Eddie Carmichael (edasich) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-11-09 15:52:00 |
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The coat was overly large on him and the wool was uncomfortably scratchy. It was the oldest looking thing he owned, the result of a rushed spring cleaning effort, and Lucius completely hated it. Still, the effect was successful. After a consensus from Narcissa, Bunni, and the mirror, he was convinced that he certainly looked Knockturn suitable. His nose wrinkled at the thought of stepping into the bar — the White Wyvern, he'd found out — but some things just had to be done. At least he could burn the coat afterwards. When he arrived in Knockturn, he wondered if it was possible for the grimace on his face to stay permanently etched as it was. There were many reasons why he avoided this place and most of them had to do with the atmosphere it engendered. If they could've destroyed it, instead of Diagon, he doubted anyone would've complained. Well, besides Rabastan. The reminder of his friend deepened his grimace, but perhaps that had more to do with the fact that he'd just had to touch the door to enter. Lucius sat gingerly on a stool and surveyed the place. It wasn't terrible compared to his imagination but the less time he had to spend here, the better. Thankfully, a woman came over as he finished his thought. From the pictures Narcissa's intern had been able to gather, it was Emilia Carmichael. He kept his face impassive, despite realizing this was the woman that Rabastan had a child with. A halfblood. "What do you recommend?" He asked, hoping there was something bearable he could pretend to drink. Emilia studied the man. He didn't belong here, and he knew it. The Wyvern tended to attract that sort: men who thought they were too good for the place, but wound up there anyway. She'd had to deal with more than her share. "Depends what's got you here," she said. "Business troubles? Charms malfunction? Troubles with the missus?" Lucius had no business to have troubles with — unless he counted the Death Eaters, but that was a different story he wasn't inclined to share with a stranger — and his spellwork was fantastic. He and Narcissa had more trouble with other people than they did with each other. So he resorted to something that could serve as a semblance of a truth and as a connecting point. "My son's been… rebelling." He made a mental note to ask Draco if he was. "Aye," Emilia gave a knowing nod, as she did with all her customers. "I know just how that goes. Mine can be a right little shit, but I love the kid. I'll have just the one for you." She surveyed the alcohol selection, deciding just the right cocktail. She mixed it with a practiced hand, and presented it to the man. "Drink up." He contained his expression at the sight of her alcohol display, but he couldn’t sit there without at least tasting what she’d presented him, so with miraculous effort, if he could say so himself, he took a small drink. Unfortunately, it wasn’t horrible. “It’s good,” Lucius said, wishing he was lying. “Did you say you have a son too?” Realizing this sounded strange, he added, “How do you handle it… when he’s… being a right little shit?” The words were clearly uncomfortable coming from his mouth. Emilia laughed jovially at the man's discomfort with her phrasing. "Well, he's gone and grown up now. He's got to deal with his consequences on his own there. How about your boy? Is he still at home? Hogwarts?" "Hogwarts," he answered, swirling his drink around to look as if he would drink more of it eventually. "He's a — sixth year. It hasn't been a great age." That was what he'd found out, at least, once he escaped from Azkaban. "Coming of age, thinking they don't need you anymore," Emilia said wistfully. Her Eddie didn't have the easiest time as a sixth year, either; not after everything she had to tell him. "And maybe they don't, but it isn't easy. I'd drink to that." Suddenly, Lucius felt distinctly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had been going. He made the unwanted comparisons to Draco's sixth year and shifted in his seat at the thought of his son not needing him — or Narcissa — anymore. Perhaps that was what his year without him had taught him. Without thinking about it, he took another drink to distract him from where his thoughts had led him. "Right. I think he still needs me, though. And his mother." "Oh, sure," Emilia said sympathetically -- or pityingly. The man seemed like the type to smother his son, a parenting style she had never had much respect for. "Just maybe not as much as he used to." He nearly objected to this, but stopped himself just before he could. His intent today wasn't to argue with her, even if she was wrong. "How…" he began, "How have you reconciled with that realization?" "Well, he's always been an independent one." Emilia collected a few neglected glasses off the bar. "And it isn't like he's run off completely. Besides, who isn't sick of each other after eighteen years?" Even though it had only been four months, Lucius still knew a little something about getting sick of people. He couldn't quite say so, but he had to nod in understanding. "Do you frequently keep in touch with your son?" He asked, trying not to look too interested. "You know, my friend, I'm not the one in the bar this time of day drinking away son troubles," Emilia said, not unkindly. Eddie had said he would be by tonight, which could answer the man's question all on its own, if he was still there and actually cared about it. "Got anything you need to get off your chest?" Great, Lucius thought. Now he had to think of something to say that bore no resemblance to the truth. He could hardly — and would not — tell the woman that he had doubts about Draco being a Death Eater. Or that sometimes he had trouble approaching him because of the previous year. He took another drink instead and grumbled into his glass. "Not much. I've just been wondering about the future." These, at least, were not false words. Noticing the man's drink was almost empty, she offered, "Can I get you another one?" Looking down, he saw that it really was. When he got home, he would have to have Bunni make him a drink he actually liked to forget that he had actually had most of this. But he hadn't found out enough from Emilia yet, so he nodded. "Have you worked here long?" "Only about twenty years or so," Emilia said. "I'm an institution. And--" The door opened, letting in another institution of the place. "Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear. You let me know when you're ready for that refill." Eddie noticed his mother's animated wave from the bar and rolled his eyes. He brought over the paper bag he'd retrieved from her flat after a series of begging hexts, dropping it without care on the bar in front of her. "You'd think by now a grown woman would remember to bring her own supper to work, Mam." "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see my darling boy," Emilia said, squeezing his hand gratefully as she dropped the bag away under the bar. "We were just talking about you," she added, nodding her head over at the stranger at the bar. And Eddie, recognizing the man immediately from his well-studied Daily Prophet stories about arrested Death Eaters, froze at the sight of Lucius Malfoy. "What the hell are you doing here?" he challenged. This certainly hadn't factored into his plans. While he'd, of course, intended on meeting Emilia Carmichael, he had no hope — or wish — to see Eddie Carmichael. Despite various, negative, interactions on the journals, he hadn't had a face to attach to the name. In the background, while Eddie talked to his mother, Lucius examined the boy, wondering whether or not he resembled Rabastan. All he could really ascertain was that he was a slight boy. Rabastan had always been shorter than Rodolphus. He heard the challenge in his voice and smiled. "I decided to get a drink. I assume you're the son." To Emilia, the phrase was meant to recall their previous conversation. He expected Eddie to hear it differently. Eddie kept his eyes locked on Malfoy's, defiance searing through them. He caught the man's word choice, but didn't react to it. He didn't know what Malfoy knew, and he wasn't going to confirm or deny anything. "Lucius Malfoy just happens to decide to get a drink in a sketchy Knockturn pub?" he said, distrust dripping with every word. "Eddie!" his mother rebuked him. "This man is a customer, and--" Eddie didn't waver. "He can get a drink at home with his flatmates, the Lestranges." At that name, Emilia's attention jerked over to Malfoy, her expression quickly morphing from surprise to fear to anger, where the glower remained. Lucius shrugged. "You can only be around them so much before you have to venture somewhere else." He stood up, but didn't move any further. "It isn't nice to insult your mother's workplace." As Malfoy rose to his full height, Eddie realized with distressed annoyance that the man had at least six inches on him, but he still didn't back down. "This is Knockturn Alley, mate. 'Sketchy' is a badge of honour. Why are you talking to my mam?" This was why he didn't care for Knockturn. Why would someone want to claim that as an accolade? "I like to make conversation with people," he answered, lying easily. "I'm very interested in their stories." "Look, I left you alone," Eddie insisted. There wasn't an ounce of him that believed this could be a coincidence. "I said I would stop talking about your kid, and I did. You made your point with the quill, and I took it. And--" He only just stopped himself from mentioning Rabastan; Emilia didn't know they'd met, and he wasn't about to start that argument now. Besides, he wasn't going to bring up the man if Malfoy wasn't. If Malfoy even knew. "There's nothing for you to do here. Mam," he added, a sudden hint of fear lacing his words, "He didn't give you anything, did he? He deals with a lot of cursed shit." Annoyance flickered across his face before his composure returned. It had been one cursed quill and Carmichael hadn't even returned it. For all Lucius knew, he had sold it to make a quick galleon. "I came here with no cursed objects or bad intentions," he promised, looking as solemn as he could be. "Just a conversation between parents." "And that conversation is well over now," Emilia cut in before Eddie could respond. Her Scottish burr, softened over the years of London living, roared back with her pointed, angry words. "Will you be having another drink, or will we see you on your way?" Dissatisfied with the dismissal, but unwilling to stay even longer, even if it was an appealing way to make Rabastan's son angry, Lucius reached into his coat and dropped some galleons — more than enough to cover ten drinks — onto the table. "Keep the change," he said, smiling at the two Carmichaels as he swept past them. "I haven't even cursed them." Eddie saw the dropped coins as the insult that it was, and held up two fingers behind Lucius's back as the man headed to the Wyvern's door. "Eddie!" came a sharp remand from his mother as the door clicked closed behind Malfoy. "He could be dangerous. At least wait until he's properly out the door," she said, holding up a salute of her own once she knew Malfoy was definitely gone. "You okay, Mam?" Eddie asked as casually as he could, as if he was barely concerned, as if the encounter couldn't possibly have left him reeling. "I'm grand, Eddie," she said, picking up one of the galleons to inspect it. Satisfied, she swept them into her pocket. "Fuck the lot of 'em." |