Serik had always been stubborn, determined to achieve what he’d put his mind to, no matter the amount of work required to reach his goal. If he had to stay up all night to get that one flying manoeuvre right, he did. If reading the newest print of his Quidditch magazine and memorising it cover to cover meant missing lunch and dinner, then so be it. Once his focus was fixed on anything, it took a village to break that resolve.
It was that kind of resolve Drago saw raging behind Serik’s eyes now, as he pushed to his feet and landed in Lev’s grip a second later: to stand his ground and best his brothers, and if it knocked him out on the way there. It was his biggest strength and greatest flaw.
It was misplaced.
Lev’s next swing inched them a fraction closer to seeing it corrected.
As Serik staggered backwards and hit the wall, fighting for breath, Drago stood and watched his younger brother struggle. Gaze hard, he looked down at him with impassive rigour.
He didn’t like the sight of this, having to cause pain to one of their own, but there was no other option. Talking wouldn’t do it, and beyond him and Lev, things only got worse. Serik had to know this too; Drago was certain. They’d all grown up beneath the same father after all. But there was something about being fourteen that held the power to convince a boy otherwise; some possessed it more than others, and Serik in spades.
No matter how little he wanted to do this, no matter how much Serik might hate him for this afterwards — Drago knew this was necessary. Harsh punishment created strong men, and strong men were what kept the family alive. There were no exceptions.
“Now.” Lev’s voice cut through Drago’s thoughts, bringing him back to the moment. “You’re going to answer for the way you’ve behaved. And for every time you do not answer correctly. The punishment gets worse.”
Serik’s head dropped back against the wall, blood running down his chin, breath heavy. He met Lev’s gaze with the same unwavering defiance that he had entered this room with, but the humour was gone. In its stead was the quiet understanding that this was real. That this was serious and more than just a bit of reprimand he could dismiss the way he had at school. That didn't mean he'd nod his compliance just because it was demanded, and Drago knew that too.
Serik wouldn't be Zdravkova if it were that easy.
The boy’s eyes flicked to Drago as Lev motioned for him, the faintest spark of real fear shining there as he moved without hesitation, walls closing in, but it was gone before Serik was fully yanked back to his feet. Drago’s hand grabbed around his collar, dragging him into the centre of the room. “Just say fucking yes, brother,” he hissed into Serik’s ear, ”You control how long this will take.”
With a shove, Drago pushed Serik from him, not waiting for an answer or for the boy to recover. Swinging hard immediately, his left fist hooked Serik beneath the jaw, whipping his head sideways with an audible crunch, followed by a grunt of pain and more blood dripping to the floor.
"Do you understand, little brother," Drago repeated Lev's words as the boy staggered for a moment — less of a question and more of a statement — voice like stone and making it clear that neither of them was joking.
Serik's head turned back to look at him, lips pressed thin. The curses had stopped, but the answer they wanted to hear was still far.
Silence wasn’t good enough.
While the boy had quieted his attitude, silence was the same insolence. They’d both asked their little brother if he understood. Did he think it was good enough that he wasn’t mouthing off? It wouldn’t be good enough for their father who expected to be answered. Correctly. The first time. With deference.
Serik was only making this harder on himself.
Blood dripped from the younger boy’s mouth and nose, and he swayed on his feet, but his determination never faltered. Lev had to admire it in some ways. Serik had always been headstrong and persistent. Utilized for the right purposes, Serik would be one of the best of them one day; vicious and ruthless, with an unmatched loyalty. For now, he would hate the two of them, unable to see that what Lev and Drago were doing held more purpose than simply putting a younger brother in his place.
One day, when Serik had sons, he would do the same.
“Incorrect,” he said simply, grabbing his brother by the arm and twisting it behind his back, before shoving him face first into the wall. Serik struggled against Lev’s hold, blood from his mouth smearing against the paint as he growled and writhed. Lev held fast to the boy, shoving slightly to get his attention. His hand tightened around Serik’s arm as he pressed his weight into the boy’s shoulder. His brother shouted in pain through gritted teeth, while Lev leaned in, “You forget who you are. Where you belong. What the consequences will be for your lazy, disrespectful mouth.”
He pressed further in on Serik’s arm as the boy cried out again. “If you think this is bad, it is nothing compared to what Father will do to you. I’ll break your arm. Drago will break your jaw. Father will break your mind.” A hard, final shove into the wall, causing Serik’s head to bounce off of it, and Lev took a step back. The boy slumped against the wall, breathing fast and hard as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
His eyes drifted between Lev and Drago, rage still visible in his glare. His chest heaved, and with another sudden burst of energy, stupidity and blind fury, the boy threw himself at Drago, his fist swinging hard and fast.
The room was silent for mere seconds, Serik’s answer unequivocal.
Swaying and dripping blood, he stood before them as though he was trying to prove something to himself, more so than his brothers. Drago felt a twinge of regret, but he shoved it down immediately. Whatever Serik thought he was doing, he wouldn’t win. It was a hard lesson to learn, but a consequential one. While he hadn’t dared disrespect Father yet, solely mouthing off to his brothers when no one else could witness, it was only a matter of time if they didn’t correct this now.
Lev moved first, twisting Serik by the arm and pushing him against the wall, pinning him in place. Even through the pain and grunts, the boy's resistance was still palpable. Only the reminder of what Father was capable of seemed to truly penetrate his thick skull, for a moment, appearing as a faint glimmer of apprehension and a brief pause in his struggles to break free. But as Lev shoved and let go of Serik, head thudding into the wall, all of that vanished into thin air. Serik slumped, but didn’t linger for long. Gaze fixing on Drago with that unwavering defiance, Drago saw it coming before his brother even moved.
His arm snapped up as Serik lunged and swung, blocking the blow with the instinctive reflexes ten years of rigorous training had instilled in him, while his other fist shot forward. This time, he didn’t hold back. Patience waning, he put his full force into it, landing on Serik’s jaw with a crack — bone breaking, head whipping — sending the boy tumbling to the ground and into a half-conscious, groaning heap before he'd even gotten a real chance at a fight.
Feeling about done with this whole ordeal, Drago crouched down next to his brother, grabbed the other’s jaw and turned his head, forcing his gaze towards his own. Serik whimpered in pain, eyes unfocused, but Drago ignored it, fixing him with a hard stare. “Do you understand,” he repeated evenly, unmoved by the boy’s state, “brother.”
Serik’s presence hovered on the edge of conscience, seeming to drift in and out. Drago gave his head a little shake, bringing him back to the moment with the help of that broken jaw, still demanding an answer before this would truly end. Gritting his teeth, Serik focused long enough to voice his compliance. “Yes,” he almost sobbed, and Drago let go of him, letting Serik’s head drop sideways. Standing, he turned towards Lev and nodded once.
“I need a fucking drink.”
Drago caught Serik as fast as he swung, landing a hit so hard across their brother's jaw that it nearly caused even Lev to flinch. Composure intact, he watched as Serik crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud. He swallowed hard as his gaze remained even, his stomach turning as he pushed it all away, watching the image of his brother crumple into the broken form they'd made him.
It was for his own good. There was no room for softness or compassion when the final consequences could see Serik breaking mentally beneath their father's hand. As much as Lev despised disrespect and unruliness, he was protective of his siblings. His brothers were the only two men he knew he would ever trust. His brothers were all he had at the end of the day. His sisters, his father, his extended family, even Liliya - none of them would ever see Lev for who he really was. His brothers knew him, and he them, even when they threw all their efforts into hiding it from one another.
To say doing this had brought him no pleasure, was an understatement.
Serik's half-sob escaped him as Lev rolled his sleeves back down his arms, content as it seemed Drago was, now that their brother was teetering on the edge of consciousness. A broken jaw. A sprained arm. All easily healed with magic and time. It was a hard lesson all of them had to learn. Lev could still remember when his uncle had knocked three teeth out of his head with one blow, and another when he'd limped for a month on a broken ankle. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't easy. But it was the sort of thing that made men out of unruly boys and prepared them for the world that awaited.
Zdravkovas weren't weak. Serik wouldn't be allowed to be the first of them.
“I need a fucking drink.”
Lev nodded quietly. He'd fetch Danika to take care of the boy in the meantime.
9:15 PM
The 43 Club, London
♫
Lev threw another shot back, slamming the glass down on the table as the burn shot up through his nose and watered his eyes. Russian vodka was strong, but there was something about English gin that turned Lev's head upside down. Dry, peppery and bitter, it hit the back of his throat with a harsh burn rushing straight to his head with dizzying speed.
His knuckles bruised from impact against his younger brother, and his own jaw aching where Serik had caught him, the alcohol did its work in chasing the physical pain as well as the uglier feelings he'd bottled deeper in the back of his mind. The dim lights of the club and the lazy sounds of jazz pulled him from the day's earlier events, making him forget the way Serik's arm had cracked beneath his hold or the way he'd cried out when Drago had taken hold of his broken jaw.
It only left the feeling of dreary accomplishment. A dark deed that needed doing, without the cold chill of wondering if they'd gone too far.
They hadn't. They hadn't done nearly as much damage as any of the other men in their family would do and the message had gotten across. It was all that needed to be said, and there was nothing more to it.
"Another?" Lev asked, a lazy smile, one nearly never seen, crossed his lips as he leaned back into the booth he and his brother were sat in, watching as couples paired off and danced the night away. "A few more in me and I may forget I have a fiancée." He wouldn't. He and Liliya had come to a new understanding between them - one he'd never thought they would and he was all the better for it. Now, rather than dreading their upcoming wedding, he actually...anticipated it.
"What about you brother? That dark-haired one's been watching you all night." He nodded to a girl lingering by the bar, drink in hand. She smiled, a pretty little sight, when she found she'd caught their attention. He clapped Drago on the shoulder. "I won't mention it if you want a dance or two."
What was a dance in the grand scheme of things?
Drago grimaced against the burn down his throat, slamming the glass on the table a beat after Lev. Warmth pooled in his stomach, and he relished it as it slowly numbed the tension in his body. Serik’s face still swam at the back of his mind, broken and bloodied, but Drago feigned ignorance. One day, Serik would understand. One day, all three of them would be sitting at a table like this, and none of the guilt would matter anymore.
They had done what needed doing. He had done what needed doing, and Serik would be fine by morning. His bones would be healed, the bruising faded, the pain gone. What would remain was the lesson, the reminder and warning.
Tomorrow, Drago would check on him. Explain.
Tonight, he would drink.
The taste was bitter, but his grin was broad, shining with boyish mischief. It was the kind of carefree disposition he seldom allowed himself the freedom to enjoy, as he knew Lev didn’t either. But they had created themselves the exception to their own rule by teaming up on Serik, and while at it, they might as well make it count.
Glancing at his older brother, Drago reached for the bottle to give them both a refill. “You mean, forget again,” he said, humour lacing his even tone. Lev’s indulgences were hardly a secret; even at school he’d been the one to feed them most, compared to Drago anyway. Drago had never been the type to. He saw no pleasure in the meaningless.
He topped off Lev’s glass before his own, setting the bottle back on the table with a dull thud.
“Just try to remember this time,” he added, lifting his glass towards Lev in a toast, lounging against the booth’s backrest. “I’d hate to have to explain if Liliya ever found out you forgot while I was there. Za lyubov.” Throwing his head back, Drago downed his shot, keeping most of the wince off his face.
“What about you brother? That dark-haired one's been watching you all night.”
His gaze found the girl perched at the bar, smiling at him as their eyes met, and despite himself, Drago flashed a smile of his own. Looking back at Lev, he crossed his arms. “A dance or two,” he mused lightly, shrugging.
Matilda’s face immediately sprang to life inside his head. She was his betrothed, even if he wouldn't classify them as a couple in the conventional sense, but Drago had put in too much effort to get them to this point to even think of stepping out on her. He was aware of her expectations for the arrangement and what she wanted from him, and he had already come dangerously close to ruining it once. Bertram Nordstrom still held the power to end this contract if his granddaughter spoke the word, and God knew what Father would do to him then.
One dance with a pretty girl to chase away the gloom, though? One could hardly crucify a man for a bit of harmless fun as that. The alcohol and the guilt pressing at the back of his mind did the rest, and with a raised brow, Drago nodded his head towards the bar again, keeping his gaze on Lev.
“If you give her friend someone to pass the time with,” he bartered. Another young woman had joined the brunette, throwing subtle glances as she exchanged whispers with her friend, smiling prettily.
Clapping his brother on the chest, Drago leaned in with a grin. “I won’t mention it," he said, and slid out of his seat.
Za lyubov - To love
Neither of them were big drinkers.
Lev had had his moments. While Durmstrang saw him rather tight-laced and disciplined in the realm of alcohol and partying. Uni had him loosened, allowing himself the occasional drunken night with his friends in exchange for a better time. Aside from the drinks he always accepted from Oleg - his father would be insulted otherwise - and the now and then drink he had with his brother, Lev didn't hold much interest.
Girls were his vice and always had been. Where he shunned liquor and potions that would see him losing control of himself, Lev indulged in more carnal outlets where the only mind-altering was a lust-driven fog that lifted as soon as it was over. It had tempered of course, once his feelings had begun to change towards the girl that would become his wife.
But he was still a man, and there was nothing wrong with a dance now and then.
As Drago poured them both another drink, Lev raised the glass to his lips, tipping his head slightly with a sly grin. "Za lyubov." Close behind Drago, the man tossed his drink back, letting the gin scorch his throat, the fumes scorching his nose. He shook his head as he dropped the glass back onto the table, appreciating the way it made his head spun and brought on that familiar sloshy dizziness that only came when he knew he'd had a bit too much.
What was a bit of fun, after such a shit afternoon?
A dance or two. Lev grinned at his brother as Drago slapped him on the chest. His eyes drifted to the pretty auburn-haired girl with dark eyes, watching him intently as he noticed her. "You drive a hard bargain," Lev drawled, following his younger brother from the table and sauntering towards the bar.
"Ladies," he greeted them, appreciating how easy it was to relax with a few too many drinks in him. The girls smiled at them, the one he'd been eyeing stepping forward to take him by the hand. "What an accent," she purred, leaning in to him as his hand closed around hers. "What's your name?"
"Does it matter?" he asked, his grin widening as he shot his brother a quick look, tugging lightly on the girl's hand to lead her to the dance floor. She hummed as her arms draped around his neck her eyes boring into his as Lev's hands wrapped around her waist. "I suppose not. Don't fancy you'll marry me when this dance is over."
"Don't suppose I will."
The girl smiled brightly, mirroring his smirk as they began to sway. Lev glanced over his shoulder towards his brother before turning his attention back to the girl. Nothing wrong with cutting loose now and then.
With a loose grin in place, Drago led the way towards the bar, his eyes set on the brunette who had smiled at him earlier. She turned to face him as they approached, her friend wasting no time in pouncing on Lev. Dipping into the faintest of bows, Drago let the alcohol’s influence take control.
“Good evening,” he said to the girl who was still cheekily smiling at him, looking him up and down with an appreciative glint. “Hello, stranger,” she drawled in response, reaching for his hand without a beat of hesitation. “I suppose you won’t have a name either then.”
Drago caught his brother’s glance with a smirk, leading his newly acquired dance partner onto the floor. “No,” he said and turned her to face him. He didn’t say any more as he rested his right hand on her waist, lifting her hand with his free one.
“Well,” she mused lightly, beginning to sway to the music and looking up at him through her lashes, smiling like a cat. “As long as the dance lasts, I don’t think I shall need it. I did take you long enough to come over. We almost thought you two never would.”
A chuckle rolled through his chest as Drago swayed them in place, sending a glance towards Lev. “We were giving you every opportunity to change your minds.”
Friday, 14 April 1923
~ 5:01 am ~
From somewhere far, a faint beeping sound pressed through the fog, incessant but muffled. Drago’s conscience returned slowly, reluctant at first and sluggish. The weight of his body pulled him into the mattress like a boulder sunk into sand, dead weight where his face pressed against soft fabric.
After what felt like ages, the beeping finally pierced the haze, and Drago’s eyes opened.
A dull throb greeted him, like a beat in his brain, every limb like lead. Groaning, he rolled onto his back. For a second, the scene made no sense; the ceiling was a different one than what he woke up to every day, the clothes on his body strange and tight. Head lifting with a sharp motion, Drago scanned the room, a brief rush of panic surging him awake until his eyes landed on the shape of his brother lying next to him, and the memories of last night returned.
“Fucking hell.” His head dropped back to the mattress, eyes closing with another groan. Apparently they’d both simply collapsed, shoes and clothes and all. Reaching a hand over, Drago shook Lev by the shoulder. “Brother. Your fucking alarm.”
Lev was a naturally early riser. Rarely needing an alarm, the young man always woke promptly at 4:55 AM and spent the better part of five minutes stretching and allowing himself the brief time to acclimate to his world before the beeping began. It was rare that anything kept him in bed longer; usually an illness or a result of staying up too late reading or working on something for the family.
Drinking to excess was never the reason, and he cursed himself and every god above for allowing him to be so careless.
He grunted as he stirred against the incessant sound, Drago's hand doing little more than rocking Lev into a nausea he had no hope of controlling. He swatted at his little brother, not quite sure how they'd both landed in his bedroom, much less his bed, but he reached over and grabbed the small clock, hoisting it into the nearby wall with a loud CLANG.
Turning it off would have saved him the need to buy another, but at this hour and the way he felt his head pounding, there didn't seem to be any better option.
He rolled onto his back, pulling his hand down his face as he cursed. What the fuck had they drank? The memories were hazy. He remembered a girl, redhead or blonde, but he couldn't be sure, and what seemed an endless bottle of something bitter. It had been a good time...he supposed...enough to forget himself, but holy shit what a nightmare he was in now.
"I'm going to be sick," he muttered, a silent gag choking out any other words he might have said. Unable to hold it in, Lev rolled back onto his side and hung his head over the side of the bed as he vomited the last of the alcohol that remained in his stomach.
The alarm stopped with a loud clang. Silence settled, and Drago released a breath. More of a grunt, really, and doing nothing to ease the pounding in his head. Pressure that seemed to push at the seams—his entire body felt like it was actively dying. Perhaps it was, and perhaps he deserved it.
Not a good enough excuse to sleep in, however. Being on school break didn’t mean a thing to Oleg Zdravkova, especially not this close to graduation. When his hours weren’t filled with studying for NEWTs, practising spells, or physical exercise, Argentum Memoriae provided enough work to take up the rest of Drago’s day. Internships were Father’s favourite way of keeping his children occupied during the holidays. Nothing worse than wasted time.
With the effort to move a mountain, Drago hoisted himself upright. The world spun violently as he swung himself to the edge of Lev’s bed, his vision blurry for a moment, stomach lurching.
The sickening sounds of gagging followed by the splatter of liquid against stone drifted over from the other side of the bed, and it almost flipped his own insides out too. Swallowing the saliva gathering in his mouth, Drago closed his eyes and pushed the nausea down. He was not going to be sick in his brother’s bedroom. It was bad enough he had ended up here in the first place. How had that even happened? What had they been thinking getting drunk like—
His chest tightened.
Right.
Running a hand down his face, Drago stood. “Nibby.” The house-elf appeared not a half-second later. “Two pain potions, two whatever we got for nausea.” The creature nodded with fervour, vanished, and returned. Drago wondered how he’d gathered everything that quickly, but decided not to ponder.
“Thanks.” Somewhat absentmindedly, he tossed back one of the pain potions as he rounded the bed. Nibby vanished once more.
Keeping a careful distance, Drago handed the other potion to Lev, followed by the nausea remedy. For a moment, he remained quiet. The resurfacing image of his younger brother’s broken face pulled the guilt back in, but he shoved it down. It was done.
“I’ll check on Serik later,” he said at last, forcing his voice even and himself back into composure, back to normal. They had allowed themselves a night of forgetting and letting loose, something to ease their minds. They both knew it was over now, and there was no need to talk about any of it.
Drago downed his second potion. “Let me know when you need me to be ready for that meeting."
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