coffee and cognac (rabastan lestrange!)

[MONA CHARBONNEAU!]

The time was exactly eight o' clock in the evening, and normally it would be most important to mention the time of day it was. However, to the faithful customers of The Leaky Cauldron Pub on Charing Cross, exact measures of time or anything else for that matter was not important. Instead their mantra was for excess in everything, from booze to comradery. The type who frequented that pub daily were known to be a jolly bunch, but the entrance of the Death Eaters into their midst have made them a more subdued breed. They would always drink their firewhiskey and butterbeer and discuss the day's events and burning questions, regardless if there were men and women in black hoods listening to each word they said.

At this exactly moment when the clock struck eight o' clock on a Friday in the autumn, a regular customer, to an extent, opened the heavy doors. Being female, Mona Charbonneau was always greeted with more warmth and mirth than her male counterparts. A large group were swarming around the actual bar, and when one large man with a tuft of red hair on his chin within the group caught sight of the blond female, he clapped his hands and shouted out:

"Eh, look who decided to show up here again? Thought we scared you off last time, Mona." He was, of course, teasing her; he said that every time she came into The Leaky Cauldron on Fridays, as was her routine. The woman smiled and put her hands on her hips. Wearing a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, leans, and a pair of black boots, she looked quite different from the formal attire she wore when she taught at Hogwarts. And, indeed, she looked very much different from the other pub-goers in their sweaters and other comfortable clothing.

"You boys couldn't scare a lady like me from the best bar in London, Artie," she replied heartily as she began walking towards the large group. Leaning against the bar, once she managed to get past the men who already had their drinks and gave the bartender a wide smile before ordering.

"Good evening, Tom," she said smoothly, "One Sol Y Sombra for me, please. In a sifter, if you could," she added, winking at the barkeep in the hopes that it would encourage him.

"Always ordering the fancy drinks," the man known as Artie laughed, "When are you ever going to learn that firewhiskey's the best stuff that was ever made for us to drink?"

"When you know when to hold your liquor," Mona replied nonchalantly, resulting in a fit of laughter form the rest of the group and a red-faced Artie, "Where are you guys sitting? The usual table? I need to know so I can move as far away from you as possible." Taking her made drink from the barkeep, she turned around.

"She's more burning than that firewhiskey you're drinking, Arthur," another man who was thinner but had twice the amount of facial hair in brown, "The usual spot, Mona." The large group moved to a large round table marked form the others by the various and randomly-placed knife marks on the top. Once sitting down in her usual spot on the opposite side on the corner of the bar, the woman took in her environment. She loved this place at this time of evening; the Death Eater crowd usually did not come in until two hours from now, but that never seemed to bother her group. White, very much melted through candles lighting the entirety of the bar, the smell of aged and sweet oak, and the taste of an expertly mixed drink all flooded her senses; she simply loved this place. It was the perfect spot to unwind from a long week at Hogwarts, and those rebellious kids always gave her a run for her money.

"So, boys, what's new?" Mona said, as the same every Friday evening as she took a sip of her drink. All of their faces were illuminated only by candlelight, despite how bright the magically lit flames were, but even then they all knew where everyone else was.

[rab]

Rabastan Lestrange went where he wanted. Talked to whom he wanted. Slept with whom he wanted. He frolicked about like a peacock when he wanted, too. He was a pureblood, king of the world naturally if only in his own mind. He was the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end and he was made of pure awesome, naturally. At least, that's what he thought as he observed his face in the reflection of the mirror. Merlin knew it was gorgeous. Too gorgeous, perhaps. It did make him a bit of a narcissist and quite more than a bit actually. He glanced into the mirror with a small plastered on his lips. "Oh, you are a handsome devil, aren't you Rabastan?" he murmured. "Yes, you certainly are," he answered himself. Now some said that one answered themselves that made them mad, but if he were insane he blamed it on Azkaban. Surely, that had unhinged him a bit.

Not as much as Bellatrix, of course, but it had taken it's toll. He wasn't the same man he had been, but he was better off than Rod. Much better off than his poor older brother. Yes, he felt bad for the man, sometimes. Rod changed for the worst and Rab didn't like it. Not, at all. He wished that none of them had changed, that things had remained the same. He had liked things the way that they had been. So much better than the way things were now. So much so it almost repulsed him. Yet his class ruled. The purebloods, well, the worthy purebloods that was. Thank Merlin for that, too. He would be in disdain if things went back to the way they were when that halfblood brat, Potter was alive. Things had been a horrid mess. It had made him severely ill. But he had remained free. Once in Azkaban was enough to scar for a lifetime. Bellatrix was proof of that.

Ah, Bellatrix. He loved her, but sometimes she grated on his every last nerve. She was the distinguished pureblood princess and she demanded attention and respect from everyone. Sometimes her demands were draining. But she was worth it. Although, he wouldn't deny that she wasn't the only woman for him. But it was no secret that she slept with Rod and why shouldn't she? She was his wife. It was an odd relationship he shared with his sister-in-law, but what was life without a bit of risk? He liked some challenges here and there. Bellatrix was certainly a challenge. She was a hellion of a woman. If he didn't know any better he would have insisted that she was a Spartan woman.

She certainly was the warrior that her name suggested that she was. Not that it surprised him, really. She was one of the rare female Death Eaters. Of course, she was a warrior. It would take more than a snobbish attitude and a hatred of mudbloods to get up as high in the ranks of the Dark Lord's army as Bellatrix Lestrange had. Though, he knew she loved it. So did he. The killing, the maiming, the torturing - it was like music to one's soul. If that made him demented then he would rather be demented than sane. Because even insane people had lucidity in their lives and that was something there. A moment of clarity no matter how brief was like relief to a madman. Not that he considered himself inane despite the accusations of some that he may just be. What did they know anyway? If they wanted a picture of insanity he would take them a portrait of Bellatrix and see what they made of that! For if anyone in the world were insane, it were her. No matter how much he adored her, he could at least admit that. He doubted that Rodolphus would.

But he figured that he should probably push thoughts of his brother's wife aside. Surely it wasn't proper to think of a woman so much, oh, but the things Bellatrix did to his mind and the things that he allowed her to do. They were nothing less than criminal, he thought with a devious smirk before facing his dresser. Ah, what to wear today? No work today so he could wear what he wanted, but what did he want to wear? Hmm. That was the question. He decided upon a nice pair of slacks and a white buttoned up long sleeved shirt. Classic but classy, as well. It got his point across without being too eloquent. That's what his overcoats were for. He grabbed a black one adorned in black and green velvet with intricate designs hanging right above the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. He looked fabulous if he could say so himself.

The man then found himself a pair of black dress shoes to complete the ensemble and was out the door faster than one could say Quidditch, locking the door behind him. He found himself wandering the streets of London with nothing better to do. He fished a cigar out of his pocket and took a few puffs before he found himself within the Leaky Cauldron not exactly knowing why he'd fancy going to such a dump. Ah well, he could use a drink or two, no? He'd probably go with the latter. It had been a while since he last had a drink. He looked around the establishment for a familiar face and found his eyes falling upon Mona. She looked vaguely familiar. He ordered himself a vodka and took a seat next to her. "Do beg pardon for me asking, but why do you seem familiar to me? Have we met before, Miss?" he asked of the rather stunning blonde. Of course, he was wary. He was always wary around the girls he didn't know for he refused to sleep with anything less than pureblood. But harmless conversation and flirting never hurt a body.

[MONA CHARBONNEAU!]

"A filthy Death Eater came into my shop today," Artie barked to the circle of men and the lone woman at the round table, fist clenched, "Told me that there were rumors I was overcharging my wares whenever a pureblood came in. I am an honest businessman and those bloody wankers have no right telling me otherwise."

"Is that why Daniel isn't here yet?" Mona replied, noting the empty chair next to her, "Doesn't he work at Florian Fortescue's? I heard that they were hovering around that place for the past week. I hope nothing's happened." Daniel was an elderly man who closed the shop each night and came to the pub early on Friday's. He was a sweet old gentleman who took care of this five grandchildren with his wife since their parents could not longer afford their care. He had a small fortune amassed in tips from the ice cream parlor and gladly took the youngsters in as well as their parents.

"To Daniel Dubois," Artie boomed as he raised his bottle of firewhiskey, and the rest of the table did the same and took a swig of their poisons of choice. Mona held her liquor well, unlike her male companions who she tipped her glass to on many occasions. Especially Artie, or as he was lesser known Arthur Pennsworthy; he owned a hardware shop and was known as a liquor lightweight, despite the girth of his belly. The lady of the group too took a sip of her Sol Y Sombra, lavishing in the anise flavor which splashed on her tongue. She was enjoying her drink so much that she did not notice that a man who was not elderly Daniel take the empty seat beside her. It was only until he spoke that she turned her head in his direction. Another indicator being that Daniel did not drink vodka, the pungent smel she could sense instantly. The old man preferred scotch and soda.

Looking him once over, it was very clear that this was not the kindly old man who used to sit beside her. He was much younger, that was for certain. More handsome, in a manner of his own. There was something very mysterious about this character as well. Being that she did not know his name and was barely able to recognize his face, she decided to greet him as she would a stranger. Little did she know that she was speaing to a high-ranking Death Eater.

"I am deeply sorry, sir," Mona replied smoothly, "I do not believe we have met before. Although, I would be more than happy to introduce myself to you. Mona Charbonneau; and yourself?" The other members of her table party did not appear as calm as she was; they all knew this was Rabastan Lestrange and that she was speaking to a man who had killed those of her kind. They all were not stupid or drunk enough to say anything to her at the moment; she would have to learn for herself.

[rab]

Rabastan felt the atmosphere of the room change when he entered the room. The men were averting his gaze which made him think that they were talking about him or the Death Eaters poorly before he entered the room. He honestly didn't care. He wasn't there to impress anyone. In fact, they should be scrambling to their feet and be honored if they could even impress him; filth such as they were littering the perfect streets of London with their foul stench and presence. So he walked into the Leaky Cauldron imperiously, ignoring the frosty reception of nearly everyone in the room. He honestly didn't care what these fools thought of him. They could go back to snogging their sisters for all he cared, as long as they stayed out of his way and did what they were told he was no threat to them. But should they put a toe out of line he'd be on them like a Japanese man at a sushi bar. Rabastan sincerely doubted they were that stupid, then again, they were on the wrong side of reason, right? Mindless dolts that they were.

He enjoyed making these sorts of people squirm. It wasn't too hard, either. All one had to do was glare malevolently into their faces, wand held aloft, unblinking for some of them to start wetting their pants. It was quite amusing, he had to admit when he frightened these people to that extent. Of course they would heartily disagree which was within their rights, but he had to admit that it amused him all the same. It did aggravate him, though, that they had any rights, at all. Clearly they had too many if they were still bandying about like the useless cockroaches they were, arguing with Death Eaters. That vexed him immensely. There was nothing he hated more than to be somewhere and have a bunch of impures barrage him rudely. He did like slapping them about, though, perhaps he enjoyed it a bit too much.

Although, Bellatrix would whisper in his ear, nonsence. There was no such thing as enjoying slapping around mudbloods too much and perhaps she was right. It wasn't like the impures didn't deserve a bit of slapping around. Someone had to whip them into shape and if it had to be him, then so be it. He would do his duty to them, though, they would hate him for it. It would only make it all the more amusing and entertaining for him, really. Because nothing was more entertaining than aggravating someone on the other side of the war, it was true. Because it was all too easy. One simply had to utter the word mudblood and people went up in an uproar. Of course, he knew that he wasn't always too hard to provoke, either. If one insulted Voldemort or the Death Eaters, he had a tendency to fly off the handle, himself. No one should dare to utter such vexing information to him - of all people.

He paused or tried to pause his thoughts for a moment of peace as he brushed a stray strand of dark chocolate hair from his equally dark brown eyes. He was well aware that he was handsome. It was the reason why he spent hours in front of a mirror when he wasn't in the company of others or on a mission for the Dark Lord. He liked to call himself a handsome devil and appreciated it more when ladies would refer to him as such or at least comment on his apparent beauty. What he hated the most was when people tried to deny that he was gorgeous because that was such a downright lie he didn't know how they could live with themselves after uttering such tosh. But some people had no problem with spouting off nonsense. He wished that he could strangle those liars. It would make life all the more better for him and perhaps a bit amusing, as well.

Rabastan caught her looking him once over and he tilted his chin to both sides so she could have a good and proper look at him. He knew that this was a bit over zealous and more than a bit arrogant on his behalf, but he wanted her to see just how beautiful he was. Every woman was at least entitled to see that and depending on how pure they were, they might actually get to touch that beautiful flesh that he so possessed. The pretty boy who was now more accurately an older man, raked a hand through his dark brown hair suavely. Apparently, he was not whom she anticipated sitting there. But until he was asked to move, he wouldn't. Why should he? After all, Death Eaters ruled and he was a Death Eater - so it wasn't as if any ill could befall him in taking someone's usual spot. Surely they could sit elsewhere if they did end up showing up.

"Hmm, what a pity not to have met such an exquisite creature before, ma cherie," Rabastan purred. "Forgive me for my mistake," he said politely. He heard that name before. Mona Charbonneau? Wasn't she a professor at the school? "Oh, you're a Professor at the school, aren't you?" he asked conversationally, arching a brow. He felt slightly vexed that she didn't know whom he was and more than a bit offended. Any proper pureblood would've known exactly whom he was right from the onset. Of that, he was certain. "Rabastan Lestrange," he offered to her coolly. He then turned to the tender that was looking such daggers at him that Rabastan was surprised that he felt nothing coming out of the man's eyes when he glared right back at him. "Clean the wax out of your ears, sir. I ordered a vodka, did I not?" The man grumbled something indistinguishable and the Death Eater narrowed his eyes, haughtily excepting his vodka once it was thrown in his general direction. Apparently the tender didn't even want to look at him. Filthy opinionated little mudbloods. He wished that he could teach that man a lesson but now was not the place or time.

[MONA CHARBONNEAU!]

"Professor of Arithmancy, yes," Mona replied back to who she not knew as Mr. Rabastan Lestrange. Nothing else could have been more interesting or terrifying to happen at The Leaky Cauldron. Usually it as the lower level Death Eaters who came to grace the dingy halls and oaken woodwork. They had never had someone of this stature before. Of course, they did not welcome this Lestrange character and never would. They all would just have to hold their tongues ripe with complaints and grievances against the government and Death Eaters until this wanker was gone. Mona, however, found this to be most exciting. It was like a lamb dining with the wolf; this was a man who hunted down types like her. She had been forging her blood status to keep her job, and the only ones who knew that she was indeed half-blooded would have been the men sitting at the table around her. This wolf had no idea that the lamb was wearing a pelt to mask her identity. A smile on her face and a confident air about her, she continued to speak.

"Although I am a teacher of numbers, you do indeed have a way with your words, Mr. Lestrange," Mona continued, "You keep talking like that you might just win us all over, even Tom." She nodded over to the barkeeper, indicating that's who she was talking about, "Do forgive him, Mr. Lestrange. Hard of hearing and the king of grumps. The only reason I get my drink is because he listens better for the few female customers he has." She gave the newcomer to her table another once-over. She had seen him around Hogwarts on occasions, giving inspections and sometimes sacking teachers. She had perhaps already made a mistake by not recognizing him and showing him that she knew who he was. That was an indication to him that she was not quite the pureblood she made herself out to be. Becoming slightly nervous but not daring to show it, Mona decided that conversation would patch up that little injury to her name.

"Mr. Lestrange, the more I look at you the more I can remember seeing your face around the school," she said casually, sipping on her cocktail, "Do tell me, is eveything there to your liking?"

[rab]

"Ah, Arithmancy," he remarked with a nod of his head. It wasn't dismissive, no, but it wasn't all together an impressed nod, either. Yes, it was a difficult class but not one that was needed for all practical jobs in the wizarding world unless, perhaps, someone were to try to use it for banking; he supposed. Even then, he wasn't entirely sure that it was necessary and though she didn't say it, he could tell that she was proud. She was proud of this infernal subject that she taught at the school and he couldn't help but find that mildly amusing. Being proud of being a teacher was like being proud that one was a janitor. It was entertaining to say the very least. Not that one shouldn't want to teach the young minds of brats for someone had to do it, it just seemed odd that one would be proud to have such an occupation. He knew that if he had to teach, he wouldn't be proud. He'd be upset that he couldn't find any other job out there in the vast sea of possibilities. Oh, how he hated kids.

Yet he wanted one of his own, well, an heir, at least. He wasn't so sure how well he'd manage with a girl. They all needed and craved more attention than a boy did, they were so much more fragile, and all the more irritating. Because that's the way it went, he supposed. The way the apple tart crumbled in the grand scheme of things because girls grew into women and women were the most confusing creatures on the face of Merlin's green earth and to hell with anyone who didn't agree with him because anyone who didn't obviously was insane or a woman themselves. Then again, he had asked Bellatrix about some women and even she didn't understand them. They were a conundrum of their own type, some women, and he felt as if they were cheated since they didn't have a manual to know how to understand these fascinating but more often than not irritating creatures.

He wondered what she thought, but he knew that she didn't approve of him. He could sense it. It was almost as if he shouldn't have said his name for if he hadn't then she would have been perfectly fine with him sitting there, which made him wonder, was she one of those bloody impurities? It wouldn't surprise him if she were. There were plenty littering the streets, but he hoped that his hunch was wrong. However, she didn't stop talking to him, perhaps, she wasn't an impurity? Then again, it could be a ploy. It never did to trust strangers. He tried not to trust them no matter how beautiful they were. For a pretty face could be very misleading. Someone who looked evil could be good and vice versa. It kind-of annoyed him that it was possible for that situation to happen. For evil people should just be dark in appearance and manner and good people should be light in appearance and mannerisms. Then no one would be confused as to whom was whom and they could take each other out all the easier. Then again, Rabastan did like a challenge, so perhaps he'd just deal with things the way they were now. He could handle the stability that life had presented him with thus far.

The men, he had known, from the second he had entered didn't welcome him, at all, but he didn't care. He knew that not many high ranking Death Eaters would be caught dead there - but someone had to make rounds, no? If no one ever did who knew the sort of talk that would be going on there? There could be conversations to dismantle the Death Eaters and as futile as the attempts might be he would rather be on top of things rather than caught with his pants down because that would be more than embarrassing and humiliating to every degree, he and his comrades would certainly be punished for letting things get so out of control. He wasn't about to let that happen. Not, at all.

Rabastan couldn't help but laugh at her words. Ah, he did have a way of words, but he was flattered to hear it from someone else. "Why thank you, my dear. You are far too kind," he purred. He give a small snicker at her comment. "Oh, I don't know about that, Miss Charbonneau," he laughed. "Some things will never change no matter how persistent a soul is," he remarked calmly. Though, it did incense him, he wouldn't comment on the bar tenders demeanor towards him further. It bubbled under his skin like an ugly blister about to pop forth from his skin at any moment now, however. His anger, that was. He was to be treated with respect by everyone and that included that surly little bar tender, Tom. He didn't know how the man could possibly still be alive. He was older than dirt, the last time Rabastan had checked. Then again, wizards did outlive muggles.

"I suppose I should, but I've always been one to hold my grudge," he said with a small pout. He found that most women were charmed when he acted in such a manner and impure or not, he was sure he could woo her over. He liked toying with the affections of others, it was a bad habit he had retained from his youth. He was charming even to the women he didn't particularly care for, just for a laugh. Though, he supposed it built up the ugly one's self esteem that someone as attractive as he was even paying them any mind whether or not the attention was negative or not. The younger of the Lestrange brother's shrugged. "Everything seems to be in order, at the present," he replied smoothly. "Why do you ask, Miss Charbonneau? Out of curiosity or have you seen something that needs correcting?" he questioned, with an arched brow. In all truth, there was nothing out of order as far his knowledge went, but she being a teacher would have the inside scoop as it were.

[MONA CHARBONNEAU!]

Mona gave Rabastan a skeptical look as he 'pouted' at her; she had seen this before. Not from him, of course; the guys at the pub would every time she would refuse to drink a shot of firewhiskey. She found the stuff repulsive and only used by those wishing to escape from something. And if there was one thing she wanted to do it would be to give the appearance of not wanting to escape or hide form something. Mona wanted to give the air of being a confident woman to everyone she met, and especially around this Death Eater who was after her kinds lives. Smiling slightly, she finished her Sol Y Sombra and looked off towards the bar, seeing Tom with a bottle of vodka.

"Excuse me, Tom," she said to the barkeeper sweetly, "Would be a dear and please mix me up a French Connection. Be sure to get each part even with the other, darling." Arthur, the large man pushing his grievances on the group just a few minutes ago, now lit up a cigarette with a snap of his fingers, then turned to the taller and hairy man next to him.

"Mona's getting herself in too deep already," he mumbled, "She's swimming with sharks with a dead fish wrapped around her neck."

The thinner gentleman glared at Arthur, as if telling him with his eyes to shut up before Rabastan could hear them. This sort of talk could blow her cover, after all, and the last thing this man wanted was to see his closest friend and only female attendee of The Leaky Cauldron to be shipped off to Azkaban for forging her identity.

"The usual goes on, Mr. Lestrange," Mona continued, folding her hands in front of her like a proper lady, "Children will be children. Being a teacher of a difficult and often dull subject does not help and there are a few who find hexing the teacher to be an appropriate activity to cure their boredom. I have had my hair turned blue and my skin green. Other than those sorts of minor problems, there is nothing too concerning." There was quite a few things that bothered her, such as the treatment of muggleborn Ella Smith and the employment of a certain Draco Malfoy as the Potions Master, but she knew very well that she could not say such things to Rabastan Lestrange. If she did give him those grievances to consider he would be apt to assume she had sympathies to muggleborns and thus could be one. That was sentenceable by torture and death in this society; something she wished to avoid if possible.

"So, what brings you to such a place?" she then asked, "The Leaky Cauldron is not known to house men of high class and riches."

[rab]

Hmph! What a prude. His pout hadn't worked and Merlin knew that it always had worked on anyone else. Truly this woman couldn't be normal or perhaps Rab was getting too offended. Perhaps, a combination of both, in truth. All he knew was that he didn't like it when people ignored him. Like Bellatrix he was a bit of an attention whore. He was pretty and powerful, what else did a body need to be noticed, honestly? Other than personality and Merlin knew he had one of those. Perhaps, a bit too much of one of those. But really, when one was as pretty as Rabastan, they ought to just be lucky that he had personality, at all. He was a lot more charming than his brother, Rodolphus, that was for certain. Not to mention he was a lot more fun and really people should be able to have some entertainment in their lives. He thought that's what his brother lacked; some good entertainment. Though, he didn't know how. He had a gorgeous wife albeit insane, but still, if Rod couldn't have fun with Bella then there was something seriously wrong with his brother.

Or perhaps Rod just liked to pretend to be the brooding, serious type so that he could get attention. Pfft, it wouldn't surprise Rabastan if this were the case, after all. His brother seemed so needy sometimes it disgusted him. Yet he knew that he could be the same way, that didn't matter. He was the younger brother, he deserved to have someone look after him. At least, that's what he sincerely thought even if it weren't true in the least. There was no one there to tell him different and thus he would think that way if he wanted to. Merlin knew his mother didn't give him much affection. She had always preferred Rod for whatever reason. Rabastan would never truly understand that. But whatever. He was just glad that his mother was dead. That woman had a voice that resembled a shriek more an actual tone of voice. It made him wonder if she hadn't been part banshee the way she carried on, sometimes.

Rabastan saw that he was being ignored over a drink. Well, that was understandable, he presumed. That's what people went to an establishment to do. Well, anyone with half a brain, at the very least. Though, he supposed some went to the pub simply to have conversations and socialize. It seemed an idiotic way to him of socializing. Especially should it be more men than women or vice versa. It put the other party at risk of being used. Then again, why should he care? If they were idiotic enough to put themselves in such a position then they could deal with the bloody consequences themselves. He would not apologize for their stupidity or be sorry what happened to them. Because honestly they had brought it on themselves. He would enjoy the entertainment of their lives crumbling all about them, though. He thought he might find that quite amusing, actually.

He noticed two men talking in low whispers in the corner which struck him as suspicious. Especially when one of the men looked at him intently. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something on his face or if they just had the nerve to talk about him when he was still sitting there. If that were the case then he could always just hex them. He demanded respect. He was a Death Eater and a high ranking one, at that. It wouldn't do for the commoners to sit about disrespecting him to his very face. He cleared his throat loudly, sending one of the men a fleeting glare. He hadn't heard their words, but if they weren't letting everyone else hear what they were saying, he assumed that what they were saying about him couldn't be anything good. This annoyed him immensely. He wasn't the type to take being insulted laying down. He had never taken criticism well - even constructive.

Rabastan listened to the woman, as he spun his vodka about in hands in a somewhat vexed manner. He was trying to push the thoughts of what those men had been saying out of his mind, but it bothered him that anyone would dare to talk behind his back especially when he was sitting there. Truly, those two men had a death wish! But as he hadn't heard what was said, he couldn't within rights do anything. He could if he wanted to boast his authority, but he didn't see what good that would do. After all, they could be discussing another matter entirely and it would only cause more resentment. So he kept his cool. At least, for now. It wouldn't do to fly off the handle for no reason, at all. In fact, it might just prove that he were mad and that would certainly get more people to wag their tongues behind his back. Something that he wouldn't appreciate in the least. But who ever did enjoy that sort of conduct? Unless, of course, they didn't mind negative attention. As it so happened, Rabastan did.

"The usual?" he repeated. "That sounds terribly dull," he admitted with a small smirk. He then listened to the things that went on during her classes and he arched his brows significantly. "Tut," he said shaking his head. "Little snot nosed brats. You have more patience than I do. I could never teach. I think I'd hex all the irritating students into oblivion and then I might not have a class to teach at all," he snorted. He tried to imagine his reaction if someone turned his hair blue or his skin green. He knew that it wouldn't be pretty, at least. He knew he'd flip his lid and more than one student might end up in the hospital wing if not dead by time he was through with them. He was sure their parents would not be appreciative of that. Especially if it was a pureblood that was being a brat. "Curiosity, I suppose," Rabastan said with a dismissive shrug. "It's been a while since I've been here and I wanted to see if anything changed." Looking coldly at Tom before continuing he turned back to Mona. "I see nothing has, unless of course it's become a bit shabbier."