Tuesday, 02 January 1923, 9:45am
Oleg’s office at Harewood House
Gaze hard, Oleg stood by the window behind his desk, letting his eyes travel over the snow-covered grounds. His hands clasped behind his back tapped a steady rhythm, the only movement and sound of the room, if not the entire house.
A hush that had settled like death itself. Ruslana’s doing.
The circumstances of it couldn’t have been any more inconvenient. An overdose, collapsed at the most important event since their arrival, hosting guests they had been working on for months. The woman had given him more than enough headaches while alive, it only seemed to fit she did so also in death.
He hadn’t disliked her. Ruslana had given him four more children, two of which were sons, and had been the immaculate representation of a Zdravkova woman. Elegant, charming, admired. Her abilities to socialize had provided him with numerous new contacts, creating ways in he might have not managed by himself alone. She had been useful in the way a woman and wife could be.
If only she hadn’t been so damn lax in other regards. Her frivolous dabbling with certain powders had never been a secret, not to him. He had warned her, had tried to force her to stop, but to no avail. The woman had been too sly, too cunning — and yet capable to keep appearances up. He had made the consequences clear, should anyone ever get wind of this, but he supposed that had been a waste of breath.
She had taken herself out all on her own.
In the worst possible fashion imaginable. It was only lucky she had had the decency to collapse out of sight instead of giving the entirety of Wizarding Britain something to talk about. For now, barely anyone knew. Still, rumours were brewing. They needed to handle this, quick and precise.
A knock on the door disrupted the silence and Oleg turned. “Enter.” His gaze cut to Lev, dead on time as usual. “Close the door, we have things to discuss.” Without further ado, Oleg sat behind his desk, waiting for Lev to take a seat opposite.
“Your step-mother’s death will have to be handled carefully,” he said, voice void of emotion, its usual point-blank tone. “The official cause will be heart failure, a fatal and tragic consequence of her decade-long struggle with health problems.” Made up, of course, but that went without saying. Everyone in this house was aware of the woman's doings. She hadn't exactly made an effort to hide it, not even from her own children.
Steepling his fingers, Oleg continued. “We need medical records forged, a few minds altered at St. Mungo’s. Her friends’ too. I don’t want anyone with even an ounce of doubt. Maybe we can find leverage in this as well.”
Grief was an emotion easily utilized as any other.
Where exuberance and exaltations for the new year rang just a day and a half ago, grief and silence had swallowed it whole.
A serpent, coiled and waiting in the shadowed corners for its prey to wander naively into its trap, it had struck without warning. His half-siblings were reeling, the younger ones especially, and while Lev had held no affection for his stepmother, he hated knowing that his sisters and brothers were struggling. At his core, Lev was a family man, and he was fiercely protective of them, even if it presented itself in a quieter way than some would like.
Ruslana was an idiot, and always had been. His father had chosen her as a wife for obvious reasons, but her ability to be a selfless Zdravkova wife and mother had always been lacking. Her propensity for potions and whatever else soured her reputation - and their family’s as far as Lev was concerned - and her consequences had finally caught up to her.
Even in death, she couldn’t be a decent mother and spare her children the embarrassment and sorrow of her actions.
“Enter.”
It was never any different. Father’s voice came cold and rigid behind the door, commanding rather than inviting, but Lev knew the shape of it by now.
It didn’t make it any less intimidating.
If there was anyone that could intimidate Lev or send a chill down the young man’s spine, it was his father. Despite being the man’s favorite of his children, Lev wasn’t spared from the harshness of his father’s approach nor his disapproval if things didn’t measure up to his expectations.
He entered quickly and quietly, shutting the door behind him as ordered.
“Your step-mother’s death will have to be handled carefully. The official cause will be heart failure, a fatal and tragic consequence of her decade-long struggle with health problems.”
Lev almost snorted his disgust at the idea of ‘health problems’, but quickly remembered himself and didn’t dare. If Ruslana had held any real health problems, they all would have been mental, but the son kept quiet as his father continued.
“We need medical records forged, a few minds altered at St. Mungo’s. Her friends’ too. I don’t want anyone with even an ounce of doubt. Maybe we can find leverage in this as well.”
“I can handle it,” he answered quietly, his mind already making a detailed list of who he would need to speak to, and how he would handle everything. He would bring Liliya along. More exposure and observation could only help her in her own practices, and he doubted Nadezda would argue. It would be his father that he would need to convince.
“The hospital will be more difficult and require more finesse, but it will be done.” He paused a moment, sitting up straight in his chair as he studied his father for a moment. “What sort of leverage are you looking for, Father?”
His wife was already dead. Condolences, whether genuine or performative, would already be assured.
“I can handle it. The hospital will be more difficult and require more finesse, but it will be done.”
Oleg grew unnaturally still, gaze cooled and lingering on Lev in quiet warning. He did not need to be reminded of the complexity of the situation by his son, as though he wasn’t quite aware and needed council. The mess Ruslana had ridden them into could hardly be any more intricate, worsened by her own son.
Dragomir had already felt the consequences for acting out of line, making decisions on his own.
Taking his mother to a place like St. Mungo’s, a public hospital they held no influence over, filled with healers they didn’t control had been utterly senseless, driven by rash action rooted in the softness Oleg had never quite managed to squash. When the message had reached him the damage had already been done.
At least the boy had had the wit to demand a private room.
The few healers involved had been paid off when Oleg had arrived, to keep their mouths shut and not immediately run to the press, but Galleons alone could not be trusted to keep this quiet. Not forever. When the family reputation was on the line, easily cracked by a scandal as embarrassing as an overdose, different methods to maintain esteem were necessary.
No. This needed to be handled thoroughly, methodically. There was no room for doubt. No time for delays.
Snapping out of the predatory stillness, Oleg released his gaze from Lev, shifting to reach for a quill and parchment. “It will,” he said, tone a fraction sharper. “Today. Talk to Dragomir, get every face and name from him he interacted with, Nadežda will take a look inside his head. There can be no leaks.”
As much as he detested his cousin’s place amongst the family ranks, Nadežda was their strongest Legilimens and he didn’t trust anyone else with this. “I have already informed her. You will go together.” End of discussion.
“What sort of leverage are you looking for, Father?”
For a moment he remained silent, continuing to write as though he hadn't heard. At last he answered, not looking up.
“Make one of the healers complicit by signing false records, keep their mind intact. Find a weakness, threaten them, I’ll leave it to you. We need someone on the inside.”
Lev swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to remain on that of his father's even as ice ran down his spine. Oleg Zdravkova was not a man for conversation or mulling. Not when his decisions had already been made. Lev had overstepped by voicing his thoughts out loud; not in lamentation, and more for himself than anything.
But it was unwelcome, and he should have known.
A churning in Lev's stomach was the only give-away that his father had made him anxious, his back strong and stiff against the back of the chair, his shoulders loose and heavy. He forced himself to maintain his father's gaze, knowing that if he dropped it or dared to look away, his father would find fault and weakness in it.
Instead, Lev tilted his chin slightly higher; prey silently staring down its predator, waiting for it to to strike.
“It will."
His words were sharp, but not the reprimand that Lev was expecting. A soft exhale through the young man's nose as silent relief filled him. Someday, Lev would better control his ruminations, understanding that his father wanted soldiers, not councilors.
"Today. Talk to Dragomir, get every face and name from him he interacted with, Nadežda will take a look inside his head. There can be no leaks.”
There was no point in bringing up Liliya now. Nadežda would be attending. Lev refrained from rolling his eyes, and gave a simple nod of his head.
“Make one of the healers complicit by signing false records, keep their mind intact. Find a weakness, threaten them, I’ll leave it to you. We need someone on the inside.”
"Yes Father." It was all that was needed. No further questions. No discussions. No requests to take Drago or Liliya along. There was a problem, and he was meant to figure out how to fix it. Immediately.
Lev rose from his chair, dipping his head in respect, waiting to be excused.
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