do i wanna know?.

@rab-strange​​

can be defined as uncontrolled feelings of anger, rage, and even hatred.

After meeting with Alastor following the events of the Ministry attack, Gregory went home with the feeling of anger rising in his chest. Every time he thought of the fact that Voldemort attacked Alastor and rid him of an eye made Gregory’s jaw and fists clench. He needed to do something-- he wouldn’t allow for the Dark Lord to just torment anyone who felt deserved it. No one deserved something so heinous to be done to them. Greg’s job was to protect the Order as best he could with information he collected from the Death Eater’s. The Ministry attack made him feel like he had completely failed them.

“Morsmordre!” Gregory cast the bright green skull up into the night sky. He wanted someone to come-- anyone to come so he could make an attempt to right the wrongs that’d been done. “Let them come!” He screamed at nervous onlookers, staring at the sky in terror.

There Astrid went again. Bar life. She walked in, tired from her shift as St. Mungo’s, but wasn’t one to head home at the end of the day. Her way to unwind was to have a drink and see what happened from there. The interesting thing about this trip was seeing Gregory Chang sitting alone at the bar.

“Huh?” Astrid scratched her head. It was a man she had helped at the hospital after the attack and there he was drinking like a fish. The healer part of her wanted to tell him he shouldn’t be drinking so heavily until he was fully healed, but she was impressed and wanted to join him. Astrid cracked her knuckles and walked to the bar where she sat down, eyes on Gregory’s drink.

“I couldn’t help but look. Wanted to see if it’s anything that would wet my whistle.” Astrid laughed at her wording and its use of the word wet. Some part of her may have been a fourteen year old boy, but it was part of her charm. “Believe me, I’m not living vicariously through you. I have enough to sort out that I wouldn’t wish on another person.”

Suddenly not caring what he was drinking, Astrid got the attention of the bar keep. “Give me four of your strongest shots. Me and my friend here need something to destroy our throats.”

“Nice bandage work, by the way.” Greg said lowly as he watched his healer enter the bar with a raised brow. “Surprised to see your shift ending so early with the hospital being filled to the brim and all.” So many people being hurt scared him, but he couldn’t wear that on his face. If he started getting too empathetic, surely the Dark Lord and his barrel of monkeys would catch on and make short work of him.

Greg winced at her words, “Ouch.-- everything really that bad?” He laughed lightly to keep the situation from getting too dark. “Easy on the alcohol, one of us has to get the other home tonight. Have you tried drunk apparating before? One time I ended up in Canada with nothing but the clothes on my back and a hangover.”

“Quite sure,” she chuckled, her trademark smirk gracing her lips for a moment before she took a sip of her drink. “Jealous? Me?” A brow arched at the concept, amusement written across her face. “Who would I have to be jealous of?” As far as she was concerned, she had everything she could want. Well, almost everything; there were perhaps one or two things she was missing, though not really enough to make her jealous of anyone.

“Oh, hardly anyone, I’m sure.” Gregory smirked at Bella. “There have to be a fair amount of people jealous of you though.” He said slyly as he motioned to the bartender for another drink. “I mean-- Voldemort’s most favored follower... I know people who’d kill for that.” Gregory had been watching everyone’s behaviors closely, and he knew loyalty wasn’t exactly a common practice. Everyone just wanted to get to the top.

Recent days had been shit, and if she was honest (as Selina was known to be a good amount of time), she was sick of it. Somehow she had been spared, in no part due to the time divison being so deeply hidden within the Ministry most workers couldn’t access it. She was lucky. Others weren’t. It had taken three manic Howlers to her father to get an answer and find out Septimus hadn’t been there. So when the day was over, and her brother had sent word he would be staying with her over the hoildays instead of going home - again, no great surprise - Selina decided that she owed herself a drink. Sleazy bars weren’t her favorite, but it would do the trick for the strongest of whiskey. 

A familiar voice pulled her attention to her right, a cheeky sort of grin spreading across her face. “Oh, no. Living vicariously through you sounds just horrid.” She laughed, raising her own drink. “You look about as good as I feel, mate.”

Greg looked up at her with a smirk as his eyes returned back to his drink, “So like shite then?” He shook his head and finished his whiskey in one long swig. “You look fairly unscathed-- one of the lucky ones then?” Greg was jealous of anyone who didn’t have to see what he did. He didn’t even see the entire thing unfold, but the sight of Amycus and Dirk’s deaths was more than enough to make him flee to find help. If he was ever going to get caught, he thought it would have been during the attack when he was desperately trying to leave to find Albus. When no one questioned his quick exit, he was soon to realize most Death Eaters were probably cowards who had attempted to do the same.

“Come now, don’t be rude to the animals,” Rose said, smoothly sidling up to the bar to stand next to him. She gestured for the bartender to get her another bottle, mostly for him than for her. She had left the Ministry unscathed—an achievement, to say the least—but she had been keeping a careful eye on the people she knew would be there. Strangely enough, Greg hadn’t been around in the immediate aftermath, but she wasn’t trying to read too much into it. At least, she was fairly certain she wasn’t. 

Greg tried to get out of the Ministry as quick as possible so he could tell Albus what was happening inside-- the splinching took a toll on him and he ended up in the middle of nowhere with no clue how to get back home with most of his abdomen missing. By then, it was too late and the losses were already made. He didn’t know how the Order would recover, but he knew they’d have to. “I’m not in the mood for some bar hopping party right now.” Greg mumbled under his breath as he swirled what was left of his whiskey around his glass. “We lost Carrow. How is no one talking about that?”

“Who’s to say I’m not getting my own?” Bellatrix quipped, making a summoning motion with two fingers to wave the bartender over as she spoke. Being who she was, the man already knew her order, and brought it over rather than bothering her to ask the question. She wasn’t a regular by any means, but she frequented the place often enough that they had learned the preferred drink of Bellatrix Black. “And for the record,” she added, taking a seat as she picked up her glass. “I don’t need to live vicariously through anyone.”

Greg smirked as Bella’s presence loomed over him while most of the blokes in the bar inched further away from the two of them. “You sure about that?” Greg often felt restrained being part of Voldemort’s loyal following. Sometimes he missed getting on his Quidditch broom just for fun or laying in the grass to read a book. Lately, it seemed there was always some job that he had to be doing instead. “You’re not jealous of anybody? Come on, love, we all get a little jealous.” His brows raised pointedly. 

“Y’know, people often get their own drink instead of staring at someone else’s-- I’m not exactly the person you’d want to be living through vicariously.” Greg’s eyes rolled slightly.