It wasn’t often that she found herself in conversations like this. Most of the patrons at this bar didn’t come here to talk at all, let alone to the bartender or their server—depending on what she was doing that day. Amaris could count on getting hit on incredibly inappropriately, and some manner of drunken conversation once the night progressed, but this was one of the more normal conversations that she had here in a hell of a long time. Outside of work, Amaris tried to avoid talking to just about everyone, specifically talks longer than a few words were too long for her. She talked to Dorian, clearly—and Gemma, or Dylan, if they were over, but other than that, she didn’t. If she ran into someone she knew in public, she tried to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible. The only other times she really spoke all that much was when she was talking to people that she simply couldn’t avoid… cashiers, bartenders when she was out, and the like. But even then, that was only enough to order herself a drink or pay for whatever she was purchasing. Obviously, she was expected to talk to people at work, but most conversations really did fall into one of those two categories. This was odd by comparison, and she was beginning to wonder just what this man was here for—the work camp, so he was obviously a Death Eater, but he seemed surprisingly coherent and normal. But she knew better than anyone what people could be hiding.

“Oh, my standards are practically nonexistent,” she replied, laughing under her breath. Amaris would take what she could get when it came to jobs, and as far as bars were concerned, she would drink just about anywhere as well. She smiled wryly at his comment, taking a sip of her firewhiskey, “Every last one of us,” Amaris agreed, the glass still held to her lips before she finished off the liquor inside of it. Scum of the earth... that was a rather accurate way of putting it, and something that she had certainly heard before. Picking up the bottle of firewhiskey, she refilled her own glass, amusingly enough right as he spoke. “I do have that going for me,” she said, waiting for him to put his glass back down so she could refill it. It wasn’t yet empty, like hers had been, but she did find she finished her alcohol a lot faster than the normal person.

Voldemort had seen the benefit in having werewolves on his side during the war, knowing that they were treated like vermin of this world, scum to be looked down upon like it was their bloody fault for having more power than humans could comprehend. It was jealousy, that’s what it was. Though he didn’t agree with how Voldemort went about starting the war over a stupid boy, but that was his bloody call to ruin everything. Halfbreeds were beneficial followers only, apparently. The bloke had messed up royally, but Miles would correct this mess and finally right the world that was so far off. If the world was run completely by the mudblood lovers, it was only a matter of time before they did something stupid and actually informed the muggle community that magic was real, willingly setting them all to be bloody experimental pets to the muggles as that was what happened when they saw something that was a danger. They experienced on it until the threat no longer existed…or until they could create their own weapons.

He chuckled along with her, not really caring all too much what she had said, but needing to put up a front. “I guess karma’s a bitch…for some of us, anyways,” he pointed out, knowing that she probably didn’t do anything wrong except become a werewolf…somehow, he doubted that was willingly. Hardly anyone walked around wishing to get bit by a bloody werewolf and hope that that was all that bloody happened. “And you know we will always need drinks around here,” he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. That was the bloody truth, after all. He quirked an eyebrow at the fact that she had already finished off her drink, impressed, before he finished his own, holding it out to be refilled again. “Thanks,” he said as he brought the refilled liquor back to his lips.

People that came in here were always pissed off about their circumstances—it was par for the course, as they were in Knockturn Alley for Merlin’s sake, although she would have to say that the atmosphere was probably a hell of a lot different in this pub when Voldemort had been at large. Then a lot of them were probably almost … happy, or at least as close as they could be to it. But by now, she was used to conversations such as this, talking about everything that was going on that they wanted to rant about. Normally, they were busier, so Amaris didn’t say long in any discussions, which was fine, really. Groups came to talk to each other, and most people that came alone didn’t want to talk much at all. This man seemed a bit chattier than most, though that obviously wasn’t a problem. It didn’t seem that anyone else needed anything, she noted, her eyes moving briefly about the pub to verify. Yes, everything seemed well in hand for once, which she was thankful for when she was the only employee out here. Merlin knew her boss wouldn’t help her out if any situation arose, liking to amuse himself by letting her handle it unless it became something that affected him or the safety of his bar.

“That it is,” she agreed, laughing under her breath. Amaris was quite curious what it was she’d done to deserve this shitty hand of cards, which made her wonder if karma was really even a damn thing. But if she was looking optimistically, at least she had a damn job and her brother, even if she did just want him to give up on her. As far as the job was concerned, she was subject to the whims of her boss, who could fire her any day, really. In fact, Amaris had been surprised when she hadn’t been immediately sent home simply based on her appearance. He was incredibly focused on that, apparently, and she looked like hell tonight, that was for certain. And she was unsure how she was still vertical with how exhausted she was. At the thought, she took a long gulp of her firewhiskey, hoping for it to potentially wake her up, even slightly. “Nothing a firewhiskey or ten can’t help you forget,” she stated, setting the bottle back under the counter after she had placed her own glass onto the bar. She nodded in acknowledgment to his thanks, though she was surprised by the words since manners weren’t exactly practiced at this particular pub, not that she cared. But it did make her wonder even more about who she was speaking to.

The best decision that Miles ever made in his life, or one of them seeing as he tended to make fantastic decisions, was the decision to not just within the constraints of a wand to perform magic. His absolute favorite, and most useful, ability was that of Legilimens, seeing its use on a daily basis. The thoughts of an individual were simply invaluable, opening up doors that would otherwise remain shut as the individual had a nasty habit of keeping things inside of that brain of theirs. Even the most outgoing and front individuals would keep certain dirty little secrets just that…a secret. With him, there were no secrets he would leave undiscovered, as long as that individual hadn’t taken care to block their own thoughts from the likes of him. There was possibly nothing more irritating to him than when he couldn’t read the thoughts of others, though that didn’t hinder him from conversing with that individual. Despite the handicap he would face, he did find that people were generally easy to read, their eyes betraying them from what they truly desired or felt.

In this case, the wolf hadn’t had that protection, her thoughts free to be read from any intruder without her knowledge. He knew that she didn’t do anything, per say, to deserve becoming a wolf, though he looked at it much differently. It was clear that the witch referred to being a werewolf as her having done something wrong, a curse, if one willed to go that far. It was disappointing that her thoughts were like such as being a werewolf was a marvelous thing, a unique ability, a different strength. The magical community didn’t treat wolves with the respect that they deserved simply because they lacked an understanding on the creatures, afraid of what they could not control. Hell, even the werewolves were afraid of themselves, as ridiculous as that sounded, as they themselves had no control of the beast inside. Her brother would be a problem, he noted to himself. Had she not had her annoying brother, he was certain he could convince her in one sitting to join his cause, the cause that was going to win this world back to the way that it should be. Miles chuckled lightly at her words, taking a chug of his drink, swallowing slowly. “Here’s to hoping to forget,” he grinned before taking another drink. “And if we can’t forget, here’s hoping this life won’t always be shit,” he continued, shrugging hopefully though he knew there was no hope, there was only taking back what was rightfully theirs.

Amaris knew that if her boss came out right now and heard her talking to any customer in such a depressing way, he’d be pissed. It seemed that he was always pissed about something, but he particularly didn’t like it when he thought she was complaining about her life to customers—which is quite clearly something she absolutely never did. The patrons at this bar had shitty lives, she had to see that every day and commiserate with them because she could simply relate in a way. This wasn’t exactly a bar that was meant to have some bubbly bartender, so she wasn’t exactly sure what her boss actually wanted her to do. This wasn’t some hyped-up club or even the Leaky Cauldron. No one in this pub was exactly living the easiest lives, and if they wanted to talk to her about that, then who was she to not listen to them? She supposed they might want some giggling bint to ogle at and forget about their poor lives for a moment… perhaps that was what he wanted her to be like. That was an aggravating thought indeed, particularly since she really needed this damn job.

She lifted her glass in acknowledgment to his words, taking another swill of her drink, before narrowing her eyes almost imperceptibly. It felt as though she was kind of catching on to something that she hadn’t yet realized before. This man was clearly a Death Eater, since he obviously worked in the work camp. That meant that the reason for thinking that life was shit was pretty damn obviously. But she clearly wasn’t a Death Eater, something that he was aware of… or so she figured. Amaris supposed she didn’t really know if all Death Eaters knew each other, but for the most part she’d say they probably did. Were his statements just offhanded comments, or did he actually have a reason for thinking her life was also shit? Perhaps just working here was proof enough of that, or perhaps he had simply worked out that her scrapes and bruises from the night before could only be from one thing. It didn’t really matter, she realized, since there were several regulars in the bar that knew what she was; and if there was ever a place she could hide it less, it would be here. Granted, people still treated her poorly for it, taking any opportunity to degrade others worse off than they were. Though, she supposed between Death Eaters and werewolves, she didn’t really know who was worse off. It was a close score, certainly. There was no reason to be paranoid, though, if the man knew what she was, then he knew—and that was that. “However unlikely that may be,” she said, before taking a drink of her firewhiskey. Forgetting was possible, something that she could achieve with a hell of a lot of firewhiskey, but she obviously knew that life absolutely would always be shit. It was something that she’d long since accepted.

Miles wished he would have come across her much sooner, like immediately following when she was turned into the beautiful beast that she was. That really would have been the best time to convince her of the truth that she had been missing against the Ministry. Right now, she probably thought that she was in the wrong for who she was, which was clearly not correct. Her brother probably didn’t help her mindset, probably making her think that she was some damn burden or something. Though, this was a fantastic opportunity to meet her, and to have her see the ruins of this place. She would probably get to see firsthand the horrors that they all faced, the prejudice that was brought down on them. The only reason any of them deserved it was because they were led by someone who apparently didn’t know how to lead them into their royal positions that they deserved. Voldemort was stuck on a mere boy, a prophecy that he had been informed of, or some shit. That was simply not going to be something that Miles would allow for himself.

“Very unlikely,” he chuckled rashly. Life would certainly always be shit if they couldn’t get their damn acts together and take back what was theirs. “I’m surprised Durant hasn’t tried to shut down Knockturn Alley yet,” Miles continued, raising his eyebrows in slight disbelief. It was curious, really, as he had thought that at the point that Durant was going, he wouldn’t want anything that even associated remotely with darkness and the entire village was certainly sketchy on that front. Though, he did wish the Minister luck in trying to shut it down, knowing that they would just rebuild it and that it would definitely increase Miles’ numbers.

Amaris did wonder how she would be doing right now if she had not registered with the Ministry when she had been bitten. Yes, technically that was illegal, but would they really have been able to find out? She supposed that the office in the ministry called the Werewolf Capture Unit probably existed for a reason, and it could be for just that purpose for all she knew. But she would be able to have any other job that she wanted without getting discriminated against, and she wouldn’t have to worry as much about people finding out about her since it wouldn’t be on public record. But at this point, she couldn’t imagine working anywhere but here, and discrimination was so common that she didn’t even consider it to necessarily be discrimination anymore. It was just another encounter, on another day, all of which she was incredibly used to by now. Wondering about what could have happened if she had made a different choice was a waste of her time, and it would put her in a mindset that her boss would not be happy to walk out and see. He hated it when she looked like anything was on her mind other than the customer, and she supposed that was understandable. Amaris should really be focused on work while at work, and not thinking about her own problems, but that was hard to do when she worked at a place where people were in similar situations as she was.

She took a long gulp of her drink at his words, knowing that nothing was going to change any time soon. Although she knew that Dorian was holding out hope that it was going to, Amaris did know better. He was never going to stop trying, and she really hated that she was doing that to him just by being here. If she wasn’t around, then he could have a relatively normal life, but apparently he didn’t see it like that. Amaris shook her head slowly, shooting the bloke an amused look. “I’m not… if he shut it down, then the trash would have nowhere to go. We’d have to mix with them in Diagon Alley—Merlin knows they can’t have that happening.” It was the only logical reason to keep Knockturn Alley up and running, though she doubted it would be that easy of a place to shut down anyhow. But it kept the undesirables in one area, where the normal folk didn’t have to deal with them. It was simply a fact, nothing that she was offended by, as there was pretty much nothing that could offend her anymore.

It was curious to Miles why such a creature would even waste their time signing their name to the Ministry, wondering briefly if she really had been that daft at a time. The Ministry had never been a place to trust and yet, she trusted them ever so briefly enough to give them her name. It was quite the shame, really. He was certain that by now, she realized her horrendous mistake, though it was too late to take it back. On the other hand, it worked to his advantage that she had trusted the Ministry before and was now reaping the wonderful ‘benefits’ of such an error. Had she not been receiving this obvious discrimination, he was certain it would be even more difficult to convince her onto his side. It was time for magical creatures all over to come together and to take down the Ministry, and all of those that supported the Ministry in any way, shape, or form. Purebloods were meant to be in control; they were meant to take back this world and they certainly would one day.

“Touché,” Miles grinned, satisfied that the pretty little head was actually being in use. It was good to see that she wasn’t just a pretty face with extraordinary power, but that she could see the bigger picture. He grew slightly hopeful that perhaps changing her mind wasn’t going to be as difficult as he had thought it would be. “Can’t have that mixture, now can we?” he replied, taking a swig of his drink. “Like keeping the zoo animals caged up, poking them when they want to,” he shrugged letting out a deep sigh.

Nothing fazed her anymore, finding that she could take just about any reaction given to her about what she was. She had only been a werewolf for… five years, she supposed, but she had felt like it had been triple that amount of time. In that period, Amaris was sure she had encountered every single way that a person could hate her, every way that they could be afraid of her, and every other reaction that there was. She couldn’t find herself bothered by any of it anymore, when there was nothing that she could do to change it. Accepting it was easier, but she just made sure to be wary at the same time. Just because she could handle anger as a reaction, doesn’t mean that she wanted to be a situation that could get her killed. That had happened to her in the past. Apart from that, she was even used to the Ministry and the different random laws and regulations put into affect for werewolves. Amaris had thought it before and it stood true; she would not even be surprised if eventually werewolves had to wear some kind of physical object to make sure everyone knew what they were. She would jokingly guess a collar, finding that whatever she considered that most ridiculous ended up normally being what happened. Now her mindset was bordering on even that being all right. How long could she really live like this? How long could she burden her brother and everyone around her?

It was a thought for another time, clearly. A small smile graced her lips at his agreement, though it wasn’t much to smile about, obviously. She had proven her point, and she did appreciate that he agreed with her. If anyone had told her before this all happened that she would be calling herself trash and talking about ‘mixing’ in Diagon Alley, she knew she would have looked at the person like they were insane. But it was something else that was simply normal now. This man might not know why she was there, but he had to know that she was meant to be somehow—or they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Amaris laughed under her breath at his comparison, as it was more apt than he realized. She was certainly an animal, that was the damn problem, and she knew that the Ministry would be more than willing to poke and prod her if she stepped out of line. Working here, she had begun to hear whispers about people being taken in by the Werewolf Capture Unit and never reappearing, but it just had stayed as rumors really. It was yet another reason to remain wary, clearly. “Quite the suitable comparison,” she replied, finally, before taking a sip of her drink.

There were plenty people that agreed with Miles side, whether it was the lie that he was portraying about wanting equality, or if it was his actual meaning of believing that muggles had no right in this damn world in the position that they were holding. It was pathetic, really, that people could actually think that muggles, muggleborns, halfbloods, and purebloods were all equal. It was clear that purebloods and muggles were vastly different. Where purebloods had their magic and capabilities, muggles had their hopes and dreams, being crushed when they came to realize that they lacked the magic needed to obtain such desires. There was absolutely no possible way that purebloods and muggles could have the same value when they were so different. It was quite juvenile to even come to that belief, clearly. Things would be righted in their own time…with his guidance. People seemed to think that this was all a power struggle, but that was clearly not it. This was simply him trying to right the wrong that the world had done, resetting the balances, if one willed to describe it as such. Power was simply something that was given once the balances were back in place and that power would certainly go to those who fought to bring it back.

“I’m sure they probably think the lot of us are contagious, ready to give them whatever we have that they deem undesirable,” he shrugged, rolling his eyes. It was a joke, all of it. Well, except for the fact that it wasn’t humorous in the slightest. That kind actually believed that they would give them their mindset or their gifts, or whatever shitty thing they thought. There was no way he would willingly give them anything as they already had way too much to begin with. They were stealing their damn magic and then wasting it away on nonsense, like trying to get equality that didn’t bloody belong to them. When it came down to it, animals always fought back and then man would discover that beast always won, going to the levels that it needed to in order to succeed. Some humans simply had too much dignity to do what was needed to win, which was quite fine with him as long as they stayed out of his way. “What’s that saying? It is what it is? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,” he chuckled casually, shaking his head. That bloody statement was ridiculous.