waldenmacnxir-blog - Tumblr blog

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

mrwormtail:

@waldenmacnxir 14th January (Sunday), 6:23

Bundling himself tighter in his scarf and coat, Peter curses his lack of foresight in not placing a heating charm on anything before going out into a Muggle neighbourhood. There’s a chill in the morning air, and he deliberately focuses his thoughts on the frost on the trees and the way the grass moves instead. It’s still dark. He had failed to sleep all night, kept awake by desireless thoughts and insomnia. Fuck insomnia.

If today was a working day, he’d already be in the office, intent on forgetting anything other than work. Unfortunately today was a Sunday and he was trapped. He could go back but- well, it’d show on his record and people had already told him in no uncertain terms to get some rest (’you look like a scarecrow’, someone had said through a mouthful of salmon and cucumber sandwich, and tossed him the other half).

Peter sips his coffee, gauging as he does how long he can make his drink last as opposed to how long it’s going to stay hot in the weather. He curses his lack of foresight in not placing a heating charm on his cup either.

Shivering underneath his many layers, he presses his fingers closer to his cup and watches them turn white from the quiet pressure. Steam has billowed into his face when he puts the cup down into his lap again. Well, even if it seemed his coffee was rapidly cooling, he’s semi-grateful London does 24/7 convenience stores and he’d been able to get this at all.

What had he been thinking, when he went out alone like this. Something, perhaps, perhaps nothing at all, wanting to escape his empty flat and make it somewhere else for a change. Somewhere more real than the emptiness of his home. Not even turning all the lights on helped, not when it was so hollow.

He checks the time again on his watch, wondering yet again when the Sun will start rising.

   The neighbourhood is quiet with sleep, save for the few sparse birds singing in the distance. Frost threatens to form on the cusp of leaves and on the tiled rooftops, but spring is finally creeping upon them, one tentative foot at a time.

   And that makes Walden immeasurably sad. The cold is so calming, so tranquil, whereas the coming season will bring only a multitude of noise and colours, too chaotic and warm for his liking. Heat is a catalyst, and there is no greater danger to him than heat, seeping into his limbs and making him needy for graphic, unacceptable desires.

   Walden is fine this morning, though. He’s simply sitting on a rare bench by the empty road, a journal and pen in his hands as he sketches the brilliant stillness around him. There is hardly any light from the heavens; he’s only aided by the street lamp shining over his head, casting a shadow for an acquaintance.

   But soon he realises he’s not alone. Footsteps down the street causes him to look up slowly, the pen lifting away from paper. A young man is walking in his direction, all pale and peaky like the weather. He’s obviously cold in the way he cradles his coffee, but the lack of steam tells Walden there’s barely any heat left in the cup.

   Walden pities the stranger. And he’s a little curious, too. He’s not rushed, nor does he seem lost. He’s just there, existing and interrupting into Walden’s life with those scuffed shoes and thick woollen scarf.

   “The sun won’t rise for another hour or so,” he tells him.

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

heofbadfaith:

Lucius knew much about the MacNairs. Walden’s mother had been a pest in his father’s eyes, but then again, such people were an unfortunate side effect of commanding respect. There were always people who wanted to be next to you, desperate to bask in some form of glory. But then Lucius had started to see more of Walden around Death Eater meetings, dependable and stoic, and in need of some form of guidance. 

Despite the gap between their ages, there was something about the older man that understood social propriety, that some were under others, and that was merely the way of things. Walden respected that, so in turn, Lucius granted him some modicum of respect. With curiosity, Lucius had invited him for dinner one night. Narcissa wasn’t home, leaving the two of them to talk. 

What drove Walden? What made him succeed when his mother couldn’t, where did his true loyalties lie? Could Lucius use Walden in some form? Many didn’t yet respect Lucius, seeing only his age, and not the weight of his name. Of course, that was changing, but it still irked him. However, having someone else to present maturity would be useful.

Lucius had been notified when the wards were breached at the edge of their property, and double checked that the meal was progressing smoothly, that his tie pin was in place, then made his way down the stairs. He reached the front door not long after the knock, heavy and loud through the entrance hall. 

Weighted with magic, Lucius easily swung open the large wooden door, facing his guest. “Thank you Walden, it looks like a good wine - we can have it with our dinner.” He smiled, gesturing Walden to step inside, before taking the bottle and examining the label. Of course, there had been several nicer wines that would have worked better in the basement, but it didn’t hurt to be polite. 

His smile actually reached his eyes as closed the door behind Walden, and clicked his spare hand. A house elf appeared and Lucius handed the bottle to the creature, before it winked away. “We can eat now or we can retire to the lounge and talk some before dinner.” Honestly, Lucius would prefer the second option, as he was looking forward to the opportunity to talk to the man, but the idea of food was appealing.

   A breath of wonder left his lips as Walden entered the hallway. Immediately, the cold cleanliness indoors soothed his mind. The house-elf that Apparated before them clearly worked around the clock to maintain the Manor’s integrity. The dimly lit room and the thick carpet on the stone floors were impressive, but what truly sent a chill down Walden’s spine was the rows of portraits staring silently at him, watching his every move as if to serve a reminder of the history that breathed through these walls.

   Their youngest heir was by his side, smiling coolly at him. Lucius seemed at ease tonight, and rightly so. This was his kingdom, the place where plots and schemes were borne. It must have felt nice, Walden thought, to own so much power and to be bored of the empty rooms and lavish halls, to seek his fortune elsewhere. And that was exactly what Lucius did: he slid into places unsuspectingly and made a home there, reaping the rewards of others. He was a man who demanded respect, even if some felt he’d yet to deserve it.

   The offer seemed friendly enough, nevertheless Walden couldn’t help wondering if there was a right answer. The Malfoy Manor seemed like a place of precision, where mistakes and second-guesses were inadequate. Perhaps the pressures of such a childhood had given rise to the blonde, pristine individual before him. Understandably, his qualities made for a valuable asset within the Ministry; last Walden had heard, Lucius was snaking (and bribing) his way up the ranks, inching his way toward superiority.

   “I’m happy to talk before we eat,” Walden replied finally with a small smile, deciding that it would be rude eat so swiftly, without so much as a preliminary conversation. “I’ve never had a chance to appreciate the Manor during our meetings. Your home is beautiful.” But did Lucius really care for beauty? Or was he a man of hard science, keen to find patterns in numbers rather than in the assortment of furniture? “I’m certain the Dark Lord agrees.”

courtesy. { lucius & walden }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

marleneisms:

Being outside at night as a girl was already quite dangerous if there wasn’t a war going on. A smarter person would already be safe in their home and not continue risking their life by being out that late. However, Marlene surely wasn’t your usual type of girl. Instead, even if she knew it was probably pretty stupid, she adored the thrill of danger that came along with staying out late all on her own.

The blonde one was just on her way back home to her flat from the pub she had spent the last hours in - a glass of firewhiskey was definitely something she needed after a tough day like this - when she bumped into another person. While she clearly wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy actually, that surely didn’t mean that she was watching where she was going. After all, how high were the chances that she ran into somebody at this time of day? Instead of apologising directly or even taking a step back, Marlene simply eyed the guy from the bottom to the top, not even trying to be subtle. Luckily the street lamp next to them gave enough light for A flirty grin gracing her lips she tilted her head to the right. “I’d like to say I’m sorry for running into you, handsome, but well, I’m actually not.”

@waldenmacnxir

   He couldn’t always sleep at night.

   Sometimes the shadows got to him. He’d wake up from whatever chilling nightmare and stare across at his bare bedroom, simply waiting for the lurking monsters to lash out from the darkness and seize him. Sometimes he’d tear at the bedsheets, silently crying for help, and sometimes he’d master the fear and slap some sense into himself—the pain helping to bring him back to reality—before getting up and tidying everything once over.

   Tonight, the shadows won, and Walden found himself lurching out into the cold blackness in his coat and scarf. He followed the lamplights like beacons, stepping mechanically for a good hour until he finally began to feel better. But just as he decided to head home and face his demons, an unpleasant collision (WHODARESWHO’STHERE) made him stall. Steady blue eyes landed on hers, and at once he felt disgust well up inside him. Untidy blonde hair, the stench of drink on her lips. He took an obvious step back and ran his hands over his hair, then readjusted his collar, then tugged at each of his coat sleeves before sighing quietly.

   “You shouldn’t have done that.”

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

send me questions you have about my character!

anything and everything. favorites. thoughts on people, on events. what they would do in a certain situation. how things would be different if something had/hadn’t happened. simple questions, complex questions. have at it!

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

star-gazcr:

     As was so often the case, Aurora’s mind was preoccupied with a particularly juicy complication to her work. The brunette simply hadn’t had the mental wherewithal to check the weather that morning, and stepped out to greet the day in her usual cool weather attire. It wasn’t a particularly far jaunt from one destination to the next, anyway. That was the rationale, at least, that might explain away her oversight later that afternoon when the skies opened up and rained down sheer torture on her unprotected head. 

     There was nothing the young witch hated more than sleet. “Agh,” she groaned to herself the minute it started its assault, promising to get worse before it got better. Her hands pulled free from the pockets of her jacket, releasing her paranoid grip on her keys in the act as she tried in vain to keep herself dry. One pellet, then another, and another still were beginning to accumulate on her shoulders and arms as she held them overhead, hastening her pace to skitter past the familiar park on her way home. 

     It was then that her keys fell, a single sound against the chaos of falling ice pellets landing on deaf ears as frustrated thoughts filled her mind. At first, she didn’t hear the voice that accompanied it, but soon she saw the shadow of his umbrella in the corner of her vision and she slowed to a halt. Under the protection of the sleet-repelling barrier, she dropped her arms slowly to her sides, feeling about twice as sheepish as she probably looked. Dark eyes turned to his face in curiosity for a moment, but when she realized what he was saying, the expression was quickly shrouded in embarrassment.

     “Oh! They must’ve slipped when… Well, the sleet came and…” She closed her mouth momentarily, realizing what she was thinking and what she meant to say were becoming scrambled. Grinning in a way that was really more of a grimace, she concluded, “Clumsy me… Thank you,” and she was sincerely grateful that he’d stopped her. It would have been quite the ordeal had she made it all the way home without a way past the front entry. 

   A musical voice. Two lively brown eyes gazing back at him. Walden blinked, and for a brief moment he was thrown underwater, the sound of the storm growing distant. His thoughts seemed to stall, becoming stiff and cold like the ground they stood upon. It was as if a higher being had reached down with a purposeful hand and misaligned something inside him, causing a subtle but painful shift in his chest. He took in the kind, sheepish face, the lips drawn up in a grateful smile, and became dimly aware that he’d been silent a little too long.

   “You’re welcome.” The words came out even and polite, but the mental energy they required was draining. In his numbed state, the only logical step he could think of next was to hand back the keys. Walden opened his palm, trying to stay steady, but as her slender fingers skimmed along his skin he felt embers bursting from where she’d touched him, so different to the sharp disgust he normally experienced with others.

   Don’t let her go.

   They were standing quite close under the umbrella (pit-pat-pit-pat). He could smell her hair, which was damp from the ice particles caught there, and Walden would have given up the world to watch the tiny beads of water trickle down her skin, lower and lower until they rejoined the earth. She should have been just another stranger to him, well-dressed and warming. But—somehow, beyond his comprehension—fate had dictated her to be so much more.

   (DON’TLETHERGODON’TLETHERGO–)

   Walden swallowed. “Where are you going? Perhaps I could walk you. The weather is rather difficult today.”

sleet. { aurora & walden }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

orionblvck:

Orion could hear the footsteps down the hall get closer and watched for shadows under the door, holding his breath until he heard his house-elf’s voice behind it. He quickly took his hand off of his wand -he didn’t want to scare the boy- and resumed signing his signature on the papers he had in front of him. He is well aware that members of the Inner Circle call him paranoid, but Orion didn’t last this long by letting his guard down even in the comforts of his own home. He can briefly recall finding Sirius and Regulus hanging upside down in the kitchen, caught in his own trap as they were sneaking around doing gods know what, waking up the entire house with their laughter. Now it is quiet in Orion’s house except for the crackling of fire wood and the sound of dishes being washed by an invisible hand. 

The fond memories do not last long. Orion doesn’t let them. He needs a goddamn drink, but the door opens and he is saved from his thoughts. There won’t always be someone to save you. The voice in the back of his mind sounds like his mentor, but that is hardly news to Orion.

“Walden, do come in,” he said, standing up to shake the man’s hand. He beckoned him to sit at the chair in front of his desk as he too returned to his seat. Orion shook his head as he finished his signature, the memories of his sons distracting him, before looking back to Walden. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t have insisted you come see me if my attention was required elsewhere. Besides, this is child’s play. I can do this in my sleep,” he finished with a small chuckle, capping his quill and folding his hands atop his desk.

For a moment he studied Walden; his face, once again, was unreadable. He was dressed neatly but all that told Orion was that Walden knew how to dress himself. Orion detected respect in the boy’s voice– good.

“Yes, I suppose it is an honor,” he waved his hand about carelessly, his voice drawled, “Being here for you. I apologize for not having you over sooner. You seem like a man of good taste despite what…odds may have been against you. But I didn’t ask you here to talk about that,” he paused and smiled, “how are you, Walden? Keeping busy, I hope.”

Orion wasn’t particularly sorry but for Walden’s sake he certainly was despite the boy’s poor upbringing that certainly left him disadvantage. He was sure Walden didn’t know the true nature of his questions and he intended to keep it that way for now. In this moment, Orion was simply curious what went on in that brain of his, eager to carefully pry to find Walden’s true nature.

   He almost recoiled from Orion’s offer. Master yourself. Walden shook the hand once before letting go a little too soon, his own hand jumping up to smooth back his gelled hair, then moving to fix his collar, then tugging once at each of his sleeves, straightening them out. When all of this was completed, he exhaled, the sound barely above a whisper. It was the only way to settle the anxiety of being touched, and it still posed a problem, even after all these years. He tried to remind himself of where he was, that the great Orion Black had just invited him to his home, and that it was rude to be reacting so badly to his hospitality.

   (USELESSIDIOTSCUMYOUDONOTBELONG–)

   Already feeling ashamed, Walden followed Orion and sat at the desk, feeling like a second shadow to the tall and broad-backed wizard. Everything about him—from the light in his eyes to the stroke of his quill—exuded power and command. Clearly Orion was used to being obeyed, and Walden quietly hoped that his little ritual could be accepted, even if it did seem odd and irritating at best.

   “Please, do not apologise. I’m sure you have much more important matters to deal with tonight,” Walden replied humbly, though the mention of his poor background did not escape his notice. Something stirred within him, but he was sure Orion meant well, simply insinuating that he had worked hard to get to where he was. And it was true; Walden had worked hard, cramming over endless nights and enduring ridicule from the Sacred 28. This was a defining moment in his life, to be welcomed into one of their most prestigious families.

   “I’m well, thank you. Work is neither here nor there, and I have been keeping out of sight after the mission, as the Dark Lord has instructed.” He wasn’t quite sure what Orion was looking for in an answer, and since he had not participated in the recent attack, there was not much to add to his statement. However, Orion was still looking at him expectantly, so he went on, “I heard there was resistance from the rebel group Aversio. They knew of our plans.”

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

Always wear your mind like a crown, it’s the greatest weapon.

Honey Jumalon

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

courtesy. { lucius & walden }

   The bottle of Château Canon weighed down in his hands as Walden strode up the ominous driveway. He felt small beneath the towering hedges on either side, their leaves puckered and black in the shadows. A faint cooing could be heard somewhere in the distance, but Walden did not search for the infamous peacock. He had never been fond of animals.

   Soon, the path widened, and Walden was left to stare up at the brilliant, pale mansion. A shiver ran through him; the building was more like a fortress if anything, massive and menacing with its turrets and narrow windows. Perhaps it was appropriate that the Dark Lord had a habit of holding meetings within its walls. It seemed more fitting than a home for three. 

   Walden’s shoes clicked up the stone grey steps. He lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall once, sending a sharp rap through the air. He wasn’t sure what to expect from his host tonight. Lucius was a sly young man, an array of agendas hidden up those neatly-pressed sleeves. It would do to be careful around him, and yet Walden could also see the benefits of becoming allies. The Malfoys’ blood-status, wealth and history with the Dark Lord were all aspects Walden’s family lacked. 

   Blue eyes fluttered shut briefly. For a second, he saw his mother’s face leering down at him, every wrinkle and pore visible. But as he breathed out and opened his eyes once more, the memory vanished, and the heavy door before him moved silently.

   “Good evening, Lucius.” He held out the bottle. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

{ @heofbadfaith }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

insights. { nat & walden }

   Their last assignment had caused much discord within Walden. He knew that the Dark Lord had not been pleased by his absence, and it was only their long-standing history that had allowed such forgiveness. But Walden knew he was cutting it close. It would be unwise to keep straying from direct orders, even if such activities were making it gradually harder to suppress his longing for (RIPTEARBREAKTHEIRNECKS–) chaos and pandemonium.

   He knew he was not the only one who was having second thoughts. Natalie had always sat in a strange place within his heart (but you don’t have one, do you?). She was young and impressionable, and he knew full-well of her Mudblood and blood-traitor friends. Clearly, her mind was not completely committed to the cause. Either that, or she was a sterling actress who had fooled them all, Walden included.

   But he suspected that this was not the case. And this was why he sat on a riverside bench, staring at the lapping waves as he waited for her to arrive. It wasn’t unusual for members to meet alone, often trading information and tactics. Besides, it just so happened that Walden was somewhat comfortable with her; it felt nice, knowing he was not alone in his indecision. 

   It was her scent that alerted him to Natalie’s arrival. His head turned at a precise angle to survey her. “You timed it to the dot,” he commented, tapping once on the smooth face of his watch. “The Dark Lord would praise your punctuality.”

{ @nataliedupont }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

orionblvck:

There was something about the Macnair boy that Orion just couldn’t pinpoint. It drove him completely mad. Walden kept to himself, which Orion could understand well, but it was almost unnatural and it made Orion want to keep an extra eye on him. Call him suspicious, Orion didn’t care; it was his job to be suspicious, to be watchful, to observe his fellow Death Eaters. Orion never knew much about Macnair’s family other than what his own father had told him (rubbish and beneath them) which he readily agreed with. Other than the few times his mother would gossip about the Macnair’s, Orion never once met them until Walden became a Death Eater. It’s been years since then and even now Walden and Orion have had a handful of conversations that have lasted mere minutes. In passing, Orion even asked Lord Voldemort about him. The Dark Lord only waved his hand in dismissal with a few choice words. It hardly satisfied his curiosity. So, one morning Orion sent an owl to Walden, asking him to visit 12 Grimmauld Place for a “casual and friendly chat”. His response was swift and they had agreed on meeting later that evening.

With the fire roaring, Orion sat at his desk in his spacious study as he waited for Walden to arrive. The room had everything Orion needed: two walls full of used and dusty books, maps and papers for his eyes only, an empty liquor cabinet, a few trucks sealed magically shut, and a sitting area in front of the fire place. He already told Kreacher to let Walden in and escort him to his study once he is here. Normally Orion likes to wait for his guests in his living room that way he can watch them arrive and greet them himself, but Orion has been gone for most of the week and is desperately trying to catch up on work. A quick glance at the clock told him that Walden would be there soon and Orion was relieved; he needed a break from work.

@waldenmacnxir

   The tall and foreboding building of 12 Grimmauld Place loomed over him, laden with dark secrets and generations of wealth. Walden stood a few steps from the door, his gaze wandering idly from brick to stone to glass, all polished to perfection under the moonlight. If only Mother could see me now. She would be frothing at the mouth, he presumed, and a mix of disgust and fondness made him forget where he was for a moment:

   THE SACRED 28 ARE YOUR SALVATION.    DO NOT SQUANDER YOUR CHANCE.

   Walden shuddered. He wanted to please the formidable Black. Although they had never engaged in lengthy conversation, Walden felt drawn to him like a moon in orbit, lost if not for his presence. The man’s steadfast demeanour and undeniable strength were qualities Walden longed for.

    After a quiet knock, he was granted entry by a stout house-elf, who bowed deeply and muttered, “Good evening, Mister Macnair.” Walden followed him inside, staring up at the tapestries and ornaments housed in the grand hallway. They walked silently up a sweeping staircase, Kreacher stopping at a door to knock once: “Mister Macnair to see you, Master,” before hobbling away.

   Alone and hesitant, Walden twisted the brass doorknob and entered the private study, which smelt of firewood and aged paper. A handsome grandfather clock stood to one side, nestled between bookshelves. Orion himself was seated at his desk, looking up as Walden addressed him.

   “Thank you for your invitation, sir. It’s truly an honour, setting foot in the Noble House of Black. I hope I’m not intruding,” he added, spotting the quill in hand. “We could reschedule to a more convenient time, if you wish.”

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

sleet. { aurora & walden }

   Walden was always prepared. It was one of his many principles, to ensure that his day went by smoothly, even in the face of unexpected circumstances. So, when it began to sleet heavily in the middle of that lonely Saturday afternoon, Walden simply unfolded the long, black umbrella in his hand and stopped in his tracks to admire the downpour.

   Sadly, he was not alone. Children’s screams pierced his ears as they scrambled for cover, their parents hurrying after them like lost shepherds. Walden’s nose crinkled at the sight. He supposed it was naive to wish that the park could be solely his to enjoy. It was hard to find solitude in the hectic, metropolitan city of London.

   (KILLTHEMKILLTHEMALLSTUPIDMUDBLOODSKILL-)

   The storm grew heavier, white little pellets bouncing around his feet. Walden’s umbrella rattled noisily in his hand, but a small smile appeared on his face. The chaos of the heavens was always a sight to behold, drowning out his distractions and annoyance. He felt oddly peaceful, the urges dying down.

   It was then that a young woman swept past him, arms over her head and long legs moving fast. Through the flurry of white, he saw a glint of something fall out from her pocket before it landed on the ground with a quiet jingle. The woman did not notice.

   “Miss.” He swiftly bent down and picked up the object. A few curt steps and he was beside her, holding the umbrella over them both. “You dropped your keys.”

{ @star-gazcr }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

obscurus. { bella & walden }

   The January wind was brisk against his face. Walden stood next to a flickering lamppost (on-off-on-off), gazing at the cobblestoned street of Diagon Alley. Dusk was approaching, and most shoppers had returned home, retreating from the cold. But Walden didn’t mind; he felt free in the chill of the dying day. Even his limbs felt lighter as they carried him to Obscurus Books, opening the door with a small ding. The long, empty caverns between the bookshelves formed a comforting maze, one he didn’t mind getting lost in from time to time. 

   Choosing an aisle at random, Walden began.

   A hand stretched out and stroked the spines as he walked deeper into the bookstore. It was routine to come here after work, spending an hour or so before heading home for dinner. Last time, he had devoured a full chapter on the properties of Root of Aconite. Today, the whispering pages drew him to a volume on Arithmancy.

   He pulled it out and studied the cover. Although practical and logical in nature, he’d always thought the practice of fortune-telling was flawed, at least when performed by wizards, who were often biased and fickle. Only the centaurs could do it properly, he thought. Perhaps there was a (more interesting) book on the latter? 

   Before he could investigate further, an unexpected ding caught his attention. Slowly, he reached the end of his aisle and found himself gazing at the beautiful face of Isabella Greengrass. “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “You startled me.” 

{ @isabellagreengrass }

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

[waldenmacnxir-blog]

[waldenmacnxir-blog]