Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2013 14:14:42 GMT -5
roque edward zabini
CANON OR ORIGINAL: canon
AGE: fifteen
FACE CLAIM: evan ross
YEAR: fifth
HOUSE: slytherin
OCCUPATION: N/A for Hogwarts students
BLOOD TYPE: Pureblood
WAND TYPE: ten-and-one-half inch, dragon heartstring, black walnut
PETS: Rufous owl named Faust
ABILITIES: None at present
freestyle
"Kindly state your name for the record..."
"Roque Edward Zabini," he stated very matter-of-fact. Straightening up spine-erect in his seat and inhaling with great effect for a moment, Roque sunk back into the emerald hued cushions of the high-back chair, coming to rest semi-slouched. "Son of Blaise and Pansy, though you lot probably know her as Parkinson. Youngest of three brothers. Grandson to Bedelia Zabini... Mendel... Levesque... Let's just say Grandmum's collected husbands like first years collected chocolate frog cards." It had come out at first sounding recited and perfectly rehearsed, but by the end a wry smile had begun to twist at one corner of his mouth.
"It seems like your grandmother is the only you hold in any high regard, or at least speak of with any pride."
While he did respond immediately, it was immediately apparent that behind smoldering brown eyes, a keen mind was consciously keeping deep-seeded emotion in check. "Appropriate choice of words: Pride." Roque cocked his head to one side, examining the young man as his owl might, before cracking his neck audibly. "My family's grounds for pride, leave alone any reason I might have to be proud of them, ended at my grandmother. It remains to be seen if I can ensure it only skips one generation."
"Care to elaborated on that...?"
Roque cut him off, not out of irritation or even tedium, instead it was as though he'd intended to continue all along, without need of prompting. He lifted his head back to level and, folding his hands together, brought the tips of both index fingers to rest just beneath his protruding lower lip. "My father is neutered. Not in the literal sense, though he was never terribly accurate with aiming his curses so who can really be certain. He might have blasted his tackle off. I'm sitting here evidence that he still had them sixteen years ago when he sired me. The neutered I'm referring to is how content he was to just roll over and show his stomach to the world. The man has the spine of a flubberworm. He'll tell you whatever you want to hear in order to induce the praise necessary to feed his ego. Vanity is a trait, I'm very happy to say, I didn't inherit... but then they saw to that." The last bit is spat out with no small amount of indignation.
"And your mother? What of her?"
"A heartless harpie. Honestly, I question whether they ever loved one another or he married her because she was hot to trot and she married him because he was Blaise Zabini," the words leave his lips in mocking singsong, "handsome and successful chaser for Puddlemere United." Roque rolls his eyes and continues. "Sure, they knew each other as students here, but Scorpius says she followed his father around like a starving puppy. At least she was a pureblood... thank Merlyn she was. I'm not sure I could cope if she'd mudded my blood down while carrying me. There was a time when I might have valued her love - or whatever that was she bore me that she called love. Even when it became clear that Darrius was her favorite, and neither of the rest of would ever his equal in her eye, so help me I tried in vain, for entirely too long. She turned Grandmother Zabini into a nutter, you're aware of that, right?"
"She what?
"Oh yes, of course, the formal reports never identified the culprit, but it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Darrius said mum had been going on and on about grandmother wanting our father to kill her. Not that dear old dad had the stones to off anyone, much less his own mum. ¬¬I'm not saying that grandmum might not have told him to do it, but she would have had to Imperius him to get him to act. Suffice to say, Grandmother Zabini mysteriously," he held up two sets of fingers to make air-quotes, "had a run-in with a Fwooper. Normally not the end of the world, but someone was kind enough to bind her to a chair as well. I can't be the only one who refuses to believe in coincidence."
"But you two share similar beliefs when it comes to politics, don't you?"
"Call it what it is," Roque snapped, teeth even gnashing a little as he shot forward like a coiled snake, only restrained from flying out of his seat when he caught hold of the armrests of the chair. He settled himself back, visibly calming himself. "Mother's beliefs have been her one saving grace; her belief that witches and wizards are the rightful masters of muggles and all the fruits of their filthy couplings. It was why I tried so to win her affections. But I'm not Darrius, so I'll never matter. Not that I care anymore." Although he hid it fantastically from all save his own self, Roque was perfectly aware that he had just lied wholly with that last assertion. "And that's the bitter aftertaste of it all. She's blind to the fact that Darrius is more like our father than her. I love my brother - but you should hear him... a Ministry job," the derision in Roque's tone was virtually acidic, "or going into banking. Anything to support his ever-growing closet when mother stops treating him like her favorite clotheshorse. He's walking our father's line and he's already on his way to selling out just like dear old dad. Both of them are."
"So what about you? What is it that you want out of life?"
The answer came quick and without any need for forethought: "Power." Roque shifted silently, considering how forthcoming he wanted to be. In that moment he seemed like one twice his age, calculated, as though he was showing exactly what he wanted to, no more, no less, and nothing that could be guaranteed genuine at face value. "It sounds simple enough, though so do a lot of things. I'm a Zabini, ambition is in our blood. But ambition is worthless without commitment and that is where neither of my brothers can equal me. They're mostly talk when it comes to what's important."
"And what is important?
"Realizing that if you're not part of the solution, you're just more of the problem. Of course, I put on a fantastic performance for the majority of those watchful eyes. There are so many Potters and Weasels and blood traitors running around here that you have to put on a mask and pretend like you at least tolerate them. You do realize they've even polluted my family house with them. I swear to Merlyn, one day I'm going to burn that insufferable hat to ash and sing a song about it when I'm done.¬" There was nothing short of spine-chilling coldness and spite in Roque's entire expression, though the words flowed from him as though he were casually recounting a familiar story.
"You sound like some of the other students I've spoken with. Not the least of which is that Dominic O'Reilly."
Roque arched his eyebrows incredulously. "Shouldn't I? He is my friend, after all. Sure, he's a bit rough around the edges - carrying on about playing Quidditch professionally like my ruddy father. But he understands me better than anyone... at least anyone who gives a damn. My brothers are too busy peacocking around this school and playing that game. I tried, at first because they made me. But then they told me I was too small to be a beater, and I'd rather have snuggled a blast-ended shrewt than lowered myself to sitting on the reserves if I wanted to be a keeper. So now whenever the whole school gets up in arms about matches, if Slytherin isn't playing, you'll find me taking advantage of the distraction to pilfer the Restricted Section of the library for useful books."
"Restricted section, you say?"
"Oh don't pretend like that Mudblood-turned-Weasley, Granger, didn't do the exact same thing and had a convenient blind eye turned to it. And don't think I won't resort to a memory charm to keep you from blabbing this to people that don't need to hear it. I may not be able to perform it yet, but I have friends that do, so I've got the power by proxy."
"Maybe it's best we move on to easier topics. How does Hogwarts suit you?"
"It's more like a home than home. I know that sounds like some pity party piddle from that Potter dreck, but I feel more in my element here. I like to learn. I love being able to perform magic. It's empowering. I stick mostly to those in Slytherin; sure, there are a few Ravenclaws who are tolerable, but that's about it. The Puffies and Cubbies are so sweet and saccharine towards everyone it makes me just want to punch them in the faces. On principle I generally refuse to partner with mudbloods or blood traitors in classes, and I'm not above the kind of hostility that will provoke them into getting us separated by the professor and leave me sitting blameless. Maybe it's because magic comes so natural to me that professors feel the need to try and partner me with these hopeless charity cases. Does it really sound so horrible that I find myself wanting to accidentally spill a caldron of Bulgeye potion on one of those ginger scum? Regardless, I do their assignments, I take their exams, and I keep up the facade of being the good little student that's expected of me. It's much easier to operate people when they think you like them and are willing to cowtow to their self-appointed authority."
"And your social life? Do you date?
Roque snickered. "Oh, mother has managed to wreck me for girls quite fantastically. I'm not my brothers, and if that's what the girls want they can go rub themselves down with meat drippings and take a leisurely stroll through the Forbidden Forest for all I care." He paused for a moment, something rolling around in his skull. "Honestly, it's just too much of a bother to keep up the act solo, much less incorporate someone else into it. And what would I really offer to a girl? If I'm capable of expressing love, the way they're expecting, and if I even knew how... why would I want to?"
"I suppose because love is supposed to be its own reward.
A blank stare was all that replied. "I fancy dueling," Roque very abruptly changed the subject. "I suppose it comes with the territory of not being as terribly large as so many others. With a wand in our hands we're all equals... or at least through the bows and pleasantries we are," he sniggered. "And I like dark chocolate; hate the regular stuff - I may be the only person who does. And wizard's chess, it's terrifically violent and a fantastic way to assert intellectual and strategic superiority over others. Potions, Runes, and Charms may be the only three classes I truly find myself looking forward to. Try as I might, Arithmancy is beyond me - sodding wet tea leaves and crystal globes. My future will be what greatness I make of it, I don't need a seer to tell me that. Aside from Transfiguration, most of the other classes seem horribly slanted to paint a specific picture; though they do say, history is written by the victors... sadly."
"Since you brought up your future, you seem to have a firm grasp on what you want out of it?"
"In theory." It seemed at first that this short answer was all Roque was willing to offer on the topic, though his whole being seemed to smolder like a single ember slowly growing and glowing brighter and brighter as he was given more time to consider a carefully planned response. "Most Hogwarts students will talk about wanting some bureaucratic job in the Ministry machine or how they have to make sure they get enough NEWT's for some preconceived benchmark of future success. I'm certain Darrius will have told you how he aspires to some sort of high-paying banking position that will allow him to feed his infatuation with expensive dress suits and hideous hats. I don't think in those terms. My aims are much more... conceptual. I don't suppose I should elaborate much further considering that we're all supposed to put on the facade around here that we embrace the dirty mudbloods and blood traitors in one great big hug," the last bit was spoken with such venomous vitriol and feigned saccharine sing-song that it was rather shocking Roque didn't choke getting the words out. "When I'd truly love nothing more than to drive them all into the bloody sea like rats. For the moment, I'm biding my time, honing my instrument. My time is coming... of that I'm certain."
"Well, certainly no one will be able to fault you for lack of confidence..."
"And why should they? Why shouldn't I be self-sure?" Roque smiled, somewhat menacingly, as he could see the apprehension in the eyes that looked back into his; it sent a righteous, warm tingling across his skin that stood the little hairs on his arms up on end. "I frighten you, don't I? Good. You're learning. I'm the last person you want to underestimate. You may go now; I feel quite safe in dismissing you. Spin your words however you want, I trust you'll leave out any sordid details of this tet-a-tet that would see me summoned to the Headmaster's office to put on a show for them. I assure you, I'm quite an accomplished liar. I could have even been lying to you this entire time, for all you know." At yet, in the pit of his stomach, the young man with the parchment and quill knew that that was the furthest from the truth, or at least what he perceived to be the truth, Roque had ventured in their entire interview.
"Roque Edward Zabini," he stated very matter-of-fact. Straightening up spine-erect in his seat and inhaling with great effect for a moment, Roque sunk back into the emerald hued cushions of the high-back chair, coming to rest semi-slouched. "Son of Blaise and Pansy, though you lot probably know her as Parkinson. Youngest of three brothers. Grandson to Bedelia Zabini... Mendel... Levesque... Let's just say Grandmum's collected husbands like first years collected chocolate frog cards." It had come out at first sounding recited and perfectly rehearsed, but by the end a wry smile had begun to twist at one corner of his mouth.
"It seems like your grandmother is the only you hold in any high regard, or at least speak of with any pride."
While he did respond immediately, it was immediately apparent that behind smoldering brown eyes, a keen mind was consciously keeping deep-seeded emotion in check. "Appropriate choice of words: Pride." Roque cocked his head to one side, examining the young man as his owl might, before cracking his neck audibly. "My family's grounds for pride, leave alone any reason I might have to be proud of them, ended at my grandmother. It remains to be seen if I can ensure it only skips one generation."
"Care to elaborated on that...?"
Roque cut him off, not out of irritation or even tedium, instead it was as though he'd intended to continue all along, without need of prompting. He lifted his head back to level and, folding his hands together, brought the tips of both index fingers to rest just beneath his protruding lower lip. "My father is neutered. Not in the literal sense, though he was never terribly accurate with aiming his curses so who can really be certain. He might have blasted his tackle off. I'm sitting here evidence that he still had them sixteen years ago when he sired me. The neutered I'm referring to is how content he was to just roll over and show his stomach to the world. The man has the spine of a flubberworm. He'll tell you whatever you want to hear in order to induce the praise necessary to feed his ego. Vanity is a trait, I'm very happy to say, I didn't inherit... but then they saw to that." The last bit is spat out with no small amount of indignation.
"And your mother? What of her?"
"A heartless harpie. Honestly, I question whether they ever loved one another or he married her because she was hot to trot and she married him because he was Blaise Zabini," the words leave his lips in mocking singsong, "handsome and successful chaser for Puddlemere United." Roque rolls his eyes and continues. "Sure, they knew each other as students here, but Scorpius says she followed his father around like a starving puppy. At least she was a pureblood... thank Merlyn she was. I'm not sure I could cope if she'd mudded my blood down while carrying me. There was a time when I might have valued her love - or whatever that was she bore me that she called love. Even when it became clear that Darrius was her favorite, and neither of the rest of would ever his equal in her eye, so help me I tried in vain, for entirely too long. She turned Grandmother Zabini into a nutter, you're aware of that, right?"
"She what?
"Oh yes, of course, the formal reports never identified the culprit, but it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Darrius said mum had been going on and on about grandmother wanting our father to kill her. Not that dear old dad had the stones to off anyone, much less his own mum. ¬¬I'm not saying that grandmum might not have told him to do it, but she would have had to Imperius him to get him to act. Suffice to say, Grandmother Zabini mysteriously," he held up two sets of fingers to make air-quotes, "had a run-in with a Fwooper. Normally not the end of the world, but someone was kind enough to bind her to a chair as well. I can't be the only one who refuses to believe in coincidence."
"But you two share similar beliefs when it comes to politics, don't you?"
"Call it what it is," Roque snapped, teeth even gnashing a little as he shot forward like a coiled snake, only restrained from flying out of his seat when he caught hold of the armrests of the chair. He settled himself back, visibly calming himself. "Mother's beliefs have been her one saving grace; her belief that witches and wizards are the rightful masters of muggles and all the fruits of their filthy couplings. It was why I tried so to win her affections. But I'm not Darrius, so I'll never matter. Not that I care anymore." Although he hid it fantastically from all save his own self, Roque was perfectly aware that he had just lied wholly with that last assertion. "And that's the bitter aftertaste of it all. She's blind to the fact that Darrius is more like our father than her. I love my brother - but you should hear him... a Ministry job," the derision in Roque's tone was virtually acidic, "or going into banking. Anything to support his ever-growing closet when mother stops treating him like her favorite clotheshorse. He's walking our father's line and he's already on his way to selling out just like dear old dad. Both of them are."
"So what about you? What is it that you want out of life?"
The answer came quick and without any need for forethought: "Power." Roque shifted silently, considering how forthcoming he wanted to be. In that moment he seemed like one twice his age, calculated, as though he was showing exactly what he wanted to, no more, no less, and nothing that could be guaranteed genuine at face value. "It sounds simple enough, though so do a lot of things. I'm a Zabini, ambition is in our blood. But ambition is worthless without commitment and that is where neither of my brothers can equal me. They're mostly talk when it comes to what's important."
"And what is important?
"Realizing that if you're not part of the solution, you're just more of the problem. Of course, I put on a fantastic performance for the majority of those watchful eyes. There are so many Potters and Weasels and blood traitors running around here that you have to put on a mask and pretend like you at least tolerate them. You do realize they've even polluted my family house with them. I swear to Merlyn, one day I'm going to burn that insufferable hat to ash and sing a song about it when I'm done.¬" There was nothing short of spine-chilling coldness and spite in Roque's entire expression, though the words flowed from him as though he were casually recounting a familiar story.
"You sound like some of the other students I've spoken with. Not the least of which is that Dominic O'Reilly."
Roque arched his eyebrows incredulously. "Shouldn't I? He is my friend, after all. Sure, he's a bit rough around the edges - carrying on about playing Quidditch professionally like my ruddy father. But he understands me better than anyone... at least anyone who gives a damn. My brothers are too busy peacocking around this school and playing that game. I tried, at first because they made me. But then they told me I was too small to be a beater, and I'd rather have snuggled a blast-ended shrewt than lowered myself to sitting on the reserves if I wanted to be a keeper. So now whenever the whole school gets up in arms about matches, if Slytherin isn't playing, you'll find me taking advantage of the distraction to pilfer the Restricted Section of the library for useful books."
"Restricted section, you say?"
"Oh don't pretend like that Mudblood-turned-Weasley, Granger, didn't do the exact same thing and had a convenient blind eye turned to it. And don't think I won't resort to a memory charm to keep you from blabbing this to people that don't need to hear it. I may not be able to perform it yet, but I have friends that do, so I've got the power by proxy."
"Maybe it's best we move on to easier topics. How does Hogwarts suit you?"
"It's more like a home than home. I know that sounds like some pity party piddle from that Potter dreck, but I feel more in my element here. I like to learn. I love being able to perform magic. It's empowering. I stick mostly to those in Slytherin; sure, there are a few Ravenclaws who are tolerable, but that's about it. The Puffies and Cubbies are so sweet and saccharine towards everyone it makes me just want to punch them in the faces. On principle I generally refuse to partner with mudbloods or blood traitors in classes, and I'm not above the kind of hostility that will provoke them into getting us separated by the professor and leave me sitting blameless. Maybe it's because magic comes so natural to me that professors feel the need to try and partner me with these hopeless charity cases. Does it really sound so horrible that I find myself wanting to accidentally spill a caldron of Bulgeye potion on one of those ginger scum? Regardless, I do their assignments, I take their exams, and I keep up the facade of being the good little student that's expected of me. It's much easier to operate people when they think you like them and are willing to cowtow to their self-appointed authority."
"And your social life? Do you date?
Roque snickered. "Oh, mother has managed to wreck me for girls quite fantastically. I'm not my brothers, and if that's what the girls want they can go rub themselves down with meat drippings and take a leisurely stroll through the Forbidden Forest for all I care." He paused for a moment, something rolling around in his skull. "Honestly, it's just too much of a bother to keep up the act solo, much less incorporate someone else into it. And what would I really offer to a girl? If I'm capable of expressing love, the way they're expecting, and if I even knew how... why would I want to?"
"I suppose because love is supposed to be its own reward.
A blank stare was all that replied. "I fancy dueling," Roque very abruptly changed the subject. "I suppose it comes with the territory of not being as terribly large as so many others. With a wand in our hands we're all equals... or at least through the bows and pleasantries we are," he sniggered. "And I like dark chocolate; hate the regular stuff - I may be the only person who does. And wizard's chess, it's terrifically violent and a fantastic way to assert intellectual and strategic superiority over others. Potions, Runes, and Charms may be the only three classes I truly find myself looking forward to. Try as I might, Arithmancy is beyond me - sodding wet tea leaves and crystal globes. My future will be what greatness I make of it, I don't need a seer to tell me that. Aside from Transfiguration, most of the other classes seem horribly slanted to paint a specific picture; though they do say, history is written by the victors... sadly."
"Since you brought up your future, you seem to have a firm grasp on what you want out of it?"
"In theory." It seemed at first that this short answer was all Roque was willing to offer on the topic, though his whole being seemed to smolder like a single ember slowly growing and glowing brighter and brighter as he was given more time to consider a carefully planned response. "Most Hogwarts students will talk about wanting some bureaucratic job in the Ministry machine or how they have to make sure they get enough NEWT's for some preconceived benchmark of future success. I'm certain Darrius will have told you how he aspires to some sort of high-paying banking position that will allow him to feed his infatuation with expensive dress suits and hideous hats. I don't think in those terms. My aims are much more... conceptual. I don't suppose I should elaborate much further considering that we're all supposed to put on the facade around here that we embrace the dirty mudbloods and blood traitors in one great big hug," the last bit was spoken with such venomous vitriol and feigned saccharine sing-song that it was rather shocking Roque didn't choke getting the words out. "When I'd truly love nothing more than to drive them all into the bloody sea like rats. For the moment, I'm biding my time, honing my instrument. My time is coming... of that I'm certain."
"Well, certainly no one will be able to fault you for lack of confidence..."
"And why should they? Why shouldn't I be self-sure?" Roque smiled, somewhat menacingly, as he could see the apprehension in the eyes that looked back into his; it sent a righteous, warm tingling across his skin that stood the little hairs on his arms up on end. "I frighten you, don't I? Good. You're learning. I'm the last person you want to underestimate. You may go now; I feel quite safe in dismissing you. Spin your words however you want, I trust you'll leave out any sordid details of this tet-a-tet that would see me summoned to the Headmaster's office to put on a show for them. I assure you, I'm quite an accomplished liar. I could have even been lying to you this entire time, for all you know." At yet, in the pit of his stomach, the young man with the parchment and quill knew that that was the furthest from the truth, or at least what he perceived to be the truth, Roque had ventured in their entire interview.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
HEY MY NAME IS RYAN, AND I ALSO PLAY FREDDIE WEASLEY. I FOUND THE SITE THROUGH RAWRSOMESAUCE.
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