CONCERNING: @snappedwands·· –– lestrange, e.
TIMESTAMP: the verdant reliquary.
STATUS: warded, private space
AND THERE HE WAS, back in the reliquary, after the shop boy –– owner? manager? –– had yanked him in moments before the wards sealed. it was a precarious situation to be in, sealed in an apothecary with a handful of half-familiar faces and yet still more he’d never encountered before. sasha tapped his foot on the ground, lingering around jars of newt eyes and pickled mushrooms and feigning interest in the contents of said jars whilst he surveyed the room and gauged each person for their potential probability to pose a threat. there was one face in particular that his eyes kept dragging themselves back to, distracting him, captivating him, almost as if he were a spider caught in a web –– the logical part of him knew he wasn’t; it just so happened that he had an eye for fine features.
knowing they’d all be trapped in those four walls for an indefinite amount of time made sasha feel as bored as though he’d been in there for a fortnight already, bored enough to feel so inclined as to introduce himself to a few of his new friends. none of them seemed particularly threatening to him, anyway. what could it hurt to be sociable?
sasha maneuvered himself closer to the brunette without making it seem as if he was moving toward her, instead continuing to inspect the various potions ingredients with all the interest of a gawking child. he waited until a third person happened to come within arm’s length and then, with his head still turned toward a bunch of dried gillyweed, his left leg shot out and then darted back just quick enough to trip the poor fellow without taking the blame. in a flash, as if surprised and thinking on his feet, he turned and tugged the woman he’d been eyeing out of the way just in time to clear the aisle for his victim to stumble and then right themselves without disturbing any of the displays.
“careful,” he admonished the pawn in his plan.
a grin, a flash of dimples, and then he steps away before their position could have a chance to be seen as unseemly. then, he addressed her directly. “are you alright?”
on other days –– those being where the world was right and the dead did not roam freely, where she had not rescued her dearest magic-less cousin from the bowels of gringotts, where she had not spent more time than she’d cared to admit at the mercy of anyone but herself –– elisabeth lestrange was a particularly observant creature. it was the raven in her, she was convinced. the raven was cunning and clever, never letting itself be caught off guard by something stronger than her because she would be faster. but today was not like other days and she was just happy to have a warm cup of coffee in her hands.
elisabeth was in a mild conversation with taliesin that occasionally drifted off into companionable silence, only broken when lazarus pulled him downstairs and she had been left to roam the shop, coffee in hand. she had moved herself towards the pre made potions on display, curious to what her cousin’s cousin had to offer. the glowing pink of amortentia did not even need to reach her nose for her to know what she smelled, the combination of toffee and chocolate filling up a void in her chest that was almost comforting.
her fingers drifted over another vial, trying to work out the details of the ingredients without looking at the label in her own little game that she had created for herself before gasping as someone tugged on her. lissa’s hand covered the top of her drink so as not to spill it on her rescuer ( had someone really been that close to tumbling into her ? ) and looked up at him with a bashful smile. his admonishment almost struck her until she realized it was directed over her shoulder and as he stepped back, she got a much better look at him.
oh he was tall and merlin forbid she fall in love with those dimples before she even knew his name. the accent caught her off guard just a little bit, one brow raised gently as he spoke. part of her warned of a devil in disguise, that this was the kind of man her parents had warned her about growing up –– the kind of man, her mother had told her, who would sweep her off her feet and break her heart before she’d even known what happened. the interesting part of all of it was elisabeth was sure she’d let him.
❛ i am, thank you for making sure i was out of the way, mister ? ❜ the question lingered, a way of asking for his name. her accent had a way of leaving her when she was in england, a decade in the country working in her favor of blending in, but there was a gentle twinge of french to it.