The Bowery Presents
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Show & Tell
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@alvvayspure-blog
❛ — POLITICAL WARFARE. while death engulfs every crevice of THE WIZARDING WORLD, an additional threat emerges with intentions of disrupting MINISTRY cooperation. while witches and wizards continue their conclave within ministry walls, a savage assault arranges evening detonation. steadily, defenses cascade and shadows approach. unbeknownst to those within, the night’s festivities will witness a finale of cataclysmic proportions . . .
m e r i c !
Their shadows are kindred, squaring off in a spectral dance, haunting crooked forest paths, running along black sand beaches, fierce and unbridled. His werewolf heart is tugged by lunar phases and while Bellatrix doesn’t morph under mother moon’s alabaster gaze, there is something feral that lives within her, too. Something that won’t be chained, something stirring and listening in the yawning deep. The room that holds their bones falls away in forgotten layers and Meric, blissfully forgetting, lets the twisted world that lives in their shared words, their shared gazes, hold dominion over his focus. She’s a magnet, a rope that pinions, and he’s willingly strangled.
Following the current of their conversation’s undertow, he finally pulls his eyes from hers — forsaking the blushing edges of her cheeks ( a decidedly uneven trade ) for the ragged skin of Koldings’ grimoire. Weathered hands draw along its face, the grit of encrusted sand scraping. “I know you all too well, Bellatrix Black,” he answers, off-kilter lips lifting at the corner. The alliteration in her name matching his own; another way their lives abut at complementing corners. “I know the power of your house, but the power in these pages could rival it as well as my own. Perhaps it is best suited for his hands,” he says, black eyes cutting to hers for a reaction.
If Voldemort knew he’d obtained such a thing without sharing its contents, he might meet his fate sooner rather than later.
“What are you willing to offer? What are you willing to give up?” He lifts the book from the table, extending it toward her in a show of trust he’s not likely to show anyone else. Knowing how her caliber matches his own, it’s difficult for him not to trust her; he looks in her eyes and he understands the constellations of color, the complex webbings that stare back and acknowledge; she speaks and he hears his native tongue. In others, he sees a reflective surface and hears no whispers at the cuff of his ear.
The raven-haired witch allowed some space to bloom between them, her back now straight while she fixed her entertained gaze on him. a few seconds were spared for her to look around, as her fingernails filled the silence with soft taps whenever they met the wooden surface. her grin even widened, and the woman tilted her head. she first let out a soft chuckle, as though she were proud of the bloody path she’d created for herself, of the infamy she’d raised around her own name and figure. “ meric . . . ” bellatrix began, the word almost a purr as she eyed him with a somewhat persuasive affection.
now, it is necessary to be pointed out that up until that moment, bellatrix had succeeded at upholding restraints around herself -- not a single uncharacteristic motion had been displayed before the other, her limbs firm with assurance ( bellatrix black was, after all, a shark; one could swim around her, but they would never feel comfortable. ) but then, in the few moments it took the man to mutter the word ‘ his ’, to permit his image to grace her thoughts with his presence, it all crumbled. what had once stood as certain as marble now cracked, the tiny fractures now visible shall you were paying attention. her hands gave a faint shiver, her fingers now anchoring onto the wood. jaw now clenched, a quick rise of the eyebrows and a head motion indicated her awareness of the play he’d used on her. bending forward to reduce the distance between her and meric. a few moments are all it took for her to scan him, an eyebrow raising as her stare met his. now she was hesitant, careful -- she had never been the forgiving kind; who knew what she’d do with herself if she were to disrespect the only man she was accountable to.
“ and who says i’m not here to get the grimoire and hand it to him personally ? ” bellatrix’s lips remained pressed together in a sly smile before she finally let out a soft sigh. “ i know you like shiny things. . . jewelry, money. . . i’ll give you as much of that as you wish. . . ” she expressed monotonely, fingertips dragging across the table as if she were somehow bored. “ or . . . ” a spark ignited behind her eyes, the idea coming to her almost spontenously ---- “ something else. something many would consider highly valuable -- ” something men would kill for. “ you said whoever ended up getting the grimoire would find themselves in great debt. . . and that’s what i’m offering you. ”glimmering brown hues overlooked the grimoire extended to her & rested on him. “ a gift from me to you. . .a favor. i’m offering to be in your debt, to put myself at your service for one special occasion. whatever you ask me to do, i’ll do. wherever you ask me to go, i’ll go. i’ll be your obedient servant of sorts in exchange for the book. how is that for an offer ? ”
l u c i u s !
date: april, 1979 | where: some party, some place. | with: b. black
Loaded. Plastered. Knockered. Corked. Wasted. Lucius is anything but sober, and with all of the reasons. Girl problems? Family problems? All of the problems. Right now, he wants nothing more than to feel like it’s not his problem. So he’s centered on a small couch, one that’s intentionally upholstered to match the other three in the room. Decorations are everywhere, all matching of course, and they screamed upscale in ways that the common could never afford. ( CW ! brief mention of drug use )
Seguir leyendo
( TRIGGER WARNING: ALCOHOL / ALCOHOL MENTION ! )
At this point of the night, her steps and pace had become irregurlar, ranging from slow, stiff steps meant to keep her entire body from losing its balance, to small yet quick strides that showed the outbursts of energy as fostered by the alcohol coursing through her system. not that it this was the first time holy burning liquor had touched her lips. a handful of bottles of whiskey and rum sat inside the far end of her nightstand drawer, with only quarters of liquid left inside them ---- the ghosts of the nights when she felt too restless, too heavy, and so in an impulsive episode, uneasy hands had pried open the liquor cabinet. the bottles always ended up in her room, mere messes of broken glass or still full-bodied, somewhere amidst her bed sheets, having muffled everything around her before she had made it to the bottom of the glass container.
the woman’s familiar laughter has grown louder and more detached. with the rough lace pattern at the back of her dress sticking to glowing skin, she advanced towards one of the few familiar faces her tired eyes were able to spot despite the drunken swaying of her head. she’d been brought up in parties, a tradition her family had not bothered to cease. over time, the honeyed varnish to all these events had rotted away, and belaltrix began seeing them as they truly were: stupid wastes of her time, so much that she always ended up gravitating towards a drink or two.
“ how eloquent, ” something inside her changed, sharpened. she thought of narcissa, and right then, a fraction of what she’d consumed throughout the night seem to disappear. “ truly poetic. has ordinary champagne become too boring for your taste ? ”
t h é o d o r !
The death eater who lays dying against the exposed brick in the alleyway is wheezing, pools of vermillion seeping through the black threads of his robe — he’s wall-eyed and his mouth is moving as if words should be tumbling out, but nothing manifests but jabber and the click of his jaw. Théo’s attention is diverted and his eyes find Bellatrix; even her silhouette is familiar — the wild, unkempt curls, the long draping leaves of her dress dragging along the warbled path. He doesn’t expect to be scolded, but he knows what this looks like. It looks like treason. Still, he’s indignant.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Bellatrix, but I’m trying to save this imbécile’s life.” He stands, his long legs extending with inherent grace. His wand is put away and his willowy arms are crossed over his chest in defiance. “He attacked a muggle-born witch outside of the pub and was, unsurprisingly, bested by her.” He kicks the quivering figure and the dying man slumps over, his yellowing eyes flickering closed when a lance of pain seizes him. “If he hadn’t cocked it up so much, I might be in more of a hurry to get him to a healer. Pathétique.” His lip curls with distaste.
Slate blue eyes level on the woman, her family name almost as oppressive as her presence; a great pregnant cloud hanging overhead. While Théo normally relies on his charm to smooth out ruffled feathers, Bellatrix doesn’t work that way — he can tell by the errant flash in her eye, the madness blooming like some flower behind them. So, he engages her with his own tempered rage, so often bottled and shelved. “His sort might better serve the Dark Lord dead. Wouldn’t you agree, ma dame de maison noire?” His threat causes the man to retch. The contents of his stomach mix with the red of his insides on the gray cobbles.
Her whole figure flinched at the short-lived spark of insolence from theodor, a sting of humilliation piercing her ribcage when faced with the thought of someone daring to challenge her ---- especially one of their own. with an artisan-like swiftness, the witch reached for her wand, its throbbing wooden spine pressed against the palm’s hot skin. upset sharp orbs remained glued on him ---- not the dying man, but théodor, seeking a twitch, a wrinkle not previously there, a shift -- anything that expressed a cry of ‘ traitor ’. eyebrows furrowed in a concoction of anger and disbelief, bellatrix’s shoulders jumped ever so lightly every time the body of the other wizard made the slightest movement.
“ oh, i have every right to meddle in this, delacour, ” every word strided with preciseness, her stance never faltering even as she took a couple of steps to the side. every gasp and groan, as faint as they were, reached her ears, the pulsing on her temples like a fiercely-beaten drum. her head tilted slightly to the side, incredulity clouding her. MARBLE DOESN’T YIELD, DIAMONDS DON’T BREAK ---- not a single part of her seemed to give in. the thickness of his accent made her fingers twitch, her thoughts like screams coming from a void, like shadows pulling and pleading TRUST HIM // HE’S A LIAR.
“ and give the two of you away by letting a healer see you like this ? what kind of stupid alternative is that ? ” the woman raised her voice, her wrist twisting slightly yet continuing to point the wand at the blond. for only a second, she turned to the injured, her eyes clearly projecting SHAME and DISAPPOINTMENT. “ how a filthy mudblood managed to beat you is beyond me, ” she whispered, poison laced onto every syllable. “ and you ------ ” the emotions that had previously taken over her resurface as she looks back at théo, the struggle to find an appropriate response now larger than bellatrix black herself.
according to the bible, the men who roamed the earth had been created in their god’s image and according to their likeness. they would rule over the fish of the sea and the birds in the sky. but then, they’d turned arrogant; they’d turned weak. and now men tripped and bled and died.
“ kill him, ” her arm dropped, her eyes now glassy. one less in the battlefield. one less with them in the cause. one less to serve the dark lord. for all she knew, the man death awaited for could prevent them from being outnumbered. one less. . . one less. “ he’s injured. injured means weak, weak means slow. all he’ll do now is hinder us. ”
e d i t h !
Edith found that her position in the Ministry lent itself quite well to the Death Eaters’ cause. Her title was Deputy Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office but under that also fell the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes and Hexes as well as the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Naturally, reports involving those affiliated with the Death Eaters often appeared on her desk. If someone was already a known criminal there was not much she could do for them but for those who had thus far managed to slip under the radar of law enforcement Edith had more room to manoeuvre.
However, her supposed alliance with the Death Eaters was still burgeoning and she lacked knowledge regarding who was or was not affiliated with them. Edith could only assume this had something to do with the tactful matters Bellatrix spoke of but attempting to predict what the woman was thinking was pointless.
“I wasn’t planning to go much further than the Atrium for lunch but I suspect our conversation will warrant something more private, hm?”
“ the atrium. . . mhmm, ” crimson lips purred, an eyebrow raising as an index finger taped against her chin -- as though she were faced with a riddle, a puzzle. she took only a handful of precious moments to look behind edith’s shoulder, as though she were expecting to find something ( much like restless children, those serendibite spheres had gotten used to wandering. ) ultimately, she let out a short, breathy giggle, her lips resting on a smile afterwards. “ i’ve always detested their food. such lousy gastronomy... ” she expressed, looking at her nails for a fried moment as whichever remainder of warmth and calmness faded, her tone now cold and somewhat bitter.
“ more private. . . ” the raven-haired's tilted to the side as a somewhat warm gaze graced edith. behind her, tenths of typewriters impregnated sheets of paper with their dark footprints, a piercing DING! popping up every couple of moments or so. the noise seemed to become more muffled and unimportant the more her stare and edith’s meeting lasted. the first concrete response left bellatrix, a simple “ it would. ” not that she took her job lightly, but rather, that she was taking a purposefully attempt at tiptoeing around edith’s words.
“ we’re not going there. you never who might be listening, who might be keeping some nasty little secrets under those horrid, boring suits. . . i’m sure neither of the two would like it if a careless slip damaged . . . us . . . ” following, bellatrix reached out behind edith and slammed the office door shut. “ let me steal you away from here. someplace else will do. come on, ” she gestured with the head, and without warning, she resumed her pace toward the lobby. “ i swear edith ---- ” she looked back as she moved ---- “ i don’t know how you don’t lose your mind in this place. i wouldn’t be able to bear working here. ”
CLOSED TO: arthur weasley ( @arthrwsly ! )
LOCATION: ministry of magic.
DATE & TIME: april 28th, 1979 ; 9:37 a.m.
For someone who did not work at the ministry of magic, bellatrix spent a surprising amount of time frequenting its offices & engaging with its workers. yaxley, wilkes, avery ---- all pieces on the same game board, men whose position at the magical institution granted the dark side treasured connections & access. each of the words and moves of these men were as valuable as gold, and as so they should be treated ------- so much that the task of sharing their information to their one superior had been assigned to the most loyal of his followers.
after her arrival was announced by the usual fluorescent gleam at the mouth of one of the fireplaces, the witch was able to secure her concealment amidst the masses of workers and visitors that moved down the ministry’s halls. their faces seemingly displaying the same hint of misery, they seemed too focused on whichever mundane task they were off to execute to notice her. however, even if she were to be spotted, something about the thrill to the easiness with which one could cross the fine line between safety and danger did not scare her, but rather, amused her ( & she had heard it time after time -- ❛ TO BE RECKLESS IF TO BE FOOLISH ❜ -- but she differed. )
ruby lips pursed in a soft grin, the woman moved in smooth demeanor, eyes occasionally drifting to a different site. her mind never wondered, not even as a child ( she wasn’t an imaginative individual ; daydreaming had always seemed like an utter waste of time to her ) and after small mistakes had caused her to receive a sustantial reprimand in return, she often made sure not to indulge in absentmindedness, reason why she couldn’t help but furrow as she felt her shoulder softly come into contact with someone else.
eyes briefly wide as plates upon spotting who it was she’d come across, bellatrix cleared her throat, the idea of issuing anything along the lines of an apology never bothering to appear amidst her thoughts. it had most likely been years since the bella and the other had last spoken ( if they ever had. ) the weasley surname was long stained and ruined in the eyes of her family, with anyone under it always being regarded to as SHAMEFUL BLOOD TRAITORS ( if, again, they were even considered worthy of being mentioned inside black household. )
“ i didn’t know you worked here, ” was all she let, the fashion abrupt as ever, and the words heavy with the concoction of surprise and antipathy.
CLOSED TO: narcissa black ( @narcisscsm ! )
LOCATION: rosa lee teabag, diagon alley.
DATE & TIME: april 25th, 1979 ; 3:37 pm.
Her mother had always been one to disdain SURPRISES. her bony body would jump, forcing an irritated gasp out of reddened lips colder than ice shards. her hands -- hands that moved with unparalleled grace and elegance as the fingers’ gentle pressure applied onto marble piano keys produced beautiful piano melodies -- would reach her chest, as though she wished to keep her own ROTTEN heart safe from the startle. soon, her eyebrows would knit as they often did, her face shifting into a terrifying portrait of a woman devoid of whichever traces of motherly instinct could be found within her.
and bellatrix ? oh, poor young little bella had once been keen on causing such bewilderment. one spring did she stumble upon a beautiful flitterby in a warm spot somewhere around their childhood home. the young girl acted quickly, caging the creature with her digits without producing it any harm. soft, inquisitive eyes scanned its wings with delight ( eyes at that point not yet scarred by the parents’ hatred nor the filth their owner would go on to surround herself with. ) the crinkling of the chimney fire whispering in druella’s ear, her figure barely discernible from the armchair’s silhouette before the heat’s warm light, bellatrix released the moth while standing near her mother -- and so the woman shook, and gasped, and frowned, the visual sending bellatrix into a giggling fit.
the moth’s minuscule body emitted a bright green beam before it ceased its flight, falling to the floor, lifeless. with the hand other than the one used to grasp onto her wand, druella’s palm delivered the girl’s cheek a most horrendous blow, and such were the degrees of strength and sharpness that the side of her face would uprightly display a red & purple artwork for days after that.
now, with eyes hollow of compassion and scars scattered around her hands as though she had ( CONSTELLATIONS ) engraved on her skin, bellatrix black crossed the streets of the diagon alley with satisfaction garnishing her features. the cobblestones of the alley shyly displayed the remainders of last night’s rain, and the establishments’ walls had partially become nothing but showcases for the countless “ HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD ? ” posters emblazoned with some of her colleagues’ faces. unbothered by the crowds that gathered outside window stills, the witch proceeded through the groups of observers, the air moist and thick with smoke, the scent of sweets and the uncertainty of those fearing an attack in that moment.
the bell by the door of the cozy tea shop announced her arrival, the high pitch of the chimes sending shivers of annoyance down bellatrix’s back as she approached her sister. in a demeanor more genteel than her usual one, bellatrix sat down, dropping a medium package wrapped in wrinkled brown paper on the table. “ i got a special little something for you, ” bellatrix grinned, chin resting against the palm of her hand & eyes glistening with fervor.
CLOSED TO: domitius rossier ( @rosetamed ! )
LOCATION: the leaky cauldron, diagon alley
DATE & TIME: april 25th, 1979 ; 7:13 pm
The loud clanking of the beer steins intertwined with the auditory manifestation of the inn’s visitors’ drunken bliss was enough to push a groan out of her mouth. taking a quick look at those around her, the witch managed to ( thankfully ) remain unperceived. her spot in the corner enabled her to remain near the dimmer lights, in the shade of seclusion yet with full view of the insides of the pub. slender digits clutched onto her glass, tilting it and allowing its bruning content to reach the brunette’s lips. tickling heat instantly filled bellatrix’s throat and rib cage, seconds before she set the drink down in a firm demeanor. with the other hand, she held a copy of the daily prophet, its front page announcing “ WITCH MISSING ; FAMILY MURDERED. ”
the rest was like gibberish to her.
rarely did she allow herself to be concerned over articles from said publication; at the end of the day, it was just noise ---- exaggerated, ignorant, bothersome noise. in times like these, talk was never lacking. like lost sailors floating on lifeboats, people were desperate, clinging onto dear life through calls for help and sketchy deals. they talked their way into and out of conflict, or regurgitated whichever stupidity was sent their way if it ensured them the sight of yet another day.
bellatrix couldn’t completely drown out her reaction at the appeal to her morbidity, her fingers ever so gently twitching with amusement as they held the pages. what else could she do in regards to the words her eyes were picking up ? or perhaps the firewhisky was to blame, creating bubbling laughter inside of her and inciting that stubborn fervor true to her own character.
her amusement soon became extinguished, however, as her eyes briefly left the paper, catching glimpse of a sight dreadful enough to upset her. in the inside pocket of her coat, her wand throbbed with an uneasy urge. her temples palpitated subtly, an eyebrow shooting upwards as her features projected everything but a pleased message.
“ i’m surprised you dare show yourself during the day ---- ” each and every single word that fluttered into the ar was marked and sharp, like cuts of a knife, laced with unmistakable poison. not even did bellatrix allow herself to flash a dishonest smile, no -- her lips remained pressed together, save for the moments where she spoke. “ ---- cousin dear, ” she added, feigning a sweet, familiar yer purposefully BITTER tone.
r a b a s t a n !
she spawns blackholes for ingenuous men to drown in. silk, raven tresses deceive and mankind asphyxiates on vermillion ichor. her assessment is valid – the white wyvern’s proprietors have vitally collapsed. what surreptitious conclaves the dark lord has hosted will need to be entombed beneath layers of ash and pumice. to be seized in this war is to bite a cyanide pill. the entrance waived, the eldest sister is granted the entirety of his attention. ❛ not particularly shocking, ❜ he asserts, ❛ the building was of far more use than its bloody occupants. ❜ he expects to discover rodolphus skulking in the shadows behind his future bride, but the terra is merely a portrait of apparitions. scraggly, shrouded limbs pry from the rearward alley – they seek the woman’s exquisite regard. he’s witnessed homicidal retaliation for much less. the youngest lestrange’s cranium inclines, requesting that she venture hellish corridors alongside him. the length of his stride diminishes as to not outpace her, and he accuses through a teasing tone: ❛ where have you left my dear brother, bella ? ❜
The woman let out soft hums, taking a small step closer to the sign so that sharp fingers could trace the legend engraved on its surface. “ those bastards, ” she chuckled, just as the word 'MINISTRY' stood under the vibrating skin of her fingertip ---- the expression left her in an air of ever so bitter playfulness, as she is aware of her and rabastan’s collaborators influence on said institution.) wild curls bounced as she nodded in agreement, before she turned back to look at him ---- her features, resting under the shadow of emotionlessness, briefly acquire the warmth reception of her sisters’, that unparalleled innocence and marble elegance smoothing all scars & traces of delusion. however, as she tilted her head, her mouth once again breaking into a grin, the woman’s peculiar dun vitality resumed, like droplets of ink daubing water.
with a light bow, bellatrix thanked rabastan; she turned her frame & repositioned herself by his side, briefly turning back to look at the chaos she had birthed before starting to walk. sharp cheekbones became tinted by traces of cardinal. “ some despicable hell, ” she snickered. the words carried no hatred or honesty; she held nothing but respect for rodolphus. still, that did not mean she was aware of his full schedule. “ maybe at last he’s been swallowed by the shadows. ” the witch teased, certainly not tiptoeing around the man. “ i had assumed it’d be you who’d know of his location, rabastan. what kind of brother are you, blind to your own sibling’s whereabouts ? ” bellatrix tantalized, a smile garnishing her lips.
‘ * ✶ ❝ ━━ NOCTURNUMRP TASK I → WORD ASSOCIATION
e d i t h !
There were only a handful of people who intimidated Edith, and as luck would have it one was standing before her. She would never admit it, never let it show, but indeed, Bellatrix Black intimidated her. Even as a teenager she’d had a powerful presence, Edith had felt it all those years ago when she first met Bellatrix in the Slytherin common room.
Edith was acquainted with all three Black sisters, two of whom she considered friends. Bellatrix was not one of the two but that didn’t mean she counted her as an enemy, not yet. Time would tell on that front.
“Inconvenient? Your timing is quite perfect actually,” Edith countered contentedly, “I was just stepping out for lunch, I’d welcome the company.”
A laugh left bella’s lips -- a cold, frightening one quick to send a shiver down anyone’s back, yet currently DISGUISED as friendly and calm. something about edith interested bellatrix ( her character’s resemblance to one of her sisters’, perhaps ? her seemingly collected exterior and ease with which she carried herself ? ) admittedly, whatever it was seemed to exist in a complex plane, making it far too strange to bellatrix for her to put it into the nonchalant form of communication. the arousal of said emotions left bellatrix unable to feel fond of the other woman, but her work and commitment was well-received nonetheless.
careful eyes were posed on the other, an eyebrow raising as edith’s words reached bellatrix’s ears. a smile danced across ruby lips at her openess, to which she nodded and responded: “ i do pride myself on my punctuality, dear edith, ” words were sweet ---- yet not affectionate. never affectionate. she scanned the woman form head to toe, again, unknowing of exactly what she was expecting to spot somewhere within her silhouette. bella smiled ------ & as it was expected of bellatrix black’s grins, the one displayed to edith did not bother hiding the woman’s true raging madness. “ then i’m sure you’ll appreciate me coming along. there are some tactful manners i’d love to discuss with you -- i’m sure you understand. ”
m e r i c !
The room stills as if to make room for the whisper of Bellatrix’s skirts on the bowing, wooden floors. Witches and wizards lean toward the magnetic maelstrom that moves through the room —- she reflects no light; she is absolute dark and the silence that follows her is at the deathly end of gloaming. Meric sees in her the sort of madness he recognizes in himself, only hers is less tethered and unapologetic. Hers is the unfurling of spidery roots from the loam; his is dry and atrophied and waiting in the veil of night. In her manic gaze, he sees the same endless, wallpapered corridors whence he came. Her tinkling laughter is a promise of unbridled desecration and it’s such a familiar melody —- one that harkens back to his muted childhood and the privation of warmth and love others might find in such a lockbox.
So extensive is his damage that he finds great comfort in her nearness.
When she leans forward, her tousled hair veiling the contours of her face but not the Cheshire bow of her smile, Meric does not tuck the grimoire away. Instead, he simply leans back, regards her in her bedraggled gown —- she’s a riddle he’s too perplexed by to solve. She is somehow baleful, her sing-song words cloyingly sweet, as she marvels at his pilfered prize.
“Like most pretty things, it’s also deadly.” His fingers run over the porous pages blessed with a dead witch’s benediction. What arrogance it must have taken for her to keep words alive when faced with a burning stake. Did she think she would be back to claim them?
“Considering how much it cost to secure it, it won’t be sold for a small price.” Meric eyes her, unashamed of his lack of probity in her eyes. “Whoever possesses it after me will find themselves deeply in my debt. Not a comfortable place to be. Why —- are you interested?” A grin blooms on his lips.
Enlarged pupils rested on him, outlining every element & crease of his physiognomy before the woman’s head offered a slight bow. no part of his behavior surprised her ( delighted her, yes, but never startled her ) for she was in the presence of an old acquaintance, an associate. standing before him, raising a divide between them & the rest, time seemed to freeze. the dance of exchanges between them pleased her, filling her with a contentment not many would expect to find in her. the reverence for meric manifested itself in each of her words, and the reberverating madness exhuberated by each of them created a dark embrace that encircled the two of them at once.
bellatrix’s cheeks glistened wth a delicate tinge of crimson, which didn’t hesitate after he spoke. chiseled fingers gently touched the side of her jaw, a giggle escaping her lips at the sound of the word DEADLY. “ oh, meric -- ” her grin widened during the reticence trailing behind each word so as to exhibit her comodity & assurance -- “ why does it strike me as though you didn’t know ( ME ) at all ? ” partially a reference of the affluence & renown to the BLACK surname.
the witch’s eyes sparkled with devilment, her features clouding with an ubearable attraction to the treasure, like a feline who’d found a source for enjoyment -- she could already tell the taste of a successful deal on her tongue. her fingertips palpitated with excitement, the eagerness to caress the book’s pages & to fondle its spine present in every blood cell. she was pleased at the smoothness of his dialogue, yet aroused by the challenge he presented. bellatrix let out a soft sigh, “ it didn’t take me long to guess you wouldn’t ask for less in return ---- say i were interest... what is it that you’d want for it ? ”
t h é o d o r !
The woman wilts like a lifeless violet as the chambers of her mind are flooded with obfuscating magic —- her blue eyes dim, her mouth falls agape, and her breathing slows to a dangerous pace. The nuances of her memory are gently coaxed into the dim corridors of her mind and the heavy velvet curtain of forgetful bliss is drawn back. The mind-addled woman disappears ( oblivious and smiling ) back into the pub. His work is done. A vine wood wand retreats into the cover of its master’s cloak, and the double-agent turns his attention away.
Tucked neatly into the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron is the figure of the man who initiated the attack: a brazen and foolish accosting of a muggle-born wizard just outside The Leaky Cauldron. Despite his impetuous actions, he has the gaul to glare at Théo for interfering —- his skin has the pallor of a sick moon from loss of blood and his eyes are sunken and hateful. It’s obvious that the vicious spell the woman used against him has left him lingering at death’s moribund door —- Théo knows how to reverse the damage, but he doesn’t lift his wand to help. Should the foul bastard bleed out in the alley, there would be one less shadow in the Dark Lord’s growing phalanx of foot soldiers.
“You’re hasty,” Théo imparts softly, his voice even with feigned indifference. “Picking fights with muggles outside the Leaky Cauldron won’t get you the recognition you so desperately desire from the Dark Lord.”
“You know nothing of the Dark Lord’s desires, half-blood —-” The insult is cut short by a guttural explosion of coughs. Specks of blood slick the cobblestone.
“Insult me again and I’ll finish the witch’s work.”
Théo prepares to apparate with the wounded and disagreeable figure, but the hollow knock of footfalls echoes and stops him in his tracks.
------ There was a shift in the air, followed only by an uneasiness much too convoluted to describe. an abrupt silence reigned, one unlike the contemporary ambiance around these parts. time seemed to stop, the tips of its toes just a minimal number of millimeters away from a dangerous fall. if anyone would’ve asked her, she would’ve even said she spotted a nearby streetlight flickering. but that was just her. her eyes, however, constantly alert and in the pursuit of something alluring, turned vigilant -- if this were a different hour, one would even say agog -- as they scanned for the perpetrator of the strange metamorphosis.
“ did you hear that ? ” for once, bellatrix wasn’t alone -- a cohort stood by her sides, all of them oblivious to whatever the witch was referring to. “ don’t you dare call me crazy - i know what i heard, ” but perhaps it was too late for them to try to change her mind; her pace had picked up, as driven as ever, the rest of her colleagues now left behind. as she walked, even the smallest hint of light or softest sound caused her head to turn.
a murmur reached her ear, her eyebrows knitted. whatever it was caused her to fell slightly satisfied -- after all, she’d been right. there was something --, but said feeling was quickly swept away as the woman emerged from the shadows and into the alley behind the leaky cauldron. her eyes widened, showing the most evident shade of bewilderment. her gaze met theodor’s, and right then, in a brusque tone, bellatrix asked: “ what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing ? ”
e d i t h !
location: improper use of magic office (ministry of magic level 2)
Edith let out a long sigh as she pressed the palms of her hands to her closed eyes. The work day felt as though it were dragging on more than usual. She slid her palms up to her temples and opened her eyes to check the time. Through slightly blurred vision she saw that the clock hanging above her office door read quarter to one. A lunch break seemed appropriate.
She grabbed her jacket and handbag from the coat rack by the door before pulling the door open. She hadn’t expected to be almost nose to nose with someone when she stepped out.
“Can I help you with something?” Edith asked. And can it wait? she thought to herself.
------- ‘ STOP THAT, BELLATRIX. IT’S UNLADYLIKE OF YOU ’ had the couple continuously instructed their firstborn. whether it be giggling when dinning, scrapping her knees, whispering instead of talking, frowning, staining her dress or not knocking, bellatrix had grown up with so many restrictions she’d become accustomed to tiptoe even at her own home. such extreme and foolish guidelines upsetted the child, sending her into hissy fits that would be rapidly silenced by a slap in the face. in.between sobs, the young girl would apologize to her mother, and vow never to do repeat such poor behavior again. now, aged 29, bellatrix would often be found doing whatever she pleased. whatever action tickled her interest and proved exillarating enough to grasp her interest for long periods of time established her schedule, so much that the woman had now transformed into the epitome of UNPREDICTABILITY. she was a reckless one, the eldest daughter of cygnus and druella -- so much that only a handful of her mother’s old-fashioned prohibitions continued to dictate her conduct nowadays. she was comprised of raucous laughter, lackadaisical footwork patterns, hunching, cursing and glaring at others as thought she were expecting her eyes to burn a hole through their flesh.
for that matter, she would never bother to knock -- a handful of confused or shocked stares became fixed on her, as she allowed her infamous daunting smirk, attire the shade of DEATH itself and the maniacal, overpowering energy announce her presence to the seemingly-startled ministry employees.
the grin garnishing her sharp features widened at the sight of the other, and she took a moment to eye her from head to toe, to admire her, as if she’d been taken over by a tide of FASCINATION and INTEREST. her eyebrows remained slightly furrowed, not so as to convey confusion or anger, but as to give her expression an air of calm, control and superiority. “ i don’t know -- can you be of any assistance, edith ? ” the hue of her lips mirrored that of blood -- intense under the current light, yet with an underlying darkness to it as well. “ i like songbirds -- yes, you know, those little birds that perch on the windows from time to time -- ” bellatrix leaned against the doorframe, showing the most obvious form of comodity where she stood. one hand rested wrapped around her hip, while the other motioned every now and then as she spoke -- “ i like to hear what have to say. have i arrived at an incovenient time? ” she finally asked, not expressing any regret at all, upon sensing the urgency to the other.
m e r i c !
it’s anna koldings’ grimoire —- held together by a sliver of rotten deerskin, a few braids of hempen twine, and a primitive horse-shoe latch so rusted that it nearly turns to dust at his touch. it had been found a few leagues under the sea in a locked box off the coast of norway, obviously cast to the dreary depths by the men who had seen to the witch’s execution. despite its poor outward condition, many of the pages within are completely preserved by, what meric assumes, is a very potent, very old charm. so, amidst the soured pages ( no doubt personal entries forever lost to the salt of the sea ) and mottled scrawl of no consequence, are bouts of pristine calligraphy as clear and concise as the first hour they were written. spells, incantations, ingredients, curses, unfinished notes on alchemy, poisons.
“in the wrong hands, that little book can do a lot of damage, boss,” says artillius hencher through a mouthful of sugary biscuit.
“that’s all very well, but i don’t care whose hands it falls into. i care more about how much they’re willing to pay for it.”
the werewolf lifts a brow as his swarthy companion shoves an inappropriate amount of treacle toffee into his mouth. “we’re done.” the finality in his voice is indisputable.
as hencher leaves ( his ratty pockets lined with mulciber’s galleons ), meric takes a moment to flip through the soiled pages. his hands, wrapped in black leather, seem impervious to the swell of dark magic lapping at the edges of coiled parchment. it’s rare he keeps an uncovered treasure to himself, but it is the devil’s mother’s manifesto. the collector in him staunchly drowns out the needling voice of the greedy vendor.
BLACK TOURMALINE -- that was the hue bellatrix’s gown. it was antique and scruffy like a city forgotten forgotten by time. there were burns where the silk of the skirt ended, and if one were to shine a light near it, they’d be surprised to see how many holes and battle scars it displayed with admirable pride. the color was the same as that of mostly everyone else’s attire, and her features were being garnished by the same hungry, wicked expression. however, voices ceased their silent slumber when she walked past their holders, and suddenly, her damaged garment weighed twice as much, now carrying the gazes thrust upon her ---- even in the places where she belonged in the most, bellatrix black found herself standing out among everyone in the room.
once had someone told bellatrix that ‘ one could never go back to their home, yet they could not abandon it either. ’ the fact she was present & inside this seedy establishment was not unusual ( at least, not to her. ) she had grown up in amidst a somewhat similar feeling, in a place that had received nothing but the sun’s indifference, where the lonely marble aisles were warmer than her own mother’s embrace & where a child had been turned into a monster ; nowadays, these spots were frequented only by the most tenebrously peculiar minds, hands almost as bloody as hers, belonging to those who had been on the verge of transforming from people into corpses on so many occassions. these were people whose gods had abandoned them long ago -------- the feeling that flooded her as she’d stepped inside didn’t stretch too far off what she’d become accustomed to. this was a ‘ home away from home ’ of sorts ---- not some reeking pub with air thicker than oil, no, it was more than that ; it was the SHADOWS.
the woman allows herself to lean forward, the famous mane of dark curls covering almost half of her features. “ what a PRETTY, pretty thing, ” words slipped through her smile, followed by a soft yet chilling chuckle. every syllable was laced with mischievous charm. “ wonder how hard it was for you to get that... and for how much you’re willing to hand it out. ”
r a b a s t a n !
date & time: april 1979, 8:00pm. location: the white wyvern, knockturn alley.
perspired cobblestone remained glistening by the stain of evening rain, and accompanied, dense fog enveloped him. soaked in his dark-pigmented ensemble, black boots swept the earth’s surface with the reticence of swirling mists. he drifted, an assassin stalking his own shadow, along the familiar path toward an archaic establishment. the pub’s fortress existed beside those of sinister endeavors, its insidious exterior unfeasible to overlook. fragmented firebrick columns comprised its castled stability – what murky moats it lacked made up by its immorally corrupt occupants.
from his molten peripheral, there is a flash of neon viridescent. an obscured being exhumes the alley, is vanquished by a spectral of their own apparating retreat. the epoch is customary; executions linger at every hexed corner. in his department of the ministry, the hit wizard’s desk is littered with fugitives – a plethora of the dark lord’s knights await termination. another’s tread reverberates rearward, and the atmosphere retorts by conjuring up another saturating deluge. as he pivots on spined fulcrum, the white wyvern’s gateway is hindered by a sepia-hued notice: UNDER INVESTIGATION BY THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT. the wizard snorts – of course they failed to remain inconspicuous. on an expelled breath, he remarks, ❛ so much for firewhisky. ❜
The woman advanced with a proud yet careless stride, water from the puddles underneath the soles of her charcoal shoes splattering and moistening the edge of her black lace gown. a raspy chuckle stumbled out of tinted lips, bouncing about the street like a drunkward’s walk while her insides burned with joy. the woman with a void for a soul had little to no idea where she has headed -- she rarely knew, especially around this hour. all that had unfolded before her that day was now a blurr -- but the uncertainty was alluring.
she was alone, as she would expect to be, but not that it troubled her. as the dark witch made her way towards the seedy pub, the many silhouettes leaning against the walls of the equally-filthy establishments called and reached out -- desperate attempts to catch her attention, she could tell. bellatrix found these people dull & tiring. whatever it was that left their mouths seemed to do so with the most extreme degree of confidence, being either too ludicrous or too boring for her to gift it her precious attention. finally, she was bathed by the warmth of streetlamp outside the white wyvern -- for a moment, a satisfied grin danced across her lips. she stood behind the other, and so said smirk soon disappeared. chocolate eyes rapidly scanned the sign’s words. " what a pity, ” she almost whispered in the other’s ear, her features projecting an obviously fake grim expression. “ this is why imbeciles shouldn’t be allowed to run establishments like this one -- only the most brainless forget to cover up their tracks, don’t you agree ? ” the raven-haired’s woman words were coated with the usual concotion of mischief and amusement, her mouth ultimately resting in a sly grin.
