#yb:starter

Page after page, ridiculousness increased. Alecto took time from her every morning to get her two consecutive cups of coffee and a look at the latest lies the press mumbled onto cheap pages. It never once failed to annoy her, as they’d blow out of proportions in a bad light the slightest detail of her last night, but it was important to read and be informed. Still, one line too bad and she couldn’t bite her tongue and hold it in anymore, with an explosive sigh. Voice not particularly raised, but plenty disgusted, she turned to the first person to her right to quote the publication, intrigued though the taste in her mouth was bitter. "Beastly group, known as the Death Eaters, are assumed to strike Leicester in the following nights. Stay saf-" A cutting short chuckle served as final punctuation. With an eye roll, she glanced at her involuntary interlocutor.  "The world is burning because people don’t know how to write. And because they try to guess."

She was in the back of the shop, working with a new acquisition.  She’d gotten it from an estate sale, some old woman who’d finally died and all her late husband’s things that she’d been hoarding since he’d died were being auctioned off.  There were a couple pieces that had no business being in the home of a nice old lady — and those were just the sort of pieces Mira loved tracking down.  There was a bell at the counter that she hated but had put there anyway so she could spend her time being useful in the back of the shop until a customer actually needed her.  Which is why when she heard the first commotion, she glared at the solid door separating her from the shop but kept on with her work.  The second sound was less a commotion than a crash, though, and it had Mira practically growling as she breezed through the door.  “Oi, keep your bloody hands off the items unless you know what you’re damn well doing.”

Elizabeth Zabini was a pregnant and recent widow and life was supposed to be hard. It wasn’t, of course, but appearances LIE, especially when it came to her --- she feigned mourning and grief as if it was her job ( which it was, in a way ), playing the role of the fragile woman people wished to see quite perfectly. Let them think she was weak. She would proof them all wrong one day. That day, though, she would cry over a cup of tea in a public place, fingers tracing her belly absentmindedly. It was all just too much. She felt victorious every time compassionate eyes fell on her, felt even better when someone approached her. She waved a hand, swallowed thickly, appeared to be embarrassed to be caught of this moment of emotion. “I’m -- I’m sorry, I just ... sometimes it all just comes crashing down on you, you know?”

timestamp : march , 1979

His head was pounding.  He could hear it in his ears, he felt it behind his eyes.  His hands felt shaky, like he hadn’t eaten that day.  Which, in his hands’ defense, he hadn’t; but only because his stomach was threatening to eject whatever he put into it.  The smell of cooking food as he entered the Leaky Cauldron was enough to make his stomach roil.  If it weren’t for the fact that he’d promised Peter he’d pick up dinner, he’d turn on his heel and go right back out.  It would be a pointless endeavor, though.  If Pete wasn’t the one to make sure he ate before the moon, it would be James or Sirius or Lily.  So here he was, leaning on both forearms at a table in the corner, waiting for his order to be ready

He felt, rather than saw, someone sit down across from him and he barely bothered to lift his head before he groaned.  “Did you need something?”

With lime-green robes covered in blood, Andromeda was surely not a good sight. Making sure to cast a quick cleaning spell before she stepped out of the patient’s room, she sighed in relief as she heard him start to snore just as she closed the door behind her. Andromeda hadn’t yet specialized in a specific department, and therefore took patients on a case by case basis. This one had been one she had almost pushed others to the side to get. The man refused to tell where the bite had come from, and ever since he’d been placed on the first floor, Andromeda was still scratching her head over what could possibly have done something like that. She loved it, really. Challenges were one of Andromeda’s favourite things, especially when it came to her job. So far, she had managed to stabilize the patient, and planned on spending the day exploring Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and other books about magical creatures. Maybe even the Monster Book of Monsters, if the rest of the research didn’t resolve in anything. 

Spring in her step, Andromeda made her way to the first floor to go outside and get some food, having discarded her robes in one of the healers’ rooms. She was just about to go out when she noticed a familiar face, and frowned as she made her way over to them. “Is everything okay?” she asked in worry, looking at them for signs of injuries or illnesses. 

the survival of one BENJY FENWICK reads like a poorly executed DARE, a call to action. ‘ come on now, you can do better than that, can’t you? ‘  whoever let him go, flee the scene ---- it’s not someone she’d care to know. she has been on the verge of cracking since the news broke --- so close to ruining the picture perfect facade they’ve been working on for so long (  though, doesn’t it always hang in the balance, when it comes to her? stability has never been her thing ). so she’s seething, where she stands. the elevator moves excruciatingly slow, seemingly mocking her - egging her on. long fingers tighten around her coffee to go cup, dangerously close to breaking it. just being inside the ministry seems like a bit of a cruel joke ---- she’s so close to him, isn’t she? it’d be so easy to just... clean up the mess. finish it. as the elevator crawls closer and closer to her floor ( and becomes nearly empty of people ), she rolls her shoulders, tries to shake off the feeling of inadequacy that is clawing at her bones. her best ‘it’s go time’ smile appears on her lips ( and it’s a disturbing transformation -- how quickly she goes from blackened eyes to a friendly smile ), and she turns around, her body language changing from guarded to something a bit more warm, inviting. it’s not in her nature. “ it really is terrible, isn’t it? “ she says, and she hates the way her voice sounds --- as if it’s wearing a sweater, a layer of softness and warmth surrounding her words. fucking disgusting. but she’s in public, and this is a game that she has agreed to play.... for now, at least. “ this fenwick affair really makes you think, doesn’t it? how many more like him are there, out there? i can only hope they catch them quickly. “ at that, she wants to roll her eyes. spit on the very ground they walk on. but she bites her tongue, catches herself before she does something she will... regret. though, she has come to learn that everything can be fixed... adjusted. just one little word to do the trick --- to make people forget.