gregory goyle

“Should’ve known a Malfoy wouldn’t resist a party.” even it seems a muggle themed wizard one where the majority of bodies were made up of those who he once had detested. With people Malfoy had looked down upon and treated foully, yet he could walk free amongst them as the redeemed whilst he and Viv and others had to skulk to the side. 

“Let me get you a drink for old times sake- I promise I won’t spit in this one.” he added, indicating to the bar man for service. It was mostly a joke, he certainly had not gone out his way to buy the blonde a drink ever since he had braved the return to London. He must admit, it took balls to walk among those he had willingly given up to save his own skin. Always seemed there was never honour amongst thieves, and in this case, no honour amongst fellow Deatheaters. 

“Oh, it’s definitely so we don’t push someone off,” she said, then took a sip from her wine glass. ( it was better to think that they’d been thought of at all when the reality was, the barriers were more than likely there as a safety protocol; she had no doubt that if given the chance, her and greg would both be pushed over the side of the railing ) “There are too many pricks here for us to resist.” And that was true enough. She was sure she’d spotted all the Weasley’s five times over and had seen Harry Potter make his appearance once. She took another sip of her wine. 

Vivian smiled at him. “Thanks,” she said. “Had to get long sleeves, of course.” She fingered the edge of her right sleeve. “And don’t look half bad yourself, Greg. Nothing like what I would have expected for a pureblood party, but still nice.” 

“I took inspiration from the muggles. And my dad would’ve skinned me alive if I wore this to one of the galas. Maybe I should’ve.” maybe then he wouldn’t of gone down the path he did. Seeing her play with the cuff, his hand darted out to catch her wrist, thumb gently gliding across her skin. A move he hoped she could tell was to stop her fretting. 

The ongoing and permanent issue both faced, he was dreading when summer came round- it was bad enough being publicly known for their crimes, but to have such a vivid, universally known symbol blazoned on their arms only highlighted their past and inability to be allowed to move forwards. “Let me guess, Weasley’s and Saint Pothead? It’s bad enough seeing their looks in the street. If there ever was a poster family advert for sterilisation, it’s them.” he  said, pulling a face as one of the aforementioned red heads pushed past them. 

“And not to sour the mood, but speaking of pricks, I saw Draco arrive earlier.” he muttered, slightly darker then he intended. A cause of contention, a traitor to them- he was still bitter, even if he had taken to speaking to him again. “At least I can find peace in him also having to cover up his indecent past, even if the slimy fuck did get away with it by selling us all down the river.” 

“Do you think they made the barriers such as they are to stop people from pushing us off? Or is it too much to think it was done for consideration of us and instead to stop us from pushing them off?” he queried, gently swishing around the bourbon in the glass he was holding as he looked across to Vivian with a smile. He still didn’t know just how he had been convinced to leave his home to attend this, was it morbid curiosity or a stupid idea that maybe if he put himself in more social situations and behaved nicely, people may begin to stop looking so hostile. 

“And if it’s not too bold for me to state, you look lovely Vivian. Truly.” he added, knowing he himself had copped out by wearing a plain black shirt and jeans in a small effort not to go full pureblood. Unlike one female he had not a care to mention. 

“It wasn’t an insult,” Parvati says cooly. She doesn’t typically hate people — hatred is a stain on the soul, one that she can physically feel — but for Gregory Goyle there is hatred in her heart. The things he had done at Hogwarts in their seventh year were unforgivable, and an indicator of evil. Knowing that Crabbe had died Parvati might almost have felt sorry for him, because she knows better than anybody the horrible, unfixable pain of losing a best friend, but she doesn’t. She can’t feel sorry for a monster. “It was a reminder. People like you shouldn’t get to walk around guilt-free like you’re innocent.” She grabs for the bath salts in questions and sets them with the rest of his things. “Will that be all for you today, Goyle?”

“I don’t walk around guilt free, nor do I walk around innocent. I also lost people, two of my best friends. One in complicit to our actions, but another was innocent and deserved better. Millie always deserved better” he hissed, although it wasn’t malice, it was to stop himself from speaking emotionally. “And I did my time in Azkaban, I live with the reminder every day. What is done, is done and I don’t have to defend myself to you.” its like people forgot he was a tried criminal, he hadn’t murdered anyone, he was guilty of being part of the wrong side and for contributing to the war, but he didn’t kill. He didn’t want sympathy, he just wanted to live the rest of his miserable existence. “And yes, that’s everything, unless you have anything else to add from that incredibly high pedestal?” 

Sparks flew from her fingertips as she slammed her hands down onto her desk. ( ironic that the last time she’d done that, she was talking to harry potter ) “You’re in my office,” she growled. “So the leaving should be on you. And if you don’t get out of my office, I’m going to have every person down the hall running in here when I scream. I’ll tell them you used an Unforgivable on me, and they’d believe me, too, because you’ve done it before.” ( her father came out in her then; the side of herself she tried so hard to bury ) “And then I’ll owl my father, and bring him down on your ass. Mine is still around and not in Azkaban, you see.” She couldn’t stand talking to her father, but perhaps, seeing this arrogant son of bitch knocked on his ass would be worth it. 

His eyes rolled, and a sneer and look of derision were thrown her way as he took a step forward. He could break her right now, one flick of his wand and it would be over and he would go back to Azkaban. But no matter what she shouted at him, he wouldn’t rise to it. She was nothing in his eyes, there was more worth in the crusty white substance that built at the side of your mouth when thirsty. Instead, he placed his hands down on her desk, mirroring her completely. “You forget, it’s okay, it happens to the best of us, inside my head is the true memory of what just happened, including your testimony of faking an allegation just because you don’t like someone. The insane amount of entitlement coming from you is ridiculous. So go ahead, scream, and tell them what they want. The moment they look in that pensieve and see the truth, you’ll have about as much credibility as myself.” 

The threat of her father was reminiscent of someone he once knew and he scoffed. It was weak at the best of times. “And maybe that would be a worthwhile threat if it hadn’t been very overdone by someone else. My father is rotting where he deserves, I’ve also been there, there is nothing you can threaten or do to me to make me scared of you.” 

“My narrative?” she said. “Don’t try to pretend you’re anything, but a bully and coward. You hurt people and you were punished. Don’t be surprised when no one wants to sympathize with you.” She didn’t know how Daphne stood people like him. It made her skin craw just standing in the same room as him. “I don’t need to make anything out when it’s the truth.” Leaning back in her chair, she glared. ( it was a habit she’d picked up as a child and had never gotten rid of ) Thank you would be the last thing Astoria would ever say to Gregory. “I will never tell you that. But how about fuck you? That’s two words and two syllables.”

“Now I know why Daphne is the fun one. She isn’t a pretentious, stuck up, arrogant bitch.” now he was biting back. He wouldn’t physically attack her, she wasn’t even worth pissing on if she were on fire, he certainly wasn’t going to go back to Azkaban for such an unimportant poor excuse for a witch. “I don’t want your sympathy, I don’t even know who the fuck you are, i’m sure if you were anything worthy of consideration I’d hear people singing your praises but let’s be real here, no one ever does, do they? So how about instead, fuck you and leave me alone and go flex your vitriol to someone who would actually cry.” 

Vivian hated causing scenes. Whenever she saw someone who had a child who threw a fit or a couple arguing in public, she rolled her eyes and judged them harshly. ( usually from her spot in the corner ) She strived to never be the center of any kind of spectacle, good or bad. She was perfectly happy leaning against the wall and never being noticed by anyone. So, when she entered the Ministry she usually rushed through the Atrium and tried to avoid the bottlenecking by sticking to the walls. 

That hadn’t worked today. She was running behind and had entered the Atrium at peak employee arrival. With a roll of her eyes, she made her way through the crowd, trying not to rub shoulders with anyone. Unfortunately, the idiot in front of her wasn’t watching where he was going and was fighting against the crowd to leave the Ministry. He rammed her hard in the shoulder, causing her brief case to drop from her grip and bust open on the floor. With a glare at the retreating person, she bent down and started to collect her papers. Shock rippled through her when she saw Greg stop to help her. “Thanks,” she said taking the papers from him. “That idiot needs to learn how to walk.”

He nodded, casting a look towards the arsehole who had knocked her, fingers twitching ever so slightly in an itch to grab his wand and curse him. It seemed some habits were hard to die, but he continued picking up the remaining papers. “It’s not a problem.” he murmured, shooting her a small smile. It felt almost taboo, conversing with her in public, both of them had a reputation that preceded them, both had served time, both had been tarred with the public label of war criminal and both had been in Azkaban the same time. No doubt tongues were already beginning to wag, with the trials up and coming, anything and everything they did would be watched with intense scrutiny. 

“Manners unfortunately aren’t driven into all. I suppose it’s too late to hex some into him.” he mused, keeping his voice low. “I suppose for legal purposes I should say that is a joke” he added, smile stretching slightly into a smirk. He straightened back up once all the papers had been collected. “You okay though?” he asked, asking out of courtesy than general concern. 

Hermione had enough on her plate with the trials about to start, and perhaps doing her own research wasn’t the best idea. There was more to it than the Ministry was allowing people to know, and that had her wanting to dig and find out. She knew it might lead nowhere, there were documents she wasn’t allowed to see. And she wasn’t a teenager anymore, breaking in and making a mess just to get access to classified information. So of course she was trying to do this the right way, even if that meant a lot more time. Between her personal project and all the files for the trials, it felt like she was at Hogwarts again carrying around more books than she needed.

It was no surprise that her briefcase gave up on her, making a mess of flying papers she tried to catch in the air before they fell. Soon everything was on the ground and she had no other choice that to reach for everything as fast as she could. the trial files were extremely classified, nobody but the Wizengamont people had access to it and she couldn’t allow anyone to see them. When she noticed it was no other than Gregory Goyle the one helping her - the only one really, everybody else had decided to ignore her - she tried her best not to judge, but still couldn’t help but side-eye every time he picked one of the pages. “Thank you,” she said, once everything, although mixed up, was back in her briefcase. A chuckle escaped her, and Hermione gave him a smile. “This happened to me so many times when I was younger, that I thought it would be different now that I’m an adult.”

He had no right to acknowledge her, just as he had no right for her to show him a single inch of kindness. How much had he and the others targeted and tormented her in school? She was one of them, a third of the Golden Trio or whatever the Prophet continued to hail them as. He knew she worked for the Wizengamot, the files no doubt in his hands full of information someone like him should not be aware of. After all, his own father was due to stand trial, with Greg due to testify against him. Surely she would know that. But he kept his eyes away form the papers refusing to look out of respect and to avoid any repercussions. If anyone had found out a convicted ex deatheater had viewed them, it would cause a massive upheaval. 

“You’re welcome.” he replied, still staring at her like she was an enigma and he stood back up awkwardly, running his hands down his sides before grabbing his own satchel once more. His lips slightly twitched at her comment, remembering indeed from glances in corridors and shared lessons just how much she used to carry. “You always had such a big bag.” he commented, a memory of seeing her shoulder it and persevere through the school day. The seams always seemed so close to splitting. “I’m surprised you haven’t had lasting damage, I always thought you carried rocks around the way you slumped with it.” he added, thoughtfully. 

Another day done,  only god knows how many thousands left until he could leave the cursed earth. Every day was the same, wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, try to ignore all the stares and comments, go home, eat, sleep- he lived on autopilot, alone in Goyle Manor with only a housekeeper who quietly crept around him and her child, who seemed to be happy simply sitting in his library reading the numerous books unaware of the man who dwelled in the home and what he had done in his life. 

He was making his way through the Atrium, towards one of the floo channels when a briefcase was dropped ahead of him, papers and files slipping out of it whilst it dropped and sliding across the marbled floor. He was going to walk straight on by, leave the poor soul to deal with it themselves but he found himself stopping and silently bending down to begin picking up papers which had flown a bit further out of their reach. Wide, gaunt eyes clocked the person as he wordlessly held out some of his gathered pages and continued to grab more. 

“And I don’t want to,” she stated matter-of-factly as she straightened some papers on her desk. The last thing she’d like to do was try and get to know a man who was a known Death Eater. ( she had already lived with a man who supported death eaters and that was quite enough for her ) “Well, welcome to the fucking aftermath of a war,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Everyone lost someone, Gregory. So, don’t standthere and pretend that you’re the only one who did.” Even she had lost someone. ( not directly, but indirectly when she found out the truth about her father ) If it were possible, steam would be coming out of her ears right now. Taking a deep breath, she tried to rein her temper in.

He glowered some more, not accepting her take on what he had said. “I’m not pretending. Don’t twist my words, just to help your narrative. You heard me just right. I said ‘also’. I know nearly everyone involved lost someone so don’t even fucking dare make me out to be selfish.” she could be mad all she liked, she could hate him with the fire of a thousand suns, but he would not tolerate her putting words into public which he didn’t say. “How about you just take the information given, say thank you and let me go about my business and I’ll let you get on with yours.”

“Polite?” she scoffed. Polite was the last word that anyone would have used to describe Gregory Goyle. ( even his own housemates wouldn’t have said that ) He and Crabbe always seemed, to her at least, to be two sides of the same coin, waltzing around school like they were better than everyone, flanking Malfoy like he was a prince. She could almost taste the vomit in her mouth as she thought about it. “No, I’ve never claimed to be polite,” she said. “But then again, I’m not in the habit of pretending to be something I’m not.” Rage burned hot through her veins. She did a lot more than file things. ( and she could do more still if her boss wouldn’t quite being so stubborn and would let her actually do things ) Annoyance coursed through her any time someone assumed that putting things in cabinets was all she did. She worked on these cases, too; made sure they went to the right courts and monitored how long they were processed. It wasn’t as simple as everyone made it out to be. “Yeah, we do,” she agreed. “Some of us on our arms and some of us in other ways.” 

He wasn’t going to rise to it, she could bitch all she liked- he was not going to ruin what little part of him still wanted to be better. Instead he just glowered, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not pretending anything, trust me, you’d know if I were pretending. You don’t know me, Astoria.” he replied, tone biting. He was sick of people tarring him with a brush. He had done his time, was it not enough? He’d lost people too. “You don’t know shit about my scars and I certainly don’t know about yours but don’t think you can sit there and take the high road and act like I didn’t lose people also.” he thought back to Vincent and Millicent. How many nights did he wake in cold sweat and tears dried on his cheeks? 

“Isn’t everyone in some sense?” he questioned, leaning down to look at some of the products on one of the shelves. “But maybe next time show your disgust with an insult I haven’t heard before.” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he picked up a couple of bottles of the orange blossom and turmeric oil and placed them on the counter in front of her. “I’ll take these, and some of the rose bath salts, if you so please.” 

Astoria had never hated the Wizengamot more in her life than she had right now. ( not only were they hypocrites and purists, but they were forcing her to interact with someone who she despised ) As he tossed the file on her desk, she willed herself not to jump over the thing and give him a black eye the Muggle way. “Don’t lecture me about professional boundaries,” she snapped, leaning forward a dark gleam to her eye. “I shouldn’t have to be professional with someone who has a dark mark on their arm.” She saw him revel in the new power he had, saw him walk the schools like he was a god. ( saw it and avoided it every chance she got ) 

He just wanted to live his life, he’d served his time, he worked for the Ministry at their behest and did everything he was told like a good little boy. The least he deserved was a neutral work environment. It wasn’t as if he knew Astoria personally, Daphne yes, but this one? But it was very easy to jump on the bandwagon with hate. He should know, he did the very same thing back in school. “It wasn’t a lecture, it was a polite request. Clearly though polite is not in your forte and I’ll be honest, I don’t even know you or care what your role is here. I did what I was asked, so how about you do your job now and file it away.” the mention of his mark, his hand automatically raised to his forearm where it still lingered. A brand, a reminder and a memory of a time he was trying but failing to forget. “We all carry our past with us.”