#emmelinevxnce

♦  Honestly one of Sirius’ biggest quirks would probably be his genuine interest in Muggle modes of transportation. Mostly motorcycles and sportscars!

☯ One genuine dislike of his would be anti-muggle bigotry. Sirius loves Muggles. One of his genuine likes would be Muggle Rock and Metal.

✄ : pet peeve headcanon

Literally Peeves. Except for when he’s causing helpful havoc.

Minerva is impatient with a lack of organization. It’s very necessary for her life to run more smoothly (since she’s extremely busy) and is necessary for her position as Deputy Headmistress. She isn’t excessive about being on control of her environment and can be patient with people when the situation calls for it, but it does annoy her when it makes life more difficult than it has to be.

It’s also exasperating for her when people don’t share important parts of plans with her. Even though Albus is her mentor and she admires him, it can be frustrating to be kept in the dark. She understands to a degree but 

♆ : body headcanon

Minerva had expected her time healing from the stunners to be difficult. Poppy had explained her condition and healing process to her–– and the healers at St. Mungos explained it to her as well. However, there were indignities she hadn’t expected–– her body didn’t bounce back like it had before.

Her youth had been spent playing Quidditch. She was still active even in her sixties. Most of her time was spent on her feet, walking around Hogwarts and standing in the classroom. Or at least, she had been active prior to this. When she had been injured during a Quidditch game during her seventh year she had recovered relatively fast. Though she couldn’t play Quidditch with any seriousness again, she was capable of casually flying on a broomstick and no one would have suspected that she had previously broken several ribs and soldiered through a concussion. Her body had healed.

This time, she was given potions that left her drowsy while she lay in the bed. She was given even more potions once she was deemed healthy enough to progress from the bed to a wheelchair and eventually to her walking stick. It eased the pain but left her with muddled thinking.

The walking stick wasn’t as helpful as she would have hoped–– she wasn’t planning on complaining about it (except to Poppy), but it was difficult. It gave her support but not nearly enough. Her first steps with it were unsteady and painful. If she hadn’t been as strong-willed as she was then she would have immediately sat back down in her wheelchair or on the bed.

Once he started, it was hard to stop. It always began with his patience diminishing to a slight flicker of a flame, and though he did generally have great patience, that flame could be snuffed out in a matter of seconds if you played wrong with him. The familiar thrill that came with curses sped from his wand rushed through him with pulses of energy, so that even when she begged for mercy, he stumbled over her words, wand gripped tightly and aimed. 

The rapid heaving of his chest from the adrenaline began to slow as he stood, feet apart, eyes glaring. W e a k,  he thought. What was the point of fighting in a war if you weren’t willing to die? What was the point, if you were afraid to go all the way? The pursuit of victory was worth the bloodshed. Once you pledged allegiance, you must remain devoted to your cause. In her words, he heard a spineless woman calling for surrender, anticipating some sort of humanity within Rodolphus Lestrange, of all people. 

                {   And yet…  }

Years later, in an ancient castle where he once spent his late childhood years, in its very wreckage as his own and his enemies brawled in what would be many of their last battles, Rodolphus would lie in the destruction, wand lost among the chaos. Taking his last breath, he would reflect, as all do when catching sight of Death himself. He would see Bellatrix Lestrange, in her good and bad moments, he would see his father, grinning with pride at his son. He would revisit his accomplishments and look back on regrets. There were three moments in Rodolphus’s life, in particular, that he wishes he could alter. One of them - walking away from Emmeline Vance, Order Member, that summer night - allowing pity to overcome his priorities as he let her live. He had her pleading for leniency, and so easy it would have been to strike her then.

                {   And yet…  }

No, she was not the only weak soul that night.

Sirius blinked blearily down at the book he held in his hands. He had never been too big of a fan of reading; it had mostly been a thing to do to pass the time in his youth. Every once in a while he would find a book that captured his interest and seemingly pulled him into the very pages itself, but his exhaustion was beginning to distract him from the story. He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes before finally giving up and laying the book down on the table next to his chair. He had invited Emmeline over earlier that day to have spend some quality time with each other. 

These past few months had taken a toll on all of them. Everyone walked around like zombies, looking like they hadn't slept in days and were living off of coffee. Emmeline had looked especially estranged, not that Sirius could blame her. He had finally set aside a day for just the two of them, saying enough was enough, at least for a day. They had spent the entire day lazing around Sirius' apartment, talking and dozing and doing nothing in particular. 

Finally, the older woman had fallen asleep on his couch, the hard lines of her face softening in the dim light. Sirius had retreated into his little study area, a place he often took refuge in nowadays. It had been a spare bedroom that he had been planning on using as a guest room but it had slowly been converted into a war room of sorts. Maps and hastily written notes and letters scattered a small desk that was shoved up against one of the walls. Next to the desk sat a small red velvet wing chair that Sirius curled into when he decided to read books or letters. The room also doubled as a storage room, with tons of unpacked boxes lining one wall of the room. He felt guilty every time his gaze fell on the boxes and Lily often nagged him to unpack the damned things whenever she and James came over to visit.