#euphemia

[catherinestuart]

effie was summoned to catherine’s office, as was the norm, but there was nothing usual or normal about the surprise item in their docket. something that she would usually berate george for! “so... the new years eve party.” her eyes were hard as she studied her sister’s expression — waiting to see if any recognition appeared to be showing in her features. “your mistake was two fold — and quite honestly, i have no idea why i have to tell you this.” she pursed her lips for a second, feeling very much like a head girl berating a little rule-breaker. “firstly, if you were going to do something foolish i thought you’d have the foresight to lock the bloody door. and secondly, really, gabriel de bragança?” ( @effiestuart​ ) 

[of-beasts-and-blood]

Location: The depths of the Musuem Present: Euphemia & Georgette ( @georgettexmacmillan​ )

All of Effie’s friends were workaholics - women with strong career ambitions, who would all have back pain early in their lives due to hunching over their desks. It was an amazing group to be in. While she certainly considered herself to be blessed to be counted among them, sometimes it fell to her to step out of the circle and be the mother figure. 

Take Georgette for example. Despite being a perfectly bright young women, capable of caring for herself and running her own life, Effie was willing to bet good money she hadn’t stopped to eat today. Or drink. Or get fresh air. 

She knocked on the open door to Georgette’s office, announcing her arrival before entering. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off - all the easier for her employee to examine the bioluminescent lumps they’d received from a source. She was hoping there was something to unearth there. Not every discovery was actually a discovery. 

Effie cleared her throat loudly and held out a tall glass of water to Georgette. “Stop. Sip. No ifs, ands or buts. The rock will be there just the same once you’re hydrated.”

⚿

[luminetti]

𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 4

༘⋆Notes: i am back!!! so sorry again for the giant gap but chapters should be coming out faster now that my finals season is coming to an end! sorry for the slight cliffhanger but im so excited for the plot to be picking up finally! hope you enjoy!

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆ [2] ┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

Your scalp throbbed as another pin slid tightly against your neck, fastening the ribbon to your updo.

“Stop fidgeting, you’ll make it come loose,” Euphemia muttered from behind you, intently focused on threading the ribbon into a bow. Her nimble fingers smoothed and secured every hair into place, finalizing her work with a soft pat on the head. “How’s this?” She asked, spinning you around in the chair and holding up a hand mirror.

A soft breath escaped you as you observed your appearance. Balls were rarely something that generated excitement anymore and the prospect of love somehow garnered even less. Despite your past experiences, something churned within your stomach, suspiciously resembling the fluttering of butterflies. And to your growing surprise, it was almost as though you had missed such a feeling. “I think it’s lovely, Phemie.”

She pursed her lips and whipped you back around. “Lovely? I need gorgeous, I’m restarting.” 

Her fingers barely graced the top of your head before a particularly loud and jarring cough resounded from the doorway.

“I refuse to be late to the Duke’s ball because of hair,” Sebastian drawled, dressed clad in black and lazily leaning against the doorframe.

Euphemia groaned and spun you once more to face your brother. “What do you think then? Is this good enough?”

Sebastian stared at her blankly. “I’m not sure what you want me to say here. It is hair.”

She scoffed and turned back to the dresser, rummaging through the countless drawers. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You don’t even know how to tell the difference between a black and navy tie.”

Turning back to face him, she held up two necklaces. One adorned with tiny rubies along a thin silver chain, and the other a single garnet pendant. “Which?”

Sebastian looked up from undoing his dark blue tie. “What?”

She rolled her eyes and held the necklaces higher.

He looked between the two over and over again. “The…The red one?” He asked, hesitantly.

Sebastian swore as a hairbrush flew past his shoulder, dodging just before it collided into him.

“They’re both red, you absolute clod!” 

Throwing the hairbrush back to Euphemia who caught it easily, Sebastian stalked out of the room and down the hallway. “I’ll be seeing red if we don’t leave soon!”

Euphemia glared in the direction he left. Putting down one of the necklaces, she leaned over you to drape the other across your neck. “Oh? When did you get a new necklace?” She paused, reaching out to examine the small crystal necklace Gale had given you.

“A couple nights ago.” You pulled your hair back to let her fawn over it. “From Gale,” You added sheepishly.

“The Viscount?!” Her eyebrows rose to her hairline and she leaned in, reducing her voice to a whisper. “You’re officially courting?”

You whipped around in your seat, “No, of course not! It was just a parting gift.” Your mind slipped back to the night he gave you the necklace. He was so close that if you just shivered your lips might’ve touched. Of course, however, they did not. And when you mistakenly brought up the topic of courting–to your absolute horror–Gale couldn’t even form a proper sentence in response. Surely courting was out of the cards regardless of the thrill in your heart that pounded whenever he was mentioned.

Euphemia stared down at you in disbelief as you finished explaining the interaction. “I don’t quite think his reaction was…as you interpreted.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to let me down easily,” You replied

“Courtship doesn’t need to be elaborate displays of affection, dearest,” She began. “It is often accompanied with spending time with each other, like promenades, or lunch.” Her eyes dropped to the pendant around your neck. “Among those, gifts are also quite common.”

The butterflies stirred giddily in your stomach. “You really think he’s trying to court me?”

Euphemia glanced towards the doorway where Sebastian had been before turning back to you. “The Viscount was a pleasure to host, but I think the ball would be the perfect chance to meet new potential suitors.”

You looked up at her. “New suitors?”

She bit her lip as concern briefly settled over her features. “You’ve never met the Viscount before because he rarely attends the balls.”

Something twisted in your chest. Something different than the butterflies that were now suspiciously silent. “But why would he skip them if he’s looking for someone to court?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her soft hand pulling you out of the seat. “Just give the other suitors a chance.” She pleaded, gathering both your dance cards. “Sebastian is hoping you get a chance to talk to the Marquess.” Euphemia gave you one final pointed look before retreating down the hall and out the front door.

✣ ✣ ✣

The Ravengard estate was, to put it lightly, exceedingly glamorous. Arriving a tad late, the ball was already in full swing with a lively quartet and couples dancing lined the dance floor. The ballroom’s ceiling was patterned in blocks of intricate red and gold. The details trailed down walls, wrapping and weaving around the onlays ceremoniously. Draped against the back wall was a single red banner, thick in width and clad in deep red. Painted on the front was a silver emblem, picturing a knight’s helmet and a crimson fist, the familiar symbol of the Flaming Fist.

From what you remember of Euphemia’s ramblings, the Flaming Fist are the pride and joy of the Ravengard family. It was what elevated Grand Duke Ravengard to, well, the Grand Duke. The Sword Coast was the mother of Baldur’s Gate and the Flaming Fist their shield. It was customary for Baldurians to attend a ball hosted by the Ravengard, that much was certain. But for the citizens of Waterdeep? For such a long distance, many were only in attendance for their Duchess Mystra, and the now Late Duke Elminster. Some Waterdhavians may have pulled from the ball, opting to attend a more local event and perhaps mourn the loss of the Late Duke. However, there was sure to be at least one Waterdhavian in attendance.

“Not looking to dance?”

You whipped around to come face to face with Gale. Gone were the old clothes you had found in Sebastian's closet, instead replaced with a dark velvety tailcoat and golden buttons that fastened the fabric tight against his chest. You never considered Gale to be scruffy or anything of the like. Quite the opposite in fact. But with the ballroom lighting and a refreshed appearance, you admit your heartbeat quickened. You nearly reached out to him, catching yourself last second.

“Lord Dekarios,” you began, curtseying lightly as Euphemia taught. “Pleased to meet you.”

Gale's face fell and he stared at you as if you had just taken a dagger to his chest.

You cleared your throat, glancing around the busy ballroom and speaking lowly. “Was my discretion the past couple months all for naught?”

His brows furrowed until a relieved smile broke out across his face and he smiled nervously. “Ah yes! Pleased to meet you,” Gale said, almost over confidently. “For the very first time,” he added. “Never before.”

Gods, he really was terrible at this.

“Now that I’ve met you, I’ll ask again. No dancing?”

You pursed your lips as you recalled your previous attempts to dance with potential suitors. Despite your sour performance you really were trying your best. Unfortunately, your suitors seemed to have as much patience as a teacup and moved on as soon as the set finished. At least they had the etiquette to stay until the set finished. A feat as such deserved a mental applaud for their resolve.

You fiddled with the small dance card strapped to your wrist. “I’m an expert, I promise. But I wouldn’t recommend seeing it for yourself.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips. “I can’t help but be curious now.” He eyed the slip of paper between your fingers. “May I?” he asked, reaching for it.

You grimaced but relented and handed him the attached pencil. “Truly horrid you are doing this to me.”

He grinned in reply, happily writing his name into the one of the blank spaces. “Will you be as good a dancer as you are a chess master?”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Will you talk about dancing as long as you did about chess? Horses and knights and bishops and kings. Tell me more about the knight’s opening, I’m sure it’ll be riveting.”

“It was the bishop’s opening, actually,” he said absently, still scribbling on your card.

“More like the bishop’s eye-closer, I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep– what are you even writing that’s taking so long?”

Gale stifled a laugh as you pulled the pencil away from him and looked at your dance card. With surprisingly neat cursive, various versions of Gale Dekarios’ name sat in at least seven of the spots. The names ranged from his actual name in the first slot to the last which barely held any resemblance in the slightest.

‘Who the hells is Gray Delargo?!” 

“That would be my alter ego,” he snorted, rather pleased with himself.

You scanned the card again. Glais Dalglish, George Dowey, even Dale Gekarios. Ignoring Gale’s laughter, you quickly counted each name.

“Ten?! You added ten of these?!”

“I said I would, didn’t I? Unless you’re asking for an eleventh.”

You snickered as you read through all the names. Skimming the rest you noticed a gap between the sixth and eighth dance. “I don’t suppose this is where you flee after seeing my dancing capabilities?”

He shook his head, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit. “That’s for when I talk to the Marquess. I can only hope he’s available for at least a moment tonight.”

You hummed and nodded, biting back the grin growing across your face. “I’m sure he’d love to dance with you.”

As the music died down, couples began to disperse from the dance floor in search of their next partner. In a flash, Gale had pulled you to the center of the ballroom. Before you could even understand what was happening, the band burst back to life with dignified intensity. His fingers pressed up against your hand and gently wrapped around it. With a push against your palm, Gale stepped towards you, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“What are you doing?” You questioned in a frantic whisper, thankful none of the other couples had noticed your jagged movements.

Gale tugged your hand again, this time pulling you closer as he took a step back. “Is this not the purpose of a dance card? I wrote my name for the third dance, it is the third dance, so we are dancing.”

You glowered at him as he took your waist, lightly spinning you perfectly in sync with the other dancers. “And you truly expect to participate in all, what, six trillion dances you’ve put yourself down for?”

“It was ten,” Gale commented, “And yes, all of which I quite intend to be present for.” He pulled you close with a prolonged grip on your hip and a far-from-modest keenness. “Unless you intend to imply you are not interested?” His eyes darted to the necklace hanging just below your collarbones with a glance so quick you questioned if it truly happened. “Though,” Gale continued, locking eyes with you once more and lowering his voice to a gravelly murmur. “Something tells me that is not the case.”

Warmth bloomed from the pit of your chest and you made no effort to refute it. Satisfied, he pulled away and continued to lead through the dance. With Gale, dancing felt natural; a sentiment you never thought you’d have the pleasure of having. For one single instant you could’ve sworn the other guests disappeared from the ballroom and only you and Gale remained. His eyes are brown, you note. A deep brown like the bark of burned firewood or an oversteeped early morning cup of tea. A brown that made his irises resemble that of clockwork and oh, how easy it is to see yourself spending the rest of your life with that brown.

His hand reached for yours once more and time is suddenly restored, the piano quartet jovial as ever. Through all the alacrity of the dance floor, you only momentarily caught a glimpse of Euphemia through the crowd, peering at you with large anxious eyes. In the midst of all the chasséing, waltzing, spinning, and turning, words of the Marquess and her concern merely flitted through your mind, effectively becoming null the second she left your sight. Your heart thrummed vividly against your chest, desperate for something, anything. Your bodies departed as the women shifted down the line to their new partner but his presence never fully leaves. Even as you moved two, then three people down the line, his eyes never left your form for a second. You couldn’t help but do the same and Gale grinned a bit wider when you returned to his arms.

Your heart thrashed dramatically, deciding that if something was to be done, it was this very instant. With hands moving on their own accord, you clutch the collar of his suit and lean into him. Instinctively, his hands cling to your waist. Letting your eyes fall closed, you pull him down and–

He freezes.

Gale’s form goes rigid under your touch and his grip tightens. Glancing up at him in confusion, you realize he’s staring directly beyond you looking as though he’s seen a ghost. All of a sudden you feel like a fish out of water but the ball doesn’t stop for just you. The couples beside you continue to soar across the dancefloor, the womens’ dresses brushing against your stationary body. Pivoting, you see nothing out of the ordinary other than Euphemia and Sebastian’s prying eyes.

 Then all of a sudden Gale frantically pushed past you with wide eyes and a pale complexion. A cursory ‘one moment’ was all you were offered before he vanished into the crowd and out to the seemingly empty balcony.

You stood there for a couple moments, unable to process what had happened nor able to escape from the dance floor. You’ve had bad seasons before, that much was undeniable. But to your credit, never in all your life had someone fled from the ballroom without as much of an apology. Did you do something wrong? If you did, you certainly didn’t realize.

As the music surged to it’s finish, you realized tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision. As the dancers left the floor and new ones began to take their place, you hurriedly searched for a place to escape. You took a couple steps forward and immediately got shoved out of the way by an incoming couple who looked you up and down strangely. A younger woman pushed around you to find her partner while another couple prepared to take the place behind you. Chest heaving, you desperately spun in place, searching for a route off the floor.

A dark figure threaded through the hoard of people to stand in front of you. Dressed in a long crimson tailcoat that enhanced his sepia skin, he offered a hand to you, bowing politely. 

“Take my hand, I’ll shield you from everyone else,” he spoke lowly.

The moment your fingertips grazed his hand he pulled you towards his chest, pivoting to where he towered over you. “Breathe,” he reminded you. “There’s still a couple minutes before the quartet begins.”

You nodded, patting away salty beads of tears with the hem of your dress. “Thank you…”

With your vision cleared, you managed to finally get a better look at your supposed savior. His hair was braided to lay neatly against his scalp and concern graced over his soft features. “Of course.” He stepped away, still watching you carefully. “I would ask for a dance but I fear you may be in too much…” he paused as you sniffled. “...distress.”

Shaking your head you fished out your dance card. “I think leaving the floor now would put me in more distress than I began with.”

He snorted in surprise when he opened it to reveal the list of names scrawled onto the paper. “I can’t say I know a Lord Dale Gekarios, do you?”

Your cheeks burned as you handed him the accompanying pencil. “He seems to have fled.”

“Not to worry. I’ll just…” he scribbled into the empty slot and handed it back to you. “There.”

Etched into the card in simple script was the name “Ryll Wavengard.” You stared at the dark writing for several seconds in confusion.

“It’s Wyll,” He explained with a grin, noticing your lost expression. “Wyll Ravengard.”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, dropping to a curtsey as quick as your body could move. Marquess Wyll Ravengard, Son of the Grand Duke. “My Lord! Apologies, I– surely I would’ve noticed–”

Wyll quickly waved you off with a smile. “I take no offense. I find it rather refreshing.” The embroidered emblem of the Flaming Fist that you somehow missed earlier shone with silky threads as he bowed. “Would your chaperone approve of this dance? I would have asked for an introduction properly if we weren’t on a time limit.”

As you scanned the ballroom your eyes landed on Sebastian and Euphemia who were watching you intently, their gaze quickly averting when you spot them. “I doubt they have objections,” you told him with a smile, allowing Wyll to take your hand as the sweet violin fills the ballroom.

The dance started off slowly and Wyll stepped carefully as he led you through the beginning. To your relief, you actually recognized the movements as one of the first dances you ever learned. Silently thanking Euphemia for the weekly lessons, you managed to slip into a rhythm, carrying out each step to the best of your ability.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of dancing with?” Wyll asked.

You bit back the third apology of the night, instead opting to just introduce yourself. “My siblings are here as well.” As you gestured to Sebastian and Euphemia–who were getting significantly worse at pretending to be disinterested–Wyll’s smile brightened.

“Ah, Sebastian! I met him earlier tonight and it was quite the pleasure.” He glanced towards your brother, giving him a cursory smile as he continued to dance with you. “Have you been to a Ravengard ball before?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t. This is only my second season.”

“I’m surprised. You seem to fit right in.” Wyll hummed in thought.

Ignoring the initial reaction to disagree, you thanked him anyway. The rest of the dance went similarly. Wyll would ask a question and you would reply, followed by a moment of silence. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but you found yourself missing something–or someone.

Before you knew it the dance was over and the Marquess escorted you back to your siblings, bidding them a nice night. After a thorough questioning about the dance, you managed to convince them to give it a rest for now. Until then, you just waited, occasionally checking your dance card.

One by one the dances continued to pass. From the seventh, to the eighth, then the ninth. 

By the tenth dance you had searched the entire ballroom and nearby wings of the estate only to come up empty handed.

At the top of the eleventh dance you finally gave up and begged Euphemia to let you return early, to which she pensively agreed.

✣ ✣ ✣

“I truly just cannot understand,” you whined to your sister as she pulled various pins from your hair. “One moment things are absolutely perfect and the other he vanishes from the face of the Earth!”

“Perhaps he’s–”

“I mean really, is he trying to avoid me? He still hasn’t moved his things from his room– the guest room.” The pin snags a strand of hair making you wince.

“Have you considered–”

You slumped back in the chair, absently rambling again. “Do you think I did something? I’m not much of a dancer but I thought I was getting the hang of it– Ow!”

Euphemia dropped a couple pins in the ceramic tray on your desk, threads of hair winding around each one. “If you just held still and let me reply, it wouldn’t have hurt,” she scoffed. “How much do you know about the Viscount?”

Pursing your lips you stared at her incredulously through the vanity mirror. “I know plenty! He favors the color violet, knows far too much about chess to be that attractive, and…” you decided to keep his mage status to yourself, “...other things.”

The hairbrush bristles made the back of your neck tingle as she ran it through your hair. “Those barely scratch the surface, love. How much do you truly know about him?”

You opened your mouth to protest but she continues.

“Have you ever stopped to wonder why the Viscount of Waterdeep is in Baldur’s Gate? Or maybe why you’ve never met him at a ball before, despite participating in far fewer seasons than him?”

The bundle of nerves twisted ominously in your stomach as her words settled in, “What are you talking about?”

She spun you around to face her, donning an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Please just consider that you may not have the entire story.”

Your heart beat quicker than usual, as if spurred on by her words. “Okay…’

“Get some sleep,” Euphemia said, patting your shoulder and retreating to her own bedroom.

As she disappeared from view you sat silently, staring at where she had been. She was right. There were so many things he never fully explained that lingered deep down in the back of your mind. You had just been so caught up in… well, him… that you didn’t think to question his secrecy.

You found yourself stationed in front of the guest bedroom doorway, hand hovering on the doorknob. Your heart craved answers and this was the only place you figured there might be. He abandoned you at the ball, who was he to care now?

The door swung open to reveal a relatively neat room. You hadn’t been inside since Euphemia fixed it up for Gale, and even then it still looked the same as it had years ago. The only change was the new navy bed sheets and dozens of papers littering the desk.

Along the top of the desk were several stamps and wax seals clearly used for letter sealing.

How odd. Gale hadn’t sent any letters since he sheltered in your manor.

A folded letter tucked into the back shelf of the desk caught your eye with its glittering mauve seal, shimmering with a silver dusting on the details. You traced the circular design with the pads of your fingers, trailing down each point of the star symbol. Where had you seen it before?

Curiosity took over and you couldn’t help but read its contents, unprepared for the violent sickness that overtook your body.

Dearest Lord Dekarios,

Pray tell, how are you faring? I dare admit your correspondence has been missed. The Waterdeep Palace feels colder without your frequent visits.

Sources claim you are healthy. That is good. Make haste and return to me, we have much to discuss.

Yours heartily,

Duchess Aumar,

P.s. Duchess Dekarios has a ring to it, does it not?

Your heart dropped to the floor and the bedroom walls crumbled down around you to join it. The past couple months you had spent with Gale flashed through your mind. Could you have known this sooner? The paper trembled in your grip as you reread it, praying new words would magically appear and confirm he had truly loved you all this time, but no such words manifested. You read it over and over, analyzing each letter.

Perhaps it was addressed incorrectly.

Perhaps there was another Lord of a similar name.

On the fifth read you resisted the urge to shred the paper to tiny bits and pieces. Destroying the letter wouldn’t repair the damage to your heart.

A million thoughts crossed your mind and you gripped the sheet so hard it creased at the edge. The only saving grace was the glimmer of hope that flickered in the cavern of your chest that somehow, someway, there was something you had interpreted wrong.

“Why do you have that?” Gale’s voice cut through the room as he stared at you from the doorway, dreadfully horrified. Whatever hope you had promptly extinguished as a flash of light caught your eye. In the moonlight, plain as day, was the unassuming earring he always wore–the one you had barely given a second thought. Round and silver with a simple star decal, the very same as the glittering sealed letter in your hand. It was her symbol. And he was wearing it.

taglist:

@vhaldren @qiific3 @cryingoverpixelsetc

[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chap 24

burning embers

21 november 1996

Euphemia's POV

I rub at my eyes wearily and yawn, stretching my arms up and over my head as I sit up from my books and homework; a rather frustrating alchemy assignment that is due this week. My watch reads 12:55 AM and I sigh. Sirius is supposed to be meeting Harry and I at one, which is the only reason I’ve stayed up this late doing homework on a Saturday night. 

As I stand up from my desk, the door to my room burst open, Harry running through gasping for breath. “Dragons!” 

“What?” I exclaim, rushing to my brother’s side. 

“Hagrid-- forrest-- dragons--” Harry pants, seemingly having run all the way from the forest to her. 

“Haz, catch your breath. I can’t understand. Does Hagrid have another baby dragon?” Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, Hagrid had tried to raise a baby dragon in his mostly wooden hut. Harry shakes his head as he takes in gulps of air.

“Dragons, that’s the first task,” he says once he catches his breath enough. 

“Dragons?” I repeat, trying very hard to not show fear in my eyes. Harry nods solemnly just as the clock on my desk strikes one and a gasp emerges from the embers in my fireplace. 

“Mia! Harry!” Sirius calls out quietly and Harry and I scramble over, kneeling in front of the fire to see Sirius’ face in the low burning embers. 

“Sirius! How are you?” Harry asks. 

“Nevermind that, I’m worried about the two of you,” Sirius grumbles, his face much fuller than the last time we saw him, although his eyes still have a haunted quality about them.. Harry and I exchange a look and I nod, encouraging Harry to go ahead.

“I- well uh, fine I guess but, Sirius, Hagrid’s just shown me what the first task is. I’ve got to fight a dragon!” Harry stammers out, fidgeting with a loose thread on his jumper. “Malfoy’s right, I’m not going to last five minutes!” 

“Harry, since when do you listen to Malfoy?” I remind him. 

“Dragons we can handle, we’ll get to that in a minute. I haven’t got long,” Sirius says, pulling out focus back to the embers. “I broke into a house for the fire but they could come back any minute and I have to warn you.” 

“‘Bout what?” I ask. 

“There are Death Eaters at Hogwarts, Igor Karkaroff to be specific. He was in Azkaban with me but got released and I suspect that’s why Dumbledore has brought Moody in,” Sirius explains, in a hushed tone even though we are alone in my room. “He made a deal with the Ministry and gave up names of other Death Eaters but trust me when I say no one, no one, stops being a Death Eater.” 

“But Voldemort’s dead,” I say slowly, “Even if Karkaroff is still a Death Eater, what would he have to gain from coming after Harry? I mean it’s not like he could be in high favor with the Death Eaters if he traded names for freedom.” 

“We don’t know that he is dead for sure, Mia,” Sirius says but before I can protest he forges on ahead. “Now from what I can tell from the Daily Prophet, reading between the lines of that bloody Skeeter woman, it seems like Moody was attacked the night before the start of term. Like someone tried to stop him from making it to Hogwarts, probably knowing their job would be harder with him around.” 

“So what? You think Karkaroff put my name in the Goblet and is hoping the tournament kills me?” Harry asks and Sirius hesitates for a moment, looking between the two of us. 

“Strange things are happening,” he says after a moment, “The Death Eaters are becoming more and more active. They showed themselves at the World Cup and cast the Dark Mark. We have no proof that Voldemort is actually dead, there was no body.” 

“Dumbledore told me he was probably hiding somewhere my first year, that he was probably too weak to carry on but if Pettigrew found him,” Harry says, and my gut twists at the thought. 

“So what? Karkaroff managed to get himself out of prison how many years ago and now Voldemort has forgiven him for turning in his followers and given him the task of killing Harry?” I ask dubiously, looking between my brother and his godfather. 

“I’m thinking that the tournament is perfect cover for someone to attack Harry and make it look like an accident,” Sirius says bluntly. “Mia, Remus wrote to me. I hear you’re dating the Riddle heir?” Sirius’ eyes bore into me and I sigh; I’ve already received a letter from Remus warning me off Mattheo so I should’ve expected Sirius to know as well.

“I’m starting to get really fucking sick of people acting like Mattheo put me under a love potion or something and that I can’t take care of myself,” I snap, grateful Mattheo didn’t sleep over in my dorm tonight. 

“I didn’t say that-”

“You might as well have. I’m an adult Sirius and Mattheo knew his father as long as Harry and I did ours and he harbors no love for him either. I know him, you don’t, so I’d appreciate it if everyone would stop treating me like some fool blinded by a pretty face. I would have thought that you and Remus of all people would understand looking past someone's reputation and seeing them for who they actually are,” I cut Sirius off, reiterating what I wrote back to Remus. Sirius watches me for a moment, his eyes sad but a soft smile turns his lips up slightly. “What?” 

“You just look very much like your mother,” Sirius says softly but before I can ask more about my mother, Sirius forges on, “Listen, I’ll trust you if you say he is trustworthy, but I want you to be careful. The Riddles are a dangerous family, and even if his father wasn’t included in his upbringing, Voldemort’s blood still runs in his veins. Mattheo you call him? He very easily could have a hand in all of this-” 

“Well he doesn’t!” I snap. 

“I-I agree with Mia, Sirius… He’s got a bit of a nasty streak to some but he’s good to her, and me,” Harry says hesitantly, looking between me and the fireplace and gratitude floods through me for my brother. Sirius watches us for a moment, searching my face carefully. 

“Okay, if you trust him… just please be careful. Your father trusted Peter until the end and Lily spent many years defending a Slytherin friend of her own, only for him to turn his back on her when it served him,” he says solemnly and I grit my teeth at the reminder and I wonder silently at the story of our mum and her friend.

“Can we get back to how to get Harry through this first task?” I ask, afraid if we keep arguing about my love life I’ll stomp Sirius’ face of embers out and I’m not sure if that would actually hurt him or not. 

“Yes, right well there is a way, Harry. Stunning spells will be useless; dragons are far too powerful. You’d need about a dozen wizards in order for that to work,” Sirius says, turning his attention back to his godson. 

“No shit, I just saw one and it took nearly twenty!” Harry exclaims loudly, causing Sirius to glance back behind him. 

“Well could you fly? You’re an excellent flier,” Sirius suggests. 

“We’re not allowed anything but a wand,” Harry shakes his head glumly. 

“Well there’s a quite simple spell you could use to summon-” But before Sirius can finish his explanation, a noise sounds from behind him and Sirius startles. “I have to go, I’ll write again soon!” And with a quiet pop, his face disappears and Harry falls back on the floor next to my couch with a heavy sigh. 

“Great,” he mutters but my eyes are still trained on the fire, trying to figure out what Sirius was going to suggest. 

“Summoning…. Of course!” I sigh, jumping up excitedly. “Harry, have you learned the Summoning Spell yet?” 

“What?” Harry asks, looking up at me from where he sits. 

“Accio, have you learned it yet?” Harry shakes his head. “Well it’s quite simple really. You can’t take your broom with you but you could summon it to you! Then you can fly around the dragon, I doubt they’ll let it fly freely around Hogwarts grounds, they’ll have it chained down.” 

“But Mia, I don’t know the bloody spell!” Harry snaps, sitting up. 

“Well I’ll teach you, we’ve got till next weekend to practice. It’s far simpler than a patronus and its a fourth year spell anyhow so I’m sure you can get it no problem,” I say, kneeling back down in front of my brother. “You can do this, Harry. You heard Sirius, you’re an incredible flier.” I grab Harry’s face to make him look at me, still looking very unsure of himself. “Listen, you can do this. I know you can but for now go up and get some sleep. We can start practicing tomorrow, ‘kay?” 

“Okay,” he says tiredly and stands, reaching down to help me up as well before turning and heading for the door. “Hey Mia?” He asks, turning back to me. “If Voldemort… did come back, well- do you think….” 

“He’s not like that, Harry. I know everyone thinks he is but he’s not… He’s a good man, I know he is. I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he wasn’t,” I say earnestly, and it’s not just because I’ve fallen hard for Mattheo and everytime I think I couldn’t fall any further I do.

“I trust you, Mia, and if you trust him then so do I,” Harry nods. “No one else’s opinion’s matter, right?” He says with a soft smile and I nod. 

“Right, just ours,” I agree with a smile. “Go get some sleep.” 

“Yes, Mum,” he teases lightly, causing us both to chuckle as he exits my room, closing the door gently behind him. 

I crawl into bed, pulling the covers high up to my chin and try to sleep but worries keep my mind racing. It’s nearly three in the morning before I sigh and sit up. My bed feels so big and empty and cold without Mattheo and I’ve found that he is the only thing that never fails to calm me down. It’s as if my brain shuts off when he wraps his arms around me, keeping me safe and allowing me to relax even for just a moment. 

Before I know it, I’m standing before the snake statue that guards the Slytherin Common Room entrance and whispering the password, puritas, which means purity in Latin, as in pureblood. Typical of the Slytherins; according to Mattheo it always has something to do with blood purity or magic power. I creep through the thankfully empty common room and to Mattheo’s door towards the back of the common room. 

The doorknobs on all the prefect doors have flesh memories in them, similar to Golden Snitches, but the doorknobs can be charmed to keep certain touches from entering or only open for certain people. Mattheo and I both have full access to each others rooms so I open the door slowly, and creep into his room. 

The Slytherin dorms always seem much colder to me, and even though our rooms are set up in similar layouts and with all the same basic furniture, Mattheo has very little in his room. A muggle record player, a few books- some muggle and some magical- scattered around, his Nimbus 2001 leaning against the far wall, but very little else. No pictures or keepsakes littering the surfaces like the chaotic ensemble of my room. Sometimes I wonder if the slight mess of my room ever bothers him, but he never complains. 

I move to the four poster bed, rich dark green curtains and bedding adorning the bed looking black in the dark light, and I pull the blanket back carefully. Mattheo stirs slightly, his eyes blinking slowly open as I lay down next to him. Curls fall across his forehead haphazardly, his blankets tangled around his limbs.

“Mia?” He asks groggily. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper with a sigh. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he says, looking at me worriedly. 

“Nothing, I just couldn’t sleep,” I say, gently pushing a curl away from his forehead. Mattheo shifts his position, opening his arms for me to curl into. As sooqn as my head touches his chest, his arms around my shoulders, my brain quiets down instead focused on his heartbeat. 

“I’ve got you, princess,” Mattheo mumbles sleepily, and soon his breathing evens as he is pulled back into his dreams, and I follow soon after, the rest of the world disappearing beyond the four wall surrounding the two of us. 

a/n; this is poorly edited so im sorry

taglist; @purplegardenwhispers @somethingswiftandstyles @weasleyreidstyles @mayamonroem @girlbooklover555 @abaker74 @stxrsberkshire @helendeath

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Sneak Peek

Chapter Thirty-Six: Happy Birthday, Sirius

Sirius was exhausted. He had barely slept over the weekend, opting to survive on pure caffeine and stubbornness. While he loved Andromeda more than he could put into words, her constant hovering suffocated him. There was only so long he could push down his annoyance and smile at her. Sirius knew Andromeda meant well and she worried. And Merlin had he given her enough to worry about for years to come, but he was happy to go back to having a bit of space. 

Once Sirius and Harry arrived at McGonagall’s office, Sirius offered her a strained smile, knowing she knew what had happened a few days ago. He didn’t feel like making small talk as he signed Harry back into school. What could he really say after all? Hello, how was your weekend? Oh, that’s wonderful. Mine consisted of a terrible night of binge drinking that landed me in the hospital after my godson found me in a puddle of my own vomit. Yeah, that was fun. 

Sirius glanced at his watch, watching as the second hand ticked in front of the constellation face. A lump formed in Sirius throat as he jotted down the time onto the parchment. Fleamont and Euphemia had bought him and James matching watches for their seventeenth birthdays. James hadn’t even minded that his parents had bought watches with constellations on them. Astronomy was one of the few things he enjoyed about being a Black - the naming scheme of them all and the interest in the stars they all seemed to share.

“Professor Dumbledore has agreed for Harry to take private lessons with Remus for the remainder of the semester,” Professor McGonagall announced. 

Truth be told, Sirius forgot about the request. He sat his quill down and turned towards Harry to see he was beaming. 

“Although, Professor Dumbledore wants to amend your request, Sirius,” McGonagall continued. “He wants Remus to meet with Harry once a week. Harry will be required to take a knowledge exam before the Christmas holidays to ensure that he is keeping up with his studies. If he passes, he may continue with the arrangement next semester.”

“Sound good, Harry?” Sirius asked. 

Harry nodded. “I’ll get an Outstanding. I promise. Remus is the best professor I ever had,” he added, staring at McGonagall. Then, he squirmed for a second. “In Defense, I mean. You’re brilliant too, professor.”

McGonagall looked amused. “Thank you for the glowing review, Mr Potter.”

Harry shot Sirius a desperate look. Sirius felt himself smiling, his hand reaching out to grip Harry’s shoulder. 

“Hey, I’ll see you Sunday, kid,” Sirius assured him. “You only have a half hour to run to your dorm and grab your things before class starts.”

Harry nodded, taking a step closer. “You’re all right, right?” he asked in a soft voice. 

Sirius sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I’m all right. Remus stopped by and dumped everything in the house. It’s all gone.”

Harry didn’t look convinced. His fingers picked at the skin around his fingernails. 

“Will you call me tonight on the mirror?” Harry pressed. 

Sirius nodded, both hands resting on Harry’s shoulders. “Promise. Every night,” he assured in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to that Mind Healer this afternoon, all right? If I have the urge to do something stupid, Andy gave me a calling tree. She put herself as number one, of course.”

Harry shifted. “Am I on the calling tree?”

Sirius nodded. Harry was at the bottom, given his age, but his godson didn’t need to know that. Honestly, Sirius didn’t think he’d ever get that far down in the list.

“I’m all right,” Sirius assured him. “Promise. I won’t do anything stupid again.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, his green eyes boring into Sirius. Not waiting for a response, Sirius pulled his godson into a hug and threaded his fingers through his unruly hair. Sirius screwed his eyes shut, savoring the contact to remind him why he needed to seek help. Letting Harry down again wasn’t an option. 

“Have a good week in class,” Sirius whispered, pulling out of the embrace. “Call me whenever. I always have my mirror in my back pocket.”

“I know,” Harry replied.

[trashmouth-padfoot]

AU where Sirius gets his name cleared after PoA and Peter actually faces the time for his crimes instead of Sirius. Sirius takes in Harry instantly, be damned the long winded argument with Dumbledore about the protection that the Dursley’s gave him, there was no fucking way he was letting Harry go back there.

Instead of Sirius trying to shove away his past and destroy the remnants of it, he actually tries to renovate Grimmauld Place with Harry. And over time, both Sirius and Harry begin to create their own kind of family; neither is using the other as a replacement for James anymore.

Lupin comes over an exponential amount over that summer. At first, it was just check ins. Making sure that Sirius was doing okay, that whole thing, and if Harry ever saw the two lingering in each others’ presence and touch for a little too long, he never mentioned it. He didn’t mention when Lupin began spending the night nearly every week, he didn’t mention when it was his turn to do laundry and over half of Sirius’ loads were Remus’ clothes, and he certainly didn’t mention what both men thought were unnoticeable shows of affection. He didn’t mind Remus and Sirius, as Remus was a much better cook than Sirius, and Remus always cooked for them.

Finally, during their huge renovation project, Harry finds the tapestry. The family tree tapestry. He wasn’t surprised by its size, or by the fact he noticed the clear incest between Walaburga and Orion. What did surprise him, though, was the dark black singe marks covering several shitty illustrations, names resting just under it. He stared painfully at the black spot just above the name Sirius Black. Harry doesn’t mention it to Sirius, but he certainly asks Remus about it. Remus, although hesitant, explains how Sirius practically ran away, living with the Potters for a good portion of his teen years. How his parents saw him a blood traitor and Mugglelover (also said with a different, much more offensive, spelling. Remus simply refused to say it for sake of explanation). Harry tried about a hundred times to remove the tapestry, even resorting to cutting it at one point. The stupid threads just merged together once again.

Then, he gets an idea. He loves this idea. He makes Hermione get him an array paint during one of her and Ron’s near weekly visits, and the trio spend about two hours painting over the entirety of the tapestry. Just painting it black. Then, they paint over the black with a couple words and illustrations.

They don’t tell Sirius or Remus, no no. They wait. And Harry watches the room like a hawk. Finally, Sirius begrudgingly enters with a half full trash bag, Remus gently trailing behind, a trash bag in his hand as well. Harry is sure to be close behind, wanting to see Sirius’ reaction.

Sirius stands in the doorway for quite some time, staring at the tapestry.

The tapestry no longer held the names of all his abusers and his regrets and these deceased people whom he was supposed to idolize. No no. Now, in bright, bold, gold lettering, the top of the tapestry read: “The Super Cool and Awesome House of Black and Potter” in a much smaller print, just under the large one, it read: “And Significantly Better Than The Dogshite House of Black By Itself”. In the center of the tapestry, it holds a family tree. An array of poorly painted white lines with finely painted names. It was the Potter family tree. There read the names Fleamont and Euphemia Moon Potter, a line connecting them both and then down brought two lines indicating offspring; one read James Potter, the other Sirius Black. From James, Lily Evans Potter was connected, and a line indicating offspring lead to Harry, yet a line connected Harry and Sirius, a line almost indicating offspring, but having a couple dashes here and there.

Sirius sobs, holding his head in his hands as both Remus and Harry attempt to calm him down, sporting gentle smiles and soft-spoken words.

After the emotions all mostly calm down, Sirius hugs Harry for what has to be ten minutes, neither one pulling away from each other. Harry had never been held so tightly and so long before; he rarely was hugged to begin with. By the end of it, both of them are silently crying in each others’ arms.

“Y’think you and your mates can paint over that bitch of a woman who insists on calling herself my mother,” Sirius then asks over dinner, and Remus makes a comment about language, but Harry just laughs.

“Of course,” he breathes through a laugh, nodding. Sirius hums happily and nods. He was certain this was the happiest he had been in nearly thirteen years. He needed this. He needed his people. His family.

[emeralddoeadeer]

Director's cut for the scene from Everlong where Lily and Euphemia overhear James & (sorry to be greedy) A Case Of You scene please 💕 Two of my favourite angst scenes from one of my favourite fics xxx

Right in there for the big emotional hits, I respect it Kit, thanks for the ask 💞

under the cut

With the overhear, Lily is holding on by a string.

Emotionally overwrought from the family stuff, the questions surrounding the unusual comments, (her awareness that she'll have to explain Snape soon), and then the situation with Ryan and her subsequent injury.

She plans to just tough it out and get through for Marlene but the sight of James in the water gives her hope that being surrounded by her people will help boost her mood.

Until the introduction, Sirius' panic and the continued care and attention all lead to her needing space to breathe.

This is all shown rather than pointed out, and I wanted her to be given a chance to have that care privately offered by Mia, who believes nothing of her allergies excuse and sees the pain Lily is hiding.

There's a calm outside, the water, away from the crowds and Lily opens up a little, trusting Mia's genuine concern.

The rug is pulled from her when she hears the latching-on comment and hears that she's a mess. All the fears she has under the surface mirrored back at her - she is a burden, taking advantage of their kindness, and she can't keep it together.

It's also the confirmation of her belief that she and James can't be just friends. Validation for the four years cut off, but even hearing she was right all along doesn't lessen the pain.

It breaks her.

Heart already fractured she crumbles under James' careless inaction, where if, at this moment he had said what he thought - that she is the strongest woman he knows and how important she is it would have healed her.

And so she runs.

It sets up a lot of different threads -

the dislike of Emmeline and James' missing the opportunity to set the record straight, causing Emmeline's bitterness toward all things relating to Jily interactions.

Lily protects James, instantly telling Mia not to be mad at him, asking her to let it go, and not telling the girls so he doesn't look bad in their eyes. She has herself convinced that she is the problem and doesn't want to hinder his happiness.

Only those outside during that scene know what went down, and the pieces of information release slowly throughout the group.

A shockwave that carries forward, pushing James further away (and further into Emmeline's arms).

a big misunderstanding, with big consequences.

💕💕

A case of you... Love is touching souls

Chapter 7 brings about Lily's acceptance.

Her mum, grief is always present, and this is the first time she's been home or been in regular contact with Petunia and her dad in years. Those relationships are a mess and the deeper they get into Abercorn, the closer Lily is to the realisation that her decision here will likely sever the fine thread between them.

Sometimes when you're lost, you need a strand of connection.

The letter is the key to the next step in Lily's journey, she has been pushing away feelings that make her uncomfortable for years. Her mother's words of wisdom come to her at her lowest and offer her hope, and strength to power through.

I purposefully didn't offer much of what her mum tells her, I think we can all fill in those blanks ourselves.

Handwritten, her mum had known that at some point Lily would read these words and hopefully take comfort from them, it's such a painful act of love - knowing she wouldn't be there to tell her these things but pouring it onto a page.

(I thought about the content of this letter a lot and as a parent it really hits)

Her mum tells her not to fear love, and even though she isn't in love she takes that as encouragement to let herself remember the love, the pain, love for her mother, her family, and James.

Days later, when Lily sees the picture in the study, the words of the letter have taken up residence in her body, read and reread.

I saw the visual of them dancing under that tree so clearly in my head, it was one of the central images in the mood board of my mind. In chapter two she sees the sketch on the gallery wall, the view from his window of a willow tree with their song quoted at the bottom - this is that tree.

(Lily Evans wand -10¼", Willow, swishy)

A reminder of love, and that she is loved, her mother may not be there but she is still a guide - I am as constant as a northern star

I don't know if this answers everything, or anything... happy to delve further, you know where to find me.

💕💕

thanks again!

[nought-shall-go-ill]

Well-Spoken Woman!

Certainly, Anna!

A Well-Spoken Woman is Jily from the POV of Euphemia. Euphemia, despite also having received prejudice across her lifetime, is far more uncertain of Lily’s muggleborn heritage than she first appears.

I love this fic, and I think it has a lot to say, but it deals with some incredibly sensitive topics that I’m just not sure I’m ready to fully tackle yet. I hope to get back to it someday but not likely for a few months. Nonetheless, here’s a snippet I don’t entirely hate:

“Oh, you do know how to make your old mother happy, James.” She threaded her arm through his and he took it enthusiastically, like the gentleman she hoped she’d raised. “You know, I have plenty for you to borrow: Kipling, Waugh, Dickens, and of course, our darling Henry James.”

“What about James Baldwin? Harper Lee?” He wiggled a little under her arms. “My err… friends have recommended these.”

Friends, indeed. Why did these boys struggle to be so open?

“Friends? A lady friend, perhaps, James?”

“Well, yeah, but she’s just a friend, Mum.”

There was that almost blush again…

“Is it that smart girl Lily again?”

His head dipped in a nod, and she thought of how much she had learnt from Fleamont. How much — she hoped — he had learnt from her. Their perfect home home filled with Potions and literature. Each encouraging the other to be the best. Inspiring from time to time too. It was only right to want the very same for her son.

“She must be a whizz at Muggle Studies,” Euphemia said encouragingly, eager to hear more.

James laughed. It was an earnest, loud laugh.

“She doesn’t need to be, Mum. She’s Muggleborn.”

Somewhere off in the distance there was the humming sirens of a Muggle ambulance.

“Oh.” Euphemia’s hands suddenly felt a little clammy. “How nice.”

“Don’t go getting ideas, though, Mum. She really is just a friend.”

“Of course, darling,” she replied. But James spoke about her all the way to the tea shop anyway.

(Btw, so sorry this took so long. Most of this fic is written down by hand at the moment and I’d rather share from there, so I had to find a time to type this out.)

[spookylittletownhq]

OCTOBER 25, 1923 Northwest of Wolgemuth Hall, past the first slope in the northern ridge Twelve minutes before midnight

An Excerpt from the Funeral Rites of Hartmut Wolgemuth

Here, snow has started to fall several weeks before, and now blankets the ground in a thick, downy layer. Wolgemuth Hall is a grand estate, modeled in a low country gothic style. Past the first line of the evergreen trees, the golden-green light of the hall begins to fade.

The procession travels in a melodic silence -- the crunch of snow, the rustle of coats. Some flitter over the ground with greater ease, aided by unseen winds or lightness. Others walk heavily, arms linked in pairs.

It is clear that Hartmut, for his quiet, austere nature, was a man to be revered.

Blue moonlight catches through the tree limbs, though the trees overhead leave little room for the sky. Only once, perhaps twice, does the silver flint of Euphemia Wolgemuth’s hair catch the light, far ahead. It’s distinctive. All the Wolgemuths are. The oldest family in the town, their lineage is pronounced by dark hair, long fingers, and those that retain the name also retain the aloof dignity that comes with them. They are a secular sort, looking over the valley from their estate. But to Albion, and the valley, they are benevolent. Perhaps this explains the size of the crowd: Horsts, Caplans, and Miltons gather here, too. Even Thomas Andersson walks amongst their ranks. The Wolgemuths did not just found Albion, they live and breathe it.

The procession comes to a rest in a clearing, though no one dares to step into the perfect snow. At seven points along the edge, a robed figure stands, gowned in silver-gray. Their heads are lifted up, to the twinkling stars above, and their lips move soundlessly, chanting. As the last footfalls stop, the group fanning through tree trunks and thatches of pine needles, they stop.

A wreath — of holly berry, of vetiver, of blackened moss, symbolizing Hartmut is carried forth by the three heirs to the estate. They stand in the center of the clearing as the seven members of the celestial coven reach out their hands to one another. For a moment, there is perfect stillness. Even Geraldine, the youngest of the Wolgemuths, falls silent.

Then, starlight. It seems to collect from particles in the air, not emanating from one particular place. Called forth, perhaps. Manifested. Stars sink low into the clearing, catching on invisible thread. They bridge a line between each of the seven members, and then begin to draw arcs through the clearing, intersecting over the wreath. From these cross points, stars fall — little blips of light, noticeable only if one is watching — and collect amidst the branches and moss.

The air changes softly. Pipe smoke, tobacco. The scent of leather-bound books and a headmaster’s jacket. It is as though Hartmut lives in the air among them. Some draw a deep breath, shutting their eyes. A few — Euphemia among them — shed a tear. Others, still, stare out in wonder as the light persists — starlight in violet, cerulean, vivid green.

Pop.

It is soft, and gentle, and ushers back the scent of pine and winter snow. The light has gone, vanished, or filtered back to where it came. It remains only in the wreath, colors aglow. And it leads the group, three heirs first, celestial coven second, away from the clearing and again, into the snow.

[suzaeuphysolos]

What was the first scene when watching Code Geass that made you go "Wow I really love Nina she is a very interesting character"?

Well. My connection to Nina is an interesting one. There was never a moment that I hated her, and there was never a moment that I thought she was a bad character. In fact, when I look back, my fascination with her began long before she had become something interesting to the plot.

Via my live tweet thread: "So I have decided that Nina is a huge lesbian"

This was before her crush on Euphemia was revealed. I got the vibe that she had a crush on Milly from a very small reaction she had to something Milly said. Boy was I surprised when that was canon. I was halfway joking.

Also, not gonna lie. The table scene made me love her more I think. It was so funny to me, I could not stop laughing. I was like "HELP MY GIRL WHAT ARE YOU DOING" and as she progressively got more insane it's like I was cheering her on like "YESSS LOSE YOUR SHIT BLOW UP THE SCHOOL!"

There was that, but also, I was just so drawn to her from those very beginning episodes. And I kept getting excited to see her return in another scene. And I was not expecting her to play as big of a role as she did.

Oh my god. The R2 glow up.... it took the air out of my longs. I remember thinking "OMG?? MY GIRL??? IS THAT YOU????" she was "my girl" in my head at this point.

And then Fleija and her whole character arc. By the end I felt so incredibly proud of her and. When I say. That it was the biggest shock of the century. When I got online. And found out how hated she was. I genuinely did not expect that.

[catherinestuart]

“so what is the plan, hm?” she allowed her hands to fuss with the papers, gaze swiftly glancing between her phone and her sister. “if you’re not seeing him or sleeping with him, there is absolutely no reason for you to be roommates with gabriel de bragança— there are plenty of houses to choose from, even the one a few doors down is still empty.” catherine had never worried about about her sister, never in the way she felt now. perhaps it was hubris, but mortality had never been on the forefront of her mind. ( @effiestuart​ ) 

[lixzey]

Monster Among Men

September 1st, 1972

The family of four eased their way through King's Cross station. The Potters; Fleamont and Euphemia, held onto each of their children—twelve-year-old James and eleven-year-old Y/n—It was their youngest's first year at Hogwarts. 

“Mummy, Jamie's being a little prick!” Little Y/n Potter huffed angrily, glaring at her older brother.

 “James Fleamont Potter, stop bothering your sister.” Euphemia Potter chastised her eldest child, swatting his hand away from his whining sister. 

“Who? Me?” James feigned innocence. 

Euphemia sighed, “What am I going to do with the both of you?” 

“Love us? Buy us sweets?” James smiled cheekily at his mother. Euphemia looked at her children, tears welling in her eyes. Y/n immediately hugged their mother, James following her lead. Euphemia chuckled, as she tried to flatten James' hair—which stood in different directions at the back of his head. She kissed her son's cheek before turning to her youngest child. Euphemia threaded her fingers through Y/n's mass of curls. “My little girl, all grown up! Be sure to write to us as soon you get sorted, Y/n.”

“Don't worry, Effie. Our daughter will be sorted into Gryffindor.” Fleamont beamed at his daughter, ruffling her hair.

Euphemia shot a glare at her husband, causing him to scratch the back of his head awkwardly. “Don't put the wrong idea in your daughter's head,” Effie turned to her daughter. “Any house is fine darling, your father and I will still be proud nonetheless.”

“Don't worry, Mummy. I'm gonna write to you and Daddy every day.”

“Y/n/n's gonna be in Slytherin.” James teased, which he instantly regretted because Y/n stomped on his foot, digging her heel into his shoe.

“Your mother is right, anywhere's just fine.” Fleamont chuckled at his bickering children. “Look after your sister, James. I mean it.” He patted his son on his shoulder twice before taking the twelve year old in his arms into a tight hug.

After releasing his son, he reached out to his daughter, pulling her into a tight hug as well. “Do great things, alright sweetheart?”

“I will, promise!” Y/n hugged her father tightly before pulling away.

“Go on then. Take care of each other, alright?” Euphemia smiled lovingly at her children.

“Yes, Mum.” Both siblings chorused. As soon as the siblings boarded the train, James pulled his sister to the side. “Do you want to sit with me and my mates, or do you want to explore the train?” James asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

“As if I want to sit with you and your smelly friends.” Y/n rolled her eyes at her older brother, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh come on, baby sis! They're not bad.” James urged, pulling his sister to a compartment where three other boys sat. 

“Boys, this is my sister, Y/n.” James grinned, introducing his younger sister to the rest of his friends as soon as the compartment door slid open. “Say hi, Y/n/n.”

“Do I look like a house elf to you?” Y/n snapped, swatting her brother's hand off of her arm. “Y/n Potter, sister to this git.” she jerked her head towards James. 

“Can't argue with that, he's a prat.’' A boy with black hair that reached his shoulders chuckled, “Sirius Black, at your service.” 

“Oi, don't flirt with my sister.” James growled.

“I wasn't!” Sirius defended himself, “I'm just being kind.” he smirked. Y/n rolled her eyes at the two, her eyes landing on the two other boys. 

“That's Remus,” James pointed to the scarred sandy brown haired boy, “and that's Peter.” he pointed to a blonde boy with watery blue eyes. 

Y/n waved at the two with a smile, “You boys go ahead and talk about……boy stuff. I'm gonna walk around and explore the train.”

“Don't get in trouble, baby sis!” James teased as he plopped beside Sirius, reaching for a sugar quill in the middle.

“No, you don't get into trouble, Jamie.” 

“Jamie? Merlin, that's cute.” Sirius smirked, playfully punching James on the shoulder. 

“Don't call me that.” James growled, glaring at him. 

Y/n shook her head before walking out of her compartment, eyes wandering through each and every compartment hoping to find a friend. As she wandered through the train's halls, gazing into each compartment she passed, Y/n she bumped into someone. The youngest Potter fell to the ground with an audible thud as the train trudged along the tracks, when she looked up a boy who looked like Sirius was sneering at her. 

“Watch where you're going!” the boy hissed. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.” Y/n apologized as she stood up, meeting the boy's eyes.

“Clearly, you don't pay attention to your surroundings.”

Y/n scowled, “I said I'm sorry! What's got your wand in a twist?” 

“Let me guess, you're a muggle-born?” The boy sneered, moving away from her as if she was dirt beneath his feet. 

Y/n stood up face to face with the rude boy, “For your information, you little prick,” Y/n glared at the boy. “I'm a pureblood.” she hissed, poking him in the chest, making him scowl. 

“Ah, a Gryffindor in the making then. No wonder.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Y/n snapped. 

“Ooh, the little lion has claws.”

Y/n felt her blood boil at the mere sight of this arrogant, pompous, prat in front of her. “Aren't you a little ray of sunshine?” 

“Get out of my way, you filthy blood-traitor!” The boy pushed her hard to the side which made something snap inside of Y/n. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt, forcing him to face her and then she punched him square in his nose with all of the strength her little arms could muster.

The boy winced in pain as he stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding nose. “You're gonna regret that, you filthy blood-traitor!” he hissed at her. 

“You're threatening me!? How about I  break your jaw!?” 

The boy snarled, before turning to walk away from the angry little witch. Y/n angrily stormed back to the compartment where her brother was. 

“What's got your knickers in a twist, baby sis?” James asked as soon as he saw his sister fuming. “Why's your hand all bloody?” he asked, eyeing his sister's bloody knuckles. 

“I punched some boy who's acting like a prat.” Y/N muttered, pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping the blood—his blood—off of her knuckles.

“Wow, you're not even in Hogwarts yet, and you're punching people.” Sirius teased, “I like you, you're feisty.”

Y/n's thoughts immediately went back to the boy she had just punched. He looked so much like Sirius, only his face was more annoying than Sirius'. 

“Hey Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?” Y/n asked, wincing slightly from the pain in her knuckles.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, confused. “I have a brother, well, I wouldn't call him my brother anymore because he's a prat. He's starting Hogwarts too.”

Y/N smirked, “Oh, really?” 

“What are you hinting at, Y/n?” Remus asked. 

“Oh, nothing. I just punched that little prick.”

Hours later, after Sirius' extensive questioning, the train slowed right down and finally stopped. Students made their way toward the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. 

“First years! First years over here!” A loud voice called, “C'mon, follow me—any more first years? Mind yer step, now! First years follow me!”

“See you later baby sis, I'll save you a seat.” James smiled at his sister, ruffling he curls.

Y/n held his hand, “Jamie, I'm scared.” she mumbled, almost whispering.

“Don't be, you're going to be great.” James gripped his sister's hand tightly. “Whatever house you get sorted in, I'll be proud of you, Mum and Dad will be too.” James pulled his sister close, giving her an assuring hug.

Y/n smiled softly before letting go of her brother's hand and began walking behind the half-giant. The half-giant—Hagrid—led the first year students through the darkness, separating them from the rest of the students who were stepping onto large horseless carriages.

“No more'n four on a boat!” Hagrid yelled through the loud chattering, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. 

Y/n slowly walked to a boat, bumping into other students as she did. She sat at the back of the boat, scooting a little bit more to the side. Suddenly, she heard another voice, which made her blood boil again. 

There he was, the rude little prick. 

“You again?” He snarled. 

“Bugger off.” Y/n snapped. 

The rest of the boat ride was in silence. Both Y/n and the boy sitting beside her glaring at each other the whole ride.

The students hopped off of the boats, Y/N walked as fast as her little legs could carry her, hoping to avoid the rude boy as much as possible. The first years walked through the entrance hall with intricately designed stone walls. A weary woman stood at the top of the staircase. The woman nodded at the first years, before leading a herd of eleven year olds into The Great Hall. The hall was lit by hundreds and thousands of candles hovering in the air over four long tables. Y/n looked around, before spotting a familiar mop of messy black hair. She sighed at the sight of her brother, her worries fading away. 

The woman, Professor McGonagall, stood in front of the little first years. Before placing a four-legged stool in front of the students. On top of the stool, she put an old ratted pointed wizard's hat. The Professor then stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. “When I call your name, I will place the hat on your head and you shall be sorted into your Houses.”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, standing up straight. “Abbott, Amaryllis!”

A blonde girl stepped forward, her hands were visibly shaking as she sat over the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the ratty old wizards hat over Amaryllis' blonde pigtails before it yelled: “Hufflepuff!”

Y/n didn't pay much attention to the next students that were sorted. The youngest Potter was nervous, her hands were all sweaty and shaky from anticipation. What if I don't get sorted into Gryffindor? My whole family's been in Gryffindor.

“Black, Regulus!” Y/n's eyes darted to the boy she has come to hate, barely a day at Hogwarts and she already hates the boy. 

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat shouted, barely even touching his head. Regulus smirked before running over to the Slytherin table, Y/n visibly cringed at the sight of his smug face. 

Professor McGonagall continued calling out names, until it finally came to Y/n. “Potter, Y/n!”

“I knew you'd be a lion just like us.” James grinned. 

Y/n took a deep breath before making her way up to the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat over her head, which fell over her eyes.

After what felt like hours, the hat finally yelled: “Gryffindor!” Y/n let out a long sigh of relief before she ran to brother's side.

Y/n smiled before turning her attention away from her brother. Suddenly, her eyes locked with a certain Slytherin. 

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @bobthe-turmpetman29

[luminetti]

𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 3

༘⋆Notes: this chapter went a bit differently pacing wise than I originally planned! Last chapter I added a 7th prospective chapter to the navigation post because I wasn't sure if I could fit everything into just 6. I think the 7th chapter is very likely to happen, so just letting you know ch6 wont be the last. I love reading your guys' comments both here and on ao3, they're all so sweet and it's what keeps me posting so thank you to everyone who did that 💜

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆ [2] ┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

The metal handle of the withdrawing room bore cold through your hand as you hovered in front of the door. Your mind was reeling. Gale had mentioned magic and mages that morning, and he seemed quite adamant for your presence. Bending down to peek through the rusted keyhole, you squeezed one eye shut, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was to come. Your vision was fuzzy, blurred from old bits of metal that had rusted from years of unuse.

After your eyes finally began to focus, you could just barely make out a figure on the ground, toying with what almost looked like string? Like plucking invisible thread, Gale peeled apart the translucent strands, letting bits slip through his fingers in a breath of mist. The string between his fingertips glinted in the moonlight as he redirected it into a soft wave, the line following its path and deftly falling into place. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when the final pieces settled themselves in the air like brushstrokes of greens, blues, and purples in the air. Gale had painted an aurora into the air with nothing but his hands.

The warmth of your breath hit your face as you pressed closer against the door, subconsciously leaning against it harder in hopes of somehow seeing more. Too engrossed in the display, you failed to recognize the indicative clicking of the door latch coming undone. With a creak, the door swung open into the room and spat you out onto the floor, landing behind Gale in embarrassing proximity.

Gale leaped to his feet, swiping a hand through the aurora and waving away the remnants of the sparkling colors into the moonrays. “Gods, you caught me practicing,” he mumbled, brushing the dust from his clothes and smoothing the wrinkles. “I thought I had prepared well enough but– are you alright?”

Scrambling from the floor, you nodded, far too starstruck to answer him properly. “Aurora– in the air– moving with your fingers–” your sentences spewed out like strands of word vomit, unable to finish a single thought before beginning another. Mimicking his gestures from earlier, you waved your hands around, hoping they would convey your questions better than your words. You had to know more.

Gale paled and clasped his hands around yours to steady your erratic movements. “Please don’t be alarmed,” he begged, “I wanted to tell you, There just wasn’t– Never the right time–” Gale caught himself from blithering any further and took a deep breath. “Let us start over–”

“I’m not,” you interjected, forcing Gale to fall silent. “Not alarmed, I mean.” Grabbing one of the nearby chairs, you dragged it towards the center of the room and sat. “Don’t restart. I want this.” You motioned to himself and your surroundings. “I want it to be genuine. You in your entirety.” 

His jaw softened and he nodded silently. “I suppose I’d quite like that…” He began, looking around the room for inspiration. “I had something more ostentatious planned, but that doesn’t feel right anymore.” Gale’s eyes locked onto your unfinished painting of Euphemia’s garden. “This however…”

You watched in a daze as Gale swept a hand over the canvas, the dried paint morphing at his touch. It was as if a breeze had come over the painting. What was once static scenery of flowerbeds and grass spotted through a window, now had begun to ripple. Each individual flower and blade of grass swayed as if it was caught in the wind and even the graphite outline of the window’s curtains drifted lightly.

Gale stood off to the side and faced the painting. Cupping his hands around his lips, he blew a puff of air and the garden trembled as if a gust of wind had blown through the field. As the wind grew stronger the curtains billowed and petals detached from their stems. One of the flowered bushes shook in the wind more ferociously than the others, shaking harder and harder until a single flower snapped off the branches.

The flower–small and pink–flew around the painting, carried by the wind which had now slowed to a zephyr. As the flower drifted closer, the pointed petals and golden center became more apparent. It was a sweet brier. Rosa rubiginosa, as Euphemia calls it. But more commonly known as–

“An eglantine rose,” Gale mused, catching the painted flower as it emerged from the canvas. Twirling it in his fingers, he carefully plucked off the small thorns covering the stem. Once cleared, he bent down and tucked it neatly behind your ear. “Your favorite, if I’m not mistaken?”

Dumbfounded, you raised a hand to stroke the flower sitting in your hair. Sure enough, the petals were smooth and velvet-like. It was a real eglantine rose. “I’m impressed you remembered…” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. It was hard to fight the rosiness creeping up your neck, accompanied by a familiar sense of transparency, though different than before. You weren’t quite sure if you minded it or not. It felt as though Gale could see right through you, or that you were bare before him. And yet, you made no move to cover yourself. 

“If that trick isn’t called ‘gale force winds’ then I’ll be highly disappointed.”

Gale snorted, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I’ll admit I’ve never attempted to name any of my abilities before. Though, I suppose I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything like that on my own.” 

“It’s a pity you’ll lose my naming prowess when you depart.”

“A day I have come to dread, it seems.” He chuckled nervously and slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieving a small coin purse. “I suppose I was dreading it more than I realized.” Undoing the drawstring, Gale produced a small necklace from the pouch. Hanging from the thin chain was a crystal pendant, unceremonious and unassuming. “When I eventually return to Waterdeep, I want to leave you with something… Apologies, I wasn’t sure what jewelry you preferred.”

You took the necklace in your hand, rolling the gemstone between your fingers. It looked deceptively light. The pendant bore a surprising amount of weight, indicative of high quality material. 

“This is for me? Really?”

Gale nodded, chewing on his lower lip as he watched your expression closely.

A glimmer from within the necklace caught your eye. Suspended in the clear pendant were engraved stars, shining with all the colors of a sunset sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, undoing the clasp and holding it out for him to fasten around your neck.

Gale hurriedly took the chain and positioned himself behind you, draping the cold metal over your neck and lifting your hair aside.

You forced yourself to still and let his warm fingers brush against the nape of your neck as he fiddled with the fastener.

“That is most gratifying to hear,” He said, motioning for you to turn once he finished. “I would’ve asked whether you liked silver or gold, but I…” Gale trailed off, his eyes locking onto the pendant hanging just beneath your collarbone. Clearing his throat, his gaze flicked back up to meet your own. “It suits you nicely.”

You reached up to feel the necklace against your skin. “I rarely wear jewelry outside of balls. But this,” you closed your fingers around the crystal. “This I believe I’ll be wearing for a while.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, looking from the necklace, to the flower in your hair, then back to you. “You’ve been to the balls this season? How could I possibly have missed you?”

You fidgeted with the necklace. You were never particularly lucky when it came to courting. Ballroom dancing felt too monotonous to be worthwhile and in sensing your discomfort, no suitor had requested a second dance in one night. There was another time when a suitor had professed his undying devotion with a bouquet of amaranth barely a day after you mentioned your aversion to pollen.

Euphemia excitedly told you that amaranth represented longevity and in this case, longevity of love. You, however, found it to be the longevity of sneezing, which eventually solidified the poor suitor’s rejection.

Finally, you shrugged. “I don’t suppose we run in quite the same circle, Viscount.”

A warm hand brushed against your temple, slipping a couple strands of hair that threatened to cover your eyes off to the side. “I must be in the wrong circle then.” The back of Gale’s hand trailed down the side of your cheek and rested underneath your chin, gently tilting your face to look up at him.

Just as you began to feel his warm breath on your lips, the doors swung open once more and Euphemia strode in, her nose deep in a newspaper.

“Scandal of the season!” She cried, pacing back and forth in the room, not once looking up. “Newly made Dowager Duchess Mystra of Waterdeep swarmed with suitors come the following of Duke Elminster Aumar’s passing,” she recited, frantically flipping to the next page.

The warmth of Gale immediately disappeared as he rushed to read over Euphemia’s shoulder with you in quick pursuit.

“The mother of magic retreats in mourning and withdraws from the shortly upcoming ball hosted by Duke Ravengard of the Sword Coast,” she continued, letting Gale take the paper and read himself.

You rose to your tiptoes, trying to skim the paper over Gale’s tall frame. “The mother of magic? I thought she was just a normal mage?”

Gale shook his head, his fingers tangled in his hair, grasping it like it would disappear from his head. “The Duke and Duchess were some of the most powerful mages in Faerûn. Just the union between the two helped ease fears of magic across all of Waterdeep and even parts of Baldur’s Gate.”

You bit your lip. The opinions on mages were already precarious. The loss of a Duke would be difficult for any region, but a Duke of arcane magic would be difficult to replace. From what it seemed, the Dowager Duchess was still excruciatingly desirable. Despite only seeing a couple portraits of her, you’ve always noted her impossibly youthful appearance. Someone of her status would have no trouble…

“Remarrying.” Gale gripped the paper so hard it began to crease in his grip. “She’s surely remarrying.”

Euphemia took the crumpled newspaper. “You think so? Her mourning will last at least another half-year, a full year until she can remarry.”

He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “Her Grace is the face of mages all over the world. She cannot just vanish from society.”

You bit your lip, feeling helpless at the sight of Gale so disheveled. “Was the Duke unhealthy?”

Gale shook his head once more. “He was healthy as can be, and that’s what worries me. I need to attend the Ravengard’s Ball. There’s people I must talk to.” 

That wasn’t possible. Gale had specifically requested for utmost discretion surrounding his presence in your manor. If he were to attend the ball, he would need to come from Waterdeep. Which meant…

“You’re leaving? Now?” You asked, reaching out and catching his wrist before you even realized you had moved.

Euphemia eyed the two of you silently. “I’ll request a carriage,” she said before turning away and leaving you alone with him..

Gale traced the flower behind your ear with a pained expression. “I know, I’m sorry it’s sooner than either of us would’ve liked.”

“Let me come with you,” you begged.

A hand snakes up your waist to lay over the necklace. From beneath his palm, your skin thrummed with warmth emitted a soft white light. When he pulled away after what felt like ages, the small pendant purred with life, glowing and dimming repetitively like a heartbeat. “If you need me, touch the crystal to relay a message. No matter where you are I will hear it and find you.”

“And if I come to the ball? Would you save a dance for me?” You leaned into him, memorizing the feel of his touch.

Gale nodded. “I’d put myself down on your dance card ten times if I must.”

You smiled sadly as he pulled away. “I’ll have quite the lonely eleventh dance.”

He took one step closer and tapped the necklace making it sway gently. “You only need to ask.” With a final parting glance, Gale let your joined hands drop as he turned and exited the room. You watched him thank Euphemia, asking her to give regards to Sebastian for him until finally Gale stepped into the prepared carriage and disappeared off into the night.

As you stood in the doorway staring out into the empty hallway, you felt the necklace thrum against your chest. Like a passing whisper caught in the wind, you felt the faintest voice in the back of your head. Goodnight, Tav.

taglist:

@vhaldren @qiific3 @cryingoverpixelsetc

[innerwarx]

prodigal — olivia + euphemia.

location.   ricci’s.   |   time.   six-forty-five p.m.   |   for.    olivia   pratt.

         Improvised  dinners  with  her  older  sister  was  as  close  to  civil  as  Euphemia  came  to  family  members  without  expecting  anything  in  return.  Sure,  there  were  Christmas  cards  and  birthday  text  messages,  but  she  did  her  best  to  otherwise  distance  herself  from  the  Barlowe  family.  Casual  conversation  was  one  thing,  but  intimate  dinners  with  anyone  other  than  her  sister  sounded  like  absolute  torture  (  and  really,  as  difficult  as  Olivia  was,  Effie  adored  her,  understood  her,  knew  she  did  the  best  that  she  could    ).  So  there  she  sat  at  their  usual  restaurant  (  Ricci’s  )  and  their  usual  table  (  a  comfortable  distance  from  any  windows  to  avoid  the  paps  )  with  a  glass  of  wine  and  the  menu  folded  in  front  of  her.

          When  her  sister  did  make  her  appearance,  Effie  smiled  from  her  seat  and  lifted  her  glass  as  if  to  toast  Olivia’s  entrance.  Starting  without  her  didn’t  bother  Effie  in  the  least,  especially  after  the  day  she  had  ——  there  wasn’t  much  use  in  waiting  around  when  their  dinners  tended  to  go  the  same  way.  Despite  that,  she  continued  showing  up  and  enjoyed  a  few  hours  in  the  multi-hyphenate’s  company.    

          As  Olivia  made  herself  comfortable,  Effie  indicated  the  menu  in  front  of  her  but  not  before  she  examined  her  sister  throughly;  taking  in  the  smallest  of  changes.  “Don’t  worry,  I  haven’t  ordered  yet.”  Save  for  the  wine,  but  she  assumed  Olivia  would  be  able  to  figure  that  out  on  her  own.  And  thus,  Effie  was  thrust  into  her  least  favorite  part  of  dinner  ——  the  mind-numbing  small  talk  between  them  before they  would  actually  cut  to  the  chase  concerning  why  they  really  were  here.  "The  brown  looks  good  on  you…"  She  braced  herself,  kept  her  smile  on  with  practiced  ease,  "brings  out  your  eyes.  You  should  keep  it  that  way  for  a  while.”

        Her  fingertips  undid  the  button  of  her  neatly  pressed  black  silk  button-up  blouse,  thumb  inching  between  the  threads  with  a  deftness  and  purpose  that  almost  belied  the  taunt  wire  of  her  muscles  and  the  exhausted  ache  that  threatened  to  take  over.  Cupping  the  base  of  her  wine  glass  between  her  fingers,  half-filled,  Effie  kept  her  pale  eyes  trained  on  her  sister’s  body  language;  searching  for  the  things  she  already  knew  that  Liv  would  never  dare  say.  It  was  a  trait  they  shared  ——  being  reluctant  to  talk  about  their  more  emotional  difficult  circumstances;  though  for  completely  distinctive  reasons.  “...so,  really,  how  have  you  been?” 

[of-beasts-and-blood]

Location: The Ministry Present: Euphemia & Miraphora ( @xavecamour )

When Euphemia was a young girl, one of the other girls in her age group got a new pair of shoes for her birthday. They were pink with white dots, and they brought their owner great joy. Euphemia remembered looking at the other girl’s giddy smile and wondering why such a simple possession made her so happy. They were just shoes, after all. 

Effie’s heels clicked a quick rhythm as she made her way down the hallway of the Ministry, carefully holding a box out in front of her. She didn’t even need to check the door numbers anymore - she knew the way to Miraphora’s office by heart. She rapped on the door with a gloved hand, waiting for an answer from within before pushing the door open. 

She smiled when her eyes met Mira’s. “Miraphora, sweetness, you better tell me how much you love me quick, because boy do I have a gift for you.”

⚿

[abraxas-m]

timestamp:  001 MEMENTO MORI , potter family manor, august 1st, 12:17 pm

privacy:  warded

tagging:  euphemia gibbon / @goddless​

Abraxas had been at Henry Potter’s memorial for a little over an hour and he already felt like he was suffocating. He had gone on the offence, keeping his eyes keen on whoever stared at him until they broke eye contact. But even that little game had grown tiring after a while and he felt the need to get away. It was not time yet, though; he had promised to himself that he would stay for at least a couple of hours, make his presence a statement and his support for the potter family -to the extent that was possible at least- known. 

He decided to head to the garden for a much deserved and needed smoke. He rested his back against a tree and lit the cigarette he quickly put between his teeth as soon as he stepped foot on the grass. It didn’t take him long to chose not to get lost in his own thoughts -an option he rarely went for, anyway- and focus on his surroundings. And part of those surroundings was no other than a face he hadn’t seen for the better part of a decade, almost forgotten. For shame, abraxas. He approached the woman, Euphemia, with a smile etched on his face. 

“They say nothing brings people together like death.”