Ainsley Abbott

As a measly editorial assistant at The Daily Prophet, Ainsley is more responsible for grammatical accuracy than factual -- but she still respects the truth enough to know how risky it is to lie about their blood-status so her sister can marry a Rosier. But if that's what will make Nessie happy, what else can she do but go along with it...even if it's a mistake?

[harrypotterhousequotes]

GRYFFINDOR: “And when the abyss looks into you - and it will - may you look back unflinching.” –Neal Shusterman (Challenger Deep)

[ainsleyabbott]

Breaking Point

empoweredevans​:

Lily had lost Marlene in the scuffle. That much wasn’t surprising, as the Ministry of Magic was covered in Death Eaters and cowering civilians alike. While the two women had not rekindled their friendship with one battle, they’d had one another’s backs. They had made sure the other stayed alive. And that was something. 

When she found herself face-to-face with the next Death Eater, however, the person wasn’t wearing a mask. Ainsley Abbott apologized for bumping into Lily politely, as though they were at the market and both reaching for the same apple. She stood with her fingers to her glasses and the gesture sucked the air from Lily’s lungs. James would’ve had to do the same to keep his from flying off his face. His specs often getting in the way of Quidditch or running around the castle - or battles.

If he’d had proper eyesight, would he have died?

Those are the questions that kept Lily up at night, though she knew the answer. Yes, he would’ve. It didn’t matter what he was wearing or if he could see more clearly or if she’d been there to stop him. James would’ve died anyway because he hadn’t raised his wand while Ainsley had.

But she wasn’t raising her wand now. It was almost as if she was allowing Lily to do something. Get revenge, maybe. Or perhaps Ainsley just no longer wanted to live. Lily clutched at her wand as she stood in front of the older woman. Ainsley had been fighting this war for so much longer.

“Ainsley,” Lily breathed out her name much too late. They’d been staring at one another for many precious seconds when it came from her lips, disbelieving and angry and sad. Lily was not afraid. Ainsley was not raising her wand. And maybe there was a moment where Lily wished they could go back and this would’ve been Ainsley’s choice in the first place, but there was no room for wishes in a world that didn’t allow for them.

She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, but she did not cry. Ainsley Abbott didn’t deserve her tears. “He never raised his wand,” she told Ainsley. Reminded her, more like. Not sure if Ainsley, too, was haunted by that knowledge that Mary Macdonald had shared with her. “He never raised his wand and you thought he was planning to kill your sister.” Lily gripped her own wand tightly. “How could he kill her if he had his wand down, Ainsley?”

“I’m - I’m sorry, Lily,” was all Ainsley’s reply and Lily did not know this woman enough to tell what was going on in her mind. James knew her; James might’ve been able to tell. “Is this where you kill me?”

It made Lily laugh, looking down at her wand. Not raised. “Do you want me to?” The girls stared at one another, their eyes gripping with the knowledge that Ainsley wouldn’t cast a spell this time. If Lily wanted to, she could do to this wix what she’d done to her boyfriend. Sirius would want her to.

“No,” Lily said. “Tomorrow when you wake up, I want you to remember how easy it was to not raise a wand.” It was said with spite, though not quite with hate. Lily did not hate Ainsley, though maybe she should have. But death might be a blessing. Death would allow Ainsley to forget. 

The choices they made in this war will live with them forever. And, just as she had with Severus so many years before, Lily turned to walk away. Ainsley has chosen her path and Lily would choose hers. 

FIN.

Ainsley stared as the younger witch walked away, wand held low by her side. Not attacking. Confronting Lily Evans was a moment that Ainsley had imagined many times (usually in the pale, thin hours of the morning on that cold liminal cusp between waking, sleeping, and nightmare) but for all the varied scenarios she had played-out in her head, none of them had played-out like this. And now she felt...what? Not relieved, she knew that much. Disappointed? Maybe...not that she’d wanted to fight Lily, but her just walking away was undeniably an anti-climax. Ainsley opened her mouth to say -- what? Sorry was inadequate at best, and she’d said it already anyway, but she felt like she had to say something else to the woman whose life she had destroyed in trying to save her sister’s...

And then pain, white-hot and blazing like ice, unfolded deep down in her bones; burning up cold on her skin, a blistering agony that left no blisters behind -- none that could be seen, at least, but oh the pain...! Ainsley didn’t scream; she couldn’t spare the energy or breath to scream. All that came out was a choked, hollow gasp of a moan as she bent double, folding-up around her arm -- around her left arm.

The one that he had Marked.

Knowledge crashed down on Ainsley like a tsunami. All the bits and pieces she had puzzled together; all the years of researching ancient magicks and Dark Curses; the memory of how it had felt when Voldemort had burned his claim of ownership into her skin with his own soul -- all of it slammed together in sudden understanding, and she knew: Voldemort was dead.

This was the feeling of a soul being ripped from its vessel -- from all the vessels on which it had a claim, all the hearts and minds and hollow-eyed victims it had touched. Voldemort was gone, torn free from all those tethers -- torn free from her.

The brand on her skin blazed an ugly, pinkish-white like lightning made from blood and Ainsley collapsed, writhing around it. If she screamed now, she couldn’t hear it for the shrieking in her head -- high, cold, and unmistakable. Even through the pain, Ainsley smiled at that last-gasp of a scream and what it meant: Voldemort was dead...

But how had it been done? Ainsley knew only a little bit about the lengths to which he had gone, the ancient magicks he had dabbled in, in his quest for immortality -- but she knew enough to know that simply killing him would more than likely not be fatal. (That was why she’d never tried and, no doubt, why the Dark Lord had let just enough of his secrets slip loose so that those within his own ranks who might have been a threat -- whether for their own ambitions or out of simple hate, like Ainsley -- would know better than to try and fail.) Someone must have figured-out a way around his protections, his precautions...had it been Edgar? Gideon? Oh, what she would have given to have been there with them, picking that tapestry of spell-work apart! She wondered if she would have a chance to learn how it had been done, before her trial...or maybe even at the trial, depending on how the questioning went...she knew just enough that the Ministry might want to question her about it, which meant they’d have to offer at least enough explanation to frame their questions...

(She could have run. Ainsley was a talented witch with a wide-ranging knowledge of uncommon magicks; she could have run, and might well have been able to hide herself well enough to make it out. But she had made her choices and she would appropriately pay for them now. That would not balance the scales, of course, but better to face what she’d done than try and pretend she hadn’t. There was no truth in running.)

She could write to Edgar, she supposed; few letters made it out of Azkaban but it would be weeks, maybe even months, before the Ministry finished with all the trials they would soon need to hold (before they finished catching all the Death Eaters who did run) and she would have time to write to him before her sentencing, and Edgar would surely not hold the choice she had been forced into making against her enough that he would be too cruel to tell her something so monumentally fascinating as this...

But Ainsley realized, as the pain ebbed down to a dull throb, that she didn’t really care. Part of her brain was whirling over the possibilities even still, as ravenously curious as ever, but it was a thin and distant part and growing fainter with every breath that she sucked into her lungs that Voldemort did not. It would be interesting to know, yes...but in the long run, did it matter?

No, Ainsley decided. Curiosity for its own sake was pointless. Maybe she would never know how it had been done (and part of her, a small dying fragment of a spark, screamed in horror at the realization that was dawning in the darkness of her soul..but that part was a fading echo, and the rest of her did not hear it wail) but she found now, as she sat back tiredly against the nearest wall and waited for the Aurors to come, that she simply did not care.

THE END.

[harrypotterhousequotes]

RAVENCLAW: “What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?” –George Eliot (Middlemarch)

[ainsleyabbott]

justicebones​:

Amelia understood; of course she did, she would be a fool not to understand what one would do for their sibling. After all, Edgar was her other half, a part of her she couldn’t live without, a part of her soul. She had joined hte Order with him, after all, seeing the goodness though the laws they were skirting and breaking, because they were doing the right thing, and because Edgar was there and she trusted him and his judgement. Would that mean she would follow him into the darkness, if need be? That she would have become a Death Eater if she had to, in order to keep him safe and living? Of course.

The only difference was that she refused to believe her twin would be stupid enough to fall in love with someone that would put them into that situation where she would have to choose that, without letting her pull him out of it. She had to believe that he’d let her pull him out of that situation, love be damned, if it meant keeping the both of them safe. She’d pull him back, just like she should have done for Ainsley, just like Ainsley should have done for Nessie. Did the girl even understand what she’d done? How could one pick such love of some man over that of a sibling?

But Amelia couldn’t just say all of that to Ainsley, she could only hope that the tears and broken expression would be able to do that for her, as the other met her eyes and continued to speak.

“I understand you say that,” She finally spoke then, “And for her sake, I hope that it’s true. once he’s defeated there will be a full investigation into everything, a fair one, where if all the evidence proves she’s innocent, proves they’re both innocent, they’ll be fine.” She wasn’t going to just protect Vanessa simply because Ainsley said so and because she was Ainsley’s sister, although that was a tempting though, and she wasn’t going to force charges on her for destroying Ainsley, although that was a slightly more tempting thought. She also wouldn’t push for charges simply because of their last name, she would be fair and look at all the evidence, as was her job. Because it was the only way to do this, because it was the law.

“Didn’t lie to her family?” That made Amelia curious, wondering what exactly had been lied about, and wanting to question how then it was that Ainsley was ensnared in this web, but Jayesh had stayed free of anything. It all felt so stupid and so wrong, and frustration boiled under Amelia’s skin; even more so when Ainsley continued to speak and mention the ‘luxury’ of sitting behind the walls of the Wizengamot. She grit her teeth, raising her wand just slightly at the other, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Does this look like sitting behind the wall?” She snapped then, “After you left… I joined The Order. I took a stand, because I couldn’t just sit back and not know what was happening, and I couldn’t keep losing people. And now? I’m fighting.” She shook her head and looked around, making sure they were still alone. “You know who all is taking risks? Who is here? Edgar is here. My friends are here. The man I–I might…” There was a sudden hitch in her words and she froze up, both realizing what she’d been about to say, and even worse, who she’d been about to say it in front of. Her heart thudded in her chest and she shook it off and quickly continued, hoping that Ainsley wouldn’t realize what she’d been about to admit.

“People I care about are here fighting, and I’m doing what I can to help them. If any of them are hurt tonight, I promise you that whomever I find has evidence and is convicted of helping your Dark Lord will never know another nights peace for the rest of their lives,” She had added that about evidence and conviction because it was the right thing, and she needed Ainsley to understand that… but she was sure the other woman also understood that if anything happened to Edgar, all bets would be off at that point.

💀 

I joined the Order, Amelia said, and all Ainsley could think was, poor Edgar. She had already distanced herself so much from Amelia in her own heart -- distanced even from the memories of Amelia, cocooning them in hard crystal where they could be seen but not felt; the only way to keep going without being overwhelmed by the pain of what could have been and wouldn’t be. Edgar was the one who was harder to push away from, because he was the one who understood -- who’d been there. Amelia could go safely into the neat little box with Nessie: precious and beloved, but not a part of this. Someone to fight for, not someone to risk -- to lose. Even now that she’d made herself a part of it, she hadn’t been there -- not for the long, ugly length of the war.

(How could Amelia do this to Edgar? How could she throw aside all his years of fighting, all the things he’d sacrificed along the way, to put herself into danger like this? Ainsley could only hope that she was the only one who knew; the only one of them who knew, anyway. If Voldemort won now, Amelia could still be spared the repercussions if no one knew...)

Amelia’s aborted words -- words that could really only end one way -- about “the man she might” something hit Ainsley like a lash, and then an absolution. One more tether between them fell away, as the fragile dew of might-have-been evaporated into a mist of never-would. It wasn’t hard to take one more step away from Amelia -- from the memories of Amelia -- and let her go. Heartbreaking, yes, but not hard.

“He’s not my Dark Lord,” Ainsley said, her voice low. Amelia was a smart witch, it was almost unfathomable that she had such little understanding of everything -- unless she spoke only from her wounded heart, and not her head. The former could so easily overwhelm the latter, as Ainsley’s own position in this war proved so bitterly. “I’d kill him myself if I knew I could.” It wasn’t concerns her own survival or lack thereof that stayed her hand. But she didn’t dare take the risk of bringing Voldemort’s wrath down on Nessie if she tried and failed. “I didn’t join the Death Eaters because I wanted to.” Amelia wasn’t stupid, Amelia wasn’t stupid. Why was she acting like she was?

“It doesn’t matter,” Ainsley said finally. “None of it matters. The world is where it is; there’s nothing we can do to change what’s happened.” She took a breath and made a choice -- a calculated risk -- and turned her back on Amelia. Ainsley wasn’t going to fight her; she might have been able to do that to herself (maybe, maybe) but she couldn’t do it to Edgar. It wasn’t as though they had a deal between them over Amelia and Vanessa but -- an understanding, yes. Ainsley would not fight Amelia, because Ainsley understood. If Amelia chose to fight her, well...then that was a choice that Ainsley would have to live with, too. Or maybe die with. Those were choices, too.

But as she walked away from the woman she might-have-once-something, she felt no blaze of spellwork against her back. All she felt was the bitter salt of tears running down her pale, unflinching cheeks. And tears mattered to no one in the end.

END.

[harrypotterhousequotes]

RAVENCLAW: “There are always two reasons for anything. There is always the good reason, and there is always the real reason.” –Michèle Bernstein

[ainsleyabbott]

justicebones​:

Amelia noted the flinch, the way Ainsley recoiled back from her; but couldn’t find it in herself to be upset or even sorry about it, not after what had happened. Was that mean of her, she wondered? To at least know that it was clear by Ainsley’s words and actions that the feelings she might have been starting to have had had a basis, not just been used against her? To know that she hadn’t imagined the fact that the kisses had felt real? And yet, although she knew it was Ainsley, somehow the other woman ripping her mask off made it hurt even more.

“How can I say that?” She stated then, a little confused, taken aback by how Ainsley could wonder how she could question it. Had the other truly not realized what she’d done? The pain and confusion she’d caused? “Do I think it was some game? That you chose it on purpose?” It was like she was trying to understand what Ainsley was saying, but also giving herself a moment in trying to calm down before snapping at her. But there was a battle around them, and she’d lost sight of Edgar and Caradoc, the adrenaline was rushing and truly how could she calm down in that situation?

“I don’t know,” She admitted honestly, “You… You ran off. You went after her and next thing I know there’s chaos and I go back to headquarters to find Edgar hurt, and James Potter dead, and hearing it was you? That you left me and I… I didn’t…” Her voice wavered a little, still feeling rather guilty for having not stopped Ainsley. Nessie would have been fine, right? If Amelia had just reached out to grab Ainsley and pulled her back, maybe none of this would have happened, maybe…

“You may not have wanted it, but you did choose it,” She snapped out then after a slight pause, raising her wand just slightly at her side, because there was still that feeling of not truly being able to trust Ainsley anymore, “You had a choice, don’t you get that?” She let out a watery, slightly bitter laugh, “Your sister. Yes. But also no. I understand how desperate someone can become in order to keep their sibling safe. I am that, because I will do whatever it takes to keep Edgar safe and alive. But this? You didn’t keep her safe, Ainsley. You kept her happy, yes, but safe? Will she be safe after this war is over and your side loses? When you’re all being sent to Azkaban?” And she knew it would sting, she knew it was rude and hurtful and mean… but wasn’t it the truth?

💀

“Of course I knew I had a choice, I chose it,” Ainsley snapped back, more hurt -- no, more disappointed than she had expected that Amelia, of all people, didn’t seem to understand. Edgar had; was it wrong to have assumed Amelia would, too? Of course Ainsley hadn’t meant that she hadn’t had a choice; she’d meant that she hadn’t had any other choice she could have chosen. How could Amelia not understand that? She would have made the same choice for Edgar’s sake, Ainsley knew that -- or would she have? Edgar, surely, would have; that was why he, like Ainsley, had always gone to such lengths to keep his sister out of the war. Ainsley had assumed that both Bones twins felt the same, but...maybe she had assumed too much of Amelia.

Ainsley had done a fair amount of that lately.

Her tangled, tortured heart sank lower in her chest as she stared at the witch she had once -- for one beautiful, blazing, brief moment -- entertained the mad, wild thought that she might have been able to fall in love with...and was now disappointed by. They were all of them so much less than they should have been.

“Nessie’s not involved.” Ainsley’s voice was low, soft -- but her grip on her wand was tight and hard as stone. “Nessie’s never been involved -- not in any of it. Not the Order, not the Death Eaters, none of it.” Despite the ragged, tearing pain in her chest, she forced herself to meet Amelia’s eyes head-on. This, above all things, she needed Amelia to understand. Because this wasn’t about her aching heart or the oozing pain of a might-have-been. She wasn’t staring at Amelia now as a lost chance for -- well, for something that she’d tried hard not to let herself think about. And now wasn’t the time to think about that either, because whatever she and Amelia had been and might have yet been to each other, right now what mattered was that Amelia was part of the Wizengamot -- was part of the law. And Ainsley needed her to understand that Vanessa Abbott was innocent. She had been the impetus for Ainsley’s crimes, yes; but Nessie herself wasn’t part of this war. Never had been. Never would be. Ainsley had sacrificed everything to ensure that; she wasn’t about to see her sister charged for the crimes that Ainsley had willingly and wittingly committed in her name.

“As far as I know, Jayesh isn’t a Death Eater either.” That was harder to say, and the words came out bitter; it was unfair for the Rosiers to have allowed one of their own sons to slip the noose that they’d knotted around Ainsley’s jaw -- but if (when) she left her sister, she might at least not leave her alone. And it would hardly be fair for Jayesh to be arrested simply on the presumption of his family name, either. So as much as the fact of his potential innocent annoyed Ainsley, she still had to say it. “That doesn’t prove anything -- I’m hardly trusted enough to be privvy to secrets -- but I don’t know why they’d bother hiding it from me if he was, either.” She shrugged, curt and callous. “I hate him for tangling Nessie’s heart up in all of this, for being the reason we’ve ended up where we are -- but he didn’t do it to us. He didn’t tell her to lie to his family; as far as I know, he still doesn’t know we did.” That was the biggest loose end left that worried Ainsley about her potential (inevitable) absence from her sister’s life: how would Jayesh react when he eventually did find out the truth? How much of a blood-supremacist was he, at heart? But there was nothing Ainsley could do to save Nessie from those repercussions; a bitter potion to swallow, but there were limits to Ainsley’s abilities. She’d trapped herself behind that silver mask to save her sister; she couldn’t squirm free of it now no matter how much she wanted to find a way out so she could stay around to continue shielding Nessie after.

“So yes, Amelia,” Ainsley said, her voice limp and toneless with disappointment, “I’ve kept her safe and happy. As safe and happy as I can make her, anyway. We don’t all have the luxury of sitting behind the solid walls of the Wizengamot while other people take the risks that will win -- or loose -- this war on our behalf, you know.”

[ainsleyabbott]

Breaking Point

LOCATION: Ministry of Magic DATE: May 2, 1982 @empoweredevans​

Ainsley Abbott had never been as adept at lying to herself as her current situation might indicate. Deceiving herself, yes -- but outright, deliberate denial of facts? That still wasn’t her forte, even after two and a half months surrounded by duplicitous Death Eaters. So as she stumbled away from Amelia, it was hard to pretend that her eyes were watering because of the dust kicked-up by shattered marble and transfigured furniture. She knew why they were watering, and it wasn’t environmental.

There was nothing she could do about that, though. She pulled her spectacles off and scrubbed at the stinging salty pools with the sleeve of her awful black robe, her mind focused more on distance than defense--

And turned a corner with a combination of speed and distraction that rammed her directly into another person. Ainsley staggered, stepped backwards on the hem of her robes, and went down hard enough to jar her glasses loose from her grip. She managed at least to keep her other hand tight around her wand but of course, she’d been trained to hang onto that in a fight; who would have ever suspected that she’d be carrying her glasses in her hand in the middle of a battle?

Ainsley scrabbled across the floor for the wayward lenses (thankful, when her hand closed over the smooth intact glass that the Unbreakable Charm she’d put on them had held) and crammed them back onto her nose as she turned, still seated, to face the person with whom she had collided. “Sorry, I wasn’t--”

And the instinctive, small-talk style apology (out of place for a Death Eater, yes, but old habits died hard and pointless pleasantries perhaps hardest of all) expired on her lips as she recognized, with dawning horror, the face of the woman looking back at her. Lily Evans.

Ainsley felt as though the ground had opened up beneath her; like the floor had melted into a pit, gaping, cold, and bottomless. But she wasn’t that lucky: the floor was solid. There was no escape -- not even the wand in her hand. She could have raised it, could have fought back...but could she have? After everything she’d cost Lily Evans...maybe the least she owed her was an unimpeded first shot.

She winced, but kept her eyes open against the urge to squeeze them closed; if this was death, she might as well face it head-on. After everything she’d done, what else was there to do?

[harrypotterhousequotes]

SLYTHERIN: “We adjust ourselves to fit, to adapt to others’ ideas of who we should be. We shift ourselves not in sweeping pivots, but in movements so tiny that they are hardly perceptible, even in our view. Years can pass before we finally discover that, after handing over our power piece by small piece, we no longer even look like ourselves.” –Alicia Keys (More Myself)

[ainsleyabbott]

justicebones​:

Amelia had kept her eyes and wand trained on the Death Eater in front of her as she shifted, putting her free hand on the floor to start to push herself up to get to her feet. The other had stumbled back against the wall for the moment it seemed, and Amelia was not about to fight on her knees. The first time her name was said, Amelia didn't’ even process it. It sounded so faint that she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t just dreaming it, or that it wasn’t someone calling to her down the hall or further away. It was the second time that her name was said, as she was mid-rise off the floor, that it registered that it had been said and she recognized who the voice even belonged to.

Her hand fumbled and she nearly faceplanted on the floor as she faltered in her motion to get up. Ainsley. Amelia felt as if she’d suddenly become submerged in ice water, like she’d been hit by a spell to encase her entire body in ice. It was a frozen chill of a feeling; one that was then followed by a white hot rage feeling, and then a swirl of mixed emotions. She had no clue what to feel as she realized it was Ainsley under that mask, and even less of a clue as to what to do. Should she stand and fight? Should she run?

Amelia surged up then, pushing herself the rest of the way up off of the floor and taking steps towards Ainsley. Her left hand was still holding her wand up and pointed at Ainsley, though it made her stomach turn at having to do it, whereas once she’d thought she’d never have to do that. Her right hand raised, palm open, as she reached out towards the other woman. Was she planning on smacking her? Ripping the mask off? Cupping Ainsley’s face? Her hand stopped midway towards her and then dropped, the motion completely forgotten in whatever it could have been.

Although the battle around them raged on, and Amelia was sure that at any minute one of Ainsley’s Death Eater buddies could appear and hit her in the back… she couldn’t help but also feel like time had slowed down for the moment, as if it were only her and Ainsley and the way her heart was pounding in her chest, the way she didn’t know how to process any of this. 

So, all she could do was blurt out the first thing that came to her mind, the one question that she desperately needed answered, that had haunted her ever since she’d found out that Ainsley had killed James and joined the dark side.

“Was any of it ever real?”

💀 

It was so hard not to reach out -- to reach back -- to Amelia. Ainsley’s free hand actually twitched forward, almost of its own accord, before she could collect herself and draw back. That withdraw became a flinch, a recoil, as Amelia’s question lashed across her like a Curse.

“Of course it was!” Ainsley blurted, the words raw and devastated. “How can you say that?” She wrenched her mask from her face before she could think better of it -- it didn’t matter anymore any way, did it? Amelia knew her; it was too little and too late for that stupid mask to hide her -- and stared at Amelia without the uncomfortable filter of that silver shroud between them.

(Fortunately the mask was a conjuration as much as it was a physical object, and so she did not wrench her spectacles from her face at the same time; it would have been a poor trick to clear her vision of the mask only to blur it by throwing her glasses to the floor in the process.)

“You think it was some...some game? You think I did any of it -- any of it -- on purpose?” On some level, Ainsley knew she didn’t deserve to be hurt; knew that she had earned this with her own actions. But it was one thing to accept the cost of the betrayal she had visited on those she loved; it was something else entirely to have that love questioned at its root. “You think I wanted -- wanted--?” The words strangled in her throat and she clenched her fingers tight enough around her wand that the nails dug into her palm hard enough to almost draw blood -- but not because she was preparing a Curse. Not because she planned to fight.

Because it hurt and she needed something tangible to hold onto, even as her voice failed her. A low, ragged mutter was the most she could force out as she said, “I didn’t plan any of this, Amelia. I didn’t want any of this. I wanted--” You, Ainsley wanted to say, but stopped herself and swallowed hard against the urge. “I wanted anything but this. I didn’t have a choice, Amelia -- not if I was going to save Nessie. I had to do what I did, but I never planned for it. I never, ever wanted it. But my sister...my sister. Don’t you understand?”

Ultimately it was tears that blurred Ainsley’s vision, not the mask she’d worn or the spectacles balanced on her nose. They stung, hot and salty, within her lashes but she blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall.

She knew she didn’t have the right to cry.

[justicebones]

You Can’t Take Back The Damage Done

Date: May 2nd, 1982 Location: Ministry of Magic Tagging: @ainsleyabbott​

Amelia had taken off away from Edgar and Caradoc, and had yet to circle back and try and regroup with them. No, as much as she wanted, needed to make sure that they were both alive and safe, there was so much more going on at the moment. There were too many Death Eaters, too many innocents, and too much to do. People needed to be helped, and those on the wrong side needed to be taken down.

Her wand was gripped tightly in her hand, focused as she made her way down the corridor, stepping over people who were stunned, or who were worse. Still, there was no time to stop and check, worse could be happening just further away, and if she could stop that, then that’s what she needed to focus on. She couldn’t understand how this had happened like this, and it made her so angry.

A scream from the next corridor caught her attention and made her take off at a run again. She scrambled, moving to go sliding around the corner in her heels–and go stumbling and crashing into a figure just around the corner. She swore as she went down hard, feeling her wand go sliding out of her hand as she tried to catch herself as she hit the floor. Panic rose in her chest and she scrambled for it again, looking up and feeling her heart pounding.

Seeing the person in the Silver Mask above her, Amelia had her wand up again, not ready to go without a fight.

[ainsleyabbott]

💀

Ainsley recognized the memory the moment it unfurled around her -- not the particular moment itself, no, but the spell that conjured it...and more importantly, the identity of the wix who’d cast it. Edgar Bones wasn’t the only person who knew this magic, of course, but he was surely the only one in all of Wixen Britain who would have had both the deranged inspiration and the quick-wandedness to employ it as a tactic in the middle of a battle.

She couldn’t face Edgar -- she couldn’t -- so she turned and ran.

It was a blind flight, not because she couldn’t see but because she couldn’t see reality through the layers of the past that Edgar had conjured around them all -- so Ainsley didn’t try to navigate by sight at all. Instead she squeezed her eyes shut and let common sense be her guide. The Ministry’s floors were level and the atrium was wide; as long as she kept her balance loose and her strides long enough to compensate should she stumble over any bodies, she should be fine.

Ainsley had gotten very good at lying to herself since joining the Death Eaters and she was self-aware enough to know when she was doing it, but she still never would have expect just how not-fine it turned out to be.

It wasn’t the hand on her arm that was the problem, or even the wand at her throat that followed; both of those were dealt with easily enough with a simple Blistering Hex that sent her would-be-assailant scrambling backwards with an agonized screech. Ainsley opened her eyes to see if she could see the damage she’d done, and was relieved to discover that she’d made it beyond the range of Edgar’s spell. Hopefully that meant she’d made it beyond the range of risking contact with him, too. She was just starting to relax, gulping down air in an attempt to quiet her racing heartbeat, when the real problem arrived.

The problem was the next person who accosted her, slamming into Ainsley bodily and knocking them both sideways. The only reason Ainsley didn’t join the newcomer on the floor was because she slammed into a wall instead, which at least allowed her to wobble to her feet instead of sprawling along the hallway, although her aching shoulder might have preferred the floor. She pushed the pain aside and raised her wand, ready to dispatch this next threat or victim just as easily -- and then she saw their face.

Amelia.

The word came out before Ainsley could stop it, hollow and faint as a thin winter’s breeze rattling between desiccated tree limbs. “Amelia.” Ainsley’s wand wobbled and she stumbled backwards, trying to flee the other Bones twin the way she’d fled the first -- but the blasted wall was there, stopping her. Trapping her.

“Amelia,” she said again, and the word was a plea -- don’t know me. Don’t make me fight you. Don’t see me beneath this silver shackle. Don’t let me hurt you. Don’t make me see the look on your face when you see me. Please, Amelia. Don’t. But Ainsley Abbott knew that she deserved no mercy, so she held her wand tight in her shaking hand and swallowed both the words she wanted to say, and the ones she didn’t, and hoped that Amelia would see only the mask and not the broken-hearted traitor beneath; hoped that she would run as Ainsley could not run, rather than force her to fight a fight that had only loss waiting at either end.

What else could she do?

[harrypotterhousequotes]

RAVENCLAW: “Knowledge might not be power, but ignorance was definitely weakness.” –Lois McMaster Bujold (Komarr)

[pinacolanagifs]

Alice Quinn x Favorite Outfits

[ainsleyabbott]

Hearts Of Stone // self-para

The hapless wizard in front of her toppled over, the weight of his increasingly heavy flesh too much for his insufficiently rooted feet to support, and AInsley lifted her long black robes to step over him as though he were nothing but the inanimate statue he now resembled. (Why did the Death Eaters insist on this pointless uniform? Ainsley had always preferred shorter, calf-length robes that had no chance of hampering her footsteps, but that was far too modern a fashion for Voldemort’s forces and she’d stopped having the luxury of choice in such matters -- and in so many more dire ones -- the moment she’d unwillingly agreed to accept that terrible Mark.)

Half her fellows had already discarded their silver masks, apparently of the belief that their final victory was in the offing and their secrecy would soon be replaced with accolades and prestige. Ainsley had no interest in either, and while she had no illusions that anonymity was something she ever stood a chance of -- her allegiance was known to the enemy, after all, and they would hardly keep it quiet as a favor to her -- she had yet to remove her own. It wasn’t about attempting to avoid reality; she knew what she had done. She might not know exactly how much blood she had on her hands, but she knew they were red and dripping.

No, she wore the hateful stupid silver thing not in an attempt to shirk the cost of the choices to which she had been pushed, but because she couldn’t take pride in them either. Reality said that Ainsley was a Death Eater, and she had played the role into which she had cast herself with dedication if not enthusiasm -- but that didn’t mean she wanted to flaunt it either. Let the mask stay in place, less to hide her identity than to illustrate that while Death Eater was what she was, it wasn’t what she wanted. It was just what she’d been forced to choose against the balance of everything that mattered more.

One of the few choices she did have some say over were precisely which spells she used in the course of those duties however, so she favored ones like the Stone-Skinning Curse she had just cast. It was deadly enough for her “allies” to approve of her using it, definitive enough to remove the wix on whom it was cast from the fight, and yet it could be reversed if the appropriate counterspells were administered within a few hours. If lifted quickly enough, even the nerve damage it caused would be negligible enough to be treated with a brief potions regimen and as for the inevitable nightmares...well, they were all living a nightmare now. Being trapped inside the darkness of your own unthinking brain was hardly the worst thing that could happen to a person who faced the Death Eaters.

The spell was also known as the Medusa Curse, although Ainsley preferred the less fanciful name, and of the many dangerous esoteric Curses in her arsenal it had quickly become her favorite for one reason: someone who had been transfigured into stone all the way down to the marrow of their bones was vulnerable to few other injuries. The people whom Ainsley thus Cursed might or might not survive -- she had no control over that -- but not even her most vicious fellows would bothering trying to torture or maim a statue. Maybe she was killing these people; she was also doing her best to keep them safe.

Her fellow Death Eaters found her penchant for the spell amusing, doubtless because they never suspected that there was a core of desperate hope underlying her use of such a painful and debilitating Curse. Having all the cells of ones body turn to stone in a cascade effect that took several seconds to immobilize and up to seven minutes thereafter to finish progressing through the entirety of the subject was excruciating. Ainsley was torturing these people, and she did it gladly because it might be the only thing that kept them alive.

Lucius Malfoy kept saying that after the war was over, he was going to commission her to create a whole garden of once-living statuary for his estate. Somehow, Ainsley managed to smile even as her stomach turned at the thought of those silent screams trapped in stone for all eternity. Maybe it was because she knew something of how they felt.

[ainsleyabbott]

An Unsent Letter

Edgar,

I’m not going to sign this because I don’t dare expose either of us to the danger of an avowed correspondence right now -- but I cannot not write you. I can only hope (without any justification beyond my trust that your curiosity will always win-out over your anger or disgust) that you will read it before you burn it.

I won’t apologize again; you know how sorry I am about everything, and how little those feelings change anything. I won’t bother saying that I made a mistake; I made many, and I know it.

But Edgar, I’m scared. I’m more scared than I’ve ever been before, even when I thought Nessie was dead at James’s han at the Order’s h in front of me. Voldemort -- or “the Dark Lord,” as I’ve been cautioned to call him now -- is as evil and ruthless and powerful as we all always suspect, of course. But there’s something different now. Something more frightening than the obvious.

I’m sure it’s tempting to dismiss my concerns as the result of a guilty conscious or the inevitable paranoia of treason. But you know my area of expertise. You know how adept I am in the field of Old Magicks, especially Curses. You know I wouldn’t be jumping at shadows without cause...

Or I hope you know, anyway. I suppose I don’t have the right to rely on your old assessments of my nature and character anymore, either. But please listen to me anyway, even though you have no good reason for doing so. Please.

He’s doing something worse. I’m not sure what. But it can’t be...

There are tokens, sigils, I’m not sure what. I’ve heard some of his most trusted lackeys quietly bragging to one another about who’s been deemed worthy of looking after the treasures and who hasn’t. I can’t get close enough -- they don’t trust me, of course -- to ascertain what they are, what purpose they serve, but Edgar...

I know enough to be frightened. And you know Dark Magic doesn’t frighten me easily.

Please----

[harrypotterhousequotes]

SLYTHERIN: “Imagine a basket of oranges, imagine that one of them, at the bottom, starts to rot, and then imagine how each orange, one after the other, starts to rot too, who would then be able to say where the rot began. The oranges you’re referring to, are they countries or people. Within a country, they’re the people, within the world they’re the countries and since there are no countries without people, it’s obvious that the rot begins with the people.” –José Saramago (The Double)

[harrypotterhousequotes]

RAVENCLAW: “What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?” –George Eliot (Middlemarch)

[spellnbone]

They’re clean, tragedies. They’re restful, they’re certain… In other forms of theatre, with those traitors, with those wicked villains, this persecuted innocence, those revengers, those gleams of hopes, it all becomes awful to die, like an accident. Perhaps one could’ve saved oneself, perhaps the good young man could’ve arrived on time with the saving call. But in tragedies one is tranquil. […] Tragedies are restful for you know there is no hope. No dirty hope.

Antigone, Anouilh (1944)