Written for: QLFC round 8 - Voldemort wins; what happens to the ministry?
Prompts:
#10 (quote) 'It's my turn to show you a sight you've never seen before' - Haruka Nanase, Free!
#8 (word) lace
#12 (word) cruel
Chaser 3 for the Falmouth Falcons.
Word count: 2966
Diagon Alley:
Club Imperio - Martini [5 Sickles]: Write a story set in the 1920s. / Available Garnishes: Lemon Spiral [Phrase: "Cascading Failures."] or Olive [Include a spinach based dish in your meal.]
Versatility – Successful OC
Author's Note: this story is an AU where Voldemort takes over Britain in 1915 after the first world war ended (at the time they referred to it as the Great War). Obviously, he wasn't born until much later, but for the purpose of this story I changed it.
'It's my turn to show you a sight you've never seen before' - Haruka Nanase, Free
In a dank, dark corner of the magical world, a man huddled closer to the girl in his arms and started talking.
"I know the world seems like a cruel, ugly place. First the Great Muggle War tore at our country for five years; then, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took over and has brought terror to our hearts for over ten years.
But it wasn't always this way. Close your eyes, darling, and I'll take you to a place unlike anything you've ever seen before.
It was the year 1923. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign had lasted for eight years, and most people had given up. The only ones that reveled in it were the Death Eaters.
The few remaining workers from the Ministry of Magic had taken to the bottle to deal with the horrible memories of the war. Our ruler found it distasteful and banned alcohol. A muggleborn named Burk Capone had seen it as an opportunity to open the speakeasy, The Blind Hippogriff. Eventually, the ministry workers that weren't Death Eaters started to frequent the place.
I had found out about it from a friend who had given me the location and the password. When I walked down the dark cobbled street shrouded in darkness, I thought it was a setup. Worry gnawed at me with every step that brought me further into darkness and farther away from populated streets. Others had rushed past the place, desperate to get away from the stink of urine and cold fog. For a while, I only saw two steps in front of me while I heard the steady drip of water.
Finally, after a series of twist and turns that removed me from the civilized world, I arrived at a door. It had a simple hatch in it and was repaired at several places, but it didn't mask how old and decayed it was. I was about to knock when a black cloud appeared in front of the hatch. In it, an eye swiveled to look at me. It seemed to come from the darkness itself. Chills ran down my spine, but I knew I had to get help to find you.
"Phoenix," I said, and the door creaked open.
I steeled myself and stepped forward. On my second step, I wasn't in darkness or surrounded by silence anymore.
I had found the speakeasy, and it left me breathless in wonder.
A bar stretched all the way across one side of the room; behind it were bartenders rushing to take everyone's orders. The bartender at the end concentrated solely on supplying the band, singer, and dancers on stage that stretched across the front of the room.
On the other side were multiple private booths. Behind me was the entrance, exit, and the restrooms. There were several tables placed around the room crowded together so only the barmaids were able to move between them and get orders. In front of the stage was a dance floor filled with people.
The band playing a lively song, the laughing people, and bright lights made for a great ambiance. It was akin to a beautiful, hot summer's day.
I took a seat at one of the few free bar stools. «What can I get you?» a bartender asked while he was using a rag to polish a glass. A sign behind him told me, 'No Magic Allowed', explaining why he didn't just use his wand.
"Information," I said. "Where can I find the Minister of Magic?"
He scrunched his eyebrows at me and gave a vicious rub on the glass he held. "It is much too early in the evening to talk shop, boy." He grunted and nodded towards the exit. "And if you aren't buying, you'd best leave."
Judging by his demeanor, and the other bartenders that were keeping me in their sights, I could tell I would not get information from them. I sighed and said, "A whiskey, please."
It seemed I had said the wrong thing because the man seemed enraged at my simple order. To my right, a young lad leaned in and said, "He wants a coffee syrup."
"Coming right up." The bartender seemed relieved by the lad's rectified order.
"What was that about?" I asked.
"You can't order liquor here. You have to use different names for it." He smiled a quick smile that was supposed to seem easy-going, but just made him look nervous as he fiddled with a napkin.
"Oh." I felt like a fool for not knowing this, especially since a boy that seemed too young to drink had stepped in and helped me. "Thank you, Mister—?"
"Scamander. Newt, Scamander." The lad smiled again, and his curly hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward to grasp my hand in greeting.
I shook his hand and was pleased to find he had a strong grip.
"What brings you here, Mister Scamander?" I asked when my drink arrived.
"One last drink for the road," he replied. "I am traveling to America soon."
"I thought it was impossible now with everything that is happening."
He seemed nervous by what I had said because he shifted on the chair and eyed the bartender who served drinks nearby.
"Yes, well hopefully it will work out."
His explanation felt rushed, and, next thing I knew, he is excusing himself and disappears into the crowd. I tried to watch where he disappeared to, but the bartender slammed a drink down on the table in front of me.
"On the house," he said.
When I glanced around again, there wasn't a trace of the lad. I realized he must be helping them smuggle alcohol to America.
My eyes landed on a man sitting in one of the darker sections. I walked over to his table and said, "Mind if I sit?"
He shrugged, so I sat down across from him. It didn't take long before I wished I hadn't. He told me his gruesome story, and it sent shivers down my spine. I don't wish to horrify you with details, my love. But the gist of it was this: a man named Macnair had shown up with an ax. It seemed Macnair wasn't all that bright so he took the term 'cutbacks' literally. This man was the only one left of the Muggle Liason's Department.
As he finished his story, the man passed out on the table and snored loudly. I left my empty drink and walked around to see if there was anyone who could help me.
Intermittently, I looked into the booths I passed. In one of the darker ones, a group of men sat together talking. They seemed agitated by something, judging by their animated way of expressing themselves with their hands. A waitress was standing by the table tapping one foot. In one hand, she held a tray with drinks on it; the other was palms up waiting for something to be handed to her.
One of the men lay a stack of papers on the table so the contents of their drinks wavered and spilled. In response to his actions, the rest of the men slumped and sent each other disgruntled looks. He passed the documents to the waiter who gave them the drinks in return for them. Then she walked past the rest of the booths until she was by the last one, and then she disappeared.
I was curious, so when she returned, I observed her carefully. She winked at a man that sat alone at the table that stood center stage in front of the dance floor. The man smirked in return and raised his glass. I figured he must be the owner of the establishment.
I wanted to approach him but got cut off by a man that flung himself at his feet. The owner curled his mouth in disgust when the other man gripped his expensive suit. I was close enough to hear the owner's deep voice as he said, "You didn't hold up your end of the agreement, so I had to cut you off." With an inclination of his head, two men approached from the shadows to lift the guy and carry him out of the club.
The most surprising thing was the lack of reaction from everyone else. It seemed like this was not the first time this had happened.
Finding the coast clear, I approached the man and introduced myself.
In return, he introduced himself as the owner — like I had guessed earlier — Burk Capone.
"I need help. My wife is missing, I think the Death Eaters—"
With a wave of his hand, he stopped me. He gave an aura of authority that wasn't to be questioned. The two men that had returned to stand nearby in the shadows only solidified it.
"I run a bar, not rescue missions."
When I tried to plead with him, he cut me off again by pursing his lips. How the other guy had the nerve to put his hands on this man, I don't know.
"You may leave now," he said. I didn't need further encouraging than that, so I stood and walked away.
I somehow stumbled onto the dance floor. A woman I had never seen before lead me to the dance floor and did something called the foxtrot. With a little gentle coaxing, my feet were stumbling along to the beat of the music. The alcohol in my veins combined with the smile of the unknown woman made me forget about my troubles for a minute or two. But when the music stopped and everyone clapped, I snapped out of my daze. I thanked the young girl and walked off the dance floor.
My feet carried me to the bar and stage, where I found the singer that had decided to take a break.
She was with an older gentleman. As she leaned closer to him, his hand moved up her thigh to reveal the lace of her underwear. I was scandalized, yet, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight. It reminded me of my lover who I ached for — it reminded me of you, darling.
"Can you come over tonight?" the man asked as he squeezed her butt.
She sighed and said, "I'm not sure. The Boss is expecting a shipment, and we haven't figured out how to distract the Death Eaters. It's all hands on deck, none of us leave until we have it solved."
The fella smiled at her. Part of me wanted to look away, another part of me wanted to alert someone to what the singer did on her break. In the end, neither part won out. Instead, I stayed and listened to her giggle as he said, "I've got you covered, doll."
Her face lit up with a smile that seemed genuine by her bounce and kisses on his lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. She said, "You're the best!" but behind his back, she moved her fingers in a way I can't explain or replicate. The bartender watching the exchange nodded in return; then he scribbled a note and passed it to a waitress. The waitress swung her hips in a tantalizing way as she moved over to Capone with the message of what had transpired.
I figured he wouldn't be happy to find me catching the exchange, so I moved away from the dance floor and slipped into a booth at random.
"Hello there, old sport." A man with a blue, tailored suit was in the booth. He regarded me with a smile that related his full attention is on me. When he looked at me, it felt like the world revolved around me. "Can you move to the other side of the booth? You are blocking my view."
I look behind myself and realize his attention is on the dancers on stage. I felt embarrassed to have thought a magmatic man such as him would care about me, so I moved.
After sitting in silence, he asked, "What do you do for a living?"
I look up to find him enraptured by the dancers' performance. I don't understand the appeal of the women on stage dancing so that the contour of their lace underwear is visible. As I look around, however, I notice most of the men seem captivated by them. The dancers tell a story of lust and passion. Their blood-red lips and dark eyes belonged to lusty fantasies of teenage boys, not grown men in a club.
The singer sounded like a siren calling to lost sailors, tempting them to sail into troubled waters. I watched her sing, and I noticed she sung not only about the emotion; the emotion seemed to rush through her to compel men to fall for her. Maybe that's why I didn't see the appeal, her narration was lost on someone that was already captured by the force of love.
"I do little but look for my lost wife," I answered at last.
He was still distracted and said, "That's nice."
His careless remark made me angry, but my only response was to clench a fist before I asked him the same.
"I work in the ministry," he replied.
At last, I found a man that might help me! I quelled the excitement bubbling up in me before I said, "I need your help."
"What do you need my help with?"
"My wife is missing." I wanted to tell the entire story of how you disappeared, my love, but found my words lacking.
"What makes you think I can help you?"
I hesitate before I say, "You work in the ministry."
He laughs at me and I am angry again.
"I am a slave to the whims of Death Eaters while I work there, and here I answer to the owner of this establishment. Look around, all us ministry workers are the same; we don't control our lives any longer. We sell our souls here for drinks to forget the horrible things we have done in the Ministry to survive."
"So you can't help me?"
"If you make it worth my while." His smile turns into a leer that makes me sick. "If you get me one of those dancers, I'll see what I can do about your wife."
At his words, I stand, appalled that he could ask a gentleman of such a thing. I don't think men and women should fraternize while inebriated or without chaperones and here I have proof of it. Images that once pulled me in now seemed tainted, like it had been glorious but now looked grotesque as paint chipped away.
This is Hell on Earth, I realize. It might be wonderful and colorful like a summer's day, but underneath the layer of beautiful imagery, I see the cardinal sins. Sloth is the men who can't even lift their butts off their chairs to get another drink. Envy is represented by men and women on the dance floor. A fight had started over a girl earlier and now two women were yelling at each other while a man stood between them to pull them apart. Pride is in many people here, but none more than the bartender in charge. He admired himself, his work, and his men as a king on a throne. Lust was everywhere, for drinks, money, or each other. Gluttony was in the ministry workers who drowned themselves in alcohol. Burk Capone was a perfect example of greed. His eyes seemed to shine like galleons when he looked around himself.
Sadly, the last sin I found was the one inside myself — wrath. I wanted them all to feel my pain, these sinners that would deny helping a saint like my wife. I wanted to blast them all to smithereens. Instead, I stormed out without looking back.
The next week, I talked to my friend again, the one that had told me about the place. He asked if I visited it before the night of cascading failures that resulted in it being shut forever.
It turns out, the night after I had visited, the Death Eaters had caught wind of the place. First, they captured and tortured every remaining member of the fallen Ministry of Magic. When they couldn't get inside, they stood outside to capture every single person coming out of the Blind Hippogriff. After a while, the people inside realized what was happening and made a decision to have one last stand against the Death Eaters. It was a battle of epic proportions, but they didn't stand a chance."
After finishing his tale, the man looked down at the girl in his arms. During his story, she had passed away. She still had a smile on her face and closed eyes like she was sleeping. If it weren't for how cold she felt in his arms, he would have believed it. He shed a tear before he admitted, "I don't regret telling them about the speakeasy. They deserve it! I needed someone to help me find you. I love you."
He kissed her one last time, her blue lips cold against his. Even if he didn't regret it, he wasn't happy about what he had done. After all, it hadn't helped save her, and without her, life wasn't worth living. The speakeasy might have been the last place of bliss and happiness for most, but for him, the last flicker of life had died in his arms.