Marya Warrington

Marya wasn’t one to stay still for long — many of those close to her weren’t sure she knew how — but she managed to bring a certain grace to the bustling. Flitting from one place to the next like a hummingbird never taking a moment to settle, and never having a strand of hair fall out of place. 

So it was not an unusual image to see her navigating the busy streets of Diagon Alley without a care in the world, crowds seeming to separate around her. In one hand she had a bag so oversized it should be at risk of toppling her over, but she was kept grounded by the small hand of her son on her other side. Nathanial kept pointing to various distractions of the street, keeping Marya’s entire attention focused on answering his questions up until the point of reaching the tea shop. 

“Ofelia!”Marya called out to her friend once she was close to the outdoor table where the other was set up. “I’m so glad you had time today to meet up. And thank you for allowing Nathanial to join us. -- Can you say thank you, Nathanial? -- We were just out picking up a few things for him that look oh so handsome.” 

It had been awhile since Marya had gotten together with Ofelia outside of the busy atmosphere of formal events. Yet, she saw no reason for that fact to affect their friendship. Ever since the woman made her way into English pureblood society, reminding Marya of herself with her bright smile and quiet paramour, she felt she had welcomed her with open arms. She never stopped to wonder to what extent those warm feelings were or were not returned. 

“Tell me, what have you been up to? How is Quentin?”

@ofeliaestelle​

- 

Both of Marya’s questions were very good questions – but the first was impossible to answer. What was wrong? Nothing with him, he was sure; despite the way his hand shook slightly where he held it in a fish by his side, or the mounting anxiety of almost’s that were climbing the walls of his mind, stepping on one another’s heads to reach the level of Top Concern. 

And then there was the whole matter of what was wrong between them. Not in practice, or through anyone’s fault, but hanging in the air. A sparking, unfamiliar thing that was uncomfortable and foreign. Uncomfortable and foreign, like Tyler had been when he’d first showed up in England, but even then – seeing Marya for the first time, he’d felt like he’d known her his whole life. 

No, this was just a pesky issue of the face he wore outdoors colliding with his truer, realer one underneath—or so he liked to think, told himself when he began to suspect it was actually the other way around—and exposing a side of himself to Marya that Marya didn’t really need to see. Because this was simply: business, and if there was one thing Tyler Warrington Jr. knew how to do, it was take care of business. Swiftly, quietly, ruthlessly. 

(But if there was one thing he did not know how to do, it was answer his wife when she was looking at him with the levels of alarm that he worked so hard—was working, present tense, right now—to keep out of their home.) 

So, the second question seemed much easier to address. 

“The little journalist boy,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. As he tried to relax his face, the whole of his tension seemed contained in one eyebrow; one shoulder. Each arched unnaturally but allowed his face to find some semblance of calm. 

The power rush of owning this manor, the fierce protective instinct, the gutting shame of a near miss; they had to be replaced with a reminder that this was his home if he was ever going to come down from the high of wrapping his fingers around Vince Sinclair’s throat. And what better to remind him of home than Marya? The two were synonymous, so he gazed at her quietly. Stepped closer, chewed the inside of his cheek. Lightly, tentatively, extended a hand – though they were still too far to touch. 

“Gorynych knows who invited him, but he’d snuck away from the party…” As if he needed to prove himself, Tyler’s arm drifted in the direction of the muffled sounds of revelry below; the staircase that both of them could locate perfectly fine, without added reference. “He was poking around, going through the rooms. I saw him out.” 

The last sentence landed with more of a thud than intended. It wasn’t unwarranted, though; the scene had not been polished or pretty. “We cannot have events here anymore,” Tyler added, almost absently. He fixed the cuff of his sleeve, though he’d done it twice already since she’d happened upon him. “They’ll be going through our bedroom drawers before the year is out, at this rate.” 

-

The tension that hung in the air between them was awful, buzzing with a dangerous electricity. Marya was concerned that one wrong move could would take her down.

Which was ridiculous. This was their house, the one place she had never had felt governed by rules of right and wrong. A house without an overbearing mother or over competitive sisters. A place where she didn’t have to put up with the smiles on people’s faces while wondering what they were saying behind her back. Just herself, her son, and her husband. Her husband who now looked like he had his own battle waging besides his steel facade.

That’s when the feeling was overtaken by a different one. A protectiveness flared up from a place it clearly had been smoldering the whole time, waiting for something to creep close enough to let it catch. She dropped the dresses with a lack of care that would have made some in the ballroom faint, going to his side with a few decisive steps.

“What did he do?” Her voice had a hint of hard anger it had picked up from his, but her touch was only soft as she scooped up his hand. She left her fingers brush down his wrist and graze over his heartbeat. The details of what happened didn’t much matter. She already knew whose side she was on. That was a decision she made long ago. 

“The Prophet told me they might send someone. He wasn’t one of the reporters I knew, but he had the proper credentials-“ Only when she realized that she was attempted to explain herself did she realize she felt guilty. Turning a sincere gaze up to Tyler, she gripped his hand a little tighter. 

“Tyler, I’m sorry. With everything going on tonight, I didn’t give him much of a thought. I will write to Franklin at the Prophet in the morning and let him know how unacceptable that kind of behavior is. I believe we deserve to expect respect when we invite them into our home.”

His next words caught her off guard, because she thought it was some kind of joke. It seemed like a strange time for it, but then she had spent enough of the past few weeks fielding his fretting over her pregnancy that it felt like a certain return to normalcy. She let out a small, airy laugh, thankful for the relief of it. The sensation of her feet being back on solid ground. 

But he wasn’t laugh.

“Do you mean that? Darling, you have every right to be upset, but there was no harm done, right? It’s just one nosy reporter. What’s the worst he could have done anyway? We have ward against stealing of anything too valuable.”

emily post would not approve // marya & geraldine

Geraldine had to admit, it was better than she thought it was going to be. She didn’t have many antics of her own; it wasn’t what she was looking for. Just something a bit more lively, and this did have promise. “Well?” she asked expectantly. “Did you get in?” She was rooting for a ‘yes and got dramatically kicked out’ despite the fact it wasn’t the answer she would bet on getting. She wanted Marya to surprise her.

“Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary. On my seventeenth birthday, I bet my grandpa he couldn’t out drink me, and we wound up dancing on a table together. Too many nights, my friends and I wind up playing Strip Chess.” And thank goodness she was as good at the game as she was. There were definitely nights that went well beyond those, but she wasn’t looking to kill Marya’s modesty. Yet. They simply weren’t far along in the night for her to get there.

Even if this sugary drink must be masking a lot more alcohol than she could taste. It earned the place a couple points in her book.

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing then that tonight, all you have to worry about is having fun. Call it my birthday gift.” For all she didn’t understand the appeal of signing her name to an event, she could push that. Maybe, just maybe, if they could put aside their differences for a second and forget that Geraldine was career obsessed and Marya just listed her key identifiers as a wife and a mother, they would be what they truly were: two women in their early twenties who wouldn’t be here if they didn’t have something in common. And dammit, Geraldine was going to find it.

“Let’s see,” Geraldine said. She looked at her drink and didn’t hide it when she checked the clock. “Finish this one, then we go? Maybe another quick round if you want—it wouldn’t hurt for you to be buzzed before we get there.” She vaguely wondered if she’d ever been on the Knight Bus. She didn’t particularly want to ask until it was too late. 

“Oh, of course,” she said as though it was as plain a fact as what she ate for breakfast. “And I just attended Carolina and the frenchman’s anniversary last month. A lovely affair. They served spätzle.” It was the ending of most of their stories. The late nights, the scheming, the gossiping, the heartbreaks eventually came to an end, replaced by rings on fingers and happy homes built.Though it hardly felt like an ending to Marya. It felt like it had been the start of the life she had always wanted to live; the rest had just been prologue. 

“Strip chess,” she repeated, the words jumbling in her mouth as though they were spoken in an unknown language. Certainly that pairing had never passed her lips before. “Well I can safely say that is an experience I’ve never had. And thank Merlin, really, because I am just rubbish at chess. I’m not good a games that require you to think so far ahead, you know.” Marya had no idea how she was unintentionally working against Geraldine’s plan, putting more distance between them and their interests instead of less. 

With no agenda of her own, though, Marya still wore a wide smile on her face. In her mind, there was no need to search for proof or validation in the fact that they were friends. After all, if they weren’t friends, why would they be ringing in Geraldine’s birthday together? 

“Well, I can’t say you have not peaked my interest. So, I suppose in the interest of getting, as you say, buzzed --” She stared at her drink for a moment and then brought it to her mouth, fully tilting her head back to drain it. It felt unladylike even as she did it, but there was some excitement in letting herself defy the conventions. “To a good night, right? Oh my, I can already feel my face getting warmer.”

Thus far, Safiye had spent her night doing what she did best: watching. Yes, she’d chatted, and mingled, and smiled and tossed her hair, but all the while she’d been paying close attention to the goings on around her. She’d been keeping track of who bid on what items and how many times, as well as who had and hadn’t been invited. So, of course, she’d noticed that Marya Warrington, usually a consummate hostess, was not quite herself, and when she made to step away from the party, Safiye cut a course to intercept her.

Marya Warrington was something of a fascination to Safiye. She was not so naive as to believe that the path she was beginning to see for herself was the right path for everyone, but she had a sort of morbid curiosity about the path she had not taken, but Marya had. So Safiye had kindled something akin to friendship with the other woman in order to gain a window into her life, the life Safiye had decided against. Through the process she’d gotten to know Marya fairly well, and she knew for the blonde to be visibly shaken at a public event, much less one she was hosting, something must be really wrong.

“Of course I’m having a wonderful time, how could I not? You always host such incredible events.” Safiye spoke brightly, but soothingly. She wanted to get to the center of what was bothering Marya, but she knew she would have to proceed delicately. The two women were not so close that Safiye could simply ask her what was wrong. “I was wondering if perhaps you would indulge me with a tour of the grounds? The last time we spoke you made your plans for the new greenhouse sound so charming I’ve been burning with curiosity.” Of course, after dark was not an ideal time to see a greenhouse, but Safiye offered it as an excuse for Marya to step away from the party and get some air, and a chance for Safiye to get her alone.

-

Marya hoped she wasn’t staring at Safiye for too long after the other woman stopped talking. It took a little longer than usual for the words to process in her mind. They bumped up against the other thoughts vying for her attention., trying to push their way to the front but unable to be quite as big, quite as loud. Enough leaked through, though, for her to pull out what she needed to continue the conversation. Continue on like she was a normal person whose house wasn’t full of secrets she was not even allowed to know.

“The greenhouse!” Marya repeated back, grateful for the hand-wrapped excuse she had been handed. “My goodness, it must have been a bit since you were last here. The plans for the greenhouse ended up getting scrapped, but you should see what I went with instead. I’ve never been happier with how the gardens looked.” With a polite nod of the head, she lead the way out the doors.

The fresh air hit her first, filling her lungs like the first breath she had been able to take in awhile. Summer hadn’t landed too hard yet, and even the warm breeze was a welcome change from the atmosphere in the ballroom. Music still floated out from the windows, but it seemed more distant now. Like a dream that slipped further away with every moment of being awake.

“I hope you’re having a good evening,” Marya started, before remembering she had already said that bit.

A good hostess didn’t let anything get in the way of a successful event. It was a tenet Marya lived by, and judged by when others failed. It look a certain charm to hold a smile even when things fell apart. A certain grace to break up any drama before it eclipsed the night. A certain je ne sais quoi that she was proud to possess. 

Until, it seemed, now.

After her distressing conversation with Tyler, she pulled herself back together to keep the night running. If, for no other reason, to bring it to an end so they could have their house back. But the threads holding her together were strained as she gave her speech and got the live auction going. Now, as she watched over the dancing, they were threatening to snap entirely.

Maybe she could slip away for a moment. If her absence was noticed it could raise questions she wasn’t ready to answer. But, one could argue, bursting out into tears right here in the ballroom would raise a few more. She had wanted to wait before announcing her pregnancy, but maybe that was the best answer. Hormones could explain away a lot.

Whatever the decision, she needed to get out. Just a minute of fresh air. But she turned too quickly to head out the balcony door and had to catch herself before running face-first into a guest. “Oh, excuse me. I hope you are having a good time. Did you find any success at the auction this year?”

“Where did I put those dresses?” Marya asked to no one but herself as she searched the darkened room for the clothes she had just seen a few hours ago. Every moment she came up empty, she felt her nerves fray just a little bit more. Being given the chance to host this auction was an honor Marya did not take lightly, which meant she had been stressed about it for weeks. That morning especially had seen a litany of last-minute issues that had almost done her in. On top of needing to assure Tyler who kept insisting the tension was not good for the baby.

She tore through a few more drawers, about ready to let a few words slip out that did not become a lady like her. But finally her hand felt a familiar piece of fabric and her curses turned into a sigh of relief.

Closing her office door behind her, she took a moment to compose herself before heading back to the ballroom. This part of the house had been shut off for the event and the quiet hallways muffled the gentle music and polite chatter of the guests. Or at least, it should. But down the hall she heard something. The sound of voices -- no, shouting. Followed by a thud that made her jump.

She took a few frantic steps towards the sound, but the low flickering candlelight did not inspire confidence in her. Slowing, she contemplated running for help. But a decision still hadn’t been reached by the time she rounded a corner and saw her husband in a fit with someone she didn’t know in tow.

The chatter from the event had become completely drowned out by the pounding in her ears. Now frozen in the middle of the hall like a misplaced statue, she waited as there was more stomping, a few more door slams, and finally Tyler coming back and catching her eye.

So much of him still looked familiar. He was still in the suit she had asked him to wear that night, handsome as ever. He still had his normal presence, one that never grabbed attention but commanded his space, a comforting constant she usually searched for in a crowded room.

But the look on his face was one she had never seen before. There was a hardness that stiffened his features, made him almost unrecognizable. She held her breath waiting for it to melt away to the softness she knew from him. “Tyler?” she asked, voice shaking like she half expected the person in front of her to confirm it wasn’t actually him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

@tyler-whoisleft​

just for a few drinks  // marya & edgar

Edgar wore one of his best ties for the occasion, which was to say: he wore a tie. But the unimpressive slip of cotton was more formal than everything else he had all all totaled up. It was always a strange dynamic for him, dropping by these things. His mother said she didn’t give a damn about impressing the likes of the Warringtons and Malfoys – and Edgar believed her! But she wasn’t excused from trying to impress them either. 

It was a delicate, precious balance and so she couldn’t say no to downing a headache potion and smiling tightly through the few affairs they were invited to, or from donating some less-precious heirloom items to auction off at the occasional charitable auction like tonight’s.  They still all had to live in this world together – especially as they continued to climb the increasingly-wobbly ladder of the government – and the Boneses had a big enough target on their back without making it seem like they were looking down their nose, somehow, at the people at the top. 

That whole, messy dynamic hadn’t occurred to Edgar until pretty recently. He used to enjoy this things, even if they weren’t ‘for him’ – like shellfish, or an expensive wine that tasted like vinegar but ‘had a good bouquet.’ But then he’d received the letter threatening his family and his guard had gone up, and he was forced to look past the smiles to see the sharp teeth that held them in place. 

That being said, it was hard to dislike Marya Warrington, even as she was giving his outfit a disappointed look to rival Alastor Moody’s quietest hazing, and brought an overwhelming energy with her across the room. 

“I don’t mind helping them out,” Edgar said, diplomatically even as he scanned the vicinity for somewhere, anywhere, to put the boxes down. They were heavy, and he had a feeling that this interaction was going to end up weighing him down even more. He smiled, until his cheeks hurt, which didn’t take very long after the week he’d had. 

“Mrs. Warrington, I appreciate that so much,” said Edgar, trying to squish as much real appreciation into the words as he could. “And I would love to help you set up if there are any last minute tasks that need doing. But I couldn’t possibly stay.” I’m not invited, for one. “I know how coordinated these things are, and I’m not dressed for it, and I worked eighty hours this week so I wouldn’t be much fun for anyone. Thank you, though. Really!”

-

“You’re a good kid, Edgar.” She considered the room, already filled with objects that were being sorted. Without a thought to just how much Edgar had in his arms, she took her time choosing the right place and clearing off a spot before motioning for him to put down the boxes. Chattering the whole time. 

“I’m sure your parents are proud to have a son like you. I know I would be. If you know any secrets I can use on Nathanial, please don’t hold back. Don’t get me wrong, he is a sweet kid, always has been. But, you know, then they go off to school for so many years-- Yes, here you go. You can put those here.”

“Marya, please,” she corrected him instantly with her usual refrain. ‘Mrs. Warrington’ was reserved for her son’s playmates. And occasionally for her fits of jealousy when a pretty woman has been acting a little too friendly with Tyler. 

Marya held a solidly middling status in the pureblood hierarchy, both before and after her marriage. And while she didn’t care any more about said hierarchy than was required of her, she still reaped the benefits. Such as being able not to care. Others might feel the need to chose their company wisely for fear of how it would be perceived, but Marya had no qualms about associating with both the Blacks and the Boneses of the world. (After all, they are all still purebloods, right?)

So any such concerns Edgar may have were falling on deaf ears. The only valid excuse she would give him was the way he was dressed. But that, at least, was an easy matter to fix. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll let you in on a secret us event planners never want to admit -- there is always room for one more as long as you know the right people. And really, you don’t know how many of these I have attended with the same people over and over,” she said as though she weren’t the very person planning and creating the guest lists. “It would be nice to have a fresh face in the bunch.” At that, she couldn’t resist giving his cheek a few gentle pats. 

“Eighty hours?” she exclaimed loud enough to cause a few of the helpers about the room to start. “Oh no, someone your age shouldn’t be working that hard. There will be plenty of time for that later on. Right now you should be having some fun. Enjoying the young bachelor life. Well, not enjoying it too much, mind you. But how would you even go about finding a wife at all with a schedule like that?” 

“Marya!” Tyler gasped up the stairs, seeing her for the first time, yes – but also really seeing her. Even though she was cast near-entirely in shadow, Tyler’s entire face changed when his wife emerged from the belly of the manor. 

The brightness returned, and he was not anybody that he was outside of the house; a killer, a soldier, a stoic, old-fashioned man who hated small talk and preferred the cold bite of Russian winters. A flash of blonde hair in the darkness and Tyler was the Tyler that only lived here, with Marya. Animated and surprised, despite being the one who’d called out; eyebrows peaked high with delight, lips playing out a smile of amusement. 

It was a big house, so Marya was high above Tyler as he stood, dwarfed, in the foyer – but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gazing up at her, she was a vision even though his vision was compromised by the dimness. And the vodka. They were a Shakespearean balcony scene. They were too far apart. 

Tyler took the stares one at a time – aware of his own limits – but quickly, pitching his voice low into some haphazard attempt at a stage whisper, unwilling to wake Nathanial on purpose. 

“Look at you!” he said, badly whispered; he’d been doing little else. Reaching the top of the staircase, Tyler reached for Marya next, barely stumbling on the landing and pleased to blame the carpeting. If Tyler was not currently the Tyler seen by most of the world, Marya was not the most-public version of Marya, either. Her hair was a tumble, released from some tighter sweep; her dress was half zipped and fighting its way off her shoulders; her jewels clutched in her hand, rather than on display ‘round her throat. 

“You’re a vision,” Tyler said, meaning it. He reached for Marya’s hand, only remembering at the last moment that she was clutching a necklace; his grasp fell away, but his other hand lifted in short order to solve his craving, resting beneath Marya’s chin in a soft hello. “That’s what we’ll celebrate!” 

It was clear he’d been looking for a cause or reason. 

When Tyler got to drinking like this, then came home to his wife? He looked for reasons to keep celebrating just as fervently as Marya looked for new charitable causes during the daylight hours. 

“Tell Neesy. Champagne, for both of us! In the bedroom.” 

No one looked at Marya the way Tyler did. When she had first noticed that fact, many years ago, it made her feel vulnerable. She had never before felt that someone saw her for who she really was. And for the first time in her life she felt self-conscious about what it was he was seeing. Like it was only a matter of time before the kindness he showed her turned to disdain at what he found in her.

But he saw her and he only grew to love her. Now when he looked at her like that, with an excited spark in his eyes that had nothing to do with whatever he had been drinking earlier in the night, she felt more comfortable than she could at any charity event or in any expensive dress. She felt at home.

“You’re in good spirits,” she said, trying to suppress a giggle. But it quickly bubbled up and over despite her fight, like she was a teenager again trying to keep quiet for fear of waking her parents and getting in trouble. With each step he took closing the distance between them, she felt lighter until she was practically floating as he reached her, tethered only by the gentle touch of his hand on her chin.

“Oh, actually-“ She diverted her attention from her husband to the houseelf that appeared as she called out her name. “Bring the bottle from earlier. And glasses.”

With a short pop she was gone again, and Marya reached up to cup his hand in both of hers, not caring how the necklace tangled and pressed against their skin. “I had pulled it out earlier and started to aerate it. Would be a shame to have it all go to waste.”

She was tired of sharing whispers in a dark hallway. The news she had wanted to share — the news she was now considering if she would keep secret until he was a little sharper — still sat at the forefront of her mind. It just now had to compete with her desire to be out of that dress and under the covers with him.

“Where did you go tonight?” she asked as she crossed the threshold of their bedroom, carefully closing the door behind them as to not make too much noise. The house was big but sound echoed. And she could never stomach keeping Nathanial too far away, shuttered into his own corner. “And how about you help me get out of this dress?”

Event days started with the sun rise. There was always too much to do before the start time, even after the years of practice. If Marya were sensible she would approach her to-do list with the mindset of what could be taken off when she ultimately hit the manic crunch time, but she approached each time with an alarming amount of self-confidence. 

That day had gone well so far. The finalized guest count had been sent off to the caterer, which she knew would have to be adjusted that morning after she read through the long-winded letters both explaining unexpected conflicts and asking for last minute invitations. The speech drafts had been reviewed and a message had been sent out to her connection at the Prophet. Then of course a representative from her favorite vineyard had to come to get final approval of the wine, which was difficult to do when she couldn’t tell why she wasn’t tasting them. 

And she was still able to get herself ready by lunch time so she could head over to the venue. 

But things had fallen apart just a bit in the afternoon and now she was trying to pull the last threads together before the first arrivals that were surely coming at any minute. Though her appearance remained as intact as ever, there was a harried look to her eyes. 

It did lessen, though, at the sight of Edgar approaching, which she tried to pretend was due to his presence and not only the packages she needed currently weighing down his arms. “Oh, you are a welcome sight. It is good to see you out and about, off of the clock, even if your parents are putting you to work.” 

Looking past the delivery, she noticed his outfit decidedly did not match up to the formal attire she had on. The disappointment pushed at her smile. “You are more than welcome to stay. Have a drink, have some fun.”

@skinxxandxxbones​

a bit of fresh air //

It really would not be fair to snap at Marya considering she said exactly what Bellatrix set her up to say, but she still hated hearing the words. Likening the two of them, an assumption that she was not the stable one in their relationship, reinforcing the belief that if he had been by her side, this never would have happened. It all pained her to listen to with a near somber smile and the occasional nod.

For Merlin’s sake, she had known this would be the worst part of the staged attack, but she never expected it to be this trying.

“I really do not know what I would do without him,” Bellatrix said with a sigh that Marya, she was sure, would read whatever she liked into. “I would never have wished for this to happen,” oh, was that ever hard to say without a twist of irony, “but I dare say it has only made it feel like it has brought us together rather than wait for the wedding day to make it official. We have always been so close that it makes it all the more natural.”

She wanted to die. She wanted to disapparate on the spot rather than live in this another moment. She didn’t want to placate Marya but see her terrified: of her, of what happened, of the world. She was not picky. Fantasies of showing this woman the reality of the world had gotten her through many a dinner party and now, this conversation. If not for her need for secrecy and respect for Tyler, she would shatter her worldview for the hell of it.

Bellatrix did not dare reach out and offer Marya a comforting hand; it would invite one later in turn, and she would not have that. She only gave her a small, sober nod of understanding. “It is truly awful. We can only be grateful that there are people out there working to stabilize our world, and I can only hope that is never something Nathanial will have to deal with. He deserves a better world; he should have one he can walk through with confidence that he is near the top, and you can be rest easily as well. I know it will be some time before I have that luxury again, but I cannot fathom this lasting nearly seven years more. I have to hope.”

She was not surprised to see the change in Marya’s demeanor, but she was not one to lean into it, no matter how it might make her more comfortable. “Off the rack?” Bellatrix asked as if it were entirely unthinkable and nearly as appalling as the attack had been. “Well, I suppose that would be quite novel, would it not?”

Marya’s hand flew to her chest like it was magnetized, settling into place above her heart. With that, she completed the perfect picture of the concerned friend. The pose of women commiserating over ruined dinner parties and dissatisfactory gifts as they hold expensive glasses of champagne in their hands. She was raised on actions of insincerity and vapidness, and she still struggled to this day to separate them out from her genuine self. 

"That is so lovely,” she said, her voice carrying a softness even if her actions were rehearsed. “Even in- perhaps especially in such such dark times, it’s always nice to see two young people find such comfort and happiness in each other.”

Even though she had brought him up herself, Bellatrix’s mention of Nathanial instantly made her face fall. Hopefully nothing he will have to deal with. No matter how innocuous the other woman meant it, it still hit harder than it should. 

She thought about nights Tyler was out late dealing with it. She remembered the sleepless hours spent pretending as though she wasn’t waiting up for him. She felt both the relief of him eventually showing up and the anxiety of seeing how tattered and tired he looked. There were clear answers or firm words for what he did on those long hours away. There was only the wish he wasn’t putting himself in whatever danger he was. The thought of Nathanial there, by his side, in harms way. It was too much for her to bear. 

“He does deserve a better world.” Her voice so far from its normal bright and bouncy cadence. “As do you. You’ve always had such confidence and I understand how this could make you lose your footing. But I do hope you find it again soon.” 

undercover loudmouth | parents’ weekend | open

“Oh, juicy,” Vince grinned at the woman - a stunner, familiar - at her quick enthusiasm. “I sort of want both answers, is that doable? On the record first, hit me with the real answer after?”

The woman was not a student, he could tell; she had the perpetual young beauty that being rich - and good genetics - afforded one, but she wasn’t a student. And she looked too young to have any Hogwarts-age children for sure. He’d put his money on her being the member of some well-to-do pureblood family, frankly, which solidified his quick guess that she was there to celebrate any number of nephews, nieces, cousins, anything was possible.

“You look so familiar to me,” was what he started with on his quest for knowing more, and for once it was actually the far more polite road he was following. “You’re either famous or - did we maybe go here together? I’m Vince Sinclair, graduated a couple years ago?

Sasha tossed her hair over her shoulder, and it followed a seemingly crafted arch. By the time it settled into place, her wry smile was replaced with a perfectly pleasant one that made her look like any rich housewife at a gala for a charity they pretended to care about. She had years of learning from the best, after all.

“What a wonderful weekend. It’s so joyful to see all these families coming together and supporting the next graduating class. I can’t wait to see what they’re all going to do. And you can quote me on that,” she said, mimicking writing in the air. She didn’t actually expect it to make it into any paper, but if it did at least her mom wouldn’t be on her case about it.

“But, if I can speak freely, I think it could all be improved by some more Firewhisky. I seem to be out,” she said, discreetly pulling a flask out of her purse just enough for him to see it.

Pursing her lips a little, Sasha surveyed the man in front of her. He seemed to hold some small memory space in her brain, but not enough to know who he was. She wasn’t very good with faces and it took a lot for her to care enough to put in the effort. “No, not quite famous. At least I hope not, since it would probably be for something I rather not wish to be famous for. But I also graduated not too long ago. We must have crossed paths at some point. Sasha Greengrass.”