Emma Sophia Dobbs. Emma Sophia Dobbs. Emma Sophia Dobbs.

The name kept racing through Darien's head as he stared numbly, passively at the sleeping bundle of blankets in the playpen, and yet he still could somehow not connect it to the tiny human that laid there, blissfully unaware of the turmoil currently swirling through her father's--hah, father, it was still such a joke--head.

It had been two months almost since this "Emma Sophia" had been dropped on his doorstep, for lack of a better term, and still he couldn't quite wrap his mind around this crazy idea that he had a kid. A kid. What did that mean? It sounded stupid, but he still hadn't the slightest notion of what that entailed.

After the yelling had stopped, his parents had quickly taken the little girl in, knowing full well that there was no way their irresponsible 21-year-old son was going to know what to do with this situation, especially when sprung on him out of the blue as it had been. They had hoped that, some way, a couple months might pass and they could prepare him before handing her over. After all, they were not about to fix this for him, nor start over again on raising children--it wasn't that he blamed them for any of it, but--

What did he do? He still didn't know what to do with this. Here she was. She was home, in his living room, where she should have been, and yet he felt as helpless as ever.

He could have called Derek. He wanted to call Derek, because as much as he hated to admit it, his big brother was smart and level-headed and responsible and everything that he wasn't and that must mean that he would be able to tell him how to do this, right? But that was not an option. Talking to Derek meant that he had to withstand more of the judging stares, the judging tone, the judging everything that said how little respect he had for his younger brother, exactly because of things like this. He didn't blame him for it, but his brother was the one person whose criticisms stung the most. His parents and everyone else could yell at him and berate him all day, but when it was Derek, it was different.

So he had called Dianna. Dianna wasn't so bad as a second option, right? She had the female thing going for her at least, and she was his twin and he trusted her, and--

Christ, he was so out of his depth.

Sucking in a deep breath, he tangled his fingers back through his hair, about ready to pull it all out. "I am such an idiot," he moaned, certainly not for the first time in the past two months.

Running her fingers through the folds of her dress, Glenda let no pleat or invisible lint go unattended to as she sat. Her dress was far too beautiful for those kinds of blemishes, and the task had proven to be a manageable distraction that was getting her through the rest of the night until it was professionally and socially acceptable to leave.

Oh, that sounded horrible. She really shouldn't be so unwilling to attend her own party. The WWN had really outdone itself, inviting practically the whole of the Wizarding World to help 'welcome her back' to Britain's airwaves. The network had been more than happy to accept her back when she (Sturgis) had contacted them, but had made no mention of something like this until last week after everything had been finalized. All she had asked for was her job back, but apparently her celebrity status had grown substantially with her absence and things like this had become necessary.

She had spent the first good part of the party clutching tightly onto Sturgis' arm, feeling not only uneasy but lost as witch after wizard continued to appear in front of her, asking questions, telling jokes and attempting to have ernest conversations with the woman of the hour. It felt strange having so many familiar faces and names rushed back upon her, and many times already she had wished she was her formal self. If this had been three years ago, Glenda knew she would have chatted up the entire room already instead of giving half-empty smiles, dutiful nods and soft answers.

Now, though, Sturgis had long ago left her side. A tactic she knew no doubt had been purposefully planned down to the minute. It had generated the same feeling within Glenda when he had shown up an hour early before this whole thing started, asking if she minded escorting him, and then offering to drop Tristan off at her Aunt and Uncle's to ensure that she would have enough time to get ready because she hadn't even gotten dressed yet. She knew he was only trying to help with her readjustment process, which made her love, and hate, him more because of it.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Glenda looked up to catch glimpses of the party from outside. Her aimless wandering had lead her to party's outside grounds, a rather nice garden area with sparkling lights and nearby fountain. A few people were nearby, but she didn't mind much. The atmosphere reminded her of Italy.


OOC: soo it's safe to assume Gleny basically knows everyone, WWN would've made sure all friends were here LOL and if she didn't, all famous people were invited anyway so YAY

He'd put it off.

Derek knew that. It didn't make him feel good or better, but it hadn't exactly eaten away at him. If the decision had been his, no one beside he and Dianna would know. Not because of the shame, or that it was privileged information, or any such thing—simply because the more one talked about it, the more real it became. For every person he told, it was one more dreaded pinch from reality, an affirmation that this was not the worst nightmare he couldn't wake up from, but something he was living.

But Dianna, of all people, had reasoned with him in that chillingly serene and unflappable manner she'd adopted. All it had taken was hinting at how Derek would feel in a reversal of the circumstances… if it had been his little brother who'd found out, and then never saw fit to tell him. Then he knew, it was time to come to terms with reality, with the gravity of the situation, if only because it was what she wanted. Dianna had to come first in every respect.

He contemplated the door to Darien's residence. Derek had been distant with him, but no more so than normal, he'd thought. More than one person had commented on his increased anger and aggression on the field, however, and he'd spent far more time than necessary on the clock, because it meant avoiding home, his sister, his roommate, and that swirling pit of guilt that he was undoubtedly responsible for what had happened to her. Derek stood outside, striving for composure. How to begin? Where to begin? But composure never came. So he raised his hand and knocked.

"Darien? It's Derek."

Marissa wasn't sure exactly what had possessed her to accept an invitation from a complete stranger on the journals, really. She knew that she needed to get out more, sure, and she felt like she could finally be at peace with the fact that she and Sturgis had gone their separate ways, but she still rarely felt like leaving the house after getting home from work. The pressure and pain from seeing James Potter die, to see Alice and Frank Longbottom tortured to the point of no return -- to see her sister lose her hand just like she had, it was all too much for her to have faith in much of anything any longer.

She knew the rest of her friends were feeling it too, that pain, but she just hadn't been able to deal with it. Neither had Sturgis, at least not when they'd been trying to do as much. Now seeing him just reminded her of exactly how much they'd both lost; it was far too painful.

That was why, as she left the Experimental Charms department, she slipped into the lavatory to pull her hair down from its messy bun at the back of her head and wave it out, apply a little chapstick, and give her cheeks a quick pinch. She headed back out soon after and stepped into the main entrance of the Ministry, arms crossed as she leaned against a nearby pole.

She could just wait him out, look to see who else was trying to find another person in the flood of wizards and witches eager to rush home.