violet parkinson

Dolores pressed her hand upon her own chest and raised a brow at Violet. “Aren’t you smart.” she said in a sarcastically sweet tone. In truth, Dolores was impressed by the strangers calm, most would push back on her even harder. “Perhaps you did not realize that you stepped right in front of my path. But don’t you worry, dear, I will walk around you….” and indeed she did while she stared up and down at the woman before making it to her destination. 

But before she can even enjoy the tea sets she turned right back around and approached Violet. “I do not recognize your face, and I know most everyone around here.” working in the ministry gave you that luxury to know whom is who and what is what, but this perticular person was a mystery to her. “Who are you?” she asked curiously. 

-

“Please do.” Violet keeps at her smile, already glancing back to the various stalls and decorations all around them. The brief encounter seemingly forgotten. Herself back to being engulfed to the feeling of nostalgia and Christmas festivities with snow falling down slowly all around her. She sighs contentedly.

All that is broken, however, when the stranger proceeds to question her instead. Unaware of the fact that Violet might like it better to be left alone. Stopping her eyes from rolling, she looks over to the woman, giving her a nod. “You think you know everyone but you don’t,” she states simply, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. The cold biting her throat as she reaches into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes. She lights one. “Violet Parkinson. Though I must admit I don’t know you either.”

“i don’t stay there for long,” she says, still pretending as if her loft was just a transitory space rather than a full on home. she’d never felt at home within four walls, loved seeing the stars at night as she fell asleep at campsites. “there’s no need for pretty paintings and potted plants – just a good glass of scotch for a nightcap.” she says, bouncing on her heels slightly as she strained her neck to see past the unbelievable tall man blocking her view. “i have investments,” she says, she worked for a bank of course she knew about them. “and they’re not safe. i lost a few thousand galleons just last month. i still prefer good old-fashioned bets if you ask me.” she looked down at her feet, kicking snow onto the man in an attempt to get him to move. “you can’t apparate onto a site you’ve never been to,” she shrugs, “plus century old anti-apparition wards in most of them,” she argues. “and terrifying can be good – where’s your sense of adventure?”

-

“It’s still your home,” Violet replies, “You’ll go home to it always. Even after all your adventures and what not.” She has always believed that a house should feel like a home, somewhere you can truly be comfortable in. A place you don’t have to guard yourself in. A place of no pretense. A safe bubble of sorts. Clearly, Dahlia disagrees. Even though she’s been mostly home for the past six months. A fast which does not go unnoticed by Violet. “Getting one painting isn’t going to hurt you. I can send you one if you can’t be bothered to buy one.” Looking at the long line of people in front of them, she sighs, already knowing that this will be a long wait by the stillness of the people in front of them. Her hand going out to yank Dahlia’s, urging her quietly to stop launching snow at the innocent man in front of them. Violet would like to avoid a fight with a stranger this morning. She hasn’t drunk enough cafeine to duel. “You’ll recoup your losses,” she shrugs before continuing in a monotonous tone, repeating a life lesson she had been given years ago by a financial mentor, “If you start betting then you’ll start gambling. Then you’ll lose all your money and even your home.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing down at the watch on her wrist, noting the time before retorting back. “My sense of adventure died the moment my housemates dared me to go into the Forbidden Forest at midnight to call out a banshee.”

Status: Open

Wandering from stall to stall, Violet Parkinson looks down interestedly at the array of knickknacks sold by the sellers, marveling at the enchanted teacups and glittering postcards. It has been years since the last time she went to these yearly markets. She couldn’t even remember who she went with back then or even what she bought. It was that long ago and, really, the market has changed tremendously. She did not remember it to have this many tenants. Or these sparkly decorations.

Sighing, Violet makes a note to come here every year before moving on to the next stall. This one selling a huge selection of questionable potions with questionable effects. She scrunches her nose before looking over to the person next to her. “I wouldn’t buy these if I were you,” she shakes her head, moving away slightly from the display, “They usually source their ingredients from questionable places and I doubt any potion worth its price would be sold here.”

Where . Hogsmeade Festivities

Who . Dolores & OPEN

Shopping, who did not love shopping more than Dolores Umbridge. Now that she had some free time from work, she took the oppotnity to head down to Hogsmeand Village Winter Market. Just like last year, Dolores could not miss the array of floral teasets at one of the stalls that she can never bother to remembe the name of, However, all she could remember were the beautiful hanging teacups that floated above like clouds while strings of lights dangled in between them.

Seeing those lights and the teacups, Dolores made haste, her small pink purse dangling on her wrist and the tail of her pink pea coat flying her as she flew down the street, her heels clacking on the cobblestone announcing her presence in the market. She came close until some decided to get in her way and bump Dolores back. “Excuse me…..” she said behind gritted teeth “You are in my way…” 

-

There is something quite pretty about Hogsmeade when it’s all decked out for the winter festivities. A charm all of its own. Little stalls offering trinkets and beverages and whatnot. Christmas decorations here and there. Market goers milling about with their shopping bags. Violet has always liked to witness this little winter miracle, watching the people walk by and noting the most popular stalls, buying things that she would put in her closet in three months’ time. The wonders of Christmastime in Hosmeade.

As she stands and watches, she hears the words first and then sees the gritted teeth and annoyed expression. The pointed you are in my way. The blonde girl looking at her as if she is a hindrance to her plans for the evening. “The street seems wide open,” she smiles, a deadly quirk of her lips, completely pleasant except for the notes behind them, “Feel free to walk around me.”

“the glass box would make it seem special though,” she insists with a bit of a lisp as the hot chocolate had just burned her tongue. “but i guess as my only piece of decoration it will be special enough.” she shrugs, fingers seeking warmth from her cup as she moves closer to violet in attempt to gather warmth. she didn’t quite count the bookshelf filled with bottles of alcohol, gifted and bought alike, as decoration despite the fact that the need for storage had turned out aesthetically pleasing. “pffft,” she says, the sound entirely unladylike, “i don’t need the money, i made a killing on my last site.“ she doesn’t mention that her last site had been more than six months ago due to her injury, something that would have been unheard of had she come out of it unscathed. dahlia didn’t often stay home too long, a few weeks at most between sites. “besides, maybe i’ll finally learn to fly properly with a good enough broom – it’s a good skill to have.”

-

“I’ll never understand your taste in decorations,” she shakes her head. Having seen what constitutes as decorations at Dahlia’s place (alcohol bottles on a bookshelf instead of a nice little bar section?), Violet figures it’s only natural for Dahlia to gravitate towards a novelty broom for a wall piece. It’s so Dahlia. “The money can be invested into something that isn’t going to decrease in value in six months.” she finishes the last of her hot chocolate. The liquid burns her tongue but leaves her throat warm. A protection against the morning’s mist and cold. “Investments are safe you know.” She gives Dahlia a look, one that indicates the words she leaves unspoken always. Safer than your job. Violet has always known that she can’t stop Dahlia from pursuing adventure but she does worry for her sister and her knack of breaking into cursed sites Cursebreaker isn’t the safest job in the world. The mortality rate is concerning. “Apparition is faster. Heights are terrifying.”

𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: Dogweed and Deathcap; Hogsmede Village 𝘸𝘩𝘰: open

The earthy scent of the apothecary suited Severus. It was real. Not perfumed and fake like most places in the Wizarding World, but gritty and occasionally unpleasant.  Dogweed and Deathcap had been his first choice of placement when he had entered the potioneer apprenticeship, but alas they had not been in need of one at the time. Stamping his boots on the mat, Severus nodded to the shopkeep. The man grunted in greeting before returning to whatever it was he was grinding in the mortar and pestle. Arnica was the first ingredient Severus needed and it was not in season. It’d drain his pockets for sure, but it beat having to travel to get the plant.

He strolled through the store, stopping here and there to touch one ingredient or sniff another. He paused a moment to admire the shifting rainbows within the jar of fairy wings before continuing on. That was what he liked about this place. So many exotic ingredients he hoped to use one day. Just ahead he noticed someone bump their basket into a display. Lunging forward, he snatched a jar just before it hit the ground. “Powdered Graphorn horn.” He murmured, setting it back on the shelf. “I just saved you several hundred galleons. Be more careful.” He snapped, caring more about the near soiled powder than the person’s wallet.

-

Purchasing ingredients has always been one of Violet’s favourite parts of the week. The Mungo’s keeps the ingredient cupboards stocked at all times, filling it with the most ordinary of plants to the rarest and hardest to find ones. But there are always ingredients missing here and there. People using too much of one ingredient and forgetting to mark the weekly purchase list for it. Potioneers replenishing batches of a certain potion. Someone stealing from the cupboard. All kinds of reasons as to why an ingredient isn’t there and the one reason why Violet is here today.

Having filled up her basket with dandelion roots and Chinese chomping cabbage, she begins to wander around the store, barely noticing where she is going when her basket catches the end of a shelf and sending a jar nearly toppling to the ground. Nearly because a boy manages to catch it before it hits the ground. And then talk to her snidely, as if she knows nothing of potioneering and the worth of the ingredient she nearly spilled. “Thank you,” she smiles, though there’s clear annoyance displayed in her eyes, “I know what and how much that costs but I’m sure Mungo’s can cover the cost for me.” She takes the jar off the shelf and places it inside her basket. Technically, she does not need it but she has the money to spend on it. “And please, no need to extend your kindness if you’re going to be snide about it.”

open starter .

dahlia has always hated the cold. or at least since she grew used to being out in the sun. she prefers the redness and heat of sun-burnt skin to the cold blush that now took over her complexion. she’s bundled up to the max, a raffle ticket in one gloved hand and a hot chocolate in the other as she shivers in the middle of hogsmeade. she’s never been a fan of small talk, but she desperately wants to distract herself from the cold so she turns to the person next to her, says the first thing that comes to mind, “i don’t really ever play quidditch,” she starts, “but i’d like to win the broom just so i can tell people i was lucky enough to win the latest model from a raffle. i think i’ll display it on my wall, put it in a glass box and just have dinner guests stare at it in envy – or maybe confusion.” 

-

“That’s wasteful.” Violet points out, tightening her coat around her body as she trudges down Hogsmeade with Dahlia; faint dark circles under her eyes and her face puffy. She hadn’t planned on going with her sister to her broom raffle event this morning, never having much interest in Quidditch herself and having a total amount of zero excitement for something as mundane as brooms. But Dahlia can be persuasive. And Violet likes the hot chocolate they sell here. Taking a quick sip from her cup, she looks to Dahlia. “And it’s a broom, it doesn’t need a glass box. They’re meant to get dirty, scrawny, and ugly.” She gestures to nothing in particular. “If I were you, I’d resell it at a high price. People are always desperate for unavailable new things.”

Is that VIOLET PARKINSON we can see entering the Ministry of Magic? Our records tell us that they were born on 1st APRIL 1953 and are a TWENTY SIX years old, PUREBLOOD who currently works as a RESIDENT POTIONEER AT ST MUNGO’S. Some have said that they can be described as being CHARISMATIC, CLEVER & WELL-MANNERED, however, they also see themselves as being  EGOTISTICAL, PRESUMPTUOUS & SELF INDULGENT. Apparently, SHE look(s) a lot like SEO YEJI, whoever that is, and if they had to pick a side in the war, they would choose to JOIN THE DEATH EATERS.