not fragile like a flower

where: King’s Cross Station

Despite everything that had happened as of late, Persephone decided that maybe taking her brother’s offer at joining the rest of her family on vacation may have been needed. Needless to say, it was a rather tiresome trip. Greece had been beautiful but her treatment of maintaining the family title of disappointment reigned strong. Persephone had held her tongue for as long as she could possibly stand it. Maintaining composure at Perseus’ request. But that only went so long before her sister had opened her mouth a family dinner one night.

Everything was a secret. Or at least she thought so. Persephone had worked so very hard to keep things that way. Yet somehow things had gotten leaked. Hera had drug her across the veranda by the arm. There was a lovely bruise in the shape of her sister’s hand now forming on her upper arm from how hard she had grabbed her. “What the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Hera had hissed in her ear. The confusion that laced Seph’s features, and voice was not feigned as she assured her sister that she had not an inkling of an idea of what she was talking about. But the next phrase that come from Hera absolutely floored her. Taking the wind out of her lungs as she stood there, jaw slack, and unsure of what to say next.

“Don’t play coy with me, Persephone, you’re working with Riddle!” Color drained from her face, bile rose in her throat and her heart sank into her stomach, but she regained herself in a matter of seconds. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hera.” But her sister was persistent and informed--no, demanded--that her sister to stop what she was doing immediately and go back home at once or she would tell not only their mother but the Prophet and the Ministry. Without a word, but tears in her eyes, silently reassuring Hera (she was sure of it) Persephone turned away from her. Yanking her arm out of her sister’s grasp as hard as she could and made her way back to the manor where she packed her belongings, spoke briefly with Perseus and informed him that she was made very aware by their sister that she was not wanted there, and took the next train home.

–

“Maybe you don’t remember Rowle, but I already cleared my conscience. Really public trial, drama of the century, son betrays upstanding citizens and airs family dirty laundry, maybe you don’t remember.” Vulcan said without batting an eye. “Could lead me to jump to some conclusions every now and then.”

–

“Woah woah,” Monty said, reaching out to steady her. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this, Ms. Rowle. People may think we’re up to something hinky.” His eyes crinkled at the corner the same way his smile always did when he told dumb jokes. It probably wasn’t something he ought to joke about; potentially debasing proper young woman with good reputations. Not that he’d ever do anything of the sort. No way he’d ever inflict his mother’s wrath like that.

“Are you alright? You look a bit panicked. Is someone chasing you, should we be running? The only part of me good at running is my mouth but I’m sure if it was a life or death situation I could convince my muscles its worth it. Just say the word. Or just start running and I’ll surely take the hint.”

–

- 

     Diana noted the tarot, having never been interested in it or in any form of divination herself. The truth was the future was ever changing and evolving, dynamic and unsteady, what point was there in dwelling on it, or in trying to pin it down when it no doubt would only change again? She nodded politely all the same, “I’m sorry to hear that, have you found another?” She asked, thinking Persephone seemed far from fine. She didn’t press any further. She knew how it felt to have people insist they knew your feelings better than you did. 

     “Me?” She asked, noting the hesitation at ‘how’. She wanted to ask something else, but what? She smiled, “I’ve been very well, busy with Madam Malkin. I’ll be finished with my apprenticeship come September, and then I’d like to explore my options.” She admitted, “I’ve spent time with family and friends, Christmas was quite lovely, but it’s all been quite normal until now.” She admitted. “I don’t mean to be rude, Ms. Rowle, but it’s getting late. Do you want someone to walk with you home?” She offered. She didn’t think anyone should be out by themselves right now, let alone young women. She’d been close enough to her intended destination to not feel hypocritical, but it also would give Persephone a chance to be more forthcoming with how she was feeling and what was bothering her. 

She held the new deck in her hand up for the other witch to see. A tight smile on her face as she lowered it. Her knuckles turning slightly white with the intensity she held them. Too afraid to let them go or set them down. Guilt ripped through the blonde and this deck was supposed to be her saving grace. The one that called to her and told her that none of this was her fault. “Yes, I did. Tarot is just something you don’t want to ruin,” the explanation was a quick rendition of the truth. Persephone smiled, genuinely this time. It made her feel better to know that Diana was doing so well these days. 

-

   She was beautiful, overdressed, and yet so entirely Persephone. For a moment, he simply watched, having made idle conversation with other patrons, but his eyes kept being drawn to his woman in red. He noted the way she laid out her cards, deciding that was the perfect time for him to get up and approach. He stood, making his way over before dropping easily into the chair across. “It’s been awhile since you read for me,” He teased, reaching over to take her hand. He smoothed his thumb over her fingers before leaning down to press his lips to her knuckles. “You look stunning, Seph.” He complimented, eyes creasing fondly at the corners, “though it hardly looks like you had plans for the Leaky. Are you staying long?” He mused, wondering if she was simply killing time before going to her intended destination. 

     He let go of her hand, eyes flicking back to the tarot cards. He’d never been good at divination himself, but it was fun to get a reading every now and then, and Persephone was good at doing it. She was gifted,  beyond anything he could understand when it came to the art. “Go on then.” He nudged gently, tapping his fingers near one of the cards at random. 

Heat crept up her neck and cheeks as he touched her hand. He had always had a talent for causing this sort of reaction with her. Leaving her speechless in their younger years. Now, it wasn’t so easy to leave her without words. Persephone had learned how to compose herself and conduct herself around others--or rather Ziya. It had, in fact, been several years since she had given him a reading. At the time, she had just been learning and coming into her talent when it came to the cards, tea leaves and the like. Now her talent was more honed. More defined. Though that didn’t mean that her readings hadn’t had a knack for being accurate even in the early days.

“That it has,” she agreed, “It’s been over a decade. I believe the last I gave you a reading we were in our fifth year.” Seph fought the blush that threatened to heat her cheeks at his compliment. “You don’t look half bad yourself,” she quipped, “I’ll be here as long as I’m welcomed. Or until I run out of those who want a reading.” Persephone let her eyes sweep the room. Judging by the looks of things she would be running out of guests quickly. A smirk crossed her lips as he tapped on the cards before them. Her hands were quick to shuffle the cards. Letting the four that had their message fall in place on the table. As the final card dropped, she began to flip them over one by one. 

  Bes knew Persephone was full of shit. It was one of the benefits to being a bloody liar himself. He knew, more often than not, when people were bullshitting themselves and others. It was always the most interesting to watch someone try to fool themselves, but that wasn’t the case here. Persephone wasn’t lying to herself. “Is it?” He pressed, “because from where I’m standing, you look unsteady on your feet, Ms. Rowle. If you’re in some kind of trouble, I’m happy to help.” He offered. For a cost was simply the unspoken part, having someone in your debt was never a bad thing if done properly. 

The Leaky Cauldron | Open 

     “I don’t know anything more than you do,” Ziya insisted, again. It wasn’t the complete truth, he’d been debriefed twice since the news broke about the Minister’s passing, unfortunate as it ought to be, but he was just trying to enjoy a pint in peace. He didn’t mind gossip, it had it’s uses, but he wasn’t in the mood to feed into the squawking and squabbling going on. The pub was filled with the familiar din of conversation, but nearly half of it spoke of the Minister, the snake in the sky, and whispers of what could have happened. Ziya had his own questions, but he wasn’t going to find the answers there. 

     “That’s not quite true, is it?” He quipped, eyes taking on a hue of mischief. “Bet ya a galleon in about ninety seconds that door there’ll burst open and a woman in red will come storming in, yelling about her missing husband.” He grinned, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’ll duck out the back before she notices him, and if we were to go back with him, he’d say,” he paused, changing his voice to mimic the wizard. “she’ll run me pockets dry, the old bat, always howlin’ about how expensive Diagon’s got, how I haven’t ever given her enough to purchase quality items, and how ever is she to silence my mother if she doesn’t have another handful of galleons?” He repeated, before lifting his pint to his lips. “You’d think she’d have caught him at least once by now.” He shrugged, eyeing the door he’d spoke of. 

She was desperate. Needing something--anything--to get her back to feeling somewhat normal. Persephone had spent hours scrubbing herself in the shower of the metaphorical blood she had on her hands. Yet nothing had seemed to help. Nothing but pouring endless amounts of alcohol down her throat. After calling in to work for the last three days, Seph decided to make an appearance outside of her own flat. A semblance of normalcy when she had taken her independence from her family’s estate. Throwing open her closet, the blonde witch donned a red dress and a pair of her favorite boots to match. A black cloak to shield her from the cold and Persephone was on her way to the Leaky Cauldron.

where; hogs head whomst; open

Walburga had never actually cared much about the Minister, or politics. But the recent death had her father shaken. She hadn’t seen him this out of sorts since Alphard left. He’d even mentioned Orion the other day. Wally hated when he did that, it hadn’t boded well since Cyg had replaced him on the family tapestry.

“No, I don’t know who they’ll pick to replace her.” She told the client currently doing a very poor job of checking in, “And frankly I don’t care. Are you going to book a room or not?”

==

where; oot and aboot whomst; anyone

“Considering that my parents, godwilling, are in Azkaban at the moment and will be for the rest of their natural and unnatural lives,” Vulcan said without looking up. He’d fielded the same question at least six times within the last week alone. It was getting boring at this point. “No, I doubt they killed the Minister. You’re going to have to come up with a new theory.”

–

-

   Life continued. That was something Bes had learned from a very young age. Life continued, and when it didn’t affect you personally, it continued even faster. Of course he’d heard the gossip and rumor, the hushed whispers, the louder opinions making him cringe. He’d seen the papers too, jumping at the opportunity to have the best, most comprehensive information about the snake in the sky, but Bes simply didn’t give a shit. He knew as well as anyone that they’d replace her, and things would continue as they had. He didn’t know what to make of the weird mark in the sky, but it was senseless to jump to conclusions, and he wasn’t scared of it. He had no reason to be. Clearly whoever had made it had been making a statement, but if people had so many questions, they hadn’t done a good enough job, had they? 

    He was on his way to visit Burke, to drop off some herbs from Noltie’s that he’d promised. His lunch hour was almost up, but Noltie never seemed to mind if he was a bit later coming back into the shop. He always did quality work, and he stayed late often. She couldn’t complain. He turned, heading down to Knockturn when Persephone all but ran into him. He frowned, noting that she was rushing, but she seemed upset as well. He moved, placing himself back into her path, though careful not to touch her or risk getting himself hexed. “Hey, hey, slow down.” He urged, gently. His eyes watched her, concerned. “Did something happen, Ms. Rowle? Are you alright?” He pressed. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if something had happened, but he didn’t often see her rattled. That worried him far more than the big scary mark in the sky. 

-

   Diana had absolutely enjoyed New Years. She’d had fun, dancing the night away, getting lost with her closest friends, and had thoroughly enjoyed hearing Etta James perform. It was unfortunate that the next few days unfolded the way they did. Madam Malkin’s had been alight with gossip and rumor. It was far from unusual, after all. The ladies always gossiped as they got their fittings, or watched their children be fitted, but this felt a bit different. The gossip was quieter, and more filled with question than answer. Why had the Minister been targeted? What would it mean for their community now? Who would replace her? And what was that awful mark in the sky? The mark troubled Diana the most. It was clearly a symbol, a sign. But who had made it, and what was it’s purpose? 

    She had half a mind to go digging through the library in the Manor, to see if she could find older record of the symbol, and it’s meaning and usage, but she’d gotten busy with work instead. She trusted that the Ministry would take care of things. There were no doubt plans upon plans for what to do should a Minister lose their life, and soon more information would come out. Then she could dig deeper if it stilled piqued her curiosity. In the meantime, she resigned herself to being more alert and to staying indoors when night fell. There was no reason for her to fear beyond that, was there? 

    Her footsteps weren’t hurried as she made her way toward Knockturn, intending to drop by and see Vulcan. She had no doubt her brother had been busy, the Prophet would have journalists investigating, and she wanted to check in with him and see that he was well. She’d even stopped to pick up sweets from Sugarplum’s for him. She took the steps, frowning as a woman rushed past her. She turned, familiarity there only a little. She knew the Rowle’s, of course, from years of pureblood society events. “Persephone?” She asked, brows furrowing. She didn’t plan to linger long, the sun already beginning to set, but she was curious. “It’s been awhile. Are you alright?”

Guilt.

There was so much guilt locked away inside her. Her peers, the ones who sided along with Tom as well, had all applauded her. Commented on her work and told her how shocked they were that she hadn’t so much as blinked an eye whenever her insight had caused a catastrophe. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, because she did. Persephone hated being the one who gave him that little extra push he seemed to need. She was just honest and have her opinion. Her hands clutched at deck she had just bought. Hoping--no, needing--them to give her an answer that wouldn’t lead to the death of someone knew. Seph knew that that was a long shot. She just hoped that this time would be different.

Her feet stopped at the sound of her name. The voice sounded familiar but only vaguely. A deep breath to steady herself as she turned slowly to see who had called her name. With nearly a decade between the two witches, it was safe to say that Persephone had known about what had happened with Diana’s parents. Had watched the other witch grow before her eyes as their families ran in the same circles. She tried to pull her lips into a small smile at the very least. Make an attempt to not look as guilty as she felt.

who: open to anyone

She had seen it. Seen the bright green symbol that illuminated the sky. She knew what it had meant. Of course, she had. Persephone was on edge now with the deed being done. Though her nerves had never manifested in the way that everyone else’s did. Hers manifested as anger. Along with every other feeling she ever had. Tom had asked her, as a birthday gift, to use her own ‘gift’ to see what she could. But she was in no way a seer, just very good at divination. She always had been. However, Seph was terrified of telling him no and after all... What were friends for? That was what Tom said every time he extended an olive branch her way. She needed a favor done? Tom was on it. Needed a place to stay? She was always welcome at his. Though she as beginning to wonder if his kindness and olive branches were more of a manipulation than out of the kindness of his heart and friendship.

-

  Ziya chuckled, eyes softening around the edges at the comment. “Only when I want something, or in this case, when it’s deserved.” He teased, not minding the gentle touch to his jawline. He didn’t mind Seph’s affection, though he wasn’t quick to allow touches from others. He preferred his own space. He noted the quick shift in body language, the way her posture changed, arms over her chest. He’d overstepped in asking after her family, but it wasn’t something he regretted. He knew why she was miserable, no matter how badly she wanted to pretend she wasn’t. He knew her too well, even if there were still secrets between them. 

    He stepped back, listening as she admitted it. He was surprised by that. He expected she would have deflected, brushed it off. It seemed she was in the mood for hard truths today, that or she’d had enough alcohol to loosen her tongue. Either way. “Hera thinks she’s in control of a whole lot of things, Seph, but we both know she’s in charge of fuck all.” He sighed, moving to draw her into his chest, his hand coming up to brush through her blonde hair. “She’s a narcissist and bloody insufferable at that.” He informed, fingers gentle against her upper back as he held her close. “She might not want you here, but that doesn’t make your presence unwelcome or unwanted. This isn’t her party, she doesn’t get a say.” He added, “but if you’re inclined to leave, I’ll escort you home.” He offered, quieter. It was her choice, but he wasn’t going to stand there and let her beat herself up. Hera wasn’t worth either of their time, and neither was her mother. 

It never took long for him to see right through her. Never took him long to break down her walls and make her cave into him. Persephone had always prided herself on being cold and unmoving. Keeping herself poised and put together even in the face of agony. It wasn’t for lack of trying with Ziya. She absolutely hated the way he could see through her facade and make her feel things. A Rowle had no room for feelings. They weren’t proper. But she had always dared to test the limits even at a young age. Seph had never attempted to hide who she really was. Not until she overheard her mother tell her sister that Persephone was ruining everything they had worked so hard for. They called her a mistake and said they should have stopped having children after Hera. “Always such a charmer,” she said, her breath catching.

His arms wrapped around her, and they felt like home. Persephone let her guard down, not for the first time around him. Ziya was familiar and knew her the way no one else had ever dared to try. If she had worked so hard to keep her feud with her mother and Hera behind closed doors, yet he still somehow knew, there was no use in trying to act perfect. Seph could keep herself composed but Ziya would know. She broke.

-

   Zavier watched Persephone as she walked, having noticed the way she’d left the performance. He didn’t care either way about listening to Etta James, though he appreciated her talent nonetheless, and had no reason to linger when he’d taken note. He was curious, it had been some time since he’d seen the youngest Rowle, and he wanted to catch up. He moved, following silently as he finished his drink and it passed it off on his way. He made no true attempt to conceal himself, though he didn’t make his presence overly known either. He’d do so when they were further away from the crowd of people, the heat of so many witches and wizards all dancing and listening to the performer. 

    He watched as her hand trailed along the wall, noting the other had been tucked into her purse. He couldn’t begin to guess what she was holding there, but he didn’t worry about it too much. Her voice cut through the quiet, causing his lips to tug upward in amusement as a low rumbly laugh left him. “Come now love, shadows hardly suit you, they’re far more my style.” He teased, coming up close now so he could take her hand. He bent his head, gently pressing his lips to her palm. “You look ravishing as ever, and entirely too miserable. Hera or your mother?” He quipped, certain it was one of the two. It always seemed to be. Other questions would have to wait, it would be rude to jump right to them, and Persephone deserved his good manners. 

Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of his voice behind her. They had grown up together, ran in the same circles and if she were being honest? Zavier was one of the only people she knew she could trust. He was one of the only people who knew she was working with Tom. That, however, was under Tom’s discretion though. Persephone herself did not divulge that kind of information. She may trust Zavier but that was still a subject she wasn’t willing to discuss. His lips touched her skin and it felt as though he had set fire to her skin. With her other hand still in her bag, her fingertips traced the edge of one of the cards one more time before she pulled it. “Always the one to flatter, aren’t you?” she hummed, her fingertip now tracing his jawline. It was the softest of touch. The only time Persephone Rowle was ever soft. 

“Well, they had to get something right eventually, didn’t they?” Walburga said, sipping on her champagne. Well, something besides learning how to steal better ideas from other countries. Britain had done that first and better. She looked at Persephone out of the corner of her eye. It wasn’t like either of them to hold their tongues longer than they had to. But Wally didn’t want to be the first to break. Maybe they could play a little game of chicken with social politeness. Seph would likely win. “Who are you hiding from, then, all the way over here?”

–

Her inability to hold her tongue was the cause of most of the fights she got in even as an adult. Persephone didn’t believe in censoring her thoughts and feelings. But this would fall back on her family (as most things she said and did would.) And the last thing she needed was more discourse with her mother and Hera. Them being the ones who actually cared about their social standing and reputation. “They certainly took their sweet time,” she said with a laugh. But the next thing that Walburga said left Seph feeling cold. She had been so careful all these years not to let on that she was no longer affiliated with her immediate family. Then again, it could be said that Walburga was one of the more perceptive children in the Black family. Persephone licked her lips of which had gone dry. Her gaze dropping before wandering to the other side of the room where her sister surely stood, their mother on her arm. “Is it that obvious?” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for only Walburga to hear.

-

   Miranda smiled, polite as she watched Persephone. She wouldn’t claim to know her well despite being in the same year in school. They’d been classmates, sure, but they hadn’t been housemates and if she recalled correctly, Persephone ran in very different circles than Mira’s own. She knew very little of what the other witch had been up to since graduating, but it had been long enough now to really view the other as a near stranger. She raised a brow at the comment, surprised by the sheer quantity she’d claimed. Of course, she was likely exaggerating. “I’m afraid I have very little interest in catching up to that degree, Ms. Rowle,” Mira teased. “I’d like to begin the new year in decent shape, though if you do need assistance tomorrow, I have a recipe from a dear friend of mine that should quiet your head, and ease your stomach.” She offered, preemptively. 

    Still, Miranda reached for a flute of champagne as a waiter passed by, and held it gently before lifting it in toast. “To a gentle start to our year?” She offered, thinking it a safe request of the world. She craved the quiet, steady focus she’d lacked as of late, the crackle of fire slower than the scratch of her quill against parchment. She longed to set the messiness of the past year behind her and move on. It was long overdue. It was also a safe conversation for them. Persephone was not someone Mira felt she could trust to deeper conversations. She’d learned her opinion was too easily skewed and used, and she wanted to give no one any fuel for it. 

It had been years since Persephone had drank like this. Since she had let the steady hum of the alcohol burn her insides. It was Christmas of 1952 when she had gotten rip roaring drunk and given a not so welcome toast to the Rowle family golden child. It was Perseus who escorted her off their childhood estate and gotten her home. Most would assume with the amount of alcohol she had consumed that she had blacked out and had a hangover the next day. But she didn’t do either of those. Persephone remembered everything. She remembered every last bit of it, including the apology her mother had given upon her exit. She gave Miranda a soft smile that was so out of her nature it was painful. “Thank you,” she managed, “I should be alright though. If there was one thing my father taught me it’s how to hold my liquor and conduct myself while intoxicated.” 

These parties could be quite a bit to handle, even for someone like Monty who adored a chance to spend time with peers. Events this long though, that ran over days and nights, they could wear on a person. Monty made a point to try and check in on anyone who looked particularly alone or isolated.

Persphone Rowle probably wasn’t some overwhelmed young child or older aunt. Still, maybe she could use some company.

He hadn’t realized that he’d followed her all the way through the shadows though. That wasn’t normally his sort of path. Honestly he was just surprised he’d managed to move quietly.

“Not on purpose? If that helps. Normally I’m a bit of plunderer, if you know what I mean.”

–