green eyes looked over at Riddle. "I understand there is much to learn from my peers, but unfortunately they do not possess the skill level I am searching for, Sir."

He decided to cut off his speech, keeping his words forward and honest would get him further and if he became long winded, Rab knew it would only irritate the man who currently had the upper hand within the office walls and he wasn't about to risk his neck for something to menial. If Riddle said no, he would accept the fact. Obey.