It had been a day at the Ministry. The flurry of response to the attack at Diagon had quieted down, allowing normalcy to return in full. Except for her department. Per the direction of Crouch Sr, aurors & hit wix were ordered to make more rounds, become more visible, deter another attack. Which might work, had half the ministry not be in the pocket of the dark lord.Â
Violet had the unfortunate assignment of working in London. Muggle London. And the area that she and Greggory had once shared. She spent most of the morning fighting the urge to go near it. She hadnât been back to that spot in years. But she finally worked up enough courage and set eyes on the walk up she had once called home.Â
The window of what had been their bedroom was replaced and all signs of fire damage nonexistent. She perched herself on a bench, in the small park across the street, and allowed herself a small moment to remember him. She can clearly see herself, walking behind Greggory, blindfolded, as he led her down the sidewalk. He had placed a hefty sum down to acquire this place, making sure that the comforts of her upbringing wouldnât be lost in her life with a muggle born wizard.Â
Snapping back to reality, Violet had realized the street lights have begun to turn on, and her work day had ended about an hour an a half ago. âFuckâ she said, standing quickly and moving to the nearest place of rest she knew. A pub.
Relaxing almost as soon as her shadow darkened the familiar door, she stepped in to find that the place was quite busy. Most tables spoken for and only a lone seat at the bar without a patron. She moved gracefully across the room, her long legs making short work of closing the distance. She recognized the witch in the seat next to the empty stool, one of the black sisters, the eldest if she was not mistaken.Â
âThis seats takenâ she had said.
Right before Violet took it. âIt would appear that wayâ Violet retorted to the younger witch, calling the barkeep over with her hand. âIâll have a bottle of youâre best, care not for what it is, as long as itâs expensive and gets the job doneâ she told the bartender. The effect of sitting across the street where the worst night of her life began for hours had affected her much more then she anticipated, and she had vowed that at least she could make her fathers purse hurt to make up for the hurt he had given her.Â
Bellatrix arched a brow at the older witch's response, but though her lips pursed slightly she elected not to counter it with a retort of her own. Whilst she may have been a fighter at her core, she was also a lady, and a Black at that, and she knew that sometimes it was far more beneficial to hold one's tongue.
Besides, she could think of worse company. Violet, her choice in men aside, was tolerable, though not someone Bellatrix could fully bring herself to trust. Maybe she had chosen her family when push came to shove, but such actions should never have been necessary. Why would anyone of their standing want to go off with a mudblood anyway? The Greengrasses weren't exactly low down on the Sacred 28 hierarchy.
Still, that wasn't a matter that needed discussing right now.
For a long moment she stayed quiet, watching as the bartender brought over the requested bottle. Only once Violet had taken her first sip did Bellatrix break the silence that hung between the two.
"'As long as it gets the job done'," hm? Sounds like you've had quite the day."
