Hestia Jones

Hestia Jones is 5′ 6″ or 1.68 m (same height as her muser!)

Hestia grew up believing that 5′ 6″/1.68 m was fairly tall. She’d felt like she was quite a tall girl in her muggle classes, and had relished in being at least a hair taller than most of the students in her class.

Of course, once she’d gone through her second or third year at Hogwarts, the boys seemed to shoot up like weeds, which she’d been warned about. What she hadn’t been warned about, was just how tall pretty much every student seemed to be. This trend has continued in the Order, where Hestia would stand a few inches shorter than quite a few of the members she technically outranks. She feels a bit proud whenever she manages to find another person she’s taller than.

When Elliot stepped out of the Floo and saw Hestia Jones waiting for him, he almost swore and stepped back into the fire to try again—but then he realized that despite the familiar face in front of him, he wasn’t at Zonko’s Joke Shop. He blinked, frowned, blinked again, and then went almost slack-jawed with bewildered revelation. “Miss Hestia?” he said dumbly. “What are you doing—you’re part of the Order of the Phoenix? No way!”

Elliot’s face cracked into a grin. “I say, it’s jolly good to see you again!” Miss Hestia didn’t seem to come around the shop very often, doubtless—Elliot was now realizing—because she had been busy with the Order. He had, after all, just resigned from said shop himself so as to avoid the constraints that even a part-time job and its scheduled hours would place on his time and thus be able to devote said time freely and completely to the Order instead. “Wouldn’t have expected it to be here, though! Amazing!”

Elliot was gobsmacked, but delighted. He brushed the soot from his robes and stepped forward to pump Hestia’s hand enthusiastically, then shook his head with a snort as she brought up Mr. Clifford Jones and his devastation. “He can’t miss me yet,” Elliot retorted with an extremely mature eye-roll. “I’ve only just put in my two-weeks notice two days ago. Technically I’m still working at the shop—not that anyone there would know it from the way he was going around sighing every time he saw me yesterday. He’s just being dramatic.”

Mr. Clifford Jones was quite good at dramatic, after all, and Elliot expected the next week-and-a-half to be prone to a great number of both fits of melodrama and merciless pranks, but—another thought occurred to him and he turned back to Hestia with wide eyes. “Wait, is your dad in the Order too? He didn’t say! Didn’t even drop a hint about it! Merlin, I can’t believe it.” This last, of course, was said with appropriate awe and appreciation for Clifford Jones’s talents and humor. “What a scoundrel!”

Hestia’s face broke into a smile at Elliot’s rather enthusiastic hello. He’d always been one of the more memorable faces whenever she’d decided (or been tricked into) visiting. There was something about his demeanor and the way he carried himself that made him seem “out of place” in the most delightful way one could. He’d also been one of her father’s personal favorites. Always had a soft spot for the ones that were a bit green behind the ears.

She laughed when he mentioned not expecting to see her here.

“Yes, well, to be honest with you, most mornings that makes two of us.”

She smiled a tight-lipped but friendly smile to punctuate her small joke.

His hand-shake was met, though she was a bit shocked by the force he put behind it, feeling her hair fall just slightly out of place. She flicked her head in a way that she hoped seemed nonchalant as she moved the strand from out of her face.

She made a noise somewhere between a scoff and cackle when Elliot revealed he’d only just put in his notice.

“Are you joking?! The way he’s been going on I thought you might be moving to the other side of the planet! No, dramatic does not begin to describe it, he is being a right brat about it all, the big Fwooper...”

She chuckled a bit at her joke, but Elliot’s next comment, as innocent as he’d meant it, reminded her that they weren’t having some pleasant chit chat in the back store room while hiding from her father. Her expression hardened for a moment, before she righted it to somewhere in between icy and too familiar. She’d found herself with a loose end she couldn’t personally tie off. But, she could do her best to now.

“Uh, no, Vanity, no my father is not... He has not taken the same oath as you and I, so discretion will be necessary in your last few weeks employed there. Yes, the oath is there to assist us in keeping things discrete, but there are other ways to create suspicion. And, not to place too much pressure on at once, but any known personal connections to Order members have the potential to become targets themselves. I only mention this so you understand the severity of my concern. Please use discretion.”

At some point during her small speech, she’d begun leaning against the more bloody of the two chairs in the entry room. Hestia righted herself quickly, trying not to remove her hand too hurriedly. She hadn’t wanted to scare him, but perhaps a bit of fear could do him some good.

She tried her best to wipe the concern from her face, and replace it with a serene smile. 

“Well, enough of that, shall we get started?”

She began to walk towards the door, smoothing her skirt as she went.

“This is the entry room. This is the only room that is accessible from outside of the manor. This is sort of our “center of transit.” Best to keep this area free of traffic.”

She stopped at the doorway, peering out, before stopping to turn back to him.

Date: June 28th, 1984

Location: Prewett Estate,

Time: Mid-day

@elliotofvanity

Hestia had been surprised to hear that they were receiving a new member. She’d been shocked to walk in and discover Elliot from Zonko’s. She’d been absolutely blown away to discover that he was, in fact, Elliot Vanity.

She’d only encountered him occasionally at her father’s job, whenever Clifford had roped her into assisting with some inventory or bringing him his lunch when he’d forgotten it, but she’d somehow never put together the resemblance, both in features and in mannerisms. He’d just been another one of her dad’s teenaged coworkers.

Now, Hestia was waiting in the entry room for Elliot, to show him around the estate and officially reveal just how much of this completely illegal organization Hestia was wrapped up in to one of her father’s former coworkers.

She hoped he had no plans to try and take his job back. She couldn’t risk anything leaking to her father about what exactly “working late” meant.

When she heard the familiar whooshing sound, Hestia went to smooth her hair out of habit. Then, she recalled the time she’d tried to help Elliot levitate a rather large box and had wound up with her hair covered in some sort of sticky pink slime.

No use trying to keep up appearances here.

Instead, she smiled at Elliot a bit weakly, placing a hand on one of her hips, a bit more casual than the last time she’d seen him in relation to the Order.

“Hello, Elliot. Did you manage getting here all right?”

Then, she thought of something kindly to say, perhaps to help alleviate any nerves he may be having.

She looked like a stag might upon someone coming across it - staring with a wide gaze, her eyes flicking back and forth between James’, stunned silent. James didn’t think he could remember a moment in their six year forced relationship where she’d been this quiet. Especially when he was talking. Usually there was a scoff or a tsk or even a very loud (symbolically) eye roll. But, right now, she was staring at him and listening and looking like she didn’t know what to say. Until, almost numbly, she nodded and admitted something surprising - that it took trusting him to get out here in the first place. It was his turn to be speechless and he simply nodded back at her, satisfied that she wouldn’t freeze again. 

When she came back into herself, she snarked again and James snorted. A actual joke and not an insult. Progress. 

Hestia indicated to continue on before she disappeared under the cloak. James turned to start walking again, whispering, “You still there?” He could no longer see her so, if she hadn’t come with him, there would be no way of knowing this time. At her response, he picked up the pace to move down the street towards the St. Mungo’s entrance.

“Did you know that Cresswell and Edgecombe are havin’ a party tonight?” he asked her, talking casually while they were still mostly out of sight so he didn’t look insane and get taken to Mungo’s himself. “Emme told me about it.” Of course, it had been around a lot of nerves about whether she should go, since she was convinced she was stealing someone’s boyfriend. James had encouraged her to - she deserved to live the life they’d fought so hard to keep.

“I dunno when I became too old to make the cut, but good on them. They deserve to have a bit of fun. Emme especially.” He said it with affection in his tone, easier to be real with her when he wasn’t looking into her disappointing gaze. Besides, missions were always easier like this - when he could chat up with the other person. Feel like he knew them. Trusted them.

Hestia walked behind Potter, trying to keep enough distance that she was still in earshot, but not so much that she’d run into him if he stopped walking suddenly. It was a surprisingly difficult balance to maintain, but she did her best.

When he asked her if she was still there, she had been on the slightly closer side of the balance. She wasn’t sure how long he’d had this cloak, but if he’d had it as a child, she understood how it may have been difficult to keep yourself out of trouble. Her first instinct was to trip him as a response, but she reminded herself that they were here doing something serious, and settled for merely giving him a tap on the ankle with her foot. She’d never been invisible before, and there was something about it that offered an unusual sort of confidence. This confidence would hopefully help bolster her as the mission went on.

When James started making casual conversation, Hestia’s bemusement only continued. She figured they’d done all the talking they’d needed to, and would be mostly silent for the rest of the mission. But, this was not an unwelcome change. Bonding was good. Not to mention, the conversation was something Hestia was actually interested in.

“Cress--Dirk told me about it, as well, though I’m not sure he’d meant to. I caught him preening himself around the estate and asked him what that was about.”

She chuckled a bit to herself, remembering how flustered he’d seemed. They didn’t talk much about their personal lives, but she’d managed to put together his little crush. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why he didn’t simply tell Edgecombe how he felt. They did already live together. But, she didn’t feel like she quite knew him in that way to say something. She’d merely left it at telling him to have a good time, though she did risk adding a small, knowing smirk to the end of her wish. She hoped he’d get to have some fun. She and Dirk were too alike in that way; fun always seemed to fall on the backburner.

She snorted in an extremely unladylike way at James’ comment about his age, before actually laughing out loud. She stifled it as quickly as she could, worrying about anyone that might overhear.

“I’m sorry, you just sounded exactly like my father. I remember some of his coworkers went to the Cauldron after work, and he went along, and was absolutely gobsmacked when the wait staff asked if he’d be picking the tab up for his kids. Didn’t stop him from outdrinking every one of his “kids” and needing me to come walk him home. In fact, I think the comment pushed him to do it. Had something to prove.”

She laughed again at the fond memory, this time putting her hand over her mouth to try and stifle the snort.

“He’d probably tell you you’re as old as you feel, and he’s never felt a day over twenty-one.”

Hestia hummed lightly in agreement with James’ assertion that they deserved some fun. She decided to share the thoughts she’d just had a moment earlier, in spite of the small voice in the back of her mind telling her she’d shared plenty at this point, and didn’t need to bore him any further. They’d be reaching the entrance within the next few paces, and they needed to focus up.

For now, I'm just sticking to Edgar and Frank! (I might go back and do Gwen and Reggie later!)

First, Edgar! 💃

I agonized over this one, and finally remembered this absolute BOP, and testament to the kind of music I liked as a kid. Lol. I know this is true for Hestia and her music, and I think her and Edgar share that sort of connection to memories and music. :)

Second, Frank! 👔

James shot her a sardonic look as she corrected his joke. This was what he was talking about with the goody-goody thing. Next, she’ll be correcting his grammar on a life or death patronus call. “I call it havin’ a wand up your arse, but I was trying not to be crass.” 

She took the cloak and commented on the fact that he’d actually done in his job and read through the plans as though it were surprising. It probably was, for her. James raised his brows. “Us adults call it reliable, Jones,” he repeated her words verbatim just to annoy the crap out of her, hoping it would succeed, before she dead-panned another insult.

Once again, it made him laugh. He liked her when she wasn’t being such a stick-in-the-mud. This sort of bitchiness was rather hilarious, in his opinion - he could take a joke just as good as he could give it, after all. Even if Hestia probably wasn’t really joking, it didn’t actually matter. “Least it’s got the word charm it in,” he pointed out with cheek to his tone before he turned to leave at her ‘command.’

He took a few steps before realizing that she, in fact, hadn’t followed - nor had she put the cloak on like she was supposed to. He softened, feeling that old familiar pull come out. How many times had he been the one to show someone the ropes or take them on their first mission? Granted, it was usually someone new to the Order - often someone younger than him - but this was still Hestia’s first mission and, because of her place within the organization, it was easy to forget that.

He turned back around and moved to stand in front of her. “Listen,” he started and placed both his hands on either side of her shoulders, his wand pointing upwards so it wouldn’t accidentally go off between the two of them. “I know this isn’t your normal thing, but you’ve got this. You’ve planned how many fucking missions, right? It’s the same thing, just on the field. And I’ve been doing this for years. I know what I’m doing in case things go tit’s up.”

He paused, took in a breath, and said something he never thought he’d ever have to ask of Hestia Jones. “I just need you to trust me.”

Hestia glared openly at James when he parroted her words back at her. Sure, she might have just done exactly the same thing, but he’d called her an insulting name! Her parroting came from self-defense. His was because he was an annoying arsehole.

But, she didn’t have much time to react to his final taunt (always had to get the last word in, didn’t he,) before she realized he actually was walking away, and she actually was standing very still, no matter how much her mind screamed at her feet to move.

This was her worst case scenario beginning. She’d come here to get the experience, not to make him think she was as much of a coward as most already must. 

There was a reason, beyond talent, that Hestia stayed off the field. She’d heard it said your truest self would be revealed in the face of danger, and she was unsure she could survive the shame if what was revealed was less than she’d hoped. And, now, here she was, choking before the danger had even begun. Not a great outlook on events to come.

Perhaps she would have felt a bit better if she was paired with someone who would have been supportive instead of snarky, like Gideon or Alice. Potter was certainly hoping and praying for her to fall flat on her face, just so he could be the first in line to laugh. He’d probably have some crass comment pre-prepared just for the occasion.

It took her a moment to realize James had turned around and come back. Her eyes had become fixated on the cloak, studying the iridescent fabric as though somewhere woven in between might be the secret to getting her legs to fucking move. But, once he’d placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, her head snapped up, released from its rumination, and she found herself, for the second time in less than a week, only an arms length away from James.

Hestia watched his eyes as he spoke rather than actually looking at them. Hers flitted back and forth between his, trying to take in what he was saying. When he paused, Hestia was shocked to find the first reaction that popped into her mind was to shove him. 

The words he’d said were actually... kind? They were, right? She was slightly paranoid she’d missed some hidden snark, some joke at her expense, but she hadn’t heard any. It almost felt sincere. And, yet, all she wanted was to shake him off and push him away, like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and calling attention to it was only made it worse. But, still, she was happy he’d said it. The dissonance confused her.

Images of their entry room fight (sort of fight?) suddenly came to her, of his shove, his face, his tears, perhaps his embarrassment, and Hestia thought she may have found at least one small piece of understanding. So, she thought she might shelve shoving him away, at least for now.

But, then, he asked her to trust her, and she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to un-shelve it any time soon. They’d spoken about this before, that this was what this was all really about, why she was here. To prove they could trust and to undo all the (occasionally literal) damage.

So, all thoughts of shoving were entirely shoved away.

She realized it had been quiet for some time, her only looking at him as she was lost in her thoughts, so she numbly nodded her head and spoke.

“Yes, yeah, I can--I can do that. I doubt I could have dragged myself out here if I didn’t already, so, yes.”

She’d said it rather awkwardly, but the situation was awkward, so perhaps it was fitting. In keeping with the theme, Hestia awkwardly stepped backward out of his grasp. She thought back through the plan, her safe space. She’d seen the layout. She knew what they were heading into. They were fine.

She spread out the cloak, preparing for launch.

“All right, enough of that, Potter, save some soft-soap for the mediwix.”

She said it sarcastically, but there was a good-natured tone behind. She lifted the cloak, hesitated, and spoke one last time.

“Well, here goes the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

The first thing Hestia did was send him a professional-looking smile… and the second thing was immediately drop that façade and mumble sarcastically to herself. It made James’ own grin appear and he laughed out loud at her antics, enjoying the way she’d let down her guard for the very first time around him ever. “Hello, Jones, how are you today?” he parroted back at her with a cheeky grin as he watched her eye the cloak flying towards her, letting it fall on the ground between them.

James looked down at it - he wasn’t worried about it in the dirtiness of the alley, the Marauders and him have put it through worse things and it was damn near impenetrable in a way that other invisibility cloaks weren’t always. She let out yet another sarcastic comment and James laughed again. “Damn, Jones,” he said, his voice light and pleasant. “You’re funny when you’re not trying to be all goody-goody.” 

It made her groan - or maybe the situation just made her groan, he didn’t know - and it reminded him of five days before when he’d seen Alastor looking all disappointed when James had walked into that lecture-that-wasn’t-quite-a-lecture at headquarters. James shot her another grin, extra cheek added to it. “I’m never done,” he quipped, using his wand (which was already in his hand, per his previous advice) to lift the cloak in front of her so she could grab it. “And that - “ He pointed at the floating cloak. “ - will provide us plenty of stealth.”

He dropped his wand after she grabbed it. “But if you’re asking if I’m ready to go, then yeah, I am. Read the plans, checked ‘em twice. I’m a regular Father Christmas over here.” He winked at her. “Throw it over you - it can fit us both, but it’s rather snug with two and I think it’d be better if I just walked in like I was visiting someone. You’re from the Ministry, so you’d have to check your badge. This way will be easier. I’ll get under it when we’re close to the file door. Someone’s gonna have to distract the mediwix on call at the desk anyway and, despite what you may think, I can be rather charming.”

She'd expected a lot of responses from Potter, and had come up with contingency plans for each, but laughter? That wasn't on the list. Her brow knotted in half-suspicion and half-bemusement as he continued to laugh, not wanting to let her guard down in case the joke was actually her and not what she'd said.

She rolled her eyes at his mention of her least favorite term.

"Goody-goody? What, are we five? Us adults call it reliable, Potter."

She'd been called that more times than she could count, and had never understood what was so distasteful to some people about doing what you were supposed to do. What was the aversion? Reliability was the key to success, especially in her position, and she wasn't sure she'd ever fully understand those that set out explicitly to shake up the norm. Even her own father escaped her at times.

Hestia expected to feel tired at his "never done" quip. She'd expected to sigh and shake her head bitterly (which she still managed to do,) but what she did not expect was a sort of buzzing sensation behind her brows and lips, causing them to quirk, just slightly. She hadn't expected to feel challenged, and she hadn't expected to feel a bit glad he hadn't taken her up on ending the battle too quickly. After all, looking back, she'd asked him to continue if he needed to, hadn't she? The sensation and the experience was all together just too strange for Hestia, and she leaned even further into the bitter sigh and head-shake as though it were a life buoy, bringing some normalcy back to the interaction. At this moment, familiarity trumped comfortability.

She looked at the hovering cloak a few moments longer than necessary, unsure of how long she could push it before he returned to his short-fused ways. But, she ultimately relented, snatching the cloak with a tut.

His mention of reading the plan through twice, (Father Christmas crack or no,) had actually set Hestia back a few steps. She'd rushed the mission's start due to the expectation that she'd have to remind him of the plan, or that he'd try insisting on some new, flash-in-the-pan idea that had just toddled its way through his mind only moments before.

The wink, she did her best to ignore beyond a scoff.

"You read through the plan twice? What happened to not trying to be 'goody-goody?'"

But, the plan's description was sound and even made sense, until his rather boastful declaration at the end.

It was Hestia's turn to laugh, though she made sure to color it in a rather dark tone.

"Yes, quite. As charming as the Banishing Charm."

All this laughter was somehow making her a bit queasy. There was so much to be upset about, so much still undiscussed between them, and he seemed to behave as though none of it had happened. She knew Moody had gone to speak to him, but she couldn't believe he'd unspooled all that tangled yarn in one conversation. And yet, she'd been looking for a way to blow off some steam, and the (friendly?) barb throwing seemed to be doing the trick. Perhaps those conversations could wait. Better to enjoy Pleasant James while he was here, since he visited her so seldom.

She looked down at the cloak, the sight of it returning her to reality. She'd done well thus far not thinking about what was ahead of them, but she felt the nerves she thought she'd stifled the night before begin to creep up on her once again. She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders, playing off her fidgeting as stretching, though her rather pinched voice would have given it away.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get started, right? Yes, splendid, right, right, no better direction than forward. Off we go."

@helloxhestia​

A look crossed Alastor’s face that could only be described as pitying when Hestia blanched at the mention of Benjy’s death, the mission that had cause it. It was clear to him, then, that Dirk hadn’t spoken to her about it or, perhaps, much at all. She didn’t speak however, not even to defend herself against his claims, and averted her gaze, and, to top it all off, apologized. Somehow, Moody found it funny, though the huff he let out was more the sound of a gut-punch than it was a laugh. 

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Hes,” he said, voice gentle, his annoyance and anger simmering in the background, forgotten for the time being. “Just…think about the way you say things, yeah? Sometimes – sometimes it comes across that way, even if it isn’t. Your heart is in the right place.”

Hestia’s quick agreement about Ted taking Edgar on was met with a wordless nod, already planning on asking the other man as soon as he was able. It’d be good experience for Edgar and more experience for Ted himself. While he was new to the Order, he was one of the resident old souls at the Ministry, and Moody was confident he’d be just fine. 

The smile that wiped off her face the moment James was mentioned, though, well that got a reaction, a brow arching delicately toward his hairline, watching her face as Hestia immediately started whinging. He listened to her, though, and thought it was almost like what listening to a teenage daughter would be like, if he’d had one, or if Hestia was younger. It was quite amusing, really, the emotions James could bring out in people. Amusing and infuriating, as Moody well knew. 

“Hatred and concern, even love, border a similar line, do they not? I just needed to ask, Hes, make sure you could…work with him.” And there it was, really, his main concern. “But if you say you’re able, then you’re able, and I’ll take your word for it. But if it gets in the way of your work or jeopardizes either of you, I will bench you both. If it’s meant to be a truce, then good. I’m glad of it, but this is your warning, for you both.” 

Alastor was, more than anything, concerned that it would get them both hurt, mentally, physically, emotionally. He didn’t know. But, one way or the other, war had a way of tearing at people, tearing them apart, and he didn’t want that to happen to two of the people he, at various points in the past, had been able to lean on for support running this bloody circus. 

The jest about Gideon drew a bit of a smile, another nod, and Moody murmured his acceptance of Hestia’s acceptance of his terms. Then, he swiped a hand across his mouth and gave a gruff grunt, a small sigh. “I think they’re ready, Hestia. I know they are and yet…I still worry. Don’t think I’ll ever not be able to, honest.” 

That wasn't the first time Hestia had heard a warning about "the way she said things." For as much as she tried to keep her emotions at bay, they often poked their way through, finding the cracks in her woodwork. She knew she needed to work harder, to become the sort of person deserving of her rank. But, still, obtaining those "heart of stone, eyes of steel" always seemed just out of her reach. One day, if she kept trying, she might finally fill those cracks and be able to stand before another's will without crumbling, whether from a soppy heart or otherwise.

She nearly apologized, then remembered what he'd just said. So, she clamped her mouth shut and nodded in acknowledgement of his compliment. Yes, her heart was in the right place, but the implication stood. If her heart was the only thing pointed out, there must be countless other pieces of her stuck in the wrong. But, now was not the time to ruminate, with a mission ahead. So, she simply nodded.

Hestia sputtered a bit at Moody's assertion that there was a thin line between hatred and concern. But, most of all, that he was worried whether she could work with him.

"Alastor, I'm sorry, but you should know after six years now that I'm not the one that needs worrying about. I'm here to assure you that I will do everything in my power to ensure the mission goes smoothly. He knows this may very well be his last chance, and all of this--"

She gestured around herself.

"--means a lot to him. If he decides to be difficult, things will stay exactly as they are, which I'm beginning to think he considers a fate worse than death. I believe he'll stay in line."

She thought for a moment, then added an addendum.

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay in line."

As she said it, she realized he might not actually know that anymore. But, that was a bridge to cross once they'd gotten there.

Hestia's eyes softened at Moody's mention of everyone's readiness. She gave him a small, half-smile.

"Join the club. They'll all be okay, everyone knows what they're doing. Plus, Alastor Moody's manning the headquarters today! Who could be worried?"

She said the last bit with a joking tone, but he knew she meant it. Whenever he'd been away during a mission, she'd always felt this pit, this fear that things would go array without him here. But, the exact opposite was true when he was. She knew their ramshackle group would survive to fight another battle.

The spectral honeybee flitted from shadow to shadow, hiding under cover before taking its opportunity. It jut out quickly towards Severus and perched itself on their shoulder.

"Alastor should touch ground any moment. Cattermole's with him. Keep us informed."

ofemmevance​:

~

Emme needed to stay calm and prepared for whatever came through that door. She felt like this was her opportunity to prove that she was useful, and better yet, it could prove to her that healing really was something that she wanted to pursue. And maybe, deep down, she wanted to hear Evan praise her and tell her that she did a good job. 

It was going to be a long day, Emmeline was sure. Before everything went to hell, she had been confident that they had prepped enough supplies. She still wanted to think that they had enough. But if there had been an explosion…well, that could cause major injuries. She had read the book on explosions and what to expect from an event like that. It wasn’t going to be good. And the addition of fiendfyre was certainly unwelcome. “Cots are easy enough to conjure,” she pointed out. “And well…we can make due without them.” 

It was the fact that they hadn’t prepared for fiendfyre that was leaving her so concerned. With any kind of fire came burns and smoke inhalation and a host of issues. They hadn’t prepared for that. “I can work on making more salve,” she offered. It was easy enough, and it would keep her mind busy. She tried to return Hestia’s smile, but she knew that it fell short. She stood up from where she had been sitting and immediately started to grab the supplies from the cupboards. There was no point in wasting time. It took a little bit of time to brew, and they didn’t have the time. 

But she stopped and looked at Evan when he suddenly spoke up and said where Hestia could find the counter-curse, in a book of dark magic that screamed. The thought filled her with anxiety. Ever since her time being tortured by the very spells that were probably found in that book, any mention of dark magic made her anxious. Who knew what other horrible spells that the Death Eaters would have found in those books to torture them with. She sometimes imagined the Death Eaters sitting around a book like that trying to decide which spells to use on them. The ones that would make them break the easiest. 

Evan was reading those kinds of books. She glanced at him, confusion on her face. “You read books like that?” She asked him softly. It shouldn’t have felt like a betrayal. She trusted Evan. He taught her so much. But it was unsettling, that he indulged in something like that. She forced herself to look away and get busy again. But it was…reassuring to hear that Hestia seemed surprised by it too.

@healerrosier, @helloxhestia​

⟢

“I would appreciate an update on Theodosia if one comes in,” Evan grimaced and left his concern about her at that. It wouldn’t do him any good to fixate on worrying. “I can summon a few extra chairs for those that are injured with quick fixes.” Best to focus on the task at hand after all.

“Yes?” The look of confusion was genuine this time around, with Evan needing a moment to think his answer through. “Forgive my switching the subject but is it not common practice for parents to leave those sort of books laying around? This and a few others were kept out in the open while growing up. My father didn’t force us into reading them but a few of spells were used if stating he was disappointed didn’t seem sufficient. I have the scars to prove it.” 

He pressed his lips together in a thin line after adding the last part. It usually wasn’t something he openly shared but if it meant softening the blow of the fact that he was willingly perusing dark arts related books, so be it.

“But yes, light reading and apparently a good call at that despite having found out about the screaming on accident.” They had miraculously missed the moment where the book shrieked and he threw it across the room. Evan paused then looked over at Emmeline, promptly shaking his head. “No, it isn’t my usual reading material. I’m getting tired of seeing spell damage I am not prepared for. Figured it best to see if the book had any leads since St. Mungo’s appears to be at as much a loss as I am with the more serious injuries that have been rolling in.”

Best practice of trying to get to know the enemy inside out while already aware of what they were capable of and knowing he couldn’t afford to seem like he knew too much. It was all too complicated a line to walk but he was ready to dare them to try to say that thinking like the enemy would do them little good.

@helloxhestia​, @ofemmevance​

Hestia nodded absently at Evan’s request for news of Selwyn, should it come. There was no knowing if it ever would, but she’d be sure to tell him if she heard any good news. Any news beyond that, he’d discover on his own, for better or for worse. 

Hestia felt a bit cold after Evan had initially explained himself, a chill passing over her as though someone had walked over her grave. She spoke very carefully.

“Rosier... I’m not entirely sure how to tell you this but, no, that is not usual.”

She thought about delving further, but immediately banished the thought. Evan Rosier was not the type to appreciate even the slightest hint of prying. She’d certainly have found herself with a fight on her hands, so she did her best to move on from the subject with as little awkwardness as possible.

His reasoning... made sense, she supposed? She’d known he’d come from one of those pureblooded houses, all of them had, but you never quite understood the extent until you heard it for yourself. But, the mention of the screaming brought Hestia out of her reverie, causing her to almost chuckle.

“What a shame we missed it. Seems like it was quite the experience.”

As Evan went on to describe his growing frustration with the damage done by the enemy, and not feeling equipped to handle it, any doubt Hestia still had vanished. She could understand this point of view entirely. And, he had a great point. This information had certainly come in handy.

“Although the source may have been somewhat distasteful, you weren’t wrong to do it. You enduring that screaming book may just save a life today.”

Hestia moved to summon the book to her, when she paused. She turned to Emmeline, a thought occurring to her.

Presented with this new level of Flustered Jones, Robyn wondered how much of it was the woman’s usual flailing unease around her and how much could be attributed to trying to keep her head above water when it came to everything she had taken on. Certainly she had Cresswell as her assistant, the baby bird taken under her wing since his disastrous foray into fieldwork that had added to the bloodstains on the entryway chair, but Jones didn’t strike her as the sort to let go of any of the control she could get her hands on.

Was Cresswell a protege or another tool in her arsenal to use and keep in the nest? Robyn would believe the later when she saw Cresswell shoved out of the nest to fly on his own when it was less than absolutely necessary.

“They were openly bickering at our planning meeting, and dragging Evan into it as well, so I would say it was noticeable,” Robyn told the woman dryly. Vance’s well being got a momentary pause of consideration.

“She is still small in her own skin. Uncertain, scared.” Understandably so, and it wasn’t said with judgement, only factually. “I get the impression she is aching to be helpful, useful. If this mission yields some severe injuries she has to step up to help Evan with, it would be good for her. The chance to realize she is competent and can manage.” Awful for whoever was injured, of course, but that wasn’t the focus of the question, and therefore irrelevant.

Hestia tried her best not to cringe openly when Robyn mentioned just how noticeable the younger Black’s behavior had been. She’d no doubt be hearing about this from Rosier later. Hestia groaned internally and put on the most pained smile she was able.

“Oh, marvelous. This is just splendid...”

She said it through her teeth, biting back what, if she hadn’t been “on the clock” so to speak, would have certainly been a litany of cusses and curses that may have even made Alice blush.

Hestia nodded along with Lynch’s description of Emmeline’s predicament, shocked to find herself agreeing. Lynch had such a knack for removing the human element from most situations that Hestia usually felt quite alienated by their conversations, but Lynch’s assessment of Emmeline did feel accurate.

Hestia, of course, would never call Emmeline “uncertain” or “scared” to her face, but it didn’t mean she didn’t think it. And, it didn’t mean she thought Vance was incapable of overcoming all that uncertainty and fear.

But, then, of course, Lynch had to dig that chasm between them once again when she mentioned how good it would be for Vance if this mission bore some severe injuries. Hestia couldn’t help it. Her face scrunched as though she’d smelled something bad, like the brimstone smell of a blast-ended skrewt.

“While I’d love to see Vance flourish as much as the next person, I don’t think you’ll catch me wishing for any severe injuries to serve as ‘practice.’“

Fletch just grinned more, listening as Hestia continued, and wondering if she was truly buying into this, or if maybe she was like some of the others and mocking him. But no, she was chuckling and sounded genuine, and Fletch almost started to feel bad about what he was doing. Almost.

“Someone in their corner, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at her, but then snorted and shook his head. “Why couldn’t you do it though? I mean, just pretend that you’re just gonna raise your voice, same thing really. I don’t think it’s unprofessional at all! You gotta make ‘em listen to you, yeah? So, make ‘em listen!” He nodded, as if that was so simple, and made complete sense.

Then she was back onto the fire comment, and he snickered softly. “Technically both?” He shrugged, “Moody thought I’d get along well with the kid, and I said I could teach her to set something on fire then. He said the Finnigan’s are the ones who’ll have the pyro kid, and for me to not teach the kid anything. But hey, I guess it counts if I can get along with the kid and understand ‘em, right?”

Of course he was leaving out the part about him being childish, and the reason why Moody thought he’d get along with the kid, but that was all besides the point, wasn’t it?

Make them listen. When phrased like that, Hestia could almost understand. Almost.

“Well, thank you for the advice, Fletcher. I’m sure I’ll come back to it if I ever feel like I need it.”

Hestia decided not to mention she doubted she’d ever need it. She didn’t want to bring Fletcher down from his proverbial high over his fieldwork assignment.

Hestia hadn’t heard of the Finnegan’s before, but they seemed like the type Fletcher would probably enjoy. 

“Well, Fletcher, to be completely honest, we were hoping no one would need to “get along” with the children at all. The Statute and all that.”

She said it very pointedly, in case Fletcher had honestly forgotten. Or, more likely, that he may entirely ignore it.

Was that a possibility?

“Fletcher, I know you have your own... special opinion on legality, but interacting with the families is entirely off the table. So, no pyrotechnical lessons, please and thank you.”