☆ · ˚ . ✦ . ˚

           {           cis  woman,  she  /  her           }           ❝           i  don’t  have  a  wholesome  american  family  .           ❞           huh,  who’s  ANNE  WINTERS  ?  no,  you’re  mistaken,  that’s  actually  CORA-LOU  BLISHWICK  .  she  is  a  23  year  old  PUREBLOOD  witch  who   is  A  DISGRACED  EX  PAGEANT  QUEEN  AND  “CONSULTANT”  FOR  WIXEN  TECH  &  MEDIA  COMPANY  .  she  is  a  ILVERMORNY  alum  and  the  child  of  JIMBO           “           BIG  DADDY           ”           DASHIEL  BARTHOLOMEW  BLISHWICK  V  AND  CRICKET  BERKELEY  .  she  is  known  for  being  DUPLICITOUS,  EMULOUS,  VAINGLORIOUS,  UNSCRUPULOUS,  and  PERVERSE  but  also  RESOLUTE,  COMPELLING,  ADAPTABLE,  CONFIDENT,  and  CAPTIVATING,  so  that  must  be  why  she  always  reminds  me  of  the  song  HIGH  HORSE  BY  KACEY  MUSGRAVES  and  BROKEN  BONES  AND  TILTED,  SHIMMERING  PAGEANT  CROWNS  ON  TOP  OF  UNDESERVING  HEADS,  BLOOD  STAINED  FINGERNAILS  DISGUISED  UNDER  AN  UNDERSTATED  AND  INNOCENT  SHADE  OF  BABY  PINK,  LOWERED  AND  FLUTTERING  EYELASHES  THAT  FEIGN  IGNORANCE  AND  INNOCENCE,  WINNING  SMILES  AND  DESIGNER  PERSONALITIES,  AND  A  TERRIBLE,  BLOOD  CURDLING  WHINE  .  i  hear  she  is  aligned  with  NO  ONE,  so  be  sure  to  keep  an  eye  on  her  . 

To see her father like this inspires a fury in Dove that she can’t release. Not here at least, not now. Not in front of him. And so she simmers below the surface, pushing the food on her plate around herself, her eyes glued on her father. It’s all so clear, his tiredness, his lack of energy, the toll this has all taken on him, even if he tries to hide it. She gets it. Perhaps this is where they are similar –– in their wish to shield their family from their suffering, to appear stronger than they are. Somewhere, she’s glad of it. She’s not sure if she could handle her father showing it all, all his pain. She’s not sure if he could handle it, if she bared herself completely, fangs and claws and all.

“You haven’t even tasted it yet,” she says, teasingly. It doesn’t last long, though that lightheartedness, or at least the attempt at it. Dove puts down her cutlery and looks at her father. He knows. She knows that he knows. It hangs in the air, and she looks at her hands and for the first time, sees something like blood staining her fingers. It’s gone in an instant, though. She wants to be mean, defiant, tell him that she has nothing to talk about, but then she sees his eyes. She can’t do it, not tonight. Not to him. “I don’t know if I want to.” She hears the thud of the body again. Her own voice saying those two fatal words. A flash of green. Dove has been startled by her lack of remorse these past weeks, but as she looks at her father it suddenly weighs heavily on her. Not because she feels bad about Roman Jugson’s death, per se, but because of what he might see when he looks at her. She remembers the promise she made to him, not too long ago. That she’d try not to succumb to her anger. “I don’t want you to think of me badly.” Despite it all, she is still endlessly looking for his approval. For him to be proud of her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

it  breaks  his  heart,  seeing  her  like  this  .  neville  longs  for  a  time  where  peace,  despite  being  an  illusion,  existed  for  them  .  where  death  seemed  like  a  distant,  and  impersonal  aquanintence           ––          and  not  a  neighbour          ––          banging  on  their  door  each  day  to  take  something  from  them  .  a  friend,  a  family  member,  a  soul  .  he  can’t  help  but  wonder  what  it’s  taken  from  her  .           “          then  talk  to  me  .          ”          he  urges  her,  his  expression  earnest  despite  being  lined  in  exhaustion  and  concern  .          “          don’t  leave  me  in  the  dark,  dove  .  i  can’t  handle  that  .           ”

And so it happens.

Bellatrix waits, her patience eerie, her lips tight. She watches her sister with her eyes both soft and sharp. She’s pregnant. Something in her stomach sinks, but the world is not yet lost, but then Andromeda adds who the father is. Bellatrix thinks she might be falling, though not in a poetic way –– falling through the neck of a volcano, her body growing warmer and warmer with rage. “Tonks?” She doesn’t need an answer. She knows. Everything about the confusing scene in front of her makes sense now, and Bellatrix gets up from the bed, circles the room.

She is more composed, now, but it’s clear that there’s something bubbling beneath the surface. “And you’re running to him? From us?” Bellatrix, inexplicably, laughs. Deliriously. She does not blame Andromeda for wanting to turn her back on their parents, but to trade her sisters for a mudblood boy? The thought is so devastating, that all she can do is laugh. In a mean way. In a furious way. She turns towards her sister, something strange in her eyes now, something she might grow more familiar with as years follow, “You’re not, Andy. Don’t be ridiculous.” She wants to laugh again, and perhaps cry, too. In stead she stares. 

All that Rahim was thinking was, He’s breathing. That’s good. That’s good. His voice was hoarse as he shook his head, refusing to be moved along.  Victoire didn’t understand yet, but she would, just like his mother had. “She left to get away from me. And she - she was right.“ His voice broke on the words,  what never said before, never even let himself think it. But it was true. And if he did something now, hurt either of them, Neville or Victoire, it would be even more true. 

Rahim steadied himself, wiped the expression of misery off his face. He had decided. “I need you to do something for me.” There was no longer even a hint of a waver. “The other day, when I broke that cauldron, it was good of you - it was good of you not to turn in a report. But you should have done. You know, it’s not the first time you’ve had to sanction me.” It came easily, the way the story should be fabricated, once he started. Easy to come up with things that were either lies, truths, or a bit of both. Rahim nodded firmly, “You should write that down, too. That I’ve shown a lot of … a lot of aggressive behaviour. Towards you, and towards my colleagues. Dove Longbottom, I think, would have something to say about it. And I know people have seen the two of us arguing. If you needed someone else to contribute. In the end, you really had no choice but to terminate me.” 

It guaranteed nothing. But he needed a reason to give Bellatrix, he needed some truth, for why he hadn’t killed Neville. If he had just a bit, just a bit of truth, he knew he could make it convincing. He could save Neville, even if all he was saving him from was himself. Or even if all he was doing was saving himself. He needed this, but he needed her to do it. Afraid to look back at Victoire again, Rahim had to force himself. His eyes begged, half-full of trust, half-full of desperation. “Victoire, please. I can’t explain why. But maybe you know. Please. If you don’t do this, then I’ll quit, but then…” he broke off, imagining it. They probably wouldn’t kill him, he didn’t know. But they’d know - they’d know he wasn’t what he was supposed to be. Maybe he could take Bellatrix knowing. But his father … his father … He had only one way to salvage this, to save Neville, and to salvage everything he wanted at the same time. He did still want it. He had to. He’d come this far. It couldn’t be for nothing. “I can’t explain why I need this. But I do.”   

          {          cis  man,  he  /  him          }          ❝          a  god  is  a  dog,  and  a  man  is  a  fraud          ❞          huh,  who’s  CILLIAN  MURPHY  ?  no,  you’re  mistaken,  that’s  actually  DONATUS  ARMATI  .  he  is  a  40  year  old   wizard  who  is  CEO  OF  ARMATI  HOTELS  .  he  is  a  DURMSTRANG  alum  and  the  child  of  VALDRIN  AND  ÉLEA  ARMATI  .  he  is  known  for  being  HAUGHTY,  HEDONISTIC,  PERFIDIOUS,  MENDACIOUS,  and  VULGAR  but  also  ASTUTE,  ARTICULATE,  METICULOUS,  PERSUASIVE,  and  FARSIGHTED,  so  that  must  be  why  he  always  reminds  me  of  the  song  DEVIL’S  ADVOCATE  BY  THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD  and  ICHOR  AND  SECRET  STAINED  SUITS,  VALUING  DISCRETION,  CLOSED  DOORS  AND  IMPENETRABLE  LOCKS  HARBOURING  CENTURIES  OF  SCORCHED  SKELETONS,  A  DOBERMAN  PANTING  IN  THE  RED  GLOW  OF  HADES,  AND  PUTTING  A  HIGH  PRICE  ON  EVERYTHING  .  i  hear  he  is  aligned  with  NO  ONE,  so  be  sure  to  keep  an  eye  on  him  . 

he  braces  himself   for  some  serious  scolding  .  since  the  battle,  neville’s  done  little  for  himself  in  terms  of  easing  the  healing  process          —          pushing  himself  further  than  he  should  .  he’s  been  steering  clear  of  st  .  mungo’s  since  being  discharged,  but  it  seems  his  health  has  taken  another  hit  since  then  .  it’s  impossible  for  him  to  sit  out,  to  succumb  to  his  injuries,  but  he’s  human  .  and  despite  his  attempt  at  being  above  it  all,  he  too  has  his  breaking  points  . 

neville’s  expression  reads  like  a  guilt  ridden  child  once  she  enters  the  hospital  room  .  it  seems,  since  his  departure,  that  he’s  done  everything  but  obey  her  simple  order          :          to  rest  .          “          i  am  feeling  much  better  .          ”          he  lies,  struggling  to  sit  up  straight  in  greeting  .          “          truly  .           ”

she  can’t  stop  thinking  about  it  .  back  in  paris  after  an  impromptu,  and  misguided  trip  back  home,  victoire’s  starring  at  her  ceiling,  struggling  to  find  meaning  behind  his  promise  .  that  night          —          she  closes  her  eyes,  doing  her  best  to  block  out  the  images  and  cruel  sensations  from  her  mind          —          had  been  a  mistake  .  a  terrible  one  .  she  insisted  upon  it,  repeating  the  sentiment  again  and  again  throughout  the  night  to  him,  but  succumbed  to  old  youthful  desires  .          “          stupid  .          ”          she  reprimands  herself,  sinking  deeper  into  her  bed  and  spiral  of  doubt,  embarrassment,  and  anger  .          “          you’re  so  stupid  .          ” 

if  she  didn’t  know  any  better,  his  words  might’ve  seemed  romantic  .  like  a  promise  of  forever  .  but  this  promise  isn’t  one  out  of  the  movies  .  in  school,  she  learned  and  understood  that  his  attention  is  not  the  thing  she  should  aim  to  have  .  it’s  lethal,  and  she  can  feel  his  oath  crushing  her  like  a  prophesied  demise  .  

“Right, caught in the act, but I think I’ve deserved to flip some of these folks off.” Tonks drops her hand, nods her head at one of the paintings featuring an ancient family member. “Luna’s doing a great job repainting some of these, yeah? I think I could hear some muffled screams beneath a very colourful painting the other day.”

          {          cis  woman,  she  /  her          }          ❝          a  red  rose  grew  up  out  of  ice  frozen  ground          ❞          huh,  who’s  MADISON  BAILEY  ?  no,  you’re  mistaken,  that’s  actually  DOROTHEA  REID  .  she  is  a  21  year  old  MUGGLEBORN  witch  who  is  AN  ANIMATED  PAINTER  .  she  is  a  HOGWARTS  alum  and  the  child  of  AUDRA  AND  NORMAN  REID  .  she  is  known  for  being  PERTURBED,  PEDANT,  INGENUOUS,  RETICENT,  and  GAUCHE  but  also  ARDENT,  PERSPICACIOUS,  EFFULGENT,  SEDULOUS,  and  MAGNANIMOUS,  so  that  must  be  why  she  always  reminds  me  of  the  song  THE  LAKES  BY  TAYLOR  SWIFT  and  GOLDEN  THREADS  OF  SUNLIGHT  DANCING  THROUGH  SHUTTERED  BLINDS,  BREEDING  CREATIVITY  OUT  OF  CHAOS,  INTERPRETING  PAIN  AND  BEAUTY  THROUGH  CAREFUL  AND  EMPATHETIC  BRUSHSTROKES,  CURIOUS  HUES  THAT  FOCUS  ON  THE  RADIANCE  OF  THE  WORLD  AND  NOT  THE  DARKNESS,  IMMORTALIZING  MOMENTS  AND  MEMORIES  THROUGH  ART,  AND  COUNTING  DOWN  FROM  TEN  UNTIL  EVERYTHING  FEELS  ALRIGHT  AGAIN  .  i  hear  she  is  aligned  with  THE  ORDER  OF  THE  PHOENIX,  so  be  sure  to  keep  an  eye  on  her  .