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live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
March 27th, 1891 — Macnair Manor, Inverness-shire
Between the Crouch-Macmillan duel and Valerian's own upcoming duel with Charles Macmillan, Valerian had nearly forgotten to prepare for Greengrass' visit. It had been less than two weeks since they'd met and he'd agreed to clear the boggart from their attic, but it felt like a month ago - or more. Initially the prospect of having Greengrass in his home had been far more exciting than for his expressed purpose, but it was as if he'd lost all of the anticipation, the eagerness.
Until he walked through the door. The butler welcomed Greengrass into the foyer, and Valerian was already there to meet him, clothed in proper muggle attire as though he was going out, although he wore a long, dramatic black cloak over his shirt and vest rather than a coat. Greengrass didn't know it - how could he? - but all of the servants he'd passed in the hallway did: he looked more put-together than he did on any given day after a long day at work, especially for something as menial as receiving a Ministry employee for official business.
Valerian smiled. "Very punctual," he said by way of greeting, nodding approvingly. "And just in time to hear it causing a ruckus."
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
This was a very impressive house. Ford had expected that it would be, once he'd realized it was a country estate — which made it a bit of a pain to get to, also. While Ford was sure it was connected to the floo he also knew it was rude to floo straight into someone's house when you hadn't been explicitly told that you were welcome to do so, and he didn't want to seem rude. So he'd had to do a bit of research to figure out what the nearest floo-connected address was that was public access, then he'd had to locate a map of Inverness-shire to make sure he knew his way from that floo to the Macnair home. On his walk up through the grounds, Ford had plenty of time to appreciate how much more impressive this house was than the country house he'd grown up in, which they'd had to sell after Papa died. It made him feel like he was out of his depth, coming here, even if he and Macnair had had a pleasant enough conversation at the club and even if they'd shared a bottle of wine and even if Macnair had declared that he liked Ford. It retroactively made him wonder about Lestrange, too — did he have a big house like this, somewhere? And if he did, what must he have been thinking of their crowded little house in Bartonburg? Inviting him to dinner had been an awful mistake, without even taking into account everything that had happened afterwards.
But he had told Macnair he would be here, and he was technically working, anyway, so there was no backing out. Nevermind that he got a little more anxious with each step closer to the house, as it towered further and further overhead. Did it — did it have gargoyles on the roof?
Being let in the front door by a servant was a stark difference too to the way that Ford had opened the door for Lestrange, with a mixed drink in one hand. Merlin, it was no wonder Lestrange hadn't talked to him since, if this was the sort of stuff he was used to. Ford must have seemed like a lunatic all evening. Lestrange was a saint for having put up with all of them as well as he did, but Ford didn't blame him at all for avoiding Ford since (which he was now, more than ever, convinced that he was).
Once he was inside, though, Macnair was right there waiting for him. Ford felt momentarily relieved, because at least Macnair was a little familiar, something to hold onto in this sea of grandeur. Ford wondered briefly if Macnair was making fun of him when he said very punctual, but pushed the thought away at what followed.
"I am? It is?" he asked eagerly. He really did enjoy these sorts of things, and getting straight to the point made him feel a little less intimidated by the house and by Macnair himself. "Let's get to it, then. Where is it?"
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
If only he could be so eager at work. In truth Valerian did enjoy his work, but it was out of respect for his position - and perhaps a desire to keep his staff a little afraid of him at all times - that he carried himself with a focused, cool sort of composure. On the other hand, there was a cadence to Greengrass' tone that made him sound like he was genuinely exited, and - well, he had said he liked ghosts.
"It's in the attic. I'll show you how to get there," he said, briefly glancing behind Greengrass to nod at the butler before motioning for Greengrass to follow him. The foyer was large and empty and bland compared to the walls on either side of the double staircase it led into. Scattered among portraits of their family (notable ones including his mother on her wedding day, one of his father as a boy with Valerian's grandfather, one of the whole family that had been painted when Valerian was of Hogwarts age and Sage was but a toddler, and one near the top of him after he'd become a full healer). He climbed the stairs with ease, years of memorizing the steps making it look like an effortless task despite how his heart always raced a bit as he left the final step, and once he reached the top he turned to face Greengrass.
"Part of the third floor is where the servants keep their rooms," he explained with a brief glance up at the ceiling, "but part of it is reserved purely for storge - and that happens to be right above my bedroom." From the top of the stairs the halls extended in two directions in either way, while two heavy glass doors in front revealed a large drawing room that looked proper and stylish and totally out-of-element compared to the gothic décor just outside. Valerian motioned for him to follow him down the right corridor.
"It's in the attic. I'll show you how to get there," he said, briefly glancing behind Greengrass to nod at the butler before motioning for Greengrass to follow him. The foyer was large and empty and bland compared to the walls on either side of the double staircase it led into. Scattered among portraits of their family (notable ones including his mother on her wedding day, one of his father as a boy with Valerian's grandfather, one of the whole family that had been painted when Valerian was of Hogwarts age and Sage was but a toddler, and one near the top of him after he'd become a full healer). He climbed the stairs with ease, years of memorizing the steps making it look like an effortless task despite how his heart always raced a bit as he left the final step, and once he reached the top he turned to face Greengrass.
"Part of the third floor is where the servants keep their rooms," he explained with a brief glance up at the ceiling, "but part of it is reserved purely for storge - and that happens to be right above my bedroom." From the top of the stairs the halls extended in two directions in either way, while two heavy glass doors in front revealed a large drawing room that looked proper and stylish and totally out-of-element compared to the gothic décor just outside. Valerian motioned for him to follow him down the right corridor.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
The staircase was a little overwhelming, not for the stairs themselves — he may not have been an athlete but he wasn't that out of shape — but because of all the portraits looming overhead. Ford didn't recognize any of the faces from a passing glance, but he could see the family resemblance to Macnair and he thought one or two had that same distinctive look in their eye that had set him on edge in the club. He found himself getting a step or two behind as he was distracted by his surroundings, then having to lengthen his stride to keep up as Macnair climbed the stairs. Did he just say they had a whole half a floor for live-in servants? That was patently ridiculous. What did that many people do all day?
"It comes out on its own? That's a little unusual for a boggart," Ford pointed out, as he followed Macnair down the hallway, past a sitting room behind a pair of glass doors — why did they have a drawing room on the second floor? Wasn't that terribly inconvenient? Perhaps rich people had drawing rooms on each floor, and they never even used this one. For a fleeting moment Ford had an image of breaking into Macnair's house and throwing a small party in that room, while the rest of the household presumably went on without noticing a thing a floor below. Not that he would ever dream of actually doing that, of course, but it was sort of a fun thought to entertain for half a second.
"Most of them are quiet unless they're provoked. So perhaps something's happened to make yours angry," he continued, tone chipper despite the content.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
"Oh, I'm sure they do bother it," he said casually, as though bothering a boggart was a totally normal, totally sensible thing. If he lived on the same floor as a boggart he'd probably do the same, shooting spells or throwing books or whatever he could do to keep it out of his way. "One of my footmen told me he caught one of the housemaids trying to cast a silencing charm on it, once, to no avail."
The right corridor was where most of the family's bedrooms were kept, save for Tatiana's who was on the opposite side with Mariana's. First they passed Sage's, then Germander's, then Yarrows, and then what used to be Betony and Agrimony's before Betony died and Agrimony abandoned their household. Almost to indicate whose room was whose there were a collection of portraits on the wall, some of the boy themselves. Finally they reached Valerian's, which was nearly at the end of the hall, portraits of the family's two greenhouses on either side of the door.
Valerian stopped just short of the door and offered his arm to Greengrass. "I'll apparate us up there. It's too much of a fuss to walk up the servant's stairwell."
The right corridor was where most of the family's bedrooms were kept, save for Tatiana's who was on the opposite side with Mariana's. First they passed Sage's, then Germander's, then Yarrows, and then what used to be Betony and Agrimony's before Betony died and Agrimony abandoned their household. Almost to indicate whose room was whose there were a collection of portraits on the wall, some of the boy themselves. Finally they reached Valerian's, which was nearly at the end of the hall, portraits of the family's two greenhouses on either side of the door.
Valerian stopped just short of the door and offered his arm to Greengrass. "I'll apparate us up there. It's too much of a fuss to walk up the servant's stairwell."
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
This hallway had the same looming feeling as the stairwell did, but these portraits all looked remarkably similar. Maybe it was that he had a closer look at them now then he had on the stairs, or maybe it was that they were more recent, but he was struck by the family resemblance yet again — it was like he was surrounded by different versions of Macnair, all staring back at him, which was weirdly unsettling despite how well they'd gotten along in the club.
He was a bit surprised when Macnair turned around, and even more so by his offer. It was too much of a fuss to walk up the servants' stairs? They'd just walked up one set of stairs already; how could the second be any different? A part of Ford thought this was distinctly weird. If he was just going to apparate the two of them up, why not do it from the entryway? Why lead Ford up the stairs and through a long, vaguely dreary hallway? He felt like this was a trap of some kind, like Macnair was luring him in for something, and his stomach fluttered nervously at the idea of closing the distance and taking the other man's arm. What was the alternative, though? He didn't know the house, and he was a guest here. It would have been rude to have argued, wouldn't it?
"Alright, then," he agreed, his mouth a little dry. He swallowed, then took a step forward and took Macnair's arm in both hands. Side-along apparition wasn't his favorite sensation — it wasn't anyone's, he didn't think — and that was probably why he was holding on a little tighter than he perhaps should have. Not that he had much experience with taking someone's arm like this. Offering his arm, sure, because it was a gentlemanly thing to do when walking with a lady. Verity or Grace had been on his arm more times than he could have counted. On the other hand, he didn't think he'd ever been on this end of it before. He had a sudden flash of self-consciousness, the way he had before when he'd thought Macnair might have been making fun of him. He wondered if Macnair had done this on purpose, leading him into the house to get him lulled into a sense of comfort only to pull it away with a moment like this. But was this the trap that he had been luring Ford into, or was it only the beginning?
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
He looked a little nervous, and suddenly Valerian was struck with the worry that he'd said something wrong, made some sort of conversational misstep while leading him through the hall. Hopefully he wasn't put off with the decorations - they weren't everyone's tastes, and the more skittish might find some of them nightmare-worthy, but Greengrass didn't seem like the cowardly type, not where those sort of things were concerned. He didn't pull his arm back, though; rather, he felt his heartbeat quicken as the other man gripped his arms with a strength he hadn't expected. They were standing close, and in that moment Valerian realized that Greengrass was taller than him - not by much, but he found himself having to lift his chin to look him in the eyes. He felt the tension, the nervousness - hopefully Greengrass merely disliked apparition. He took a deep, steady breath, withdrew his wand from his pocket, and abruptly broke eye contact to mutter the incantation.
And then they were in the attic. It was dark and dusty, the floors cluttered with boxes and unhung portraits. There was furniture, too, pieces that Valerian hardly recognized, while some others were half-covered with cloths that made them unrecognizable in the shadows. He instinctively reached up, his wand still in hand, to rest the base of his palm against Greengrass' forearm - a steadying gesture if anything, but realized instantly that the gesture was too familiar and too intimate and made it seem like he was gesturing for Greengrass to let go by giving the arm Greengrass was holding a little shake.
"I don't come in here very often," he explained, glancing in both directions and then over both of his shoulders. It had been many years since he'd been in direct contact with a boggart, and had no desire to find out what form it took at the sight of him. His fears had changed so drastically as life went on; as a child he'd had fairly common fears like spiders and being alone in the dark, and as an adolescent had feared rejection and failure. As an adult he wasn't sure what he feared most.
"How do you usually go about handling boggarts?" he asked in a hushed voice.
And then they were in the attic. It was dark and dusty, the floors cluttered with boxes and unhung portraits. There was furniture, too, pieces that Valerian hardly recognized, while some others were half-covered with cloths that made them unrecognizable in the shadows. He instinctively reached up, his wand still in hand, to rest the base of his palm against Greengrass' forearm - a steadying gesture if anything, but realized instantly that the gesture was too familiar and too intimate and made it seem like he was gesturing for Greengrass to let go by giving the arm Greengrass was holding a little shake.
"I don't come in here very often," he explained, glancing in both directions and then over both of his shoulders. It had been many years since he'd been in direct contact with a boggart, and had no desire to find out what form it took at the sight of him. His fears had changed so drastically as life went on; as a child he'd had fairly common fears like spiders and being alone in the dark, and as an adolescent had feared rejection and failure. As an adult he wasn't sure what he feared most.
"How do you usually go about handling boggarts?" he asked in a hushed voice.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
Side-along apparition was always disorienting. Ford blinked as he appeared in the dusty attic, trying to get his bearings. By the time he'd realized that Macnair had put a hand on his arm the other man was already moving away. He let go quickly enough that it didn't seem strange, but he still didn't really feel as though his mind had caught up to this interaction. Was there something going on here that he wasn't realizing? He didn't have time to figure it out, though, because Macnair was explaining something about the attic, and it was time to deal with the boggart now.
Despite all his misgivings so far this evening, the hush in Macnair's tone brought a smile to his face. He was so comfortable with boggarts that sometimes he forgot how they made other people feel, but it was nice to be reminded. This was something he was good at, that other people were not. It was certainly a confidence boost as he reached to draw his wand.
"Head on, that's the only way," he said with a grin. "And you back them into something you can seal. Sometimes it just takes one or two manifestations. A really strong one might go through four or five before you get it. But it's easy, when you know what you're doing." He glanced at the other man, wondering what his experience with boggarts and his fears was but knowing better than to ask. "Are you going to stay here, or wait outside?"
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
Valerian listened carefully, and although the explanation made sense he wasn't sure how he would go about doing it himself. It was funny - he was so confident in the art of healing and he occasionally watched other people watch him in wonderment as he worked his magic, but in situations like this he was absolutely clueless. It made him wonder what sort of things Greengrass was bad at. (Though it was hard to focus on anything negative in relation to Greengrass when he was standing confidently with his wand out and a grin on his face, ready to help him rid of a boggart that he'd helped expedite the paperwork for.)
"I'll stay," he answered, but stepped sideways a little so half of his body was angled behind Greengrass'. At least it would target him first - which seemed like a selfish thing to think, but Greengrass had said he knew what he was doing.
"Do you still find yourself shaken by the sight of your own fears, or are you desensitized to it now?" He wasn't sure if one could become desensitized to boggarts like he'd become desensitized to certain gory sights he'd seen in the various healing wards.
"I'll stay," he answered, but stepped sideways a little so half of his body was angled behind Greengrass'. At least it would target him first - which seemed like a selfish thing to think, but Greengrass had said he knew what he was doing.
"Do you still find yourself shaken by the sight of your own fears, or are you desensitized to it now?" He wasn't sure if one could become desensitized to boggarts like he'd become desensitized to certain gory sights he'd seen in the various healing wards.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
Ford shook his head and took a step forward into the dusty room, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of movement. "Desensitized isn't quite the word. You still feel it," he explained. Boggarts fed on fear, and they could tell if the tactic they were using wasn't working. If the materializations boggarts made for him didn't scare him, they wouldn't keep popping up. Boggarts weren't always terribly creative, but they also weren't stupid; they weren't going to starve themselves trying to keep at a tactic that had gone stale. If Ford ever encountered one of these things in real life, he'd be terrified. The difference here was that he knew it was a boggart, and there was always a way out with a boggart. He was still in control, even though they were frightening. He had all of the power in the situation, even over his worst fears. It was exhilarating — more than that. It was the best feeling in the world, though no one would have understood if he'd tried to explain that.
"It's just that you can work through it. The fear stays down and your head stays clear," he explained. There was a noise, a movement, and Ford whirled to face the boggart — only to see the most beautiful woman in the world, instead. This was a familiar one, taking on the form of a veela. He recognized the tug in his stomach as though he were drawn to her, the way his knees went weak. He hated this feeling, but he knew that what a boggart was able to pull out of him would only have been a shadow of what a real veela could do — and, of course, he felt the fear settle in his bones. The fear that he was losing himself, losing control, that he was helpless and that in a moment he wouldn't even know it anymore.
"Riddikulus," he cast, and the woman's face broke out in boils, making her look more like a hag than a veela. She seemed immediately distracted by this, and she began to fret over them the same way that Verity might agonize over a pimple. Ford smirked, knowing he'd won. He chuckled, and that was the end of that battle. The boggart collapsed in on itself, then rallied and presented its second assault: a plant he'd only seen once before, which resembled a pulsating human heart with leaves growing around it.
"Oh," he said, blinking at it. His stomach was sinking at the sight of it but on the other level, the more rational level that took over when he was dealing with boggarts, Ford was a little intrigued. "That's new," he commented, not really to Macnair but more to the universe. It had been a long time since a boggart had come up with anything that surprised him, but this... was definitely a surprise.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
There was a reason that Valerian had been in Slytherin rather than in Gryffindor beyond not wishing to disappoint his mother. He did not usually put himself in situations that required bravery, instead going to lengths to ensure that he could avoid situations entirely before there was ever a need for it. It was cunning, it was situation manipulation - it was something that did not work with boggarts, because they had a way of reaching into a person's heart and feeding off their worst nightmares. He did have an analytical brain, though, and as the boggart appeared Valerian stepped a little farther behind Greengrass, his head poking out from the side to watch the creature transform.
There was a veela. Veelas were any man's fear - or desire in some cases, but mostly fears, because a happily married man could be made an adulterer by their charms, and a single man could see himself made a fool of in public in the mere presence of one. Valerian had never encountered a veela, but even watching the boggart he found his eyes lingering on the parts of its body that he usually paid no mind when speaking to regular women. But then Greengrass bested it with a single incantation, and Valerian was aghast - but it was not until the boggart took on the form of a magical plant that Valerian found his jaw slacken.
He stepped to the side in order to get a better look, both at the creature and at Greengrass. He looked - confused. Surprised, maybe. He was muttering to himself and hadn't immediately cast the incantation, and said it was new. "That's witch's ganglion," he muttered, his gaze still flickering back confusedly between Greengrass and the plant (the image of the plant, he reminded himself).
There was a veela. Veelas were any man's fear - or desire in some cases, but mostly fears, because a happily married man could be made an adulterer by their charms, and a single man could see himself made a fool of in public in the mere presence of one. Valerian had never encountered a veela, but even watching the boggart he found his eyes lingering on the parts of its body that he usually paid no mind when speaking to regular women. But then Greengrass bested it with a single incantation, and Valerian was aghast - but it was not until the boggart took on the form of a magical plant that Valerian found his jaw slacken.
He stepped to the side in order to get a better look, both at the creature and at Greengrass. He looked - confused. Surprised, maybe. He was muttering to himself and hadn't immediately cast the incantation, and said it was new. "That's witch's ganglion," he muttered, his gaze still flickering back confusedly between Greengrass and the plant (the image of the plant, he reminded himself).
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
For a moment Ford had forgotten that he had an audience, and his eyes snapped to Macnair at the interjection. His wand was still drawn and trained on the boggart, but he didn't cast. His confidence was wavering slightly, despite knowing that this was just a boggart.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know that," he said, turning his attention back to the plant. Except it didn't have anything to do with the plant, obviously. None of Ford's boggart manifestations were ever about the thing itself; it was what they represented. Understanding the difference was what made him so good at defeating them, because he could separate out what was actually here in the room (like the veela) and what wasn't (the impending loss of control). The former might have made him afraid, but it was the latter that was paralyzing. As long as he understood that, he could work through them without much ado. This was new, though, and he was having a hard time separating it out, because he didn't know what it meant.
He wasn't afraid of Darrow. Maybe he had been, a little, during some moments, but he certainly wasn't afraid of him now. And he wasn't afraid of this stupid plant. What was it, then? Some nagging fear he'd pushed aside about getting caught up in a legal investigation? That would have been awful, but he didn't think he was afraid of it — at this point it hardly seemed likely, given the length of time that had passed without incident. Maybe there was something from the interaction that was buried a little deeper, something he hadn't had expended enough energy to actually process yet. Something about —
"Oh," he said, as it finally clicked. The spell, the potion. Darrow had done something to him, and he still didn't know what. And yes, that was terrifying. Darrow had said it wouldn't affect his daily life, but it had to have some affect, so what if it was just lurking there, waiting to get the better of him, and what if it was —
Yeah, this made sense.
"Riddikulus," he cast, and the heart of the plant stopped pulsating. It crystalized over like a candy he'd seen in the window of Honeydukes in February, and then shattered just like sugar would have done. The shards dissipated as they fell towards the ground, but the boggart didn't spin itself into anything else right away. Ford frowned.
"Watch out," he warned, wand still drawn. "It's not done yet."
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
Whatever the witch's ganglion meant - whatever it represented - seemed to be something Greengrass was still working out for himself, but Valerian could not help but marvel at how the man didn't seem to cringe in fear or show any display of outright horror. Witch's ganglion was not terrifying in itself (except to the particularly squeamish, but if Greengrass dealt with ghouls and boggarts on the regular he doubted a plant would frighten him) but it must have profoundly impacted Greengrass in such a way that the boggart latched onto it.
But Greengrass stood in silent contemplation, working through whatever he was, and then managed to turn it to a piece of candy without as much as an explanation. Valerian gawked at him, because suddenly he felt as though he was back in third year trying to comprehend what a boggart was and how it worked. His eyes were still on Greengrass when he was given a warning, but then he realized he'd stepped out to Greengrass' side; and just as he turned to face the boggart, just as he instinctively stepped backwards, it began to stir and transform. He glanced down at his cloak and thrust his hand in his pocket, looking for the wand he'd stuffed in there moments ago. He knew the incantation - riddikulus - and through Greengrass' explanations he had a general sense of how to deal with it. As his fingers curled around the handle of his wand he glanced up.
And suddenly he was looking at the mirror image of himself. The boggart version of himself was dressed the same, had his hair styled the same way, and wore the same alarmed, expression that he wore. Briefly it turned to confusion, because if there was anything Valerian wasn't afraid of it was himself. He knew himself well - almost too well - and he looked at himself every day. He began to pull his wand out of his pocket and held it up at the image of himself, but started at the sight.
His reflection - his image - the boggart, he tried to tell himself, though his heartrate was quickening at an alarming rate - was wielding not his elm wand, but a pistol.
And it was pointed right at him.
Valerian stiffened, his wand sill raised, but no words left his parted lips.
But Greengrass stood in silent contemplation, working through whatever he was, and then managed to turn it to a piece of candy without as much as an explanation. Valerian gawked at him, because suddenly he felt as though he was back in third year trying to comprehend what a boggart was and how it worked. His eyes were still on Greengrass when he was given a warning, but then he realized he'd stepped out to Greengrass' side; and just as he turned to face the boggart, just as he instinctively stepped backwards, it began to stir and transform. He glanced down at his cloak and thrust his hand in his pocket, looking for the wand he'd stuffed in there moments ago. He knew the incantation - riddikulus - and through Greengrass' explanations he had a general sense of how to deal with it. As his fingers curled around the handle of his wand he glanced up.
And suddenly he was looking at the mirror image of himself. The boggart version of himself was dressed the same, had his hair styled the same way, and wore the same alarmed, expression that he wore. Briefly it turned to confusion, because if there was anything Valerian wasn't afraid of it was himself. He knew himself well - almost too well - and he looked at himself every day. He began to pull his wand out of his pocket and held it up at the image of himself, but started at the sight.
His reflection - his image - the boggart, he tried to tell himself, though his heartrate was quickening at an alarming rate - was wielding not his elm wand, but a pistol.
And it was pointed right at him.
Valerian stiffened, his wand sill raised, but no words left his parted lips.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
Ford saw the boggart rematerialize and turned towards it, but it seemed to have shifted its attention to Macnair. Ford could have stepped in. One long stride would put him between the boggart and the other man again, and one or maybe two more spells would see it retreating. He really should have stepped in, since he was technically working for this exchange, but he hesitated. He was curious, he supposed, and a boggart was really the only way to satisfy that curiosity. No one talked about their fears as openly as a boggart dragged them out, and this one was good. It had latched on to Ford's panic about Darrow's unknown magic without his even having realized how much it still bothered him, and after two prior attempts it seemed to be coming up just as strong for Macnair. This was an old boggart, he suspected, or else a very well fed one.
Ford didn't really understand what was happening with Macnair's boggart, but he saw the pistol in his hands and he saw the other man freeze up. Again, he could have just stepped between them, but Macnair had his wand drawn now and Ford thought he ought to at least give him a shot at it.
"It can't hurt you," he pointed out gently, trying to be helpful. "Even if it shoots, you won't feel anything."
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Valerian Macnair - April 4, 2021
Even Greengrass' reminder did little to soothe his worries. If the boggart was truly a mirror, then any attempt to shoot a spell at it would cause it to fire a bullet back in his direction? It didn't matter if he couldn't feel it - Valerian knew from reading obsessive about pistols over the past few days, including some firsthand accounts from people who'd been shot, that the pain at first was minimal if not completely nonexistent.
Valerian attempted to do what Greengrass did; he tried to rationalize the boggart, hoping that in doing so it might make it less scary. Clearly the inclusion of the pistol related to his upcoming duel with Macmillan, but why had the boggart chosen his own image rather than Macmillan's? Of course, Charles Macmillan on his own was not terrifying - he was annoyingly uptight and thought he was far more important than he really was - but it would make for a more accurate boggart, surely? He didn't want to get shot tomorrow. He didn't want to die - and yet, it was still his figure he was staring back at.
Then the realization hit him: maybe he was just as afraid of killing as he was being killed. He'd been the one to suggest using pistols instead of wands, and it was his idea that they shoot until the first bullet had hit. He wanted to shoot Macmillan.
But he did not want Macmillan dead. Marrying Tatiana was not worth that.
He released a breath. Suddenly when he imagined himself as Macmillan the boggart became a little less scary, in part because he was feeling more sympathetic than outright terrified. Valerian nodded in response to Greengrass' words, and finally mustered the incantation: "Riddikkulus." The boggart-Valerian lost his pistol and instead a squirming mandrake appeared in its place. Valerian snickered at the plant's chunky, sad features, and suddenly the boggart was no more. His heart skipped a beat and he stepped backwards, angling himself once again behind Greengrass.
Valerian attempted to do what Greengrass did; he tried to rationalize the boggart, hoping that in doing so it might make it less scary. Clearly the inclusion of the pistol related to his upcoming duel with Macmillan, but why had the boggart chosen his own image rather than Macmillan's? Of course, Charles Macmillan on his own was not terrifying - he was annoyingly uptight and thought he was far more important than he really was - but it would make for a more accurate boggart, surely? He didn't want to get shot tomorrow. He didn't want to die - and yet, it was still his figure he was staring back at.
Then the realization hit him: maybe he was just as afraid of killing as he was being killed. He'd been the one to suggest using pistols instead of wands, and it was his idea that they shoot until the first bullet had hit. He wanted to shoot Macmillan.
But he did not want Macmillan dead. Marrying Tatiana was not worth that.
He released a breath. Suddenly when he imagined himself as Macmillan the boggart became a little less scary, in part because he was feeling more sympathetic than outright terrified. Valerian nodded in response to Greengrass' words, and finally mustered the incantation: "Riddikkulus." The boggart-Valerian lost his pistol and instead a squirming mandrake appeared in its place. Valerian snickered at the plant's chunky, sad features, and suddenly the boggart was no more. His heart skipped a beat and he stepped backwards, angling himself once again behind Greengrass.
RE: live like you're everything you're not - Fortitude Greengrass - April 4, 2021
CW: Suicide references/imagery
Ford watched Macnair work through it, recognizing the signs in his expression of someone working through trying to compartmentalize a fear. While Ford watched, he turned the boggart's form over in his mind. Nothing to do with the pistol itself, he didn't think; if Macnair was afraid of death by bullet wound then the person holding the gun could have been anyone. Unless — he was afraid he might use it on himself.
Ford was jumping to conclusions, he knew that. And he knew that this particular conclusion probably had more to do with Ford's month and with his newfound anxieties about Noble than with anything Macnair had said or done. Still, once it had occurred to him it stuck in his mind, and he couldn't seem to see any other interpretation of the boggart. There probably were other interpretations, and he just couldn't grasp them — he didn't know Macnair that well — but all the same his stomach did a little guilty flip. Ford should have stepped in and taken the boggart on himself, because not everyone was capable of facing up to their fears. He'd started to move to do so, but just as he lifted his foot Macnair cast. The spell took, and the boggart swirled away.
Ford swallowed, still feeling guilty for making Macnair face that when he could have stopped him. "Good work," he said, and reached out to squeeze Macnair's arm in what he hoped was a vaguely reassuring way. There was a lot he tried to communicate with the small gesture. It's over, you survived, and you're not alone. All of the things he would have rather said to Noble, in the aftermath of the dinner party, instead of everything else they'd said.
The boggart was still there, little more at the moment than a whisp of smoke. Ford knew it would rally though, and he stepped to place himself squarely between the boggart and Macnair, his free hand stretched out almost protectively at his side. The boggart reformed and, perhaps predictably, there was his brother staring back at him. Noble's eyes were wide with surprise, maybe with fear, but he was very still. Except for the white foam leaking from his mouth.
Boggarts had shown him his brother dead before, but it hadn't happened for a while. It wasn't one of the top two or three he always seemed to face, like the veela was. With everything that had just been on his mind a moment ago, though, and with the way he'd instinctively moved into a protective position as though it were Noble behind him instead of a man who was almost entirely a stranger, was it any wonder the boggart had seized on it?
It was different now than it had been in the past, both in the way to manifested (specifically the method of Noble's death) and in the feelings it evoked. There was the same lurch in his stomach as the last time he'd seen something like this, and that immediate, desperate thought: I'm alone, and I can't do this alone, but now there was more. I'm alone and it's my fault. I'm alone because I couldn't handle this on my own, and I gave too much of it to him. He's gone, and it's my fault. And yes, there was the sense of fear, but it was a distant second to the anger Ford felt grip him — at Noble, at himself, at the world.
"Riddikulus," he cast, with more vehemence in his tone than was necessary. He was no longer having fun with this boggart, and he wanted it banished already.
The boggart Noble blinked, grinned at him, and wiped the foam away with the back of his hand. This was what Ford had pushed when he cast because it was what had worked before, when he'd seen Noble's death represented by boggarts. This death wasn't real, it was a practical joke, and it didn't mean Ford was alone, because now they were both in on the joke and they were both on the same team. This had worked before, but now when Noble laughed it only made things worse. The sinking feeling in Ford's stomach worsened, and the burn of anger in his chest intensified. Noble had laughed after the dinner party, too, before they'd fought about it.
"Riddikulus," he said again, pushing the boggart towards something else. Noble's features melted into someone else's — the Muggle street magician Ford had seen in London recently. The magician did a trick, making a flower appear from his glove as though he'd pulled it from thin air. This was far enough removed that Ford was able to manage a laugh, though it was a little hollow. It was enough for an already weakened boggart, though, and it staggered backwards.
This was a critical moment in the process, and Ford moved quickly. He waved his wand at the first thing he saw that could serve as a container — what appeared to be an abandoned jewelry box — and positioned it behind the boggart, ready to catch it when it staggered back again. Boggarts resized to fit the space they had, being noncorporeal. It shrank into the box, eager for the reprieve from their constant assault of spells and laughter. When it had folded itself into the box, Ford surged forward to close the lid and murmured a sealing spell.
"So that's it," he said, turning to face Macnair with the jewelry box in his hands, as though it had been nothing.