~Winter, 1995~
It was done. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the special addition of the Daily Prophet with a blank expression as emerald eyes scanned the titles.
Harry Potter Dead!
Boy-Who-Lived-To-Die!
Harry Potter Fallen into Veil of Death!
You-Know-Who Alive!
Attack on Ministry!
After all this time, it was finally done. Harry Potter had Fallen and Voldemort was exposed to the world. God, how long ago had it been since I had fallen? Had many years had passed since I went from Harry to Nigel?
Too many apparently as I fount I held little to no desire to involve myself with this New Wizarding War brewing. It- They- weren't my responsibility anymore.
After all, I'm not Harry Potter.
I am Nigel Tux; Second in Command of MI6, Spy, Son, Lover, Uncle.
I had done my duty, I had ensure they held Harry Potter for these last few years. I had ensured he didn't run away or was spirited away by my stubborn rouge. I had ensured the future- and the past- happened accordingly.
As far as matters with the Wizarding World was concerned, I owed them nothing.
Harry Potter had died for them, Nigel Tux would not.
Unlike Harry, He had too much to live for.
A flick of the spy's wrist had the papers landing within the crackling fireplace, where emerald eyes observed the slowly burning paper as the flames erased what had once been his past.
~Edinburgh, 1998~
I should have just stayed in bed today, Nigel couldn't help but decided as he chased the target through the thick snow. Some days the emerald eyed Brit loved his job and others... Well not so much. Today was leaning towards the later instead of the former.
He was restricted to his human form when his animagus would have made the mission oh so much easier- or at least properly blocked out the freezing cold around him- while chasing a child through a blizzard. Yes, the 'highly dangerous, eliminate on sight' target for his current mission was a child of what looked to be no older then five-maybe six- summers.
He was sent out to kill a hatchling, to say Nigel was upset by that little fact would have been one hell of an understatement but it was still his Duty 'For Queen and Country' to do so. Maybe if the hatchling is smart enough to make a half decent effort to slip away without leaving an actual trail, Nigel won't follow, but he doubts they will manage. The Hatchlings crimson hair is a curse within the white world all around them.
A part of the spy is already mourning when the dot of crimson stops moving further into the blizzard for a moment only to slowly began to make its way back his direction. He wonders if the hatchling- like many others- had gotten turned around within the storm. Still it matters little, he has his mission. 'For Queen and Country. May God forgive me.' He doubts God will, nor does Nigel feels his deserves forgiveness.
The gun is heavy in his hands as the speck of crimson moves closer and closer with every minute. Its almost upon him, yet he still cannot see through the snow and wind, the only thing that stands out of the crimson hair... Yet there's something off about it.
Its only his instincts that saves him from being gutted like a pig. Within the snow emerald eyes could just make out the glint of a knife, sharp as a razor and oh so familiar.
The crimson beacon is faulty, the spy realizes as he sidesteps under an attempt to split his throat ear from ear. The Hatchlings hair was the color of Red Wine, the beacon before him was the shade of freshly spilled blood... Honestly, Nigel finds it rather relevant.
Eight years is a long time, Red would acknowledge that, especially within their line of work.
People change yet a part of the rouge is disappointed. This was not how he imaged their reunion.
Honestly, the rouge feels cheated.
This was just supposed to be a vacation, a quick get away, a chance to relax. He wasn't supposed to stumble across the child in the middle of a blizzard. He wasn't supposed to feel enough pity to actually step in. He wasn't supposed to locate the spy with a gun in hand and an air of reluctant duty to hanging off him like a heavy cloak.
Yet he had.
Fate- if it existed- hates me, the rouge decided as he stumbled backwards before managing to steady himself before his hand swiftly darts grabbing the older by his wrist and yanking him forward.
In hindsight, it was a horrible idea.
Usually the emerald eyed brit would manage to catch himself but this time with the land around then slick with ice and snow, the elder of the two slipped and fell. Honestly, it happened far too quickly one moment, the smaller of the two had been standing at the ready- muscles tense and his lone eye sharp to catch whatever angle the spy would attempt and the next the younger fount himself buried beneath the elder's heavy body with icy snow slipping inside his clothing.
"Ah, there you are. Long time no see, Love."
"I know how to undress myself. "
Annoyance crept into the younger's voice but Nigel didn't really mind as he focused on another button upon the rouge's jacket.
"I'm not untying you. "
Those mismatched eyes glared at him as the elder of the two carefully slipped the damp coat off its owner before tossing it onto the table- later he would have to go though it and make sure to remove all the blades and weaponry the younger hid deep within the folds of cloth- on top of the younger's shoes, eyepatch and scarf. A heavy sigh drew itself out of the older as he barely managed to pull his fingers away from the youngers shirt in time to steer clear of losing any of them as the younger's sharp teeth clamped down onto the air where they had once been.
"Why must you make everything so difficult?"
He wasn't asking for much. Honest, all Nigel wanted the other to do was just stay still long enough for him to undress the younger before the damp set in enough to make the smaller sick but apparently Red couldn't even do that without causing issues. He supposed the idea of walking- or sitting- around naked just didn't appeal to the younger...
Not that Nigel couldn't order him clothes nor that the elder didn't have enough to share if needed but really:
Why would he when he could use the opportunity to convince the younger to snuggle with him underneath the bedroom's silk sheets? And if snuggling became a bit more? Well no one could fault him for that- he could really use the distraction. Speaking of which-
A flood of curses filled the air a moment later as the spy tackled the younger, who was already halfway to the doorway.
"Who did this?"
The tone is like ice yet the hand which moves other his chest is soft with the upmost care. The rouge could feel himself tensing under the elder's touch as fingers traced over the scars which he had recently aquired. Those emerald jewels seemed to glow like liquid Hell Fire within the dimly lit room as they barely concealed their owner's rage. Though that alone is nothing compared to the sudden pressure caused by the other's magic as it raging like a violent ocean with the elder's temper and crushes down upon him, like freight train.
He doesn't answer the spy but there's no real need for words as the culprits name is literally carved into his chest.
If there was one thing, Red learned to avoid over the years it was a furious Nigel. The spy was brillant and usually a high grade threat on good term but when his temper had been triggered...
Well the rouge had his fair share of broken bones at the older's hands. It was rather obvious now, the elder man was furious but thankfully he was at least attempting to control his temper as the taller had already closed his eyes and was slowly taking deep, relaxing breathes. Unfortuanlly- Red could tell just by the nails attempting to remove his skin from his chest that its not exactly working.
"I can fix this."
Please Don't.
The younger could remember all too well the last time, Nigel attempted to 'fix' something he disliked on him..
He's a selfish man, that Nigel doesn't bother denying though He blames his time as Harry for it.
As Harry Potter he had nothing and what little he did have was so easily taken away or destroyed at a moments notice. As Nigel Tux he's not one for sharing, he doesn't like others touching what is his. So it was no surprise when his temper flared when he finally managed to pry the younger's shirt off him only to find someone else's name carved into his chest like an open mockery.
"I can fix this. "
Sure he couldn't make the scars disappear but he could always 'reprogram' what they announce to the would. Nigel would look much better on the younger then Ivioci anyways, all he had to do was alter the words a little and as fate would have it, the rouge had already supplied him with plenty of knives to do so with. Opening his eyes, the spy gripped one of the younger's favorite blade before offering the smaller a gentle smile.
"Relax, Love. This will only take a moment. "
"Bastard."
Despite the rouge's pain, Red can't quite hide the fondnes in his voice. Its something he's certain the spy picks up on due to the soft chuckle which causes the elder's breathe tickle his neck.
"My parents where married Love."
A shiver runs down the rouge's spine as sharp teeth playfully nip at his bruised neck.
"Strange. The only Mrs. Tux I recall is your sister. "
