Fireside Banters, Old Sports (Cain)

[Deleted]

This was a period of many unanswered questions in the history of wizards and witches.

While the unrest seemed to have waned within the circle, he was nearly sure that it would wax again soon. He remembered all that the Black Army had done to tamper with their lives, sneaking past well-built defences, provoking fears with every footprint trailed behind. Emil could go on for days, even months, his heart bleeding and crying over spilled blood; but he figured that a little therapy with Cain over a couple glasses of Butterbeers would do him good. He had thought of making some apple-pies and inviting his good friend over, but with the current bleak atmosphere, baking apple-pies seemed cuckoo. So simply, he settled for nice old Three Broomsticks. Besides, when he really needed a breather from work affairs, Cain was always the perfect guy to look for, and location only mattered little for them.

He dropped him a sprightly morning owl:

So, Cain, I kinda kicked a raven's behind at the Ministry Party, if you haven't heard. And got kinda bashed in return. Yes, uh, behind, too. Eh, Merlin knows I don't really give a– rat's behind. 

Ros' place, eight, tonight.

Truthfully, he indeed cared little about what his colleagues interpreted of him, but he did care an awful lot about the authentic cooperation of the Ministry in cleaning up this massive pile of wreckage.

But for one civic night, he reluctantly shoved his surfacing thoughts about campaign proposals, territorial representation, defence legislation amendments, the Order of Phoenix... He stopped juggling those knives and hatchets for a moment, taking a swig of Butterbeer out of his glass. By then, Emil had only been sitting for a couple of minutes before he saw a familiar figure snatching a seat beside him.

000 WORDS

@cainedge

^^

THANK YOU MALIA TATE FROM ADOXOGRAPHY

[Deleted]

"Been through better days, old pal. Though I am well enough, thank you. As it was, pray tell, what have you been up to? Jobs, and some more?" replied Emil.

"My fine-feathered, old, good friend, you were the one who risked for it! Ought have been luck for me to notice, not some other personnel that could, well, peck you back," retorted Emil, his arms flung open desperately at the brazenness of his friend. He knew Cain had been delighted to see him, and that he had sent Cain worrying at the thought of his career being jeopardised; but beneath the layers of ribbings, Emil was a friend, and he finally said, "Just be careful next time, alright, Cain? The places you go, the things you do, none would allow such recklessness. What's it for, anyway? Tickled my curiosity, you certainly have." Emil smiled as he raised and took another swig out of his glass.

He had nearly shoved his business-addled thoughts away as Cain grinned and chuckled beside him. Yet, who was he to deny his identity? Emil had pledged to serve the entire community, to serve Draco, to serve justice; and he had even made good, reliable friends within the Ministry. Yet here he sat, cosy and comfy besides the fireplace, thinking of Butterbeers and ways to have fun.

Wizards work so tirelessly, sometimes it was even forgotten that they were also humans.

As if peering into the near future, Emil gazed intently at his half-emptied Butterbeer as he entered a moment of contemplative silence.

Regardlessly, golden tongues of fires danced off the sides of their glasses, portending the peril lurking at every corner of their worlds. Who was Emil to pretend that he did not care about the impending doom? His daily workloads and burdensome demands were not the ones which troubled him; it was the shakiness of the entire societal structure, the unnerving silence that made it so hard to not suspect a brewing maelstrom of evil. At the moment, his eyes seemed almost aggrieved at the intractable quandary. The lead on the Headmistress had not proven to be a success thus far, and as deeply as they had dug into the Black Army's headquarters; they found zilch. Perhaps they had not looked hard enough? Perhaps a clue still laid smugly in a safe corner, or near the wooden curtain of smashed doors; hidden and untouched?

Emil always traced their footprints, as much as his line of work had allowed him; setting out to collect pieces of the plagued mystery that had grown colder by the minute. Lives were at stake, and still, everyone he knew had been scurrying around looking for a speck of rainbow dust.

home

@cainedge

THANK YOU MALIA TATE FROM ADOXOGRAPHY