rebirth

     Doris, of course, had plenty of time to determine who was and was not safe or trustworthy; she’d only been here one night so far. While she didn’t entirely feel lucky to have been here, the luck of the Universe stated that she’d at the very least have her one, truest friend to keep her company and soothe her itching nerves while she endured the situation. “And I will always trust you, Cherry.” Though she would also always want to get too deep into situations she couldn’t get out of, contrary to the other’s suggestion - but Charity already knew that.

     Doris had always been skilled at listening as it was a necessary element of her investigations; what she often struggled with in a nonprofessional capacity was her ability to offer genuine condolences. In this case, however, the image of Charity held against her will at the hands of You-Know-Who, Severus Snape watching and not stopping her death - it made her blood boil. Her glare, full of fury and flames, fell upon him; she’d half a mind to stand up now and bash her own mug into his head, but for once, thought better of it. Besides, she’d feel much better watching her friend get her vengeance and do it herself. “Soon as my shiv’s done,” she grated it a bit more ferociously now, “It’s all yours to do whatever you please with it.”

     Harassing Rosmerta with Charity again felt miles away, though she nodded glumly in agreement. “Plan on it.” There was something to look forward to, at least. She’d yet to come across something to look forward to.      “No; just got here yesterday, actually. Don’t know much more about this place than you, really. Just about the mugs, I s’pose - you’ll have to bother someone for one, if only to defend yourself with.”

    Doris clutched her friend’s hand fervently, squeezing it gently in between both of hers. “It’s not the same already. People are different.” The Unspeakables had even been a bit coarse with her right as she’d come to - a little human sympathy would have been appreciated. “Isn’t right, you know? Keeping us all locked up. I’ve tried to figure out plans to get out, but they’ve got us in here good.”

What a relief it was that Doris had already arrived before her. Whilst there were faces Charity recognised amongst those already in holding, having Doris here was the link she needed to her previous life - to who she had been before she had crossed the veil. It was grounding, even if that was a word that would typically be used to describe the other woman’s presence. “Good. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She grinned. At least there was no Stubby Boardman..... yet. Who’s to say what happened to him.

That was the Doris Charity knew and loved. Whilst Charity would love nothing more than to see Severus Snape pay for what he had done - or hadn’t done, that was more appropriate - a mere shiv was far too good for him. If only she still had her magic. “Whilst I do appreciate the offer, I think the shiv would be too good for him. What he needs is a festering cell in Azkaban and several dates with a Dementor.” What even had become of Azkaban? She would have to find out somehow - perhaps an unspeakable would be able to fill her in.

“Let’s just make sure we don’t end up in the Hog’s Head - chances are we’ll probably find Hagrid doing a dodgy deal for some sort of creature in there.” Charity’s head shook. The last thing they needed was to be caught up in conversation with the half-giant. As well meaning as he was, he had an awful habit of putting his foot in has mouth. With their strange new status, it was asking for trouble. “I’m sure that Rosmerta missed you.”

Only a day apart? And yet Doris had seemed to have settled. She cast another glance around the room. Well... she supposed that there wasn’t much to settle in to. “Right. Guess I’ll ask one of the unspeakables next time I see one.” Although when that would be she couldn’t rightly say. 

“Charity,” he began gravely. “I’m afraid it’s only Minerva I care about, and you will never once set eyes on my son.” He broke into a smile then, not a very big one, but he felt as if it were the first genuine one he had managed since being here. Leave it to Charity. 

“Hm,” he nodded in acknowledgement as he considered her predicament. “Perhaps, but at least you won’t be living with your mother-in-law,” he teased with a wink thrown over his mug. “Might I suggest taking some of the free time to do a bit of exploration? You’d be surprised how much you probably missed even in seven years of going to school there.” There’s a hint of his old mischief in his eyes then, knowing full well that most students typically only find a couple of the castle’s secrets in their time there. Then most students didn’t spend years searching out every one for the very purpose of mapping them out. Even now he’s not entirely certain the Maruaders found them all, especially not after hearing about the Chamber of Secrets, but it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. 

Remus felt himself settling in as he spoke with Charity, his friend feeling more like a proper cup of tea than the one he actually held in his hands. However as he finally allowed himself to relax, and his eyes roamed around the room, they landed on a familiar head of red hair that knocked the breath from him in a way he knew he was not likely to soon recover from. “Excuse me Charity, I just saw– I’ll speak to you again soon.” A distracted hand landed on the woman’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before he wandered off, like a moth drawn to the flame of one Lily Potter.

Remus gave a tight smile and a nod at the mention of Dora. Everyone had liked them. It was impossible not to. He wasn’t entirely certain he would have gotten through those last two years without her. After Sirius died it was Dora that had kept him in the fight. Not just the war, but life. Reminded him of why he even bothered. He owed her everything.

“I can only hope…” He paused for a moment taking a breath. He considered for a moment, telling Charity how he felt. About the guilt that rested on his shoulders for being the one that had come back when there were still so many that were far more deserving. But he wasn’t sure if it was something that Charity could really understand, and it was a dangerous topic if he wanted to keep himself from breaking. 

He let the subject drop, opting for the much safer realms of those that were still living and academics. Academics had always been an easy escape for him. Something he could bury himself into to hide from the things he didn’t want to deal with. “Of course you get to meet him,” he confirmed with a gentle laugh. “I just assumed it was a given.”

He brought his mug to his lips and sipped, before giving a nod. “Will be strange to be back and not working, won’t it?” A small pause. “I understand why they don’t want us working yet,” he wouldn’t mention aloud their potential instability of existence, “but it’s not like it’s just a house, is it?”

“I hope so too. All you can do is keep an eye on the Prophet until you see Tonks’ and her dad’s names listed. Hopefully you won’y have to wait long until they’re printed.” It seemed to Charity as if they were returning at random - there was no sort of logical pattern or order that she could work out. But she supposed that was the Unspeakables’ job and not hers. She thought that having his wife and her father back could do a world of good for her friend. She couldn’t even begin to fathom how hard it would be to not have the person you loved when you needed them the most.

An eyebrow raised, though a smile teased at the corners of her mouth. “It wasn’t. I’m afraid that you’ll have to spell it out for me. You’ve got so specifically say ‘Charity, I’ll introduce you to Teddy’ or I’ll think it’s just Minerva you care about.” She laughed. At least there was plenty to entertain a child a Hogwarts. Although perhaps they would have to keep an eye out for Peeves.

“Zonko’s started carrying it,” Lucius sighed, at the very least owing her an answer to the question. Regulus was one thing - a face from the past that had nearly been buried from everything that went on during the second war. A welcomed addition at that, since Narcissa being contacted had the two expecting the news that Bellatrix had come back. Seeing Charity rehashed the feeling of fear he thought he had gotten a hold of.

Time went on since the battle of Hogwarts and Charity had become one of the faces he had almost forgotten. Almost. The woman had been killed by his wand. Not his doing, but he could vividly recall the thud her death had caused and taking pleasure in lighting the table on fire when it came to redecorating the manor.

“Too long,” Lucius exhaled, treading carefully with his next set of words. “I presume you must be well, everything considered.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, a grimace tugging at her mouth. “The joke shop has started carrying it? Mmm, think I’d rather take my luck with the mystery Honeydukes flavours.” Even if it wasn’t Zonko’s and was one of the other shops in the village, she would hardly trust a recommendation that came from the mouth of Lucius Malfoy. Nothing would ever persuade her to trust the man.

Eyes narrowing, Charity mulled over his reply. “Personally I’d say that it hasn’t been long enough, Malfoy.” Had he even gone to Azkaban? She could hardly imagine a world in which he would have served a short sentence for the crimes he had committed. No doubt he greased several palms with the endless Malfoy fortune to keep himself out among the people. This was the world that she had been forced back into with no choice and little explanation? It was in moments such as these where Charity wasn’t entirely certain that she hadn’t woken up in hell. 

“Everything considered?” A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Yes, I’m incredibly well despite what happened under your care.” Physically, at least. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell to heavily on those final weeks of her life beyond a dispassionate recollection to those who asked. She knew that she would break if she did, and there were more important things beyond herself that she had to focus on. 

Things had been so much easier when he’d thought he would never live to see his secret role revealed. When he’d never had to consider the possibilty of being faced with the people he had let die. He wasn’t emotionally ready for seeing his own guilt vindicated instead of absolved.  “That is- unfair, Charity.”

For all his excellent wordplay and lies and deceit when faced with the Dark Lord, she had read him like an open book. One with pictures and captions and simple words. He felt the truth of her words as she said them, and the metaphorical chains weighing heavy on his soul, but he still scoffed, looking away from her. 

Because he’d apologised to people before, begged them to forgive him. He thought back. Lily, that had been…now that he thought about it, that had been like this. Asking her not to let him be better, but to ignore what he’d done and the path he had started down. The Headmaster…who had looked at him with such disgust. Deserved, he now felt, but Dumbledore had been a master at using his emotions and grief against him. The Dark Lord had been easier to appease. A little debasement, a little fear and he’d walked back into the fold, status elevated. 

But Charity wasn’t doing this to manipulate him, or to hurt him for hurting him’s sake. She was- 

He nearly reached out for her arm, hand twitching and lifting from his leg, but stopped himself. He had dug himself a hole and until he could climb out of it, he would do better not to dig deeper. 

He scowled at his hand from her cot, and stood as well. Snape did not yet fully understand her. Despite his intentions, he had not listened, he had simply heard. And when it had been what that damaged part of him expected, he had accepted it on his terms, not hers. But the words had made their way in, and once he stopped grinding his jaw and furrowing his brow perhaps he’d be able to engage with them. 

He jerked his head in an approximation of a polite bow, or a dismissal, it was hard to tell. “I will leave you be then. “ How hard would that be when they were both trapped in the castle? He’d convince Minerva to give him his old rooms, or something far from her at least.  

The second hand robes didn’t have the same billow to them but they still flapped a little as he marched away.

WHERE:  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland. WHEN:  6th August, 2002. STATUS: closed / @ofceridwen

Hogwarts, in all the years he'd known her, had never quite managed to lose her majesty.

Fabian was early and he supposed it was just a little bit tragic, to be perched upon the steps leading up to the grand oak doors and staring out at the grounds, unable (unwilling) to step inside. An unlit cigarette caught between his fingers as he couldn't bring himself to pull out his box of matches to light it. There was something about sitting in the shadow of that grand old building and feeling so desperately cut off from it and everything he'd been taught there, that made the thought of doing things the muggle way taste that much more bitter.

Charity had seemed far more at ease with the loss of her magic than Fabian ever could be. It was lucky, he supposed, that he was meeting her there, that there was business to attend to. He needed today to feel useful again, like everything he was hadn't been left behind in the grave. Magic didn't seem to hold the same value in Charity's eyes as it did in others.

Which, well, that was quite enough moping for one morning.

Determinedly he stood, glancing one more time out at the grounds, the gleam of morning summer sun off the lake and the dark shadows of the forest beyond, and turned back to the doors. With conviction he pushed his way through the great doors, head tilting back to take in the grand vaulted ceilings and the gleaming marble of the grand staircase, the eyes of portraits that turned to appraise him. "Vive la résistance," he sighed aloud to the empty, echoing entranceway before moving to the Grand Staircase (a warning of, don't you move on me, muttered to the marble) and beginning his upward climb.

Charity was finally beginning to settle in to life at the castle. Beyond McGonagall, Filch, Pomfrey, Pince, and Hagrid, there were several other staff members that seemingly had a permanent residence at the castle, and handful of the other staff had begun to trickle back ahead of the start of the upcoming school year. It was weird being back. Despite Minerva’s instance that she was welcome, the staff room felt off-limits to her now she was no longer teaching, and most of her meals were taken in her room instead of in the Great Hall.

The guest rooms she had been given were roomy, and it seemed as if the elves had put the belongings she had left at Hogwarts into storage, as they had already filled the room upon her arrival. That was a comfort at least. Much of he time was split between the library and her rooms, and she had developed a fondness for the window seat in her rooms, the window looking out over the Black Lake.

It was on her way to the library when she spotted him on the stairs. “Fabian!” She called, a grin forming on her face as she hurried down the stone steps to meet him. “Do you bring news of the outside world?” She laughed softly. Her trip a few days prior had been one of her few trips outside the gates that wasn’t for a meeting of the support group, and the fact that she had run into Lucius Malfoy had rather ruined the trip. “Really though, it’s good to see you. How have things been? I saw George the other day.”

“Weird, isn’t it? Being in the castle when it’s quiet like this.” She couldn’t help the shudder. The place had taken on an eerie quality, only exacerbated by the scars it still bore from the final battle. “I never liked staying here over the holidays, always creeped me out.”

who: @ofceridwen​ where: ted & andromeda’s cottage  when: 14 August, 2002

Andromeda had almost forgotten what it was like to have a house that was full. Over the years since her husband and her daughter’s death, she had grown used to the empty bed. She’d grown used to the silence. Of course, as Teddy got older that silence was short lived. She spent most of her days chasing after a toddler who reminded her a bit too much of his mother. It helped her get through the bad days. Now, Remus was living under her roof again. Something that she never expected. Ted found his way into her bed most nights despite the Ministry’s instructions. Her house was full again and Andromeda didn’t quite know what to do with it. 

The brunette had the day off of work, so she spent most of her time in the kitchen with the groceries. Ted had attempted earlier in the day and the Floo had taken him to the Burrow instead. Andromeda knew that he was upset about the incident and she wondered if it was a new side effect of his status. She stirred the soup that she had simmering on the stove, a quirked brow when she heard the Floo go off unexpectedly. 

“Ted?” She called, questioning whom exactly it was as she wasn’t expecting anyone. “Did the Floo arse up again?” Andromeda left the soup to go investigate, finding that the Floo must have messed up again. “Hi,” she greeted Charity with a guarded, but warm smile. “Floo’s been a mess lately, huh?” 

Due to meet her mother later that evening for dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, Charity figured that there was little harm in heading there early to have a mooch about the shops in Diagon Alley. It beat staring at the wall in her rooms at Hogwarts at the very least. She made her way down to Hogsmeade, a denim jacket slung over the crook of her arm in anticipation of the chill the evening would no doubtably bring. It was a pleasant enough afternoon, a cool breeze brining a welcome respite from the balmy summer heat.

Making her way into the Three Broomsticks, Charity offered a quick hello to Madam Rosmerta before crossing to the fireplace. The randomness of the floo was not something she enjoyed, and Charity eagerly awaited the day that a solution would be found. Regularly ending up in the wrong place was far from entertaining, and she already had a few uncomfortable encounters under her belt. Dropping a handful of floo powder into the fire, she crossed her fingers as she called out, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

002 | A lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

003 | A secret wish or desire (also asked by @firebloomcd)

“About a year later.” He confirmed, voice flat, though his hand did tug at the collar to stroke across the side of his throat, as though the robes had somehow irritated his skin. “I-” He settled back into pressing everything down, the guilt and loss and even the frustration, “We were and I wish I had helped.” I would like to be your friend again went unsaid.

“It wasn’t real. It was only to get close enough to destroy the Dark Lord.” He spat, hating that he’d bought into the lies and promises as a boy, and still could not escape them as a man. But she had a fair point. Maybe he could have done something, floated the idea that he wanted her, allowed the Dark Lord to see some of those stolen cigarettes and the odd half-crush he’d developed on her, so desperate as to see any friendship or sign of care as something more than it was. But would that have worked? And would he have been able to think of it at the time? “I cared and do care Charity. Why do you think I am here pleasing for your forgiveness? Would you prefer me to grovel?” The frustration had slipped out again and he frowned, taking a steadying breath. 

Without Occlumency, his naturally acquired skill for compartmentalisation only went so far.  That night in 1997 when he’d fled across the Hogwarts grounds, dragging Draco and trying to kite Rowle and the Carrows, he’d only allowed one thought into his head: that everyone would hate him, and that everyone would be right to. But even before that, she hadn’t listened to the truths whispered about him. She had taken him at a blank slate, listened to him complain about students and bureaucracy and syllabus changes, and thought him worthy of conversation and kindness. He hated himself for it. 

His hands gripped the tops of his thighs tightly, if he kept them there his thumbs would leave bruises. “ Perhaps you should have listened to them. You would have spared yourself considerable distress.” It would still have hurt him to see another death he couldn’t prevent, but maybe it wouldn’t have hurt quite as sharply.

There was a part of Charity - the part that was nostalgic for their friendship - felt saddened by the fact that he had met his end at a relatively young age, but that part was quickly smothered. She liked to think that she was a forgiving soul, but even she had her limits. Forsaking a friend was not something she could see herself forgiving any time soon. Especially when she was the forsaken friend in question. “Funny thing about wishes.... they’re not real.”

“It wasn’t real, was it? So how does that work when you were there. I mean, that was pretty real. Sorry, I would ask you to walk me through it because I’m clearly not smart enough to understand the nuance, but to be honest I don’t really care? You were there and that’s plenty damning for me.” She tapped at her chin with an index finger, as if in thought. Why did she think he was doing this? “I think,” she began, “that you’re trying to alleviate your guilt. You want me to forgive you, tell you it’s fine and that we can be friends again. I’m not going to absolve you of your sins, Severus. They’re something you’re gonna have to live with. Everything you’ve done, all the people who’s deaths you could have stopped, they’re gonna follow you. You’ve read A Christmas Carol, yeah? Jacob Marley with all the chains... that’s you, mate.” 

In a moment Charity was up on her feet, smoothing the fabric of her robes. “Perhaps I should have listened to them. Would have saved me plenty of heartbreak in the end. But I didn’t, and that isn’t something that I can change. I have to live with the choice I made, and you have to live with yours.” She was drained, and wanted to get as much distance between herself and Severus as possible given the circumstances with.

George had come to the excruciatingly painful conclusion that the annoyingly specific part to a bicycle his father was fixing up and claimed he needed was indeed not available in Hogsmeade like he promised and George should have just followed his gut and gone to Diagon Alley. Or better yet, not gone anywhere at all. Even if this were the truth, as George believed it was shaping up to be as he left his fourth store bottom-bracketless, at least it gave him something to do that involved not staring at the walls of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. As the heat of the summer hit the back of his neck, he was coming to the conclusion that his father was well aware of this before he even sent him on this fruitless journey.

He hadn’t visited Hogsmeade in a couple of years, and never without it being flooded with students. The youthful energy seemed drained and replaced with the scorching summer sun until students arrived. And yet as he wiped the back of his neck, he was flooded with memories in Zonko’s (which still looked to be boarded up) or the passageway to Honeyduke’s.

A voice shot him back to reality as he turned around to see a surprisingly familiar face. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to properly greet someone who had Returned, and something close to guilt washed over George as he remembered how much of a monster himself and Fred acted in Charity’s classes. He actually often enjoyed the subject matter, and George was always the first to report to his dad about what he was “learning” in her classes, but he didn’t make it easy for her, that was for sure.

He greeted his old professor with a polite nod and a wave as he looked around at the village that felt equal parts familiar and like brand new territory. He gave her a light smile and replied, “Are you not a fan of Honeydukes? I have to admit that feels a bit blasphemous, professor.” Is that how you should refer to an ex-teacher after you don’t successfully graduate and they come back from the dead?

“Mister Weasley,” Charity smiled, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She had heard about what had happened to Fred during the final battle, and couldn’t imagine what the years since would have been like for the boy... well, he was a young man now. Hopefully Fabian would be able to provide some comfort to his nephew, she mused. After all, who else would truly be able to understand what losing a twin was like? “Is that too formal? Shall I call you George instead?”

She laughed softly. “No, nothing against Honeyduke’s, but there’s a time and a place for mystery ice cream flavours, you know? I just want a few scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough.” What she really wanted in that moment was a tub of Benny and Jerry’s, but she would hardly be able to pick that up in a wixen village. “I am surprised that Fortescue’s never opened a branch here, surely they’d make bank from the students.” Charity mused, although she doubted that George particularly wanted to discuss the fineries of the presence or lack thereof of ice cream parlours in Hogsmeade.

“I’m not your teacher anymore, there’s no need to call me professor. In fact, I’m no one’s teacher.” Would she even want to return to teaching now, should the opportunity arise? Charity wasn’t so sure of that. She wasn’t the person she used to be, and the thought of cloistering herself away in the castle was less than appealing these days. “You can call me Charity, everyone else does. Believe me, I know it’s weird at first. Took me weeks before I could call the rest of the staff by their first names when I started teaching. Well, except for Dumbledore... never could call him by his first name.” Not that it had ever bothered her. She had always tried to keep her interaction with the headmaster to a minimum.

Charity swore softly, blinking as the green marble tile of the ministry atrium came into focus as the green flames died down. “This isn’t the Leaky Cauldron.” She grumbled, dusting the floo powder from her shoulders. Just where she wanted to be.... at the source of such frustration for the Returned. Well, at least she wasn’t super far off from where she wanted to go, nor had she ended up in the home of some poor, unsuspecting wix. On second thoughts that may have actually been preferable to being at the ministry. The last thing she needed was to be spotted by an Unspeakable. 

Hearing the roar of the floo, she stumbled forward quickly before she ended up flattened by whoever was coming through behind her. “Hey, careful when you come out-” She began as she turned to face the newcomer, rapidly stopping at the sight of a somewhat familiar face. “It’s not Wednesday, is it?” If Charity was completely honest with herself, time didn’t hold much meaning these days, nor was she always certain of the date. She assumed that was just something that happened when you became a card carrying member of the unemployed undead. It wasn’t as if she had responsibilities that needed her to keep track of things.

And perhaps Charity was right, he should take advantage of the opportunity to get to know his family now instead of getting stuck on what lay behind. He should focus on the time he’d been gifted, regardless of what pricetag that gift would certainly carry with it, but the image of George’s face in the moments after he’d asked after Fred wouldn’t soon leave his head. He couldn’t shake the growing feeling that a mistake had been made and that his time, however long it lasted, came at the expense of somebody else’s. “I would like that,” he offered after a long moment, blinking away the morbid turn of his thoughts in favour of the thought of having his magic back and turning to grin as he added, “Perhaps we can trade. I know how much you’d like to see Snape get punched.”

If the prospect of swapping memories like they were a hot commodity wasn’t as sad as it felt, then Fabian certainly could understand just how frustrating it was that people responsible for all of this — for their deaths, for the war —might simply get away with their crimes and be allowed to move on, to live in a way that so many had been denied. The Dementor’s Kiss may have seemed a terrible fate, once upon a time, but he found himself quietly agreeing that perhaps it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

“Perhaps proper trials should be on our list of demands,” he replied, considering the faces who had popped up in that holding room carefully for prospects to turn to. How many of them would simply be grateful to be returned to their families? How many wouldn’t want to cause a fuss? They couldn’t be the power of the people without the people to power them. “It’s not all rocks up here,” he replied with a concise knock on the side of his head, snorting at the prospect of the support group that had been proposed, “Perhaps we can recruit from the support group. I’m sure the Ministry would love that.”

Many people had said in his life that Fabian was the kind of person who couldn’t help but go looking for trouble, but in his experience trouble was usually right about where the fun started. He shook Charity’s hand firmly, like he could will an Unbreakable Vow into being, and grinned wide in agreement, eyebrows inching upward as he replied, “You know, I had you in mind for our fearless leader, but every leader needs a deputy.” 

Rising to his feet he offered a hand to help her up and grimaced at the sight of the crowds through the fountain, bracing himself for what he knew had to come. “I suppose we wouldn’t make it very far if we were to try and make a run for it, would we?” he offered after a long moment of staring, resisting the urge to rub again at the bridge of his nose before squaring his shoulders. “Right. Well. I’ll come visit you at Hogwarts, when I can, yeah? We can figure out how to start recruitment,” glancing dubiously in both directions and catching sight of the reporter who’d been shuffling closer to their hideaway for the last few minutes he winked in Charity’s direction and added a cheerful, “Vive la résistance,” before circling the fountain and heading, grimly, for the highest concentration of red in the crowd.

Perhaps it was finally time to go home.

“A trade?” Her eyes lit up, a slow smile spreading on her face. Oh, that was far too good an offer to refuse. “It’s all I’ve dreamt of since I returned, truly. I can hardly say no that.” She nodded resolutely. “I promise that I’ll only give you the very finest memories of your family that I have knocking about up here.” With a finger she lightly tapped at her temple. Although when - or if - such a trade would be possible she couldn’t say. And if it was never possible? Well, her dad always said that it was the thought that counted.

That was a good idea. “A fair trial...” Charity echoed, humming in thought. It would certainly mean that Death Eaters would have to finally face the crimes they had committed head on, and with each face that joined the Returned there was another witness for the prosecution. Surely the evidence would be damning; she could see any reason for the Death Eaters to be let off with little more than a slap on the wrist. The tides were turning, or she assumed they were, there was still much about the world that she needed to discover. But it was a tangible goal for them to work towards - a desperately needed purpose.

“It’s not? Well I’ll be damned. I think we’ve got tomorrow’s headline, right there.” She laughed, the sound echoing slightly off the tiles. If there was an edge of hysteria to it, well, who could blame her with the situation she had found herself in? “I mean, it’s the one time we’d all be together. But we would have to be subtle.” They would have to find a way of not rousing suspicion. Although Charity assumed that would be tricky for Fabian, given what he had gotten into whilst still in holding.

“Me?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise. That had not been something she had anticipated when she had found herself going down this road. “Really, you think that? I thought you would have wanted to lead things.” Did she have it in her? She wasn’t so sure. But Fabian was the war hero - she had only been a teacher, albeit it an outspoken one. “We can discuss leadership later, though, yeah? Think we need a couple more people on board first.”

With a muttered thanks Charity took Fabian’s hand, hoisting herself up from the fountain. “No,” she sighed softly, her gaze following Fabian’s to the opposite side of the fountain, “that would be us asking to get put back in holding.” That was hardly appealing. Charity had been rather looking forward to have rooms to herself once more. “I would say to send an owl ahead to let me know you’re coming, but don’t worry about it. Just turn up, I’m probably gonna be there most of the time.” She had little better to do, after all. “Liberté, égalité, fraternité.” Charity replied before heading in the direction of where she had left Minerva. 

As Shakespeare once wrote; Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

Remus

Friend, kind, worthy, great company

Hermione