the devil you know

natural habitat | antonin & ofelia​

-

Ofelia was still not used to attending lavish parties. She was good at parties, of course. She was great at parties, she had a gift for light hearted and sunny, always complementary and ready for a good time. But the parties she knew, they were not like the parties she attended now. The parties she was used to called for free flowing and most importantly cheap alcohol and a little, tight skirt and música a todo volumen, the kind that you felt in your bones. Those were the parties where a Viteri Romilly belonged, but now Ofelia was a Jugson, and she belonged to a different sphere altogether.

Tonight, she was wearing a gown that April had helped her pick out. It was the closest they got to genuinely bonding, when April was making sure Ofelia would dress appropriately and not bring shame to the family.  Ofelia had wanted something in white, but April insisted on color, so they’d compromised on a blush pink sheath that sparked and caught the light whenever Ofelia moved. She had been a little nervous that it would be too flashy, but her dress was neither the most nor the least subtle gown in attendance. 

So far, Ofelia had spent the evening close to Quentin’s side. She smiled when he glowered and laughed when he stayed silent. It was one of her favorite things to do, these days, because she felt like she was contributing. It was almost like having a job again, to be responsible for softening Quentin, for being his more approachable side. Ofelia liked to think of herself as Quentin’s public heart, and it was a role she took quite seriously. 

Now, however, she found herself alone, drifting aimlessly amidst crowds that were still not entirely friendly as Quentin excused himself to “talk business.” At a normal party, Ofelia would have had no problem socializing by herself, but even with her exquise etiquette courtesy of Beauxbatons every conversation at an event like this felt like an accident waiting to happen. In lieu of all that, Ofelia was hanging back, enjoying the expensive champagne.

When Antonin Dolohov approached, Ofelia broke into her genuinely sunny smile. She did not know the man well, but she knew he was one of Quentin’s associates in the Death Eaters, and one of the friendlier ones, in fact. “Bonsoir, Antonin.” She was relieved he’d used her name first, giving her the option to call him something other than Mr. Dolohov. “The party is tres impressionnant. Are you enjoying your time this night?”

- 

“Oh, it’s wonderful, as ever,” Antonin cooed, waving a light hand in the air as if to gesture this old thing? in the fondest way imaginable. Antonin loved these parties, of course he did; he was only human, red-pure-blooded and not yet tied down by marriage, so yes. Maybe a party with more alcohol, less clothing, more Sebastian Nott-types rather than Distant Lestrange Types would have been a more exciting use of his evening. But plenty of his other fellow Death Eaters were in attendance, some more highly regarded than he and some, he was delighted to note, already considered to be inferior to him. That was enough to keep his spirits up even as he finished his third conversation with an ancient DesRosier he’d last seen when he was twelve.

“They can get awfully stuffy, these things, but it’s always so exciting when we have someone new to ooh and ahh over.” He continued, pouring on the charm as hard as he always did. Some people saw through it, sure, felt the way it slid off him like his whole body was a living, breathing mask. It wasn’t fake, but it was far too easily tapped. An endlessly renewable resource, was how he saw it. “You must be so used to more exciting parties, though. Didn’t you attend Beauxbatons, if I’m remembering correctly?”

He knew he was remembering correctly; that was stored away in his mind as a fact about the woman. He always made a point to remember a few key details about anyone who might prove useful to him, and the presumably rich daughter of a presumably powerful foreign wizarding family was always a highly sought after connection for the young diplomat.

“I have a few cousins in Russia who refused to be sent to Durmstrang - too dark and dank, you know - who ended up at Beauxbatons. Strings had to be pulled, of course, but don’t they always? The stories they tell me about the after-curfew parties there are delightful.” He sipped his champagne, smiling warmly behind the rim at the woman before him. “Have you been cornered by any of the matriarchs yet? We do love our gossip around here.”

The Carrows were not, perhaps, known for exciting dinner parties but they certainly teetered on the edge of extravagant and gaudy to the point where it made it all worthwhile to make an appearance to one anyway.

That was Antonin’s opinion, at least, long-perfected and tested from so many years of attendance. They were fun so long as one had a proper drink in hand and the right group’s attention, which Antonin tended to excel at anyway. Tonight’s shindig - half-indoors and half-out, taking advantage of the summer but tempting the fickleness of the gray sky above - was no different than the hundreds of others, which meant Antonin was simply thriving.

He wasn’t much a big fan of change, not when it came to playing the part of Pureblood Society’s Golden Boy; a title he’d given to himself, mostly, but often reinforced by the cooing older ladies and respectable nods from the men of his world. It was enough to think it of himself; being fawned over, called over for conversation and asked for his opinion from anything from other Ministry department advice to party planning for the next Sacred 28 dinner. 

At the moment he found himself in a rare pocket of quiet, sipping at Carrow-expensive whiskey and casting his large eyes about the fairy-light lit patio, a violinist - not as good as him, he noted, but Merlin forbid he’d ever get asked to perform instead of attend - playing away beneath a glowing tree’s canopy. His gaze traveled on, noting who was drunk and who was getting drunker and who may be the best to pounce on for a future favor - but then he landed on Ofelia Jugson, Quentin Jugson’s... new-ish bride. He’d attended the wedding, of course, but had not lingered long into the reception; he’d had other responsibilities to see to that night, and only Lord Voldemort - and maybe Emma Vanity - could pull him away from a function.

“Hullo!” Antonin greeted the woman, his age but somehow older seeming just from the simple fact that she was already married, his best smile on his face as he approached. “How are you liking the party, Ofelia?”

all’s quiet || antonin & bellatrix

There was a lot to appreciate about Antonin: his quiet patience while she put together what she needed to, his willingness to answer her questions without prying too far into them, the simple fact he did not take immediate offense when she asked him if he was certain. It extended beyond the passive, too. He asked the right questions, he offered up answers. They might not always be correct—she had a half dozen theories herself—but they didn’t need to be.

She was looking for something useful and insightful, for new information and fresh ears. For someone else to tell her that she was right, this didn’t make sense.

“A while,” Bellatrix repeated absently. It did no good to wish she thought to categorize their opposition before the attack in May, but she did all the same. It felt like a failing, an obvious attention to detail that she normally prided herself in.

She carried that thought with her while she crossed the room to the bookshelf to Antonin’s right. She removed a plain journal that marked the start of this catalog, only covering the biggest missions gone awry; where they lost people, where they failed, what had happened. In the later pages, it began to get more detailed, reflecting on successes that should have been easy or a patrol in a town where their contacts swore up and down there would be no one. She flipped idly until the dates were close enough to be usable and went back to the desk.

“I don’t know if we’ve ever gone this long without some opposition—Auror, concerned citizen, vigilante. Certainly not since last October.” She hung on the word, bitter and irritated at herself. “You could argue, thinly, that we saw similar before the attack on the school, but we were focused on preparing the three days before. It is likely just that.”

“Dare to dream,” she muttered at the idea that somehow, they stymied the information flow. “Who have we lost, recently?” It didn’t hurt to check, but usually, people who dropped off suddenly were too low to know anything and tracked down and dealt with in turn. She couldn’t place anyone at a level with real information, with a deep enough involvement in planning that it’d make a difference to share. Not to mention, she was sure this was a deeper problem than one leak. That was for another day, that she was figuring out how to use.

Bellatrix drummed her fingers next to the timeline and looked up. “I think we should be keeping a lookout for a true attack,” she said. She sat back and shrugged. “The one thing these all have in common is they’re defensive. Maybe turned against us in the moment, but we are long overdue for some offense. I haven’t begun to figure out what that might look like.” She rubbed at her forehead, trying to stave off the headache that came from staring at this for too long and hoping he’d provide a new thought on what that might be.

“Or it’s nothing and we should be mobilizing as much as possible to take advantage of that success.” But they didn’t know when it was going to end. Her breath left her in a huff. It was an impossible riddle, taking up way too much of her time, and she wouldn’t be satisfied until she saw them again.

-

Antonin watched, thoughtful and patient, as Bellatrix crossed to the bookshelf, tapping the side of his glass with near-silent forefinger. His own paranoia led to less concrete methods of documenting their missions, but his home wasn’t as protected - nor as foreboding - as the Lestrange manor. He had his ways, coded notes to himself neatly hidden away in his desk at home; it didn’t stop him from being infinitely curious about Bellatrix’s journal when she sat back down across from him.

“Recently?” He echoed, sitting back to tap his chin lightly, gazing up at the ceiling in thought. “I know Yaxley’s little shadow, what was his name - Roberts? Lost him a few weeks ago, either got cold feet and was taken care of accordingly or just some sort of accident on mission. Couldn’t tell you which, but I could ask Yaxley next I see him. Don’t think he was leaking, though, if that’s where your heads at - and it’s a good place to be, but he didn’t know enough to leak.”

“Couple injuries beyond that, I think,” he trailed off, compiling a list in his head and only considering, then, the more obvious potentials. “But no one gone, as far as I know. Snape is still out recovering from that nasty jinx, but that was a month ago now and he’s still brewing potions for us on the regular, can’t imagine he’s got anything to do with it.” Snape was one of his boys, anyway; one of the most recent graduated class of Slytherins that Antonin had helped recruit. It wouldn’t have been him anymore than it would have been Evan or Rabastan.

“I think you’re right,” he nodded, not trying to butter up Bellatrix - even though it never hurt to do so - but genuine, brought to a bit more on guard now that she’d brought it up. “Even if they’re not, the only logical assumption is to expect them to be planning something. We haven’t stomped them all out yet, that’s too much to dream for. Either way, it’s worth bringing to the table - red alert awareness, it’s too easy to get complacent with all the wins.”

“I’m sure they’re going to show their faces sometime soon. Or, you know. Figure of speech; they’ll appear.” He hummed, seeing the signs - because they were often so clear in himself - of Bellatrix obsessing over the puzzle she’d presented them with. “Personally, I’m missing some of that friction. Good stress relief when I get to throw a curse or two at someone who might actually fight back.”

Summer Pub Things // antonin & evan

Evan finished his article and looked around to check if Antonin had entered yet. To his surprise, he had. He was at the bar. Huh. He must of missed his friend come through the door.  Whipping the paper back into its neat fold, he set it aside. When Antonin approached the table, he greeted him with a smile.

“Ant!” he said. “Yes, actually. So interesting, I missed you come in,” he added cheekily. “You’re welcome to it.”

Evan took a sip of his cidre. Sun started pouring in from the window as some clouds moved. “It truly has been. It’s been good, although, truth be told, I am secretly glad the party season is over.” 

He studied the man sitting across from him. He had a point: it had been too long since they last saw each other. Ant looked different, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. It might have been the lack of intensity. Hogsmede was a trying time, as his mother would say. Not that he told anyone.

“But what about you? What have you been up to, my friend?”

-

“I’d think it couldn’t be possible,” Antonin joked right back, picking up on Evan’s cheekiness and - honestly - being more than happy to find it there. Not that he was worried Evan would be anything less than pleasant in public with him, but their last encounter during the attack had been... fraught. Some space between them had been absolutely required, but Antonin had at least been glad to see the younger man briefly at the graduation ceremonies. “And yet, here you are. Missing my grand entrance.”

As Antonin sat he slid the proffered paper closer to his side of the table, glancing at the front page - nothing about the raid on a muggleborn house a few nights before, already completely buried by nonsensical articles about the Minister’s latest speech. He smiled to himself, getting comfortable enough.

“Nonsense, mate. Now that you’re out of school every season is party season. Just with less people around to pretend to like,” he smirked around his glass, still joking but only... mildly. “Anyway, I’m much more a fan of the quieter gatherings that seem to pop up these days, anyway; like this, or somewhere a titch richer with Rodolphus and the lads. Plenty of time for you to find places you’ll start haunting, hm?”

“Work, work, more work,” Antonin hummed, waving a hand as if to say it was the same old same old, or the boring usual. It wasn’t, really; Antonin loved his job, both the official one and his extracurricular one. “It’s always busy at the Ministry, you know, and all these incidents are involving my department more and more. The foreign embassies are getting nervous that the violence might spill from here to their countries, it’s a lot of telling angry Croatians to calm down in the most polite way possible.” He took a savory sip of his drink, watching - as ever - Evan above the rim. “Any ideas on where you’re headed now? Career-wise.”

-

“Indeed” Harper replied, matching the smoothness of Antonin’s tone, answering his questions and comment in one word. While she wanted to make a wise-crack about what would happen should a Malfoy child be anything but blonde, Harper knew this was certainly not the place, and was still unsure enough about the company to do so. “You must be Antonin,” she stated, rather than asked, with a slight lift of her chin.

Antonin, she had already gathered, was a young man with an edge; Death Eater associations and beliefs aside. There was something about him that wrenched her stomach a bit, but she could not yet put a finger on what it was. Large eyes often gave an innocent appearance, but in Antonin’s case, the trait that came to Harper’s mind was snake-like. She hoped that she could charm him enough to end up at least on his neutral-to-positive side.

“I’d ask what else is going on around here, maybe even try to get the grand tour… but I doubt that I’d be shown or told much, or that it would even be well-received” Harper quipped, though internally unsure how much of her comment was actually in jest. She moved to focus on the business matters before she could dwell too much on her own words.

“Obviously, I have all the paperwork I was to bring. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. I can take you through it, if you’d like,” Harper continued, gesturing to the couch and table towards the center of the room. “Or we could just chat…” she offered tentatively. “I guess getting the short end of the stick and having to meet with me isn’t so bad, considering you get a nice drink out of it,” she remarked, her eyes flicking from his face to the glass in his hand.

-

“I am Antonin,” he agreed, a charming smile on his lips and his curiosity deeply piqued. There was something about the woman - nerves, maybe, but he couldn’t imagine this was her first foray into actually dealing with one of her superiors. In the Death Eater hierarchy, of course, though Antonin had no problem considering himself her superior in other ways even from just the brief introduction. “Lovely to meet you finally. You’re doing some incredibly helpful work, I’ve been told.”

Antonin leaned against the archway, hearing the clinking sounds of a few new drinks being poured from down the hall; but his attention was on the newcomer. He liked to size people up, especially ones he might potentially be working with more closely moving forward. His eyebrows shot up, blinking in mild confusion as she continued.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” He asked, intrigued by her perceived negative demeanor of the place. “If Lucius really demanded halfbloods weren’t allowed in his mansion I’m sure we’d have sent you somewhere else to meet up, yes? As long as you’re not a mudblood or a blood traitor you’re more than welcome to tour the dusty old place. You not being allowed in the meetings is more to do with rank than anything else, Baddock, and sure - your blood status might be a hindrance, but it clearly hasn’t deterred some of our more persistent comrades.” He smiled again, disarming and casual, swishing the contents of his glass around. “You’re not missing much by forgoing the tour, though. Not a fan of the aesthetic, myself, but Lucius and I have always clashed a bit on taste.”

They clashed on plenty of other things, too; but taste was easiest to joke about with a newcomer.

“I’d love that,” he said, warm and friendly and still, as always, watching with that thoughtfully intense look on his face. He saw her eyes flicker down to his glass, heard the self-deprecation in her comment; she could be someone he could use, certainly. Either a lack of self-confidence or simply a sense of loss of place - easily usable. That was promising. “They’ve got a couple house elves wandering around, would you like a drink? They really do have some incredible scotch on hand. Might make going through the paperwork a bit more enticing, no?”

all’s quiet || antonin & bellatrix

There was something wrong. Some missing piece of information, something Bellatrix couldn’t see. For a while, she hadn’t bothered differentiating between Aurors and the vigilantes, but after the failed kidnapping at Hogwarts proved just how much of an issue they were going to be, her timeline expanded. 

Laid out across the table in front of her were all of her suspected encounters, most of Rodolphus’s, and the ones brought up at meetings. From outright resistance to the whisper of a cloak where there shouldn’t be one, every incident was flagged. Possible mistaken Aurors, defensive civilians or those in the wrong place at the wrong time were flagged in different colors. She’d meticulously added Antonin’s to the bunch, but the gap still existed.

“Twelve days,” she said, tapping her finger against the pause. “Twelve solid days with one Auror encounter and two that were likely nothing.” The details of those didn’t matter. They were swiftly disposed of. “Fifteen if you discount Rowle’s likely encounter.”

Bellatrix looked up from the notes, past her abandoned dinner plate—technically, she had invited Antonin here to eat and discuss after the meeting, but any pretense of casual was abandoned when she told the house elf to bring it up here. She’d barely touched her own before diving into this. 

“Where are they?” she asked him. For an answer, for support, for a guess that she hadn’t been able to fathom, she didn’t know. More than anything, she was hoping to find someone who regarded this as a potential problem instead of a nice coincidence. They had to be planning something. “We have not gone this long without any vigilante resistance in months, and I cannot imagine they have quit. You’re sure you haven’t seen them?" 

@antonin-whoisleft​

-

Antonin, for all Bellatrix was not, was relaxing back into the chair he’d been offered, one leg crossed at the ankle on his other, mostly eaten meal left to be collected as he focused his attention on the whiskey in his glass and the newspaper on his lap.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the work Bellatrix was putting into - whatever she was doing. He had a guess, of course, when she asked him so intently about his encounters over the past few weeks, but it felt counter-intuitive to ask her too many questions while she pored over her sheets and instead opted to wait until she was back to directly speaking to him.

Antonin blinked up at his colleague, taking in the information with his usual thoughtful expression on his face, doing a bit of mental math on top of scouring his memories for any other details he may have missed while out on his missions. Twelve days, possibly fifteen, since they’d last had to deal with any of the bastard opposition - cowards, the lot of them, and it didn’t matter that his side wore masks: at least they were clear in their demands, laser focused on what they meant to do for the wizarding world. The ones fighting back were scattered, quiet; lashing at Antonin’s comrades out of fear of what was right.

“I haven’t seen them,” he said, after a moment’s due consideration, folding up the paper in his lap as the slightest frown line appeared between his brows. “It has been... a while since we’ve gone this long without at least a bit of last minute resistance, depending on the target.” Lowkey missions, the ones Antonin typically went on - quiet breaking and entering, calm interrogations and all that tended to follow - usually didn’t meet much resistance unless the Dark Mark was shot into the air too soon. But the larger-scale ones, the things that clearly had leaked into spying hands... there really hadn’t been a lot of noise for weeks.

“It’s weird, I’ll give you that.” He mused, tapping his finger silently against the glass that held his whiskey. “Unless we managed to unknowingly stop their flow of intel and they’re scrambling to install something - someone - new. It might be nothing at all. Or, yes, maybe they’re planning something... but I’d say two-ish weeks of uncomplicated success still nets out in our favor. What do you think is going on?”

Summer Pub Things // antonin & evan

July was proving to be an entirely different month than June in more ways than the obvious. June had been hazy. Days melded into nights, which melded once more into days. Parties and chaffing and unanchoredness. That was June. 

July, on the other hand, was firm. Plans were being made. He moved in with Ava. It was still a liminal time for Evan, but unlike in June, he felt like his life was beginning to take shape. His meeting with Antonin was part of that, he felt. Reconnecting with friends as a graduate - maybe he was still riding the high of graduation, but this felt like a new stage of life. 

Day drinking seemed like a good place to start. 

Evan entered the pub he and Antonin had agreed to in writing, head high and back straight (as always). His mood light, he ordered a solid English cidre at the bar before taking his seat. It was secluded yet near a window, the only little table in that section.

 Evan was a touch early, so he settled into reading that day’s Prophet while he waited for his friend’s arrival. 

@antonin-whoisleft​

-

Antonin always made an entrance, despite the venue, which was simply how he worked.

The pub door swung open and he strode inside, eyeing the place immediately for both Evan Rosier and potential backup exits. The barkeep glanced up at him, a few patrons near the bar sent a cursory pub-friendly nod his way, and he smiled his most charming smile and ordered himself a proper mid-day top shelf whiskey.

Evan was tucked away in a corner by a window - smart lad, if he did it on purpose, a natural if not - and Antonin assumed he heard his order at the bar, but he made his way over to their table without an obvious care in the world, tucking away his (healthy, in his opinion) Death Eater-cultivated paranoia for now. It was a lovely summer day for a lovely bit of daytime drinking and chatting with an old friend; an enigma, and one of his more exciting prospects and still a slightly frustrating puzzle after the Hogsmeade incident, but a friend nonetheless.

“Anything interesting today?” He asked breezily as he slid into his seat, winking at Evan and nodding down at the paper as he settled in. “Really appreciate you meeting me here, mate. It’s been too long. How goes post-graduate life?”