Who: Lucius Malfoy, Anthony Goldstein
Where: Azkaban Fortress
Summary: Anthony visits Lucius in Azkaban, and plans are made.
Relax, came the throaty voice in his head.
It was difficult to relax. The chair he was sitting in wriggled even when he remained perfectly still. The stone walls were coated with mould, mildew, and Merlin knows what else. The ceiling was dripping some odd substance onto the dank floor. Even inside the fortress, he could hear the storm. It might have to do with the hooded figures that stood just outside the room, waiting for another figure to lead a man to the seat across from him. It took everything he had to keep the memories from taking over him. And sending out a Patronus at them wouldn't help in public relations.
His eyes followed a blob of slime worming its way through the cracks in the ceiling to land on the creaky table in front of him.
While waiting, Anthony fingered the clasp of his bag. Stored inside one of the pockets was a bottle of Firewhisky -- one of the best of his family's estate. The whole place was so bloody depressing that he had to resist the urge to drink it right there. Oh, screw it. He was eighteen, so smelling like alcohol was probably customary -- especially after the war -- and that old, probably now-crazed, bat wouldn't know he'd brought a bottle in the first place.
He was about to pull it out for a long chug when the door opened.