#maraudrs:start

[oracleisms]

           “ i’m so sorry to bother you, but by any chance have you seen my cat ? she’s missing and i’m worried SICK. ”  sybill is standing outside the three broomsticks and she is still smiling despite the lack of success so far  -----  has been hanging flyers and handing out photos around hogsmeade all morning but no one is helping her has any information.  sybill hasn’t seen luna in a few days, she missed thursday tea time and luna has never missed thursday tea time  (  luna’s favorite is oolong and sybill had brewed a large pot for her yesterday, drank it all herself when she was stood up and couldn’t sleep because of it  -----  which just gave her more time to obsess over what could be wrong.  )  “ please, do you have a MINUTE ? ”

[queenofquills]

a hiccup escapes rosy lips, and she wipes the tears from her cheeks, purposefully making a mess of her carefully applied eyeliner. “ i swear, i never do this, “ she says, voice weak, a little hoarse from crying. lipstick becomes a little bit smudged as by design, and she looks at them with big, sad eyes. blinking away tears. seeing if she can break them, slither in. gain some sympathy. “ crying, alone in a bar? what you must think of me. “ another hiccup blends with soft laughter, and she leans her upper body across the counter, an arm stretched out under her. “ can you just tell me if you’ve seen my boyfriend in here with someone else? please? “ she asks, voice a little shaky, filled with uncertainty. sounding like she really, really cares. as if rita skeeter has ever given a fuck about anyone other than herself. no, she’s writing a piece on a man that’s elusive enough to slip through her grasp, but is also ( according to the most RELIABLE sources ) supposed to be sleeping with someone other than his wife. and of course, rita is tasked with finding out the who, the when and the where. what a glamorous job she has.

[warsstag]

“ ----- what are you stealing my smokes for? “ he asks, offense creeping into his voice. “ could have asked. “ the crisp morning air isn’t enough to wake him up, and neither is the sharp sunlight that cuts through the clouds, seeping directly into his eyes. he is standing outside of the ministry of magic, coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other ----- the image of health. glasses are a little awry on his nose, his hair looks like it could use a good combing through ( though, when doesn’t it? ) and he looks like the last time he slept was... possibly in the previous decade. but at least he got his cigs. or at least, he used to. now all he’s got is a half smoked one, a cup of stale coffee and a pounding headache. fucking hell.

[andrmedatnks]

WHEN: january 30th, 10:32pm WHERE: the hogs head WHO: open

      𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 --- 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃. plastered on the headlines of every paper, on every doorstep. she couldn’t escape it even if she tried. and what was worse was that she couldn’t even mourn. because it wasn’t fair --- she wasn’t a black. she was an onlooker. she was supposed to read the news, shed a tear and move on. but regulus --- little regulus. little regulus who she’d watch grow. little regulus who was too young to understand when she walked out. little regulus who she’d never had the chance to apologise to, who she’d once loved so deeply and who had once loved her. she’d never said goodbye --- i’m sorry --- i still love you. and now she never could. but there was no one to talk to --- except, maybe, sirius. and yet a part of her didn’t dare try and find him. and so instead she sat where she so often did, at the bar of a seedy pub in hogsmeade, slowly nursing a dry whiskey.  ❛ this seat’s taken, ❜  she lied to the figure who was hovering beside her. she needed her space. little regulus black was dead, and she had no choice but to mourn. 

[sheweapon]

a thick silence hangs over the ministry bathroom. it’s the kind that leaves you out of breath, out of depth ---- somehow suffocating you from within. but bellatrix pretends not to notice, instead focusing on her reflection in the mirror, a bony finger carefully adjusting her lipstick, making sure that she at least looks the part that she is supposed to play. the part that she has come to hate. “ it’s a shame, don’t you think? “ she says, and her words sound far more thoughtful than they are. there are few things she still care about, these days ---- this persona she has adopted is far down on the list --- and one she is very much ready to drop. and then again - her mask is slipping. slowly, but surely. “ washing our streets in pure blood? what a waste. “ it’s almost as if it isn’t her own cousin that she’s speaking of. so very detached, so very reckless. where is that heartache now, that started all this? for family? for legacy? for bloodlines? how far has she fallen? “ shameful how the order has become so utterly evil, isn’t it? to murder an innocent boy in cold blood... makes you think twice about who you’re supporting. “ 

[ofluciana]

Luciana Zabini was a single mother and recent widow and life was supposed to be hard. It wasn’t, of course, but appearances LIE, especially when it came to her — she feigned mourning and grief as if it was her job ( which it was, in a way --- it did get her quite a bit of money ), playing the role of the fragile woman people wished to see quite perfectly. Let them think she was weak --- she liked it when people were wrong. And so, that day, she would cry over a cup of tea in a public place, fingers tapping against a table absentmindedly. It was all just too much. She felt victorious every time compassionate eyes fell on her, felt even better when someone approached her. She waved a hand, swallowed thickly, appeared to be embarrassed to be caught of this moment of emotion. “I’m – I’m sorry, I just … sometimes it all just comes crashing down on you, you know? And then the news of the Black boy --- it’s all just a bit much.”

[marvmacdonald]

It had been a long day --- SCRATCH THAT, it had been a long bloody year. Time seemed to pass by so much slower, despite the fact that so much was happening, and Mary didn’t get it. Confusion was not a new emotion to her, though --- but it was overwhelming that day. Death Eaters dying was usually good news, but this time when she’d heard the news ( when she had seen the body ), her mind had reacted differently. She hadn’t known Regulus Black well, but she had known him. She had hit bludgers in his direction. She’d seen him during dinners and breakfast and in the hallways. And --- fuck, Mary knew that someone having been at Hogwarts didn’t make them bad or good, but still --- he was younger than she was. ( And he was Sirius’ brother, and that made things even stranger. )

There was no use in trying to understand how she felt. Feelings never worked well at work, after all ( or in general, during a war ), and so, in stead, Mary had taken to the Leaky Cauldron after work. Not to get smashed. Just to get a beer. Talk to a stranger or acquaintance or friend. Sneak outside for a cigarette and return for another beer and then --- damn it --- her elbow clashed against her bottle and it fell. Glass broke, the content of her beer bottle spilled over her feet and Mary cursed loudly, “Fucking hell.” She kicked the glass, wanted to stomp on it, but grabbed her wand in stead to clean up the mess. A beat. A deep breath. A dry chuckle -- “WHY are these bottles not charmed to be unbreakable? Would be grand for business, and make my life a whole lot bloody easier.”

[grveyardshift-blog]

edgar is exhausted and despite being far from old age --- his back in aching as he chases around his far too hyper daughter who is shimmying through people and living her best life. he isn't too fond of this game, far too tired from a mission the previous night to be chasing his five year old around a crowd of people while carrying the two year old in his arms. and before he can actually catch her, she slams into someone's feet plopping to the ground staring up at the other. " c'mere, --- " he begins snatching her hand before glancing over at the person in front of him still out of breathe. " sorry bout that. "

[queenofquills]

TRAGEDY SELLS PAPERS. she knows that, perhaps a little too well. especially when it just happens to involve one of the sacred 28 ----- so naturally, rita is armed to the teeth, a quill being squeezed between slender fingers, a sympathetic smile resting on lips that are painted a dangerous shade of red. “ i can’t believe he’s gone, “ she says, and forces her lip to tremble ever so slightly. “ did you know him? “ there’s a pause, and her gaze becomes a little sharper. meadow green eyes scan her target, as if they were some sort of high esteemed item at an auction. “ i’m just... “ she trails off. eyebrows pull into a frown. “ i have to get a couple quotes about him for the prophet, but it feels so sudden. “