#tenuousness

Love of hate acts as an axis

Love of hate acts as an axis

First it wanes and then it waxes

i just gotta post the video this has been blowing me away for the past week

Tenuous at best was all he had to say 

The night had been a long one and hand under her chin, Ros found herself leaning on the bar of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for the very last of the drunken patrons to vacate. Eyes slid around the room, mentally ticking off any other tasks that needed completing. A broomstick was lazily sweeping up any remains of the evening, the chairs were making quick work of stacking themselves on the hard, wooden tables and the bar itself had already been wiped clean of the layers of alcohol that might have been sloshed over it through the course of the day.

“Thank you very much, Percival.” She called as an old wizard in a droopy hat gaver her one final wave before he staggered out the front door. She let her forehead drop to the bar at the thought of cashing up for the evening and she kicked her way out of her high heels with a sigh. Because she was the best boss in the history of wizardkind, Rosy had already sent the rest of her staff home and the silence in the room, but for the crackling of the fire and scraping of the broom on the wooden floor, was music to her ears.

The sound of the bell on the door smashed through her serenity like a rogue bludger and Ros’ head snapped upwards to see who was trying to scab one final drink. (It was often James Potter, and she more than often let him have it.) The snarky ‘we’re closed’ died on her lips as Alastor Moody appeared, bearded and tired and as familiar as breathing and a whole different sort of irritation filled the redhead instead.

She hadn’t seen him since that night, when Caradoc Dearborn reappeared on her porch, a mangled and bloody thing. Despite their closeness, formed from over twenty years of friendship, Alastor had been curt, cold. He dodged every question that she had thrown at him with alarming competency and it hurt to think that he didn’t trust her enough to tell her what the actual, bloody fuck was going on.

“You have some nerve coming in here, Alastor Moody,” she barked out, rounding the bar in moments, shoes forgotten. Pushing red curls from her face, Rosy pointed a stern finger in the man’s direction, arms akimbo. “You’re not getting a single drop from me until I’m paid in full for the damages that you owe me.”