Emmeline didn’t want to be here. When the idea of having a party had been floated about during a meeting a few weeks ago, her first thought was no thanks. Why would she want to remember her captivity and what she had gone through? But she had glanced at James and Gideon and Marlene and when they hadn’t said no, she had resigned herself to not saying anything. Everyone had looked so excited about the prospect of a party and she couldn’t bring herself to take away their happiness. Emme knew that they meant well and she couldn’t...take that away from them. 

Even before Halloween Emme had never been one to go to a party. Ravenclaws weren’t known for holding raucous parties in their common rooms, and she had never been one to venture out to the other houses for their parties. So she didn’t entirely know what she should do. Caradoc had looked at her with pity at one point and shoved a cup of something into her hands, which she had been sipping at occasionally as she watched the rest of the Order let loose. Some deep part of her wished that she could let loose like they were, but they didn’t have the memories that she tried so hard to forget and lock away. Emmeline wouldn’t say that the rest of the Order hadn’t lived their own hell while they were gone but they also would never really understand what it was like for the four of them. They thought that a party could make them forget and move on but if it were that easy surely Emmeline would have tried that four months ago. 

A voice startled her and she nearly jumped, but she was proud of herself for holding it together. Her cup had only sloshed a little bit. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, can you say that again?” Emme asked nervously, an apologetic look on her face. 

This party was technically for him. And it wasn’t that James was bitter about it - a party is a party and he generally liked parties - but he also would’ve preferred the actual homecoming he’d been thinking of for four fucking months while locked up in that cell. Instead, he got friends torn apart, a girlfriend (ex) who’d lost her damn mind, and a weird aversion to quiet darkness. But he was fine.

He was fine. Whatever Hestia and Caradoc and Alice and Frank said be damned. Still, it wasn’t like he had anything to do tomorrow. Not having a job meant he could sleep off the hangover that would undoubtedly happen. Maybe he could fall asleep curled up next to Sirius again - maybe he could even convince the man to sleep as a dog because his dog form had soft fur, which was much better than a hairy ballsack if Sirius decided to sleep naked again.

Damn, he should get a job. Just to have something to do, since Hestia had decided he was too fragile for leadership and, for some fucking reason, everyone listened to her. He took a drink - a long one, a really long one - of his firewhiskey and looked around, grabbing the first person he saw by their shirt, dragging them towards him. “Take a shot with me.” A demand, sort of.

Sirius had gone just a bit harder in the beginning than he probably should have, slamming back a few shots before turning to something a little tastier. The hard stuff got the job done, after all. But, the fact remained that Sirius was drunk, and he was having a rather pleasant evening, having so far avoided a few unsavory characters who would otherwise put a damper on his night. No, tonight he wanted to drink and celebrate, because there was enough worth celebrating, he thought. And it had been far too long since he’d been to a great party.

But, the drinks were not up to his standards. Making his way behind the bar, he dismissed the poor wix Caradoc had loped into serving them all, offering to take over for a bit while she took a breather. He had recently taken up employment at the Flaming Dragon, after all, and he enjoyed making drinks - and ‘needed the practice,’ according to Caradoc. 

Sirius had plenty of experience with alcohol, of course, stemming from a curious youth with a penchant for trouble. He hadn’t been able to keep down a job for long, but that wasn’t for lacking skills. No, Sirius’ drinks were, like most things he did, excellent, without much effort on his part. 

He had just finished whipping together a concoction of roses, mulled mead, and gin with something of a dramatic flair that he was known for in the bars he’d worked at. He turned as someone approached and offered a grin on instinct, steadying himself on the bar as the alcohol made his world tilt. “What can I get ya?” he asked, eyes focusing on the face before him.

Edgar probably shouldn’t have had that last shot if he was being completely honest. The room had taken on a pleasant glow that he was fairly certain was not magical and in fact in his own head. No worries. A glow only made the night more exciting. He already had his jar filled and ready to set out to collect eclipse water tomorrow, and he didn’t have to work until Thursday. There was nothing about tonight that shouldn’t go right.

He did not stumble, thank you, as he made his way over to a corner of the room where he hadn’t really talked to anyone yet. “You know I figured there would be a little more dancing. Not in the mood? I bet you’ve got some moves hiding there if you really wanted to.” Probably not the best to shame people for not dancing if he wanted to keep this conversation going. “Watcha doing instead?”

OPEN

Date: June 17th, 1984

Location: Prewett Estate

Time: Mid-Afternoon

When Hestia's duties had first been expanded, she'd decided early on to fashion herself a little alcove within the Prewett Estate. She'd found the perfect space to make her own in a westward facing, second-floor study. The paint in the room, a near-blinding chartreuse green, and the creaking floorboards may have been off putting to some, but Hestia saw only one thing as she entered the room.

A set of big, beautiful, open windows, positioned in just the right way that one could enjoy the setting sun when one chose to work late (which one chose to do, often.)

Hestia had taken little time in charming the windows to appear boarded closed from the outside, still allowing the warm sunshine to dapple the length of the ancient, peeled-paint covered desk she'd adopted as her own. This desk had a drawer, second from the bottom on the right side, that appeared to be empty. If one knew the correct spell they might find a small wooden box, locked tight with multiple charms. If one could break each of these charms, they would open the box to discover it was empty. But, if they had the know how to take the now opened box, place it on top of the desk, and tap on it thrice, the small box's bottom would swing open, allowing one to reach their hand deep inside and pull out the Order of the Phoenix's meeting minutes, which Hestia currently sat pouring over as the sunshine poured through her one-way window.

Everyone in the Order knew where to find Hestia Jones on Sunday afternoons, whether they'd had a meeting recently or not, so searching for her here with questions or concerns was not uncommon. She would read and reread the past minutes, checking for any signs of tampering or mistakes. Usually accompanied by her trusty treasured Walkman, which on this particular Sunday was equipped with her latest favorite, a Muggle band called The Gogo's. Their latest album had only just come out, and Hestia was anxiously awaiting her next visit to her mother's, where she was sure the cassette was waiting for her.

Hestia was so absorbed in the work and her cassette that she'd hardly noticed someone had entered her makeshift study. She'd been dancing and mumbling along to the song, when she shook her head in such a way that her headphones came loose and she heard the distinctive sound of another presence in the room.

Hestia couldn't help but make a sort of choking noise as she abruptly stopped singing. She removed the headphones from the top of her head and placed them, very delicately, around her neck, not yet having taken a good look at the intruder.

Reggie felt a bit like a school boy standing at the window staring at the broom inside. If there was one thing he regretted most about all the things sold at seventeen, it really wasn’t the family estate. That reminded him too much of his father anyway. No, it was his broom he’d struggled to part with, and the worst part was that he knew he’d given the fourth year he’d sold it to one hell of a deal. But he’d needed the money.

As he started at the newest Cleansweep in the window, he wondered if he could save up enough for a new one. If he got that same Comet, surely it would be a little less now. Maybe he could get one used. He missed flying desperately, though, and even if it felt like a foolish investment, it was one with joy.

Someone else standing in his periphery jogged Reggie from his thoughts, and he glanced over, relieved it wasn’t actually a school boy fawning over the broom. “Looking to buy or just checking out what’s on the market?” he asked, figuring a little conversation could never hurt.

Wila stood in the war room, hand on her hip as she looked over the maps that Hestia had left behind after the meeting. It was a noble cause, saving a bunch of muggleborn children, Wila could admit that. It wasn’t exactly why she had signed up with the Order, but she would do her job when it came down to it. She might even be able to take down one of the bastards in the process of saving the kid. She couldn’t stand the way that some of the other members were bitching about their assignments like this was a damned group project at Hogwarts. It was why she didn’t hang around the estate when she didn’t need to. It was just so petty and she had no time for the bullshit. 

The door opened up behind her, and Wila mentally sighed, preparing herself for more whining, she was sure. “If you’re here to bitch about your mission squad I’m clearly not Hestia. And no, I don’t know when she’ll be back. You’re shit out of luck.”

WHEN. june 13th, 1983

WHERE. the flaming dragon

WHO. open starter

Alastor slunk into the Dragon, the remnants of the Order's celebration from the night previous still littering parts of the space, though no one would think it. Made the place look like a stag do had blown up inside. The thought brought a slight smile to the man's face, though no one saw it with his coat collar upturned, a thick beard obscuring most of the bottom half of his face.

His facial hair and temples shot through with silver, Alastor waved a hand at the barkeep, intend on a drink or two to ease his travel-weary body. He'd just gotten off from assignment, an assignment he couldn't shirk much to his irritation.

Duty called, as it were, no matter if there were a war on, and Alastor took his hits fine, even if his body sagged tiredly into the bar top for a moment before he straightened and his eyes sought out every exit he could find.

A familiar figure coming toward him made recognition flicker across his face, but it was there for a single second. If anyone looked at him a moment later, all they would see on the older wizard's face was a bored expression while he waited for his drink.