basildestiny | I wrote something! It is rated R for language!

Evan Rosier sat at the bar. He had lost count of how many shots he had imbibed. While he was always welcomed at any pureblood bash, he didn't feel up to it this night. He would be expected to be social. He imagined his friends trying to hook him up with some disgusting pureblood trophy wife. After the incident with his father and the fiance debaucle, Rosier wasn't in the mood for trophy wives. He remembered his father destroying the only memories he possessed of a loving relationship. Those memories had gone up in smoke. Even still he hadn't been able to bring himself to argue with his father, not then and certainly not now. The man would always be too great a figure in his life. Even after the great man destroyed it all.

Evan could have lied and said he didn't leave immediately to find his true love after that incident because he was caught up in Lord Voldemort's web of evil. But the truth was that he enjoyed working for Voldemort. It was one of the few things which didn't bore him about his life. It was a breath of purpose in his otherwise boring and pointless existence. Without the hatred, what was Evan Rosier really? He could get whatever he wanted. Nearly anything and everything he wanted. No, he didn't leave because a part of him had snapped at that moment. His love was impossible and doomed. She made him feel and do stupid things. She had changed him. And she had left him confused and alone. And the hurt. She had caused him so much pain, so much anguish. He saw his life spread out in front of him like a long road. A long, boring road. He had been left in the London flat to find a wife. He knew the type, but wondered if he could succeed where his parents had failed. His taste hadn't met their expectations anymore than their own choice. And so here he sat taking shots at a bar, trying to drown these thoughts. He had considered contacting Rab or Francis and having a famed night of debauchery, but he just wanted sex. He wasn't in the mood for chatty companionship. He wanted solace in knowing that he could still seduce and fuck anyone he wanted.

He took another shot and looked around the pub. Who could he hit on tonight? Someone pathetic whose life he could make better for one night. One night of glory and then the end. He squinted and realized there weren't any women in this pub. He laughed as he realized that he'd found his way to a poof joint. This would make things easier.

A little while later, Evan Rosier and his lithe, blond young friend were in a hotel room. Surreptiously Evan had used his usual stalker-hitman tricks. He'd covered his tracks and his presence would never be remembered.

"You do drugs,..." he'd already forgotten his fuck's name. "What's your name again?"

"Thomas."

"Thomas, what is your drug of preference?" Evan was undoing his shirt cuffs by the loo, but he paused for a moment to indicate the nightstand drawer. Thomas opened the drawer to peruse a vast selection of pharmaceuticals of the illegal sort.

Soon they were both fucked up. Evan kissed Thomas passionately, exploring his luxurious mouth. Memories of a softer mouth and expressive eyes welled up out of his drug-induced haze. He ripped Thomas' shirt off and began licking his chest, tracing patterns and occasionally using his teeth. Thomas enjoyed the dominance just as Rosier had anticipated. He was soon bucking and rubbing against Evan. Being dominated reminded Evan of months of black eyes back at Hogwarts. They were such fond memories.

And then he was hit with an inexplicable anger. Even as he continued to work Thomas over, he was plagued with questions. Why did she leave him? Why did he love her? Why didn't he go find her and tell her what he felt? What was he doing with Thomas?

His intent had been to use Thomas and then rid the wizarding world of one more useless muggle. Now his disgust was in the way. Disgust for himself. His heart and his body weren't in the right place. He reached for his wand and whispered "Obliviate." For a moment, Thomas fell limp in Evan's arms, but a moment later he would be giving Evan a blank stare. Rosier muttered something else and Thomas stayed limp. He stared at Thomas for several moments. What was he doing? The world was swirling around him and yet all that he could think about were expressive green eyes and soft skin. He looked over at Thomas through his haze.

"If you ever meet a green-eyed beauty, you should thank her. She just saved your life." He was quiet for a moment. "Fuck you, Maeve! You make me want to be a better man."

Thomas didn't move. He wouldn't move again of his own volition for some time. When he finally did move again, he found himself laying in bed in a hotel room, dressed, but his shirt buttons were noticeably absent. For the life of him, he could not recall how he had gotten there.