#inconsolcble

Location: Burlesque Club ‘L’Étoile’, Wizarding London Time: 1am, 5th of March Status: Closed, for @inconsolcble

Lu didn’t mind the hate-spewing conversation topics amongst their more generous patrons. After all, how did they affect Lu personally? And one had to remember that the regions of raging anger and lust sat quite closely in the brain, so really, just letting their patrons rage about Muggleborns was doing half the job already. But Ganymede’s wasn’t that big, and after a certain amount of nights spent there, you inevitably ran into the same people, all of which usually preferred to think you an exclusive shiny little item for their own private collection. So it came that every other night, Lu chose bars and clubs of lesser Pureblood prestige. 

They were sitting at a table decorated with empty champagne coupes when a boy walked into L’Étoile who simply did not belong here. Not only wore he -- in Lu’s eyes -- rags, but he was also of such a demeanour it was as though he was scared to enjoy himself too much. “What does he fear? To be scooped up by one of our large-wigged ladies who’re serving the tables?” Lu asked, giving their seat neighbour a nudge and redirected her gaze towards the boy, now standing pressed against a wall. Clarissa cackled. “Should we go save him?” She placed a hand on Lu’s shoulder: ‘And you think you’d scare him less?’

Lu returned their attention to the stage where yet another number of terrible singing and even worse dancing began. There certainly were too many sequins and too few items of clothes; it was a divine night. And until then, they had quite enjoyed themselves, the thick air in the room making it impossible to escape the alcohol’s effect, the laughter bright and piercing into your chest, and the music -- albeit awful -- loud enough to make you forget about everything else. Well. Until then indeed. Now their mind was on the boy by the door -- ah, he had moved, a little closer to the bar, but he didn’t look any less terrified. What a poor creature. Who on earth had recommended him this place? Was this his first night out, ever? Was he looking for someone? Lu shook their head and decided it was none of their business.

Time: 23rd of March Place: McKinnon’s Farm Status: Closed, for @inconsolcble

Alcott Avery was dead and Bran’s father was still alive.

She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t go hunt for more Death Eaters. She was stuck.

So she went to where she’d been for the past few weeks anyway, more often than not, and offered Benjy Fenwick her help. Emmeline was still in no position to work and Bran was, as it seemed, still one of the more competent healers around. Curse her mother for having kept right for once. Then again.

Bran liked Benjy. She liked the hard work. And in a way, between blood and potion fumes, her mind was kept off the revelation Fletcher had brought to her, and which had stirred something so great and terrible within her, she wasn’t quite sure how to control it. So for now, she distracted it.

Benjy had just disappeared to the Potter Estate to rescue whatever hadn’t been destroyed in the attack to bring it to the new infirmary at the House of Bones, so Bran was alone with her healing potions. It was then, that the door opened and a poor excuse of a man slurped into the room.

She’d decided to skive off healing duties again. Not that it really mattered, there was always someone else there to supervise her and she really did nothing all that valuable. Just fetched medicine or used her wand to produce a bucket of water. While Lily had been told she had a healing spirit, she wasn’t actually trained in the stuff - nor did she want to be. The Inner Circle had told her it wasn’t meant as a punishment, but it sure seemed like it.

The healers hadn’t been able to save James, anyway. There hadn’t been time. Ainsley Abbott had made sure of that. 

Lily had been staring aimlessly at the fire when she heard a knock on the door. Not unusual - plenty of people had been showing up since James’ death, sometimes with casseroles (which were still mostly uneaten) in hand - but she’d hoped for something else today. Hoped for a bit of time to work on her latest assignment for the Ministry - or maybe just to continue to stare at the fire.

She’d grabbed her wand tightly and moved to the door, looking out the peephole. It was moot point, really. Anyone who wanted her dead would just put their wand up to the hole, but it made her feel better anyway. Remus stood on the other side and Lily sighed. She loved him - she did. She loved them all. But she really hoped he wasn’t here to coddle her like Sirius. 

When she opened for him, she smiled anyway. Not as warmly as it would’ve been several weeks before, not quite reaching her eyes, but still a smile. “Remus, love,” she greeted, her voice trimming with affection and weariness at the same time. “Checking up on me? You can come in, if you’d like. Or should I be asking you a question to confirm it’s really you?” It wouldn’t matter - even friends could kill you.

💍 fuck, marry, kill - since you gave me four options this basically means two of them have to die

Fuck Sirius. Look, they’ve been through some shit, and also just to add to this whole thing I’m sure it would be incredibly inconvenient if it happened. Also I’d be lying if Frank didn’t think about it a little bit at some point

Marry Remus. But purely based on the assumption that he knows how to make tea, and can you just imagine the constant lifelong awkwardness between the two of them? Also lowkey I’d just love to imagine Frank going, oh now that we’re married, you can’t possibly keep secrets from me right?

Fully clothed: Severus (They are colleagues. She needs a good non-awkward relationship with her potioneer.)

Underwear: Mary (She and Mary can be adults about it on opposite sides of the bed.)

(OOC: I’m going to answer this the way 17 year old Sirius would have drunk off his ass while playing truth or dare.)

Make love to James. Soulmates and all that.

Have a quickie with Peter. Just to help him loosen up and have a little fun.

The first time Edgar had properly talked to the young Mister Lupin, it had been down here, in the forest near the McKinnon Farm.

Lupin’s introduction to the Order had been a brief but impressive one. Entering the meetings room, he’d found his spot next to James who’d put an arm around his shoulders declaring him an old friend, and then he had made his suggestion: let wild werewolves stay in this forest. Refugees, close to the farm, safe from themselves and the world hungry to mistreat them. The discussion that had followed had been one of the longest and most intense ones Edgar had ever witnessed since joining the Order. And he’d joined the Order so long ago...

He had barely argued along. He’d stood in the back, listening attentively to write it all down later on, and kept his gaze on the new member. Lupin had looked so frail and weary, young and worn at the same time, and yet he’d uttered and explained his suggestions without fear or hesitation, and Edgar had felt his chest swell with pride.

It had deflated as though perforated by a silver bullet when James had revealed the secret a week ago. Not because Edgar suddenly no longer thought Lupin brave and forward-thinking for his suggestion, not because he was shocked like some members by the news (in a way he’d known for quite some time, hadn’t he?) but because he realised that without his digging, this might’ve never happened. Had he not been so eager to solve the mystery of Lupin’s injuries, Mary would’ve never gone to talk to Emmeline and James, and it would’ve never gotten that far. Was this his fault? And his lungs exhaled a brusque breath filled with guilt.

The truth had had to come out eventually, after all, no? But Edgar had hoped Lupin would come forward himself after receiving Edgar’s thermos and message -- a tentative invitation to come talk to him. Not that the truth would come out of Lupin’s best friend’s mouth. Not on the day of a mission. Not right before the same best friend gave his life for that mission.

After waking up from his injuries, Edgar had learnt of what had happened that night of the 14th, and each new information made his hands cramp tighter. To hear that Lupin had disappeared, well, that was quite frankly an information that didn’t really manage to preoccupy him quite as much. He just prepared another thermos filled with hot chocolate and sent it to Lupin, trusting his owl would find the way, but this time it came without a message.

Only after they had gone looking for Ainsley, Edgar had found the time and patience to think about Lupin again. About the first time he’d entered the meetings room. What were the werewolves in the forest by the McKinnon Farm to think now? Had they already heard that the one who had gotten them there, who had fought for their safety, was now gone? Possibly in danger -- not by any outside forces but by the very same people who were granting them refuge?

Hence, on the 21st, Edgar decided to go down to the forest himself and inform them that even without Lupin here, he’d try to continue letting them stay here. And this time he would participate in the discussion, if he had to. Packed with tea, wrapped into his warm, gigantic and colourful winter coat, and with his left hand still in bandages, he walked through the forest, straight ahead and hoping the right words would come to him when they were needed. It was there, still on his way and at least fifteen minutes away from where the pack camped, that he saw a figure ahead of him. It wasn’t particularly familiar, but he recognised it instantly all the same.

🔛 Peter: “Can I choose to bury myself in the ground instead? No? Fine, I’ll answer.”

make love to - Remus, because he thinks that he’ll be the most gentle and kindest to him, and that would work the best.

have a quickie with - James, because uh, yeah.