#remus 01

Between Remus working during the day and Sirius picking up as many evening shifts as he could get his hands on, the two’s schedules had barely lined up enough to properly check in on each other. It typically wasn’t something that bothered Sirius but Remus’ absence from Burn Night hadn’t gone unnoticed. In fact, it had been particularly worrisome once the alcohol wore off from the evening. 

Coming through the door of their flat earned a dramatically loud gasp from Sirius. The bag of groceries he was carrying was carelessly discarded on the counter so he could cross the room toward where Remus was sat on the couch. “You’re alive!” He exclaimed then draped himself across Remus’ lap, not bothering to disguise the smile that appeared. “You had me worried, Moony. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

The new truce, while suspicious, opened opportunity to rekindle estranged friendships. Or attempt to at the very least. Milo had a lot in life, he would dare to say he almost had it all. But there was truth in the phrase 'it is lonely at the top.' He'd dedicated most of his life to advisement, manufacturing, and distribution. Married to his work and proving to all around him that he deserved the eventual placement on the throne of the oldest gang in the city. That work had paid off finally with his promotion to Seraphim. However, it forced him out of the shadows and caused a strain on the network he'd built. One in particular, he felt on a very personal level. Remus Warden. There were not many Milo would call a friend, even fewer that were not associated with Pestilence or Pierce Distribution. Remus was the exception. Their different factions caused strain on the already slightly estranged friendship. The truce offered another chance, however and Milo wasn't one to throw away his shot in any situation.

"Enjoying yourself?" Milo asked on approach. There were some he couldn't recognize with the mask on, the Wardens we're not one of them. Nor any of the higher ranks of the gangs. Each of them is fairly distinct and easily pulled from memory. Remus more so than others, for him at least. Too many nights spent partying and living life to the fullest in their Cambridge years for, either of them he assumed, to not recognize the other. "Surprised you can see out of that thing." He motioned to the other Seraphim's mask with the glass in his hand. The glass rose to his lips for the last drink of liquid from his glass. Milo glanced away for a moment to scan the room. "Come get a drink with me." The blonde tilted his head toward the bar set up across the room. An olive branch extended, it was the most he could put forth in the moment. A tribute to days long gone in their past with promise of some light conversation at the very least and perhaps a bit of reminiscing from their golden days. At best, Milo could hope for an alliance between the two of them in lieu of their associations.

Perhaps it was a bit cliched. Or maybe it was just a tragic lack of proper education that left those not of the elite pureblooded set much less likely to browse the selection of artifacts on offer in establishments like Borgin and Burkes. Sure, Knockturn Alley wasn’t exactly a desirable location, nor somewhere Rab would recommend for a pleasant stroll, but it also offered some of the most interesting antiques and curiosities that one could buy without any sort of underground element, and Rabastan undeniably appreciated the old and the magical. He wouldn't be doing the work he did if that weren't the case. 

Rabastan pushed open the door to the shop, stepping from the dingy, narrow walk of Knockturn Alley into the dimly lit front room of the store. He’d been at Gringotts for far longer than seemed entirely necessary earlier, shunted from room to room by goblins who were much more snide than one would expect from someone who was reaping such benefit from sitting on piles of gold and doing very little else. He’d only wanted to do a very routine check in on the Lestrange accounts and maybe wander around the vaults a bit- it was every bit as much a maze of potently magical and potentially cursed items as Borgin and Burkes was, after all. The idea of taking a detour to poke about the shop was as good a distraction as any. He hadn’t been in since he’d stumbled upon Bellatrix, and consequentially hadn’t spent much time actually looking at the wares on offer.

Letting the door close with a dull thud behind him, Rabastan pivoted, looking out through the shop before his gaze lit on the man behind the counter. He smiled, and approached slowly, letting his attention get caught by and linger on a rusted dagger in a display case propped up in a cabinet half-way to where the wizard stood, his interest partially put-on for the show of it all, and partially genuine, “Afternoon.” He glanced up at the man, smile creeping slightly broader as his eyebrows lifted, “Anything interesting in that I should be looking for?”