GOYLE

"Just check on them, check the baby," he struggled with strength to push himself back with one hand, and it was more of a wiggle.

"Just check the baby." He'd take whatever he needed to. The faster he healed the safer his family would be.

He accepted the bottle that came to him, glancing down at the swirling liquid for a brief second before downing it back. It tasted like sleeping drought. As long as it was allowed by the Dark Lord, he would take it. 

He managed to get his back against the headboard and he let his head fall backwards to rest on it. He couldn’t feel the discomfort of this position, only the pain radiating from his arm. 

Ramsey took a seat across from the man, careful not to disturb his arm. Every time it moved he could feel the shooting hot pain from the bone underneath. To Ramsey’s dismay and frustration it had not even begun to heal yet.

It served as a reminder to anyone he came across; a bullseye on his forehead. He had to get rid of it, and fast. He could no longer trust the Death Eaters, and the Ministry was still looking to have his head, stalking his every move.

“I’m fine.” he growled, eyes darting towards the knife on the table. He didn’t even sound like himself, and he was far from ‘fine.’

He moved his arm away from Severus’ twitchy fingers, cradling it into his chest just like he’d done on that cursed night. 

What else could he do besides bandage it up? Its not like he could use magic? He had nothing!

With his other hand, he reached into his cloak, careful to glance around them as he did. Inside, he pulled out a black velvet drawstring bag. It was enchanted to be shapeless and light, but setting it on the table before Severus, several of the glass bottles clinked inside. 

“I didn’ know what ya needed,” he drawled, pushing it as far away from himself as possible. 

“From tha’ books I read, there looked like you could use a’coup’la fings.”

Severus straightened, a little surprised i fhe was honest. This wasn’t the way Goyle normally behaved. He watched the older man curl up his arm protectively and leaned over the table, hissing, “stop touching it, you;ll draw attention.” 

“You haven’t tried muggle medicine? alcohol, pills, those injections?” He asked, lumping drinking in with other painkillers since it certainly served no other purpose and he could attest to the soporific and numbing qualities. 

But soon there was something else to draw his attention and he pulled the bag closer, opening the drawstring and rooting through it, pulling this vial out to check it in the light, pulling out another and giving it a sharp shake to watch it settle. “Looks like…blood, saliva? Semen?” The hint of a flush crossed his cheeks at that one, but he powered through, more interested in the other contents. “And this?” He pulled a slightly larger vial out and set it on the table, a moment before the bartender slammed down a plate with two slices of bread and a bowl of chunky, but ok smelling tomato soup.

It had been harder for him to collect, considering his condition.

His face flushed with the realization and he hurriedly returned it back to the others.

The look on Ramsey’s face said that he clearly minded, but he shook his head once ‘no’. Now was not the time to pick fights, regardless of this newly found anger bubbling inside him. This must be what Crabbe feels. He never fully understood his best mate’s affinity for fighting till now.

Ramsey glanced at the neck of a baby lamb, he’d slaughtered and shoved into a vial. Under normal circumstances it might have made him feel sick, but at the moment, it was that animal or his son.

“And this,” he pulled another brown paper bag from his jacket, placing it with the other things. It was enchanted not to leak but the bottom was still stained red.

His eyes flickered to the food and he was reminded of a cleanup mission that him and Wilkes did not too long ago, where he had eaten on the job. This was a different time now.

“It’s from me wife. Tha baby’s-” he thought for the word, “umbilical cord with the…” he trailed off. Severus would see for himself anyways.

“An’ there’s more,” he pointed his chin to the original bag. “My wife’s first bleed since babs, and a bit of his blood in there too..”

That had been hardest to get.

He tested the soup while the second bag was produced. Hot, some flavour, vaguely tomato-adjacent, that was good enough. He tore up one of the bread slices, practically shredding it as he dropped it into the bowl, and then reached, almost unconsciously for the bag.Surely, the other man didn’t mean- 

“The placenta,” he murmured, lifting the bag slightly as he peered inside, dark eyebrows rising as his eyes widened. Incredible, there were few ingredients more rare, and more specialised. There was all sorts of things he could do with this, none of them with good results for the involved child and mother. But Goyle was an ally, and a client. He clamped down on his urge to explore the world of Dark brews and nodded. 

“I should certainly think so. The child and your wife can easily be included in the ward, and of course, yourself. You will be able to adjust it, if my research is correct, as yours is the greater connection.” He gestured at the bag of vials. That too had interested him, since potentially, he could introduce more than enough of his own essence to overrule Goyle. But there was so much to take into account that the odds were, he would tie himself to the other man in more thna just protection if he did… Still, as a thought experiment it intrigued him.

And its not like I could brew it meself. No, that certainly wasn’t an option. Not with something this technical and important. 

He felt a tiny victory of relief wash over him. So he’d collected enough. Ramsey had been dreading hauling everything there, only to find out that he needed more or something different. 

“Good, good.” he nodded, not necessarily pleased but visibly reassured. “Readjust it?” he frowned. What did that mean?

“Is it possible- I only have one of those,” he nodded his chin to the soiled brown paper bag. “Can you not use the whole thing?” 

A moment of panic set in. What happened if the potion master buggered up? He would lose something that was quite irreplaceable. And then what?

“individuals?” He frowned again. He hadn’t known that was even an option. Would it be better to ward his wife and son? Could it be both? 

“Both?” He asked hopefully. “Was finkin’ just me gaff, but if you can do both––If not me n’ me wife, then just the boy.”

Ramsey brushed the last comment off with his hand, though he unconsciously shook his head ‘no’ in the process. 

“Anyway, if you can do it, please, I need it as soon as you can. Halt yer other work–– just ge’it done.” 

Ramsey had waved for a drink when he first sat down, and was only now just served a slimy pint of ale. He took it anyway and gulped a quarter of it down. 

His arm was starting to throb again, but under the other man’s discretion, he resisted fussing with it.

This was who he was now. This is what he had to do if he wanted to belong.

The man had been plastering muggle propaganda up and down the streets. It hadn’t taken Ramsey long to find him down this alleyway.

He writhed in front of Ramsey in pain, contorting his arms in strange directions and lifting his back off the ground. He couldn’t even make a sound, the pain must have been too great.

Ramsey’s spell wavered slightly, which must have caused the man a couple of milliseconds of relief. It sent sparks of energy which shook the glass windows.

Ramsey had never cast a spell this strong or powerful before. He could see how some of his other comrades could become addicted to the feeling.

The man groaned and rolled, and looked like he was reaching for his wand.

“No,” Ramsey blurted with panic, intensifying the spell by tightening his fingers around his wand.

The glass from one of the window panes shattered, raining sharp fragments down on them.

He wasn’t killing him, it was just pain.

Was it possible to die from pain?

Ramsey had suffered and lived, surely this muggle-lover could too.

The sudden voice pulled him from his concentration, and his head snapped up and his breath caught a gasp.

A barely-perceptible gasp in the darkness was the only response that Tilden got to his question and demand. It was a sure sign that someone was there, but were they in need of help? Or was it some troublemaker, marauding in the night? The shattered glass made Tilden suspect that this wasn’t something he ought to just walk away from. It might be a thief trying to break into a shop.

Hoping that it was something simpler and easy to deal with, like a careless drunk lost on his way home from the pub, Tilden took a deep breath and moved into the alleyway. The light from his wand made eerie shadows play along the brick walls like skittering creatures. Tilden tried to keep his wits about him. “I think you’d better show yourself, mate!” he called out. “I just wanna make sure there’s no trouble, yeah?”

Then he heard it. Not a gasp or glass or scuffling footsteps, but a whimper. A groan of pain. And a quiet, weakened call for help. Someone was in trouble! Someone was getting hurt.

“Lumos maxima!” Tilden cast. A bright orb of light left the end of his wand and sailed overhead, hovering several feet above him in the air and throwing illumination over the alleyway.

It revealed two figures in front of him, one standing and the other prone on the ground. It didn’t take more than an instant to recognize the mask and dark robes of a Death Eater. His own memories of the villains might have been blurred and scattered, when they existed at all, but it was hardly a difficult connection to make. Tilden’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip and his grip tightened on his wand. This was exactly the sort of thing he’d been patrolling for, but that didn’t make the sight in any way welcome.

The light cast a blue-ish glow in the alley and the face of his victim lit up. Ramsey’s wand wavered again at the look of agony. He heard the whimper. He saw the look of pain in the man’s eyes.

Ramsey could feel a sob well up in the back of his own throat. No, he had to do this. What was his alternative? It was his family, or this stranger.

The man shouldn’t have been putting muggle posters up around here? He should have known the danger.

Ramsey could no longer ignore the presence of the looming figure. He cut the spell and gave the man’s face a hard kick with his boot. It was surprisingly easy. The victim fell back with a groan, and then went silent.

Was he dead? Did I just kill him?

“Who’s gunna stop me?” Ramsey growled, thankful that he had changed his voice. It was an fairly obvious spell, so anyone would be able to tell the generic rumble wasn’t his own.

His mask was beginning to grow stuffy and an itchy-wet feeling was begging him to scratch. He was thankful that he had decided to come alone tonight. The last thing he needed was the others seeing how much of a toll this was taking on him, even Crabbe. 

Crabbe had already stuck his neck out for him enough as it was. Ramsey ignored the nagging worry that he was bringing trouble to the Crabbe family, as well as his own. It wasn’t any secret they were best mates.

Ramsey turned and dropped his wand by his side, taking a step towards the other man. 

Charlotte turned around and found herself standing face to face with the lady of the manor. Shame and guilt rushed over her and she felt like she might crumble on their marble floor. Her mind resolved to hold herself together. 

Looking at the gorgeous statue of a woman made Charlotte immediately self conscious of the state she’d come in. Her hands shot up to her hair and she smoothed the flyaways back from her face, despite still having her rollers on underneath her silk hair wrap. Her nose shot to the sky and she dodged eye contact. 

“Yes.” she shot back, forcing herself not to fret about her hair. So instead she adjusted her robe indignantly. “Where is he?” She nearly barked, tone clearly accusatory. 

It was hard not to be embarrassed or intimidated by Narcissa Malfoy, but Charlotte reminded herself why she was here and her emotions flared. 

“I’ve come for my husband. Now where is he!?” She demanded, hands clenching into tight fists. He would not leave her with a baby at home. She’d drag that sonofabitch home by the ears if she had to. And this, this, smug, pretentious, horrible woman would not be in her way. She wasn’t even all that pretty. 

Charlotte stood her ground, demeanour changing from slightly uncomfortable to determined. The situation reminded her of something her aunt had told her before coming to live in England. The American debutant-turned-jetsetting aunt had warned her about being involved with a Brit. And years later, her warnings about keeping a tight hold on her husband still worried her. Brits were notoriously hard to read. Whereas American men were predictable with hearts on their sleeve, it was somewhat difficult for her to read her English friends. Especially society people. 

“If you think, for one second, that I will be leaving your gawdy, and quite frankly distasteful manor home, you cheap society bitch, without my Ramsey, then you’ve got another thing going–– now I have no idea whats been going on here,” she waved a hand passionately in the air. Her voice was steady but rising, “But he is my husband, we just had a baby, godsake, and you! You’ve just had a baby! Shame, shame on you, on all of you! And your front flower pot is crooked and your roses are dying!” She held her ground and successfully gulped back the tears that were threatening to pour. It was so satisfying to call out Mrs. Perfect on her horrible excuse for a front arrangement. 

The lack of sleep was making it difficult for her to make much sense. She felt like her thoughts were disjointed. Well she didn’t care how ridiculous she sounded. She was mad. She deserved to be mad. And this woman would just have to bloody deal with it!

She decided that she would kick that stupid flower pot over when she left. 

Where is he?

Narcissa blinked, clueless, as she stared at the woman across from her, standing indignant in her entrance hall.  She wasn’t sure who had an American wife - especially not one who would throw caution to the wind and come straight to her front door.  The woman took Narcissa’s stunned silence as license to continue.

“If you think, for one second, that I will be leaving your gawdy, and quite frankly distasteful manor home, you cheap society bitch, without my Ramsey, then you’ve got another thing going–– now I have no idea whats been going on here, but he is my husband, we just had a baby, godsake, and you! You’ve just had a baby! Shame, shame on you, on all of you! And your front flower pot is crooked and your roses are dying!”

Narcissa could surprisingly not even get so much as another word in as insults were hurled at her, attacking everything from her home, to her decor choice, to her very fidelity.  Despite years of conditioning, of biting back tears and taking whatever was thrown at her, each word against her hurt ten times more than it felt like they used to.  Each word needled at her, hurt like a smack to the face.  Before she could even process that the woman had told her who she was looking for, Narcissa couldn’t restrain her own temper, nerves as thinly frayed as they were on such little sleep.

“How dare you - how dare you come into my home, uninvited, and begin slinging accusations and character assassinations without even knowing me!”  She couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled out, verging on hysterical. “You said it yourself, I just had a baby - not even three weeks ago.  Tell me, you’ve had a child - do you really think I would entertain the idea of letting a man anywhere near me right now with those sort of intentions?” Narcissa shook her head, incredulous at what was being suggested. “And to even think that I would take another man - “ Narcissa stopped herself.  Had anyone else seen her husband?  The very idea was ridiculous.  

Wait, had she said Ramsey?  Ramsey, who had brought his son by?  Ramsey who… oh.  

Realization dawned on her and she quieted down.  She had sent word that he would be here.  The events from the night before played over in her head again, and she gulped, the stench of burning flesh still fresh in her mind.  She couldn’t very well say now that Ramsey hadn’t been here after all.  The only thing to do seemed to be… tell the truth.

Thoughts raced in confusing circles. Perhaps it was him who came to seek her out? She couldn't well blame her for the wiles of men.

I'll kill him, I'll bloomin' kill him!

"Tea?" She repeated, noting the change in her demeanour. Something more was at work here.

Charlotte frowned, her cheeks still flush from anger and lack of sleep. She crossed her arms and wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her waist. She touched her hair wrap for a moment, before deciding it best to follow the lady of the house.

"I don't-" she trailed off, unfazed by the immaculate state of their parlour. Her own had been overrun with baby stuff and Ramsey.

She sat on the edge of her seat, crossing her ankles like she was in a gown, not her pyjamas.

"What's going on?" She fought back tears, though her voice wavered. She stared down at her wringing hands.

Charlotte's face began to crack and she scrunched it tightly because she was suddenly about to cry.

She felt like she was losing everything.

Ramsey frowned, following Crabbe’s lead and falling into step beside him. He glanced around, stopping to turn on his heels. There weren’t exactly people around they could even ask. 

“Pro’lly,” he shrugged. Ramsey followed Crabbe to where he’d gestured. It was a just an old brick wall. 

“Uhhh… I dunno mate. I don’t fink this is it…” He half watched Septimus kick and tap the bricks with no apparent method or reason. He glanced around them again, aware that they weren’t exactly “allowed” to be here. 

Desperate not to be the wet blanket of the evening, he turned his attention back to the wall in front of them. 

He examined it, trying to find some sort of clue that could lead them in the right direction. Only, he was far too drunk to be thinking clearly and too dumb to solve the riddle; There was a significant reason why he hadn’t been put into the Ravenclaw house after all.

“Hmm..” he stalked the edge of the wall, examining it like an old professor. Occasionally he tapped a couple of bricks, pushing against them with his entire body weight, willing the thing to open.

“Fookin’ shit.” he muttered, pacing back to Crabbe. “I don’ fookin’ know mate, why don’t we just go an’––”

Mid-sentence the bricks started to move and transform into a doorway, allowing an exiting group of dodgy old wizards to pass. They glared at the two youngins’ as they pushed their way into the cold air. 

“Alright!” He exclaimed, grinning widely at Crabbe. They’d done it! “Les’go!”

Sep was starting to suspect that the wall he was currently poking and prodding was nothing more than what it appeared to be: a boring, manky, totally un-magical brick wall. As the minutes passed he felt increasingly silly, but didn’t want to give up and take that hit to his pride, especially after the victory in the pub.

Maybe the kiss ought to be enough, he started to think. He could turn this around somehow, spin it so that it didn’t feel like giving up. Then they could head back to Ramsey’s on a high note. That sounded better than standing here for much longer, trying to open a secret passageway that probably wasn’t even there in the first place.

Yet before he could come up with the best way to word the suggestion (and somewhat oblivious to the fact that Ramsey was thinking the exact same thing and well on the way to wording it for him), the wall started to transform. Like a much grubbier version of the entranceway into Diagon Alley, the bricks shifted magically into a doorway. Some older wizards walked through it, giving them imperiously dubious looks, but Sep was grinning too broadly to care. The notion that it was these exiting wizards and not his and Ramsey’s efforts that had produced the door sailed happily over his head.

“Knew it was there!” he said cheerily. They skirted around the older wizards, who were now lounging against the wall for a smoke, and entered the newly revealed establishment. Sep’s nerves were singing in the wonderful way of mixed inebriation and excitement. He didn’t know what they would discover here, but he couldn’t wait to find out.

The room they walked into had low lighting, the only illumination coming from a massive hearth on the far side of the room, partly obscured by high-backed armchairs turned towards it, and about a score of floating orbs that hovered around the room. It seemed to be another drinking establishment, but with none of the lively atmosphere of any that Sep had been in. The tables were full of patrons, but they spoke quietly, never louder than the sultry music that filled the air.

At the centre of the room stood a large table, the majority of the glowing orbs revolving slowly around it. A witch stood atop it, her body writhing languidly to the slow beat of the music. She made the barmaid from the Dragon look like a hag by comparison (though in the future Sep would come to learn that several enchantments ensured this effect) and her outfit could best be described as nigh on non-existent.

Ramsey looked around them, giving a dim witted expression to every table he gawked at.

"The fucks this?!" he exclaimed a bit too loudly, looking round to all the quiet tables. It was far from the party they had been promised. Wizards were playing bloody card games and chess!

He was starting to feel like maybe this had been a trick. Perhaps the barmaid was having a laugh back at her perch.

That was until he saw the woman in the centre of the room.

"This a fucking tiddy bar?!" He exclaimed again, getting promptly shushed by the man beside him.

That didn't stop him from passing Septimus a wide grin.

"What the fuccckkk," he hissed in Crabbe's ear as he began to laugh, shaking his friend's shoulders violently.

He didn't know what else to do and stood around awkwardly, his cheeks turning bright red.

The woman got to her feet and started to sway to the hum of a quiet piano, enchanted to play along with her. A bluesy jazz band accompanied it and an old hip- looking cat started to hum a sad melody from the corner- something about a lost love and a torturous sea.

Ramsey ignored the music however, his eyes still trying not to "look" but finding it hard to see anything else. Was he supposed to look right at them? Was he supposed to try and appreciate the music? Maybe he was supposed to look at her face?

She met his eyes and he immediately looked away. Nope, nope that was definitely worse.

“Uh drink?” He cleared his throat, seeing her begin to untie her halter out of the corner of his eye. It fell, revealing two perky nipples that she caressed seductively. 

Ramsey moved his hand to shield his son from Macnair. Despite being curious about him, the last thing he wanted was Gregory internalizing in his baby brain, anything from this little encounter. 

Ramsey hadn’t known. And frankly he should have. It was all kinds of stupid but what was done was done. Regardless, he wasn’t about to let anything happen to his son, not by his doing.

“Merlin’s beard, the fucks tha matter wif you,” Ramsey groaned and looked at Macnair with disgust. It was as if Walden actually wanted a fight. The very mention of the idea seemed to excite him. Ramsey could never understand a person like that. It was as if there was nothing inside the man except that.

But the words were already said and there was no backing out of it now. “Hows’bout you focus on that fookin’ troll first, before ya go wettin’ yerself,” he pointed to the disoriented troll who was about ready to rise back up to his feet again. “Y’daft cunt.” he grumbled. There was no getting through to him, so why did he even bother trying. 

It was in moments like these that made Ramsey question what he was doing with the Death Eater lot. Crabbe and him certainly weren’t like these other fools. They had fucking lives! It was as if all Walden did all day was wait for a mission. It was almost funny, if it weren’t so sad. 

The troll groaned again, only this time it was too distracted by the running and screaming muggles to pay the two wizards any mind. Some fool had tried to get away by car. Ramsey couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the blue sedan was scooped up by the troll, wheels still spinning. The man rightly threw himself out the window, before the car went into the troll’s mouth. It reminded him of Greg with his toys. 

“You know, yer really the fookin’ idiot.” Ramsey tossed the comment at Walden, while his eyes were still glued to the troll trying to eat the car. It wasn’t exactly a profound observation, but Ramsey had felt the need to say it just the same. 

“I’ve got stuff, what’ve you got huh?” He turned to glance over at Walden, raising a challenging brow.

Walden quirked a dubious brow at the man when he mentioned that the troll needed minding. His eyes went to the beast as it grabbed the vehicle and began chomping down on the metal and glass. It almost looked painful, but the troll hardly seemed bothered by the sharp edges. “I’m not worried.”

The eagerness to fight bristled inside of him once more when the man threw names his way and turned with confrontation brewing in his eyes. “I’ve got stuff,” Goyle spat at him, as though Walden didn’t. 

This comment thoroughly confused him. It wasn’t often that Walden found himself to fit-in or understand what the normies were trying to explain, but this was one of those situations. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he told the man, his brow now furrowing as he tried to figure out if he was being insulted. “I’ve got stuff. I just haven’t got a fucking baby bogging me down. You can’t convince me that’s a bad thing. Do you actually enjoy dragging that useless lump around all the time?”

This was a topic he had always found confusing. Sure, Walden could understand the instinctual need to reproduce, he could understand the desire for unprotected sex, he could even understand perhaps being excited once a child was old enough to fend for itself. He knew that the normies were social creatures, that they desired being around people, but did they really enjoy looking after something so useless? Even Rufus could fend for himself if he was left on his own for a while. A baby would just die. The true definition of a dependant. It was repulsive.

Turning his confused gaze down to the baby, he shook his head. “There’s no way you had a kid for this. All it does is shit itself and cry. Why the fuck would I want that?” There was never a better turn-off for him than to suggest that he might want to be a father. Parenthood sounded like a nightmare and he was sure he would murder any child he had before it reached even two weeks of life.

"Not a useless lump," he frowned, his hand caressing the bulge hidden under his cloak. He knew Greg found his voice soothing.

"Do you even have a fucking heart?" He spat back, ignoring the fact that he'd just laughed at the troll crushing a car.

Ramsey just frowned. He couldn't even begin to rationalize his desire to have a baby. It was way more than just carrying the family line. In fact that hadn't even factured into it.

If he had to guess it was something linked to the desire to be apart of a new life, to experience fatherhood, to impart whatever wisdom of experience he could offer, and to just have a baby. Was that so weird? Crabbe had a baby too.

"Well on the bright side, least you won't be reproducing, cuz no one wants another one of you round." He laughed.

The troll was thoroughly distracted without their help and was scooping up roofs, cars and muggles at will.

Ramsey took a seat across from the man, careful not to disturb his arm. Every time it moved he could feel the shooting hot pain from the bone underneath. To Ramsey’s dismay and frustration it had not even begun to heal yet.

It served as a reminder to anyone he came across; a bullseye on his forehead. He had to get rid of it, and fast. He could no longer trust the Death Eaters, and the Ministry was still looking to have his head, stalking his every move.

“I’m fine.” he growled, eyes darting towards the knife on the table. He didn’t even sound like himself, and he was far from ‘fine.’

He moved his arm away from Severus’ twitchy fingers, cradling it into his chest just like he’d done on that cursed night. 

What else could he do besides bandage it up? Its not like he could use magic? He had nothing!

With his other hand, he reached into his cloak, careful to glance around them as he did. Inside, he pulled out a black velvet drawstring bag. It was enchanted to be shapeless and light, but setting it on the table before Severus, several of the glass bottles clinked inside. 

“I didn’ know what ya needed,” he drawled, pushing it as far away from himself as possible. 

“From tha’ books I read, there looked like you could use a’coup’la fings.”

Severus straightened, a little surprised i fhe was honest. This wasn’t the way Goyle normally behaved. He watched the older man curl up his arm protectively and leaned over the table, hissing, “stop touching it, you;ll draw attention.” 

“You haven’t tried muggle medicine? alcohol, pills, those injections?” He asked, lumping drinking in with other painkillers since it certainly served no other purpose and he could attest to the soporific and numbing qualities. 

But soon there was something else to draw his attention and he pulled the bag closer, opening the drawstring and rooting through it, pulling this vial out to check it in the light, pulling out another and giving it a sharp shake to watch it settle. “Looks like…blood, saliva? Semen?” The hint of a flush crossed his cheeks at that one, but he powered through, more interested in the other contents. “And this?” He pulled a slightly larger vial out and set it on the table, a moment before the bartender slammed down a plate with two slices of bread and a bowl of chunky, but ok smelling tomato soup.

It had been harder for him to collect, considering his condition.

His face flushed with the realization and he hurriedly returned it back to the others.

The look on Ramsey's face said that he clearly minded, but he shook his head once 'no'. Now was not the time to pick fights, regardless of this newly found anger bubbling inside him. This must be what Crabbe feels. He never fully understood his best mate's affinity for fighting till now.

Ramsey glanced at the neck of a baby lamb, he'd slaughtered and shoved into a vial. Under normal circumstances it might have made him feel sick, but at the moment, it was that animal or his son.

"And this," he pulled another brown paper bag from his jacket, placing it with the other things. It was enchanted not to leak but the bottom was still stained red.

His eyes flickered to the food and he was reminded of a cleanup mission that him and Wilkes did not too long ago, where he had eaten on the job. This was a different time now.

"It's from me wife. Tha baby's-" he thought for the word, "umbilical cord with the..." he trailed off. Severus would see for himself anyways.

"An' there's more," he pointed his chin to the original bag. "My wife's first bleed since babs, and a bit of his blood in there too.."

That had been hardest to get.

The sounded about right. Ramsey made a face, his brow knitted together with worry. He took a second to look back down at his arm. Crabbe was right, it was starting to look ripe. 

The effects of the potion began radiating down his arm towards the wound. It was subtle at first, but the numbing was growing stronger. It felt a little less sharp and a little less hot. 

“Bloody’ell,” he muttered, releasing his arm slowly from its protected spot at his chest and straightening it out for the house elf to work on. 

“Just be careful.” he hissed the threat through barred teeth. 

He watched his arm expectantly. As soon as the bandage was touched, it pulled up some of his clotted skin. He hissed a sound through his teeth. The pain shot up quite violently and he had to squeeze his eyes closed. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through it without the pain potion. Even now, his arm started to shake and he began sweating profusely. The adrenaline was starting again and his leg began bouncing up and down.

“Fuck.” he exclaimed, letting out some of the energy as he waited for the worst of it to pass. Only it didn’t pass. The smell of his burnt flesh intensified as the wound was exposed to open air. 

Ramsey cursed a colourful string of words, laughing bitterly as his eyes started to water. It was so bad he couldn’t not laugh. He could no longer find words to string together and his body started to shake and twitch a little more. He felt cold and hot at the same time as the sweaty fever continued.

He let out a loud groan as the elf did something a bit more invasive. He tossed his head back and couldn’t stop a long whine of pain. 

“Stooppp, pleassee.” he begged. It felt like the Dark Lord was inside him again. “Stopppppp..” he cried out as it intensified. His arm was proper shaking now and he couldn’t control it.  His fingers twitched with every shot of pain. 

He was back in that room, the Dark Lord standing over him. He was so tall and commanding. Ramsey felt like he was going to die. He was going to finish him, this was it, this was the end. His vision blurred and he didn’t know if he was crying or if the little black bugs were just his eyes. Maybe they were there in the room with him. 

His eyes settled on the corner of the room. The wall looked like it was moving like molten lava or slime. It started to form into a blue shape. A face appeared, it was an animal of some kind. Wolf? Dog? It had big smiling lips and floppy ears. Ramsey didn’t know dogs but this one was definitely friendly.

The blue wisps formed constant shapes, moving and evolving into a more solid form of a dog. It was big. Watching it kept Ramsey only moderately distracted. He continued to hiss and groan with the pain, but his eyes were glued to the wall. He couldn’t look away.

Finally, finally, it seemed like the potion was starting to take effect. Sep watched Ramsey extend his arm towards Gokrey and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Things were going to be alright. When it came down to it, he trusted the house elf’s abilities. If anyone could ensure that Ramsey’s wound was well taken care of without breaking the Dark Lord’s orders, it was surely a house elf. He wondered if they ought to lend Gokrey out to the Goyles until Ramsey’s arm was back to normal. Then again, Auriga would probably protest that. They both would have a hard time minding the baby without Gokrey’s attentive help.

Sep and Gokrey alike paid Ramsey’s threat little mind, beyond the latter giving him a small nod of understanding. The moment Ramsey allowed her to, she was picking gently at the bandage, trying to remove it with as little fuss as possible.

Unfortunately, even her deft fingers didn’t seem capable of doing that without causing pain. Sep winced as he watched Ramsey’s face tense up. Soon his friend was sweating and swearing, the pain apparently too much for the Numbing potion to suppress entirely. Which made Sep wonder just how painful it would have been if Ramsey hadn’t had the potion in the first place. Better not to dwell on that.

“Careful,” he repeated to the elf, more out of something to say than because he thought she really needed to hear it. His fists were clenched from the effort it took not to reach out and throw the elf off of the bed, away from his friend as Ramsey moaned in pain. Protectiveness ran strongly in Sep when it came to Ramsey and it was difficult not to act on it.

She’s helping him, he told himself. She needs to do this. It’ll be okay.

It was hard to believe that, listening to Ramsey. He sounded like he was in utter agony and Sep dared not look at the arm as the bandage was peeled away and Gokrey started her work. He liked to think he had a strong stomach, but even imagining what it might look (and feel) like had his guts churning uncomfortably.

Then Ramsey grew quiet. Sep leaned forward, worried. “Ram?” he asked, but Ramsey seemed deaf to his voice. He was staring blankly at the wall, his chest still rising and falling visibly and the sweat still pouring from his brow, but seemingly barely conscious. Sep turned to Gokrey, more than a little concerned. “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay? Maybe we should stop!”

Gokrey shook her bulbous head. “He is in shock, Master Sep sir. I think he will be alright, though. Better to finish this now, while he is calm.”

‘Calm’ wasn’t the word Sep would have used to describe Ramsey’s current behaviour, but he forced himself to nod and remain where he was. “Just get it done,” he said tersely.

For a long while, the room was silent. Gokrey worked efficiently and when she finally shuffled back from her spot on the bed, the bandage was once more pristinely white and tidy. “All done, sir,” Gokrey squeaked. “He needs rest now. May Gokrey bring him a Sleeping draught?”

But on the other hand, the minutes flashed by like seconds in his mind. There was so much lost time, he hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out. The dog continued to bound and jump, dancing before him on the wall. It was enough to distract him. He didn’t know how much he was shaking or sweating or how low his heart rate was, as his blood pressure began to dangerously plummet. 

His face was growing progressively paler so he practically blended into the white sheets. And then suddenly he was very tired. 

Crabbe called at him and it echoed in his ears. His body felt stiff and his muscles were sore, though he had no idea why. 

He groaned a weak reply, moving his head slowly to readjust his vision to see Crabbe. He had been looking through everyone, not really seeing anything.

“Yah,” he said shakily, not sure what questions he had just been asked. “Water?” he asked, thinking maybe Crabbe asked him if he needed anything. He needed something to drink. 

It wasn’t that his arm had gone numb, he could still feel the intense pain, but the tightness of the new bandage was helping. 

“Charity,” he blurted. It took his brain a couple seconds to think. No he meant Charlotte. 

“Charlotte,” he corrected. “The baby...” he knew he needed to get home. There was no telling who would come snooping around his house, taking the Dark Lord’s anger into their own hands. 

Would the Dark Lord send someone to his house just to punish him again? Was this all the punishment he’d get tonight? It was hard to say.

But he knew he wasn’t in any state to move, let alone defend his family. 

“Aghh, leggeeennnnnnndddd this one!” he shook his head again, tossing it back for a barking laugh. He could see how smitten Crabbe had gotten. 

“Alright alright,” he returned the joke, throwing up his hands in the air to surrender to her. It was good to let Septimus have his moment. 

Ramsey watched the bird retreat away, and he met Septimus with a raised brow and a grin. 

“Aghh go on then,” he nodded in agreement, using his head to point towards the exit. He needed another one too and although the bar had gotten a bit more rowdy in the last hour, it was still intriguing to think about what awaited them next-door.

“Reckon we’d get in?” he yelled over the other patrons, making his way towards the door. The last thing he wanted was to go all the way there and then be turned away. But he wasn’t about to let his anxiety ruin his night. Besides, he knew Crabbe would probably get miffed with his ‘need to plan.’ 

He met the warm night air with an eager, drunken smile. He did an unnecessary jump down from the step and onto the laneway. 

“You gunna stay wif me t’night, yah?” He asked, assuming Crabbe was still behind him. 

“Less you find some bird who’ll take yer mingin’ ass home, y’lucky bastard.” he laughed, momentarily forgetting about Charity. If he’d remembered, he would have known that he was more than just lucky to have her on his arm–– it was a fookin’ miracle!

 “Can’t believe you actually did it. That was wicked.” He started to walk in a random direction towards “next door,” only there was no door to find. He stopped.

“She say this way yah?” He frowned, looking back towards the way they’d come. “Reckon we should ask someone?”

Ramsey didn’t argue the proposed change of venue, going along with it easily. Sep was feeling unstoppable, only egged on by Ramsey’s praises. He led the way towards the door with his head held high, despite having to dodge around several people who couldn’t seem bothered to get out of the way of a drunk seventeen year-old. The disrespect might have annoyed him were he in a lesser mood.

“Yeah, course!” Sep crowed in response to Ramsey’s question about getting in at their destination. Of course, he had no guarantee that this was the case at all, but he was still enjoying the lingering confidence bequeathed unto him by the barmaid’s kiss and wasn’t about to admit to any sort of doubts. Besides, the last thing they needed was Ramsey spiralling into one of his fretful moods, the silly bastard! “Easy!”

The street outside, though dark and grimy, was pleasantly warm. Summer in the city was always hit or miss, but at the moment it was clear, with just enough of a breeze trailing through Knockturn to keep the heat from getting too oppressive. Sep took a moment to stand and take a deep breath, enjoying the here and now. This night was shaping up to be a damned good one and he wasn’t opposed to stopping and smelling the proverbial flowers. Not that Knockturn Alley was exactly the best place to be taking deep breaths or enjoying the smell of… well, anything. Sep wrinkled his nose as the stench of garbage and old cat piss filled his nostrils. Then he turned his attention back to Ramsey.

“Yeah,” he said when Ramsey asked if he was staying at his place that night. It would beat trying to get back to the townhouse on his own and then he wouldn’t have to listen to Theia tsk and tut at him for getting drunk. “And who d’you think you’re calling minging? Did you not see how I handled myself in there? She was well into me!”

Of course, Ramsey had seen and not forgotten. Sep grinned, preening at the enthusiasm in Ramsey’s words. Yet his smile soon faded as he moved forward to fall into step beside his friend, as he had no better luck at spotting where they were supposed to be going.

“Pro’lly,” he shrugged. Ramsey followed Crabbe to where he’d gestured. It was a just an old brick wall. 

“Uhhh... I dunno mate. I don’t fink this is it...” He half watched Septimus kick and tap the bricks with no apparent method or reason. He glanced around them again, aware that they weren’t exactly “allowed” to be here. 

Desperate not to be the wet blanket of the evening, he turned his attention back to the wall in front of them. 

He examined it, trying to find some sort of clue that could lead them in the right direction. Only, he was far too drunk to be thinking clearly and too dumb to solve the riddle; There was a significant reason why he hadn’t been put into the Ravenclaw house after all.

“Hmm..” he stalked the edge of the wall, examining it like an old professor. Occasionally he tapped a couple of bricks, pushing against them with his entire body weight, willing the thing to open.

“Fookin’ shit.” he muttered, pacing back to Crabbe. “I don’ fookin’ know mate, why don’t we just go an’––”

Mid-sentence the bricks started to move and transform into a doorway, allowing an exiting group of dodgy old wizards to pass. They glared at the two youngins’ as they pushed their way into the cold air. 

This was far from civilisation, but somehow in the middle of it. The Selkies Tayle had been the bar he'd used to deal illegal potions out of, and so when he arrived this evening, the barman seemed a little surprised but gave him a polite enough nod with a gruff "no trouble, hear?". Practically a "Welcome, what would sir like?" by the standards of this place.

Eyes sweeping over the current customers, Severus made his way over to one of the tables, all of them pushed up against the crooked peeling-paint walls and crossed his arms, fixing the door with a determined gaze.

He had come some way in working out a few of the intricacies of blood magic, but to complete the requested potion he needed something more from Goyle. Not money, but it tasted of copper. Not the truth, but you wouldn't want it spilled. Not magic but it thrummed in his veins. He needed blood. Something to anchor the ward to one person or one family.

Severus had idly wondered whether slipping a little of his own into the potion would affect it, or if somehow the Muggle in him would perhaps ruin the batch. From what he could research, this blood magic only worked with magical individuals and was entirely ineffective with Muggle blood added.

He hadn't been out much since that terrible night at Malfoy manor. In front of everyone, his loyalty to the cause had been questioned- for which he had payed greatly. His arm was still scorched from where the Dark Lord had burned him with his wand. His dark mark was still covered by a pillow of dirty bandages. He had been forbidden to use healing magic on it, and he hadn't dared cast any more doubts, so Crabbe had done the best he could with it.

Ramsey's face was still pale, eyes sunken and shadowy from the injury and infection. His body remained permanently hot and fevered at 104. But he still hadn't dared disobey... again.

He nodded a hello, ignoring the underhanded question. It was obvious how he was. Scared to shit. He tried to smile but it was more of a grimace.