sometimes light can come from the dark

Peter shook his head. “You have no idea.” He generally didn’t drink—his father had always been drunk, and he didn’t want to become that man, not in the slightest. However, Peter also knew that if he wanted his hands to stop shaking, if he wanted to at least look a little normal, he was going to have to relax, and that single shot hadn’t done it. 

He gestured to the bartender for another one. Peter picked up the cocktail napkin in front of him and dabbed at his lip, tasting rust between his teeth and feeling the sting of a split in his lip when he moved his mouth too much. He wrinkled his nose slightly. Getting into fistfights felt very much like something that would have happened during his years at Hogwarts, and this felt like a terrible flashback to those days.

She leaned against the table and watched him order another shot. She studied him. He was a timid creature, he was. Even back at Hogwarts. He was bullied, but he also ran with bullies. Curious. 

After a moment, she turned to him fully, hip still against the wooden table. 

“Must have been quite the fight,” she mused, gesturing to his lip. She boldly took the napkin from his hand and held his head still, dabbing at his lip herself. She grasped his chin between her thumb and forefinger, gently. “It looks to be just superficial. No bones that need resetting or regrowing.” 

She straightened up then, looking around. “Where is everybody else?” Emma would have thought that the place would be swimming with the escapees. 

(Which begs the question in her mind that she’ll need to inevitably face soon; why is she here? To watch the havoc and maybe have something to report back to her father, or to help without actually helping?) 

Peter doubled over slightly to spit blood from between his teeth before straightening and wiping his mouth with the back of his head. “Ah, fuck,” he muttered to himself as he managed to duck into the Three Broomsticks to meet with other members of the Order who had managed to make it out of the fray. He wasn’t sure who all did—he didn’t have a chance to worry until things had slowed down, until he had gotten out of the brawl and took stock of the situation. 

He sat in a booth, trying to look small. Someone put a shot of whiskey in front of him, and without thinking, he swallowed it back, the burn accompanied with the taste of iron in his throat. He made a face to himself. This whole thing felt like a set up. He couldn’t think of what to do next. 

She'd been there all day, waiting for the havoc. She refused to be directly involved with either side as of then—she’d remained neutral. But from her father and being around the company he kept, she’d gathered things. Overheard things. Kept them to herself, of course. Would not dare speak a word of what she knows’ll happen before it does happen. She was not daft.

Emma recognized the wizard that came in, looking like he’d been through hell. He was a year below her at Hogwarts, in her House. She may not have a side, but she also wasn’t completely heartless. She looked to the barkeep and signaled a shot. Whiskey’ll do, right? 

She sat the glass down, harder than necessary, and slid it forward a little until he shot it back without hesitation. 

“Looked like you could use it,” she quipped. 

With the Ministry attack still fresh in people’s minds, Bellatrix was on full alert as she walked through Diagon Alley. Dusk had already fallen, and soon the full darkness of night would have fully settled in. It was perhaps a risky time to be out considering what had happened, but the young woman did not entertain such fears. Even when she heard a sound that had her pausing in her step and looking around, the confidence in her expression did not falter. “I know you’re there.” Her voice was cool as she spoke to the shadows, and the figure she knew lurked in them. “Show yourself, before I make you.” 

She hadn't meant to follow her. Or lurk. She really hadn't. But she was only human and one of the youngest and most powerful witches she’d ever heard of —arguably, but whoever would think otherwise is an idiot —was right there. 

She didn’t look afraid. Emma’s been afraid ever since the Ministry attack, although she’d never say this out loud. She moved too quickly and kicked a rock with her shoe, cursing herself when she noticed the elder witch stop mid-step and speak directly to her. 

Emma walked forward, a little hesitant, but not enough to keep her head lowered. Her chin was high as she looked at Bellatrix. 

She had no idea what to say so she just kind of stood there, not saying anything, but keeping eye contact. She hadn’t meant any harm but she also was following her. She just hopes Bellatrix would recognize her enough not to curse her into the ground.

Nicolai walked slowly into the Leaky Cauldron, sauntering up to the bar and shrugging off his jacket. Technically as a hit wizard he was always ‘on call’ for the Ministry, but things were peaceful enough for the moment and that made him grow bored. So an evening out was in order. He saw an interesting looking alcoholic beverage on the bar in front of the person beside him and with a sly grin he nodded to the barkeep and said, “I’ll have one of those,” before turning to the person. “What brings you here then?”

Emma heard someone sidle up beside her but didn't bother looking his way. She heard him order, and then heard him speak directly to her. Still not looking at him, she lifts her glass to her lips and takes a delicate sip before brushing the lipstick off with the pad of her thumb. 

She taps her glass. “A drink,” she said, as if it’s obvious. “Since this is a bar.” She finally does look at him, sidelong, eyes narrowed. She studied him for a moment before turning her attention down to her glass, staring into the liquid, before downing it. 

She raises a finger at the barkeep, a signal that she wants another one, and to keep’em coming.

Severus thought it was a rather bold move to openly look down on someone who was in charge of making a substance that was to be ingested - bold, and stupid. But he kept his disdain off his features. Mostly. This transaction - should he accept - was not with her, and if he were very, very lucky, he may not even have to deal with her again. It wouldn’t be his first correspondence purely by owl. He nodded, thinking it over. Highly sought after potions - difficult to brew, even more difficult to brew correctly, and expensive when done so. Severus watched her for just a moment, not taking the bait. He knew better than to ask questions. After all, it wasn’t hard to imagine what was being done with them. “Fine.” 

Emma smiled, thinly, watching his every move. He was irritated, although he didn't give much away. Good. Where he'll be working, he'll need to keep his emotions in check.

“Thought so,” she said haughtily. “You’ll be making a list of potions once, or maybe twice depending on need, a week.” She slid the desired potions to him. “You’ll be working through me. Anything you brew will be picked up by me. Your payment will be delivered by me.” She smiled again, but this time it was much more mean. 

“Oh, and I still need what I came here to pick up.” She reaches into her other pocket and takes out some coins, practically tossing them at him. “Something extra for you. Maybe then you can afford something to mask your stench.” 

She knows she’s being cruel, and she doesn’t even know why. It’s just so fun to annoy wizards like this one. 

Hestia read the paper with an unfamiliar scowl making residence on her face. It was official, she now had the reason she had been rejected from the Auror program in her hands, a clear show of the bias nature the magical politics was taking. Of course, she may not have been given the code of 3 or 4, but it wasn’t a stretch to see how her halfblood status had affected her chances.

Anger coursed through her, a raging fury at the corrupt and disgusting state of the world she lived in, and she could hardly focus on anything else. Technically she had read the article hours ago, but with each customer who left the copy of The Daily Prophet on the bar, she found herself drawn to that hideous front page article time and time again, losing herself to outrage and forgetting she was technically meant to be serving drinks.

As it happened, in this moment, with one hand holding the paper, the other was not quite focusing on the task of filling a pint of butterbeer for yet another new customer. A sound of outrage pulled her to attention and she quickly swore at her own lack of concentration as she watched the patron splashed with the overfilled liquid.

“Shit! Sorry!” She began, instantly stopping the drink from continuing to pour as she muddled for somewhere to put it down. “Wasn’t paying attention, but I’ll have you all cleaned up, I swear! And next one’s on the house!”

One moment she was standing, waiting, to get her drink order taken and the next she was drenched. 

Emma was wearing one of her favourite tops. It was expensive, her dad bought it for her. And now there's Butterbeer on it. 

The patron apologized profusely and Emma tried to remember that, but her jaw clenched regardless and she glared at the person. 

“Do bar patrons always act this disinterested in their job or is it only ones who are too upset over a newspaper to do their jobs?” Emma snapped. Her fingers fluttered around the huge splotch on her shirt. 

She recognized the girl. Maybe. Somewhat. One glance at what she was reading and she understood what she was so upset about. But that’s not her business, she doesn’t care. She just wanted a drink, not a sob story of incompetence. 

“My job is brewing.” He said shortly, his attention returning to the ledgers before him, already growing bored of the conversation. His quill paused, dropping an ugly spot of ink over the line he was currently working on as she started speaking about her father. Of course he knew who he was. An offer like this could be very helpful to Severus’ career and reputation - and very lucrative. “I’m sure.” He said, careful not to show his interest too readily. “And what is it your father would have me brew?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, eyes flicking down to the ink blotch and holding there for a moment, two, and then back up to his face.

“A number of essentials,” she responded. 

"Namely some health improving ones, such as antidotes and bone regrowth, and... stuff like Veritaserum and Polyjuice Potions.” She cocked her head to the side, daring him to wonder and ask why. “Of course, you will be compensated for your...” She paused, then sneered. “Hard work.” 

Rodolphus held the book, reading its rough translation. Rough. More like indistinguishable. His head nodded here and there as he read and sipped in his perfectly bitter coffee.

“Only interesting? You must give them more credit than that. But I suppose you’re too young to truly appreciate what these creatures are capable of doing. Especially trying to read such a lazy translation.” Rodolphus placed the book softly on the table, his fingers under the page.

“Allow me to give you a brief lesson.” He leaned toward her and spoke. “The classical Chimaera is part lion, goat, and dragon, but true Chimaera is really any two or more of anything including humans. The classics also happen to be extremely violent,” Rodolphus took pause and adjusted himself. “They wouldn’t be a disappointment to use on …well. I suppose you have a point with interesting. Capable of so much. Just as some of us are.”

Rodolphus glanced once more at the poor book in front of him. “I suppose I don’t need it,” he slid it back to the girl he still had yet to know. “It’s nice to have a reminder of what creatures could be valuable and useful.”

She tried. She really, really tried not to roll her eyes. But she's only human. Kind of. And this is her area of expertise. Literally, what she’s aiming toward. Her life goal. She will not be talked down to by some... rich Wizard who thinks he knows everything.

“I know that,” she snapped, snapping the book closed and not caring about losing her page. Okay, maybe she cared a little bit, but she’ll find her spot eventually. “Funny enough, I learned exactly what you just told me back at Hogwarts.” 

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head, but didn’t dare look away. She clenched her jaw a little. She loathed to be talked down to and she was still fuming, so she just stared at him. 

“Was there something else you wanted, Sir? Or did you just come to bother me and recite basic knowledge about the creature I’m learning about?” 

She knew it was crass and rude and improper, but she didn’t care. 

Seeing people shudder under his touch was always a thrill. A laugh came from his mouth while she calmed down.

Rodolphus had no idea who she was, nor did he care. He was bored and figured she may be better company than nothing. And if not, he could torture her. Physically or figuratively, whichever way the wind blew. Starting with a lame question he could decide what kind of person she was.

Of course, he didn’t know her blood status. But they would get there.

“You have a little snark there, little girl,” Rodolphus laughed under his breath. Shifting in his seat and not losing eye contact, he snapped his fingers and yelled across the room. “Coffee. Black.” 

He noticed her attempt to slyly show him the book which Rodolphus took, taking care to hold the page she was on (he was an asshole but had some semblance of understanding). “Chimaera, I see.” He scanned the page with his fingers.

Leave it to mystery. Something Rodolphus was best at.

Still not looking up when it arrived, Rodolphus grabbed his mug of coffee and raised his eyebrows. “First one of the day.”

Emma could feel herself prickle. She hated being called little girl, or talked down to. No one talked down to her. No one. No matter who they were, or what their reputation is. 

She did manage to hold back an eye roll when she saw how he treated the cafe staff. She hated that.

She was sure not to show any emotion as he took the book from her hands. She did note, however, that he did keep her page safe. Interesting. She watched as he drank his coffee without looking up at the staff. 

“Yes, I enjoy the Chimera,” she stated, obviously. “Very interesting creatures.” 

She spins her whole body around to face him. She holds her hand out, expectantly, completely ignoring his comment about his coffee. 

“Can I have my book back, now? I was actually enjoying it.” 

The nerve. 

It had gotten late by the time Tarquin finally managed to close down Borgin & Burkes. The late hours suited him though, if he didn’t keep busy he always ended up being restless and Merlin knew, that led to trouble. He was walking down Knockturn Alley when he stopped against a wall to light a cigarette which is when he heard a loud thud from the opposite side. He should have been wary, after all Knockturn Alley was not exactly safe even in the day, let alone the middle of the night but Tarquin just sighed. “You’re lurking,” he finally said, as the form of someone began to appear. He took a drag of his cigarette, almost sounding bored.

Emma hadn't expected to see anyone out this late. Normally she would be the last one out, except for the crazies—you know the ones. But then she saw a man leaving Borgin & Burkes, likely an employee. 

She didn’t recognize him, and she prided herself on knowing who most people around her were. She wasn’t sure how to proceed so she went to press herself against the opposite wall until the man disappeared and she could continue on her way when her book, of course it was a book, fell from her hands in a dull thud on the ground.

The man spoke, telling her he knew of her presence. She bent to pick up the book and clenched her fists around the spine, walking toward him, toward the smoke. 

When Rodolphus exited the men’s room, he saw a girl sitting near his seat. He hadn’t left anything because no one else was there, but now, well. Not alone. He shrugged and observed the young woman. 

She was reading. Rodolphus had zero problems with reading. He believed in education and that came from books, but it was a downfall of his unless the lesson was from his father. The question was what was she reading. Was it fluff like the shit Rabastan surrounded himself with? Likely. Or something more …helpful? Something to encourage getting better at the weaker traits of an individual? He was curious and drawn to the book.

Rodolphus walked with grace, making no noise as he walked up behind her. Then someone else entered. Rodolphus looked uninterested but out of necessity. No one of importance.

When he reached the woman, he placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “Please tell me you’re reading something worthwhile.” Rodolphus swayed as he sat in the chair next to her. 

Emma hadn’t heard anyone come up behind her but when she felt someone touch her shoulders, she visibly recoiled and turned herself to look at him as he sat down next to her indignantly. 

The man was vaguely recognizable. She knew of him from rumour and reputation, mostly. She’d seen him around a couple of times throughout her life but had never spoken to him.

She raises her chin. “What I’m reading is my business,” she replied, snarkily. She so hated arrogance when it came to leisurely reading. Well, it’s not like what she was reading was leisurely, by definition. 

She was reading some horribly translated book (from Greek to English) about the Chimera—as she has a particular interest in mythological hybrids. She hadn’t ever seen one in person, but she hopes to some day. 

Although she’d snapped at him, she still tilted the side of the book so he could read the words on the spine. 

Escaping the sudden downpour, the drenched blonde took a couple steps into the building, seeking a momentary refuge as she put right what the storm had disturbed. Ignoring the establishments staff initial greetings,  the witch cast some wandless charm, instantly drying her clothes, hair, and evening out any creases that rain had caused. It was only after her clothes && hair had been put to right, did she deem to invoke any attention on the other. “Forgive the intrusion.” Faux smile, painted on her lips, never quite reaching her eyes, as they looked around her now, showing little to no actual interest. 

Emma looked up at the voice, eyebrows furrowing as she watched as the blonde got herself dried and righted up.  

She realized then that she recognized this woman. Narcissa Black. She was a few years older than Emma but because of Emma’s father, she had seen Narcissa quite a few times in passing since childhood and around Hogwarts. 

He wasn’t quite sure what she was playing at - having a harder time interpreting her actions than he usually did. Maybe she was just here for ingredients, but it was definitely an odd way to go about it. “Paying customers get what they want and leave.” Severus replied pointedly, eyes darting over to the rows of ingredients and pre-bottled potions, his little patience waning. “Unless your father has something more than galleons to offer, it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’d pay you if you actually did your job,” she said snarkily. 

She looked over to the potions before looking back to him, eyes on his face. “My father-” she paused for a moment. “My father would like to retain you on a weekly basis. The pay would be handsome, of course.” She drummed her fingers on the table impatiently, turning on a charming smile. “And, of course, referrals to my father’s friends. I’m sure you two are within the same circles.”