there's no going home @karkaroff-silvertongue - Tumblr Blog

edgarbonesknows:

Edgar glanced up at Igor quickly when he answered the question, but the man was quick to change his tone, his expression softening to the idea. It wasn’t uncommon for pureblood wizards to frown upon having Muggle relatives, so he couldn’t say that he was surprised by Igor’s initial reaction. It was simply unfortunate that so many people looked down on Muggles.

It was slightly amusing, though Edgar tried to keep his smile under wraps, when Igor continued on to explain that his family married foreigners to avoid marrying relatives. That was the difficulty, wasn’t it? So many British purebloods hadn’t bothered to try similar methods, as the rampant xenophobia was surely getting in their way. Edgar simply thought that if you had to think that hard about not marrying your cousin, perhaps your methods weren’t quite right.

He didn’t dare say such things to Igor in this moment, instead he nodded along. “That’s smart,” he reassured. “I can’t promise any of the purebloods here can claim the same.” He smacked his hand to his face the moment the words left his mouth. That wasn’t something to be spouting during a war like this one.

And yet, he couldn’t stifle the laughter that erupted from his chest a moment later. “Sorry—” he added quickly, shaking his head. “—Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s … It’s … Nevermind. It’s not important is what it is.”

It wasn’t an opinion he was necessarily ashamed of. Having been raised to pretend to be a pureblood his entire life, he had come to resent them as a whole. It also wasn’t as though there were Death Eaters lurking in the corners of the shop waiting for him to say something defamatory about the purebloods. But this was still Knockturn Alley, and who knew where there were ears. He preferred they listen to him say wonderful things about Muggles, rather than terrible things about purebloods.

Trying to push past the slip-up, Edgar leaned on his elbow. “You must have a lot of relatives in different countries, then,” he said. “How many places do you have family?”

Ed’s comment on Purebloods was funny, but not nearly as much as his reaction to his own words, clapping his hand to his mouth as if he’d just let slip something terrible. Igor supposed that, had he been one of the Purebloods in question, he might be offended, but as it was, he simply snorted a laugh and shook his head. While he was fond of Narcissa and found some of the others tolerable enough to be around outside of Death Eater duties, he wasn’t about to get defensive on their behalf. At least, not to Ed.

Especially when the moment was followed by a genuine laugh from Ed. How Igor craved that sound. He joined in and for the span of a few seconds, all was well in the world. He had the sudden wish to be able to pull memories from his head and store them the way Ed was, because this was a moment that would be nice to revisit again.

Once their laughter subsided, Ed’s curiosity returned. Igor shrugged, feeling more cautious now about how open he wanted to be and playing for time. Yet he found that he wasn’t opposed to giving the question some honest thought. He frowned faintly, mentally running over the various branches of his family tree.

“Most of us are in Bulgaria,” he told Ed. “But I have...ah… cousins, yeah? In Romania… Serbia… Hungary and Ukraine. Some are much more far away. I am thinking that I have an uncle in… what is the name in English…” He scratched his nose. “...Switzland? He met his wife at Durmstrang.”

Though he felt the usual unease at sharing so much about his family, it was also nice to talk to someone about the life he’d left behind. Igor knew that Ed wouldn’t strive to use any information he gave him against him. Better still, Ed knew and respected that Igor was wary of getting too personal. He wouldn’t willingly share with anyone what he told him here. It was one of the many things Igor loved about him.

“What about you?” he asked quickly, chasing that particular thought away as best he could, lest his heart hurt too much. “You have family in other countries, yeah?”

He realized once the question had left his mouth that it was maybe steering the conversation back into perilous territory. Ed’s family was understandably a very sore point. But it was too late to take it back and if he tried to backpedal too much, it would only make the connection more obvious. He made do with silently cursing himself and hoping that Ed’s fragile good mood would hold. “You are wanting more tea?” he asked.

#p:how far weve come #edgarbonesknows

head-auror-moody:

The Night Plays Tricks || Igor & Alastor || February 11, 1980

The plan had worked and the Death Eater finally came out of wherever he’d been, although not without protection. Had Alastor paid more attention, he might have made a note about the Death Eater’s slightly odd turn of phrase about cowards and heroes. But he wasn’t paying attention to that sort of thing. Instead, he tried to see if he’d injured the enemy. For the most part, it looked as if the coward was unharmed. Pity. The small fire, having nothing to feed off of or cling to, subsided. Scorch marks lined the street from the fires had been the most intense. No doubt that someone was going to wonder what the hell had happened.

Taking his opportunity, he fired off a stunning spell, but it was deflected and ricocheted into a nearby wall, taking with it a small chunk of brick. So long as the Death Eater had a shield, they’d be in a standoff. While he wanted revenge, wasting another spell wouldn’t help. At the moment, the Death Eater seemed to be doing nothing either. Perhaps they were both trying to figure out what they were going to do next. Alastor needed a better angle, but how he was going to get it was a different matter altogether.

There wasn’t much time to think about it, as something red was coming straight at him. Perhaps he ought to have dodged, but he saw it as an opening. “Stupefy!” His spell went whizzing straight for the Death Eater just as the red spell hit him square in the chest. Immediately he knew what he’d been hit with. Hot pokers stabbed at him from everywhere. He was thrown backward several feet, and all concentration or wherewithal was instantly gone. The hard ground or the pain that shot up from his ankle went unnoticed as the rest of his body was in agony. He’d bitten the inside of his cheek so hard that he could taste iron. This is it. This is your death, a voice jeered. Alastor tried to ignore the feeling of being stabbed all at once. He forced his eyes to open a little, not realizing he’d had had them squeezed shut. The sound of someone in agony, he realized, was him. Upon realizing, he forced himself to stop. He wasn’t going to give the Death Eater the satisfaction. The pain continued, but it seemed to lessen. Thoughts slowly drifted back, and no longer was his brain just screaming for everything to end.

His body was so heavy, it took almost all his energy to just get himself into a position where he could stand. The knives and pokers still stabbed at him, though there seemed to be fewer. Maybe his counter spell had worked, or maybe the Death Eater was just playing with him. Alastor pushed himself to his feet, nearly toppling over from having misplaced where his foot should have gone. Something was trickling down from the corner of his mouth, blood or drool, he didn’t know and he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. With the little strength he had, he lifted his wand and aimed it ahead of him. He brought his left hand up to cup his right to help keep his wand level.

Carefully, he took a painful step forward and then another to try to see where his enemy was. The smart thing to do would be try to end this as soon as he could, or take a hit to his ego. Despite feeling as if he’d been through a saw mill, pride wouldn’t let him just leave. He wanted the Death Eater to bleed.

Vindication burned through Igor as a scream tore through the air. The curse had hit its mark and Moody was on the cobbles, writhing in agony. The satisfaction of the moment was marred somewhat by the red flash of a Stunning spell that had shot at Igor the same instant he’d cast the Cruciatus, making him flinch to one side to narrowly avoid it and consequently dividing his attention. The curse wouldn’t be as strong as it otherwise would have been. Still, it was effective enough. Even a weakened Cruciatus was more pain than most people could handle.

Except maybe Moody wasn’t most people. The bastard was getting to his feet, slowly, painfully, but with a dogged determination that had Igor staring. He knew the curse was still in effect, he could feel the magic flowing from him into his wand. The Cruciatus curse was one that could be maintained as long as the caster had the strength and concentration to do so. He was still casting it. Which meant that Moody was getting up in spite of the torture he was enduring. And he wasn’t just getting up, he was advancing. Unbelievable!

Igor retreated a step, wand still raised, while his mind raced over his options. He could keep casting the Cruciatus and hope that Moody’s surprising strength would give out. Or he could let the Torture curse end and hope to hit the auror with something else while he was weakened. Moody wasn’t exactly steady on his feet. As impressive as this show of fortitude was, he was clearly still struggling mightily. At the very least, Igor could use it as an opportunity to escape.

I should use it as an opportunity to kill him. It would be a momentous achievement. A feather in his cap that would surely earn him the approval of the Dark Lord and all the benefits that came with such a thing. But it was a risk. If he attempted and failed, not only would that open him up for a counter-attack from the auror, even weakened as he was, but also would be something that Moody would remember. A Death Eater that couldn’t get the job done. A weak link. The anonymity he cloaked himself in would protect him, but it would still feel like a shameful weight on his shoulders.

All of these pros and cons flew through his mind in a matter of seconds, darting around the inside of his skull like a Snitch in a Quidditch match. What to do, what to do--

He let the curse stop. In all honesty, he doubted he could have held it much longer anyway. Hoping that the sudden relief that would flood through Moody would act as a distraction, he cast a Fire hex. Easier by far than the Killing curse. Let Moody get a taste of his own medicine, he thought, as if that were the reason for his choice of spell and nothing else. The fire roared through the air between them and Igor took several strides backward, wanting to put even more space between him and his opponent.

Only to suddenly find himself on an unexpected downward trajectory. His boot had caught on a chunk of brick on the alley floor and he tripped. Barking out a surprised oath, he fell heavily. Miraculously, he kept a hold of his wand, but the line of fire sailed wildly off aim, before petering into darkness in his distraction.

#p:the night plays tricks #head-auror-moody

head-auror-moody:

The Night Plays Tricks || Igor & Alastor || February 11, 1980

Coward. The Death Eater wasn’t even going to stand and fight. Alastor sent a stunning spell at the fleeing bastard, but it was blocked by a shield. Damn. He forced himself to continue to run, despite the sharp pain in ankle becoming more constant. Ah yes, because this is a great idea. Won’t end badly at all. He’d been in worse shape before, and he hardly thought that a fleeing Death Eater was going to be a big problem. There were certainly some of them he’d run across in the past where they would have been more than happy to engage in a duel with him, so long as they had an upper hand most likely. But this one wanted to run, or maybe he’s getting his advantage.

When he got to where he thought the Death Eater ought to be, the street was empty. He jerked his head to look left and right to see where his opponent might have gone. Then he heard the voice coming from nearby ahead. “Or what? Why don’t you come out here and show your cowardly face,” he shouted back. Well aware that the Death Eater was probably watching him, he advanced on where he thought the voice’s location was as carefully as he could. His wand was outstretched and a binding spell was on the tip of his tongue. Approaching one alcove, he pivoted to face…just an empty space. He growled as he quickly turned back to the main street. There were a few alcoves along the way, and the Death Eater could be in any one of them.

The voices continued to taunt him, even though he’d hoped that they’d go away after saving Lily and James. This is how people get killed. What would the others think of your reckless decision? Why give your enemy the advantage? He shook his head and snarled, as if that was going to drive them back. He slowed his approach, not wanting to give the Death Eater an easy opening. Instead, he was going to smoke his opponent out. A stream of fire emitted from the tip of his wand and spread out toward the street. There wasn’t anything to catch on fire, but he aimed the flames so that they’d get close to the nearest hiding places. Wherever the bastard was hiding, he’d have to come out. He let the fire stream continue, only stopping when he thought he’d covered the most likely spots where the Death Eater could be hiding.

His gaze slowly swept the street ahead of him, looking for any signs of movement. If he was lucky, the Death Eater would come out a little crispier than before. He’d wait for his enemy to make a mistake, if his enemy hadn’t just vanished already. C’mon. Where are you? His patience had already worn itself thin over the course of the evening, and if the fire hadn’t drawn the Death Eater out, maybe a little taunting would. “I know your lot are mostly cowards, but you might just take the winning prize,” he shouted to what he hoped was more than just the night.

“I do not think that I will, thanks!” Igor called back. Moody thought he could bait him with accusations of cowardice. Better a coward than a fool. The members of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix made no attempts to hide their faces, but all that did was make them easier targets. What good was so-called bravery if all it did was get you killed? The anonymity of the masks the Death Eaters wore was what had kept them all out of Azkaban this long. Igor had no intention of giving that up just to avoid the disdain of his enemy.

It was comforting at least to see that Moody didn’t know exactly where he was. The auror was advancing toward him, wand raised and expression ferocious even in the dim lighting, but his head was turning slowly side to side, searching. The problem was that there was nowhere for Igor to go from his hiding spot that wouldn’t immediately show himself. He tried to clear his mind enough to apparate, but his head was still spinning a little from his earlier confrontation with Potter and he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it reliably right now. Closing his eyes for any sort of prolonged period seemed like a distinctly bad idea at the moment, as he watched Moody move ever closer. Damn. What to do…

There wasn’t much time to plan and what little he had was soon spent, as flames lit up the air in the alley. Igor shied away from them, deeper into the shadows of the alcove, but he could feel the heat of them even through the mask and heavy cloak. He cursed under his breath. Why, out of all of the Order members to come up against tonight, did it have to be Alastor Moody? If he didn’t move soon, he’d be at serious risk of getting roasted. And he wasn’t totally confident that Moody wouldn’t do that.

Throwing up another Shield charm, Igor moved reluctantly out of the alcove. To his relief, the spell held off the flames as effectively as it countered spells, keeping the fire and its heat at bay. “Cowards live more long than heroes,” he said, as he moved out of the shadows and into the auror’s sight. He made sure to keep the Shield charm firmly in place. He’d have to strike quickly as soon as he lowered it. Moody would be swift. A Killing curse would be the best move, but it was a massively difficult spell. Igor found that it was one he could only manage when driven by desperation or when he was truly in control of his emotions, locking them away behind the walls of his mind and leaving his headspace cold and calculating. Neither was the case right now. He could probably manage the Cruciatus, though. Especially if he focused on the fact that Moody had just tried to set him on fire. That was a pretty good motivator to cause a little pain.

He side-stepped quickly as he let the Shield disappear, both in hopes of catching Moody off-guard and avoiding the fire from the wand in the auror’s hand. “Crucio!” he cast, aiming a beam of angry red magic in Moody’s direction. He could only hope that it would hit. Moody was a frustratingly spry man for his age.

#p:the night plays tricks #head-auror-moody

notlibatiusborage:

With the sniffling over, he could concentrate better, and his mood, buoyed by the interesting puzzle Igor had brought him, was impossible to sink even when the puzzle was quite literally attached to a particularly irritating man. He became practically gregarious for Snape. “I make them myself. Steep the jewelweed for a few days in boiling water to get the best out of it.” As Severus stirred the new potion with easy well practiced motions and sprinkled in a few dried leaves like a traditional motherly housewife making a soup, he glanced back. Not at Blue Hands but at Igor. “Those books you recommended were very interesting, but I haven’t been able to much headway into-” He paused to look at Blue Hands dismissively for a moment as the man mithered and grumbled. “-the magic we were discussing. “ A sudden thought appended itself and with dramatic secretiveness, despite the interloper standing by them, he added, “or that riddle I told you about.”

A small smile quirked the corner of his thin lips as Igor told the would-be thief off, and he ladled a little of the now extremely hot extremely strong smelling liquid into a wide mouthed flask and swirled it with a critical eye. Probably safe. Definitely an interesting combination of topical burn relief potion and hardcore surface cleaner. He tapped the table again, to prompt the patient into putting his hands back flat on the countertop. “You won’t lose them.” At least I think not. Probably. “And St Mungo’s is hardly likely to make you a priority. They have far more important things to deal with.”

Wand and steaming flask raised, he took a quick lungful of relatively clean air, just in case it did start cooking the man’s fingers, and then began to pour, muttering the best cooling charm he could remember, even if it was more intended for objects than flesh. “let’s see now…”

After all, if this didn’t work he had other ideas, although they might require a second pair of hands or another wand to keep the man still for. Magical healers might balk at surgery, but he was half muggle, and there were far more brutal magical treatments than muggle ones.

Igor hummed at Snape’s purposefully cryptic words, not wanting to spark Blue Hands’ curiosity too much. Not that they were in much danger of it, with the man much too concerned with his own predicament to pay any mind to what they were saying. Snape’s interest in Occlumency, while interesting to Igor, wasn’t ultimately of much consequence. But the riddle… That had been a potential prophecy the potioneer had overheard, and if there was any merit to it, it could very well spell trouble for everyone. Since Snape had confided in him about it, Igor had turned the words over and over in his head. Yet to no avail. No great epiphany had struck him. He could only hope that Dumbledore would have no luck with it either and it would all come to nothing.

In any case, now wasn’t a good time to discuss it any further. Blue Hands might be distracted, but they couldn’t have him overhearing anything that might prove damning later. Clearly it was still very much on Snape’s mind, though. Perhaps they would have to find a time to discuss it in more depth at some point, somewhere where they wouldn’t be in danger of being overheard. Between the two of them, perhaps they could make some sort of headway.

For the moment -- and for the best -- Snape had turned his thoughts back to the present matter of Blue Hands. The potion he was brewing up so quickly had a scent that bordered on pungent and Igor wrinkled his nose. He almost regretted taking the Pepper-Up potion, if only for the fact that the stuffiness would have saved him from smelling whatever it was that Snape was making.

From the look on Blue Hands’ face, he didn’t have much trust in Snape’s abilities to help him. He glanced over at Igor when Snape indicated that he should lay his hands flat on the table in front of him, as if Igor might come to his defence or give him some advice. No such luck there, as Igor responded with nothing more than a shrug. After another moment’s hesitation, Blue Hands followed the instruction, though he looked ready to pull the appendages away at any moment.

“What are you going to---?” Blue Hands started to ask, but his question was answered before the words were entirely out of his mouth, as Snape promptly poured the potion onto the countertop and the hands splayed across it.

Igor winced in involuntary sympathy, but no scream of agony or sizzle of burning flesh filled the air. Blue Hands miraculously resisted what was surely the very strong urge to pull his hands out of harm’s way and after a split second of utter panic on his face, his expression changed to relief.

“Oh!” he sighed. “That’s actually nice! Feels good! What is that?”

Igor risked leaning forward to get a better look at the effect of the potion. It had spilled across the top of the man’s hands and he could already see the blue hue of the skin fading in blotchy patches. The dark network of veins seemed to be clearing, too. Fascinating.

“What is in it?” he asked, echoing Blue Hands’ sentiment. He couldn’t help but notice that the countertop beneath the hands was suddenly looking extremely clean.

#p:apothecaring #notlibatiusborage

head-auror-moody:

The Night Plays Tricks || Igor & Alastor || February 11, 1980

Location: Outskirts of Diagon Alley

Time: Late Night

@karkaroff-silvertongue

They were alive. He was damned tired, and his body was beginning to ache. There’d be bruises tomorrow, but it didn’t matter because Lily and James were alive. You were lucky this time. How long until your luck runs out? It didn’t matter that the Death Eater he’d been fighting had escaped. He’d deal with his disappointment later. Now that they’d found James and Lily, they needed to get them out of there. Covering their rear, he barked his order for Dorcas to get them safety. The other Order members would no doubt help her, and he wanted to make sure that any straggling Death Eater would receive some payback.

Ensuring the three of them were in a safe spot, he set out to scour the area. If he was in a more sensible frame of mind, or someone with a cooler head than his told him it was bad idea, he would have reconsidered running out alone to try to find a Death Eater. Since he wasn’t, and there was no one else, it was all too easy to justify the action he was about to take as security.

Are they all gone? Or maybe they’re waiting behind you! Alastor spun around, his wand outstretched. Nothing. “Shut up,” he growled, banging a fist against his temple. They’d already done enough damage, but they were keen to do more. Never. Doubt was starting to set in. Maybe he should have stayed back and left with Dorcas. No, he couldn’t! There was a fire raging through him and he couldn’t just let it sit. A twinge shot up from his ankle as his foot stepped on an uneven bit of ground. If he wasn’t careful, it would give out. But that didn’t matter. Back for more punishment, are you? You didn’t learn your lesson the first time. Tsk tsk.

Squinting, he strained to try to make out any differences between the night and black robes. There had to be a Death Eater still around. The sounds of fighting dying down became even more quiet as he ventured further. He was about to give up when he saw just the faintest of movement dart ahead of him. Without hesitation, he sent a light in the direction. It could have been a figment of his imagination willing an enemy to be there. As it rose up in the air, the ground below illuminated. There, clear as day, was a Death Eater.

Alastor shot a blasting spell at the fleeing coward. While being able to capture an enemy would be good, he wasn’t thinking about that. Blast him to pieces. That’ll send a message. He ran across the street to try to cut off the Death Eater’s escape route.

He should have just left. Escaped the moment James Potter was out of his sight and his control. But missions like this were more complicated than they seemed and Igor had lingered in the shadows, wanting to make sure that it was complete before he retreated back to the wards of a safehouse and, eventually, the privacy of his room above the bookshop.

It frustrated him that he wasn’t sure if the night had been a failure or not. It certainly hadn’t been a success. James Potter hadn’t agreed to join the Dark Lord’s cause, no matter the sly threats against his wife. Nor had it sounded like Rosier’s approach with Lily Potter had been any more fruitful. And the pair had escaped, on top of that. Not to mention that Rosier had vanished like a wraith into the night as well. All obvious signs did point towards failure.

Yet a tiny glimmer of hope remained. In his mind’s eye, Igor could still see the fear and doubt in Potter’s face. Whether it would be enough to sway the man from his place in the Order was difficult to say, but any chink in the armour was still a weakness. At the very least, that night would serve as a reminder to James and his wife that they were far from safe. That at any time, their lives could be stolen away. A small victory, but better than nothing.

Or maybe that was simply desperation whispering in Igor’s ear. Some kernel of hope that he hadn’t let the Dark Lord down and would pay dearly for it. He supposed it was that hope -- and the concern beneath it -- that was the true cause for his lingering now. Maybe if he stayed here in the shadows just a little longer, he could catch some snippet of information, some tidbit of something, which would make this mission worth it.

Hubris. He should have just left. Because now it was just him and Alastor Moody, alone in the dark. Igor gripped his wand, wondering if he dared take the shot. He could strike the auror down now and eliminate a major enemy. He took a step closer, raising his wand to aim the curse.

But the movement cost him. Moody looked his way and next thing Igor knew, light was flooding the dark and Moody’s eyes were narrowing. He’d spotted him. In an instant, a spell was barrelling his way. Instincts kicking in, Igor leapt to one side and took off running. Any thoughts of salvaging this night vanished in favour of saving his own skin.

Easier said than done, as Moody was already moving to block his escape. Swearing under his breath, Igor skidded to a stop and threw a Shield charm into place between himself and the auror. Using that to buy himself time, he darted into an alcove. It wasn’t an escape -- far from it -- but it allowed him a moment to cast a Mimicking spell on his voice. When he spoke next, it would be with Moody’s voice, not his own distinctive accent.

“Get out of my way, auror!” he shouted around the corner of the alcove.

#p:the night plays tricks #head-auror-moody

apromisetoeveryone:

Walden couldn’t help the slight disappointment at Igor’s unwillingness to get up on the pole himself. It would have been endlessly amusing, but it would seem that the bartender was a little too wise for that. Which was more than could be said for his coworker.

Another drink slid his way and he gave a toothy grin. “See you’re trying to get me drunk before the show. If I get in shit, I’ll pin it on you.” He didn’t hesitate to hurry along his first drink, however, and start on the second. Walden knew that he shouldn’t indulge himself this way before a show. Afterwards, he was happy to do what he wanted, but it never ended well when he started early. That being said, he couldn’t resist a drink when it was offered to him, his blood practically screamed for it when it was placed in front of him.

Laughing through his drink, he had to agree that the more complicated drinks that Severus made were probably an annoyance to deal with most of the time. He doubted he would have the patience for learning them. Walden doubted he would have the patience for bartending in any capacity. He was happy to be servicing people, not serving them.

At the offer to teach him how to make a drink, Walden put his glass down and stared intently at the bartender. “Yes, teach me,” he said as seriously as he could muster. Even if he wasn’t going to be serving anyone drinks any time soon, he liked the idea of having the skill to impress a potential partner at any moment. Even if pole dancing seemed to do the trick most times, he confessed that it was alway good to have more than one trick up his sleeve.

“Which ones are the easier ones?” Hopefully it wasn’t something like whiskey on the rocks. That would be stupid. Of course anyone could pour a few fingers of whiskey onto some ice. “Wait, can you do some of those bottle-flipping tricks?” he asked, honestly curious but being sure to mask it behind a sly grin. “I want to see you do something fun with the drinks. Can you teach me how to catch a shaker behind my back?” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen either of the bartenders put on a show with their mixing. People came for the stripping, not for the mixing. If Walden had to peg either of the bartenders as one who could put on a performance, his money would be on Severus. The man was gangly and awkward, but he definitely had the skill when it came to mixology.

Macnair professed eagerness to learn how to make a drink and Igor resisted the urge to sigh. He hadn’t meant right now. But Macnair could sense potential fun to be had like a shark scenting blood in the water. Fun for him, not always for anyone else.

Still, at a time when he wasn’t annoyed by having to learn a new drink and Macnair wasn’t a couple of drinks in and both of their shifts weren’t about to start, he might actually follow through on the offer he’d made. He’d just have to make sure that the lesson happened here at the club, lest Macnair get any ideas about going beyond flirting. Mixing Macnair and alcohol and privacy would likely spell disaster.

“Some other time,” he told him now, employing his most charming lopsided grin, the sort that earned him tips from the customers and usually managed to get people off of his back. “Just enjoy your drink. Is it better than the first one?” He hoped so, because he didn’t feel like making another. If it wasn’t up to snuff for the customers, Severus would just have to live with it and make his fancy new creation himself. Igor would study the recipe a bit more before shift started, but he wasn’t going to keep wasting ingredients.

“No bottle-flipping,” he added. “No show if you are not paying.” He could, if needed, do some of that showier stuff, but he didn’t like to. He always felt stupid attempting it, especially since someone like Fabian, who worked the bar on the weekends, was so much better at it and he hated being in a comparison where he didn’t come out looking the better.

More employees were starting to arrive now, as the club’s opening hour approached. Over Macnair’s shoulder, Igor could see a few other dancers doing stretches and eyeing the spot on the stage where Macnair had been practising. “I am thinking that the Carrows, they are going to take your spot,” he said, nodding in the direction of the tow-headed twins. Amycus was sauntering over to the computer. “And change your music,” Igor added. Amycus Carrow might be the only person on Studio 9 ¾ with the combined bravado and short-sightedness to mess with Macnair’s things. As long as he wasn’t directly involved, Igor didn’t mind the prospect of a fight breaking out between the two. He had a good seat to watch it unfold from where he was, safely behind the bar.

#p:an early night #apromisetoeveryone

Dear Mr. Karkarov, I was thrilled with the book on Cursed Crochet I picked up last week and have included a few tea cosies and coasters for you and Mr. Volkarov. I won't tell you which curse I put on them, but I'll leave it for you to figure out as a little puzzle. -Gladys Higginbottom P.s. Here is a clue. It would be a very bad idea to put them on top of any parchment or dry wood.

Extremely glad that he'd read the letter before touching anything, Igor carefully levitated the crocheted items out of the parcel and eyed them where they hung in midair. They looked harmless enough, but so did a lot of things that cropped up in the books they sold. He watched as a moth fluttered into one of the coasters and immediately burst into a small ball of flames.

"Why would she send these to a bookshop?" he groaned to Volkov. The Russian was already pulling out a metal box from under the front desk. He set it down and shrugged.

"Mad old woman," he replied simply. "Oh well, put them in here with the others."

#o:gladys #//i like the notion that they have a small treasure trove of cursed gifts from her at this point hehe

edgarbonesknows:

Unsurprisingly, Igor was far moree taken by the idea of the magical garden than the Muggle one. It was more of a surprise when his friend openly admitted his motivation. It was a rare thing that Igor spoke of his parents, and Edgar always counted it as a privilege when the other man allowed him a small glimpse into his home life. He had known the man’s mother was a herbalist, but hadn’t really expected him to bring the fact up himself so easily. It was nice.

Though, he couldn’t help but wonder whether this small tidbit had slipped out on purpose. Igor seemed momentarily stunned by his own statement before quickly changing the subject. Edgar quirked a brow but didn’t push the subject, he would take what he could get.

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking of his family. “My grandfather was always a bit batty and he was as Muggle as they come. In fact, I’d almost say my mum’s muggle family are all a little more out there than most of the Wizards I’ve met. I think it might just be a personality thing.”

Putting his wand to his head once more, he thought of the time they had pulled up to the old farm house where his cousins lived, his grandfather waiting to greet them on the porch. Slowly, he started pulling another silvery string of the memory from his mind, allowing himself to focus on that moment. “We would go stay with my cousins during the summers sometimes. My grandfather would always greet us. He seemed to think it was funny to pretend he was dying whenever he saw us, only to leap to his feet and do a funny dance before swinging us around. I think those times were some of the only times I saw my mother let loose a little.” The final strands of the memory contained his mother’s smile.

Letting out a long breath, he dropped the memory in one of the bottles before him, letting it swirl around with the rest, dancing around as though taunting each other over which was more important. They were all important. Each one of those memories held a piece of him, good or bad.

As much as it hurt his heart to think of his parents, of those times that he had spent with his family in Italy, he was glad that he had them. Glad that he could still recall her smile, even if he knew he would never see it again.

Clearing his throat, he decided it was his turn to change the subject. “I suppose you don’t have any Muggle relatives to compare, do you?” he asked. Igor was a pureblood, he was fairly sure, but perhaps he had made a mistake in thinking that.

“Maybe it is just an old thing,” Igor countered, chuckling. Maybe they were all destined for the battiness of old age, if they were lucky enough to live that long. He supposed that there were worse fates. For example, not living that long.

He watched as Ed brought his wand to his temple again, drawing forth another silver thread of memory. He assumed that it was the memory that Ed spoke of, but there would have been no way to know otherwise. It simply looked like beautiful light, with no hints as to the true contents. There was something strangely moving about watching his friend perform such amazing magic so nonchalantly. Ed truly didn’t realize how impressive he was. That was a truth that managed to be both refreshing and maddening. A conundrum seemingly only Ed could embody.

For a moment after Ed finished speaking, they sat in silence, watching the memories swirl around in their bottles. It was an entrancing thing and Igor found it hard to look away. Or maybe it had just been a long day at work and he was tired. He tried to chide himself over all this unexpected sentimentality, but even in the privacy of his own head the scorn lacked its usual venom.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Ed’s question. He snorted again. “No,” he said firmly. Then, unexpectedly, felt a twinge of guilt over sounding so dismissive. He knew that Ed had muggle relatives. He softened his tone a bit as he continued on. “I do not know any, at the least.” It was frowned upon enough to marry a Halfblood (though increasingly unavoidable, unless you wanted to marry your cousin), let alone a Muggleborn. Igor, who didn’t intend on marrying anyone, rarely thought about such things, but he could imagine his family’s horror if anyone brought Muggles anywhere close to their lineage.

“Most of my cousins are marrying foreigners,” he added dryly. ‘Foreigner’ was a word he’d come to know well, as it was quite often tossed his and Volkov’s way. “So that they are not marrying anyone who is a… ah… related person?” He wrinkled his nose, thinking of his favourite cousin, Tatiana, who had married an exceedingly boring wizard from Scandinavia. She deserved better, but at least he was rich and stupid enough that he would be easily manipulated into doing whatever she wanted.

There it was again, though. That accidental honesty, that openness that he never would have shared if it had been almost anyone else. This time, however, he didn’t immediately change the subject, instead letting it sit in the air between them, this chink in his armour. Armour that always seemed softer when Ed was around.

#p:how far weve come #edgarbonesknows

edgarbonesknows:

Edgar laughed when his friend made it clear that he had forgotten the oddness of Muggle paintings. It honestly wasn’t that odd to him, but he knew many people in the wizarding world found it unsettling. He supposed being stared at unblinkingly by the people in the painting was a little unsettling.

It was something of a relief when Igor snapped him out of his melancholy musings by asking about magical gardens. “Oh yes,” he offered, happy to take the distraction. “I almost forgot - there’s one in Ireland I believe. Out in the country-side where Muggles wouldn’t think to go.” It had also been a very long time since he’d seen that garden. They had gone for a herbology trip once in his later years at school. “That’s definitely something to see. They have all sorts of odd, people-eating plants to see.”

Going to either of the gardens would be nice. Somewhere with plants, where maybe he could find some peace. Not that he often travelled out of the towns and cities. He wasn’t much of a country-boy, despite how peaceful he found the green hills and grey skies of Ireland. “Which one would you like to see first?” he asked Igor, feeling it should be more the man’s choice since he had seen neither and Edgar had seen both. “The wizard gardens are a bit further away. Also the keeper of the place is a bit batty, but I suppose that’s to be expected when you tend magical gardens all day and only chat with the plants.” She was a slightly older witch if Edgar remembered correctly. Though, he supposed after all these years she might simply be old. Maybe she didn’t even manage the garden anymore, he wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since he’d even thought about the place.

“Wonder how she’s getting on?” he asked absentmindedly, playing with his mug. “Probably crazier than ever, I suppose.” Edgar laughed at the thought. “The only thing I remember about her was her telling us all the different ways each plant could potentially kill us. I honestly don’t envy herbologists, it sounds more dangerous than creature keeping in some regards.

Igor hummed in interest at the news that there was indeed a magical garden that they could visit. It was in Ireland, but the distance wouldn’t be too much of an issue. He’d gotten more accustomed to long-distance apparation, as it was common practice here to go between places like London and Hogsmeade. And even if they didn’t want to go via apparation, there was surely a Floo grate or a portkey available, if the place was a tourist destination. “We should go there,” he said, not in the slightest bit put off by the prospect of man-eating plants. Being raised by a herbologist meant that you grew accustomed to certain things.

“I am thinking we should go to the magical garden first,” he asserted. “It would be nice to see the plants there. If there are any very very interesting ones, I will write to my mother about seeing them.”

The statement, seemingly innocuous, slipped out before he could stop it. If it were anyone other than Ed he was speaking to, mentioning his mother like that would be horrifying. He tried to cultivate the impression amongst everyone here that he wasn’t close to his family. Certainly that he didn’t write to them. He wanted them to never cross anyone’s mind. It was the best way to keep them safe. Ed had an irresistible power over him, though, always managing to gently pull truths from him, seemingly without even trying. It was terrifying. He paused for a moment, mind racing, trying to come up with a way to backtrack. There was no way to smoothly do so, however, so instead he latched onto Ed’s comment about the herbologist who owned the garden in question, hoping to distract from his momentary bout of openness.

“All old witches and wizards are like this,” he pointed out. ‘Batty’, he’d come to learn, meant mad. And while he knew plenty of people who were, for the most part, fairly sane, he couldn’t help but notice that there seemed to be a strong tendency for elderly magical folk to be more than a little odd. Maybe this was true of Muggles, too, but they were all weird to start with, so it was hard to know. “Maybe the magic in our blood makes us strange after many years,” he suggested. He snorted and shrugged a shoulder. “Or maybe old people are just strange.”

There were certainly worse sorts of ‘batty’ than an old woman who liked to point out which plants could eat you. Igor, for all his loyalties in the war, would much prefer to spend time with someone like that than any of the Lestranges or Rosier or the like.

#p:how far weve come #edgarbonesknows

notlibatiusborage:

Igor was obviously more interested in the curse than the pepper-up, which Severus could well understand. The mild sniffing noises were a little irritating though, so if needs be he’d send the bookseller off to drink the potion while he did some of the more boring parts.

Blue hands seemed to have realised that not only was he in deep shit, but the shit was full of parasites and he’d inadvertantly left his boots undone and the effluvium was leaking into them. Especially when Severus’ response to the blood was grabbing a small bit of paper and smearing it with little care through the blood and then inspecting it, holding it up to the light where Igor and he could both see it, but their hapless victim patient could not. There was a faint blueish tinge to the smear, like navy india ink. Very similar to ink in fact. Severus leaned over to a small bottle of clear yellowish liquid and dripped it onto the smear, interested to see if the inkstain removed would work on this. It helped a little, the drip spreading out a halo of different colours, but underneath it a dirty brownish red remained.

“Well I doubt we can clear the veins any time soon. if you’re lucky it will fade over time.” Not that ink of this style was known for fading quickly. Severus decided the best course of action was to stabilise the hands and nose tip if possible. Perhaps it was just capillaries full of the dye. He frowned, glaring at the man’s hands for a moment as he leaned on the counter, then gingerly reached out with one long finger and prodded the skin next to the cut turning his hand back to look at his finger tip and see if he had been affected, interest and academic challenge outweighing preservation. Thankfully his finger stayed skin coloured. Or rather, sallow, slightly yellowish and with old inkstains of it’s own. Still. Good to know.

He reached out with surprising gentleness for the first time and turned the man’s hand over, pushing the sleeve back to see the extent of the curse again. The moment of apparent care disappeared as he jammed his thumbs hard into the meat of man’s palm, interested to see if the blue would fade and return in the way that the pinkish colour of the blood beneath the surface would. “Stop mithering. This is your fault.”

Inspection complete he let the man’s hand fall to the counter and drew a long, wickedly sharp knife from a sheath. He let Blue Hands sweat for a moment at the sight of the blade, then turned to start dicing up a thick-skinned gourd that smelled strongly of violets and boot polish. Another small sniff from Igor irked him enough that he gestured with the knife towards the display. “Karkaroff, this won’t be especially interesting for you.” He tried to be tactful, but the bite of annoyance in his voice bloomed into far too honest comment. “And it’s distracting. Just drink the potion. Doses are marked on the bottles.”

The chunks of gourd were now leaking a similarly yellow viscous liquid onto the counter, lifting a few miscellanous stains from the wood. They were also stripped the varnish from it. He gathered together some of the pieces and dumped them into a small cauldron before rapping his knuckles on the table. “are you allergic to anything?” He was fairly sure this first batch wouldn’t do much more than stabilise and lessen any numbness. If it didn’t burn the skin off the man’s hands. They were playing fast and loose with cleaning products and medicinal potions here and Severus loved it.

Blue Hands gave a squawk of dismay as Snape prodded the flesh of his palm, but neither the potioneer nor Igor gave it much mind. Igor wasn’t exactly sure what was running through Snape’s head, but there was clearly a bit of experimentation going on. It was interesting, especially since no one was asking him to touch the cursed skin. He eyed Snape’s pale fingers, but they didn’t appear to be taking on any of the inhuman hue. Maybe the curse was contained to the person who touched the book. That would be a relief.

His interest grew as Snape started preparing an antidote (or at least, Igor assumed that was what it was), but as he leaned closer, he was rebuffed by the potioneer. Brows creasing, it took him a moment to understand that his sniffling must have been the cause of the irritation sharpening Snape’s voice. Rather affronted but not wanting to show it, he stepped back again and gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

Taking up one of the indicated bottles of Pepper-Up, he half-listened to Blue Hands’ ongoing treatment as he squinted down at the instructions on the label. It did seem simple enough and he quickly swallowed the suggested dosage. It burnt his throat a little on the way down, making him cough lightly.

The effect of the potion was almost immediate. Igor could feel a pleasant heat rolling through him and in its wake, he felt more clear-headed. Blinking eyes that were distinctly less bleary, he waved away the smoke that puffed momentarily from his ears and gave his head a little shake. Already his nose felt a lot drier and his muscles much less achy. Some of his disgruntlement towards Snape and his less-than-polite words faded.

Blue Hands, meanwhile, was not looking like his discomfort was being eased in the slightest. “Allergic?” he asked, voice quavering. “I-- I don’t think so? I get a bit sneezy in the spring. Hay fever or what have you… Is this going to hurt?”

Igor, feeling much better now and less of a nuisance, moved closer again. Whatever it was that Snape was concocting, it had taken the finish off of the counter in spots where bits of the strange gourd had dripped. He wouldn’t be keen to have that anywhere near his hands either.

“Maybe if it does, you will remember not to be touching books that you should not, yeah?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

The man glowered over at him. “I’m sorry, alright? Can we just go to St Mungo’s? I don’t wanna lose my hands!”

#p:apothecaring #notlibatiusborage #the two most caring compassionate people you want around you in a moment of need

apromisetoeveryone:

Though most of the giants seemed quite pleased with the gift, there were still a few that glanced at it with a more careful eye. One in particular, the one that Walden had long since suspected was the second in command, turned to speak to Igor.

Whatever she was saying, Igor replied quickly and smoothly. There was a small amount of hesitation in her expression, but she must have decided all was well in the end. Soon the giants were all cheerfully arguing over the cup, none of them stupid enough to take it outright from the Gurg, but all of them crowding around her and shouting loudly in their language.

Walden turned to Igor as the man began speaking to him, nodding in agreement as he started to back away from the group. “She certainly seems to question everything more than the others,” he admitted, eyeing her from a distance. A smart giant was a very dangerous giant. He hoped that they could keep what was left of the group intact, but he didn’t know what they would do if the one female giant decided that she wasn’t satisfied enough with the gifts.

“Yeah. Also gotta make sure she doesn’t kill the Gurg, either,” he noted. “Don’t think our plan will go quite as smoothly if she doesn’t like being second best.” It was common in a group of giants, especially one that was being kept in such tight corners, for there to be a mutiny. Thus far, things had gone smoothly, so he could only hope that wouldn’t happen. The smart one did seem quite loyal to the current Gurg, so perhaps this wasn’t a serious worry. It would be something he would have to be watchful for.

Backing out of the clearing so that he could hang around the edges of the giants without drawing anymore attention, he motioned for Igor to do the same. If they overstayed their welcome, they were sure to be killed either on purpose or by accident. Giants didn’t care much for being careful where they stepped.

One of the giants let out a roar as another pushed him to get a closer look at the goblet. Walden snorted. “They’re so easily impressed,” he said. “Like kids with a new toy. We could probably make them do anything with just a stupid toy.”

Igor followed after Macnair as they drew away from the giants to the edge of the clearing. He was eager to be away from the massive creatures, but knew that they couldn’t just up and leave without paying the Gurg the respect of parting words. Still, getting out of the immediate stomping grounds did feel like a good idea. The giants were all greatly enjoying the gift, even if the Gurg wasn’t yet letting anyone else hold it, and their movements were excited and imprudent.

Igor nodded his head slightly at Macnair’s words. He didn’t want a giant -- especially the one they were discussing -- glancing over and deciding they looked like they were conspiring about something. “The soonest this is over, the better,” he said quietly. Not that he had any idea when that would be. It wasn’t like the Dark Lord had brought the giants all the way here from Bulgaria just to use once and then banish them back to their homeland. No, Igor suspected that he and Macnair would be stuck as the giants’ minders for a long time. The thought made him sigh. He wished he could be banished back to his homeland.

The giants were only growing louder in their excitement over the cup. The Gurg held it high out of the reach of one who had just pushed to the front of the crowd, then laughed uproariously as she tipped it to spill some of the endless water onto his head. Igor’s breath stuttered as he expected an angry retaliation, but instead the splashed giant joined in the laughter. Soon all of the giants were laughing, even the skeptic. Igor snorted a laugh of his own, half at the oddly joyful display and half at Macnair’s observation.

“Hopefully they will always be liking the gifts this much,” he replied. “It will make things much more easy.” As long as they continued to have gifts to give. He suspected that the giants wouldn’t remain so compliant if there wasn’t the promise of future presents. They weren’t going to be following the Dark Lord out of true loyalty anytime soon. Or ever.

“Let us finish this for now,” he added. He’d caught the Gurg looking around for them, a smile splitting her face. He offered her a smile in return and she started towards them. “We will have them agree to remain here and then we can leave.”

The Gurg stopped in front of them, the water of the cup slopping over the side and over her hand, but she didn’t seem to care. “This good gift!” she roared happily.

Igor smiled up at her. “We’re so glad that it is worthy of you,” he told her. He inclined his head and when he looked up he risked asking, “May I tell our master that you will help him? That you will wait here until he calls for you?”

The Gurg’s lieutenant had followed her leader and rumbled a quick translation. The Gurg’s face was unreadable for a moment, then she grinned again and gave her head an emphatic shake of agreement.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Good. We stay.” She raised the goblet in a delighted toast and laughed again.

“We thank you,” Igor said. “Now we will leave you to enjoy your gift.”

The Gurg waved them away, already losing interest in them in favour of the goblet. Igor glanced over at Macnair. “Smile and say goodbye and we will go,” he told him quietly.

#p:a giant problem #apromisetoeveryone

edgarbonesknows:

Edgar nodded when Igor listed off places that he would like to see in London. They were fairly tourist-y spots, but nothing quite as busy as the London Eye or Big Ben, luckily. As much as he enjoyed being out on the streets of the city amongst the Muggles, he didn’t really have a fondness for the tourist traps. They were interesting for a one-time trip, but they were extremely busy and mostly involved standing in lines rather than actually seeing the sights.

“I’ve been to a few museums and the botanical gardens,” he answered. When he had been a child, his parents had brought them on a few trips to the muggle museums. His mother had always appreciated the art there, proud that so much of it had come from her home country. He couldn’t argue, either. He’d seen some of the art in Italy when they had been visiting family and it truly was incredible. The art didn’t move, talk, or scatter from frame to frame the same way wizard portraits did, but Edgar almost liked it better that way. It was far more peaceful to view muggle painting than to view wizard art.

Which made him wonder whether Igor had much experience with the eerie yet fascinating stillness of muggle art. “You know the paintings and statues in the museums don’t move, right?” he asked honestly, hoping he wouldn’t offend his friend with the question. Considering how lost the man always looked on the streets of muggle London, he couldn’t help but question. “It’s … well, it’s actually quite nice. You get to guess what the people in the paintings were like, rather than have them snark at you for staring too long.” Something that had happened far too often when he had been younger and admiring the paintings at Hogwarts. Those paintings were far too nosy and sassy to truly be able to appreciate the artist’s skill.

“The gardens are very nice, though. My mother took us on a picnic there when we were younger. The crowds aren’t nearly so bad out in the open.” The thought of the childhood memories held a hint of grief. It always would now, he supposed. His parents were dead, he would never be able to go to the gardens with his mother again. Not that he had done that since he was a child, but that only left him wishing he had thought to spend more time with her as an adult. Why had he stopped trying to spend time with her? He knew why, but it didn’t make him feel much better. He should have tried, if only he had known how little time they would have to mend the past.

Igor’s brows drew together at Ed’s gentle reminder about Muggle art. He’d heard about the strange stillness of non-magical paintings before -- even witnessed it himself once or twice -- but he was out and about amongst Muggles so infrequently that it was an easy fact to forget. “Oh yeah,” he said, sitting back in his chair and trying to imagine the bizarre experience of wandering through a museum full of motionless, lifeless paintings. “That is very weird.”

Ed did make a good point, though. It might be nice to get to look at a painting without its inhabitants staring back at you or spoiling the scene by wandering off. Art appreciation could be a little awkward when the portrait you were admiring kept telling you to buzz off. On the flipside, however, the eerie lack of movement in a muggle museum was bound to be off-putting.

The gardens sounded like the better option anyway. Spaced out from the crowds of Muggles and out in the open air. And sure, the muggle gardens wouldn’t have magical plants, but that wasn’t the worst. There was plenty to be appreciated about plants, magical or not.

Yet there was a hint of melancholy sneaking back into Ed’s voice as he spoke of the gardens. It was subtle, but Igor had spent the last two years becoming finely attuned to the nuances of Ed’s moods. Not that it was a great mystery as to what was on the other wizard’s mind. It hadn’t been that long since the death of his parents. Wounds like that healed slowly. Imagining the loss of his own mother and father and how it would make him feel, Igor wondered if perhaps they would ever heal at all. Time would ease the sting of grief, but he wasn’t certain even the passage of years could banish it completely. Especially for someone like Ed, who felt everything so keenly. Igor couldn’t imagine living like the other man did, feeling everything so ferociously. How did it not drive him mad?

Best to steer clear of talking about it, he decided firmly. “Are there any magical gardens to be visiting here?” he asked. “Like the ones that are in London, but just for wizards and witches? With magical plants?” He didn’t want to let on to Ed that he’d noticed his sadness, so didn’t want to alter the course of the conversation too dramatically, but it seemed prudent to avoid talk that would have him delving into sad memories. “It would be nice to see those.” His voice was a little brighter than usual in his efforts to cheer Ed up.

#edgarbonesknows #p:how far weve come

apromisetoeveryone:

Walden could only laugh when the man continued to be enigmatic. He had known Igor would never tell him what was actually in the drink, but it was fun to tease him about it all the same. Though, from the vague expression of disgust when he’d mentioned watermelon, Walden could only assume that it wasn’t one of the ingredients.

At the offer of another drink, however, Walden couldn’t refuse. Especially when he was told it would include a flower this time. He loved his flowery drinks. They looked nice and that suited him since he looked so nice as well. Keeping an eye on the man, he took note of the ingredients. So it had been mango. Excellent, that meant he’d been right and he did enjoy knowing he was right.

He was distracted when the man asked him a question. Glancing up at the man, he quirked a brow. People didn’t typically ask him how he learned to dance, most people thought he did it to cover some debt or something. Which, he supposed, wasn’t untrue, but it was also because he enjoyed dancing. “There’s a studio near downtown,” he told the man. “Took a few lessons as a joke and didn’t stop going.”

It had been a night wandering around drunk with his friends, they’d seen the pole classes advertised and someone had dared him to do it. Never being one to turn down a dare and being honestly curious about the sport, he’d taken the bet and had found he enjoyed it. When he realized he could make good money doing something that he found fun, he’d leapt at the opportunity and never looked back.

“Why do you ask? Looking to get into some dance?” Now that would be very interesting to watch. Igor had a good body, he would look good on a pole. Slim but fit, which was a bit more ideal than his own bulk. Nevermind the fact that it would be extremely entertaining to watch. “The offer always stands for me to give you a few lessons. I promise I won’t drop you.” Walden leaned forward and took a sip of his drink, leaning across the bar and looking the man up and down appreciatively.

“And how about you? Where did you learn to bartend? Think you might teach me how to make a few drinks some time?”

Igor snorted a laugh as Macnair explained that his interest in pole had started as a joke. Of course it had. Igor suspected that most things in Macnair’s life began that way. He spared a moment of sympathy for the poor anonymous dance teacher who had had the misfortune of letting Macnair through the door of their studio. While he was undeniably talented, Igor couldn’t imagine he was the easiest student to have.

His laugh at Macnair’s own question was distinctly louder, accompanied by a sharp shake of his head. He had no interest in embarrassing himself up on a pole. Not to mention, taking ‘lessons’ from Macnair would definitely involve sex, or at least multiple attempts on Macnair’s part to lead to that, and Igor didn’t want to betray Ed that way. Which was a relatively new sentiment for him. Ed was the best part of his life here in England and Igor wouldn’t want to risk anything that might hurt his boyfriend.

Speaking of whom… Imagining Ed up on stage wasn’t a bad image. Yet unfortunately one that would probably have to stay in his daydreams. He didn’t want Macnair even talking to Ed, let alone teaching him how to dance. In fact, despite how much he liked Macnair, he would have been happiest if the dancer didn’t even know Igor’s boyfriend existed.

“No,” he said, with a laugh lingering in his voice but a definite tone of certainty as well. “I am thinking that I just like watching the dancers. You will not find me dancing.” Finishing off mixing the second attempt at the drink, he dropped the plastic orchid into it with a flourish and slid it across the bar to Macnair, who was still working on the first one.

The next question prompted a shrug. “Bartending, it is not so hard. At least, until the other bartender is wanting to make very very complicated drinks all of the time,” he amended, rolling his eyes. He preferred simple drinks over cocktails, but Severus wasn’t happy unless he was concocting something that looked more like some sort of beautiful potion than an alcoholic drink. “I worked as a bartender in Bulgaria, when I was at the university.”

Not true. His best friend Mladen had worked as a bartender and had taught Igor a couple of tricks, enough to get him the job here when he needed it. He’d learned on the go since then and no one had needed to find out that he’d lied on his resume. Thank god for his penchant for quick learning curves. “I can teach you simple drinks. If you are wanting more complicated ones, hah, you will have to ask Snape.”

He snorted again. Imagining that scenario was comical. Macnair was an incorrigible shit disturber and Snape had the patience of a feral dog. They’d kill each other before the first cocktail was complete.

#au:an early night #apromisetoeveryone

apromisetoeveryone:

A nod was the only indication that Walden received, but he had to trust that Igor understood how to prolong the conversation without upsetting the giants. Luckily, if the expressions were anything to judge by, the man was doing well.

The giants took their time, grumbled amongst themselves, then the Gurg broke out in a smile and said something very confidently. Something that Igor evidently agreed with considering his reaction. There was a look shot his way and he did what he hoped was right and mimicked Igor’s vigorous nodding, throwing in a charming smile.

Walden couldn’t say he was overly pleased with his current position. Not understanding the conversation meant that he was left to read body language alone. Luckily, the giants were easy, they wore their hearts on their sleeves. He scanned the small crowd, but none of them seemed to be upset. He had to be at the ready in case things went sideways, but they were going well so far.

“Yes! Yes, more gifts!” The Gurg said something excitedly and Walden knew that he would need to get the goblet out soon to keep them pleased. Giants weren’t exactly known for their patience. “You have a gift?” The Giant that appeared to be interpreting the conversation said something to Igor, already looking a little less pleased than she had a moment before. Walden already knew that it was his turn.

Pulling the goblet from his pack, he nodded at Igor to let the man know he could introduce the item. The giants seemed intrigued, leaning forward to try and get a better look. It was a large goblet, something that Walden needed to carry with both hands, but it would likely look rather small in their large hands. Water sloshed around at the surface as he stepped forward, pouring over his hands.

The Gurg only seemed mildly impressed, but Walden knew she would change her mind with his demonstration. Slowly, he tipped the goblet over, allowing the water to pour freely from the cup. The giants watched as it did, following the stream of water, but it never ended. As he tipped the goblet back up, the water splashed once more before settling once more, looking as though no water had been lost. The spell was not nearly as simple as it seemed, and for a group like the giants, where collecting resources was a primary part of their life, he knew it would be impressive.

And he was correct. There was a pleased roar and the Gurg ripped the goblet from his hands and began to inspect the object. Walden took the opportunity to step back before he could be trampled by a group of overly-enthusiastic giants.

There was a time when Igor might have written Macnair off as a fool, mistaking his carefree attitude and brash way of walking through life as stupidity. Such misconceptions were long in the past, however. Whether it was a talent born of all his expertise with dangerous animals or simply an excellent handle on reading body language, Macnair proved not to need a translation of the giants’ words in order to know what to do. Igor glanced over his shoulder to tell the other wizard to bring forth the gift, only to find that he was already doing so. Good. The less he had to speak in English, the better. The giants were naturally suspicious and he didn’t want to push their luck. Especially as it seemed like things were going well so far.

Macnair held the goblet aloft and Igor stepped more to one side to allow the giants a better view. Well, that, and to get out of the way if they decided they were unimpressed with the offering. They certainly didn’t look convinced at first. Igor caught some definite grumbling amongst the crowd of giants as they peered with narrowed eyes at the seemingly simple goblet of water.

Then Macnair demonstrated how it worked. As soon as it became clear what the enchantment of the goblet entailed, the demeanour of the giants changed completely. The Gurg was quick to snatch it from Macnair’s grasp (who was wisely just as quick to let it go) and was soon delightedly trying it out for herself.

Only her lieutenant and translator seemed to be less than elated. She looked undeniably impressed, but her massive face was still crinkled with the hint of a frown. As Igor had come to understand that she was particularly intelligent for her species, he doubted that this was simply a case of the giant trying to think too hard.

Sure enough, she skirted around her delighted leader and crouched down closer to the two wizards. “How long it lasting?” she asked gruffly.

Igor considered that he might find this giant’s shrewdness impressive if it wasn’t making life more difficult for him. “Many years,” he answered. It was tempting to simply say ‘forever’, but she was already skeptical and again he didn’t want to push his luck. “And when the spell fades, the Dark Lord will happily cast a new one. You will never need to search for water again!” He had no idea if that would actually be the case -- in fact, he rather suspected the Dark Lord would have no interest in doing anything of the sort once the giants’ usefulness was past -- but it would do for now.

“Hmm,” grunted the lieutenant. But she didn’t argue it further, instead moving back over to her Gurg and inspecting the goblet for herself. She looked a little happier now.

“That is one we need to watch,” Igor said quietly to Macnair. “She is smarter than the others, I am thinking. And she does not like us so much.” He scratched his nose thoughtfully, eyeing the giants. “But she seems to be very, ah, loyal for the Gurg. I am thinking she will be trouble only if she thinks that we are a danger for the Gurg.” Still, they had to be careful. They couldn’t simply eliminate the possible threat either, as she was the only giant with a decent handle on Bulgarian.

#p:a giant problem #apromisetoeveryone

notlibatiusborage:

Severus gestured vaguely to a shelf to his left, “pepper-up if you need it.” Unfortunately for Igor, or perhaps fortunately for his dignity, a common cold was less interesting than Blue Hands. And especially when he found out where it had come from. Top shelf books were especiallly interesting to someone like Snape, so he well understood the urge to read them, but to touch one unchcked and ungloved and unprepared disqualified one from being deserving of the knowledge within.

He glanced over at Igor again, wondering if the book causing trouble might bring its value down, but then again, a book so powerful and able to defend itself with a recent history of effectively cursing readers was probably more valuable not less. “Is that the inferius manual?” He turned back to blue hands and just about managed to hide his smile, “well, you’ve certainly paid for your foolishness.” He put the wand tip to one of the blue veins across the back of the man’s hand and tried a mild slicing hex to see if the blue was the blood or magically throughout the whole hand. He squinted a little, leaning in close to the man’s face. “touched his nose, I see. Another mistake.”

He let go of the man’s wrist and swept past him to pick up a few bottles and bunches of herbs. “I am certain I can halt the spread, and if you’re lucky, heal it. However, reversing the current damage is..” he paused in his cheery collections, “less certain.” He explained the next to Igor, conspiratorially as one expert to another, “old curses are the best, don’t you think?”

He set the armful down on the counter, then lead the man to it by the wrist, setting his hand flat on the table, and prodding it again where the blood was welling up. “Ah, well…it looks like your circulatory system hasn’t been affected so much as the immediate locale of the curse.” He tapped his wand on his own palm as he thought, lingering for almost a full 30 seconds. But thankfully he didn’t have to do this all by himself.

“The curse, do you know the region it came from? It looks like a particularly good Thieves curse…maybe North African or from the far East.” Subtle curses that left an indicator of the crime were less like the bloodier more brutal retaliations of Western Europe.

Igor nodded blearily in reply to Snape’s question, eyes still lingering on the little bottles of Pepper-Up potion on the shelf. Would Snape let him take some on credit or good will? He didn’t have any money on him at the moment. He’d not bothered to grab his moneypurse from upstairs before leaving the bookshop, intent on making Blue Hands pay for whatever his salvation might cost. The Pepper-Up would really help, but Igor wasn’t sure he could spare the dignity to ask Snape for a bit of charity. Not while his nose was running like a leaky faucet and he was constantly fighting the urge to sneeze.

At least watching Snape work was an entertaining distraction. Blue Hands gave a squawk of dismay at the Slicing spell, trying to no avail to pull his hand back from Snape’s grip. All of his earlier confidence had slipped away and after a moment he unhappily grew still, muttering to himself under his breath as he stared down at his blue and now bleeding appendages. Igor followed his gaze, intrigued in spite of his own misery. The blood leaking from the back of the man’s hand wasn’t the usual bright red, but rather a dark almost-black. Igor couldn’t tell if it was dark red or dark blue, or what that might mean either way. It didn’t look good though.

Snape had released the unfortunate fellow in favour of gathering ingredients and Igor tried not to smirk at the blatant look of panic on Blue Hands’ face. Not so smug now, he thought. He barely suppressed a chuckle at Snape’s murmured aside, settling instead on a nod and the briefest of flickered grins. He followed him over to the table and leaned against a nearby shelf (taking care not to jostle anything there) to watch the proceedings unfold. The blood leaking from the cut hand was starting to look a little more normal, probably from the exposure to the air, but Blue Hands didn’t seem much cheered by this.

“The editors, they are from Romania mostly,” he replied. “But I am thinking that they found information from around the world. No one knows the person who it was who cast the curse on the book.” He shrugged with a sniffle he tried to hide. Stories of Inferi cropped up all over the world, so it was difficult to pin down where the origin of the dark magic truly lay. Trying to bring back the dead was an idea that was not unique to any one culture or country, as it turned out. The team of witches and wizards who had put the Inferius Manual together long ago had had plenty of places from which to draw their references. Unfortunately, that made figuring out the origin of a curse a bit fuzzy as well.

“His hands, they changed to this colour quickly, but now it is not spreading,” he added, wanting to feel useful. “Other than…” He gestured at Blue Hands’ nose. The tip of it was still tinged blue, but that didn’t seem to be spreading either. At least it would seem that the man wasn’t destined to change colour completely. Igor wasn’t sure that made the curse any less dangerous, though.

#p:apothecaring #notlibatiusborage

cherrybomb-witch:

Something told her they probably offered a mismatched image to those around them: Marlene in her Hit Witch uniform, with her sunny colored hair curled into to buns at the top of her head and a bright scarlet smile on her face, and Igor, with his effortlessly curled auburn hair and sour glare. And yet, she found his company very entertaining, even if she had seen rocks that smiled more. But he had a good head on his shoulders, with a sharp wit and an equally sharp tongue, and Marlene often found those were the minds she enjoyed best. They stimulated her Ravenclaw senses, in a manner of speaking.

“Igor, you don’t even have to ask” she assured him, guiding him back the way they had come “I know this place is a maze. I’ve seen hives less complicated than this” she chuckled, looking around. And to think Law Enforcement was a relatively ordered floor, with straight aisles and square rooms. But she had been to other departments that seemed to have neither heads nor tails, like a bunch of serpents all tied up and tangled together in one big, wriggly mess. “You haven’t even seen the Department of Mysteries. It looks like it jumped straight out of one of those really weird dreams that seem to be badly stitched together memories, you know what I mean?”

They waited for the doors to the elevators to open and stepped inside once more, always accompanied by a fresh cluster of witches, wizards and goblins, all hurrying up and down the different levels. “What does the Bulgarian seat of government look like? Is it as messy and ugly as this one, or does it actually appeal to the eye?” she asked curiously, fascinated but other places so different to hers, as usual. Not to mention, she knew eastern european architecture to be particularly beautiful. She did not consider the Brittish Ministry of Magic as a particularly nice place. It wasn’t even practical. And she hated that stupid fountain at the Atrium, with the wizard being the center of attention of all the other creatures like some kind of demigod. Who on earth had designed that horrible thing?

“Ugh, that sounds terrible,” laughed Igor at Marlene’s description of the Department of Mysteries. He had in fact been to the aptly named part of the Ministry, deep down in the very bowels of the damned place, but that wasn’t something he could admit to without incriminating himself rather spectacularly. Rookwood, who worked there, had let the other Death Eaters in for thievery missions in the past, but the department was so bizarre that they’d scarcely found anything of great use there even with an Unspeakable on their side. And the Order of the Phoenix had soon been onto them, making such missions too risky to repeat in the past year or so. Rookwood was a valuable spy and Igor doubted the Dark Lord wanted to risk exposing him with missions that weren’t guaranteed to be fruitful.

They arrived back at the lift and Igor grimaced as they got back into it. The space felt distinctly more cramped this time around, as more people crowded into it. A pair of bearded wizards stood in one corner, loudly complaining about some sort of international near-miss with the Algerian foreign minister, while on Igor’s other side and about two feet down, a bevy of goblins were grumbling to each other in Gobbledygook and sipping flasks of what smelled like particularly noxious coffee. Igor wrinkled his nose.

“I am sure that it is beautiful,” he said in answer to Marlene’s question. “But I have never been to the Ministry of home.” Not actually true. Igor’s father worked for the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic and Igor had visited his office there on several occasions throughout his youth. It seemed like a very long time ago now, however, and beyond that, saying as much might invite further questions about his family. The less people here knew about the rest of the Karkaroffs, the better. Marlene might be funny, smart and interesting to talk to, but she was still ultimately an enemy. A threat. He couldn’t expose his weaknesses to anyone, but especially not the enemy. “Everything, it is more beautiful in Bulgaria, though,” he added with a quick bark of laughter.

Despite the temptation to speak of home -- or rather, very much because of it -- Igor was quick to turn the topic back to something safer for him. Safer and potentially useful. “I hear about this Department of Mysteries sometimes,” he said, cultivating an expression of curiosity. “But no one knows very much about it, yeah? I suppose that is why it is called that. You have been there?”

He wasn’t sure what new or useful information he might be able to glean from Marlene’s take on the strange department that they couldn’t get from Rookwood himself, but he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. You never knew when you might stumble upon something good. And it was hardly suspicious to ask about it. As far as he could tell, pretty much everyone who wasn’t an Unspeakable was curious about what went on there. The rumours that flew around about it ranged from odd to outright outlandish. Having seen some of the place for himself, Igor wouldn’t be surprised if even the most bizarre stories had a grain of truth to them.

#p:workaholic frenzy #cherrybomb-witch

edgarbonesknows:

Edgar huffed a laugh through his nose at the suggestion of going for another dog-seeking adventure. “Rommie would murder me if I brought home any more pets. Our house is crowded enough as things are.” As much as he would love to have another dog, Socks was excellent all on her own and he had three troublesome children to chase around most days. “But I do believe we’re due for another trek into the Muggle world,” he added with a soft smile.

On his own, Edgar had explored much of the Muggle world without much drama. However, whenever he went out with Igor, they somehow managed to be chased by police, falling in the Thames, or crashing cars. Perhaps it was simply his friend’s inexperience, but Edgar had never met anyone else so prone to unfortunate adventure when introduced to Muggle mundanities.

The man himself was taking a moment to think about the answer for himself. It was to be expected at this point, as Igor rarely enjoyed speaking about his own life. This was exactly why Edgar asked. Any scrap of information he could get, he considered a victory. Another piece to the somewhat strange puzzle that was Igor Karkaroff.

“Grandmother,” Edgar correctly earnestly when Igor questioned the word. It was odd to imagine the other man spending time with his grandmother. Not that he thought his friend was heartless, but the cold and somewhat aloof demeanor didn’t exactly fit the image. This was something he found oddly endearing. Nothing about the way Igor presented himself seemed to be true to how he actually was.

Offering a small laugh that was almost genuine, Edgar nodded. “It was, though I don’t think the Muggles were quite as amused as we were.” It was ridiculous to remember the scenario now. It would be nice to make more memories like that one. “Where should we go next, then? What have you not seen in London? You’ve seen the Thames, and cars, and the police. Which, I admit, aren’t your usual tourist attractions, but I suppose they work. Those are all places I chose, though. Where do you want to go?”

Igor shrugged off the correction, but made note of it. After a couple of years in England, his grasp of the language had improved greatly, but he still made more mistakes than he cared for. The trick was to remember them, so that he didn’t make them more than once. That was the idea, anyway. English was hard.

He turned his mind to Ed’s question. Were there any places in London that he wanted to see? He honestly didn’t know much about the city outside of the magical areas, like Knockturn and Diagon. Despite the time he’d been living there, he hadn’t done all that much exploring. He didn’t like or trust or even really understand Muggles, so he rarely placed himself amongst them unless he had to. The handful of times he had were almost always in Ed’s company, so it made sense that any future ventures would be as well.

“I do not know,” he said slowly, mulling over what he knew of Muggle London. The city was big and there was a lot to it. “There are gardens, yeah? I would like to see those, I am thinking. Or somewhere with art.” Then again, those sorts of places would probably be swarming with Muggles, wouldn’t they? He grudgingly supposed that would be the case for pretty much anywhere in the city. That was, after all, one of the downsides of cities: they were full of people. At the end of the day, Igor would always be a country person, happier in the relative seclusion of nature than the bustling streets of a city.

As they talked, the worries and thoughts of the war that had been weighing heavily on Igor’s mind diminished, falling into the shadowy corners of his brain, temporarily forgotten. For the moment it was easy to forget and simply think about how to spend time with his friend. Away from Death Eaters and Orders and Dark Lords. Being amongst Muggles might be worth it for the brief freedom it bought them both.

“Have you been to places like that?” he asked Ed. It was a silly question, he was sure. Ed was a Londoner, he probably knew the city streets like the back of his hand. But asking was better than overtly admitting how little Igor himself knew about the city he’d been living in for two years now.

#p:how far weve come #edgarbonesknows

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