It had been a long day at the Ministry, and Rodolphus was eager to leave. His feet had no interest in carrying him hope – to his manor, and the either complete silence of an empty house or the hostility of one where his wife was home and stalking about – but they could not get away from the Ministry fast enough.
He liked his work in the Department of Mysteries well enough; he liked even more the solitude and the ability to work closely on something that others weren’t privy to.
But today, throughout the building, the only mystery seemed to be: when would people start talking about anything other than the fundraiser, than the poisoning? It didn’t make him nervous, and he had no fear that people were closing in on the true culprits or motive. It was just another tiring reminder that some people were so small-minded, so incapable of doing anything but chirping about the headline of the hour. Office gossip was a tedium on even the best of days, but it was rare that it leaked down into his Department.
Reaching a corner, Rodolphus turned left and pulled his collar up against the nighttime breeze. He did not realize where he was heading until he was nearly there, but he was satisfied with his muscle memory for knowing exactly what he needed: a stiff drink, some hushed conversation. The Raven Call was a cocktail lounge off the beaten path of Wizarding London. Low lighting, plush carpeted floors, and a crowd that oscillated between foreign dignitaries, the company their paid for, the contacts that were selling them out behind their back, and some of the pureblood community’s finest.
There was no rule that kept other people out, of course. The doors were, technically, open to all. But ostracization was a powerful tool. The others never lasted long; that was how Rodolphus liked it.
He reached the mouth of the alleyway, eyes peeled for the Raven Call entrance – but, before he could get any closer to the door, he realized with great annoyance that someone was in his way.
“Move before I move you,” he said, callous and too tired after a long day to put on his usual syrupy facade of charm.
