grim grinning ghosts

BASICS

NAME: Amycus Carrow

AGE: 20 years

PRIMARY: Wigtown Wizardry School, 1978

HOGWARTS: Slytherin, September 1978 - Present

OCCUPATION: Sales Associate at Dystyl Phalanges

BLOOD STATUS: pureblood

TRAUMA DUMP

When twin girls arrived, they were accompanied by sighs of relief. The Carrows could barely afford to feed one baby, let alone two. But witches of the Sacred 28 were a valuable commodity. They were happy to secure bright futures with pure husbands, and let the Carrow name die while it still clung to its last few shreds of dignity.

It was Aly who led the way out of the womb, and Amy has been closely following her sister’s direction ever since. Amy would do anything for Alecto, even things she detests, things she doesn’t understand. To let her loyalty to her sister waver would be to betray her.

At the age of eleven, while children all across the world were preparing to begin their magical education, Amycus’ hair began to turn gray. Simple genetics, said the Healers, nothing to be done about it. Alecto agreed; they attributed it to the Carrows’ Curse. Amy has ever since been coloring her hair, usually with beauty potion kits, as her spellwork is too shaky to be anywhere near her head.

Getting into Hogwarts was baffling feat, and to this day, Amy still isn’t sure how she did it. She was kicked out of Cork for poor marks after a single semester, and barely managed a small handful of O.W.L.s. Just enough to apply for her degree: Herbology. After nearly flunking out in her first year, Amy downgraded to a certificate in Herbology. Not only was it more manageable, but it was cheaper.

When Amy arrived at Hogwarts, she fell in love with the Junior Witches League. Finally, a chance to be surrounded by witches like her, to have friends that ran in the same circles as her fiancé. But for Amy, making friends was easier said than done. Most of them, she found their attention difficult to earn, and their respect even more expensive than that. Rather than admit she couldn’t afford to keep up with dues, Amy began to distance herself from the witches. She bitterly wonders sometimes how different things would be if she weren’t a Carrow, but a person who had any money instead.

Amy was twelve when her parents found her a match. For her, it was love at first sight. They began a proper courtship when she turned fifteen, and Amy was head over heels in love. The world came crashing down at her feet in the middle of her first year at university. Her beloved’s family publicly rejected The Dark Lord. The Carrows broke the betrothal at the news, and what was even more devastating was that her now ex-fiancé refused to see her. Amy is still nursing her broken heart, and her parents are still seeking a new suitor.

SEX & DRUGS & ROCK ‘N’ ROLL

** indicates an open connection, as the role is no longer in play

**NAME TBD: August 1975 - February 1979

“I’ll skip everything red, too. Just in case.” In case of what? He had no idea. In case Amycus suddenly decided to spend more time with him, and cross contamination was at all possible. Regulus was full of foolish notions that were too ridiculous to ever speak aloud. Then he might actually have to act on them. “What about the lemon macarons? I’m especially fond of the filling.”

.

Amycus nodded. “Two lemon macarons,” she told the person behind the counter. And then, “Make it three.” Her eyes glanced to the elegant pastel boxes and glittering bows that would soon carry her pastries. She imagined how she would look walking out of the bakery and down the street, a kaleidoscope of lilac beneath the dull sky. If the picture in her head could have splashed itself onto canvas like a painting, she would have called it Early Grey. “I can’t forget Aly, she’d never forgive me.”

Oh, that answers my question, Leo thought to herself, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Before she could react, Amycus was pushing a chair into her knees, nearly getting her off balance in the process. “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll sit!” She chuckled insincerely, but sat down just to get the other quiet. Her eyes scanned the small room and landed on the paperwork sitting on her mother’s desk, which Amycus seemed to be working on. “Teresa sure is keeping you busy”, Leo commented with barely contained disdain.

.

“I think it’s sort of my fault she’s behind, anyway.” Her role under Leo’s mother didn’t carry that much importance, not by a long shot, but even if Amycus had known this, she would have treated her duties with just as much conviction. “I don’t mind getting things caught back up.” Especially while she recovered. It was the perfect excuse to get out of the house without exhausting herself. It might have been the thing she missed most while she was sick.

“I’m sorry that happened to it. It sounds horrible.” He didn’t much like the idea of suffering at all, especially when it came to her. Curiosity almost begged him to ask how painful Dragon Pox was, but he kept his mouth shut, more than happy to answer the question being presented. “The cherry tarts. Though the crêpes are nothing to scoff at, either.”

.

“And they haven’t got a cherry tart crêpe, have they?” Amycus lamented. It was just as well; either she or Aly was allergic to cherries, and neither of their lives was much worth the risk. “I might be allergic to the strawberry, too,” Amy said to Regulus, as though he had been privy to the rest of the conversation in her head. “I should just stay away from anything red, probably. Maybe something with lemon?”

It was only after the blonde’s loud cough that Leo noticed the telltale spots in her skin, and she couldn’t help but recoil in sheer disgust. She very much didn’t want to stay here with Amycus Carrow–a sick Amycus Carrow, at that, but she had to sell her alibi. With all the, ahem, less than peaceful missions she’d been in, none had proved as bothersome as this one was shaping up to be. “Sure, sounds good.” She lied through her teeth, mantaining the good girl posture she was so used to having on the outside. “Do you know where she is, though?”

.

“Oh, she’s here!” As someone who had been stood up before, Amycus did not want Leonora to think that she was now among their number, especially at her mother’s hands. Her long sheet of near silver hair hung heavy on her back as her frail, sickly form rushed Leo, jabbing a chair right behind her, into the backs of her knees repeatedly. “Come, have a seat. Those shoes look painful to stand in.”

Regulus felt as if he had stuffed his foot straight into his mouth. Merlin. Of course. “I am so sorry, I hadn’t heard a thing. I just didn’t see you for so long, I dunno, you being ill didn’t even cross my mind.” Not when he had his own ailments to consider. Especially when he believed Amycus to be far too perfect, donkey laugh and all, to ever have to deal with such earthly matters like being subjected to Dragon Pox.

“You look well now, at least. I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”

.

If Amycus knew what a compliment it was, she would have had the decency to blush. “I make sure to wear sleeves when I go out.” She hurried to hide her hands inside her pockets, the envelope her mother had given her smooshed between her knuckles and the lining.

“What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

“I don’t mean here, I just mean, here while I’m here.” That sounded worse somehow. Even less well-mannered and welcoming. All he had wanted to do was offer his place in line, and hope for the best between them. That she might put the pieces together like he had. They were meant for each other. Regulus was sure of it.

He did his best at a charming smile. Hoping all of his training at appearances had been good for something in his life. Better than babbling like a fool. “I just haven’t seen you around much. I was almost worried you were avoiding me.” Shut up. Shut up.

.

“No!” The outburst surprised her. Tickled by her own spontaneity — after being so cautious to begin with especially — she laughed, a bray like a donkey’s. “Did you hear that I had Dragon Pox?” Oh, her mother was going to kill her—but the thought didn’t occur to Amycus. She trusted Regulus, and the sky full of a stars in his eyes.

Amy had never been so proud in all her life as the day she had told Aly she’d made a friend of Regulus Black. But then came the terrible bout of Dragon Pox, knocking her on her feet for a good six weeks--- The tale of Regulus Black had faded into obscurity, a mere memory of a missed opportunity, another disappointment to notch into her bedpost.

She tried not to think about it as she bolted through St. Armand’s. Her mother had been very clear with the instructions to get in and out of the village as quickly as she could, before she could accidentally trigger more dishonor on the family name. The payment was tied together with twine inside the envelope in her hands. The Patisserie was expecting her. All she had to do was walk inside, hand the envelope to the person behind the counter, and apparate home---

Bells chimed above Amycus’ head as she slipped inside the Patisserie, and into the queue, right behind--- She hid her gasp behind the envelope. Regulus Black. A swarm of butterflies and wasps came to life inside her, the stinging soon souring the fluttering wings. If she spoke to him, she would say the wrong thing---but was that a good enough excuse to say nothing at all? She pulled the lilac hood of her secondhand cloak over her head and peaked over the edge of the envelope. Whether or not she kept her mouth shut or opened it too wide, failure had Amycus grasped tightly in its clutches.

WHEN: November 8th, 1980 WHERE: Cambridge Primary School WHO: Amycus Carrow & Leonora Montenegro

Leo never once thought that any of her Death Eater missions would have her snooping around in her former school, but she supposed it made sense–she did have a very solid alibi to be there, with her mother being part of the faculty. Regardless, when the Dark Lord tells you to keep tabs on potential traitors, you don't argue back to him; and thus she found herself roaming the school halls on a Monday afternoon after hours, a folder with sensitive information hidden in her purse, and made her way to her mother's office to solidify her excuse for being there.

Inside the room, however, it wasn't Teresa who she found; rather, t was Amycus Carrow, her mother's oh-so-beloved apprentice, who sat at her desk. A muscle underneath Leo's right eye threatened to twitch, but she held back. "Sorry for barging in." She said in the most amiable tone she could manage. "I thought I would find my mother in here."

.

Amycus opened her mouth in response--- “HHHHHACK!” A gruesome, crass cough hacked its way out of Amy’s lungs, loaded with mucus and saliva. When she finally swung her icy sheet of silver hair back around from the inside of her elbow, it was with a handkerchief full of snot, which missed the rubbish bin and landed on top of an open book.

“I’m not contagious.” Amycus motioned happily for Leo to come inside, oblivious to the green and purple pock marks that her swinging sleeve revealed. A tell tale sign of Dragon Pox, which she had been recovering from since late September. “You can wait for her with me, if you want to.” Merlin, did she hope Leo wanted to. Amy was desperate for human company that wasn’t her parents.

Lorcan smiled at her, steady and unflinching as she all but screeched at them, waiting for a response. Their eyes moved to the collection, taking in each item with care until they paused on a chest piece. Collarbones and ribs— it was quite perfect for their intended use. “This one—” Lorcan turned back to the young wixen. “Would you model it for me?”

.

Amycus responded with a giggle so charming, that one might have described her as a bleating giraffe. “I’d be delighted to.” Just the way her mother had always taught her to speak to their grump bed and breakfast guests. Except it was sincere this time. Amycus was delighted, imagining the faces of all the wixen at the Slytherin table when she told them what Lorcan D’Eath had asked her to do.

Her nod was short. “If there are any,” she said to buffer expectations. There would be though; Esmeralda knew it. Not because nature would have put them there, but because at that very moment the hands she held behind her back were plucking at the strings of magic that would unearth the dearly departed from their graves. Gently and kindly, of course — Esmeralda didn’t use such divine knowledge on disrespectful parlor tricks — but unearthed nonetheless. It thrilled her to think Amy could not have guessed at the entertainment she’d be walking into when she arrived at Macnair Mortuary that rainy afternoon. 

“Follow my lead,” she instructed, stepping out into the downpour and away from the awning’s safety without worry. The rain felt sharp against her skin, but she didn’t balk at the sensation. Pain was a part of experiencing life just as much as comfort. 

But to Amycus, it was as good as a guarantee. Besides, she’d worn her wellies. If ever there was a time to investigate a cemetery, it was now. She gave her consent to submit to Esmeralda with an elated squeak.

He hesitated in sharing the process, searching to be sure that this wasn’t an elaborate ploy to make him feel foolish. That kind of paranoia was usually saved for Bellatrix. Wandering eyes, suspicious glances, a mind that never stopped moving, no matter the cost. If only he had been given an ounce of her spine, and maybe then he could keep eye contact with Amycus instead of half-hearted looks. The boldness necessary to make a move. What would Sirius have told him to do?

“Well, if it’s an object like this, which was sold to Borgin & Burke’s, the first step is to just track the seller. Usually they’re collectors, too, and they’re just as invested in the history. Should none of that pan out, you determine the age, the maker, and the potential shop that sold it. Everything leaves a trace.” Objects. People. Magic.

.

Everything leaves a trace. It brought Amycus comfort. She looked around, bewildered at the way the world had changed between those two moments—the last one before she had heard those words, and the first one since she had. Strings everywhere, tethers abound, a spider’s crocheting gone above and beyond. Traces, clues, paths. Amycus followed the one she thought might lead to her painting, walking backwards as she went. She watched a web of her own making weave itself between the two of them. A trace left on Regulus Black. What would Alecto think of that?

“Do you want to make a deal?” Amycus propositioned. “I’ll help you find your help your people, if you help me find my painting.”

Amycus didn’t wait for a response; she already knew the answer. There was too much web left to weave.

“Does it matter?” Kitty asked, voice deliberately over friendly. Between the lines, clear to see, was this: can you afford either? All the Carrows had to their name was a bed and breakfast Kitty wouldn’t step foot in. University or a five star resort seemed out of their grasp. She wondered how they were paying for it. It couldn’t be scholarship, she thought with a laugh. 

.

No, it didn’t. Kitty was right. “You’re right. It’s expensive enough here, they should be giving me free breakfast, and free quills.” But in the meantime, she had found supplier, or so she thought. Someone to whom the price of the quill was no object. Oh, to be like Kitty Greengrass one day.