━ borgin, eugene.

“What’s that face for?” Some days, he didn’t have the energy to start an argument. Those days, however, were few and far between. Much more common was Brenton seeking out a fight for nothing but the thrill of it. Whether it was by finding the perfect way to piss off someone he knew well or “accidentally” knocking a stranger over or just shooting curses at the beetles on the ground to pass the time until someone got irritated by it, it was an endless source of entertainment to him and even better when he did manage to catch someone’s attention.

“is that actually his name?” achille asked, eyebrows furrowed together as he turned to look at his cousin, “poor bloke,” he muttered, before moving past the bust, his attention immediately shifting to another object, scartletwound all but forgotten. he stopped himself from reaching out to grab an old leather bound book with a title in a language he couldn’t read- deciding that perhaps there was a reason for that. 

“i don’t know if i’d say i’m softer, i’ve taken my fair share of bludgers,” he chuckled, trying his best not to let eugene’s comment get to him. he knew his cousin’s relationship with the flamel family wasn’t great- it wasn’t something for him to dwell on. “they aren’t all bad- the younger ones are generally decent,” he responded, laughing at his own statement. “sounds fun, tad mundane,” he laughed, as he moved to follow the older male. “i didn’t pay much attention to the news while i was gone- did i miss anything important?”

“You say that like terrible wizard names aren’t par for the course. Did you know the first English Minister for Magic was named Ulick Gamp?” he asked, unable to contain the laugh that followed. His gaze followed Achille as his cousin’s attention shifted from one item to the next. Of which there were plenty, some which were better left untouched. Eugene squinted at the book he grabbed, trying to determine if it was one of those.

The story made her even more intrigued, but truth be told, the story was what always drew her in to these objects. Eugene knew that about her, and maybe that was why they got on so well. He knew how to spin a tale; a tale of woe, one that would make her heart break for the family, but that also caused a glint in her eye. What if she could wield that power? The power to break those who might hurt her? Who might hurt Narcissa and Draco? Bellatrix was only a person, but blimey did she wish she could be a curse. Even if it meant she never would see her sister or nephew again. At least they’d be safe. And she could be alone, closed off from the world, and safe. 

“An Obscurial?” she asked, eyebrow raising as she stared at the object. Now that kind of power couldn’t be taken for granted. Then again, these days, they were rarer than Lord Voldemort himself, taking a step out of the darkness. She didn’t believe it, of course, but she wanted to. Eugene would know that. “Well, it’s a rather good story, after all. My uncle likes to tell a similar one, about a great aunt or something on his mother’s side.” Bellatrix shook his head, grinning at Eugene. “Then again, the other half of the family calls her mad, so, who’s to say who’s right?”

Her finger gently touched the glass above the emerald and she looked up at him. “Do you think we could put some kind of spell on it?” she asked, looking up at him. “I mean, one that would keep me safe but that could… I don’t know. Put that curse we’ve been talking about on someone else.” The shop was empty, but it was hard not to lower her voice when she said it. Bellatrix was so used to caution these days, even if it irritated her; even if her skin felt disgusting at the thought of being careful.

“So, I was told.” Eugene wouldn’t like about a detail like that. Not to Bellatrix, a loyal and appreciated regular of the store, nor to a stranger, stepping foot into the store for the first and possibly last time. He wouldn’t pretend to have more proof of provenance than he did. Even in the field of dark artefacts and questionably legal goods, a reputation was important; forgery and fakery didn’t make for a good one.

Eugene’s lips twitched with the anecdote. “No such stories in my family. But then, half of them are mad and probably wouldn’t remember it.” He was talking about the Flamels, of course. His mother’s side. The side he kept as much distance from as possible. He didn’t have a clear reason for it, besides simply disliking them. Not being attached to them. Maybe it was just a Borgin thing; they were a small family, and he liked it that way. And they lived plenty long enough without alchemy to help.

Antonin wasn’t sure what his accent was anymore. When he was little he sounded like his mother, but that was quickly corrected by his father. When he got to his uncle, the harsh Russian edge turned into a mixture of his mother’s accent and the British accent his uncle had picked up with an undercurrent of his old accent. 

“You think you’ve been around me long enough that you would have caught on by now,” he said in lieu of a direct answer. “Or are you always this slow?” He shrugged. “That’s really all that happens to me. I don’t change much. If you’re so interested, we’ll try it out and you can see for yourself.”

Antonin rarely met someone who could drink more than him. He probably shouldn’t have been as proud of it as he was, but it felt like a source of pride. It was like a warning of sorts: don’t cross me. Antonin only ever drank vodka or tequila, so he gave a chuckle when Borgin wanted what Antonin was having. He decided to be a bit wicked and order vodka for the two of them, nothing else. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a long interaction. Antonin raised an eyebrow at the question. “Does it make me an angry drunk if I was probably angry to begin with?” He paused, thinking for a moment. “I suppose drinking doesn’t change me much. Maybe I’m more exaggerated or more loose, but mostly the same.”

Eugene was French. Even if he hid his accent. Even if he introduced himself with the English pronunciation of his name. Even if he divided much of his childhood between the two countries. He was still French, and the French were a people who gave wine to their kids and who responded to criticisms of their wine industry with cries of ‘unpatriotic’. And that was without mentioning his wild adolescence. So, bring on the vodka.

It was clear that he was as interested in this particular line-up as she was, and Bellatrix, truthfully, didn’t know where to begin. Still, as she scanned the case, a particular emerald glinted, causing her finger to reach out towards it. “That one,” she said, almost quietly, although she knew he would understand that she was simply intrigued. “It’s got… well it’s got a sort of feeling about it doesn’t it. Is that a dark curse for the wearer or does it have some kind of reciprocal reaction?”

Her eyes flickered up to Eugene’s waiting to hear just what one might find if they put on the jewel. Of course, Bellatrix had a few of his more protective pieces, one which she wore on her finger. A ring that would cast a curse over anyone who dared hurt her. It wasn’t good for many uses, but it was nice to know that if someone were to attack and physically hurt her, she’d be rewarded somehow.

The shop had always held these treasures, and Bellatrix had always come here to find them. She figured Eugene must not get many shoppers who actually cared about the history of the jewels themselves, though, because he seemed keen on telling her full stories. And, well, she was always interested. She’d always hated books, but loved a good story. Eugene was good at telling them.

He was not surprised when Bellatrix picked the emerald. It was a dark, cool shade of green cut rectangular shape and attached to a gold chain. If one were to flip it over, a curling M was engraved on its gold backing. A small grin tugged at Eugene’s lips as he nodded. “It does. Even those who don’t recognize it can feel it. It draws them in and yet makes them take a step back. I don’t have a reason to believe touching it would cause harm, but the man who sold it to me did.”

There was a wry note to his voice as he remembered the man. “He was… shabby. Lose threads on his clock. An unkempt five’o’clock shadow. I suspect he was either a gambler or an alcoholic; that’s why you usually the family jewels. He claimed it belonged to his great, great aunt and was able to provide a picture of a portrait where she wore it. It was her dearest treasure, according to family legend, and the necklace she was wearing when she died.” His crept to the side as he looked at Bellatrix. “He and his claims were unremarkable up until that point, but I could tell there was something more to. Even in a case, you can feel it. Dark magic has left its fingerprints on that jewel.

“One of the only Flamels I can stand. Maybe the only one. And yeah, that does include my mother. They’re a rotten, demented bunch. Living forever might sound appealing, but one look at them is good enough reason to see why you shouldn’t ‒ or at least not the way they do it. Admittedly, I probably have harsher feelings than Achille about our shared family because I don’t even get along with the sane members, but still. He’d back me up when it comes to him. When it comes to our allegiances... I doubt it. Can’t say I see him as an Order bird, but I don’t think he’d be happy to know about some of my after-work activities.”

“A single time? My parents and my schoolmates could name countless times I acted up and either disappointed or embarrassed the people around me. Often both. Dinner parties, classes, Quidditch matches ‒ you name it, I made trouble. I like to think I’m still a troublemaker, though I’ll admit what I did when I was younger was a lot angrier than what I get up to now. But I’ve also removed myself from places and situations that could be embarrassed by me.”

achille had always fought to see the best of his family, but nowadays, he had little patience for his relatives. with the exception of eugene, that was. so much so, that he’d made a visit to borgin and burke’s one of his biggest priorities upon return to england. “take your time,” he called back, his voice trailing off at the end of the sentence as he found himself distracted by a particularly vile looking bust. the inventory seemed to be different every time he entered the store, though, that was the purpose of a store. 

“what an ugly fucker,” he mumbled, before turning away from the bust, a smile appearing across hsi face as he came face to face with eugene. “one can only spend a certain amount of time with the flamels,” he laughed, “you could say that. i also found myself missing a couple of people,” he explained with a shrug. “what have you been up to?”

“Now, now. No need to insult old lord Blight Scarletwound,” he said, managing to hold the chuckle in the back of his throat. “But if you wish to, I recommend reframing from touching it. Unless you want to dream of a mad, old, Victorian wizard.”

Antonin had become quite comfortable interacting with the people he needed to and when he needed to. He wasn’t trying to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, but he also knew how important appearances were. He wasn’t a complete recluse either. He didn’t mind the company of most of the death eaters from time to time. So when Borgin was the one who slid next to him, he was actually quite glad. 

He shook his head. “I’m not going to let you drink me under a table. No worries.”

He rose a brow at Antonin. Amusement lifted a corner of his mouth. “That sounds like a challenge. I guess we’ll see, eh? Let’s get started,” he said, searching the counter for the bartender. He waved them over and said he’d have what Antonin was having. Eugene wasn’t picky; eccentric, sure, but not snobbish. Not like a lot of their fellow Death Eaters who only drank elven wine and would’ve rather come down with dragonpox than set foot in a place like this. Eugene liked that Antonin wasn’t one of those sort.

who: @borqin​. where: borgin and burkes. when: february 23rd, 1983.

Maybe it was quite predictable of Bellatrix to call Borgin and Burkes her favorite store. People had always expected her to like the rare and creepy; the rare and cursed. She had been fascinated by them from the time she was a child, anyways. Her father would have to pull her out of the library if she’d found a good book on ancient artifacts. She, herself, had been obsessed with finding out ways to create those cursed artifacts, and although she was becoming masterful in the art, that didn’t mean seeing new ones didn’t pique her interest.

So, she found herself at Borgin and Burkes, smiling at Eugene as if she had something she could give him in turn for his time. Bellatrix was quite fond of this transaction, though, and she figured Eugene kept doing it either because he liked it too, or because he was afraid of her. The wix hoped it was the former, though. Sometimes, it was right tiring to have everyone around you be terrified whenever you walked in a room. 

“Ah, it seems there’s a few new pendants in the case,” she said, trying to hide the excitement from her voice. “I’m sure at least one of these has a story. Have the time to tell it?”

...

All stores had regulars. Most stores would scoff at having the regulars that Borgin and Burke’s had, but then most stores would scoff as the merchandise Borgin and Burke’s sold as well. The curses, the jinxes, the macabre and unsavory histories. It wasn’t so bad – not if you knew how to handle the items with care, not if you’d been raised around it. But that would probably horrifying those other shopkeepers more; the idea of having children around the things he sold. So, he’d never really cared about them. He cared about the people that came to him.

Like Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her reputation preceded her, but he’d been pleasantly surprised in their initial few interactions. These days, he considered her one of his better regulars. She didn’t hold her nose while browsing like she was surrounded with filth. She appreciated the things other scoffed at. An immediate good mark in his book, along with all the galleons that were actually in his books.

Eugene paused to flip the sign from open to closed just before he shut the shop door with a click. A dark blue hue draped itself across London now that the sun had slipped behind the skyline and the last vestiges of light were fading. Being that it was a Wednesday evening, Eugene had little reason to keep the shop open late. Tomorrow? Sure. Friday through Sunday? Absolutely. Plenty of his sales were made in the dark. But frankly, few were searching for cursed antiques on a Wednesday – or anything else he sold, which wasn’t all cursed antiques, only mostly.

Who: @borqin​

Where: the cackling stump

Antonin spent a lot of time in bars for someone who didn’t really enjoy the company of others. It was a habit he adopted at Hogwarts. He was never so isolated that someone thought he was a loner that no one trusted, but he was never so close to others either. His interaction with others never extended far past the dinner tables or quick exchanges in the common room.

Now that they were out of school and he didn’t have a job that afforded him the same interaction, this was the next best thing. Aleia liked to remind him he wasn’t as much of a loner as he acted and she was right. 

He ordered another drink, then turned to the person who had just sat next to him. He was glad to see, Borgin, someone he could stand to be around. He’d wasted a lot of money that way if it was someone he hated or who was ordering rounds for a table. “Want a round?”

...

Was it any surprise that a boy like he’d been – troublesome and volatile – grew up to be a man who frequent shady establishments like The Cackling Stump? Admittedly, it was on the lighter side of shady. The places closer to the shop, actually in Knockturn Alley, were dank and dark and infested with something. The Cackling Stump had the fun and the cheap booze without the creepy crawlies and literal hags.

He’d come plenty of nights without recognizing a soul save the bartenders. Oh, there was that redhead with the gap teeth and the other one with the suspiciously timed absences. But tonight was different; sitting at the bar was Antonin’s familiar mug. With his chin held high, he strode to the counter and slid into one of the stools.

Stood atop a ladder organizing a collection of oddities on a high shelf, Eugene barely blinked when he heard the bell charm ring. A customer. “I’ll be down in a minute!” he called to whoever had entered. He finished straightening the petrified mandrake bookend, the books full of curses, and the glass display of a fake fairy skull before taking one step down the ladder and glancing in the direction of the door. Eugene squinted then raised his eyebrows as he recognized the person who’d entered. “Well, well,” he mused in a sing-song voice before descending the rest of the ladder.

where: Merlin Rogue’s tent when: 10 pm who: Bilius Weasley and Eugene Borgin ( @borqin​ )

As soon as they asked who wanted to work for Merlin Rogue’s booth for St, Mungo’s Charity Event, Bilius immediately volunteered. He had no plans to celebrate Valentine’s anyway. Last year, he still had Ethan. But now… Without Merlin Rogue, Bilius would probably be looking at the bottom of a bottle again. At least, working for Merlin Rogue during Valentine’s, Bilius will be having fun and earning money.

While wearing the bare minimum that still kept him warm —  many thanks to the warming spell that all the dancers applied on their clothes — Bilius’ job was to entice drinking customers to pay for a private show inside the smaller tents. As soon as the clock struck ten, Bilius went to work, immediately his eyes found someone who was about his age. “Hey there, good looking fella,” he greeted as he sauntered close. “Anything specific you’re looking for tonight?”

The fliers for the carnival had even made their way to Eugene’s corner of Knockturn Alley. Even if they hadn’t, he probably would’ve seen them. It wasn’t like he was some eclectic recluse who wanted nothing but the company of his antiques, though he’d heard that had been his grandfather’s style when the man was much younger. The kid friendly, family welcome hours hadn’t interested the wizard, but promised night activities. So, after closing up the shop – it was a Monday, after all – he made his way there.

There were still plenty of rides and set ups that appealed to a more wholesome crowd, but as Eugene strolled through the tents, a sign would catch his eye now and then. The one that eventually snared him was Merlin Rouge’s sign. A strip club in a tent. Now that, he needed to see. He wasn’t alone apparently; a crowd having formed within the tent’s fabric walls. Despite that, it wasn’t long before one of the entertainers approached him.

“What can I say, I’m a very complimentary person.” A smirk played at his lips for a moment but he was glad to see Eugene’s attention go to the fire. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it? Thought for the big thirty we should go all out this year. There’s a bit of a show later if you stay long enough.” He had taken a leaf out of the Muggles’ book and ordered a firework show although his fireworks were much better than theirs. Or, rather, Filibuster’s were. There would be changing colours and fireworks that lingered like stars and animals raging through the sky. Like fiendfyre but with less risk of being arrested and more loud bangs.

The use of the word lug made him snort. “Have you heard of this wonderful thing?” Brenton said in a dry voice. “It’s called magic and it means people can make whatever they want easily transportable. I don’t trust half the people here not to raid a present table. I’m not about those fancy parties with catered food and people having to follow set rules. I don’t need event planning.” Part of the fun was the chaos of the whole thing and people drinking from bottles and cans instead of glasses. He hummed, sufficiently interested in whatever Borgin had got him. It was something to unwrap by magic instead of by hand but it might just end up being opened earlier than some of the other things on that present table.

...

Eugene tilted his head to the side. “You said it. I do wonder what others might say.” Coworkers? Lovers? Family? But actually, Eugene didn’t give a damn. Brenton didn’t matter enough to him to be a hypocrite. Very few would consider him polite, gracious, or complimentary, unless their only interactions were confined to the shop. For his lack of patience, he was surprisingly decent at customer service.

His gaze slid from the fire, a question in his eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Brenton considered a show, but maybe he did. Eugene liked fun; he just wasn’t sure their definitions of fun always aligned. “Perhaps I will. Don’t spoil it for me, though. If it’s a show then it should be a surprise.”