the darker the weather the better the man | one-shot

[asher rowan burke]

you can take all you want

but not who i am

Early September 2027

Purpose. What did it really mean? Asher had spent the better part of his life debating what it meant. His father had one answer and his mother another. But none that satisfied the eldest Burke. Staring into his glass of your standard, mediocre whiskey—Asher contemplated this again. It has been years since such thoughts plagued his mind. Working as an unspeakable and rising through the ranks had been a straightforward goal. A simple purpose. To ingrain oneself so that not even the Minister for Magic couldn't touch you. And then Ivy introduced him to Elaine Dupree. A mere child but with such a singular focus he’d never seen. Not even in the pureblood society.

A purpose. And a worthy one. Or so Asher had told himself all these years. Imprinting it into his brain until he finally believed it. Legacy, pride, power—words his father spoke hundreds of times daily. And especially to his son—his only son and heir. At one point in time, Asher, Ivy, and Hazel could stand tall on their name, blood, and achievements. Like any modern Pureblood family, their history contained dubious characters, but society slowly accepted them again. Why should they pay for the sins of their parents, grandparents, uncles, or aunts? Asher was arrogant but patient, but his intelligence and shrewd tactics gave him ground to stand on. Ivy was similarly brilliant, with a unique mind that could tear something apart to understand it like nobody else. And Hazel, behind the glare of the gold she always wore, gifted in the art of transformation—alchemy.

Three very different personalities, and yet they’d operated as one. Ivy was the forward-looking one, and her actions stemmed from those motivations. Hazel opted to live in the present, her flashy personality suited for the moment. And Asher was motivated by his past. Mistakes should not repeat themselves, or they’d never survive.

But would good had it done any of them?

Jaw clenched, he released the tension and swallowed all the contents of his glass. The whiskey burned, leaving behind an aftertaste that left something to be desired, yet he asked for another one. Sitting in what was actually a hole in the wall, Asher Burke was almost unrecognizable. Instead of the finely tailored suit, he wore jeans and one of his well-worn dragon skin jackets. Sunglasses hung from his shirt, his wand in an inside pocket and close by. The usually commanding look in his eyes—the piercing blue gave way to a dull exhausting color. He’d spent months rebuilding and convincing himself he’d walked the right path. Three-quarters of a year in almost abject isolation was a cruel fate if only because one was left imprisoned with their thoughts. All of them.

This solo journey served a few purposes. This area contained many Pureblood connections and had for many years. As a relation of the Burke in Borgin and Burkes, Asher had access to these individuals. While his business dealings were not yet back to their former standing, he was slowly heading in the right direction. Plus other work he had to do that required his personal attention. Kazakhstan. A country most have probably not even heard of. Close to Russia and right at the end of the where one’s Ministry might be able to protect you. Beyond that, you were on your own. Cursebreakers often trekked this way in search of rare treasures at their own risk. Pirates often waited for them, but that trade seemed like some muggle fairy tale than real life. Smugglers and thieves often wore finely tailored suites rather than looking like sailors.

Asher had lost count of how much of this inferior whiskey he’d consumed. The acerbic aftertaste lingered almost permanently in his throat. But he could not return home. He couldn’t return back to the club with his mind racing as it was. And a chance encounter had proved interesting. Whether it was fruitful was yet to be determined. But as Asher contemplated what his family’s new standing meant—a voice hit his ears, and his body tensed.

Karkaroff.

Another eldest son to a Pureblood family, but the Karkaroffs had always taken a slightly different path. Asher was familiar with the children. He often saw Casimir’s younger brother at social events with his wife. The youngest often perused the Ministry’s halls, that mischievous look on his face while he waited for his next story for the Prophet. And then the youngest, not a son but a daughter. Anastasia, who had found her way into Interpol’s ranks. Asher’s mother had once suggested the young Anastasia as a possible bride. But Asher knew behind the perfectly projected exterior of a Pureblood princess was someone who was not afraid to hex you senselessly if provoked. Asher had politely declined. He wasn’t interested in a power struggle.

The short conversation lingered in his mind. Casimir asked, with a hint of amusement, if incarceration had lowered his standards for the finest brandies or whiskey. Asher responded that sometimes one had to settle for what they could get, and perhaps Casimir and his family would know all about that, wouldn’t they? Finally, Asher turned to look at his counterpart. They didn’t ask what one’s business was there. They knew better than that. Plus, it was such an unseemly question in their world. The goal was never to approach anything by walking through the front door. Information was always sought out subversively. Their world. The same society that threatened to shun Asher as they willingly did other families. The same world that had brought Asher power in exchange for nothing but pain.

A few more comments from each, but then silence. Asher often grew weary of these exchanges, but sitting in some unknown pocket of the world as a mere visitor did not give him the same energy as where he was unquestionably in charge. There was tension. Asher contemplated commenting on his brother’s less than subtle nature or perhaps how his sister could use some manners, but that only opened up Hazel and Ivy as targets. His sister and someone he’d strived to banish from his mind but had failed to do so. ”How do you do it?” Asher had asked, his tone calm and even as the bartender brought him another drink. Casimir looked at him for clarification. After a moment to think, Asher spoke again. ”The world is determined not to change what it has decided is true.” Preconceived notions were the strongest structure known to man. ”How do you fight it?”

The truth didn’t matter but what was perceived as such. It would outlast any of them and anything else they’d leave behind. It was why Asher clung to his legacy so much. Casimir didn’t respond immediately. Asher continued fueling his whiskey-induced spiral. And then--an answer he wasn’t prepared for. Casimir spoke of ‘finding an outlet’, finding a purpose. Somewhere to put one’s faith and belief in. And before Karkaroff left, he turned to Asher, his own hardened dark eyes meeting Asher’s lighter ones before he asked. ’What do you believe in Burke?’. The man didn’t wait for Asher to answer before turning and leaving, his business likely done here.

Not that Asher had an answer.

Nobody had asked him that before. He’d never even asked himself.

[ Casimir Elias Karkaroff for reference]

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