echoes of screams

—

Otto had bad timing, as always. Dmitry had been deep enough in concentration that it took him a solid minute to register Otto’s words and look up, nearly dropping his quill onto the parchment when he did. “Merlin, don’t sneak up on me like that.” He was allowed to complain even if it was his fault, right? It wasn’t like Otto had made an appointment. “You can hang out if you want, but you’ve got to be useful. Apparently I’ve sorted that whole stack of papers wrong– not my fault English put the alphabet in the wrong order, but whatever.”

♔

          He never was one to care much about good timing or bad timing. Otto showed up when he showed up and that was that. Now as an adult, Otto did try to think more about when he showed up places, though often he still had too much energy to really think about consequences. “I don’t think anyone has ever told me I’ve snuck up on them. So it’s not my fault you can’t hear me from a mile away.” Otto knew he was loud. He placed the alcohol on the drink cart and then walked over towards Dmitry. “How can our alphabet be wrong?” he asked. “I’ll help you sort them. I don’t have anything better to do. Wait do you have files on all your clients? What does mine look like? I bet the folder is a fun bright color so you know it’s mine. Do you have stuff written about me in there? Does mine say I’m good in bed? I gotta know these things.” Suddenly he was not thinking about current events and that was the exact reason he’d come here.

          Oriana didn’t understand why everyone cared so much for this headmaster and why it was such a huge deal that he was dead. Old men died all the time. There were a few that she knew back in Norway that she’d absolutely have taken out if she’d had the chance. With the full moon not having been too long ago, Oriana’s ability to care and try to learn about the importance of the event was gone. They looked absolutely ragged as they walked into the bar. “I need twelve shots of your finest firewhiskey,” they proclaimed. “Or however much this will get me,” Oriana placed some money on the table. The Norwegian hadn’t bothered to count the money that they’d taken from the tip jar at work after their shift was over. 

          “Okay, well, yeah, I know it doesn’t seem super useful, but it is I promise.” Otto held the blender out with one hand and waved it. “Yeah, like I suppose there are spells that could help with it but it’s not just for like chopping up stuff, you can put ice in it and crush it. I put ice cream in mine all the time with some chocolate to make milkshakes. Or even soup. I promise it’s one of the most useful items I own. And I promise I’ve done absolutely nothing to it. No illegal tinkering on muggle objects. That’s not something I do. At all.” Otto finally took a deep breath and grinned. 

          Enough was enough. Nikoli was tired. He couldn’t help feeling angry at the death of Dumbledore, when he really should have felt sad. These days he felt more numb than sad. Now he was right back to feeling angry. He’d had enough of sitting around and feeling angry, so he’d marched down to the Ministry in attempt to get his job back. When that didn’t work, because clearly Nikoli didn’t need to be an auror when he was as emotional as he was, he’d stormed off. Only a few moments later did he return and demand to know information about Maxium’s murder. Of course there was no movement there either. He’d stormed off angry, but not willing to leave just yet. So he decided to walk around, refamiliarize himself with the place. “Oops, sorry,” he said, walking into the office, “I got a little lost. I thought this was a different department.” The place hadn’t changed, but his memory had faded. 

          He’d been quiet ever since he’d heard about Dumbledore. He’d gone to the wake and the funeral, feeling an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Mordred didn’t care much about Dumbledore, he never had while he was at school, but there was something horrible about his death. Maybe he was finally starting to see things for how they really were, the group he was tied to for who they were. Maybe Mordred didn’t want to belong anymore or maybe he never had to begin with. “Do you ever feel as if maybe you should run away?” he asked. “Getting as far away from England as possible and making a name for yourself elsewhere?” Maybe Mordred was lucky because he didn’t have many ties to this place. Not many friends and he didn’t talk to his family anymore. 

          Otto was drunk. That didn’t seem to be an unusual state for him these days, but it wasn’t really something he enjoyed. He had enough problems at Hogwarts because he’d gotten drunk. He’d screwed a lot of things up because he’d been drunk. How was he supposed to be okay with everything going on though? He knew he wasn’t. The cool air hit his face as he left the bar and Otto stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Ohhhh. It feels nice outside,” he closed his eyes and smiled a bit. “Okay, but realistically, if I wrote to Binns, do you think he’d get back to me?”

          Amity was not involved in her war, nor did she want to be involved in the war. She wanted to be as far away from it as possible without actually leaving England. There was no way she was going back to France and while visiting her parents in China until this all ended was a viable option, Amity didn’t feel like that was the right decision either. England was her home. London was her home. The fact that people were trying to drag her away from that was difficult and something she didn’t want to do. So yes, these days she was a bit frazzled. “No, I’m sorry, but you cannot have that item currently,” she informed the woman in front of her. “Stop making a fuss because that’s only going to make it worse. If you have a problem with it, please take it up with someone else.” The woman had been making a fuss about her confiscating a dangerous item for testing. “But perhaps you shouldn’t leave your cursed items at the bank.” So she was getting a little snarky, but she didn’t care. Amity rolled her eyes as the woman stormed off. “I’ve had to deal with her all week,” she told the nearest person.” 

          To say that Amos was unnerved by everything going on was an understatement. He’d been practically glued to his seat at home ever since the news about Dumbledore had gotten out, which of course he heard from his mother before hearing from someone else. Once again, Amos had to assure her that he was safe, though he didn’t feel that way. It left a bad taste in his mouth to lie to her, but Amos didn’t know what to do about that since he refused to go home with a tail between his legs. Eventually, he felt comfortable leaving and found himself wandering the streets trying to calm his mind down, but not paying attention to where he was going. He barely noticed that he barreled into someone. “Oh, sorry,” Amos looked down. “Oh, hi Lily.” 

          Otto was not dealing with Dumbledore’s death very well. While he never cared for the headmaster that much, the man did help him out in sixth year. Otto never had that many professors on his side and most of them had been ready to kick him out, but Dumledore and Binns were the two that gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was Binns however, that truly pushed Otto to finish school. Dumbledore of course helped, so he was a bit rattled by everything that was going on. While Otto loved chaos, this was too much and when something got too much for him, he tended to go do things that were grounding. These days that meant annoying Dmitry. 

          “Don’t get mad. I come bearing gifts,” he said as he held out the bottle of whiskey. “It’s the good stuff and yes I paid for it.” 

-

“If you’d like to tell me what you’re working on, I’d be more than happy to make some recommendations,” Lily said again. Polite, customer-service. Not overly interested in whatever mystery brew someone else was getting to make; not short about being told how to do their job; not getting fired again. “Otherwise I can’t help, for safety reasons. I can also put you on a waiting list for the motherwort, and help you find anything else you need.”

⎈

          “Donno, a poison or something I saw in a book. Don’t remember the title, just remember that it’s deadly and the ingredients. I’m bored, so I guess I’m brewing poison today.” They shrugged., feeling a bit annoyed that the one ingredient left on her list wasn’t there. Oriana had everything else. “I could put in a random ingredient. Can’t do anything bad, I wouldn’t think. Right? It’s already poison.” 

+

Doris had worked at Eclipse for almost three years, ever since she had left Hogwarts, and had become so used to dodging the groping, creepy hands of her customers that her movements through the speakeasy were automatic, almost unconscious. Walking up to the bar, she had dodged a couple with a swift swing of her hips, while simultaneously picking up several glasses from a nearby table. She knew she should have cared more, and if she really wanted to she could have broken a few of their fingers but it would have meant losing her job. She couldn’t afford to do that.

Smiling slightly at the woman who approached her, she shook her head. It was a kind gesture, in a slightly terrifying sort of way, but she supposed it was a classic case of women looking out for each other. She appreciate that. Not many people often cared about the lowly waitresses. “I think an accident already occurred at the moment of his conception” she smirked, pushing her tray of drinks onto the bar, eyes darting to the headline of the newspaper that sat on top of it. “Thank you for your offer, but I can take care of the likes of him. I’ve been working here long enough now”.

She shook her head as she walked around to the other side of the bar. Pulling the glasses from the tray, she emptied them into the magical sink hidden from view, where they began to wash themselves up. “Not very, but he was one of the few professors who didn’t tell me that I was useless, or that I would amount to nothing” Doris shrugged. “Or at least he never said it to my face. Anyway, what can I get you?” she asked, before pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Sorry, but are you new around here? I’m usually good with faces but I can’t say I’ve seen you before”.

⎈

          She was barely aware of her words being deemed inappropriate. When it came to that sort of thing, Oriana didn’t have much of a filter. She spoke what was one her mind at the time, when it was on her mind. Be damned if she offended someone. All her life people had told her she was wrong, a monster, unusual, not good enough. She wasn’t going to stand by and watch someone get treated inappropriately by a man for just existing. It filled her with rage. Or it filled her with more rage than usual. If people were going to call her a monster, then she damn well was going to act like one. Damned if she had to put up with people thinking that she was normal. 

          Oriana shrugged at the response. So most people were reasonable. That was the only problem with wanting to protect people. However, if she saw this man outside Eclipse, Oriana would smack the fuck out of him with no regrets regardless of what she was being told right now. “Does your boss know about stuff like that?” Her boss also probably needed a good smack as well. If these were the kinds of patrons that they served, then this wasn’t a place that Oriana wanted to give her money to. 

          The werewolf watched her empty glasses into a tray. While Oriana knew that some people were shaken up about the missing headmaster, Oriana hadn’t gone to school in England and she didn’t know any of the professors. Even if she did meet them, she doubted that she’d remember them. “Oh.” She didn’t know what else she could help with because she didn’t know about the location of the headmaster and she wouldn’t tell if she did. “Hm. I donno. I haven’t been drunk in a while.” Not that she could. “I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been in England for a while. I’m from Norway, went to Durmstrang, then needed to get the fuck out and travel for a bit.” She stayed because she had the pack. “Oriana,” she said, drumming her fingers on the bar counter.

+

She thought about it for a moment, tapping her chin lazily with her finger. She could have cheated, or bribed someone to do her essays for her, but the professors would have caught on. Coaxing someone into helping her cheat had never been her thing. She was stubborn and had preferred to fail where necessary, rather than choose that particular option. “I’ve never been that kind of girl, Mordred” she pointed out, pushing her hair behind her ear before she began to wipe down the bar. During their time together at Hogwarts they had bonded over their shared passion for music, but she had also been observant. She had seen that school hadn’t been easy on Mordred either, though she was certain he had excelled far more easily than she had. They had cared about their music; what use were grades really? “I forgot, sorry” she smiled, taking the glass from him and emptying the contents into her mouth. “You want a soft drink?” she offered, throwing her rag under the bar. “Then why don’t you?” she asked, softly. 

𝄞

          As much as Mordred hated being a teenager, being an adult with everything that was going on now, just felt like too much. He wanted to run away to Canada, except that felt cowardly and as much as he thought about doing that, he knew that he would never do that. “No, but sometimes it’s nice to dream about the person that you could be if you let yourself do something you would never do.” He did that all the time, more often than he wanted to admit to Doris or himself. When it came to school, he hadn’t cared about many of his classes. He’d always been the type to breeze through them and not pay attention to what he was actually learning. Now that he was an adult, he was playing music for a career and that was more important than anything else. “Uh, yeah, that would be nice. Thanks.” Not many people knew that he didn’t drink. He might go to a bar and order a drink, except they usually ended up being water or something he could pass off as alcohol just to fit in with the crowd. Whenever he did order an actual drink, he never ended up drinking it. “I can’t. I just can’t make myself leave.” 

…

“Did they?” Her head tilted, eyebrow lifting smoothly. She knew the value of the family unit. For the first seven years of her life, before the suspicion had began to truly set in, her parents had loved her, they had doted on her just as much as they still did with her brothers and sisters. There were eight children, and somehow they had managed to make each one feel special and cared for and loved in their own way. The bitter nostalga of the feeling set deeply into her chest, a painful reminder that she didn’t get that anymore. Acknowledgement had come more since she’d taken the mark, but the love and affection she had once longed for left her cold and bitter when she didn’t get even a smile. “Did they love you?” The question was so blunt and forward that a normal person might have been embarrased by the frankness. Cordelia long ago gave up things like shame.

Cordelia gave an almost sad smile. “Cordelia. That’s me.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as she downed the rest of her glass, waving for another and one for him as well before she continued. “I hate to play the pity game, as I don’t feel sorry for myself, but I would argue that I have a much better understanding of ‘being different’ than even you do. I didn’t get to go to Hogwarts or make friends or feel even a little bit normal my entire life. Being a social pariah and an outcast, something to pity, that’s my day to day life. I can’t play the part without the wand waving and the silly incantations like you can, piccolo.” She smiled again, knowing it was a hollow gesture, and sighing through her teeth. “Tell me your story. Mine is boring and predictable.”

𝄞

          “They did. Piano lessons, dance lessons, trips to the theatre, music performances, anything I could ever want.” Mordred didn’t know if he had it in him to continue talking about his parents in a positive light. They might not have ended up as bad people if they had decided to leave each other alone. But they both fed into the other’s bad habits and then didn’t care that they took it out on Mordred. Sometimes he hated being an only child, forced to suffer at the hands of his parents alone. Although his cousins weren’t all bad. That was about the only family he could stand. He had Hyperion and that was all that mattered to him. “No,” he answered her question truthfully. “They didn’t love me.” Mordred knew the reality of it was that his parents couldn’t love anyone except themself. 

          He didn’t know what to say to her confession, so he just left it alone. He didn’t feel sorry for her, but he didn’t understand what she was still doing in this community. A place that probably didn’t care for her or want her around. Mordred would run the other direction the second he had a chance. That’s what he always told himself. “Maybe with some aspects, but I don’t fit into that box my parents want me to fit into,” he shrugged. Mordred couldn’t figure out what else he wanted to say. “My parents met at Hogwarts and were never in love, but they kept getting back together until one day my mum ended up pregnant. So their parents made them get married and no one mentioned that I was born barely months after they got married. My family hated me from the beginning. While Madoc was out drinking, Verity was out with a new stranger every week. From the outside though we looked perfect. But on the inside we were nothing more than a mess held together by glue.” Mordred shrugged again. “It’s nothing new. Abuse, lying, manipulation. And I know that what they’re doing, what they believe, is wrong, yet I have no idea how to leave.” 

—

Dmitry wasn’t sure that going boxing with a stranger was the best idea, but it certainly wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had. “I can’t exactly box in these clothes, but if you give me thirty minutes I can meet you back in front of here and we can walk over.” That’d give him enough time to owl someone to say where he was going, too. “Eh, I was meaning to get to the gym today anyways and I’ve certainly had less pleasant offers on how to spend a weekend. You don’t have a regular sparring partner?”

🗡

          So it probably wasn’t the grandest idea she’d ever had, but Amity was pissed off and frustrated. The reason she’d gotten into boxing in the first place was to feel control. With Dumbledore being gone, she couldn’t help feeling a bit helpless and this would help her feel a bit better. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” she nodded, a frown on her face. She always had workout clothing on her, so she was antsy and ready to go now. “Oh, I do, but he’s out of town this weekend visiting family in Germany.” She actually had several usual partners she sparred with. “I’m Amity Launier-Padgett,” she introduced herself.  

—

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear– this is my house and you’re not welcome.” Izzy was getting a really bad feeling from the situation, like one of those days they found an unexploded bomb from the Blitz in the centre of London, but she didn’t exactly know what else she could do. “I don’t know, there’s a public park down Morrow Street?” Why was she helping? And the Rosehill Station has a connection to right outside Diagon Alley if you take the Underground. Ma’am, you just need to leave.”

⎈

          Oriana pointedly took a step backwards, stepping back to the sidewalk. “And what are you going to do about it?” Because no one ever did anything about Ori. Most people were afraid of her. “A public park? That’s a bit boring. Surely there’s something else more interesting.” If she wasn’t on the girl’s property, then the only thing keeping the conversation going was her standing there. “I’m not standing on your property anymore, so you really can’t do anything to me.” People should watch the way they spoke to her because she wasn’t behind rallying the pack for an attack if someone hurt her. 

She smiled softly at Amity, glad that the other woman hadn’t been at the gala and forced through the questioning that she had been, though she wouldn’t have put it past the Aurors to find and question her anyway. They had appeared at the time to be grasping at straws. “They would find a use for you if they had to I’m sure, most likely in the numbers column, in an effort to look as though they are doing something” she replied, sighing a little at the memory of a tedious and tiring evening. “So do people” Andromeda pointed out, her lips twitching into a smirk. She had learned not to completely trust in anything that came out of a person’s mouth, unless it came from her younger sister. “I am aware of that” she muttered, “but fear breeds fear, and misery breads misery. If they reported the facts straight then it would not be as terrible, but most journalists have an agenda to cause chaos. It sells” she added, not wanting to mention that she was almost certain that the Daily Prophet was no longer in the business of free press.

🗡

          Amity was one of the people that didn’t participate in the war that much. It wasn’t anything personal, she didn’t think she had much of a say in it. After all, she still sort of considered herself new to the community in England, regardless of living here for ten years now and being a permeant resident. “Oh, I’m sure, but I probably won’t let them get the chance.” Amity wasn’t one of those people that liked to stay silent, regardless of her currently neutral stance of the war. The only reason she was neutral was so her parents didn’t freak. “Unfortunately, I think if they tried to sell us happy news, they’d get put out of business. I think there’s just too much going on for them to really be able to push a more optimistic stance on everything.” Maybe not everyone agreed on that, but Amity knew that newspapers were likely feeding off the chaotic nature of war rather than telling the facts. “People often forget that newspapers are businesses and they have to sell some sort of story to get money to pay the reporters. It sucks, but what are we to do about it? Start our own magazine?” 

★ –

“When am I ever trying to be funny?” Paris raised a brow and looked at her like she’d said something profoundly ridiculous, which in his mind, she had. He hadn’t encountered Oriana all that often; they hadn’t run in the same circles, despite both having one thing in common - the cause. “We’ve captured the head of the order. Of course that is worth celebrating. Should you be here, if you aren’t aware of how grand a success that is?”

          “I don’t know. I don’t know you.” Oriana knew who he was, yes, but she didn’t personally know him. She liked to be funny, but that was completely different than other people making jokes about her. Oriana wasn’t part of the inner gang of Death Eaters and she didn’t want to be part of that gang really. She was fine with the pack, the smaller group of people that actually looked out for her. “Sure, I get that, but he’s just some old guy right? He couldn’t have been doing that much for them.” Okay, so they probably didn’t need to be so pessimistic about it, but it was the truth. “I’m here because the pack is here. Wherever they go, I go.”