Amaris remembered when she first returned to London, and how it had been next to impossible for her to get a job. Well, no, it had actually been impossible—at least to gain employment anywhere in Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, or anywhere that wasn’t incredibly questionable. Finally, the obvious answer came to her, and she realized that it would probably be easy to get a job in Knockturn Alley. No shop there was the type to turn down a werewolf, when it was the only place where even Death Eaters could find work. Sure enough, she’d gotten the first job she’d applied for, at the only pub in the alley. She’d prefer that over working in some sketchy shop selling Dark Arts paraphernalia, after all. When she had first started working there, Amaris had been relatively on edge—which was probably to be expected when working somewhere where angry Death Eaters and purebloods got trashed on a daily basis. There had certainly been some instances over the course of her employment when she was at least slightly wary that she’d be walking out alive, but at this point, it was second nature to her.

What she had to wear had been a bit of a learning curve for her as well. She spent most of her time trying to remain under the radar, but at work, her boss had made it clear off the bat that her attire wouldn’t do. Amaris supposed that was the case for most all pubs, not recalling every seeing a bint particularly covered up while working. Sometimes her boss was actually the most inappropriate bloke she had to deal with in a night, which would certainly be considered a successful evening. On this particular night, her boss was in the back, and the bartender was out sick or some shit, which meant that Amaris had to combine her two jobs to do both—though luckily there were more people at the bar than at tables at this point. She heard the door open as she was reaching up to put some glasses away, glancing behind her briefly to see the bloke sit down, “Be right with you,” she stated, immediately turning back to finish her work with the glasses. It was never good to keep anyone that came to this bar waiting for too long, so she finally stopped her task, before leaning over to pick up the rag she’d dropped. Finally, she turned to face the newcomer, “What can I get you?”

Outfit

@miles

Everything was working out so wonderfully as Miles prepared his non-violent group for the rights of Death Eaters and their families…and anyone else who found that they were being treated poorly. Of course, this most certainly included werewolves which would prove to be invaluable on their time of month. Plus, those were recognized as werewolves, he found, seemed to hold a lot of aggression and hatred, especially when they were being treated like dogs, needing to get bloody registered. Might as well throw a damn dog collar on them and give them a bone, Miles thought, nearly rolling his eyes at the thought. He supposed it would piss him off if he had been a werewolf, but really, he didn’t care. He just saw more potential bodies for his cause and all he needed was to get THEM to care about the cause.

However, the registry was proving invaluable to him as he used some of his connections to stealthily find out who was registered. Lucky for him, one of them was working at a place he frequented. Well, he supposed he could frequent it more if they actually got paid decent wages. Instead, they were paid poorly and expected to survive off of bloody dirt. Stepping into the pub, Miles smiled slightly as he sat down before he heard the server greet him. Although it irritated him that she wasn’t serving him immediately, he supposed he had learned enough patience throughout the year to be alright with this. After all, it was taking a lot of time to build up his strong followers, ensuring that they held nearly the same amount of hatred that he held, willing to fight this battle until they succeeded.

“What do you recommend?” Miles asked, his face tired after a long day of work doing ridiculous Muggle tasks.

She supposed there were worse jobs than working at a bar in Knockturn Alley, so she really had no reason to complain—not that she was the type for much complaining anyway. Amaris was just glad she’d gotten a job at all, and she didn’t mind the place anymore. At least, she knew how to handle it and most of the customers in it without much problem. Of course, she heard talk there as well, even if she tried not to listen. At first, she tried to keep out of most of the issues going on in the wizarding world, but the longer she worked there, the more empathetic she got to the Death Eaters. She knew what it was like to be treated like dirt, after all, and though she wasn’t in a work camp and hadn’t committed any crimes, Amaris did wonder on a daily basis if werewolves would be next on the list for the Minister’s hit list. The thought was enough to make her regret registering on the Werewolf Registry, a mistake that she did regret quite often at this point. But she just took her life day-by-day—or, hour by hour sometimes. She worked, she drank, and she repeated the process. Luckily for her, she worked somewhere that she could drink, which was quite convenient. Though she did find it was better to stay relatively sober on the job, as this pub wasn’t exactly the best place to have compromised mental functions.

The full moon had only been the night before, and she was quite surprised that she had even managed to drag herself to work to begin with. She was running on no sleep, a fact that she was sure was quite apparent—firstly, because she could look in a mirror and see for herself, but also because her boss had told her as much, with a disdainful tone and a suggestive remark, as per usual. Per the standards of clothing she was supposed to wear, there were far more scratches and bruises on her that were visible, which was always irritating. As far as advertising what she was, she was doing a hell of a job that evening. Amaris smiled slightly at his question, noting that he certainly was an ‘employee’, if they could be called that, at the work camp, “Well, you look like you’ve had a hell of a day, and nothing cures that like Ogden’s,” she stated, before pulling two glasses out and grabbing the nearest bottle. Normally, a standard serving size for firewhiskey neat was a quarter of a glass, maybe half, but Amaris didn’t commonly follow those guidelines. She filled his glass relatively full, before filling her own and taking a long gulp. Firewhiskey would probably help her to feel less like a walking, talking zombie at this point.

Miles was known to be the leader of a non-violent organization for the rights of Death Eaters, their families and purebloods, but only a few semi-trusted members knew for certain what his mostly true intentions were. As with any rebellion, the leader couldn’t keep all of his eggs in one basket, more or less. To fully trust anyone would be incredibly thick-headed and daft, something that Miles was certain to stay away from. However, many others were speculate about the group that was developing, standing in disbelief that anything a former Death Eater would lead could possibly be non-violent. Though, with secrecy being thoroughly important, lucky for him, not everyone recognized his face at all times. This, now, was an example of that case.

The Ministry had stepped way out of line, treating the royal people of the Magical world like they were worthless. In Miles’ mind, there was no one around that was innocent, per say, but there were some that were more innocent than others. Take werewolves, for example. They were simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time, getting bitten by a creature and turning into that creature once a month. However, all of the good that they could have done was long forgotten, people only focusing on what they became once a month. The creature they became was much better than their pathetic little selves as they were normally, but he would overlook that grievance. This particular werewolf, he knew, was a halfblood…which was absolutely degrading to the beast that she became, but the beast was who she was, now.

His eyes glanced over the various scrapes and bruises that he could see on her skin before looking up at her face, snorting lightly at her comment. “Hell of a life,” he replied, his eyebrows rising briefly in amusement. “Ogden’s it is, then,” he agreed, not really bloody caring what drink she brought out at this point. He smirked as she shared in the drink, before he took his own long sip, savoring the flavor. “What’s a face like yours doing working at a place like this?” he finally asked, glancing around the small place before looking back towards her, curiously.

Working at the White Wyvern obviously meant that she had nights that ended up being questionable, treacherous, and sketchy overall. A good night normally meant that it was just suspicious, but she was getting used to all of that. Really, she had never thought this job was something she would get used to, and she never thought that she would have lasted this long here. But it had really only taken her realizing that this was exactly where she belonged to make it easier for her; she was a damn werewolf, after all, and although she hated it, Knockturn Alley was more of her place than anywhere else in the Wizarding world. Amaris only hoped that Dorian would eventually realized that, as his life would be a hell of a lot easier without her in it. She worried nearly daily how her presence was negatively impacting his life, even being related to a werewolf while working at the Ministry probably wasn’t bloody easy. They all probably thought that he was either soft for giving a shit, or he had to act as though he didn’t, which wouldn’t be easy on him either. Pretty much what she had learned was that her being around could only hurt him, and that was the last damn thing she wanted. If she thought she could leave again and not have him come after her, she would do it. He deserved to be happy without the added complication of her being around.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind, running a hand through her hair distractedly. Another one of her boss’s amusing comments was that he didn’t pay her to attempt to think, and to leave her pity parties for after her shift had concluded. People didn’t want to buy drinks from some depressed bint, they apparently wanted to buy drinks from a bint they thought would shag them… because that was the type of logic he held. Amaris took another sip of her firewhiskey, her eyes moving briefly about the bar to make sure no one needed another drink. Everyone seemed wrapped up with their own shit, which was unusual, but fine with her. She could use a brief break to have a drink of her own.

Amaris noticed the moment the man began to look her over, though she was unsure if he was checking her out—common, or noticing her injuries, which was also possible. The dim lighting of the bar actually did nothing to hide it. She recalled when she had been able to use concealing charms to cover up the results of a full moon, but the Ministry wouldn’t even let her have that at this point. Apparently, the community deserved to notice any and all warning signs of a subject with lycanthropy, so concealment charms were banned. Of course, she was slightly unsure how that was being monitored, but with the Ministry hating werewolves more than bloody ever right now, it wasn’t worth the risk. She nodded in acknowledgment to his statement, lifting her glass in a mock toast at the concept. Hell of a life indeed, she mused, though at least she wasn’t forced into any work camps. An end result of working here had been actually feeling for the Death Eaters, as they were pretty much kindred spirits to an extent. They had it a bit worse than she did, but she understood all the same. Amaris glanced up at the man at his question, finishing up her swig and placing the glass back down on the bar, “Pays my rent,” she replied, with a shrug. Although there wasn’t much of a reason to hide what she was when she was here, it was hard to break the habit. Most everyone who had ever asked any variation of that question had figured it out on their own, or she had eventually told them. Sometimes her boss came out and told people himself, going on about how lucky the wolf was that she was attractive or she wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Regardless, mostly every regular at this bar was well aware that she was a werewolf, though some people still treated her like shit for it, surprisingly enough. Every person for themselves, after all, which meant degrading others even if they were in similar situations.

Werewolves, vampires, Death Eaters, their families, purebloods, half-bloods…he wanted them all. Of course, he still didn’t favor half-bloods too much as they were mere half-breeds, but he wasn’t stupid. At least they had a bit of magic left inside of them from at least some in their family being blessed enough. They were the better of the diseased, actually deserving a chance to become something. However, Voldemort was set up for failure because of his blood status, obviously. Anyone with built up hatred, he wanted. However, he would hardly waste his time with the halfbreeds that were disinteresting, knowing that his time was very valuable. Vampires and werewolves he particularly wanted, knowing that they had a growing and pestering hatred towards the Ministry for the Ministry’s treatment of them. Then there were purebloods that were getting attacked randomly because of their status, which he felt worked rather well for him. Then of course, were the Death Eaters, who were the easiest of all seeing as everyone treated them like bloody slaves now. Lastly, were the halfbreeds who had some good catches, but others not so great. They were the most split of the groups, making Miles need to be very careful in his selection.

Bitterness was something that was so easy to manipulate, the emotion too strong to miss. It built up deep within one’s soul, eating away until it was ready to be unleashed. The problem that was seen with this was that it was usually unexpected when the release of the emotion came, causing destruction. This, of course, was what Miles enjoyed the most of it. Werewolves, like the Death Eaters, were treated like slaves, overlooked for any deed they did because of one aspect of who they were. All he had to do was plan a little seed of doubt that the Ministry was actually doing anything, leaving people to slowly realize that they had to choose a side. She was beautiful, he noted, a lovely beast. Her uncaring personality was shining through her eyes, definitely something he was very interested in.

Miles let out a chuckle at her response, shrugging in agreement. “Valid point,” he stated, glancing around the pub. “You must be one tough bitch to handle this,” Miles shrugged taking a sip of his drink. This pub definitely didn’t get any good folk coming by, most being associated with Death Eaters if not actual Death Eaters. Luckily, that meant she probably heard a lot of bitterness, hopefully slipping into similar mindsets already.

It had been a hell of a long time since she’d even remembered what she had originally wanted to do after Hogwarts. There had to have been something—some kind of job she’d wanted or what she had wanted to do. Amaris hadn’t been a werewolf so long to completely forget about, had she? Really, it had only been just about six years, even if it did feel a hell of a lot longer than that. Had she wanted to work for the Ministry? The option was likely since that was where a large majority of people went to work after graduating, but the idea just seemed ridiculous now when they would hardly let her in the damn door of the place now. Of course, she never wanted to be in there, but if she did, Amaris didn’t have to be a genius to know that it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. The White Wyvern was a far cry from working at the Ministry, but it certainly seemed like the better option now. Pay might be shit, but she actually found the company to be a hell of a lot better than most of the employees at the Ministry, Dorian and Gemma obviously both being an exception; but other than that, Amaris really didn’t know that there was anyone in the Ministry that was trustworthy—more than likely, a great lot of them were just like Durant.

Amaris knew that Dorian really didn’t understand her opinions of working at this place. It was complicated to say the least. Sometimes she didn’t mind it, like today, and other days she hated it. There was the occasional night where she really did question her ability of coming out of it alive, if the crowd was particularly dark and feeling aggressive, and then there were days where she didn’t find herself too worried in the slightest—though she was always on guard. A lot of times, it depended on whom she was with. Normally, she had a better shift when her boss was in his office, and even though she was also cursing the bartender for being ‘sick,’ it was a lot better when he wasn’t around either. This evening was stacking up to be all right so far, but she was making sure to keep a close enough eye on everything going on.

The man seemed to accept her comment about her job without much thought—that, or he already had a good idea of what she was without having to outright say it. There was always the option of that, especially with how shitty she currently looked. Amaris laughed under her breath at his comment, not at all fazed by his words. Outside of Knockturn Alley, she supposed women took offense to being called a bitch, but here it was used almost interchangeably with any word to describe a woman. Sometimes it was meant offensively, other times it wasn’t, and never did she personally take it as an insult when she’d been called much worse. “I’m not all that tough,” she said with a shrug, before taking another gulp of her drink. “Just used to it, really.”

This world was doomed as long as it was accepting mudbloods and their kind, allowing them to unite with a magic that they did not deserve. What had once been two separate worlds was now combining to be one, which was definitely unacceptable. Muggles were clearly hell bent on destroying their own life, why the hell would it be beneficial to have them unite with magic? They would clearly only seek to destroy it as well, which Miles would not allow as long as he was living. With airborne disasters and manmade diseases, having this union between the two distinctions would certainly end them all. Unfortunately, not everyone saw the course that he had seen. The only thing good that he could possible detect from a muggle was when they bred with magic, producing a magical rodent that would develop their magic and only hope that they would be as good as the weakest pureblood. Miles couldn’t believe that a half-breed would ever hold too much power, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

Then there was this creature, a werewolf. Even if the individual had been a mudblood beforehand, or a half-breed, it no longer mattered. The magic of this beast was so great that it held no prejudices. The power that could be found was greater than he could imagine, the aggression building within the individual as they took on more traits from the wolf itself. It helped that she was a beauty, as well, seeing as most wenches in their area gave way to their beauty, save a few. Of course, he wasn’t completely daft that he didn’t do his research. He knew she had no one except for her annoying traitor of a brother who worked for the damn ministry himself. It was curious to him though, if he could possibly use the bloke as a spy if only he could convince him of the proper ways they should go. If he could convince the werewolf, he was certain convincing the bloke wouldn’t be too difficult as love happened to be a strong motivator. How could her brother stand by the Ministry when she was treated like this?

“Well, this is a shitty place to get used to, but like you said, it pays the bills…or just the rent, whichever,” he shrugged in response. “Most servers around here don’t last long for whatever reason. Must be the great company they receive,” he smirked lightly.

What Amaris would never tell Dorian was that she was getting a bit concerned. It seemed that every other month, the Ministry was coming up with some new regulation or restriction for werewolves. She was constantly wondering what the next one would be, and it did seem to get more ridiculous each and every time something new occurred. After all, she hadn’t thought that it would get any more one-sided and absurd when they had put restrictions on the use of healing and concealment charms. The logic behind that had been something that still made no sense to her, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She was baring all of the injuries that she had received the previous evening, because in the Minster’s perspective, people deserved to know what they were talking to and hiding it was unfair and dangerous to the general population. Of course, she couldn’t even imagine not having Wolfsbane at this point, because her minor injuries were a bit easier to explain away than if she had the full-fledged self-inflicted injuries that she would have if she was to transform without the potion. She wanted to tell Dorian that he might as well quit the Beast Division, as she felt bad enough that he was working there to begin with; he had to know that there was nothing that he could do at this point. The Minister was probably watching him closely, knowing what he was related to. It was just not something that he should have to subject himself to every day. But surely he would realize that on his own eventually, at least hopefully.

But he would not be finding out about her growing concerns, as she always made sure to keep that well masked. It wasn’t like he thought she was doing well… all she did was drink, sleep, and work, but she didn’t allow her mentality to openly be shit. She could remain relatively unfazed by everything that went on, and she kept what she could from her brother in any case. So it worked out, for now, but she had no idea how long that would be lasting. “It’s not that bad,” she said, shrugging. It wasn’t like she could agree with his assessment of the place and still keep her damn job. Knowing her luck, her boss would come out of his office just in time to hear her state that yes, this place was pretty damn shitty, but it bloody well paid her rent. Besides, compared to where she could be, it wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t great, but better than some of the shops she walked by that she could be employed at in Knockturn Alley—and better than not having a job at all, clearly. If she couldn’t get employed, somehow she still didn’t see Dorian kicking her out for not paying any rent. Then she would be an inconvenience in an entirely different way.

She had noticed that what the man said was quite true. Amaris was one of two servers, normally, and the other one never seemed to last long. Probably because most people didn’t need this job as much as she did, and could try to find employment elsewhere. That, or they were frightened by the customers or some of the… rather precarious situations that occasionally went down with customers. If she had to think of why she didn’t think much of those reasons anymore, it would be because she was well suited to be in an area like this. “I’m not that great of company myself, so it works out well,” Amaris said, smiling slightly in amusement before taking a sip of her drink.

He had noticed that a werewolf or two had been receiving some hate owls, or whatever creative way that people saw fit. It really was as if the Ministry and their puppets that thought they were actually doing anything good were actually just helping his cause. People wondered how his numbers were growing so exponentially, and this was the reason why. He didn’t even have to do anything really, just make himself seen and be a bloody sympathizing party. Honestly, it was as if the Ministry themselves would soon be joining his cause at this point; they might as well. He couldn’t even count the number of followers he had merely because the people were dissatisfied with how the Ministry were conducting business. Why would he turn away any follower? The Ministry had this coming and he would gladly give it to them. It was time that the Ministry had a taste of their own medicine, being taught that they couldn’t treat royals in the way that they had been treating royals. It would be unfortunate to see the purebloods and halfbloods failing if they remained neutral or chose the wrong side. Miles knew that the loyal followers he had now were attempting to convince their family over, networking being such a beautiful thing.

“You must have low standards,” he chuckled in response to her comment. “This place is filled with the scum of the earth, apparently, after all,” Miles shrugged, grinning lightly. No one in Knockturn was a pleasant individual…not even the innocent ones. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, there were quite a few innocent people stuck in this place but even they turned rather callous and rough to be around. “Of course you’re great; you give out fucking drinks,” Miles laughed, lifting up his alcohol at the statement before taking a long chug of it.