// indefinite hiatus

This feels a bit pointless by now, but I figured I should own up: I’m not going to be on here in any meaningful way at least until next year. I’ve just started a new job, Marcus and I are looking to move in together, I’m trying to save up money to go back to uni next year (= working a lot), etc., etc. - but more than that, I just don’t feel like writing at this stage. Everything’s tickety-boo, I’m very happy, and life really feels like it’s coming together for me rn, so don’t worry in the slightest! The muse has just gone on holiday, I guess.

In the meantime I’m still on discord if you wanna keep in touch. ^^ Love you all!

In the meantime, catch me on disco!

“It’s all right,” she said gently, aware by now that he was a mess of sheer nerves, though she wasn’t entirely sure why he was so worried. He held all the power here; it was his acceptance or rejection that would decide her future. Even if he wanted her, if he couldn’t accept everything that came with her, that would be it. “I think nerves are getting the better of both of us, really.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Andromeda drew and let out a deep breath in a bid to calm herself before smiling back up at him. “I honestly expected you to be a little more… I don’t know. I thought you’d have questions, and now my head’s a little clearer, I could try to answer them.”

She sighed and clung closer for a moment. “I suppose my main worry right now is how would this even work? Where do I go? How do we go about explaining all this, and who to? What’s going to happen to our daughter?” A tremble crept into her voice, and she choked herself off to get it under control. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m lost right now. I don’t know what to do other than trust you.”

Andi might’ve felt as though he held all the power, but it certainly didn’t feel that way from where he was standing. He’d told her he wanted her back, had outlined a way to make it work... All she had to do was say the word and he would move the earth for her. But as for questions... The less of those, the better, really.

“There’s nothing I need to know other than whether you want to make this work,” he replied simply, trying to return her smile although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Did she just see him as a way out of a sticky situation?

Did he care?

The words ‘our daughter’ seemed to catch in Andi’s throat and he instinctively pulled her a little closer as she struggled. As to how this would all work, at least there he was on firmer ground, having spent the last year working through various options—on the off chance he got an opportunity to win her back. It had been the only constructive way of dealing with the deluge of feelings, from hurt to guilt to anger to longing, that he felt whenever she crossed his mind.

“You can stay where you are, or come home with me—whatever you feel comfortable with. I’ll contact a few people to let them know you’re safe and sound, and from there we’ll inform your family as well. But they won’t find out before you’re ready, nor will they meet with you unsupervised until you say so.” Because that was the real issue, wasn’t it—Bellatrix and Walburga. Once those two had gotten with the program, it would be smooth sailing—but they might need a bit of extra help to get there, hence why Augustus wanted to get the rest of their circle on his and Andi’s side first.

“Unfortunately, the brunt of the actual convincing will have to fall on you,” he continued, his tone taking on an apologetic note. “I can vouch for you to the moon and back, but if we want people to genuinely welcome you into the fold, we’ll have to make sure they—” buy the sob story “—see things our way.

“Which means you need to tell them what happened. The way you didn’t run away of your own volition, how I found you at the house. How... confused and overwhelmed you felt. How scared you were of everyone’s reaction.”

Again, the wind seems to get knocked out of Barty.  It’s easy to jostle him, isn’t it?  The emotional slap of Sturgis’ tone and dismissal of Barty entirely after what had been a welcoming start with that smile — well, it’s confusing.  Makes Barty feel bad.  If he can’t have a null effect on his surroundings, he certainly won’t allow it to be a negative one if he can help it.  So, as the shock passes and he picks apart his mistake, Barty jumps to his feet to skitter after his newest fixation into the kitchen.

“I’m not —”  There’s a pause here, a bit awkward, and it’s his turn to linger in the doorway now.  As his next words come to him, he thinks:  well, maybe Sturgis doesn’t want him to follow.  “I was not ———— doing much of anything.  I, uhh.  Seem to scare off all my company.  Pretty bad when the house elves even get upset with you.”

Pretty bad when you make decade-long mistakes and absolutely deserve every look of derision directed your way.

Arm pressed against the door frame, he leans onto it heavily.  It’s a habit he developed when he was posing as Alastor — resting because of the wooden leg and all the aches and pains that came from having Moody’s body.  Awfully tiring to have chronic pain and a prosthesis all of a sudden.  And now he just does it after training himself to for the better part of a year.  And maybe he would force it out of himself, but he finds it suits his predicament.  He’s too tall.  Too imposing.  If he leans, it cuts his size down, and people feel less threatened when they don’t have to crane their head up at his 183 centimeter full height.

“— But I suppose I should know better.  It’s a bit antagonistic to wave muggle items at Kreacher.”  Barty’s eyes flit around the kitchen, hoping to find some means to keep the conversation going.  Maybe he is a bit desperate.  Sure, Kreacher and Winky are lovely in their own special ways, but the company of house elves doesn’t quite feel the same as with people.  He hates the power dynamics.  Superior status really isn’t something he wants, as radical as that is for everyone to find out about him.  Maybe he could offer to make tea?  Coffee?  A snack?  But it’s not really his kitchen to commandeer.  It might upset Mrs. Weasley to see him getting comfortable.

Anxious, fingers tap on the wood of the door frame.  Does he…  Keep talking?  He does that rambling thing.  No one seems to like it (he thinks) (it’s not nearly as true as when he first started showing his face here) (Tonks in particular thinks it’s hilarious to get him going and spill his nervous energy everywhere).  “He hasn’t changed since I was a boy.  I brought this thing called a yo-yo when I visited once — I was Regulus’ best friend, Sirius’ brother — the two of them just about went mental.”

Of all the ways he’d thought this might play out, Barty following him into the kitchen hadn’t been an option he’d considered; not really. Why would he? Yet Sturgis had just settled down in his usual seat in the corner closest to the fireplace, when he heard the other man speak and looked up from an old copy of The Daily Prophet. Someone had brought it in as a joke, but he’d slowly been working his way through the puzzle section, one crossword at a time, over the past few days.

It was discarded the moment the words ‘I seem to scare off all my company’ left Crouch’s lips, a flicker of amused recognition crossing his face. He also couldn’t help but notice the way the other man moved, leaning against the door in a way very reminiscent of Moody—although perhaps that was to be expected. He had spent nearly an entire year impersonating the Auror, after all. Nasty stuff.

“I’m not upset with you,” he said with a shrug, an unreadable expression on his face—not because he was being difficult or mysterious, but rather had no idea how he felt about their conversation and the weird turns it was likely to take. “Just tired of people talking to me out of guilt, or pity, or because they couldn’t come up with an excuse to leave quickly enough. So I guess we have something in common.”

Just like being put under the Imperius curse, or doing stints in Azkaban—except of course Sturgis’ experience of both had nothing on what the other man had gone through. Yet here he was, an absolute and utter disaster of a human being, spilling his guts while Barty was trying to make polite conversation.

“I’m sorry. I used to be decent at small talk, but it’s all but impossible nowadays. Feels pointless, just making noise without saying anything,” he murmured, staring off into the middle distance with a vacant expression. If other people had a tendency to fill awkward silences, he revelled in them—well, as much as he revelled in anything these days. If nothing else, it was a damn sight better than trying to have actual conversations with other people and pay attention to what they were saying; almost inevitably, he’d lose the thread and then just feel awful for the rest of the interaction.

Meg scoffed at the other woman as soon as she made her move. It was a recurring greeting for those who actually knew what demons did and it was clearly a last resort in times of need. Getting a soul out of that woman was out of the question, but the demon didn’t turn away just yet. “You have an offer?” she smiled, stepping a little closer. 

“Now what could you possibly offer little old me?” Meg began circling the woman, checking her out in case this was a set-up. “A favor for a favor, you say… You don’t strike me as one who’d like to owe a demon.”

The demon seemed unimpressed with her opening line, but she wasn’t stupid. A witch owing you a favour was always useful, but a High Priestess? She could harness the power of an entire coven to fulfil her obligations, and that was awfully handy... So really, they both stood to benefit from their little arrangement. And if not, there was always tomorrow night, and a different demon. Sooner or later someone would bite.

“If you help me achieve what I want, it won’t just be a witch who owes you a favour, but a High Priestess.” She wasn’t asking for any miracles, of course; the groundwork had been laid. “I’ve got most of the Church behind me, but a few elements are still... resisting my ascension. I trust you can see how it would suit us both if they could be persuaded to fall into line.”

It wasn’t as though she had expected him to make the offer, so it was a pleasant surprise when he did, and Andromeda broke into a rather pleased smile. Just the simple fact that he wanted her to stay over was enough.

“Hmm. A little risky. They might mention it to him,” she pointed out, her fingers playing in his hair. “And unless something went terribly wrong during the meal, it wouldnt explain why I had to bathe, either.” She pursed her lips, thinking it over intently for a while, before a slightly mischievous smile spread across her face.

“You know, they aren’t expecting me back by any particular time,” she murmured as she propped herself up on one arm. “It really wouldn’t be too unbelievable to let them believe we just lost track of time while talking, and didn’t realise until late. You could send your house-elf over with a message to explain that you just couldn’t let me head home so late in such awful weather and insisted I stay the night.” Her hand cupped his face gently, and she gazed down at him with a smile full of warmth. “They like you. I doubt they’ll object and come to rescue me or anything. And if you did want your father to be an alibi, I’m sure he wouldn’t object if we spoke to him when it is getting late…”

Andi seemed surprised that he wanted her to stay, as if he’d send her packing after what they’d just done. Except... It didn’t really matter how much he wanted her to spend the night, it was still inadvisable. The more time they spent around each other in any state of undress, the more likely it became that she would find out about his obligations... prematurely. And the only way he could imagine telling her involved quite a bit more planning.

“He’d cover for us without a second thought,” Augustus reassured with a small shrug, trying to stay focused as she played with his hair. “Plus I doubt they’d be able to tell you’d had a bath if we dried you off thoroughly enough.” What did he want, though? Because right now he sounded like he was trying to send her home, when in fact he had no idea which way to go...

Between her admittedly thorough suggestion and the way she was gazing at him, he was leaning heavily towards letting her do whatever she thought best—but was it worth risking their entire relationship over one night? Perhaps he could rustle up some sort of long-sleeved pyjama set to sleep in and just hope that she didn’t catch a glimpse of the mark through some freak turn of events... But he wasn’t a gambling man at heart and it was hard to justify the risk.