#drurosier

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TAGGING: @drurosier

prosperina  had  spent  much  of  the  day  practically  plastered  to  the  walls  of  the  potter  family  manor.  it  was  unusual  behaviour  for  her,  but  these  were  unusual  circumstances.  she  felt  unlike  herself  in  the  black  dress  -  her  reserved  temperament  was  the  one  part  of  herself  she  could  cling  to  in  this  environment.  while  she  would  typically  view  the  many  faces  in  the  room  as  opportunities,  as  people  that  should  know  her,  today  they  were  simply  a  sea  of  faces,  people  who  were  likely  as  shrouded  in  secrets  as  she  herself  was.  she  had  little  desire  to  know  these  people  at  this  moment,  to  hear  how  they  knew  henry  potter.  instead,  she  clung  to  the  wall,  drink  in  hand  and  made  polite  conversation  with  those  who  approached  her.

that  is,  until  prosperina  caught  sight  of  druella  rosier.  she’d  seen  her  with  euphemia  earlier,  but  prosperina  had  little  desire  to  enter  a  conversation  with  the  two  of  them,  but  druella  on  her  own  was  a  different  story.  prosperina  pushed  off  the  wall  gently,  the  tactical  part  of  her  mind  switching  on  effortlessly.  her  hand  caught  druella’s  for  the  briefest  of  moments,  only  to  stop  the  other  witch.  “druella,”  her  lips  formed  a  well  practiced  smile  as  she  addressed  the  other  girl.  it  quickly  fell  however  -  this  was  one  of  the  few  people  in  the  room  who  could  potentially  understand  the  guilt  nagging  in  prosperina’s  mind  and  prosperina  couldn’t  help  but  acknowledge  the  fact  that  if  anyone  had  been  entrusted  with  knowledge  of  whatever  had  happened  to  henry  potter,  it  was  the  witch  standing  before  her.  “you  look  lovely.  it  must  be  terribly  difficult  to  be  at  another  memorial  so  soon  after...”  she  trailed  off,  the  downward  turn  of  her  lips  almost  as  false  as  the  smile  that  had  graced  her  lips  only  moments  before.

I. THE MAGICIAN — What does your muse consider themself an expert in?

Although he and his father had always agreed –– from as early as the age of five –– that Fleamont would be following in Henry’s footsteps to earn an elusive seat on the Wizengamot board, and therefore there were many areas Fleamont needed to succeed in, in order to achieve that goal, there were a handful of subjects that came to him easier than the rest. The areas Fleamont privately considers himself to be an expert in are DEFENSIVE MAGIC and POTIONS. Both were areas of study that he’d focused on from a young age out of necessity, to face the other Hogwarts students who picked on him for his name and to tame his thick and unruly hair, respectively.  Were one to further their line of questioning, they may discover Fleamont’s personal opinion ––– “Actually, the word is pronounced fact––” ––– that he is also an expert in brewing the perfect cup of tea –– with a ‘proprietary’ ratio of spices to sugar to tea leaves, and of course, lightened with milk. “–––tea without milk is sad and wrong, and anyone who drinks it like that should feel bad.”

VII. THE CHARIOT — Describe one of your muses coping mechanisms.

SMOKING –– A vice of the ages. What had once started as simply a way to ingratiate himself to his supervisors at work when he’d started out as an intern, to be able to strike up conversation during social smoking breaks, had long since turned into a habit of his own. Now, when he sits down at his desk at work, he pats his pockets for a smoke. When he stands up, he’s already taken a slim bronze cigarette compact out of his jacket pocket. When he’s stressed, angry, morose, just waking up, about to go to sleep, hungry, full, bored, anxious, jealous, or nervous ––– he smokes a cigarette, and he smokes it right down to where his fingers hold it.