LONG LIVE OUR REIGN, LONG LIVE OUR LOVE.

“I wish the world would just STOP. I need a timeturner or a world wide suspension spell. There’s just too much happening and too much going on and it’s not even really happening to me but it’s still bloody exhausting.”

Hestia was quickly filling & filling & filling the empty spaces in her heart with anger, bitterness, anything to keep people from getting close. Her lips parted, as if she expected to say something, before she closed them at Miriam’s words. The EMPTINESS in her chest felt like it was spreading – she couldn’t let anyone else feel like this, couldn’t let anyone feel like they had lost nearly everything that mattered. She let her shoulders droop as she tried to conjure the words – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but they wouldn’t form, and it felt as if it was a stone, a stone her hand refused to let go of, to drop into the sea. She sniffled, rubbing at her philtrum, before she looked back up at Miriam, hastily. “No – I… I don’t even know what I want. I don’t even want to eat, but I have to.” She turned her attention back to her food, beginning to push food into her mouth, the words ‘I have to’ circling her brain, as she tries to fight back the urge to say that what she wants, she can’t have. She can’t have her brother back, because he’s gone. “I have to write my mum back, I have to tell her that Heracles really detests Celestina Warbeck and only puts - put - up with it because he thought she liked it, I have to tell her not to invite Carrie, because she’s his ex and they haven’t been together for three months – I have so much, so much to DO.”

It was as if she felt Hestia’s pain as her own, as if she could feel the anguish, the fear, the anxiety. Miriam felt transported to only a few years back when she had had to go through the whole grieving process, when her mother had been pronounced dead. In that moment, Miriam knew she couldn’t sink into the feelings she was feeling, she couldn’t drown, because she had to be strong. For the people she loved who’d lost people they loved, for her father & his inaction, for her family name, for HERSELF. She needed to prove to herself, to the world, that while she was soft, that that softness was her strength when it was needed most.

 Fortunately for Hestia, Miriam knew how to proceed in a circumstance like this, she knew what to do. For once she was glad that she was going to be able to offer help to Hestia, to hopefully do something for her friend, because Hestia had ALWAYS done so much for her. The girl in front of her was just a monument of a girl who needed help from collapsing into herself -- Miriam hoped she could do something. 

“I’ll write your mum back, I’ll tell her EVERYTHING she needs to know, just tell me. No Celestina, no Carrie, anything else? Anything I can do for you Hes, just say the world, I’ve got this. Let me do this for you, please,” Miriam reached out to Hestia, her hand soft but firm as she went to grip the others arm in an attempt to comfort. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, strong. “You’re not alone in doing any of this. Give me a list, I promise you, I’ll get it done.”

Xenophilius wandered down the hall a little aimlessly, a book open in their arms. They didn’t watch where they were going when they walked, too focused on the book in their hands, so it was understandable when they eventually missed a turn and ran right into the wall. They looked up with confusion at the person watching them. “You know you could of warned me there was a wall there..”

“Woah, woah,” Miriam immediately went to Xeno, a concerned look on her face as she made sure they didn’t have any immediate bumps or bruises. “You’re right, it’s not like that wall’s been there since before LAST CENTURY or anything,” she commented dryly, before taking a few steps to let them have their space. “You’re okay though?”

“Well, yeah, sure, but I mean… what’s the worst that could happen?” Considering the sugar quills she was currently experimentally dousing in various amounts of firewhiskey as she spoke, probably a fair bit, but she chose to ignore that, instead testing different binding spells on each sugar quill.

“You’ll waste the firewhiskey before it could go in my mouth, is what,” Miriam fiercely inspected Marlene’s experiment, confused on what exactly was going on. “Oh and that you’ll waste all these DELICIOUS sugar quills. What’s going on, then? What are you doing?”

As she finished her mouthful, Charity reached to grab the plate of pastries. “I don’t know how to make other people realise it, though! To them, Muggles are… pointless, unhelpful humans.”

“D’you want a pun?,” she wondered. “I’ve got plenty up my sleeve, and they always make me feel a tinge better. Laughter being the best medicine is bullshit, of course, but it helps.”

“I don’t think it’s bullshit, Wendy, I think it’s true. Well, I think it’s the second best medicine after pot,” Miriam couldn’t help but laugh, “hit me with your best pun.”

“Honestly, we could learn a lot from muggles. You just need to give them the chance,” Charity stated, popping some mash potato into her mouth.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I still have plenty where this came from for any future parties,” said Lucius. “Your father is a wise man, though, but I already knew that. Still, it’s GOOD to know that we share this habit.” He grabbed his bottle, swirling the last half of its contents for a while before pouring another glass. “Want a taste?,” he wondered, holding out the bottle ( he was feeling generous ). “Ah, what can I say? It’d be bad not to show up, and it’s always amusing to see how badly the fifth years can handle their alcohol. Fools. Oh, we both know what he’d say — something about not being angry, but DISAPPOINTED, even though he’s got a small bag of powder lying in is locked drawer. Hypocrite.”

“The fifth years really do amuse with their lack of alcohol tolerance, you’re right about that.” Here was Lucius Malfoy both sharing his wine with her and bashing his father ( at least, as close to bashing as Lucius could get when it came to his father ) in front of her. Magical, mysterious things happened every now and then, this being one them. “You’re a LIFE SAVER, I’d be an idiot to not accept that offer. You and I? We both have the best taste in wine in this entire castle, that’s just a fact,” which, Miriam meant wholeheartedly, as she took the bottle, taking a smell then a swig. If Lucius was going to say something negative about his father, maybe just maybe, Miriam could contribute as well. “Oh, Abraxas must be taking tips from the Michael Greengrass School of Fathering. Interesting how.... hypocritical they both are, as wise as my father is, he’s got a lot of ... unwise moments himself.”

Deimos feigns indifference, having practised his look of faux sympathy since he was young - it was a must for a young pureblood boy, even when he wasn’t to be faking his emotions in the small circle of pureblood families which remained true. “It’s such a shame, what’s happened,” He averts his eyes from the person next to him, staring down into his cauldron, masking the deep seated joy. “Could you pass the Howlet’s Wing?”

“Not a shame, a TRAGEDY,” Miriam wanted to roll her eyes, while she didn’t know what true emotions hid behind everything Deimos was, she figured a Travers might not be the most sympathetic to muggle families dying. Though, she supposed many thought the same about her. “No problem,” passing a Howlet’s Wing to Deimos, she went back to focusing on her own cauldron, praying it wasn’t about to blow up. “You’d think they’d cancel or at least postpone some of the exams and such coming up, but, I suppose not. I just know I won’t be here for a good part of the week after next and I’d hate for anyone to be stressed over something as silly as SCHOOL when life is proving ... difficult. I know I’m stressed and I’m just being pious. Well, I do have to attend a few funerals but no one in my family, so.”

Hestia slides her way down the table, a blank look on her face as she begins to pile the food onto her plate. There’s an aching in her chest which she ignores, quietly going about her morning routine. “If you want that sausage, just take it,” There’s a quiet exhaustion in her voice, done with the pretence of whatever the fuck she should be feeling that wasn’t anger or fear. Her hand pauses, her fork poised in mid air, half a hash brown on the end of it, as she speaks. “And if you can move that bloody dish rag of an article, I’d appreciate it.”

“Hestia Jones, large and in charge, I like it, I do,” Miriam complied with all of Hestia’s demands, taking the sausage, moving the dishrag. She’d be LYING if she said Hestia’s sharp tone didn’t effect her, make her feel a bit on edge, the harshness slightly cutting -- but her feelings didn’t matter right now. They didn’t. Bracing herself for whatever outpouring of emotions she was about to receive, Miriam looked at Hestia, seeing a girl in pain. “Can I get you anything, Hes? Name it, I’ll try my best.”

it was, perhaps, no secret that kitty’s tear ducts operated on a hair trigger. she could recall once in fourth year openly crying over breakfast not including croissants. when she was home for the summer, she saw a baby bird struggle on its first flight and wept. two weeks ago she couldn’t help the flow of them when she finally got a project for potions to go off without a hitch. it was just how she was; the sort of thing she would definitely change about herself if she could … but had long accepted she couldn’t. 

when kitty was first given the news about jacob, she knew she shouldn’t bother to leave the dorm room, so constant was her crying. she chugged water periodically, took shuffling trips to the kitchens to allow the elves to coddle her, and tried not to sob that much harder at any offered condolences. tried not to push people away too far.  

breakfast was her first venture out after a near forty-eight hours of this routine. and her hair was washed! that in and of itself was perhaps why she was even able to go out and feel alright about it — a good last shower cry before stepping out into the world was very fortifying. she was a crier, and she figured people knew that; but she still didn’t want to show up after two days of semi-isolation and cry into her oatmeal. she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact or say anything to the people sitting down around her … until her owl landed in front of her bearing her copy of the prophet.  “ um, “ she started. cleared her throat once, before flicking her gaze briefly upwards.  “ sorry. but I can’t — I can’t read that. if you maybe wanna read it instead. you can, uh. you can take it. “

Grief was everywhere and Miriam was starting to feel SUFFOCATED. On one hand, she felt selfish, while she was there for her friends who needed her, she was acutely aware of her feelings and wants more than she was of her friends. On another hand, caring for herself during times like these was important, especially considering the political backlash her father was receiving ( rightfully so, in her mind, not that she’d say it aloud ). Miriam had already had one student yell at her, choosing to do what she did best when it came to her father’s fuck ups and political decisions she didn’t agree with -- ignore it, keep her head down, pretend she had no other option than to feign indifference. If someone looked closely, Miriam was ashamed -- but it wasn’t their job to care, not at a time like this, not for an aristocrat who’s father was doing nothing to save anyone. 

Perhaps this was why she had trouble connecting to her friends & peers who’d lost loved ones recently, despite her best attempts at caring and being there, they didn’t feel as organic. With Rosh Hashana around the corner, Yom Kippur a week later, she knew she’d be repenting for a lot as well as knew that this was not a sweet way to start the school year. The Kitty beside her had been a mess, even before her brother was murdered, she’d been a changed woman, someone Miriam struggled to recognize but accepted anyways. Why wouldn’t she? It was Kitty, she loved her, which was why when the Prophet landed on the table in front of her, Miriam reached out to grab it before Kitty could finish her sentence, throwing it as far as she could, hoping she wouldn’t hurt anyone. “I could find a way for the owls to stop sending you the news if you’d like? Or I can be your personal lookout. Just say the word, I’ll do it, Kit.” Miriam gave Kitty and easy smile, before returning to take sip of her water. “I’m glad you’re out and about today, if you want, I’ll happily skip with you and we can just... hmm... we’ll need to do something better than hang out at this castle. MAYBE we can try to find a way to sneak out?”

Grabbing a spare croissant, Miriam plopped it on Kitty’s plate, taking one for herself, picking it apart and popping pieces into her mouth. “If you won’t sneak out with me, you’ll do something equally as daring and eat that croissant. One CANNOT be sustained on oats alone.”

Greta giggled and raised the glass with a whoop. “Friends and lovers, fuck the others!!!!” She cheered before taking a drink from the juice. “I think this needs a name. Like.. like Pumpkin Spike rather than Pumpkin Spice, y’know?”

“OOO, that’s brilliant, Greta! I love that! I’m going to tell everyone about that, we’re going to make Pumpkin Spike happen.” Miriam drank the rest of her drink, looking around for more. “Do you want more? I’m getting more. And I’m going to let everyone know the name of this drink. Come with me! We have to spread the word of Pumpkin Spike to all.”