BUILD & HEIGHT: strong jaw, expressive eyebrows. a fine height, with a body bordering on lanky. & 6′1″
IDENTIFYING MARKS & SCARS: tattooed outline of narasimha on his back. always hidden by clothing, seldom spoken about and never revealed in polite society.
SCHOOLING: HOGWARTS, school of witchcraft & wizardry
HOUSE, IF APPLICABLE: gryffindor
N.E.W.T.S: charms –– o, defense against the dark arts –– o, potions –– o, arithmancy –– e, ancient runes –– o, history of magic –– o, wizarding law –– o, muggle studies –– e
OCCUPATION: OBLIVIATOR, licensed
MINISTRY FIELD, IF APPLICABLE: department of magical accidents and catastrophes
REGISTERED WAND: HEIRLOOM. 10.2”, carved sandalwood with a bronze handle embedded with sunstone flecks, naga scale core, slightly yielding.
AMORTENTIA: spiced chai, dark chocolate, woodsmoke & incense
BOGGART: HIS FATHER, drenched in lake water, aquatic plants growing out of his mouth, eyes, ears nose, hand outstretched toward fleamont –– ‘you didn’t do enough’, the animated corpse garbles out through a lungful of water and weeds. ‘why didn’t you try harder to save me?’ When combated with the proper incantation, the boggart transforms into a reverse mermaid in rollerskates.
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CONCERNING: @snappedwands –– hyslop, h.
TIMESTAMP: 007 SUIT & TIE –– subject to change
STATUS: warded, public space
HE WATCHED the goblins seamlessly knit the sealing wards together, the wards that would prevent any and all exit or entry from the premises. it hadn’t been long since their planned lockdown had been announced, but every second that ticked by on the ornate clock in the lobby seemed to correspond to a twist in his gut or a thud in his ribcage.
fleamont, though surrounded by many in the gleaming bank, was alone ––– but that wasn’t what bothered him. what bothered him was not knowing whether or not helena was safe. BUT ––– it was perfectly normal to worry about one’s partner, was it not? the nagging thought in his mind that whispered that he wasn’t quite as anxious about any of his other friends was something he could brush off, but the twist in his gut at the idea of not knowing whether or not helena was out of harm’s way was inescapable.
monty glanced back up at the wards slowly materializing into place, then drew his sandalwood wand and whispered an incantation he’d long ago mastered. his patronus –– a large and formidable tigress slowly formed out of the luminescent spell-smoke, stretched, and yawned before waiting for instruction in the absence of a visible threat. he cupped his hands around his mouth and murmured his message, punctuating it with a firm ‘find helena’, and then stepped back to watch as the tigress leaped and loped away.
‘ helena, where are you? are you alright? ‘
CONCERNING: @taliesinlestrange
TIMESTAMP: 007 SUIT & TIE
STATUS: warded, public space
FLEAMONT SIDESTEPPED a rather irritated-looking goblin just before the collision would have sent him, three inkwells of vibrant color, two quills, and several of the the thin scrolls of parchment stacked and tucked precariously in his arms sprawling onto the gleaming floor of the gringott’s lobby. unfortunately, it just so happened that in doing so, he slammed immediately into a solid figure to his left –– which meant, of course, that three inkwells of vibrant color, two quills, and every single one of the the thin scrolls of parchment that he’d been carrying spilled out onto the floor in a mess of shattered glass, splotched ink, and feather. “for the love of le fay––” monty grimaced and drew his wand, immediately clearing the mess before any of the goblins could reprimand him, making him feel like a child again, and sighed. then he looked up, recognizing the person he’d collided with, and winced.
trust an outbreak of the undead to cause him to ( literally ) run into one of many people he’d been trying to avoid.
shifting from one foot to the other and tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, it took a moment before he could bring himself to speak –– a moment during which he’d silently debated whether or not he could get away without speaking at all. alas, decorum reigned king. “...summon one ghost and suddenly they’re all the rage, now, huh..?” it was a feeble, lacking attempt at humor, but even almost two months later he still hadn’t found the right way to go about making amends with all the people he’d subjected to the seance that had gone so terribly downhill.
artemis was exhausted to say the least. the night, from start to finish, had utterly drained whatever energy she’d managed to rally for tonight’s event. the tears she’d shed, the anger she’d felt, and then the last mind boggling moments with her fingers laced through taliesin lestrange’s. she was beginning to become undone again; the tightness in her chest was returning, the stinging in her eyes. she could only see cygnus black’s form lingering in front of them and remember the nausea she felt. this was the wolf inside, the one that only showed once a month and it was dangerously close to the full moon.
she’d watched fleamont stalk down the drive and she, against her better judgement, had begun to follow. her heels sank into the gravel and she was greeted with smoke glistening in the air. stalking forward, she stopped hardly an inch from his face, “ what in merlin’s name is wrong with you? ” her voice far too low for comfort. “ what did you think was going t’happen in there, huh, monty? did y’think daddy dearest was goin’ t’come speak with ye just because y’took a chance? summoned a random spirit? if you’d thought t’ask anyone, i could have told you that wouldn’t work. ” the last word is emphasized with a hard shove to his shoulders. somewhere along the way, the tears, angry and raw, had started to slide down her cheeks. “ you could have been hurt. we all could have been hurt or killed. ”
his jaw worked, cigarette burning in the hand hanging uselessly by his side. he let artemis say her piece - it was the least he could do, after what had happened. he’d made a grave mistake, there was no doubt about it, and no matter how well intentioned his efforts were, the nausea roiling in his gut warned him that lines had been crossed. lines that were hard to uncross. he shifts back as she shoves him, but the true impact is that of her tears. for a moment, he stayed silent –– TRULY, between the shock of the seance, the appearance of mr. norris, the alcohol in his system, and the constricting grip his nerves had taken over him, fleamont had no idea what to say to her. or how to say it.
“i..” he started, then stopped. he took a long, painfully deep drag from his cigarette and then dropped it and ground it out beneath his heel. “i didn’t suggest a seance to contact my father,” he stated, bitterly. “we all thought norris was dead –– don’t say you didn’t –– and i was trying to do something about it. to at least be able to DO SOMETHING about ANYTHING.”
fleamont stopped again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then retrieves a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her and looks away. “..i didn’t think –– didn’t know it would turn out that way. i got bad information from someone i thought was an expert. i’m sorry for––.. any part of it that caused you distress. all parts of it. everything.”
thaxter is happy to shift to any other topic as well. he said what he thought he should, but neither of them had to subject themselves to anything further than that. ‘ just finished here actually. the ministry has given me the abso-fucking flattering title of at risk person, so i check in with some dick from the DMLE once a month now, no offense. it’s not all of you, just him in particular. ’ he gives fleamont a smile, hoping that he’d find that kind of thing funny rather than being offended for whatever coworker thaxter was bad mouthing. ‘ i noticed that though, more on edge then they were last month. ’
the corner of his mouth quirks up, as do his brows when he leans in to respond in a lowered playful tone that almost made him sound like himself. his old self. “bet you fifteen galleons that was wilkes. no one likes him, the absolute arse.” he folded his arms across his chest, head cocking to the side. “ANYWAY, if i’d known you were coming through the DMLE so often, i would have tried to nudge your case along to someone less.. dickish–– are you headed this way? let’s walk and talk.” he added, gesturing down the corridor. “i’d be a terrible friend and employee if i didn’t escort such an at risk person from this end of the hallway to the other..”
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Could you please state your name, age, house, and wand specifications for the record?
fleamont settled into the hard metal chair, straightening his tie, and nodded. “fleamont rashmik potter. twenty five. gryffindor–– and, it’s a sandalwood piece with a bronze and sunstone handle. naga core, slightly yielding. ten inches and two centimeters.”, he rattled off the information more as a long string of words than anything else, so used to ministry procedure by now.
Who sent out your invitation to the Norris’s home?
"i would assume it was mr. norris, but considering the.. atmosphere of that evening, i find myself.. rather open to other possibilities.”
Was there a signature of any kind?
"it was signed–– or appeared to be signed by mr. cecil norris.”
Did you attend the event with anyone?
his gaze shot down at the table, where his fingers lightly tapped, and winced in recollection of just one of the several aspects of the night that made it unforgettable. “....hyslop. ms. helena hyslop and i attended together.”
Could you state, in your own words, what happened at Mr. Norris’s home prior to his arrival?
the wince nearly leapt back onto his face at that, but somehow he’d managed to remain composed–– after all, only a fool would have been caught off guard by such a question. though he felt foolish at times, he refused to be a fool outright. “..the guests arrived... some wandered around the house, in the absence of any sort of entertainment.. dinner was served, and then after desert a number of us adjourned to the lounge, where––” he looked back up at the auror, gesturing, “––i assume you know, the seance took place. it would seem that not all parlour tricks are equal in levity.”
Were you, at any point, aware of Mr. Norris’s location between the night of his alleged disappearance and the dinner party?
"i was not, no. his appearance at the party was the first and last time i set eyes on the man.”
As far as the seance, what kind of questions were asked of the deceased, Mr. Cygnus Black?
fleamont leaned back against the uncomfortable chair’s backing, pausing once more to gather his thoughts. “..for the most part, they were questions aimed at discovering his identity. we only very briefly were aware that we’d contacted mr. black before mr. norris made his appearance, and then––” he waved a hand in the air. “..the spirit of mr. black dispersed.”
Did anyone seem particularly uncomfortable with the event during or immediately after?
he thought about his own nervous pacing on the gravel path outside of the house’s front door. odessa, tentative and unsure in the conservatory. artemis, melancholy in the moonlit ballroom. lyall, anxious in the dining room. and then, everyone in the lounge–– but it wouldn’t be fair to blame it all on the seance, would it? it wasn’t as if he’d ruined the evening. he leaned forward on his elbows and spoke low and clear, almost as if daring anyone to disagree; “..every moment in that house, from start to finish was uncomfortable. it was an uncomfortable night.”
Do you know if there’s anyone else who might be more knowledgeable about the situation?
"–––thank you, cecilia.” monty interjected, gratefully accepting the steaming paper cup of tea she’d entered to hand to him. gingerly, he takes a small sip, using the scalding draught of peppermint to stall for time. there were, he considered, two options: reveal enough of what he knew to try and take away some of the heat he undoubtedly had on him for the seance, or stay silent and suffer. slowly, he set the cup of tea down before him, fingertips drumming, drumming thoughtfully against the tabletop. he looked up, into the eyes of lennox cassowary, and enunciated his words clearly. “mr. lazarus avery seemed exceedingly familiar with the layout of the house.”
Do you know anything about the necklace that was recovered?
"no.”
Were you aware of any business dealings between Mr. Norris and Mr. Black?
"i was not aware of any such thing, no.”
Would you be willing to leave your memories with us for observation?
a pause. a half-sheepish, half apologetic smile, practiced enough within the hours he’d spent pacing about his apartment before the interview that it looked convincing. “i have to decline, for religious reasons.”
Have you spoken with anyone outside of the attendees about the event?
"no, i’m familiar enough with the protocol of such matters.”
If so, who? And what did you tell them?
"again, i have not spoken to anyone, attendee or otherwise, about the events of that evening.”
Is there anything else of relevance that you can think of that I didn’t ask you about?
he shakes his head and sits up straighter. “not that i recall. if i do remember anything, i’ll be sure to inform you–– you and your old lady are still coming over to the manor for brunch next week, right?” he nods, forcing a relaxed smile to melt across his face, contradicting the tightly wound truth of his rattling, thrumming pulse. “brilliant. i’ll let you know well enough by then if i think of anything else, and you let me know if there’s anything else i can do to help you and your boys in this investigation.” a firm handshake, and within seconds fleamont potter was out of the room and halfway down the hall.
timestamp : 11:54 , september 1st, 1950 location : the ministry, public & unwarded tagging : @broughtdawn·
being at the ministry was a reminder of the way things had changed in the past six months, which is why thaxter often avoided going until he had to. however, making sure that his family was still safe, in as many ways as he could, was important. and so, the young man makes his way through the halls, more familiar with them then one might expect of a young quidditch player who should have no reason to be frequenting the government headquarters. despite the reason for his visit though, his steps are confident and the ever present smile, even if it isn’t quite so large as normal, is still present on his features. thaxter wood looks exactly like he ever has, like nothing has changed. like he had not just discussed the safety measures that were being kept in place for his little brother, and if there had been any threats made against his mother, if his grandparents were still likely unknown by whoever had tracked down the addairs.
but things have changed, and not just for him. it’s a remembrance of this and a pang of guilt when he notices the person who’s coming in the other direction down the hallway. still, like clockwork, the smile that had been on his face grows at the sight of fleamont potter. ‘ aye, monty ! ’ he cocks his head upward in a somewhat jerky nod of greeting, clapping a hand on the older’s shoulder. ‘ haven’t seen you in ages. ’ he pauses, swallowing, and takes a moment to come up with how to start the next thing he knew he had to say. the smile becomes slightly more serious, brows furrowing, but he looks fleamont in the eyes as he speaks, and the hand remains on his shoulder. ‘ sorry i, uh, didn’t reach out this summer. that was a shit thing to do. i just, er, had a lot on my mind. ’ he was sure fleamont had seen the headlines about his family, just like he had seen those about the potters. they didn’t have to name the events exactly if that’s not what monty wanted to do.
the moment his gaze focuses on thaxter, filtered rose through his glasses, his expression freezes for a moment before melting into a tentative smile. fleamont’s mind shifts to his own summer –– murder, mystery, goats, necromancy –– before vaguely centering on the headlines that had featured the wood family name. he nods. “it happens, don’t worry about it. we both had... a lot to process.” he clears his throat, then, eager to change the subject, eager to leave that summer behind. “what are you here for? can i escort you somewhere? security’s been awful tetchy, lately.”
WHO: open to any of the party-goers
WHERE: just beyond the norris house’s wards
WHEN: immediately after the partygoers dispersed and left the house
HE’D BEEN SHAKING from the moment he got up from the table. no, before that–– the tremor in his limbs had set in the moment that pathetic, weak question had left his mouth. as soon as the man that was presumably their host more or less ordered them to leave he’d done just that, striding out the door without a moment’s hesitation. without meeting anyone’s gaze.
SHAME bubbled up in his gut, hot and vile and sour. he’d only just managed to retrieve a cigarette from the bronze case in his pocket and light it when he heard the telltale crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind him. fleamont whipped around, blinking at the figure before him through the smoke. his jaw worked, voice eventually coming out low and with an edge of defensiveness. “..well? have at it, whatever it is you wanted to say, i probably have it coming. go on. say it.”
artemis’ smile falters for a moment upon hearing fleamont potter sound less than impressed by the space. it was an idle moment as she wondered what caused such distast for elegance among those that came from money? what cause their noses to curl upwards at something that was lesser than their own, but no less beautiful. “ well, i think it’s beautiful. ” she lilts in reply, attempting to save the lightness she’d felt moments before. in the moments of distraction, she’d been home — she’d been among the wildflowers and the pine, the children’s laughter and quiet chatter. she’d forgotten, momentarily, the tears that had run down her cheeks, the panic that she’d felt, and the alcohol that currently burned in her veins to quell both.
the visage of fleamont potter was not reassuring, especially after their last conversation. she’d snuck into the room with the intent of breathing clean air, to gather the rest of her resolve before the evening ended. there was not much left of her beyond frayed nerves. anail. a slow breath is drawn through her nose, that smile unwavering though her pulse echos in her ears. she had put herself back together once tonight, she would not fall apart again. thoir am madadh-allaidh a-mach. arms fold delicately behind her back as her posture straightens slightly, an eyebrow arches, “ do we have to, monty? ” there is a softness to her voice that says everything she does not. if you are going to scold me, can we wait? what more could you want from me?
it admittedly took a deep breath and some steel in his bones to say what he’d walked in there to say – monty wasn’t without his pride, but the instinct to do the right thing, to do right by others ran stronger than iron through his veins, and what was propelled him onward. “i have to.” then, a correction. “i want to–– i want to apologize for... the way i was. it was...” he trails off, then, choosing his words. “...insensitive. you’re my friend, in any form. i shouldn’t treat you differently for any reason.”
he took a step closer, into the moonlight, pushing the foeglasses up and onto the top of his head –– undoubtedly messing up the careful waves of his hair, but it was worth it for the bare, honest gaze filtered only by the moon. “i’m sorry.”
timestamp: 16, Aug. 1950 · location: norris house, the lounge ( unwarded, public space ) · tagging: @broughtdawn·· !
❛ dinner was nice, ❜ lazarus started slowly as he looked at monty. those ridiculous glasses that settled on the bridge of monty’s nose at every event he’d seen him still sat perched there and he wondered what they did. though they looked ridiculous he tried to focus on the man himself. he’d followed monty into the lounge to try and bridge whatever gap had grown between friends but there was something about the bags under monty’s eyes that made lazarus’ skin crawl. there was a familiarity in the dark circles, circles that laz had taken careful note to charm away on his own face before he’d done anything else to prepare for the night. he was exhausted, all this business with mr. norris’ disappearance was not good publicity, though that was only because laz hadn’t found the precise angle to spin in his favor until this evening. if everything went right, if all was correct, this business would die officially. ❛ don’t you think ? ❜
"dinner was lovely,” he agreed, shifting with an uncomfortable grace acquired from years of being trained at all times to mask true emotion with a poised, near-choreographed alternative. not that he always succeeded in that regard. “...the only thing that seemed to be missing is a much-needed cup of chamomile tea.”, monty continued with a smile, glancing over his shoulder–– hadn’t he just been with helena? where had she gone off to?
“i find chamomile very soothing after such meals,” he said, a little louder now, glancing toward the other side of the cozy-looking lounge, which also appeared to be entirely devoid of hyslops. quiet panic settled in, and for once, fleamont very much believed his glasses when he glanced back at lazarus avery and saw his rose-filtered form blurred and fuzzy at the edges. a corrupt aura. not to be trusted.
he cleared his throat, tapped his fingers against the plush armrest of the loveseat he’d settled into for a post-dinner smoke. “do you... like chamomile tea?” he asked, though knew it was futile. there was no viable way out of this room without contending with lazarus, first.
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while fleamont knew perhaps too much, taliesin was kept in the dark completely. confession to a cousin had gone unmatched and he was left believing that once again he had found himself standing far too close to the fire for comfort. why fires kept being set ablaze while he was standing nearby was something he could not wrap his head around, but he also could not shake the image of the day one might finally engulf him before he had been able to make the promise of his place within the lestrange family a reality. the fires could come for him once that happened for all he cared, though he doubted they would; power like that was hard to touch, nearly impossible to burn. until then, however, that was the concern, and he would continue to keep fingers crossed that stray sparks would not catch his cloak or, the more concerning option, that whoever the arsonists was would not notice the shadow just outside of the blaze’s light was the same figure each time. maybe they had already realized it was taliesin lestrange.
a breath of air leaves his lips, the ghost of a chuckle at fleamont’s comment. ‘ that, unfortunately, would make as much sense as any of this. ’ it was the truth, and taliesin was glad he did not have to begin the layers of lies immediately. it was more comfortable to ease into that type of thing. but yes, it was the truth. for all of his nerves, he could not tell you exactly what he believed was going to occur tonight. maybe that was because his mind had worked overtime coming up with numerous unpleasant possibilities, yet while each of the outcomes he had thought of seemed equally likely, none of them felt right. there was something he was missing.
fleamont shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable by the looming reality that he would indeed have to spend the evening gliding between lies, pretending as if he didn’t know where the dining room was, as if he didn’t remember the layout of the walls and the landscapes framed on the walls.
things used to be simple, once, and his memory of taliesin seemed to be a landmark of those times– it was something he wanted to cling onto, and though he knew that nothing would ever be simple again, monty couldn’t help but want to stave off the torrent of lies for as long as possible.
so he posed a question instead – something he genuinely wanted to know the answer to, walking the line between what would supposedly be normal dinner party conversation and the tangled mess he’d been dragged into, the things he’d seen but couldn’t quite explain. “you’re right about that. do you have any idea what might be going on here?” it was a long shot and about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, to be sure, but... taliesin had to be at this party for a reason, right? why else would he be invited if he didn’t know something? besides, he’d never known the other to lie to him before, despite the skepticism of the foeglasses.
despite having half the mind that she shouldn’t be wandering around in a place she didn’t know, it didn’t stop her from slinking away from the rest of the group. clearly she wasn’t the only one with a similar idea, that or she had been spending far too much time with monty. almost naturally, she was drawn to the conservatory, glaringly stereotypically hufflepuff. there was a delicacy to plants and flowers, which is why the greenhouses had been her favorite place to hide on campus to write and precisely the reason she had a tiny window garden at her apartment. it might also have been the most responsibility she was willing to take for anything or anyone. you had to try to hurt your plant. as she walked in she watched his perfectly practiced smile fall, one replacing itself on her face instead while she mused at the complexities he constantly brought with him.
a breathy laugh left her lips, green eyes rolling with amusement. “you say that now but appreciate the fact i’d never be seen with a belled collar.” odessa joins him at his side of the room, holding up the edge of her dress to avoid catching any stray leaves. “they’re gorgeous aren’t they? beery was always a bit eccentric, but brilliant when he actually got to work. not sure i learned much though, i’ve always favored transfigurations.” she softly digs an elbow into his side, “i didn’t know you were invited to this thing. how much do you want to bet people will be rolling in the rumors of how i dumped you after y—” the word clips with realization, odessa stopping her train of thought even thought it was too far departed from the station. looking at him sheepishly, she tries to make him smile out of it. “…i still think i’d be me.”
a small genuine smile curled at the corners of his lips, and then he turned toward her, waving away her comment and returning with one of his own to the latter. “i left the memorial without you, anyway–– but... maybe you’re right. i couldn’t just let a woman like you go without a fight, could i?”
maybe it was the few drinks he’d already had that made monty pause, then glance at odessa again, eyes glinting. “you certainly don’t look like someone who’s just seen the dashing man she’s just heartlessly walked out on. you know, come to think of it, i don’t seem the part either. i should really be more upset by all of this. if we’re having a lover’s spat, it should at least be a good one.”
calmly, without missing a beat, he shoved a nearby plant pot to the ground, stepping to the side before the ceramic shattered, narrowly avoiding muddying his suit.
“...and then, i raise my voice a bit, because we both know the walls have ears here,” a fleeting wry grin, and then a shout erupts from him, voice undoubtedly carrying well into the hall. “–––you dare show your beautiful, treacherous face here!?” another pause, and then a whisper audible only between the two: “...now, you shout something back. probably something about me being too charming and handsome for you to stay away. it has to be believable. really, make use the space here. the house elves can clean up after.”
lena stood back a few feet, arms in front of her as she held her clutch that matched so well with the bright yellow dress she’d decided to wear for this evening’s dinner. her eldest sister had always talked about how lovely yellow was for lena, that it brought out gold flecks in her eyes and that it would have been a perfect choice for lena to be a hufflepuff just for the look of it all. lena, always the first to defend her house, had always reminded her sister that the hat had barely touched her head when it had called out for her house to be gryffindor — she was too stubborn, too full of pride, and somewhere deep down there was a buried courage that was bubbling up closer and closer to the surface these days. monty, since they’d been partnered up at the obliviator’s office, had always had a habit of making her feel more at ease with herself, which was part of the reason that she couldn’t quite suppress the smile from her face as she watched monty approach and reproach the front door.
dutifully, she began nodding her head as he launched back into the chamomile codeword and in her nodding she’d almost missed like the color of your dress. they’d circle back to that one later. perhaps her sister had been wrong when she’d called it flattering. still, she was pleased that he didn’t touch his hair ( she liked the way it sat, liked a lot of things about it actually — about him, and there was a small part of her that wanted to reach forward and stroke her fingers through his hair herself ). she swallowed, took a breath, and nodded. ❛ arrive together, leave together, chamomile is an insult to tea everywhere. ❜
it wasn’t until her hand was halfway between them that she realized she was about to touch his cheek to try and bring him some peace. a bold assumption on her end that anyone could do that and though a little voice in the back of her head told her that she could do that, she quickly brought her hand back to herself and ran her finger along the top of her ear, avoiding messing with her own hair. it was strange being back at norris manor, a place that she was sure she never wanted to be again and as she pushed those feelings down, lena looked up at him and said, ❛ i promise, monty, i’ll remember. i’ll try to be conscious of staying within ear shot all night. ❜
"GOOD. good. if anything happened to you tonight, i––” monty stopped himself abruptly, eyes trained on the hand she snatched back, then meeting her own gaze, looking into her eyes that he hadn’t really noticed were gold-flecked until earlier that evening when he’d first seen her in the form-fitting dress.
his gaze, at that moment as well, had lingered on helena with all the languid grace of slow-poured honey, until he’d come to his senses a few beats too late and remembered that it was inappropriate to look at one’s work associate like that and had covered with a breezy quip about not knowing she owned clothes outside of their usual office-wear. easy, breezy, banter.
now, too, even though it felt as though time itself stopped to allow them the moment together, he clears his throat and shifts from one foot to the other, reaching blindly for the conclusion to the sentence he’d started. “...i’d probably have to train your replacement at work and we both know i don’t have the patience for that. so. don’t let it come to that.”
timestamp: 16, Aug. 1950, approximately 11:00 · location: norris house, the ballroom ( unwarded, public space ) · tagging: open !
there was more to see than the conservatory; spiraling staircases within the old house led to merlin knew where, corners where the dark lingered a little too ominously, and the ever present chatter of her peers set her nerves aflame. this house, though beautiful to look at and observe, chilled her bones. maybe she was wrong in coming, in accepting the invitation that had brought her here; had brought them all here. within the main hall, there were figures that she did not allow her gaze to linger, to snag on. gazes had burned her, scorned her, the entirety of the night — she would not give them the satisfaction of returning the favor. rather, she is aloof when gliding from the conservatory to the next room over. pale fingers reach for the knob only to find it locked.
curiosity killed the cat,
brow creases for a fraction of a moment; without thinking further, she reaches for the wand attached to her hip muttering alohomora under her breath. a quick flick of her wrist and the deadbolt slides backwards within the door. there is no guilt in the quick motion. the entire gathering was eerie enough as it was, if their hosts intended to keep the guests out of every room there would surely be something stronger to keep the door locked than a simple deadbolt. stepping within the room, she quietly shuts the door behind her but does not slide the deadbolt back into place behind her. rather, her attention is pulled to the room itself. the moon had risen hours ago and, thus, caused its light to play in the glass of the chandeliers, casting an etherial glow in the otherwise darkened room. artemis fawley, for the first time in a long time, was awestruck.
but satisfaction brought it back.
the moonlight is calming, even more so than the conservatory had been. seeing it dance within the crystals brought a sense of home. it felt, for a fraction of a moment, like her mother reminding her to breathe. the world was not all bad. there were people who loved her. she was not alone. as she glides through the room, she stirs dust in her wake — this room has not been used for a while. it causes a sneeze, two, before she makes it to the other end of the room. the tall glass doors are pushed outwards, letting the cool night air wash over her and, subsequently, stirring the dust further. with wand still in her hand, she turns and faces the full expanse of the room. “ tergeo, ” another flick of her wrist and the dust disappears, leaving glittering surfaces it it’s wake. this room has to be one of the most beautiful she’s ever seen. she’s absolutely enamored.
it’s only then, with the moonlight at her back and wand drawn, does the door begin to creak open. brow raises as her fingers tighten around her wand, though it is not raised. as the figure steps into the room, artemis almost utters an apology for being here, for her presence at all. she will not apologize, not for anything. not tonight. she’s unapologetic for getting caught in a space where she did not belong; it shows even in her posture. it seemed to be her modus operandi as of late. instead, she offers a radiant smile to the other, unashamed. this room, the moonlight, the air has lightened her mood even as her pulse skips for just a moment — “ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”
a flash of pale blue had caught the corner of his eye as soon as he’d stepped back into the hall, but when he turned his head all he’d managed to catch was the swish of blue skirts disappearing into the large doors opposite to the main entrance. when he’d jiggled the handle of that room earlier in the evening, he’d found it locked –– he could have easily opened it but something else had snagged at his attention and led him elsewhere. but now.. now he felt magnetized toward the room, especially in consideration of the witch in baby blue.
it had stood out to him during dinner not only due to the contrast with the deeper colors of the other witches’ gowns, but also in the way the pale color starkly contrasted with her fiery red hair. artemis. even after the few drinks he’d had over the course of the evening he still winced at the memory of the last time they’d spoken, over the way he’d thoroughly put his foot in his mouth.
before he knew it, monty found himself in front of those doors, tugging on the handle and quietly slipping in after her. the room was still dark, and it took him a few moments to adjust to the ballroom lit by moonlight alone, the way it bathed the shining floors and its other occupant in shades of starlight and silver.
“...it’s adequate,” came the automatic murmured response –– before his father had ensured their collective and permanent status as personae non-gratae at pureblood galas, he’d seen his fair share of ballrooms, each more grand and beautiful than the last. the ballroom of the norris house didn't particularly strike him as a room deserving of more than a cursory glance. the most beautiful aspect of this particular ballroom was, without a doubt, the werewolf in the moonlight standing in the center of it all. “...artemis, i..–– i wanted to speak to you about the other day.”
𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐏 : 7:15 PM , THE HALL , THE NORRIS ESTATE .
𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐂𝐘 : PUBLIC , NOT WARDED .
euphemia had not been raised in luxury , and therefore the sight of an impressive manor could still knock the wind out of her ever so slightly . rather than a heaving gasp , the sight of the norris estate had elicited a quiet sigh upon her apparition . lit from the inside out , the glow from its many windows cut through the early autumn darkness , illuminating her path to the front door though she was still three hundred feet away . the hall was no less impressive , but euphemia had kept her head down as she entered — the writhing nerves in the pit of her stomach did not lend themselves to her relatively newfound distaste for unsolicited attention .
perhaps she was content to run her fingertip back and forth over the smooth wood of the staircase’s banister from where she stood a quarter of the way up it , looking down onto other wixen as they entered , just that slight bit above the average person’s sightline — or perhaps she wasn’t . the thought occurs as she catches sight of dark hair , eyes travelling down to a pair of rose - tinted spectacles that she can only associate with one man .
❛ monty , ❜ she calls , voice soft , her heart foolishly allowing herself to feel an ounce more comfortable in his presence since their encounter in the foliaged labyrinth , all while her brain protests . ❛ you’ll tell me if you see any goats , won’t you ? ❜ her fear of the celtic púca was no secret to those whom she’d gone to hogwarts alongside — much to a twelve year old euphemia’s chagrin . considering the home they were in , her fear didn’t seem quite so irrational .
in the span of a heartbeat he turns his head and lifts his gaze to euphemia’s, as if his attention hadn’t been snagged on her from the moment he entered the hall, as if he hadn’t been admiring the way the warm tones of her dress made her look like a stunning tribute to her alum house in shades of gold and jet, as if his heart hadn’t picked up pace and hammered against his ribcage at the way she said his name –– not his given name, but a nickname. an endearment.
“didn’t you hear? this is a goat-themed dinner party. can’t escape them.” one step, two steps forward and he stops just before the foot of the staircase she graced, head tilting up to fully catch her eye, his own giving away the fabrication. his fingers slip into the inner pocket of his waistcoat, gingerly retrieving the dried leaf she’d plucked from his person over two weeks prior, the same she’d jokingly commanded him to wish upon. it seemed his wish –– to see her again –– had come true. hiding his smile at that discovery, he curls the palm holding the leaf near his mouth and murmurs a few charms –– to change the color to one that matched her dress, and then another to send a flurry of identical, golden leaves swirling around euphemia when he unfurled his palm and blew a kiss up at her.
monty admired the way the autumnal leaves swirled and danced around her shoulders, the skirt of her gown, her glossy hair, before he remembered himself and cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t so quickly lost the talisman that had come to represent something more to him than a chance encounter in a maze. “–––you’ve got plenty of wishes yourself, now, i’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
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BEFORE –– how far would you go to right the wrongs wrought to your blood? you and your red right hand of vengeance are wound up and itching to strike before you can even place a face or a name to your target. fury. fury in the way your body shakes at night under a cloak of invisibility. how many sleepless nights does it take to alienate yourself from everyone who ever knew you, to ward off anyone who’d ever try? you hide behind your coping mechanisms that do more harm than good, and willfully blind yourself in doing so. you would do anything, anything, anything, to make it right. would he be proud to see you bloody both hands? would that make it right? potter, when those rose-colored glasses come off, what do you see?
AFTER –– the truth spills out in bittersweet twists and torrents. almost everyone you knew. everyone you loved. everyone you ever loved. and you, jerked around between them like an unwitting jester. did they have to try hard to stifle a laugh when you spoke to them in confidence? they made a mockery out of you, out of him, but you helped them do it. the game is over because you’ve overturned the board. a finality payed for by the ruin of your old life, your old self. you roll onto your back and stare into the sun for the first time, truly seeing. make peace with lady death, and let her come to you on her own terms. you live for yourself, now. rise from the ashes, dawn bringer, and realize : unless you fight for something, you will die for nothing.
TRACKLIST ––
001 red right hand : laura marling –– on a gathering storm / comes a tall handsome man / in a dusty black coat / with a red right hand
002 in your world : muse –– i'm hurting you again / too lonely to pretend / like everything is new / i promise you to / blow it all away / in your world / no one is crying alone / in your world / no one is dying alone
003 one way or another : until the ribbon breaks –– one way or another, i'm gonna find you / i'm gonna get you / one way or another, i'm gonna win you / i'm gonna get you, get you / one way or another, i'm gonna see youI / i'm gonna meet you / one day, maybe next week / i'm gonna meet you, i'm gonna meet you
004 bloodhail : have a nice life –– can't you see it's all flown out of my hands? / and our clothes are all too often ripped / and our teeth are all too often gnashed / and it lasts as long as it possibly can / but i just don't, but i just don't accept this / i just don't accept this at all / and i just don't, and i just don't accept this / i just don't accept this at all
005 hiding : pianos become the teeth –– and i know, you can't stay angry forever, or so i'm told / but the house gets so quiet / sitting here wishing for just an hour or two, alone with you / well, it's always too personal, / always too close to comment / they all mention how tired you look / and you realize you haven't said a word in hours / i guess it's the things that i don't say
006 telefony : have a nice life –– if science is half the man it says it is / then i can build it / the machine that snaps / all of time in half / i can break its back / i can break its back / i can build a door / and i can travel through / you don't see it much anymore, but / but surely i / but surely i / if i could just hear your voice / if i could just hear your voice / but i don't think i have the choice
007 stare at the sun : thrice –– i am due for a miracle / i'm waiting for a sign / i'll stare straight into the sun / and i won't close my eyes / ‘til i understand or go blind
008 should have known better : sufjan stevens –– i should have known better / to see what i could see / my black shroud / holding down my feelings / a pillar for my enemies / i should have wrote a letter / and grieve what i happen to grieve / my black shroud / i never trust my feelings / i waited for the remedy
009 never is a promise : fiona apple –– you'll say it looks as though i might give up this fight / but as the scenery grows, i see in different lights / the shades and shadows undulate in my perception / my feelings swell and stretch, / i see from greater heights / i realize what i am now too smart to mention to you / you'll say you understand, you'll never understand / i’ll say i'll never wake up knowing how or why / i don't know what to believe in, you don't know who i am / you'll say i need appeasing when i start to cry / but never is a promise and i'll never need a lie
010 backyard skulls : frightened rabbit –– here lies the first time that i was wrong / and there is no more sign, no x's mark this spot / the ancient encounters with foreign skin / all but perished by now, but you can't erase the grin
011 ever after : marianas trench –– apologies, i'm not myself but i can guarantee / that when i get back, you won't believe / that you knew me well / don't want to think about it / i'm fuckin' tired of getting sick about it / now stand back up and be a man about it / and fight for something, fight for something, fight for something
012 the deepest sighs, the frankest shadows : gang of youths –– so say the unsayable / say the most human of things / and if everything is temporary / i will bear the unbearable / terrible triteness of being / alone in my house / frozen away / but don't get me wrong now, honey / i'm okay
013 tonight, tonight : the smashing pumpkins –– and you know you're never sure / but you're sure you could be right / if you held yourself up to the light / believe, believe in me, believe / in the resolute urgency of now / we'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight / we'll find a way to offer up the night tonight / the indescribable moments of your life tonight / the impossible is possible tonight / believe in me as i believe in you, tonight
014 underneath the sycamore : death cab for cutie –– we were both broken in our own ways / sifting through the rubble for the wrong things / i know you've got a vengeful heart / i cannot be stopped soon as i start / but you have seen your darkest rooms / and i have slept in makeshift tombs / this is where we find our peace / this is where we are released / we are the same
