Cora Jane Greengrass

“You’re the one who was a jerk first,” Dorcas retorted, which might be childish but was also true. She wasted another second on scowling at Cora, then turned away from the other witch with a grumpy stomp that made her curls bounce. There were more important things to focus on right now than Cora Greengrass – not that she was likely to see it that way…

Ah yes, there was the condescending attitude that Dorcas remembered so well, right on schedule. She rolled her eyes. Even Moody was less of an arse about it, and he at least had reason to regularly treat everyone around him like an idiot. What was Cora’s excuse? Oh right, her pristine pretty pure blood that made her somehow so much better and smarter than everybody else, to the point where even when she asked for help understanding something she didn’t, she didn’t actually want it. Everyone else was far, far too lowly for the great Cora Greengrass to listen to! Especially Dorcas!

“Don’t act like you’re a dueling master talking to an idiot child,” Dorcas growled between her teeth. She kept half an inkling of awareness on Cora, just in case the other witch chose now to betray them all by flinging a hex at Doracs’s back; it wasn’t hard to split her attention like that, even when she was scanning the room for threats. It was no different from being on the Quidditch pitch, although admittedly a Bludger didn’t hurt nearly as much as a Curse if it slipped past one’s guard. Cora was just another opposing Beater, Dorcas decided; that was the best way to think about her. And if she raised her Bat (her wand) to take a swing at Dorcas, she’d make her regret it.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you and better than you. I hexed Voldemort.” True, she had lost that duel – but everyone lost in duels against Voldemort. Dorcas had hexed him and lived, and that was more than Cora could say. Not that Dorcas expected the snobby, arrogant toerag to acknowledge any such reality. No, Cora would probably start prattling about how she would have handled things if she had been the one to fight Voldemort (not that she ever would, given her scorn at the idea of running “headfirst into danger,” never mind that that was what they had come her to do…) and how she would have obviously been able to defeat him in two or three spells at most, silly child, should have let me do it instead blah blah blah…

“You can come with me if you want,” Dorcas added, because while she’d love to free herself of Cora’s presence (being around Cora felt like having a bit of Toothflossing Stringmint stuck between her teeth: thrashing and tugging as it tried to get loose) she wasn’t sure she wanted Cora to be free of hers, free to go off and do whatever it was she’d come here to do (since it wasn’t to “run headfirst into danger” it had to be for something else) such as betray them to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. “But don’t get in my way.” Everyone that Dorcas could see looked like a victim, running and stumbling and screaming with fear all over their faces, but she knew there had to be Death Eaters here; there had to be a reason they were screaming. She pushed forward against the tide of fleeing bodies, looking for the source of the threat that propelled them.

“And don’t keep yammering on about how brilliant you are and the rest of us sorry idiot suckers should just put you in charge already, yadda yadda,” she continued, almost more to herself than to Cora; she wasn’t sure if the other witch was even following her. Dorcas wasn’t running, after all, but she was going headfirst towards the danger. That was why she’d come after all! “This isn’t some fancy garden party where we need you to tell us what fork’s inexplicably inappropriate to use – and remember, I know you can’t even handle that without screaming for help!” she added sharply, more annoyed still with herself for being taken-in by Cora’s pretense of hapless sweetness when she was really just another nasty snob. “So keep your snooty, patronizing mouth shut, or find someone else to simper at. Maybe somebody in a silver mask,” Dorcas added in a mutter as she crouched down beside Lucius Malfoy’s stupid fountain, blinking against the spray to fix her sights on a black-robed target. “I hear they like that sort of thing.”

Her first spell was a solid hit, a big Reducto that caught the three Death Eaters off-guard and smashed the side of the fountain’s lowest bowl. Water streamed out across the staggering black-robed figures, dousing and disorienting them further. One of the pipes underneath must have cracked, too, because a narrow stream of pressurized water shot across them around ankle-height, adding to the confusion. Dorcas grinned and lunged forward to fling another spell, the annoyance of Cora Greengrass forgotten in the gleeful rush of battle.

Cora couldn't help but roll her eyes as Dorcas retorted like a child at her, reaching up with her free hand to rub her temple slightly as she noted the other turn away with a stomp. Was this how the others always felt around her? Was there some dialogue of feeling like babysitting when being around Dorcas? Surely it was easier to babysit her nieces than it was the girl beside her, which was saying something, she thought.

"I'm not!" She huffed out at her, feeling even more like she was indeed talking to a child, although she would never consider herself a dueling master. The only thing she could think of was that it was better to scan and assess the situation before just running in blindly, right? At least get a look at your opponents before you ran off. Was that such an absurd thought, truly? Maybe it was just because she wasn't as used to dueling as Dorcas clearly was, and she would have to figure it out as she went.

"Congratulations," She spat faintly then, unable to help but roll her eyes once more. The other had hexed Voldemort and lived to tell the tale, which was indeed an accomplishment that Cora didn't have, and one that she didn't want to have either, fearing she would fare far worse than the younger girl had. She wasn't going to argue that Dorcas had been fighting longer than her either, the only thing she wanted the other to understand was that she was trying, and not everyone fought the same way. She was still learning, and she was just trying to understand; wasn't questioning things and wanting to think them through part of that?

She had gone quiet though, wand still gripped in her hand, eyes looking around to make sure they weren't going to get a spell thrown at them without a chance to put a shield up. The people running, stumbling, screaming, made her heart pound in her chest and she had to focus. Dorcas offered for her to go with her, and although it still felt rather like babysitting... Cora couldn't help but also feel as if it would be safer, for both of them, if she did follow her.

"I'm not going to do that, I don't think that, why do you not listen for five seconds," She grumbled out then as she began following Dorcas through the crowd. They were going right into things, and Cora reached out almost absently with her free hand, trying to grab onto Dorcas's shirt or cloak or something, just to keep close to her and make sure she didn't lose her. She rolled her eyes again as Dorcas continued on, wondering if there was something wrong with the others head, or perhaps all of these spells had damaged Dorcas' ears.

She crouched down by Dorcas, glancing around and then feeling a little surprised as the spell smashed the side of the fountain, water going everywhere. It was during this distraction that Cora looked around at the masks and those without, and suddenly felt like she'd been doused with the water and it was ice cold. Her brother, standing across the way, wand up and... was he torturing the man in front of him? Of course she wouldn't put it past him, but to  see it... She had to stop it. They had to stop it.

"Dorcas!" She turned to speak to the other, hoping the other would go with her to stop it, to help her face her brother as she needed to. But Dorcas had lunged forward and Cora had moved without thinking, and suddenly she realized she'd lost the other girl in the chaos around them, and she was all on her own.

Dorcas was already looking for a target for her first spell – for her rage, for her grief – her blurry eyes scanning the crowded, frantic atrium, her mind on thoughts of nothing but the battle to come and the loss in her heart when she heard her name. It was so quiet she almost thought she’d imagined it – over the sound of screams and spells and shattering stone, the mutter was barely audible in her ears – but the vitriol in the words was too real for any passing fancy to encompass.

She turned and only then realized whose hand it was she had grabbed, whose body she had carried with her to the Ministry: Cordelia Greengrass.

For a moment (a dangerous moment, but fortunately no enemies seemed to have noticed them yet to take advantage) Dorcas froze, gaping. It felt like it had been months since thoughts of the other witch had even crossed her mind, although in truth it had barely been six weeks since their bitter snarling match in the lost and much-lamented Potter Estate. It was just that so much had happened since. She’d faced Voldemort head-on and lived; she’d seen her beloved Diagon Alley in flames; and Mister Fortescue had died because she hadn’t been fast enough to stop those who wanted to harm him. She hardly felt like the same Dorcas Meadowes she had been in the early days of March.

Cora had become practically insignificant in the interim. She was easy to dismiss because she was easy to put in a neat little box: just another snooty pure-blood. Dorcas had written her off as exactly like all those girls at Hogwarts who had been mean to Emma after her (awful) fiance had been killed. Cordelia probably thought Antonin Mulciber had been a dashing gent too; had probably gone to his funeral and sighed and turned her nose up at Emma’s tears… Which meant she wasn’t worth thinking about. Not once Maddy had come along, anyway. That might have had more to do with Dorcas’s quick dismissal of Cordelia as being worth stewing-over than any enforced maturity resulting from the trauma of the intervening weeks…

But right now, Cordelia was not so dismissable. Right now, they were standing together hand-in-hand in the midst of a sudden Death Eater attack – just like they had been the first time they had met, when Dorcas had so foolishly thought that Cordelia’s fear meant that she was someone worth saving; meant she was an ally worth having. Now she knew better, but that hadn’t stopped her from reaching-out without thinking and grabbing her again. Now she knew better, but here they stood once again, and once again Dorcas had no one to blame but herself.

She glowered and wrenched her hand away and snarled, “What do you want? Get your wand up. Get ready to fight – isn’t that why you came?”

The words were less a question than they were a threat. If Cordelia answered wrongly – if Cordelia showed even a second’s doubt over which side she was on – Dorcas would hex her as ruthlessly as she would any Death Eater who crossed her path today. It wasn’t just the risk of them losing the Ministry, losing the war, that had her grip so tight on her wand; it was the death of Severus burning hot and sharp and horrible in her heart like a hole edged with razor-wire that was never going to close.

Cora hadn't even realized that Dorcas had heard her speak, too focused on getting her wand out and glancing around to try and take stock of what all was happening around them, to try and decide what to do first. It was only when Dorcas wrenched her hand away from Cora that she realized that she had still been holding the other girls hand, and that the other had heard her. She rolled her eyes at the snarl, but lifted her wand up a bit more from where it was at her side, giving Dorcas a glare.

"Of course it's why I came, why do you insist on being such a jerk?" She snapped out at Dorcas in return. There was no hint of doubt on Cora's face, or in her actions. She had been training and doing all that she could so that she could help, and being in Diagon Alley had helped change that, and her, for battle. Was she still slightly scared? Of course she was. But was she ready to help, and to do whatever it took? Absolutely. Even if that meant having to look her relatives in the face and fight them.

She was sure that someone had noticed them already, and quickly muttered out a shield charm to block the both of them for a moment, just in case anyone decided to throw a spell their way. It was also, she hoped, a balm for Dorcas, to see that she would help to protect the other girl and also be willing to fight along side her. She wasn't sure that Dorcas would ever understand that she was on her side and wanted to help, but she supposed that it wouldn't hurt to keep trying to prove it to her.

"Do you want to make our way across here back to back, or would you rather run off headfirst into danger on your own?" She asked her after a pause, "Because I will work with you. But if you'd rather run off, don't go getting yourself killed."

Battle Cry

LOCATION: House of Bones / Ministry of Magic DATE: May 2, 1982 OPEN to ONE RESPONDENT

The sight of an unfamiliar patronus wasn’t exactly startling to Dorcas; the Order used the silvery projections for communication, after all, and she didn’t know them all by sight. It wasn’t like she needed to: you couldn’t exactly fake the voice that came out of a patronus, the words spoken being distilled from thought itself in a way – and besides, as far as she knew no one outside the Order of the Phoenix even knew how to make them speak.

Dorcas thought she remembered somebody having a doe anyway, although she wasn’t sure quite who off the top of her head – maybe one of the Longbottoms? Still, even though she wasn’t startled, Dorcas did race down the hall to hear what message the doe carried. It might be something exciting!

She came into the room just in time to hear the unmistakable acerbic click of Severus’s words and she grinned at the sound of her friend – but then the grin froze, slipping into a rictus of horror instead, as she processed what he was saying: Voldemort. The Ministry of Magic. An attack, already underway. No warning, no chance to tell them sooner. He’d slipped away as soon as he could, knew he was breaking his cover but the stakes were too high…

The message cut-off in the middle, the patronus flaring and then disintegration – not fading the way they usually did when dispelled or overwhelmed, but failing in a sudden cascade of nothingness. Dorcas didn’t realize what it meant – but some part of her did.

Sevie, no! she wanted to scream, but the words choked-off in her throat and burned her eyes instead, hot and stinging and strangling. She barely heard what came next for the rushing in her ears and the hollow swooping pit of loss opening in her stomach like a sinkhole. Sevie was dead. Voldemort was at the Ministry.

Dorcas didn’t wait for instructions, for coordination; everything was chaos anyway. She reached out and felt a hand fumble its way into hers; the other already held her wand. She didn’t stop to think about the Apparition Wards that should have stopped her; had she overheard someone say something about them being down in the atrium, or was she just acting on instinct? It hardly mattered; her thoughts were all flyaway fragments of loss and horror and rage and fear and the cold, hard knowledge that one way or another this was it.

With a CRACK, they were gone.

Cora had been spending quite a bit of time at Headquarters; both as an effort to feel like she actually belonged, and because being around her family was getting more and more difficult as time went on. Not that being in the same room as Dorcas Meadowes ever made her feel welcome or like she belonged, but Cora was finding more ways to ignore the girl and not let her get on her nerves. She had just looked up from some work she was doing, when she saw the patronus and scrambled up to go and see what was going on.

She was leaning against the wall as it came in, watching and trying to place who's patronus it was, and processing that the voice was Severus', only to fully understand the message. For a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped, as if she were hearing it from far away... and then it cut off and she bit her bottom lip sharply, because she knew what that had to mean. Things seemed to descend into chaos then, and Cora felt frozen for the moment.

Her hand reached, almost absently, almost desperately, for something to hold onto. She'd been seeking maybe the table to steady herself, or a chair to hold onto while she processed and got her wand out. Certainty it wasn't for another's hand, because she still felt as if none of them truly wanted her there, and she didn't want to be seen as weak, especially not like a time during this. The last thing she wanted was to give any of them an excuse to tell her off.

A hand had found hers, and she didn't even realize what was happening until there was a crack and they were apperating into the Ministry. The wards were down, had someone said something about that that she'd missed? She clung to the hand tightly for a moment, seeking the solidarity and the comfort in it, in knowing that they were off to fight, and they had to have each other's backs in this, in making sure the Death Eaters were finally taken down...

Until she looked up as she pulled her own wand out, and realized the hand she'd been holding belonged to, of all people....

He did like thinking of himself as smart, even in such a silly context. And he would agree Cordelia certainly seemed smart too, with how she distinguished herself from their peers; it gave him confidence in his decision to trust her with all this. “You’re so good at it, though! You’re like the perfect pureblood lady!” With the exception of her… situation sometime ago, of course, but it would indeed be very rude to point that out. “Initially I thought it just came naturally to you, but if you too find it all to be so dull and exhausting… well, I suppose I’m wondering where you find the patience for it.”

It was out of genuine curiosity that he’d asked, really. He wasn’t actively looking for any tips when it came to suffering through all the lunches and dinners and whatnot; he’d more or less resigned himself to the fact they’d be unpleasant and he would simply have to deal with that. Just as he’d have to deal with Mrs Hammond and her wrath. “A big accomplishment or a suitor list,” Dedalus repeated, thoughtful. It was only a moment before yet another grin appeared on his lips though. “Well, I suppose I have about a week to accomplish something that will impress her. How hard can it be?”

He was absolutely not surprised that the parties were still full of blunders; some things would just never change. “Aw, that’s a shame,” he still said and meant it. “It’s so much more fun when it’s on purpose. Otherwise it’s just sad.” Perhaps ironically, it was precisely the people from their society that he was the most harsh towards and indeed he didn’t have any sympathy even for those who made the same mistakes he himself might’ve made. It wasn’t even hypocritical, he wouldn’t say. It was just different. “Oh, I’m not particularly dying to talk to them, that won’t be an issue. It all seems to come back to accomplishments, though, doesn’t it? As if they themselves don’t just sit around and gossip all day long.”

Cordelia’s comment about the glass startled a laugh out of him; he definitely hadn’t expected it from her which really made it even funnier. “Oh, no, no, not mean at all!” He hurried to reassure her, still chuckling. But then he paused for a brief moment, reconsidering. “Well, okay, maybe just a tiny bit, but it doesn’t count if it’s true! Do you think if you just put her last name on the box and left it for her and her sisters to find they would fight over it like some sort of a modern apple of discord? Now that would be a laugh.”

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// Summary To End

“Merlin’s hairy tits!” Dorcas cried, spinning back to stare at Cordelia. “All you’ve done is lecture me and whine about how you know better than I do how to win this war that you weren’t even fighting in ten minutes ago, and you have the nerve to call me condescending?” She flung her hands up in the air. “You’re so full of it I’m amazed you could even squeeze into your stupid frilly robes this morning! Fine, if you know so much and you’re so much better than me at everything, why don’t you just march right up to the Inner Circle and tell them to kick everybody else out of the Order, you’ll be in charge now?”

Hearing Cordelia blame her for James’s death was like having someone jam a red-hot poker straight through her chest, and Dorcas actually took a step backwards, staggered. The furious expression on her face dropped for a moment, shattering into horrified grief – then drew back into a tighter, deeper, darker scowl than Dorcas could remember her face ever wearing before. “How many Death Eaters have you dueled?” she asked, her voice a vicious whisper. “Dancing and dining doesn’t count; I mean actually crossed wands with? None?” Dorcas didn’t give Cordelia a chance to answer; it wasn’t really a question. “Well wait until you’ve been in your first battle, maybe, before you start telling the people who have what they’ve done wrong.”

An uncharacteristically unkind smirk crossed her lips as she added, “Or why don’t you go tell Lily how James’s death was all our fault, and if only you’d been here to show us how to do it all right he’d still be alive right now? I want to see what happens when you spill that bile at somebody like her, or Sirius! You – you heartless, sanctimonious harpy.“

Dorcas started to stomp away again, then turned back to snarl, “You know what I think? I think you’re exactly like the rest of your family, actually: you’re cruel and awful and mean. I think Ryland’s the only one of you that’s ever been worth a cup of troll spit. And I think I’m going to warn Caradoc to keep a very, very close eye on you, Miss Knows-It-All Greengrass, to make sure you aren’t secretly hiding a silver mask behind that pretty little sneer of yours. And if you are…? You’d better make sure none of us ever see you again after we find out.”

Cora honestly felt like she couldn't be sure if Dorcas Meadowes was deficient or not, or what was her problem. She hadn't felt at all that she was lecturing, just that she wanted Dorcas to stop being such a child and acting like she knew everything. She was being condescending, she thought, and if Dorcas couldn't see that, then Cora wondered how this war was ever going to be won. Not only would they be fighting Voldemort, but fighting against the stupidity of those who were in the Order and couldn't see the bigger picture over themselves.

She pursed her lips together, and instead of retorting anything this time, allowed Dorcas to continue to rant. Her mind was already made up about the younger girl, and it wasn't at all a good picture it painted. And then Dorcas was asking her how many Death Eaters she'd dueled, and she let out a faint, bitter laugh. Was that it? Because she hadn't been in battle yet, nothing she thought counted? That was the only measure by which someone was worthy? Dorcas was really making this war even more difficult than it already was, and the feeling of frustration boiled under Cora's skin.

It was amazing, she thought, the way Dorcas so easily twisted her words around as if they were made of yarn to be spun into a sweater. Dorcas had clearly already made her mind up too, and Cora realized there was no changing it right now. She wasn't about to approach Lily or Sirius like that, because well, it wasn't what her words had meant and she wasn't as stupid as Dorcas clearly was. Instead, she rolled her eyes, and wondered if she could roll them far enough back for them to get stuck in her head; with Dorcas around, it didn't sound like much of a challenge.

"You're a stupid little child who has no idea what she's talking about," She spat at her then, "And go ahead. Tell Mister Dearborn to keep a close eye on me. I would rather die than be hiding behind a silver mask, but don't worry, I'll prove it. Some of us are determined to actually win this war for the good and not just in it for the fighting." She didn't give Dorcas another chance to say anything else. The other girl had already started to stomp off enough times only to come back, and Cora was over it. Instead, she turned and quickly apparated away, needing to get away from the other girl for good.

She would prove herself, she thought, no matter what it took, she would prove that she was on the Order's side, on the side of doing good.

“Yes, I’m sure mummy and daddy would not be best pleased to see the radical scribblings of a muggleborn in their daughter’s possession.” It was sharp, but the knife’s edge was not pointed at her this time. Though he had very little sympathy. He was sure there must be reasons she still lived with her family, but after the atrocities, she’d spoken of, and how they treated Ryland, Maurice would have a very hard time eating at the same table as them every night. Still, they weren’t his parents, so what did he know. At least she was interested in his notes. 

So she thought he wouldn’t back down from anything. He liked to think that was true. He liked to think other people thought that was true, but he didn’t comment on it. In this instance she was right. Instead, he huffed out a small chuckle. “No no no, I’m not giving away any trade secrets, you’re going to have to figure it out for yourself.” He finished the last of his cigarette and flicked it into some bowl that probably wasn’t an ashtray. “I think the beginners level is something akin to plugging your ears up with your fingers and singing loudly, but there’s much more finesse to be found than that.” He let slip with some amusement. Then he stood up.

“Well, I won’t say this has been delightful, but it’s been something. Useful. Interesting. But I’m busy and I have to get going.” He looked around and made sure he had all his possessions stuffed into his pocket. “I’ll leave those notes for you at one of the safe houses, or maybe I’ll give them to you at the next meeting, we’ll see.” As he left he shot her one more teasing grin. “Good luck with those durable fabrics.”

Cora pursed her lips together, but just let out a soft sigh, because he wasn’t wrong. She knew for sure that if her family ever found out about any of this... well, she was their daughter. Surely they wouldn’t go as far as they had with Ryland, right? Maybe disown her or kick her out... and she was fully prepared for that. But it was better for the Order if she still lived at home for now, until she had some information they could use. Until then, she would just be careful, and the perfect daughter like she always was.

She couldn’t help but laugh softly as he said he wasn’t going to give away any trade secrets, playfully clicking her tongue in disappointment. “I suppose I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” She chuckled, “Though I believe that could be an option. Maybe humming, I don’t think singing would be something I’d be up for.” It would be entertaining, that was for sure, but perhaps a bit more childish than she was ready to be around any of them just yet. She was sure she’d figure something out if she had to, though.

Raising an eyebrow, Cora nodded her head slightly. Useful and interesting, well at least it had ended on a much better note than it started, she figured, and they could only work on things going better next time they ran into each other. “I do as well,” She agreed, “I guess we’ll see each other next meeting, or I’ll look for those notes.” With an eyeroll at his parting shot, Cora shook her head and moved to head home.

Cora’s words indeed managed to get a reaction out of the Death Eater she was facing, but it was mostly hidden by the silver mask they wore. Any chance they had to cast a curse as retaliation for Cora’s insult was gone the moment the blasting spell hit them. Their body fell backwards, meeting the glass window behind them and shattering it as they ended up on the floor inside the shop. 

The Death Eater did not move, looking much like a discarded doll, and because of the volume of their robes it was hard to tell if they were still breathing or not without taking a closer look.

Caradoc had heard the crash, but still couldn’t afford to look who had caused it and how Cora was doing. When he had tried, it had cost him and his left shoulder was once again rendered useless. At least his adversary wasn’t fairing any better as their knee gave out. No more running for them, now, and he was ready to put an end to this one fight.

The end, of course, gave him no time to catch his breath. Instead, he went to look for Cora again, to see how she was doing, if he had ended up losing her or she had managed to pull herself through. Admittedly, he didn’t know which was more likely. Before the battle had started, he would’ve thought the former was more likely than the latter, and yet she had demonstrated so far that she was tougher than she looked.

“Can you still go on?” he asked her, this figure seemingly full of contradictions, this blurry face he was coming to recognise as hers as he saw her still standing. “Where’s your Death Eater?” 

The Death Eater flew backwards through the glass window of the shop and landed on the floor inside, and Cora stood, watching and almost seeming frozen in place at seeing it happen. It felt for a moment as if time slowed down around her, suddenly unaware of the fighting going on so close to them, as she stared at the figure that wasn't moving in the shop. She held her breath for a second, torn for just the briefest of moments as if she should check and see if the other was dead or not.

Would it be bad if they were? They were trying to kill her! Surely she shouldn't feel guilty when technically she was defending herself, right? But perhaps she should feel more guilty about the fact that she felt pride in taking the other down, that she'd defended herself and taken out someone who clearly had a warped view of the world and what was right. She was proud of herself... but was that wrong too? Her stomach twisted and her grip on her wand tightened.

Ryland nearly dropped the plate of sandwiches he was in the process of moving to the parlor, but he managed to keep them in hand. After taking them to their destination, he hurried to the door. “Cora,” he said by way of greeting as he stepped aside to let her in. It shouldn’t feel this awkward to allow in a family member, but Ryland had hardly had any guests at all lately. He didn’t think anyone from his family had been there since at least midsummer. Even before their betrayal, he hadn’t exactly been the type to play host.

“Can I take your coat?” he asked, defaulting back to those settings he’d grown up with. “Everything’s on the table in the parlor if you’d like to head that way. I just need to pop back in the kitchen and get the tea.” Well, start the tea. She didn’t need to know he planned on boiling water the muggle way. He wouldn’t lie if she asked, but Ryland had realized long ago that wasn’t the kind of information to make public knowledge.

👑

Cora couldn’t help the faint feeling of relief at seeing Ryland; perhaps it was something about knowing he was safe now, and that things were different now. She also felt her shoulders relax a little, going from being around her mother to being around Ryland felt different, like knowing she was stepping away from the fire and to somewhere calmer. Or, maybe she was just struggling far too much at home and was hoping it was all that simple.

“Ryland,” She returned with a soft smile, stepping inside and taking a deep breath. At his question, she nodded her head, moving to remove her coat carefully. “Alright,” She said, then added gently, “Anything I can help with?” She wasn’t just saying it to be polite, of course, although she was being polite as well, but because she did want to help. Sure, he couldn’t know that she had tended to help Cinder or anything... but perhaps that was something they could talk about later on. How they were different than her parents. But surely that couldn’t be a quick topic to move into.

“Ah, but now that you’ve added a numbers aspect to it, it just sounds like Arithmancy.” Strangely enough, it really did. Homework for that class hadn’t been too different from this little idea they’d come up with, from what he remembered. He could envision it, even, the professor asking them to make a list of predictions of just how many people would gasp, how many would faint, how many would scowl. Dedalus wasn’t sure if it sounded brilliant or torturous. “You’d assume if everybody finds it equally dull somebody would think to make these at least a bit more interesting. But alas. Or are we just a minority in thinking that? No, I refuse to believe it.”

He did feel bad when she mentioned her mother’s supposed wrath, but it was the kind of fleeting, casual pity that was born as much out of empathy as it was of understanding. Not that he truly did understand, but he most certainly believed that he did. “Goodness, I’ve managed to avoid Mrs. Hammond’s wrath for too long, I’d forgotten how terrifying she was. Is she invited to Genevieve’s birthday? Do I have to try and appease her? I don’t reckon a Wingardium Leviosa would do it the way it used to back when I was a first year, would it? Somehow, I feel it’s a tad less impressive now.”

It was a good reminder, no matter joking, that he was genuinely going to be trying to fit in with these people and be on his best behaviour. Even if the mere thought of it was incredibly boring at best, utterly exhausting at worst. “Right, of course. I’ll stand on the sidelines and hope somebody else is foolish enough to make that same mistake.” However, the topic did actually bring up a couple of questions he’d had. “Speaking of not mistaking people for their siblings, is there any other advice you have for me? Like for example, what would you say is the most important thing for me to do? Or not do, I suppose.”

He laughed as she spoke about chess, not at her, of course, but at the memory her words brought on. “Oh, this is very true, I’m certain, and I imagine I didn’t make it any easier for the poor wix who at any point of their life were forced to play with me; apparently, being restless and impatient makes for a very annoying opponent if you can believe that.” Had he also taken advantage of that, back when word started to spread among his pureblood ‘friends’ and their families that he was a horrid opponent? Well, of course, but really, that had been a victory for all parties involved.

“Well, don’t they sound just delightful! They do only expect one gift this time around, though, don’t they?” Not that he had any ideas even for a single gift, but again. Baby steps. Besides, most witches liked jewellery, didn’t they? Find a sparkling stone, put it in a fancy box, wrap a ribbon and one perfectly average, unassuming gift was done.

👑

Cora wrinkled her nose as he brought that up, letting out a soft laugh. "Now that you've mentioned it, that does sound like it, and let's be honest, that's never fun to do. Nor am I any good at it. Perhaps that's why I always feel like I'm guessing wrong," She giggled, "Though I do believe that just adding things up is a lot easier than trying to figure out the statistics for it. That's something I wouldn't wish on my worse enemy." She paused, tilting her head slightly as she thought about his question, before she continued, "I would hope that there were more than just us who think it's incredibly dull. Perhaps it's just that they refuse to be vocal about it in fear of getting reprimanded. However... there are those like my mother and Mrs. Hammond who seem to adore these kind of events, so maybe we are just the smart ones in this sense."

She thought back to the list her mother had mentioned, of people who'd been invited to Genevieve's birthday party; those of which she should listen to closely, those she needed to appease, those who her mother thought may have secrets she could hear, and it all seemed more exhausting than ever. "Yes, unfortunately," She said as she remembered hearing her name, "I'm sure we'll both be expected to say hello and appease her. And I'd wish that it was still that simple to use a little spell to impress her, but I suppose now that we're older, something else will have to do the trick. Some big accomplishment, or a suiter's list, perhaps."

"I wouldn't be surprised if someone does," She chuckled out then, "There are a few who seem to step out of line, more out of not understanding than on purpose. Poor lambs." Not that she really felt too sorry for them, if they weren't prepared. Things could get very cutthroat and she'd learned her lesson young. She supposed maybe it was mean to assume that others would have learned that as well. His question, however, about what else she thought was important to do, made her take pause. She thought back to when she'd returned to society and what had been expected of her.

"Don't speak up until spoken to first," She thought then, "You're being reintroduced, so I suppose it's more of a formal thing than a true rule, but wait until they pull you back in. And make sure to focus on what you've accomplished while away, to make it seem like it's worthwhile, even if you aren't being entirely truthful. They're more interested in thinking you have everything together than what you were actually up to." No one had wanted to hear about a girl depressed over a boy, after all, but they had been interested in her joining her families company.

She laughed softly at his comments about chess, nodding her head in agreement. "Being impatient and restless are not things that one looks for in a chess partner, though it does get you out of some things that you'd rather not be involved in. So, I suppose there is that perk, yes?" She smiled softly, before snorting and quickly covering her mouth to hide it. "They do, yes," She spoke then, "Only one present this time, thankfully. Which should be easy especially with her. I'd assume you could easily just put a piece of glass in a box and she'd spend the whole evening looking at herself in it." She paused, turning red and covering her mouth again a bit, laughing and adding, "Maybe that's a bit mean."

So she’d gotten a taste of the muggle world through this half-blood and she’d liked what she tried. Maurice had to fight to hold back a scoff. It was like in the movies, the pretty sheltered girl in pink going for the bad boy in a leather jacket, if only to shock her parents. Still, any education was better than none he supposed. “And he’s the one who taught you about all these durable muggleborn fabrics was he?” He smirked. He would drop it eventually. Maybe.

From the way she talked it sounded like she’d love to dwell on him, like she’d love to talk about him for hours and hours and figure out where it all went wrong, where it could have gone right. Sounded like she hadn’t had much closure at all and was dying to put these feelings into words with someone. But Maurice refused to be that someone, not yet, even if he had been cute.

Maurice took another drag of his cigarette, eager to get off the topic of Cordelia’s love life. He nodded, in mock seriousness about the taking notes. “Not the worst idea in the world.” He flicked a bit of ash away. “I could give you some of mine if you like, there’s a lot that doesn’t make it to air.” It was a half-hearted offer, one he wasn’t sure they’d follow up on, like meeting an old school friend unexpectedly and saying you simply must catch up properly soon.

He huffed a bit of a laugh too, at her comment about book clubs. He was sure the books he read were far more interesting than the ones pureblood mothers would pick. They’d certainly stir more shit. 

He waved away her renewed apologies like he was waving away the foul smell of the cigarette smoke. “Yeah yeah, it’s we’ve done all that now.” Though it was partly his fault. If he kept pecking at her, he could only expect more apologies and promises to do better. “I’d keep calling you out whether you liked it or not though, so, just get used to it. Most people find a way to drown me out eventually.” A small conspiratorial smile there. Of course, he didn’t like to be ignored, but he knew a lot of people didn’t like to be lectured either.

Cora was almost lost in her own thoughts for a moment, missing her ex and wishing she hadn't started thinking about him again. She had no idea where he was or how he was at the moment, and that didn't help. And yet... She was distracted by Maurice's words, and she pursed her lips. The very unladylike part of her felt almost tempted to flick the ash from the cigarette at him in retaliation. But, she new that would be very childish, and it was not something that was going to get him to like her anymore, so she refrained. She chose instead to roll her eyes at him and let out a soft scoff, not commenting on that.

"I wouldn't mind that," She admitted when he offered her some of his notes, "Though I suppose I'd have to only borrow them here. I don't think anything like that would be safe to take home." Just like the notebook in her arms with her current project would be hidden away in a spot far from home, where her relatives wouldn't think to look for it. It was too dangerous to even let them think she'd be doing something for muggleborns, let alone seeing anything she might have planned. Perhaps that would be easier if she had her own place... but she'd changed her mind on moving out. It would be much more useful for the Order if she lived at home still, even if it was more dangerous for herself.

She let out a faint hum at hearing him say that it was done with for now, wondering if it was true and not about to hold her breath just yet. Not after this. Not after Dorcas. She would have to just get used to being snapped at, it seemed, and figure out a way to endure it. "I have no doubt you would," She admitted with a soft laugh, "I don't believe you seem to be someone who would back down from anything." She paused, then curiously, almost playfully, asked, "And how do they find a way to drown you out? Just for curious minds, of course." She smirked lightly.

“If I’m too young and new to this to know what I’m talking about, what does that make you?” Dorcas retorted. Inside she was boiling. It was bad enough when people like Caradoc or Frank or Moody acted like Dorcas was some dumb kid who didn’t know how to find her bum with both hands and a lumos charm. Having somebody like Cordelia talk-down to her was enough to make her want to grab for her wand and prove that she knew how to fight a war. “If you want to help, start by not being a condescending jackass to the people who’ve been actually fighting while you were reading history books in your Death Eater parents’ mansion!” she snarled instead. “You come in here lecturing me about all the things we should be doing different? How about you start lecturing them instead! If they weren’t out there in their stupid silver masks, we wouldn’t have to be fighting at all!”

Dorcas wished she’d never grabbed Cordelia’s hand. She wished that she hadn’t been such a push-over, thinking that just because the other witch had looked scared and a little bit like Emma she’d been right to help her. “Anyway you were singing a pretty different tune when you were begging me to save your bum at the Rosiers’ party, weren’t you?” Dorcas sneered. “Seemed like you needed somebody to hold your hand then, huh? Seems like you were asking somebody to do just that not five minutes ago, in fact! Change your mind real fast, don’t you?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’d better not change sides as fast, too…or if you’re gonna, then fess-up and get out now. We don’t take kindly to traitors. Especially not now.”

Regrets were not something that Dorcas spent a lot of time on, but oh did she have them now. “Get off your sodding high-horse! If I’m making ‘assumptions’ about you, it’s because you’ve as good as said you are a delicate flower – and it’s not an assumption to say your family are a bunch of rich blood-supremacist jerks, because they are. They’re bloody Death Eaters and we all know it. So maybe stop acting all superior, ‘cause you aren’t. If anything, you’re the opposite – and a liability, too, it sounds like. Which is exactly what we needed one more of.” Dorcas turned and made to stomp away, then spun back around and added sharply, “And don’t ever call me darling again. I’m not your darling anything, tosser.”

Cora took a deep breath, the retort of 'I'm older than you and clearly not a child' on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back and just gave her a withering glare instead. "And maybe you shouldn't start off with being a condescending child towards those who are trying to join," The retort was out this time before she could stop it, annoyed and upset, and feeling like Dorcas clearly wanted the group to fail if she was acting like this towards those who were joining. "I didn't say we should be doing anything different! And as for that, yes, let me go get myself killed, that sounds like the smartest idea you've come up with, why didn't I think of that?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, just shaking her head at Dorcas in shock. It was that easy, was it? To just tell her family to stop being who they were, to stop acting like they did? Did Dorcas really think it would be that easy for her to just tell her family otherwise? Especially after what had happened to Ryland?

Squaring her shoulders, Cora lifted her chin and glared at Dorcas again. The Rosier party had been different. She hadn't been expecting a battle then. She hadn't been expecting things to go to hell and to be stuck in the middle of it, feeling alone. It had been more of reacting to someone offering her a chance to get out, to get away from her uncle and the rest of those in their silver masks, than not being able to do it herself, right? It had been her ticket into the Order, that's why she'd asked Dorcas to help her. But clearly, Dorcas wasn't in the right mind to listen to her now.

Her hands shook and she clenched them into fists, trying to fight the urge to yank her wand out and try and hex Dorcas for the way she was treating her. She almost even considered doing things the more muggle way and reaching up to slap her across the face, but she knew without a doubt that this was a fight she'd be losing, and she wasn't about to risk her spot in the Order on a childish little git like Dorcas Meadowes.

"You get off of yours, you pretentious git!" She snapped out then, "Just because your family isn't doesn't mean that you're suddenly up on a pedestal above everyone else! You're nothing but a childish little brat, and no wonder we keep losing people!" She snorted, watching Dorcas walk away and adding with a bite, "You'd never be a darling anything to anyone, you tosser."

Date: March 25, 2982 Location: 14 ½ Royal Crescent Starter: @coragreengrass

Ryland had been trying to convince himself to invite Cora over for weeks. She was in the Order now. She was trying. She hadn’t ever been directly involved in what had happened to him. But something had been holding him back. This house was still his sanctuary–and some days the only holder of his sanity–precisely because he’d been paranoid and not provided anyone in his family immediate ready access. Purposefully changing that, even for Cora, felt incredibly daunting.

When he heard she’d been involved in the battle in Diagon Alley, though, Ryland didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t a permanent open on the wards. Currently Gideon was the only person who had one of those, and his argument to get it had been Pippin-related. Instead Ryland had owled Cora, requesting she come by at tea time, then had told the house, “Cora Greengrass arriving by floo or apparation mid- to late afternoon.” Then he’d busied himself on small tasks to have a little food. When he received an owl of affirmation, Ryland focused doubly so. He had everything ready except the tea pot itself. Most would have just cast a warming spell on it, but Ryland didn’t have enough faith in himself for that. It could wait. So could he. Ryland sat quietly, a book next to him but not actually open as he waited for Cora to arrive.

👑

The month was almost over, and yet it felt like it had dragged on for nearly four months at this point. Cora had been doing her best to keep up with everything, and she’d been polite and not trying to push Ryland or upset him in anyway; much like most of the other Order members, she was just trying to get along and do what needed to be done. And, as happy as she was to fully be in the Order, she was also feeling rather exhausted, especially after what had happened at Diagon Alley. But she’d survived, and that was the most important thing, wasn’t it? She’d survived and proved herself.

When she received the letter from Rylan, she was surprised, but gratefully so and returned a letter of acceptance quickly. Seeing that he wanted her to come visit, especially at the place he must feel safest, it was a big deal, and she was going to treat it as such. She’d told her mother when asked that she was off to visit someone for an opportunity at work, and had just received praise at how hard working she was lately. Cora had smiled softly, though didn’t reply. She’d instead walked out of the house, deciding apperation would be best to get there. Taking a deep breath, she made her way up the walk and knocked on the door, still a little nervous, but feeling more hopeful again.

Height Headcanon:

Maurice’s eyes widened at the mention of a proposal. Not necessarily shock, he wasn’t invested enough to be shocked, just an ‘oh, didn’t see that coming’. “So what, this dream boy, ruined you? Or made you? I can’t tell. Are we for or against ex-fiance? Was he cute?” The last part was more teasing. He didn’t know what his criteria for marriage would be, but surely cute would help.

Maurice nodded hastily at her promise to tune in. He’d heard it a thousand times before, very few actually started listening with any regularity. “Sure you will. Next time I see you, there’ll be a quiz.” That was pure sarcasm. He didn’t have time to construct a quiz just for her, just to make sure she was listening.

He watched her carefully as she took a cigarette, realising early that she was not a smoker. Although one look at her should have made that obvious to him, still, he was amused by her efforts.

“Well that’s good because this isn’t some book club, or, I don’t know, what else to rich women do. Play bridge? Do witches play bridge, or is that just a muggle thing?” He thought for a second and then shrugged. “Anyway, point is, I’d be seriously worried if you joined for social reasons.” She went on to talk about her cousin and he leaned back, nodding as he remembered. “Yeah, that was a nasty business. Still, just one more reason not to trust purebloods eh? If that’s what they’re willing to do to their own family.” He shot her a pointed look, not quite jest, not quite serious, but he let the meaning of his words settle between them regardless.

He sighed at her last comment, and in a split second, decided to take a bit of pity on her. She did seem to be genuinely trying, and he’d been hard on her so far. “It’s never too late.” He said, still holding her gaze with a serious weight to his words, but this time, his attempt at kindness tinged them. He sighed again, like this was paining him to say. He hated stroking the bruised egos of purebloods. “I’m not being hard on you just for the sake of it. You’re further along than most of your kind, I’m not blind to that, and I’ve no doubt you want to help. I’m being hard on you because you’ve still got a ways to go, clearly. But we all do.” Some more than others, Mau thought privately as Cordelia started her coughing fit. He tucked the pack back into his pocket, pretending not to take too much notice of it. No more for her today.

“You have your biases you need to dismantle. So do I. Except maybe mine are more for survival’s sake. When it’s purebloods that are so eager to kill me, why should I trust any of them at first meeting? Especially if my first introduction to them is them dropping the m-bomb.”

👑

Noting the way Maurice's eyes widened, Cora briefly wondered if it was surprise or just curiosity. He began asking questions though, and Cora gave a pause. Well, if she were to truly be joining this group, hopefully, then she supposed what was the harm in being more open with some of the other members? Besides, perhaps he wouldn't judge her quite so harshly if he heard her story. She let out a soft chuckle then at the questions and hummed a little.

"Made me, I suppose," She said after a moment, "He was a half-blood who taught me more about the other side than my pureblood relatives had done my entire life. I most likely wouldn't have known much about anything like that if he hadn't introduced it to me. Not that my parents were happy about any part of that situation once they found out I'd been dating him for two years, mind you." She chuckled faintly at the thought, remembering what it had been like when she'd admitted to trying to propose to him.

The other question however, made her bite her lip slightly and sigh. "I wouldn't say for or against. He wasn't exactly an ex-fiancé when he laughed at the proposal and walked away with a quick no. But he was cute, and he did help me in more ways than I thought... So perhaps yes. But I'd rather not dwell on him." Sometimes she did, and sometimes she missed him, and that was maybe the worst; why would she want to still love someone who'd done that to her?

Cora gave a soft smile then at his mention to have a quiz next time he saw her, and although she recognized the sarcasm this time, she returned with a bit of her own, "I suppose I should make sure to take notes and study then." Was it too Ravenclaw of her to say such a thing? No matter, she thought. Instead, she focused on his next words and laughed a little louder at his mention of rich women and bridge. "Bridge? She asked him then, raising an eyebrow as if questioning him about it, "I don't think any of the gatherings I've been to have been anyone playing that, but I suppose you couldn't rule it out either for some of the others."

She paused, then added with a snort, "I don't think their version of book club and your version of book club would be the same either, though I'd believe I'd probably enjoy your picks a bit more." She knew how some of the women picked books, and there was a lot to be desired in the awfulness that was what they read. Still, joining for social reasons would probably worry anyone at this point, at least she'd hope.

And then there was the quip about purebloods and not trusting them, and she got a little quiet again. While he wasn't wrong, she hoped he could pick up on the fact that she hadn't been the one doing it, and that she hadn't been willing to let it happen, that she'd done what she could to get him out of there. Was he taking pity on her with his words? She wasn't sure, but they did help. The thought of it being never too late helped. "I understand what you mean," She said gently then, "I do have a ways to go, but I am trying. And I'm going to do my best, no matter what it takes."

Cora paused again, then continued, "I apologize for using the word. I apologize that that was our first introduction. I suppose it would be a bit too much to try and start it over?" She managed a faint chuckle, "But I do promise to do better. And if you want to call me out every time you see me, to make sure that I'm doing just that, I won't fight it." She tried to take another drag of the cigarette, nose wrinkled, but at least not coughing this time.

The fine and proper pureblood lady that Cora had embodied when they had first met was gone. Hair tied back, her dress ripped apart for comfort, and the cut on her arm, all contributed to make her look like a whole different person. Caradoc too had trouble to recognise her as the same young woman he had given his phoenix tag and dragged into battle, and being unable to properly see her face because of the charm of the tag made,for the briefest of moments, wonder if there was someone else beneath it.

Yet, her voice was unmistakable. Cordelia Greengrass was truly going around Diagon Alley fighting Death Eaters, some of which could very well being members of her own family. 

Would she be so sure of herself if she were to face her any of them? 

“Then we push forward,” he said, without hesitation. He couldn’t afford the time to dwell on such questions. At best, he will have time to ponder this later. At worst, he’d have his answer by the end of this battle. “If you are not sure of your aim when on the attack, trying a widespread hex that packs less of a punch. It won’t knock them out, but it’ll be enough to destabilize them, buying you time to get another hit in, without risking any casualty. Now let’s go.”

Wand in his hand, Caradoc went back into the fray. Sometimes, someone else wearing a Phoenix Tag would help them. Sometimes, they were the ones helping out. Yet, there was never really time to wonder or ask whose was behind the charm. All it mattered was that another Death Eater had been taken down, another enemies was sent fleeing, another wix caught in the crossifre was being protected from the slaughter.

Of course, there wasn’t always someone to help out. At times, even Caradoc and Cora would find themselves separated. He could barely glance at Cora, only enough to register her figure still standing, while a Death Eater was casting curse after curse his way, never stopping, never allowing Caradoc any distraction, not even to see how Cora was faring against her own Death Eater.

Cornered against a broken window shop, the wix whose was was hidden by a silver mask, was aiming their wand at Cora. “If you’ll be good and get yourself killed, I promise you’ll get buried in a much nicer dress. Something from this season,” they said, mockingly, before casting a curse towards her.

Cora watched Caradoc carefully, wondering what the older man was thinking as they had this slight moment of calm to gather themselves again. How different did she look? What was he thinking about how she was still here, and not running off to hide? Did it make a difference? Did he think that maybe she was proving herself and could join them, as she wished to? Now wasn't the moment to ask, of course, and all she could think was that she had to focus, to keep going, to get through this and make it to the other side of the fight.

She nodded her head as he said they pushed forward, understanding and squaring her shoulders a bit more. Listening, she took his words into mind, committing them to memory. Sure she'd been trying to learn, to train more, but fighting had never been her strong suit. Quiet and deadly with words, yes, but spells? She was much more suited for the softer, kinder things than for actually fighting. But now that was all going to have to change, and what better way than to be stuck fighting for her life to actually make her figure it out, right?

And then they were stepping back into the fray, and Cora felt both slightly more terrified, but also more energized. Others with the same tag were helping them, or they would be the ones to help. Who? She wasn't sure and wasn't going to waste time to ask. There was something though about how they were all working together, having each others backs, fighting as one, that made the resolve in her chest grow stronger, made her hand a little steadier. This was what it meant to fight the good fight, wasn't it?

Cora tried not to panic when she got separated from Caradoc, knowing that they wouldn't be able to be side by side the entire time, and knowing that she'd do what she could on her own. Her heart was pounding in her chest, because it was almost as if she'd just truly realized that her family could be among those around her. The thought of her uncle calling out to her from under that mask at the party before Dorcas had grabbed her was still seared in her mind, and absently she wondered if, even with her dress ripped as it was, they might somehow still recognize it. But they didn't pay that much attention to her, she was almost sure of it.

Her hand was a little shaky as she pointed it in return at the wix who was hidden under the silver mask, eyes watching as the wand was pointed at her as well. Was the voice familiar? Was that someone she'd been to a party with? Someone who was related to one of her friends? Someone she'd spoken to before at an event? It sent a chill down her spine to think of it that way, and for a brief moment she felt frozen. Could she do this? Fight someone she might know? What if it had been her uncle, her brother, her father?

The words made her angry though, made her blood boil and her grip on her wand tightened. Her patience suddenly gone, anger filling her at the thought. People that she knew, people that she dealt with, acting like this? It scared her, but it also made her angry. Then, a curse was being shot at her and she let out an almost undignified squeak, managing to get a shield up just in time for it to be deflected away from her.

“Now that sounds like a plan! It would be an incentive to sit through the entire thing, at least; I usually lose interest halfway-through – or even earlier, if it’s a particularly dull event.” There were only so many times one could fake a stomachache, however. More often than not, he was left to find his own entertainment while he counted the seconds until the end. Which was a very vague parameter, too; any time he thought, hoped, that maybe it was over, another set of cakes and teas would be brought out. Or a friendly game would be suggested. Or they would move the entire party inside or outside, depending on where it’d started. Always something. Even the mere memory was exhausting.

Thus, his friend had come up with the game. “I am very proud of that achievement, with the seating. But I fear dear old Mrs Hammond still holds a grudge. She never pinches my cheeks anymore, only frowns at me. Not that I’m complaining, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

He was genuinely relieved to find he was at least somewhat justified in confusing the sisters and wasn’t just making a fool of himself. More than that, though, Cora’s little story drew a laugh out of him that was equal parts delighted and disbelieving. “Oh, no! Although I have to admit, a part of me wishes I’d seen that! Not enough that I would recreate this scene myself, granted, but it sounds like the kind of thing that is best appreciated when you’re only a bystander anyway.”

And she understood his nostalgia perfectly! It’d been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone about these things, and that was his own choice, but he’d missed it. It wasn’t a choice he’d made thoughtlessly – there was a reason he no longer associated with his old crowd, after all. But Cordelia Greengrass was simply too nice to be a Death Eater. Surely. He couldn’t even imagine such a thing. (Or rather, he could – theoretically, anybody could be one, despite appearances, that much he knew – but that thought was buried deep enough that he could pretend it didn’t exist.)

“Exactly! So much responsibility and yet, strangely, it feels like so little is actually up to us.” Then again, who was he to talk? He knew he had it easier than a lot of his peers in many aspects. “But as you say, in the end it is what is. The only way to go is forward!”

Any deeper meaning to her words or reflections they might’ve evoked in him were entirely lost on Dedalus. He simply nodded along, pausing to take another sip of his water. “Yes, yes, this is very true! It sounds so much better in theory than it does in practice and that doesn’t happen often, in my experience. Speaks volumes, doesn’t it? That the rules are more fun than the game itself? Absolute madness.”

Perhaps he and Genevieve would get along then, if she wasn’t big on chess either. He let out a chuckle at the gossip – if it could even be called that. “I’ve heard nothing,” he confirmed, with an overexaggerated solemnity. It didn’t last long. “Ha! Ironically enough, this is the first thing I’ve heard about this party that has given me any hope at all. No chess – it’s a low bar and yet it’s good enough. Isn’t this just sad?”

👑

Cora grinned widely at his words, nodding her head in agreement. "Wouldn't it just?" she laughed softly, "It'd be a great incentive to sit through it, just to make sure your numbers were accurate and you didn't miss any of the over dramatics that some of them would pull. It certainly would spice up the events when they get rather dull." Sometimes she wished she could so easily get out of the events, and perhaps if it wasn't so suspicious now, she'd try. But her mother needed her there to listen in, as she always had, and now the Order would probably need that too. Even if those bits of information would be few and far between, and only her mother would be interested in who might have a card game planned or a match in mind for their child.

She couldn't help but snicker softly then at the bit about Mrs. Hammond. "I don't think I'd be too upset if she chose to never pinch my cheeks again," She chuckled, "I'm not quite sure why that seems to be her only greeting, and I'm afraid one of these days I'm going to forget to smile and greet her, and I'm not quite sure what wrath that would incur from her, or my mother." Smile, be polite, and act like a young woman who isn't wishing to go off on her own, it was quite the expectations at this point.

"It was very much entertaining as a bystander," She agreed, "Though I really wouldn't advise trying to recreate the scene. As entertaining as that would be, I wouldn't want you putting yourself in harms way." She paused then as he agreed with her about the responsibility, and she had to push away the wistfulness that came from it. She had to focus on what was in front of them, not the past. And this future included catching Dedalus up on all that had happened, and hoping that one day things would at least be able to happen without the war.

Nodding her head, she smiled in agreement as she added, "In theory it sounds almost as if one could understand the game and play along. In reality, I suppose most are flying by the seat of their pants and trying to keep track of the rules, let alone where the pieces are going." It was a large web that was being weaved over all of them, it felt like, and only true masters were able to keep up. But who did that include, and was there time to change how those pieces could move and where they were headed?

"Thank you," She chuckled out then as he said he'd heard nothing, "And it is a low bar to be set, but I suppose I'd rather have that low bar of just having to be careful not to trip over it, than a higher bar to stumble into, yes? I wouldn't give her or her family any ideas about making any stricter dress code or bringing three gifts again. One party like that was enough, truly. But I suppose anything that's easier right now is much appreciated, yes?"