fight for power

Liz had kept her eyes firmly trained on a spot on the wall most of the night.

Antonin Dolohov was not a regular, but he was a man that Liz desperately knew not to cross. She wasn’t sure, of course, but the sort of power he exuded made him seem like a man that Liz did not want to get involved with lest she get pulled into something she was trying to avoid. It was fortunate, she supposed, that the Hog’s Head offered an atmosphere of avoidance. Most of the regulars there didn’t want to be spoken to, and if they did, it was a pre-arranged meeting in a dark inn for a reason. She’d learnt not to get too nosy, but there was still a hint of curiosity as she wondered why Antonin Dolohov might have chosen to grace the Hog’s Head with his presence. 

She’d never thought it might be for her.

Nodding at his drink request, Liz reached for a dusty bottle of vodka and the cleanest glass she could see. Now was not the time to serve smudged glasses. She remained silent as she made his drink before pushing it across the bar top towards him. “Five sickles,” Liz offered a small smile. “Not necessity. My family aren’t in ruins, I could choose not to work.” What she didn’t say is that the small pot of savings that she was amalgamating from working at the Hog’s Head was her security blanket - money for if her family found out about her condition. She would surely be cut off, and this money would be all she had left in the world.

Choosing her words carefully, Liz furrowed her brows slightly as she looked at Antonin. “I found the ministry was becoming a rather unpleasant environment. Too much politics, too much nastiness. The place was dragging me down, and so I removed myself from the situation. This ties me over. You are not the first to question my current occupation, Antonin….I assure you there is nothing strange about it. I wanted a place that was easy, a place where nobody asks difficult questions or expects too much….and the Hog’s Head is it.”

“Please tell me you didn’t eat the pie? Abe has been trying to get rid of it for days.”

He didn’t bother hiding how his nose wrinkled when he saw the dust on the bottle of vodka, some of it coming off from the disturbance and lingering in a small cloud between them before settling on the counter. The Hog’s Head was far from the cleanest place he’d been to, and Merlin knew he dined and drank at places that would make this inn look like a five star restaurant, but it had been a long time since he let himself reach those standards of quality. Elizabeth seemed to choose his glass carefully at least, which Antonin could appreciate and respect.

The dirt of it all was just another reason that he couldn’t puzzle together toward why she would need a job. She said so herself--she didn’t need to work if she chose not to, but surely there were cleaner inns for someone of her stature to work at. 

At least she made a good drink, he noted idly as he sipped at the finished product, exchanging the money quickly so he wouldn’t be pestered for payment.

“The Ministry only gets that bad if you let it get that bad,” he said, lowering his glass back down to the bar and setting it next to the dust pile. “Everything is political and nasty these days, Elizabeth. Leaving its central point doesn’t mean you can escape it all affecting you. Besides, you could have picked up an easy job at somewhere more... established than this, for sure. Just nod along and no one will pay you any mind, no matter how nice the place is.”

Antonin shook his head. “No, I had the stew. I suspect it’s not much better in terms of freshness, is it?”

Who: Lucinda & @dclohcv​ When: February 24th 1980 - early hours Where: Quidditch Fields in Caerphilly

Never had Lucinda expected to take on the role that she was even considering at this moment. Her allegiance was with the Death Eaters. It had always been like that and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Right?

Antonin Dolohov was a different story, however. His charisma had her interested in what he had to express. So to see him show up at the Quidditch fields of which she had let him know where she would be from an early hour before the training, was both a surprise but also something that piqued her interest.

It happened often that Lucinda was already at the training pitch before the others so she knew that it was safe for them to meet here. It was the safest place where she knew that she wouldn’t be seen with Antonin Dolohov. All to save her reputation and to keep suspicion away from her. It was the same caution she took as she did with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Lucinda lowered to the floor, landing in front of Antonin, pulling her hair better in the ponytail she was wearing. “Are you ready for our monthly gossiping time?” she said with a chuckle to him, a smile weakly on her lips.

Sometimes, Antonin questioned his judgment. 

He knew Lucinda was loyal to their cause, that wasn’t an issue. No one expected a celebrity like Lucinda Talkalot to be aligned with the Death Eaters, and to utilize that to his advantage made the most sense. Fans often lost their filter when talking to the person they admire most, and he was sure that she would find something out from that alone, considering how popular Quidditch was. Other times, though, Antonin couldn’t help but wonder if the fame was too much for what he wanted: discreet information both in and out of their ranks passed along his way. 

Celebrities weren’t often discreet.

Still, more often than not his judgment was right, and monthly meetings with Lucinda proved him correct when she gave him the intel he was looking for. It was bright and early as usual, the dew on the grass getting his shoes wet, but Antonin walked onward until he was close enough to catch her attention and bring her to the ground. He raised an eyebrow when she spoke and nodded. “You know I always am,” he said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Tell me what you know, specifically about people’s loyalty if you will. Anyone we should keep an eye on?”

“Well. You’re taking a step from someone in need. Just ruminate on that one.” There’s nothing all that serious in her tone. It’s a step, but it’s her step. It’s the principle of the thing - of someone with a big fancy office eating lunch on the step where she eats to escape the sound of the shared auror office. Even with the bustle of decorators scattering about it’s quieter here, and she doesn’t have dozens of files spread across her desk, taunting her. She starts drinking from the thermos, watching the people flit about through the space, trying to make it look nice for a party that will no doubt be a miserable affair.

Lips twist into something more somber at his words, though. Moody is missing, and all the Ministry seems to want to focus on is putting together a pretty party for the induction of his interim replacement. And it will be interim - because Alice isn’t going to fully rest until Moody is found. Or until he comes back with some new secret locked behind his gaze that he won’t let anyone in on until they need to know. “Yeah.” She doesn’t bother to cover up the irritation in her voice, though an undercurrent of hurt runs swift through the words, “I mean - I know they have to put someone in as head, yeah, but it just doesn’t seem right to throw a big party over it. Only reason he’s getting the job is ‘cause the person who actually deserves it is MIA. Why not just swear him in nice and quiet and call it a day?”

There was no bite to her words, but it was most certainly a pout, and that alone was greatly amusing to Antonin. Was this really the type of person who was accepted into the auror program? Children who threw miniature tantrums when things didn’t go entirely their way? “Oh, I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight I’m sure,” he said, watching as Longbottom drank from her thermos. “How dare you sit a square to the right. My mistake.”

The replacement of Alastor Moody was grating against Longbottom far more than anyone else Antonin knew, and wasn’t that curious. She didn’t even bother to feign any sort of happiness for Scrimgeour as he took on the position; while he didn’t care much himself, he at least put on a show of being polite and congratulatory. “In my experience, people throw grand parties to give themselves something else to think about for a bit,” he said slowly, eyes turning back to the decorators and the horrid yellow color one of them seemed intent on using. “Parties are something that can be controlled when other things cannot. I do want to know though--who’s to say Scrimgeour doesn’t deserve the job? Who’s to say he won’t do better than Moody did? You seem awfully biased toward him, Longbottom.”

Antonin had been watching her.

Creepy as that may sound, he felt justified in the action. He was gaining allies at a steady pace, sure, and quite a few had powerful names that could influence just about anyone if swayed properly. Amara swearing the Zabinis to him was his last success, but it occurred to him after spotting Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye that he had neither Selwyn on his side. Now that simply wouldn’t do any good. He figured out Elizabeth’s schedule easily enough, figuring he may have a harder time swaying her than her brother (Amara’s fiance, if he wasn’t mistaken--no doubt he may follow her if pressed), and for the past few days made it a priority to visit the Hog’s Head after work to just... watch.

Why Elizabeth was a bartender at a worn down inn was beyond him. Most families he’d met since his move a few years back seemed to bask in their ancestral money, either doing the bare minimum or refusing to lift a finger and do any sort of labor. He never expected to see a pureblood bartender, not unless they were a blood traitor, so it was strange, unusual... and fascinating. If garnering her support hadn’t already caught his interest, then seeing her as an outlier certainly would have. 

Antonin finished off the meal he ordered when he got there, leaving some money on the table for his bill and going over to sit at the bar instead. He waited until she was facing him to give a half-smile and nod in acknowledgement, then said, “Vodka martini, if you will.” He paused. “What drives a Selwyn to bartend, I wonder?”

WHO: @dclohcv​ WHERE: Rufus Scrimegour’s Swearing In, Ministry Atrium WHEN: early evening, February 29th, 1980

Lucius was in his prime, always content when he sat in the middle of the thrumming pulse of activity. Tonight’s task had become the maintenance of appearances, the duty of being the face & words of a Minister who’d already dove off from attendance to take care of a passing trade ultimatum with the German government, Kingsley in tow - good riddance. It was always in Lucius’ favor to avoid the Minister speaking for himself, Minchum’s tendency toward foot-in-mouth syndrome so woefully common that Lucius was surprised the man ever won the election at all. 

The Malfoy heir was a composed man, having weaned off the drink & its seductive temptation half a decade ago, but even he sometimes found himself having wandered too close to the refreshments table, the energy of all the room’s attention on him both thrilling & terrifying, his subconscious begging for a numbing against his own accord. Quickly excusing himself & sidestepping the lure nearby, the Malfoy heard the polite applause of a crowd preparing for a speech to be delivered - he should weave his way back into the junket, do his job, but if the Minister for fucking Magic could skip out on an entire event, well… Lucius could have a minute to himself. 

He slipped down a half-hidden hallway toward the Ministry Security Hub, knowing full well the usual alcove would be empty, the opening slew of introductions having called the attention of the room. No one would find him here, finally getting the cigarette he’d been salivating for since lunch. 

Lucius rounded the corner to his hiding place with ease, caught up in the ticking of proverbial boxes in his mind when he ran into none other than Antonin Dolohov, the only other body in a space Lucius was sure would be vacant. If it had been anybody else, he would’ve muttered excuses before ducking back toward the atrium, annoyed and seething of being robbed a moment of solitude, but Dolohov was his friend - or at least his ally. Lucius didn’t feel the need to run and hide from him. 

“Dolohov… what a surprise,” Lucius hesitated for a moment, lingering in plain sight before finally stepping into the shadows of the alcove. The small space beckoned for an uncomfortable proximity, but Lucius cast his discomfort aside, the enticement of nicotine too critical to ignore. He doesn’t say anything else as he withdrew his case, extracting a cigarette and lighting up with a snap of his fingers, as he was prone to do. “Didn’t see you on the invite list - I would think an Auror ceremony would be well beneath you - certainly is for me,” he took a drag, exhaled, took another and continued around a lungful of blessed smoke, “Unless you have some other reason to be here…?” Their master loved tossing unforeseen variables in Lucius’ path, just to see how he’d react, so there’s a hint of suspicion around Lucius’ words, eyes narrowing slightly as a cloud unfurled from his lips. 

Any moment now.

Antonin had arrived later than those who’d been invited, scarcely being looked at by those who were supposedly acting as security for the night and passing through with ease. It was nice to attend events that were meant for wixen kind, as opposed to the endless number of socials he attended with the muggles. He knew that interacting with them would be necessary--it was literally in the job description--but from the few interactions he’d had with them back at home, Antonin figured he could stand to be around them for a length of time.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

That wasn’t why he was there that evening, though. Mingling wasn’t always his forte, especially at an Auror ceremony, but tonight he was to keep tabs on the crowd and wait.  Wait for Alecto to do her job and leave the Ministry, wait for everyone to have their share of alcohol, and wait for them to all start dropping like flies. He didn’t necessarily like that they’d be losing some of their own along with everyone else (though he wouldn’t mourn the loss of Rabastan Lestrange, frankly), but Antonin knew when to speak up and when to simply listen. This time, he decided, he would listen, and clean up the mess the Dark Lord set into place when all was said and done.

That didn’t mean he had to hang around everyone, however. He made his way toward the alcove near the Ministry Security Hub, shoulders relaxing at the emptiness of the space. Crowds were truly exhausting sometimes. Antonin didn’t get to relish the peace for long, though, before someone literally walked into him. He readied himself to make the person wish they looked before walking, but he registered that it was Lucius Malfoy a moment before he could start.

Intriguing.

He smirked at Lucius’ hesitance and simply remained in his place, the smirk only growing when the man stepped into closer proximity. “Is it a surprise?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the man. “I suppose it is, but I have my reasons.” The open-ended question wasn’t subtle, and Antonin watched Lucius take a drag of his cigarette before plucking it from his mouth, twirling it between his finger and thumb and taking a drag of it himself. “If you’re not privy to the information of why I’m here, then I’m hardly the one to tell you,” he murmured. “Lest I risk my own neck for your curiosity.”

Amara supposed she could have been nicer to the people falling over themselves to move around Antonin but she enjoyed allowing just a bit of her snark to come out around the man. He was entertaining and she had never enjoyed having to be nice to everyone who came across her path. Besides it wasn’t as if anyone would say anything against her while she was in his company. At least not if they knew what was good for them anyway. “You would probably be terrifying the poor thing. Truly I don’t know why he thought he could stand up to you. He wasn’t but a wisp of a thing.” 

“Truer words were never spoke. Judgement is truly one of the few things in life that everyone regardless of their status must face at some point in their lives.” She of course would do anything in her power to never have to face it herself. “You seem to have quite a few more mice here than usual. Honestly I almost tripped over one not too long ago. They should be banned from the halls.” She allowed her gaze to drift back over to where the decorators stood squabbling about what colors to use for the streamers. “It was probably Scrimgeour himself who hired them. I doubt he has any knowledge about how to throw an event. From what I’ve heard he wasn’t a popular choice.”

“Everyone believes themselves to be immortal when they’re young,” he said, remembering when he was younger. He had gotten into more than his fair share of scrapes growing up, each time believing he would win and only actually winning about half of them. It built his character, though, and folded him into who he was today, so it was worth it. “It’ll show him what his limits are. Maybe you should have let him fight after all, just so he could learn to not engage with people who could absolutely demolish him.”

Antonin snorted and shook his head. “Only if you’re idiotic enough to get caught,” he murmured, taking a bite of his sandwich while he looked away. “Far too many mice. It’s gotten to the point that we should probably call an exterminator.” He said the word lightly, like it could be taken as a joke, but he was hardly joking. An exterminator was just what they needed--if only something would actively be done about it. “Oh, he absolutely does not. The man can hardly put together an outfit, but then again, Moody wasn’t much better. Maybe it’s an auror thing. Then again, my men never had an issue with dressing professionally back before I moved. That needs to be fixed.”

There is no hesitation in her movements as Alice immediately, indignantly, sits immediately beside him and balances her box on her knees rather than keeping it tucked under her arm. “What brings you here to eat? Don’t you have a private office you can lock the door on and eat in peace? Sulk steps are usually reserved for us with cubicles.” She pops open her lunchbox as she speaks, withdrawing a thermos of soup as she turns her eyes to the rather incompetent decorating going on.

Not that she thinks she could do much better. Not her forte. “You think you could do better?” A sidelong glance is cast at Dolohov, doubt that he could accomplish the task clear in her eyes as she turns back to her thermos, “Besides, it feels right that the decorations will be abysmal. Merlin knows everything else about the whole thing will be.”

Maybe she shouldn’t be so outright about her unhappiness, but - can anyone blame her? Moody is missing, and anyone who knows much of anything about the aurors knows that they’re close. That Alice was taken under Moody’s wing, taught everything she knows by him. How can anyone expect her to be happy about a party for someone taking his job?

He smirked as Longbottom huffed and puffed her way to the space beside him, sitting a tad closer than what could be considered polite but not bothering him in the slightest. It amused him to see how others reacted when they didn’t get their way. “Oh, I have a private office,” he confirmed, tone light and airy and, of course, a tad bit smug. “It’s a wonderful office finely decorated for those of my stature. I like a change of scenery though, so to the steps I’ve come.”

Sulk steps. Antonin stored that away for the moment--a curious name to give a set of stairs--and nodded at her question, ignoring the snark that coated it. “Oh I’m certain I can,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “What’s better is that I know people that would do twice as well as the sorry sods they’ve hired.” Of course, these people knew to do well or risk angering him, but that didn’t need to be said out loud. What did have to be said out loud, though, was the attitude that Longbottom threw at the whole ordeal, and he grinned wickedly. “Oh, is that why you’ve come out here? To sulk over the fact that someone’s replaced Moody?”

Amara felt less than pleased to have been summoned to the ministry when she could have spent the day doing much more pleasant things. The powers that be would not be kept waiting though she supposed and so she had attended to her acquaintance in all haste simply to be able to exit their company once more as quickly as she could. All thoughts of escaping to more pleasing things instantly left her mind though as she saw Antonin sitting on the stairs clearly enjoying being in the way of everyone trying to walk on them. She had to admit she enjoyed that about him quite a bit. It wasn’t that she thought of him as a friend but she found him amusing and he said many of things that she wished she could say and still be considered the lady she appeared to be. 

As she approached him she noticed a rather upset boy attempting to get him to move and she couldn’t help but smile. Coming into hearing range just in time to hear Antonin’s response she quickly bit back a laugh as she walked up to them. “Come now dear you can clearly walk around him. Scurry off now and don’t let him get you too upset.” A wave of her hand at the boy had him walking off in a huff muttering something under his breath. “Mr. Dolohov such a pleasure to see you. I couldn’t resist coming to say hello when I saw you over here. Are you sitting here to torture all the scurrying mice or are you sitting here in judgement of the decorators?”

Antonin grinned when Amara’s familiar voice echoed toward him, which then turned to a smirk as the boy in front of him huffed in annoyance and finally went around him like a sane person. He straightened when Amara was fully in his view and nodded at her, holding his sandwich up in a toast. “Ms. Zabini. I’m not sure where I’d be if you hadn’t helped send that scoundrel out of my sight. Probably arguing with an angry boy, come to think of it.”

He chuckled at her question and smiled innocently. “Why not both? Everyone deserves judgment now and again. It keeps them on their toes.” Speaking of toes, another person walked by and tripped over his own, almost sprawling onto the stairs beside him. The person looked over, seeming ready for a fight, but Antonin narrowed his eyes and the person quickly moved on. “Pathetic little mice,” he muttered, looking back to Amara. “That, and the decorators are doing an awful job. Scrimgeour should feel ashamed that this is the best whoever put this together could do.”

Ugh. It’s the only coherent thought Alice can manage to scrape together right now. Ugh. She’s gonna have to go to the shitty party these people are decorating for, and she’s gonna have to smile nice at someone who doesn’t deserve the promotion he’s about to get, and then she’s gonna have to work for him until Moody comes back. And he will come back. Alice can’t let herself even think - even for a moment - that he won’t. That doesn’t mean she has to like this whole business of an induction ceremony, though.

Or the fact someone’s sitting on the step she was planning on eating her lunch on. Box tucked beneath one arm, she cocks her head down at Dolohov and huffs under her breath. “Well, you’re sitting in my favored sulky lunch spot, so. Budge over, please.” She tilts her head, motioning for him to scoot and make room for her to sit as well.

Normally she’d just eat in her cubicle, but people keep coming over to talk to her about something or the other. Or tell her she’s overworking herself, or to let go of that case, it’s closed, or any other manner of topic that Alice doesn’t have the patience to deal with today.

Antonin snorted at the huffiness thrown his way by Auror Longbottom, settling further onto the step and leaning back to rest his elbows on the one behind him (much to the annoyance of others yet again). “What’s the phrase? Finders keepers?” His lips quirked up, and he took another bite of his sandwich. “I refuse to scoot, as you so eloquently put, so either find a different spot to sit or sit beside me and block even more of the crowd.”

Normally he wouldn’t suggest such a thing, but he was in the mood for annoying the general public, and if Longbottom sat at his side then they’d be double the nuisance that Antonin was by himself. He leaned to the side and glanced at the decorators again, tsking under his breath as a gold banner was levitated up into the air only to fall right back down, covering one of the workers in their clumsiness.

“They’re all sloppy,” he murmured, not caring whether or not she decided to stay. “Can’t even hang up decorations properly. Were they competent at their jobs, this would have been done hours ago. Have they forgotten entirely about magic?” His mind flashed to the muggles he had to work beside every day, and Antonin shuddered. “A sorry state to live in.”

Antonin watched as the atrium was slowly transformed from what was its norm to something more festive with mild curiosity, sitting on one of the many staircases and eating a sandwich. He felt the dirty looks sent his way as people almost ran into him, being forced to take a few steps to the side and go around him instead, but he didn’t care; maybe taking his lunch on the stairs wasn’t the most dignified thing he could do, especially for a man with his position in the Ministry, but Antonin came to learn a long time ago that caring what others thought was the least of his worries. He could practically hear Lucius’ voice in his head yelling about how important appearances were, but he ignored it with another bite of his Reuben. 

He was content to simply people watch or silently judge the decorators before his view was obscured, and it took him a moment to realize that it was intentional rather than someone passing by. Antonin sighed heavily and looked up, raising an eyebrow and looking less-than-amused. “I’m not moving, if that’s what you’re after. Take a few steps to the left and go around or be stuck there forever if you must.”