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CONCERNING: @snappedwands​  ––  hyslop, h. TIMESTAMP: 007 SUIT & TIE  ––  subject to change STATUS: warded, public space

HE  WATCHED  the  goblins  seamlessly  knit  the  sealing  wards  together,  the  wards  that  would  prevent  any  and  all  exit  or  entry  from  the  premises.  it  hadn’t  been  long  since  their  planned  lockdown  had  been  announced,  but  every  second  that  ticked  by  on  the  ornate  clock  in  the  lobby  seemed  to  correspond  to  a  twist  in  his  gut  or  a  thud  in  his  ribcage.   fleamont,  though  surrounded  by  many  in  the  gleaming  bank,  was  alone    –––      but  that  wasn’t  what  bothered  him.  what  bothered  him  was  not  knowing  whether  or  not  helena  was  safe.  BUT  –––    it  was  perfectly  normal  to  worry  about  one’s  partner,  was  it  not?  the  nagging  thought  in  his  mind  that  whispered  that  he  wasn’t  quite  as  anxious  about  any  of  his  other  friends  was  something  he  could  brush  off,  but  the  twist  in  his  gut  at  the  idea  of  not  knowing  whether  or  not  helena  was  out  of  harm’s  way  was  inescapable.   monty  glanced  back  up  at  the  wards  slowly  materializing  into  place,  then  drew  his  sandalwood  wand  and  whispered  an  incantation  he’d  long  ago  mastered.  his  patronus    ––    a  large  and  formidable  tigress  slowly  formed  out  of  the  luminescent  spell-smoke,  stretched,  and  yawned  before  waiting  for  instruction  in  the  absence  of  a  visible  threat.  he  cupped  his  hands  around  his  mouth  and  murmured  his  message,  punctuating  it  with  a  firm  ‘find  helena’,  and  then  stepped  back  to  watch  as  the  tigress  leaped  and  loped  away.                                          ‘  helena,  where  are  you?  are  you  alright?  ‘

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CONCERNING: @taliesinlestrange​ TIMESTAMP: 007 SUIT & TIE STATUS: warded, public space

FLEAMONT  SIDESTEPPED  a  rather  irritated-looking  goblin  just  before  the  collision  would  have  sent  him,  three  inkwells  of  vibrant  color,  two  quills,  and  several  of  the  the  thin  scrolls  of  parchment  stacked  and  tucked  precariously  in  his  arms  sprawling  onto  the  gleaming  floor  of  the  gringott’s  lobby.  unfortunately,  it  just  so  happened  that  in  doing  so,  he  slammed  immediately  into  a  solid  figure  to  his  left    ––  which  meant,  of  course,  that  three  inkwells  of  vibrant  color,  two  quills,  and  every  single  one  of  the  the  thin  scrolls  of  parchment  that  he’d  been  carrying  spilled  out  onto  the  floor  in  a  mess  of  shattered  glass,  splotched  ink,  and  feather.  “for  the  love  of  le  fay––”  monty  grimaced  and  drew  his  wand,  immediately  clearing  the  mess  before  any  of  the  goblins  could  reprimand  him,  making  him  feel  like  a  child  again,  and  sighed.  then  he  looked  up,  recognizing  the  person  he’d  collided  with,  and  winced.                         trust  an  outbreak  of  the  undead  to  cause  him  to    (  literally  )    run  into  one  of  many  people  he’d  been  trying  to  avoid. shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other  and  tucking  a  stray  lock  of  hair  behind  his  ear,  it  took  a  moment  before  he  could  bring  himself  to  speak    ––      a  moment  during  which  he’d  silently  debated  whether  or  not  he  could  get  away  without  speaking  at  all.  alas,  decorum  reigned  king.  “...summon  one  ghost  and  suddenly  they’re  all  the  rage,  now,  huh..?”  it  was  a  feeble,  lacking  attempt  at  humor,  but  even  almost  two  months  later  he  still  hadn’t  found  the  right  way  to  go  about  making  amends  with  all  the  people  he’d  subjected  to  the  seance  that  had  gone  so  terribly  downhill.

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fawley, a.​

artemis was exhausted to say the least. the night, from start to finish, had utterly drained whatever energy she’d managed to rally for tonight’s event. the tears she’d shed, the anger she’d felt, and then the last mind boggling moments with her fingers laced through taliesin lestrange’s. she was beginning to become undone again; the tightness in her chest was returning, the stinging in her eyes. she could only see cygnus black’s form lingering in front of them and remember the nausea she felt. this was the wolf inside, the one that only showed once a month and it was dangerously close to the full moon.

she’d watched fleamont stalk down the drive and she, against her better judgement, had begun to follow. her heels sank into the gravel and she was greeted with smoke glistening in the air. stalking forward, she stopped hardly an inch from his face,   “ what in merlin’s name is wrong with you? ”   her voice far too low for comfort.   “ what did you think was going t’happen in there, huh, monty? did y’think daddy dearest was goin’ t’come speak with ye just because y’took a chance? summoned a random spirit? if you’d thought t’ask anyone, i could have told you that wouldn’t work. ”   the last word is emphasized with a hard shove to his shoulders. somewhere along the way, the tears, angry and raw, had started to slide down her cheeks.   “ you could have been hurt. we all could have been hurt or killed. ”

his  jaw  worked,  cigarette  burning  in  the  hand  hanging  uselessly  by  his  side.  he  let  artemis  say  her  piece  -  it  was  the  least  he  could  do,  after  what  had  happened.  he’d  made  a  grave  mistake,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  and  no  matter  how  well  intentioned  his  efforts  were,  the  nausea  roiling  in  his  gut  warned  him  that  lines  had  been  crossed.  lines  that  were  hard  to  uncross.  he  shifts  back  as  she  shoves  him,  but  the  true  impact  is  that  of  her  tears.  for  a  moment,  he  stayed  silent  ––  TRULY,  between  the  shock  of  the  seance,  the  appearance  of  mr.  norris,  the  alcohol  in  his  system,  and  the  constricting  grip  his  nerves  had  taken  over  him,  fleamont  had  no  idea  what  to  say  to  her.  or  how  to  say  it.   “i..”  he  started,  then  stopped.  he  took  a  long,  painfully  deep  drag  from  his  cigarette  and  then  dropped  it  and  ground  it  out  beneath  his  heel.  “i  didn’t  suggest  a  seance  to  contact  my  father,”  he  stated,  bitterly.  “we  all  thought  norris  was  dead  ––  don’t  say  you  didn’t  ––  and  i  was  trying  to  do  something  about  it.  to  at  least  be  able  to  DO  SOMETHING  about  ANYTHING.” fleamont  stopped  again,  shifting  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  then  retrieves  a  crisp,  white  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  offers  it  to  her  and  looks  away.  “..i  didn’t  think  ––  didn’t  know  it  would  turn  out  that  way.  i  got  bad  information  from  someone  i  thought  was  an  expert.  i’m  sorry  for––..  any  part  of  it  that  caused  you  distress.  all  parts  of  it.  everything.”

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wood, t.·

                   thaxter  is  happy  to  shift  to  any  other  topic  as  well.  he  said  what  he  thought  he  should,  but  neither  of  them  had  to  subject  themselves  to  anything  further  than  that.   ‘   just  finished  here  actually.  the  ministry  has  given  me  the  abso-fucking  flattering  title  of   at  risk  person,    so  i  check  in  with  some  dick  from  the  DMLE  once  a  month  now,  no  offense.  it’s  not  all  of  you,  just  him  in  particular.   ’  he  gives  fleamont  a  smile,  hoping  that  he’d  find  that  kind  of  thing   funny   rather  than  being  offended  for  whatever  coworker  thaxter  was  bad  mouthing.   ‘   i  noticed  that  though,  more  on  edge  then  they  were  last  month.   ’

the  corner  of  his  mouth  quirks  up,  as  do  his  brows  when  he  leans  in  to  respond  in  a  lowered  playful  tone  that  almost  made  him  sound  like  himself.  his  old  self.  “bet  you  fifteen  galleons  that  was  wilkes.  no  one  likes  him,  the  absolute  arse.”  he  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest,  head  cocking  to  the  side.  “ANYWAY,  if  i’d  known  you  were  coming  through  the  DMLE  so  often,  i  would  have  tried  to  nudge  your  case  along  to  someone  less..  dickish––  are  you  headed  this  way?  let’s  walk  and  talk.”  he  added,  gesturing  down  the  corridor.  “i’d  be  a  terrible  friend  and  employee  if  i  didn’t  escort  such  an  at  risk  person  from  this  end  of  the  hallway  to  the  other..”

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𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝙻𝙰𝚆 𝙴𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴, 𝙾𝙽 𝙰𝚄𝙶𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝚇𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙷 𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟶.

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙽𝙾. 𝟷𝟷𝟾𝟹𝟺𝟸𝟷𝚌𝙽𝟹-𝟽 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴: 𝙰𝚄𝙶𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙷, 𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟶 𝟶𝟼:𝟸𝟽 𝙷𝚁𝚂. 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃: 𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁, 𝙵. 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚄𝚁𝙾𝚁: 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝚆𝙰𝚁𝚈, 𝙻.

𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙸𝙿𝚃 𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳.

Could  you  please  state  your  name,  age,  house,  and  wand  specifications  for  the  record?

fleamont  settled  into  the  hard  metal  chair,  straightening  his  tie,  and  nodded.  “fleamont  rashmik  potter.  twenty  five.  gryffindor––  and,  it’s  a  sandalwood  piece  with  a  bronze  and  sunstone  handle.  naga  core,  slightly  yielding.  ten  inches  and  two  centimeters.”,  he  rattled  off  the  information  more  as  a  long  string  of  words  than  anything  else,  so  used  to  ministry  procedure  by  now.

Who  sent  out  your  invitation  to  the  Norris’s  home?

"i  would  assume  it  was  mr.  norris,  but  considering  the..  atmosphere  of  that  evening,  i  find  myself..  rather  open  to  other  possibilities.”  

Was  there  a  signature  of  any  kind?

"it  was  signed––  or  appeared  to  be  signed  by  mr.  cecil  norris.”

Did  you  attend  the  event  with  anyone?

his  gaze  shot  down  at  the  table,  where  his  fingers  lightly  tapped,  and  winced  in  recollection  of  just  one  of  the  several  aspects  of  the  night  that  made  it  unforgettable.  “....hyslop.  ms.  helena  hyslop  and  i  attended  together.”

Could  you  state,  in  your  own  words,  what  happened  at  Mr.  Norris’s  home  prior  to  his  arrival?

the  wince  nearly  leapt  back  onto  his  face  at  that,  but  somehow  he’d  managed  to  remain  composed––  after  all,  only  a  fool  would  have  been  caught  off  guard  by  such  a  question.  though  he  felt  foolish  at  times,  he  refused  to  be  a  fool  outright.  “..the  guests  arrived...  some  wandered  around  the  house,  in  the  absence  of  any  sort  of  entertainment..  dinner  was  served,  and  then  after  desert  a  number  of  us  adjourned  to  the  lounge,  where––”  he  looked  back  up  at  the  auror,  gesturing,  “––i  assume  you  know,  the  seance  took  place.  it  would  seem  that  not  all  parlour  tricks  are  equal  in  levity.”

Were  you,  at  any  point,  aware  of  Mr.  Norris’s  location  between  the  night  of  his  alleged  disappearance  and  the  dinner  party?

"i  was  not,  no.  his  appearance  at  the  party  was  the  first  and  last  time  i  set  eyes  on  the  man.”

As  far  as  the  seance,  what  kind  of  questions  were  asked  of  the  deceased,  Mr.  Cygnus  Black?

fleamont  leaned  back  against  the  uncomfortable  chair’s  backing,  pausing  once  more  to  gather  his  thoughts.  “..for  the  most  part,  they  were  questions  aimed  at  discovering  his  identity.  we  only  very  briefly  were  aware  that  we’d  contacted  mr.  black  before  mr.  norris  made  his  appearance,  and  then––”  he  waved  a  hand  in  the  air.  “..the  spirit  of  mr.  black  dispersed.”  

Did  anyone  seem  particularly  uncomfortable  with  the  event  during  or  immediately  after?

he  thought  about  his  own  nervous  pacing  on  the  gravel  path  outside  of  the  house’s  front  door.  odessa,  tentative  and  unsure  in  the  conservatory.  artemis,  melancholy  in  the  moonlit  ballroom.  lyall,  anxious  in  the  dining  room.  and  then,  everyone  in  the  lounge––  but  it  wouldn’t  be  fair  to  blame  it  all  on  the  seance,  would  it?  it  wasn’t  as  if  he’d  ruined  the  evening.  he  leaned  forward  on  his  elbows  and  spoke  low  and  clear,  almost  as  if  daring  anyone  to  disagree;  “..every  moment  in  that  house,  from  start  to  finish  was  uncomfortable.  it  was  an  uncomfortable  night.”

Do  you  know  if  there’s  anyone  else  who  might  be  more  knowledgeable  about  the  situation?

"–––thank  you,  cecilia.”  monty  interjected,  gratefully  accepting  the  steaming  paper  cup  of  tea  she’d  entered  to  hand  to  him.  gingerly,  he  takes  a  small  sip,  using  the  scalding  draught  of  peppermint  to  stall  for  time.  there  were,  he  considered,  two  options:  reveal  enough  of  what  he  knew  to  try  and  take  away  some  of  the  heat  he  undoubtedly  had  on  him  for  the  seance,  or  stay  silent  and  suffer.  slowly,  he  set  the  cup  of  tea  down  before  him,  fingertips  drumming,  drumming  thoughtfully  against  the  tabletop.  he  looked  up,  into  the  eyes  of  lennox  cassowary,  and  enunciated  his  words  clearly.  “mr.  lazarus  avery  seemed  exceedingly  familiar  with  the  layout  of  the  house.”

Do  you  know  anything  about  the  necklace  that  was  recovered?

"no.”

Were  you  aware  of  any  business  dealings  between  Mr.  Norris  and  Mr.  Black?

"i  was  not  aware  of  any  such  thing,  no.”

Would  you  be  willing  to  leave  your  memories  with  us  for  observation?

a  pause.  a  half-sheepish,  half  apologetic  smile,  practiced  enough  within  the  hours  he’d  spent  pacing  about  his  apartment  before  the  interview  that  it  looked  convincing.  “i  have  to  decline,  for  religious  reasons.”

Have  you  spoken  with  anyone  outside  of  the  attendees  about  the  event?

"no,  i’m  familiar  enough  with  the  protocol  of  such  matters.”

If  so,  who?  And  what  did  you  tell  them?

"again,  i  have  not  spoken  to  anyone,  attendee  or  otherwise,  about  the  events  of  that  evening.”

Is  there  anything  else  of  relevance  that  you  can  think  of  that  I  didn’t  ask  you  about?

he  shakes  his  head  and  sits  up  straighter.  “not  that  i  recall.  if  i  do  remember  anything,  i’ll  be  sure  to  inform  you––  you  and  your  old  lady  are  still  coming  over  to  the  manor  for  brunch  next  week,  right?”  he  nods,  forcing  a  relaxed  smile  to  melt  across  his  face,  contradicting  the  tightly  wound  truth  of  his  rattling,  thrumming  pulse.  “brilliant.  i’ll  let  you  know  well  enough  by  then  if  i  think  of  anything  else,  and  you  let  me  know  if  there’s  anything  else  i  can  do  to  help  you  and  your  boys  in  this  investigation.”  a  firm  handshake,  and  within  seconds  fleamont  potter  was  out  of  the  room  and  halfway  down  the  hall.

[broughtdawn]

wood, t.·

  timestamp :     11:54 ,  september 1st, 1950     location :     the  ministry,   public  &  unwarded     tagging :      @broughtdawn·

                    being  at  the  ministry  was  a  reminder  of  the  way  things  had  changed  in  the  past  six  months,  which  is  why  thaxter  often  avoided  going  until  he  had  to.  however,  making  sure  that  his  family  was  still  safe,  in  as  many  ways  as  he  could,  was  important.  and  so,  the  young  man  makes  his  way  through  the  halls,  more  familiar  with  them  then  one  might  expect  of  a  young  quidditch  player  who  should  have  no  reason  to  be frequenting  the  government  headquarters.  despite  the  reason  for  his  visit  though,  his  steps  are  confident  and  the  ever  present  smile,  even  if  it  isn’t  quite  so  large  as  normal,  is  still  present  on  his  features.  thaxter  wood  looks  exactly  like  he  ever  has,  like  nothing  has  changed.  like  he  had  not  just  discussed  the  safety  measures  that  were  being  kept  in  place  for  his  little  brother,  and  if  there  had  been  any  threats  made  against  his  mother,  if  his  grandparents  were  still  likely  unknown  by  whoever  had  tracked  down  the  addairs.

                   but  things  have  changed,  and  not  just  for  him.  it’s  a  remembrance  of  this  and  a  pang  of  guilt  when  he  notices  the  person  who’s  coming  in  the  other  direction  down  the  hallway.  still,  like  clockwork,  the  smile  that  had  been  on  his  face  grows  at  the  sight  of  fleamont  potter.   ‘  aye,  monty  !  ’   he  cocks  his  head  upward  in  a  somewhat  jerky  nod  of  greeting,  clapping  a  hand  on  the  older’s  shoulder.   ‘   haven’t  seen  you  in  ages.   ’   he  pauses,  swallowing,  and  takes  a  moment  to  come  up  with  how  to  start  the  next  thing  he  knew  he  had  to  say.  the  smile  becomes  slightly  more  serious,  brows  furrowing,  but  he  looks  fleamont  in  the  eyes  as  he  speaks,  and  the  hand  remains  on  his  shoulder.   ‘   sorry  i,  uh,  didn’t  reach  out  this  summer.  that  was  a  shit  thing  to  do.  i  just,  er,  had  a  lot  on  my  mind.   ’   he  was  sure  fleamont  had  seen  the  headlines  about  his  family,  just  like  he  had  seen  those  about  the  potters.  they  didn’t  have  to  name  the  events  exactly  if  that’s  not  what  monty  wanted  to  do.

the  moment  his  gaze  focuses  on  thaxter,  filtered  rose  through  his  glasses,  his  expression  freezes  for  a  moment  before  melting  into  a  tentative  smile.  fleamont’s  mind  shifts  to  his  own  summer    ––    murder,  mystery,  goats,  necromancy    ––    before  vaguely  centering  on  the  headlines  that  had  featured  the  wood  family  name.  he  nods.  “it  happens,  don’t  worry  about  it.  we  both  had...  a  lot  to  process.”  he  clears  his  throat,  then,  eager  to  change  the  subject,  eager  to  leave  that  summer  behind.  “what  are  you  here  for?  can  i  escort  you  somewhere?  security’s  been  awful  tetchy,  lately.”

[broughtdawn]

WHO: open to any of the party-goers WHERE: just beyond the norris house’s wards WHEN: immediately after the partygoers dispersed and left the house

HE’D  BEEN  SHAKING  from  the  moment  he  got  up  from  the  table.  no,  before  that––  the  tremor  in  his  limbs  had  set  in  the  moment  that  pathetic,  weak  question  had  left  his  mouth.  as  soon  as  the  man  that  was  presumably  their  host  more  or  less  ordered  them  to  leave  he’d  done  just  that,  striding  out  the  door  without  a  moment’s  hesitation.  without  meeting  anyone’s  gaze.   SHAME  bubbled  up  in  his  gut,  hot  and  vile  and  sour.  he’d  only  just  managed  to  retrieve  a  cigarette  from  the  bronze  case  in  his  pocket  and  light  it  when  he  heard  the  telltale  crunch  of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  behind  him.  fleamont  whipped  around,  blinking  at  the  figure  before  him  through  the  smoke.  his  jaw  worked,  voice  eventually  coming  out  low  and  with  an  edge  of  defensiveness.  “..well?  have  at  it,  whatever  it  is  you  wanted  to  say,  i  probably  have  it  coming.  go  on.  say  it.”

[broughtdawn]

fawley, a.·

artemis’ smile falters for a moment upon hearing fleamont potter sound less than impressed by the space. it was an idle moment as she wondered what caused such distast for elegance among those that came from money? what cause their noses to curl upwards at something that was lesser than their own, but no less beautiful.   “ well, i think it’s beautiful. ”   she lilts in reply, attempting to save the lightness she’d felt moments before. in the moments of distraction, she’d been home — she’d been among the wildflowers and the pine, the children’s laughter and quiet chatter. she’d forgotten, momentarily, the tears that had run down her cheeks, the panic that she’d felt, and the alcohol that currently burned in her veins to quell both.

the visage of fleamont potter was not reassuring, especially after their last conversation. she’d snuck into the room with the intent of breathing clean air, to gather the rest of her resolve before the evening ended. there was not much left of her beyond frayed nerves.   anail.   a slow breath is drawn through her nose, that smile unwavering though her pulse echos in her ears. she had put herself back together once tonight, she would not fall apart again.   thoir am madadh-allaidh a-mach.   arms fold delicately behind her back as her posture straightens slightly, an eyebrow arches,   “ do we have to, monty? ”   there is a softness to her voice that says everything she does not.   if you are going to scold me, can we wait? what more could you want from me?

it  admittedly  took  a  deep  breath  and  some  steel  in  his  bones  to  say  what  he’d  walked  in  there  to  say    –    monty  wasn’t  without  his  pride,  but  the  instinct  to  do  the  right  thing,  to  do  right  by  others  ran  stronger  than  iron  through  his  veins,  and  what  was  propelled  him  onward.  “i  have  to.”  then,  a  correction.  “i  want  to––  i  want  to  apologize  for...  the  way  i  was.  it  was...”  he  trails  off,  then,  choosing  his  words.  “...insensitive.  you’re  my  friend,  in  any  form.  i  shouldn’t  treat  you  differently  for  any  reason.”   

he  took  a  step  closer,  into  the  moonlight,  pushing  the  foeglasses  up  and  onto  the  top  of  his  head  ––  undoubtedly  messing  up  the  careful  waves  of  his  hair,  but  it  was  worth  it  for  the  bare,  honest  gaze  filtered  only  by  the  moon.  “i’m  sorry.”  

[broughtdawn]

avery, l.·

timestamp:  16,  Aug.  1950 ·  location:  norris  house,  the  lounge  (  unwarded,  public  space  )  ·  tagging:  @broughtdawn··  !

❛  dinner  was  nice,  ❜  lazarus  started  slowly  as  he  looked  at  monty.  those  ridiculous  glasses  that  settled  on  the  bridge  of  monty’s  nose  at  every  event  he’d  seen  him  still  sat  perched  there  and  he  wondered  what  they  did.  though  they  looked  ridiculous  he  tried  to  focus  on  the  man  himself.  he’d  followed  monty  into  the  lounge  to  try  and  bridge  whatever  gap  had  grown  between  friends  but  there  was  something  about  the  bags  under  monty’s  eyes  that  made  lazarus’  skin  crawl.  there  was  a  familiarity  in  the  dark  circles,  circles  that  laz  had  taken  careful  note  to  charm  away  on  his  own  face  before  he’d  done  anything  else  to  prepare  for  the  night.  he  was  exhausted,  all  this  business  with  mr.  norris’  disappearance  was  not  good  publicity,  though  that  was  only  because  laz  hadn’t  found  the  precise  angle  to  spin  in  his  favor  until  this  evening.  if  everything  went  right,  if  all  was  correct,  this  business  would  die  officially.  ❛  don’t  you  think  ?  ❜

"dinner  was  lovely,”  he  agreed,  shifting  with  an  uncomfortable  grace  acquired  from  years  of  being  trained  at  all  times  to  mask  true  emotion  with  a  poised,  near-choreographed  alternative.  not  that  he  always  succeeded  in  that  regard.  “...the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  be  missing  is  a  much-needed  cup  of  chamomile  tea.”,  monty  continued  with  a  smile,  glancing  over  his  shoulder––  hadn’t  he  just  been  with  helena?  where  had  she  gone  off  to?   “i  find  chamomile  very  soothing  after  such  meals,”  he  said,  a  little  louder  now,  glancing  toward  the  other  side  of  the  cozy-looking  lounge,  which  also  appeared  to  be  entirely  devoid  of  hyslops.  quiet  panic  settled  in,  and  for  once,  fleamont  very  much  believed  his  glasses  when  he  glanced  back  at  lazarus  avery  and  saw  his  rose-filtered  form  blurred  and  fuzzy  at  the  edges.  a  corrupt  aura.  not  to  be  trusted.   he  cleared  his  throat,  tapped  his  fingers  against  the  plush  armrest  of  the  loveseat  he’d  settled  into  for  a  post-dinner  smoke.  “do  you...  like  chamomile  tea?”  he  asked,  though  knew  it  was  futile.  there  was  no  viable  way  out  of  this  room  without  contending  with  lazarus,  first.

[broughtdawn]

lestrange, t.·

                   while  fleamont  knew  perhaps  too  much,  taliesin  was  kept  in  the  dark  completely.  confession  to  a  cousin  had  gone  unmatched  and  he  was  left  believing  that  once  again  he  had  found  himself  standing  far  too  close  to  the  fire  for  comfort.  why  fires  kept  being  set  ablaze  while  he  was  standing  nearby  was  something  he  could  not  wrap  his  head  around,  but  he  also  could  not  shake  the  image  of  the  day  one  might  finally  engulf  him  before  he  had  been  able  to  make  the  promise  of  his  place  within  the  lestrange  family  a  reality.  the  fires  could  come  for  him  once  that  happened  for  all  he  cared,  though  he  doubted  they  would;  power  like  that  was  hard  to  touch,  nearly  impossible  to  burn.  until  then,  however,  that  was  the  concern,  and  he  would  continue  to  keep  fingers  crossed  that  stray  sparks  would  not  catch  his  cloak  or,  the  more  concerning  option,  that  whoever  the  arsonists  was  would  not  notice  the  shadow  just  outside  of  the  blaze’s  light  was  the  same  figure  each  time.  maybe  they  had  already  realized  it  was  taliesin  lestrange.

                   a  breath  of  air  leaves  his  lips,  the  ghost  of  a  chuckle  at  fleamont’s  comment.   ‘   that,   unfortunately,   would  make  as  much  sense  as  any  of  this.   ’   it  was  the  truth,  and  taliesin  was  glad  he  did  not  have  to  begin  the  layers  of  lies  immediately.  it  was  more  comfortable  to  ease  into  that  type  of  thing.  but  yes,  it  was  the  truth.  for  all  of  his  nerves,  he  could  not  tell  you  exactly  what  he  believed  was  going  to  occur  tonight.  maybe  that  was  because  his  mind  had  worked  overtime  coming  up  with  numerous  unpleasant  possibilities,  yet  while  each  of  the  outcomes  he  had  thought  of  seemed  equally  likely,  none  of  them  felt   right.    there  was  something  he  was  missing.

fleamont  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  suddenly  uncomfortable  by  the  looming  reality  that  he  would  indeed  have  to  spend  the  evening  gliding  between  lies,  pretending  as  if  he  didn’t  know  where  the  dining  room  was,  as  if  he  didn’t  remember  the  layout  of  the  walls  and  the  landscapes  framed  on  the  walls.   things  used  to  be  simple,  once,  and  his  memory  of  taliesin  seemed  to  be  a  landmark  of  those  times–  it  was  something  he  wanted  to  cling  onto,  and  though  he  knew  that  nothing  would  ever  be  simple  again,  monty  couldn’t  help  but  want  to  stave  off  the  torrent  of  lies  for  as  long  as  possible.  

so  he  posed  a  question  instead    –    something  he  genuinely  wanted  to  know  the  answer  to,  walking  the  line  between  what  would  supposedly  be  normal  dinner  party  conversation  and  the  tangled  mess  he’d  been  dragged  into,  the  things  he’d  seen  but  couldn’t  quite  explain.  “you’re  right  about  that.  do  you  have  any  idea  what  might  be  going  on  here?”  it  was  a  long  shot  and  about  as  subtle  as  a  bull  in  a  china  shop,  to  be  sure,  but...  taliesin  had  to  be  at  this  party  for  a  reason,  right?  why  else  would  he  be  invited  if  he  didn’t  know  something?  besides,  he’d  never  known  the  other  to  lie  to  him  before,  despite  the  skepticism  of  the  foeglasses.  

[broughtdawn]

bones, o.

—

               despite  having  half  the  mind  that  she  shouldn’t  be  wandering  around  in  a  place  she  didn’t  know,  it  didn’t  stop  her  from  slinking  away  from  the  rest  of  the  group.  clearly  she  wasn’t  the  only  one  with  a  similar  idea,  that  or  she  had  been  spending  far  too  much  time  with  monty.  almost  naturally,  she  was  drawn  to  the  conservatory,  glaringly  stereotypically  hufflepuff.  there  was  a  delicacy  to  plants  and  flowers,  which  is  why  the  greenhouses  had  been  her  favorite  place  to  hide  on  campus  to  write  and  precisely  the  reason  she  had  a  tiny  window  garden  at  her  apartment.  it  might  also  have  been  the  most  responsibility  she  was  willing  to  take  for  anything  or  anyone.  you  had  to  try  to  hurt  your  plant.  as  she  walked  in  she  watched  his  perfectly  practiced  smile  fall,  one  replacing  itself  on  her  face  instead  while  she  mused  at  the  complexities  he  constantly  brought  with  him.  

              a  breathy  laugh  left  her  lips,  green  eyes  rolling  with  amusement.  “you  say  that  now  but  appreciate  the  fact  i’d  never  be  seen  with  a  belled  collar.”  odessa  joins  him  at  his  side  of  the  room,  holding  up  the  edge  of  her  dress  to  avoid  catching  any  stray  leaves.  “they’re  gorgeous  aren’t  they?  beery  was  always  a  bit  eccentric,  but  brilliant  when  he  actually  got  to  work.  not  sure  i  learned  much  though,  i’ve  always  favored  transfigurations.”  she  softly  digs  an  elbow  into  his  side,  “i  didn’t  know  you  were  invited  to  this  thing.  how  much  do  you  want  to  bet  people  will  be  rolling  in  the  rumors  of  how  i  dumped  you  after  y—”  the  word  clips  with  realization,  odessa  stopping  her  train  of  thought  even  thought  it  was  too  far  departed  from  the  station.  looking  at  him  sheepishly,  she  tries  to  make  him  smile  out  of  it.  “…i  still  think  i’d  be  me.”  

a  small  genuine  smile  curled  at  the  corners  of  his  lips,  and  then  he  turned  toward  her,  waving  away  her  comment  and  returning  with  one  of  his  own  to  the  latter.  “i  left  the  memorial  without  you,  anyway––  but...  maybe  you’re  right.  i  couldn’t  just  let  a  woman  like  you  go  without  a  fight,  could  i?”   maybe  it  was  the  few  drinks  he’d  already  had  that  made  monty  pause,  then  glance  at  odessa  again,  eyes  glinting.  “you  certainly  don’t  look  like  someone  who’s  just  seen  the  dashing  man  she’s  just  heartlessly  walked  out  on.  you  know,  come  to  think  of  it,  i  don’t  seem  the  part  either.  i  should  really  be  more  upset  by  all  of  this.  if  we’re  having  a  lover’s  spat,  it  should  at  least  be  a  good  one.”   calmly,  without  missing  a  beat,  he  shoved  a  nearby  plant  pot  to  the  ground,  stepping  to  the  side  before  the  ceramic  shattered,  narrowly  avoiding  muddying  his  suit.   “...and  then,  i  raise  my  voice  a  bit,  because  we  both  know  the  walls  have  ears  here,”  a  fleeting  wry  grin,  and  then  a  shout  erupts  from  him,  voice  undoubtedly  carrying  well  into  the  hall.  “–––you  dare  show  your  beautiful,  treacherous  face  here!?”  another  pause,  and  then  a  whisper  audible  only  between  the  two:  “...now,  you  shout  something  back.  probably  something  about  me  being  too  charming  and  handsome  for  you  to  stay  away.  it  has  to  be  believable.  really,  make  use  the  space  here.  the  house  elves  can  clean  up  after.”

[broughtdawn]

hyslop, h.·  

lena  stood  back  a  few  feet,  arms  in  front  of  her  as  she  held  her  clutch  that  matched  so  well  with  the  bright  yellow  dress  she’d  decided  to  wear  for  this  evening’s  dinner.  her  eldest  sister  had  always  talked  about  how  lovely  yellow  was  for  lena,  that  it  brought  out  gold  flecks  in  her  eyes  and  that  it  would  have  been  a  perfect  choice  for  lena  to  be  a  hufflepuff  just  for  the  look  of  it  all.  lena,  always  the  first  to  defend  her  house,  had  always  reminded  her  sister  that  the  hat  had  barely  touched  her  head  when  it  had  called  out  for  her  house  to  be  gryffindor  —  she  was  too  stubborn,  too  full  of  pride,  and  somewhere  deep  down  there  was  a  buried  courage  that  was  bubbling  up  closer  and  closer  to  the  surface  these  days.  monty,  since  they’d  been  partnered  up  at  the  obliviator’s  office,  had  always  had  a  habit  of  making  her  feel  more  at  ease  with  herself,  which  was  part  of  the  reason  that  she  couldn’t  quite  suppress  the  smile  from  her  face  as  she  watched  monty  approach  and  reproach  the  front  door.  

dutifully,  she  began  nodding  her  head  as  he  launched  back  into  the  chamomile  codeword  and  in  her  nodding  she’d  almost  missed  like  the  color  of  your  dress.  they’d  circle  back  to  that  one  later.  perhaps  her  sister  had  been  wrong  when  she’d  called  it  flattering.  still,  she  was  pleased  that  he  didn’t  touch  his  hair  (  she  liked  the  way  it  sat,  liked  a  lot  of  things  about  it  actually  —  about  him,  and  there  was  a  small  part  of  her  that  wanted  to  reach  forward  and  stroke  her  fingers  through  his  hair  herself  ).  she  swallowed,  took  a  breath,  and  nodded.  ❛  arrive  together,  leave  together,  chamomile  is  an  insult  to  tea  everywhere.  ❜

it  wasn’t  until  her  hand  was  halfway  between  them  that  she  realized  she  was  about  to  touch  his  cheek  to  try  and  bring  him  some  peace.  a  bold  assumption  on  her  end  that  anyone  could  do  that  and  though  a  little  voice  in  the  back  of  her  head  told  her  that  she  could  do  that,  she  quickly  brought  her  hand  back  to  herself  and  ran  her  finger  along  the  top  of  her  ear,  avoiding  messing  with  her  own  hair.  it  was  strange  being  back  at  norris  manor,  a  place  that  she  was  sure  she  never  wanted  to  be  again  and  as  she  pushed  those  feelings  down,  lena  looked  up  at  him  and  said,  ❛  i  promise,  monty,  i’ll  remember.  i’ll  try  to  be  conscious  of  staying  within  ear  shot  all  night.  ❜

"GOOD.  good.  if  anything  happened  to  you  tonight,  i––”  monty  stopped  himself  abruptly,  eyes  trained  on  the  hand  she  snatched  back,  then  meeting  her  own  gaze,  looking  into  her  eyes  that  he  hadn’t  really  noticed  were  gold-flecked  until  earlier  that  evening  when  he’d  first  seen  her  in  the  form-fitting  dress.   his  gaze,  at  that  moment  as  well,  had  lingered  on  helena  with  all  the  languid  grace  of  slow-poured  honey,  until  he’d  come  to  his  senses  a  few  beats  too  late  and  remembered  that  it  was  inappropriate  to  look  at  one’s  work  associate  like  that  and  had  covered  with  a  breezy  quip  about  not  knowing  she  owned  clothes  outside  of  their  usual  office-wear.  easy,  breezy,  banter. now,  too,  even  though  it  felt  as  though  time  itself  stopped  to  allow  them  the  moment  together,  he  clears  his  throat  and  shifts  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  reaching  blindly  for  the  conclusion  to  the  sentence  he’d  started.  “...i’d  probably  have  to  train  your  replacement  at  work  and  we  both  know  i  don’t  have  the  patience  for  that.  so.  don’t  let  it  come  to  that.”

[broughtdawn]

fawley, a.·

timestamp:  16,  Aug.  1950,  approximately  11:00 ·  location:  norris  house,  the  ballroom  (  unwarded,  public  space  )  ·  tagging:  open !

there was more to see than the conservatory; spiraling staircases within the old house led to merlin knew where, corners where the dark lingered a little too ominously, and the ever present chatter of her peers set her nerves aflame. this house, though beautiful to look at and observe, chilled her bones. maybe she was wrong in coming, in accepting the invitation that had brought her here; had brought them all here. within the main hall, there were figures that she did not allow her gaze to linger, to snag on. gazes had burned her, scorned her, the entirety of the night — she would not give them the satisfaction of returning the favor. rather, she is aloof when gliding from the conservatory to the next room over. pale fingers reach for the knob only to find it locked.

                          curiosity killed the cat, 

brow creases for a fraction of a moment; without thinking further, she reaches for the wand attached to her hip muttering alohomora under her breath. a quick flick of her wrist and the deadbolt slides backwards within the door. there is no guilt in the quick motion. the entire gathering was eerie enough as it was, if their hosts intended to keep the guests out of every room there would surely be something stronger to keep the door locked than a simple deadbolt. stepping within the room, she quietly shuts the door behind her but does not slide the deadbolt back into place behind her. rather, her attention is pulled to the room itself. the moon had risen hours ago and, thus, caused its light to play in the glass of the chandeliers, casting an etherial glow in the otherwise darkened room. artemis fawley, for the first time in a long time, was awestruck.

                                                                 but satisfaction brought it back. 

the moonlight is calming, even more so than the conservatory had been. seeing it dance within the crystals brought a sense of home. it felt, for a fraction of a moment, like her mother reminding her to breathe. the world was not all bad. there were people who loved her. she was not alone. as she glides through the room, she stirs dust in her wake — this room has not been used for a while. it causes a sneeze, two, before she makes it to the other end of the room. the tall glass doors are pushed outwards, letting the cool night air wash over her and, subsequently, stirring the dust further. with wand still in her hand, she turns and faces the full expanse of the room.   “ tergeo, ”   another flick of her wrist and the dust disappears, leaving glittering surfaces it it’s wake. this room has to be one of the most beautiful she’s ever seen. she’s absolutely enamored. 

it’s only then, with the moonlight at her back and wand drawn, does the door begin to creak open. brow raises as her fingers tighten around her wand, though it is not raised. as the figure steps into the room, artemis almost utters an apology for being here, for her presence at all. she will not apologize, not for anything. not tonight. she’s unapologetic for getting caught in a space where she did not belong; it shows even in her posture. it seemed to be her modus operandi as of late. instead, she offers a radiant smile to the other, unashamed. this room, the moonlight, the air has lightened her mood even as her pulse skips for just a moment   —   “ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”

a  flash  of  pale  blue  had  caught  the  corner  of  his  eye  as  soon  as  he’d  stepped  back  into  the  hall,  but  when  he  turned  his  head  all  he’d  managed  to  catch  was  the  swish  of  blue  skirts  disappearing  into  the  large  doors  opposite  to  the  main  entrance.  when  he’d  jiggled  the  handle  of  that  room  earlier  in  the  evening,  he’d  found  it  locked    ––    he  could  have  easily  opened  it  but  something  else  had  snagged  at  his  attention  and  led  him  elsewhere.  but  now..  now  he  felt  magnetized  toward  the  room,  especially  in  consideration  of  the  witch  in  baby  blue.   it  had  stood  out  to  him  during  dinner  not  only  due  to  the  contrast  with  the  deeper  colors  of  the  other  witches’  gowns,  but  also  in  the  way  the  pale  color  starkly  contrasted  with  her  fiery  red  hair.  artemis.  even  after  the  few  drinks  he’d  had  over  the  course  of    the  evening  he  still  winced  at  the  memory  of  the  last  time  they’d  spoken,  over  the  way  he’d  thoroughly  put  his  foot  in  his  mouth.   before  he  knew  it,  monty  found  himself  in  front  of  those  doors,  tugging  on  the  handle  and  quietly  slipping  in  after  her.  the  room  was  still  dark,  and  it  took  him  a  few  moments  to  adjust  to  the  ballroom  lit  by  moonlight  alone,  the  way  it  bathed  the  shining  floors  and  its  other  occupant  in  shades  of  starlight  and  silver.   “...it’s  adequate,”  came  the  automatic  murmured  response    ––    before  his  father  had  ensured  their  collective  and  permanent  status  as  personae  non-gratae  at  pureblood  galas,  he’d  seen  his  fair  share  of  ballrooms,  each  more  grand  and  beautiful  than  the  last.  the  ballroom  of  the  norris  house  didn't  particularly  strike  him  as  a  room  deserving  of  more  than  a  cursory  glance.  the  most  beautiful  aspect  of  this  particular  ballroom  was,  without  a  doubt,  the  werewolf  in  the  moonlight  standing  in  the  center  of  it  all.  “...artemis,  i..––  i  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  the  other  day.”  

[broughtdawn]

gibbon, e.·

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 :  FLEAMONT  POTTER ,  @broughtdawn·· .

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐏 :  7:15 PM ,  THE  HALL ,  THE  NORRIS  ESTATE .

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐂𝐘 :  PUBLIC ,  NOT  WARDED .

          euphemia  had  not  been  raised  in  luxury ,  and  therefore  the  sight  of  an  impressive  manor  could  still  knock  the  wind  out  of  her  ever  so  slightly .  rather  than  a  heaving  gasp ,  the  sight  of  the  norris  estate  had  elicited  a  quiet  sigh  upon  her  apparition .  lit  from  the  inside  out ,  the  glow  from  its  many  windows  cut  through  the  early  autumn  darkness ,  illuminating  her  path  to  the  front  door  though  she  was  still  three  hundred  feet  away .  the  hall  was  no  less  impressive ,  but  euphemia  had  kept  her  head  down  as  she  entered  —  the  writhing  nerves  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach  did  not  lend  themselves  to  her  relatively  newfound  distaste  for  unsolicited  attention .            perhaps  she  was  content  to  run  her  fingertip  back  and  forth  over  the  smooth  wood  of  the  staircase’s  banister  from  where  she  stood  a  quarter  of  the  way  up  it ,  looking  down  onto  other  wixen  as  they  entered ,  just  that  slight  bit  above  the  average  person’s  sightline  —  or  perhaps  she  wasn’t .  the  thought  occurs  as  she  catches  sight  of  dark  hair ,  eyes  travelling  down  to  a  pair  of  rose - tinted  spectacles  that  she  can  only  associate  with  one  man .            ❛   monty ,  ❜     she  calls ,  voice  soft ,  her  heart  foolishly  allowing  herself  to  feel  an  ounce  more  comfortable  in  his  presence  since  their  encounter  in  the  foliaged  labyrinth ,  all  while  her  brain  protests .     ❛   you’ll  tell   me  if  you  see  any  goats ,  won’t  you ?   ❜     her  fear  of  the  celtic  púca  was  no  secret  to  those  whom  she’d  gone  to  hogwarts  alongside  —  much  to  a  twelve  year  old  euphemia’s  chagrin .  considering  the  home  they  were  in ,  her  fear  didn’t  seem  quite  so  irrational . 

in  the  span  of  a  heartbeat  he  turns  his  head  and  lifts  his  gaze  to  euphemia’s,  as  if  his  attention  hadn’t  been  snagged  on  her  from  the  moment  he  entered  the  hall,  as  if  he  hadn’t  been  admiring  the  way  the  warm  tones  of  her  dress  made  her  look  like  a  stunning  tribute  to  her  alum  house  in  shades  of  gold  and  jet,  as  if  his  heart  hadn’t  picked  up  pace  and  hammered  against  his  ribcage  at  the  way  she  said  his  name    ––    not  his  given  name,  but  a  nickname.  an  endearment. “didn’t  you  hear?  this  is  a  goat-themed  dinner  party.  can’t  escape  them.”  one  step,  two  steps  forward  and  he  stops  just  before  the  foot  of  the  staircase  she  graced,  head  tilting  up  to  fully  catch  her  eye,  his  own  giving  away  the  fabrication.  his  fingers  slip  into  the  inner  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  gingerly  retrieving  the  dried  leaf  she’d  plucked  from  his  person  over  two  weeks  prior,  the  same  she’d  jokingly  commanded  him  to  wish  upon.  it  seemed  his  wish  ––  to  see  her  again  ––  had  come  true.  hiding  his  smile  at  that  discovery,  he  curls  the  palm  holding  the  leaf  near  his  mouth  and  murmurs  a  few  charms    ––  to  change  the  color  to  one  that  matched  her  dress,  and  then  another  to  send  a  flurry  of  identical,  golden  leaves  swirling  around  euphemia  when  he  unfurled  his  palm  and  blew  a  kiss  up  at  her.   monty  admired  the  way  the  autumnal  leaves  swirled  and  danced  around  her  shoulders,  the  skirt  of  her  gown,  her  glossy  hair,  before  he  remembered  himself  and  cleared  his  throat,  wishing  he  hadn’t  so  quickly  lost  the  talisman  that  had  come  to  represent  something  more  to  him  than  a  chance  encounter  in  a  maze.  “–––you’ve  got  plenty  of  wishes  yourself,  now,  i’m  sure  you’ll  figure  something  out.”

[broughtdawn]

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

[broughtdawn]

      HERE  LIES  THE  FIRST  TIME  YOU  WERE  WRONG . ( x )

BEFORE    ––   how  far  would  you  go  to   right  the  wrongs  wrought  to  your  blood?  you  and  your  red  right  hand  of  vengeance  are  wound  up  and  itching  to  strike  before  you  can  even  place  a  face  or  a  name  to  your  target.  fury.  fury  in  the  way  your  body  shakes  at  night  under  a  cloak  of  invisibility.  how  many  sleepless  nights  does  it  take  to  alienate  yourself  from  everyone  who  ever  knew  you,  to  ward  off  anyone  who’d  ever  try?  you  hide  behind  your  coping  mechanisms  that  do  more  harm  than  good,  and  willfully  blind  yourself  in  doing  so.  you  would  do  anything,  anything,  anything,  to  make  it  right.  would  he  be  proud  to  see  you  bloody  both  hands?  would  that  make  it  right?  potter,  when  those  rose-colored  glasses  come  off,  what  do  you  see?  

AFTER    ––   the  truth  spills  out  in  bittersweet  twists  and  torrents.  almost  everyone  you  knew.  everyone  you  loved.  everyone  you  ever  loved.  and  you,  jerked  around  between  them  like  an  unwitting  jester.  did  they  have  to  try  hard  to  stifle  a  laugh  when  you  spoke  to  them  in  confidence?  they  made  a  mockery  out  of  you,  out  of  him,  but  you  helped  them  do  it.  the  game  is  over  because  you’ve  overturned  the  board.  a  finality  payed  for  by  the  ruin  of  your  old  life,  your  old  self.  you  roll  onto  your  back  and  stare  into  the  sun  for  the  first  time,  truly  seeing.  make  peace  with  lady  death,  and  let  her  come  to  you  on  her  own  terms.  you  live  for  yourself,  now.  rise  from  the  ashes,  dawn  bringer,  and  realize  :  unless  you  fight  for  something,  you  will  die  for  nothing.

TRACKLIST   –– 

001  red  right  hand  :  laura  marling    ––   on  a  gathering  storm  /  comes  a  tall  handsome  man  /  in  a  dusty  black  coat  /  with  a  red  right  hand 

002  in  your  world  :  muse    ––   i'm hurting you again / too lonely to pretend / like everything is new / i promise you to / blow it all away / in your world / no one is crying alone / in your world / no one is dying alone

003  one  way  or  another  :  until  the  ribbon  breaks    ––   one  way  or  another,  i'm  gonna  find  you  /  i'm  gonna  get  you  /  one  way  or  another,  i'm  gonna  win you  /  i'm  gonna  get  you,  get  you  /  one  way  or  another,  i'm  gonna  see  youI  /  i'm  gonna  meet  you  /  one  day,  maybe  next  week  /  i'm  gonna  meet  you,  i'm  gonna  meet  you

004  bloodhail  :  have  a  nice  life    ––   can't  you  see  it's  all  flown  out  of  my  hands?  /  and  our  clothes  are  all  too  often  ripped  /  and  our  teeth  are  all  too  often  gnashed  /  and  it  lasts  as  long  as  it  possibly  can  /  but  i  just  don't,  but  i  just  don't  accept  this  /  i  just  don't  accept  this  at  all  /  and  i  just  don't,  and  i  just  don't  accept  this  /  i  just  don't  accept  this  at  all

005  hiding  :  pianos  become  the  teeth    ––   and  i  know,  you  can't  stay  angry  forever,  or  so  i'm  told  /  but  the  house  gets  so  quiet  /  sitting  here  wishing  for  just  an  hour  or  two,  alone  with  you  /  well,  it's  always  too  personal,  /  always  too  close  to  comment  /  they  all  mention  how  tired  you  look  /  and  you  realize  you  haven't  said  a  word  in  hours  /  i  guess  it's  the  things  that  i  don't  say

006  telefony  :  have  a  nice  life    ––   if  science  is  half  the  man  it  says  it  is  /  then  i  can  build  it  /  the  machine  that  snaps  /  all  of  time  in  half  /  i  can  break  its  back  /  i  can  break  its  back  /  i  can  build  a  door  /  and  i  can  travel  through  /  you  don't  see  it  much  anymore,  but  /  but  surely  i  /  but  surely  i  /  if  i  could  just  hear  your  voice  /  if  i  could  just  hear  your  voice  /  but   i  don't  think  i  have  the  choice

007  stare  at  the  sun  :  thrice    ––   i  am  due  for  a  miracle  /  i'm  waiting  for  a  sign  /  i'll  stare  straight  into  the  sun  /  and  i  won't  close  my  eyes  /  ‘til  i  understand  or  go  blind

008  should  have  known  better  :  sufjan  stevens    ––   i  should  have  known  better  /  to  see  what  i   could  see  /  my  black  shroud  /  holding  down  my  feelings  /  a  pillar  for  my  enemies  /  i  should  have  wrote  a  letter  /  and  grieve  what  i  happen  to  grieve  /  my  black  shroud  /  i  never  trust  my  feelings  /  i  waited  for  the  remedy

009  never  is  a  promise  :  fiona  apple   ––   you'll  say  it  looks  as  though  i  might  give  up  this  fight  /  but  as  the  scenery  grows,  i  see  in  different  lights  /  the  shades  and  shadows  undulate  in  my  perception  /  my  feelings  swell  and  stretch,  /  i  see  from  greater  heights  /  i  realize  what  i  am  now  too  smart  to  mention  to  you  /  you'll  say  you  understand,  you'll  never  understand  /  i’ll  say  i'll  never  wake  up  knowing  how  or  why  /  i  don't  know  what  to  believe  in,  you  don't  know  who  i  am  /  you'll  say  i  need  appeasing  when  i  start  to  cry  /  but  never  is  a  promise  and  i'll  never  need  a  lie

010  backyard  skulls  :  frightened  rabbit    ––   here  lies  the  first  time  that  i  was  wrong  /  and  there  is  no  more  sign,  no  x's  mark  this  spot  /  the  ancient  encounters  with  foreign  skin  /  all  but  perished  by  now,  but  you  can't  erase  the  grin

011  ever  after  :  marianas  trench    ––   apologies, i'm  not  myself  but  i  can  guarantee  /  that  when  i  get  back,  you  won't  believe  /  that  you  knew  me  well  /  don't  want  to  think  about  it  /  i'm  fuckin'  tired  of  getting  sick  about  it  /  now  stand  back  up  and  be  a  man  about  it  /  and  fight  for  something,  fight  for  something,  fight  for  something

012  the  deepest  sighs,  the  frankest  shadows  :  gang  of  youths    ––   so  say  the  unsayable  /  say  the  most  human  of  things  /  and  if  everything  is  temporary  /  i  will  bear  the  unbearable  /  terrible  triteness  of  being  /  alone  in  my  house  /  frozen  away  /  but  don't  get  me  wrong  now,  honey  /  i'm okay

013  tonight,  tonight  :  the  smashing  pumpkins    ––   and  you  know  you're  never  sure  /  but  you're  sure  you  could  be  right  /  if  you  held  yourself  up  to  the  light  /  believe,  believe  in  me,  believe  /  in  the  resolute  urgency  of  now  /  we'll  make  things  right,  we'll  feel  it  all  tonight  /  we'll  find  a  way  to  offer  up  the  night  tonight  /  the  indescribable  moments  of  your  life  tonight  /  the  impossible  is  possible  tonight  /  believe  in  me  as  i  believe  in  you,  tonight

014  underneath  the  sycamore  :  death  cab  for  cutie    ––   we  were  both  broken  in  our  own  ways  /  sifting  through  the  rubble  for  the  wrong  things  /  i  know  you've  got  a  vengeful  heart  /  i  cannot  be  stopped  soon  as  i  start  /  but  you  have  seen  your  darkest  rooms  /  and  i  have  slept  in  makeshift  tombs  /  this  is  where  we  find  our  peace  /  this  is  where  we  are  released  /  we  are  the  same

[broughtdawn]

❛❛ — 🗡️⚖️  › 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: @mr-lyall-lupin​ ❛❛ — 🗡️⚖️  › 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐏: CRUSADERS THIRSTING NEAR JERUSALEM ❛❛ — 🗡️⚖️  › 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘: UNWARDED, PUBLIC

all  throughout  dinner,  he’d  been  antsy,  almost  unable  to  stop  his  leg  from  bouncing  under  the  dinner  table  laden  with  several  courses  of  fine  food  and  wine.  unable  to  stop  himself  from  waiting,  watching  every  other  guest  take  a  bite  or  a  sip  of  each  new  offering  before  he,  himself,  would  partake.  even  then,  he  wasn’t  so  sure  he  was  safe  in  that  house  yet.  as  soon  as  the  last  of  the  powdered  sugar  and  chocolate  had  been  savored  by  all,  he  scraped  back  his  chair  and  caught  up  with  one  of  the  other  guests  ––  a  face  he  saw  around  the  ministry  quite  often,  lyall  lupin.  “lyall,”  he  started,  in  a  low  voice.  though  there  wasn’t  much  point  in  trying  to  remain  unheard,  as  even  the  subjects  of  the  various  portraits  hung  on  the  walls  near  them  leaned  in,  interested.  “..can...  would  you  tell  me  a  bit  about....”  his  voice  lowered  further,  falling  out  between  them  in  a  hushed  whisper  even  the  nosiest  of  portraits  would  have  a  hard  time  picking  up  “......ghosts?”