Black Socks

The January air was bitter cold, and Michael just generally didn't care for it. He much preferred his cottage, a rare book, a pipe, a firewhiskey, and propping his feet up on Otto by the fire. This was business, though, and he had to seek out the boy for a bit of help. He went into the back door of the club and found the kitchen staff busy doing prep for the night's work. Passing through, he heard the sounds of band members cussing at each other over some sort of disagreement over who broke the head on the bass drum. He went through to the bar, generally figuring they'd know where Eli was. But the bar was empty.

He put his backpack on the bar, and made himself at home. He went behind the bar and took the most expensive bottle of firewhisky Eli carried and a glass. He tossed a ridiculous amount of galleons on the shelf where the bottle had been. Someone would find them sooner or later. There was a muffled noise from his backpack. He ignored it for now. Unless it got louder, it was tolerable.

He went back around the bar, chose a seat and poured himself a glass. He paused to take in the aroma of the fine fruits and spices in the choice blend before taking a sophisticated tasting. That made all the hours in the winter cold last night worth it. A fine breakfast after a long night. The only thing that would make it better, he thought, was a smoke. He got out a lovely antique pipe and filled it with imported tobacco and lit it. The backpack started to cough. Well, there were several tiny coughs from the backpack. He redirected the smoke away from the backpack.

Now, where the hell was the boy?

The restaurant that Elijah Krum had come into ownership over, a gift, was one that retained, somewhat, its previous status of ‘club’. He had not stripped out the bar and had certainly not made any attempt to take out the area left solely for dancing. The stage remained and the floor that once contained booths and tables did so but of a more fashionable, high end nature. As he weaved through those tables and booths that particular morning, he did so with a young waitress in tow who was learning how to set the tables. Now, this would have been the head waiter’s job usually but due to some sort of bug going around, he was off for the day and everyone else was busy which had meant that Elijah, on his day off, was called up to train the new ones. Now, while Elijah didn’t mind, it was a little bit inconvenient. He forgave them though. The staff at his restaurant ran a tight ship and they did it splendidly. Really, he didn’t pay them enough – something he hoped to remedy soon enough.

Having donned a pair of jeans and a pale blue, button down shirt, he didn’t really look the part of a waiter, or the part of the owner yet he immersed himself regardless and seemed to fit with the setting of it all despite clashing with every other person weaving in and out of the restaurant. By mid-morning though, once he’d taken up residence in his favourite booth, he’d look like just another customer, albeit with a slightly less formal choice of attire. And retreat he did, once the training was done, to the booth where he’d abandoned his paperwork and his daughter who was decidedly pre-occupied with whatever it was she was drawing. Slipping into the booth next to Fauve, Elijah leaned over to see what she was doing and she readily supplied her work to him, proud as punch of it.

A while later and Elijah was through most of his paperwork. Fauve had reached the middle of her sketchpad and she had drawn over one of the waitresses to sit for a time. The pair had ordered a plate of chips and both were absentmindedly picking through them; Elijah having no qualms about getting grease on the paperwork, Fauve taking a little bit more care to wipe her fingers. Soon enough, the afternoon crowd came in and the waitress had to take her leave much to the pouting little girl’s distaste. A promise to return brought the smile back out in the girl and she moved onto something else just as the waitress was called away.

Content to go on, the pair pottered for a while but it was not long before Elijah looked up again. Seeing nothing of merit, he lowered his gaze and lifted his eyes just the once more a few minutes later. It was then that he saw Michael sitting at the bar with a curious looking backpack and though Elijah was used to the man dropping in, he did not do so without first coming to see him. So, with his curiosity spiked, Elijah rose from his seat. One of the waiters came to his side immediately, inquiring as to whether he needed anything, and Elijah smiled, instructing him merely to stay and amuse Fauve while he went to see a friend over the other side of the room. The waiter was happy to comply, both because he was quite tired and because everyone wanted to sit with the budding young artist – if not to be drawn, then just simply to watch her.

Elijah took his leave and crossed the room, being mindful of saying hello to those who greeted him, and soon found himself by Michael’s side. He noted the Firewhisky and cringed a little, knowing the expense of that particular bottle but his eyes were soon drawn by the gold on the shelf and he rolled his eyes, amused.

“Hello there,” Elijah greeted the man, sliding onto a stool next to him. “What brings you to my establishment, Mr. Tremaine?”

When a voice addressed him, Michael turned to see Eli there. The backpack elicited several little coughs in protest of the pipe.

"Indirectly, your 'grandfather,'" Michael said. "Did you hear about the miserable snowstorm they had on the continent last night. Brutally cold. But the firewhiskey shall remedy that...." A little fussy cry started from the bag. "What'd I tell you about that?" he scowled at the bag. "It will do you no good." He looked back at Eli, picked up the backpack and handed it to him. "Here. I will do a good many things for him, but I'm not doing this." And it was true. He would do almost anything Robert needed, but there was a line somewhere over which Michael would not cross. And this was one of them. It was far more the boy's forte than Michael's. In fact the sooner the backpack was no longer Michael's responsibility, the better.

The one voice in the backpack seemed to become angry and even fussier, and that made other little fussy, screaming voices.

"Oh, there you've done it," he said to the first little voice. "Gone and woke the rest of them up. Told you not to do that, didn't I?" He looked back at Eli. "Good luck with them, Boy."

Now, Elijah Krum was no fool. He was foolish, yes, and he made silly decisions on occasion but he was not to be fooled. He knew as well as anyone that when Michael Tremaine showed up with a curious looking backpack and little in the way of rhyme or reason, something was afoot. Blaming it on Robert also meant that something really, really interesting was going on. Elijah wasn’t entirely sure whether or not it was worthwhile being afraid. He considered it valid to fear whatever Michael had been carrying around with him but he also felt that, as Deputy Minister of Magic, he should be in control of the situation and, certainly, instil some order into it.

Well, he could only do but hope.

Elijah’s eyebrows rose at the handing over of the bag and he glanced up at Michael as a tumble within the bag set the contents off... was that crying he could hear? Elijah opened his mouth to ask his questions but instead found himself putting the bag back up onto the bar and reaching for the zips. Elijah didn’t know much of what went on with Michael and Robert and their secret operations but if it caused backpacks to be alive or something then it clearly was an exciting endeavour.

“I got a fair few disgruntled witches and wizards through the door as a result of it, looking for something to fill their stomachs with.” Elijah nodded, his eyes focused on the bag. “I believe the Leaky Cauldron got a fair few galleons in rooms as a result of it.” The boy reached for the zipper and tugged at it, drawing it around and allowing for the voices within to get a little bit louder. “Is Robert having you drown kittens or something, Michael?”

Elijah reached into the bag somewhat hesitantly but was grateful to find nothing sinister or with teeth. No, instead it was merely a box, one that he carefully removed from within the rucksack. He then pushed the rucksack further down the bar and blinked a little at the box which was positively jumping with activity. Stealing a glance at Michael quickly, Elijah leaned forward, reaching for the lid of the box. In one swift movement, he pulled the lid from the box and to his amazement, set eyes upon the contents.

“You... raided Thumbelina’s village?!” Elijah gaped at the contents, little children – very little indeed – in socks, stacked in robes, screwing up their faces looking decidedly unimpressed with the whole affair and, honestly, Elijah couldn’t blame them. “What in Merlin’s name is this all in aid of?” Elijah replaced the lid on top of the box and carefully picked it and the rucksack up, sliding off the stool as he did so. “I think we need to talk about this, Michael.” Elijah said shortly, before striding off in the direction of his office. “Come on.” He called over his shoulder.

The man entered the office quickly, leaving it open for the other man to close behind him. Elijah set the box down on the desk and took off the lid again, casting a better eye across the little sock-creatures that were inside. It was this second look that allowed Elijah to figure out that these were indeed children, shrunk in fact... not pixies from Thumbelina’s village as he first thought. They had once been full sized – albeit miniature – humans. Now they were in socks, in a box, which had been in a rucksack on a very odd man’s back coming from... the continent did he say? Elijah’s head spun a little as he tried to make sense of it all and he turned back to Michael, his eyebrows furrowed over his bright gaze.

“I’m confused.” He admitted readily. “Why has Robert got you shrinking children and carrying them from Europe over to here? What’s this all in aid of?”

Michael followed, and when he found Eli to be clueless, he laughed and settled into a chair, more to watch the fun rather than to be helpful. But Eli had asked a worthwhile question--one that deserved an answer.

"So little you know about Robert, clearly," Michael laughed. "This might well take a bit for you to wrap your brain around, so do try to follow. Did you ever question how he and Brian got so decidedly wealthy? It wasn't from their salary at the ministry, thats for sure. These are perfectly good quality British wizard babies, I promise you. I tried a shrinking spell on them to get them out of that mire, and it worked. Whether or not the spell can be undone or not is up to you...or Robert. Not my problem. Nor is it my job to figure out which child is who's. Whom's...Whatever. Again, good luck with that part as well. I don't do babies.

"Have you not gotten reports of sporadic missing wizarding children? Most of them cold cases that never seem to get solved? There's a reason for that. If you read the cases on the ones that get returned, you'll find there's always a common thread to them. A handful of names of rescuers. There is an entire network of greedy dark wizards who are interested in moneymaking. They take wizarding children, the younger the better, and they take them to a black market auctionhouse on the continent where the children are auctioned off, through buyers, to exhorbitantly wealthy muggles. The children are trained, as they grow up, only in those spells that assist their 'owners' to become more powerful or more wealthy. Your family has been working for decades to put a stop to it, but the organization they're up against has many long tentacles across the globe. Our friends of the greater good have teamed up with Robert and his allies and have supported them to not only go get these children but also to try to shut down this network.

"The headquarters of this trafficking network usually operates out of offices on the continent. Robert has offices for his organization as well, and thats how he got his wealth, and how Brian got his. Robert is, for a lack of better terms, the CEO of the organization, and Brian runs the operation--training of the espionage squads, the fighters, the whole works.

"We heard there was a large auction happening three days from now. That always means they've been on some sort of a raid. Probably the winter skiing festivals in the Alps, I would guess. But I went in last night and was hoping to get a child or two out. They will be sorely disappointed because what you have on your desk is the lot of them. Does Robert know I have them? Not yet. Did he know I was going? No. He is planning a massive raid, but this did seem to work rather well. Well, unless the parents object to a bit of a minor inconvenience with the shrinking business."

Elijah could do little else but stare between the small children in the box to Michael and back again, multiple times, as he tried to digest the information that he was being fed with. It had truly never occurred to him how Robert had gained his wealth – it wasn’t the kind of question you asked someone if you were a Pureblood; it was merely accepted that you were what you were unless you had any reason to suggest otherwise. Elijah had never imagined Robert acted with this backing him. In fact, Elijah wasn’t entirely sure how rescuing children from deranged Wizards was proving lucrative but evidently it did if the shoe-box children were anything to go by.

Now, one thing we must remember about Elijah Krum is that he is particularly gifted in Transfiguration. Looking over the children, he could tell that it was a slightly rushed spell – done in the heat of the moment – but entirely remediable. Granted, it would take some time and getting used to once they were de-littled, but they would be good as new within a few weeks. That didn’t make it any better the fact that Michael had shrunk and boxed these children. Elijah wasn’t really sure whether that was a safe thing to do. In fact, he knew it wasn’t. However, now they were safe, what there was to do with them, Elijah had no idea.

Turning to face Michael, Elijah’s eyes shot to his forehead, completely flabbergasted. “This,” the young man spoke slowly. “Is completely insane! How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to find the parents of these children? What if there are no parents to speak of!? I never thought these cases happen and finish quite like this! We have to do something about this, Michael! We have to ensure that they never get sold and the ones that do need to be recovered regardless! I have a property in Yorkshire that these children can go to, a temporary home, until their parents are found or new ones are provided. We just need to unshrink them, I suppose. Are there more to be recovered?”

"First things first," Michael said, accio'ing the bottle of firewhiskey he'd bought. He picked up Eli's coffee cup, and finding it empty, he poured a swig of whiskey into it. "Here. It does help. Look at it this way, if you were muggle, none of this would begin to make sense. At least if you're a wizard, you can start to get the basics of it. The whole wizarding world functions on weirdness. Learn to just roll with it. Its so much easier if you do.

"Now, as to finding the parents, Brian has organization members that have a knack for doing this. And, sometimes, Robert can assist with the missing persons reports from the ministry. If I were you, I would start there to find parents. Sometimes parents have been killed in the initial kidnapping attempt. Sometimes there are orphans. Robert and Brian do their best to get the children adopted out by wizarding families in a very quiet process so that those children are not targetted again.

"So far as I know, the children are housed at Robert's headquarters on the continent or on Brian's estate in America when there are more than a couple. We've not had a place here in England for them. I'm not sure exactly why.

"As for whether there are more, there are always more. This has been going on for decades, and as long as greedy dark wizards live, there will be more exploitation of the innocent to those who will pay. Some of the original founders left Robert great sums of money in their wills, most of them specifying which amounts were to be for the organization and which were to help Robert support his family. Remember, Robert was simply working his farm at the time and working in a muggle apothecary. And he had to take care of himself, Kate, Khaat, Brian, and Remus most of the time. Back then, werewolves were largely unemployable. The bequests started to add up over time.

"The organization was never intended to make money, but most grateful parents turn over all the reward monies, and, yes, it makes money now. Robert pays his staff well, but its largely a force of trained espionage agents and fighters. He needs experienced people who can get in and out quickly and with a maximum of stealth and force. He keeps it very quiet so that it maximizes his effectiveness because most of the time, our enemy doesn't know we're coming.

"If you truly want to understand it, you'd best get some training of your own in espionage and in fighting. And, when you do that, the extra benefit is that you will be able to understand some of the deeper inner workings of Roberts mind--those parts that have always eluded you. You might learn something that will benefit you, particularly while you work under him."

Elijah’s fingers found the puff of hair atop his head and they gripped at the root but for fear of prematurely balding, Elijah quickly let go but not before mussing it up a little. He exhaled heavily and eyed Michael as he slowly lowered himself down into his chair. He listened to Michael but still found the whole thing terrible to digest. This actually happened. In fact, this could have happened to both Fauve and Thierry before they came into his life – Cepheus and Caelum also. Elijah turned pale at that thought and he swallowed, his fingers once again finding his hair. The man opened his mouth and closed it a few times, his teeth clicking together each time.

“Then I will supply the British safe house.” Elijah declared with an air of finality. There was clearly very little room for argument. The man sat up a little in his chair as he listened to Michael and he found himself concerned. Was this planned so he could join in and help? Elijah knew he would. Nothing would stop him from helping where children were concerned but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d been set up to launch in head first. He didn’t mind helping but he would have preferred being asked instead of being put on the spot. He wasn’t going to hold that against Michael though. Well, maybe he would... but only a little bit.

“I’m not a fighter, Michael.” Elijah spoke finally. “I’m a phoney politician, an artist and I clearly have a flair for being a restaurateur. I’m not a cat burglar or any of the like. I’d be happy to lend a property but I really don’t think I would be particularly helpful with this kind of thing. I guess I’m more of the last chink in the chain. I don’t think I’d be very good running around trying to save these kids. No, I think that’s better off left to the professionals, eh? Though, I can always give it a go if you really need someone. If not then ... maybe it’s better I just stand on the side-lines. What do you think?”

"I came to you merely because I don't do babies," Michael said. "Nothing more. You also had some outstanding firewhiskey, and after running about Paris in a bloody blizzard all night, the firewhiskey sounded like a good breakfast. Khaat is in some sort of surgery, and Robert is delivering a baby or some such thing. IFlat out, I wanted to unload these babies, and I know you at least understand them, so I deliberately pawned them off on you rather than having to figure out what to do with them myself.

"The British safehouse is an outstanding idea. And it keeps them close enough to be safe, without leaving them in the organization offices or taking them to America. Rescuing children is not my forte either. I'm much more comfortable in rescuing Rembrants, but this has been something I told Robert I'd help him with since those pricks took Abbey shortly after she was born. I owe that to not just Robert but also to Khaat. If this lot can penetrate even Robert's security to take a member of his own family, then they can get in anywhere if they put their minds to it. And, dont get so complacent that you believe your own aren't at the same risk.

"The man who runs the trafficking organization is a git at the very least, and nothing pleases him more than when he can make a very direct strike towards Robert. And that means striking any child that has a connect dear enough to him for him to care. Such as his own grandchildren--and yours. Don't think he won't look your way because you don't share the same name as Khaat. Robert and Brian has shut down the enemy for months at a time, and how they rise again out of their ashes, I do not know. But they do. If I were you, before I took anyone to your safehouse, I'd start with a netting of unplottable spells over it. But that's just me."

The twitch of Elijah’s hands was telling as he busied himself absently with the papers spread out like a fan across his desk. His eyebrows were furrowed low over his eyes and a lock of hair had fallen loose over his forehead as he appeared to struggle with what had become of the situation. It was not that he was not open to aiding Robert but the whole thing felt rather ridiculous. It was insane! Utter insanity! Elijah had been so content that morning, so relaxed. Now, faced with this, he wished he could have re-wound and chosen not to have gotten up, to have ignored the owls.

Elijah smiled reluctantly and sat further back in his chair, his hands looped together and resting on his chin as he listened to Michael, his face growing pale as the man progressed with his monologue. Elijah shifted uncomfortably in his chair and straightened up marginally as he eyed Michael with thinly veiled worry etched across his face. Elijah swallowed and glanced over at the picture of his family on the desk. Fauve, Thierry and Mira smiled back at him while Cepheus and Caelum with Stelladora set fire to the building block tower they’d constructed so diligently, only to destroy it.

“I will provide ample Wards across all of my premises,” Elijah declared, his mind already connecting Athena who would be happy to set up charms across his Scottish property. “Especially my own. I remember the incident and perhaps it would be wise to rehash some of the Wards already present.” Elijah drummed his fingers on the desk absent-mindedly as his mind turned, figuring out how to do this, that and whatever else. “So if I open up the house again, how soon would these... oh, right away I should think, actually.” Elijah grabbed a piece of parchment and dipped his quill into some ink, his hand already moving quickly to scratch a note into the parchment.

“They say that if the world was to end, only cockroaches would remain.” Elijah told Michael, his Bulgarian accent coming back in full force for a moment as he moved across the room to the perch where Ziva was seated, waiting to take the letter. “Perhaps that is what they are. If you were to kill the mother, the rest would surely fall. How close have you ever gotten to the leader? This monster of a man? Where does he keep his closest? Surely, perhaps... we should treat him with similar contempt?”