` valesco ; future & au

September 1, 1997

2011-08-09T04:45:51Z

WHO: Rhys & Juliet Nott
WHAT: WHOA
WHEN: September 1, 1997. Evening, following the twins' return to school.
WHERE: London, England

It had been a long time since Juliet Nott had set foot on English soil.

As she stared out the small kitchen window into the luminescence of the London skyline, slim fingers curled around the counter’s edge, contracting and then flexing in a tense rhythm. Barely a blink afflicted her eyes as she took in the sight of the city she had not seen in so long, but her concentration could not hide the tangled web of emotions that flashed past.

To say that there had never been the chance to return would have been a lie; there were plenty of chances to come, if she had so chosen. Truthfully, Juliet couldn’t place one definitive reasoning as to why she’d stayed away so obediently, excusing the day-or-two trip she had made a few times a year up until six years ago.

At first, it had been out of fear. Fear of Voldemort and what his remaining followers still might do, given the information she had finally believed from Rhys concerning what had happened to her brother. Then, it had been worry for the children, who were not old enough to take care of themselves. And then, of course, the moment Evan and Aemelia had been able to go off to school, to be put into the care of someone else... He had risen again.

But still, Juliet didn’t know why she hadn’t come. Becoming a mother, coming to understand the horrors of two wars and the realities of what could happen had forced out fear for herself long ago. The children were at Beauxbatons, hidden safe away in France, and yet she hadn’t moved upon the idea until this very moment--until the moment her husband had gone, alone, at the height of the battle, and left her.

Juliet shifted in discomfort at the thought, but in the depths of her heart was the unavoidable--although entirely deniable--truth of her presence. Yes, the second the children had returned to Beauxbatons, she had picked up a Portkey and left, straight for the London address Rhys had left behind when he’d first departed three months before. With all that had been happening each day as a result of this war, she was not about to allow him to jump into the middle of it alone... or leave her behind in the process.

At the click of a door, she took a deep breath and finally closed her eyes. No, he wasn’t getting away with this this time.

His experience here in England for the past few months had been.... less than desirable. Actually, if he was going to be completely honest, Rhys had been quite miserable. He had never been the one to enjoy doing what others told him (whether it be beneficial or not), and this current situation of his was no different. Rhys had not enjoyed being pulled from his firm in France, forced to put Four-Eyes McSmells-Bad Moreau in temporary charge, he had not revelled in the looks and hisses he had received from Juliet once he told her he was leaving, and quite frankly he did not appreciate how thinly veiled everything had become. Legislature could at least attempt to not make it look like they were purposely locking away a portion of their population with little trial or evidence. It was simply unprofessional; the mudbloods should at least have a chance to talk away their worthlessness.

Feeling a headache come on from the long day, Rhys stopped outside the front door to massage his temple with his hand. A part of him was secretly thankful that the Dark Lord, nor anyone else for that matter, had ever found his presence and talents necessary outside of dealing with public face and the Ministry. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with the long Ministry days, and then being sent out at night for whatever other services. Sometimes he was, but that was rare.

When he went to open the door, Rhys had expected to be welcomed by the darkness of his makeshift home like every other night. Instead, his eyes darted toward the light coming from the kitchen. He had spoken too soon, apparently. Quickly slipping out his wand from his cloak, Rhys only took a few steps forward before he froze in place.

Juliet? Caught off guard, Rhys internally fumbled. What was she doing here? How had she--- why was she--- he thought he had clearly expressed his flat out refusal for her coming here. He had seen how easily the Dark Lord was sucking in entire families for his gain--- the Malfoys particularly came to mind-- so it was safer, much safer for her to stay in France with the children. Not to mention he had a daily reminder through Will of how sour things could turn if she found out the real truth as to why he was here.

Uncomfortable at this thought, Rhys quickly sought to speak. “What are you doing here?” he asked steadily. He paused for a moment, hoping for the best. “Have the twins blown up a person on their way to school again?” He would gladly deal with another angry parent than whatever his wife felt was so necessary to pull her here.

Of course he had been clear. Rhys had made certain that he was entirely clear about his wishes concerning her and his extended stay in London. She imagined that could be one of the few reasons for why he would bother to return during the summer weekends: so that he could keep a stopper on her agitation concerning leaving her alone with the children, or her suspicions that he wasn’t actually doing work. He had to know from experience how she responded to long periods of absence for “work”--he had clearly been trying to prevent this exact situation which had presented itself now.

But that wasn’t it. It was, but it---

Again, Juliet shifted uncomfortably, and she pursed her lips together, still facing the window with her back to him. There were very few times when she did not know what to say, but she was actually concerned with being careful with her words for once. If she just yelled at him, as she imagined he expected her to do, achieving her goal of staying in London would be compromised. The problem was, she barely knew how to speak with Rhys when she wasn’t yelling at him. True, they had relaxed considerably in the way they regarded each other throughout over 20 years of knowing one another, but when a behavior was hard-wired, it wasn’t just so simple to overwrite.

“The twins are fine.” That was simple enough to start with, and it bought her time that wasn’t blanketed in awkward silence. Not that this wasn’t awkward already--trying to be kind was not something that Juliet had ever done without some sort of discomfort attached. “I’m here because---”

For fuck’s sake, it really wasn’t what difficult, was it? Infuriated with herself, Juliet forced her body around, determined to not let herself act like a shy teenager. When it came down to it, all she had to do was come out with it.

“I don’t intend to stay in France alone,” she breathed out at once, fixing him with a serious gaze. “And I don’t think---that you should be in London alone, right now.”

Yes, that had been that difficult. He had better pray he was smarter than to note that she was showing---concern for him. It would not last long if he did, no matter if she actually cared or not.

So she... wasn’t here to expose his Death Eater status and drive him from their current life? That was nice to know. But his relief concerning that situation had did not help with the other that Juliet had brought up instead.

Was she--- she was showing concern for his well-being while expressing her disinterest for being left alone? He didn’t--- he didn’t--- his left eye began to twitch compulsively. In all the years that he had known and spent with Juliet, he had seldom experienced such a frank display of emotion from her. Yes, they had gotten older and therefore better in dealing with each other, but age had also enabled them to become quicker and better with their words. They had also almost expertly avoided the tender subject of this war (or lack there of, really) to the point where they had simply never really talked about it. Rhys supposed he had Caradoc Dearborn to thank for that, but the day the twins won a citizenship award would be the day Rhys thanked his dead brother-in-law for anything.

So what was he supposed to say to that? Juliet had created quite the problem. She obviously couldn’t stay here in London, but after that confession Rhys would not easily be able send her back to Paris. Even the slightest hint of his refusal would have her cementing her feet to the floor. Rhys couldn’t leave--- they would all be killed for that of act of treachery; he had to stay here. He certainly could not tell the truth of what was really going on, so.... he couldn’t even use the children as a possible distraction because they were off to school! So, if he wanted to keep everything the way it was, he would have to let her stay.

How had she so expertly trapped him with two small sentences?

Frustrated, Rhys let out a lot of air and shook his head. No, no there must be someway to get out of this. He had practically expertly guided her through the first war without confrontation, and he was smarter, better now, so how could this be happening? As he sought to think of a solution, Rhys felt the invisible clock ticking down before his response would take too long and give Juliet reason to be suspicious.

Buying some time, he walked over to the kitchen table to put his wand down on its surface, then seated himself. Rhys let out a long sigh, and closed his eyes in effort for one last-ditch attempt to think of a better solution. Nothing came to mind, of course. There was a reason why he had agreed to marry her, and it wasn’t because of her stellar personality.

So, admitting almost complete defeat, Rhys looked up toward Juliet with a tired and worn expression. There was one thing he could say, he supposed, that might change her mind, but.... he knew a lost battle when he saw one. “So you understand, then, that the reason you want to stay here and the reason I would like you to return home are the same?” Rhys spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully and speaking in a passive tone. He did not want to upset her.

Well, that was... entirely not the sort of response she had been expecting.

Of course, that wasn’t to say that she had been expecting yelling or anything so dramatic, but at the very least it struck her in Rhys’s character to fix her with a frustrated glare and deliver a strongly worded lecture.

Or, you know, just tell her flat-out ‘absolutely not.’

As it was, he’d done none of those things. He was frustrated, yes, but he’d merely gone over to the table, sat down, and said one singular sentence. Juliet watched him carefully, as if it was some sort of trick and he would turn around on her at any second and ambush her, fight her, physically drag her down to the Ministry and book a Portkey... After all, the way he had acted months ago towards the idea of her accompanying him to London had been no less than definitely impermissible. Her husband was no stranger to tricks and games, either, which she could argue was the entire reason they had gone off and gotten married in the first place. Was it really so inconceivable that she would be wary of him now, suddenly seeming to just give up on arguing with her before the argument had even begun, and what he might or might not have had up his sleeve?

But---he was doing nothing. Juliet tilted her head to the side and regarded his face as he looked at her, feeling a strange and almost child-like curiosity at the fact that she saw absolutely nothing in his visage that told of ulterior motives to his resigned demeanor. She would have liked to think that after so many years she knew how to read Rhys to some extent, and there was nothing setting off warning bells here. Should she, Merlin forbid, believe it?

Juliet had made no effort to fill the heavy silence in the room this time as she let the seconds tick away before finally letting out a breath and pushing--slowly, hesitantly--off the counter. She approached the table and the man seated at it as if she were approaching a sleeping lion; and he very well may have been, for all she knew. Barely blinking and refusing to take her eyes off him, she silently seated herself in the chair just to the side of his and folded her hands over each other on the wooden surface, fixing him with a mildly suspicious but tentatively relieved stare.

“I did not come because I don’t---understand what the stakes are,” she began in a similar tone as he had. There was no getting away from the fact that she was highly uncomfortable with speaking to him more candidly than she had during the entirety of their relationship. That said, if there was one moment that it had ever been necessary to give a little, to... let him see just a sliver of anything that she had been feeling for the past several months--it was right then. This war had gotten out of hand, was getting worse by the day and... she regretted every single day, that she had never put away her pride and opened up to Caradoc. Now, as much as it physically pained her, she----she had to do everything she could, to stay there.

“There’s no way in Hell that you can convince me to leave--” ---you.

The final word caught in her throat, and was lost. No, it was far too difficult, to say that.

Rhys exhaled a long breath, propping his elbows up on the table to easily place both his hands on his face. In addition to the sting of failure mixed with anxiety he was experiencing, he could feel a wave of uncomfortableness begin to seep through. Juliet was just going all for it, wasn’t she? He really.... did not want to continue this conversation, or speak at all for that matter. There was nothing he could say to make this situation go away or get better; all Rhys knew was that all he wanted was for her to return to France immediately.

Nothing short of a miracle would have to occur for that to happen the way Rhys wanted. Perhaps this thought was what bothered Rhys the most. He had tried so hard over the past two years to maintain the same lifestyle and character before the Dark Lord had returned, and all that work was coming dangerously close to blowing up in his face with his wife worrying about his safety. His safety! When it was the other way around! He was the one putting other people’s lives danger, begrudgingly everyday because he would much rather be back home in relative obscurity than paving the way for a new Great Britain. He had sacrificed so much along the way, and it could all have been for nothing.

More frustrated than before, Rhys dropped one of his arms to the surface of the table, letting its cool surface counter his hot skin. “I know that,” he snapped, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the true point and tone of Juliet’s last statement. All Rhys was thinking about was how once Juliet made a decision about something, there was effectively nothing anyone could ever say or do to change it. He had figured that out the hard way over the years, and tonight would no doubt be any different. This only made his skin feel tighter and his body feel heavier.

“You just---” Rhys started strictly, then shook his head to himself. His emotions could not get the best of him; he had to put them in calm, well-placed words or else this would all go to hell. “You just can’t stay here,” he spoke much quieter this time, making sure to look her in the eye as he spoke. “It’s not safe for you, it’s not safe for both of us so far away from the twins, and I can’t---” His next words caught in his throat, wanting to be out of his mind but unable to make it past his mouth. Rhys swallowed, and felt his back straighten as it felt like tiny quills had begun to lodge their needles in his spine.

“I can’t--- I need you to stay alive. And if you’re here---” He continued to struggle, unsure as to how much more of this he could handle. “There isn’t a war going on in France. It can... it can protect you better.”

She couldn’t quite describe the feeling that overcame her at that moment besides an experience of all the sense and words rushing out of her mind in one fell swoop. Juliet felt very hot and very cold both at the same time, and her left hand worked to squeeze her right several times in the same tense rhythm with which she had gripped the counter before. It was that feeling of being stunned, caught off guard, which she had had the displeasure of experiencing only a few times before in her life--all of them, as this was now, a result of something Rhys had said.

Juliet hated this. She hated this more than anything in the world, and that was why for so long such situations had been met with a mutual willingness to shut up and forget the entire thing had occurred in the first place. It was an understatement to say that either of them was uncomfortable with sharing their---feelings and all of that nonsense, unless it included anger and yelling. Much to the perplexity of everyone around them, they had always solidly refused to share words or discussions which were considered to be 'normal' for married couples. It was rare enough that one of them admitted to enjoying the other's presence, much less---

Just the ghost of that word sweeping past her consciousness made Juliet twitch slightly. She wasn't... averse to it. It didn't disgust her, or anything so extreme. It just simply... it was one of those things, that the idea of saying it turned a knot in her stomach. She reckoned the last time she had told someone she loved them was---when? Probably more than fifteen years ago, probably to the twins, when they would have been too young to remember such a lapse in character. Even then, she wasn't entirely certain. She might have only thought of it briefly.

Of course, Rhys had not said that. It was probably better than he hadn't, because that would have certainly been more than she could absorb. What he had done, however, was in that moment express more candid caring for her well-being than she could remember. It wasn't to say that she didn't know that this was the reason he wanted her to stay in France, but for him to actually voice it, in so many words, was new.

I need you to stay alive; those words in particular resonated in her head, and Juliet pursed her lips, unable to tear her eyes away. She imagined that she hadn't felt this weak, this vulnerable and close to cracking since that night he had told her about her brother. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could handle, but she had started this--what could she do? She would have to act quickly, if she wanted to win this battle that she had somehow suddenly come so close to losing.

It was then, in desperation, that she blurted out the only thing she could think of.

"I need you to stay alive," she said, her voice forceful considering how she felt like she was falling to pieces inside. Her hand went out before she could stop it and grabbed his that lay on the table, holding on tightly in an attempt to ground herself to get through this, because the idea of voicing her long-dormant thoughts was truthfully making her quite sick and lightheaded. "I came for you, I'm not leaving because of you. I'm not losing another part of my---family to this stupidity going on while I'm sitting on my arse in bloody France."

Lord take her. She would have liked to die right then and there.

Never, had Rhys ever felt his throat close up so tight and his stomach lurch so severely as it just had. It felt like his skin was positively willing to crawl off his body from the amount of uncomfortableness he was experiencing. Juliet was making this difficult, on so many levels, he didn’t even know where to begin.

With this new level of public openness between them, perhaps? Or maybe this... it could only be described as guilt, starting to eat away at him? She was very obviously being truthful, something he knew he could never fully return. Or perhaps, his reaction to her words alone? It was easy, yes, to gently imply his deeper feelings in a last-ditch attempt to scare Juliet back to France, but she had risen to the challenge and accepted it, proving to go and say things he found difficult to as blatantly admit to himself. Or maybe about how scared he was at the mere prospect of Juliet finding out why he was really here and his number one hobby.

Perhaps he should start with this practically unheard of sight in front of him. The image of Juliet reaching to hold tightly onto one of his hands had Rhys mesmerized. He couldn’t break his gaze away from it. Since when did things like this happen? This was Juliet’s most unsettling action for him because he had no idea what to do with it. It, if that was possible, that made her words even harder to swallow.

Rhys knew no matter how long he continued this silence, he had to respond. It was just--- it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy emotions, it was just not something that was encouraged in his up bringing or throughout his life. There had been no overly emotional confessions or gestures in the Nott household when he was younger, and it wasn’t exactly like Hamilton had been a figure to look up to for that. Being a Slytherin and a Death Eater didn’t allow for you to wear your heart on your sleeve either. In fact, Rhys had discovered early on that he rather enjoyed himself not being that kind of person--- it only inhibited in the long run, not to mention he hated it when people let their over-zealous emotions get the best of their judgement.

But.... Rhys opened his mouth, but found it was gaping like a fish’s. He didn’t think he could actually say anything that would remotely compare to what Juliet had said. There were no actions or gestures (usually he could get by with those); they all felt empty. In a vain attempt he went to curl his hand tighter around hers to support, but it didn’t feel right. Instead, his grip felt sweaty and forced, like a sad little excuse for a response

Words, he would have to use words. For the second time in ten minutes, Rhys discovered another thing he had experience before in his life; not wanting to speak his mind. He couldn’t bail out and respond with something less than what he was really feeling because Juliet had given such a display if it had been any other night Rhys would have sworn someone was impersonating her. So, with his body and mind already anticipating this huge step, he took a shaky breath.

“I can do that,” Rhys spoke quietly, his throat feeling coarse. Suddenly, a part of him felt ridiculous for feeling the way he was feeling. This wasn’t--- they weren’t wrong, and just because what he was experiencing was new did not mean he had to turn into this... numb child. Invigorated by this new realization, he shook his head and sat up straighter. He turned again to face her, leaving their hands where they were and looking to her face alone.

“I mean--- I love you, too.”

...

“You---”

Juliet might have continued, but that would have been too much to ask, for all of the air had entirely left her body now and she felt--choked, she felt like----no, she was actually incapable of the simple task of breathing at that point in time. His words had gone through her without any sense at all at first, and then hung on the air so that they could come back at her one, two, three, ten, twenty more times, each time hitting her harder than the last. Each time more like a firm slap across the cheek or a violent shake of her shoulders, bringing her to the reality she had spent nearly two decades of her life vehemently denying.

She had not gotten married as a trick or a game. She had not gotten married as a statement against their insistent brothers, or a reason to shock those around them. She had actually married Rhys Nott because she loved him, and he had agreed because he loved her and this all was absolutely far too much to fathom.

Juliet broke her gaze at him because she had to distract herself now from looking into his eyes because the earnest emotion she saw there terrified her, maybe more than even the idea of him dying in this war. Her free hand ran back through her hair shakily and then pressed hard into her face, which was hot and very likely tinged red. She wasn't embarrassed, she just---there was no need to be embarrassed, right? No, it wasn't that, it was just that this was so much, and they'd just said so many things in such a tiny frame of time that were so heavy and---

This wasn't wrong, she had to remind herself. This wasn't wrong, to---love someone, but it just seemed so very scary. It was such a basic human emotion when it all came down to it, but she'd learned so early on that loving people, or at least giving that love to people always ended in heartbreak or pain. Her parents, whom she had put so much of that stupid love into as a child had always turned their backs on her, disappointed her and disproved whatever they occasionally felt kind enough to reciprocate. It had caused her to turn that feeling of indifference on her brother, who had never encouraged any more from her himself, and somehow that had slowly become the way she regarded everyone in her life: from arm's length, never an inch more.

But she regretted that fear, so much, and she knew that. That was the fear that paralyzed her from saying to Caradoc things she should have before he was gone. That was why she had come---here---Because she felt the same way about Rhys, even if she wouldn't put it into words, and there was still some tiny chance to show him that and not make the same mistake a second time in her life.

She had never expected him to say it, though. Ever. Honestly, as proud a Ravenclaw as she was, she hadn't even known he felt that way. She knew he cared, but he---

There was nothing Juliet could do to come up with proper words after that. They must have sat there four or five minutes entirely in that same position, blanketed in the silence and not moving, and for the first time she really wasn't concerned with satisfying him with a verbal response. She just---she had to move, she had to do something to kick start her senses that had been left entirely deadened by those three tiny words, and so she rose slowly from her chair and let go of his hand.

Her legs felt like they were made of jelly but Juliet was determined to put one foot in front of another, just a couple of steps to make it to his chair and put hands on his face and kiss him. That was all she could do, in that moment, so she hoped he understood.

For a long moment, Rhys had actually thought he had scared her. As if, they were dating again, and he had gone and said too much to the point where Juliet could abruptly (again) end the relationship because it was going too fast. Or that those words had been inappropriate. They had been difficult to muster out-- he felt like he had just participated in a cross-Atlantic marathon of pain. And with her elongated silence, the more he became nervous. He didn’t--- he couldn’t lose her, after all of this---

It was frightening how loud his heart had begun to beat against his chest once she let go of his hand. What? No, he had thought--- there would be no way around this, no way to convince or trap her otherwise. This was the most true conversation they had ever had, it would be impossible to return to their normal banter so quickly. He couldn’t-- what was she going to say, what was she going to do---

An unrealistic calm washed over Rhys as Juliet placed her hands on his face. Anything else she could have done after that would have been extra, an even further reassuring statement that she accepted what he had said. He understood almost immediately what she was trying to say, and he was thankful Juliet had chosen to show it this way than any other. Words would have jolted them even more, propelling them further than where they needed to be, which was here. Rhys felt his shoulders relax, and his hands reach to lightly hold her sides as he pushed back against her mouth.

He could handle this; Rhys could accept this. And even though he was certain he would have many sleepless nights with her here, it would be worth it.

Battle of Hogwarts! May 2nd, 1998

2011-07-31T01:29:54Z

He and Odette had split up, and as Noah watched the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts begin to crumble, it sank deeper into his gut that it might've been the last time he'd seen his wife. He might not even see his son, or daughter by the end of this night, and Noah took a deep breath before following the crowd of what seemed like the good guys down a corridor.

Devastation. It was all he could see. There were portraits still burning on the walls, Peeves was dropping pieces of rubble on the attackers, screaming, shouting, spells and jinxes and----children, children lying dead on the floor. Noah wasn't sure how he was able to move as fast as he was, but---but the worry that Terry was one of those lifeless bodies on the floor----Anna shouldn't be here, she should've left, it----

He neared the Great Hall and stopped dead in his tracks, the sight of the real raging battle exploding, nearly literally, in front of him.

"---holy shit."

[May 1998--Ted! AU]

2011-07-23T02:05:15Z

It's been six days since the war has ended, and so far every moment she's spent alone, when Teddy is asleep, she's been trying to clean out the house of anything that is Nymphadora's. There is a pile of plastic bags at the back door, stuffed with clothes and other things.

Right now she's staring at her own bedspread, wondering whether she ought to just burn down the entire house and be done with it. There's happy memories here, certainly, but the last year -- they haven't been happy memories in the last year. Thankfully, Teddy is asleep in the living room.

She drops down onto the floor, back against the wall, and stares at the bed.

Harry Potter has saved the world yet again.

Harry Potter has rid the universe of Voldemort (with a little help from a Black sister who finally found her way).

Harry Potter cannot, in fact, help Andromeda put her life together again. That's the unfortunate part. She has to keep hoping that Ted is all right, though, because if she doesn't keep hoping that -- well, Teddy is all she has left.

Amery! [March 1981, AU]

2011-07-21T05:54:32Z

She was tired of this. Very tired.

You would think, being so constantly worn out as Ophelia was these days, that she would have gotten used to it by now... but she hadn't. This feeling never let up, never got any better, and she never... adapted, or whatever one was expected to do when their husband turned up dead, was found out to be a Death Eater and they were left with a five month-old baby to raise alone. Was there any way to simply transform after that kind of a life-altering event? Or were all widows just like her; sitting holed up at home, stuck to their child's side 24 hours a day and being generally depressed and pathetic like there was nothing left for them in the world?

Maybe not, if they felt like there was something left. Truth be told, Ophelia was certainly not one of those people. She had Anastasiya, of course, the only thing keeping her going when she felt she was running on fumes, but even the child was little solace. At the worst moment, a glance down into the blue eyes of the baby girl would send a jolt of memories through her, reminding her just how much had been lost, and it was back to square one. It was back to locking herself behind the bedroom door, clutching a pillow and letting the tears flow as if she had buried him only yesterday.

She kept going, though... She always put the pillow down, always came back out and always took Anya into her arms again and held her close, because no matter how upset, no matter how tired she got, she had to withstand. Smoothing a hand over the tiny head of blonde hair, she reminded herself that if life had been unfair to anyone, it was this baby. She would grow up without a father, with people telling her that her father had died a murderer, and for that reason, persevering even through the worst of times was everything.

Still, she thought as she leaned her head drowsily back against the back of the grand rocking chair, it was the hardest thing... to do all of this alone.

Quidditch Cup time in 1968

2011-04-07T03:14:57Z

Hmm apparently Ravenclaw and Gryffidor pay for the Quidditch cup today. Perhaps I'll go... ~~If I can find a good book to read.~~

Second day of summer, 1971.

2011-04-05T03:39:48Z

I live in a box.

Today I cut out a window so that I have something to look out while I am waiting for the rain to stop, because it is London and that is all it fucking does in London, evidently.

valescoing @ 2011-02-02T22:25:00

2011-02-03T05:31:21Z

Rian loved the back to school rush of Diagon Alley. He wasn't a big fan of crowds or snippy mothers who couldn't control their young children, but the rush of excitement and promise in air made it worth it. It made him nostalgic for when he was in school, getting ready for September first, buying all your supplies and then sneaking away from the parents to go meet your friends or girlfriend. Rian was never a troublemaker in that sense but it was still a last sense of freedom before the school year started. He didn't have any children of his own so trips to the Alley were infrequent during this week, but once in a great while he found himself there during the school rush.

Like now. Only now was more of a requirement. As part of an idea (his, actually, tossed out at a boring office meeting) to help students get a head start on caring for their pets (especially the muggleborns) and how to use owls. Since it was his idea, he got the short straw in having to set up at the Magical Menagerie with demonstrations on how to care for the animals and to teach the children and answer questions for their parents. Public speaking really wasn't his thing, but with his last name, people just assumed he was a natural teacher like his father. He wasn't, but talking to kids wasn't much different than training a puppy. Except for the questions, there were always questions.

Rian was sorting through some of favor bags, filed with fliers and owl treats when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to face a tiny blond woman. "Er...hello," Rian blinked.

December 1, 1998

2010-12-12T06:41:48Z

The first snow of the season! Finally!

It is definitely time to take out all of the snow gear. I have a feeling snow forts, snowmen and snowangels will be occupying the front yard very soon.

Does anyone have a delicious hot chocolate recipe? I know four mouths that would especially love it...

November 27, 1998

2010-12-12T05:21:43Z

Who: Marissa Macfusty and Charlie Weasley
What: >>;
Where: The Leaky, then Marissa's hermit-shack

Marissa wasn’t at all sure exactly when this whole thing had started. Arthur had started coming to visit the reserve now and again, bringing the boys. Charlie had really been the only one to be interested - she’d given him his first book on dragons, in fact - and eventually he’d started to come over on his own.

It was when Charlie had graduated that things had started to get terribly inappropriate. She had tried to resist, honestly -- but he was just the sort that she had the habit of falling for...he just so happened to also be twelve years her junior. Sometimes she could resist, but most of the time … well. Most of the time it was like tonight, when she felt like he was the only sort of person who she could stand to be around for more than a few minutes.

She nursed the beer she’d grabbed while she was waiting for Charlie to come in, cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. It was always chilly in the Cauldron. Maybe that was the reason that they never seemed to stay here long.

Charlie found Marissa as soon as he entered the Leaky with his cloak drawn loose around his broad shoulders. His clothes were drab and singed, his usual look. She, however, was difficult to miss. Marissa likely blended well with the other patrons, but Charlie still had some of that boy in him that saw the sun radiating out of her every pore. He knew it was ridiculous, but it wasn't something that could be helped.

"Started without me, have you?" he asked as he took a seat at her side before waving down the barkeep to order an ale for himself.

She knew it was ridiculous not to go away from the reserve when she could help it, but now -- especially now -- she felt she should be cautious. She’d always driven Jinty mad with her desire to protect the girl after her kidnapping, and it had eventually culminated to her moving in with one of her school friends over the summers. Now she lived far from the island, although she sent her sister letters often. It would be just like the last time the Dark Lord fell, she was sure of it -- a few months later when everyones’ guards were down, they’d hit some poor and unfortunate family like the Longbottoms.

Hell if she was going to stand by and let it happen to her family. It was true, though, what some of her friends (whatever she had left of them) insisted: she had to start living again eventually. Maybe she ought to start seeing Charlie more often -- or better yet, find a beau of an appropriate age.

Marissa couldn’t help the smile as Charlie sat down next to her, though. There were few highlights in her life left aside from the dragons and some time in the past eight years, he’d become one of them (despite her attempts to make sure that very thing didn’t happen).

“You know me,” she said with a shake of her head, a few stray bits of hair falling easily into her eyes, “ever the lush. I just couldn’t resist.” More accurately, she couldn’t tolerate the other patrons without a drink in hand.

It had been all of seven short months since the second war had ended. Charlie had time to adjust, but his brother's death had hit him hard. He had difficulty celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord when he'd seen atrocities and so he'd taken to retiring to be with his dragons. He supposed it had strengthened his relationship with Marissa. She still pushed against him, but not as strongly since the second fall of the Dark Lord. As always, he tried not to let himself get too attached, but being with her, it made him happy.

Charlie grinned small at Marissa, pressing dimples into his soft cheeks. He enjoyed that she could make him smile. Seeing her was always refreshing. "If ever there was a woman to drink me under the table," he said with slight tilt of his head. He watched the hair fall and slowly reached up to brush it behind her ear with his calloused fingers, making the action as quick as possible before picking up his drink for a swig.

"How have you been?"

She hated that her cheeks flushed up instantly - she covered it as well as she could manage with a long swig of the beer she was drinking, but they both knew her sudden redness wasn’t from the liquor.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice at it.” Especially when she’d been younger, and especially when she’d been seeing Otto. There had been a handful of times where she’d gotten plastered with others - James, and Elizabeth Bell (when she’d been … recovering from her phase).

“I’ve … been. There’s a new clutch of eggs on one of the cliffs,” because Charlie was one of the few people who would actually understand the importance of this, “So I’ve been busy. You know how it is.” Seeing people so celebratory over the supposed final death of the Dark Lord just made her self-imposed hermiting seem … a little silly.

“And you? Aside from your problems with all the middleman bullshit.”

Marissa blushing amused Charlie. His smile broadened and his dimples deepened as his eyes crinkled at the edges with laugh lines. The color looked good on her was his reasoning why it amused him so, but he knew it was more due to his inner-boy's glee at making a girl blush. Granted, Marissa was no young girl. He was fine with that, though, as he'd always been. Those in his family who knew about him and Marissa thought he was barmy, but no one had the gall to tell his mother. Oh, the disaster that would bring.

He wondered, though, what she had been like as a younger woman before the golden hand and before the hermit way of life. He never pressed the issue, but sometimes, he wished he knew a little more about her. He was an open book, his expressions leading straight to his heart. Marissa was easy enough read, but it had taken him the better part of these past eight years to really know her.

Charlie's face became interested when she mentioned eggs. Small talk was over for him, now. There were dragon eggs to be spoken of! They were precious to him, as Marissa knew all too well. "How many? How far along are they, you think?" he asked knowing she must be very busy. Dragon eggs required special care. The creatures were so rare.

"And I've been..." he teetered his head from side to side. "All right, I suppose. Only nasty burns I've received have been of the bureaucratic variety." He pulled a tight smile. "Hence the rant, but my day is a little brighter now that I'm here with you, isn't it?"

“Three,” she responded immediately, waving her hand. “I think I must’ve caught them only a day or two after being laid, too. The mucosal strings had barely dried.” Not necessarily good ‘bar talk’, as far as other people were considered … but Marissa was quite certain Charlie wouldn’t mind. Besides, anyone who was listening in on them had the right to be disgusted. It wasn’t their business, after all.

Her lips twitched into a smile. It was the same with her as it was with Charlie and the dragons - complete and utter devotion. It had been so much easier during the coming of the Second War just to pay attention to the dragons. She’d tried to do a few things for the rest of the Order, though - she’d offered up the jagged cliffs as a shelter to those hiding from Snatchers, she’d done a few surprise visits to ‘friends’ at the Ministry to gather information.

But she’d been quiet about it. All of the punch of her youth had felt like it’d been drained out of her after her sister’s kidnapping and she’d been -- miserable, for the most part. She let herself take his hand and turn it over with equally rough fingers, feeling out the callouses.

“Nemhain’s the mother, I can tell. The whole lot of them is protective of the nesting area, of course - but she’s the most reliable out of the ladies we’ve got right now. It’s good news, even if she’s going to be a bitch for months now.” Her parents (situated with another group of the dragons farther south on the island) had been starting to worry about the health of their brood.

The description rolled right off his shoulders as jargon of the trade. Charlie was listening adamantly. Having found the eggs so soon was a good thing. Ensuring proper heat and shelter on those cliffs was always a priority, so the sooner the eggs were found the better. It was good handling.

He was pulled out of his own head of questions when Marissa took his hand. Though he knew how rough they looked, Charlie had never been embarrassed by his weathered hands and broken nails. They were gentle when they needed be and just as strong at other times. If he'd wanted pretty hands, he would have become the Minister's lap dog like Percy. But no, he didn't care about his hands, as long as they could get the job done.

It made him glad to have someone who could appreciate the sometimes gnarly looking hands of another dragon handler -- at least he wasn't missing any fingers. Though, it made him wonder what Marissa was thinking of them, or if she was thinking of them at all. She often got that far away look in her eye and he knew she was going to a place in the past. He wished he could give the refuge she needed to work beyond the past, but until he could offer such, talk of dragons and some support were what he had to offer.

Charlie reached for his drink with his free hand and took a quick swig to wet his slightly parched throat, which Marissa had a way of causing. "The mothers are always so protective," he commented. "They can be so trusting, but the moment that those eggs are laid, they can be the most unruly sort."

“At least she seems to have a good enough head on her shoulders not to try and stop me from putting up the wards that need to be put up. It isn’t as if they affect her or the others in the least, especially with the ones I’ve worked out.” Talking about work was simply the easiest path to take with Charlie. She’d always tried to stick to work in their conversations, to keep things from getting too … personal.

That didn’t mean it was what she wanted to talk about constantly. Lately he’d had a bad habit of relaxing her to the point where she didn’t catch herself until she was already saying something she hadn’t meant to. Apparently now was one of those times. She flexed the fingers of her replacement hand against Charlie’s palm. “You know,” she said quietly, “I don’t think I ever told you about the earthquake. I mean, I’m sure you know...” It wasn’t like he wanted to hear about it, she was sure.

“Actually, never mind.”

Talking about work came easy to Charlie. It was his entire existence, after all. He spent his days and most nights with the dragons -- taming them, handling them, keeping watch over those that were ill. He didn't have a family at home waiting, his family was the dragons he cared for, which probably sounded a little sad to most people, but Marissa wasn't most people. She could understand how his life had little personal time to it.

But little personal time didn't mean he had zero personal time or personality. Charlie was a very animated man. He'd been popular in school and kept most of the friendships he stumbled into. He had no aversions to deeper conversation. He just wasn't sure if a bar was the appropriate place to divulge such things. He worried about her feeling vulnerable in such a situation.

"I remember the earthquake," Charlie said quietly. "I was young, but I do remember it. Dad was stuck at the Ministry and my mum was a mess. Probably would have gone after him herself if the wee ones hadn't been there." He sighed softly, finished sharing his part as to not impede on hers. "It's all right if you want to talk about it. I have time." He pulled a quick, reassuring smile. "Perhaps not in the Leaky if that would make you feel more comfortable? I've always wondered how you got that hand, after all."

Normally she might’ve tried to get out of having him come home with her, or at least given him a hard time about using the story as a way out of the bar. She had more or less finished her pint, however, and she was admittedly more comfortable at home. Marissa pursed her lips into a tight line and glanced over to Charlie for a moment before she nodded.

“All right, then. But you’d best not get your hopes up too high. It isn’t as glamorous as you’re imagining, I’m sure.” After all, it sounded more like a mistake that a silly over-zealous girl would make than anything else. That was more or less what it had been, actually.

“The floo will be fastest.” Even though she rarely let anyone in through the floo anymore. The wards were strict - but Charlie had been very recently added as an exception directly to the house. She couldn’t recall whether she’d even told him about it, actually. Marissa pushed up from her chair and headed over to the fireplace.

Charlie chuckled into his drink as he downed the last of his pint. He didn't have high hopes for the story. In fact, he had no hopes at all. He honestly hadn't a clue how she had lost the hand nor why it couldn't be reattached. He figured that there was some gore to the story, but he doubted it would be anything that he couldn't stomach. He'd seen several horrid, evil things in the past three and a half years. Not to mention his job came with the risk of being maimed if you didn't watch your step.

When Marissa stood up, Charlie followed suit. He was mildly surprised when Marissa chose the floo. Apparating about half a mile from her place was the normal practice for him. He knew how strict she was about wards and enchantments to keep others at bay. "I didn't know I was allowed," Charlie said as he pulled his cloak around his broad shoulders to cover his clothes. He then got a hint of a smirk on his face, feeling a slight ego boost. "Now, you'll never get rid of me," he added before following her to the hearth to take his pinch of powder.

Once she’d dusted herself off on the mat in front of the floo, she turned to face the fireplace and waited until Charlie was out of it. “Consider this a one-time occurrence, then. I didn’t think about the fact you were likely to stalk me in my home and watch me while I sleep.” She snorted, shaking her head and hanging up her cloak on a nearby hook. Charlie should have known to do the same.

“Right, then. Now, where was I.” She settled down onto one of the worn couches nearby, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaving just enough room that Charlie could sit down next to her if he wanted to. “Ah, yes. The earthquake at the Ministry. I used to work there, you know.” He probably didn’t know, however -- she hadn’t made it a habit to tell people much about things between her time at Hogwarts and now, really. “Experimental charms. I’m still bloody good at them.” She was no less careful despite having blown her hand off practicing them.

“I was trying out a new set of charms when the earthquake hit. Those lectures that your Charms professor gives you are well-warranted - about a mis-swish or mis-flick causing major problems. With this particularly finicky charms, I ended up blowing off my hand. And you know magical injuries can’t be cured easily.” And really, that was the extent of her exciting story. “Podmore had to carry me to St. Mungo’s himself.”

Charlie stepped out, shaking his cloak before hanging it up on a hook next to Marissa’s. “Well, I hadn’t considered the stalking possibilities, but now that you mention them...” he said, deadpanning the words. He gave her a lopsided smile and ran his hands through his dusty hair as he followed her to the couch.

Taking a seat, Charlie was rapt with attention when Marissa immediately launched into her story. He hadn’t known that she used to work at the Ministry. He’d always known her from the dragon reserves. Losing a hand, though, that was certainly a good as any reason to find another line of work. He was great with charms himself. One had to be to handle such unpredictable creatures as dragons. And Podmore was in this story? How gallant of him.

“Blowing your hand to bits certainly isn’t an easy fix,” Charlie agreed with a crease in his brow and a frown. “So, Podmore just happened to be there?” he asked. He knew that she and Podmore had once been a couple, but he didn’t know details. Maybe this was when their romance had began? Because he was her savior? That seemed a little too fairytale for the Marissa whom Charlie knew.

At least from Marissa’s point of view, things with Sturgis had started out before that. He’d been having a tough time, she’d been … well, distanced from Otto for some time. She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, half-embarrassed to even be telling this story. But she knew that Charlie deserved, after all these years of being patient with her, something about her past.

She smirked. “It’s something about it being done by magical charms that makes it unfixable. Just my luck, right? And -- no, Sturgis wasn’t there. I sent out a general patronus to the group when things went bad at the ministry. Took a hell of a lot of effort to send that one out, let me tell you.” Marissa shook her head.

“I didn’t have much taste for charms for years after that. And by that point, it was a bit too late to go back to the Ministry and ask for my job back.” And a good thing she hadn’t, considering the way things had gone in the last year before Voldemort’s ‘final’ fall. She paused then, half-leaning against him. She was hesitating, and it was obvious.

“I think … that’s where things started with me, really. After that, it was just -- one thing after another, you know? When you’re young, you don’t think much of joining something like the Order -- you don’t take it seriously until it’s too late, so to speak.”