#vistarter

Date: May 30th, 1970 Time: 11:45AM Location: Hogsmeade

It was a rare occasion in the village of Hogsmeade: the perfect coinciding of a beautiful late-spring day with a scheduled visit for the students of Hogwarts. The weather was sunny and warm enough to be considered summery, with the gentle hint of a breeze keeping heat from getting too uncomfortable. The streets of the village were teeming with teenagers, all chattering and laughing, enjoying the freedom of some time away from the school grounds. It was one of the last scheduled Hogsmeade weekends before the end of term and certainly the final one before end-of-year examinations rolled around and drove the carefree attitudes out of everyone.

Septimus Crabbe didn’t care about the NEWTs looming in his future. His parents and teachers and even his elder sisters did, as they’d all been nagging him more and more over his final year at the school to get his act together if he wanted to make anything of his life, but he couldn’t really be bothered to care too much. He was eighteen now, an of-age wizard for more than a year, and he had no interest in listening to people nattering at him. His parents and most of his sisters were easy to ignore at least. He’d left home the previous summer, after all, and he could easily bat away the owls that tried to deliver their nagging letters to him. His sister Theia, with whom he’d lived since fleeing the Crabbe manor, was one of the few people who had his back.

‘Whatever,’ she’d said at Easter, watching him toss the charred remains of their father’s Howler into the bin. ‘Just focus on what you’re good at and what you enjoy. Fuck the rest.’

He was happily determined to follow that advice. At least tiny Professor Flitwick believed in him. The Charms professor was one of the only teachers that even seemed to like him and had been encouraging his talent in Charms for years. He was also one of the only people, other than Theia and Ramsey, who Sep had told about his plans for what he wanted to do after graduating. Yeah, old Flitwick was a good’un. One of the only good things about bloody school.

At the moment, school was far from Sep’s mind however. He’d just stepped out of Honeydukes, pockets heavy with sweets and little more on his mind than finding somewhere shady to sit and eat them. The air felt particularly fresh after wading through the crowds in the shop and he paused for a second to enjoy it, before setting off in the direction of the edge of the village, where he might find some privacy to eat candy and smoke. 

Only to be jolted unceremoniously to one side as a tide of excited Third years raced by, stampeding towards The Three Broomsticks like it was their first time in the village. 

As Daisy had exited the library twenty minutes earlier, hopped up on caffeine and really not in the mood to go home and continue studying, she had decided to go and visit her boyfriend at work. It had been more than a week since she’d seen him between her studies and his ridiculous hours, and she knew he was off relatively early tonight. Altogether an excellent plan.

Now that she was here, though, with more than half an hour until Tilden was finished work, it was dawning on her that it maybe hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. Given where he worked, and all. She’d thought about just waiting outside, but it was cold out, and the bouncer kept giving her odd looks. Not to mention, it was really just as awkward to wait outside a strip club, as it would be to go inside. What if someone saw her?

So here she was, inside Studio 9 3/4, and she didn’t think she’d ever felt quite so out of place in her life.

Daisy made her way through the club toward the bar, doing her very best not to look at anything or anyone. Ugh. She must look just as out of place as she felt, wearing study clothes and carting around a bag heavy with her laptop and various textbooks. She was barely even old enough to be in here and indeed the bouncer had looked awfully closely at her ID before letting her in— as if she’d go to the trouble of using a fake just to get into a strip club!

Pink lights reflected off his computer screen, flashing rhythmically to the music which was pulsing in the background. Edgar munched absentmindedly on a french fry as he stared at the screen through thick-rimmed glasses, reading over the paragraph he had just written.

Some of the patrons at the club might think this to be a rather distracting environment to be writing a research paper for a popular nature magazine, but Edgar would argue with them. He had become so accustomed to the smells, sights, and sounds at the strip club that he actually found the place almost meditative. He’d never been someone who could write in complete silence to begin with, and the noise of the club turned out to be the perfect sound for stimulating his brain. 

What was rather distracting, however, was the reason he spent so much time in Platform 9¾ to begin with. That reason being his boyfriend, the handsome bartender who was currently nodding boredly along with a story he was being told by a giggling gaggle of gay men. Edgar peered over the top of his laptop briefly to chuckle at the sight, knowing how much Igor hated small talk. Or any talk at all when patrons were involved. 

Turning his eyes back to his paper, he chewed on his lip as he read a sentence over for the fifth time, trying to figure out how to reword it to feel more natural. It wasn’t flowing correctly, but he wasn’t sure how else to clearly iterate what he was saying.

While he was contemplating this dilemma, the shadow of a body silhouetted by the lights sat down next to him and tapped on the bar to get the nearest bartender’s attention. Edgar was too distracted to really pay the person much mind as they waited for their drink, assuming they were just another person who would take their drink and return to the show. He had purposefully taken a bar seat in the far corner, away from any good view of the stage. People hardly ever sat next to him unless the place was crowded, but it wasn’t overly busy that evening. It was the middle of the week after all, and most people had work the next day. This person had specifically chosen to sit next to him.

After a long few minutes, he became oddly aware that a pair of eyes were on him. A shiver ran through his spine as he glanced up to realize that the person next to him was simply staring rather than trying to order a drink. Though he new that he must look odd, he also knew he wasn’t the oddest sight in the club and eyes rarely questioned him for long, so it was a bit off-putting to have them on him now. 

The village was quiet today. Actually, it was always astonishingly calm whenever he visited outside of the Hogwarts’ calendar, but it never ceased to surprise him. Without the kids clamouring the streets and the rush of business owners wanting to earn their monthly wages with their help, it all felt like a different world. 

Throughout the years, Hogsmeade was a background of so many of his memories. Some fond, some a bit less, but it always carried a sense of homecoming. Hogsmeade was as much of a home to him as Hogwarts was. 

There was, however, a small influence brought on by a certain godfather - one that had threatened promised to be the first one to show Harry the school, preferably by pretending to be a well-behaved dog on his first train ride. And James was having none of that. 

Spurred on by the ancient need to be the first one to introduce Harry to the magical world and having such a debilitating feeling of dread that Sirius could ever up him in the endeavour, he did the only logical thing he could think of - he grabbed Harry and then his stroller, followed by a bunch of toys and poofed them into Hogsmeade.  

Of course, a two-week old new-born couldn’t really appreciate the effort or the views, but it was almost therapeutic for James. Being this close to Hogwarts it simply had to bring in the feeling of comfort. And frankly, he needed a space to think - something that a child’s cooing wasn’t disturbing but a house full of excited uncles (and one aunt) was. And there was a lot that he had to think through. A lot that he technically has been already trying to mull over long before Harry was even born, but he had never made any conclusive decisions. The war and their involvement in it - perhaps he should step down from the Order now that he was responsible for more people, - being only a few most important ones.

They have already made it all the way from the village back to the closed gates when he realised they weren’t alone. A person apparated nearby, perhaps someone with a business with the school, but he couldn’t really see the face of the newcomer to be able to tell who it was. And if his hand closed instinctively on his wand then it was unconsciously done. 

Andie double-checked her list and the things she had collected so far. With Lily’s due date coming up so quickly, she wanted to be sure she was prepared ahead of time. It was always a game of chance as to the baby arriving early, on time, or late, but Andie never liked to leave things up to fate. She had plenty of supplies at home for her general needs, but less for childbirth specifically. 

Honestly, she was also taking a moment just to enjoy being out without Dora. During the school year, Dora was in a Muggle primary school; during the summer, she had a babysitter when Andie had to be out, but she liked to be with Dora as much as possible. Today however . . . well, they had upended the house at least twice and Dora still got paint all over her hair and the walls of her bedroom and somehow the ceiling of the bathroom? Andie didn’t even want to think about that. And it had all happened before lunch! So she had been very happy to hand Dora over to the sitter after lunch, and head out to run her errands.

It was late when Remus found himself looking through the glass of the freezer section in a distracted manner, thoughts elsewhere as he walked through the isles slowly. Above his head, the harsh fluorescents of the corner store flickered, humming loudly in the quiet shop. The setting sun had cooled the city, but the air conditioning inside was a welcome relief from the thick summer heat that still lingered outside.

Opening the door decidedly, Remus carefully selected a few containers of ice cream and placed them in his basket, already containing a random assortment of chocolate, hot crisps, and peanut butter. Moving away from the freezer at last, the werewolf approached the front counter, setting the items on top. Glancing briefly behind the cashier with a few short words, he added a packet of tobacco to the collection. To anyone looking onwards, it would appear as if the wizard had little regard to his health and likely a bad drug habit. While he couldn’t exactly argue against this, that wasn’t his motivation for his trip to the store that day.

He handed the man several coins and exited the shop, eyes instinctively glancing across the street and scanning the area. The werewolf paused only long enough to place a cigarette between his lips and light it before starting off down the street to his left. He hadn’t moved more than a few steps, however, when the bag in his hand split at the bottom, the contents of his shopping trip spilling out onto the street and rolling down the sidewalk.

Even now, Emmeline could smell the blood. It’s been hours, two since they left the surgery room, one since the girl they operated open her eyes. It didn’t make sense, none of it, not the deep cuts a five-year-old should have never been through, not the tears in her eyes when she first appeared at the hospital, scared and so small Emmeline felt as if she was about to disappear; not the lack of any adult despite an old-aged neighbor, and the convulsions of her body as they fought to keep her awake - alive. The witch thought more and more about it yet it never made sense, never would; as healers, they made a vow to fight and protect, not with weapons but rather with their knowledge, the flick of their wand as they healed, cured. Keeping it wasn’t hard, the difficulty came with questions: why kids were hurt, why people suffered, why innocents beard so much pain sometimes.

Lisa, a little girl, a half-blood, somebody whose parents laid dead somewhere, somebody alone and hurt; breathing, yet in so much pain, even now, even sleeping.  How would it be once she woke up? Once somebody told her of mum and dad, of how alone she was - of how much fear she would have to deal with now, no matter how many potions and spells kept her alive. Emmeline wanted to be there; she wanted it so much, not to see her struggle but to try and make it easier, no matter things would never be easy. She wanted to hug her and tell things would be alright, despite the lies, to somehow help, make sure somebody would take care of her. Lisa was alone now and her doctor had just left, forced by her boss who noticed the bags under her eyes, the silent sobs, the way she moved as if a shadow would take over and leave no trace of who she was.

She wanted to call herself selfish, wanted to fight her boss decision, to scream and cry and help… yet she was staring at the door of her apartment, freezing, shaking, a little more broken than the day before. “I have to go in.” Mumbling, Emmeline fought these thoughts, searched for the key inside a bag, fingers trembling, keeping her legs steady - as steady as it could. Moving was somehow easy if she didn’t think about it, but how couldn’t she? Her thoughts traveled back to the little girl, of how she might limb for the rest of her life, because the deepest of the bruises were in her left thigh; imagined somebody doing it to her, enjoying the screams and the blood and… how couldn’t she hate the world a little bit more? Finally she went in, let the bag on a table, took off the uniform, her clothes, allowed her eyes to take notice of the blanket on the sofa, all pads spread through the floor.

Soon her head wasn’t there anymore, but rather deep in unconsciousness, her body taking over as she slept, not peacefully.  It started soon, the usual nightmares, the scene again, repetitively, of the moment Lisa entered the hospital. This time the ending was different, this time nobody congratulated her on the successful surgery, rather screaming at her for letting the girl died, and then it went back, to the moment she was attacked, and she watched if, unable to do anything but stare, her own mind imagining the moment, the spell, the wounds, the screaming; her own screaming mixed to it once she woke up, breathless and tired. She held her hand above her chest, waited as it calmed down, hoping she would get up soon, take a shower and dress up again, live her life no matter how difficult it had always been; the nightmare still followed her though, way too vivid.

There is, until the doorbell rang. “Who- who is it?” She flinched, too afraid, scared. Could it be Lisa’s attacker? Could it be somebody getting to her, angry for she helped saving the girl? Could it be a friend instead of an enemy, and yet… yet she wasn’t in any state to have a visitor. She walked carefully, not a second before her wand was secured tightly in her hand, and used Accio to bring a robe, allowing it to keep her body from the cold. “Say your name and I’ll open.” Holding her breath, Emmeline did the only thing she could: hoped.

@plantsandpotions Date: March 1, 1980 Location: The Three Broomsticks

Sometimes Mary needed to go back to the safe, the familiar. Her family home had been that once, but since her father’s death, it was just a reminder of the dangers of this war. Mary knew she should visit more. But seeing her mother’s continuing sadness was too much for Mary to deal with for any great length of time. So she sent cheery letters by owl almost daily along with funny notes and treats for her mother. They spoke often via Floo too. It was just being there, being home that got Mary down. She was always half expecting her father to come walking through the door. It didn’t matter that it had been a year already. Mary was felt like she was constantly just looking for him. It was hard enough dealing with her own grief. She couldn’t shoulder the burden of her mother’s full time as well. And at least Mary’s grandmother was there. 

With home being out, though, Mary had decided to take a walk through Hogsmeade. The village always reminded Mary of fun weekends off with friends. She had been so happy then, so carefree. Compared to now anyway. Her stomach rumbling reminded Mary that she had only had a coffee this morning before leaving the house. Checking her watch, Mary saw that it was about lunch time anyway. Her feet turned almost of their own accord towards The Three Broomsticks. She had been bound to end up there at some point today anyway. 

Walking in, Mary’s eyes scanned the room for any familiar faces. After a double glance, Mary saw Tilden Toots sitting at one of the tables. Though they weren’t close, Mary liked her fellow Order member. They were good enough friends for the length of time they had known each other anyway.