#marywithoutthelamb

LOCATION: Bones Estate DATE: March 13, 1982 @marywithoutthelamb​

Marlene was still feeling a little bemused over her introduction to the Order’s newest recruit -- the extremely enthusiastic, exceptionally reverential Madaléina Warren -- so when word came from Durno that one of the Dissendium Task Force’s newest arrivals had been caught poking around the stables where they absolutely were not supposed to go, instead of tearing-off in a temper she’d just trotted down and tsk’ed at the old wizard who insisted he’d “just wanted to see them” and “hadn’t meant any harm” instead of shouting at him.

She’d given him a lecture as she’d walked him back up to his room, of course -- how he needed to stay away from the horses for both their safety and his own, firstly because he wasn’t trained in how to handle them and secondly because they sometimes brought customers around the stables and the whole point of hiding here was not being seen -- and she thought she’d gotten the importance of their rules across to him. She’d hesitated at that point, wondering if it was overkill -- then gone ahead and added, “And if my family discover that any of you have been pestering the horses, they’ll withdraw their permission for you to stay here.”

The shock on his face had made her feel a little guilty, but really, what had he been thinking? In addition to being a refugee he was a guest, and manners alone should have been enough reason to abide by his hosts’ instructions to stay away from the stables.

Marlene had left him reeling and gone downstairs to both ask Duro why he hadn’t just shooed the wizard away before he reached the stalls and make herself a calming cup of tea but when she’d reached the little side-kitchen that the family (and the Order) used for small tasks, she’d found someone much taller (and blonder) than the house-elf instead: Mary Macdonald. Marlene hesitated; she didn’t actually dislike Mary, but she knew (suspected) that of all the Inner Circle members, Mary was probably the least supportive of the Task Force’s mission, which meant that she was probably the last person Marlene wanted to see on the cusp of having run into one of its many small but endless problems -- but she’d come too far across the threshold to leave now without being rude, so she shrugged to herself and walked to the big copper kettle that dangled perpetually over the fire.

House of Bones 3 April 1982, midmorning @marywithoutthelamb​ 

Frank was in a state of waiting. That’s what brought him to headquarters again that Saturday morning, arm straining with Ministry paperwork—it made him unsure if he were grateful that there weren’t more explosions that day, no more smoke rising to the skies were everyone—even the muggles perhaps, with how easy it was to look skyward to see smoke with no source.

No, the Death Eaters didn’t want the complete destruction of Diagon Alley. How was that useful? They’d have to start from the ground up. Frank levitated the teapot, and so deep in his thoughts was he that he wasn’t actually watching what he was levitating; the teapot didn’t drop this time, instead tipping the tea out of it as it collided with the chair.

Frank cursed, setting the teapot on the table and stepping forward to Vanish what had spilled—instead stepping into his own puddle and slipping to the ground, his clothes stained. Though this wasn’t the problem he was having: his wand arm, still nursing the injury, somehow made better and worse by the people who have tried to help him so far, collided with the ground with as much grace as one does when slipping on the tea that they had spilled themselves.

Time: March 22nd Place: House of Bones Status: Closed, for @marywithoutthelamb

It was an old family broom, Bran had found in the cupboard, but it was enough. It helped her race high, high into the air, leaving the vast House of Bones behind, making it look small and unimportant, as unimportant as its residents, their stories, their thoughts, their pain. And it was still not high enough. 

She raced, against herself and the blood on her hands, raced against her cousin and her father, raced against the thinning air in her lungs, and then -- then she dropped. 

Dropped from fifty meters, free fall, letting the rush consume her as she kept her eyes raised to the sky and the possibilities of going even further, even farther away, not knowing how far the ground was still away and refusing to check. It was coming closer, as it always did, as those people had drawn her back in again and again over the last few years. Like an elastic band, the more she struggled, the faster she was pulled back to the ground.

And then she caught herself. Grabbed the broom, swung herself on it and brought herself to a halt. Wrists aching, lungs collapsing, chest and feet pressing into the wood, then, finally, the wind stopped; she flew still. She opened her eyes and saw the ground but a couple of meters away underneath her.