quoth the raven, "nevermore"

The presence of a raven in his flat late one night after a long day of dealing with government officials poorly attempting to blend in with the crowd of usual hobbled together crowd of the Alley. An envelope, sealed with the raven feather had nearly made its way into the fireplace before the spirit of enquiry had taken hold of Theodore. He had let the envelope sit on his dining room table instead. Mulling over the familiar seal that could never hold good news if it was directed his way. A few days later, the imposing form of his father waiting for him as he arrived home and an even tone (always a warning sign) informing him that it was far past the appropriate time to respond to the invitation.

Club Raven was more of a spectacle than he ever imagined. A gaudy show of cash easily thrown around that would seem more fitting with a family in its infancy of wealth. The heavy weight of his own sealed parchament in his suit pocket was what pressed Theo inward, nearly refusing to take the delivered shot of Polyjuice but knowing his entrance to this pageant of modernity was dependent on it. 

Without the shield of Daphne forcing him into meaningless conversation or pressing him to enjoy himself and in a form not his own, Theodore found himself ushered to the third floor upon entry. An usher taking him into a side staircase, the display of lights and sound and showy aura of the floors he passed paralyzing him into submission until he found himself sat in a section that seemed wholly reserved for those more of the like than the Raven than this establishment.

It took nearly an hour before his shape returned to his own, a few tell-tale twinges of transformation sticking with him as the elf-made wine in his glass nor the cigarette between his lips did nothing to take the edge off the foul taste that lingered in his mouth from the entrance requirement. Cavi’s arrival was expected and yet still occurred far too late into the night for Theodore’s liking. There was no reason he could see that this transaction had to occur in Avery’s court but he stood to greet the other man, holding a hand out to shake and doing his best to look like he was enjoying his time. The most he managed was to take the grimace of his face for a mask of indifference and that was thanks to Cavi’s jawline and not societal niceties. 

“How could I refuse? Especially with the new location. How long did it take for you to pull this all together?” Dodging the question of how he was viewing his night so far, Theo vanished his cigarette and looked towards the bar. “Do you have something to cut the taste of your apéritif? Your brewer is heavy handed on the bicorn.” And the potion was a ridiculous security measure. “Is there somewhere quieter we can speak?” Business, started between their respective fathers and now ending with them, had to have some poetic notion to it but for the life of him Theo couldn’t think of what it was. Not with the chittering of the clientele. 

“ It’s a project I’ve been working on for quite some time now, ” Cavi spoke carefully, allowing a brief pause before selecting his next words: “ Since before my father’s passing. ” He received many questions pertaining to his businesses. Most of the time they seemed harmless, but one could never be too cautious—especially knowing there were those out there with foul intent. Sometimes those individuals were much closer to home than he would care to admit. Around ever street corner he stumbled upon someone always eager to pass judgment. He was undeserving. He was ruthless. He was a monster lying in wait. These were just a few of the whispers that made it to his ears.

Cavalier however would not describe himself as such. These people didn’t know him; they were just misinformed, assuming he was merely a byproduct of his unfortunate situation. Whatever that meant.

The truth was Cavi asked for none of this. He worked hard for Club Raven, erected from the dust out of spite—spilling blood, sweat and tears along the way he didn’t think possible for a man such as himself. The kind of spite only a severely wronged son could arbor for his father, a man who failed him in every single way. Surely it was the wretched Avery Family curse striking again. The miserable waste of a man wasn’t even alive to see his success. A fact that tormented Cavalier first thing every morning when he opened his eyes and at night before shutting them. 

The cherry on top was only discovering he of all people was somehow listed as the prime beneficiary of his father’s estate upon his death.

Him. The half-prodigal, half-disowned son.

This had to be some kind of cruel joke, but alas, it wasn’t.

Deeds to The Raven and Avery Manor immediately fell into Cavi’s possession. He was assigned guardianship over his ailing mother and any relation with Simone immediately dissolved. That also wasn’t by choice.

In fact, the more he thought about it the more he began to realize most things were a direct result of actions he had no choice in whatsoever. He could involve so many people in his sloppy schematic, the need to assign blame and point fingers raging deep inside him. His father’s death. His unacknowledged fetish that got him killed. His betrayal after death. Simone’s estrangement. He allowed none of these knives to be plunged into him willing, and certainly not for them to be twisted time after time—the wounds festering and infecting. Obvious signs he was no where close to healing from the trauma. Instead the afflictions spoke for themselves, Cavi left behind to scramble in the aftermath.

╔​​​

He should have let his brother go over the railing. “I’ve never held notions that fear would spring spontaneous heterosexuality from you.” Results would have been seen by now if that was the case. 

Rodolphus would have found the night suitable if he continued to ignore the put-up persistent presence of Cavalier Avery. He could indulge his brother, predictably admonish Rabastan for causing a scene with the Parkinsons or make sure that the plans for the night were properly set. Cavalier Avery could never be counted on to not make a moment about him. The air of casualness he forced upon every interaction was condemnable. A weakness that could be easily exploited if the young Death Eater, who seemed to love taking his father’s place as pawn, if he learned. Rolf had no patience to instruct those not free from vanity. 

“Cavalier.” He greeted without a glance spared, vision locked onto the wall behind Bash as he studied the texture of the surface. Outwardly, he seemed entirely focused on identifying the material used to construct the stairwells walls. As if Rodolphus was heavily concerned with what source enabled Avery to open a four story building in such a short timeline. He had looked into the construction records. He knew what company had resourced the false lava and floating stones, what entertainment guild provided the siren, and the record label that produced DJ Martha’s latest album. There was no need to study the wall to gain information. Its only use was the grounding it lent Rodolphus, a need he found himself grappling for more and more as of late as wixen society all but stopped turning. If this simple structure could be the thing that stopped him from hexing a insignificant boy on the spot, for surely his ever tightening grip on his brother’s shoulder at the acknowledgment of the unwanted yearning emanating from the new arrival couldn’t be what gave Rolf his long practiced composure, then so be it.  His jaw had clenched some time during his long stare as Cavalier prattled on and on as if someone on the earth cared for what he had to say, teeth grinding down onto each other and muscle twitching in his own version of an aggressive intention that would give most wixen pause. Most wixen would know better to speak to him in such a manner regardless of their relationship, or lack there of, with Rabastan. “Remind me. What did your invitation say about your V.I.P. experience? I can’t recall as you sent your elf to the Rookery in it’s place.” The hex was cast silently, a flick of his fingers at his side as he continued on with the assurance there would be no interruption this time. Not when the bow tie around Cavalier’s neck was growing smaller by the second. “None of your other guests received the same treatment. My brother is the only patron assigned his own security detail. I never took you as one to look upon someone’s past, acquitted or not, and yet you other us. Your father tried to carve that path before you did, Cavalier.” Rodolphus finally tore his gaze away from the imperfections of a rushed construction job to look upon his current annoyance. “Do you wish to follow in his footsteps so soon?”

The stolen flask being stolen once more was forgotten. The true prize was his wand tucked into the holder in his shirt sleeve. The red oak slid into his hand not determined to ruin Bash’s shirt as he considered just what punishment this junior member deserved. “You’ve taken his place so willingly for someone playing dress up. Insolence isn’t a habit you will continue to exhibit. Assigning minders to follow your superiors around will not occur. You will learn to respect the bounds of private conversations or you will find yourself on the wrong end up my wand. Do I make myself clear?”

@rabastanlcstrange​

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Oh. That wouldn’t do. 

Cavi’s smug little smile as he boasted about assigning babysitters with a sense of pride, like perhaps it might earn him some good will to have been so clever to have Rabastan followed wherever he went, just in case, needled at Rabastan’s own pride. Rodolphus, surely, would not have said anything about the increasing frequency of his episodes of late, of the unpredictable tide of his moods and behaviour. He was not such a liability as to need such close supervision, surely. But the idea of Cavalier having noticed and flaunted that information was worse still.

The grip on his shoulder was tightening, like a vice, as Cavi expanded upon his plans for the night ahead with the blissful ignorance of a man who had no idea what the fates had in store for him (there was rather a grand show already in the works, as fate would have it) and Rabastan, who could feel the strings of possibility tugging him insistently this way and that, was kept grounded, firmly in the present, by his brother’s steadily growing ire. Rolf had never had much patience for the overly-familiar and Cavi had never had the sense to afford the appropriate levels of respect.

Talking his brother down when he felt slighted was an unenviable task, one that required far more focus than Rabastan could reliably muster on a good day — Beltane, however, wasn’t a regular day.

The sounds of choking echoed off the walls of the stairwell as that ridiculous bowtie of Cavi’s shrunk but Rabastan appeared largely unconcerned as he turned his back upon Cavalier, for now, in order to deal with the real concern at hand. His brother demanding questions of a man who could not reply struck a resonant chord inside of him. It had not ended well for the Potters, nor any of their predecessors. If the night was to go ahead as planned he’d need to intervene early. “Since when have we needed invitations, brother?” Since when have we showed our hands so easily. “A Lestrange goes wherever they wish to — isn’t that what grandpère always said?” One hand closed over the fingers that were determined to ruin his shirt and squeezed down, a reminder of precisely where they were and who Rodolphus was on the knife’s edge of losing control in front of.

Rabastan had always had a peculiar gift for making people feel singular, feel extraordinary, for focusing his ever-roaming attention in on them with laser precision to the exclusion of all else. He settled the full weight of his attention, for the moment, upon his brother, and peeled the grip slowly from his shoulder. That was going to bruise. “Come, Rolf, lets not disrupt the night’s grand show just yet,” he coaxed carefully, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt and locking eyes as if to dare his brother to look away before adding in a lower voice, “You can remind him of his proper place once he’s played his role.”

There was silence, beyond the strained wheezing noises bouncing off the walls and Rabastan reminded Rodolphus pointedly, fingers dropping to gently tap at the wrist of his brother’s wand hand, “Cavalier can’t breathe.”

@ravenousappetite​

Cavalier opened his mouth to contest Rodolphus’ outlandish claims, but his lips immediately slammed shut. There was a strain, followed by a gasp that was practically inaudible considering the oxygen was being strangled from his lungs. The last trace of it evaporated from his tongue as he dramatically flailed both arms, nervously clawing at his throat and the disorientating pain that followed.

Cavalier can’t breathe.

Rabastan’s words almost seemed taunting, but Cavi reckoned it was just his desperation to live. An anxiety that already pressed on him heavily. He was already coping with a lot—bestowing surprise to even himself that a man with a cold heart and harden shell could also experience such a raw thing as grief. Grief over the life lost and possibility of absolution. It was easier hating someone while they were still alive, and perhaps more forgiving on thyself. Their absence was optional and therefore powerful by Cavalier Avery’s standards. Life always left room for more. Delmore Avery’s death on the other hand was painful and unexpected, detonating off inside him like a bomb. It closed doors Cavi hadn’t even yet realized he was leaving open, pinged by a traumatic moment that would forever be seared into his brain. There were days he was fine, calm like the ocean‘s surface and void of all feeling. Other days the tide was too strong brewed by the surpassing storm. Even a man of his stature couldn’t withstand its death grip, drowning him in waves of—remorse? Guilt? Perhaps the shame of being a horrible son and brother? He didn’t think he was also a horrible friend, but maybe those he considered himself closest to shared an opposing worldview.

Bash wasn’t wrong. In fact, there were seldom times the wizard was wrong. His self-dubbed best friend was unusually aware of his surroundings—a force of nature and subject of intrigue. It was a trait Cavalier was admittedly jealous of, though none of that was why he tasked an army of trained security professionals to tail him around the party all night. No, that reason was much simpler—the fact that Bash pushed a Parkinson in the swan pond this early into the night should have told anyone everything they needed to know. Bash was a liability in the best way possible. The wix was full of thrills, and adept at keeping those he was surrounded by on their toes at all times. Cavi loved the excitement—that was partially the reason why he interjected himself so adamantly at the center of both Rabastan and Rodolphus’ lives. He was drawn to them like a moth addicted to the light despite its potent sting. This was one of those times its sting was tangible, residing in the back of his throat like a caged wild animal clawing to break free.

His desire to breathe was innate, carouseling around in his chest savagely. He thumbed at the bow tie still rapidly shrinking around his neck, unable to loosen it or plead for either of his beloved friends to do so. Instead he fumbled on his feet, shooting pleading glances between the two. If this was how they showed their love and appreciation then it was much more twisted than the Avery Family’s preferred method of delivery. Then again, he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with his family either. There were no congratulatory surprises or letters of good luck and good fortune being exchanged. Instead he was left to celebrate his success alone and, though he wasn’t alone in the flesh, he was alone in spirit and namesake. Cavi clung to the Lestranges like a passenger tossed overboard at sea, desperate for another chance at life and the redemption that entailed.

Charlie’s head cocked to the side, disbelief wide in his eyes as he choked back a laugh. Because you could never escape the poor Weasel stereotype in this bloody country. Like Charlie had ever gone a night hungry and unfed or hadn’t had clothes for his back or shoes on his feet. There was a big fucking difference between blood money opulence and needing a scholarship to study at your dream reserve but there was also a big fucking difference between his parents being stretched just a little too thin and them not having enough money to survive. Merlin, this prick had never met a fucking wixen in real poverty in his whole life.  “I paid the fucking cover. Nipped out for a smoke but guess I’d have to tell you that. Never were good at fucking reading the room, Avery. Always a bit too fucking slow if I’m remembering right.” He cocked his brow, anger giving away to childish pride that came from always besting the wanker across from him on the pitch. “You ever end up catching the snitch? ‘Cause this insolent little fool fucking did.” And Charlie kept walking, easily brushing past Avery and ignoring the small part of him that wanted to stay and taunt and fight because fuck his mission, talking some sense into his broken person was more important. Except, things weren’t going the way Charlie wanted them to lately.

His hands scrambled to get Avery’s hand off of his shirt, turning in surprise and receiving a knock into his jaw that snapped his head back before he could even get a fucking word out. His hands gripped the slick fabric of Avery’s shirt, tugging the taller man to his level. He grinned, mouth open to spat out another insult but paused. Fuck talking. It was never one of Charlie’s strengths anyway. Instead, he reared his head back and smacked his own forehead straight into Avery’s.

“ Reading what room exactly? We’re outside, you painfully observant genius, ” The words came out uncontrollably, laced with taunts. While it was true the brooding wizard was not necessarily the best at picking up social cues, he was vividly aware of his strengths and clung to them like a man verging on the edge of losing everything ( it was ironic, all things considered—especially with much of the night still left to unfold ). Perhaps Cavalier’s greatest asset was his ability to annihilate with utter annoyance. There was no doubt those closest to him would agree. Cavalier’s inclination was to roll his eyes and counter what Charlie said, but it seemed futile. It wasn’t as if he designed an exquisite outdoor space located on the roof for those looking to catch a smoke, amongst other feasible activities ( and yet Charlie claimed he was the one with no brains? ). Instead, he chose to narrow his lackluster eyes on the alleged intruder.

There was something particularly infuriating about the way Charlie Weasley spoke to him, but especially on a night as dear to Cavalier Avery’s heart as this one. Why was Charlie even here anyways? Besides being a nuisance, that is. He was quite literally the last person the wizard ever hoped to see attend his ever-grand Beltane celebration. His late father in the flesh or the Dark Lord himself were both much more desirable guests, and Cavi could only assume neither would be completely delighted by the mixing pot brought forth in this establishment tonight branded by the sacred Avery family surname. Charlie’s presence only felt like a recurring bout of bad luck—a karmic punishment haunting the Avery family in the flesh. “ Catch the snitch? You mean back at Hogwarts? What—are you stuck trying to relive the best days of your life? ” Cavi laughed scornfully.

Seizing through teeth in a poorly abashed attempt to eclipse the glint of pain with a spark of fury, Cavalier staggered forward slightly—the other wizard tugging on his shirt haughtily. Cavi inwardly cringed, the imminent fear of this blood traitor gathering unsought wrinkles in his silk shirt voiding his mind of anything else. His hand continued to burn from that initial punch, the fossil of Charlie’s face imprinted on the back of his exceptionally well-moisturized knuckles. It wasn’t often he found himself in a fight of the physical nature ( one free of the use of any wands ), but Charlie was not just anyone. He was a sworn enemy and lifelong rival, one Cavi harbored such indescribable feelings for. The all-consuming feelings of hatred seemed to be mutual, sparking an uncontrolled siege of emotions that surged from his stomach before manifesting physically.

It was nice to be in agreement with someone, Daphne flashing Cavi another smile. She had almost forgotten what it was like to not have someone groan or argue back with her. A true testament to how awful she’d let some of her friends behave over the past few years. She’d need to wrangle them in, give Theo some etiquette lessons again. Draco might need a refresher as well but she’d wait out and see how he behavior. Of course, Blaise and Pansy were always in their best behavior and Pansy appreciated that at least two of her friends could share or pretend to share her similar mindset. Made sense considering they were the most social besides her. 

“Oh but it is,” Daphne replied. Looking your best and spending your money wisely was always something that would be of interest. That’s why Daphne bought cupcake a dozen fresh gold flaked strawberries per day, or why sometimes she raided her mother’s closet for the expensive vintage robes she kept. “Do you have them with you now? I’d love to see them, or would that ruin the surprise of your big outfit for the night?” They came across the cafe she’d been making her way to, Daphne waving her hand to shoo a couple out of a table. It took an annoyed glare but they left and Daphne unwrapped her arm to situate herself in the seat that was now empty and raised her hand high for someone to help her regardless if there was any wait staff or not. “I wouldn’t miss it at all, you know I love a good party.”

Another excuse for her friends to come out and have fun together and that was all Daphne cared about. “Here, I wanted a chocolate croissant. I hope this establishment is to your liking? We could always move if you’d like.”

While Cavi might have come across a bit misguided at times, he was still raised a gentleman—bestowed with the appropriate amount of chivalry and manners any well raised pure-blooded man should embrace. His mother would be beside herself if he wasn’t, leaving no doubt in his mind she would wrangle him from one end of the earth to the last. It didn’t paint a desirable image inside his head, one he would much rather avoid if he was at all being truthful. However that also meant he didn’t have to play all his cards, or show his hand to just anyone. It took a special type of person to crack the perfectly polished and faux exterior. Cavi’s unyielding theatrics always seemed to turn everything into a performance—each one better than the previous—but on rare occasions it could all be temporarily silenced. The curtain would fall shut and the show would cease, each time interval between shows varying based on the audience.

“ I am delighted to hear that. It will certainly be a night you won’t forget. ” Cavi grinned, unable to contain his excitement for the Beltane celebration he had been vigorously planning for what felt like months on end. “ In true Avery fashion, there will be many surprises for everyone. ” The wizard finished, removing a carefully wrapped parcel marked Boots and Shoemaker from his extended inner suit pocket. “ I just picked these up from the tailor a few shops over actually—I would be happy to show you. ” He beamed, silent with the knowledge not many of his other confidants would ever inquiry about his shoes. He proceeded to sit the unopened package on the table, shifting his focus to the cafe they now occupied.   

☾*✲⋆.

     Luna was stuck in her maladaptive daydreams, strolling through Diagon Alley, which was probably not the best place to be wandering off to different universes in her mind. In this one, she was a muggle actress, guest appearing on those funny comedy shows, loved and appreciated by all. Really, she was in Diagon shopping for clothes— without Ginny for once, meaning that she had absolutely no idea what to buy, what looked good, and where to go. She considered wearing something she already had tonight, but apparently the club was a bit on the pricier side and she should at least look like she could afford to be there.      She’s shaken from her thoughts when she feels something— no, someone— hit the front of her head. “Ow,” Luna’s hand immediately goes up to the spot, holding it with a gentle hand. She wasn’t that short, was she? How could he not see her? She supposes he, like most people, like her, were off in their own little world, thinking about whatever got them through the day. Luna didn’t miss his glance towards his feet first, though. She suppresses a laugh and looks up at the wix, surprised to see Cavalier Avery himself in front of her. “Oh,” she says, eyes widening for a moment as she takes a step back. Her head was still feeling a bit weird, but the collision hadn’t been that severe, and the pain was slowly subsiding. What was he made out of? Rock?      Luna didn’t know much about Cavalier Avery. She knew he was in the sacred twenty eight, and, like most of them— sans the Longbottom and Weasley clans, of course— he probably thought himself superior because of it. She also knew that he owned the club she would be going to, the one she was currently shopping around Diagon Alley in preparation to go to. She had also heard some other things about him, and his family, but Luna never liked to judge based on heresy and gossip. It got people into trouble more often than not.       Not wanting to get barred from a club she hadn’t even been to yet by being rude to its owner, she shrugs and offers him a tentative smile. “It’s fine, really, should’ve watched where I was going. Which is, um,” she stops and looks around, realizing that she’s in a part of Diagon that is definitely not where she meant to go. Merlin, had she been that caught up in her daydreaming that she lost all sense of direction? “Here, I guess.” She winces, realizing how idiotic she sounded. Since when was Diagon this big?

Unsettlingly deep eyes widened in terror, followed by an inaudible gasp departing his lips. Cavi’s shoulders curled up into himself, his sudden attention snapping down to what appeared to be—the ground?

There was one thing Cavalier Avery could not tolerate whatsoever—and that was disrespect for his collection of designer crocodile leather shoes. The wizard insisted on always keeping a clean cotton chamois inside his suit pocket for any unforeseen mishaps such as this one. Curling the delicate fabric between his lanky fingers, Cavi proceeded to give his shoes a thorough exam ( almost as if he was seemingly unaware of the second party involved in this collision ). He was however delighted to discover the incident was not as bad as he feared, allowing the wizard the leisure of relaxing once more. 

Once Cavalier was certain his beloved shoes were free from harm, he shifted his gaze curiously to the wix who now stood in front of him. She didn’t look familiar ( meaning he was certain she was not a member of The Raven ), however that didn’t mean she could not be of use to him. Cavi liked to believe his worldview was vastly different than the rest of his family. Everyone was of use to Cavalier Avery. Every wix served a purpose—sometimes it just had to be pulled out of them.

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“The height of the stairwell.” Rodolphus took a step forward, glancing over the railing with an air that contained a hint of delight and a dangerous flash of joy in his gaze before it vanished. He grabbed his brother by the upper arm, hesitating at the thought of pushing for a moment, before pulling him back to landing lest he disappeared into the night once more. “Be more careful consuming your vices on the precipice of such a great distance. Anything could happen.” The night of the Great Staircase Battle may have been forty years ago but the memories was clearly etched into the recesses of Rodolphus’ brain. A place even the dreaded and dreary shades that haunted his thoughts couldn’t manage to remove. 

“Yet, you continuously to exceed them. Curious, isn’t it?” The Lestrange heir stared, studying the depths of his brother’s eyes. He was back in the present then, not so lost to the pull of whatever had always lived in the shadows of his consciousness that he couldn’t listen. Just wouldn’t. Rodolphus grabbed the flask, taking a sip from it himself, and placed the heirloom (that looked far too close to the flask that should have been laying in his own closet drawers) in his jacket pocket. The bitter taste spread over his tongue, brow furrowing for a moment at why Bash would need to ensure he had received the proper dose of nutrients for the day now before his thoughts were interrupted. Cavalier had always ensured his presence did not go unnoticed, didn’t he?  Ignoring the new presence to their private conversation, his grip on his brother tightened as he tried to ensure focus remained on him and not the tittering child desperate for a slight bit of attention. (The tittering child that wasn’t Rabastan Lestrange.) “Do you remember what has been outlined? A one word answer will suffice. It’s Beltane.” As every special day on the wixen calendar did, the celebration was imbued with traditions and demand. Tonight the required acts of service fell solely into his brother’s hands to arrange. Failure to complete every ritual and practice would not suffice.  Although the three men standing in the dim lit and quiet section of the overly decorated club worked for the same wizard, there were checks and balances in place for those newly in service. Those untested and ill-trained in their devotion, joining only in secrecy and what Rodolphus considered cowardice. “Ensure you burn your wishes.” He had burned his own at the family’s earlier ceremony and was glad to have done so, the mock fires a farce in the face of the old ways.

@rabastanlcstrange​:

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There was forever something whispering at the periphery of Rabastan’s thoughts, like a stubborn child pulling at his pant legs, that even his brother’s solid grip on his arm couldn’t seem to anchor him from. A whisper in his ear that warred with the heart palpitating threat of a fall, anticipating a push and receiving a pull instead, and the breath caught in his throat that crawled back out as a broad, sharp edged smile. On the precipice was perhaps where Bash had always functioned best. “If you’re thinking of scaring me straight, you’re a little late, Rolf.”

These little power plays had become a fixture of the Lestrange family dynamic over the years, whether his brother was stealing the (stolen) flask straight from his hand, or Bash was slipping it straight back out of the jacket pocket it was placed inside while his brother was still considering the bitterness of it’s taste and pretending not to notice Cavi’s appearance. Rolf had always had a problem with sharing.

It wasn’t paranoia when there really were people assigned to watch your every move. The Hunt, it seemed, really was on — and Rodolphus and his ever-tightening grip was proving a terrible disadvantage if Cavi had already caught up. “You can see him too, right?” he asked, if only because he knew it would bother Rolf to acknowledge Cavi at all, glancing up the stairwell to acknowledge the man with only an amused aside. It would certainly bother him that he’d prioritise Cavi’s appearance over the tasks of the night ahead. Which, well, one word was perhaps too many if he was going to be lectured on the importance of burning his wishes like he was six years old and still afraid of the sounds the cattle on grandperes land made when the bonfires were lit.

Worse yet, the words, “Don’t worry,” being uttered as the flask was deftly slipped, one-handed, into the interior pocket of his jacket and Bash used his solely free hand to clap Rodolphus upon the shoulder. “I dropped mine into a firepit before I pushed one of the Parkinsons into the pond with the swans in it. Exactly according to plan.” Without looking away he added, a little louder, “Have you burnt your Beltane wishes yet, Cavi? My brother’s neglecting his manners and forgotten to ask.” @ravenousappetite​

╔

There were seldom times in Cavalier Avery’s life he was not amused, and this was undoubtedly one of them. He had a very specific plan for the evening and a rendezvous with these two was not on the agenda. Judging by the looks of it, neither one of them hoped to see him here either. “ Of course you prats can see me. How many cocktails have you both indulged in? The night is still young. ” He chuckled heartily before turning toward the younger Lestrange. “ Bash, what happened to your babysitters? ” He inquired, emphasizing the plural on babysitters. Cavi’s lip twitched, inwardly churning at the incompetency of his employees yet again. Apparently he underestimated how difficult it would be for someone to keep tabs on Rabastan, and maybe he had no one to blame but himself for that. He wouldn’t accept it though. Somebody was losing their job by the night’s end. He would see to it.

“ I was just about to ask why he’s being so rude, ” Cavi directed solely to Rabastan. “ Seems like someone’s in a mood, shame. It’s such a magical evening—but no. I have not burned my wish yet, thanks for asking. ” He continued, not once turning away from Bash in an attempt to shun the initial shunner. “ I have a rather grand show planned right around midnight. My wish will be burned then for all to see. ” He finished smugly, puffing his chest out at the notion. The wix was incredibly proud of what he created and sharing it with those he considered his closest friends was one of the greatest pleasures. It was perhaps a bit bothersome to him their minds seemed to be elsewhere though.

Since his father’s death, Cavalier was constantly combating the sensation he was being intentionally left out. He feared his father continued to taint his reputation despite being six feet in the ground. He despised the man even in death. In fact he always thought the feeling was mutual, and yet somehow stood to inherit everything he owned. It made no sense and Simone now despised him for it. The fear of turning into his father burned brightly inside of him. All Cavi wanted to do was extinguish that fear, but he didn’t know how. He thought Club Raven was a step in the right direction, but naturally there were those who disagreed with his perspective or simply didn’t see the vision. He would be lying if he didn’t admit he was plagued by self-doubt at times. Luckily he had no problems lying and he especially didn’t want to show any signs of weakness. Not in front of two people he considered family. Maybe they said the feeling wasn’t entirely mutual, but at the end of the day they were here. They were present. The same could not be said for the rest of the Avery clan.

“ You pushed one of the Parkinsons into the swan pond? ” A humorous smile cracked the stone cold expression etched onto his face. “ Which Parkinson? ” He narrowed his eyes again, softly clearing his throat to lull the silence that followed. He wasn’t going to let this conversation divert off topic that easily. “ Now tell me. What are you two planning over here in the shadows? Really. ”

“Yeah, you can help me. Move.” The words were out in a snarl, hand pushing into Avery’s chest like it would rid the other man of the joy Charlie knew he held at being the taller one out of the two. Because height had never bothered Charlie as much as it seemed to bother everyone else, pushing them to speak on it and lament the unfortunate nature of his stature to him as if it didn’t make him faster on a broom or more suited to calming down a ticked off dragon because he wasn’t seen as a threat.  “My kind? You wanna phrase that a different fucking way? Blood traitor the word you looking for? Poor? Which fucking thing about the Weasleys were you planning on mimicking this time because we both fucking know creativity and original fucking thought aren’t your strongest points, Avery.” He pulled his hand back, looking around the other man to try to spot his friend somewhere on the lower level.

It didn’t matter if Avery had built this building with his own two bare hands, Charlie was getting in. Tonight. Right now. He shoved his shoulder into the other man’s chest, intending on stalking forward and finding where the hell Tonks had gone so they could continue their conversation. 

“ Move? For the likes of you? ” A loud laugh ricocheted off his tongue. It seemed Charlie had been working on his stand-up comedy since their last encounter. At least it was a cute attempt. “ Keep dreaming, Weasel. There’s a cover at the door, but I’m guessing it’s a little expensive for your caliber. ” Cavi spoke, his words dripping with merciless taunts. “ Yeah, but you know what my strong points are? Power and wealth. ” A devilish smirk crept onto his lips. “ It’s probably best an insolent little fool such as yourself doesn’t forget your place. It’s at the bottom. ”

Brooding dark eyes narrowed on the back of Charlie’s head as he shouldered passed Cavi and toward the club. That was completely unexpected in nature. Does this git have some sort of death wish?

The question bounced around untamed in his head. Cavi briefly considered letting it go altogether ( he had so much at stake tonight and Charlie Weasley wasn’t worth the headache ), but on the other hand it was Charlie Weasley. The irksome wix had a knack for getting under his skin like some sort of pesky critter he couldn’t rid himself of. Word on the street was he didn’t even reside in these parts anymore, so how was it he kept appearing in his life and instigating terror? Cavi gritted his teeth in contemplation while his hands tightly formed fists at his sides.