inferidrowned

[inferidrowned]

regulus sits calmly under the stare of his magical eye, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side to stare right back. it is perhaps very foolish, but he finds the sliver of praise offered to his work is much appreciated despite the source. or maybe because of it? "thank you. and it hasn't proven lethal yet. i'm inclined to agree."

regulus makes a few extra notes of his own as moody barks orders at perkins, who he decides seems to be a rather unfortunate fellow who could do with being a bit more proactive, or at least quicker on his feet.

"i would like to see the items themselves, at some point, assuming they were taken into custody and not destroyed outright," he muses, not looking up from where he's using a muggle pen to neatly compile a list of potential areas of interest where a cursed artifact may pop up. his hands seem to have a permanent shake to them - or moody frightens him more than he's letting on - but he manages to keep his notes tidy all the same.

"i don't think i could discern the origin of the curse itself from only the teapot in question, nor study it in full without being able to inspect its effect on the body - and my healer has told me i am no longer permitted to use myself as a test subject. hm, where was i going with - right, sorry. i could at the very least determine a workable diagnostic charm, to ensure we can correctly identify the items without anyone needing to be afflicted beforehand." he keeps writing even as he talks, adding another page neatly to the stack, listing a collection of businesses and suppliers - legal or otherwise - who may have inventories marked at risk.

"... do you not want to sit down?" he questions once he glances back up at moody. "i can move, but i am neither willing nor able to remain standing for no reason."

Alastor never, in his wildest dreams, ever thought that someone could prattle on more than Sirius Black, but he had to admit, the younger of the Black brothers was a contender for first place. Just as arrogant, too, it seemed, as he assumed immediate possession of Frank Longbottom’s desk. A person had to be awfully sure of themselves to use the word innocuous in regular conversation. 

The man was quiet for a moment, but he gingerly took the notes in a scarred hand, his normal eye scanning over them quickly, while his magical one stared fixedly at the boy. As much as he hated to admit it, the notes were thorough, and written in a clear, neat hand that was much better than his own hurried chicken scratch. After he had finished reading what Regulus had verbally described in lengthy detail, he settled the notes in a neat stack on the corner of Frank’s, and now apparently Regulus’, desk. 

“These are… thorough,” it was the highest form of praise Regulus would be receiving, especially is the kid seemed to think that he had the experience to get to the root of it. “But, a countercourse, now, is of little use if we can’t track down where this is coming from. We’ll have more victims, most that we more than likely won’t even know about, that’ll show up. They won’t bring them to us, but to St. Mungo’s, who will be ill-equipped to treat them if we’re fighting the Office to simply realize the scale of this thing.” His words were not flowery, but to the point. The kid was onto something–his ideas were all over the place, but he had, at least, given them a baseline, and theories to keep in the back of their minds. 

Moody straightened back up to his full height, putting his weight back on his cane, and his whole body groaned in protest. “If we have two victims who know which objects the curse came from, we start there. You might not have access to the files, but I do seem to have a little pull within this department.” His magical eye twirled into the corridor, and he called, “Perkins!”

A mousy-looking wizard hurriedly poked his head into the room, his eyes wide and terrified at being directly addressed by Auror Moody. “Get as much information on case 10078 as you can; I want victim statements, names, addresses, anything you can get your mitts on. And, while you’re at it, I need you to contact the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Arthur Weasley. Tell him Moody needs every mention of any cursed silver object in the last, oh, six months.” When Perkins nodded vigorously, but continued to stand in the doorway, Alastor hardened his tone. “Now.”

After Perkins scurried away, both Alastor’s eyes flickered back to Regulus, “And now, we wait.”

[inferidrowned]

oddly, that settles the matter in his mind. her assurance in her stance, and the knowledge that she's upholding family traditions in her line of work. (a muggle doctor - despite himself, he's curious, but now is not the time nor place ; and regulus has no true interest in healing, magical or otherwise.)

"in that case ... i have no complaints, healer evans. i am pleased to be in your care, and i intend to keep any personal matters unrelated to my health out of our professional engagements. i will have complete faith in your discretion and judgement."

he steeples his hands together thoughtfully. "though, as your duties may demand, you have my full permission to reach out to one of my contacts if you worry i'm a hazard to myself or others. they should be listed in order of, ahem, preference?" narcissa black is listed as priority, and then barty crouch jr. and then bellatrix lestrange - the latter marked as [emergency only].

"ah! and my folder will have some notes in it of my own creation detailing my experiences with," he gestures to his face, "any ongoing symptoms occurring as a result of my brush with an un-transformed werewolf. i'd prefer you not mention my name, but you likewise have my full permission to reference or pass on the information within should it prove useful to another. i believe that should cover everything."

》 Lily sat back in her seat, allowing her shoulders to release the tension that she had no idea that she was holding, and listened as Regulus. Listened and took in his words as carefully as she could. He brought up fair points and she had to consider them. There were plenty of reasons why they should venture into a relationship of Healer and Patient but those reasons were not representative of why she went down this path. She wanted to help people. No matter whether or not she agreed with them. That was never what she had told Snape all those years ago when she decided she wanted to be a Healer. A healer for herself and not because her father was a Doctor in the muggle world.

》 As quickly as Snape crossed her mind, she pushed him from her thoughts just as quickly.

》 "I'm sure that I've mentioned it before that my father is a doctor," she paused, "a muggle version of what I am now. When I started this, he sat me down and gave me this rather long lecture what this job needed." She looked back back at him and hoped she sounded reassuring. "When it comes to this, your care, everything we go over will stay in this room. Any outside opinions, do not matter. What is discussed in this room, stays between us. All I care about is your health and that is it."

[inferidrowned]

the offer puts him more at ease than he expected, and his shoulders slump a little. it's not like her blood keeps her from being competent, he knows that personally. and a healer is one of the few respectable occupations suited to all, regardless of heritage, surely. she would not be tolerated if she lacked the aptitude, not in this field. "if it helps, i expect you can't be more nervous than i am." he manages another smile, this one slightly less forced.

"i was going to ask you the same thing, admittedly. if you believe there might be any ... conflict, over my former associations, or whatever relationship you may have with my," and his voice cracks a tiny bit, raspy and brittle, "brother - ahem - i would hardly take offense to you passing me onto someone else. i am a curse researcher prone to accidents, i am very nearly a werewolf, and i was once ... associated with a former terrorist." and that's putting it delicately. he doesn't care to beat around the bush when it comes to the matter, because he imagines this is mutually awkward.

"i don't have any moral qualms with you, but i don't have any moral qualms with a number of my former colleagues, either - is any of that a deal-breaker?"

》 "As much as anyone enjoys the constant ball of anxiety," the joke fell easy from her lips and it was paired with an awkward laugh. A laugh that she covered up with a cough. "I am enjoying it," she added with a quick nod.

》 Lily tilted her head to the side as she looked him over. It was quite clear that he had been through a lot, she could tell that much without even going over whatever that was inside his file. Then, she remembered how he was while they were in school. With a deep breath, she kept her smile present before she said, "I'm happy to go over whatever we need to for your care but I have to ask are you comfortable with me being your care provider? If you're not, I'll understand, and hand your file over to someone I feel is just as qualified without even looking what's in there."

[inferidrowned]

well, that's ... something. not a comfort, but a familiarity all the same, something that has stayed the same. he certainly feels some sort of way about this. everything is very different, of course, but she is still lily evans, head girl, polite and responsible and muggleborn friend of sirius black and his marauders. merlin save him.

"i hope you're enjoying it," he tells her, because he's not quite sure what else to tell her, and he's less sure if he's expected to ask about sirius or - or anything. so he doesn't. "least of all because i expect i'll be in your care for the forseeable future. ah, i expect we'll be going through my file?"

the smile he offers her is awkward, with the scar cutting through his lips showing a flash of fang before his face drops to neutral again, and he averts his eyes to count the floor tiles. "i went through the process a number of times before healer dogwood took me on. wonderful man. terribly blunt - you don't need attempt tact when asking me anything. i'm all but a regular here."

》 Lily could feel her nerves and anxiety bubble up inside her was she made her way to the examination room that was put aside from her. She didn't know what she was about to walk into. Healer Dogwood had informed her that he was giving her this case because he believed that she was the one qualified to handle it. He believed in her. Though he didn't give her much more information that that. Simply stated that all his notes were in the folder that she now had her hands on.

》 Taking a moment, Lily leaned against the wall beside the room and flipped open the folder. Her brow furrowed as she read: Black, Regulus A. That wasn't possible. She looked up and glanced around the empty hallway and wondered if someone was messing with her. She thought that she graduated from all these sort of pranks. With a deep breath, she carefully closed the folder and pushed herself off the wall. After counting to three, she grasped the door handle before she stepped her way inside.

》 Emerald irises fell on the face that she thought she would never have the chance of seeing again, and her heart pumped loudly in her chest. He spoke and she could help but to smile. She carefully shut the door behind her as an attempt to give her time to calm down and settled down in the seat across from him. "Yes, I'm still Evans," she replied as she carefully set his folder down on the table. "I came here right after Hogwarts."

[inferidrowned]

⬐[rp starter for @themxgglebrn]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

st mungo's hospital is a familiar enough site after the past couple of years, but regulus is always grateful that he can arrange appointments beforehand and arrive by floo, bypassing the messy and overloud waiting room. it helps with the anxiety, and as healer dogwood reminds him every single time they meet, he needs to try to reduce said anxiety.

not that regulus is complaining for the advice. healer dogwood did reattach a number of his body parts, and it's hard not to be grateful for such a thing. the grouchy old man is reliable and discrete, and regulus is endlessly appreciative.

which makes it sting more to know he's retiring, and some new healer will be taking over as regulus' primary care provider. he suspects half of this is because he is a black, and can be afforded the extra respect of having appointments with the same healer every time, rather than whoever's available. an advantage of the name, and the wealth attached.

he suspects the other half is because he is a particularly difficult patient, even stable. perpetually sickly, paranoid, horribly and permanently injured, cursed with some degree of lycanthropy. he wouldn't be surprised, indeed, if the younger healers were trying to avoid being the ones to take him on. not everyone appreciates a challenge.

he's tucked in a chair in the examination room, staring at the book in his lap instead of reading it. what's the worst case scenario? a former death eater, if any of them were healers. or one of the marauders, but the career is even more unlikely for them. someone who plain dislikes him - that's far more likely. healer dogwood would scold him for working himself up, and that doesn't make him feel better.

the woman who walks through the door may well be the worst case scenario, because he knows her. older, but not so different he wouldn't recognize her. a m ... muggleborn, and a friend of his brother's. he wonders if it's too late to beg dogwood to stay on just another few months.

"miss ... is it still evans?" is his soft, raspy greeting, and he thoughtlessly slides a bookmark into his book and snaps it shut, showing only a small fraction of his anxiety on his face. "i didn't know you worked here."

[inferidrowned]

"splendid," regulus drawls in a flat, unimpressed tone, commandeering the nearest chair and desk as his own and spreading his notes out without a moment of hesitation. he doesn't care to waste further time, and if moody's as achey and miserable as he is after a full moon, they'll just have to deal with it. "i shan't dawdle further, then."

he's already collected copies of the official reports, passed to him on his way in and neatly annotated in green ink. eight victims, none deceased but all in st. mungo's, afflicted with an unknown dessication curse proving unresponsive to treatment. only two had identified the items that had caused it - a silver tea set for the first, and a tarnished handheld mirror for the second. both had been purchased earlier in the day, from different locations, with no apparent connection but for material. the rest of his notes are neat, concise paragraphs of information and theories and incredibly precise runic circles and diagrams.

"i wasn't given any access to testimonies or personal information of any affected, only the initial reports," he notes, before moody can accuse him of anything. "fill in if i'm missing anything. i'd like to inspect the suspect items in person, but i have some theory as to the nature of the curse - namely, that it seems at the very least time-delayed, not taking effect immediately but instead after a few hours. assuming the curse is implanted upon touch and activates after a certain period ... all it would take is a single artifact attracting curious fingers, and we could have dozens of victims. multiply that by the possibility of a number of cursed items, lying innocuously in wait ... and i'd be so bold as to theorize this case threatens to be much more catastrophic than your superiors seem to think it is. at least, judging by them putting you alone on the case and hiring a wizard of suspect background."

he notes it all with an impassive sort of professionalism, focusing entirely on the task at hand - efficient reporting. "both recovered items being of the same material is as interesting as it is concerning. it grants credence to our perpetrator being an individual or coherent group with intent, rather than a new hex used indiscriminately. but it seems entirely indiscriminate in who it effects, no? cursed items left out in shops where anyone could pick them up ... but, old silver, specifically. most old families have their own silverware sets, so our perpetrator could assume only poorer individuals would be handling the items, suggesting blood purists or death eater sympathizers. alternatively, under our current climate, it could be a plot meant to target non-werewolves who suffer no adverse effects to pure silver. there's a small chance it's some overlap between the two, or neither of the above, but it's ... a possibility." he sets down the sheet in his hands, offering the stack to moody and steepling his fingers together.

"so. you're the expert here. what do you propose our priorities are - a countercurse, or getting to the root of it? i can do both, but perhaps not at once."

He recognized the look on the boy’s face, just a flicker, but so reminiscent of his coworkers, of the workers at St. Mungo’s who had to clean him up and piece him back together. Pity. It made him bristle, immediately, and he stiffened. The boy clearly had injuries, and a cane that almost matched Moody’s, though more elegant and finely crafted. 

“Independent researcher,” He repeated with a growl, “I’ll say.” But he couldn’t help but notice that the boy put weight on his cane rather than his leg, and couldn’t help but wonder, against his better judgment and what he knew of Regulus Black which was more than he cared to know, if the boy in front of him was also facing wolfish repercussions. 

But then the ridiculous little urchin had to open his mouth, thick with Black-arrogance that Alastor was all-too-familiar with, and all fleeting traces of kinship were swept away in an instant.

Moody’s eyes fixed on the boy, his brown one narrow with dislike, but he swept the arm not holding himself up around the room. “You’re looking at our workspace. Being an independent researcher doesn’t allow you a place at an auror’s desk, Black.” 

He ignored the question about the leg, yet repositioned it slightly, the stump was beginning to ache with overuse. If the boy was joking – the joke wasn’t funny, and Alastor was in no mood for jokes to begin with. If the boy was being genuine, he had such an air of superiority that Alastor didn’t deign to answer the question. 

Of all the cursebreakers or independent researchers they could have assigned him, it really had to be Regulus Black? He’d be having words with Scrimgeour after this.

[inferidrowned]

regulus is on edge as soon as he feels the house's wards react to a new presence. presence, not intruder, which is why he taps his fingers against his wand but does not pull it, instead pushing his chair back from his desk to listen. he's not expecting anyone today, and the wards wouldn't let in anyone but two people - ruling out narcissa, and leaving -

right on cue, bella calls out. loudly, in a manner so wildly bellatrix he cannot help a slight smile to himself. regulus slowly rises to his feet, locks the door, and sets to the task of limping down the stairs. "silly me, i must have forgotten our appointment," he calls as he winds his way down. "hello, bella." he sweeps her into a hug as soon as reaches the bottom of the stairs, if only for a few moments. if she's going to barge in unannounced, she's going to endure his brief, rare affections.

he clearly wasn't expecting her, still in his nightclothes with a plush robe pulled over the top, hair messy enough to be nearing an impression of a feral sheepdog. he has to brush it out of his eyes to inspect her delivery.

(and there's no one to take note of how he looks more like her brother than he does sirius', these days, but he still feels oddly proud to think of it.)

"i would love to help, as long as you promise nothing in here will bite me," he offers, not trying very hard to hide his curiosity. or interest. kreacher does always insist that he's too skinny.

WHO: Bellatrix Lestrange & Regulus Black ( @inferidrowned ) WHERE: Grimmuald Place WHEN: Afternoon

The family expectations had always included keeping eyes on the younger kids, and even now, with them grown enough to keep themselves in order -- she couldn't turn it off. Did that mean she had to drop in on them without warning? Probably not... but was that going to stop her? Absolutely not. She'd show up as much as she needed to if he didn't fancy leaving his metaphorical four walls.

The pop of apparition echoed around the home, and if she had to gamble, he knew she was there, but she didn't set out looking for him. Instead, she moves with her arms full of bags into the dining area. She begins unpacking the chaos, unsure of what exactly she's got packed away. "Oi, Reg. I've come to bring you all the good snacks that the house elves made. Get your arse down here."

[inferidrowned]

regulus greets his cousin with a genuine smile, the sort largely reserved for her. even as his tone remains flat and impassive, there's no questioning if he's happy to see her. he always is.

even as his nose wrinkles for just a moment. "you smell as if you've been rolling in dittany and fluxweed all morning," he tells her, before stooping to kiss her cheek. "hello, cissa. i do hope i'm not interrupting anything time-sensitive. i come bearing gifts."

he drums his fingers on the box levitating beside him, far larger than his usual offerings of rare herbs and ingredients. "the usual supplies from the garden, of course. some early snargaluff pods, too, the tree was fairly generous this season! ah, and - most of mother's nice silverware, if you've any use for it." he grins sheepishly. "i keep forgetting it no longer agrees with me. might i come in?"

Where: Narcissa's apartment

When: Around 2pm

Who: Narcissa and Regulus ( @inferidrowned )

There really was nothing Narcissa adored more than brewing her potions. Or well, maybe she liked dresses and gossiping too. But brewing potions made her happy. Selling them too, and making her own money was helpful too. Of course, she had her trust fund, and well did not need to make her own money. But it was nice to have her own money. Money that wasn't connected to her family.

Most of the time she could be found in the potions lab in her apartment. Hearing the door bell ring, the blonde sighed, before going to answer the door. There was a smile on her face when she realised who it was. "Reg!" He was probably one of the only ones she would actually leave her potions lab. "Hi!"

[inferidrowned]

regulus has always coped with stress well, even before he had layers of curses carved into his skin by grasping fingers and sharpened claws. he just tucks it away, occludes so hard his emotions are locked in a little box far out of reach - moody probably won't arrest him right yet ... maybe.

he takes quick stock of moody's state rather than dwelling on the thought. he'd heard the man had recently been hospitalized, but regulus is suddenly very glad that his leg is still intact, at least, and can't quite hide a sympathetic wince. even now, the calculating part of his brain is breaking down what he knows about magical-creature-injuries (a lot) and the scars they leave behind (he may as well be an expert). moody fared even worse than he did. poor bastard. he probably hurts more than regulus does.

"i don't," he hums simply, leaning off the desk and putting his weight back onto his cane. "work for gringotts, that is. the leg's a liability when it comes to tomb-robbing or whatever such nonsense they get up to. i would hardly refute being an expert in the field, though i'm more of an independent researcher." he grins mirthlessly, no trace of warmth in his eyes, teeth a bit too sharp. "i brought my notes on the case, if you could show me where we're setting up - what took yours?" he tilts his head. "your leg, i mean. should i be keeping moon phases in mind while arranging for any field work?"

his voice is too flat to tell if he's mocking or not - but the boy was rumored to be a death eater. he likely has worked with werewolves before, and seems entirely nonchalant about the possibility.

The first few weeks back at work had, quite unfortunately, been what Alastor had been expecting. He’d been coddled, like a child, as they tried to protect him from the horrors of the job (as if he had not already been, literally, painfully aware). But, people had also gawked at him, like a caged animal. If he was entirely honest, he couldn’t blame them – a great whizzing blue eye, the lack of a left leg, and so many new scars he looked as if he was made of particularly roughly hewn wood – it had been quite a transformation. 

Still, he wished people would talk to him, rather than hear the whispers about how he was doing, about if he was still up to snuff. He’d practically begged Scrimgeour to give him an assignment, any assignment, something to pass the monotony nicely. And, the head auror, shockling, had obliged. 

A curse. A particularly mind-boggling curse. Technically, he would be the lead on the case, but they were bringing in a curse breaker of some sort, an expert, who knew everything there was to know about curses. Alastor was supposed to follow their lead. However, Alastor didn’t tend to follow anyone’s lead. 

In he clunked, his hard, wooden leg heavy against the floor, his presence known to all before people could even see him – though he could now apparently see through walls, which was disorienting, to say the least – and he made his way to an unused office, not expecting to see a scrawny, black haired boy who was supposed to be the supposed ‘curse breaker’.

Alastor inclined his head to Regulus Black slightly, with a bit of a grunt in response. “Didn’t know you had started working for Gringotts, Black.” His voice dripped in sarcasm and his magical eye whirled around in its socket. “You’re my curse expert? Well… yeah, I s’pose you do have experience with curses, don’t you?”

[inferidrowned]

⬐[rp starter for @abitmoody]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

regulus wouldn't have answered the first letter at all if he had known it was for an official ministry case. when an old yearmate wrote to him about an unknown curse, he'd been initially excited. the effects are utterly gruesome, but non-lethal, apparently - and recent enough that they've yet to discern if there's any way to undo the limb damage. it's terribly exciting, a puzzle he eagerly writes back for, uncovering every extra piece he can through his classmate's limited knowledge to try to figure out the larger image.

she eventually admitted that this was for an ongoing ministry case, and the aurors were stumped, and the victims weren't significant enough (apparently) to warrant negotiating for a second gringotts curse-breaker after the first had failed to tell them anything. and it was so terribly convenient that she'd gone to school with a rumoured expert on these matters! regulus does not care for the ministry, and certainly not for aurors. he'd rather eat his cane than do them any sort of favour.

... but he's interested now. regulus can't just let the matter slip past, or let an interesting new bit of dark magic slide from his grasp. not even for the ministry. it could be brand new, or ancient, and regulus can't just ignore it. he'd think he was snared by a cunning plot, if his old yearmate hadn't been a hufflepuff.

so he sends back his terms (lower pay than an official cursebreaker, but he gets full credit for any counter-curses he comes up with and the legal rights aurors carry to break spellcasting regulation during investigations, because he cares about that more than stuffing even more gold into the family vaults). he's expecting to be turned down ... and instead, he's simply told he'll be assigned an auror to accompany and monitor him during his own investigation, and when to arrive.

and so he does, feeling more apprehensive than ever about the mark on his arm, or the ugly scars crossing his face. he dresses well but not too well and arrives twenty minutes early, leaning against a desk in an empty office and reading through his own notes.

he only looks up when the door swings open again, and his pale face goes even paler. he'd been expecting some younger auror, useless enough to be spared for babysitting, not -

"auror moody," he greets in a soft, flat voice, perfectly level and calm. "it's a pleasure to meet you."

[inferidrowned]

⬐[rp starter for @staytendcr]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

'dearest andromeda,' the letter begins, in thin, unfamiliar writing that scratches across the page as if written by a shaking hand. the owl is unfamiliar, too, and not one easily forgotten - a dreadful shabby one-eyed giant that screeches and nips at any fingers that get too close.

'dearest andromeda,

i pray this letter finds you in good health, and that you will kindly consider not burning it. i will not be so crass as to beg forgiveness nor tolerance, and certainly not so as to ask for anything of such a manner in return.

congratulations on the career you've chosen! perhaps this part is coming a bit late. i've been largely indisposed, and only recently been told. healing is the most noble of arts, and i hope you find pride and fulfillment in your work. i would

i am sure you've heard of walburga's passing some time ago. a number of years back, before you when i she had expressed a desire to pass some heirloom jewelry onto her family upon her departure. (i shall not relate her exact wording, as it was not particularly kind. i'm sure you recall how mother was.)

i do hope you perceive my offer not as an insult, despite her unkindness and any resentment you may hold towards the rest of us. i wish more than anything for it to stay in the family, and i have reason for i am not sure if you've heard i am trying to have less silver in the house for personal reasons. if you'd like it, i can arrange something.

do you still speak to i miss

i wish you the best in all things, and humbly request you write me back.

yours, regulus a. black

ps. sorry if persephone bit you upon retrieving this letter. she's a lovely owl, truly.'

[inferidrowned]

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