auroras & sad prose;

“Of course.” He said as if it were obvious to him, it wasn’t. He watched her curiously as she walked. “And is that your expert opinion? That I’m good company?” He wasn’t sure that anyone would agree with that, but he wouldn’t correct her. Too entertained at the thought of himself as likable to anyone less than deserving of his attention.

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“Well that’s not really for me to say, now, is it?” teased Wendy. “Of course I think so, but who’s to say, really, whether I’m a good judge of company or character at all? I certainly wouldn’t be able to say so without some sort of bias.”

WHEN: 16 December 1979; evening WHERE: The Commons; Florence’s Flat WHO: Florence Scamander & Wendy Lestrange

“I put pictures of my options on the Howlr earlier, or maybe it was the Hootr. Either way, I just wanted another opinion. I think I’m leanin’ towards the first one because Amelia and Clem said they liked it best but what do you think?” Florence asked, laying out the three dresses she had to chose from. x x x

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Wendy nodded enthusiastically in agreement with their absent peers. “Of the three of them, I do think the first looks the most festive. That’s not to say you won’t have other occasions for the second and third, either, only that you’ll be glad, I think, to have saved them when spring comes back around.” She pulled the dress in the middle up by the hanger, admiring the floral detailing along the sleeves and neck. “Oh, Florence, you simply must find a reason to wear this one.”

“And you’ll show me the ropes? I can’t imagine it’s rocket science— just hop on the broom and speed up. But I still wanna practise.” The point was that, the second this idea was planted into her brain, Antonia knew how this would work. It would consume her, eat at her from the inside. Even if she found sources of distraction, the second she was reminded that, hey, she could, just at this second, learn how it felt to race a broom instead of doing whichever dull activity she was putting herself through, she’d be taken over by a ruthless impatience to get what she wanted. She might not shut up about it, become even more disagreeable than usual. It wouldn’t be pretty. So she wanted to get to it as soon as practical. “Hell, we could even go now.”

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“Oh!” Wendy laughed, obnoxiously loud and self-indulgent, all too clearly caught off guard. She was surprised that Antonia was so eager—and yet, she could not have asked for a better response. “I doubt that anyone is out racing in the streets in the middle of a Sunday morning.” And then she nudged Antonia’s shoulder with hers. “I’ll take you to the very next one I hear of, I promise you that, so long as we don’t freeze to death in the stands before this match is over.”

Kingsley nodded as she introduced herself. He was well aware of who she was. He had gotten to know most students by now or at least knew who they were matching names to faces. It would be hard to find someone he didn’t know, but he let her introduce herself one way or another. “Are you nervous, Wendy? Because I promise you have nothing to be nervous about with me. However, I do remember, so go on.” 

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Had she been so obvious? Wendy laughed again, more weakly this time, as she tried to pay little mind to the blush that rushed to her cheeks. “Oh, if only it were that easy,” she sighed with a hint of longing as she pressed her hands to her flushed face. “You’re kind to remember me, though.” She wasn’t sure whether it was all the more unsettling to hear Kingsley’s reassuring tone, or if it really helped. Either way, the result was the same: it was the last budge that Wendy needed to speak her mind.

“Does it? What does it say about me?” He asked curiously as she asked him to walk with her. “And where are we walking to exactly?” In reality it didn’t matter, he had nothing better to do. He held his arm out as if signal for her to lead the way.

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“Well, the charms corridor, of course.” She turned, walking backwards as she took the lead, a cheeky grin on her face. “I suppose it means you’re good company, now, doesn’t it? If I’m able to get over the surprise of you coming around the corner as quickly as you came.”

“Not at all. Actually says a lot about you, that you didn’t turn and run away.”

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Wendy ought to have been flattered, but she knew herself too well to take Amycus’ well intended comment seriously. “Rather, it says a lot about you, I should think,” she refuted, taking a graceful careen of a step to the side. “Walk with me?” she asked.

Amycus looked down at her, slight amusement on his face at her reaction. Usually being run down out of the blue would enrage him, but she caught him in a good mood. Things were on the ups for him and he had a lot to look forward to. He even appreciated her sweet smile in the moment, when usually he’d want to ruin it.  “Not usually the reaction I receive when I give people a fright.” He grinned at her. 

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“Oh, don’t tell me I’ve disappointed you.” Wendy grinned teasingly.

“Ah, yes, right,” Asher stood still, and offered out his hand. Call it symbolic, call it dramatic, he might’ve called it an affirmation. Even if everyone else in the world hated him, at least he knew he could rely on Wendy.

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It was with a smile that Wendy accepted Asher’s hand, a smile that did not leave her as easily as the rest had. Perhaps, at last, some semblance of contentedness was hers to keep.

For an instant, there, Antonia actually stopped walking, and could only look at Wendy at a loss of words, dumbfounded. Had she heard right? “Did you just say race them?” And as she confirmed, then, that her understanding was right, the gape in her mouth gave way to a satisfied, wide smile. “Wendy Fucking Lestrange, illegal broom racer,” she made no effort to say it quietly as she burst into laughter, then. Not a mocking laugh, but an entirely pleased, wholesome one. The type she hadn’t been capable of mustering in ages. 

It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it, or that she thought anything about this was ridiculous. It was only, well, Wendy. She couldn’t have said she could picture this girl, so giddy and precious, doing anything illegal, let alone something as dangerous as broom racing. This was precisely the type of thing people would expect from her. And, sure enough, this idea would, from now on, be stuck onto her brain like glue. “Well, it’s settled then. You’ll have to show it to me,” she spoke, eagerly, encouraging hand on her back as she started walking again.

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What one might have mistaken for a bashful smile graced Wendy’s lips---but there was nothing so bashful about it. Rather, Wendy felt smug---so rare an emotion for her, at least that she was conscious of or purposeful with. She enjoyed the racing, yes, and she knew that she was good at it, of course, but what brought that smug smile to her face was the surprise. It was always a surprise, that sweet little Wendy did something illegal and dangerous. She liked to know that she was capable of such surprise---that, out of everyone in the world, it was her who knew herself best.

“I fuck off and you eat without me?”

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“No.” Wendy laughed, loudly and with sincerity, a foreign sound that she was happy to welcome back home. “We both call all of this a job well done, and go reward ourselves with a bite to eat.”

“Do you want to get something to eat? Or do you want me to fuck off so you can finish setting up your room.”

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“Well I don’t know why we can’t compromise and do both.”

Antonia nodded, with eyes that were almost sympathetic, as she, too, had her issues with groups, although she imagined they were altogether different from the ones Wendy faced. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say they overwhelm me, but they do suck, at times. Took our team a while to get used to me, it seemed,” she said, unmistakably proud of that fact. “But at the end of the day, I do it for myself.” They’re the ones who should be glad to have me, she might have added, but she bit her tongue before she had the chance to spill it out. Even if she wanted Wendy to get to know her, she knew it would be wiser to keep some of it — maybe the most raw bits and pieces — to herself. “Hm, I see. Just flying as a transport, then. It’s not bad for that. Kind of fun. Beats the floo network, that’s for sure.”

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Wendy smiled. I do it just for me. She liked the idea, but it still strained just beyond her grasp. How many things had she given up this term, things that had been just for her? “Not for transport,” she said slyly. That was one of them. “I liked to race them.” Liked? But didn’t she still? “Of course, the only real team effort involved there is making sure no one gets rounded up by law enforcement.”

When Asher looked at Wendy, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was she saw when she stared at him. Whoever the person she was describing, they sounded like who Asher wanted to be. Good. Decent. Willing to do whatever it took to do the right thing. The just thing. And then, just as quickly as he thought about Wendy, she was replaced with Mary. The smile flattened. The words grew tense. How could he be both the person that Wendy saw him as, and the monster in Mary’s story?

His brow furrowed, and he looked down at his hands as evidence that he was there at all. He might’ve even asked Wendy to pinch him, if he thought that might not have elicited a response of concern. Without realizing it, Asher was crumbling around himself, torn between who he was inside, and whatever image he was projecting out into the world.

“I think you’re too easy on me, Wendy.”

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“And I think you’re much too hard on yourself, so I suppose someone has to split the difference, haven’t they?”

“Are you just saying that because I helped you unpack? Or are you saying that because you believe it.” Asher’s confidence swung wildly between total believe in his own capabilities, and an utter assurance that he would continue to fail, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t moodiness that did him in. It was a spine-chilling fear that no matter what he did with his life, none of it could outweigh all of the bad he had already done.

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“In part,” Wendy admitted with a kind smile. “But no, not in the way you’re thinking. It speaks to your character, though.” A character that Asher Avery had in spades, it seemed. “You’re a very driven and committed person, Asher. You care more than most, and I tell you that because it’s a strength, and I think you should recognize it.”

Kingsley was in the library. He was surrounded by books, but even under the guise of studying, he sometimes needed to ease his mind from the information and what he was actually looking at was a comic book. He was deeply immersed in Fantastic Four and almost didn’t notice as someone approached him, not until she spoke up the second time did he realize she was addressing him. “Oh, yeah, yeah, go for it,” he said as he gestured towards the seat. “You just looking for someone to study with or… ?” He thought he’d ask to give her an opening, being Head Boy meant he was no stranger to being approached by the other students for one thing or another. 

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Wendy released a nervous laugh as she took a seat, one that rang shrilly in her own ears in its aftermath. “No, no. Or, well, yes, I’m sure I do, but--- Well, no, that’s not the reason I’m here.” She was rambling already. In an attempt to push herself forward, she thrust her hand towards Kingsley, though she regretted it immediately. Was it too bold an action? Would it give the wrong impression.

“I’m Wendy,” she said to distract herself from her empty hand as it hung in the air between them. “Wendy Lestrange. I was meant to be a Prefect this year, but---” She trailed off. Surely Kingsley would remember the disappointing witch who had flaked out of her commitment after the term had already begun.

“I’m going to take down the fuckers who put my mum in Azkaban.” Asher didn’t hold back, not when he felt as if he were in safe company. There was nowhere to run as far as Wendy was concerned, and if he couldn’t be honest with her, who could he be honest with? “Which means an internship with the Ministry in question, and eventually a high enough position to get people kicked out of their cushy offices.” Although at this rate, it seemed as if those people might end up dead.

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It was the language that startled Wendy at first, and then, she realized, not so much the word, but the force behind it. It was a drive Wendy rarely saw in anyone, except perhaps Bellatrix, or, on occasion, her brothers. A chill ran down her spine, but it was not an unwelcome one. Rather than unsettle her, it seemed to align all of Wendy’s vertebrae into a straight and dignified line. Of all the passions a person could have, here was Asher, with what Wendy was sure was the most noble she’d ever heard of.

“I think that’s wonderful,” Wendy said once she could speak through her awe. “Really, I do, I mean it. You’re the most capable person I know of achieving it, too.” It was all she could do to hope someone would say that about her and her dreams one day, too.