there's no plan

There’s  a  sharp,  clipped  response  lingering  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  threatening  to  escape  and  teeth  grind  as  Lavender  attempts  to  swallow  it  back  down.  No  bickering  tonight,  that’s  what  she  promised  herself.  Valentine’s  Day  should  be  about  spreading  love,  not  hate.  If  there  was  just  one  thing  the  wolf  still  believed  in,  it  was  absolutely  that.  Even  if  it  means  forgiving  a  stolen  shot  she’d  been  waiting  forever  and  a  day  for.          ‘     No.  No,  it’s  fine.     ’          Hand  is  quick  to  wave  the  apology  off,  regaining  composure.          ‘     You  clearly  needed  it  more  than  me.     ’          Understandable  too,  given  how  crowded  this  place  was.  Apparently  there  were  a  lot  of  people  looking  to  find  love.  Or  something  else.          ‘     I  won’t  turn  down   a  replacement  though.  I’m  not  nearly  as  buzzed  as  I  should  be.     ’

Tracey smiles a small shy smile, the buzz of her drinks tonight making her feel a little friendlier than normal. She feels like she’s clawing her way out of the shell she’s built around herself. A hand raises to get the bartender’s attention, and she raises an eyebrow.

“What’re you having?” she asks, reaching into the pocket of her dress for some coins. Recognition hits her as she waits for a reply. “Lavender, right? Lavender Brown? Sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

if     she     envies     the     way     tracey     doesn’t     have     to     splutter     herself     into     a     storm     after     a     sip     of     her     own     drink     ,     phoebe     has     the     good     grace     not     to     show     it          !          instead     ,     wide     hues     are     trained     on     the     fuchsia     clouds     that     continue     to     ripple     over     the     edge     of     her     glass     ,     only     to     𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄     into     already     -     thick     air     .          “          fire     -     breathing     potion     ,     fucking     hell     .     makes     sense     ,     i     guess     .     dunno     about     the     romantic     quality     of     it     ,     though     .     d’ya     reckon     someone’s     gonna     be     genuinely     charmed     if     their     date     singes     their     𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜     off     ‘cos     they     ordered     a     shitty     drink          ?          ”

Tracey shrugs, gesturing with her own bottle. “Might be someone’s idea of a prank,” she suggests, brain flicking to the Weasley twins from school. Then she snorts, wrinkling her nose. “I dunno how much of this is romantic, to be honest,” she says, voice heavy with doubt. “I know the muggles have cinnamon whiskey but uh... This is excessive.” She holds out her bottle to Phoebe with a raised eyebrow. “If you’d rather have this, I can go get another,” she offers. “I haven’t started drinking it yet.”

status: open (@startertms)

Tracey was hot. The club felt like it was crawling with bodies, pushing into one another and raising the temperature. The warmth in her veins from the drinks she’d had wasn’t helping, either.

She sidled up to the bar and signaled to the bartender that she wanted a shot of something that didn’t burn like cinnamon or smoke or fizz or whatever else the hell the cocktails were doing. She tugged at the hem of her lurid pink dress, feeling self-conscious outside of her usual jeans or robes and cursed the friends that had dragged her out to “meet some new people, Trace, you can’t hide form the world forever-”

Without thinking she grabbed the first shot that slid her way down the bar and tossed it back, then set the glass back down and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said, realization dawning. “Was that yours? Here, let me buy you another-”

“i can see that.” theodore’s response was blunt, which wasn’t necessarily his intention. however, he didn’t care enough to apologize for his reaction. he was clearly still in utter disbelief, though he managed to resist rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. perhaps he could discreetly pinch himself? 

“i suppose i can’t fault you for that,” he responded, his lips pursed as he exhaled. he was telling the truth, as much as it pained him to admit. he could see himself doing the same thing under different circumstances, but he didn’t mention that. “as long as you’re buying,” he remarked, this time allowing a smirk to settle across his face. 

Tracey let a slow smile spread across her face as he smirked at her. There was her Theo, she thought, feeling herself soften just a little. “I’ll get the first round, at least,” she teased. “Where do you want to go? Leaky? White Wyvern?” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “I don’t even really know what else has opened up since I visited Ama last. I haven’t spent that much time around here yet.”

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽          :          amortentia     . 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂          :          open          (          @startertms​          )          .

“          have     a     sniff     of     this     ,     will     you          ?          ”          phoebe     doesn’t     bother     with     niceties     before     a     glass     of     something     heinously     hot     -     pink          &          smoking     is     thrust     underneath     a     veritable     stranger’s     nose          !          “          there’s     somethin’     in     it     ,          &          i’m     dead     sure     it’s     𝐍𝐎𝐓     a     love     potion     .     smells     fucking     rank     ,     honestly     .          ”          another     wave     wafts     with     the     breeze     ,          &          the     scrunch     of     her     nose     is     entirely     warranted     .          “          shouldn’t     valentine’s     day     drinks     smell     like     𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜     or     something          ?          this     smells     like     minty     shit     .          ”

Tracey very nearly gags as Phoebe thrusts a smoking pink glass under her nostrils. Instead, she settles for a wrinkling of her nose and a moue of displeasure crosses her lips. “It’s less than ideal,” she admits, backing away to take a sip from the bottle she’s holding. She had decided to forgo a cocktail until later - Much later, after, perhaps, they aren’t smoking anymore. “Fire Breathing Potion has mint in. Maybe that’s what’s making it smoke.” 

Status: Open (@startertms)

Tracey had forgotten how cold February was in this part of the world. Last February, she’d been staying in San Diego, enjoying the ocean and the sun. Now she was swaddled under layers of cloaks and jumpers, with thick-soled dragon hide boots and mittens knitted by her Grandma Davis to keep her warm. Her teeth chattered and snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes as she ducked into the nearest shop, deciding that being anywhere indoors was better than in the bloody snow and sleet. She pulled her hood down and smiled politely at the person nearest her. 

“It’s too damn cold,” she said simply, stomping her boots to get rid of the accumulated snow. “Makes me miss the beach.”

“poor diggory’s,” hande corrects, quietly, sparing a thought for the family that had been fractured by their loss. no one can ever be sure whether it’s worse to be the one who lived or the one who died, but even after all these years she finds it too easy to recall his fathers howl of pain and the dual looks of horror on his siblings faces. the memory appropriately sobers her for the rest of what tracey has to say, and hande doesn’t even try to deflect. “i think you might be right.” her drink is lukewarm when she takes a desperate gulp from it, both to wash away the dryness of her mouth & to do anything but dwell any farther. flavia is a welcome topic change. “not much the daily prophet hasn’t covered, no. my nene told me that if she’s anything like her brother - domineering, from what i gather - then she’s someone to keep an eye on. i think she’s fascinating. she’s certainly more experienced than minister karkaroff, being the ex head of international magical co-operation, and i can’t see how that could be a BAD thing.” 

Tracey pulls a face as through she’s tasted something bitter at the thought of the Diggorys, lips contorted for the briefest of moments before schooling herself. She takes a sip from her glass as she considers. “She sounds interesting,” she concedes. “I wasn’t around when her brother was in charge,” she admits. “And people didn’t talk much about him when we wrote, so...” She shrugs. “I suppose we’ll have to see. Who else is running? Do we know, or is it too soon to tell?” 

if anyone were to ask, theodore was not in diagon alley to attend the campaign event. because that would be foolish, for a ministry employee already in a bit of hot water to attend an event for the current minister’s competition. no, he was simply running an errand.

he kept to the back of the crowd, his gaze directed at the ground, taking great care to avoid making any sort of eye contact. and on top of that, he only stayed for a few minutes, just enough to hear the end of the candidate’s speech. once he was sure he’d heard enough, he spun in his heel as he turned to leave.

it was unfortunate that he collided with someone, a choice swear escaping his lips as he reluctantly lifted his head. “tracey?” he responded, clearly caught off-guard by her appearance. “it’s been a while,” he responded, having collected himself just enough to smile. 

Tracey shook herself out of her shock, mirroring his smile with a small one of her own. “I’m back,” she said, the words escaping before she could stop them. “For good, this time. I know I should have written, but...” She trailed off. But what? ‘But I didn’t want to tell anyone, not even you’ felt cruel and it wasn’t what she meant, not really.

The crowd around them started to move as the speech concluded, and she shifted to dodge a couple that nearly ran into her. “Do you want to get out of here?” She asked, one hand darting up to tuck a loose bit of hair behind her ear. “To get a drink or something, I mean,” she clarified. “It has been awhile.”

“my nene says the same,” not often, but succeed in getting sabiha abaci onto the topic of ministers past & she usually can’t help herself. hande only really had an opinion on kingsley shacklebolt ( mostly positive, which was mostly to be expected ), but her grandmother insisted millicent bagnold was the best of a terrible bunch. “i want to say something nice about him,” she admits, because that’s her way. a part of her really does wish she could sigh and forgive him the sins of his past with a shrug of the shoulders and quiet, he had a lot to deal with, “but i mostly just remember the way he dismissed what happened to cedric diggory. professor umbridge was one thing, but that was unforgivable.” and then she shakes her head like she might be able to shake the worst thoughts out of it and reaches for one of her canapes, adding, “whatever happens, at least these were good.”

Tracey shudders. “Poor Diggory,” she says, her stomach tying itself in knots. She can remember him clearly, even after this long. “I think”, she says slowly, “That a lot of what happened to us was unforgivable. Umbridge was just the tip of the iceberg.” She reaches for her drink while she thinks. “Do you know anything about this one?” She jerks her head to the room where Flavia is holding court. “I’ve been away and I haven’t been keeping up with everything as well as I should have been.”

location: on the way out of diagon alley status: closed for @traceynoxtms​

There’s a funny thing about reunions where they come in pairs, and tonight is apparently no different, because as she’s headed out and on her way back to the flat, Otto all but collides–once again–with a familiar face. Two collisions. Two reunions. An eventful night. Otto scrambles to keep the drink in her hand from spilling all over the person she’s collided with, holding it weirdly off to the side. “Oh shit–oh sorry, I really didn’t mean to–” She pauses as she looks up and realizes who she’s actually collided with, taking a small step back. “Tracey?” 

After running into Theo, Tracey thinks she’s had enough surprises for one night. Apparently, though, fate has a sense of humor, because she walks into a second familiar person and feels the sinking feeling in her stomach again. Otto Crabbe. 

Tracey has felt a certain amount of guilt for running instead of staying and facing what was happening at home during her seventh year. While she was safely ensconced in France, bundled out of the United Kingdom by her well-intentioned mother and dad, her classmates were fighting and, in the case of Vincent Crabbe, dying as child soldiers in a war.

So she steels herself and cocks her head to the side. “It’s fine, Otto. No harm, no foul,” she says, trying to keep her voice as light as possible to mask the panic she’s feeling.

Tracey had been keeping a somewhat low profile since returning to England. There was something that her former classmates had lived through that she simply hadn’t, that she couldn’t quite relate to. Oh, she had been there when the Dark Lord had started to gather followers to the Cause, but she certainly hadn’t lived through the horror of the Carrows and she certainly didn’t carry the scars of the myriad of Battles or the fresh wounds of those who had been left to pick up the pieces. Beauxbatons had sheltered her from the worst of it.

So it wasn’t that she was hiding, necessarily. She just didn’t know what to say to those who had stayed when she had run. She hadn’t actively been sending out owls to her former friends to meet up for coffee or cocktails. She would put her head down when walking through Diagon after work on her way to her flat, and normally, that wasn’t an issue.

Tonight, though, the Alley was crowded, and in the crush of bodies she collided with someone. “I’m so sorry,  I wasn’t paying attention-” She began as she looked up to meet the eyes of the person she’d rammed into. “Theo? Theo Nott?” 

“you chose the wrong bar,” hande sympathises, though she can’t relate - hers was a conscious decision to be present, no singular choice to be blamed. it’s the hufflepuff in her that tries to find light in the situation, even when she’s not the one sure to suffer, “at least it’s all free?” when one considers how highly most wix think of the leaky, sitting through a boring political event seems like a rather small price to pay. “no,” she says, quickly, a chuckle tumbling past her lips, “no, not at all. i have no hippogriff in this race, though i find the whole thing fascinating - i mean, do you remember what it was like for cornelius fudge? because i don’t.”

Tracey snorts quietly. “I do remember Fudge,” she says, plucking another hors d’oeuvre off of the plate at her elbow. She can remember Fudge swanning around the Ministry in his cloacks and bowler hats, glad handing his donors and allies and accomplishing a grand total of nothing. “Total waste of space.” She nods her head towards the larger dining room. “At least this one can offer bread and circuses for us.” She raises the canape as if toasting Hande before she bites into it. “I’ll never complain about a free canape.” 

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   the leaky cauldron, london   !

“this is all a bit mad, isn’t it?” hande asks her neighbour, a really rather obvious attempt at making SMALL talk while the rest of the ‘guests’ grabbed plates of the finger food on offer and chased down any servers still clutching their bottles of wine. she positioned herself very wisely at the bar to avoid that particular rush, and managed to sweet talk old tom ( an old friend of her grandmothers ) into sliding a plate of the nicer looking canapé’s directly to her on their way from the kitchen - she pushes it with her index figner, now, small offering to the person who has found themselves beside her. “please, help yourself. are you here cause you’re invested?” 

Tracey looks at the person next to her with a start, eyes narrowing as she considers the plate of canapes in front of them. With a quirk of an eyebrow she selects one and takes a nibble of the corner as she shrugs. “I’m not invested in anything, much less who is or isn’t Minister. I thought I’d grab dinner before I went home, but...” She trails off and takes a sip of the drink in front of her. “What about you? Are you... invested?” She raises her eyebrows on the last word, making it weightier than intended.