worlds

at the bottom of a bottle molly prewett, 28, aligned death eater, sister, professor

[anecdotalprewett]

fletchxr:

“And here I thought a teacher might be more receptive to such a valuable education,” Mundungus replied, hand pressed to his heart as if to express how deeply wounded he was by the accusation, though the cheerful smile had yet to extinguish, even as she turned to bellow at her students midway through her scolding. “The next time someone tells you Knockturn Alley is no place for pigeons, maybe you’ll listen.”

He beamed, rocking on his heels and rolled his palm to produce a single galleon, rolling it deftly across the back of his knuckles as he continued, conversationally, “Besides, nobody said that con artist and bartender had to be mutually exclusive occupations, did they? I find myself quite capable of keeping up with both on a good day, much like you manage to balance professor and drunk.”

With a bat of his eyes he pocketed the galleon again, listening to the irritable stamping of hooves and the loud snorting of the horses. It was a miracle, he thought, that the poor things hadn’t decided to make a break for it already. “Come on now, Professor,” Mundungus turned to regard her with that same goading smile, “It’s a festival. Don’t look so gloomy about it.”

“There are lessons in this world that can be learned without physical pain, you know.” Molly retorted, keeping her eyes off of him for the time being. Her did her best to stay vigilant, to watch over her students, but it was difficult with this man lingering nearby. The term ‘pigeon’ sent a flare of annoyance up her spine, spreading heat to her ears, which were burning - she was sure - a distinct red. 

The clink of a coin in hand turned her head, a brow raising. Now he was just showing off, toying with her. “I am not a drunk.” She snapped, knowing the moment the words tumbled past her lips that they sounded far too defensive. She could ignore in her own mind that itch to slip away for a few moments, for a burn of liquor in her throat. The man was a con artist, she reminded herself. They were supposed to read people, to pick out their weak points. So she needed her weak points to not be so weak. 

“You look into spending a month organizing students, vendors, volunteers, animal wranglers--” Molly nodded pointedly at the irritable horses, “and then tell yourself to act cheerful about it, hm?”

[anecdotalprewett]

andromxdae:

If Andromeda trusted anyone, Molly Prewett would be on her list of those she trusted. Like Andromeda, Molly had been a black sheep in her family, Sorted into Gryffindor to set the precedent for Sirius years later. Her life’s trajectory had not been that of the typical pureblood daughter even after school; most aimless children took their parents’ money or found a rich spouse and avoided working jobs more difficult than planning parties. Molly had acquired her job through real means, and not by simply being wealthy and pure. Andromeda respected her, even if she didn’t yet trust her.

Dora was grinning at Molly, her hair shifting red in response to visual stimulation–Molly’s hair was distinct, and Nymphadora was fond of distinct. “The pink one,” she told them both, pointing to the ice cream as well as she could from her height. Andromeda obliged, handing over coins while giving Molly a smile she hoped looked friendly. “This is her first festival–that she can remember, at least.” She could vaguely recall stopping by a few local festivals in her travels with Ted, but her years as Mrs. Tonks were not ones she ever mentioned to people in her life now. She handed the strawberry ice cream cone to her daughter, who stared at it with awe for a few seconds before starting to lick it.

Something about that little girl just made Molly’s heart soar. When her hair shifted to the same tone as Molly’s, her smile flickered ever so slightly. Her heart went out to Andromeda, it really did. Having a child that was different, especially in times like this, was difficult regardless of what your surname was. Her smile widened, warmth growing behind her eyes as the little girl spoke, nodding enthusiastically. “The pink one, hm? Excellent choice.” 

Molly glanced back at the mother when she spoke, focus turning to her now instead. “What a lucky girl - and what a great opportunity to bring her to.” It was strange, the hint of jealousy that Molly felt as she spoke. Andromeda had something that she wanted - a daughter, blood of her own to hold and protect. As much as she liked to think that teaching gave her that opportunity, it wasn’t the same. And her brothers - well, there was one too far past protecting, and another who would tell her not to worry. But times like this, it was hard not to worry. 

“Everyone behaving themselves so far, Andromeda? I swear, I’ve been handing out detentions as if they’re candy.”

[anecdotalprewett]

fletchxr:

Mundungus was beginning to wonder if he’d developed a thing for being yelled at by beautiful women. There had to be some explanation for why he kept baiting them — or perhaps it was simply a symptom of his personality.

His head tilted, eyes turning back to the collection of magical creatures kept behind flimsy gates with vague amusement as anger fizzed and boiled within the woman next to him, waiting patiently and finding he wasn’t disappointed with the results.

“I don’t recall,” he replied brightly, hands in his pockets as he followed the slow, miserable path of one of the horses around it’s little field, the beasts wingers were flapping irritably as if it was considering propelling one of the toddlers perched on it’s back into the stratosphere. “But it’s a hard thing to tell an Irishman he shouldn’t go placing bets — what else would we do with our lives?”

Dark eyes drifted back to Molly with a broad, beaming smile to boot, “S’pose we could drink them away, couldn’t we?”

“No, of course you don’t.” Why would a lecherous, drunk con artist remember taking her money? She was sure it was a daily occurrence for him, those sort of things were sure to blend together. “You’re lucky I didn’t--” But she was interrupted, keen eyes focusing up on another student up to no good. Her tone grew harsh again, a crack of the whip across the grounds.

“Miss Bagshot, so help me Merlin, you’re supposed to be watching the children, not flirting with Mr. Davis!” The fifth year glared, returning to her post with a little pout, hand tightening on the reigns of the irritated looking winged horse. Flush with annoyance, she turned back to Fletcher, only to have him dig at her even further. The flush turned deeper, spreading to her ears. 

“That’s rich, coming from a man who poses as a bartender to con women out of their gold.” Her voice had a twinge of poison, but not as much as she would have liked. Of all the men she allowed to get under her skin, why was it continuously the ones of questionable or damn obvious ill-dispute?

[anecdotalprewett]

andromxdae:

Location: Festival Grounds Time: 10:32 am

Predictably, Nymphadora’s excitement about being allowed out of the castle was trumped only by her delight at the festival’s display. Her hair turned orange and then pink, then back to brown as Andromeda squeezed her shoulder in a gentle warning. A constantly-changing appearance attracted too much attention for Drom’s comfort; she perceived any eyes on her daughter as nefarious no matter what the reason. The other Hogwarts professors, seeing Dora’s lack of restraint, had given Dromeda their blessing to sneak away from her post and let her daughter enjoy the festival for a little while. A four-year-old could not easily be held back, especially one of Nymphadora’s temperament, and Andromeda found herself clutching her daughter’s hand very tightly in an attempt not to lose her in the crowd.

Dora made a beeline for the brightly-colored ice cream stand, hair again turning colors to match the shades of ice cream her eyes were on. This time, Andromeda allowed it, reasoning that the painted faces of the children also crowded around would conceal her abilities well enough. “Which one do you want?” she asked, fishing in her robes for loose change stowed away for this reason.

The students had been entirely out of hand ever since the announcement of the festival. Molly had spent most of the morning trying to herd them into cohesive groups, but it was just as difficult as herding cats. She’d finally managed to get everyone in their assigned postings for the day - after telling Horace that he had to keep a close eye on the boys around the pixie enclosure. She didn’t trust the adolescents any more than she did the mischievous pixies. 

Now it was just a matter of making rounds, and keeping everyone both happy and in their place. It was, needless to say, a difficult and delicate affair. She rounded the corner, a short way away from the Carousel, eyes searching for any possible wrong-doing by a student - but instead, she found only ice cream and a colleague.

Despite what rumors and whispers there were about the middle Black daughter, Molly had always found that she quite liked Andromeda. The fact that they were now colleagues made the relationship all the more enjoyable - especially when little Nymphadora was around. Say she was strict with her students, say she could be a little bit overbearing at times, but she had a fondness for children. Though her mother may badger her constantly about when she was going to get married and start a family (and Molly wasn’t even considering that route at the moment), there was always a twinge of something when Molly saw Nymphadora and Andromeda together.

Approaching the pair, Molly smiled down at the young girl first asking, “Mum’s going to get you a treat, hm Dora?” Fondness was thick in her voice, before glancing up at Andromeda. “The little one enjoying herself more than the rest of us, Drom?”

[anecdotalprewett]

duplicitiies:

festival grounds 9th February 1979 11:10am

Severus sat at the head of the facepainting booth, a book clutched tightly in his hands, the whiteness of his knuckles an indicator as to the simmering rage spurred on by his assigned role. It was bad enough that he had been forced onto the planning committee - but to be stuck in charge of a gaggle of incompetent students as well? It was too much for him to take.

His eyes remained glued to the yellowing pages in front of him, determined to have the bare minimum of involvement until his shift was over (when that was exactly, he did not know, but he knew that it could not come soon enough.)

Barely registering the presence in front of him, he relinquished his hold on the book with one hand, holding it palm-up expectantly. “Four sickles if you want your face painted. Although why you would subject yourself to such embarrassment is beyond me.”

Molly had been tending to the students volunteering at the petting zoo for the past hour before she started to notice something strange about the women walking away from the face painting booth. Part of the plan had been to have students work off of pre-made designs - something easy that guests could pick from that could be then painted by the students. It had been a good plan, or so Molly had thought. That was, until she noticed that there was something... off about the design of the fairies that crowned the woman’s cheek that passed her by.

It took her a moment to see it, before her cheeks flushed in anger and sheer embarrassment. 

Her march over towards the face painting tent focused very little on the man supervising them at first. She could spot a guilty face from a mile away, so when the young McDougal boy turned pale at her approach, she knew exactly who her culprit was. Remembering that he was actually supposed to be looked after (by thankfully someone other than her), Molly’s attention focused up on the voice that sounded so incredibly bored. 

“Did you let him paint breasts on the fairy?” She asked, the exasperation plain in her voice. The young woman looked confused, while the young boy who had been painting giggled, then went to sprint away. Molly caught him from the back of his robes, dragging to stand in front of Severus. He managed to look guilty but not particularly apologetic. Molly look almost exasperatedly between the two. 

[anecdotalprewett]

fletchxr:

 Perhaps it was the looming threat of a Ministry summons hanging over his head or perhaps he had simply tripped and stumbled onto some conspicuously placed festive cheer, but Mundungus’s spirits were curiously high that morning as he wandered through the slowly amassing crowds. The piercing trill of his whistle heralded his arrival, drawing indignant snorts and stamping of hooves from the horses as he leaned against the petting zoo’s wooden fence to peer inside with great interest at the wings laid across their broad backs.

Well, there was something to behold.

His head tilted slowly, considering what exactly a horse of such impressive stock would fetch among his less discerning customers (a handsome sum he suspected) when a familiar scolding voice rang through his ears and a pale boy slunk back from the horses side sulkily, hands dug into his pockets. Mundungus’s head craned, curiosity peaked by the sight of the redhead who’d gotten so heated about his friendly advice at the Wyvern. 

Here was a reward he hadn’t been expecting. Inching further down the fence towards the redhead as surreptitiously as possible until he’d reached an acceptable distance he settled in, languishing against the fence as casually as possibly to remark; “Ten on the horse for an easy knock out, personally, professor. You shouldn’t break up a fight pre-emptively, he’ll never learn not to punch above his weight.”

Hands on her hips, Molly kept an eye on the young Mr. Fawley until he disappeared around the corner of the pixie cages. Already, they were just about to drive her up the wall, and it wasn’t even noon yet. She understood that students probably wanted to simply goof off, but they had volunteered to help - even thirteen year olds should be expected to keep their promises. Considering checking in on the face painting station next (she was concerned at what might be painted against patrons best wishes), her thought process practically shut down when she heard the voice next to her.

She saw red.

Fletcher. She recalled the bar owner spitting out the name gruffly, standing out in the dull buzz she had managed to get out of the few drinks she’d received there. In her mind, she wanted to have a quick retort, something witty as a come back. But her anger boiled under her skin, making her words stick thick in her throat. The words caught there, a stammer before she managed to snap out,

“You owe me money already, Mr. Fletcher. You shouldn’t be placing bets with anyone.”

[anecdotalprewett]

festival grounds 9th february 1979 9:32 am

The camp grounds were only starting to fill up, and Molly was for the first time glad that the student population at Hogwarts had dropped with the new laws. It was easier to keep track of names, of black-robbed students wandering about the so-called fair. They had arrived only recently, shepherding the students from the castle, into Hogsmeade and beyond, and Molly was already ready to hide somewhere and pull her hair out. 

This whole ordeal, using the students to supervise the whole affair, having to organize between the Ministry and Hogwarts? It was enough to drive a woman mad. She was entirely convinced that any students who had volunteered simply did so to get out of classes. The sight of one fourth year lurking about the petting zoo was enough to confirm her suspicions. 

“Mr. Fawley, if I see you touch a feather on that poor horse’s wings, you will be sitting in detention for the rest of the year.” She snapped, watching as a pale boy take a step back, hands stuck sullenly in his pockets as he wandered over to the pixie enclosure. 

Other students glanced back, as though having second thoughts about their plans for the rest of the day. Good - the less they thought they could get away with, the easier a time Molly would have. A group of chattering second year girls wandered by, though a second look from Molly had them quieting down entirely. 

It was too early to start drinking, wasn’t it. Especially while watching students.  

[anecdotalprewett]

tovjovrspur:

“Civility, for the moment, appears to be out of the question,” Narcissa replied pointedly, her lip curling distastefully in response to the shouts coming from outside. “But Fabian has proven able to hold his own in a fight; I wouldn’t concern yourself with his safety, if that’s what’s troubling you.”

She chose not to mention that she wasn’t really sure how bad the riots would get – or that at this point it appeared things had spiraled out of control and it would almost definitely take a significant amount of effort and time for them to simmer out – but there was no point in worrying Molly with things beyond her control. A few months ago Narcissa would have had no doubts that Fabian (or any of the Death Eaters, really) could handle a few miscreants in the streets, but she had to admit, at least to herself, that all these recent events unnerved her and caused a slight waver in her confidence. Still, she wasn’t too concerned: Fabian’s fate meant very little to her personally. 

“Strangely enough, my life at home has been no different from usual. Quiet, peaceful.” Temporary. “Although I suspect work will continue to take most of my time until we can get this new mess sorted.”

“Right. Of course, you’re right.” Molly’s words didn’t betray her lack of confidence in the woman. Despite her best efforts to not be spiteful, she couldn’t help but wonder how Narcissa could be confident. Plenty of people had been lost on their side, and Narcissa knew that better than anyone. The thought of such finality in her loss made Molly ache - she, at least, had some hope to cling to. What did Narcissa have to keep going?

“I’ve been...admiring your articles lately, Narcissa. The Prophet has done an excellent job covering this mess.” Empty compliments, but Molly knew what people she wanted in her good graces. It was difficult enough to survive in this world without friends. Even if you couldn’t quite trust them. “If I wasn’t content with my position at Hogwarts I might even be tempted to ask you for a job there.” She smiled carefully. “Though my writing nowadays tends to be focused on the distant past, not the more immediate one.” 

[anecdotalprewett]

looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll

[fightshy]

send me which part of the cinnamon roll meme you think i am

looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you

looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll

looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll

looks like they could kill you and would actually kill you

sinnamon roll

[anecdotalprewett]

dcdalusdiggle:

“Likewise. Prewett… you have brothers, yes?” He queried, remembering vague snatches of pureblood gatherings when he was a boy. Nothing concrete for he had seen too much, learnt too much in the intervening years, but still there were wisps of memory of gardens and toy swords.

He smiled as she shook his hand, relieved that he wasn’t left hanging. That would have been awkward. His hands came to rest either side of the tumbler of firewhiskey, batting it to and fro across the wood idly, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

Dedalus tried to stifle the surprise on his face at her announcement. So she was one of them. He may not have agreed on an ideological level, but he knew better than to start a fight in a pub. Flashing her an interested smile, he chose to focus on the part of her statement that was less uncomfortable. “Finally managed to oust Professor Binns then? That’s quite the accomplishment. History of Magic was always one of my favourites at school - mostly because of the books I read outside of class, but still - there’s just so much to learn. It’s fascinating to see how some things change and how others stay the same, don’t you agree?”

Molly’s expression faltered at the mention of brothers - thoughts of Gideon always weighed heavily on her mind. The drinking helped, but it was hard for her strength not to falter at a direct mention of them. She raised the glass to her lips again, taking a large and unladylike gulp before she answered. “Yes, actually. Two older brothers.” She looked ahead, the glittering bottles of liquor on the shelf a fitful distraction. 

The interested smile was nice enough, and Molly found herself returning it only out of politeness. “Yes, though he seems to still be wandering about. A couple of students reported seeing him floating in and out of the teacher’s lounge.” Her fingers absently traced the glass, as she half mourned the idea that her drink was already half gone. “But I like to think that the students find me slightly more engaging.”

The idea that things changed while others stayed the same struck a chord within her. “Yes, that’s true. I think many people make the mistake of trying to see the future by looking at the past, though. I teach History - mostly because I was woefully terrible at Divination.” Her joke, she felt, might have fallen flat. 

[anecdotalprewett]

moody--swings:

“I’m sure I can find somebody to return your lost belonging to you,” he picked up on the coded language and rolled with it. “If I can’t then I’m sure to know someone. Should we be discussing this so openly or should we move to somewhere more private?”

Hesitancy suddenly filled Molly’s thoughts, clouding the one thing she knew she wanted. Gideon’s life was on the line, but the matter of urgency bothered her just as much as finding him. But when he had been labeled a blood traitor, asking for the assistance of Death Eaters in finding him was, in a word, tricky. “I’d much prefer if you could give me the name of someone, Alastor. You should have to dirty your hands with my problems.”

Her tone was low, precise as she glanced around. He was probably right - private would do them better now. “Wherever you think is best. I’m at your disposal.” 

[anecdotalprewett]

♛ ☠ ▽

♛: the pettiest thing my muse has ever done

It was a crush, a stupid little thing that she could have rid herself easily of. Molly Prewett was nothing but bold, a force of nature in her youth. Heavy winds wrapped up in a pretty package that hid away in the Library. Until some boy walked into her life, pried open her vulnerable little heart, and decided to take root there. She had watched his face fall apart as she told him she didn’t care about him, that he hadn’t even deserved her time or energy. She would swear, her heart shriveled up a few sizes that day, but it had saved her the trouble of having to fend off suitors for the rest of her time at Hogwarts. 

☠: how my muse would choose to die, if it were up to them

No one wants to die early. Molly is no exception. She’d like to live to a ripe old age, and die surrounded by family and friends. She doesn’t particularly want to outlive anyone - the fact that she might of already outlived one of her brothers haunts her. The thought of Gideon dying alone and afraid makes the thought all the more terrifying. 

▽: the first job my muse ever had

It had been pride that had guided Molly solely after graduation - she wouldn’t sit at home, waiting for her mother to marry her off, nor did she have any desire to take up Ministry work and spend day in and day out in an office. Her best NEWT, a perfect O, had been in History of Magic, and not many positions looked highly on that. She’d needed money, and if that meant dusting and sweeping at Flourish and Blotts like a school kid on holiday, so be it. It was better than having her mother dote on her each and every day.

[anecdotalprewett]

dcdalusdiggle:

“What the lady said, Tom.” He handed his coins over to the barkeep, angling himself on the stool to face the witch next to him a little better. He offered her a friendly smile, his hand outstretched. “I don’t believe we know each other. Dedalus Diggle, but my friends call me Eddie. And you are?” Dedalus had always considered himself to be affable (although some would say annoying) and he could help but attempt to engage the woman next to him in conversation.

Accepting his glass from Tom with a brief murmur of thanks, he took a sip from the glass, his eyes trailing over the pub’s interior. A handful of old wizard crowded around a table by the window, their heads bowed over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. He honestly didn’t know why people still bothered with the newspaper - it was nothing but page after page of doom and gloom.

“So…” he trailed off, setting the glass down on the bartop. “What do you do for a living?”

Pleasantries were something that Molly had been accustomed to. So many years of parties and particular politeness had ingrained them in her. She nodded her thanks when he ordered for her, and the outstretched hand only made her pause for a moment. She extended hers, giving it a light and brief shake.

“Molly Prewett.” The name Diggle gave her pause again, tickling a memory in the back of her mind. She didn’t recall meeting this man, but she recalled her mother, complaining loudly at dinner years ago. Just let their son wander the world, she’d gossiped, somewhere near Romania or something, could you imagine, Molly? Molly could put two and two together. “A pleasure.” She added, after a moment. Fortunately, her drink was delivered just in time.

“I teach.” She stated, glancing to the side as she lowered the glass from her lips. “History of Magic. At Hogwarts.” She knew that even that title made it all too clear where she stood in the war. The privilege of teaching at Hogwarts came with her affiliation, especially after the school had been cleared of anyone without pureblood.

[anecdotalprewett]

send me a symbol

웃: what my muse would leave to people in their will

♛: the pettiest thing my muse has ever done

★: five things most people don't know about my muse

☄: the last five Googles searches my muse made

✉: the last five text messages my muse sent

☢: how would my muse fare in a zombie apocalypse?

☣: how would my muse fare in the hunger games?

☠: how my muse would choose to die, if it were up to them

♂: three names my muse might name their son

♀: three names my muse might name their daughter

♫: my muse's five favorite songs

☤: the last time my muse went to the hospital and why

▽: the first job my muse ever had

☃: what my muse does when it snows

☎: the last person my muse made a phone call to and why

♠: the riskiest thing my muse has ever done

➹: what my muse would do on their 21st birthday if they had all the money in the world

☞: five things my muse is good at

☜: five things my muse sucks at

✄: what my muse would say to the mun if they had the opportunity

[anecdotalprewett]

Headcanon Meme

❤- What does your muse look forwards on their soulmate?

❥- Can often/easily can your muse get heartbroken?

❣- What calms your muse down?

ღ- Sexuality?

⌚- Does your muse worry about time?

❅- Favorite time of the year?

✿- Does your muse like the nature in general?

✞- Does your muse have any kinds of religion?

✍- Can your muse write? How well/How bad?

✎- Can your muse draw? How well/How Bad?

☁- What kind of weather does your muse consider the best one

ツ- Can your muse speak any other language other than their main one?

∞- Does your muse believes in afterlife?

✺- Something your muse finds pretty

✆- What your muse’s phone gallery is filled with?

❦- What is your muse’s favorite fruit?

❧- What is your muse’s favorite kind of food?

‽- Something your muse has problem in understanding

☺- Something that makes your muse happy

☹- Something that makes your muse sad/upset

✉- How often does your muse text?

⌨- How often does your muse use the computer?

♫- What is your muse’s taste in music?

♯- Something that gets your muse angry

⋆- Your muse’s future dream and why

☮- How much your muse worries about appearance?

[anecdotalprewett]

dcdalusdiggle:

the leaky cauldron, diagon alley 18th january 1979 6:20pm

Dedalus stepped out of the fireplace, dusting floo powder from the shoulders of his jacket. It had been a slow day at the shop, half the time had been spent staring out of the window (or at least it had felt like it). The summer, in his opinion, was the best time of year to be in the wand business, what with all the first years getting their first wands. January, on the other hand, was a dry month. They were lucky to make a handful of sales a week. At least it gave him ample amounts of time to work on things.

He crossed the room, hopping onto a barstool with a sigh. “Firewhiskey please, Tom.” He fished around in his pocket for his money. “Hey, what’ll you have? I’m buying?” He turned to the person next to him and he pulled a handful of coins from his pocket.

Lurking about the Auror Offices, pretending she had simply been looking for her brother a few offices over, had not been a particularly fun afternoon. But Molly, after everything that had happened the prior week, was ready to start looking for answers. Of course, her mission was balanced between teaching classes and her perpetual thirst for a drink - a very unsteady balance. But the thought of Gideon, that he might be out there, burned in the back of her mind like an aching cut. Something in her was missing, and she ached to get it back.

But she couldn’t not yet. Which is where drinking came in. Classes certainly kept her occupied, kept the thoughts at bay as she drew up lesson plans, but nothing quelled the dull ache quite like a glass of firewhiskey. Her hands would stop shaking, if only for a few hours, and it was worth the twinging headache behind her eyes the next morning. Call it trading in one pain for another. 

Already seated at the bar, and two firewhiskies in, a voice had addressed her. The jingle of coins was what turned her head, and she fixed him with a raised brow. Once upon a time, pride would have stopped Molly from allowing anyone to buy her anything. Now - well, now who was she to say no?

“Firewhiskey, on the rocks.” She could have ordered it herself, but instead addressed the man.