{{ solitude — rodolphus & open
Sometimes he wondered why he didn't do this more often. Solitude was satisfying, and even though when he was alone his mind wandered often, it was nice not to feel any obligation to conversate with anyone around him. Surely Vlad will scold him later for missing out on his shift, but Rodolphus was past the point of caring. And he wondered then, when it'll be his time - when it'll finally be his time. The days were the same, just filler. Waiting for an eternity, he felt like, for something he knew, deep down, was not likely to happen, not with the direction he'd taken his life.
[ He remembers the look of horror in the man's eyes as he grasped his chin and pulled his face closer to his own. ]
Not that he regretted it, of course. Not even that he hated it. He would never regret his wife. It was just unfair, was all. All his life, the plan was going to be successful Ministry career, beautiful wife, intelligent and loyal children. He had worked towards it - but the Dark Arts were a tempting subject, and when one begins to dabble in it, they never really recover.
[ He remembers the corners of his own lips curling up in the familiar way it did when the pure rush pulsed through him whenever he held power. ]
Now look at him - feeling sorry for himself, to the point of drunkenness in a pub. He had stooped to the lowest point, to that of the pathetic bastards he usually served at the Spiny Serpent.
He wiped away the —
[ blood from his mouth, stinging slightly from the mudblood's punch. ]
— alcohol that had spilled onto his robes. Deplorable, he thought. You poor, pitiful, wretched man. He chuckled to himself, leaning back in the booth and allowing the drunkard inside the society man to let loose, if just for this once.
