#rottentothecarrow

Location: Graveyard Time: Morning, December 29th Status: Closed, for @rottentothecarrow

Bran hadn’t dared to leave the flowers on Mrs Nott’s grave during the funeral. Partly because there had been so many people and she didn’t know her that well personally. It wouldn’t have been proper to push herself forward to throw some sad flowers into the hole that was now going to be her body’s home forever. Partly because floriography wasn’t unknown in the Wizarding World, and the idea to attach herself to Lily Evans’ regret seemed wrong.

But the thought had not left her head, not even days after. Weeks. She didn’t want it to haunt her for months. So one morning she returned, to the family graveyard that was not just the Nott’s family but every branch of respectable pureblood families that somehow interconnected to a large trunk called the Sacred 28. She found Mrs Nott’s grave easily. It was still clean. White. Untouched by time and buried grief.

“Hi,” she said, carefully, quietly, uncharacteristically respectful. “I know we didn’t know each other well, but I’m sorry. For ... this. My mother says you deserved better, and I-, I don’t know if I know enough about you to agree but-, but I know your child does. Um...” She cleared her throat. “He’d deserved to grow up with a mum, is my point. I guess. And I’m-, I’m sorry he won’t. Not-, not that it was my fault but-...” She shook her head. What was she even doing? She held up the flowers, as though for Mrs Nott’s closed eyes to see. “Brought you these. I hope you like them. If not, I guess there’s not much you can do about it, aye?” A shaky laugh.

Location: Battle Valley, in front of the House of Bones Time: 10am, December19th Status: Closed, for @rottentothecarrow​

Edgar was always either fifteen minutes early or six hours late. There was no in between. Considering this was an important appointment, he was fifteen minutes early today. The last thing he wanted was to disrespected Mister Carrow, who had so kindly accepted this job to help the House of Bones out.

The Magical Conservator had been invited to see the place a few months back already, when Edgar had given him a tour of the multitude of living spaces in the Valley of Battle near Hastings, which, grouped together, were called the House of Bones.

They had started in the Norman Courtyard, as it was mostly to be looked at, considering that every step could potentially be a step too far. “Fairies,” was all Edgar had said, trusting Carrow to see the rings for himself, and knowing any proximity to them could be dangerous.

Then they had made their way up the gothic building, to the Ivory Tower, where Edgar had, as always, fallen quiet. Caught by whatever strings of magic were strung around the place, reaching from painted star on the ceiling to the colourful mosaic on the ground and filling him with a thousand foreign thoughts. It was only with immense concentration that he managed to free himself and guide Carrow to the East Wing. The entire time there, he had not dared looking at him, as he knew that not everyone was as affected by the Tower as he was, and it felt like a breech of privacy to see to which kind of person Carrow belonged to; those who could feel the strings, or those who couldn’t.

In the East Wing he was mostly quiet as well, but because it felt like there was no need for words anyway. No Wix with a clear head had ever been blind to the ugly feeling that lay in the air there. Edgar was certain Carrow needed no explanation to notice that something was utterly wrong with the place. Whatever the reasons for this were, however, all the theories the family had come up with over the years, he didn’t say.

They only passed The Chapel briefly--leaving out the catacombs completely--but the strong scent of home cooked dinner was enough to make Edgar feel terribly hungry. Which was why he was glad Rigby had set up some cream tea in the West Wing, to which Carrow was cordially invited.

All of it had been an introduction to the House of Bones. Mostly wordless, as Edgar wanted to hear the Conservator’s judgement without any influences of background information. And because the Order had kept him quite busy in the following weeks, he had given him time to think about it; the theories he could come up with as well as whether he wanted the job at all. Who knew, perhaps the House of Bones was a hopeless case and Edgar would have to tell Caradoc that they’d have to work with the Hebrides Islands after all. 

But, at least it seemed like Carrow wanted to give the job a try. So a second appointment was made.

Much obliged!

I propose Saturday 19th of December, London Rd, Battle. Ten o’clock sharp?

- E.V.Bones