Kevin Entwhistle (followinglast) wrote in snitchers, @ 2017-09-23 00:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | char: kevin entwhistle, char: viktor krum |
Who: Kevin Entwhistle and Viktor Krum
Where: Jimmy Kiddell's Wonderful Wands, Diagon Alley
What: A rainy evening and vodka, catching up awkwardly.
When: Friday evening, after Kevin gets out of St. Mungo's
Rating: Low
Status: Complete
It was a slow day in Diagon Alley.
Viktor sat at the counter, frowning as he sorted out a bundle of hair that Jimmy had brought in from who knew where. His boss hadn't bothered to make any attempt to keep the hanks of hair separate and so the strands had tangled and gnarled around one another. While normally, Viktor would have used his wand, a few of the strands were thin and light, causing him to believe that there was some slight possibility that this wasn't simply a collection of random braids that Jimmy had chopped off an orphan somewhere, hoping to pass off as unicorn or quintaped. So he took his time, gently coaxing silvery strands from coarse blond as he hummed to himself.
The door banged open and he cocked an eyebrow when he saw who it was, then went back to his sorting.
"No," Viktor said, unknotting a greenish strand. "We want none of your rabbits. Go away."
Kevin didn't mean to open the door so forcefully; running in from a sudden downpour, he didn't realise how easy a push it was, and his entrance turned into something rather... dramatic. He caught himself on the edge of the desk before he could knock anything over, and he glanced back at the open doorway and the rain pelting on the cobbles outside.
Straightening himself up, he turned to close the door again before he could get the stoop any more wet than it already was.
"Do I look like I have rabbits on me?" he asked, pushing his fingers through his dark hair and pulling it back from his face. He paused. "Are you sure you don't want them?" he added as an after thought. "You could sell them to Hogwarts students."
"Ne- no." Viktor glowered. Then he paused, shaping his words in his mouth before he spoke again. "These rabbits...they alive, yes?" It was clear from the way that he cradled the hair in his hand, glancing at a stack of hides on the counter, that he hoped they were not.
"Hair," Viktor said. "For core of wand." He grimaced, shaking his fingers free. "Is a mess but Jimmy does not care. He just keeps bringing it in piles and piles." His eyes flickered to Kevin. "But you are not here for repair."
He wondered what information the journalist was looking for this time and allowed his mind to wander over the people who'd been in the shop recently. Sometimes they were newsworthy but generally, all that he had to give Kevin were small sparks of information--enough to tease but not enough for a whole story. But one day, Viktor thought, one of those sparks would catch fire.
After detangling himself and lightly blowing the hair in Kevin's direction just to see if the other man would flinch, Viktor stood with a grin.
"Is after hours now," he said as he walked to the door and turned the sign. "So we drink."
The shop was known for its erratic hours, generally precipitated by his boss' habit of occasionally wandering off. Viktor rarely took advantage of it but there were times, like now, that he thought it best not to chance a mother and her child coming to shop for supplies. He walked over to the wall and tapped his wand against a hidden spot. A line appeared in the wallpaper, then a small door. Opening the cupboard, he pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured them both a shot.
Kevin did flinch - dramatically. He leaned back with a stunned expression, and looked down at himself to make sure no errant, disgusting hairs of Merlin-knew-what were stuck to his clothing.
"Fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath when Viktor stood up to grab the bottle from the wall. Outside, rain continued to pound the cobbles, filling the silence between them as their shots were poured. Maybe it was a terrible idea, but Kevin immediately reached out to grab one of the glasses, downing it in a flash and hissing as it burned down the back of his throat. It warmed him up though, and the chill in his bones felt less pronounced than it did before he stepped inside.
"You're shit out of luck, the rabbits are all gone anyway," he said, looking back down at his coat and picking away imaginary bits of hair, before he started shrugging out of it.
Viktor poured Kevin another shot, then happily downed his own. At home, he was used to drinking until the bottle was gone. He thought, however, that he'd wait and see whether Kevin could keep up.
"That is too bad," he said. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile. "Rabbit is delicious." Then he laughed, unable to help it as Kevin continued to pick bits of hair off his coat. "You are too...ah..." He struggled for the word, then gave up. "We have much worse things than the hair here. Come. What is in your wand? How do you think it got to there?"
Kevin folded his coat up and looked around for somewhere to put it, before he resigned to setting it on top of a stool by one of the rows of shelves - but not before awkwardly dusting it down with his hand first.
"Unicorn," he said, making a face and suddenly feeling the weight of his wand where he kept it strapped inside his sleeve. "I don't like to think about how it got there, thank you very much," he added airily, walking back over to the counter and picking up his second shot of vodka.
"Why? Is not like you caught the unicorn yourself." Viktor drank another shot but didn't pour for Kevin. He'd let the other man pace himself...or not. "But this is all talk, talk, talk. Tell me how is your life." He leaned back on his stool, wincing a little as his leg forcibly reminded him that he no longer had the strength that he'd once had. He let himself rock forward instead, resting a muscled arm on the counter as he looked at Kevin.
Kevin looked down at Viktor's arms, and leaned forward against the counter, choosing to stand for now as they drank together. Another few glasses though, and he would probably have to sit down.
"If you think that is all talk talk talk, then you really don't want to hear about my life," he said with a small huff of laughter, running his fingers through still-damp hair, and twirling the glass around in his other hand.
"How's your sleep?" he asked the older man bluntly, lifting dark blue eyes from the counter to look up at him.
"My sleep?" Viktor paused, lifting an eyebrow as far as it would go. He'd known the reporter for a while and decided that he was not understanding Kevin's meaning. "I have no woman now. So..."
He spread his hands, not sure what else to say. It wasn't the first time that he'd been asked about his sex life but it had been a long time since the papers had shown any interest. And he knew that Entwhistle didn't cover sports.
Kevin tried very hard not to roll his eyes, but soon enough gravity took over and he glanced momentarily at the ceiling before dropping his gaze down once more.
"I'm not asking you about who you're sleeping with," he clarified, grabbing the bottle and unscrewing it, so he could sniff its contents before pouring himself another shot that he decided he would just sip. "I'm asking you about your sleep. Going to sleep. Being asleep? Have you noticed anything... different?"
"Ah," Viktor beamed, feeling relieved. That was the last thing he needed the Prophet to take an interest in. He considered Kevin's question carefully as he poured himself another shot. "That is...good question. But...no." He shook his head. "I do not sleep much. When I do, there are dreams but always have been. Ever since accident." He gestured to his legs.
Watching Kevin's face, he said, "Why do you ask this?"
"I'm investigating a story about a pattern of nightmares people seem to be having." Including me, he added silently, licking some alcohol from his thumb and frowning. "Just trying to figure out what it means... if anything."
"Collective stress," he joked dryly.
He bit his lip. Part of him now really did want to know about Viktor's sex life, but he tried to remind himself that Nora didn't just throw him this bone for nothing. He liked writing silly fluff pieces, and the readers liked them too, but maybe he could stand to be taken more seriously.
"Stress? Over what?" Viktor said. "These...rebels?" He spoke the word with great contempt, drawing himself just short of spitting on the ground. Shaking his head, he downed the shot almost too fast for Kevin to blink. But his curiosity was engaged and he leaned forward, looking into Kevin's blue eyes for a long moment before asking, "Who is having nightmares?"
He knew all about nightmares. And as harsh as he tried to be, he wouldn't wish that particular illness on others.
Kevin's lips formed a line at the word as well, and he wiped his palms against the knees of his dark jeans.
"You know I can't tell you names," he pointed out. "But they're not that hard to find. Read the paper trail," he said, his eyes quickly glancing away when Viktor held his gaze. He felt his cheeks heat, and he picked up his glass again.
Viktor saw the flush. He shrugged and turned away a half-second too late, capping the vodka. It wasn't a good thing to send the other man out into the night too drunk to walk.
"So. You cannot give me names but I can give them you." He thought about being stubborn, then decided that it wasn't worthwhile. "I have nothing for you today. Not for dreams." Was Kevin himself having the nightmares, Viktor wondered. Perhaps that was the true reason for his color. He looked back at Kevin, then said, "You. Are you dreaming this?"
Kevin hesitated, then nodded silently. He watched Viktor cap the bottle and thought it was probably for the best, even when he had the sudden urge to grab it from his hands and drink it straight from the neck.
"Yes," he added after another pause. He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his dark hair again. "It happened the first night in hospital. Maybe it was just shock."
"Maybe." Viktor's eyes narrowed. "Maybe not. You are still having these dreams?"
He took a step away from the counter, busying himself with opening drawers and looking inside them. There were a few assorted odds and ends, though the most valuable substances were kept past the mirror in the back room. He smiled to himself as he thought how the reporter would look if he was to enter that hidden place. But then he grew a little more serious as he considered the fact that there seemed to be an epidemic of nightmares.
Kevin put both elbows on the counter, and decided that now was probably a good time to sit down.
"No - I, not since the first night. But I felt it, for a while, after," he said. He wasn't sure if he was making sense, and he wondered if it was the alcohol or just his inability to pinpoint what had actually happened to him. He swallowed, the images of his mother sick in bed still embedded on the backs of his eyelids.
"What are you looking for?"
"A gift," Viktor said.
But he paused, seeing how suddenly fragile Kevin appeared. He stopped in his search, leaving a drawer open and walked over to him instead. His hand reached out, resting on Kevin's shoulder for a moment. The other man felt small and cold underneath his large palm. What had he dreamt? "What is it you need me to give?"
He pulled his hand away, not wanting to linger.
Kevin really wished Viktor hadn't pulled his hand away, and he looked down at his shoulder where it once sat, almost expecting to see an impression left behind against the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.
"Give?" he repeated, confused. He laughed a little, and pointed at the half empty glass in front of me. "You're already giving me this."
"No, no, no," he said, shaking his head. It was hard to explain, this feeling inside of him that always wanted to give when he saw that someone was hurting, however small. It was a habit he had learned from his grandparents and others like them--the giving of small gifts in friendship. Perhaps the constant exchange was easier in a place where people had so little. Any token, however small, was prized and understood. "That is not gift. That is business."
But he saw that Kevin didn't quite understand and now he felt a little awkward about it. Perhaps he had misunderstood the feeling between them. Kevin worked in information. Viktor sold it, on time to time. How else did one get information besides being kind? This was business between them, not friendship. It was ridiculous to act as if he was still living in a tiny wizarding village.
"But if you insist, I give you that." His fingers fumbled with the bottle a little, pushing it at Kevin. "And I tell you... I tell you..." He fought again with his memory and said, "Jimmy, he say Ministry man is coming here. To talk about deal." Viktor spread his hands. "Jimmy talks big. Maybe not even happen."
Kevin frowned at Viktor, watching him fumble. He followed his movements with a sharp gaze as he stood up a bit straighter, and it didn't dawn on him what was going on until the older man pushed the bottle into his hands. He found himself blushing again when he realised that he'd embarrassed his... what? Informant? Business partner? Friend?
"Hey," he said quickly, putting the bottle down and reaching out to put his hand over the taller man's elbow. "Forget Jimmy for a second," he insisted. They'd come back to that later, though.
"We don't have to talk about business," he said. "I came out of here to get out of the rain, and I thought I'd say hi." Sure, he wanted to ask Viktor if he'd been having any nightmares lately, but he would have asked him that regardless.
"Business is fine," Viktor said, not quite sure of himself now. He had made a fool of himself and now, he saw Kevin was sorry for him. He didn't like the feeling. He felt as if the world had tilted sideways, just for a moment, and now no longer made sense. "We drink and we talk, yes?"
Friends were a dangerous thing to have in a world where he kept losing them.
"We definitely do a lot of that," Kevin agreed with a laugh, letting his hand drop and rubbing it awkwardly against the centre of his chest. He felt a little clammy - from the alcohol, and maybe from the images he could still conjure up clearly from his nightmare.
Finally, he grabbed a stool, and sat down. His knees definitely forgave him for that.
"Where do you get your vodka from?" he asked, diverting the conversation to areas that maybe Viktor was more comfortable with.
"Potatoes," Viktor said, deadpan. "The house elves, they stomp on them."
Kevin's expression slowly morphed into something that resembled shock and mild distaste. "Hm," he said, trying not to think of grubby little elves stomping all over potatoes.
"Aren't potatoes a bit... uh. Hard for that?"
Viktor coughed, chewing back his laughter. "They have hard boots. The soles, they are this big--" He opened his fingers in a four-inch gap. "And the spit. Makes potatoes softer."
Kevin's jaw dropped, and his face paled. His lips worked over a few silent words for a second or two, before he finally caught Viktor's eye and squinted at him.
"They don't spit on them," he said, daring him to argue with that. It had to be a joke.
"No. Not this bottle," Viktor assured. "This is best vodka. They use best internal juices." He made a swift pumping gesture with his hand, wondering how far he could take this before Kevin stopped believing him.
"You're unbelievable," Kevin said after a gasp. He chuckled, and uncorked the bottle again to sniff it. God, it was strong.
He wanted to point out that business partners didn't tease each other like this, but he bit his tongue. Seeing Viktor act that awkwardly had honestly thrown him through a bit of a loop, and if he had a thousand galleons, he'd give it all away if it meant he could find out what the other man was thinking.
He glanced back at the door, where the rain was still pelting against the glass.
"I really don't want to go back out there," he admitted.
"I do not know how it is made," Viktor admitted. "I buy from muggles here. When I can."
Gently, he reached out and took the bottle from Kevin's hand. A hint of the chill on Kevin's skin still echoed on the glass as his skin touched it. "It is better if we drink no more, yes?" He too felt the emptiness of the rain outside, hollow as it pelted the window. His bones ached with the sound and he stumbled a little as he made his way back toward the shelves, hoping that the other man attributed it to the drink and not the body that was failing him. As long as Viktor remained at the counter, he knew he could appear as strong as the old days.
"You do not have to go," Viktor said, amending, "In the rain. Is what we have Apparating for."
His dark eyes turned to the windows. "I should lock doors."
"I hate Apparating," Kevin admitted. But he knew Viktor was right. It was either this, or floo, or a shoddy umbrella charm that he'd never been fully able to master despite it being one of the basics.
He thought of the bottle now taken from him, and decided that next time he paid the older man a visit, he'd bring a new one along. Maybe he'd like that. Kevin hoped that he would.
"I'll get the doors," he added, getting up to do just that, the floor creaking underneath his boots.
"Stop--" Viktor said. He stumbled out from behind the counter as Kevin reached the doors. Viktor's leg braces clanked as his knees knocked, stuttering to a halt. It was that clanking that stopped his thinking altogether for a moment, forcing him to pick through his native language to find the words that he wanted.
The rain was falling just behind Kevin, pelting the glass and casting shadows on the other man's pale skin. Kevin's eyes themselves looked like water, pale blue and changing color with the light as it broke through the panes.
"Why do you hate rain?" Viktor said finally, looking at the other man. "Is beautiful."
Kevin held up his hands like he was being held up by law enforcement, and he watched Viktor come toward him, resisting the urge to reach out and help. Because he knew that would not be a welcome gesture, and he'd probably done enough already tonight to make the other man feel uncomfortable.
"It's wet," he said simply, his hands still held up flat, midair. "And cold. I hate feeling cold."
Viktor paused.
"Cold is good," he said. And it was. It was safer than the heat that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him, the passions that could so easily have forced him to pick a side in the battle that raged in England. A battle that Viktor wanted nothing of. He wanted exactly what he had-a shop, a chance to make money, a small home that was his. So why did he wonder about Kevin and his nightmares? Whatever the journalist was chasing, Viktor sensed that it was a path that was going to lead him into danger.
But he said it anyways. "These dreams...if you need anything, come to me."
He took one dragging step then heard his brace clank and stopped. "I can lock shop when you go."
Kevin dropped his hands, finally, and looked down at Viktor's leg when the brace clanked. He met his eyes again, trying not to feel so shifty about his inability to hold eye contact with anyone for longer than a few seconds. Something about Viktor's stare held him, though.
"I will," he said, his voice a little scratchy. He cleared his throat, and finally closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head when he realised that his words made no sense tacked onto Viktor's remark about locking up. "If I need anything, I mean. I'll come to you."
"Good," Viktor said.
He turned away, wanting to walk back behind the counter but also not wanting Kevin to look at him again. It frightened Viktor--the distance that had suddenly grown between himself and so many people when he had injured himself, leaving Quidditch behind. But what frightened him more, especially on the nights when the pain was the hardest and the dreams hit the worst, was the certain knowledge that he had wanted this.
Business, he reminded himself one last time. It is business.
And he walked slowly but with as much shattered grace as his body would allow back to the counter and began lifting boxes of wood up, sorting them as a silent signal to Kevin that it was time for him to go.
Kevin knew it was time to leave the moment Viktor said that he needed to lock up, but the dismissive silence still made his shoulders drop and his chest hurt.
"Fine, fine. I'll get out of your hair," he said, grabbing his coat from the stool by the shelves, and throwing it on. "Literally."
He pulled his wand out of his sleeve, and as he stepped out onto the stoop, he cast a weak umbrella charm. "Goodnight, Viktor," he called out, his voice lost against the sound of the rain, and of the door closing behind him.
"He will be back," Viktor muttered. He kept his hands moving and sorting as if it didn't matter. Kevin came for information and information was something that Viktor intended to keep in stock.
But he didn't move to lock the doors, not even when the clock chimed. Perhaps the rain would pour and the air would grow colder and the door would open... but after a few hours, he was forced to realize that it hadn't, and that perhaps, it wouldn't. And as he walked out the back door and lit a cigarette, he quietly wondered whether Kevin had said goodnight or if it had only been the wind.