#mistarter

Edgar had arrived slightly late to the party, a little caught up in how he should transport Lily’s gift over to the event. Since it was made of real marble it was pretty happy, but its stature made it slightly easier to carry considering it was only about tall enough to fit on a bedside table. He’d been planning her gift for a while, knowing it was something that she’d probably hate but hopefully found as amusing as he did. A small marble statue, nestled in his arm and rested against his body to help distribute the weight along with a large bouquet of roses, not lilies. He was quite proud of himself for thinking of such an ingenious gift and as he entered the party he stopped by the nearest wixen. “Hey, have you seen Lily?”

Rabastan could barely contain the glee when Damon informed him of the little stunt he pulled off. The school in a tizzy, how could he not find humour in such a situation? Seated in Charms class, Professor Flitwick somewhere making himself more useless than he was, as Rabastan turned to his mates. “Oi, look at the lot of them. Pathetic.” He murmured, shaking his head. A raised hand in the air, seeking the teacher’s attention “Professor!” Rabastan called out, feigning an innocent look. “Are we sure you should let the likes of Potter and his mates to use their wands? I mean—how safe are we when they might cast the dark mark again at any moment?”

He’d heard the rumors, the terrible rumors. Peter Pettigrew cast the Dark Mark. Frank shook his head. He’d sat with Peter, learned with Peter. He knew he was a good lad, a bit nervous—but not a bad man. Not enough to do something like that. The whole world was trying to make them second guess one another. It was all just talk. Looking over at the gaggle of fourth years as they sat on the steps, Frank crouched down, painting an interested expression. “Y’know, I didn’t hear it was the Dark mark. Apparently it’s a cover story. Those four lads stole the Loch Ness monster to start an illegal circus.” Good ol’ Bertha and her duty to fill the minds of all with something else. “Bloody insane, but they just wanted to find a way t’time share the poor beast.” He watched the gaggle of girls gasp in shock, realizing how silly it might’ve sounded. Standing slowly as they nearly ran off to tell others, Frank turned—and was caught. Sheepish, he shrugged his shoulders. “I—uh, might’ve heard Bertha tell people that.” He explained.

There was something horrible about feeling like you had misjudged a person. Brie left McGonagall’s office, and the Auror within it, feeling upset as the questioning caught up with her. The rumours were not just rumours. Her Yule Ball date was, indeed, a suspect and Brie felt like somebody had kicked her in the stomach. She had enjoyed her evening with Peter Pettigrew, seen potential in him for more, but now--

She sat on the bottom but one step of the nearest staircase and breathed, “Fuck.” She heard footsteps near then stop and it took some time for her to realise that she was in the way. “Fuck,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Whoever walked down the hall could hear it, the piercing, blood curling scream that echoed from the Hospital Wing. It’d been a blur between the Pitch, that fiery pain that inflamed her body so sharply, she didn’t see or think about anything else. The faint whistle blown, and then James was quickly in her face faster than she could’ve considered. That’s all Marlene remembered, if she was to be coherent about it. She didn’t realize Pomfrey had cut through the uniform she bore just to be able to see her ribs, the protruding bones pressed against bare skin. She didn’t think about the room, or if she focused she could’ve seen Mulciber walking out, grinning smugly at her. ‘We have to re-set the bones—‘ Marlene’s eyes were closed. She could hear the shuffle of footsteps, the way some sharp raps against the concrete ground of the castle floor broke, and there was her head of house. Wand pointed at Marlene, binding her wrists to stop her from moving. ‘Ms. McKinnon, this is going to hurt—‘ But that first crack, her body snapping as eyes filled with tears. Then the second—that piercing scream almost muffled by the gurgle in the back of her throat. ‘Two more, there’s two more!’ But it wasn’t like Marlene was hearing them, the film of sweat against her cheeks, skin burning as nails dug sharply into the pals of her hands. It was quick work, magic, but it wasn’t like the pain wasn’t there—lingering in the air, stenches of the sounds of her immediate pain as Madam Pomfrey tried to work as fast as possible, though it felt like ages. The last gasp fell, her hands released to stop her thrashing, as she looked up. ‘You’ll be alright, McKinnon.’ And she only nodded weakly to McGonagall, as she was readjusted into a laying position, head back, trying to catch her breath as she ignored the sound of approaching footsteps.

Walden wouldn’t even have heard about Lily’s party if it weren’t for Xanthus. There was no reason that he’d be invited. Remus surely didn’t. He wouldn’t really have gone either way if it weren’t for the younger Ravenclaw practically dragging him to come. Walden relented. He reminded himself that only Remus really suspected anything and that even he was eventually placated. Even if it were temporary. 

Walden lost the other boy pretty immediately in the party so he simply chose to linger by the drinks table, aiming to get himself pretty buzzed throughout the night. He drank two shots of firewhiskey right away. Easy. He was about to pour himself a third when he noticed the person behind him. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to hog the drinks.” Walden extended the bottle of brown liquor towards the other person. “Wanna shot?”