we live in the void of metamorphoses

Moody’s mouth crooked up slightly at the attempt at a joke the other made, but otherwise his face remained as neutral as it could. “I’m not one for pep talks on the best of days so you may want to save it for others.” 

He said it generously or at least with the intention to not make the other feel poorly. After all, she was trying to help in an impossible situation. However instead of focusing on that he raised his eyebrow. 

“I’m not particularly prone to angst, Leona. I just would rather people not take my words out of context, and although I doubt you would I’m sure that anyone overhearing would love to sell my statements. Apparently my record no longer speaks for me  What would you like to discuss then?” 

“Alright, just pretend you felt supported by a bunch of baseless but hopeful claims, and that I reassured you on your inner strength or whatever pep talks do.” She said, satisfied with what she guessed was a rare Moody grin.

“Your record still speaks to people that listen to reason, they’re few, but they’re enough that you’re not looking for a job right now.” She didn’t know if, or when, this would blow over, so she decided not to comment on it. But if Moody had no one loyal to him on the inside, he would have even more problems than he already did. 

Moody was right, with all eyes on him, more serious topics would have to be discussed elsewhere. “I don’t know, if there’s ears on the walls the safest topic might be the Cogg and Bell sale, it got canceled because of the riots.”

“Do you really think people can’t keep track of the moon?” Patrick asked, looking at her in disbelief. “Mosquitos don’t like garlic and you can mix beer, epsom salts, and mouthwash to make a mosquito spray. And worms help your plants. You’re not related to farmers, are you?” There was a lot that Patrick had to say about Leona’s opinion on nature and gardens, but really, he got the feeling that he shouldn’t.

“Probably because people like exposing others and sharing the torture. I used to do that with candles and Hil-” His voice caught and Patrick blinked rapidly as he looked forward against, staring at the rail tracks while clearing his throat. “It’s just a case of misery loves company, right?” Patrick said instead, although there was a different note to his voice.

A year ago, he would have easily been able to give his story, would have been able to talk about how Hilda loved candles and he would smell them with her, how every overly pungent, unpleasant candle went shoved in front of her face just so he could laugh at the way she scrunched up her nose. It was fine, she always got him back in the end, usually with Bertie Botts by slipping him the gross ones. Patrick’s favorite form of revenge after that had been to kiss her.

“Of course they can, all farmers and werewolves do, but it’s not something I’m interested in. Also, why waste beer on my legs, you think I could remain sane while wasting beer to make bug spray?” Leona laughed at the accusation. “I come from farmers, I lived on a farm all my life. I had worm friends and stuff. It’s just not my thing.” Really, she loved the farm, even if she didn’t like the farm work, but if she was involved with the Order, it was probably safer if she kept her distance, two fires in the span of a decade would probably kill the soil.  If she lived to see the end of the war, she would move back home, it wasn’t near enough to apparate, but she could probably work up her resistance.

Hilda had done quite a number on Patrick, she’d make sure to jinx her in the face next time they crossed paths. Maybe more, depending on how likely stealing Seamus without getting Patrick in Azkaban was when she saw her. “Probably.” Leona said, physically stopping herself from giving Patrick a pat on the back (when had she become her father). She had a feeling that she wouldn’t be leaving without giving Patrick a genuine hug. Or worse, a pep talk. What one does for friends. “Is it true that muggles have candies that explode in your tongue? The guys at the station were arguing about it.”

“Gardening isn’t that bad when you have magic to help with it, either.” Patrick pointed out, thinking wistfully of his mother and how he’d kneel in the dirt and help with her garden when he was younger, rich soil caught beneath his fingernails and darkening the knees of his pants. She’s always been so peaceful then and she talked about how it was giving to the land and the land giving back, she made it sound magical to him, so was it any surprise that Patrick got an official notice from the Ministry for the use of underage magic the year his mother’s garden didn’t do so well?

She made it sound magical to begin with, he didn’t think it should count. It did, unfortunately, but there was nothing to stop him from making things better for her after Patrick graduated.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just being… I don’t know, fucking maudlin or something.” Patrick explained, waving a hand through the air before slouching back. “Being too nostalgic lately, but gotta admit, Bertie Botts haven’t crossed my mind in a while. Rubber boots sound worse than earwax, how do they keep coming up with these things? Who do they pay to taste them?”

“There’s no magical cure for the sun. Or for keeping track of the lunar calendar. Also, bug bites. And ants. And worms. The weather is such a big deal, too. It’s less “settle on to a routine” and more “fix whatever today’s problem is”, trains are less surprising I guess.” Connecting with nature was nice, depending on nature wasn’t as nice- she’d enjoyed her time on the farm, though, and visited whenever she could. 

“Eh, well, I think that’s normal, Hogsmeade does that to your brain.” Especially if you spent the day surrounded by people sadder than you, which was probably Patrick’s case. But, as fun as having him arround in the train would be, it would probably be ten times as depressing to him. He’d probably end up apologizing for breathing. 

“Bertie Botts consistently haunt me, they’re nightmare material.” In all fairness, she wasn’t at the bottom of the foodchain, Silas had probably tried rubber boot much more often than she had, but she was always a picky eater. “Whoever they pay, they should love themselves a little. Also, who had the idea of including awful flavors, and why does it work?”

“Yes.” Valentina admittedly flatly because while some people would deny their guilt even when the evidence was being presented in court, there were some that were so desperate to fix things that they would run to the nearest person for help. Accidents happened, people did different things in their panic, and Valentina rolled her eyes before pointing her wand at the hunk of rock. The hardening spell was third year transfiguration and one wordless spell later, the woman with the wild hair was left with a duck making an unbearably angry noise. “Silencio.” And just like that, the noise cut off even though it was obvious the creature was still raising quite the racket.

The helpful woman’s belief was harmless, since she was still willing to be helpful. That didn’t stop it from being annoying, but there was no point in burning that bridge before the duck was free. The second it started shaking, though, Leona was prepared to throw it into the lake. The duck, became very upset at his savior when she silenced it, though. Leona abruptly let it go, and were the other woman not there, she would’ve jumped on the bench to get as far away from the duck’s beak as possible. “I don’t think she likes us much.”

“Assholes for sure. I’ll set MacGonagall on them if you can point them out; I’m fresh enough out of school I’d probably know their faces.” Rowan had never hung out much with anyone, let alone the younger students, but he figured he could at least guess the right direction. “I do a lot of it at work, just usually not with live animals.”

He took a good look at the stone duck, sizing it up for a second. Once he was sure he’d got it, he raised his wand and cast the charm.

When the mother quacked again, Leona felt an immense sense of calm wash over her, which allowed her to focus on her rage. She wasn’t one to trust administrative punishment, but as a former Gryffindor, the thought of McGonagall was always a nice one. “I can probably point them out, they were a strange little group.”

She turned to the little reuniting family and allowed herself to smile at them. “What do you do?” He seemed pretty self-righteous, and he had a good relationship with Hogwarts teachers, too. If he wasn’t recruited by the order already, he would be soon for sure. 

“For the last time, I swear I don’t have your heels, Nott.”

“It doesn’t matter what you swear, I have a warrant.”

“Campus security? Seriously? Have you even asked your sister?”

“Oh, that’s fucking rude.” Rowan scowled at the stone duck, conjuring up some birdseed to hopefully keep the smaller ducks occupied while they worked this out. He got it, random transfiguration was rather amusing to kids and all, but living things was a bit of a line too far. He’d always hated having to transfigure mice in class, let alone outside of it. “Did you see who did it? Kids are one thing, but I don’t wanna magic my way into some Voldy-bro’s trap on a goddamn Sunday.”

“Fucking rude indeed.” The birdseed was a nice touch, and while she’d usually be untrusting of people trying to help her, a big softie inside her decided the kid was cool. His Voldy-bro comment only giving him extra points. “Some asshole kids. Might’ve been Voldy-bro offspring, they weren’t wearing uniforms. You know how to turn her back?”