| Details for Broomstick Jousting |
| Summary: | A group of Slytherins (Knights of Walpurgis, all) at the Three Broomsticks have a heated conversation with a lone Gryffindor and a student-to-be about the proper ways of the wizarding world. |
| Date: | 18 June 1941 |
| Location: | Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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The door to the Three Broomsticks opens, and there is a familiar voice carried in, the posh tones of upper-class Wiltshire familiar to (and doubtless hated by) many students, "What /is/ the meaning of this rumor about some problems in the Charmatorium, anyway? Were you there, Prince?" It's only a beat before the platinum hair of Abraxas Malfoy, wearing a set of casual go-to-town robes, appears through the doorway, holding it open for whomever his companion is.
Aiden shakes his head back and forth a few times. "Whether or not one may think its likely er not, doesnt matter one way or the other. Im confident in me skills ya know confidence and heart mean as much as practice and skill." He says a little louder than he meant perhaps. "I'm sure beyon any doubt that my skills are enough ta make a team." He says sincerely. When the door opens he looks up curiously not sure who this is walking in.
"Well, if you're sure, you're sure.." Anson's voice is a touch more reserved, a touch colder, now that Aiden's has risen a bit. The Gryffindor eases back into his seat after raising his butterbeer, trying to signal for a fresh one. Hopefully one of the barmaids sees and can be bothered to deliver a fresh one, because he doesn't seem to have any desire to move. Particularly not when Abraxas walks in. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain seems to draw Anson's enmity with his question, though he doesn't venture to call out to the older boy.
Samira slinks into the Three Broomsticks close after Malfoy. She pauses once inside and tilts her head. "Problems? I had a chance to practice patch-ups when I was there last." Her tone suggests that such couldn't be considered 'problems'. Many students will recognize her as the student who transfered to Hogwarts the previous year. She speaks with a clear British accent with only subtle hints of her native Arabic influence.
"Something about a fight, or a challenge, or something of the sort. I didn't hear all the details. But that's the nature of silly rumors. Still, I'm glad that nobody was foolish enough to endanger house points with only a handful of days left until the end of the year." Abraxas says, as he shuts the door behind the pair of them and then looks around, "Buy you a drink?" he says, to Samira, then, when he notices Aiden giving him the stinkeye, he merely nods coldly.
Aiden nods to the lady and guy that walked in before he turns back quickly to Anson. "Me apologies I didnt mean ta raise me voice. Im just really sure I can do it, I may be young but tha' doesnt mean Im not good right?" He asks his Irish brogue clear to any who are listening. "I just I want to prove myself I know Im great I juss need da chance ta prove me greatnesss ya know?"
"Malfoy." Anson's greeting is as icy-cold as Abraxas's nod. Grudgingly, so grudgingly that it sounds as though the words are being choked out of him, he says "Congratulations on your win." He looks as though he'd rather spit into the other boy's drink than say those words. But the look he gives Samira is rather more warm. "Prince." This time, he smiles broadly, tipping her a nod. And then his attention is back to Aiden. "It's alright, kid. Look — you may someday be the best Quidditcher ever. Better than Palancher, even. But you aren't yet. I just don't want you to be too disappointed."
Samira nods lightly, standing at the entrance with Abraxas Malfoy. "A butterbeer. Thank you, Abraxas." Even after almost two years at Hogwarts, she hasn't adopted the custom of referring to everyone by surname. She follows Malfoy's gaze across the room to Anson and Aiden. Her lips quirk into a little smirk and her eyes dance with mirth. "Ah. Your would-be rival? And he has a tiny friend." Standing scarcely over five-feet tall, the sixth-year is certainly calling the kettle black. Anson's nod is returned, however, even with a broad smile of her own. The mirth in her eyes dances still.
Abraxas walks over to the bar and orders a butterbeer for Samira and a stronger drink for himself. A few knuts pay for the drinks, and he leans against the bar and folds his arms in front of him, "The Quidditch Cup? Yes, back to it's rightful place in Slytherin House, finally." And in a game where Abraxas earned the most house points in Hogwarts history. It really was an impressive display of keeping. Keeper-ing? "My father said the Arrows and Canons were asking about me. Not that he would permit such a thing, or that I would entertain it. I will play for the pride of my House, but not to be someone else's purchased entertainment."
Aiden looks up at the two new comers not sure what to make of any of this. "Now setting myself up for failure youre right would be most unfortunate. Tha's why Im on my broom so much train hard to get the win yes?" He says looking between the two rivals hearing about Quidditch he turns to look at Abraxaz. "You play as well?" He asks smiling and now more curious than ever.
Professional play. Anson's raison d'etre. He tries to hide the flush in his cheeks, but the boy is so fair that he can't hide the pinkening. "Well, now that I'm going out for Gryffindor," he says in a voice that fairly mimics Abraxas's coolness, "Your House won't keep it for long. Still. That was an impressive piece of play on your part." He's trying to sound more gracious, particularly under Samira's sparkling eye, and sends a quick wink her way. As if to say, 'all in fun, nothing to see here'. Still, no fresh butterbeer has appeared on his table. Rising to his feet, the boy tells Aiden "Train harder than anyone else, and you have a chance. I'll be right back." He ends up next to Abraxas, raising a hand to order another drink.
The door of The Three Broomsticks is pulled open, allowing a brief sweep of wind from outside moments before the form of Antonin Dolohov steps inside, allowing the door to swing closed behind him. The boy's dark features gaze around the establishment from beneath a slightly furrowed brow, eyes alighting on Abraxas and Samira first. He starts across the room at a casual pace, sidestepping smoothly past those that step into his way as he goes. Upon reaching the bar he nods his head to Abraxas and Samira in greeting. "Malfoy, Samira. Enjoying your time in the village?" He says nothing to Anson, outright ignoring the Gryffindor's presence.
"For the last time before summer, yes, Dolohov. Good to see you out and about." Abraxas says, raising his drink in a lazy toast and then taking a sip. He looks back to Anson, and says, "Gryffindor tried this year, didn't they? Pity they couldn't manage to beat us, though thank you for taking care of Ravenclaw." A little shrug, and the says, to the younger boy, "Join a winning team. Surrounding yourself with inferior quality is like taking a diamond and burying it… in the mud."
Samira accepts her butterbeer and holds it like a Champagne flute. She shifts to Aiden. "He does. The keeper. Not even catching the snitch did the Hufflepuffs much good, did it." She sips her butterbeer and her eyes slide back to Anson to catch his wink. With a soft, almost impish giggle, she takes another sip of butterbeer. At Antonin's nod, she gives a little wave of her fingers. "Quite."
Anson wrinkles his nose as Antonin comes near, and he seems on the verge of what, for him, would be a cutting remark at the social snub of being ignored. But then Samira giggles and he quite visibly decides to change tack. Perhaps being civil will garner him the best results. So he nods to Antonin politely before turning his attention back to Abraxas.
"Yes. Unfortunately, we weren't quite good enough this year. Next year will be different." His assurance — presumably in his own ability — is absolute. "The Hufflepuff team — well, they had a hard go of it," he says charitably. "Their new Seeker did quite well, though, I thought."
Antonin glances toward Anson as he sends a nod his way, the young Dolohov finally consenting a curt nod in return now that he is not the one extending the first greeting. Seeming to catch on to the general flow of conversation, Antonin grins and says, "Yes, the Gryffindor team did a marvelous job of paving the way for the true champions, and Hufflepuff is shite." He shrugs his shoulders, either uncaring if he offends anyone or truly believing that he has said nothing offensive at all.
"They came up short." Abraxas says, and then looks at Antonin, giving him a little smirk and then a, "No, now, Dolohov, be nice. I'm sure the team of half-bloods and underachievers 'did their best'." He manages to sneer that last part. "And we shall see about next year, yes. We're bringing back most of the team. Hopefully things will go as well for us. I suspect they will, but I could be wrong."
Samira leans lazily against the side of the bar, standing close next to Abraxas. She watches Anson impish mirth as she takes a delicate sip of butterbeer. Her gaze slides to Antonin as Anson recieves acknowledgement at last. But as the conversation goes on about Quidditch even more, her attention drifts across the room.
"Obviously," says Anson amiably enough, "I hope you're wrong." The Gryffindor sips his fresh butterbeer, considering both Antonin and Abraxas. He seems about to let the jibes about Hufflepuff pass — after all, this is downright amiable for a meeting between Slytherin and Gryffindor — but the jibe about half-bloods seems to irritate him. "You two ought to run off and join Grindelwald in Germany. Why aren't you at Durmstrang?" He smiles, as though to take any sting out of his words, and gives another sidelong glance to Samira. The poor boy has a case of idiocy. He seems to be trying to impress her. "But come on. Let's talk about something else. Samira looks bored."
There's walking into a room, and then there's striding in like one own's the place. Oberon Lestrange has probably never done the former. The tall, dark-haired Slytherin enters with chin lifted and his eyes scouring the crowd. As his gaze falls upon each fellow Slytherin, there is a little nod of recognition. He steers toward the bar to join his housemates, snapping his fingers at the bartender for attention. "Water. In a clean glass." He shoots a smirk over at Anson, catching the tail end of what he was saying. "Aww, concerned about Samira, here? I think he likes you, Prince."
"Lestrange." Abraxas says, with a cool little bow of his head, and then the Malfoy continues, "Why? Because there has been a Malfoy at Hogwarts almost as long as there has been a Hogwarts, that's why. And because I think the last thing we need is to go involving /muggles/ in our business. But perhaps you should try a school that is more in keeping with your wizarding abilities. I'm sure WADA has openings. You could have a career as a party clown." He rolls his eyes.
"Well," says Anson as Oberon Lestrange approaches. That's four Slytherin to one Gryffindor. Even the dense meathead can sense when the odds are against him. "I can see when I'm not wanted." His voice is level as he stares down first one, then another. The gaze he fixes on Antonin certainly implies that he heard the silent accusation in the boy's words. He smiles condescendingly as he answers. "I look forward to seeing you accomplish something, Dolohov. Anything."
He pushes off the bar and sets his butterbeer down, then looks over at Abraxas. "Now, see," he drawls in his crustiest low-class British, "We were all getting along so nice." He squares his shoulders, winks again at Samira, and turns to stroll out of the Three Broomsticks. His shoulderblades must be itching, with so many enemies behind him, but he manages not to show it.
Oberon grins, chuckling quietly as Abraxas barbs at Anson. When his water comes, he looks at the glass, then thunks it back down on the bar, spilling some of the water. "I said a clean glass. Merlin's beard." His eyes follow Anson as the Gryffindor makes his way out. "Don't stumble, Abbott. Wouldn't want to bloody up that nose again."
Samira's attention flits to Oberon as he descends, and her smile grows with recognition. The mention of her name in the ongoing conversation recaptures her attention. She looks to Anson, curious. Oberon's words spark a broad smile. "Does he." That impish laughter shines in her eyes, without mockery - only light-hearted mirth. Shifting her weight, her hip sways, rolling her to lean back now against the bar to watch Anson with amused interest.
Aiden comes back from a day dream, he was off in one of his fantasies. "What did I miss?" He asks with a confused look on his face. "Am I missin somethin?" Aiden asks.
Riddle smoothes his hair as he steps into the Three Broomsticks. Delayed because of some kerfuffle about bullying. A genteel smile across his face as he holds the door open for a witch on her way out. "Mum." He greets and then continues to hold the door open for Anson. "Abbott." Once Anson has left he makes sure he's not closing the door in anyone's face before he lets the door swing shut. One black brow crooks into a peak over his left eye as he takes in the sights and sounds and who's who. Seems he's gone from one Kerfuffle to another. "Sounds like some demented creature." He muses outloud but quietly to himself. "Kerfuffle. Like a Hufflepuff rabid for Kerchiefs." He's so used to having someone tagging along with him, perhaps he doesn't actually realize he's talking to himself? But boldly he joins the joinings ons. "Seems I missed the fun." A little motion of his chin and some eye contact with Samira asks permission to slide in beside her.
Oberon gives Riddle a nod as his young "ward" enters. "Hey, Tom. You didn't miss much. Just a bit of fun. Abbott's always good for a laugh. You should have seen him dangling like a one-legged cat on a branch the other day in the Charmitorium." He smirks as he inspects his second glass of water. Apparently satisfied with the cleanliness this time, he takes a sip.
Antonin grins in spite of himself at Malfoy's clever jab toward Anson and WADA being more his speed. The grin endures as he glances back to Anson when the Gryffindor makes his own remark toward him and the young Dolohov's eyes flash as he says, "Oh, I am certain you will witness me accomplishing something soon enough. Just keep your eyes open. I would hate for you to miss it by covering your eyes." There is venom in the young boys words and then just as soon as he has said his piece, it is gone and he is looking around toward Riddle as he joins the group. "Good evening, Tom. I was wondering if I would see you in the village today."
Samira's bottle of butterbeer pauses at her lips as she catches Riddle's arrival. Lowering it, she offers a pleased smile and shifts with a slight sway, inviting Riddle to join her leaning back against the bar. Glancing back at Oberon, she says, "Ah. Was that the trouble?" She looks from him to Abraxas, head tilted.
Aiden stands up and walks over to get another pumpkin juice. Seeming that he has been overlooked not hard as he is a child himself. "So whats all of your names?" He asks smiling at them all.
Abraxas tilts his head at Oberon's mention of someone dangling from one leg, "As amusing as that sounds, Lestrange, I'm /certain/ it was an accident, wasn't it? Nothing that a Prefect would have to be concerned about, I'm sure." The Malfoy tilts his head, and sips his own drink, something a bit stronger than butterbeer, though he's been nursing it since he got here.
Riddle nestles in at the bar besides Samira, a subtle little sniff is given towards the butterbeer, the act done to determine if he wishes a butterbeer himself or not. A passive meh reaction seems positive enough that he signals of a butterbeer for himself. "Abbott might be thick as a bludger, and he might wear the wrong colored robes. But at least what's under them and that thick skull is pure." He speaks like some reverend preaching tolerance. When his butterbeer comes and he takes the first drink he face twists and he presses the mug back towards the barkeep. "Tea, Earl Grey, Hot. Please and thank you." His lip flicker in a touch of a smile. "Could have warned me he was heavy handed with the butterscotch. Might have as well scoops a fist full of butter from a churn and dipped it in treacle." Oh look there's a boy he doesn't know. Young boys (cause he's so mature and old now…) like butterbeer so the lad is offered his disgarded brew. "Tom Riddle."
Oberon gives Abraxas a wry smirk. "I wish I could claim credit for it. But this was entirely Abbott's own stupidity. He was trying to show off and couldn't even manage a proper Ascending Charm." He glances to Aiden, ready to brush him off. But Tom seems to take a passing interest, so he follow suit after all. "Oberon Lestrange…and you are?"
Samira's amusement brightens as Abraxas side-steps any point-deducting trouble. Taking a sip of her butterbeer, she watches Riddle out of the corner of her eye with a lingering hint of mirth. "I haven't quite aquired its taste yet. But I thought I would try embracing the 'Three Broomsticks experience." Attention shifting to Aiden, she acknowledges him with a nod and follows Tom's response with her own. "Samira. Prince or Azam, as you like. Here, Prince is more well-known."
Aiden smiles at the two who address him. "Im Aiden Merrythought." Aiden says with a smile. As he approaches the others. "Im going to be in Hogwarts next year. Just thought I should get to know people ya know?" He asks the Brogue thick in his voice clearly his family is Irish.
"Abraxas Malfoy." the platinum-haired one replies, giving his own introduction. As if his looks didn't give it away. "Merrythought, hrm? Well, a wizarding family, at least." He nods to Oberon, as well, "Let us make sure that Abbot doesn't forget how to do his charms again in the future. It's embarassing. He should know better."
Oberon's skeptical gazes relaxes a bit when the boy introduces himself as being from a pure-blood family. Perhaps not the purest, but good enough. He offers a "helpless" shrug to Abraxas. "What do you expect? Gryffindors are taught how to bull-rush through everything, not to actually think."
"Antonin Dolohov," the younger of the Slytherins introduces. His eyes gaze over the young boy for a moment before his eyes shift to the rest of the group. Stepping around the others and sliding closer to the bar, Dolohov orders a tea for himself and then glances toward the others. "What is everyone going to be doing over the Summer break?" he asks. "Will we be getting together between terms?"
Samira takes another small sip of her butterbeer. She glances off, considering the taste. At last, with a sigh, she sets it aside and turns back to the barkeeper. "A cup of tea please. If you have nothing with cardamom, Earl Grey will do. No milk, thank you. Just hot, with sugar." Returning to the conversation, she catches only Antonin's questions. "I expect so. Though if I can, I will be often busy at St. Mungo's."
Aiden looks at those who've introduced themselves. "Yes me Da's a Merrythought me Mum was born a Moody." He says with a smile. "Im actually like I said startin me first year in September. Im hopin ta be in Slytherin meself though most of me family on both sides were Gryffindor or Ravenclaw." He says with a smile. "Im not big enough ta charge headlong into me problems ya know?"
"St. Mungo's, hm?" Oberon arches his scarred eyebrow at Samira. "Might be worth an injury or two," he says with a smirk before addressing Antonin. "I'm sure we'll be getting together. We can gather at my home, if need be. My father and I plan on joining an expedition to the Congo or Siberia for a few weeks. But aside from that, I expect we'll be around all summer."
Riddle takes a sip of his tea, "Mr. Trafford Avery was talking about the trouble some of his ships have been having with the Muggle German U-boats on occasion. Last Chrismas. Maybe we can all go for a 'pleasure cruise' put a bit of use to those," idiotic "Pirate Days at Hogwarts to some good use. But instead of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors we'll be ridding the seas of some nosy muggle krauts. Course we may all end up visiting Samira at St. Mungos if we do that."
"I'll be around London the summer." Abraxas says, finishing his drink and asking for another. "Unless Gringotts lets me go into the field this summer, but I doubt it." He looks at Riddle, and says, "You realize, of course, that worse than St. Mungo's, that would wind up with us sitting in the Ministry." Though it's doubtful that their powerful families couldn't cover up just about anything. "I do wonder what Herr Grindelwald is up to."
Samira flashes a bright smile at the prospect of Oberon's injuries. And she adds to Riddle's comment, "I would look forward to it." Perhaps she does seem a bit too keen on treating their potential injuries. Recieving her tea, she inhales its scent before offering a nod of thanks. Glancing back at the others, she adds quietly, "I am hoping to secure my own flat for the summer. If my Uncle is amenable, we can gather there as well."
Antonin nods his head and says, "I expect that we could gather at my home as well, should we need to. My family does not pay an undue amount of attention, so we would be left to ourselves for the most part." The young Dolohov glances toward Aiden as he speaks and says, "Well, good luck. Perhaps the Sorting Hat will put you where you wish to go. I know that I was destined for Slytherin before the hat ever touched my head."
Aiden quirks a brow and smiles at the others. "How did you know you were destined for Slytherin?" He asks confused. "I just know that I want great things for me, I want them so bad I can tastem." Aiden says to them. "So is it ok if I stay and talk with you guys here for a while?" He asks politely.
Oberon smirks at Antonin and Aiden. "Nobody really knows…but let's be honest, any pure-blood worth his or her lineage is sure to be sorted into Slytherin." He tilts his head at Aiden. "Here's your first Hogwarts exam, Merrythought. One question. What is a Muggle-born good for?"
"Maybe…" Abraxas says, continuing on with his earlier thought, "We should try to find out. What they're up to, that is. It's only a short hop." He groans at Oberon, "We just finished exams, Lestrange, even hearing the word makes my head hurt." He coughs, and says, "Malfoy Manor is, of course, open to you all during the summertime. Though I suspect I'll be staying with my Uncle or Cousin."
Riddle doesn't seem to be too concerned with the repurcussion of a pleasure cruise ending in a sunken U-boat. Much like Abraxas he figures that it is "Self Defense." is easily enough to claim. "A flat?" Every ounce of bitterness of his wealthy friends that can have flats of their own between school is hidden away behind a aristocratic smile. "That would be capital Samira. Well done and thank you. It sounds as if we will all have plenty of places to hang our hats. We should all just circulate houses over the summer, make an adventure of it." Towards Aiden his chin gives a little tilt and motion for the boy to pull up a stool with them.
Samira cants her head at Riddle, acknowledging his thanks with a pleased smile. A sip of tea, and Samira focuses fully on Aiden at last. "I suspected Slytherin would be mine. None of the others quite resonated with me." Without waiting for his response, she closes her eyes to savor a slow draught of her tea.
"Says the tallest Firstie ever to be sorted." Abraxas says, to Samira with a laugh. "But you chose the right House - or the right House chose you. However that really works." He gives a little shrug and a laugh. "Yes, we should certainly see each other over the Summer. I'd be happy to host a little get-together sometime in the few weeks after school. Who knows what entertainments we might find without the watchful eyes of Hogwarts on us, hrm?" They are, after all, legal adults now, for the most part.
Aiden wrinkles his nose shakes his head and makes a disgusted noise, Obviously he doesnt particularly hold with his familial ideals entirely. "I feel that Muggle-borns are an abomination, stealing what is rightfully ours and trying to sit amongst us as equals." He says spitting these words like venom. "They have no place amongst us and in that they are good for nothing." Aiden says with arrogance. "Its we of de ol' blood that truly makes this community great." He says as he sits down. "Am I out of line?" He asks but not because he doesnt know its more like a rhetorical question.
Oberon bursts into raucous laughter, slapping the bar top. "Oh ho! Listen to this kid! 'Abomination'!" He leans down to pat Aiden on the head, a bit harder than is comfortable. "I like you, Merrythought. You've got your head on straight." His eyes drift to Abraxas, squinting curiously. "I can't wait to see these entertainments of yours."
Samira giggles from behind her teacup as Abraxas harkens to her time standing fifteen years old among the firsties. And the mirth lingers in her eyes as she listens to Aiden's venom towards muggleborns. As always, she neither chimes in nor does she make any defense. Rather, she simply listens to him and Oberon with relaxed amusement. But at last, she sets down her teacup. "My shift in the Infirmary starts soon. I should make my way back up."
Anson Abbott may be an occasional clown — indeed, he may be a caricature of himself at times, bragging as he does — but he is a Gryffindor. And though he'd chosen discretion earlier in the evening, here he is again. And he's carrying himself with all the arrogant confidence of a Pure-Blood and a Gryffindor. That is to say, he does not hesitate to swagger right back up to the bar.
"You lot should take a stroll. It's lovely weather, and there's all sorts of lovely people about, as well." Perhaps he's met one of those lovely people? He does seem to be standing an inch or so higher. "May I have a butterbeer, please?" Politely laying a few knuts down on the bar, and then adding another as a gratuity, Anson turns his attention to the clutch of Slytherins. And Aiden. There's a surprise.
"Corrupting the youth, Malfoy?" And then Samira's leaving, and the Gryffindor straightens to offer a rather Victorian bow. "A good evening to you, Samira." But there's a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, an acknowledgement of his own ridiculousness.
"No, we're all adults here, Abbott. Some of us can even manage a levitation charm without difficulty." Abraxas says, tilting his head, and glancing at Samira to say, "Good night, Prince. See you back in the Common Room."
Riddle offers his elbow to Samira, "I'll escort you." He gives a cordial nod to those he's leaving. "Gentlemen. Enjoy your post-exams weekend."
Antonin nods his head and drains his own cup in short order, having been standing quietly and listening to the older students talk of summer plans and parties. And then there is Anson, returned again. "Merrythought here knows how to pick the proper kind all on his own, Abbott," Dolohov says with a grin, his eyes taking in the older Gryffindor with a disinterested sweep of his eyes." Turning his eyes toward Samira, Antonin dips his head and says, "See you back at the castle, Prince."
Oberon rolls his eyes at Anson. "Give it a rest, Abbott. She's got better taste than that." He gives Samira and Tom a nod. "See you later."
Aiden nods to Samira. "Good evenin Ma'am take care I look forward to talkin with ya again sometime." He says smiling at her not feeling he has the right to address her by name yet. "Anyway thanks sir he says to Lestrange. "Its just the way I think and how I feel, I mean Im not wrong in this belief am I?" He asks the group as a whole.
"I didn't see her saying it," replies Anson blandly. "She's quite a decent girl, for one of you." Setting aside those rumors that she's studied dark magic, that is. He sips his butterbeer, then scowls into it. "I do think a stiff brandy or two wouldn't go amiss, some nights." His voice is casual, friendly, as though he's among lifelong chums.
The glance from Dolohov, to Malfoy, to Merrythought, however. No, that's not friendly at all. "Weren't you telling me earlier, Merrythought, how you live and breathe Quidditch? So you've heard of Linc Palancher, of course." He takes another sip, careful to keep his voice careless. "One of the best Beaters of all time. Or Bobbie Riggs. She plays with him on the Arrows, you know."
"A Half-Breed and a Muggle-Born." Anson lets that hang there.
Samira pauses to watch Anson's formal bow to her, a bit bemused. Glancing to Abraxas, she smiles and waves her fingers at him. Setting aside her teacup, she accepts Riddles offered arm, "Thank you." Close at Riddle's side, she looks to the others with a broad smile. "Back at the castle. Perhaps in the Infirmary. Good luck." And with that, she looks to Riddle and allows him to lead her away.
Oberon gulps down the rest of his water and pushes off from the bar. "Hold up, Tom." He moves on after young Riddle; the ever-vigilant bodyguard. "Hey Abbott, let me know when your next session in the Charmitorium is. I want to bring an audience and takes more bets on what you'll break." He gives the Gryffindor a smug grin as he turns away to follow Tom and Samira.
"Yes, and they manage to throw a ball and ride a broom. My house elf can aparate. That doesn't make him a wizard, now does it, Abbot?" Abraxas smiles blandly, "Merrythought here is obviously a right-thinking wizard, impressive for one of such a young age. He could do much worse than to follow Lestrange's example. Or that of any number of other fine Slytherin wizards." The gang seems to be heading out, but he snorts at Oberon's comment, quipping, "With any luck, his wand."
Anson flushes with sudden anger, but Oberon is walking away. Yeah, walk away. The distance between them gives him a moment to regain his composure. "It was a rather sad display, wasn't it? I suppose I'm a perfect counter-example — a piss-poor wizard of perfectly respectable stock." This is, perhaps, the most self-effacing thing Anson has ever said. He turns to Abraxas, eyeing he and Aiden with frank dislike. "I do wish I understood why you Slytherins are so eager to hate almost all of the world. Tell me, Abraxas, how many Muggles have you actually met or spoken with?"
Antonin has finished his tea, and from the look of it doesn't seem to be looking to order another. He laughs aloud at Abraxas' comment toward Anson. For now, he says nothing, only lingering near enough to hear and take enjoyment in Malfoy's quips at Anson's expense.
Aiden looks to Anson and then to the others before addressing Anson though. "Good evening Riddle and Lestrange right?" he says making sure its the right names. "As fer what yer sayin there Abbot, yes great quidditch players they are and half breeds are a modicom better than a muggle-born, but because they can play Quidditch doesnt make them as good as those of Pure-Blood. Are you saying youd consort with Muggle borns and muggles Abbot?" Aiden asks. "Would you go an' fall in love with one and sully yer line?" He asks. "What would yer ancestors think O' this?" Aiden is really not showing any love lost for Muggles or Muggle-borns. "They are beneath us and thats where they belong."
"Well, at least you know that you're a sad excuse for a wizard, Abbot. And pretty much any Muggle I've met has been one too many." A little shrug, and Abraxas continues, "But this conversation is dreadfully boring. Good evening." And with that, he, too, turns to leave.
Antonin's hand drifts casually to his hip where his wand rests as Anson begins calling the Slytherins cowards. His eyes narrow as he looks at the Gryffindor and he shakes his head. "And that is why you will always be a two bit wizard, Abbott. You are nothing but a filthy blood traitor," he says with venom. "What need would I have to know how to build an aeroplane? We have broomsticks. Witches and Wizards can Apparate." He gazes with disgust at the Gryffindor and shakes his head. "Your kind make me sick."
Stand up and be counted, Gryffindor. Never mind that you're outnumbered and already a laughingstock. "Yes," he tells Aiden flatly, "I would. Don't let these others fool you. The reason they hate Muggles so much is simple cowardice." He drains his butterbeer and sets it atop the bar. "They dislike being outnumbered, and they dislike being ignorant. And they are ignorant, Aiden. We all are." Anson Abbot has rarely seemed so serious, so lifelike. "Ask anyone here.. anyone.. how to build an aeroplane. Or a torpedo."
Antonin's hand drifts casually to his hip where his wand rests as Anson begins calling the Slytherins cowards. His eyes narrow as he looks at the Gryffindor and he shakes his head. "And that is why you will always be a two bit wizard, Abbott. You are nothing but a filthy blood traitor," he says with venom. "What need would I have to know how to build an aeroplane? We have broomsticks. Witches and Wizards can Apparate." He gazes with disgust at the Gryffindor and shakes his head. "Your kind make me sick."
"You know, Abbott, you're right." Abraxas says, coming up with a knife hand sharp enough to cut, "Muggles, you see, hate and fear wizards. If you paid a whit of attention in Magical History, you would know why we had the statute. Because there are many more of them than of us, and they have a penchant for burnings at the stake, summary beheadings, and other such things. The history of mugglekind is dominated by bloodletting, and a goodly amount of it is the blood of innocent witches and wizards. Blood that you at least nominally share, the blood of ancestors that are embarassed that you bear their name. Muggles kill themselves by the millions every few years, and you what, just want to open the door and let them waltz in to destroy what we are? Because standing up for your own kind is too hard? Because you want everyone to like you? Who's the coward now, Abbott?" Abraxas shakes his head, and says, "Dolohov, I've had enough of this third-rate's blathering. I'm going to do something more productive, like toss knuts and sickles into the Black Lake."
Aiden shakes his head and groans. "What need of we of their techno whats its when we have our magic. It was them that caused us to have to hide. The statute of secrecy you tell me that by breeding with Muggles and accepting muggle-borns that we can keep that in tact. Than you are a fool and a Mud-blood loving blood traitor, and your ancestors are shaking their heads in disgust at what you are doin to their name." He says spitting on the floor. "They'd rather kill us than give us a chance an' you defendem you truly are a fool."
"Antonin Dolohov," says Anson with deliberate, brutal, casualness, "I wouldn't piss on you if you were afire. I may not be the greatest Wizard in the world, but I'm certainly the best one at this bar. And you know who is the finest, whatever you may say? Albus Dumbledore. The Muggle-lover. Or how about Professor Viridian? Minister Spencer-Moon?"
He eyes Abraxas haughtily, tossing hair back off his forehead in a distinctly affected pose. Perhaps he's practiced this moment, telling Slytherins off, in front of a mirror. Seems pretty likely. "I'm not in favor of dissolving the Statute, you half-wit. And I'm not saying we need aeroplanes. I'm pointing out we don't understand them. And we ought to. Their wars affect us, just as Abraxas said."
When Aiden speaks, the pale-haired Gryffindor squints down at him. "Listen to you," he says, sadly. And something in the boy's words do seem to have touched him, beyond the usual taunting that takes place between Houses. "People like you are the ones decent Wizards and Witches are afraid of. But I'm not, kid."
Abraxas lets his sleeve fall back from his wand, but then hisses through his teeth, "Not here, not now." His long fingers clench and unclench at his side, and he says, "I have no need, nor any desire, to understand Muggle things, Abbott, and you shouldn't either. And I'm talking about the mudbloods you are so happy to have come to Hogwarts, who can take our secrets back to their Muggle families. We should just obliviate them all and be done with it." A pause, then, "And maybe a few wizards too." Malfoy straightens his robes, and then turns to leave the bar.
Dolohov rolls his eyes and says, "Well I suppose that is fortunate for me that I have a far better sort looking out for me, then. Isn't it? I believe that if faced between the choice of being aflame and accepting the aide of a filthy blood traitor such as yourself, I will take the flames any day." The Gryffindor's claims of being the best wizard in the bar ears him a cruel laugh and then, "That is a sweet speech, Abbott. Did you practice that in your Common room?" His hand still rests on his wand as he casts a nod toward Abraxas, "I believe I will join you. This place suddenly lost its appeal." He glances toward Aiden and gestures to Anson, "First lesson, kid. This sort here is what is wrong with the Wizarding world. Be mindful of who you spend your time with." With that, he turns and heads alongside Abraxas, keeping a wary eye, and even a challenging look toward the Gryffindor as he walks.
Aiden having no wand of his own yet looks torn, not sure if he stays if anything good or bad will happen but if he goes hes not sure where hed go to at the moment. "Im not fond of blood traitors or mud bloods in anyway, if you want yer ancestors and familial name destroyed Abbott thats fine, but dont expect the rest of us who are proud of who and what we are ta take in this fifth rate wizards and witches whom have not the skill or knowledge we are raised with. Who can betray us and take our stuff back to the muggles whod hunt us down an' kill us sonner than look at us than you boyo can deal with those consequences I refuse to."
"Well, if your side wins," mutters Anson, "I'm sure I'll enjoy my life as a bloody aeroplane mechanic." He hasn't gone for his wand, despite the movements of the pair of Slytherins. Perhaps he didn't notice — or perhaps he's trusting in the heavy adult presence to protect him. Or, in the unlikeliest of events, perhaps he's really as fearless as he's trying to pretend. "Ta-ta, boys." He raises a hand casually, waggling his fingertips. "I'll be seeing you in Dueling Club." And then, as the Slytherin finally draw out of sight, he allows a certain tension to ebb out of his frame and turns toward the bar. "I'll have that whisky now," he mutters in a low voice. For the moment, Aiden doesn't even merit a response. And then, softly and tiredly, he says "I don't believe the Slytherin Seeker position is open."