Eisenberg was one of the several parties who'd bought Darian's newest and most expensive piece, a richly-embroidered cloak which'd been modeled by Tapendra back in April. He was, in that manner, an extremely generous patron. When Darian'd met him in person a few days previous at the Tournament mingling in Hogsmeade, the younger man had been only too happy to offer his services in whatever manner Auberon might need. As it turned out, what Eisenberg wanted was knowledge.

They'd started with Diagon. Meeting at the Leaky Cauldron, they had a leisurely pub lunch ("Highly cultural," Darian'd promised solemnly. "Completely unique.") then he taught Eisenberg the Diagon brick sequence. The man was going to be here for all of a year - he would surely need to know it on his own. Now they'd just begun, the streets bustling mid-day and the sun blazing. Darian was patient, pleasant, and charming in his tour-giving duties, although admittedly a good deal of his information was more gossip than historically-based. Nary a bead of sweat shone on his attentive face, nor did his fine linen suit or his expansive gesticulations seem affected by the heat. His hair was drooping, but it'd be unkind of Auberon to mention it as nothing could be done for it by Darian's temperature-controlled clothing.

"You must tell me if you've no interest in war stories. It's so recent, and Diagon was very hard-hit." He turned on Auberon, all smiles and courtly manners. "I would be very interested in comparisons. I've no knowledge at all of German culture."

"On the contrary, Master Morgan," Auberon said as he followed Darian, his arms folded behind his back as he observed the buildings. "I should find those stories most interesting." His smile was neutral and quick. "Durmstrang was hardly a shelter this last war, but I was unable to leave. And, of course, you had it worst here..."

The implication this time was heavy in his tone for a few moments. It was sobering to think he'd lived through three wizarding wars, of a sort; and at his age, he could only wonder when the next would be. Though he had no doubt what it would be over, and England seemed to serve as a flashpoint for such things...

On brighter note, the meal had been satisfactory, if a tad artery-clogging. He wasn't sure what the Beauxbatons lot kept going on about; English food was hardly heavy. But then, he'd seen the things they ate - tiny things with greens on top hiding in the center of a plate. Not wonder they all had such weak constitutions!

Not that he was in a hurry to get that changed.

"From what I gather, while you were harder hit, we did see much of the same events," He said. "Though perhaps not quite the same; most of our... losses came from those who fled rather than a..conflicting loyalty." He let his gaze settle on the smaller man, having been inspecting the shop windows.

"You shall have to tell me what Hogwarts was like, if you were there."

"Mmm, that's good. It would be difficult to overlook such recent history. Almost all of the shops you see were closed during the height of it, except for the new ones; war is bad for business. That one there, Florean's - well, it's run by the son now. The original Florean Fortescue disappeared during the war. Ollivander is back, although you may have heard of his kidnapping internationally given his talent. The post office was a front, not functional at all. The petshop owner was a Muggleborn, so the place was set on fire - and, let's see - those four shops were all closed, as well as the three down the row. But after the war a whole number of new shops sprang up, which was really wonderful. In fact, I would say the Diagon economy boomed."

"From what I gather, while you were harder hit, we did see much of the same events. Though perhaps not quite the same; most of our... losses came from those who fled rather than a..conflicting loyalty."

Darian nodded sympathetically. "I did wonder, at one point, when other countries would have to get involved. You-know-who would have made a terrible ruler of Britain, but he wouldn't have stopped there." Good thing they had Harry Potter, then. If wizards like Eisenberg would have had to get involved, it'd only be because England was gone.

"Oh, yes. I was in my 7th year for the Battle of Hogwarts, and of course the year leading up to that we were all taught by Death Eaters." He refrained from adding that, if rumors were true, it probably hadn't been too different from traditional Durmstrang schooling. Being compared to evil minions often offended, even if that wasn't how Darian intended it.

Auberon grunted. There we many things he'd considered saying to the Hogwarts children, but there was one indisputable fact that Hogwrearts could not escape. Durmstrang had expelled Grindelwald; Hogwarts had fully educated Riddle. In Auberon's mind, that was enough to prove the system of his school. Yes, they produced plenty of dark wizards; but he'd lived through three wars, and so far the Hogwarts graduate was the worst of all. And, frankly, asmuch as people shouted "Dark!" - the world was nothing but shades of grey. It was very rare someone became white or black - and it usually depended on where you stood...

"We were involved," he said, with a glance down a side-street. "Nothing quite so interesting, for lack of a better term, than what you faced here; but Voldemort had many friends and many enemies among our people as well." He adjused his robe as they walked, his eyes not on his guide, but on the shops. "My predecessor vacated his seat in something of a hurry. Unfortunately, he chose to do so overseas - was rather a mess. Wound up dead the next year." No one had been surprised. Karkaroff hadn't been the brightest Headmaster.

His gaze shot back to Darian at the last remark, eyebrows rising subtly. "So I have heard," he said. "What they attempted to do was rather distressing, by all accounts; dare I ask what you did, when the Battle commenced?" His tone was both powerful and curious, an odd combination.

"Of course," Darian said, his permanant omnipresent smile gaining a concillitory edge. "Forgive me. I remember him." In retrospect it had been rather obvious, hadn't it? Kararoff hadn't exactly been the most subtle of evil conspirators. But Darian had paid him no more attention than any other student, and it'd be silly to think a student would have noticed anything - after all, they'd gotten Looming and Skulking About 101 from Professor Snape far too early to think acting dark and scowly was anything out of the ordinary.
 
He still felt Eisenberg was deliberately missing the point. Their's was the battlefield, wasn't it? The stomping grounds of this particular Dark Lord, and the last one for a bit too come to that, and several before that - God, England, this country was lousy for the things when it wasn't making him money. He supposed maybe he should ask Eisenberg for a lesson on his country's upstarts. They could compare genocides, that would be fun. Oh, but he was being too huffy; that wasn't acceptable. It was interesting to hear the political ramifications. Fudge's reign hadn't been conducive to keeping up with the developments in the rest of Wizarding Europe. Darian leaned in, eyes lit with interest, and indicated with a quick hand gesture that Auberon should go on.

"What they attempted to do was rather distressing, by all accounts; dare I ask what you did, when the Battle commenced?"
 
Darian felt a little thrill at Eisenberg's voice. Residual school-boy guilt sprang to attention at the ringing tones of command, slivered through with a curiousity that muted but did not negate the impression of a man who was accustomed to being obeyed. But even as a schoolboy Darian had not been very well-behaved, and that was a very personal question. It did not offend so much as it stirred that urge in him to be needlessly difficult, a trait instantly familiar to anyone who'd known him for more than five minutes.
 
"Oh, Mandy Riggs pulled me into a broom closet," he said, red lips curling and eyebrows slanting into an expression that ought to be outlawed in any public venue. "Heat of the moment, survival instincts... you know. Then some Death Eaters caught me with my pants down and fortunately they were so busy laughing we just managed to escape." He sighed theatrically. "I don't know why they laughed. I was a chiseled, manly specimen in my 7th year, second only to the Boy-Who-Lived himself, and he had been living out in the wilderness for months."
 
Such a serious question did not deserve a serious answer. A Slytherin and a pureblood, already legally an adult - oh yes, what had he been doing. As if Darian hadn't been conditioned like everyone else in the UK to piss himself when he heard the Dark Lord's name. So tiresome! The attack on Hogwarts had been... presumptious, and he hadn't been at his kindest or most forgiving after Death Eater tutelege, but he wasn't suicidal. Heroics were for Gryffindors and the feeble-minded. It took a smart boy to realize his real strengths lay in Disillusionment charms. After he'd shaken off the hanger-ons (being witty, charming, and handsome had its drawbacks; for one, it gave everyone the impression that he liked them) he'd found a nice protected corner and then taken potshots at every Death Eater who'd come near. Hardly glamorous enough to live up to people's impression of him, but it'd been nice to work out some of the wartime tension. He'd been just young enough to really enjoy pulling one over anyone less clever than himself -  no, what was he thinking, he still liked doing that.