The punch connected in a glancing blow and Sep pulled his hand back, knuckles stinging sharply. He gave a single wild laugh, in pain and victory. The fight wasn’t over, but it wasn’t going badly for him.

This was, as is generally the case in the heat of a fight, a very stupid thing to think. Macnair lunged forward again, too quickly to dodge completely, and Sep felt the hot pain of the makeshift blade cut across his ribs. His laughter turned to a grunt of pain. He clapped his hand against the cut and felt blood. It was hard to know how serious it might be and he didn’t have time to look. He’d just have to hope it was a graze and nothing more. A graze that really fucking hurt.

Macnair was swiping at him again and Sep tried to leap back, hindered by the blow already landed and the broken barstool at his feet. He wasn’t sure he could get out of the way and was already flinching, bracing for a fresh slice of pain, when something odd happened. His body froze mid-movement, slowing over the span of an instant. Miraculously not toppling over from momentum alone, he was effectively stuck in place. His eyes, the only part of him that could still move, darted around in confusion. Had he just been Immobilized?

It would seem to be the case. Yet not by Macnair, as it quickly became apparent that he had also been hit by the spell. The pair of them were frozen in a furious tableau. “What… the… fuck…” Sep managed to grind out.

“Shut it,” said a stern voice. The bartender stalked around the end of the bar and glared at the pair of them, wand in hand. He was a handsome wizard perhaps a few years older than Sep and one of the regular bartenders here. Sep was fairly sure his name was Fabian or something. He was generally a friendly bloke, but he wasn’t laughing now. “You idiots are gonna hurt someone if you keep carrying on – someone other than your idiot selves – and I ain’t gonna have it. So I’m gonna give you one chance to fuck off on your own and cool off. You keep fighting, I send an owl to the Hit Squad at the Ministry. You can do your cooling off in some Ministry holding cell for the night. Got it? Now, are you gonna stop being stupid?”

Sep tried to glower at him, but wasn’t sure he managed the intimidation factor he was going for. Fabian looked entirely unfazed. Sep weighed his options. Aurie would kill him if he ended up in a cell for the night because of a stupid brawl. Then again… “He’s… gonna… try and… kill me the… second… he can,” he said, as clearly as he could.

Walden was sure that the blow would hit. The knife was seconds away, he could imagine how it would feel when it pushed into thick flesh. At first, he believed the drug running through his system was the cause for the sense of slowing that he was experiencing, but quickly he realized it was a spell.

From the looks of things, Crabbe had also become a victim of this spell as well, freezing in a rather unnatural pose. “...Kill...You…” Walden growled at the bartender as the man strode over to them with a stern look on his face. His heart had already been pounding heavily in his chest, but he could feel it straining to the point of being painful as he felt his panic rising. He didn’t enjoy being restrained and most of his energy was going toward trying to break free of the petrifying spell.

So caught up in his panic, Walden barely registered the conversation that was happening before him. The bartender looked at Crabbe, seeming to consider his argument before nodding and giving another wave of his wand. Before he could even register that a wand was in his face, Walden was being levitated out the door and set down rather roughly. Turning to Crabbe, the man pointed warningly. “You’ll be out that door in a second once this ones away.”

A with that, the petrifying spell was broken and Walden collapsed in a heap outside the pub. A murderous rage roared through his blood and he hap-hazardly threw himself back toward the entrance before a door was thrust in his face and he slammed into the hard oak with a loud oath. 

“I will fucking kill you!” he screamed, pounding a fist against the door.

Wait

The voice rang so loudly in his ear he couldn’t help but flinch. “Wait for what?” he muttered.

Patiently

His chest was tight and painful as Walden slumped against the wall of the pub trying to make sense of Their words. “Wait patiently?” he asked the open air. Right. Hadn’t the man said something about once he was gone? Right. If he pretended to leave, he could jump Crabbe when he left the pub.

He let out a small sigh of relief. This was fine. Neither of them were gay, this was just…just a thing that had somehow happened. And that was…normal? yes. had to be. Even if there was nothing wrong with being not straight, Severus didn’t want to acknowledge that he watched the male dancers as much as the female ones. It didn’t fit nicely into the normal but exceptional identity he had carved out for himself. 

Walden stalked closer to him and his throat felt a little dry as he swallowed, thighs tightening as he pressed his legs together, as much for the stimulation as the narrowing of his stance. Severus’ eyes flicked to the hand wrapped around the pump, and even though it was only plastic, the phallic shape held like that so confidently sent a sympathetic throb through his body. Macnair’s words scared him a little, that he was so obvious. He tried to formulate an excuse, something to blame or explain it all away, but his brain was foggy and all he could do was make a noise that suggested disagreement, even as he didn’t pull away. 

The pump was pulled from his hand and made a hollow plasticky sound as it bounced off the lockers and onto the floor. Severus’ eyes followed it for a moment in its arc before hyper focusing on the cock ring. “I- I don’t think I need the- that pump.” did that mean Walden was as hard for him as he was for Walden? He looked down, at the front of the other man’s trousers and his thin fingers flexed a little as he ached to reach out and feel, to touch and be touched. 

Absently part of his mind wondered about the ring. They helped you keep going longer, so he’d heard, and the way he was feeling right now, that might be a benefit. He already nervously suspected that Walden would outsize him, as well as outlast him, but he couldn’t make a fool of himself and end this incredible chance early. Even if the majority of his mind was still slowly trying to process how the whole thing would work. How did they decide who did the…doing?

Maybe they’d just touch each other, he’d done that plenty in school. Or- his thin lips parted a little as his eyes drifted downwards again- they could suck each other off. He’d like that, he thought. He was very aware that he thought a lot about what it would be like to run his tongue down the washboard abs of the dancers. But normally he quashed any thoughts like that. 

His hand had snuck down and Severus only managed to re-engage his proprioception when he felt himself squeeze his trapped cock through the jeans, a suddenly guilty look crossing his face. “So…Can I-” He stopped groping himself and reached out for Walden’s arm again, movements still hesitant, still uncertain, shrinking a little into his hoody even as his fingers wrapped around Walden’s arm and squeezed, breath catching. 

Walden couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him even if he wanted to. “I can see that,” he told the man, glancing down obviously. The pump was unnecessary to both of them, it would seem. Good, he liked it that way. Pumping himself up always felt more like work.

It was hilarious to see the young man suddenly alright their actions now that they had apparently cleared the air that they weren’t gay. Walden was sure that this sheltered and repressed man had absolutely no idea that there was more than gay and straight in the world. It was amusing, but if that’s what it took to convince him, Walden wasn’t about to correct the lad. He would get what he wanted and let him stew in his gay panic afterward.

Eyes followed the hand that slithered down the front of Severus’ pants and Walden gave a toothy grin. A hesitant hand reached for his arm and squeezed as quiet words passed through his lips. 

“Can you what?” Walden asked in a husky voice, stepping closer but not giving into the obvious request just yet. His own cock was hard in his pants but he had much more restraint from plenty of practice. He wanted to force the young man out of his comfort zone, to make the first real move. 

To encourage this, he took Severus’ hand and placed the cock ring in his palm, caressing his knuckles while he did. “I’d be happy to oblige, but I simply don’t know what you want,” he lied smoothly, moving closer still until their bodies were inches from each other. Still, he didn’t press in. Let the little puppy come to him, then he would teach him not to be so fucking meek with his advances.

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.

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.

Date: Sept 28, 1980 Time: 7:00pm Location: Outskirts of Glasgow

Walden hollered at the giant that was stampeding behind him, hoping to urge it forward. Whether the beast heard him or not, he wasn’t sure, but it certainly barrelled forward without a thought, letting out a large roar as it tore a lamppost from the ground and threw it at the nearest building like an oversized javelin. 

“‘Atta boy!” Walden cheered from behind his mask, throwing a fist in the air. All of these missions where he simply got to watch as the beasts raged through towns and tear people apart were some of his favourite. As much as Walden enjoyed playing with his own toys, he could admit that it was sometimes nice to watch the might of a giant tear into people and do most of the work. It meant less trouble when he stole a victim away in the chaos. Easy to count a missing person toward the body count of rampaging giants.

In this case, the Muggles had no idea what had even hit them. It was rather hilarious to watch their faces mold from wild confusion into abject horror as they watched the creatures wreak havoc. They didn’t even understand what was tearing through their sweet little town, tearing at brick and stone, crushing skulls with their bare hands.

The giant he was currently corralling into the main square turned to grin excitedly at him, making it clear that it was indeed heading his orders. This was rather impressive, Walden thought. Most giants would simply go into a blood frenzy and tear at everything if they got too excited. This one was quite happy to listen to his incoherent shouts and take actions. 

Grinning back and offering a wave, he pointed his wand in the direction of a fountain and let loose a simple spell that chipped away some of the stone that held the fountain together. The giant, getting the idea, ran forward and single-handedly tore the main section of the fountain from the earth. 

Seeing the giant’s line of fire, Walden panicked for only a moment before dashing quickly to the side as to not be crushed by the crumbling rock and shower of water that was suddenly shooting up from the square. The water was already soaking through his cloak and dropping loudly onto his mask before he could put up a ward to keep most of the spray from drowning him completely. He let out a loud bark of laughter, truly enjoying this game he was playing with his giant pet.

It was a surprisingly intense look for someone hopped up on potions. He didn’t know how to take it. Severus knew his ‘charms’ such as they were, rarely attracted any attention. He almost suspected this of being a joke. 

But the way Macnair’s hand- so strong- slid up his arm, almost tender, but still hard, masculine, almost heady. Could you get a contact high off his potions? he didn’t think so, but, god…he sort of wanted to see what that grip would feel like on other parts of his body. But that was wrong. They were both men.

“I’m not a- that.” Snape’s lip curled in disgust at the open admission. But the expression never reached his eyes, and the way he glanced at Walden in a once-over belied his own deep dark secret. He was ‘that’. Just a little. Only sometimes. 

He was still sticky under the collar from the hike up the hill, and he was definitely trying to pull his arm free, only it wasn’t moving, just curling in closer to his body, until he could feel Macnair’s knuckles against his ribs. And Macnair wanted him, for all his skinny, hunched shoulders, and harsh features. He had a sudden moment of terror at the idea that it was the old rumour about men and their noses. He didn’t think he fitted that old wives’ tale, and what if Macnair told others, and then he became a laughing stock at Death Eater meetings?

What was Macnair saying now? …he’d whispered something again. His gut was telling him he was in danger, but lower down, another organ was telling him he could have sex! He could enjoy another person! Who wanted him! 

Something was too off about Macnair though, not right, not normal, as far as normal could go regarding two wizards. “I-” He tightened his jaw, trying to impart some decisiveness into his words. “I’m not going to let you whore yourself out for potions, Macnair.” There. That sounded good, almost as if he regularly was offered sexual favours. Oh yes and better make it clear, even if it wasn’t to himself, “And I’m not interested in any…queer stuff.” 

That.

Walden watched the man size him up, take him in, feel his touch and pretend he couldn’t. Severus was exactly that, whether he had interest in admitting out loud or not. It wasn’t important what the man thought, anyway. They both knew what they wanted. Walden wanted his drugs when he needed them and Severus was absolutely dripping with desperation. 

His heart hammered almost painfully in his chest at the younger man’s next words. So, he had been aware of Walden’s motives all along. That worked perfectly for him, even if the lad refused to accept him now. There would be more opportunities in the future to prove that he could very well whore himself out for potions if he wanted to.

He won’t

“You will,” Walden told Snape, the hungry gaze of a predator lingering in his eyes. “The queer stuff feels better than wanking off in your bed all on your own.” He snatched up the lad’s chin with a shaking hand and forced him to meet his eyes, looking into them as though he was searching for something.

We aren’t there. We won’t be. You must take him.

They were right, of course. They didn’t linger in those dark eyes. They hovered nearby but they didn’t enter the body that was warm and flush with embarrassment. Or perhaps it was arousal. 

Either way, the cool tones of their ashen skin, the purple of their lips, it wasn’t hidden anywhere in that young face. Not yet. 

Dropping Snape’s head as though it had suddenly burned him, he shot a glance toward the shadows that hid under the tree. They were eager tonight. Desperate. He felt their same desperation. It had been far too long. Perhaps Severus wasn’t the right choice right now anyway. 

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.

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. 

Macnair moved fast, too fast to dodge, and Sep felt hot sharp pain spread across the side of his face. His vision blinked black, stars dancing across a field of nothingness. He thought he might have shouted, but couldn’t say for certain. He was reeling and it wasn’t until his vision blearily returned and he found himself staring at the grubby floorboards up close that he realized he’d been knocked to the ground. 

Instinct took over. Sep forced himself to his feet, fists raised and Macnair’s face locked into his line of sight. “Son of a bitch,” he spat, giving his head a shake to try and clear it. The room had fallen away to just him and Macnair. “Gonna get you for that,” he snarled. The side of his face felt like it was burning and freezing all at once, and he didn’t need to raise a hand to it to know that it was bloodsoaked. 

There’d be time later to worry about that. At the moment he had the more immediate concern of Macnair coming at him with a makeshift dagger. He’d spelled a sharp shard of glass to the tip of his wand and Sep had to stagger back to avoid being stabbed by the damned thing.

“OI!” Sep snapped. Could Macnair still cast spells with his wand like that? He was probably going to find out, if he didn’t get stabbed to death first. Grabbing the first thing he could lay his hands on, he swung the barstool he’d so recently abandoned at Macnair. He could distantly hear someone – the bartender probably – shouting a protest, but he paid them no mind. If he could get the wand out of Macnair’s hands, this might be somewhere close to a fair fight.

That was about the extent of the planning that was going through his mind at the moment. What was most prominent in his thoughts was mostly HIT HIM HIT HIM HIT HIM

So he did. His wand forgotten in his pocket, he threw the broken barstool aside and swung his fist at Macnair, aiming for his jaw and ready to leap back if the blow missed or was parried.

The make-shift dagger missed its mark and before Walden could try again there was a barstool aimed his way. Jumping back to avoid the blow, one of the stool legs still managed to catch him in the side and briefly knock the wind out of him. The leg snapped in a shower of splintered wood and the bartender shouted in protest, but all of this fell on deaf ears. It was just him and Crabbe now, again trapped in a rough-and-tumble.

This was exactly why Walden liked the man so much, it was never difficult to get a rise out of him. Once he had, he knew that he would have a good fight on his hands to ease some of the violent tension that roiled through his bones most days. 

Crabbe threw a fist that slapped into his face. Walden was conscious enough of the blow to roll his head with the movement and avoid the worst of the impact, but stars still blinked before his eyes as his vision went temporarily white. 

Tasting blood in his mouth, he licked his split lip and jumped to the side to dodge further blows as he took a quick moment to size up his opponent. There was a slight opening under the man’s arm and he took the advantage. Thrusting forward with his wand-turned-dagger, the man moved enough to avoid a full blow but Walden could feel the razor sharp edge catch flesh and saw a flash of red as he moved with the movement to step behind the man. 

There was a thin trail of blood that slipped from a slice that had only scratched the surface of Crabbe’s ribs just below his arm. It was absolutely entrancing. How he would love to lick that blood from the man’s thin frame. This dance was absolutely enthralling. 

Keep going.

They egged him on and all he could do was oblige. He wanted to spill the man’s insides out, feel his life beneath his fingertips, feel it fade into Them. Blend them together, take Them in his arm, take the man with him. 

There was a hollow ringing in his mind as he let Them take control of his actions. It felt so good, so freeing to give up his restraints and allow himself this moment to simply enjoy the things he enjoyed. Eyes were on him, whether they were the patron’s or Theirs, he didn’t know nor did he care. Nothing mattered but the delicate dance of death.

He didn’t seem to be able to let go of Macnair’s bicep. He didn’t really seem to be able to do much except follow, hunched over and with a stiffness to his walk that had nothing to do with his job requiring him to be on his feet most of the shift and everything to do with the now insistent erection rubbing against the inside of his pants and trousers. He left the remains of the energy drink on the keg t go flat and stale, forgotten and unnecessary now that his body had found something more energising than mere caffeine.

He did try to answer the rhetorical question, but ended up just nodding, hastily remembering to stub the cigarette out on the wall before going inside, the butt dropped to the ground. The rooms he was led to he had seen glimpses of before, rows of small tables with mirrors and various bottles of baby oil or makeup. In a better, more analytical state of mind he would have been intersted to guess which belonged to which dancer, given the organisation -or lack- and items on them. There were lockers too, which he supposed must hold whatever they weren’t wearing that night, as well as more street appropriate clothes. He snuck a glance at Walden’s lower half as they walked. Not that any clothes really looked appropriate on Macnair. Did he have some way of making his bum look so round? Severus’ practically disappeared into his back. Was that another secret?

Severus’ eyes shot up at the awareness that they weren’t alone and he finally managed to let go of Macnair, folding his arms tightly across his chest as if he could somehow undo the memory the Carrows must surely have now of him holding onto Macnair like some groupie. Or maybe they’d forget it. He wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things. And he certainly didn’t have the looks either of them had been blessed with. He almost wanted to pull the hood up over his head, but by the time he had uncrossed his arms, something tubular was flying in his direction. He caught it with minimal fumbling, and it took a moment for him to realise what he was holding. His mouth went dry as he stared at it. “special co- occasions.” Surely no one could fill the whole tube. Unaware of what he was doing, he pumped the device once, feeling the air flow into the tube past his hand, and looked up again, one long finger feeling inside the pump for a moment. 

“Yes, I..have.” Was that an admission of guilt? No, it was Macnair’s job to show it off, and Severus had to be in the same room, so there was really no avoiding seeing it. He’d definitely considered the effects of the rings, although he hadn’t thought about a pump, long having employed an ad blocker for any embarrassing searches that might have suggested one to him. “so- ahem. So that’s how you…prepare then?” Of course it was. He just told you. And now he’s staring at you with his face and his trousers.

Severus looked down at the pump in his hands again and then at Walden, movement so sudden that his fringe flicked in front of his face and his breath caught as the movement caused a particularly sensitive rub of the waistband. Macnair had put his cock inside this. And it was inside Severus’ hands…so by proxy… he had held Walden’s-

“I’m not gay.” Ah yes. Sensible. To the point. Clear. Total non-sequitur. 

Lie. 

There seemed to be some serious thinking going on in the bartender’s head. Walden watched as Severus fondled the pump as a range of emotions flitted across his face. There was a moment where he was sure the lad had finally realized what he was doing as he snapped his attention back to Walden, looking panicked. 

“I’m not gay.”

Walden snorted. Then laughed. “Neither am I,” he said. Severus might not be gay, but if this man was about to deny that he found him attractive, Walden would laugh him out of the building. It was impossible not to notice the looks that were being thrown his way.

Striding over to the man so that he was close enough to make him uncomfortable, Walden reached out and put a hand around the pump, but he didn’t pull it away just yet. “I don’t care what you think you are, but you can’t tell me that you don’t want this.” The lust was obvious, if not in his eyes, in his trousers at the very least. No, at the moment it was mostly fear in the younger man’s eyes. Which only worked to turn Walden on even more. He liked the fear. 

“Why are you bothering to even pretend otherwise?” he asked, honestly curious. It had never made much sense to him why people hid who they were. Perhaps Severus was afraid of being beaten, which wasn’t out of the range of possibilities. It wasn’t as though Walden hadn’t had his fair share of run-ins with less than accepting folk, but he had always come out on top. But why hide it here? And now? They were in a club that never shied away from queerness, and besides that, they were completely alone. They would stay that way, too. He was sure the Carrows would be warning anyone who wandered their way to stay out of the changing rooms for the time being. 

Igor took Macnair’s criticism gracefully, or rather with a rude gesture flipped gracefully across the bar at him. Clearly the drink wasn’t that much of a failure, as Macnair seemed to be savouring it in spite of his complaint. And knowing the dancer as he did, Igor knew that it was likely he was trying to get a rise out of him, which he would do no matter how the drink turned out. That he wasn’t spitting it out in disgust was just about good enough for Igor when it came to judging the quality of the beverage. 

Macnair wasn’t keen to let the mystery of the ingredients lie, hazarding guesses at what the drink’s components were. Igor shrugged and tapped the side of his nose in a knowing and utterly unhelpful way. “This and that,” he said vaguely. It was a saying he’d heard anglophones say, which felt apt in the moment.

He wrinkled his nose at the guesses for the fruit flavour, not being a fan of watermelon. The second guess – mango – was the right one, but he wasn’t about to say that so easily. “I will make you another one,” he said instead. “With better alcohol amounting, yeah?” He rummaged under the bar for the more frivolous cocktail components and produced a plastic orchid. He twirled it at Macnair with a cheeky grin. “And a flower.”

Of course, remaking the drink under Macnair’s curious eye would easily eliminate the mystery of it all, but it didn’t really matter in the end. Igor set about remaking the cocktail, not explaining as he went, but also not particularly trying to hide what he was doing either. 

“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked, peering down at the instructions again as he double-checked the amount of alcohol to start off with. The question was only partly intended as a distraction for Macnair; Igor was actually curious. Many of the dancers learned here, but those were mostly the ones who only knew basic spins and tricks that they learned from the more experienced dancers. Most clientele didn’t care too much, simply happy to see an attractive body moving to the music. But Macnair had the skills that came of actual proper training.

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. 

Igor gave a minute nod in acknowledgement of Macnair’s words. He didn’t want the giants to grow suspicious of them talking too much between the two of them, but Macnair’s point was a good one. The problem was coming up with a good way to communicate it to the Gurg without offending her. And if they gave the gift over too quickly, the giants would be distracted and likely unwilling to listen any further. But if they held off too long, they might grow impatient. 

“A wonderful one,” he called back to the Gurg, when she demanded to know about the present. He was buying for time as he tried to plan the best path forward. He resisted the urge to glance over at Macnair for help. The giants wouldn’t appreciate them whispering amongst themselves and Macnair couldn’t speak Bulgarian, so it fell on Igor to take the next step. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the wrong one. 

“But first, the Dark Lord’s message,” he said, pitching his words to be as polite as possible. The Gurg’s lieutenant eyed him for a long moment, but Igor couldn’t tell if her pause was because she was suspicious or because she was trying to figure out the best way to translate his words. He wasn’t sure how fluent in Bulgarian she actually was. For his and Macnair’s sake, he hoped the answer was ‘very’. He took the opportunity of her silence to continue:

“The Dark Lord sends you his best wishes and hopes that the mighty Gurg is well,” he said. “He knows that a people as great and powerful as giants must feel restless here, but he asks that you stay hidden here in the forest for now. The time will come when we will need your help, your amazing strength!” In Igor’s experience, flattery worked on everyone. 

Including giants, it would seem. The Gurg’s second took another moment to think over Igor’s words, but then turned towards her leader and rumbled away in Giantspeak. Igor guessed that she was fairly adept at Bulgarian, as he saw the Gurg’s face go from nonplussed to comprehending. Luckily it seemed that the second was being fairly loyal to Igor’s compliment-laden wording, as the Gurg’s face broke into a pleased smile.

“Giants are strong!” she roared. Igor nodded in enthusiastic agreement, flicking a meaningful look over at Macnair to get him to join in. 

“So strong!” he agreed. It might be over-the-top, were he dealing with creatures capable of recognizing subtlety. “And because you are so strong, the Dark Lord is eager to give you more gifts, as he is so grateful that you are here and waiting so patiently for his plans! If you stay here in the forest, we will be sure to return to bring you more!”

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.

Severus black eyes looked away from Macnair’s face towards the coins, counting along with him in his head. He didn’t try to disguise the change in his body language that belied his eagerness for the cold touch of metal in his palm, and he unconsciously relaxed a little. The man was an ally ostensibly and he obviously wouldn’t want to do anything too drastic to Severus or he’d lose his supply…but he was Macnair and Macnair was a deeply unknown quantity. The man worked with animals, which was a point against him, but the work he did was mostly execution, a point for.

He closed his fingers around the coins and looked back up at Macnair with the beginnings of a “pleasure doing business with you” on his lips, but started and jerked his head down towards the hand grasping his wrist. “Ah-” A noise died in his throat, surprised and skittish.

“I..have places to be…” It was a poor excuse, and Severus was trying to figure out the other man’s angle on this. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was ever so slightly working. But if he wasn’t, Severus couldn’t respond with snarls, because he’d lose a customer. He shivered at the thumb caressing along the protruding wristbone.

His sharp mind came up with two possible reasons, neither of which he liked. Or rather, one of which part of him liked the idea of. Best to figure this out quickly before he made a fool of himself or was made a fool of.

“what do you want, Macnair?” He had intended that to sound much more bored and assertive and not the sort of curious and frightened that it had emerged as. He glanced down at Macnair’s hand again, as different a structure to his as their respective bodies. Even though Severus knew his grip strength was good, Macnair’s hands looked like the kind designed to wield heavy bladed objects, and the fingers fitted easily around his skinny, almost feminine wrists. But maybe he could use that to his advantage and slide his hand free. He gave a sharp tug, but with the coins clutched in his hand, his fist was hardly aerodynamic.

For now, at least until Severus mad eup his mind whether he wanted to try and fight free(or ask), it was up to Macnair.

There was a shudder under his hand. Walden’s eyes studied the man closely, was it a shudder of disgust or interest? 

Does it matter?

No, it didn’t really matter. If he wanted the boy he would take him, but he couldn’t do that when he was dependent on the man for good potions. The quality of them far surpassed most that he could find on the street, which meant that the hangover and negative reactions weren’t nearly as bad. It wouldn’t do to lose such a valuable asset in his life over a simple desire that was easily controlled.

But we want him.

Again, Walden shook his head. They wouldn’t get him. Not like this, anyway. Speaking of want, Walden was sure that Severus had asked him something along the lines of want. The words had mostly been drowned out by Them, but he could guess what the question might have been.

“I guess I haven’t made myself very clear,” he said quietly, sliding his grip up the man’s wrist to his elbow and stepping closer. “I want you.” Would the man be interested? Again, his body language was difficult to read. He looked as though he was between bolting and stepping closer himself, but Walden wasn’t sure if his perception was slightly warped by the potion pumping through his system. It was very good stuff, he felt light and giddy at the notion of sleeping with the utterly twinkish Severus Snape. If he could convince the lad to let him pay with sex, he would have no problems getting potions in the future.

But he had to let the man come to him first. 

Just take him!

Sep’s shoulders stiffened as Macnair murmured threateningly in his ear. He didn’t like the closeness, the unasked-for intimacy of their conversation, but still he resisted the urge to leap up from his bar stool and get away from the other wizard. Macnair would laugh, taking it as a victory and Sep’s disgust as fear. Turning his head to glare coolly back at Macnair, however, he felt a twist of trepidation in his stomach at the look on the other man’s face. There was a ferocity behind Macnair’s eyes, one that went beyond simple anger. Sep was starting to wonder if he’d bitten off more than he could chew by messing with Macnair tonight.

It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling. He hated that it made him feel like a child again, standing in the shadow of his father’s baleful gaze and knowing that he’d pushed things too far again. And considering what Macnair was not-so-subtly suggesting, the comparison was even more unwelcome than usual. Now he did swat away the hand at his back, any semblance of amusement or feigned obliviousness falling away.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you’re looking for here, Macnair,” he growled, getting to his feet. “And I don’t reckon I owe you anything. You want to keep a better eye on your potions, if you don’t want them spilling on the floor.” He had no intention of playing along with any of Macnair’s games, but if the executioner was looking for a fight, he was only too happy to give him one. Caution was fading fast, burnt away by anger.

There was a buzzing in his ears, not a sound but a feeling, the eager anticipation of violence. His own drink was long forgotten, its appeal outweighed by something better. Gone, too, were the thoughts of home and sleep and his wife’s embrace. With the promise of a fight, there was only the present, the now, and Sep lived for it.

Except, it would seem, that the man was going to be difficult. Walden didn’t have the patience for difficulty in that very moment. Eyes were on him, static was climbing, the edges of the earth were closing in, tunnelling him toward another victim. It wasn’t something he could resist. It wasn’t something that he had wanted to resist for a very long time now. The satisfaction was simply too sweet to give up.

And They would come. They would look into his eyes once more, stare him in the face, and tell him that they loved him. How desperately he craved Them. 

Come to us.

I’m trying! He thought, frustrated that his plans had been so simply foiled by someone he might even consider a friend. Someone who was now refusing to give him what he was owed. 

We want you with us.

Walden snapped. He was often very careful, very sure of when and where he let his more violent urges take him over, but there were times when he was pushed, when he waited too long, and those urges took control without his noticing. 

With the potion surging through his veins giving him undo energy and Them whispering in his ears, he snatched up a glass cup and smashed it across Crabbe’s face. The bartender let out a cry, but Walden was like a shark in the water now. He smelled blood and the frenzy took him over.

Knowing where this action might lead, he pulled back quickly and whipped his wand from his sleeve. With a twirl and the soft words upon his lips, he took up a piece of the broken glass in a spell, twisting it and shaping it in the air to the point that extended from the tip of his wand like a dagger.

The swarming mass of feathers managed to buy him some time. It wasn’t much by any means, a handful of moments only, but he was able to focus on getting the Prophet worker back to safety - or at least a little bit closer to it, as he directed his wand towards the bubble and steered it in his direction. It wasn’t an easy task, not when he had to keep his wits about and pay attention to the Death Eater that was trying to push the birds away (birds that could very easily pierce through the capsule), but he worked fast and the bubble floated in an almost comical way towards him. 

Up close he could see that the spell was beginning to wear off and the magically created orb seemed to become even thinner in some places, almost nonexistent in others. He thanked whoever was listening for getting the man out of the harm’s way - at least to an extent, when he felt a sharp pain pierce him through the shoulder. With a curse leaving his lips and focus completely broken, he reached with his right, wand-wielding hand to his left shoulder to assess the damage. What appeared to be a dart of some sort protruded from his skin, a warm dribble of blood tickling him on the way down. But before he could react, before he could rip it away from his body or check out the state of the Prophet employee, he had been hit by a wave of water so powerful and unexpected that it had sent him falling to his knees.

Despite losing his balance he didn’t lose his grip on his wand, but the spells he had cast before had lost their power entirely - both the bubble protecting the wailing man and the remaining birds disappearing into thin air reminiscent of how they appeared just as suddenly. 

Balancing on his knees, he heaved several times desperate to push the water out of his system as it had forced its way into his body upon the impact. He tried not to choke on it, but the droplets were attacking quite as fervently as his real opponent has been just moments ago. 

Fighting the push of water falling on his back he slowly stood up and took in his surroundings. It appeared that first and foremost the man he was trying to protect couldn’t take it anymore and had lost consciousness and if James was being honest - it was a godsent. He couldn’t take the screaming and crying - it was too distracting, and the second thing he noticed was that the Death Eater had been able to fight the elements better than he. With another curse, he pointed his own wand in his direction, but the humidity was making it hard for him to see as his glasses started to fog with every breath he breathed out. 

He needed another distraction, something that will allow him to cast the protective spell on his glasses so that he wouldn’ get murdered simply because he couldn’t see his opponent properly. So what he did was sent simple blasts in the general direction of the Death Eater in a fast sequence, making sure that the exploding elements of the office turned that side of the room into a dark and loud personal hell. Only then he could take care of his fucking glasses - and promise himself that he was going to look up cure for shortsightedness as soon as he got a chance.

It was a relief when he realized that the waterfall had completely obliterated the birds. With the feathers and claws no longer blocking his vision, he spotted the Order member quickly. The man was getting to his feet, looking thoroughly soaked. It was a perfect opportunity to attack.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to realize how much danger he was in as he started firing spells off blindly. There was an eruption of noise and explosions before Walden had a chance to fire off an attack of his own. Ducking away from the blasts, he retreated further into a corner, trying to come up with a new plan. 

Amidst the chaos, the thought he could hear voices. It was difficult to tell, but once the blasts had eased up he made out the noise for certain. “It’s coming from over here!” one of them shouted and Walden was almost certain that it wasn’t Death Eaters that were coming to help. 

“Shit!” he cursed, realizing that he was about to be backed into the corner of this office, bleeding and outnumbered. 

There wasn’t much left for him to do here, he’d done enough damage that the message had been sent. He needed to find a way out before he could be captured. Not that Walden would ever let that happen. It was death or escape, there was no in between. He would never go to Azkaban, he was certain of that.

Slicing his wand through the air, he muttered a spell that released a sharp blast of wind that arched with his wand. It wasn’t ordinary wind, it was meant to cut like the edge of the finest scalpel, thin but deep and capable of doing a decent amount of damage if it hit its mark. It was difficult to aim amidst the confusion, so he simply hoped that the spell did the trick. 

Making a break for the door, he nearly tripped over the man that he had been torturing who was now on the floor. It appeared as though he had finally passed out. Walden felt bitter disappointment that he hadn’t been able to spend more time with the man, but there would be opportunities in the future. For now, he needed to save his own skin.

Walden really was living the dream. Or at least, what touch-starved Severus who was both jealous of his co-workers in relationships and disdainful of them, thought the dream was. Because a quickie sounded so much better than retreating home to the dingy shower and five minutes of quiet angry frustration. 

When Macnair was suddenly closer, too close, he couldn’t back away unless he started climbing, Severus shrank in on himself, as if making himself smaller would make Walden pass over him. Although part of him didn’t want to passed over and certainly wasn’t trying to make itself smaller. “I- I just was curious.” He looked sideways along the alley, because he could not look at Macnair without the flush on his cheeks spreading brighter. The sulky frown and shake of his head didn’t quite look convincing as he tried to reassume his usual approach to Macnair. “I don’t care what pills you pop or-..things you watch.” But his brain was sticking again. What on earth could the all sorts backstage refer to? Did they have some kind of stack of racy magazines, or video tapes? He knew there wasn’t some fully stocked sex dungeon- or at least there wasn’t in the areas he’d been to. 

“I’m not dance staff…I’m a bartender I shouldn’t be there.” Squirming slightly under Macnair’s gaze he looked up at those bright mocking eyes and cruel smile. That was- Even Severus could pick up on that implication. He swallowed and stubbed the cigarette out on the keg behind him, dropping it to the ground. It felt almost like Macnair was interested in him, and, thin chest rising and falling, he cautiously reached out to put a hand on Macnair’s arm, feeling the coiled strength in those muscles. “a-Alright.” Fuck what was he doing?!It would be fine. He could just- Surely this wouldn’t go anywhere. 

So why was he hoping that it would?

Walden stifled a laugh when the man went on about popping pills and watching porn. Not that it never happened to get ready for a show, but it certainly wasn’t Walden’s first choice. He preferred other types of pills over the ones that might give him an extended erection.

It was also quite amusing to hear the excuses the man made as to why he’d never come back stage. While he had assumed Severus to be a bit of a prude before, now he was starting to wonder if the man was almost worried about what might happen if he allowed himself to peek behind the curtain. There was only so long the lad would be able to run away from his own desires before he inevitably gave in. 

Which seemed to be sooner rather than later. To Walden’s ever-increasing surprise, the young man reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, actually making the first contact. He had been sure that it would be him that would make the first move, but this was definitely encouraging. 

Suddenly, the tiredness he’d been feeling after the evening’s show was giving way to a second wind as he felt himself grow eager in anticipation. The prospect of having a new partner was always exciting, he liked to experience every option that was available to him and this was one he’d long since given up on before now.

Raising a brow, his smile grew warmer as he finally took a step back, bringing the other man with him as he went with the hand still on his arm. “Well then,” he said, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself, “Let’s give you the full tour, shall we?” 

Heading back into the building, he ducked into the back rooms where the dancers got prepared. It was one large room with various mirrors and desks that they had each claimed long ago. No one was supposed to touch anything in the other’s desk, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. There were lockers along the left wall as well for them to keep their outfits. It certainly wasn’t anything overly glamorous, but Walden felt comfortable here. No one cared what he did or said in this room, they all minded their own damn business.

Speaking of which, the Carrows were lounging on the couch that stretched across the right wall, but as soon as they saw him enter with another man on his arm they glanced at each other and left. It wasn’t uncommon for Walden to bring people back stage, they knew what his intent was and neither of them cared to stick around for the ordeal. Which worked perfectly well for him, especially when he had a jumpy one.

“Home sweet home,” he told the man, gesturing lazily around the room. “And to answer your question-” Walden wandered over to his own desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a pump and tossing it to the young man. “That’s only for special occasions, of course,” he added with a wink. 

“That is what I thought,” Igor said, smirking as he set the drink down on the bar for Macnair. The dancer took a moment to make his way over from the stage, so Igor had more than enough time to inspect his handiwork. Comparing the finished drink to the image Severus had left him with, he judged that it was a pretty close match. Though he prided himself on having a good eye for detail, he could never seem to be able to match Severus’ artistry when it came to mixology. The drink he’d mixed looked fine, but certainly not as Instagram-worthy as the example. 

Ah well. He doubted Macnair would care all that much. Nor would the customers later that night. Especially once they’d all had a drink or two in them already. He stepped back with an innocent shrug, taking the sheet of instructions with him before Macnair could get too good of a look at it. He wouldn’t normally care that much about preserving someone else’s secrets when it didn’t really benefit him that much to do so, but Severus was a friend and could be protective of his mixes, especially when they were as new as this one was. One thing Igor could understand was being protective of what was yours. Though he didn’t think that Macnair was going to steal the concoction’s recipe, it was still better to be safe than sorry. And hey, it was an opportunity to poke a little fun, so it was a win-win situation.

“Top secret,” he said, holding the sheet to his chest with mock protectiveness. “You know that Severus will kill us both if I am sharing his secrets. How does it taste?” It would all be for naught if the stupid drink didn’t taste good. He’d have to start over again. Of course, he’d probably do best to make the drink a couple more times before work began, but he’d wait for Macnair’s feedback first.

Probably best not to give more than one attempt to Macnair, either. Igor suspected that management wouldn’t be too pleased with him if he got one of the star dancers sloshed before working hours even began. Luckily there were a few other staff members around he could offer the drinks to. Already he could spot a few who were eyeing the pair of them enviously. No, he wouldn’t have trouble finding takers.

Walden raised a brow at the coy reaction when he asked what was in the drink. Igor stepped away with the page before he could see the ingredients and offered a shrug. Why so secretive? He wondered. It wasn’t as though he was planning on stealing the recipe and claiming it as his own. Not that it was against his own warped moral code, but Walden had no real interest in becoming a mixologist and that sounded like a one way trip to getting himself into more trouble than it was worth.

He scoffed at the other man’s words and took a sip of the drink. It was quite good. Fruitier than some of the others, but in a tart way that paired well with the alcohol. It was certainly a drink that tasted as though it had been created by a master mixologist.

After taking another long sip and waggling his eyebrows at the man, making him wait for a response as punishment for being so secretive, he finally put the glass down a moment later. “It’s alright,” he teased, “But the alcohol is a bit strong compared to the other flavours in this one. Think you might need to adjust those proportions.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was a bit of an exaggeration. Which might have been made obvious as he went to take another drink.

With the next drink, he did his best to try and feel out the flavours. Alcohol wasn’t a mystery to Walden by any stretch of the imagination, and he knew most drinks at the club quite well by this point. “Vodka base, is it?” he asked, trying to poke an answer out of Igor.

It wasn’t as if he desperately needed to know what was in the drink anyway, but Igor had made it into something of a game by trying to keep it away from him. It was one thing that could be said about him, he liked to get what he wasn’t supposed to have. It was also part of the reason why he wished the other man might be a little looser with his sleeping habits these days. Now that Walden couldn’t entice him into bed, he was more attractive than ever.

Luckily for Igor, he knew when to cut his losses. Despite his interest in the man, he also enjoyed their banter and he already had too many enemies at the club. It wasn’t terrible to have a friend or two around when he spent most of his life in these four walls. 

“Ah, good,” Igor said, then immediately felt a bit silly, as Macnair went on to say that the giants had already started infighting. Not so good, then. Then again, maybe saying that they’d ‘started’ wasn’t completely accurate. From what he knew of the creatures, fighting amongst themselves was a relatively regular occurrence, regardless of whether they were travelling to a foreign country or not. That giant probably would have died no matter what. Still, they weren’t going to be all that helpful to the Cause if they all killed each other before the Dark Lord could turn them loose on the enemy. “That is fair,” he said, when Macnair claimed to be trying to stay out of the giants’ way as much as possible. It was a surprisingly cautious stance for the executioner to take, but one Igor could certainly appreciate.

Igor knew the moment they passed through the Anti-Muggle wards, not just because of the unpleasant sensation of passing through a sheet of cold water, but also by the change in ambient sounds around them. Any noise from the small town nearby was immediately silenced, replaced by birdsong and, less peaceful, the distant sound of giants. Igor sighed. He really wasn’t looking forward to this. He snorted quietly at the cheery tone to Macnair’s voice. He didn’t seem put off in the slightest. Igor sometimes wondered how much of Macnair’s confidence and lack of care might be an act, but after knowing him all this time, he didn’t think much of it actually was. He was fairly certain that for the most part, Macnair just genuinely didn’t care about much. He was almost envious of that.

No matter how good he was at hiding it, Igor was very much someone who cared about a lot of things, especially his own well-being. So it came as a relief to hear that they would at least be dealing with the same Gurg as before. The leader of the giants had been as brutish and surly as the rest of them, but she hadn’t struck Igor as a complete idiot, which made dealing with her that much easier. Hopefully the one who had died wasn’t the one who had acted as her interpreter before. The less of a language barrier they had to contend with, the better.

Not that it was their words that had convinced the giants to come. No, it had been the gifts from the Dark Lord that they’d delivered. Giants, it turned out, were as greedy as humans. Offer them enough trinkets, useful or simply magically impressive, and they would be putty in the Dark Lord’s hands. 

“I have been busy,” he said, not bothering to put too much effort into the excuse. It was hardly a lie – the bookshop did keep him occupied – but it wasn’t like Macnair was going to believe that was the only reason he hadn’t reached out to the giants before now. He offered a lackadaisical shrug. “I am certain that they do not miss me so much.” He suspected they wouldn’t care much one way or the other. He tossed a small smile Macnair’s way, trying to push his bad mood to the back of his mind. 

The sounds of the giants grumbling and moving about were growing louder. After a few more minutes of walking, Igor spotted their encampment through the trees. They’d knocked several of the biggest trees around it down, propping their massive trunks into a makeshift shelter. Likely the Gurg’s substitute for a cave. Taking a deep breath and exchanging a look with Macnair, Igor entered the giant’s clearing. He made no effort to quiet his steps, thinking it better not to accidentally surprise the volatile beasts.

“Good morning!” he called out in Bulgarian, shoving fear back behind the walls in his head. “We have come to see the mighty Gurg and to offer her another gift from the Dark Lord! A thank you for travelling so far for him!”

Walden snorted when Igor came up with the excuse of being busy. As if that was truly the reason, but Walden hadn't expected anything different. The other Death Eater hardly seemed thrilled about the idea of visiting the giants today, but when the Dark Lord said jump, you jumped or faced the consequences and Igor wasn't about to face any consequences.

They finally came upon the clearing and Walden arranged his features to look a little less smug. If he wasn't already so used to the idea of hiding his true feelings, it might have been more difficult considering it was his default expression. As it was, it was easy to slip on a mask of indifference as they entered the clearing and Igor greeted the giants in his own tongue. Walden made sure to hold up the bag that carried the goblet so that it was in clear view before any of the giants grew defensive or got bored.

None of them looked overly surprised at their appearance, likely smelling them before they came into view. A few looked a bit leery, while others eyes were fixated on the bag eagerly. Good, he had their attention.

The Gurg was eyeing them both eagerly, her second standing by her to translate as Igor spoke. Though Walden wasn’t exactly sure what was being said, he knew that it couldn’t be much more than a greeting by the length. Feeling a bit on the dramatic side that day, he didn’t immediately uncover the gift. It was better this way, keep them curious and they were less likely to get distracted by the gift. That had some talk to do first. 

The Gurg was looking between them but seemed to focus on Igor once the man finished talking. “What gift?” The Bulgarian went over Walden’s head, but he could guess from her gesturing that she was speaking about the goblet. 

“We need to make sure they aren’t going to continue killing each other,” Walden told Igor under his breath. Their infighting was part of the reason they had been sent there. If they all killed each other there wouldn’t be much point in having brought them here in the first place.