into the fade we fall

Marlene knew already that the Death Eater was dead. Tilden had seen the thestral, and that all the proof that she required. However, she could see he was visibly shaken, and had no heart to deny him that. So she carefully leaned over the body, and removed the mask. Marlene was not sure what she had expected. Perhaps a disfigured monster. But the face beneath it was only human. Painfully human. The woman’s eyes were close, a trail of blood dripping from the right corner of her mouth. Already the paleness of death had taken over her features. Her face rang no bells in Marlene’s mind. Nothing to indicate who she might have been. Nothing but the cloak she wore, the mask she hid behind and the tattoo she found when she took her arm and rolled her sleeve up to search for her pulse. Voldemort’s mark. A mark of hatred. 

But no pulse. She looked up at Tilden and shook her head with a faint grimace, before standing up and taking a step back. She knew what to do. Stepping into her Hit Witch shoes, she took on the responsibility of dealing with the after effects of this nasty encounter.

“I’ll deal with it” she assured him “I’ll call it in with Law Enforcement, say I acted alone in self defense. I’ll figure it out”. She had a legal explanation to be there, she was part of Law Enforcement. But Tilden was not, and it would have been unwise, to say the least, to mention they were there on business for a vigilante kind of group dedicated to fighting Death Eaters. Now, she’d rather keep Tilden out of the upcoming hurricane. “It’s all right, Tilden, Mr. Moody has a procedure designed for these kind of situations when the Order is involved”.

She conjured her patronus, and a silver raccoon emerged from the end of her wand, tracing a playful arch in the air before dutifully stoping in front of her. When Marlene opened her mouth to speak, the patronus mirrored her voice, all though with a slight echo.

“This is Hit Witch Marlene McKinnon, reporting from Inverness-shire in Scotland. I responded to an anonymous call regarding abnormal activity near pasture fields. Upon arriving at the scene I discovered an estimated amount fo 5 hostiles in masks threatening a herd of thestrals. Upon my intervention, most of the hostiles escaped after a brief fire exchange which resulted in fatal casualty. I require forensic assistance to the exact location of origin of this patronus charm” she informe “This is a code 15152016. Code name - Vana”.

The raccoon twirled once in the air and then dashed off into the sky in a jet of silver mist, disappearing between the clouds. Marlene turned to Tilden.

“That last code ensures that the message reaches Mr. Moody first. He’ll make sure to keep the Order’s involvement out of this” she looked at Tilden up and down and sighed “You should go home, Tilds. My presence here can be explained, but we could hardly justify yours, unless you happen to have cottage anywhere nearby” she pointed out softly “Go home, change clothes, take a warm bath. These things take one step at the time, there’s nothing else to be done about it”.

Marlene pulled the Death Eater’s mask away, revealing -- to Tilden’s surprise -- the face of a woman. He supposed it was a little silly to assume all of You-Know-Who’s followers were men, but he had. The witch looked to be maybe a decade or so older than Marlene and himself, though it was hard to really tell. Her face was already grey and slack in death. Tilden drew in a shuddering breath and looked away. It wasn’t a face he recognized. He wondered if she had a family. If they knew the horrible things she had been caught up in. Had done. If they believed the same cruel opinions she had. If they would miss her now that she was gone.

Questions he doubted he would get answers to. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to know. Maybe this was one of those cases where his shabby memory was for the best. Maybe it would be better to not remember.

A spark of silver out of the corner of his eye drew Tilden out of these miserable thoughts. He looked up to see Marlene’s patronus, a raccoon, swirl through the air before settling intangibly in the grass in front of her. Marlene spoke to it, quickly but clearly. Witnessing her professionalism, Tilden was reminded sharply that this was part of Marlene’s job. A risk that she had known about and probably dealt with before. 

As Marlene relayed her message to the patronus, Tilden wandered a few metres away and sat down in the grass. He stared across the glen at the treeline, but there was no more sign of the thestrals. He was glad that they were safe, at least. That was something. A silver lining he could cling to.

The patronus passed through Tilden’s line of sight again, darting upward into the sky before vanishing from view, its shimmering form lost in the sunlight. Marlene was speaking directly to him again and Tilden looked over at her. She looked solemn, a far cry from the fiery duellist that he’d witnessed only minutes earlier. Her voice was kind and Tilden found himself nodding. He supposed his presence here would raise a lot of questions about what a potioneer from Hogsmeade was doing in the middle of nowhere, fighting Death Eaters alongside a trained Hitwitch.

He hesitated to leave Marlene here alone, however. “Are you sure?” he asked, getting back to his feet. He risked a glance in the direction of the body under the tree, but hastily looked away again. He wanted to be anywhere but here. “If… if you’re sure.” He hoped that he was being reasonable and smart and not just a coward. He bit his lip, staring down at his feet. “Maybe… will you swing by my house when you’re able to? I’ve been trying to… to write things down so I don’t… you know…” Forget. Not that it stopped him from losing the memories. But at least he wouldn’t be unaware of what had happened. “But it would be, uh, good if you could check to make sure that I do, before…”

Marlene took in a deep breath and pulled her unkept blonde hair into a messy bun, driving her wand through it to keep it in place, and whipping the dirt from her jeans. Was she slightly disappointed with the outcome of the whole situation? She could not lie to herself and say no. It would’ve been amazing to catch one of the bastards and lock him up. It would have been a nice boost of confidence for the Order, for Law Enforcement, and frankly, to herself. A possible source of helpful information so that they wouldn’t have to go around beating the bush as usual. Taking one step forwards for a change, instead of the constant two steps back. But it just never seemed to end.

“Same as you, couple of bumps and bruises. And I think I bit my lip” her tongue darted out, and she could taste a faint trace of blood, but not enough to bother her. She flashed a smile at her friend “ Yeah well, when someone I love gets hurt, I get seriously involved. I’ll survive. I can’t believe the fuckers got away, but at least we saved the thestrals” she looked around. She could just distinguish their forms between the trees “They’re hiding. They’ll probably take off once we leave. They’re super shy creatures. But I didn’t see any of them get seriously hurt so–Tilds?”

She jumped in surprise when she detected the panic in her friend’s voice. Concerned, she followed him to the fallen tree. “What is it?” she asked, moving to stand besides him. She followed his gaze and that was when she saw the black cloak.

She felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach and suddenly she understood.

“You caught a glimpse of the thestrals, didn’t you?” she asked softly “Oh, Tilds” she rested a hand on her shoulder, wanting to wrap her arms around him but wanting to make sure before that was what he needed. By now, Marlene was sadly used to the implications of seeing Thestrals. Death was a risk that came with her job, and unfortunately she had had to see it in the face rather early on in her carrreer. But Tilden? Tilden should have nothing to do with it. This was purely the result of war. “It’s never easy” she carried on “And it never leaves. But you need to understand, first and foremost…It’s not your fault”.

Tilden stared down at the body, half-hidden beneath the branches of the felled tree. There was no sign of movement, no sounds or struggle. No signs of life. “We should… we should check,” he said. “Make-- make sure.” Maybe he was just unconscious. 

But even as the words left Tilden’s mouth and the thought crossed his mind, he knew that hope was pointless. He’d seen the Thestrals in the trees and that could only mean one thing. He’d seen death. The Death Eater beneath the tree was dead. Tilden was faintly aware of Marlene moving to stand beside him, a hand laid on his shoulder and her words gentle. Yet it was difficult to pull his attention away from the body. Had he died quickly? Maybe even instantly, clubbed over the head by a branch as the tree went down? Or had it been slower? Had he struggled, in pain and fear, as the rest of them traded hexes and insults? That thought made his chest hurt. The Death Eater hadn’t been a good person. Even his final acts had been ones of violence and cruelty. But he was still a person and now he was dead. Tilden wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel, but what he did feel was sad.

“I probably won’t remember in the morning anyway,” he said dully. The realization of that made the tightness in his chest increase and he shook his head distractedly. “Whatever. Should we… should we… erm… What should we do with the… the body?” 

They couldn’t just leave it there. Even if he was a Death Eater, whoever he was, it felt wrong to just leave his body there. Should they take it back to the Order? To the Ministry? Would they get in trouble for killing him? The pain in his chest was now in his stomach, twisting it unhappily. He knew that he hadn’t cast the spell that had felled the tree and he knew that Marlene hadn’t been at fault -- she’d been acting in self-defence and the heat of a battle -- but he couldn’t help feeling guilty. Someone who had been alive now wasn’t and it was, at least in part, because of him.

Tilden’s disillusionment charm had worn off. Marlene’s had vanished too pretty much the moment she’d charged against the Death Eaters. But she refused to grant them the advantage just because they were now visible. That dirty prick was not going to get his ugly wand or greasy hands nowhere near either Tilden nor the thestrals. Not if she had a say in it. And as usual, Marlene always had something to say, even when no one had asked for it.

“I’m going to make sure they build a special ward in Azkaban just for sick people like you, abusing of innocent creatures who have done you now harm. Who wish only to live in peace” she hissed menacingly in the Death Eater’s ear, as he tossed and turned like a mechanic bull. She had a flash of a memory of riding one when she was little. She’d fallen off the damn thing and it had hit her on the back of the head, knocking her unconscious and giving her a nasty cut. She had no intention neither of falling or losing consciousness now. 

For some reason, she found it hysterical when the leader of the Death Eaters tried to free they’re mate from her grasp, but only managed to fire a few hexes that the other Death Eater was forced to avoid rather than risk being hit by them too. The simply stupidity of it all seemed pulled out straight out of a sitcom. These. These were the moments when she remembered that behind those cruel masks, there were people. Actual people. Clumsy, stupid, impulsive, brave, shrewd. The thought was on one side comforting, since it reminded you that in the end, what you were fighting against was no more inmortal than you were. On the other side, it was enough to send chills down her spine at the idea that a human being could become so corrupted.

She wanted to subdue that Death Eater. Take him into custody. Finally taste a good slice of victory after so much defeat. But as the other Death Eater kept firing hexes at them, she realized with a tight, bitter not that it would not be possible. She’d have to let her prey go, or risk getting herself killed. And she was of little use dead. Certainly wouldn’t be taking anyone in custody if that happened.

“Pity” she sighed, still speaking in the Death Eater’s ear “I was looking forward to seeing your pretty face. I bet black and white striped would’ve looked amazing on you”.

With those last taunting words, she jumped from the Dark Lord’s follower’s back, using the momentum to push them forward against their teammates, causing them all to topple on top of the other, giving enough time for her to chase off the last few remaining thestrals, and motion to Tilden to make a run for it. But apparently, it wouldn’t be that necessary. 

The Death Eaters, still only half standing, half laying all on top of each other like a grotesque black insect, disapparated, leaving only her and Tilden in the glade, which suddenly grew very silent as the last echoes of the thestrals’ hooves faded into the distance.

Marlene took in a deep breath and pushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead “Are you hurt, Tilds?” she asked her friend.

Not wanting to make the same mistake as the Death Eater and risk hitting his own friend with his spells, Tilden dared not try to aim at the wizard with whom Marlene was currently struggling. She was handling things pretty well on her own, anyway. Instead, he focused on the other black-robed figures, hoping to at least keep them distracted from attacking her. The two who weren’t burdened with a furious blonde on their backs were hard to hit, though, as they dodged nimbly about in the grass. The thestrals, Tilden could only assume, had long since made their escape. That was one good thing, at least. 

One of the Death Eaters turned toward Tilden with an angry shout and he had to throw himself out of the way just in time to avoid the searing flash of green light that issued from the man’s wand. The Killing curse. He’d just narrowly avoided death. Tilden’s heart hammered in his chest.

Don’t think about it! You can panic about that later! He steeled himself and sent a jinx back at the man. It was a Stinger and a nasty little spell if it hit its mark, but it certainly felt like nothing in comparison to what the Death Eater had sent his way. Still, it was well-aimed and a howl of pain and fury issued from behind the Death Eater’s mask. The wizard stumbled back, clutching at his shoulder where the jinx had hit. To compound his misfortune, the Death Eater that Marlene had been wrestling came staggering right into him and the two went down in a tangle of black robes and waving limbs. They even took out the third remaining Death Eater in all their struggling. Tilden couldn’t help but laugh, though the absurd humour was undermined a moment later when the Death Eaters managed to Disapparate. So much for taking them prisoner.

“Yeah… uh… no, I’m alright,” he said a few moments later, when Marlene asked if he was okay. He gave himself a slightly dazed once-over and was relieved to see that he did indeed seem to be largely unharmed. “Couple of bumps and bruises, but nothing serious. What about you? You really threw yourself into things! None of them hurt you, did they?” He peered over at his friend with a lot more intensity than he’d given himself. Now that the enemies were gone, relief was starting to wash over him, making him feel a little light-headed. He sat back on his haunches in the grass and dragged a hand through his hair. “Are the thestrals all okay? Are they even still around?” He swept his eyes over the glen, as if he might somehow catch sight of the creatures.

To his utter surprise, he did. He caught a glimpse of a black tail whipping out of sight into the trees. “Hey! I could see it! How--?” 

She hadn’t expected Tilden to have any answers, so his honest I don’t know wasn’t surprising. His hope that things would just… work out, though, that bad things would happen to bad people… it just didn’t work like that. The Death Eaters had been killing and hurting people for years now and the Ministry and the Order seemed totally unable to stop them. The idea that they would just get what was coming to them… It seemed far too hopeful.

Not to mention, the idea that it would just happen, that they’d pay for what they’d done in some obscure, out-of-sight way- well, that didn’t sit right with her either. She didn’t want to just assume that her mother’s killer would be brought to justice. She wanted to deal with them herself. But in the year and a half since her mother’s death, she’d never run into them again- or if she had, she’d not recognized them. They could already have been caught and tossed in Azkaban, for all she knew. That idea didn’t sit right at all.

Truthful as it may be, her thoughts were slightly unsettling, and Daisy returned her attention to her blouse, trying again to refasten the buttons. Her hands were still shaking slightly, but she managed to get a couple of buttons closed- enough to hide the unsightly scar at least. She looked back up at Tilden, trying to smile at his offer of help, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“There isn’t really a point,” she said quietly, folding her arms back over her chest. “I’ve been to a bunch of healers, but curse scars… there wasn’t much they could do about it. And I’ve tried a bunch of glamour charms, but they don’t really help- they’re meant to cover small scars, they look weird covering something this big.” A not-especially-amused laugh slipped out as she continued, “I’ve even thought about going to a Muggle healer, if you can imagine. I keep thinking about that time I got stitches as a kid, and wondering if they’d have some sort of trick for fixing scars like this. But I can’t even begin to imagine how I could explain it to a Muggle without sounding crazy.”

Daisy didn’t have the aversion to Muggle medicine that most magical folk did; in hindsight, she thought it was fascinating that they had tried to sew her leg shut, after she’d gotten a nasty cut as a kid. She couldn’t quite picture them having a solution for this, though. And even if they did have some fancy fix, it might not even stick- curses could be weird like that. She could almost picture the imaginary doctors’ bafflement as the scar they were trying to fix just kept reappearing, no matter what they did.

Daisy didn’t look comforted by his words and Tilden’s heart sank. He knew that it wasn’t fair of him to expect that he could simply say the right thing and it would make her feel better, like uttering the incantation of a Cheering charm, but that couldn’t stop him from wishing it was possible. He wanted to fix what plagued her, but some things weren’t so easily repaired. Some things just stayed broken and you had to make do the best you could with all your shattered pieces.

He felt the quiet burn of anger grow as Daisy explained what she’d already tried. This was what the unknown Death Eater had surely wanted, a scar that would never disappear. If ever Tilden thought he might be capable of great violence against someone, it would be the person who did this to her. If only either of them knew who that might be. Beneath the anger, the looming void of hopelessness threatened to rise up. Tilden tried with all his might to ignore it.

He sighed, slumping back on the sofa, as if the air escaping his lungs was deflating him. “I wish I could make things different,” he said. He hated how useless that sounded. How useless that was. What good were wishes in wartime? His hands clenched into fists. “If I ever find out who it was, I swear I’ll…”

He trailed off. He’d what? Kill him? He wanted to. But he was pretty certain he wasn’t capable of that. And would that be what Daisy would want? He’d squeezed his eyes shut, but he opened them again now to peer over at her. “I dunno,” he finished honestly. “I’d like to kick seven types of shit out of him and then feed him to the Venomous Tentacula. Being slowly digested by a plant seems like the least the bastard deserves. But…” He trailed off again.

“I’ll send message to Dumbledore and Moody directly. They’ll know what to do.” Or at least they’d be a better clearing house for information than she would be right now.

Drawing her own wand, Lily shifted Harry on her chest, shifting the edge of the wrap to shield his face from whatever would come. At least Tilden sounded confident and secure. Good. She could lean on that, rely on it to steady herself, even if some part of her knew it was shock. The same sort of shock that had her nodding back, striding with confidence towards the Cauldron, head down but eyes up, back slightly hunched, all with the intent of being a barrier for Harry, no matter what.

Twisting, with a flash of a grimace as her ankle protested the sudden turn but held, Lily stared at the jagged hole that had been the bookstore’s front display, now riddled with broken glass and wood and torn pages fluttering weakly. The screaming was louder now and instinct had her rocking forward on her feet before a snarling noise froze her to the spot.

It was hard, no, impossible for her to locate where it came from. Aside from the shouting and screams, the noise bounced around, caught between the crammed, narrow buildings as they overhung the Alley. The encompassing murmur that was quaint and comforting on a peaceful shopping trip had become cacophonous and disorienting. “A big animal,” Lily confirmed. “For that size hole.”

In a different world, that revelation would be reassuring. An animal would be a threat, dangerous as it lashed out in potential disorientation, hurt, maybe hunger, but it would be just an animal, acting on instinct and little match for a gaggle of armed humans. Compared to the alternative of malicious people aiming for destruction and death for the sake of destruction of death, a large dangerous animal would be a welcome threat.

But Lily had left normalcy behind over a decade ago, and the thought that the destructive unknown thing was an animal was even more terrifying. She’d never taken COMC, but one didn’t really need to take the class to know that the magical world had all sorts of creatures, beasts, monsters that even a pack of highly trained wix wouldn’t want to encounter in the best of circumstances.

Turning back towards the Cauldron, trying to reorder her mind to focus on getting out first and helping later, Lily didn’t get to move before there was more noise. Glass shattering, wood breaking, and then a noise she didn’t have a word for as something heavy landed and broke in front of her. Fighting the scream back down her throat, she couldn’t even process what it was that had been thrown through the upper window of Florish’s when there was a whoosh and a softer landing on the item and this at least she had some point of reference on.

Rocking back on her heels, Lily felt paralyzed as she stared at the dark colored Sphinx. It turned and looked at the pair, a smirk curling those too human lips over too sharp teeth, and the only semi-rational thought that went through Lily’s head was, “Big Kitty Bad.”

Lily thankfully still looked intent on getting to the Leaky Cauldron. Being a Gryffindor, Tilden was sure that the urge to wade into the fight was almost unbearable for her, but Harry had to take priority. Tilden would do what he could for the people in the bookshop, but Lily had to get out of here.

Easier said than done, when a massive bookshelf was thrown through another window and into the street directly in front of them. Books of all shapes and sizes scattered everywhere, some fluttering like frightened birds, loose pages tossed hither and thither. The destruction couldn’t hold Tilden’s attention for long, however. Not when the cause for it arrived seconds later, a massive lion-like beast landing with eerie grace atop the smashed shelf, its giant paws scarcely making a sound despite the distance of its leap. When it turned its face towards them, Tilden felt a trill of cold terror run through him. It had a human face, melded seamlessly onto the body of a beast. The teeth in its smile were anything but human, though. He didn’t need his years of Care of Magical Creatures to tell him that this was a sphinx. 

How did You-Know-Who get a sphinx? Tilden could barely hear his own mental question over the thundering of his heart. He supposed -- in the slightly disconnected calm that sometimes accompanies panic -- that being killed by a sphinx was at least an interesting and memorable way to go. Probably very far from painless, however. He swallowed and moved to stand in front of Lily and Harry. He raised his wand protectively, but had no idea what sort of a spell to aim at a foe like this.

“Worthy opponents,” said the sphinx. Her voice was low and rumbling, like the purr of a cat, if something so peaceful could be terrifying. Her accent was difficult to place, but her words were surprisingly clear. “You do not scream and scramble like goats before a lion. Good.”

She wasn’t pouncing on them or rending them to ribbons with the gleaming claws that tipped each of her feet, so Tilden wondered if ‘good’ for her might possibly be ‘good’ for him and Lily, too. She seemed to want a conversation for the moment at least. If it meant holding off the fight, then he was game to oblige her.

“We don’t want to fight you,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t betray how scared he was. “Whatever the Death Eaters and… and their leader promised you, they’re lying. They aren’t your friends. Please, don’t keep hurting people for them!”

The sphinx didn’t seem moved by his words. She was still smiling calmly, head cocked slightly to one side. “I do not desire a fight either, human,” she replied. “I wish for a game of wits.”

In the Garden / Tilden and Narcissa

Narcissa listened to Tilden as she watched him carefully.  There was something in his expression that made her gaze linger perhaps a second longer than it should have - or perhaps for a mere moment, she was jealous of the ease and comfort he felt at expressing himself.  For her, she had always been careful of showing emotion - Bellatrix ran hot, quick to anger, Andromeda, while more mellow, still had had a defiance streak with her parents.  Thus, it had fallen on Narcissa early to be cool, calm, and collected as much as she could, for her parents had enough to deal with.

Her mother had taught her well, to be sure, but there were moments where Narcissa wished for something simpler. Perhaps, she thought, as she looked around TIlden’s garden, that’s why this small idyllic haven seemed so appealing. It was honest in its simplicity, no purpose beneath it, just the enjoyment of a hobby.

Briefly, Narcissa found herself wondering if Draco would get to enjoy the same simplicity or if he, like her, would have to find himself wearing a variety of hats for all sorts of different people.  It worried her, to think about his future, to wonder what the world would be like in five, ten, even fifteen years.  Deep in her mind somewhere, the rhetoric of the Cause echoed emptily - that she and her husband were doing what they were to make the world better for him, but were they?  As she gazed at her dozing son, she was not so sure.

Still, when Tilden started again, Narcissa got his cue.  And he was right, she had already spent far too much time with him; she needed to get Draco home, where it was cool and shaded.  “I suppose I should take my leave as well,” she said, finishing off the glass of water Tilden had been so kind as to give her. “And really, you quite came to my rescue earlier, are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to thank you?”  She didn’t want to do anything - but society did demand its pleasantries and social cues.

Standing, Narcissa took ahold of the stroller again, just as Draco began to stir from his nap.  Likely hungry, he began to fuss slightly, but Narcissa simply handed him a pacifier with which to occupy himself until they got back to the manor.  Taking one last look around the garden, Narcissa turned back to Tilden. “Thank you for hosting me this afternoon.  I hardly meant to take you from your time.”  She offered a polite smile.  “Please, let me know if you should need anything.”

Tilden shook his head politely at Narcissa’s offer. “It’s what anyone would’ve done,” he told her. Even in these dark times, he liked to think that most people wouldn’t leave a woman and her tiny baby stranded in the middle of the street with a wedged pram. That was pretty heartless, no matter how wary everyone was of everyone else nowadays. He wasn’t about to demand anything from her in recompense for simply being a decent person.

Retrieving Narcissa’s empty glass from her and setting it on the steps to the back door, he then gestured in the direction of the path through to the front garden. Much as he found Narcissa to be good company, he knew better than to let people he didn’t know well past the wards and into his house. Especially ones with as much suspicion shrouding their name as a Malfoy. Again he felt a pang of guilt at the thought, but it wasn’t enough to make him let his guard down. He could just imagine the reactions he’d get from other members of the Order of the Phoenix if they found out he’d let the wife of one of their prime suspects into his home.

“It was really no problem,” he assured her, as he led the way back around his house. “I needed the break anyway. Now I can get back into it refreshed and all!” He was eager to get back to it, though. The sunny afternoon, though hot, was an all-too-fleeting thing in Scotland, and he didn’t want to miss out on any of it. The gentle rustling of the leaves around them as the breeze passed through them felt like his garden agreeing with him.

Back in the front garden, Tilden slowed to hold blueberry branches and the long bloomscapes of lilies out of the way of Draco’s pram. The baby had begun to fuss a little, but seemed for the most part content in his carriage. This was a relief. Tilden had so little experience with babies that the idea of dealing with one weeping in his garden was rather daunting, even if he wasn’t the one who would have to tend to him. Best to let the little tyke get home. 

“It was really nice talking to you,” he told Narcissa as he opened the gate for her. “Careful on the cobbles!”

As he waved farewell and watched Narcissa and little Draco go on their way, Tilden mused on the complexities of adult life. After a moment of this, he sighed heavily and turned back to his garden. “At least you make sense,” he told a nearby patch of phlox. “I don’t have to worry about you being good or bad or trustworthy or not. Just give you water and sun and bees and you’re happy.” Sometimes he wished people were as easy to understand as plants.

~

Date: September 5th, 1980 Time: 8:50PM Location: Hogsmeade village, Scotland @ruinousstar

It was strange how different a place could be as darkness fell. During the day, the village of Hogsmeade was cheerful and bustling, in the way small villages tend to be, all chatting locals and curious shoppers making their way to and fro under the watery late summer sunlight. The cobblestone streets were welcoming, even the looming edge of the Forbidden Forest beyond the town’s limits not managing to seem threatening. Tilden Toots knew the streets like the back of his hand, having trod them so often not just during his years at Hogwarts, but even more so in the time since graduation. He’d moved into his cottage at the edge of the village not long after finishing school, when he’d gotten his job as in-house potioneer at the local apothecary’s, and Hogsmeade had been home ever since.

Yet at night, at least when he found himself not within the safety of his warded house and garden, the feeling of home faded. In its place rose the fear, so terribly familiar by now, crawling up his spine like an insect. He hated it. He hated that this place, that was so beloved and good, had been infected by the terror of the war. That even when he was set to patrol his own bloody streets, he couldn’t escape it. 

He did his best to hide his worries behind a stoic expression as he lingered in the lamplight outside the Three Broomsticks. In the gathering dark, the pub was one of the only buildings on the high street that was still open and busy. Tilden could hear the sounds of merry conversation and music from inside, but made no move to enter. He had business to tend to tonight, which didn’t include grabbing a pint at the pub, much as he wished that it did.

Instead, he was waiting to meet with his patrol partner for the evening, so that together, they could search out any trouble that might be lurking in the dark. Tilden hated the idea of Death Eaters attacking a place as peaceful as Hogsmeade, but it wouldn’t be the first time. And the wizard he was due to meet was surely not scared by a simple patrolling mission. Tilden wasn’t sure Sirius Black was scared of anything. So it would be best if he could pretend that he wasn’t either.

One day, when all this was over, he’d be a better friend. He’d treat Tilden better, be more open with him, help him[in as much as he could] with his research, and repay the hufflepuff his unfailing friendship. He didn’t like being a leech on Tilden’s kindness. Doubly when it required so much dishonesty. 

He stamped down the weakness with another sip and gave Tilden a look mid way between wry smile and pained wince. “-kept screaming.” he half groaned, speaking a hair’s breadth of a second after Tilden started. “the earwax candle hex yes…” He shook his head, “and what about that wizard who made cakes with…some kind of..I remember it was foolish nonsense about spots or something.” He leaned both thin arms on the table and huddled forward onto them a little. “I think he just chooses those likely to be successful and says he’s helped us out without lifting a finger.”He then realised the situation he was about to take advantage of and leaned back to slump in the chair slightly. “well, not doing as much as he undoubtedly could, I mean.”

The talk of Dumbledore made him uncomfortable. Somehow the blue eyes in those halfmoon spectacles had been able to pierce his occlumentic shields, without him knowing. That or Dumbledore had some way of reading minds that was well beyond him. That and he was in charge of an organisation at war with his own. Not that Tilden had any way of knowing that.

 Snape tugged at his collar gently, rearranging the shirt with a small shift of his rounded shoulders before speaking carefully. “The school is dangerous enough at the best of times. I’m sure the staff are all working hard to keep the children safe.” Physically at least. Not mentally. Not when it came to poor ugly slytherin halfblood boys and rich gryffindor purebloods who were good at quidditch. His expression soured for a moment but he frowned hard and flinched, settling his emotions and face. “Maybe the offer of a calming draught will strengthen my application.” 

“In any case, I’m sure Slughorn has his ear, and if he is looking to retire, I might be in the running at least.” He traced patterns in the condensation from the glass on the table. “If I did end up teaching Potions, I’d make sure we had fewer incidents, give some kind of safety briefing. And keep an eye on the lot of them.” he murmured to himself forgetting for a moment that Tilden was there, “and reorganise that blasted ingredients cupboard.”

Tilden chortled at the memories stirred up by their conversation. It was strange to think that he’d been introduced to so many apparently famous and grandly successful people over his years at Hogwarts, yet here he was living a modest life in Hogsmeade, with no grander ambition than to survive the war and make potions. He was probably a bit of a disappointment to Professor Slughorn. Ah well.

He was glad to see that Severus was considering the notion of applying for the Potion Master position, should Slughorn decide to retire. It might not be the post Severus truly wanted, but Tilden was sure he would be good at it. If maybe a little intimidating for the students. He’d have to ease up a little on the glaring and maybe work on his patience a bit. But no one could deny that Severus knew his way around a cauldron. And apparently already had ideas for how to improve the job.

“Ahh, the ingredients cupboard!” Tilden said, sighing his way through a laugh. “But don’t you know, mate, it’s character-building, having to spend fifteen minutes searching for salamander tails!” 

Professor Slughorn was an excellent potioneer, but he wasn’t the tidiest when it came to maintaining the student supplies, whether it was the aforementioned ingredients cupboard or the spare textbooks or the extra cauldrons, which would often be so grimy that the unfortunate student who needed to use one could easily lose half their brewing time just getting it clean. Tilden suspected that Slughorn thought himself above such tedious matters as cleaning up after his students. It was nice to hear that Severus, for all his surliness, didn’t think the same way.

Daisy took a sip of her drink as Tilden considered her suggestion that she look for a job in the Muggle world. She made a face at the reminder that she’d have to hold her tongue about anything magical around her theoretical Muggle coworkers, wondering how long it would take before she’d let something slip. “True,” she sighed. “I’d probably get in a spot of trouble if I were obliviating a bunch of Muggles on a regular basis, huh.”

She started giggling as the idea reminded her of a time in her childhood when she’d very flagrantly used magic in front of Muggles. “Did I ever tell you about when I sliced my leg open when I was a kid?” she asked. “I fell off a tree or something, and my mum took me to the hospital to get stitches, but when they started trying to sew my leg back up I started using magic and basically knocked everything over and scared everyone in the emergency room half to death. An obliviator had to come make everyone forget about it. I’d probably get in a bit more trouble doing something like that now, though, than I did then,” she added with a laugh.

Tilden seemed to be taking her suggestion of a Muggle job more seriously than she had meant it, and she tilted her head, trying to think of what she might do in the Muggle world. “I honestly have no idea,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’d wanna work in a Muggle shop any more than I’d want to work in a magical one. I don’t really know what else Muggles do.” She shrugged a shoulder, reaching for her drink and taking another long sip. It wasn’t quite as strong as her last choice, but was pretty good. “I wonder how long I can get away with being unemployed for,” she mused. “Before Anna starts threatening to throw me out or something,” she added, rolling her eyes. She didn’t have the excuse of studying to explain away her unemployment anymore, after all, especially not now that she’d passed almost all of her NEWTs.

“Maybe I could get a job as a bartender,” she decided, namely because it was one of the half-dozen Muggle jobs that she knew of, and the bar where they’d grabbed their drinks was still in her line of sight. “I could learn how to make all these fancy drinks! Or I could join a band. Although I’d probably need to learn an instrument first or know how to sing or something. But I could totally use magic to make myself seem good at that!”

Tilden winced in sympathy at Daisy’s story. It had an alright ending, at least. Most witches and wizards had some sort of interesting story of times they’d inadvertently used magic as children, back when they had no control over the power running through their veins. Tilden’s mum loved to tell anyone who would listen about the first time Tilden had shown his magic, when he’d been throwing a tantrum and made a pumpkin explode over the whole kitchen. It had apparently scared him more than anyone and he’d had very few tantrums over the following few years, much to his parents’ delight.

He’d never, as far as he knew, needed the intervention of Obliviators, however, so Daisy’s story was rather more exciting than any he had in his repertoire. “I’m glad it turned out okay in the end,” he said, imagining a tiny angry Daisy, furiously not allowing any of the boggled doctors anywhere near her. “I can’t blame little you, though. Stitches are a bit scary! Sewing your skin up like a piece of cloth…” He shuddered. It made his stomach a bit queasy imagining it, though with a Muggleborn father, the idea wasn’t completely new to him.

He hummed along to her musing on potential muggle jobs. He knew that there had to be a lot -- there were a lot of Muggles, after all -- but his mind was coming up blank as well, in the way minds often did when called upon to think of specific things. Jobs like doctor (prompted by her story) or farmer or the slightly mysterious scientist all crossed through his thoughts, but he was pretty sure a lot of muggle jobs required muggle schooling. He knew that Daisy would balk at the idea of going back to any sort of school after just finishing her NEWTs. 

“Errrr…” he said in response to her suggestions, drunk enough to loosen his tongue, but not quite enough to actually tell Daisy that these didn’t sound like good ideas. Glancing over at the bar, which was currently under siege by a small army of thirsty, drunken shouters, he couldn’t see Daisy handling that sort of job all that well. The first customer to give her a hard time would find their drink tipped onto their head and then Daisy would be unemployed again. As for the band idea…

Lily was mildly surprised they hadn’t been sold out of Sweet Dream Sweetpeas perpetually for years. Who couldn’t use the boost of a pleasant night’s reassurance of better things now and again? Then again, the plants were expensive, which probably offset a lot of the demand for them. Why bother with sweet dreams when a sleeping potion was cheaper, eh?

Before she could make that joke (or realize that James likely wouldn’t have hesitated to make the purchase and she didn’t exactly need to count Knuts anymore), she was following TIlden’s distracted attention. It took a moment for the realization of what the cold dread trickling down her spine was. Long enough for her to joke instead, “Maybe the latest Goblin uprising?” After all, what did the goblins have to complain about anymore?

It was a bad joke and Lily felt it fall flat, just as she felt that tension rising in her shoulders. The cacophonous crescendo was building, a clear sign it was headed towards them. “Might not have that choice,” she murmured. Looking around, the little garden area suddenly felt over exposed, with any safe spots take up by pots too large and heavy with plants to move. There was enough room for her to drop her shopping bags, nudging them under a table between some mini bushes she couldn’t think of the name for right now.

“Tild, do you, ah–” She was edging towards the exit, shoulders hunched forward, arms curling around Harry, trying hard to keep a lid on the anxious panic of why was she even out, this was a bad idea. “Could you help me get to the Cauldron? Or Florish’s, I think they have a Flooplace.” One maybe she could talk her way into using. The asking made her feel sick, cowardly, and she couldn’t manage to look Tilden in the eyes as she made the request, but—she couldn’t stay, whatever it was.

Tilden huffed a laugh at Lily’s joke, but his eyes were on the street in the direction of Gringotts, his ears straining to catch some clue as to what was going on. Whatever was happening, it was quickly becoming clear that it was something out of the ordinary. Tilden heard shouts of alarm and, distressingly, the beginnings of screams. In a feat of acrobatics, his heart felt like it was sinking and jumping up into his throat all at once.

Please no. Please not now, Not here.

He pushed aside the feelings of cowardice when Lily spoke again and he managed a jerky nod. Whatever was about to happen, he had to get Lily and little Harry to safety. Focusing on that helped push down some of the panic that was beginning to stir. He couldn’t afford to panic now. He had to help his friend.

Drawing his wand, he jerked his head in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. “Let’s aim for the pub,” he said, secretly shocked at how steady his voice sounded. “Whatever’s going on, it sounds like it’s in the opposite way. Once you’re home safe, I’ll go back and see what I can do. You contact the Order.” It was some semblance of a plan, and that helped battle back some of the fear, too. 

Unfortunately, they’d barely made it more than two shops closer to the Leaky Cauldron before things went further awry. They were hurrying past Flourish and Blotts when the sound of glass shattering made Tilden stumble in shock. Something huge and hairy had just burst from an alley nearby and collided with the bookshop’s window, shattering it and disappearing inside. Screams of terrified shoppers within soon sounded out. Tilden turned wide eyes from the sight of the broken window to Lily.

“What the hell was that!?” He hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but it had been fast and seemingly enormous. “Some sort of beast?” Now that he was thinking it, he could hear what sounded like the growls and roars of animals amongst the growing ruckus of the street. “Are animals attacking?” 

In the Garden / Tilden and Narcissa

Narcissa smiled politely over the table at Tilden, resisting the urge to expound on the endeavor at the risk of veering into socially unacceptable territory.  Moreover, there was the desire to make her work appear effortless, everything done with grace and ease.  The appearance of being better than others - the best, even - was a constant to maintain in her life, the carefully crafted idea that everything she did occurred with an other-worldly ease.

She hummed at Tilden’s explanation.  Indeed, Narcissa often found she enjoyed pure magic and theoretical magic over the use of magic for utility.  There was simply something so elegant and clean about magic more based in theory knowledge that the more hands-on work of Herbology or Potions.  Whether it was the way her wand satisfying swished through the air, or the way the work done in books came together in the final spell, she wasn’t sure.  It had always seemed a more pure type of magic, rather than the type of magic used for cleaning, or crafting, or worse still those that involved actual handiwork.

Tilden’s statement about the dinners being posh caused a slight frown to appear on her face.  Posh?  Had they been?  She had always relished the ability to get out of her robes and into a nicer dress, to chat with people she had known her entire life.  She supposed for someone who’s family didn’t make a fuss about dinners and etiquette, perhaps they might have been considered more ‘posh.’  

She hummed in agreement at Tilden’s last comment.  “Yes, Lucius and I were invited quite often.  Separately, at first, of course,” she added with a wave of her hand.  “It was a nice break from the monotony of class, and an excellent way to meet other accomplished members of the class.”  Narcissa took another sip of water, carefully eyeing the line of shade as it crept closer to the pram in the waning sun.  “There was one year he offered us all small tokens for the holidays.  I seem to recall receiving a small porcelain elephant.  It would always walk across the table while I was studying.  I confess to it being quite adorable.”  She laughed, finding herself wondering how the man had been of late.  She had not given him much thought since graduating, but the nature of the conversation brought her back to Hogwarts as she began to fondly remember more and more.

Lucius, Tilden remembered, was Narcissa’s husband. He’d heard more about Lucius Malfoy at Order meetings than through the social grapevine, unlike with Narcissa, and it was difficult to ignore the pang of unease that his name stirred. They were all almost certain that Lucius was caught up in the war somehow. Whether he was a Death Eater or just a supporter of You-Know-Who’s so-called cause, there was a lot to be suspicious of. It was difficult to reconcile that with the sight in front of Tilden now, though. Narcissa looked so peaceful, sitting in the shade of his garden with little baby Draco, reminiscing about school days. Did she know what her husband was up to? Worse, was she caught up in it, too?

Tilden hoped not. He was a big believer in giving people the benefit of the doubt and Narcissa, though reserved and intimidating, had never been anything other than polite to him. He hated suspecting people based on their family and rumours and little in the way of proof. He tried to push such thoughts to the back of his mind now and simply enjoy the conversation.

Tilden smiled at her story, the expression only slightly forced as the thoughts of the war lingered. “That’s nice,” he said, picturing the little porcelain creature. It sounded like something that would suit Narcissa’s tastes well. “I think the few times he gave me gifts, it was always potion supplies. Which was always very appreciated. Maybe he was just very good at giving gifts that fit with the person.” A different student might have groaned at a gift that was essentially more school supplies, but Tilden had always thought it was great. He could never have enough in the way of potion supplies and it was extra nice not to have to buy them. Especially back at Hogwarts, when his funds had been even more limited than they were now.

Watchful Eyes || Tilden and Alastor || Aug 10, 1980

Alastor didn’t know anything about running a business, but he knew that it wasn’t easy. Tilden probably got a pretty good idea of what went on to keep a shop running. Maybe one day the man would change his mind, but so long as he was content then there wasn’t anything wrong with that. It was interesting to hear that Tilden thought himself too absent-minded to run a business. Perhaps he was, but at least he wasn’t absent-minded during missions. Alastor agreed with a small nod, “Fair. You’d likely do more book keeping.” Funny how that turned out. He doubted there were many people who actually liked pouring over accounts, or rather, he didn’t know anyone who was anxious to get back to tracking expenses and sales.

The shadows remained where they were. Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing looked as if it were preparing to strike out at them. He could start to hear the shouts and merriment from the Leaky Cauldron. “Aye, best not get ahead ourselves.” Just because they were nearing the end of their patrol didn’t mean that they were in the clear. Anything could happen. But so far nothing was happening. Whether or not they were jinxed was a different matter, and Alastor didn’t really believe in that stuff anyway. Unless someone put a taboo on one of the words, which he highly doubted, then there probably wasn’t anything that was going to happen just because Tilden said something.

However, he did hear some voices getting louder. It was hard to tell what they were saying, but it sounded as if they were having a bit of a row. Maybe they decided to take their disagreement outside the pub. Whatever it was, he and Tilden would just need to keep out of the way and let the argument play itself out. He didn’t feel like interfering with a pub fight. As they got closer to the Leaky Cauldron, sure enough it was two blokes getting ready to raise fists. There was a witch there too, which seemed odd. She looked as if she wanted to be somewhere else and was only waiting until the other two were finished settling whatever needed settling. The two men had locked eyes onto one another. They looked reasonably well matched; somewhere in their late twenties or thirties and relatively fit. “Let’s give them a wide berth,” he said, glancing over to Tilden. 

Apparently the argument had something to do with owed money and favours; it was hard not to overhear. Alastor tried to focus on their other surroundings, but it was hard to do with all the shouting. Curiosity got the better of him, only for a moment, and when he looked over toward the argument the two men were now throwing punches at each other. “We can do our debrief over here,” he suggested, pointing to the shop closest to the Leaky Cauldron. It was close enough to the end of their patrol that it wouldn’t make much of a difference but hopefully far away enough to not get accidentally caught up in the disagreement nearby. He turned his back against the fighting and leaned against the glass, taking a bit of weight off his leg. “So, rather uneventful. Ran into two idiots. You’ve got the coat to return, and I’ve got fake wares. Also will need to have a word with Fletcher. Anything I missed there, or anything you wanted to talk about before we left?” 

With the patrol almost over, he was contemplating getting himself a drink. “Is the fight still going?” He didn’t want to turn to look.

Tilden grimaced. Bookkeeping. Ugh. At the moment, the closest he did to that was keeping note of his budget in a battered old journal in his sitting room at home. He tried to keep track of how much he earned versus how much he spent each month, so that he never ran the risk of spending more than he could afford. It was tedious, but he reckoned it had saved him more than once from spending his entire month’s pay on plants or a fancy new cauldron he didn’t really need. That was as much bookkeeping as he wanted to do, though, and the idea of having to do anything more complicated than that only strengthened his opinion that owning his own shop wasn’t for him.

His joking about jinxing the peace with his words may have carried more weight than he intended, as the sounds of an argument reached his ears. Tilden glanced anxiously over at Moody, but the auror didn’t look too concerned. It sounded more like a drunken spat than a real threat and Moody seemed more annoyed than anything. Tilden nodded when he suggested they avoid the confrontation, but kept his ears perked for the details of what the angry voices were shouting.

The argument, once in view, was between two blokes, who were accompanied by a witch who looked distinctly like she would rather be anywhere else. She at least didn’t seem to be the cause of the fight, considering that the fellows were hollering about money. Tilden guessed that she was just embarrassed to be there. He could understand that. He winced as the fight started to involve punches and glanced over at Moody again. Should they intervene? The witch was joining in the shouting now, calling for them to stop being so stupid.

But Moody only pointed out a spot where they could debrief without being too interrupted by the fight. “Er… right,” Tilden said, hurrying after him. He nodded along as Moody summarized the night, half his attention still on the fisticuffs going on nearby.

“I… I think that’s everything,” he said. “Um… should we…?” He glanced over his shoulder, halfway through asking if they ought to intervene when Moody asked if the fight was still going. Peering around the threshold of the shop they stood in front of, he caught sight of the two men picking themselves up off the ground. They both seemed to be coughing up what appeared to be copious amounts of colourful bubbles. The witch’s wand was drawn and she was looking furious.

“Pepping up right proper,” she joked. “Got most everything prepped, just the mandrake left to deal with.” Leaning against the table, Lily struggled with a regretful grimace at the question. “Not much as much as I’d like, and nothing new. Mostly stuff for around the house or for the order. Plus I’m having to be careful— a lot of brews aren’t exactly pregnancy-safe,” she explained. Fumes of boiling kelpie blood was especially bad, apparently, with the baby book she read offering up so many stories of babies born with webbed feet and extra fingers in a giddy tone that made Lily wonder if perhaps the author had huffed too much kelpie blood themselves.

Stretching, she headed back to her work station, picking up her knife and starting in on the roots. “I’m sure you’ve discovered all sorts of new things, though. Busy apothecary like Hogsmeade’s.” The village itself might be small, but as a northern magical hub plenty of people still passed through. “Anything super interesting? Exciting? How many kids have tried to buy their potions homework off you so far?” There was always someone who tried to pass something store bought off as their own work.

“Seems like a good gig, regardless. You’re lucky.”

Tilden hummed sympathetically. He hadn’t thought of that, some potions being a risk to Lily’s pregnancy, even if she wasn’t actually taking them herself. He wondered if she was eager for the baby’s birth, not only to welcome her child into the world, but also to be able to get back to doing some of the things she couldn’t do while pregnant. Then again, after the baby’s birth, there would be… well, a baby. It probably was going to be a good long while before Lily would have much opportunity to brew anything too risky. 

At least, not at home. “Well, you’re always welcome to come by here if there’s anything you want to brew that wouldn’t be safe around the baby once they’re born,” he offered. James could always mind the child for a while so that Lily could get out of the house. That would still be a ways away, though, and not anything to worry about yet. Still, he wanted to put the offer out there.

He snorted a laugh at her comments on his job. “Nothing too exciting, for the most part. Though I could probably make a Hair Smoothing draught in my sleep at this point. Lots of minor Healing potions, Cleaning potions, stuff like that. Household things for the most part. And yeah,” he added with another laugh. “I’ve learned to avoid students when they come in with a certain look in their eye. ‘Specially since most of them don’t have much to bribe me with! I had one Gryffindor Third Year ask if I’d accept her collection of chocolate frog cards in return for writing her final Potions essay.” He shook his head. “I don’t even collect those cards.”

Riddle Me This || Tilden and Lily || Sept 28, 1980 | The Beasts

Two months in, and Lily was starting to think that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t the Express coming to mow her down. Harry wasn’t quiet sleeping through the night, but everyone kept saying it was coming soon, and she was getting the hang of baby naps along side his sporadic sleeping. It was tangible progress, and she would take every step forward she could cling to.

Today’s outing was another such step. There had been a few small ventures out, to the store or the park, in the pram or wrapped close to her chest like he was right now, but this was the biggest and longest venture out. A trip to Hogsmeade, traveling through the Floo, the most terrifying moment of Lily’s motherhood thus far. Harry, of course, had taken it in absolute stride, not even stiring from his nap for the spectacle of whirling green flame, making his mum seem insane as she held the barf rag up in anticipation as they stepped through the other side to the amusement of the entire Cauldron. She supposed she should get used to that, being made to look silly by her kid. The joys of parenthood, right?

The real joy was seeing Harry’s reacting to this whole new part of the world. Even resolving not to take it too seriously (Harry did doze off almost as soon as Lily stepped into the potion supply shop), it was impossible to not be delighted with his happy gurgles for the rows of colorful books in Flourish’s, or his rapt attention for the displays of Zonko’s windows. Another nap as she dealt with Gringots, and then a demand for food that was satisfied ducked in to a shady pocket of the street with a bench. Nolties was a treat for the end of the day, letting Harry reach out and brush his fingers against the leaves, careful to not let him crush anything. She was contemplating a bushy Boston Fern to bring home when the call of her name made her turn around, a smile quickly growing for the sight of her old friend.

“We’re good,” she said, bouncing a bit so Harry would let out another happy gurgle. “Getting out and seeing a bit of the world. Important for baby brains, not seeing the same four walls every day. What about you? Find a spare square inch in your house, looking for something to fill it up with?”

Tilden gave baby Harry a wave, pleased in spite of himself when this seemed to earn him a happy sound in response. He really wasn’t sure what to do with himself around babies. They just stared at you all the time, all wide-eyed and boggled. He rarely found himself in the presence of one and when he did, he was always slightly worried that he would make them cry or get barfed on. Not to mention that this particular baby was the child of Lily and James, people who were the same age as he was. How on Earth did they have a baby? It was still hard to believe.

It was much more comfortable to focus on Lily, especially with the conversation turning to the plants around them. Tilden laughed. “I’m sure I can find a spot somewhere! Got a little bit of room… on the ceiling maybe…” He knew that his house was practically a greenhouse at this point, but as far as he was concerned, there were many worse things to collect than plants. “I’m mostly just looking at the moment, though. I like to see what Nolties has, you know? What about you? Going to get something nice and green for Harry’s nursery? They’ve got a Sweet Dreams Sweetpea on the main display today. Put it near Harry’s crib and keep it well-tended and he’ll always have nice dreams!” 

He was rather tempted to get that particular plant for himself. Nightmares were an all-too-common occurrence these days. It was pricey, though, and he couldn’t quite convince himself that he could spare the gold for it at the moment. Maybe he could ask the clerk if she could hold onto a pot for him until he’d saved up enough.

Sounds from down the street, in the direction of Gringotts, drew Tilden’s attention away from their conversation. There seemed to be a lot of shouting, though he couldn’t see from where he stood what the cause might be. “Sounds like something’s going on,” he said. Another chuckle escaped with the words, but this time the sound was more nervous than amused. “D’you think someone’s having a row with the Gringotts goblins? Or… Should we check it out?” 

Severus was distantly interested to note that Tilden’s laugh didn’t make his hackles raise the same way other people’s often did. He’d long internalised that Tilden’s laugh was more often directed at Tilden himself than at him, and only ever ventured his way when he allowed it there. It was welcoming and had a little of that bright trust that Lily’s used to hold. His mood briefly nosedived and he hid it by swirling the cup as he looked into it, and Tilden mused on the viability of his harming a plant to prove the potion worked. 

“That’s as good a person to do it for as any.” He was reminded of his father’s old adage: ‘Eat all, sup all, pay nowt, Hear all, see all, say nowt. And if ever tha’ does owt for nowt, allus do it for thisen.’ It was one of the few things his father had given him wisdom wise that he’d actually taken in and cared enough to memorise. The last two lines in particular really seemed to speak to him these days, especially as a spy, always listening and watching and keeping silent. Except for the news he delivered to the Dark Lord. His eyes focused on the space in the wall where xray vision would have showed the Hogs’ Head tavern. That prophecy…

But then Tilden had his full attention again with mock resignation. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure it will all come right eventually. “ He gave the cuttingly accurate remark about suspicious minds a morose hum of agreement, and just as he had hoped, his ruse worked better than expected. Tilden speaking to Slughorn would be a significant point in his favour. What with Slughorn having taught them both and seen their skill, he would surely take Tilden’s words into serious consideration. Especially if he could think of it as doing them both a favour…came the less pleasant thought.

He didn’t have to fake all of the gratitude, not that there was much visible on his sallow thin face. “Toots, that would be- That’s a good idea. But I wouldn’t want to put you out. All the same, if you could…” Good old Tilden Toots. Reliable, dependable, loyal. A credit to his house. And a valuable ally. “I’m sure Professor Slughorn would listen to you. And even if nothing comes of it-” something would, he was sure. “Any voice speaking in my corner would probably go some way to allaying some of the Headmaster’s suspicions.” He didn’t know why his mind briefly balked at the final sentence, but forced it through his thin lips anyway, 

“you’re a good friend, Toots. Thank you.”

Tilden had years of practice when it came to reading Severus’ moods and while he wouldn’t claim to be an expert (only a Legilimens might be able to honestly make that claim), he did think he had a better insight than most when it came to his sullen-faced friend. Though Severus’ expression didn’t change much, Tilden hazarded that he was genuinely happy with his suggestion, and so he made a mental note to follow through with it the next time he ran into Professor Slughorn. Maybe he’d go down to the Three Broomsticks that evening and see if the Potions Master was there. 

“I’m happy to help,” he said, grabbing another handful of blueberries. It was hard to stop eating them, though he was sure his teeth were now filled with their little black seeds. “Though I may come back saying that you owe me, if I end up having to listen to one of his hour-long stories about some famous person who owes all of their success to him.” He grinned, a reel of countless such stories playing over in his mind. “D’you remember that one Christmas party when he brought that witch as a guest, the one who was an expert on banshees? And she kept screaming? Or the wizard who invented a hex that turns your earwax into candles… I’m not totally sure that should be something to brag about. Or what it had to do with potions, actually… Not sure how Slughorn thought he had anything to do with that success.”

They’d certainly been introduced to a lot of interesting folk over the years at the Slug Club parties. Slughorn seemed to think that rubbing elbows with these success stories would somehow make them all famous, too, but Tilden couldn’t remember most of their names now, and he doubted a single one of them remembered him. They all probably got dragged to so many of his parties that the students there all blended together. More likely than not, they just came for the food and to listen to Slughorn brag about them.

“In any case, I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will listen to him. He’s probably just trying to be really careful about who he lets into the castle, what with everything going on. It’s got to be a scary time to be in charge of a school. Think of how worried parents are, you know? And then Professor Dumbledore has to be in charge of hundreds of kids and their safety. It’s got to be pretty stressful!”

Daisy noticed one of the other customers at the bar glaring at her, and realized (belatedly) that she must have cut the line. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it now; the bartender was already making their drinks. She gave the glaring customer a big smile, just to be contrary, and scooped up her drink once the bartender set it down. “Thanks!” she chirped, as Tilden pulled her away towards a free table.

She set her drink down and dropped into her seat, glad to sit down for a moment but also sort of wanting to get right back to the dance floor. “It’s awesome!” she agreed, turning in her seat to look at the band. She couldn’t really see them, across the crowded dance floor, but she knew she didn’t have the faintest idea who they were. “They aren’t famous yet,” she decided. “But there’s someone here tonight who owns a big music company and he’s gonna make them famous. In a year from now, they’ll be so big that even our world will know about them- and we will have seen them before they were famous!” She turned back to Tilden with a grin. “We’d better figure out who they are so we can properly boast about it!”

Daisy tilted her head to one side, looking around for some sort of sign that might have info on how long the band was playing for. “I dunno,” she admitted. “Marlene just said they had good live music. I bet they’ll get real tired if they have to play all night though. Maybe they’ll play records later?” She sighed happily. “God, I love Muggle London. It’s so nice to get away from it all. All these silly Muggles thinking life is perfect!” She picked up her drink and took a sip, relieved to find it a little less strong than her previous choice. “Maybe I should look for a job in the Muggle world,” she continued, setting it back down. “Wouldn’t that be weird? God, imagine trying to explain to my Muggle boss that I’m late for work cuz of a Death Eater attack,” she added with a giggle. Maybe that shouldn’t be a funny subject, but, well, she was drunk, so it was funny.

Tilden nodded in cheerful agreement, craning his neck to try and get a good look at the band, in case there was a sign somewhere around them that proclaimed their name. He thought that it might say something on the drumset, but he couldn’t read it from where they sat. He made a mental note to take a closer look when they returned to the dance floor. They were pretty good and the idea of being able to say ‘oh we heard them before they were famous!’ was pretty appealing. Tilden wasn’t generally the sort to brag, but tipsiness made it seem like a fun idea. What if this was the next huge hit in the muggle music world?

He sipped his drink, the name of which he couldn’t recall, and grinned as Daisy chatted happily. It was really nice to get away from it all. He was sure that these Muggles all had troubles of their own, but it was easy to feel like their lives must be easy and carefree, unaware of the threat that loomed over them, invisible to their world. It was nice to just pretend he was one of them, just for a few hours. 

Which could become a regular thing, in Daisy’s case, as she made a sudden suggestion about her search for work. Tilden’s brows rose. He hadn’t ever considered that she could look outside of the magical community for a job. Most witches and wizards would balk at the notion. It didn’t strike Tilden as a terrible idea, however.

“I mean, you’d have to be careful not to let anything slip, but it could work,” he said, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Unlike loads of magical folk, you know how to act around Muggles, so you would know not to go on about dragons or travelling by Floo or anything like that. And if you were careful, you could even use magic when no one was looking, to make the job easier!”

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He was sure that there were plenty of wonderful jobs in the muggle world, even if they might not be as exciting as the ones they were used to in the magical community. And it would mean that for at least a good portion of her days, Daisy would be effectively hidden away from the eyes of the enemy, who would likely not be looking for witches amongst the humdrum daily lives of non-magical Londoners. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his lot hated Muggles, but more often than not of late, their attacks were centred on magical areas of the UK, trying to squash the rebellion or target the Ministry. While the Muggle world wasn’t safe, it felt safer in some ways than Diagon Alley or even Hogsmeade.