Oct 14, 2024 2:22:19 GMT
 | if i'm a danger to myself Just think what I could do to you |
Well, that business with the Potter kid had been a bust. No matter, Augustine still had plenty of cards up her sleeve. Besides, being this close to Hogsmeade gave her a clear view of its defenses—the places her poachers could slip through, and whether the army of acromantula and inferi she’d bred would be enough to temporarily overwhelm the village.
Oh, and she could drink.
The Hog’s Head was as disreputable as ever. Augustine remembered roaming these parts with the Death Eaters when Potter and his gang of blood traitors had triggered that caterwauling charm, slipping right past them to sneak into Hogwarts. Idiots, the lot of them, for believing Aberforth Dumbledore’s story that the Patronus was a goat and not a stag. If they had just listened to her, maybe Potter would be dead by now, and she’d be enjoying life in a mansion she’d claimed from some unfortunate mudblood.
But, no use crying over spilled potion.
"Oi, another round of Gigglewater here!" Augustine shouted in her deep, contralto voice, raising her empty tankard. She’d lost track of how many rounds she’d had, but what did it matter? She had the galleons to cover it. Her eyes narrowed at the barkeep, who’d been ignoring her. Filthy squib, she thought bitterly. Ignoring a witch, and a Rookwood at that? Disrespectful.
Just as she was about to stand up, slightly wobbly on her feet, something caught her eye. A face she hadn’t seen in years—one she thought was either dead or long gone. Her raven hair whipped as she turned sharply, but her excitement faded as she realized it wasn’t Antonin Dolohov after all. No, this was someone else. Someone who looked uncannily like him—far too much like him not to be related.
Before Augustine could stop herself, she was already moving toward the woman, curiosity piqued.
"Oi," she said, sliding up to the bar next to the stranger, leaning in casually. "Make that two tankards, yeah? One for her too." She gestured toward the woman before clicking her tongue.
"I'm sorry, you just look a lot like an ex of mine," she added with a smirk, her eyes lingering on the woman’s features, still trying to piece together who exactly she might be.
Oh, and she could drink.
The Hog’s Head was as disreputable as ever. Augustine remembered roaming these parts with the Death Eaters when Potter and his gang of blood traitors had triggered that caterwauling charm, slipping right past them to sneak into Hogwarts. Idiots, the lot of them, for believing Aberforth Dumbledore’s story that the Patronus was a goat and not a stag. If they had just listened to her, maybe Potter would be dead by now, and she’d be enjoying life in a mansion she’d claimed from some unfortunate mudblood.
But, no use crying over spilled potion.
"Oi, another round of Gigglewater here!" Augustine shouted in her deep, contralto voice, raising her empty tankard. She’d lost track of how many rounds she’d had, but what did it matter? She had the galleons to cover it. Her eyes narrowed at the barkeep, who’d been ignoring her. Filthy squib, she thought bitterly. Ignoring a witch, and a Rookwood at that? Disrespectful.
Just as she was about to stand up, slightly wobbly on her feet, something caught her eye. A face she hadn’t seen in years—one she thought was either dead or long gone. Her raven hair whipped as she turned sharply, but her excitement faded as she realized it wasn’t Antonin Dolohov after all. No, this was someone else. Someone who looked uncannily like him—far too much like him not to be related.
Before Augustine could stop herself, she was already moving toward the woman, curiosity piqued.
"Oi," she said, sliding up to the bar next to the stranger, leaning in casually. "Make that two tankards, yeah? One for her too." She gestured toward the woman before clicking her tongue.
"I'm sorry, you just look a lot like an ex of mine," she added with a smirk, her eyes lingering on the woman’s features, still trying to piece together who exactly she might be.
