#marcusbulstrode

Alex advertised for the fair, yet part of him is almost surprised at finding himself there at all. There are children, and laughter, and the afternoon light is pleasantly warm. It’s the kind of idyllic scene that seems almost too good to be real, and Alex keeps catching himself slipping back into darker places in his mind, thinking that none of it is real. Having Alastor plastered against his side helps, but his husband does have a job. Always a job. That Alex doesn’t begrudge him. But still. Watching him walk away to keep others safe isn’t easy, even if he’s been introduced to other company. Alex’s hang tightened imperceptibly on his walking stick no that he doesn’t have Alastor to take the weight off his bad leg anymore.

“Bulstrode... you wouldn’t happen to know a Levi Bulstrode?” Alex asked Marcus curiously, and then was immediately distracted from the question by the sight of a small girl poking her head out from around Marcus’ legs. “Oh! Hello there!”

The break-in at the museum was a horror. It was an affront to all good wizarding society, and especially good pureblood society. The great families were the backbone of this culture, yet now their honor had been desecrated by petty thieves, and precious artifacts- more than one of which was related to his own family- were now lost. 

Of course the DMLE had finally recognized its incompetence and called for outside help. But Lucius didn’t know this “Marcus Bulstrode” or his abilities. Consequently, despite his general dislike of social interaction, he sat straight-backed and attentive in one of Malfoy Manor’s many sitting rooms, and didn’t once let his gaze waver from the man sitting across from him. 

“Tea will be in shortly,” he said. One hand tightened on the head of his silver-snake walking stick, his bad leg extended slightly from the chair in a mockery of a lounge position that normally would have sent Lucius’ nerves spinning- his father’s voice in the back of his head, the memory of hands on his wrists, a lifetime dedicated to perfect posture befitting his rank- except that he bore it as gracefully as he could, and his parents were dead, after all, so it hardly mattered.

Or so she thought for all of about a minute, managing to get as far as saying “Tell me about your case” to inquire about just why the Ministry was sending an obliviator to help him before a stone spear came crashing through the window.

Several people screamed and Maura was one of them as she dropped her cup, the porcelain shattering as she went to the floor and tried to use the table for cover while seeing where the attack came from. “Are you okay?” @marcus-bulstrode​

Henry had heard of Marcus Bulstrode by reputation, and although he’d heard the man didn’t really take as many cases as he used to, Henry had to try. Finding Sybill was part of the Order’s current mission for the obvious reason that they couldn’t leave their Seer in Voldemort’s hands, but Henry wasn’t satisfied with it. He needed more reassurance. He needed just a little bit of hope. 

“My fiancee is missing,” he said without preamble, falling into his seat across from the man. The ring he’d gotten for himself when he picked out Syb’s was on a chain around his neck, which he clutched absently with one hand. He wasn’t one for jewelry, but since she went missing he hadn’t taken it off. “Sybill Trelawney; she was- she was taken from the Hogwarts Yule celebration. I’m sure you’ve read about it in the papers.”

It made sense, after all. His work was in Hogsmeade, Bas lived in Scotland, and now Pandora was in Hogwarts, so there wasn't anything to keep him in London, but there was still something sad about giving up the flat he'd customized and lived in for the past few years. Of course, he'd been sad when he first moved into that flat and out of the home he shared with Dirk, although those circumstances were slightly different.

“Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Do you want a drink?” She asked without even glancing back at Marcus, instead leaning over into the playpen with the twins and quickly checking the color of the bracelet attached to a pudgy arm to figure out which twin was looking up at the ceiling and which was screwing up their little face.

Over three months old and Riya still couldn’t tell her kids apart, she really hadn’t been prepared for that.

“Come here, little darling,” She cooed, carefully scooping up the calm and not cryig Padma before turning and handing her off unceremoniously to Marcus. “Don’t worry about breaking her. She’s three months and if I haven’t managed it yet, you’re not going to.” @marcus-bulstrode