London - February 10, 1995 - A friend
London - February 10, 1995 - A friend
Katya woke up before the alarm started ringing. The faint, grey light of London filtered through the curtains of the Maifayl flat, illuminating the dormitory. She looked around, on her bed there was half-open letters scattered and her notebook with fresh writing from the previous day in the office, when he saw Prime Minister Fudge's assistant, Cain Woodlock, arrive at the bank.
"Everything is important" she remembered her father's voice speaking in her mind. "Write down everything you see."
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the city waking below. The ache in her chest had become familiar—less of a sharp pang now, more of a dull weight that settled in her ribs every morning.
She dragged herself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she moved to the kitchen. The kettle hissed as she prepared tea, a habit she had acquired since arriving in England. It was something to ground her, something to do with her hands while she forced herself to function. Her eyes flickered over the unopened letters from Nikita and Emil, or rather, the lack of letters. She had written to them weeks ago, but their silence was answer enough. She appreciated Nikita's generosity in lending her his own flat to stay in, but she felt that her friendship with her friend, her only friend, was increasingly broken.
Nikita and Emil, didn’t approve her job there.
She couldn't blame them. To them, she was walking a dangerous path, associating with the wrong kind of people. Not because their parents had warned them—no, their parents had been purists themselves—but because the three of them had spent years unlearning those prejudices, forging their own beliefs. Nikita and Emil had paid the price for that defiance, exiled from their own country simply for being together. And now, they thought she was slipping back into the world they had fought to escape.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter as the thought slithered through her mind.
But I'm not like them, she reminded herself. I'm not one of them.
Her reflection in the dark kitchen window seemed to disagree.
The halls of Gringotts were always cold. Even in the depths of summer, the air inside the wizarding bank held a chill that bit through the layers of her robes. Katya adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves as she made her way through the arched corridors, nodding briskly to a goblin she recognized from previous audits.
Her work was simple in theory, gruelling in execution—accounting, auditing, ensuring no coin was unaccounted for. She excelled at it, though the goblins were not the type to praise competence. It had taken her months to gain their grudging acceptance, and even now, she was watched carefully, as if she might snatch a handful of Galleons and flee.
“Borislova.”
She turned at the clipped voice of Ragnok, who stood by one of the vault record chambers.
“Your report on the Malfoy accounts. Due by the end of the day.”
“Yes, it will be done.” Katya gave a curt nod.
Ragnok was the goblin in charge of his work at the bank, the one Lucius Malfoy and Pyotr Borislov had the most to do with. The goblin was in charge of international transactions and movements, so during her time at the bank, the creature had been demanding reports of her work, in order to keep everything under control. If she had learned anything in his years working alongside goblins, it was that they were structured creatures and very orderly with their work, everything had to be reported and categorized.
She knew it was also because she was working for the Malfoys, a family held in high regard in English wizarding society. The Malfoys name carried weight. They were one of the wealthiest, Influentials and powerful families in England at the moment because Malfoy Senior had Prime Minister Fudge practically eating out of his hand.
Katya was intrigued by the Malfoys, she had no love for them, clearly because they represented a magical lifestyle similar to that of her family, if not the same one and she sought to distance herself from that, but they were her father's number one target and she had to continue her role.
She was a little uncomfortable spending the afternoons having tea with Mrs. Malfoy, Narcissa, always asking and wanting to know more about her life, while she worked to put in shape the large amount of capital they had in England and France. But it was her duty, to fulfill what her father had asked of her so that she could get rid of him once and for all.
Beside her, as she began her report, other goblins watched her, curious. A few weeks ago, a couple of them had been annoyed that the young woman was there, working side by side, but Ragnok and some of the other higher-ranking goblins had put them in their place.
Ragnok considered the fact of working with a member of the Borislov family to be considered an honor, although the surveillance by the goblins never ceased.
The Borislov family, Katya's family, was seen almost as a family of great political weight in Europe, even more so in goblin circles, due to their lineage of wizards who had a long history of commercial and economic relations with the Gringotts banks throughout Europe. Katya had to thank her great-great-great-grandfather, Boris, who was one of the first wizards on the continent to trust the goblins after the battles they had had with the Wizarding World. Having a good relationship with a Borislov meant having a good relationship with the economy of that country, whether it was in Russia or England.
Of course, if they knew the truth, if they knew why she was really there, their perception would change. She wasn't in London just for work. Not even for the Malfoys, even if they were the ones she spied on the most lately. No, her father had sent her for a bigger purpose, one that not even her office colleagues suspected. While she reviewed deposits and withdrawals, audit reports and sums of money that passed through the Malfoys' account, Katya kept an eye on other, more subtle movements, more important to those at the Russian Federal Committee of Magic. Any kind of information that would make her father able to rise to power faster and allow him to get away from these kinds of situations even more quickly.
Katya spent much of the morning, working, with her scroll and ink, meticulously organizing as she began to cross-reference information. The numbers blurred slightly as her mind wandered.
London was a lonely place. Perhaps, somewhat naïvely, she had thought that working far from the pressures of her family, far from Moscow, would make things easier. But between the goblins who barely tolerated her presence, the childhood friends who no longer wrote to her, and an emotionally unavailable wizard she had somehow fallen in love with, she felt more isolated than ever.
Katya let out a frustrated huff. Just thinking about Severus Snape was enough to give her a headache. She would have liked to believe that his detachment had no real impact on her, that he was just another fleeting complication in her life—but that would have been a lie.
They had an unspoken arrangement, one neither of them had ever put into words. It was convenient, yes. The sex was very, very good. It was easy—they met only when their schedules allowed, there were no expectations, no entanglements, and above all, it was exclusive. Just the two of them. No third parties lurking in the shadows. And yet, in the quiet of her flat, or in those fragile moments before sleep, she wondered if being with him like this was a mistake.
She had known him for years. She had always wanted more.
Katya had been more than pleased when their years of written correspondence had shifted into something physical, when her once-distant friendship with Hogwarts’ Potions Master had transformed into something far more intimate. But when she was alone with her thoughts, she could no longer ignore the truth—this fascination, this desire, this need for something more… was hers alone.
He was, for the most part, impenetrable. Katya admired his razor-sharp intellect, his dry, acerbic wit that often amused her—but there was always something else, an invisible wall she was never quite sure how to break through. And then there was the distance, that deliberate gap he maintained whenever their conversations threatened to drift beyond the confines of work, even after they had just shared a bed in some anonymous hotel room.
She couldn't help but feel used. And yet, she had wanted to give him something—an experience, a memory, a moment that might chip away at those towering walls he had built around himself.
And for the first time in years, she had heard him laugh.
It had been fleeting, rough around the edges, but it was there. A real, unguarded laugh as she sped through the countryside, the wind whipping through the open top of the rented convertible. He had let her do this for him—after much persistence on her part, after rereading their old letters and finding that silly adolescent dream of his buried between ink-stained lines. And so, after countless attempts, she had convinced him to take the day off, to sit beside her in that ridiculous red car, to let go—if only for a little while.
“Thank you, Kat,” he had murmured later, his voice thick with exhaustion as he lay against her, his bare chest warm beneath her fingers. “It’s been… a perfect day.”
They had spent the morning driving beyond the city, away from the weight of their respective lives. Eventually, it had been Severus who suggested returning to Mayfair, to her flat, to end the day in a way that felt… complete. She had agreed without hesitation. And when they did return, when passion took over, she had allowed herself to believe—just for a moment—that she had finally breached his defences.
But now, he wasn’t answering her letters again.
Did that mean something? Why was everything with Severus so frustratingly convoluted? What did he even want from her?
A series of sharp knocks on her desk pulled her out of her thoughts. The sound made her jump from her seat, the echo still ringing in her ears. She blinked, disoriented, as she saw another elf, Orlon, who was watching her with small, clever eyes, as though he could read every corner of her mind.
"The break starts in five minutes. Don’t waste it," he said quickly, looking at her with a puzzled expression.
Katya exhaled slowly as he walked away, his steps light. As if she could waste anything in this place, she thought bitterly.
Her fingers tightened as she tried to stretch them, the stiffness in her skin and muscles a reminder of the constant vigilance she imposed on herself. The numbers, the ledgers, the calculations—they were her refuge. Things she could control, where there were no surprises, no unexpected breaks. The pen was cold under her grip, an anchor in the midst of her internal storm.
But the dry sound against the wood, the same impact that had shaken her from her concentration, was too familiar. It reminded her of a blow that dragged her memory to a dark place in her mind. That knock, that impact, reminded her of her own jolts on the wooden floor of Rostov, and without being able to stop it, the memories returned with the force of a wave that drowned her mercilessly.
Jan and Alexei. In her mind, her brothers, younger faces but with clear, intentional cruelty. Both were smiling as she struggled to free herself from their restraints, slamming her head painfully against the floor. She remembered thinking that maybe, if she made enough noise, someone would hear her.
The laughter was like sharp knives, cutting through every attempt she made to escape. The sensation of their hands on her, strong and suffocating. They mocked her, telling her with disdain that no one would hear her, that they had absolute power over her. The fear wrapped around her again, that heavy knot in her stomach, that desire to disappear, to make time stop so that none of this would be real. Her own voice, broken, lost in a spiral of pleas. Screaming, crying, with no one to hear her.
She swallowed hard, reminding herself of the methods she had to ground herself, to return to the reality of the suffocating sensation that enveloped her every time something triggered those memories. She tried, still trembling, to push the memory deep into her soul, where the darkness still held it captive. This was not the place to lose her composure. Not now.
But no matter how hard she pushed, it was always there. Lurking, waiting for the right moment to suffocate her again. She rose slowly from her desk and made her way to the bathroom. There, she splashed her face with water and decided to take a moment to smoke a cigarette and eat something. The idea of stepping outside, of breathing fresh air, felt like a lifeline she could cling to. She needed something external, noise that could keep her away from her thoughts.
Katya took a long drag from her cigarette, the cold breeze of Diagon Alley brushing against her face as the queue moved slowly in front of the food establishment. Around her, the voices and sounds of the passers-by seemed like a distant murmur, as if she couldn’t fully connect with the bustle of the place. Her mind, however, drifted back to her training, a memory that distracted her whenever she found herself in situations like this.
A year ago, after months of enduring the harassment from Jan and Alexei at the company, Katya had decided that she could no longer be a victim. After a particular incident that left her paralysed in the lift of the company building, her contact with the Dark Arts became inevitable. Her training had been... necessary, something that would finally allow her to defend herself, though in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
Katya had started at the Federal Magical Library in Moscow, searching for books that would help her rid herself of them. It was there that she crossed paths with Mikhail Wudan, a former Koldovstoretz companion and employee of her father. Mikhail Wudan was a known Dark wizard, a couple of years older than her, from a Russian-Chinese family. He was a cold, calculating man of ambiguous morality, but Katya saw in him her salvation. In exchange for a generous salary that would support his family, Wudan and she began training in the Dark Arts, which vastly expanded her knowledge in the field.
The first days of her training felt like a test, something with no turning back. They would meet after Katya finished work, her desire to destroy her brothers still fresh in her mind. Wudan’s training offered more than knowledge—it offered power. Power to defend herself. Power to be stronger than her brothers.
The training wasn’t easy. Wudan subjected her to a series of trials that drained her both physically and emotionally, including, for example, sacrificing a poor rabbit. Katya learned to move magic quickly, her anger channelled into spells that cut through the air with deadly precision. She mastered the secrets of torture, learning how to find her enemies' weaknesses without even touching them.
Wudan also made her participate in the tasks that Pyotr Borislov sent him to do, so that she could better understand what her father was capable of. Wudan was his way of getting what he wanted, whether through torturing, scamming, or blackmailing his enemies. He also gathered information, something that Katya began to jot down. The young woman usually didn’t get involved, only observing in silence. Over the course of that year, her heart hardened, and she realized that if the gene of evil that her brothers, Jan and Alexei, carried came from anywhere, it was from their father. Each lesson, each task she observed Wudan do in the name of the Borislovs, drew her further from her family, and sometimes she wondered if they didn’t deserve to lose everything.
The taste of the cigarette burned her throat, and a sigh escaped her lips. Mikhail Wudan had been a key figure in her life, not only for what he had taught her but for what he had forced her to learn about her own family. In those moments, as her old traumas hit her, she always remembered him and how he had “hardened” her to become her best version.
"Next!" the voice of the seller snapped her out of her trance. Katya took another deep breath, finishing the cigarette until the filter grew hot. With precision, she approached the counter, but a girl with violet-tinged hair stepped ahead of her.
Katya watched the girl with violet-tinged hair step ahead of her, momentarily irritated at the slight interruption, but it didn't last long. The girl turned around, her eyes landing on Katya as she glanced up from the counter, and for a second, their gazes locked.
“Sorry about that.” the girl said, flashing a quick, sheepish smile. “You were next. I just—” She paused, fidgeting with the handle of her bag. “I'm starving.”
Katya raised an eyebrow but found herself amused.
“No need to apologize. It's a busy place." she replied in a low, cool tone.
The girl smiled again, and for a moment, the air felt less tense.
"I’m Nymphadora Tonks," she added, her voice upbeat, as if she wasn’t fazed by any awkwardness. “Auror. Don’t ask about the name, please." she added quickly with a playful grin. "It’s one of those things."
Katya tilted her head slightly, intrigued by the stranger's ease.
“It's a unique name” she replied softly, her accent still noticeable. "I’m Katya, by the way. Katya Borislova.” The woman’s interest piqued. “You're an Auror? That sounds... interesting."
Tonks nodded, unfazed by the assessment.
“It has its moments. Right now, I’m stuck escorting some goblins in Gringotts. All kind of gimmicks, curses, all that fun stuff. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it keeps me busy.”
Katya’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. She hadn’t expected to hear something like that in the middle of a bustling food hall. The girl’s energy was refreshing, an odd contrast to her own more reserved manner something about her, remind her about Sergei, her youngest brother.
“Sounds like an interesting job,” she commented, leaning slightly forward, intrigued despite herself.
“I suppose so,” Tonks said with a shrug, “though I’d rather be hunting dark wizards than babysitting enchanted vaults. But it pays the bills.”
Katya hummed thoughtfully, the faintest flicker of her own memories sparking at the mention of Gringotts.
“I’m working there too, actually… At Gringotts. Not as exciting as the vaults, though,” she said, her voice quieter now, less animated. “I deal with the paperwork mostly.”
“Ah, so you’re the one making sense of the chaos behind the scenes." Tonks said, her grin widening. “I bet you’ve got a knack for organization, then. I can hardly make sense of my own desk.”
Katya chuckled at that. Suddenly, the cashier called out both women's orders simultaneously. Both Katya and Tonks had ordered the same thing: a sandwich and a can of Guinness.
"You're Russian, right?" Tonks asked as they left the store.
“Yeah, I thought I had the British accent down.” Katya joked. “Apparently not if you picked it up so quickly.”
“Oh, no! Sorry, your English is perfect! It's just that I have an ear prepared for accents, my father is Irish and a large part of my maternal family speaks French, so I am the ideal girl for accents.” Tonks looked a little embarrassed. “You work here now? How does that happen? You just show up one day and decide, 'Yeah, Gringotts, that'll do?'”
Katya couldn’t suppress a soft laugh.
“Not quite. I— just wanted to change my job” She paused, realizing how little she knew about Tonks. “What about you? How did you become an Auror?”
Tonks smiled, leaning back with a dramatic flair.
“Well, I’ve always liked getting into trouble, you see? And what better way to do that than by working for the Ministry? The job’s not all it’s cracked up to be, though. It’s not all chasing dark wizards and dark arts.” She seemed to think for a moment. “But it does give you a sense of purpose."
Katya nodded, a sense of familiarity rising within her. Tonks definitely reminded her of her younger brother Sergei, whom she cherished deeply for being the only one of her siblings who had shown any kind of goodness. Sergei, unlike Jan and Alexei, had been kind, untainted by their father's cruelty. He was also an adventurer, full of dreams and things he wanted to do. Though she hadn’t thought about him in some time, a pang of longing tugged at her chest. Katya made a mental note to send him a letter as soon as she got back to the flat.
Tonks's voice pulled her from her reverie.
“So, you’ve got a family back home?”
Katya hesitated but then nodded, a faint smile touching her lips.
“I have… my father and my brother, Sergei. He’s...” Her smile faltered for a brief moment before returning. “He’s a good boy, worth keeping.”
Tonks smiled knowingly, and Katya found herself oddly warmed by the sentiment.
“Well, here’s to Sergei then.” Tonks said with a wink and clinking his beer can with hers. “He sounds like a good bloke.”
Katya felt the weight of her unspoken memories ease for just a moment. Perhaps, just perhaps, this could be the start of a friendship she hadn’t realised she needed.
“Well, it's time for me to get back to work.” Tonks said. “I hope to see you here again!” Tonks teased, holding her tray of food as they both moved toward an empty table.
Katya glanced at her, amused, then shook her head.
"Me too! I'm here from 9 to 5, so we'll surely see each other again."
"I'll take it for granted, Katya!"
The Auror’s energy was infectious, and for the first time in a long while, she had met someone who didn’t carry the weight of hidden agendas or veiled threats. That, in itself, was refreshing.
Back in the office, she realizes that it had been a long one—emotionally draining in ways she hadn’t quite expected. Memories she had buried deep had surfaced with startling clarity, and the encounter with Tonks, lighthearted as it had been, had given her a momentary reprieve from the storm inside her head.
But now, the exhaustion was settling in, thick and unshakeable. All she wanted was the quiet solitude of her apartment in Mayfair, where she could finally shut out the world, let her thoughts settle, and remind herself of the roles she played. The mask she wore at Gringotts. The façade of composure. The careful dance of deception she had been perfecting for years.
And yet, a small part of her knew that crossing paths with Tonks had been more than just a coincidence. Having an Auror as a familiar face—perhaps even a friendly one—could prove to be an unexpected advantage. If nothing else, it was another thread in the vast, tangled web she was weaving.