With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
"What the fu - AH!" were the first word's to escape from Hope's rose petal pink lips as she jolted awake in the crisp, medicinal sheets of a St. Mungo's bed, pain radiating throughout her whole body. How did she get here? Why did her leg feel like it had been snapped in two and like someone had sunk a knife into the soft flesh of her stomach, twisting it savagely afterwards?
Desperate for answers, Hope's mind raced as she yanked up the stark white covers. Her leg was obviously in the midst of healing itself, and a pungent taste in her mouth told her all she needed to know - at some point since arriving at St. Mungo's, she'd ingested Skelegro. As for her stomach... when she rucked up her gown, it was covered in bandages, and the scent of a balm - healing balm? Or perhaps some sort of scaring balm? - hit her nostrils.
Vague memories of a fight came rushing back - something to do with Verandi Farley, and a raid, and... a body, maybe more than one, laying prone on the ground - and bile raised in her throat. "Healer, I need -" But before she could get the words out, demand an answer, a vial was being pushed into her hands with stern instructions of, 'drink.' An objection was on the tip of her tongue when jolts of pain shot through her body once more, so strong that any protests died on her lips in favour of dulling the pain.
With the pain potion slowly trickling into her system, Hope's eyes began to flutter shut and she fell into the comfortable lull of sleep once more.
Ivan Karev felt like in the last hour he'd stepped on a train without breaks, and that train was now heading down a steep hill, with the tracks taking a sharp turn right at the end of the slope. His ex-wife had showed up out of the blue, 16 years after disappearing like the morning mist... Broken porcelain, tears, flames and screams. It had felt like an eternity, and yet... It all had been over in less than 20 minutes.
He hadn't even managed to stop sobbing when an owl had been knocking on his window, bringing yet another cup of bittersweet life - the Trossach's raid had been a success, but a number of his colleagues were at St.Mungos. And amongst them?
Hope Grimblehawk.
He'd audibly cursed and then profusely apologized to his daughters about having to leave, promising to bring them back comfort food on his way back, and without even changing out of his sweatpants and old sweater, he rushed into the green flames of the living room fireplace, emerging in the waiting room of the hospital.
A few minutes later he was standing in front of Hope's hospital bed, his face puffed and red, a few stray tears still running down his cheek. And Hope was none the wiser, soundly asleep in the white bed.
Ivan couldn't decide if he should try waking her up or not. She needed her rest, and yet, how long could he stay here? Perhaps she didn't even want him here? They'd drifted apart in the last months, even after he'd apologized, both sinking into their respective areas of work, only exchanging greetings once or twice a day.
After some lingering he decided to pull a chair next to the bed and wait for a while. He tried to do it as quiet as he could, but the chair legs scraped against the floor, causing him to mutter another row of curse words.
Hope was stirring in her bed, and an apologetic smile appeared on his face. "Hi, Hope," he said, his voice frail.
The pain potion that Hope had taken was still coursing through her bloodstream when she slowly began stirring awake, her legs twitching and her head clouded with fog. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, a stark white pebbled ceiling came into Hope's vision, before becoming unfocused and blurring in front of her. Merlin's beard, that hurt to look at, and so Hope let her eyes flutter closed once more.
But then the sound of his voice met her ears, soft and gentle, Hope could have cried because he was here. "Osian, you made it," she breathed out, relief flooding every pore because with him by her side, she was safe. He was her rock, the one she could always depend on. "I missed you so much. Where's Arwen? Is she with your mum?"
As Hope spoke, she wondered just when someone had taken it upon themselves to stuff her mouth full of cotton wool, because it felt like somebody had removed every last ounce of moisture from it and she was having difficulty forming words as a result. Groaning, Hope wordlessly extended her hand, seeking out the comfort of Osian's fingers intertwining with her own. It would make her feel better - ground, safe - it always did. "I don't know what happened. I - I think I got in a... fight? With someone at the office?"
Was there anything more heart-rending than someone waking up from a deep slumber, calling out the name of a loved one that's been dead for a decade?
Ivan couldn't think of anything, and, frankly, he didn't need to, as Hope's words were causing hot tears to roll down the man's cheeks. The doubts he had about being by her side got even more intense -- what if seeing him by her bed would disappoint her? Maybe there was someone else she'd rather see there, from the living?
Her hand extended in his direction, looking for contact, for that love and care she expected from her late husband, and Ivan just couldn't leave her hanging. If he could provide her with even a few moments of calm, coming here would be worth it.
He reached out his right arm, taking Hope's hand in his and giving it an ever-so-gentle squeeze, speaking up. "Hope," he started, his voice still frail, and, oddly, thick with the accent he thought he'd lost during the decade and a half he'd lived in England, "you were in a raid on the werewolf camp up north. You did what you set out to do. "
He knew those words would serve as a wake up call once she'd filter through the haze, but he didn't know what else to say. Pandering to her fantasy of him being Osian felt wrong in every conceivable way, he didn't want her grief to be worse than it already was.
"You're alright now. You're safe here, you can rest."
The simple touch of Osian's fingers lacing through her own was akin to a calming potion, and Hope's entire body went pliant, sinking into the bed for a good few moments. But then, ever the keen observer, she noticed two things in quick succession: he wasn't wearing his wedding band, and the words he spoke next... they didn't sound like they were coming from her Osian's voice because they weren't drenched in a Welsh accent, but instead tinged in one that was... Russian?
This time, Hope forced her eyes to open and to stay that way until they focused. A tall figure came into view, one with blonde hair opposed to her Osian's dark brown locks and with facial hair smattering their jawline, something Osian was never quite able to grow. It took her a few seconds to get place him but when she did, she squeezed out a soft, "Ivan. You're here."
A bunch of feelings hit her hard all at once. There was disappointment and devastation that it wasn't Osian, that... that it would never be Osian because her husband - her funny, caring, stubborn as a mule husband - was six feet under and had been for over five years; but there was a rush of happiness and relief too because Ivan cared enough to be by her side even after all they'd gone through the last few months. It was all a bit overwhelming, if she was to be completely honest, and the tears that started rolling down her face were an indicator of such. "I didn't think - I - I'm glad you came."
His words that she'd won in the raid filtered through the fogginess of her brain and even though she wanted to ask more questions, the presence of Ivan's hand in hers drew her attention once more. Initially, she'd wondered where Osian's wedding ring was before she came to her senses and now... she had the same question. Where was Ivan's ring? The one he wore without fail every day, clinging to the vestiges of his marriage to the woman who'd up and left him? Perhaps if Hope were more with it, she would have broached the subject more delicately but apparently tact had left the building as she asked, "What happened? Where's your wedding ring, Ivan? It's gone."
Her eyes opened, the wonderfully intense blue muddled by the haze of fatigue, looking right at him, and it was as if Ivan could see the wheels turning in her head. Then, a moment of recognition and his name, barely above a whisper. He answered with a gentle squeeze of her hand and an apologetic smile.
She cried. He did too. He wanted to apologize that he was only Ivan, that it wasn't her beloved husband by her bed, that it was just someone who tried to watch over her like she was his own daughter, "I can go-" he spoke at the same time as her--
I'm glad you came.
His own words remained stuck in his throat.
This hadn't been such a bad idea after all. She wanted him here. He took a deep, yet ragged breath and smiled. "I had to check on you, you're my friend, after all." My only friend. "Had to make sure you're okay."
Hope's fingers were interlaced with his own, so it didn't surprise him that even in her current state she noticed the absence of his wedding ring. His skin was even a little inflamed, as Vera had torn it off without much thought, and Ivan's fingers tended to swell -- it had been a painful ordeal.
He tried to keep smiling as he spoke. He was a diplomat, trained to contain his emotions so as to not jeopardize whatever conversation he was a part of, but the clothing he was wearing and the state of his face was a dead giveaway of his inner turmoil, so it didn't take long for him to be crying and turning his face away from her.
"My wife-- ex-wife showed up on my doorstep not even an hour ago. My family, most of them, at least, we've had enough. Vera tossed the ring out the window, and..." he wiped his face in the sleeve of his old, grey sweater, "Honestly, I should have done it myself a long time ago."
You're my friend. The took a while to process through the fog of her brain, but when they did, the tears on her face didn't let up one iota because a friend. She scarcely had any of them in her life, ones that she saw outside of work, who actually wanted to spend time with her outside of work. The idea that Ivan considered her to be one despite what had transpired in their relationship was enough to send a flood of warmth through her. "I miss talking to you," she admitted, a slight smile quirking at her lips. "There's... there's not many who have been able to tolerate me lately, I'm afraid. Someone thought they cast a muffliato spell the other day at the office and called me Bitch McGee." Or did they? She wasn't imagining that, right? Bloody pain potions.
As the discussion focused around Ivan and where his wedding ring had gone, Hope didn't miss a single expression that crossed his features - she may have been delayed, but she was trained to read body language and even a healthy dose of a potion wasn't enough to unlearn that skill. Studying his features, Hope looked past the plastered on smile, instead honing in on his eyes - bloodshot, way too bloodshot for him to have just been crying with her moments ago - before her gaze fell to his shoulders which had drooped, almost despairingly. He was very obviously not okay, and Hope's fingers squeezed Ivan's in a gesture she hoped was reassuring.
It took a while for what he was saying to sink in, for her to be able to formulate a response, and her eyebrows crinkled in concentration before she spoke next. "It's... it's always hard, losing a loved one, but... try and take stock in the fact that you have closure now. You're not always going to be wondering if your love will rekindle. You ended it and on your terms." Hope wasn't sure she was out of line with what she said next, but she was confident nevertheless. "I think what you did was best for your daughters and you, Ivan. You need to take care of yourself more as well."
Ivan's brows furrowed as Hope told him of the things their colleagues called her behind her back, barely within an earshot of her. He understood not liking someone, but just as he'd time and time again reminded Nadya to not call Hope nasty things in her letters to him, he was annoyed with the way adult people acted. Not a shred of dignity, there. While he wasn't one to make a fuss out of it, some small part of him wanted to have a conversation with this wise-cracker... That was the exhaustion talking. That's beneath you.
Through his own sobs he listened to Hope talk, and, even though he knew she only meant well, there was something in her words that didn't sit well with him. Losing a loved one made it sound like Alisa had died and mysteriously had been resurrected, when in truth she'd just...
"She told us she left because 'she'd gotten depressed'. Instead of talking to me, she just decided to leave. Lyuba was only two weeks old. And she just left!" he cried out, long held anger coming out as tired frustration, "And today...She tried her to use her veela charms on me to get her way again. Makes me wonder if she ever loved me-, us, at all."
To spend two decades of his life on someone who never truly cared? Time he could have spent loving and being loved? Had he really done that? To himself, and to his daughters, who were forced to live up without a mother because of his own choices?
"And when Nadya went after her, she... She just vanished. Again. The daughter that actually wanted to meet her, the one who looks like a spitting image of her..." Ignored, by the looks of it.
"I feel guilty for keeping my daughters hopes up for so long." He admitted it out loud and the floodgates opened, with his body trembling as he sobbed, gasping for air, muttering apologies to Hope because, Good Lord, she's injured and you're being dramatic, you old fool!
Hope's grip on Ivan's hand didn't relinquish as he explained what had transpired between him and his wife - if anything, it tightened even further as a gesture of support, encouragement, to keep on talking. Even if it was taking a little longer for Hope to understand and comprehend, she was listening to everything he was saying. "Depression - it's a hard thing to cope with, I'm sure, but you can't use it as an excuse when you're a grown woman. An explanation, sure, but she doesn't get pardoned from abandoning her family and shutting them out for years just because of it."
The space between Hope's brows crinkled as she heard what Ivan had to say next. She had tried to use her veela charms on Ivan for her own personal gain? She'd tried to manipulate him with her charms and any feelings he still had towards her? It was enough to make Hope's stomach churn. "I can't comment on her feelings, Ivan, I don't even know the woman, but regardless of whether she loves you all or not... she has no right to treat you like that."
Hope knew that Nadezhda didn't like her. She'd have to be blind not to realise that. But regardless of how the middle Karev child felt towards her, Hope's heart still ached for her because the idea that a mother could just abandon her child, again and again, without considering how it effected her child was gut-wrenching and completely unfathomable to Hope. She could have never, ever have done that to Arwen and she knew that her own parents, had they been allowed to stay on this earth instead of having their lives ripped away from them, would have never been able to do that to her either. She didn't and would never understand how a mother could do that to her flesh and blood.
In the next few moments, Ivan went from holding his composure to shattering into a million pieces right in front of her, confessing his guilt about his daughters and apologising and sobbing. "Oh, Ivan,"Hope breathed out, her voice thick with emotion. It hurt to watch him like this, knowing there was nothing she could say to fix it, and after a split second of contemplation, Hope forced her aching body to scoot to the edge of her hospital bed. "Come lie with me. Please? I think we could both need a hug right about now."
His mind was registering Hope's words and it knew that everything she said was the truth, truth that he'd himself known for ages, but never had the courage to admit.
Alisa had no right to disappear like that and leave them hanging for all this time. At least one letter explaining it years ago would have made everything so much easier to handle, it would have saved his daughters and him so much heartache... It would have been an incredibly tough pill to swallow, but they would have had all these years to heal.
Instead her silence had made their wounds fester and bleed over and over God knows how many times.
He wished he had Lyuba's anger. Vera's bitterness. And yet he had Nadya's unrelenting devotion... Or, truly, it was the other way around.
And that's where Ivan's heart stood. If his devotion was outward, then his bitterness and anger were inward. All those letters in the light blue binder back in his room, addressed to Alisa?
Those were his confessions, of all the sins his heart had committed. It was his self-flagellation in words. Because all these years he'd thought it was his fault that his daughters didn't have a mother, that anything he did would never be enough, that he'd failed them.
And even now, sitting here, gasping for air as Hope held his hand and reassured him, this war kept raging on, with its bloodiest battle yet.
He didn't have the energy to insist that getting in bed with her was a bad idea, that he might accidentally hurt her, that it wasn't exactly sanitary, and that it wasn't exactly proper. He kicked off his old running shoes and got in bed, wrapping left arm around Hope's back, resting his chin on the top of her head, while his thumb ran across the back of her hand as he tried his best to steady his breathing.
After a while, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Sorry for this mess, I really shouldn't be imposing on you like this," he said, letting go of her hand and scooting to the side of the bed, embarrassed for the way he'd disregarded her personal space, "I haven't even asked how you're doing or what happened to you."
There was silence for what felt like a long time, drenched in pain and agony on Ivan's behalf - it was clear with the expressions that had etched it's way onto his face - but Hope didn't mind being quiet on her end.
Sometimes people needed there to be no sounds, no distractions, to work through their emotions . She was one of those types of people and she always had been, seeking refuge in a bathroom or an empty office when things got too much. A quiet space gave her the opportunity to try and regain her composure, to coach herself through whatever she was feeling, until she was ready to expose herself to the outside world once more.
When the mattress beside her sunk down with the weight of Ivan who had taken her up on offer for a hug, a small smile played on Hope's lips, especially as she felt the comforting sling of Ivan's arm curve around her. It was nice being this close to someone again and she let the feelings from human connection, from intimacy, rush over her like a warm shower. That was, until he started up his apologies and moved away from her. "It's - it's been a while since I had somebody share a bed with me," she joked, her smile transforming into something more teasing. "I didn't realise my cuddling skills had become so bad they could make a grown man physically recoil."
She let the light mood of her teasing sit between them for a moment before shaking her head, moving into a tone that was more serious. "You're not imposing if I were the one to invite you in here for a hug in the first place," she insisted, before shaking her head. "I'm... sore, I think. Maybe. The pain potion has kind of dulled the sharpest parts of it. And I can't recall what happened... at least not fully. I suspect tomorrow it will all come flooding back to me."
Hope's words took Ivan by surprise, and he spent a few moments staring right at her, trying to come up with an apology for making her feel bad. But then he got it, and the concerned expression turned into a smile as he burst out in giggles, eyes closed and head shaking a little bit.
As he listened to the following words, he put his hands right where they had been previously, pressing right back up to her side and taking her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was how he'd soothe his daughters, and he couldn't think of anything better.
"Then we'll deal with your emotions and memories as they come," he said, giving her hand a light squeeze, "that is, if you'd like me to come back. I promised my daughters that I would bring them back some comfort food and I need to be there for them, too." He suspected there were tears yet to come this evening and the days to come, but he wouldn't leave them to their despair. Unlike some.
"But I can come back in a few hours. Or tomorrow, if you don't want me snoring on the chair over there." He said, the tone of his voice becoming a little lighter, "I'd like stay here a while longer before I go, though. " With that, he shifted around a bit more so that he'd be able to pet Hope's hair. Soon enough they were sitting there, engulfed in a soft silence.
