A Story of a Short Ending | T.R

Chapter 3 - New Beginnings

"And how are you going to find them here?" the smell of alcohol was overwhelming. They sat at the table in the very back of a dim and almost empty bar in the nearby village. A few wizards and witches sat at the tables and engaged in quiet conversations among themselves. Lestrange was never turning down an offer to visit a local pub and get himself a glass of something as strong as possible, preferably a pretty witch as a company too. To his disappointment, Rosier was pretty, but not a witch and not willing to entertain him later tonight.

"Just wait and see." Leonard was a person who sometimes visited places like this one, but he preferred something where drinks cost twice or thrice as much. This place was rotting and deep down he hoped that his research would lead him to the wrong place and they would walk away with nothing. As much as Riddle would be prone to throwing him into a cell for not completing the task he was given, one part of him wished for it.

His hopes dissolved when he saw a familiar figure walk into the room, her light blue shirt a bright contrast with the dark rotting walls of this place. She glanced around the room, letting the two men sitting at the back out of her sight, before walking over to the table at the front window and sitting down. He allowed himself to stare, to take her in and remember the girl who was his best friend in Hogwarts, remember how badly they parted ways and how she reacted to the truth about him and Riddle's cause.

He slid his eyes to her hands, her gloved hands. He remembered her wearing them years ago, knew why she did it and when she didn't. The sight of them did bring back memories he spent years keeping in his mind, keeping them alive for some reason even he didn't know. The letters they sometimes exchanged didn't have their past touch to them, they didn't joke with each other anymore, didn't share secrets even if it wouldn't be the smartest decision to do through the mail, but they weren't close anymore, not like they used to be and it still stung him, for some reason it did.

"Merlin, turns out you weren't lying." Rosier felt a hand land on his shoulder as if Lestrange was trying to crush his bones from excitement, the movement made him slide his eyes back onto the door that just closed, a taller figure appeared and made her way to the same table at the window. He eyed the two women now sitting together, one of them telling the other off for being late, which almost made him smile, remembering how many times she did that to him back at school when he was late to their usual study times in the library.

"I told you, I've got it." he found himself replying to his friend, who already got up from the table, determined to have another completed order on his record. "Where are you going? Sit down, damn you." Leonard had to tug his friend back down on the wooden bench they were currently occupying, hoping the women didn't notice them.

"I know you were always hard for her, but I don't want to sit and watch them discuss the latest edition of another witches' newspaper." Rodolphus was not familiar with patience and that was a trait well known to his friends and their Lord too. That's probably why he had the most tasks to carry out, fast and effective.

Leonard scowled at him and leaned in his whisper in the tone of an angry mother fed up with her child's tantrum "Do you think ambushing them in front of all these people is going to earn you a pat on the back from Riddle? When all of the newspapers will scream about people being attacked in the middle of the day? When they leave, we will go too." he shook his head and glanced back in the direction of two women quietly chatting about something, sitting too far to make out what exactly was the topic of the conversation.

"You always have to spoil all the fun, don't you?" Lestrange gave him an eye-roll but grabbed his glass of whatever alcohol was mixed in it and took a good swing out of it. At least he stayed seated.

>><<

"He is either kidding or his business isn't keeping him busy enough." Avery passed a hand through his hair, and if anyone was counting how many times he did it it would probably be the 100th or more. He sat on the edge of his desk, the unfinished letter to Dirca in his hand. It took him two days to bring himself to even look at it, to admit to himself what he now needed to do, break every promise he made to the woman he loves and drag her into the mess he joined years ago. The letter wrinkled in his hand from the time he crumbled it and threw it somewhere deep into his room, regretting it moments later and having to clean up to find it.