Beauty is Terror

“Actually, I changed my mind,” Ava said as she moved to fill the kettle with water. “Tell everyone. Send a letter to Skeeter with this information; maybe I’ll be banned from the season. I’ll never have to suffer a tea-party again, disinvited in fear that I’ll try to bring some common Earl Grey.”

She placed the kettle on the stove, switching the button to turn it on. “Yeah, I do actually. It’s an adjusted taste, but it’s easier than memorising how long different leaves needs to be steeped. It’s quite nice, once you get used to it.”

Anyone else might have had a minor heart attack, or followed up on her request to run for the gossip pages. But if anyone would accept this mild rebellion, it would be Evan. And maybe Archer, if he was still here, but she showed away that thought.

She tilted her head, considering. “Chamomile. Maybe some peppermint, if they have. Whatever kind you prefer – I’m happy as long as I have something to drink.”

“What a depressing idea!” Ava said, turning around to face him. Her words were dramatical, but she was laughing. “It shall be our grand outing – until a party invitation comes along. I’ve heard rumours that people are starting to celebrate getting their first jobs around now.”  

- 

“I’ll owl Skeeter at once, then,” he said lightly. It wasn’t a real offer, was nothing more than a joke. “Or should we go old school and tell someone who we know will trigger a train reaction that will eventually reach Skeeter?” Evan reached over, took a spoon out of the drawer. “Perhaps we can even use the next invitation we get to start this. The one tea party to end them all.”

He began tossing it lightly into the air, tying to get as many end over end flips as possible, before catching it again. “You have me there,” he said with a little laugh. “I bet there’s a charm out there for teacups that make the perfect cup somehow. I feel like that’s something that ought to exist.”

At Ava’s declaration of her favourite variety of tea, he caught the spoon and held it tightly instead of tossing it again. Pointing at her with it, he said, “Excellent choice. We shall have it every day we remember to stock it.” 

Oh, it was so good to hear Ava laugh. It hadn’t been something he’d heard as often as he would like. A lot of things could be said about Ava either before or after the phrase ‘ever since Archer,’ but the laughter thing was the one that bothered Evan the most. 

“Well, as I see no owls arriving, I think our trip to the shop is safe in its title of Grand Outing.” He stood and offered Ava his hand. “Shall we?” he asked, forgetting about the kettle and the cups of tea. “We can celebrate our lack of jobs with some champagne once we return from gathering supplies.”

His question won a small, pressed smile from her. It was familiar, the eagerness to know more, to be let in. It was a mirror of her own, now three years back but recognizable in that want for answers and frustration hat they weren’t coming easily. Being presented to the Dark Lord as she was, months before she was properly allowed in, had almost made it worse. It elevated her from needling questions to outright desperation to know more.

She might not be arranging an introduction, but she could offer him answers.

“No vagueness,” she promised. “Not if you ask the right questions.” It was far more of an offer than she’d given him over spring break, when she allowed none to be asked and evaded those that were out of necessity. 

Bellatrix properly grinned at his admission, at the want. Some wouldn’t consider it the win it was. She may have offered, but he still asked. 

“Around the back lawn should be fine.” She paused and gave him a once over. “You might want to consider shoes. A shirt wouldn’t hurt you either.”

-

He looked at his cousin skeptically when she promised not to be vague. As if that ever happened, he thought. Ever since the attack at St Mungo’s hospital, Bellatrix had been nothing but vague in answering any and all of his questions. Actually, he was pretty sure it had been going on longer than that, but he was still hungover (however much his little swim had revived him), so he couldn’t quite remember in the moment when it had started.  

“I’m holding you to that,” he said. 

The appearance of the grin that resided on Bellatrix’s face should have pleased him. Smiles were, after all, generally speaking, a good thing. Instead, it spurred some wariness to pop up. Considering how put off his cousin had been by his lack of actions when she first arrived, this might all be a ruse to get him out of eyesight. 

He rolled his eyes at her suggestion of attire. “I didn’t know you were so concerned with my potential tender-footedness. I’m touched.” He did, however, use his wand to dry himself. “Shall we?”

-

Ofelia wilted under the young man’s dismissive tone, so like her padre, and for a moment hurt flashed across her face before she fixed her sunny smile back in place. “Ekaitz is well trained, se lo aseguro. He is only un perrito, a puppy.” As if to underscore Ofelia’s point, Ekaitz was now sitting patiently at her feet, tail thumping on the ground as he looked up with big, brown eyes that silently begged for affection. 

When the young man addressed her as “Señorita,” Ofelia drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height and held out her left hand, angling it so her ring caught the light. “Mrs. Jugson, Ofelia Jugson.” This, at least, she knew how to do. She would not let this man say Quentin Jugson’s new wife did not know how to introduce herself, and truth be told, she’d had more than enough practice. She steeled herself for the shock and disbelief that would inevitably follow, but the young man was more concerned with something tucked into the waistband of his pants.

At the young man’s question, Ofelia turned her eyes to the ground, scanning it with sharp attention. With someone less severe, she might have tried to practice Ekaitz’s scent work, but she had a feeling this man would not be impressed with the trick, even if it did work. Quickly, Ofelia spotted the small book and retrieved it from the ground a few feet away. The leather of the cover had been scuffed, but luckily how to clean and repair delicate items like clothes and books was precisely the kind of charmwork taught at Beauxbatons. With a brief, but intricate, bit of wandwork, Ofelia had the book looking possibly better than it had before its fall. “Que bueno. It is good like new.” She offered it back with a smile.

-

This woman was clearly of the wilting variety. Evan hadn’t even been mean and she was already hurt. It was terribly annoying when he wasn’t in the mood for that sort of game, and today, apparently, was one of those days. At least she had her mutt under control again. 

“I can see that,” Evan said. The dog did seem young, but he didn’t think that was a god excuse. She’d already wilted once, though, so he held the worst of his tongue.  “Puppies are much like unruly children, then?”

The correction of the honorific he used and the presentation of her ring barely registered during his notebook search. It wasn’t until she was handing it back to him, cleaned up by her nice charm work, that he remembered what she had introduced herself as. 

“Señora Jugson, was it?” he asked, nodding in thanks as he took his notebook. “Much obliged.” 

He turned the notebook over in his hands to be polite, although he was curious about the job she had done. Memories could be faulty -  in recently returned items one usually found old scratches that had never been noticed before. However, he could not find a single scuff. 

“If you ever feel like escaping, you could make a pretty penny as an archivist,” he said with a wink. 

Summer Pub Things // antonin & evan

-

“I’d think it couldn’t be possible,” Antonin joked right back, picking up on Evan’s cheekiness and - honestly - being more than happy to find it there. Not that he was worried Evan would be anything less than pleasant in public with him, but their last encounter during the attack had been… fraught. Some space between them had been absolutely required, but Antonin had at least been glad to see the younger man briefly at the graduation ceremonies. “And yet, here you are. Missing my grand entrance.”

As Antonin sat he slid the proffered paper closer to his side of the table, glancing at the front page - nothing about the raid on a muggleborn house a few nights before, already completely buried by nonsensical articles about the Minister’s latest speech. He smiled to himself, getting comfortable enough.

“Nonsense, mate. Now that you’re out of school every season is party season. Just with less people around to pretend to like,” he smirked around his glass, still joking but only… mildly. “Anyway, I’m much more a fan of the quieter gatherings that seem to pop up these days, anyway; like this, or somewhere a titch richer with Rodolphus and the lads. Plenty of time for you to find places you’ll start haunting, hm?”

“Work, work, more work,” Antonin hummed, waving a hand as if to say it was the same old same old, or the boring usual. It wasn’t, really; Antonin loved his job, both the official one and his extracurricular one. “It’s always busy at the Ministry, you know, and all these incidents are involving my department more and more. The foreign embassies are getting nervous that the violence might spill from here to their countries, it’s a lot of telling angry Croatians to calm down in the most polite way possible.” He took a savory sip of his drink, watching - as ever - Evan above the rim. “Any ideas on where you’re headed now? Career-wise.”

-

“Oh, I don’t know, Ant. Couldn’t have been that grand of an entrance if nobody saw it,” he replied lightly. 

The interest Antonin had in the paper didn’t go unnoticed. Mind, it could have been nothing - he himself had just been rather absorbed in an article in the inside pages - but Evan knew what Ant did in his spare time now. 

“Looking for something?” he asked, careful to make sure his tone remained cheeky and attitude light. It wouldn’t do to wade into anything too unpleasant during this conversation. It was just too good of an opening to refrain from saying anything. 

Evan groaned at the mention of party season never ending. “My liver won’t be able to handle it,” he laughed. “Although don’t tell anyone that. I have a reputation to keep.” He was young and all, but there were only so many days in a row he could handle being drunk. Evan took a sip of his cidre anyway. “Or - my mother would be thrilled if you started telling people. So maybe we should.”

Evan sat up just that much straighter when he sensed there might be a little shop talk going on. Angry dignitaries, hustle and bustle - it was interesting, even if he didn’t quite want it for himself. And that fact that other countries were taking note of the ‘violence’ - Evan thought that was a strong word - was news to him. 

“Oh, you know how it is. The family wants one thing, I want another,” he said with a hand wave. “I want to hear more about your work. There’s some pressure to go into the public sector but I have other ideas,” he said, wiping a drop of condensation off his glass with his thumb. “Something tells me it isn’t just Croatia?”