When it came to protection wards, Rabastan was lazy. He'd been cocky enough to assume no one could find his manor. It was in the middle of no where, bought under a fake identity, and it was a muggle identity he painstakingly kept up. Meaning, he went to fancy muggle parties and killed a couple before the night was through. Hard work, being an enormously wealthy wizard. Verity was included in that laziness. He invested in the bracelets because he couldn't be bothered to set, reset, and restrengthen her boundaries everyday. The bracelet ensured it was a one shot deal. Those were the type of deals Rabastan gravitated towards. Luckily the bracelets had panned out; Rabastan had been involved in many schemes that were utterly useless. Not that it really matter - he'd always had money to burn.
Rabastan had been there for the bombs, but he hadn't gone straight home. Why bother? The bombs didn't seem to do anything serious, and he knew the five or so people he actually cared about would be smart enough to get out of there as well. Rabastan had found a bumpin' party, plenty of alcohol, and enough girls to keep him pleased all night. It wasn't until his journal practically burned a hole in his pocket did Rabastan figure out his house was on fire. He'd charmed the journal to heat up if his name was said, or if there were any Death Eater charms that needed his attention. Apparently he was Mr Popular tonight. However, not the sort of popular he wanted. With a heavy heart, Rabastan said goodbye to the generous girls, and apparated home.
What Rabastan arrived to was not what he was expecting. His house was on fire. Needless to say, Rabastan was less than thrilled. A voice he recognized to be Bellatrix's caught his attention. "Oi! What the fuck is happening here?" As he looked back towards the flames, he chuckled. "Oh no, my slave must be trapped. Verity!" he called, much quieter than he could have. He would have been thrilled if the girl died in this fire.