#hwrp

The train rocked steadily beneath Sadie as it carried her south toward The Union. The rhythm of the wheels beneath the carriage settled into her bones, a steady, unchanging sound that dulled the edge of her thoughts. Outside the window, the land stretched on in long, quiet miles, already beginning to feel like something she had left behind rather than something she belonged to.

Sadie sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the passing landscape. At some point, the warmth of the carriage and the steady motion softened her focus. Her eyelids grew heavy. Without noticing the moment it happened, she drifted into sleep.

She dreamed she was home.

Not as it had been after her father died, but as it had always been before—simple, familiar, whole. The house stood as it always had, the air filled with the faint smells of soap and wood and bread cooling somewhere out of sight. Morning light spilled across the floor in wide, peaceful bands. Nothing felt wrong. Nothing felt missing.

She moved through the house without thinking, her body remembering the small, ordinary routines. At some point, she stepped outside and crossed toward the small barn behind the house. The door stood open, sunlight spilling across the packed dirt floor.

Her father was inside.

He sat on an overturned crate, resting as though he had simply stepped away from his work for a moment. His sleeves were rolled up, his hat set aside, his posture easy and unguarded. He was whole. Alive. Exactly as she remembered him.

Sadie stopped short.

She knew—somewhere, distantly—that this should not be possible. That he had been taken from her. But the knowledge had no weight here. It did not matter. The miracle of his presence overwhelmed everything else.

Relief rushed through her so suddenly it stole her breath.

"You're back," she said, her voice thick with emotion, though she did not know from where it came. It was not a question.

He looked up at her and smiled, warm and familiar, as though nothing extraordinary had happened at all. "I am," he said simply, like that was explanation enough.

She crossed the barn in a few quick steps and stood in front of him, her hands trembling before she could stop them. He reached out and rested a hand over hers, solid and warm. The simple truth of his touch undid her.

She laughed softly, the sound caught halfway between joy and disbelief. "I didn't know" She stopped, the rest of the thought dissolving before it could form.

He didn't ask her to finish. He just watched her with that same steady attention he always had, as though he had all the time in the world.

"Sit," he said gently.

She sat beside him on the crate, close enough that their shoulders touched. The barn smelled of hay and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere nearby, an animal shifted in its stall. Everything felt right—settled, returned to its proper place.

They talked, though later she would not remember the words. It was enough to hear his voice again, calm and certain, filling the quiet spaces she had carried since his death. At one point, she leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, and he did not pull away.

"You're doing fine," he told her, his voice low and steady. "You always have."

She believed him completely.

When she opened her eyes, the train was still moving.

The carriage was unchanged—the same seats, the same low murmurs of other passengers, the same steady clatter of wheels against the rails. For a moment, the dream lingered so strongly she wondered where she was, where she was going.

Then the absence returned.

Her throat tightened. Tears welled before she could stop them. She turned her face slightly toward the window, lifting her hand in a clumsy, hurried motion as she searched her bag. Her fingers closed around her handkerchief, and she pressed it to her eyes, breathing slowly, carefully, as though that might steady the ache spreading through her chest.

The miracle had passed.

Outside, the land rolled on, indifferent and wide. Sadie straightened her back, folded the handkerchief in her hands, and stared ahead once more.

Yes, all of the above are still huge concerns! I’ll try to encapsulate the overall ~~vibe~~ of the Wizarding world in a few quick points here:

Right now, if the Order has been formed, it’s still in its earliest stages. (If this is something you’re interested in for your character, don’t hesitate to see me off anon or make a note in your app.)

Death Eater activity is increasing steadily, but still held at an arms length from Hogwarts. People recognize the label, they know what they’re up to, but it’s rare to accuse anyone of being a DE because it’s so loathsome a thing to be that it’s hard to imagine anyone actively participating in their activities.

Inferi are still a new concept, as are several other shocking methods of Dark Magic that are slowly taking over the Daily Prophet’s front page.

I thought for sure I would have more bullet points, but that seems to cover everything. While we are at the height of the First Wizarding War, it is still the beginning of that height. We’ve got some time to kill before we start rolling downhill at top speed. I hope this clears everything up! (And if not, you know where to find me <3)

bernadette desjardins

Alfred glanced across the booth of the cantina at his potential customer, mentally assessing them as he leaned back, the outward image of relaxation. His partner and co-pilot, Tony, was tending to the ship, so that left him to sit in the shady establishment and scope out work.