A dinner wasn’t exactly the social event of the season, but Athena knew better than to assume that they would go unnoticed. Someone at the restaurant would undoubtedly see them, and they would pass along the gossip to the next person. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that word would eventually reach Ares about the company that she had chosen to keep this evening. But, for once in her life, Attie couldn’t bring herself to care.

As much as Rabastan’s words would have wounded the Athena she had been only a few months ago, the Athena that she was today was hardly phased by what he said. Because she knew that he was right.

What she would have given to her brother. What she had given for him. She would have led Ares to power and prestige. But, instead, he let his ego get the best of him.

She remembered the struggle for power she had been in with Ares, leading up to his capture of the Ministry. Athena wanted to be the lead — the head — but Ares had the backing of the Death Eaters behind him. It was a shame, given the poor showing he had given in the position. If only things had gone her way. If only he had been willing to put her up to the position in his stead. But pride was a fickle thing. As was her brother. “You know, I always thought myself the more level headed leader between the pair of us,” Attie said, rather cooly. He had ruined any chance that they could have had at success and Andromeda had swooped in at the most opportune moment to relieve them of any power they had — or could have. Now, it was up to Attie to claw her way back up to the top. She wouldn’t let her brother be her demise. Not this time.

She let her anger settle in the pit of her stomach, allowing her more light-hearted attitude to bubble to the surface instead. There was no point in dwelling on the past. All she could do now was look towards the future. A future that she very much hoped included more of Lord Rabastan Lestrange.

As he leaned back in his chair, Attie felt herself lean forward, almost as if she were waiting on him to speak again. And he most certainly did not disappoint her.

While some people saw a monster in man form, Athena saw a predator. She saw danger. But more importantly, she saw a bit of herself. There was more to him than met the eye — more than what the world saw. A laugh escaped her lips when he said they were not their siblings. “If we were, I dare say we wouldn’t be sitting across the table from one another.” She raised her glass and pressed it to her lips, icy blue eyes never leaving Rabastan’s.

She was attracted to him. Possibly more so than she should have been, more so than was appropriate. But she couldn’t deny the strange sort of hunger she felt when his eyes locked with hers. He saw past her clever facade, she was sure of it, and yet they both maintained that they were perfectly pureblood as pureblood could get. It was delicious.

His words hung in the air like smoke, leaving Athena to decide how she wished to respond. Rabastan knew the tip of Ares’ iceberg, but it was impossible for him to understand the depth for which she felt for her brother. Or at least, how she had felt. Any chance of those feelings had been squandered with her brother’s arrogance and ill-timed political advances. “Here, here, what we would do for family only for them to cast us aside when they’ve had their fill,” her voice was crisp against the silence that had settled between them. She spoke not only of his abdication from the Ministry, but also of his marriage and pathetic little half-blood child on the way. Disgusted. That was how she felt by her brother now. How her feelings towards him had wilted…how they had turned to darkness. Ares had done this to himself. “I seek my own allies now, Rabastan.”

Now, it was Attie’s turn to lean back, her glass of wine balanced between her delicate fingers. She stared him down for a moment before drawing in a breath. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been Ares’ little sister…his shadow. I should have broken out from under him long ago, but we all have our weaknesses. What was it you said? I have the blessing of self-awareness…and my brother was my weakness. Nothing more. With him out of the picture, I seek to make a career on my own. To make my decisions about what I choose to do.”

Rabastan assumed Rodolphus knew already that he had left the Ministry with Athena. There were many little birds always eager to feed his brother tidbits of information, thinking it might gain them some favor with either the Lady or the Lord. Rabastan held the opinion that none succeeded in earning even the slightest bit of respect from Roddie-boy. But it was--on occasion--entertaining to see them try. The gossips would surely try to sell the arm-in-arm departure as some betrayal by Rab, plotting with the enemy, or some equal measure of nonsense. He had no worry that Rodolphus would doubt his loyalty. Rabastan had been true to his brother and his family every day of his life.

For all that Rodolphus liked to believe that he did for his brother, cleaning up after him as he called it--Rabastan did just as much for Rodolphus. There had been no shortage of times in the pair of wizarding wars the brothers had been soldiers in where Rabastan had put himself in harm's way to ensure nothing happened to Rodolphus. Their father had always made it very clear that Rabastan was far beneath the elder Lestrange. A born murderer, Rab had come into this world a bit after his mother left it, something his father never forgave him for. Rab stole the life of the girl whom his father at very least enjoyed bedding, whether he loved her is unknown to those living now. Despite the age gap that had existed between wife and husband, the resentment that Rabastan's father carried towards him implied there had to have been some level of affection or obsession towards the young wife. She had been a prize promised to Azazel since her birth. He had molded her, conditioned her, created for himself exactly what he desired--and then his second son killed her. Fourteen years of work for only three years of marriage was hardly the pay out the patriarch had hoped for.

Killing his mother had taken any chance for kind, soft affection out of Rabastan's childhood. His father did not acknowledge his existence. His brother was only a year older--despite the two years difference in their schooling. The man never learned to love as someone with a mother would learn. He saw only the love of brother to brother. Rodolphus protected him--he taught him--he showed him how to be man. From that bond, there could only ever be loyalty and devotion. Rabastan was happy to follow his brother. He--somewhat like his mother had been--was conditioned for the roll of follower and devotee. Supporting Rodolphus, now, as the head of their marked and masked coterie was easy and brought him great satisfaction. Rabastan was truly content to play second fiddle to Rod. He never felt the need the lead, the need to be in charge--he was ambitious, yes, but not in such a way that made him feel as if he had to be at the helm. Control was not synonymous with power to Rabastan. It made the pair of them great allies--and fearsome to face. For, Rabastan was comfortable in what he had and his role as enforcer, rather than kingpin--long having accepted being the second son.

Pride did not block Rabastan's vision--not to say he was not a proud man, for he surely was and would always be. If Azkaban could not break him of that, nothing and no one ever would. But he did not allow ego to block or logic or sense. Many might find that fact surprising considering the madness the man is known for...but it is trauma and horrors endured that brought on this perceived insanity. The disorder plaguing his mind has not completely destroyed the brilliance that once lay therein. He still excelled at wizarding chess--his mind was still sharp--he might have had tendency to loose himself down the rabbit hole of obsession over this dark art or that necromantic experiment, but that was always in search of power via knowledge. His thirst for such was insatiable.

Curiosity fueled his experiments--and that same curiosity was stoked and fueled into a roaring blaze by the woman across from him tonight. Athena--with her mysterious work up on the infamous night floor...with her icy blue eyes and tempting curves...with her intriguing sly cleverness--it was all enough to him to quite vividly entertain the idea of taking her here atop this white clothed table. The witch tempted him intensely and perhaps intentionally. He could not easily gauge if she was truly aware of the scope of her allure to him.

Words spoken about family prodded at a fear the wizard was not eager to acknowledge. He carried considerable worry--though he made every effort to both hide and ignore it--that Rodolphus would cast him aside completely now that the elder brother had his set of heirs and newest wife. The third wife of his brother should have been his first...but instead Rodolphus had taken three, while Rabastan had none. His brother had companions--those to share life with--Rabastan had only his brother. It left a void--and it birthed insecurity. The wizard did not think himself jealous of Andromeda, but perhaps he did resent her in some ways--for being something to Rodolphus that Rabastan could not. Peculiar thing to think on considering Rabastan was quite assuredly entirely heterosexual.

The Lestrange had spoken frankly of a marriage to Athena as being a means to secure allies--and her reply had been to announce she sought allies for herself now. Did that mean quite literally now? In this present moment, with him? He fancied that idea quite a lot. But his face only showed mild interest--the quirking up of his brow as if to ask oh do you? A sip of wine and a thoughtful pause prefaced his response. "I daresay, Athena, that you will find a number willing and eager to make such an alliance, but a very select few that should merit any consideration." He would not immediately throw his hat into this proverbial ringt, but hints were being made time and again of his interest.

He watched her across from him--content to take in the beauty of the sight in silence. Rabastan was not one to find the quiet unbearable. Solitary confinement rather demands one adjust to such things--and this silence was far more enjoyable than any spent by himself. Here, his eyes had the glory of this goddess to bask in. The wizard met his companion's stare--gaze searching, memorizing, savoring the details of her face. When her voice again graced his ears, he felt there was greater intimacy and sincerity in what the woman now shared than had been spoken between them before. Their past was filled with coy, clever comments--brief exchanges more akin to cunning chess moves meant to tease and intrigue than to forge some tangible foundation.

"I know surely what it is to be tucked in the shadow of an elder brother. There is a protection there--at least perceived. But one does not always have the ability from such a position to plot a vision for the future suitable to more than the one that is in the lead." Rabastan did not wish his words to be misconstrued as any intention to strike against his brother's leadership of the Lestrange family or the Death Eaters. He spoke only about the direction that the rest of his life would take. Rodolphus had steadily made choices to diverge their paths since they had left Azkaban. His marriages and children cultivated a divide between the brothers. Not too long ago, each had been the other's only family. Now that was true for only one of them. Rabastan had the voice in his mind...his brother's first dead wife. But that was hardly a proper companion--and even she deserted him from time to time. Bellatrix had not made an appearance since earlier that day at the Ministry. Not once since he had been in Athena's company had the man heard the Black whispers. He had not thought of the dearly departed witch. Another held his focus. With his attention elsewhere, his mind did not conjure up his imaginary Bellatrix. A fact that did much to affirm that the voice he heard, that would cause him to slip into those catatonic states, was not truly some lingering ghost of the Dark Lord's best lieutenant, but instead just a figment created by his broken mind.

"Your decisions have led us to this night, to the pleasure of us sharing each other's company. Without hesitation, I can say that I find your choices to be considerably preferable to those of your kin." A smirk found its way to his lips--and his eyes took on that mischievous glint that confirmed the wizard possessed the deviant streak so many believed him to. "I look forward to bearing witness to more of what you choose to do. Whatever stratagem and subterfuge you deploy, I have full faith, it will bring you that which your heart does truly desire. I will not be so bold or intrusive as to ask what that is tonight."

"You speak in past tense." Rabastan was curious as to what Athena might share with him if he prodded for more. Perhaps it was greedy to push, but he was guilty of being an avaricious man. He licked his lips and posed a question to his prepossessing companion: "Are you truly rid of that weakness? Displaced and disgraced as he may be, Ares is still your brother. He cannot be pleased with your decision to remain at the Ministry--to move forward in a life that is not directed by him, where successes cannot be, in his mind, attributed to--or at the very least be claimed by him."

A not-so-discreet part of Athena hoped that the whole Ministry would be talking about them by tomorrow morning. After all, Athena Finley didn’t go to dinner with just anyone and she knew for certain that Rabastan rarely went to dinner at all. The fact that it was the pair of them that were out tonight only added intrigue to the mystery.

“There have always been too many suitors than I will ever have marriages,” She answered frankly. How many times had her mother tried to marry her off to one gentleman or another. A Danish Viscount, a Pureblood Heir — Attie had always been disinterested, mostly to do her…fascination with her own brother. But, as she had said before, times were changing. Her feelings towards Ares had grown cooler as months had passed. She trusted him less and less and the feeling seemed to be mutual. She wondered if things would have been different if Ares had listened to her. Would they be here, now, had he headed her advice and remained more neutral when he took power? Perhaps they would never know. All she did know was that her brother’s actions had led here here to Rabastan Lestrange. “I am a particular woman.”

His words seeped into her veins, infecting them. He was speaking her language. Together, they were harmonizing a gentle, dangerous melody. She wanted it to play on — explore what it would become if they allowed themselves.

His smirk forced one of her own, and she knew that they were two of the same. Cut of the same cloth, stitched together like beautiful tapestries, but unused. Left in the dust to rot and rust. They deserved more and they deserved better. They deserved one another. It was more than a political gain, Attie thought, turning the ideas over in her brain like coins, it was a personal one. For all her probing, Athena was still unsure of their position. What she was proposing would drive Ares to madness, she was sure of it. But it made her feel alive. The prospect of pursuing Rabastan sent electricity coursing through her veins, awakening feelings that had been dormant for so long. She wanted him…perhaps in a more possessive way than she was willing to admit.

Taking a long sip of her wine, Athena paused for the wait staff to leave their table before she answered his question. “An idiot man would have questioned me further — asked me if my heart’s desire was to secure a husband in them and to settle down with two children to carry on my line. You are not an idiot man, Rabastan.” She answered. Though her words seemed light, there was seriousness behind them. She was not a woman that would be toyed with and, while she might be interested in the mundane idea of “settling down,” he was wise to remember that there was more to her than that.

“Half-brother.” Athena had never once claimed they weren’t siblings, but distancing herself required a tactical move. “Ares will undoubtedly be angry. Upset. Furious, perhaps. But this is exactly why I must move on my own. I’m tired of waiting for someone else to dictate my shots when I am perfectly capable myself.” She smiled, now, her hand moving forward and gently resting on his. Attie’s thumb moved in a slow circle as she arched one eyebrow, curious what reaction she would illicit from him now.

“But alas, are we ever truly rid of our demons?”