I was only misguided—promise I was misguided.

Luna had watched Hermione get inaugurated with proud tears burning in her eyes. It was strange, to see one of her best friends in such a position, especially in such circumstances, but that had not taken away any of the pride or hope she’d felt. Now that it was all over, though, and people were dancing, Luna felt little desire to partake in the festivities. She was overtaken by a desire to have Harry there, the longing dizzying. Grief seemed to hit her like a reckless, restless, relentless wave these days, always unexpected. She wanted Neville or Ron, someone who knew what this gap felt like. 

In stead of finding either of them, though, she came across Lysander rather clumsily, bumping into them in her rush. “Oh!,” she exclaimed, eyes falling on her child. “Lys.” Luna’s eyes were wide, caught between her distress and the unexpected happiness that came with seeing not only Lysander, but how lovely they looked. She didn’t bother to try and hide her sadness, leaving the emotion edged on her face. “Must be the Wrackspurts.” Her words were a half-joke, half-excuse. “Are you having a good night?”

Their mother-and Lysander couldn’t help but reach their hands out to steady her at the impact, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping their arms-was one of those people. “It’s always the Wracksports,” Lysander agreed without question, a wry smile on their lips. “As good as any, I suppose. Sticking close to Rose, mostly,” they admitted, wondering if their cheeks were flushed or if they just felt the two of them had been too obvious sneaking off. “How are you, Mum?” they asked, voice soft and eyes filled with concern. “I can fake sick if you need an excuse for same air.”

the last thing rose wanted to do right now was celebrate. perhaps it had been foolish, but she had imagined her mother’s inauguration happening in a number of ways. somehow, it was never like this. never ushered in with the death of her mother’s friend, the death of her mother’s mentor. the death of rose’s uncle. it felt wrong, in a way, to celebrate. but she knew they had no other choice.

status: open

@pottersignalboost​

denzel– who was slightly tipsy already after finishing work early he had gone to the three broomsticks mostly for the atmosphere. he thought that it would be too early for him to go back to his flat by himself so for once in his life he had actually decided to go out and enjoy the scenery around him. his about third wizard’s brew in he had been sitting there alone for a majority of the time in his still work attire uniform which was actually strictly all black. usually he would like some pop of color with his attire, but at this point he had no choice. there had been several people sitting down next to him throughout the three hours he had been nursing his drink and finally the last person got up. thank god because he drenched of body odor and noticed someone new sitting next to him. the bartender looked over wondering if denzel was going to actually say something and for once he actually did. “what do you think this wizard’s brew is made out of?” denzel asks mindlessly holding the half drunken glass out in front of him and staring at the bottles on the shelf thru his glass. “like i know beer is made out of yeast but there’s got to be more to it, right?” he asks not really expecting the other to respond to him and in fact he hadn’t even made eye contact with the other to see if they were actually paying attention to him. 

“Sorry about that,” they apologized with a grimace, feeling guilty over the situation. “Didn’t realize you were alone here already, either.” Had Lysander realized Helena’s boss had already left, they might have actively announced their arrival. “But I was just passing by and saw the lights were still on-thought I’d pop in and see what your plans were for the night.”

“In my bag, you’ll a green vial. Front pocket. Quickly, please.” Astoria’s smile was demure and her voice light and casual despite the blood coursing from her left forearm. Her right hand was clasped tightly over the small wound (merely scraped on a rough brick upon exiting the Floo into the Ministry’s main entrance no less than thirty seconds ago, but bleeding as if she’d been slashed by a hippogriff) to prevent the blood from streaming down onto the sleeves of her fine, robes or onto the floor. The bag in question hovered in stasis a few inches off the black tile (charmed, in order to keep the leather from gettin dirty or scuffing). 

She was accustomed to these little accidents by now — even better at avoiding them altogether at her age — but there were days when her luck ran out. Thank Merlin for her propensity to carry medical supplies; this would be a quick fix. Collapse on the ground from a minor scrape? Astoria snorted. Perish the thought.

They were thankful they had this occur on their way to lunch, rather than on the way back, their stomach turning at the sight of the blood in front of them. Lysander watched with concern as she took the vial, finally managing to find their voice when she did. “You alright, Madam Malfoy?” they asked, tone polite. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Someone I can grab for you?”

Death was sad, sure, but to Kai, it was an inevitable part of life. It was something they’d long ago accepted. So, as the entirety of the wizarding world seemed to be in mourning, the wolf couldn’t quite wrap their head around out what the big deal was. “Don’t really understand what the big deal is with this Potter bloke, if I’m honest, people die all the time, what makes him so special?” 

Dove had postponed running errands until the back-to-school shopping was over, her mind already so filled with buzzing thoughts with everything going on. An immense amount of students excited to return to Hogwarts was not something she wanted to add to her heavy head. It was still too busy, she thought, face thunderous as she worked off her list. Potion ingredients. New gloves. A fucking pint of ice cream, maybe. She had hoped that this would help soothe something; that being productive, going outside, doing something so simple would make her feel less restless. In stead, she was just frustrated. 

What didn’t help her mood, was the fact that she took a wrong step and twisted her ankle. Glaring at her foot, and then the ground beneath her, she muttered rather loudly, “I bloody hate cobbled streets. They may look cute, but who the hell thought it’d be a good idea, all these stones of varying sizes? Impractical.”

They didn’t notice Dove until the woman had fallen, her voice as she muttered drawing Ly’s attention to her. With a snort and a grin, they reached out a hand, offering help up from where she was sprawled on the ground. “No one else seems to be having the same problem as you,” they teased with a laugh, “but I can’t say I wouldn’t prefer a flat surface. You alright?” they asked,  giving Dove a quick once over.