Of Ice and Wolves | Drago

Wednesday, September 27, 1922
6:00 PM
The Old Quidditch Grounds

"This spot's taken."

He was a sixth year now, and well-past the time where older classmates could push him around. Not that they ever really had - he'd taken on much older kids when he was only twelve - but it was the principle of the matter.

He knew Drago was a Zdravkova - Eira's cousin in some way - but it didn't mean he'd go out of his way to give up his usual workout spot for the bloke. He nodded further down the all-but abandoned pitch. It didn't matter that Drago was there first or had set his stuff down before Benji had even arrived.

Ridiculous? Not to the boy who had spent the better part of three years being surrounded by girls and having to find the only small reprieve he had from all their moods. The quidditch pitch, specifically this spot in front of the old Hufflepuff bench was his sanctuary.

Drago could go park himself in front of...wherever.

Benji dropped his bag down almost on top of Drago's and stretched his neck, letting the bones pop while he pulled his arm across his chest. A good run was in order before he started his sit-ups. He looked the boy over once. "You do Quidditch at Durmstrang?" He motioned lazily at Drago. "Pretty big arms."

Drago paused mid-motion, looking up from his bent over position to find Benji Laurence approaching the bench he was sitting on, assertiveness in his voice. Drago met it with unfazed stillness, silent for a moment.

He hadn't chosen this spot for any specific reason. It'd just been the first thing he'd seen and they all looked about the same to him anyway. That didn't mean he'd simply get up and leave however, just because someone else demanded so. He'd been here first, and a younger boy wasn't the type of person he took commands from.

At last he dropped his gaze away, redirecting his attention to the laces of his shoe. "Last time I checked, Quidditch was suspended. There is other spots you can take."

Benji seemed to have a different opinion on the matter, deliberately dropping his bag right next to his, making a point of his claim. Drago pulled his laces tight before sitting up straight. Calmly he watched the other stretch.

"You do Quidditch at Durmstrang? Pretty big arms."

Drago crossed said arms.

"I was beater," he answered evenly, leaning back against the bench. A faint scowl appeared between his brows then. "Why did they stop the Quidditch here? There should be training and games."

It'd been a punch to the gut, hearing he'd spend his last year not only at a different school in a different country, but also did that school not provide any Quidditch activities. He had been playing for six years and he was good. Losing his last year of playing before the real world called had been nothing short of devastating.

"This is my spot." And it had been his since he was eleven years old. Some dork from Durmstrang wasn't going to snatch it away from him, whether Quidditch was canceled or not. A grin curled at the edge of his lips as Drago finished tying his shoe and finally fixed him with that oh-so-familiar Zdravokva stare. Hadn't been the first time he'd been at the receiving end of it.

The other one was prettier.

"I was beater."

"Same," he answered lightly, kicking at his bat for emphasis while he brought his arms over his head, resting his palms on the back of it. A series of small pops went off in his back as he exhaled and gave a little shrug. "There should be games, yeah." He agreed wholeheartedly, but the administration didn't.

"Canceled them after the attempted muggle invasion," he quipped, reaching down for his bat and stepped back to give a few practice swings. "The old headmaster was a muggle-lover and he cursed a bunch of shit before his crazy ass was taken off to Azkaban. Quidditch was a casualty."

They should have brought it back by now, but there was something about Ministry regulations about re-opening things before they felt the administration was competent enough to manage them. At least it was what Julia had said. It sounded like a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit to him. As soon as his uncle was Minister, his first request was going to be the reinstating of his favorite sport and main outlet.

"Used to play with your cousin, Ei - Liliya. Sorry. I forget she has a proper name now." He didn't see anything wrong with her old one, but her family did. He raised his eyebrows subtly, before letting them drop again, a little revelation about what he thought of forcing the girl to relinquish her own name...but he supposed 'Liliya' was her real name.

It's what she'd said the end of her fourth year when her aunt had found her. "She was a good beater too. Not as good as me, but..." he shrugged, before turning away from Drago and glancing up over the stadium. He missed the sounds of the whistles, the feeling of the wind on his face, the adrenaline that would catch him by the throat and not let go until the game was over.

"Wanna practice then? Since you're here and I'm here?"

"Canceled them after the attempted muggle invasion.”

Drago grunted, both in annoyance and understanding. He’d heard of that. It was the reason for their delayed expansion. After that old headmaster and his scheme had been exposed, great-uncle Aleksandr had decided to keep the family in Russia longer, until this strange muggle business had resolved itself.

Which seemed to have been this past summer.

From what Drago had been told, most of the British political turmoil had settled and was transitioning back to normal while leaving enough chaos to create opportunity to tip the scales. That Merrow minister was behind bars now too, and according to his father, this was the perfect timing to wedge the name Zdravkova into the government — high.

His own betrothal was just one piece of this puzzle, Drago knew. He only wished at least Quidditch could have remained as it was.

When Benji finished, Drago gave his head a little shake. “Stupid muggles,” he scoffed, making way for some of his frustration.

"Used to play with your cousin, Ei - Liliya. Sorry. I forget she has a proper name now.”

His gaze shot back to Benji, staring him down. Liliya’s story was blacklisted, considered non-existent. Everyone knew, no one acknowledged. So neither did Drago. Benji’s quip and raise of eyebrows went uncommented.

"She was a good beater too. Not as good as me, but...”

That didn’t surprise him. Although the position was vastly unfit for a girl, Drago had no doubt about his cousin’s fervour transferring quite nicely into the game. Unbefitting for someone of her standing though. She hadn’t continued at Durmstrang.

Still.

“I think she would say otherwise,” Drago commented dryly.

"Wanna practice then? Since you're here and I'm here?”

His gaze lingered on Laurence for a moment, contemplating his offer. He was a strange type, Drago asserted. So loose and jovial. Maybe that was just the British though, he hadn't quite figured them out yet. In a way, all of them were strange.

After a beat, he stood. “Okay." Better than practicing alone. Stepping up to Benji, he glanced around, eyes travelling over the other. “I do running first. Five laps for warmup. You can tell me about that muggle invasion." Always good to hear an insider version of past events. Might be useful too.

Benji, like most wizards he knew, wasn't a big fan of muggles. Halfbloods and purebloods seemed to understand the gruesome history between magical and non, and while perhaps their sentiments bordered on the edges of prejudice, he wouldn't pretend it wasn't for a good reason.

It wasn't wizards that had tied muggles to wooden stakes and burned them alive. It wasn't wizards that had strung up muggles by their necks and strangled them until their eyes turned bloodshot. It wasn't wizards that crushed muggles beneath heavy stones. Slow, torturous deaths for committing the crime of being different.

Was it any wonder the wizarding world had reacted so viscerally when Halloway and his cult had tried what they did?

Benji held no real affinity for them, outside of a few having been his friends growing up.

"She probably would," Benji agreed with a light shrug. Eira had always thought she was better than him in...everything. But in the matters of Quidditch, she would be wrong. It wasn't his over-inflated ego that insisted he was the best beater in the school. It was a fact. He outmaneuvered the others easily and held the record for the most knock-outs since he'd started as a first year.

Was Eira good? Sure. Not as good as him.

Drago stared at him a moment, but Benji merely continued stretching. If the Zdravkova kid didn't want to practice together, then it was fine by him. Benji could have used a formidable opponent, but he wasn't in the business of begging or even convincing.

“Okay. I do running first. Five laps for warmup. You can tell me about that muggle invasion."

Fine by him. Benji loved a good run.

"Let's go," he indicated with a slight nod of his head, leading the way until Drago matched his stride beside him.

"There isn't much to tell," he said as his feet rhythmically pounded the dirt track beneath them. "Halloway was a freak and removed all the warding around the castle to try and let the muggles in. When the Ministry finally realized, they arrested him and all the professors that conspired with him." He glanced at Drago.

"Didn't Liliya tell you any of it?" She'd left as soon as the writing had been on the wall.

Drago fell into step beside Benji, listening to his short explanation as they began to round the stadium.

He supposed he knew the basics of what had transpired — it’d made the news even in Russian’s Wizarding community. He still remembered the day at breakfast, papers on the table in front of him and half the school talking about it. The British had let the muggles in.

Or — almost.

The mere attempt had been mad enough though. The careful beginnings to establish themselves in Britain had been put on hold immediately.

"Didn't Liliya tell you any of it?”

Drago grunted. “Only of that one thing,” he said. “She was not here for aftermath.” All of his family had closely followed the reports, but at some point the articles had run dry. They probably had some insider in the Ministry to feed them information right form the source, but Drago wouldn’t know. Only when the British Minister of Magic himself had been convicted of treason had another rush of information made its way to Russia and to him specifically.

The surrounding details had been vague — a kidnapping, two professors acquitted, the headmistress convicted. Most of the reports had focused on critiquing another government’s failed leadership, and the worry of what it meant for international relationships. Not the details of what another country’s school children lived like afterwards, who the hell would care?

Benji had been here for it though.

“What happened after?”, Drago asked, glancing sideways. “There was still two professors who worked for him, no? I read there was kidnapping.” The fact that had happened despite stopping the Holloway lunatic was almost more outrageous than the plot itself.

“Hopefully new Headmaster is better than the one they put away,” he added somewhat angrily. “You need better Minister too.”

Well, that was true. Once Halloway and his known culprits were arrested, several families had pulled their children out of Hogwarts for good, Eira's included. He'd missed her in the months following, wistful for those days in the air when she screamed at him and slapped him for being better at Quidditch than she was.

They'd had their quieter times too. A truce of sorts when they'd hang out on the roofs and smoke and talk about how stupid all their former friends were. It was an unlikely friendship/alliance he and Eira had made, rooted in their mutual dislike and annoyance with a handful of people. There were still friends she'd had that he'd sooner fight, and friends he had that would sooner fight her, but every now and then, when no one was looking, they could just be Benji and Eira.

Two kids from a shit background, with nothing to prove to each other.

“What happened after?”

Benji met Drago's glance and gave a slight shrug. "Yeah there was a kidnapping. The new headmistress didn't seem to know there were still supporters of Halloway's amongst the staff. But the minister knew. Conspired with them or something." His girlfriend had been one of the girls taken that night, and while Rae was tough as nails, he'd never quite gotten over not being able to save her from what had happened.

"My step-dad - well he wasn't my step-dad at the time - but he rushed the tower where the girls were taken and killed the kidnapper." He still held quite a bit of pride in it. Maddox had rescued his girlfriend, Maevie and Everleigh and proved what a real man was. A protector of women and children, not the lackluster limp-wristed do-nothing that Merrow had been.

“Hopefully new Headmaster is better than the one they put away. You need better Minister too.”

"When my uncle's the minister, he will be," Benji said easily, as they rounded the curve of the pitch. As for the Headmaster? Benji had no real opinions on MacLean, considering he hadn't seen him around much. "How long have you been in Britain? I can help you with your English if you want." He waved his hand back and forth. "Your grammar's a little wonky."

It felt incomprehensible, how any of this could have happened. In Russia, a scheme like this wouldn’t even have had the ground to sprout roots in, meanwhile here, traitors had been allowed to remain undercover within the staff’s ranks for months.

He didn’t feel particularly fond of this country or the British in general, but he did feel a profound kinship with wizardkind, and hearing of how these people's safety had been jeopardized so audaciously made his insides boil.

Muggles belonged where the were — excluded. Anyone disagreeing with that deserved to join them.

“They should have searched brains of professors,” Drago said, grumbling. “My aunt would have found traitors in five minutes.” And they’d found out about that minister right there and then too, instead of a year later. He didn’t know why that hadn’t been the auror’s strategy number one, maybe they didn’t have any good Legilimens here. Neither among their own ranks nor someone they could pay in exchange for their services. His family received requests like these regularly, often from the government themselves.

Out of nowhere, a flicker of excitement flared to life.

Now that they were here, Zdravkova, they could help in getting this mess back in order. And maybe he could be a part of that as well. He already knew his father’s plans for him — finish school and immediately begin auror training. Where at first he had accepted his fate solely through the lens of duty and obedience, now there was an idea of reason.

A strange place and time for this to happen, and Drago did well to hide the unforeseen burst of purpose pushing more energy into his pace, instead focusing on what Benji continued to tell him.

“Your uncle?”, he asked, brow furrowing as he quickly thought over the Laurence’s family tree, one of many he and his siblings had been made to study before their move. “James Laurence? He will run?”

If that was true, then maybe he’d just landed on a little nugget of information made of gold. Father could probably use this.

"How long have you been in Britain? I can help you with your English if you want. Your grammar's a little wonky.”

His brows drew together, annoyed eyes glancing sideways. “Grammar is fine,” he objected. “I don’t need help. We had lessons for years before we moved last summer.”

It never occurred to Benji that people didn’t know his uncle was preparing to run for Minister. The thought had floated along Arundel’s walls for so long now, it had become another portrait on the wall. Since Halloway had turned wizarding Britain on its head, the Laurences seemed to talk of little else but reclaiming the government and restoring it to its proper order.

What that looked like - Benji had some understanding, but truth-be-told he wasn’t nearly as invested in the whole idea as the rest of the family seemed to be. Benji was power-hungry but in the ways of magic, not in wielding it over people. He was hungry for the power that would see to his vengeance of his little sister and against the people that had used him for their own sick purposes.

His uncle wanted a different kind of power, one that would sear the Laurence name into the minds of wizards and witches worldwide. They certainly were different people.

“That’s the rumor,” Benji answered easily, his shoulders shrugging with a seeming indifference. Benji knew enough about the Zdravkovas and the mind shit they played on people and then charged them for it. James had mentioned a meeting with Eira’s aunt at some point to do business, but for some reason it hadn’t come to fruition.

“What exactly is it your family does anyway?” The question was honest, built from curiosity he’d never bothered to confront Eira with. They’d always been busy…smoking or drinking to really talk about family business.

“Grammar is fine. I don’t need help. We had lessons for years before we moved last summer.”

The boy grinned, widely. “Grammar is fine,” he mocked lightly, his cheeks puffing out as he jutted out his elbows a bit. “You sound like the bloody troll that lives under the bridge,” he offered. It really was rather kind of him, he figured, to offer Drago help. “You don’t want to embarrass Ging,” he insisted, “You forgot the possession in the sentence. ‘My’ grammar is fine.”

A spark shone in his eye for a moment as they finish the first lap. “If you wanted to be a little fancier you could always go with ‘my grammar US fine’.”

“That’s the rumor.”

Drago glanced around but didn’t comment. If the rumour came somewhat directly from the source, he was almost confident it wasn’t merely a rumour at all. But it wouldn’t do to press, this bit of information on its own could be useful enough for father. There was a fine line between inquiry and desperation and he knew not to cross it.

With a grunt he let the topic drop. “He would definitely be better than Merrow.”

“What exactly is it your family does anyway?”

“We do business with memories,” Drago answered immediately, the concept drilled into his mind from childhood on. “Preservation and archiving, restoration, extraction. Big families have vaults where they can store history, common people can get memory extracted and stored in own vial so they can relive — if they have Pensive.” If they could afford one. “There is medical part of it too, to help with broken minds, in Russia we also work with government to archive country’s history.”

Pride lacing his words, Drago looked around with a smug grin. “Is a lot of Legilimency. We are really good at it.”

The grin faded into a stern expression though when Benji went on about grammar, calling him a troll, mocking him with those scrawny elbows and that excuse of a chest.

“You don’t want to embarrass Ging. You forgot the possession in the sentence. ‘My’ grammar is fine.”

Drago scoffed playfully, shaking his head. “I do not forget, I just don’t use it. Is not necessary. You understand me fine, no?”

“If you wanted to be a little fancier you could always go with ‘my grammar US fine’.”

Drago’s hand shot out quicker than he could stop it, shoving Benji in the shoulder. “Shut up,” he said, chuckling a little. Surprisingly. “Just because I do not use all your unnecessary words does not mean I don’t know them.” Benji was trying to fuck with him. In jest, Drago assumed. Hoped so.

A little bit. Not only was he supposed to make connections but the absence of actual friends still rang hollow through his chest sometimes. Responsibilities and expectations aside, at least at Durmstrang he had had his people to joke around with.

"He would be." Benji's agreement came easily, not from bias - though he certainly was - but from the acknowledgement that certainly no one could be worse than Merrow had been. His uncle was a man of principles, of steadfast belief and ambition. Money wasn't his aim, from what Benji could gather, but power.

Power wielded in the right hands, could only mean good things for all of them.

“We do business with memories. Preservation and archiving, restoration, extraction. Big families have vaults where they can store history, common people can get memory extracted and stored in own vial so they can relive — if they have Pensive.”

Hmm. Benji listened quietly, the wheels in his head beginning to turn. He'd known just from old rumors that Eira's family had had something to do with mind manipulation - or something along those lines - but hearing it recited out loud made the whole business seem more nefarious. Legilimency was one of those things Benji had never quite wrapped his mind around and had always found the whole idea intrusive. It boggled his mind that families willingly subjected themselves to such things, but purebloods and money had never meant 'intelligent'.

“There is medical part of it too, to help with broken minds, in Russia we also work with government to archive country’s history.”

And no doubt to retrieve information from people that would be beneficial to the Russian government, Benji mused. He couldn't imagine a world where such techniques wouldn't be used for corrupt purposes, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to insult a powerful family's methods that James might find useful one day.

Benji wasn't always an idiot.

“I do not forget, I just don’t use it. Is not necessary. You understand me fine, no?”

"Sorry, what was that?" Benji grinned, a light laugh filling his chest. Faux confusion crossed his features and he glanced around, as though a translation would be lingering in the air somewhere. His grin grew wider at the shove, and he finally relented. "Yeah, you're fine, mate. I'm just messing with you."

As they rounded the last lap, Benji slowed to catch his breath, stretching his back slightly. "So...you and Ging, hmm?"

Talk of business and ministers quickly made way for light-hearted jests and grins, something Drago hadn’t done often since start of term. “Yes, I know I am fine,” he returned with easy confidence, smiling though. “English is easiest language there is. Hard to mess up.”

He’d like to see these people have their try at Russian but he left that unsaid.

Finishing their last lap they came to a halt before the bench they’d started from, breaths heavier but the mood lighter. "So...you and Ging, hmm?”, Benji said. Drago shrugged slightly.

“Yes. Matilda and I. She is your friend?” Ging was as strange a nickname as he’d ever heard, but that might just be their language. Still he wondered where it had come from, how much it meant. Stretching his arms, Drago dismissed the thoughts of intrigue plopping up. There had never been a second of doubt the few times he’d seen his betrothed around Benji, nothing that elicited the need for mistrust.

Besides, the guy was glued to someone else anyway.

“This girl you are with,” he said, keen to know more nonetheless, “is your girlfriend? Or also betrothed?” The teachings on Britain's families hadn't included their children's romantic relationships. Good to know though, he supposed.

---

Wednesday, 7 February 1923
05:46pm
Hufflepuff Bench

Dropping his broom and bat, Drago plopped down onto the bench, breath puffing before him in misty clouds. Sweat clung to his body despite the cold, warmth radiating off him after the fast-paced beater session him and Benji had just ended.

“I think maybe you were right,” he said, reaching for the glass bottle he’d filled before coming down to the pitch, unscrewing the lid. “You might be better than Liliya.” He took a deep gulp before shrugging casually, as though already dismissing the comment. His eyes twinkled faintly. “By a little.”

Not that he’d ever seen her play.

The glares she knew how to throw at times, the comments that could feel sharp enough to cut glass however — it was indication enough to assume a few things about her life before Nadežda returned her to the family and that included her claim on having played well. He was sure she’d given Benji hell enough during her time at Hogwarts and although Drago doubted a girl had the capabilities to be better than a boy, he wasn’t about to throw one of his own under the bus.

She would give him one of those murder looks for what he’d just said alone, had she heard. Good thing she couldn't.

Setting aside the bottle, Drago got back to his feet, rolling his neck. “Congratulations, by the way,” he said, grinning slightly as he gave Benji a mighty clap on the back. “Your uncle will make great minister. Much better than the other one." He pulled an arm across his chest, stretching his shoulder. "How is it? With uncle as minister? We have few people in government too, in Russia, but not so high.”

"She is," he answered, reaching for his bat and giving it a few practice swings. "We met on the train in first year. She's like a sister at this point." A sister he'd kissed - once - and deeply regretted the experience considering the strange feelings it had given him. Matilda wasn't a bad kisser, by any stretch of the imagination, but it had been like putting his lips on his Nan or something.

The boy shuddered visibly for a moment at the memory.

"Good luck," he grinned, giving a slight shake of his head, "You've got your hands full marrying her." Better Drago than him. Benji had his own sort of crazy that would haunt him the rest of his life, but it was one he could manage and anticipate. Matilda's crazy was a little more than Benji cared to deal with outside of a normal friendship.

Speaking of his crazy.

"Rae," he answered, a more genuine smile spreading across his lips, "She's both. We've been together since third year, but summer after fourth year our families arranged us. Lucky, I guess." Very, considering most relationships like theirs didn't last. Families arranged their children based on power plays and alliances, not whims or hearts at stake. He didn't want to imagine how off the rails he would have gone if Roger had arranged Rae to someone else, or if James had found a girl he'd decided was more suitable to be the future Duchess of Norfolk.

"Anyway, ready to play?"

---

His feet skidded across the pitch as Benji pulled up hard on his broom, slowing his momentum until he was at a stop. The boy swiped at his forehead as he dropped his broom to the ground, wiping away the sweat that trailed there. It had been a long time since he'd had an opponent as formidable as Drago to play off of. Since Quidditch had been suspended, it seemed at times he was the only one interested in keeping his skills - and physique - up, ready to go at a moment's notice.

Drago arriving at the school had given him new reason to push himself harder, faster. Benji was never one to let someone easily better him, though he had to admit that the Gryffindor had a slight edge on him. Not enough that Benji couldn't give him a run for his money, but better all the same.

The boy didn't mind. He liked a challenge and liked even more when he conquered that challenge. It was too bad Drago was graduating this year. Benji would be back to playing by himself next term if Quidditch wasn't reinstated.

"Course I am," he grinned, plopping himself down beside Drago and stretching his neck back and forth. "She was good, don't get me wrong," he shrugged a bit working out his muscles, "But sometimes it seemed like she like fighting more than playing." Eira was good when they'd played together. When partners on the same team, they seemed to effortlessly fall in line with one another, partnering in a way where they didn't need to communicate.

Against one another? It was war.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

Hmm? For what? Curiosity wrinkled the boy's brow at the slap on his back, not sure what he'd done to merit the cheer, but he was interested in the discovery.

“Your uncle will make great minister. Much better than the other one. How is it? With uncle as minister? We have few people in government too, in Russia, but not so high.”

Oh, that. Benji sighed for a moment, his eyes casting out over the pitch. How was it? James had been elected, the gala was coming up shortly, and his uncle was almost never home now. Not that it had affected Benji much. Living at Hogwarts during the school year didn't have him missing out on anything with James that he would have gotten otherwise. It was really the summer holiday where the boy knew he'd see the most change to his daily life.

"Not sure yet," he answered honestly. He supposed it brought more fame to the family name - not that they had be inconspicuous in the first place - but now they were known throughout Britain amongst all classes and castes. He supposed wherever he went now, people would know who he was, if not by his face then by his name.

Benji had always been anonymous. A nameless face amongst the rabble. A boy too big for his britches and a proclivity for getting himself into more trouble than he could handle alone. The past few years in his new family had tapered that to an extent, but he didn't know if he'd ever shake Hackney. If he'd ever feel more like a Laurence than a Cuddrun.

If he'd ever truly fit into this new world his uncle was procuring for them all. He supposed he didn't have a choice anymore. With more than just the eyes of his family on him, he had a lot to live up to now. It wasn't that he was afraid of any of it, but moreso that he wasn't sure yet how to navigate it successfully.

"It's strange, everyone knowing my name, but..." he shrugged, "I guess that's just part of it all." He looked at Drago, as he reached for his own canister, and took a long drink. "What does your family think of it all?" Truth be told, he'd never met the senior Zdravkovas, never having had a reason to, really. He knew James had met an aunt or cousin of theirs a few years back, but aside from that the Laurences were a bit removed from that sort.