Shadow King

Charity swallowed heavily, one hand fisted into her hip, the other covering her downturned face. She tried to fight the blush on her face but it probably had no affect. When she heard the flapping of his shirt, she turned her face up slightly, peering through her fingers. “No, no need to apologize. This is your home and I should have assumed you’d be..uh…more casual. It’s not a problem, Mister Travers. Rosley was very kind to me while he lead me inside. You must treat him well.” Christ she was stuttering. Regain your composure, Char! She scolded herself mentally before plastering a smile on her face. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

His own modesty only extended to maintaining a professional image; he stayed silent as his fingers slipped over the last button while eyes took in the discomfort his company seemed to portray. It was interesting. “ Of course, I’d never dream of mistreating the pair. I spend most of my time with Rosly and Tadkey around somewhere. It’s silly to think some people neglect house elves.” His opinions on the matter were in-depth but he brushed it off with a wave of his hand as he guided her towards the sitting room. There were more important topics to discuss. “Thank you for accepting the invitation. You’ve been writing some very interesting pieces. Would you like something to drink? Or anything else?”   

“I apologize Miss Burbage. Rosly tends to take things literal. I hadn’t expected you so soon, and I told her to let you straight in without thought that I may be unprepared for an early arrival.” 

“It’s the 70′s..”

She could have rightly lost herself into each and every shot she took and drowned him out completely, had he been anyone else. But, as her luck would have it, Ezra Travers was likely the most persistent bastard she’d ever met. No amount of ignoring him or simply walking away ever seemed to work, not since the first time he’d ever spoken to her in school. “I had a cat.” She answered with a flat tone and a defiant sigh as if to ask if he was done yet while dark hues shot up to his for a moment of lingering frustration. “You don’t do kind gestures, Ezra. You do things for yourself and only yourself.” She’d learnt that first hand after the multitude of things he’d ever done for her, without encouragement. Though she was likely no better. It was exactly what she’d expected, even if she’d been shocked to find it empty and without some lavish blonde hanging by his front door waiting. She wasn’t uncomfortable as such, but it gave way to certain boundaries she was sure she’d laid out by her every rejection to his antics. Though she’d much rather simply get in an out, curiosity of her own struck, she’d always liked to see how other people lived; and even still, in the confines of his home, she snapped a photo or two, discarded items, a small pile of books she drew her fingertips over subconsciously as she read the titles. “I dropped dragon’s blood on a whole roll of prints in fifth year, it eats away at the ink and I kind of like the effect.” She spoke mindlessly, “Valerian root is for a sleeping potion.” As if he couldn’t remember it’s use himself. “Have you actually read all of these?” Lucinda already knew he was rarely ever without a book in hand, though she didn’t remember him ever mentioning anything he’d ever read, a fact that only reminded her of who she was with and bristling herself back into her own mind. “—-There’s no need for a meal, I’m not staying. You’ll have to make dinner arrangements with someone else, though I’m sure that’ll be no trouble at all.”

It wasn’t often that he found himself inviting guests. He found sanctuary within his home and in turn that exposed his own comforts. As a perpetrator of other’s confidences and mysteries; he tended to keep himself as far away any revealing his own. This was a rarity, but he wouldn’t treat it as such. It’d threaten his façade. “Dragon’s blood in the name of artistry. Did you tell Slughorn of your discovery? I’m sure he would have appreciated adding another star pupil to his list.” He motioned past the grand entry; the smell of food wafted through home. The pair of elves kept a schedule as per the request of Ezra; even on weekends he enjoyed a routine. “Sleeping potion?” A smirk appeared, as he removed his coat, motioning for hers to follow. He effortlessly remembered Valerian root being used for Sleeping Draught or Living Death, two very stout potions. “Can’t sleep at night, or is someone giving you trouble?” His imagination ran wild with some of the darker activities she may have contributed too. “I have no other plans for the night, please, why don’t you stay. I’m sure everything is already prepared. I’ll have Rosly fetch your things after Tadkey sets the table.” 

She’d always wondered where the point of no return had been for everyone else, when they’d morphed into their parents, playing games with each others minds and claiming alliances where they clearly weren’t, secrets and lies tied around each others throats just waiting for the opportune moment to tighten the noose. How did none of them see it when it so clearly flaunted itself in the faces of anyone willing enough to look. Disconnect from it had saved her at least some of the bullshit, until Ezra had sauntered in like he was the heavy weight champion. She’d not fallen for it then – and like bloody hell she was going to now. None of them were nice people, for all their own shortcomings, he wasn’t without as he so claimed to be, he couldn’t have been. Her choice to ignore his constant attempts at swaying her into talking about anything of importance. “Everyone had a pet in first year.” She mused quietly, had he wanted the answer he’d want to have been listening close enough, because she’d make no effort to make it easier for him. Lucinda fiddled around with the lense of her camera while he spoke, she didn’t think he could ever register the disinterest as just that, another shortcoming she imagined. Then again, she didn’t want him to stop being his overbearing, nosy self. “Actually, it’s virtually impossible to get a bad shot from an angle like that, it’s definitely your nose. Maybe you’re just not the photogenic type.” She said, holding the photograph up just short of his actual face to compare the two, a sound laugh bubbling on painted lips. “I still like the photograph better. — I bet you could, I imagine you’ve spent your whole life avoiding confessionals. Important enough, I don’t like my cupboard being empty.” It seemed like an intimate enough response to her, he could have that answer. “You would offer.” She scoffed in near amusement as she eyed him with an apprehension of taking him up on it. When did lending someone anything ever mean just that, though, it left her curious as to what he might ask for it in return. “Alright then, Travers. Consider yourself finally useful.”

Amusement danced in his eyes as a strand of her hair fell while she worked, he would have reached to tuck it away had the movement not jeopardized the stability of the shot. Perhaps that was the one boundary he’d never push, interrupting a photograph. “And what did you have?” Ezra himself had scops owl, a small thing available for delivering simple letters between his parents and himself. He quiet easily turned his nose up at the idea of a greater responsibility with any other pet during the school year. At least an owl would stay up top the owlery. “I think plenty would disagree—” Though his words fell short, as a smile spread gently at the sound of a laugh sparkling from her lips. “And you would complain of a kind gesture.” His mind recited the potential uses for such ingredients; the probable combination. Though, perhaps it was just coincidence that Lucinda fetched them concurrently. Her answer wasn’t sufficient for his curiosities, when were they ever. “I’ll have the elves prepare us a meal. You can tell me more about what you plan on making.”

Frank was quiet as Ezra talked, listening to the details of the case. This really was something he could get into. Mostly because the cases he had been getting were very tame compared to this one, but this sounded just perfect for him. “Sounds like she was having too much fun for the new year.” Frank commented, letting out a small chuckle. “But there is has been no traces of her? Do we know where she threw the hexes out?” Frank asked, wanting to know more about the case. “And I’m assuming that stack in your arms is the file for this interesting case?” He questioned, knowing that even the big cases were filled with a lot of paperwork. At his question, Frank laughed a little and nodded his head. “Honestly, a little bit. It seemed things got oddly quiet over the past few weeks. I mean, we had enough work to do, but it didn’t feel the same. Which makes me excited to have a case like this come around.” 

“Far too much fun.” Ezra repeated, handing the incredibly stacked folder over to Frank. “Absolutely no trace. She disappeared just as the ministry caught wind of what was going on. She’s got no history with rebellious groups, or conspirators. Seemed like a perfectly exemplar witch prior to exposing magic to these muggles. Quite a peculiar case if I do say so. She seemed centralized within London, of course. She spent a bit of time within St. James Park, a couple of people reported thinking she was a street performer, before she moved on to Hanover Square and then Wellington Arch. I spent quite a bit of time going over her background and I couldn’t settle on a motive.” Ezra’s hand crossed idly over his wrist, tapping as he listened, he had one idea as to why things settled for the time being which he easily voiced. “Well, fear can quiet the masses. The public death of Lestrange was felt throughout the community no matter the position.”

Rita didn’t often pay attention as she walked, there were things to get done and articles that had to be proofread, ones that needed to be approved and the ones that she wrote on her own that she read over and over again – desperate for a way to make them better. There weren’t enough hours in the day for her to pay attention as she walked thus when the voice spoke to her her feet stopped moving forward almost immediately, looking down at the ice on the ground in front of her. Nostrils flared as she glanced around looking particularly angry that the ice decided to land where it did. “Thank you.” She murmured with a nod of acknowledgement towards the gentleman. Her eyes glanced around them before letting out a sigh, “I suppose the least I could do is buy your drink.” Her hand was extended towards him with a curt nod, “Rita Skeeter.”

Ezra carefully watched her reaction, the way the blonde’s heels stopped in motion as if frozen by a spell. Eyes ascended calmly, smirking at the anger dedicated to the piece of ice partially melted on the floor. He paused, taking a stand, placing the newspaper that had been folded in his hand within the chair he left behind. “There’s absolutely no need.” He met her hand in his grasp, a kind smile on his lips. “I know exactly who you are Miss Skeeter.” He nodded curtly to the paper he placed away. “I’m an avid reader; please let me buy you a drink.”

Frozen mid-step, Nathanial glanced down at the wet spot on the floor. At first glance, it was likely spilled mead or tea that was left carelessly in his path. Of course, in such a public place, the stain could have been anything; with any luck, it wasn’t something too repulsive. He staggered, shifting his weight onto his left heel before he placed his right foot down, away from the muck. “With rubbish like you laying about, I’m shocked you’ve the audacity to warn me about what I step in.” Mulciber said, his tone as facetious as his smile was flippant. With the toe of his boot, Nathanial moved the chair across from Ezra from beneath the table, the wooden legs groaning in protest as they scraped across the old stone floor. When the gap was large enough, Nathanial lowered himself into the seat, leisurely crossing one leg over the other, the bone of his ankle pressing onto the cap of his knee. “I can see work’s treatin’ you well, Ez. You look like you’ve been scraped off the bottom of the Black Lake.“ Nathanial knew all too well that being a part of the Ministry of Magic, an organization futile in its pursuits, was nothing more than a migraine and a growing proclivity for liquor waiting to happen. Given his co-worker’s appearance, that truth was just as fundamental and evident in the Magical Catastrophes office as it was in the Misuse Department.

“I was feeling charitable, Mulciber, as per usual.” Ezra commented gently before folding the newspaper. The crinkling of the pages lost to the groaning of the wooden stilts as they scratched against the floors. The patrons of the establishment no doubt turning their attention to the pair who now faced each other. His comment wasn’t meant to garner company, but its thoughtlessness as it left his lips had done as much. At least it was Nathaniel who joined him now, and not someone who he could stand, less.

“As charming as always, I see. Work is...—well, the holidays always seem to inspire witches and wizards to live their lives how ever they feel regardless of the regulations in place to ‘protect’ them.” The statement was expressed under the guise of a loyal employee despite the true holdings of his opinions. For one, if the ministry would abandon protecting muggles from discovering magic, their efforts could be assigned to areas far more important. Anything more important. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of underage sanctions I’ve had to go through because some kids decided a couple of fireworks were worth it for New Year’s.”

Small talk had never been an issue for Ezra, it was a part of his routine, get people talking but he wasn’t too thrilled that his tiredness had been read so easily. Though he could assume that if his department was busy, his co-workers’ was as well. “How many catastrophes have you had to deal with this week alone?”