The Creeveys and Rabastan Lestrange
Throughout his years as a loyal servant to the Dard Lord, and many times before, Rabastan knew the way that torture worked. There was the way that the pupils enlarged with the hard thumping of their heart against their chest. Well, at least, he believed that he honestly heard that particular organ beating to such a volume. Fear almost seemed to ooze directly out of the pore of the individual. In the situation that was placed before him with the young boy, he wasn't fooled. Not for even a second. He had years of experience, which was something that the other male lacked.
"What would you have me say," he said in a rather mocking sort of tone to his voice. The insignificant spect of pathetic dirt before him was nothing more that simply that. All the students there thought that they could handle their own. Run into battle and fight the good fight so to speak. However, it was a loosing battle. The Dark Lord had won before anyone had a chance to breathe in fresh air.
With a swift kick that landed against the boy's chest, Rabastan proved easily with one action that he had meant business. There was no way that he would let his prey get away, nor make a fool out of him. Who did he think he was? Some pathetic excuse for a wizard? No, he certainly wasn't Amycus Carrow. He was a Lestrange and very much proud of the last name. The noblity that had come to someone that had the luck to recieve it as well. Not giving the boy a moment to catch any sort of breath, Rabastan had pressed him back forcely upon the ground with his foot, wand aimed directly at the child's throat. "Now, be a good boy and do exactly what banshees do. Diffindo," he said in a calm tone of voice. It was in his best intention to cut the boy limb from limb starting from the shoulder down