I lost you and it's my fault.

He was uncertain whether his mind ached from the alcohol or from the weight of his decisions, of his memories.

Guilt followed Elijah Krum wherever he went, like shackles around his wrists he carried the ball and chain behind him, rolling across every uneven surface upon which he walked; ever in his shadow. He’d tried, in the past, therapy, but it never particularly agreed with him; or, well, he didn’t agree with them. Admitting there was a problem always had to come first and Elijah never really wanted to own up to that – he just wanted to skip to the end when it was better again. But that, of course, meant admitting to everything. It meant answering for every crime he’d ever committed.

The issues he faced with Cecilia and Nick were the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t wanted a part of the riddle that was his younger sister’s life but he had promised her he’d look after her and so he found himself doing so; a far cry from the stubborn boy who had loathed her once. Finally, perhaps, he was becoming a man. Though he sincerely doubted it. His ability to take responsibility only extended so far but went on leaps and bounds provided it was not his own.

Then of course there was Katarina, who left Elijah’s stomach jumping this way and that and his cheeks perpetually threatening to brighten with colour. He wanted to comfort her in every small way he could. He wanted to take her on and repair her; fix the frazzled jigsaw that was her person and set her whole again. But he didn’t know how. His best friend’s baby sister was off limits. Plus there was Mira, pregnant, and ... well he wasn’t even sure he was in love with her anymore.

With an audible groan, Elijah let his head drop to the chipped and broken surface of the table he was sat at. Beside him he could feel the chilled bottle of Firewhisky he’d ordered and the other side a glass already sloshed full – beyond what was considered polite – of the amber liquid. His mind was spinning from the weight of his decisions, he decided. The Firewhisky would help it still. Then, what he’d do is he’d go to the Rookwood house and sleep on the couch and let Thea fuss over him in the morning while simultaneously trying to feed her babies. Didn’t work. Never worked. It ended up with one – or both – getting shirty and both usually ending up in Elijah’s lap sucking on his fingers and getting even angrier when they realised his fingers weren’t doing anything for them.

Sitting up a little, Elijah brought the glass to his lips and glugged back the Firewhisky, savouring the burn. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes unfocused, and he found someone who he encountered far too often for his liking. Jack Dyllan, as ever.

“C’mon, Jacquellene.” He gruffed out at her, pushing the other glass across the table. “Sit. Drink. Keep me company. Humour me, if you will.”

outfit

Jack had had a cloud over her all day. Perhaps it was just a ton of little things. Perhaps it was nothing at all. But Jack was certain it had a whole lot more to do with the calendar - how she hated those godforsaken things and the reminders they brought. Those reminders that could reduce a perfectly happy, healthy human being to absolute anguish.

She had been in Wheezes, working on putting some of the stock into the clearance section. Andy and Kirsty were getting all sentimental, because a this was the anniversary of Gary's first day. Jack did not know how she had ended up with the three most co-dependent employees of all time, but they did remember things like this, and were busy, as ever, reminiscing.

"I remember," Kirsty had said as they talked the day away, "That it was your first day and you had been stopped by someone who needed you to deliver something to your boss, Jack. And you tried to give it to Andy."

The three of them laughed, and even Jack managed to smile along. Then, Andy said something that stung Jack more than they would ever know. "Yeah! I was like... What? A will? What the hell?" They all laughed and Jack's blood ran cold. She turned around and approached the calendar, heart pounding.

Today was the eve of the day Chase's will had found its way to her. Mere months after the painful death Jack had been incapable of preventing, Jack had to deal with the fact that Chase had dumped nearly everything she owned on her. Jack could not even take it all to Calvin - he and his friend had scampered off, allowing themselves to completely forget her. Who could Jack remember her best friend with? They had all left her behind, and Jack felt as though she alone had remained, leaving her far beyond everyone else.

Jack left Wheezes, her mind pounding the urge for alcohol. Anything. The most she could allow into her system without killing herself - only now did she care for her life, because she could not leave Sunny to die the way she had left Chase, the way Chase had left her.

The Leaky Cauldron was the closest bar and, therefore, the best bar on the whole planet. She walked in, filling like a ghost among all the lively patrons.

She looked across the bar as she heard her name called. She walked towards the voice, for once not caring that it was Elijah Krum who was calling her. Another man who had abandoned Chase's memory so easily. Jack sat next to him without a word and knocked on the bar. "Scotch," she said distantly to the bartender. She looked over at Elijah, looking through him. "How's business been, Deputy Minister Krum?"

“Business?” Elijah scoffed as he lifted the glass of whisky to his eye line. He considered it for a moment, transfixed by the way the light was refracted by it, before letting it drop somewhat unceremoniously back onto the bar; only half grateful that it landed on its base. “Does it matter?” He asked bitterly. “I am used, used and abused for the power I wield. Do you want a list of the Death Eaters I’ve seen walk? Do you want to know the bribes I have taken? Of course you do. But luck would not be so fortunate as to show you, to prove it to you.”

Elijah poured some more Firewhisky into the glass and brought it to his lips. It wasn’t enough to quell the pain. It wasn’t enough to make him forget. It would never be enough to make him forget. Never ever.

“Do you ever feel as though your life is so totally out of control that every time you try to ground it again something happens to throw you off kilter, to stop you?” He asked her, not out of curiosity with regards to her situation but out of desire to find that kinship with her.

“It’s not that I miss Chase,” He added glibly after another mouthful of the burning liquid. “Still hate her. Still love her. Miss her.” He sighed and caught the front of his hair between his fingers, gripping it tightly as though out of it he would find his mind. “Don’t ever bury your child, Jack. Don’t ever let anyone bury your child. I couldn’t save Kitty. Couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save her from Chase. Couldn’t save Chase from herself, from me. I ...”

Elijah’s hand rubbed over his face and he exhaled heavily. “God I wanna run away,” He complained. “Can’t though. Sorry. Didn’t wanna.. didn’t want to put this on you.. ignore me.”

"Poor Deputy Minister," Jack said, a bit sardonically as the bartender delivered her the drink she had ordered. She gave him a small nod and drank - after a long week and an even longer life, it was nice to have a substance around that relaxed the shoulders and clouded the memories. It would be a few drinks before she got to that part, that glorious saving grace. Before then, she would have to chastise one of the bureaucrats responsible for allowing their Ministry to fall to shit.

"You realize, I hope, that you may not be able to stop every scrap of corruption, but you work for Lupin, who tries to at least appear noble. All it would take is an anonymous tip to the Prophet every time you saw that shit go on. But, of course, I should feel bad for you and your huge paycheck, and the bribes offered, and the ability to let your friends go free. It must hurt."

She finished off her Scotch. Yes - she was going to finish this off soon. The sooner the better. The bartender asked if she would want another and she shook her head. "Firewhiskey. And a water." He handed her the water and she immediately guzzled half of it down, before setting it down, waiting for her next drink.

She listened dully to him, staring forward at the mirror behind the bar. Of course she felt this way. Everytime she finally decided someone had won her heart (and not even romantically) they were ripped from her. She could not remember steady ground. Beyond that, the girl struggled with bills, raising a child that was not hers, and trying to lead a failing faction. Perhaps all he had over her was that he knew what privilege was like, so it stung more when things didn't go his way. Rather than Jack, who expected them to go the other way.

His words about her friend were emphasized by the placing of her Firewhiskey before her. She nodded a bit numbly and took a drink. Why was it that Chase still hurt her? She knew, of course. It was not long after the eve of her death, and the will was now fresh in her mind. The gold chess piece around her neck felt heavier, reminding her of who had worn it before her.

"It's not something I intend to do," Jack said. "I say never bury anyone. Not your family. Not your friends. Don't let people be buried."

The drinks were sort of setting in.

He wanted to run away. Naturally, that did not solve anything. But Jack was not in a mood to give him bracing advice. So instead she said what she thought he probably didn't expect. "Then run away. You have money, and power. Use it."

In retrospect, Elijah should’ve known better than to search for validation and kinship with a woman who had never held any love for him. He did not want to go home to the coldness that was Mira. She was in full bloom, swollen and pregnant with his child. What did he do? He sat in a bar and wallowed in his own misery and stared at the figurative blood on his hands, wondering what it was that had brought him to this. Bizarrely, the bitter sarcasm almost brought him down to earth again. Such a rapport would improve his mood, he told himself, though he doubted it very much.

“Poor me, yes.” Elijah joked, allowing a shadow of a smile to curve at the sides of his lips. “I don’t need the paycheque, Jack.” He told her with a half-shrug, sitting back in his chair. “That’s being ferreted away for my children. I have earned what I need; earned my keep in life.” He glanced at her, trying to remember what it was she did. Of course, there was little money to be had in shop ownership and the odd six figure sum for playing for the Falcons. Most of it went back to the Ministry, anyway, in taxes. “I could tell the Prophet but what would that achieve? Robert would staunchly deny any such...eye-closing to the truth and the miscarriage of justice.”

Another few fingers of Firewhisky was poured into his glass. “Don’t let anyone be buried.” Elijah snorted. “You’re drinking Fairytales, sweetheart, not whisky. We bury ourselves in shades. Bits of us. Bits of what we love. Who we are. Until, well, naturally, the body goes in the end too. We’re dead long before we die, Jack.” He drank deeply from the glass, reaching again for the bottle. “Chase died with her parents. What we had was a mutually destructive desire to create some semblance of a reality we’d both enjoy. It was toxic, naturally.”

Another slosh of Firewhisky. “To run would be too easy. To live it out would be too hard. Perhaps we’ll just wait and see what happens. Is it true you’re shacking up with my secretary’s cousin? Or is that all hearsay and scuttlebutt?” Elijah smirked a little, not entirely sure what he was saying anymore. “Millie’s nice enough. Ran away to the Caribbean with that angsty boyfriend of hers. Is he as free as she is or a little less drug-addict and more upstanding member of society? Speaking of which! A little birdie told me there’s a Basilisk in Hogwarts again. A gift left behind by a few ‘friends’ of mine that walked free not too long ago. Should really do something about that, shouldn’t we?”