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the-hobgoblins · 1 year ago

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Before they had even set foot in the opulent ballroom, Maeko decided that she’d been delusional to believe it would be a laugh to come here.

She’d laughed out loud, when the invitation had arrived, with the pristine white of the thick envelope and parchment concealed inside clashing dreadfully against the grimy cobblestone of Borgin and Burkes’ front stoop upon which the invitation had been unceremoniously tossed. The dust and dirt that clung hungrily to the envelope had blackened Maeko’s fingers as she callously ripped it open, snorting at the idea that her actual presence would be at all desired at a posh soiree for purebloods; she’d be tolerated because of her lineage—her blood—at best.

Good breeding and bloodlines—that’s all that mattered to the antiquated elite who ran the wizarding world from its darkest corners. Money and blood—blood that Maeko was asked to spill at the door in order to prove its purity, that she was who she said she was. The brazen bigotry, the crude and archaic vulgarity of it, turned Maeko’s stomach so much that she couldn’t even think of anything cheeky and mocking to whisper to Justin about it as she grasped the gilded golden dagger that a house elf proffered up toward her, sliced a shallow cut along the meat of her palm, and smeared it disgustedly into the frozen stone maw of the gargoyle guarding the steps—a gargantuan beast with a sea creature’s tail coiled around its body and a lion-like head, its jaws open and waiting. Maeko thought vaguely that perhaps it was the same creature she’d seen printed in ink on the invitation, flanking the Saint Family crest. The gargoyle assessed her blood for an appraising moment before nodding its head, the heavy groan of stone and ancient magic reverberating through the still winter air. It barely glanced at Justin, Maeko’s ‘guest’ who would be seen as little more than her plaything for the evening, as it admitted them in from the cold.

Then came the whispers, almost immediately. It’d been long enough since Maeko had been dragged to one of these things that she’d somehow managed to forget the way her reputation preceded her. How it didn't matter that she’d actually washed and untangled her mane of curls, for once, and styled them into slick cascading ringlets over one shoulder. That she’d dug up a dress from a storage closet in Borgin and Burkes, which had somehow evaded confiscation by Max’s DMLE lapdogs when they tore the place apart from top to bottom, and it was cut in elegant draping of midnight blue silk and chiffon and woven through with Acromantula silk thread that glistened as Maeko moved, like a galaxy of stars. It didn’t matter how nicely she cleaned up, what a perfect gentleman her date was, or how diligently she’d endeavored to keep away from the movements and dealings and alliances of the criminal players in Knockturn Alley, while they grumbled and resented and plotted against her from the shadows, biding their time.

All anyone saw when she walked into a place like this was Maeko Burke, delinquent, daughter of darkness. Inheritor of the underground world that all of these laced-up socialites from the society pages wanted—no, needed—to keep close, but refused to dirty their hands by associating with openly. A reminder of debts owed that had yet to be collected, and damning deals made in back alleys and under tables, and corruption and greed that lurked close to home. Of the grime that oozed beneath the over-polished exterior of it all. Maeko Burke walked in the door and people hissed under their breath, and glared.

Except for two women with dark hair, who’d been eyeing Maeko with curiosity rather than contempt from the outer edges of the room for the better part of an hour, as if waiting to catch her alone. Maeko didn’t recognize the pair, but couldn’t shake the prickling sensation that they were somehow familiar. The taller and sharper-featured one had a birthmark on her brow and a glint like that of a hawk in her dark eyes, while the daintier one looked born to wear lipstick and heels, but had an unsettlingly unpredictable, almost manic quality about her, like she might break into delirium at any given moment.

Maeko had done her utmost to dodge them, dipping out for a quick smoke on the fairy-lit veranda, but had accidentally bumped into a bumbling French peacock who was taking up far too much space while trying to pull off a tricky evasive maneuver on her way back in. There was champagne all over them both, but of course it was Maeko who was the clumsy whore and not this veritable preening cunt that didn’t know how to breathe without being in the way.

She rounded on him and had her fingers wrapped around her wand when yet another unwelcome prick shoved himself into a situation where he was neither wanted nor needed. She glared daggers at Roland, and very nearly snarled when she heard the words my flower come out of his mouth as a means of, apparently, referring to her.

Maeko was mentally parsing through which curse she could cast that would inflict maximum pain and humiliation on both men in one go, when the French wizard sputtered with affront while he squirmed and reddened in Roland’s grasp, “I beg your pardon, you gumshoe, but I believe it’s her you should be arresting! Don't they teach you dimwits how to recognize criminals in the academy in this country, or don’t you know who in seven hells that bitch is? I should have your badge and demand you be cited for so much as suggesting that I—”

It was very lucky for the man indeed that their conflict was interrupted by a swell of commotion when someone’s entrance to the ballroom caused a sudden fuss, distracting the poison-tipped daggers of magic that pricked at Maeko’s skin from within, itching to be unleashed so that she might slash out his tongue, and distracting Roland from simply strangling the life from his eyes where he stood. In the split second that Maeko and Roland’s gazes darted to the source of all the ruckus, the Frenchman managed to wriggle free of Roland’s grip and disappear into the crowd.

Maeko took a breath, quieting the sulfurous magic within her until it returned to the low smoldering of resentment that she kept simmering low in her belly, that she’d been painstakingly keeping a lid on ever since her outburst with the Free Traders, after which she’d quarantined herself in isolation in Borgin and Burkes while she tried to contain what she feared might be happening with her magic—again. That was too close… Maeko thought with sickening unease, her insides churning with that thick coagulated dread like black tar, which Maeko had been weighed down by for the past month as it tried to pull her under. She would not let the darkness submerge her again—she was stronger than that, she had to be…

She snatched the champagne flute from Roland’s hand and forced a smirk upon her face as she sipped it, grabbing at the first distraction she could find. “Any particular reason you know that much about fucking shoes, Sidewinder?” she said in a mocking, condescending drawl.

She glanced again at the commotion toward the door, and finally noted the telling figures of a tall wizard with brown curls and a blonde in a figure-hugging champagne dress that Maeko would recognize from a kilometer away (as probably anyone would)—Xiomara Winters and Nathaniel Pinnock had decided to grace them all with an appearance.

Maeko snorted, gulped down the rest of the champagne and then commented more to herself than Roland, “Fuckin’ hell, imagine every shit you took somehow turned out gold…” True, Maeko had developed a modicum more respect for Nathaniel Pinnock since getting to know and understand him better, and even more for Xiomara after the bullshit with Mathis and the crooked Knockturn cops, but even so—it was baffling to think how people like Maeko Burke and Roland Sidewinder would always be looked down on by these people, while a Pinnock could probably commit murder and still be fawned over by the high society sheep.

"Don't tell me you're bringing the toad," Holly Lockwood-Sidewinder stared at Roland, who fixed his tie in the mirror of the foyer. Ash was sitting on the small shelf beside the mirror, his familiar glaring up at his Aunt and ripping out a large croak of dissatisfaction. Aunt Holly nearly snarled at the magical amphibian.

"Steady on Auntie, Ash isn't going to be coming; he wouldn't like the spinning on the dancefloor."

Holly turned Roland around, fingers going to fix his tie before pinning it with the crossed lance and wizard's staff representing the Sidewinder family. "Best behavior, boy; we're here to make connections tonight and maybe find you a wife. You're well past the age for marriage." She tugged at his curls, tutting, "Enough with the whores and pitter-pattering around the Auror Offices, get your ass in gear, get some children, and a promotion."

So here Roland was, wanting a wife, wanting a new step in his Auror career, sipping on his third flute of champagne and wishing desperately that he had brought the damned toad. Ash was better company than half of the fuckers in the room. He'd already been forced into several over-perfumed arms and had washed his cheeks of their lipstick. None of them cared about Roland. They wanted the rich, pureblood Auror Captain. None of them knew they'd likely bury half the kids they bore him. Would likely bury him six feet under only a few years into their marriage. None of them knew he'd keep them knocked up and pregnant within seconds of giving birth.

Being a Sidewinder wasn't some gift; it was a death wish, and sometimes Roland wishes he was the squib between himself and Axel.

There was a rumpus beside the dance floor, some flouncy French wizard with his dress robes splashed with the fizzy champagne and soaking under his feet.

"You stupid cunt!" Roland almost turned away until he saw the dark curls and those damning blue eyes and moved through the crowd, which parted for him. "Do you even know how much these robes cost me, you trollop, you whore --"

"You're done," Roland grabbed the back of his neck with a grin. Finally, the night was getting interesting, "Also, your shoes are knockoffs anyway, Arragio Leathers only uses hippocampus scales on their boots, and anyone who took Care of Magical Creatures can tell that's grindylow scales. Honestly, your Family ought to be ashamed by your conduct. Now apologize to my flower before I decide to expel you and your frilly accent from my country."

Maeko looked ready to expel him off the planet, and Roland winked at her.

"What is your wish Mistress Burke. Shall I duel him in your honor or perhaps arrest him for unseemly conduct. Mayhaps you'd like him to bow and kiss your feet. Your wish is my command." He kept hold of the man, and wandlessly accioed another flute of champagne to his hand, taking a lazy sip.

@the-hobgoblins

#p: roland #shall we dance?#december 2020 #saint ball #elspeth owens #edwina owens #brief cameos #justin

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