Rise of a New Dark Lord (HP RP O/A)

[Kaida the Dancing Dragon]

Open!

[Kaida the Dancing Dragon]

”Wake up you little b***h. You're going to be late for the station!” someone yelled through her bedroom door that morning.

Those words were not responded to, however, for the dark haired girl sat on her bed, headphones covering her ears, a notebook open as she was writing. Listening to this muggle music reminded her of Oliver. How she missed him and knew that he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts with her. It couldn't be proven, but she herself was almost certain that her family had something to do with it. They had always been angry with her befriending and then having a relationship with what they referred to as a “mudblood”.

The girl had, since she started school, rebelled against them and everything they stood for. Even when they had set up an arranged marriage to keep her from what she wanted, she had rebelled. She hated Scorpius Malfoy and everything he stood for. Everything he stood for was everything her own family stood for Hippolyta Imogen Rowle had experienced for herself the wrongs of these pureblood supremacists.

”Alohomora!” the door unlocked itself and her father stormed in, “What the bloody hell is that?” he asked once Hippolyta took the headphones off her head to look at the man. Her eyes were distant. In a way, his scolding and yells still fell on deaf ears. ”Now you're listening to muggle music?! If the little b*****d wasn't gone, I'd kill him myself for what he's turned you into.”

It was all Hippolyta could do to hold her tongue. What Oliver had turned her into was someone who actually thought for themselves and someone who believed what her parents refused to, that just because someone's parents were non-magical, didn't make them bad. Muggles weren't as bad as they would have her believe. Still, she was so tired of tears, yelling, and the like. She just wanted to get to Hogwarts, away from them.

Next thing she knew, her CD player was being ripped from her grasp and her father threw it. That really did it.

”How dare you take from me the only thing I have left!” she said, hand going to her wand quicker than her father would know.

”How dare you defy your mother and I! I am fed up with your insolence!” her father said.

”And I am sick of your pretentious, supremacist, disgusting views on those who you claim threaten a way of life that hasn't existed in thirty years!” Hippolyta yelled. She felt the warm tears coat her cheeks. She pointed her wand at the man, ”Stupify!”

”Ennorvate.” her father countered, ”Levicorpus.” Hippolyta found herself lifted into the air, upside down, ”Hippolyta Imogen Rowle, stop this insane nonsense and get ready for school.” the man said sternly before dropping her, he left her to her own devices.

Hippolyta got up and the first thing she did was go to where the broken CD player laid. She tried to compose herself as she put it away in her already packed trunk She found herself something to wear and then went downstairs. Things were quiet now. Her mother wouldn't even look at her as she got breakfast. Their House Elves made a great meal, perhaps even better than those at Hogwarts.

Luckily her older brother was driving her to King's Cross Station. He was much kinder to her, though he believed much like their parents did. He wasn't constantly on her back about everything that had happened. Still, the car ride to the station was quiet, Hippolyta only watching out the window as her brother drove. He didn't even accompany her in. They barely said a few words to each other.

Hippolyta left her things to be packed into the luggage car and boarded the train. There was still quite a bit of time before it would be leaving. She was fairly early, which also meant that there weren't many people on the train yet. Plenty of empty compartments to chose from, and she found one and sat down, thinking about what this year would hold. She truly felt like a piece of her heart was missing. She didn't know who all knew about what happened. Would she want to talk about it? Not at all. Hippolyta definitely wouldn't be her normal self this year.


Where? train compartment || Who? no one || OOC: Kinda crappy really.

[Kaida the Dancing Dragon]

”Ronan! Are ye awake sweetie?! We 'av ter leave for the station soon!” his mother called through the door.

Ronan Pierce Finnegan looked towards the door and called back at the woman, ”Aye ma! I'll be down in a minute!” he said.

Ronan was hiding some fireworks from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in his trunk. They really did know how to appeal to his obsession with fire and explosives. He truly was his father's son. Seamus had passed his knack for pyrotechnics down to his youngest son. How the older three had managed not to be as interested in it as Ronan, no one would know. They were more like their mother anyway.

Ronan closed his trunk and smiled at his owl, Slate. The grey owl gave a hoot at it's owner, ”Time to go back to school.” Ronan smiled, grabbing the cage for the owl and his trunk and taking them downstairs. He loved going back to Hogwarts every year. He always missed his parents terribly, but all of his friends were there.

She was there.

Ready ter see Gabby, ye fella?” his father asked him, clapping him on the shoulder and laughing a bit. Was it really that obvious that Ronan liked her? At least his parents approved. The McLaggans were close to the Finnegans so it was almost as if it was destiny.

”Aye da! Is it that obvious?” he asked, laughing along with his father. They were so much alike, yet somehow Ronan had found himself being sorted into Hufflepuff. His father said he had his mother's heart for other people, and his mother even agreed. Ronan was happy to know this. He truly would do just about anything for anyone.

”Git yerself sum breakfast, den we'll leave.” Ronan's mother said to hima nd he nodded, heading into the kitchen. He loved his mother's cooking, and there it was, waiting on him. Ronana glanced at the clock. He didn't have much time to savor it all, but he was still as thankful for it as ever, quickly eating it and then looking to his parents. He followed them out to the car, packing his things in the trunk and getting into the back with his Owl cage. Slate didn't really like car rides or the ride on the train. You would think after five other years, the Owl would have been used to it by now.

”Calm down ye bloody bird.” Ronan said to the creature, shaking his head. He really didn't understand why vehicles nerved the bird so much. It wasn't as if it was a scary experience for anyone. What it was like to be a bird, he would never know. At least he still got to fly.

They arrived at King's Cross Station and all three of them went through the barrier to the platform. Ronan put his things at the luggage car and stopped at the entryway to the car, looking at his parents as his mother fiddled with his hair and his dad pulled her away so she would stop embarrassing her son a bit.

”Promise you'll write.” his mother said to him, kissing him on the cheek.

Ronan's eyes darted around, trying to make sure no one had seen that. She did the same stuff every year. Ronan sighed, ”Ya know I won't ma. At least not very much.” Ronan said. It always started out writing to his parents often, but then the year would get underway and things would distract him from writing to his parents. ”I'll see ya both for Christmas though.” he promised, giving her a hug.

”Let's leave 'fore we embarrass him more.” Seamus said to his wife, pulling her away. Ronan smiled and waved at the two of them, saying I love yous and the like.

Finally, he sighed and stepped on the train. He loved his mother, but the woman was so doting and embarrassing, she was bat crazy sometimes. In a little while, he would have to go up front to the prefect compartment for the prefect meeting. He knew that Glory Selwyn was Head Girl, but he hadn't heard who had gotten the Head Boy position. It would be interesting to see who all became and stayed prefects this year.

For the time being, though, he stayed in a compartment by himself, hoping to see Gabriella before he had to go to the prefect meeting. He sat the owl cage next to himself. At least he would have some company until other people showed up.


Where? train compartment || Who? No one || OOC: Two down, four to go.

[LittleStevieHorseAndPhone]

Angus Nott was a dirty old schmooze who'd spent his earlier days running around with the Death Eaters, holding werewolves and veela and such at wandpoint and demanding they join the Dark Lord like they ought to, or perish. After the Second War, he lay low for a while, giving up the trappings of the aristocracy in favor of keeping his head on his shoulders. He worked freelance, eradicating troublesome magical creatures on a case-by-case basis for desperate wizards' pocket change, and Mabelle met him when she was five as an old friend of her mum's, the man who'd taught dear Mum how to do everything from shoot a werewolf (guns were quicker than wands ninety percent of the time) to exorcise a poltergeist.

A year later, both Belle's parents were dead, drained dry by a coven of vampires on the job.

She'd never really understood her parents' grudge against 'creatures of near-human intelligence,' as they called them--Belle preferred 'magical creatures' if only because some of those ******** were pretty damn slick. Chimpanzees and dolphins were creatures of near-human intelligence. Vampires were backstabbing sons of bitches, sure, most of 'em were, but they'd still beat you in a game of chess and rip out your jugular in the same breath. Still, she didn't see why her family had to pick up the slack on the border between humanity and, well, the other side.=, but she went along with it. It was, after all, the family business. It could be a revenge thing for her, but really, she'd known her parents for so little time that the whole idea of avenging them felt empty. She just...had a job and she did it. She rode shotgun in the beat-up station wagon Angus had tricked out with multiple spells, and she killed whatever needed to be killed in whatever town they stopped at. It could almost get monotonous at times.

And then there was the revived Death Eater movement, with all its ambitions, that needed skilled killers on its side--and damned if Belle hadn't jumped right on the bandwagon if only for an opportunity to use her talents. She didn't know how to do awfully much, but following orders was one of her greatest specialties, and she soon fell right into place.

"What're you now, girl, a fifth year?" Angus asked as he parked in front of King's Cross to drop her off for the start of term.

"Sixth," she corrected him.

"Sixteen! Soon you're gonna be all graduated. What're you going to do after you're done with school? Leave your old man behind?"

"We've had a good run, Nott. Really. But I've got plans," she said. "Doesn't mean I won't swing by and split a hotel room if you ever bother to actually owl me, you dumb cad."

"Whatever. Now get outta here, Miranda."

"You ever gonna tell me who's this Miranda?"

It was the same name he'd called her that night the summer after her third year, when they both got a little too drunk and he painted the walls of their motel room with her virtue.

Ha! As if she'd ever had a virtuous bone in her body. She was pretty sure she'd been born this ornery. How she'd gotten chucked in Hufflepuff was beyond her.

"I said Mabelle. That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Skank." He pulled her in by the front of her shirt and snogged her rough before turning her out of the car.

The years had turned that man into a real pile of dirt, to be sure, but it wasn't as if Belle could make much of a case for herself. She drank right out of the Brita filter like a slob and brought home men with tons of metal in their faces to mess around with while her mentor was asleep in the motel's other twin bed. She was the kind of hot mess who stumbled into King's Cross Station hungover, dragging herself and her few possessions through the barrier with bleary eyes and a leaden step. Last night's makeup was smeared across her face, and when she smiled at a passing boy with a trunk and an owl cage, he turned away and shuddered.

Well, damn.

Ask her, the number of cute boys she crossed paths with when she was unshowered and looking like crap-and-a-half was unacceptable.

She trudged onto the train, wandering until she found an empty compartment to let herself into. There, she happily sprawled out, feet on the opposite seat, and jimmied a half-full flask of Firewhiskey out of her purse to take a swig.

It was one of those days, y'know?

Okay, most days were 'one of those days.'

But she wasn't dead yet, so the way she figured it--hell, why not?


location: the Hogwarts Express company: none yet



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IN SUCH A FLURRY.

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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This summer had to end—not in the way that all things did, regardless of enjoyment. No. It had to end because if it didn’t, and soon, someone was getting a freezing spell to their pants.

Lucy had waited at the side of the hallway for Molly to bid her goodbyes to their mother. Her eyes had fixed on a brick directly between her parents, her posture straightened to look perfectly attentive while her mind was anything but. It was tradition that Molly went first, which was generally fine. It wasn’t as if they were running late for the train. Besides, it gave Lucy some time to adjust the back of her dress, pull the strap of her high-heel up to a more comfortable position, and contemplate the irony that she’d been born into this.

It wasn’t as if Lucy hated her life at home. She’d claim she loved her parents. She thought it was love. It was the closest to that feeling she’d ever gotten. Her father had always tried his hardest to make something of himself, which she appreciated. They were both what one would consider to be ‘good’ parents, going out of their way to help their children, always being attentive, setting the rules clearly and following through on their threats. It was an orderly household with little ambiguity. While she didn’t always go along with it, she understood them. That was more than could be said for most of her family, which may have been more a joke of the universe than anything.

”Are you OK, dear?” Lucy’s mother, Audrey, looked concerned. Lucy could tell it was concern instead of ill because her color was fine, and she had a tell-tale crease directly between her eyebrows.

Lucy blinked her way back to attention. She pat both her hands along the front of her dress and put on her most disarming yet hesitant smile. ”No. I’m excited. Better than OK.”

Audrey started to lean in, invading Lucy’s personal space. She wrapped both of her arms around her in a tight squeeze of a hug, which Lucy returned as best she could, given the restriction. ”Are you sure? It looked like you were seeing again?” she asked in a lower whisper. Evidently, Molly had finished and moved on to find her friends.

Lucy lifted her chin and thus her posture, allowing her to speak upwards without speaking up in return. ”The wall. I was seeing the wall. It has bricks. Not really remotely special.”

Accepting the explanation without a second thought, Audrey loosened her grip. She put one hand on each of her daughter’s arms and tried to will herself into pulling away for now. ”I trust you’ll study, so, make sure you have some fun too, OK? And write. Write us whenever you can.”

”Only if you write us first.” Lucy forced her smile to grow. To anyone else, it looked genuine, the expression having been masked all the more by Lucy reaching up to kiss her mother’s cheek. ”Love you, mum. Take care of yourself. Make sure daddy doesn’t work his way into petrification. I mean, I come home and find a skeleton, obviously I blame him, not you, but still.”

”No skeletons in our house, I promise.”

”Not even the closets?”

”Of course not. You think we have the space for that?”

Lucy pulled a step away. She straightened her hands at her side, mentally prepared herself to leave and took what she’d meant to be one last look at her mum until Christmas. About two seconds into that stare, she’d sprung right back forward, wrapped her arms around Audrey and took in the familiar home-y smell of laundry and apples one more time. ”Can you pass this one to dad? Tell him I said to put down the floo file. Maybe he’ll listen.”

”If not, then it’s worth the try.” With that, Lucy loosened her grip. Her mother gave her one last kiss on the forehead, which would’ve been humiliating around her fellow students had Lucy given the slightest crap of what they’d think. It looked like she’d miss her family. Nothing was wrong with that. It’d be more wrong if she was running off cursing their names, flipping the birds and calling them out on blind idiocy. Which, if she herself was an idiot, she would’ve, since she genuinely thought they were.

There was something to be said for discretion, and it would be said quietly.

Having milked this interaction for everything it could be worth, Lucy grabbed her carry-on stack of books and headed for the train. She turned her head over her shoulder to wave her mother one last goodbye, ducked into the first corridor and mentally let out a sigh of relief at that being over. Well, that was one run-in with family handled. Now she’d just have to dodge the quarter of the current student body she was somehow related to.

Not having been in the mood to look for a compartment, Lucy settled for opening the door to the first one in her path. The sight inside of it was one to behold. A sixth year Hufflepuff was strewn across a seat with less grace than the victim of a hit-and-run. It was the polar opposite of the well-polished, freshly manicured possible future pin-up girl look that Lucy had so carefully constructed this morning, and she couldn’t be more relieved to see it.

”Did the train smack you on the way into the station, or is that a natural radiance thing?” she joked.

Lucy took two small steps inside of the compartment and shut the door behind her. She tucked her skirt beneath her as she took a seat, crossed one leg over the other and extended her hand towards the bottle without gesturing for it directly.



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xxx

[ where ? || a compartment ] [ who ? || belle ] [ feeling ? || relieved to be back ] [ outfit ]

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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In the seven years that Darcy had made this trip to Hogwarts, this was the first time he’d had the experience of getting a speech before boarding.

From his red hair, a sight-based guess might suppose Greg Virtanen been related to the Weasleys at one point. Nowadays, he was a squib and a private investigator in Kilkenny. Darcy couldn’t have asked for a better fit of people to have Cillian live with. The two of them got on like peas in a pod. Darcy, on the other hand, was more like a corn kernel wedged in between them with hardly any clue what they meant. Darcy had insisted on leaving early, which had left Cillian to retreat into the nearest station bathroom, and Darcy with Greg, alone.

”Now, I don’t know what goes on at that there school,” the tone of Greg’s voice was exasperated enough to nearly roll his eyes for him. ”Not even sure if it’s a there place, might be more of a here. But whatever’s going on, you better process and know, there’s no shame in coming back ‘ere when you’re through. You’ve got a sound head. I trust ya. And I don’t know what I don’t know. But I do know, there’s always a desk a’ the office waiting for ya. Someone else might be in it if ya don’t call, but I’ll kick ‘em out. That’s what legs an’ unemployment are for, right? Right. He cleared his throat into the back of his hand and averted his gaze, clearly putting forth the effort not to look any emotion but the mild irritation that he always wore. ”Besides, your brother ain’t as good with the filing.”

Darcy adjusted his grasp on his trunk, switching the handle from one hand to the other in an effort to mask his discomfort. ”I’ll be back for Christmas, you know...”

Greg waved his hand in front of his face, flicking off the attempt as one would an invisible bee. ”Yeah, yeah. But, you know Christmas. Some chancer thinks nothing says holiday cheer like background checking an adulterous future ex fiancee. Spend the whole new years in a stakeout outside some feckin tesco or something. You can come with, if you wanted. Be boring as hell,” he shrugged.

”I’d have thought hell more excruciating than boring.”

”Keep assuming that. That innocence’ll serve you well. Bring the fancy fruit water and everything.” The statement brought Darcy to a pause, if only because he couldn’t comprehend what that meant. Taking that pause as an agreement, Greg nudged his foot at the back of Darcy’s cart, prodding him towards the platform wall. ”Now go get your meeting set up before I change my mind and keep you here. That basement makes a great holding cell, you know.”

Somewhere, in a deeply warped way, the statement seemed almost affectionate. Perhaps he’d been reaching for comfort, but, regardless of the intention, Darcy decided to smile slightly back. ”Take care.”

”Take caution’s more like it. Those mogs don’t deserve care. You mind that, too.”

Darcy gave a shallow nod in agreement. He held the position longer than intended. A subtle sense of genuine gratitude drifted into his words. ”Thank you.”

As soon as Darcy tried to speak, Greg snapped his head towards the bathroom. He walked towards it while he shouted at the door. ”Oi. Kill! Stop mussing your hair. It’s attached to your head, it’ll come with you!”

For a moment, Darcy hesitated. He stood his ground not out of willpower, but of uncertainty, his eyes sinking into his head with another crushing realization. This was the last year where he’d be able to turn to school as his source of stability, and even that was unstable at best.

There must have been a thousand times he’d dreamed of walking through platform 9 and 3/4ths, Head Boy pin firmly in place, yet, now that he had it, he hadn’t even bothered putting it on. He made eye contact with a few students while boarding the train. Those he recognized, he waved at from politeness, yet with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

There were plenty of empty compartments at this point, which was tempting to take, if only for the sake of getting a moment’s peace. If he’d been lucky, that would’ve been what he found first. Instead, the first door Darcy opened lead him to one of the people he knew least how to deal with right now.

”My condolences,” The second that Darcy spotted Hippolyta, his hand tensed on the door frame, and the rest of his posture followed suit. ”I’m not planning on staying. Don’t worry. I just, wanted to deliver it in person. I don’t have an owl to have sent it over the summer myself…”

In the past, any time Darcy spent around Hippolyta had been because of her late boyfriend and his late friend, so the presence of her made Oliver's absence all that more obvious. Still, Hippolyta was friend enough to spark concern. He fought his way past the colony of frogs in his throat to ask what he wasn’t sure he should, but felt like he had to. ”Did you make it to the service?”



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[ where ? || compartment ] [ who ? || hippolyta ] [ feeling ? || in mourning ] [ outfit ]

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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Contrary to his foster father’s expectations, Cillian hadn’t been in the bathroom attending to the coif in his hair. Rather, he’d been bent over the porcelain emperor, unsure if he’d be paying his respects to it or not.

There was something about the prospect of going back to school which had sent a wave of sudden stress coursing through his every cell. Perhaps it was the fact that he was bracing for a war. One look at Cillian and a complete stranger would’ve unequivocally known that of all the talents he possessed, being a soldier was not something he’d been born for. Yet, here he was, picking up the mantle of being Hogwart’s personal non-psychic Cassandra. In the public eye, he had to be assured and confident, no hints of self-doubt, ready to profess and prep for the plural of apocalypse. No amount of Lord of the Rings or Merlin binging could prepare him for that.

In a way, it was a shame that he hadn’t been able to vomit. If he threw up, he would’ve had a good excuse for his shaking hands, sunken eyes and initial inability to speak a three-word sentence without pausing. Instead, when he’d staggered out of that bathroom stall, wide-eyed and slouching, he was greeted with a raised eyebrow and bemused impatience. ”What the hell were you doing in there?”

It took at least five seconds and one labored exhale more than normal for Cillian to force the words out. ”Solving world hunger.”

Either not wanting to deal with the problem Cillian was obviously hiding, or not having noticed to start with, Greg smirked back. ”Great. You can start by sending me some Bertie Bott’s. Your brother there’s got a shark’s taste buds.”

”Tell me you never gave ‘im a taste of human flesh, then. I’m not living on Hannibal.”

”If the meat industry’s not doing it, then I haven’t, either.”

He set his hand on top of Cillian’s head, in spite of the fact that Greg had to reach over his own height to make it, deliberately messing up Cillian’s hair. Cillian flinched at the contact. Greg ignored that, too. He reached into his own suitcase, pulled out a stack of books wrapped in twine and tossed it straight at Cillian’s chest. ”Here. Those books you asked for. Beginner’s guide to autopsy, flambéing friends for fun and profit, the serial killer’s handbook. Every conceivable reason I should’ve taken you to a psychiatrist. It’s all here.” If the abrupt verbal delivery hadn’t been meant to sarcastically hurt him, then the shove made up for it.

Cillian shook his head, trying to knock his hair back into place. He nudged his head against his upper arm, pushing the bridge of his glasses up his nose so he could see the package. The top book in the pile stared back at him, the cover glistening with the girliest image this side of a Lisa Frank folder.

”This says ‘Dawn of the Unicorn,” he muttered, deadpan.

”Yeah. It spits sparkles when you hit page 50. Thought it seemed like you,” Greg said with a shrug, smirking the whole way through his sentence.

Cillian turned the book around, flashing the cover at Greg in the slight, vain hope the glitter might blind him. ”Is this the magic equivalent of Asylum movies? Glitter-coated planet of the apes knockoffs?”

”For five year old girls? Maybe? It’s your book. Read the damn thing yourself,” Greg shrugged, on the verge of grumbling.

”If you hid a dagger in this, you’re a god. A minor god no one cares about. Like Hermes. But still,” he quipped back.

Cillian wasn’t sure whether to be impressed Greg had found something this stupid and bought it, or frustrated that this might just be the best gift he’d ever gotten. Whichever odd emotion he felt, it was better than quivering and near-vomiting. He tucked the stack of books under his arm. A few flecks of glitter smeared on his coat, which he chose not to care.

”I need anything else, I’ll tell you,” he turned away, coming as close to affection as he’d dare to.

Greg shot Cillian a low glance back, returning the sentiment and the unwillingness to state it outright. ”You need anything else, you’d better rob a damn bank first. I can’t keep paying for your mistakes.”

Cillian crinkled his nose, feigning offense. ”The Dresden Files aren’t mistakes. They’re study guides! You never know when the corpsetaker’s coming!” he pleaded sarcastically.

Greg shook his head. ”Get the hell in there before I catch your crazy. And find a damn shrink.”

”As if you could afford it.”

Officially feeling as close to normal as he could rightfully aspire to get, Cillian gathered his belongings and strode towards the train. He marked his pace in his head, taking the utmost care not to get distracted and trip on air. He raked his fingers through his hair, pushing his fringe up to stand almost as on edge as the rest of him felt. A sigh slipped through his teeth at the sight of the empty corridor. ”Well, time to find some friends of common decency.”

It was early enough that the train still hadn’t filled up much, allowing Cillian to stake out a compartment for his own use. For the sake of convenience, he headed towards the front of the train. He pressed a hand-written sign on the front of an empty compartment’s door—one with animated instruments and music notes drifting about, which read in nigh-illegible print reading Hogwarts Choir – Inchoir Within—before heading inside. Last year, ‘recruiting for choir’ had been the code term for Cillian’s attempts at rallying students to fight the forces of evil. It was meant as an invitation for any allies or potential recruits to come meet with him. Also, this particular sign let him figure out who’d have a tolerance for puns.

Cillian slid head-first along the left compartment’s seat, stretching out to take up the whole bench at once. He closed his eyes, taking in one moment of peace. Hardly two seconds later, he shattered that peace himself. ”Roxxie! If you’re not here, don’t answer!”



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[ where ? || compartment ] [ who ? || alone for now ] [ feeling ? || anxious ] [ outfit ]

[Kaida the Dancing Dragon]

”Roxanne, dear. Time to wake up.” George Weasley said softly at the door of his only daughter's bedroom. His quietness was purposeful as he entered the bedroom of the still sleeping Roxie, ”If you do not wake up, I'll have no choice.” he said again. When Roxanne, of course, didn't move, the redheaded man waved his wand and up the body of his daughter went, then he dropped her back on her bed.

”Da! What the bloody hell?!” Roxie shot upright then, glaring at her father who was currently leaning against her door frame, laughing his arse off, ”Try knocking next time.” she added.

”I did. Not my fault you didn't hear it.” he said after taking a breath from all the laughing.

Roxie rolled her eyes before smiling herself, ”I'll get you back when you least expect it, old man.” she said and chuckled at his reaction to her calling him that.

”I taught you everything you know, Roxie dear, but not everything I know.” Geroge said, ”Now hurry and get ready. I bet your mother and brother are already waiting on you.” he shut the door behind him.

Roxanne smiled. She loved her dad, and admired that he still had the same sense of fun and humor she had always heard about he and her late Uncle Fred having when they were in Hogwarts. The same sense of humor that sparked their company that was now quite famous among young wizards.

Once her trunk was completely packed and ready to go, she grabbed it and her owl, Ivory and headed downstairs.

”Well, it's about time. At this rate you'll be late for the train.” her mother said. Once Roxie reached the bottom of the stair, her mother embraced her, ”Your father will be taking you to the station. Study hard for your O.W.Ls. Quidditch isn't everything.” she said.

”I know, mum.” Roxanne said to the woman, hugging her back. Still, she knew that her mother had been in Quidditch at Hogwarts as well. However, Roxie had to admit she was really fiercely competitive at it, and would be even more so this year because she was taking over as Captain. She could only hope that everyone else would be in tip-top shape.

When Fred was ready to go, their mother hugged them both before they left with their dad. Once at the station, they crossed through the barrier and Roxie hugged her dad quickly, speaking just as quickly, ”Bye da. Love you. See you Christmas!” she was gone onto the train before her dad could answer her.

She hadn't mentioned to her parents the peculiar things that had happened the year before or the fact that she had a feeling that this year was going to turn dark, very dark. She was ready to be a warrior, fighting for the rights of those who many claimed shouldn't have had any rights in the Wizarding World. That was Roxie, always fighting for what was right and being the protector of those who would no doubt need protecting. She was a feminist and very interested in muggle-wizard relations in general. No doubt, she would end up an activist once she finished school.

The compartments were not that full, much to her surprise. However, she wasn't looking for just any compartment. Why Cillian had found it necessary for his secret means of recruitment to have to do with the Choir, she would never know. It made no sense to her, but then again, the Ravenclaw boy often didn't make sense to her. She knew why she was wanting to fight against whatever evil was coming their way, but she had no clue what his motives were...and why he had taken it upon himself to organize such a group. He seemed very much on the outside, looking in. He didn't really make himself center of attention, except for like this.

She found the compartment with the corny pun flier on it and shook her head, opening the compartment door just as Cillian was talking though he was alone. She heard her name mentioned, ”What about me?” she asked, having not really caught what he had said. She stood in the doorway of the compartment, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at the Ravenclaw boy.

”I trust you heard about Oliver Russell? Everyone thinks Hippolyta's parents did it.” she said, getting right to the point of the bit of news that had happened over the summer.

Roxie invited herself in at that point, closing the door to the compartment behind her. They didn't need just anyone overhearing them if they talked about what they all knew was coming. She sat on the seat across from Cillian, ”Shouldn't you be in the prefect compartment waiting for the prefect meeting with your brother and Ms. Greater than Thou?” Roxie asked, being sarcastic while she referred to Gloriana Selwyn. The half-veela, while her looks were to die for, was one of the most annoying women Roxie knew.

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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In the seconds of silence that had followed, Cillian had wasted no time in pulling one of his many books from the stack he’d been given. By the time Roxxie had made it to Cillian’s compartment, he’d managed to let his head tilt over the side of the seat, his hair hanging far enough on end to come within inches of the floor, with a well-loved copy of Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency held close enough to his face that, had the ink been any lesser quality, it could’ve smudged his cheek. He lifted his eyes, but not the book, towards the figure in front of him, seeming to only barely acknowledge her existence with a casual. ”oh. You’re here, then.”

Cillian lifted his right hand from his book. He gestured across the length of the car, beckoning Roxxie inside. It wasn’t until she had taken a seat that he bothered to close the novel, folding down the page he was on. There were more important things to deal with right now than fictional investigations. Those important things may or may not have been related to what Roxxie was saying, but, either way, it was good to clear the air with a frank answer.

”Heard, saw, went to the memorial service. He and Darcy were close. Flowers don’t get burnt by floo flames. One of the few things I learned this summer that didn’t involve things best left not spoken before lunchtime,” Cillian explained. He felt plenty of sympathy towards the people who’d known Oliver well. He hadn’t been acquainted with him, but from what he’d seen, the bloke hadn’t deserved what he got, hence it being a tragedy worth the oxygen to mention. ”Did you know him?” He didn’t think she did, but it felt polite to ask, so he tried to sound natural and concerned. The words were stiff, more so than he realized. Still, the effort was there.

That effort at obvious emotion stopped once Roxxie asked about his meeting. Cillian let his legs slide over the ledge of the seat. He shifted upright, back into the position one was supposed to use a chair in. He pulled at his hair while he replied, still sounding as disjointed as he’d felt not that long ago. He could only hope he’d gained some color since.

”Prefect’s meeting starts fifteen after we leave the station. When I’m supposed to be waiting, I’ll know.” When the door shut, Cillian forced his hand out of his hair. He set his eyes on the door and listened for about three seconds. By the fourth, his words raced against each other to make it out of his mouth coherently.

”I’ve been researching charms. Spell theory, too. Once we get back on campus, I’ve a few theories I want to test before presenting them at the meeting. We need ears ‘round the castle, more of them than’re physically attached to us. There’s more at work than Hippolyta’s parents, however awful they might be. We need evidence against the other side. Once we have proof. Who they are. Where they are. That way, we can try to dismantle them before this escalates past Hogwarts, if possible.” He shifted in his seat, leaning a little closer to keep the volume down. ”Minimize the damage, contain the threat, insulate ourselves against potential aggression. Until and unless they take further action, the moment we get to school, that’s what has to start.”

Having finally hit the end of what he felt had to be said, Cillian shifted his book on his lap. His eyes fell on the window. It was a bad habit of his, not looking people in the eye, especially when his mind was looking somewhere other than the reality of the moment. He knew there were aspects to today which should’ve been lighter, maybe even happy. Most new prefects were happy, yet most of what he could think of were things like this.

”I’m considering a meeting tomorrow. How long on average does it take for people to finish summarizing summer at each other?” he asked Roxxie, genuinely unsure if people could refocus. The quicker he could make a move, the better, since it gave the opposition less time to prepare, but it wasn’t as if he had the authority to push anyone into helping him, and Roxxie had a better sense for morale than he did. If it weren’t for Roxxie, Cillian knew he’d be leading a club of himself, the school owls and maybe a cat it someone left it over break. If he wasn’t thinking like a normal person, she could tell him.

Granted, he never thought like a normal person, but when it was detrimental to them, it was nice to have someone with a brain for talking.



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xxx

[ where ? || compartment ] [ who ? || roxxie ] [ feeling ? || anxious ] [ outfit ]

[Kaida the Dancing Dragon]

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”Thank you so much daddy!” the blonde half-veela squealed excitedly and hugged her father tightly, ”I love it so much!” she added, looking at the green dress hanging up in front of her.

”Call it a going away present.” the man said to her, hugging her as well.

She may not have been pureblood, but the half of her that was not wizard blood was veela, and that was almost the same thing. If Caius had been the one to decide, it would mean it was even better. He had fallen hard for her mother's beauty and thus Gloriana was born. Of course her mother ended up wanting no part of it and so he was left with a half-veela daughter. He did marry, though his wife Sila didn't get along with Glory. She claimed that his daughter was a half-blood and thus less than herself and him and later, their children. Her parents were the same way. Glory just never got along with them.

That was why Caius had chosen to send her to live with her grandparents when she was reaching those critical teenage years. He visited her often when she wasn't off to school in Hogwarts, but considering she didn't get along with Sila, it was easier on everyone. Glory, to this day, believed that her father's wife was simply jealous of her looks. Her grandparents taught her about blood supremacists. Their family was very much that way. The fact that Glory was half-veela made up for her being a half-blood but it was still her job to keep the blood of their family as pure as possible. She was taught to look down on muggleborns and blood traitors, and she was spoiled rotten the entire time.

In school, she had taken to Quidditch easily, enjoying the game and her position as Chaser when she had started her third year. In her fifth year, she had became a prefect, and had made an Outstanding on all of her O.W.Ls except for that of Herbology. She had never been quite fond of that class. She had only made an Acceptable, which was passing, but not at the level she had wanted to be so. Though she had the upbringing of what most considered a Slytherin, she was a Ravenclaw through and through, being smart and confident made for an electrifying combination. She carried herself in a way far above most of her classmates, taking pride in everything she was and everything she did. This, her seventh year, she was Head Girl which put her in charge of so many and she was excited about it.

She loved her father as well as her grandparents dearly. Having been up for hours at this point, she kissed her dad's cheek before she took the dress to make sure it was packed neatly in her trunk by their house elf. It would be her last year at Hogwarts. She wanted to make sure that it was going to be a great one for her, and she was sure it would be. She would have a hand in completely the work of a great wizard, one that simply wanted what was best for those who were truly wizards and witches. She hadn't mentioned the goings on to her father or her grandparents. She was sure they would hear about things soon enough, and they would be proud of her for taking part. Glory knew that without a doubt.

Once her trunk was finished being packed, she headed downstairs again, ready for the ride on the train. She hugged her grandfather and grandmother goodbye, her dad being there that morning to take her to the train station. Her trunk was packed in the back of her father's car and she sat in the front seat. They talked all the way to the station, her dad letting her know about everything going on at his home with his wife and children, her half-siblings, whom she had only met a couple of times. It was interesting to hear and she told him about things that had happened at her grandparents and everything, everything except what was bound to happen this year at school.

At King's Cross, she went in with her father and on the platform, she hugged him again, ”I promise I'll write and I already can't wait until Christmas to see you, grandmother, and grandfather.” she said, kissing his cheek and smiling up at him, and waving goodbye to him as she boarded the train.

On the change, her demeanor changed. She carried herself differently here, like she knew so well that she was better than so many of them. She pulled her Head Girl badge out of her pocket, shining it up. Glory walked down the corridor and saw Darcy in the door to a compartment. She knew that McGonagall had given him the Head Boy position and he hadn't even been a prefect before! It angered her slightly. She wasn't sure how the two of them would be able to get along. He was talking to Hippolyta Rowle, no doubt about what had happened to that one muggleborn boy over the summer. Of course she had heard about it. Glory's family associated in the same circles as the Rowles and Malfoys.

”That boy was a muggleborn, do you think her family would have ever allowed her to go to a service for him? I wouldn't have been caught dead there myself...and she's betrothed to Scorpius Malfoy! For two years if I remember. It's about time she stopped making a whore of herself.” Glory smirked as she looked into Hippolyta's compartment who was glaring straight through her.

Glory simply did not understand how Hippolyta could be continually attempting to throw away the glory of being a pureblood. The glory that was bestowed upon her by her family. They had even made sure she would be taken care of, arranging a marriage with the Malfoy boy. How could any one with a last name that was on the list of the sacred twenty-eight want to ruin that?

The blonde half-veela ruffled Darcy's hair. She loved the eyes guys gave her when she was around. The veela blood in her made it so easy to work people over, ”I'll see you for the meeting later.” she said before walking around him and further down the aisle. Finally, she walked into a compartment with Mabelle and Lucy, ”Ah! Just the ladies I wanted to see!” she said, letting herself in.

Location: compartment || Company: Dary and Hippolyta > Mabelle and Lucy || OOC: Albus then Hippolyta again
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[LittleStevieHorseAndPhone]

Even though James usually had the same voracious appetite as any seventeen-year-old boy, and his mother was an amazing cook to boot, and this morning she had made cheesy scrambled eggs, and those were his favorite, he could barely touch his breakfast the morning of September First. Fortunately for him, none of his family members got in his space bubble and asked him what was eating at him. His parents kept up with the news, and his siblings must have heard the gossip, so they all knew that James would be returning to a dorm a little emptier than he remembered it.

He and Oliver Russel had been friends. Sure, they had their tiffs--one of the last things he'd said to the guy before the school year ended was, "How'd the date go, Judas?"

See, Oliver wasn't the only one who had a thing for Hippolyta Rowle.

But she fancied Oliver, and James was first and foremost Hippolyta's friend, so when she and his mate fell hard for each other, he was supportive. If he snarked at Oliver a bit in the dorms, it was all good-natured and in good faith. Of course he was happy for his friends.

And he'd been devastated when he found out what happened, but not nearly as devastated, he was sure, as Hippolyta must have been.

Both his parents knew what it was like to get hit by a death somewhere close. They were being patient with him, giving him his space...

He just wasn't sure how he was going to lie there in his dorm next to Oliver's empty bed.

He dressed and got the last of his packing done without his usual enthusiasm, tucking a small sympathy arrangement of yellow and purple flowers under his arm before returning to his family downstairs and heading for King's Cross.

***


"Have a good year, kids. Lily, Al," said Mum at the entrance to the platform, kissing each of their foreheads in turn before turning to her eldest. "James, you be careful," she said, giving him a hug.

Dad just gave him a little clap on the shoulder as if to say, I know you won't, kid, but at least try and stay in one piece, yeah?

"Don't worry so much about me, Mum. They haven't sent me home in a box yet, have they?" he said.

Then again, this was the first year in which he'd joined a secret army to rally against the forces of a new, rising evil...

After one more goodbye to his parents, he boarded the train, made a quick stop by the Prefects' Compartment for whatever briefing was strictly necessary, and wandered the corridor, constantly perking up the flowers with a charm so they wouldn't wilt until he found her.

"Hippolyta. Hey."

It was then that he managed his first real smile all day. It was small, but it was there.

"Hey Darcy," he said, nodding in acknowledgement to the new Head Boy before sliding past him into the compartment. "I got you these," he said, handing Hippolyta the small vase.

That was all he said on the topic. He knew she was probably tired of hearing, I'm so sorry, and I liked Oliver, I really did, he was great, and It's so sad, he was so young. People meant well when they said all that stuff, but they just...didn't get it.

That was the thing about death. When you died, everyone you knew suddenly became one of two types of people: the ones who were in pain, and the ones who couldn't do anything about it, even if they tried.

If he and Hippolyta started having That Conversation, then it would happen. He wasn't going to stop it.

But he wasn't going to force it, either.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked.


location: the Hogwarts Express company: Darcy and Hippolyta



▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ I DON'T THINK I ▇▇▇▇▇
WANNA BE SAVED.

[LittleStevieHorseAndPhone]

Belle hadn't been sitting alone for long when one of her favorite rising fourth-years came upon her compartment and invited herself in with all of the boldness and audacity as Belle would've done herself at that age--if with a bit more class, admittedly, but that was to be expected. Lucy's father was some fancy-pants Ministry man, and Belle had never been in any sort of environment that would hammer any class into her. "Charming, as always, I see," she said. "Love the shoes--where'd you get 'em, the nineteen fifties? Ah, I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'. You're a doll, Luce, a little porcelain doll!" She debated for a second whether to ruffle the girl's hair or pinch her cheek--then she remembered that just because she could tumble out of bed and declare herself ready for the day, didn't mean the majority of girls were alright with any sort of assault on their hair. (Spoiler alert: most of them weren't.) So, she went for the cheek, leaning over across the compartment to give it an affectionate little stroke with the pad of her thumb.

A smirk spread across her face as Lucy made a subtle reach for her flask. "Careful, now," she said, swiping it ever so slightly out of Lucy's reach. "Too much drink can be a dangerous thing for a pure young girl."

But again, she was playing. She cast a quick refilling charm on the flask before tossing it in Lucy's direction.

"So, you first--tell me all about your summer, eh? What sort of crazy s**t do you get up to when I'm not around to look after you?"

And by 'look after,' she meant 'offer liquor and cigarettes and cajole into participating in progressively more morally questionable activities.'

Same difference, really, to Belle.

She was just getting out a cigarette--something to keep her busy, something to consume, when Gloriana Selwyn came in to grace them with her presence--and no, Belle didn't even mean that sarcastically, for all the snark she usually rattled off.

"Well, now it's just a regular Christmas party!" she said. "What's the story, Morning Glory?" Her smile went a little dopey as she budged up along the seat to make room for Glory.

Belle usually fooled around with boys, but some girls were just so fetching, she didn't know if she wanted to be them or be on them. Glory was one such girl--Vonnie Carrow, too, what a knockout. Those Veela genes, man…

"So, how've you been all summer? Didn't miss us too much, I hope?" She glanced out of the compartment, into the corridor, and added, "An' where's Vonnie? Our little kink club ain't complete without her…"

And by 'kink club,' she meant 'secret revolutionary organization hell-bent on taking over the entire Ministry of Magic.'

As blithe and nonchalant as she was acting, she really couldn't wait for some orders. Moving place to place since she was six, always with a job on her hands from the moment she was big enough to hold a weapon, she was far too used to having something to do, and now, she felt empty and restless if she ever had to go too long without some excuse to get her hands dirty.


location: the Hogwarts Express company: Lucy and Gloriana



▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ HURRY, HURRY, YOU PUT MY HEAD ▇▇▇▇▇
IN SUCH A FLURRY.

[Speshul_Candy_Queen]

Scorpius watched Hippolyta enter the train with an expression caught between loathing and appreciation. The girl had filled out quite well over the summer, growing into the woman she was always meant to become. Yet, somehow, that didn’t quite make up for the fact that the girl was a full blown blood traitor.

He heard a noise to his left and turned to face his mother once more. Astoria was staring after his betrothed with an unreadable expression, though he could tell by the way her back straightened that she disproved. Seeing an opening, Scorpius put on an expression meant to convey disappointment and desperation.

“Surely you can’t mean to follow through with the betrothal. Hippolyta is the worst sort of woman, absolutely no class at all. She displays no evidence of her superior breeding.” Scorpius paused to gauge his mother’s reaction and, finding it favorable, continued, “There are rumors that she’s pregnant.”

“Scorpius, it is important to your father that the bloodline remains pure.” Astoria said, her lips turning down in a frown before she added, “Though, if the girl is indeed carrying another man’s child, she will prove to be unsuitable.”

Seeing that the conversation was ending, Scorpius threw out his best play; the one argument that he knew would affect his mother more than any other. “We will never love each other.”

Astoria had always told him tales of her romance with his father, of how they had fallen in love before they were married. Love was important to her, more important that an old pureblood custom that she had always questioned. Emotions broke out across her face and he knew that he had her. Now he would simply need to convince the rest of the family.

“I will talk to your father.”

The conversation ended abruptly as Daphne Mclaggen walked up to them with her daughter in tow. “Astoria,” the older witch said with a warm smile. Her husband was nowhere in sight, so his aunt was free to show her affection openly.

Gabriella stood awkwardly beside him for several minutes before she clamped a hand down on his arm and began pulling him aside. Their mothers didn’t notice; they were far too caught up in an animated conversation to pay attention to the children.

When they reached a secluded spot, Gabriella whirled on him with a fierce expression. “I know what you’ve been doing.” Scorpius raised an eyebrow, smirking at her with a challenging expression. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” His admittance into the exclusive club of revolutionaries had been fruitful the last year, and, unlike the majority of Hogwarts, his cousin wasn’t fooled by his facade.

“Yes you do.” Gabriella looked fit to be tied, her eyes angrier than he had ever seen them. “Don’t you realize that you’re dragging your family down the same path that led them to ruin? I thought you wanted to redeem them.”

Scorpius sneered, his own temper flaring. “I will not kiss the robes of the wonderful mudbloods as you so readily do. And I, for one, am capable of moving up in the world without shagging deplorable half-bloods in dirty broom closets.”

Gabriella’s face flared red at the insinuation, her hand moving to grip her wand, “Leave Ronan out of it.”

“It would be a pity if something were to happen to him this year.” Scorpius leaned against the nearest wall with an artfully casual shrug, “He does engage in rather dangerous activities with his new group of mates.”

His cousin stared at him with an expression he hadn’t seen on her face in a long time, hopelessness. “You really are set on destroying your soul. I just hope you know what you’re doing because I doubt Harry Potter will be kind enough to keep you all out of Azkaban this time around.” Her blond hair struck him in the chest as she turned and flounced off towards the train.


***

After his trunk was safely stored away in the luggage compartment, Scorpius found himself assaulted by Astoria. Her embrace was almost painfully tight, as if she was afraid to let him go.

“Mother.” He muttered after a moment, feigning embarrassment.

In truth, he had never felt comfortable with his mother’s warm, open affection. He much preferred his grandmother’s cool and collected well wishes. Most of his time was spent with his grandparents, and it had been that way since he could remember. Not that his mother didn’t try, because she tried as hard as she could to strengthen their bond, but he had never felt comfortable with his parents. His mother, much like his older cousin, constantly fed him a delusional cocktail of morality and toeing the status quo. And his father, well, Scorpius preferred not to think of his father.

“I’m sorry, Scorpius. I’m being silly, I know, but I’ve just realized I won’t be there when you come of age.”

He almost pointed out that the majority of Hogwarts students came of age at school, but he held his tongue. Astoria had missed out on so many important milestones in her son’s life that the prospect of not being around for yet another hurt tremendously. Scorpius knew it, and yet a part of him wanted to wound her, wanted to punish her. He didn’t know what he wanted to punish her for, perhaps it was simply not being Narcissa.

“I’ll be sure to write.”

“I love you, Scorpius.”

Scorpius nodded, not quite able to return the sentiment. Instead, he stepped aboard the train without a backwards glance. The compartments he passed first were already full. It didn’t seem as though the Prefect’s Compartment was filled yet—he had noticed the glaring absence of the stunning Head Girl—so he decided to find somewhere else to stay for the time being. A few doors down the corridor he found himself staring at a group of people he would much rather have hexed. For a moment he stood, silently debating whether baiting Hippolyta was worth the duel that would ensue. Ultimately deciding that three on one was odds was something not even his new spells could overcome, he continued on his way.

As luck would have it, he next stumbled across a group containing three of his favorite ladies. Well, perhaps not Mabelle and he didn’t really know Weasley beyond the fact that she was making her dead relatives shudder in whatever hole they were buried in, but Gloriana more than made up the difference. Aside from his new leader, she was the fittest girl in school. He didn’t even care that she was technically a half-blood.

He slid the door open with his characteristic bored expression, careful to keep his eyes away from Gloriana so that he wouldn’t lose his composure, “Do you ladies mind if I join you? Sitting alone in the Prefect Compartment isn’t how I want to start off the year.” His eyes drifted to the flask in Weasley’s hand. “Starting the night early, are we?” He words were followed by a pointed look at Mabelle. He was almost certain she had been the one to supply the liquor; it was just the sort of crass behavior she exhibited on a regular basis. “Some would say it isn’t wise to become inebriated when we could be called into action at any moment.” Not to mention that it wasn’t looked favorably upon in polite society. Though, he admitted, neither girl had much experience where polite society was concerned.

[Smile C I E L]

xxxx

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There was a comfort in Belle’s frankness that Lucy had a hard time finding anywhere else. For most people, it was important to establish a pretense, to pick your words carefully and be mindful of what to say. With Belle, all it took for a successful conversation was to speak English. It gave a sense of freedom of expression that Lucy’d never found anywhere else, and it was that which lead her to do something her family would consider almost as strange as her choice of alliance. She was being sarcastic.

”You caught me. Nicked them straight from a museum. Easiest heist since third year at Honeydukes,” Lucy said with a wistful sigh, being far more dramatic than she needed to be. A brief flash of offense started to pass across her when Belle pulled the flask away. It barely counted as an expression, considering how quickly it cracked into a smile. She held the position and lowered her eyelids, her hand still extended in expectation until the flask was passed her way. ”Thanks. I’m kidding, too. I’d spend hours making bedhead that consistent,” she spoke into the brim before taking a small sip.

The first time she’d taken a drink from Mabelle, Lucy’s eyes had started tearing. By now, she’d barely reacted when pulling it down, and kept on speaking as if nothing happened but a question worth answering.

”If you consider business trips through Europe crazy, then, wowwee, do I have stories…” she rolled her eyes at the memories to come. As fun as it might be to make something up, it was easier to be honest. Unfortunately, it was also far more boring. She twirled a strand of hair around her left finger while trying to explain without falling asleep mid-sentence.

”Father took me with him this year, so I could see what he does. It amounts to stamping papers, flattering inflated idiots and getting them drunk enough to make them think your ideas are theirs. I’ve seen more insightful flobberworms. Though I was theoretically close enough to hex the French minister to think himself a pigeon, and I snuck out in Amsterdam. Found a few useful trinkets. A dress, a necklace, a silver dagger that heals the wounds it makes, but not the pain. I may want to avoid going back for a year or so, though. For caution’s sake.” She paused just long enough to take a breath and let the information be processed before skipping right on. ”How about you? Vanquish anything fun?”

Lucy had barely finished her sentence when the compartment doors came flying open. At first glance, she’d wondered if the puff of blonde hair had been an omen of their dear leader. Then, her eyes fell on the rest of the girl, specifically her badge, and the truth was far more apparent. Even among the standard for beauty, there were not-so-subtle differences.

A nonetheless courteous smile settled on Lucy’s face at the sight of her comrade. ”Honestly, Glory, you’re my second choice of sight. Hope you don’t mind coming after Vonnie. If it’s any consolation, you’ve a far better chest,” Lucy answered without a hint of hesitance, yet far too composed for her not to be as deliberate as the lack of creases on her dress. She straightened up her posture, her hands folding over the flask with care and poise it really didn’t deserve. ”We’re just discussing summers. How was yours?”

Before Lucy could hear an answer to this, her attention was drawn astray by the opening door. Her expression almost lit up, then fell slightly at the next one to walk in. Yet another blonde had come to join them, and again, it wasn’t the one who’d brought them together, but it certainly wasn’t someone she planned to turn away.

”On the contrary, Malfoy. You arrive and the evening’s just begun,” Lucy chirped back, almost teasing him. The seriousness with which he held himself was understandable and yet irresistible to prod. She lifted the flask back to her mouth, took a quick swig just to spite him, and extended it towards him. ”One little sip’s not the bite of a basilisk, I promise. Sometimes, it helps, even. Soothe the nerves. Perhaps you should try it next time you have to face that fiancée of yours. Unless you’d like to try it now? I doubt Belle’d mind sharing.” Lucy turned her head towards Mabelle, referring back to her with a raised eyebrow. ”You wouldn’t, would you?” she’d asked innocently—a tone most people in this room would be able to see through, yet slid just as naturally from her tongue as the truth or a lumos.

Whatever the answer had been, Lucy had moved over in her seat, scooching closer to the wall so as to make extra room for Scorpius. She passed the flask back to Belle, folded her hands on her lap and looked back up to Scorpius once more. ”Regardless, we’re too close to the front of the train too early to act. If we wanted problems, we’d be in the back. Where you’d be too busy with pep talks to find us,” she shrugged dismissively. "In the meanwhile, we should bond. Build comradery or whatever."



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xxx

[ where ? || a compartment ] [ who ? || belle, glory and scorpius ] [ feeling ? || relieved to be back ] [ outfit ]

[thequeen-- barbie]

|| location: the hogwarts express || company: lucy, gloriana, belle, scorpius ||

She'd never understand what society's sick fascination with the dying embers of her family's glory was.

Every year since she could remember, there were cameras waiting for them at King's Cross, flashbulbs popping like thunder in their faces as they apparated in. The lightning lingered in her eyes long after they got their money shots, but on principal, it was irritating. The fame was almost degrading, to a point. She never could sneak out without getting caught; damn her grandmother for being both a supermodel and a trainwreck so noteworthy that nobody ever forgot about them. It was just a little sad now, with one half of her family locked up in Azakaban and the other so criminally insane it was getting impossible for them to settle down comfortably. Her poor parents hadn't left the war of their days unscathed themselves... the resentment for the bitter end still lingered.

The only benefit to her name now was the veela connotation. It was the very same that made boys fuss and fight and argue to carry her luggage for her the very second it was set at the toe of her Louboutins. It made it on the train regardless. She didn't make a big deal of goodbyes; a kiss to her mother's cheek and a hug from her father, chin held high and face laced straight as could be. She had appearances to maintain, and poised women did not grovel at the start of every adventure away from their parents. Her father pinched her cheek resolutely and reached for her hand as she went to leave. "Wait," Benjamin Carrow pleaded, a warm smile spreading across his careworn--but still beautiful--features. "your Grandmaman's pearls. I found them and... you should have them, Vonnie."

What did she want with already worn pearls? She was a cat-burglar of epic proportions... her Grandmaman's frankly unimpressive string of pearls had no value to her except sentiment. Yvonne sighed and pulled her hair away from the back of her neck. "Put them on then, Papa. I'll be late." She wasn't quite hard enough to turn her father away. He'd seen worse in his days than she had; persecution was thick as it had been in Salem, these days, except it was only between those of blood, and that disturbed her. She'd had her good name tarnished, any chance at the Ministry swept out from under her feet because Voldemort had been too weak, too stupid to complete his plan. How could a grown man have fallen at the feet of a mere seventeen year old? It was preposterous.

Evil always prevailed. It had a funny way of slipping through the cracks, even in the most unbroken of people.

Once on the train, she fell into the circadian rhythm of her school self. Teenagers were impressionable, affections easily won with charisma and designer labels. She knew what it took to have kids eating out of the palm of her manicured hand. She smiled at the first years, tucked their hair behind their ears and wished them good luck, made a point to remember the names of upperclassmen and ask about their families. Yvonne was good like that; a people pleaser, her dad said. It was just who she was. Leaders were not born of pansies and butterflies. They were born of wolves, who would take care of their own.

"A full compartment already?" Yvonne remarked boredly as she slid the door open. "And we've started celebrating early. What have I said about day drinking? Sloppiness like that is where people make their worst mistakes. And for Merlin's sake, will you all stop acting as if I'm plotting murder?" She hated how readily everyone was giving away her little operation. She stepped in and slid the door closed, a deadly gravity across her face. "If you all would kindly act as though our friendships--and all such information that pertains to them--are a mutual exclusive and not a free-for-all, I would be much obliged not to dismiss you very quickly."

It was all part of her plan, not letting the cat out of the bag early. She didn't want the flames to be extinguished before her fire had begun, and their talk would spread quicker than they realized, if they kept up with things.

Her smile snapped back like a spring, cherry red lips pleasantly curled as she took a seat. "Perhaps, let's bore each other with talk of our summers instead."