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HP MOODBOARDS: gryffindor common room

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estrela--marlene‌: 

   “I don’t think there’d be any other way.” The words seemed grim, a reminder of the growing self-loathing that she’d steadily accomplished throughout her life. Marlene always had such skill, often was great in creating an image of herself that would make others assume things. It was what she’d been raised to do- a part of her that was so useful that she couldn’t hate it as much as the other qualities which she was bestowed. The grin that flourished her lips was genuine, however, and held some sort of warmth to it that Marlene didn’t dare say out loud. Ocean eyes swirled in blue waves as she watched Emmeline’s expression- she’d found herself reclining back slightly, regarding the way the light hit the sunny strands of her hair. “Have to convince everyone else to somehow, right?”

She’d watched the girl, porcelain fingers tracing against her skin, fixing her as she always did. She had a gentle touch, despite what words she sometimes said to the girl. Perhaps it’d been the copious amounts of alcohol that Marlene had been steadily nursing- she’d found her eyes grazing the high points of her cheek, a soft grin breaking onto her cracked lips. Her head shook, an attempt to ‘get the cobwebs out’ and try and bring some sort of normalcy to her actions. Emmeline’s expression darkened, if only for a moment, and Marlene’s lips did nothing more than break into a smirk.

  “I dunno, Em. I don’t think all of it was entirely her fault.” She didn’t emphasize, nor gloss over whatever her heart desired. Marlene had always been an open book, had never hid or shielded things- it wasn’t in her nature. The thing was, though, that one would have to willingly read through the volumes of her life in order to understand what fleeting picture she’d had of herself. “You know how I am- can’t even keep myself straight for longer than a week. Musta scared her off-.”

She was, however, completely in-tune to the fact that it may have been the other way around.

Perceptions were funny, especially in the game of love. That was why Marlene had never tried so hard when it came down to it- she’d welcomed mess in all points of her life, but that was the sector from which she struggled the most. The deep azures of her eyes watched Emmeline, saw the way her cheek dimpled in thought, watched the way her lips pursed and she felt herself exhale. For a moment it didn’t seem entirely scary- for a moment it felt worth the risk…

…had it not been for the hiss that had soon emerged from her lips.

  “-fuck. That doesn’t feel good, Em.” In such moments it was a foolish choice to try to act tough- but she knew what the reaction would be otherwise. Marlene revelled in the chaos and the pain she brought upon herself- it was what she’d brought onto those she cared about that seemed to affect her more deeply. “I’m not trying to be- I knowyou find it- shit- endearing.”

Her breaths hissed through her teeth as Emmeline began to inspect her, body slumping down slightly as she forged her most convincing smile onto her lips.

“Evidently doesn’t take much convincing,” Emmeline said evenly as Marlene made blisteringly clear that, despite her words, she held herself in less than favourable terms. It wasn’t new with the brunette, the self-depricating jokes often cutting a bit too close to the bone for Emmy’s liking. But Marlene was popular because she was easy to like, she was funny, she was loyal. Emmeline adored her and Marlene should know that. “Or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

As if to make a point, Emmeline deposited the tea towel and her wand on the bed and placed her hands on Marlene’s thighs, where she knelt between them. She peered into the grinning face and found herself smiling despite her intention to give Marlene a serious talking-to about self-love.

That was until Marlene’s passing comment caused every coherent thought to race out of the Gryffindor’s head in a single moment. Blue eyes widened as her lips pinched shut. Her tongue felt as if it had suddenly swelled up to ten times it’s normal size and the words echoed around Emmeline’s very empty head. She. Her. Sam was a woman, who Marlene had dated.

“I...” Emmeline opened her mouth after a quiet moment, heat rising to her already pink cheeks but any comment stuck to the back of her throat. She felt like she was choking on it. Busying herself, the redhead swiftly grabbed the murtlap essence and carried on with her work, a vague frown curling on her pale features. Emmeline wasn’t sure she could look at Marlene’s face if she tried. Might never be able to look her in the eye again.

She had always thought-always assumed- that Marlene liked blokes. Hadn’t she dated blokes before? And yet her posture was calm, as relaxed as it had been before she had revealed what seemed to be blatantly obvious to at least Marlene herself. Em struggled to identify the feeling in her chest. Like shame, but not. Like every single one of Emmeline’s nerve endings had been electrocuted except that she had no reason nor right to be reacting this way because what difference did it make to the woman if Marlene was a lesbian? It wasn’t like Marlene had tried to date her.

The thought slammed into the back of Emmeline’s eyelids as she realised that Marlene was reacting badly to her ministrations. “Sorry!” Emmeline finally said, coming to her sense as her eyes instinctively rose to take in Marlene’s expression. It was pained but the grin seemed real enough. Served her right for scrapping the way she did, Emmy thought before getting quickly to her feet. “I’m sorry.” She repeated.

“I think I can probably do the rest for you in the morning,” Emmeline said, voice far steadier than she felt. Emmeline wanted to smile, wanted to tell Marley she was dumb like she normally would. Wanted to stuff her into her softest T-shirt and socks and send her to bed with a fierce hug. “It’s pretty late.”

On steady legs, Emmy padded around to the far side of the bed before turning down the duvet and clambering in. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Marlene’s face in the half-light. Reaching over, Emmeline pushed down blanket as far as she could before tugging gently at a soft strand of honey-coloured hair. “Come on Rocky, time for bed,” the woman said softly.

Creature Comforts || Open Starter

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madebybigshadows‌:

Her lips twitched in a bemused smile and she couldn’t help but the inelegant snot. “Colour me surprised that they’re keeping mum on how badly they’ve fucked up.” Fifteen thousand galleons was a pretty penny and she hummed, tilting her glass at her, more into this conversation than she ought to be; reporters, they were sneaky. “But speculation is the name of the game. I know in the more… unscrupulous areas,” the less said on that the better, “a pint of Acromantula Venom can go anywhere from 28 to 30 galleons, so even if you err on the side of caution and say these importers are working with the price point of 28 gals? That’s still over five hundred and thirty pints. Which is an astronomical amount.”

She clicked her glass against hers and waved an uninterested hand when she pulled out a quill. “So long as you’re aware that what I’m saying isn’t in any which way inflammatory, but mere speculation and,” oh god, this was going to hurt, and she could feel herself grimacing even as she forced the words out, “when quoting me, if you could keep me anonymous, it’d be much appreciated. My employer likes to lead a quiet life,” she added, lying through her teeth, “and I can’t imagine they’d like to see my name making waves with something this scandalous.” She drained her glass, needing the burn down her throat to soothe her. 

“Huge market.” Anyone with two brain cells knew what the seedier underbelly of the magical world was like, she didn’t need to pull her punches here. “Anyone with an ounce of interest in potions has this venom on their wish list, they just don’t have deep enough pockets. And not necessarily for nefarious reasons either, but experimentation. Like Belby‘s work on a potion to control the werewolf shift? His proposal is publicly available and it makes mention of using aconite, which incredibly poisonous.”  

She was veering off topic with her excitement and she needed to remind herself that the witch in front of her didn’t actually care. No matter how exciting the prospect of such a potion was. Thankfully, getting a refill was cue enough to shut the fuck up, and she inclined her head at her in thanks. 

Oh god. What a question. “Undoubtably.” She could say that with 100% certainty, given her actual profession. “They’d be stupid to not want to get in on that action.”

Emmeline would give it to her- The potioneer knew her shit. She also loved what she did, Emmeline realised as her hand rippled across the cheap paper with quick, confident strokes. A low whistle escaped her mouth as Katherine did the math, causing the Gryffindor to still, just for a moment and raised her eyes to the woman sitting across from her. If speculation was indeed the name of the game, and Pyrites knew a lot about the black market... Not that Emmy cared if she was involved in any capacity that wasn’t professional.

“My lips are sealed.” Eyes returning to the paper, Emmeline nodded thoughtlessly at Katherine’s request for anonymity. It went without saying. Em’s sources were only as good as they were secret. The last thing she needed was the woman being ostracised for her connections to the press, especially if she was directly involved in the market for stolen goods. “And your employer? Are they based in Diagon Alley?” She asked airily, under the impression that Katherine was self-employed but quite ignorant to what exactly Katherine did.

Straightening up with a final cursory glance at her words, Emmeline sat back to watch Katherine quietly as the other brought up the positive uses of the venom in question. That was one way to spin the thing, she supposed, having immediately assumed that the motivation for the theft had been as iniquitous as the crime itself. “Do you have deep enough pockets, Ms. Pyrites,” Emmeline smirked, “to resist getting in on the action?”

The question was uncouth, but Emmy knew it was something she needed to ask, fully expecting a denial. “No, let me rephrase that.” the Gryffindor said before taking a slow sip of her whiskey and packing away her pen and notebook. “If I was looking to get in on the action- theoretically, of course- Where would I start looking?”

It was a dangerous game to play, throwing oneself into the criminal underworld, but Emmy was interested and if she could find a paper-trail leading back to anyone in the Ministry... well, as the saying goes, there’s never smoke without fire.

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darkxwithin‌:

“Ohh…difficult…I mean..I would love the story but if I were to be seen with the Daily Prophet?…it would be traitorous.”  She did shoot her friend a smirk, indicating she was joking, but it wasn’t that far from the truth. Rosemary would be such a hypocrite after all the moaning and bitching she had done regarding the paper. Besides, she realised too much interest might raise a few suspicions. It was best to show just a journalistic interest. “Anyway, darling, I have this friend who can tell me personally.”–and with that, the raven-haired witch pointed to Emmeline.

Rosemary had never usually cared for what people thought about her and it was their problem if they took issue. Even now, that is the case, outside of what she classes as family and close friends that is. She did have Slytherin friends who would always want to hang out with her when she attended Hogwarts, but they weren’t really any who had managed to get a place in her heart. She really could not stand arse-lickers and would often tell one or two to stop brown-nosing. Emmeline and Rosemary’s friendship though, it had been genuine and to a certain extent, it still felt like it was. She just held quite a few more secrets these days than she did years ago. Ones she could not share with her.

“Do you care about muggles?”

She cocked a brow and almost instantly she already knew the answer, but had always waited for Emmeline to say, rather than just burst in and reply on her behalf. “I suppose we already co-exist with them…otherwise they would have been wiped out.”–and they are definitely still a plenty.

Rosemary grinned when her friend offered to take responsibility if it came to her mother asking. It was difficult to hear the word ‘mudblood’ however when it was applicable to her. Such a conflict caused the raven-haired witches stomach to knot. Mudbloods were nothing–looked at with distain or at least thought of that way when true expression was hidden behind a facade.

–but Emmeline was never looked at that way in Rosemary’s eyes and hypocritcal or not she couldn’t help but take exception to it.

“Don’t call yourself that…”

She frowned and flicked her tongue out between her lips and moistened them, deciding to change the subject with a lighter note

“My mother always liked you…so you must have something special. She always used to harp on about how nice you were.”

Was it wise to agree to go with her to a game?

–hell knows.

Either way, Rosemary wasn’t the type to steer clear and at least she would know one way or another if the feeling she felt for the game was still there. Though depending on the crowd attending, the odd one or two might not appreciate seeing Rosemary Parkinson. Some might have found that enough of a deterrent, but she saw it as the opposite. relishing putting them in their place if need be.

“I’m glad that I found you here.”

Rosemary nodded slowly at the others comment. She had always been one to hide being a joke, a throw away comment, something that meant she didn’t have to reciprocate the same words. Valerian knew what she was like because she did the same back and they bounced off of one another very well. She just felt in this situation, it might have come across as too uncaring. Maybe Emmeline was a bit of a weakness, she wasn’t sure.

“Well you certainly remembered my favourite place. It’s been nice to catch up after all this time and to see that you are well.”

Sitting back to regard the woman, impish grin on her face, Emmeline felt the familiar comfort surface and bubble. Crossing her arms across her chest and her knees beneath the table, the redhead surveyed the woman. “I suppose you’re right, Rosie.” Em said. Rosemary’s ability to write was far greater than With Weekly gave her credit for and she would make a fantastic addition to the Prophet if she ever fancied a more political career. “We’re on different teams now, aren’t we? But what if someone sees?”

Emmeline waggled her eyebrows in jest before rolling her eyes at the thought. Their relationship had always been one that crossed invisible lines. It wouldn’t be them if they weren’t breaking some sort of social cue. Writing for opposing publications was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Rosemary’s question fell between them like a deadweight as the frown curled onto pale, narrow features. The divide that split her two lives had always been a sliver; Emmeline had never felt that she was a muggleborn witch any more than she might simply be a magical muggle. She had been raised by muggles after all, raised to care about them. Her parents, her brothers. the brunette’s question struck her as strangely naive. “Course I care, Rosemary. My family are all muggles.”

Muggles in the middle of a muggle war. Sometimes she cared so much she thought her heart might break under the strain.

When the other woman scolded her for using the slur, the redhead shrugged. It seemed so uninspiring to Emmeline, so childish, that she sometimes wondered if ‘mudblood’ was more insulting to other wizards than it was to people like her. “It’s just a word.” She said drily, picking up on Rosemary’s desire to change the subject. “I’d rather be called that than a shit writer.”

Humour quirked on her lips. It was a lie, of course- the problem with the word mudblood lay with the sentiment that was attached to it, with the actions that some wixen were carrying out almost relentlessly. Something that she was sure Rosemary had heard talk of judging by her negative reaction to it.

“That’s because your mum is right.” Emmeline laughed. Her encounters with Rosemary’s family had been brief and sporadic. It had been very illuminating in understanding why Rosie had become the way she was. “I am special.” She said, settling into a smug grin.

Warmth blossomed, racing down to the tips of her fingers at her oldest friend’s words. “It has been nice.” She agreed with a nod and a suppressed giggle.

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ravenfawley‌:

Raven nodded. “You say that. Just be sure you stick to your word, yeah?” The wolf murmured quietly. She shifted, moving her arm around the girl’s waist to better steady her. Their apparation was quick, and Raven reopened her eyes once she felt solid ground beneath her feet again. She wiggled her extremities before checking to make sure each was there. It seemed Emmeline had managed to stick to her word, even in the haze of her illness.

“Yeah, yeah. I have all my fingers and toes.” She muttered back as the other started grinning about her success. Raven took a slow glance around, noting the surroundings and the woman’s home. It was a lot like she’d thought it up to be. 

Raven released Emmeline when she started to pull away from her. Though, one hand remained outstretched to catch the other just in case she went tumbling again. They moved through the garden with ease–well, Raven did. Emmeline looked like she was trudging through the swamp. Every movement seemed to take more effort than the last. Raven’s brow creased with worry. This seemed to be more than some common cold. This was sheer exhaustion.

The wolf took note of the wards protecting the girl’s home. What was it that she needed protection from? Raven wondered internally as the other set about getting inside. She thought about turning around and beginning to walk back to the city. She could manage to slip off as soon as the other made it inside and was out of any immediate harm’s way.

Raven sighed, the idea of walking away now that the red head was safe vanishing as the woman sank down her door. She stepped over her and the threshold carefully, sighing as she dropped to a crouch before Emmeline. A hand reached out, pushing back the damp hair from the woman’s forehead before looking around. “Let’s just sit here for a bit, and then I can try to get you to the couch or something.” Raven fumbled, returning her hand back to her knee with a large sigh escaping her. 

She really wished that some surge of health would hit the woman, and she wouldn’t have to put her in her arms again. The scent of her was still teasing at her nose, and Raven didn’t want to reintroduce it all over again. She knew she’d have a hard enough time forgetting this anyways. It wasn’t like Emmeline would want her around after this anyways. She probably just wanted someone to get her home in her time of need.

The hand on her head felt like a benediction and Emmeline sighed against the touch. It offered cool respite in her heated state and the girl hummed distantly. Despite her position so close to the ground, the world span on. Emmeline’s dry tongue darted out to lick her lips as she scrunched her eyes closed and tried with all her might to focus on what was real. Raven’s voice, low and steady and warm cut through the confusion like a hot knife through butter and Emmy found herself nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” she agreed. The word barely a whisper so she tried again. “Yeah, okay.” There. Much better. Fingers, pale and shaking, reached out to find the soft fabric of Raven’s clad leg as Emmeline’s blue eyes fell open to seek out Raven’s. She needed to apologise, Emmy vaguely recalled, for accusing the woman of trying to attack her. She also needed to thank the stranger for bringing her home in one piece.

“Sorry, I’m Emmeline.” Emmeline said instead, grin drifting upwards again into the barest of smirks at her error. As a wave of nausea passed and the world slid back into clearer view, the woman had a chance to take Raven’s pinched expression in. “I mean, my name’s Emmeline and I think I accused you of murder. Sorry about that.” She corrected, fingers bumping Raven’s knee by way of greeting, before they fell to the polished wooden floor beneath them.

Her mother had been sick the last time Emmeline had called over for dinner. Some sort of flu that Emmeline had been sure she had dodged, though the girl suspected absently that her consistent lack of sleeping and vast levels of stress might be aiding the illness’ control over her body. “Thanks for taking me home. Would normally offer tea but...” Emmy’s eyes cast themselves downwards over her own shivering frame by way of explanation, head following in a gentle loll.

The redhead felt far too poorly to be embarrassed by her own behaviour, and the dark-haired woman’s taciturn demeanour caused Emmy to plow on. In an act of pure defiance against her jelly legs, Emmeline started trying to pull herself up from the ground. “If you need to be getting on, I’m sure I’ll be fine now. Otherwise I can put the kettle on.”

Having successfully reached a standing position, she slumped gently against the cream wallpaper of her cluttered hallway. Gently, slowly, she began shuffling herself along the wall like a woman four times her age. She grimaced slightly in exertion as she reached the sturdy doorframe that lead into her kitchen. “Tea? Or would you prefer some coffee?”

Into the Wind || r & e

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streets of belfast 

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ehhdgarbones‌:

Her halfhearted protests amused him to no end. Edgar grinned as he strode toward the arena’s exit, his smile broadening with her every poke and pluck at his jumpsuit. If Emmy wasn’t the younger sister he’d always wanted, he’d have taken advantage of her compromised position to give her arse a good hard smack. Being that she was like a sister to him, he thought better of it. She’d have had him spitting up slugs for a week if he’d tried anyway.

Instead, his forward march had a nice spring in his step, just for her benefit. Nothing said “good teamwork” like a rhythmic shoulder to the gut. He set her back on her feet before they were back with the others. They were strangers and had no right to tease her like he did. Edgar wasn’t going to chance the disrespect, and he wasn’t going to facilitate it either. Emmeline had won the game for them and out lasted them all. That was the only impression of her that he was going to let them take home with them.

Congratulations were exchanged among the group and Edgar happily leapt on the offer for post-game debauchery. He grinned at Emmy and wagged his eyebrow to make clear that their night wasn’t done just yet. Not until he toasted her properly. A few times, just to be sure she knew how appreciate she was.

A quick retreat to the locker room had him freshened up, changed back into his civvies, and back out in front of the admissions counter waiting for Emmeline. Together they strode for the gate out of the compound. When her arm wound around his waist Edgar didn’t hesitate to wrap his around her shoulders. He pulled her in close and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Her arm received an affectionate up and down stroke as they crossed over to the nearby dive.

The smile that surfaced at her question was lopsided and elated. His shoulder jerked with detached disinterest, but his contentment was obvious in the shine of his eyes and the dimple that surfaced with his half-cocked grin. “Great day,” he said on a chuckle. Another kiss landed on her crown before his arm around her shoulders gave Emmy a good shake. “Paintball, Emmeline. Merlin, the shite that muggles come up with.” Still grinning happily he shook his head and muttered, “Today was exactly what I needed. Cheers, Em. I don’t know how you always manage to save me from myself. But, cheers.”

Crossing the street to the pub was the work of minutes and they were pushing past the front door in into the warm din in no time. Since they couldn’t fit through the entryway standing side by side, he dropped his arm from her shoulders and fell a step back so that he was behind her. His touch didn’t leave her, though. Strong, affable grip clutched onto her shoulders like he was guiding her through the floor plan toward the bar. A nod acknowledged their teammates as they waved them over, but he was more interested in getting a drink in her hand than shooting the shite with blokes he didn’t know.

Emmeline elbowed her way through the crowd toward the bar and her advance was aided by his furrowed eyebrows and straight line of his lips. His glare stopped any protests from leaving the other patrons and in seconds they were at the bar. A wave from Edgar had the bartender’s attention, who nodded that she’d be right with them. With an elbow on the bar, he angled his body toward Emmeline so that no one made the mistake of thinking he cared to make small talk with anyone that wasn’t her.

“I did,” agreed the wizard with a smirk and a meaningful look, which he then turned onto the bartender who was coming in hot. “Second round, too. if you play your cards right.”

To the woman on the other side of the bar, Edgar ordered, “An old fashioned for me and whatever the lady wants.” She turned to get Emmeline’s order before going for the glasses and liquor.

With a warm smile at Emmy, he stated, “I know you came out today for me, Emmy, but you kicked serious arse. Gotta say, glad you were on my team. Least half of those blokes were shaking in their boots at the sight of you.” Drinks were deposited in front of either of them and Edgar nodded his thanks at the bartender before refocusing on his red haired companion. The glass was lifted from the bartop and raised it toward Emmeline. “To being scary motherfuckers,” he said in toast, grinning at the witch as he waited for her to clink her glass on his.

Following the road was getting more difficult in the dark, and Emmeline felt her Doc Marten sink into a half-inch of thick dense mud. She grinned. Edgar’s solid presence by her, even in the dark, was shimmering with joy and he felt more like the boy Emmeline had known at sixteen than the man he had grown to becomes. “Muggles love blasting each other as much as we do,” The words were delivered, cynical but dense with a dark humour that frequently peppered Emmy’s speech. “Paintball is just the healthy way to do it.”

She shook her head when she felt the kiss to the top of her brow. Emmeline hadn’t saved Edgar from himself, though the smile his words elicited was wide enough to catch flies. The rapidly approaching night pressed against her warm skin. The smell of freshly cut timber was in the air and the firm, callous hand on her arm reminded her of the real reason she had arranged the day for them. Because that’s what families do.

Entering the bar felt like walking into a wall of heat and Emmy found herself grinning- Did this count as cheating on Rosmerta? It certainly felt that way, though she could picture the exasperated eye-roll that such a comment would incur. The grain of the wood felt smooth under her elbows and Emmeline took a second to assess the bartender as Edgar waved her down.

Bartender. A female bartender- why not this one, here? Marlene’s words sang in her mind as she thought about the implications of them. Nothing. They meant nothing to Emmeline because it made no difference to the Gryffindor’s life. Besides, who was Emmy to disapprove of Marley’s choices of... life partner? Lover? The words made her stomach feel tight.

A pair of soft brown eyes met hers expectantly as Emmy was drawn back to the present with a start. Flushing, she looked between the bartender and Edgar before making a noise of comprehension. “Just a pint of beer please. Bitter.” She stammered, sagging as the woman behind the bar got to work with the shadow of a smirk gracing her features.

Turning to focus on Edgar by way of distraction, the tension drained from her as she caught the softness of his expression. A laugh fell from the redhead’s mouth as her hand punched at his shoulder. Loyal to a fault. “You rotten liar, Bones- I was terrible.” Her expression shifted into something more distant. She really wasn’t a gun’s-blazing type of girl. “The only people shaking in the boots were the ones on my team. Right after I accidentally shot that guy in the arse during round two.”

With the arrival of the drinks, Emmeline thanked the bartender and picked up the cool glass of foamy liquid in toast. “The scariest motherfuckers,” She agreed, bringing their glasses together with gusto before taking a long sip. The beer was all kinds of refreshing and Emmy sighed in pleasure. She wanted to ask Edgar if he had known anything about this female bartender, being a bartender himself. Maybe they had a network.

Instead, she settled for gesturing her head in the direction of their teammates in question. “You wanna join them?” She asked, albeit reluctant to rejoin their group now that she had Edgar for herself.

Killing Time || E & E

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maryxxmacdonald‌:

“I’m sure, Emmy.” She teased, wrinkling up her forehead as it was poked. Mary pulled a playful face of hesitation as the other told her brain to be good to her. She wasn’t sure that was possible considering the amount of paranoia that came with both her affections and her stalker.

“Interests change.” She said softly, sipping her hot chocolate again. Mary didn’t want the other to get too down about Tonks. He was a handsome man, but he also wasn’t the only guy out there. Emmeline was beautiful and kind. She’d find someone to love her soon enough. Mary was sure of it. “And if it doesn’t, then he doesn’t deserve you in the first place. Anyone with eyes should be after you.” She teased with a wink. Mary didn’t know what else to say to the other. Mary was an amateur in the love department. She really needed Marlene or Lily to turn up and help her out. What she could do, however, was turn the subject off of Ted Tonks and onto something else her friend cared about.

“Can you share anything though? I promise I can be quiet about it!” Mary almost squealed. A book, imagine. She’d read most of Gilderoy’s, but to have one of her personal friends write one would be amazing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do that wonderfully. The kids will love it.” Mary assured the other girl. 

“It’s not silly. Children love that kind of thing. To be honest, I’m still a sucker for a love story. I’ll expect a signed copy at my door when it’s done.” Mary told the other red head, and she meant it. She’d offer all of her support to the other woman if it helped push her down the path of her dreams. Being a writer would be wonderful for the other girl; both for her confidence and bank account. 

“She didn’t tell me.” The light in her eyes faded away as she thought about Marlene turning up hurt. While it bothered her that Marlene hadn’t come to her, she also knew it may be her friend trying to protect her. She was doing the same thing with her own issue. “How badly was she hurt? Was it her hands?” Mary wondered aloud. 

She nodded about the Doc thing getting to Marlene. She was sure that that was true. Marlene had been closer to the man than the rest of them. It was reasonable that it tore her up. “I can try to get it out of her later. Maybe, I can try to cheer her up. Bake her something and get her talking.” Mary mumbled softly as she stirred her hot chocolate to mix up the chocolate that had settled at the bottom.

“Interests can change,” Emmeline said slowly, trying not to let the nearly compulsive thoughts of Marlene pop into her head. It was... irritating, not least because of her attempts to not think about what it might mean. The jealousy, the way her heart jumped through her throat to see the woman hurting like she had.

She smiled at Mary’s compliment, nonetheless, feeling her face heat up just slightly. Liar, she wanted to say, the word leaping to her lips but catching it just in time. Mary wasn’t a liar, far from it. “You’re right, as usual.” She joked, instead, with a pronounced flick of her fiery curls over her shoulder.

At the squealing joy of her friend in response to her book, Emmeline felt her confidence, however mocking, falter. It was something she could never admit to, the insecurity surrounding her writing- she did it for a living, for God’s sake- but under the surface, a gnawing fear resided. What if she wasn’t good enough and people were simply slow to catch on? The woman covered her face with her hands with an agonised laugh.

“It’s not a love story, Mare.” Emmeline said through her fingers, the idea a strange, foreign thing. Memories drifted back to the previous evening, fingers dancing tentatively across her typewriter as the words formed slowly, carefully. She had always loved mermaids, as a child, and discovering their existence had caused her almost nauseating excitement, but the creatures were far from the romantic images conjured by Hans Christian Andersen. Her story was about otherness, about acceptance despite differences that divided the girls. It wasn’t... Emmeline frowned slightly. “I wouldn’t know romance if it bit me in the arse. But you’re more than welcome to the proof copy, once it’s done.”

As the conversation turned to their mutual friend, the swirling emotions of the other evening surged in Emmy’s chest. “It was just about everything.” The Gryffindor bit out, images of a bruised abdomen still fresh in her mind. “Hands, face.” Displeasure twisted on her face- if anyone could stop Marlene from being a complete and utter twat, it was Mary MacDonald and her puppy eyes.

“You’re wonderful.” Emmeline replied simply as Mary promised to needle the girl later, letting her cheek rest on her cheek as she surveyed the russet-haired woman from across the table. “Thank you, darling.”

Coffee & Conversation || m & e

[vanciful]

theyrexeno‌:

Xeno had launched into their introductory airing of grievances, and as they addressed the room at large there was no stopping the flow of words. They registered with a vague half-awareness as someone cut through their speech- they weren’t with anyone but themself, actually, but that hardly mattered- their gaze shifting from reporter to reporter as if locking eyes with them would force them into understanding. As far as tactics went, that one seemed particularly futile. A number of Prophet writers were simply staring at them, others had let their stares develop into glares, and a notable few were stubbornly persevering in their work. There were two who had pushed up out of their chairs as if intending to forcibly remove them from the building, and Xeno was reluctant to look away from them. Being forced to leave wouldn’t be very helpful to the centaurs, after all.

And then there was a hand wrapped around their arm, and Xeno turned their head sharply to look at the person who was pulling them away. “Oh, hello Emmeline. Lovely to see you.” Their smile was mild, seemingly at odds with the scene around them, where all eyes followed the two of them across the floor. Xeno turned slightly, making no move to break out of Emmeline’s grip around their arm, and waved their free hand at the receptionist left staring at their backs, “Thank you. Emmeline said that already, but I agree. It was nice meeting you.” The boy blinked, seemingly still recovering from the whirlwind that was Xeno on a mission. 

Turning back to Emmeline, Xeno tucked their hair behind their ear, and skipped the last half-step to what was likely the witch’s desk, judging by the way she dropped into the seat. They watched, head tilted, as she pulled another chair over with a flick of her wand, and shot her a bright smile in thanks. It faded like a cloud over the sun, however, the moment they were reminded of why it was they were in the Daily Prophet’s offices in the first place. 

“Well, there’s a number of things, really. And if I had spent more than ten minutes reading the paper- your bits are very good, by the way- I probably would’ve found more, I didn’t get past page six before I had to come here. So, given some time I could probably put together a list of problems and inaccuracies and suggestions, but last time I did that I don’t think it was particularly appreciated.” Xeno had sat down in the chair partway through their rambling, folding themself into it blindly as their eyes never wavered from Emmeline with a potentially unnerving level of eye contact. Their eyes were wide, as if to emphasize the importance of their words. “But the reason I came here was Donald Hobday. Or, well, Hobday’s article, actually. It’s about the land dispute and the family of centaurs living in the midlands- you know.” Or, Xeno had decided she knew through some mental gymnastics that inferred that Emmeline, as someone who was smart and also worked at the Prophet, probably knew all about minor ministerial dealings with magical beings living outside of tiny towns in the midlands. 

Picking up the copy of the Prophet they had rested in their lap, Xeno held it out to Emmeline across the gap between their chairs. It was folded haphazardly, so that the article in question was highlighted, the paper itself crumpled and stained and very clearly something they’d picked up at random off a table in the Three Broomsticks not twenty minutes earlier. 

“The writing is dangerously one-sided. And it’s all centered on the argument that centaurs are classified as beasts and therefore have fewer rights, which is fundamentally flawed. Also rude. Centaurs are only classified as beasts because they saw the ministry’s labelling of magical beings was utterly arbitrary.” 

She admired their spirit, that much was absolutely true. As she moved through the room, the ever-increasing hostility becoming more palpable by the second, Emmeline took to shooting glares at anyone who met her gaze. She had issues with the paper, had always had issues with it. She hated the way they pandered, the way they were willing to overlook clear, glaring error in facts in order to cause a stir even if it meant apologising at a later date. But never, not once, had she suspected that the paper was a government mouthpiece. She had a lot to think about concerning her complicity in the whole bloody affair. But that would have to wait. She had a friend to save.

Fortunately, Xeno went easily, though their words never ceased. They were a force of nature, when needed. A breeze with the power of a tornado. An intellect sharp as nails, even if they turned it to the less conventional questions. A dreamer, people said, but to say that was a disservice because they didn’t just dream, they did. People forgot that.

Like a great, blonde cat, they folded themselves into the uncomfortable chair and Emmeline found herself peering into a pair of beautiful eyes. It was always like this- Xenophilius would write letters, elaborate as his speeches, every so often and their grievances would be ignored, as was the Prophet’s way. For the wix to appear in person meant that something must be seriously wrong. Emmeline didn’t bloody doubt it.

“Ah,” Emmeline said as she reached for the paper that they presented to her. Eyes scanned the familiar piece of writing. Part of her job was reading the paper cover-to-cover each morning over a cup of strong black tea and that particular article had struck Emmeline as bland at best. Nobody wanted to write about land disputes and Don Hobday was no exception. But to take issue with it as vehemently as Xenophilius evidently had caused Emmeline’s brows to raise in question.

Donald Hobday was an ass. He was loud and abrasive and got handsy when he was drunk, but he wasn’t... Emmeline’s mouth curled downwards as her eyes fell away from Xeno’s to skim the piece once more. She had always found the relationship between wizards and the magical beings they coexisted with complicated, trying. The first time she had seen House Elves in Hogwarts, the girl had felt a sinking in the pit of her belly. Just another pureblood tradition to detest.

Emmeline had never met a centaur. Had never seen them as anything other than beasts, if she was being entirely honest, though she had never given it anything more than a fleeting thought. A coldness danced through her, racing down her arms to where she let her fingers tap nervously on the arm of her chair.

Emmy knew of segregation. Knew all too much about what happened when opposing groups took to dehumanising each other. It ended in bloodshed and, if Muggle history was anything to go by, genocide. A long, hard sigh escaped her as she thought of home and her brothers and honestly how the fuck had this gotten by the editors?

“I didn’t know that about centaurs, Xeno.” The girl admitted, blue eyes flashing to the figure across from her in an apologetic glance. They were passionate about the issue, it was written in every corner of their elfin face. “We usually don’t ask centaurs to comment because they don’t usually want to.” She admitted. “Are they generally mistreated by the Ministry, in your opinion?” God, her ignorance was abhorrent.

newsworthy || x & e

[vanciful]

ravenfawley‌:

Raven let out a low sigh. “No ones paying me to maim anyone.” In fact, her job actually prevented most people from being maimed. She didn’t exactly like that the other’s first impression of her was that she was paid to maim people. 

“Are you really wanting to watch me fuck someone?” Raven questioned. Maybe Emmeline wasn’t as pure as she’d imagined her to be. The darker hair wondered what it’d be like to make the other’s cheeks flush though. Raven, stop. Her head visibly shook as she chided herself. “Because as fun as that would be, I think it’s for the best we not.” She sighed, looking away for a moment before it became necessary to hold the woman upright. 

Emmeline’s nose was in her hair. Emmeline was touching her. Raven didn’t shy away as much as she froze. Her body went rigid, almost trying to prevent the other’s warmth from seeping into her. Then, the red head started to people who weren’t there. Raven had heard of the poisonings that had sent others to St. Mungo’s, and she wondered if something similar was going on. Fever made you delirious, but this was pushing that idea to its limits. The wolf sucked in a breath, praying that the woman would be able to get them home in one piece. She didn’t want to have to have a finger wind up detached from her body. Side-apparating was hard enough for some people without being impressed upon by illness.

“You think, or do you know? If you splinch me, I’m going to be pissed.” Raven muttered, trying to ignore that the woman smelled impossibly like flowers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so close to a person because she wanted to and not had to be so close. It made her nose crinkle. “I’m ready.” The wolf side, adjusting her grip on the woman to almost cradle her. Well, cradle her the best she could with her lack of size. The stares would think it awkward, but Raven could pluck the eyes out of any hersayers later. Right now, she needed to make sure that Emmeline didn’t collapse in the middle of the street.

As Em vaguely registered the feeling of having someone’s hair in her mouth, she chuckled quietly at Raven’s words. She had grown up with boys and then befriended more in Edgar, Ted and Frank. If the other woman was so willing to talk about sex, then more power to her. Emmeline’s brow curled. Who was the woman having sex with?

“Not gonna splinch you,” Emmy mumbled, mouth curling downwards at the allegation. The woman’s head felt like a tonne of bricks as she lifted it from the comfortable scent of Raven’s hair. Shutting her eyes, she visualised the familiar gate that guarded her property and with a burst of magic, propelled them towards it.

“See?” Emmy crooned, face splitting into a grin once the world stopped spinning and she caught sight of where they had landed. Gone was the overwhelming city- the noise, the stink- as countryside grew up around them like a wave of green. They had been lucky. In the feverish haze that clouded Emmeline’s vision, she could not see the danger in her actions. Apparating, such a natural feeling for her now, was not advisable drunk or otherwise incapacitated- it was reckless.

The redhead detangled herself from the smaller woman, limbs limp and face twisted in exhaustion as she slowly made her way up the meandering path to the picturesque cottage. It was storybook in dimensions, magically enlarged on the inside, with a low door and thatched roof. All around, the garden bloomed, a last flavour of summer as the season drifted into autumn. The garden had been a gift from the last tenant, but Emmeline had taken to gardening quite intuitively.

She had always liked tending to fragile things.

Shuffling about for her wand, Emmy produced it with a flourish before mumbling her way through the protective wards that Minerva and Alastor both were so keen to have them master. The door clicked open and Emmeline pushed her way through it, stumbling over the slight lip on the step. Her grip on the large door handle was vice-like as she struggled to keep herself upright.

“Fuck,” The word drifted out of her like a prayer as her knees sagged and she slid into a sitting position against the deep green paint of her door. “Sorry,” she whispered as the prospect of her fragility caught up with her.

Into the Wind || r & e

[vanciful]

estrela--marlene‌:

It hadn’t been the first time she’d heard the words. Her eyes flickered up towards the girl, brows furrowed. Emmeline had always been a puzzle, pieces shifted around so much that Marlene struggled to figure it out. She tried it now, tried to decode the words which left her lips, tried to decide why the words sounded so bland, why the teasing edge seemed dull compared to what she knew of the girl. Marlene’s fingers moved to rake through her hair, pushing the tressed back so they didn’t cover her face. She inched closer, if only for moments, lavishly regarding every line, every feature which seemed to change- shift with every word they said, with every meaning they intended to say.  

  “What is it with that sentiment.” A laugh escaped her lips, as light as it was there was a heavy, dull edge to it. Her lips quirked downwards, a miniscule gesture of thought. “It’s never been like that.” There was no hurt behind the words, wasn’t any harshness behind it. Concern heaved behind her blues, watching as she’d rested her body against the basin. Her hands gripped the edges, afraid that if she’d let go that they’d move their way to Emmeline’s- that if she had the chance that she wouldn’t let go. “I guess we’re just so similar, huh? I love myself so technically I should be absolutely enamoured with him.” Her laugh held some sort of bitterness that she didn’t expect, a scoff that she didn’t account for. “I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

The way her eyes lingered on the girl told a thousand stories why.

Teeth moved to bite on her lip, wincing slightly as Emmeline tugged at her wrist, the warm touch of fingers against her skin almost burning the flesh beneath it. She’d allowed herself to follow the girl, squeezed her hands, trying to touch the warmth that she felt before. Her steps followed, eyes glancing over to the flurry of fiery locks, a small smile perched on her lips at the touch. As always, she held back- a foolish sense of confusion like a truck colliding with her stomach. She’d felt her body lean against the softness of the mattress, allowed her hair to move aside as she felt Emmeline’s hands make quick work of the wounds. Emmeline seemed a constant force, always seemed the person that was willing to fix whatever stupid mistakes she needed. The light at the end of the tunnel. The smile she couldn’t quite get off her mind.

She’d glanced over at the girl, lips pursing.

  “He hasn’t always been the only one, you know. Right after Hogwarts there was Sam.” Her head tilted, hands moving to fix her hair, long strands being tied up into a messy bun and allowing easier access to the scars and bruises which peppered her slender neck. “Some muggle bartender that Lily and I met. Gorgeous beyond belief-…” She didn’t know why she was saying this, didn’t understand the drive behind the words- the need to prove herself to Emmeline. “As per usual, I was not the right candidate.”

Life worked that way- if not the unfortunate circumstance then it was her own mistakes, the harsh brutality which always faced her whenever she tried to make a change of herself. Her heartbeats amplified at Emmeline’s words, a soft nod leaving her features as she tugged up the hem of her nightgown, easily lifting it over her body. She’d turned, no doubt to watch her expression, eyes worried at the sight that befell her.

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Doesn’t hurt one bit.”

The simultaneous loosening of her heartstrings and quiet exhale of a breath she had no recollection holding, caused the laugh to fall out of Emmeline quite accidentally. It was ragged, and relieved and real. It was absurd, really. To assume that just because Marlene and Sirius were close that they were anything other than friends. It was naive. Her light gaze fell upon the woman before her, and Emmy could feel her mouth soften into a grin.

“I’m glad,” The redhead mumbled as they drifted back towards the rumpled bed, the silence filling the air between them, slightly less thick as it had been in the bathroom. “That you love yourself.” Emmy clarified after a moment, the multiple meaning behind her words dawning on her in waves. She was glad that Marley loved herself, though there was a nagging suspicion that clung to her gut that the brunette was being ironic. But deeper than that, she knew that on some level she was glad that Marlene could so candidly dismiss her relationship to the Black heir.

Emmeline’s work as a healer was very much limited to Marlene and her propensity to get into trouble. Nonetheless she had had a lot of practice, hand gentle but with the firm surety of fingers playing across a familiar musical incident. Marlene’s words pulled her out of her reverie.

Emmeline felt her stomach churn. Of course there had been others. Emmeline’s own approach to relationships was certainly enthusiastic, despite their fleeting nature. Dating was easy, but it was dull work, as men repeatedly took issue with Em’s commitment to speaking her mind. Sex was better, providing they kept talking to a minimum. “The guy clearly hadn’t a clue what he was missing, Marls. I promise, if we tossed on a couple of dresses now, we could go and get you another bartender tonight. Bruised face or not.”

The words felt wrong as they fell from the Gryffindor’s lips. She had never gone out with the younger girls, despite her fondness for Marlene’s friends. Emmeline was their keeper, a confidante, not a dance partner. But it was the truth, nonetheless. Even battered beyond belief and a bit drunk, haired piled onto her head like in an unconcerned heap, Marlene was a vision. The Sam guy, whoever he was, was a fool.

She had to look away as Marlene shed herself of clothes but her shame soon transformed into something else as hen her eyes returned to Marlene’s body. She let out an audible hiss. “Did you break a fucking rib?” Emmeline’s eyes flashed up to the brunette’s face, filled with concern as her hands instinctively pressed to the darkened skin just beneath the line of Marlene’s bra.

“Don’t be such a fucking tough guy, McKinnon.” Emmeline grimaced as her hand was quickly replaced with the tea-towel. The familiar ghost of affection returned as Emmeline started to work on the other woman’s wounds, harking back to the countless times before they had been in this very same spot.

Whatever it was, the unnameable, unplaceable thing in Emmeline’s chest, they would figure it out. Marlene was too important to the woman not to.  

Creature Comforts || Open Starter

[vanciful]

estrela--marlene‌:

She could understand her words, hold some appreciation to the things that Emmeline had been saying. Still, she couldn’t help the deep breath that left her lips, couldn’t help but divert her gaze as she spoke of another. It was a strange sensation, warm and flushed and confusing. Such thoughts had always been almost physically painful for Marlene- she wasn’t sure how to deal with them. Her fingers graced against each other, raw flesh against cold smooth skin. She gritted her teeth for a moment, fingers interlocking until she heard the deep cracking, a physical release enough to convince her that she’d be fine.

  “I’m not surprised in the least.” Her words felt tasteless, although the smile which graced her lips seemed joyful at the news. It would’ve helped, realising that things were going to be okay, relishing in the joy that somebody else seemed to bring. “Beauty attracts beauty, didn’t you know? That’s why I’m always surrounded by beautiful idiots. It’s the physical beauty and my idiotic tendencies at work. Magic.”

Her fingers wiggled dramatically at her words, the laugh that left her lips masking the questioning which she’d been hiding. Her teeth moved to chew on her bottom lip, a choice which didn’t seem to do too well for the state of the reddened piece of flesh.  

She distanced herself. Something which seemed easy enough in the situation that they were in. She closed her eyes for a moment, hands rubbing into them, attempting to rub the thrumming beat of her heart into a sense of calmness. A soft sigh left her lips- Marlene nearly laughed at the reflection that she caught, a beautiful and confused mess. It seemed that the situation had sent her into a head spin, seemed that she wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. She tried to hold it back, tried to fight the words that would make her an embarrassment, things that would shroud their relationship. Instead she focused on her grazed knuckles, washing them under the cool water of the running tap, eyes only moving up to catch Emmeline’s, back moving to lean against the cool porcelain of the washing basin.

She’d released a breath, eyes still placed on hers, body wishing that she could run her hands through her hair, wishing that Emmeline was willing to cure all of her wounds, to fix her up both body and soul.

   “Well, you know me.” It always resulted in this. A well-meaning joke hiding what thoughts roamed her mind. Marlene wasn’t a stranger to relationships in a physical gravity, she wasn’t the type of person that shied away from it. The other things were what struck true fear into her soul. Imagine the embarrassment of a boggart that was a woman falling in love? It wouldn’t have been true- there were worse things in the world. She’d had the conversation before, come to an understanding that love would only hurt, that there was no way that her story would have a happy ending. Life wasn’t the same as the fairytales that she was read as a child- sometimes it wasn’t a prince that she was looking for. “I’m either a pain or in pain. There’s no real way about it, Emme. It comes with the package of Marlene McKinnon- free of charge, of course.”

Marlene tried to push herself back, meeting the hard edge of the basin as Emmeline moved closer towards her, hand reaching from behind her head. She fought so hard not to project, understanding that the gesture simply was just that- a gesture. Still, her eyes couldn’t help but glance down towards her strawberry lips, the pang of confusion becoming evident on her features as she fought to hear Emmeline’s inquiry.

   “I can do it. I just don’t think I can reach.”

“Well you and Sirius Black make quite a pair of beautiful idiots.” The words slipped out unannounced, Emmeline’s brow curling into the shadow of a frown despite the good nature of Marlene’s delivery. As thoughts of the disinherited Black sprung to mind, she immediately regretted her comment, stomach tightening in displeasure. It was true- the man was both quite beautiful and quite wrapped up in Marlene’s dating history. Em had never pinned him as the stupid type, but how would she know?

Emmy had always suspected that despite Marlene’s consistent status as ‘single’, that the two were dancing circles around each other, always so full of the easiest of banter when reunited. It spoke of an intimacy that the redhead could only guess at. It felt inevitable. And that was fine, Emmeline decided. Sirius Black was a joker, he was as easygoing as Marlene was and yet Emmeline knew that Sirius was passionate, he cared for Marley and that was enough.

Except that it wasn’t, Emmeline realised in the brightly-lit bathroom, surveying the bruises that marred the brunette’s otherwise creamy skin, the delicate features set into a soft expression. Marlene needed to speak and be heard, needed tenderness in the face of life’s brutal treatment of her. She needed shelter and Emmeline suspected the girl needed some sleep.

The words that fell from the split lips sunk into Emmeline like needles and she found herself shaking her head, a laugh ripping from her throat in a way that ached. “We can fix that,” Emmeline decided, the obstinate side of Emmy rearing it’s ugly leonine head. “Just give me some time.”

Defiance sung in every movement of Emmeline’s thin frame, every twist of her expressive face. It settled into grim determination, the smirk playing games at the corner of her mouth as she thought of Marlene’s darkly-coloured humour. It did much to hide the pain in Marl’s eyes but not now, not when the girl was a bit drunk and a bit tired and Emmeline’s gaze was pinning her to the bathroom tiles. Emmy was tense, she realised. Nervous, confused, angry - why was she angry- and yet all the redhead wanted to do was laugh.

“Come on.” Emmeline said as Marley’s expression became confused. Fingers circled a thin wrist as Emmeline pulled her out of the bathroom into the soft glow of her bedroom. The yellow glow wasn’t enough to hide the bruising but it lessened the tightness that had closed around Emmeline’s heart as she took in the wounds.

Emmeline swallowed as she manoeuvred the woman to sit on the edge of the bed. She gently plied the bag of ice and murtlap essence from Marlene’s hands, uncapping the latter and a strong odour filled the room. It was slightly sweet and, Emmeline found herself smiling, reminded her of the woman sitting before her. Pouring a generous helping onto the wet tea towel, Em’s careful fingers brushed along Marlene’s jaw, careful not to linger, but finding rest on her chin as she tilted her face towards the lamplight.

Emmeline worked carefully, efficiently, saying little though she wouldn’t be surprised if Marlene could hear her thoughts bellowing, heart clattering against her ribcage. The towel swiped methodically across the Ravenclaw’s face and the murtlap did it’s job. Eventually, she cleared her throat, eyes catching the bright blue of Marlene’s gaze as fingers came to rest on the hem of Emmeline’s newly-altered nightgown. “As pretty as you’ve made this,” she said, tongue suddenly too big for her mouth, “it’s going to need to come off so I can do the rest of you.”

Creature Comforts || Open Starter

[vanciful]

ravenfawley‌:

“If someone is paying to have you maimed, they aren’t paying me.” Raven nodded. The other had nothing to fear from her aside from fascination. The wolf feared her attention to the woman would one day lead her into the path of danger. There were many people who hated her or wanted her removed from the private security realm. Company would become targets and bargaining pieces, and to think of Emmeline winding up in the hands of someone with the intent to harm wasn’t something pleasant.

Dark waves moved around her face as she shook her head. “No, but she could always end up dead, and then we’d all be clueless.” Skeeter was annoying, but there were times when her column proved to be a god source of information that helped her add fuel to already simmering fires. 

“Not so much a joke as inviting you to watch me in bed. I don’t…joke.” The wolf said blatantly. Light-hearted fun was foreign to her, and while sarcasm was familiar, the two still bore frightening differences. The subject of sex did make Raven’s concentration slip a little. Eyes may have taken the woman’s ailment as an opportunity to inspect the other’s features more. The giggle lit the woman’s eyes, and her lips trembled with her. Raven had ideas about making her lips tremble for another reason, but that was a fantasy more than anything else. 

Raven frowned, the corners of her lips dipping with displeasure as the other seemed to increase her proximity to the ground. Her head shook, answering the woman’s question. To disguise whatever worry might have been forming, the girl offered another sarcastic remark. “I don’t. Afraid, that’s someone who was actually stalking you would know.” She muttered, taking the girl’s elbow in her hand and gently encouraging her to stand upright. Once she knew she was vertical, the wolf looked around. “But, if I hold you upright, perhaps you could focus enough to apparate us there?” She insisted, using her other hand to wrap around the other’s waist. Raven didn’t even come up to the other’s chin, but there she was, acting as a stabilizer for the wobbly red head.

Raven didn’t understand her need to comfort and aid the other. It wasn’t like they were friends, and while she found the other to be kind and an angelic little thing, her touches were often a lot more volatile than this. This was a softness the wolf had never once in her life exhibited, and to be frank,

It scared the hell out of her. 

“Well that’s a relief,” Emmeline said, her own voice ringing in her ears as she took in the darkened expression of the woman who’s face seemed to be getting closer. Though a relief from what, Emmeline was struggling to recall. “I think.” She added with a smile that bordered on goofy.

Emmeline’s blue eyes narrowed as she tried in vain to follow Raven’s line of thinking, lip sucking into her mouth to chew on it before letting out a long, steadying breath. “Is someone paying for you to maim Skeeter?” Emmy found herself asking at length. She couldn’t bring herself to feel sad at the prospect. The blonde witch was awful. Truly, a stain on the face of an otherwise perfect humanity.

“...Oh.” Well that was... strange. Emmeline took a second to look the woman up and down, considering. She didn’t really look like a man. Her hair was soft, her body, despite the strength that was impossible to miss, was gently curved under her tough clothing. The distant smile of a woman possessed by fever lit up the redhead’s face. “Who would you be in bed with?” Emmy asked after another beat had passed, and the sudden urge to cough her lung up had subsided enough for her to speak.

God, she was going to die in the arms of a stranger with a mountain of paperwork she needed to do. A pair of strong hands pulled Emmeline upright and the girl found herself leaning into it with a soft sigh. There was something strangely comforting about her petite would-be murderer-turned-saviour. Emmeline found herself pressing her cheek to the top of Raven’s head, a frown curling on her face as Edgar’s words echoed to her from the other night. Something about gender and nobody giving a damn. “What the fuck, Ed? Bloody, awful timing,” Emmeline mumbled, eyes shutting out the brightness of the day.

“I think I can,” Emmeline said softly into the dark hair of the wolf, oblivious to the strange looks that their embrace was inviting around them. Her cottage was quite a distance out of London, but her mind’s eye was able to summon the image of the sun-drenched garden with little trouble. “Ready to go?” She breathed out, voice no higher than a whisper.

Into the Wind || r & e

[vanciful]

maryxxmacdonald‌:

Mary shrugged. “Why not? I like it up there.” Mary chuckled, tapping her temple in amusement. She had control and knew what was coming next when she was playing out day dreams in her own head. The girl bit down on her lips as  Emmy told her to think over what they’d talked about. Sure, she’d reconsider it, but she doubted things would change. Her affections weren’t strong enough to risk faulting a great friendship.

“And what is it he wants? If he wanted something, don’t you think that he would have gotten it by now?” She inquired. Ted was the kind of man that wouldn’t have a hard time with the women around him. In fact, the girl couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind turning him down. “And hush. He hangs out with you, Emmy. You need to give yourself more credit.” She insisted, reaching over the table to craddle the girl’s hand in her own. A soft squeeze was given, pulling back after a moment as she nodded. She wanted to be sure the idea that the other was worth seeking out was understood.

Mary smiled. She’d never been a particularly good writer, but she could appreciate a good book or news article. The thought of Emmeline writing a book peaked her interest. “And just what is this book about?” The reddish haired girl asked, smiling into her cup as she took another sip of her hot chocolate. She lifted her napkin, dabbing at her lips as she waited for a response from the older girl. 

“Oh, god. What’d she get into?” Mary asked with a small laugh before biting into her lip as she mentioned that it’d been bad. her frown creased her features as she looked over Emmeline slowly, trying to detect what she could from the woman. She’d known something was up, but she didn’t like how any of this sounded. She had her own crap, but that’d be on the back burner in a mere millisecond if Marlene was in danger. “-What happened, Emmy?” Mary asked again, but any echo of humor had left her voice.

“Well if you’re sure, Mare-Bear.” Emmeline smiled, reaching over to poke the woman’s forehead with a snicker. “Be good to her, brain.” Emmy joked, scrunching her nose at her own terrible sense of humour.

The vision of Andromeda Tonks sparked clear in the woman’s mind as did the way Ted’s eyes rested on the woman, as if he was examining a piece of living art. Which the pureblooded witch was. Emmeline couldn’t say, of course, wasn’t even sure she was meant to know of the man’s growing affections but she and Ted had always been firm friends. And she had the distinct advantage over the rest of his mates by ways of having eyes and being a woman. “Trust me, Mare.” She said after a long moment. “He doesn’t want me. I think his interests lie.... other places.”

“Oh,” Emmeline found herself flushing at Mary’s interest in her book. “It’s not finished,” she replied instinctively, biting down hard on her lips as a free hand ran over her hot cheeks. “I mean, it’s a children’s book.” She said at length. Nobody in the world was as kind as Mary MacDonald. Even if the woman teased, she was incapable of harshness- there was no pain in telling Mary of her dreams of becoming a writer. It was still hard.

“It’s about girl who makes friends with a mermaid, and how the village people try and keep them apart.” Emmeline’s fingers followed the grain of the wood in the table, suddenly deeply interested in the way they dipped and flowed. She sometimes wished her red mane would swallow her whole. “It’s sounds silly. It’s... silly.” Emmeline chuckled, batting away the ideas and looking sheepishly at Mary.

Thoughts of the other evening flashed back to the woman as a frown curled on the brow of the redhead opposite her, smile sliding off her face. Emmeline grit her teeth, the briefest hint of sadness colouring her face. At least she wasn’t the only one worried about Marlene’s galavanting. “Nothing, really.” Emmy tried to backtrack. The woman had turned up in worse states before. It was just.... Emmeline felt her heart thud at Marlene’s words. I’m either a pain or in pain. “Just turned up at my door like she’d gotten into a fight with a cave troll.”

Emmeline thought about telling Mary that the woman seemed sadder than normal, her self-deprecating and nihilistic sense of humour seeming just a bit too close to the bone to be totally fake. She thought about it and felt herself closing up. “I just sometimes worry that the whole... Doc thing got to her more than the rest of us.” The redhead found herself incapable of saying more, not in such an open environment. She shrugged, giving Mary a knowing look.

Coffee & Conversation || m & e

[vanciful]

darkxwithin‌:

Rosemary was still maintaining the look of shock on her face when Emmeline mentioned the murders that had occurred. One thing she was good at…lying. Quite often she played with the truth in a way which would indicate the lies, purposely done of course to wind others up. This time though she knew damn well to keep her mouth shut. It was worth more than her own life to not go bragging to the wrong ears about that one.

–the touch was too much?

Emmeline’s wince gave it away and Rosemary just smiled, wondering why when they used to be friends. Maybe too much time has passed–again those thoughts went through her head.

“Well if you think that’s for the best.”

Her response was polite because anything more than that would give away the fact she really wanted to know more details. The raven-haired witch wasn’t panicking inside, she was very calm and collected, but she would sooner know if there was any incriminating evidence–not that she thought any had even been left in the first place.

“Well I’m not going to lie, I don’t care about muggles, but I wouldn’t wish harm on them like that.”

It would’ve been too much of a lie to try and say she cared for them because anyone who knew Rosemary Parkinson, was fully aware she was a Slytherin stereotype through and through. A select few knew about the very dark side to her, but that wasn’t about to slip out in front of her friend.

“Makes an interesting read I suppose, but probably terrifying to most.”

The first part of the comment was an understatement because Rosemary lived for stories full of chaos and destruction, only if they couldn’t be definitely linked with anyone she cared about.

Letting her memory go back in time though to when she was younger, it was different and that’s why having Emmeline here right now was taking some getting used to. A few attributes to Rosemary were the same, but she allowed compassion in for far more than she ever would now.

“Your clear talent for writing must have rubbed off on me??…oh darlin’…’“

The raven-haired witch chuckled, not believing that at all whatsoever.

“Well….I should tell my mother you are responsible for leading me off the path she so wanted me to pursue.”

A wicked grin crept upon her lips, knowing the ones who led her down that certain dark path, were actually closer to home.

There was a slight flutter in her chest when Emmeline suggested hanging out, especially when she mentioned Quidditch. She paused for a moment and kept her line of vision on the other female.

“ No. I don’t bloody like the game anymore.”

It was a secret of hers that she still felt drawn towards the game and nobody else knew. Yet Emmeline seemed to ask the right question–or wrong one, depending on whose perspective. A small pull inside her triggered something, maybe arrogance, maybe stubbornness of not wanting to feel as though others in her life now could make her want to keep that secret, who knows, but she changed her mind anyway.

“Actually, no…I will go. “ A playful grin emerged on her facial features. “You know me, always changing my mind.”

—Besides, maybe there was a little mischief to be had at one of the games.

“I’ll make sure that you’re sent a copy of the paper the minute it’s off the press,” Emmeline tried in way of an apology as Rosie stopped her press for details on the murders. Emmeline hadn’t recalled Rosie’s morbid interest in the macabre at school, but perhaps the raven-haired woman had always kept that from Emmy, reserved it for the woman’s Slytherin friends. It wouldn’t surprise the redhead. They had been inseparable then, but it hadn’t abstained Rosemary from her pureblood ties.

They had hated Emmeline. God, she could see it in the way their eyes shone as they looked at the girls together but they knew better than to say anything. Especially in front of Rosemary. The woman’s temper had always been infamous and Rosemary had never felt the need to apologise for their bond. It had lit Emmeline up once, warned her to the tips of her toes. She had felt safe, with Rosemary.

“Lots of witches don’t care about muggles,” Emmy agreed, though there was a tightness in her throat that she tried to clear with a sip of her coffee. “But we can coexist with them peacefully.” Maybe she was being a touch idealistic. Could think of a half-dozen people who would probably want her dead if she ever revealed herself to them, but that was borne from fear of the unknown rather than fear of wixen themselves. The thought that someone would be scared of Emmeline was laughable.

“I take full responsibility,” Emmeline said, raising her hands up in admission as Rosemary mentioned her mother once more. “You tell your mum that this mudblood here was the culprit for all your problems.” Em laughed, dropping the slur into the conversation with clear disdain at the concept. If that was the worst thing a wizard could think of calling her, then Emmeline counted herself blessed. 

The disappointment fell hard in Emmeline’s chest as she heard the displeasure twist onto Rosemary’s brightly-coloured lips. She felt something akin to shame creep up the back of her pale neck. She had been a fool, a bloody fool, to think that Rosemary might want to see her, after all this time. Whatever they were, it had been stretched thin, impossible to fix...

“Wait, really?” Emmeline’s blue eyes rose to meet the warm brown gaze, always so impish, and the smile slid onto her face. Fingers curled in pleasure around her teacup and a heaviness lifted from the woman’s chest. “I’ll let Bertha know that we’re interested. I think they’re playing the Tornadoes the week after next.”

“I’m glad that I found you here,” Emmeline said after a quiet moment, a flush of heat finding its way onto the sparsely freckled cheeks. It had been weighing on her mind a lot, and with the War reaching fever pitch, Emmeline hated the idea that she might waste a friendship over something as trivial as distance or time.

[vanciful]

madebybigshadows‌:

It was hard work to not preen outwardly, but inside? Oh on the inside she was preening like a prized peacock, it was disgusting. But she couldn’t help it, this is all she’d wanted. Just to be recognised. The flattery though… well, that was just the cherry on top frankly. “Well– thank you.” How did you respond to compliments, without coming across like a braggart? She’d put all the work in, she deserved this, but how did you respond in the moment? “I appreciate that.” And she did. Maybe this was her angle, how she got people to talk; sweeten them up first and then swoop in demanding answers – maybe. 

But she’d sold her soul to the devil to be as good as she is (no, that wasn’t true, he just provided a means for her to be able to focus on nothing but potions and alchemy, the skill was all hers) so having someone acknowledge that was just… amazing. 

Accepting her drink with a small smile of thanks, she swallowed a mouthful and let it warm her from the inside out. Both brows lifted at the news – she’d been too busy this morning primping and preening to get a chance to read this morning’s paper – and she made a little noise of interest. “Do you know how much, exactly, the Ministry was importing?” She hadn’t even known they were, otherwise she would’ve put in a request for some (that would’ve been awkward though, talking to someone about stolen venom and being responsible for it). “Not that it’s particularly important how much, I’m just curious.” 

Lips twitching, she tilted her glass at her. “Slughorn was a twat,” she agreed. And no, she wasn’t bitter about not getting invited to The Slug Club. That was his loss, not hers. “Acromantula Venom is so incredibly versatile, there’s a lot you could do with it. Mix it right and just a little will paralyse you, mix a lot with some choice ingredients, and it’s a very painful, miserable way to die.” She sat back in her chair, comfortable, hand still wrapped around her glass. “Sit somewhere in the middle and you could have a powerful hallucinogenic on your hands.”

God, the potions she could make with just a vial of this stuff was unfathomable. Maybe it had already hit the seedier areas of Knockturn Alley? 

“I don’t know what insight I can offer you, really. Only that there’s limits on Class A ingredients like that. Each country has their own thresholds of how much they can have of a particular thing, so if they were bringing in a large enough quantity to make heads turn, that suggests it was several shipments that at some point was merged; and that only brings up more questions like what countries did they get them from and why are they clearing out their stock?” 

Downing another mouthful of drink, she hummed, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Acromantula Venom can also be used to brew Sensus Verso – think of it like Imperio, but in potion form. I’m not saying that’s what the Ministry was planning,” she shrugged, “but I’d look into what other large shipments they’ve got coming in, that might give you an idea of what they were trying to do.”

The journalist assessed the woman from over the top of her small whiskey glass. Katherine Pyrites was harder to read than Emmeline was used to. While the redhead was shrewd, instinct had a lot to do with her following the leads that she did and the potioneer was giving nothing away. It was fine. Emmeline had not asked to meet Katherine because she suspected the woman of foul play. Though it was not out of the question, any potioneer would kill for that much of such an expensive ingredient.

“The Ministry haven’t been very forthcoming on exact anything, today.” Emmeline replied, pleased to see the woman’s shocked expression. At least the Gryffindor wasn’t the only person to find the entire situation strange. Emmeline felt a strong mistrust towards the Ministry as of late, the political process hard for the muggleborn to parse out. The entire institution seemed to work from a point of obscurity. The woman leaned forward onto her elbows, expression thoughtful. “Some importers reckoned that the crates stolen were worth about fifteen thousand galleons. Though speculation gets us nowhere.” She added, almost reminding herself as much.

Emmeline snickered at Katherine’s harsh words, raising her glass of whiskey in toast. Slughorn was part of the problem, Emmy had decided long before she had left school. It had been bad enough that students had so openly viewed themselves as better than her, but with teachers playing clear favourites... Emmeline’s lack of interest in potions had less to do with her magical ability as it had to do with her mind’s tendency to wander.

As Katherine launched into explanation of just what acromantula venom could do, she scrambled to grab her notebook and pen from her bag - both muggle- and gestured to the woman sitting opposite her. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Emmeline allowed the woman to talk, despite Katherine’s words of uncertainty. “This is all good, Ms. Pyrites,” Emmeline nodded, as the brow curled onto her brow. It was definitely not something that the Ministry might want their international counterparts finding out, that much was clear enough. The woman hummed, pressing the top of her pen into her lip. “And there’s a huge black market for the venom, I presume?”

Red brows crept towards a redder hairline at Katherine’s last comment as she looked up to shoot the woman an intrigued look. God, that was interesting. Someone like Skeeter might have stopped there, accused the Ministry of slipping the stuff into their water, and carried on ruining people’s day. “That would make quite a headline,” Emmeline smirked, jotting down some bullet points.

Refilling the woman’s glass, Emmeline let a long breath out, eyes dancing about the bar in thought. “If you were a betting woman, what do you think are the odds that Death Eaters might want to get their hands that much venom?”

[vanciful]

ehhdgarbones‌:

Pfft-pfft-pfft. Three shots to the chest and the muggle was out. He tossed his arms to this side with a glare and groan but ceased to exist the moment he’d been shot from the game. Edgar’s focus was on the remaining two. The last two variables that could come between them and victory. He didn’t intend to give them the chance.

Keeping pace with Emmeline, he stood as a wall between her and any paint balls aimed at her. If they wanted to take her out, they’d have to get through him first, and Edgar didn’t make for an easy target. He suppressed fire with a soldier’s reflexes. Movement drew his rifle’s barrel. The sight of exposed shoulders, chests, or any visible extremities worked as magnets for the paintballs still nestled in his loader.

Adrenaline and excitement were sparks of electricity in his bloodstream. They fizzled and popped, pushing him forward, keeping his vision clear and his mind sharp. His heart was punching on his sternum. It was an intense beat, demanding. He had to keep on Emmy. He had to protect her. He had to make sure that she won this for them. No one deserved the victory more.

He knew she wanted nothing to do with this shite. Even though this whole day had been her idea, Edgar had no doubt that she’d been holding it together all day for his benefit. Because that was the kind of woman that Emmeline Vance was. The kind that set aside her own trepidation, stepped out of her comfort zone, for the people she cared about. War wasn’t a game for her. Not that it was for him, but Edgar had a taste for combat that no one who knew him could deny. She’d done this for him and Edgar didn’t know how else to thank her for it other than to get her to that flag without a speck of paint on her.

One of their opponents popped out from behind a stack of tires. He had his rifle aimed at Emmy’s back, finger on the trigger. Edgar, who’d had his barrel pointed at the other muggle, saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly the world seemed to move in slow motion. It felt like ages passed before his rifle swept across his torso to lock cross-hairs on the exposed target.

Seconds dragged into hours. His vision tunneled on the man focused on Emmeline. The world went silent, the environment still. Edgar inhaled. His finger squeezed the trigger. Three consecutive airy sounds left his rifle and time finally sped back up. Orange paint splattered on the man’s goggles, right over his eye. Two more shots exploded on each shoulder. As soon as he was out, Edgar swiveled back around.

The last man standing had thought to take advantage of the momentary distraction. Not fucking likely. Forefinger hugging the trigger as he dove in front of the fire coming down on Emmy, he returned fire with a roar. Edgar felt the impact of paintballs bursting on his chest and stomach before landing in a cloud of dust and dirt with a hard impact. He rolled out of the tumble and popped back onto his feet, chest heaving, heart racing.

Peering through the haze, Edgar saw that the other man was bespattered in blooms of orange paint. Even if Emmy hadn’t gotten hold of the flag they’d have won the game as the last ones standing. Edgar turned on his heel, searching for the witch. When he found her with the flag pole in her hand, the tarp flapping in the wind, another roar escaped him.

Edgar rushed her. Arms out wide, rifle discarded to the ground, he ran at Emmeline like they’d just won the quidditch world cup. The man lifted her into his arms and spun her. Hugging her around her thighs so that she was elevated high above him, Edgar ran a victory lap around the hilltop with whoops and hollers. His excitement and satisfaction adding some drama to the win.

When he set her down it was to knock their helmets together again. Edgar held either side of her face and pressed his brow to hers. “You bloody did it, Vance.” She’d won them this game. Too full of electric energy to stand still, Edgar grinned as he pulled back, ruffling Emmy’s helmet on her head and knocking it in front of her eyes.

The suggestion that they grab celebratory drinks was met by a beaming smile. Edgar easily agreed. “First round’s on me.” He grabbed hold of Emmeline again, throwing her over his shoulder before leaning back to shout a booming “Wooo!” at the night darkened sky.

With the witch still over his shoulder, he knelt for her to collect her rifle, then his, then walked with her toward the exit. He only set her down when the rest of their team gathered to shake their hand and commend them on a good game, figuring she’d rather they not address her arse while Edgar slapped their hands and bumped their fists.

Once everyone else had cleared out, and they’d turned their equipment in, they shed out of their jumpers. There was a pub not far from their location, and Edgar was eager to raise a glass for his favorite redhead. How she had known what he needed to take his mind off of everything, he’d never guess. But Edgar didn’t have the proper words to thank her for it. Hopefully getting her good and drunk would be thank you enough.

Emmeline had known Edgar a long time. Known him longer than she hadn’t at this point and their work at the Order had brought them closer still. Close enough that fighting with Edgar was second nature, could sense him, his magic, like a warmth breath of air on her neck. As she surmounted the hill, she caught glimpses of Ed in his element and knew she was going to make it, snatch victory from the jaws of the opposing team and it was going to feel great.

And then the paint bloomed on his chest and the sinking feeling gripped her like tendrils snaking around her heart and it was too much to feel, joy mixing with fear as Edgar sacrificed himself for Emmeline. Her breath, already ragged from the sprint, caught in her throat and she felt the bitter taste of bile rise in her. He had done what he had to to seal their victory.

It was a game, she rationalised, and the very same thought- it was a game- caused anger to lick at her core because if he would take a damned paintball for her, then you could be sure he would... she was going to kill him.

But then he had the gaul to run at him, his face creased up in a joy that she hadn’t seen there since their time at Hogwarts and any regrets she had melted away. Emmy knew she would do a lot more to see the younger Bones smile like that. The war had crippled them all, as Emmeline’s thoughts jumped to Marlene’s blue gaze, to Mary’s brave smile. To revel, celebrate the smaller victories, was a testament to the fact that they were yet to expire.

She couldn’t have anticipated how good Edgar’s second-hand joy could feel as it emanated from him. Emmeline squawked indignantly as he hoisted her skywards as if she weighed nothing before she found herself laughing brightly. Fingers gripped hard on his helmet in fear that they would topple, the redhead joined the man in his celebratory noise-making. Eyes turned to take them in and it only added fuel to Emmeline’s mirth. Their poor teammates thought them mad. They had no idea, really, the extent to which it was true.

His words of praise washed over her and her first instinct was to dodge. “Fuck off, Bones, I didn’t do anything.” It was true. Edgar had looked like a super hero out there and Emmeline wondered absently if the brunette had heard of Superman. Or Batman. Emmeline grinned as Edgar bounced around like a puppy. Yeah, he wears definitely more of a Batman.

“Oh, fuck off Bones,” she groaned once more as he pulled her over his shoulder like a rag doll, sauntering back towards the entrance, her jumpsuit hanging off her. Tiredness crept into her bones and Emmy did little to fight the man off. It would be fruitless in any case. Instead, she plucked helplessly at the back of his protective clothing in feeble protest.

As she slid to her feet, she thanked the group for the day and they were quick to invite them for a pint in the local, as per tradition. She spared a glance at Ed, but his shit-eating grin was more than enough to tell her that he would be game for at least one or two drinks.

They changed quickly and the pair made their way towards the gate of the compound. “Well,” she said softly, slipping a sweaty hand around Edgar’s waist as they walked up the poorly lit road towards the warm, inviting glow of the pub. It was an intimate gesture but Emmeline was naturally tactile and with someone like Ed, it was as easy as breathing. “Good day?”

The pub buzzed with the sound of patrons as they stepped indoors and Em was quick to spot the group that had played with them all afternoon. Their broad grins and terrible haircuts reminded Em of her brothers, and she gave them a merry wave as she made towards the bar.

Jostling her way to the front, the pointy elbows finally good for something, Emmeline leaned against the bar and waited for the larger man to join her. A dark-haired woman behind the bar offered her a small grin as she whizzed by with a tray of pints. “I believe you said first round was on you, Bones,” the redhead called over the din at the man was pressed into her side.

Killing Time || E & E