ruination

Where: Diagon Alley. Who: Open. When: 22nd of September, 1984. 

There was never a wizarding event that didn’t astonish the once simple farm boy. As he walked the streets of Diagon Alley, his eyes razed over every decoration, every outfit, trying to keep his hands off every new and interesting magical device and delicacy that he found. It was his first Autumnal Equinox Festival, and he was looking to enjoy all that it had to offer. 

Upon reading the news and flyers and hearing through the festival activities through the radio and friends, he knew of some of the events to go on. He had wanted to see the potioneer contest, knew that it was advertised for children, but had wondered if it was only for children. Tilden was always ready to show off his extraordinary potion-brewing skills, even if it meant completely obliterating the children within the competition too. There was also the auction he wanted to visit, to see if there were any magical plants that had been left behind or cauldrons with wacky personalities within. 

Tapping a stranger on the shoulder, he asked them, “so, do you know if this potions contest is only for kids?”

—

Tarquin wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his sister practically dragging him to the festival. He had lost what little interest he had in events like these long ago and found them more annoying than anything else by this point. For all the buzz there was about it every year he could only imagine that there were others who felt the same, judging by the amount of drugs he had sold in the past couple of hours but Tarquin had never been one to pretend. 

At the very least this whole thing had been good for business. He turned around when someone tapped his shoulder but his expression softens ever so slightly when he realizes that it is him. Tarquin wasn’t exactly someone who worked well with people but somehow this arrangement with Tilden hadn’t faltered despite any reservations he might have had and the quality of the potions Tilden brewed spoke for itself.

“It is,” he replied, “Should be perfect for you.”

where: diagon alley

Tarquin was leaning against a wall in the Diagon Alley, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. The preparations for the Festival were in full swing, what with it being in only a few days time. For his part, Tarquin had never been able to understand what the excitement was about. Even as a child — especially as a child — the event had held nothing but a sense of ringing absence. His mother had tried to drag him to these things but Tarquin had never wanted to go after Thea had been sent away, not when she was the only one who had liked these things anyway. 

The resentment Tarquin felt for the society he was born into was bone deep. He was about as removed from the Pureblood society as one could be but that also meant that he knew just which nerves to step on. His eyes landed on her as she exited a shop, shopping bags in hand. Tarquin could practically feel the excitement radiating off her. It was exactly what he would have expected. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and crushing it beneath his feet. “I’m surprised they let you venture out on your own,” he comments as she passes him by. 

me: lemme show you a trick or two

middle schoolers: *hand me a board*

me: this one's called stealing