la liberté sans fin
Time: Early morning, March 23rd Place: England, for now Status: Closed, for @dedalusdigg
This time felt different. This time it was Lu’s fault.
Arthur Weasley was being considered for this valuable Ministry position because of Lu’s plotting, and it had nearly cost his son his life. Would perhaps, in the future. The Order’s safe house had been attacked because Maurice Creevey’s radio show had been leaked to the Dark Lord. And Atlas’ affiliation to someone who had played the whole Pureblood high society for a fool was soon going to be out.
Lu had fucked up, and so they couldn’t stay.
Dear Atlas,
the letter read, which they sent him late at night,
Thank you for everything.
I’m so sorry.
Yours, (sincerely, truthfully, regrettably yours,)
Lu Travers
But this felt different.
And so when Lu -- joined by nothing but a small handbag and the clothes they wore -- readied themself to take the Key across the Channel, they halted. Their gaze travelled to the silver carriage outside. Perhaps this time, just this once... “I’ll regret this,” they mumbled, and snapped the Portkey box close again.
Half an hour later they arrived at Dedalus Diggle’s place. “What do you think about Paris?” they asked in the same tone they’d asked ‘take me shopping’ only barely a month ago, as though this was yet another temporary outing, and not the end of Lu’s life in England. “Room service, good wine, museums, the whole deal. I’ll even show you all those godawful sights you wanted to see. The only condition is that you have to be packed in,” they checked their wrist, "half an hour.”
