the scene where i swallow your heart.

“That was my thoughts exactly. I feel like this came out of nowhere.”

“Correction: it came out of Satan’s arsehole. Just like our newest Minister, funnily enough.”

“That would be a shame. For her to hide it after you put in so much effort at her request.” James couldn’t fathom Grandmum Weasley doing the same, no matter how sloppy their crafts they made were when they were younger. Granddad Arthur always saw fit to hang their works around the Burrow. “Grandmum’s jumpers are notorious. And comfortable. But each relative has their own method of showing regard, I guess.” James never could comprehend the way that traditional purebloods handled things. They tended to be emotionally distant, even from one another, something he often found ironic considering how they fought in order to maintain their legacies that were smeared in bigotry. “So Adele is a bad girl, and you were raised to be opposite that?” There was little James admittedly knew about Gisèle‘s family, as tight lipped as she could be, but now and then he got a knowledgeable nugget like this that she revealed off-handedly. “Can you not do both, if that’s something you wanted to pursue, that is. Your choice is ultimately what matters.”

The callousness with which Gisèle treated his father’s demise and exclusion from the Potter family count was met with a level head. “Maybe, but the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages. I wouldn’t trade the time or bond I had with my dad just because celebrations are more somber without him.” James may not be cultured, but he was opinionated. “The whole atmosphere of it was weird to me, so I didn’t know if I just couldn’t appreciate the poetic resonance or not.”

“Well, we all have our own strange motivations, don’t we?” The words were delivered with an easy shrug: dismissive enough to close the door on that particular chapter with a resounding thud. Families were complex, at least where she came from, and she was not much inclined to discuss that with a Potter. Not when even the most myopic of people could see how close-knit and pleasant his own was. “Not a bad way to show regard, I will give her that. There are few presents as nice as getting sweaters in the middle of winter, even hand-knit ones.” It was moments like this that really emphasized how little she let people know her, a fact that left her both surprised and pleased at the affirmation. It was how she liked it, after all. “We can say that, sure. Technically, it’s absolutely accurate. But um, she’s my mother, actually. Their greatest disappointment as parents. But more importantly, do you know that feeling when you’re young and an adult explicitly tells you that you absolutely cannot do something, and your brain’s natural response is that you instantly really, really want to do it, just because they said you couldn’t? It’s kind of like that.”

“ah, well—-” ainsley looked, almost longingly, towards the door, but acquiesed in the end. “okay. i told the sitter i’d be back at 9 or so, so i guess i have the time, right?” and it had been so long since ainsley had gotten a night off, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal, she deserved a bit of time to herself, didn’t she? “liam’s not on the express, thank god,” she assured the other woman, more than happy to pull out her own pocketbook if it meant her brother was safe, “but still—–you can’t help but worry, even if they’re someone else’s kids. it’s not right.”

“mm, yeah, that’s enough time for at least one drink. it’ll take the edge off before you have to go home and all — come and sit down.” she picked her satchel up from where it rested on the stool next to her and dropped it between her legs, before returning to her drink and sipping on the bottle with a slight grimace. it wasn’t her favourite, but it felt like the moment called for it. “cheers on liam being safe, by the way. i know they’re saying the kids on the train are too, but still. that’s exactly the point: they’re all kids, no matter whose.”

Brent knew well that Hogwarts was not the shield that many claimed it to be. The last war had met its end at the school, after all. And when he was a student, being at Hogwarts could only delay the inevitable for what he would go back to at the Nott estate. Hogwarts was a prime target, but he had enacted what measures he could to up the surveillance and protection. It wasn’t enough. With Beau out of his sight, no amount of aurors stationed at Hogwarts’ entrance could be enough to quell his apprehension. At one point, he had considered pitching the idea to Barbara that they home school Beau but ultimately, he decided that keeping his son from the world would not protect him. It would only serve to hinder his growth. Brent would not be the type of parent who clipped his child’s wings because he feared what would happen when he left the nest. 

His sister was met with a subdued greeting, but one that was sincere. “You know that butterbeer is too sweet for my liking. And I know how you do not care for suju. We could compromise with wine, but I am not sure that an alcohol session is appropriate in this situation.” Oddly, sometimes, it could be for the unorthodox pair of siblings. It just didn’t feel right here. “We are well into the twenty-first century. Do you suppose we should endeavor to upgrade our technology accordingly?”

Contrary to what her exuberant, bustling outlook might often suggest, Valentina was rather good at reading useful cues and assessing situations when she needed to —— and she felt it almost always necessary when it came to her brother. Like tonight, when she knew that pretty much any question would come out redundant and trite, it was easier to read his almost-calm and characteristically civil greeting as a sign that nothing was seriously wrong. If nothing else, she trusted Brent to worry and absolutely no sign of it would be more concerning that this was, honestly. From a man whose stress gave him actual ulcers, she could accept the subdued tone as a sign that things were as well as they could be and that they didn't yet need to march up to Scotland to whoop some fucking death eaters for thinking they could mess with kids. ( And besides, she was pretty certain they would have a difference of opinion at the question of a good arse-kicking. ) 

“I guess with everything going on I am just kind of a mess. I haven’t had time to do much of anything.”

“Um, do not relate?! How does one get too busy to look nice?”

“That woman never stops surprising me, even after everything I saw during the war. She is completely marvelous. Kids grow up so quickly, it’s like you blink and suddenly they are going to Hogwarts. Then you blink again and they are in seventh year. My kids are always going to be my babies, no matter how old that they get. Firewhiskey sounds perfect.”

“See, that just makes me really relieved that I have none. Kids sound stressful as fuck. But I’ll drink with you to that, friend. A Firewhiskey and a butterbeer, please. Warm.” She added the last as an aside to the bartender, then settled back again. “Hi, I’m Valentina.”

“Fairly certain, yeah. Unless you think sis will want her. I don’t think Hogwarts will let me have two pets with me and Misty would experience withdrawal if I didn’t take her with me.” Kit brought the kitten up to his shoulder, Chipmunk snuggling her head against his chin. “You want to hold her?” He offered the kitten to his sister. “I think her cute factor is out of the roof, so I am not too worried about her getting adopted. Someone is sure to snatch her up before long.”

“Cruelty and injustice, I say! She’s just a little baby. You know what, you should totally go to vet school or study Magizoology or something next year. I bet they let you have all the pets you want at that school.” She still took the kitten from her brother, cradling her in her arms as she booped her own nose against the little kitties, before scratching her belly lightly. “You know, if nobody else wants her, which would be IMPOSSIBLE but strange things do happen, Annie Bardon and her family have so many cats. I bet they wouldn’t even notice another.”

He doesn’t like this. Not one bit. Louis Weasley is not unfamiliar to restlessness – he barely sits still, you see, and when he does he gets agitated – but when it hits him, his feet immediately start tapping the floor and his thumbs start fiddling. With an apple cider in front of his nose and a feeling of worry around him, he’s tempted to speak of the weather or what book he’s supposed to read for school that he is not reading. In stead, he finishes his cider and asks his neighbour, “Want a refill? My treat.”

It always catches her by surprise: she and Bill may love their children as dearly as any biological ones, but one would not like to expect this level of similarity from adopted offspring. And yet, as she hears her son’s voice, Fleur’s head shoots up from her own book, not in surprise but with a sharp spike of fondness. Of course he would be in public, today of all days — she of all people, who is taking an extended lunch break simply to breathe, understands the restless energy of looming catastrophe all too well.

It’s with a smile she reserves only for her babies that Fleur slides an arm around the boy’s shoulder and leans in, a kiss pressed to the side of his head before she speaks. “Well, no, but you can share dessert with me. Salut, mon ange. Ça va?”

“I really like the concept of camping,” Mallory begins, huddled in her cloak with a sour expression on her face. Truth is, she is scared, and she’s distracting herself from her fear with complaining. It’s quite effective. “But in reality – especially in this country – it’s just … cold. And wet. And muddy.” She pauses, damning herself for leaving all her jumpers in her trunk. “Just not my scene, I guess.”

Maybe the thought ofbeing stranded in the middle of nowhere with only a handful of fully qualifiedadults and many, many, many more ought to be more scary – and Krystalis sure it would be, if she thought of it in those terms – but if there is onething that Parks excel at, it’s optimism. And Krystal just knows there are ways tomake their bad luck look better, which is why she’d like to share the goodvibes. She approaches the younger girl with a cautious smile, holding up thechunky hand-knit blanket she owns. “I can share if you’re really feeling coldand damp?” she offers. The blanket is striped shades of blue and smells likeher bed at home, which was why it was in her backpack in the first place, butshe can deal with sharing it for the greater good. “We can make it better foryou, if it really bothers you.”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to get ready today.” Katie replied, shrugging at the woman. “I slept in.”

“And this is precisely why smart people pick their outfit out the night before. It doesn’t need to be elaborate, but put together is nice.”

Professor McGonagall is a blessing to this planet to be incredibly honest. Half the things around the school wouldn’t get done if it wasn’t for her. I just feel bad, because a lot of the kids are probably stressed and scared. My kids are older, but I’d still rather they be somewhere safer.

“Preach, girlfriend. There’s no Hogwarts without her, let’s be real. The place would collapse. Sucks that they aren’t at Hogwarts yet, though. It is terrible. Technically, my cousin Molly is a seventh year this year and as old as they get, but she still feels like a kid, oddly enough? Older or not, they’re all kids and it’s got to be scary. None of it sounds right, especially for the babies. Firewhiskey to put a layer of courage on your concern?”

A dark eyebrow raised at both her alluring suggestion and the interesting information she had dangling in front of him like a rabbit with a carrot. “I can agree to that. As for the rest, do I get a free sample?” He almost grinned but his mood couldn’t change that quickly and at least two drinks were needed for the taught anger to loosen its hold on him.

Gisèle answering smile was wide, bright and entirely obviously fake. “Oh, sorry, I thought I was picking Eryx Dolohov up on the street, but could you be an imposter? Freebies are simply not a thing that is done. All you get is a glimpse at a garter, for your pain.” And with that and a cheeky wink, she flipped her skirt up for barely five seconds before settling it again with a prim smirk.

Luke near jumped out of his skin, anticipating an old, wrinkled librarian to greet him and ask if he needed help. The face he was instead met with was surprising, to say the least, his mouth parching before he cleared his throat. It was seldom that anyone addressed him, let alone someone refined like Gisèle. He never anticipated leaving enough of an impression on people for them to remember who he was outside of his family name. “Uh, yeah? I don’t know if it would be considered light…but I’m looking for the Girl with a Pearl Earring book? That details the Vermeer painting? You heard of it?”

There was something sweet about the boy, as strange and uncharacteristic as the thought was to her, almost in a way similar to how endearing she found her favourite cousin. It was a shame that Gisèle rarely had room for sentiment anyway, because as awkward as he was, Luciano Avery was also a delight to discuss art with. It was why she had approached him to begin with, and also why she immediately straightened to pivot him to the opposite direction with a hand around the elbow. “Other direction, darling. At least if you’re looking for art history. There is a novel I’ve heard of, too? They made a film based on it and everything. Have you watched it?”

“Please don’t remind me of all these trends that were pure crimes,” says Mallory, shuddering slightly. Then, perhaps more tentative: “This might .. be a weird question, but you’re Millicent Bulstrode — right?”

“What, but I didn’t even mention Juicy velour tracksuits yet,” they jested, laugh clearly betraying how much they enjoyed glimpses of young fashionistas. Even when they didn’t know them. Millicent could admit that they weren’t the best at children. But it wasn’t their fault all their dormmates seemed to have collected dreadfully boring nuclear families over the years, so they had no shame in asking. “I am, hi. Do I know you?"

The image of the portrait wreaked of nobility from the colored tones to the extravagant jewelry the elderly woman was adorning. The paint work was admirable, no doubt, and James could confidently evaluate it as such even without knowing much about art expression and technique.  “You did a beautiful job. Your grandmother should be proud of your work.” James spoke candidly and without scrumption. “Though I suppose not all grandmothers are like my own.” Molly Weasley was notoriously known for her warmth and James didn’t think that there was anything he could do that could lead her to disapproving of him. Granted, he had a job in the Ministry and he supposed that was respectable to most, but even when he had no idea what he wanted to do, his grandmother was nothing but supportive. All of his family was, and he tried to support them in turn. It’s what family did. And it’s why they had opted in this time of grief to remain close without flair in their celebration. James slowly drank his coffee, swallowing thickly. 

“It wasn’t an elaborate affair, so I suppose you could call it boring. It was just the four of us.” When it should have been, and always had been up to this point, five of them. James didn’t want to broach the topic that sunk under his skin too much, didn’t want to peel back the layers of grief. “We just had a family dinner. So it was nothing too exciting. Honestly, there was more activity at the cafe I swung by. A slam poetry reading was going on. You ever been to one?”

Being appreciated by other artists might have held more weight, considering that they actually knew what they were talking about, but there was something charming about the honesty of a layman’s opinion. It made her smile as she put down her coffee to wipe her hands on a paint rag and put her brush and palette away, in a way that she didn’t often smile with people other than Clarabel. “Mine has never once knit jumpers for the entire family — although, actually, I’m not quite certain she knows how to do it to begin with. So no, probably not. We’ll see if she likes the painting, though. Alternatively, she could just shove it into a forgettable corner and ignore it. We’ll see. Thanks, anyway.” She shrugged, then grabbed her coffee again and dropped into the small sofa alongside one wall, gesturing towards the empty half with a tilt of her head. “Anyway, it’s a fair assessment. They were pretty set on the Potions angle, you see. Art is what Adele did, and not what good girls do. Who cares?

“now, come on, tommen,” valeria spoke as she found the wayward first year, “i already told you—-the troll you’ll be fighting for the sorting will take into account your below average height.” as the first year in question scurried away, val turned to draco with a beaming smile, “sorry about that, professor…. say, you’re looking pretty sharp,” her smile turned sly, then, head cocked to the side as she asked, “have you been working out this summer? trying to spice things up with the missus? i hear cardio does wonders for men of your age.” looking as innocent as valeria carrow ever could, she held out a bottle, “butterbeer?”

throughout his many, many years of telling longbottom to control his children, draco had never once had anything but the utmost pity for the man. valeria carrow was almost terrifying, if only for her single-mindedness. like an unprecedented hurricane, determined to bowl over everything in its path. so much so that he didn’t even try to correct the fibs she fed the poor first year — he’d learn better soon enough. “that was poor form, miss carrow. you’re lucky i believe in building character; the headmistress would not appreciate your fear-mongering ways. are you sure that butterbeer isn’t spiked? you sound inebriated.”