lucinda talkalot.

Greta laughed, still feeling slightly awkward, but happy for the distraction anyway.  “Yeah, I know what you mean.  I always found things to be interesting enough, but it still was hard not to start daydreaming about other things during lessons.”  Honestly, living inside of her head was sometimes a lot better than living firmly planted in reality, and she’d pretty much lived in a fantasy world throughout all of school.

“That’s a good point, I wouldn’t have even thought of that.  Not that I fly, or anything.  Being that high up makes me nervous.  I really don’t know how Quidditch players do it.  I suppose it comes with practice?  Or maybe some people are just born to be in the sky, and don’t feel nervous about it at all when they fly.”  She rambled, eventually biting down on her tongue lightly to get herself to stop talking.  Greta smiled apologetically in Lucinda’s direction for babbling.  It was nice to be remembered, but she’d also been getting more attention in the past few months than she ever had before, and almost missed the days where she simply blended in.

-

“Daydreaming or looking out the window or passing notes...” It was easier, as an adult, to realize what she’d put her parents and teachers through - even if she still found it amusing. “I think I near drove Flitwick mad. I hope I never distracted you from your work,” Lucinda joked.

“I’ve never understood that feeling, honestly.” Luce matched Greta’s smile, pushing past any awkwardness. She understood nerves - the sick feeling in your stomach before a match or a fight - but she had always been able to push past for the sweet rush of adrenaline that followed. “I suppose maybe it is something your born with. When I came to Hogwarts, everything was new and strange but it didn’t really feel like magic till I got on my first broom. I never wanted to come down.” She met Greta’s eyes, her smile wry. “Y’know, I used to teach kids to fly during the summer, I bet I could show you how to stop being nervous.”

Antonin hadn’t been to the club ever since he’d run into Wendy Slinkhard here. But he hadn’t been able to stay away for long. It felt good to be back amongst the sweat and grit. The explosive thud of flesh meeting flesh singing to his hears. Most people needed stillness to relax, quiet and calm. But when you couldn’t grasp that concept this was how you let it all out; the anger, the energy, face to face with complete strangers.

Antonin wound his way through the crowd. He was yet to fight tonight, sometimes he liked to watch the others sparring with one another. Most of the time nobody cared who anyone else was. Most of the time you could stay anonymous here. Of course that was most of the time when his worlds didn’t collide.

He froze when he heard his name, his eyes snapping up. Not Wendy (thank Merlin), but still, a familiar face. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, so he resorted to trying to place her face instead. Was it Hogwarts? A Slytherin, he thought. She had been years younger than he. His brows furrowed. 

“And you are?” He asked, feigning complete ignorance instead.

-

Lucinda had taken a few blows tonight, and she could take one to her ego. Not only had they shared a house but she had played Quidditch for England. She’d brought the Falcons to victory in the league twice, and the cup once. And Antonin Dolohov didn’t know who she was. Did they not like Quidditch in whatever Eastern European country he’d called home? Small blessings, she supposed. Better to be off a death eaters radar, a complete nobody, than have their full attention. Just her luck that she’d ran into one at a muggle club. His sort were supposed to find everything Muggle beneath them.

“Don’t worry about it.” Luce rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Spar with me.” Seeing Antonin had sent a fresh rush of adrenaline through her veins. Fight or flight. Lucinda had always chosen fight, and she hadn’t been finished tonight anyway. She didn’t wait for an answer, turning to a muggle at the edge of the fight nearest them. “Us next.”

*

William couldn’t help but chuckle.  Well, a little banter would never hurt anyone - it was always fun to have a sparring partner.  Not wanting to be the first to break their eye contact, he smirked.  “I’ve seen you play, I’d say you’re criminally good.”  He knew that she was a code four, and was obviously given such a code for a reason, but he’d never paid much attention to blood status, and quite frankly, didn’t care.  He finally broke the eye contact to run his eyes over her body, “It’s a shame, really.”

-

Was Will Mulciber flirting with her? Wasn’t that against his whole code or below his station or something? Still, she knew enough to know she was being checked out. She couldn’t blame him - athlete’s body and all that. “Which part is a shame, exactly?” Lucinda returned the favour and looked him over. Her best guess was it was the part where someone had given him that face and made him like he was. “It’ll really be a shame when England lose the World Cup next year.”

…

“You were brilliant,” he continued to gush, not quite picking up on the emotion on her face in the way that he typically would have.  “I thought you were going to crash into the ground, but the way you pulled up right at the last second?  Incredible.  I’ve never been good at flying.  I’m not going to fall off my broom or anything like that, but I don’t have the instinct for it like you do.”

He deflated a bit at the was, sometimes forgetting how much injustice there was to find in this country.  She was brilliant, and she should still be doing the thing that she was brilliant at.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t think – we can talk about the weather if it’s easier.  I think it’s supposed to rain later, in a predictable turn of events.”  He smiled at her, reaching out to shake her hand.  “I’m Mikhail.  Most of my friends call me Mikha.”

- 

Lucinda shook his hand and grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mikha. Welcome to Scotland, where rain is inevitable. You’re not from around here are you?” She could detect an accent, though his English was probably nicer than hers. More proper. He was posh, or foreign or both. She wasn’t quire sure.

“We don’t have to talk about the weather though, I actually like talking about how good I am.” At least, she always had. Maybe it was bittersweet now. Luce looked him over. Solidly built, good for a keeper; perfect for a beater. “Instinct is part of it, for sure. You have to be able to feel the broom. Still, you can’t underestimate the power of some hard work. Lots of people give up on flying altogether once they learn to apparate. Do you get out much?”

…

It was hard for her to hold onto her doubts while they hugged, but she wouldn’t place her trust in the wrong person.  A pang of sympathy rocked through her as she thought through everything Lucinda had lost through all of this as well.  If she hadn’t been so successful on the Quidditch pitch there was every chance she could have been in the third bedroom in Mr. Goldstein’s flat.  “Are you doing okay?”  She asked softly, walking next to Lucinda as she led the way.  “You’re a Code 4, yeah?  I’m – sorry.”  Her current life wasn’t a lot different than the life that she had lived during the war, just a bit higher risk as her involvement in the Order had moved from assumed to confirmed.  But she couldn’t imagine what Lucinda was feeling, having accomplished so many of her dreams so young only to have them taken from her. 

“This part of town is nice enough,” she smiled.  “The buildings have character.”  She ordered a small cappuccino for herself, needing a bit of sweetness to her coffee, before joining her at the table.  “Don’t hate me, okay?  But – did you talk to the Ministry, or do you know someone who did?  I’ve been struggling to figure out exactly why I’m a Code 5 and so many of the others are still walking free.  I know I’m Muggleborn, but… Remus isn’t.  Fabian isn’t.  It just doesn’t make sense to me.  I – I know I trust you.  I know you wouldn’t have sold me or anyone else out.  I just don’t understand and was hoping you have a bit of insight.”

- 

Lucinda tried to smile, tried to reassure Mary that she was just fine, actually but her face twisted in an attempt to suppress the emotion welling inside of her. The smile was more of a grimace, too much tooth and gum and a furrowed brow. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m a barmaid now. Customer service is my calling.” Sarcastic verging on defensive was the best she could manage now, although Mary didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her constant anger. Her cosy, cheap flat was probably worlds better than whatever Mary called home these days, even if the kids upstairs were loud and muggle boys in hoodies hung around all day making illicit sales. 

“Yeah, the people too.” Luce’s grimace faded into something with more humour. “That sounded stuck up. It actually reminds me more of Manchester than my old place. I like it.” 

Lucinda took a sip of her coffee and tried to ignore the indignation in her chest. Mary’s suspicions were reasonable and that was the worst of it. Her knuckles turned pale around the coffee mug as she tried to formulate a response. She couldn’t tell her that she’d been keeping Remus safe if he hadn’t told her already. Maybe it was best if no one had all the information. That had worked, for the Order. “Mare...” Lucinda brought her hands to her face. “I didn’t- you’re right. I didn’t sell you out, I swear. I wasn’t in the Order that long - only a year maybe. Maybe it was someone who got out before I joined, I dunno.”

*

“I do too”, Greta admitted, wiping at her eyes, even though she’d just tried to blame it for her crying.  “Usually I feel really happy in the sun, it kind of brings out the best in everyone, don’t you think?”  She sniffled.  “Yeah!  That’s me”, she nodded vigorously, surprised that Lucinda even remembered her.  She’d really kept to herself in school, and had never done that well in any of the magical classes.  Keeping her head down was always easier than any of the alternatives.  “We did, I’m surprised that you remember me.”  Not that she would have had any reason to, it wasn’t as if they chatted in the halls between lessons.

In an effort to change the topic so that she didn’t have to try to awkwardly explain why she was crying, she pointed at the shop window.  “Are you thinking about buying a new broom?”

- 

Lucinda wasn’t sure anything could bring out the best in people these days. Or maybe most people’s best just wasn’t very good anymore. Once, her best had been triumph on the Quidditch field; making her friends laugh; flirting with every pretty stranger that caught her eye. Now, apparently, it was daydreaming about a broom she could hardly afford. “Except you and me it seems.” She conceded, offering Greta a wry smile. “I have a good memory.” Luce tilted her head. “Not that you’d have known it from my grades, though. I’ve probably remembered everything except was I supposed to.” 

Greta drew her attention back to the broom, and her expression turned a little wistful. “Ah- maybe next month.” I can’t afford it, she didn’t say. “London’s not great for flying for sport. Especially this time of year, with no cloud cover.”

…

One might argue that Lucinda Talkalot’s being stripped of her life’s passion and being forced to work in a disgusting, over-crowded pub funneling butterbeer to third years with infinitely more upward mobility than she herself had might be punishment enough.  But in Freya’s eyes it wasn’t quite personal enough.  It was a gift from the universe – but Freya owed Lucinda something directly from herself.  The opportunity would present itself in due time, she had never been in a rush.  Revenge would be all the more sweet the longer it took.

The frustrated look on her face was delicious, and it only encouraged Freya to stay even longer.  “Oh no,” she shook her head.  “I don’t drink.”  She absolutely drank, just not in a public place such as this.  Not when she had a reputation she was working at upholding, not when an opportunity for revenge might make itself known.  No, butterbeer would do just fine for the moment.  “How is it going here?  I always thought working in a place like this would be so much fun!”

- 

Freya Rosier didn’t drink. Of course she didn’t - the perfect pureblood woman didn’t drink. Luce could at least feel glad that she had never had to perform like Freya did. In the muggle world, she was working class and Black and in the wizarding world, muggleborn. If anything, failure was the expectation - and she had proven before that she wasn’t a failure. No, Lucinda couldn’t fake it like Freya did. Did she fake it behind closed doors too? “That’s a shame!” She remarked, “drinking can be pretty fun, y’know? It loosens people up.” 

I always thought working in a place like this would be so much fun! Lucinda narrowed her eyes at the fresh reminder of just why she’d hit Freya back in school. Even if she was sincere - and Luce had her doubts about that- it was the sort of thing only a woman due to marry rich and never work again said. “We get lots of interesting customers, definitely.” Her tone made interesting sound a lot like dreadful. “If you like people, you couldn’t ask for anything better.” Lucinda did not like people.

Madame Puddifoots had never been Luce’s location of choice. It wasn’t her idea of romantic, that was for sure. She had been on a date here once in fourth year, before she really understood what attraction meant, with a gangly fifth year who had braces on his teeth and kissed like a really wet dog.  Lucinda preferred her romance in bars, clubs, dark cars, her bedroom - not surrounded by frills and fluff. The rain had driven her here. This far north, it was typical even now in early July, a strong reminder of why she couldn’t swap her London flat for a Scottish one even if it would take the sting out of her rent. 

She kicked her feet against the welcome mat and stepped in. It was busy - probably others just trying to get away from the downpour - and she stepped into the queue to get herself a coffee, maybe a cake, to make the wait worthwhile. Lucinda ordered from a barista who definitely recognized her, though he wasn’t asking for an autograph. She offered him a smile as she took her coffee - black - and croissant. The room was stuffy and loud and there were no free tables. Luce looked to the window, the rain still beating against the glass. Fuck, she thought, before catching sight of Wendy Slinkhard at a back table. Wendy. She hadn’t spoken to Wendy since... well, she didn’t know when they had spoken, actually. No time like the present, she supposed. “Hey!” Lucinda strolled over and offered her a warm smile, “How are you? D’you mind if I sit?” 

*

It was a hot and stuffy day, not the most ideal conditions for his continued search for code fives.  Every muggle in the surrounding area seemed to have come out to play, which made spotting familiar faces out in the crowd all the more difficult.  With plenty of time to spare, William noticed that Lucinda Talkalot was walking directly towards him on a collision course.  He assumed that she’d move, as he certainly wasn’t going to, and they nearly collided before she finally moved out of the way, ice cream teetering precariously.  Amused, he raised a brow at her.  “Sure, you seem really shaken up about it.  I would expect that a seeker would pay more attention to their surroundings.”  Placing a hand on his chest in mock sympathy, he corrected himself, “I’m do apologize - I suppose I should say former seeker.”

-

Deep breaths. She could take deep breaths. Nice day. Ice cream. Beautiful park. Stupid, irritating man. Deep breaths. Lucinda straightened her back and held his gaze. “I guess I’m just losing my touch,” She conceded, licking her cone without looking away. “You’re the Auror right? I can never keep it straight. Am I not playing Quidditch because it’s an affront to public decency? Or is it because I’m criminally good?” This probably wasn’t the smartest line of questioning, Lucinda could admit it but banter wasn’t illegal just yet, was it? 

Status: Closed for @lucetalkalot​

Location: The Three Broomsticks

Frank made his daily pilgrimage to The Three Broomsticks. There was one particular stool he usually took up which was a little away from all the other chairs and tables at the pub and that is where he was currently sitting nursing a whiskey. He stared into the depths of his glass, rotating his wrist to swirl the liquid around and around. The liquid gold glinting in the dim light of the tavern.

He was several drinks in and comfortably numb by now. His usually racing thoughts and emotions slowed and pushed to the very back of his mind. Frank was doing a fine job of thinking about nothing when he felt the presence of someone by him. If he ignored them long enough perhaps they would go away.

-

Lucinda had seen Frank more than once this last month or so. He had a spot, far away from the bar and outside of her section, drowning his sorrows in whiskey and generally looking miserable. It wasn’t that he didn’t have his reasons, she knew. Alice. An unborn child. It would be enough to push anyone to the brink, but as far as she could see Frank hadn’t hesitated in leaping off the edge. It sickened her, to think of what he had become. She glanced up at the clock. Shift over. Oh, she could not help herself

Luce headed into the back, took off her apron and grabbed herself a beer - Thea wouldn’t mind. She couldn’t help herself from hesitating at Frank’s table. Was she really going to do this? Yes, yes she was. Lucinda had spent enough time trying to hold her tongue of late - around Crouch and Mulciber and Rosier. She would let Frank know exactly what she thought. Luce sat down opposite him, slamming her beer onto the table without grace. “Frank. Good to see you’ve been keeping well.”

…

He glanced up, prepared with his typical friendly smile, but his mouth dropped open as he recognized the woman behind the bar.  “Ah –” he scratched at the back of his neck, trying to be calm about it all, but it wasn’t every day that a celebrity served you your drink.  “You’re – Lucinda Talkalot, yes?  You’re amazing, but I’m sure that you already know that.  I saw you in that match against Appleby two years ago.  That dive and the look on the seeker’s face?  Absolutely brilliant.  You’re brilliant.”

His smile dimmed slightly as he suddenly realized why she was here and instead of on the pitch.  The codes were truly ridiculous for keeping talented people away from their calling.  “You’re amazing,” he echoed.  “I’m in the presence of greatness, I think I’m blushing.”

-

Lucinda’s flirty smile vanished from her face, replaced by a faint smile that represented a far more complicated set of emotions. “I- yeah, I remember that match. Appleby have always been a good team but I’m - I was the best seeker in the league.” The past tense hurt. She’d still be the best, if she could just fucking play. She should be training for a world cup right now, not talking past glories with some stranger in a bar. A bar she worked in. 

“Thanks.” Lucinda managed a more genuine smile. “I do love to talk about my Quidditch days.” She shook her head. “Sorry, where are my manners? You know my name, can I get yours before we talk me up some more?”

…

It would be so easy to trust Lucinda, to fall back into everything they once had.  Their break up had been more than amicable.  Both had easily agreed that it was the best course of action in a world at war.  Being too tired to someone was far closer to a hindrance than it was an asset.  Breaking up had been the right choice, but that choice didn’t automatically dissolve all of the feelings that had once been there.  She still cared deeply for her, and she had a hard time believing that Lucinda had truly betrayed them.  But she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t some doubt.

The shock in her voice had all but erased the doubts that Mary had walked in with, but she struggled to hold onto a bit of the apprehension.  It wouldn’t do to be too trusting and walk her friends into some sort of trap.  She smiled slightly, stepping forward to wrap Lucinda into a hug.  “I missed you.  I would have come sooner, but it couldn’t be in such an obvious.  Come – let’s find a coffee shop or something both crowded and Muggle.  I’ve – got some questions.  And I’m sure you might have some too.”

-

Lucinda hugged Mary back and felt a deep wave of relief wash over her. Relief Mary was alive, yes, but more than that too. Luce hadn’t realized the deep guilt she’d been carrying around. It felt cheap, to be able to go on living her life while half of her friends spent their lives in hiding and most of the rest were dead. Knowing that Mary was safe and whole meant more than she could know. Besides, Lucinda needed a fucking hug. “I missed you too MacDonald.” She pulled back

“Yes- um, I’m living near here now. Couldn’t cut rent on my old place.” She offered Mary a self-deprecating smile. “What I mean, is that there’s a coffee shop near here that’s always busy and the coffee’s nice and strong to boot.” Luce shoved her hands in her pockets and took off in the direction of her usual haunt, a busy, trendy cafe that was the opposite of everything magical. She wouldn’t be scared out of the magical world, but lately she had found comfort in muggle-ness. Lucinda ordered a black coffee for herself and took one of the few free tables, a quiet and comfortable table in the back corner. “Ok,” She took a deep breath and met Mary’s gaze. “You first.”

…

Quite often she looked back at her school days with a certain degree of fondness.  There had never been a time in her life when she had been able to get away with quite as much – no one suspected a teenager of sneaking into the forest to perfect dark magic that the professors wouldn’t touch.  It took a bright smile, or tears in a real pinch, to convince the adults that mattered that she would never practice those spells on her classmates.  There was freedom to being young and far more vicious than anyone gave her credit for.

Now, even after helping win the war, she had to be more careful.  Now the real power was less in seeing how much she could get away with and more in being perceived in whatever way she chose.  There was power in successfully crafting a mask to wear for those who didn’t get to see her truest self.

Visiting the Three Broomsticks served a dual purpose – the building held a comfortable sense of nostalgia, reminding her of far simpler times.  But additionally, it gave her face time with Lucinda Talkalot, who she owed something.  Years had passed since the younger girl had bit back, too close to her graduation from Hogwarts for Freya to successfully retaliate.  She was waiting for the right moment to show Lucinda that she hadn’t forgotten – but until then she would continue to show up at her place of work, simply because she knew that it irritated her.  “Oh yes, can I get a frozen butterbeer, please?”  A firewhiskey sounded better, but getting intoxicated in public wasn’t a good idea. 

-

Lucinda had dealt with a lot of shit in Slytherin. She loved the idea of the house, all cunning and relentless ambition. It was the reality that left something to be desired. As a muggleborn, she’d had to prove herself constantly and for some her Quidditch prowess wasn’t enough to make her worth their time. Freya had been of that group. She had been a few years older, with the kind of face that screamed innocence and an attitude that said anything but. Luce had never been able to stand her. It had been worth every hour of detention she had received giving her what she deserved. Lucinda had heard enough Order intelligence and pureblood society gossip to figure that Freya hadn’t changed for the better. And she couldn’t forget that things were different now than they had been in school. The balance of power had shifted in Freya’s favour.

“Sure.” She nodded curtly, “One frozen butterbeer coming right up.” Luce strode to the back, took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched her fists. Keep your cool, Talkalot, she reminded herself firmly. She took out a drink and poured it in the glass. Lucinda stared at it, contemplating spitting in it - no, it was a little early for that. She strolled back out, as calm as she could be and placed it down in front of Freya. “There you go. No alcohol tonight?”

*

The more time that Greta had alone to think, the worse she was feeling.  A million different emotions were swirling around inside of her, from guilt to sadness to frustration in light of everything she’d learned, and she wasn’t dealing with it all very well.  She’d even given writing a go, but that hadn’t helped her sort things out much.  Greta had been isolating into herself, only leaving her flat for work when she needed to.  Her eyes were watering for reasons that had nothing to do with the hot sun, and she was so in her own thoughts that she barely realized she’d made direct eye contact with someone.  It didn’t take her long to register the woman as Lucinda Talkalot, someone that she’d gone to school with, and had always kind of admired from afar.  There was no other way to describe her, Lucinda was just plain cool.  

Greta realized that her eyes were still watering.  Oh, Merlin.  Here she was, in front of probably the coolest girl to ever exist, crying on the high street.  “Oh!  Yeah, I’m alright.  Sorry, just a little distracted.  The sun’s a little bit bright, you know”, she pointed to the sky as if Lucinda didn’t know where the sun lived.  “I hope that you’re enjoying the day!”

-

Lucinda knew the girl’s face. She knew her. How did she know her? She wracked her brain for a name to match to the face, or even a place. She had never known how to handle crying. Other people’s emotions - negative ones, at least - were not her strong suit. Lucinda didn’t get sad, really. She got angry. At her worst, she got apathetic, an emotion that had become familiar in recent times. “I um- I actually like the sun y’know.” How painfully awkward of you, Luce, she chided herself. A memory came to her suddenly, of an awkward young girl in Transfiguration. “Greta right? We had Transfiguration together... and Charms?” 

Luce had been laser-focused during school. She made her friends. She kept her friends. She played Quidditch and survived classes. Kids at the fringe, kids like Greta, had mostly escaped her notice. Come to think of it, she’d had a similar attitude after finishing school too. These days she was more prone to cut others some slack. 

Lucinda wiped the sweat off her brow, chest heaving. Her side hurt and she could taste blood in her mouth. It felt good. Five minutes where all she’d had to think about was where her body was and where she wanted it to be. The room, big and industrial, was fairly crowded. There was more than one pair sparring at a time, while others waited for their turn by observing the matches or sitting on the sidelines. This was only her second time here. She’d come on the recommendation of a muggle friend from the first boxing club she’d tried - a strictly above board place not far from her flat. He’d thought that this place would be more her speed and he hadn’t been wrong. 

Her father had brought her to a boxing club back home when she was six. She’d gotten into more than one or two scraps in the schoolyard or down at the park and he had felt - well, Luce could never be sure what he had felt, but she supposed he’d wanted to give her an outlet for that great, physical anger she seemed to carry everywhere she went. It didn’t stop the fights, really. If anything, it just gave her some tips. She’d been a nightmare for the coach there too. Unsportsmanlike, he’d called her. Lucinda had never been good at following the rules or fighting a good, clean fight. He’d been relieved when she’d gone away to Hogwarts and brought her anger there. 

Quidditch had given her what she needed for a while, but that was gone now. The Order had filled the gap, but it hadn’t lasted. So here she was, full circle. Lucinda grimaced. She had come here to not think. She pushed her hair out of her face and turned back to the crowd, ready to find her next fight and surprised to find herself a few feet away from a familiar face. “Dolohov?”