smokes & mirrors.

  “There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.” hugo granger weasley  | 7th year slytherin percy weasley | head of magical transportation 

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inkspillcd:

“Well, why wouldn’t I? The belt is black, but the shoes are black-brown. Completely different colour, makes all the difference in the world. Even black itself has so many shade undertones that are monumentally important, not that most people care about what they put on their bodies.”

“Black-brown?!” The incredulity in his tone was reflected clearly on his face and he attempted to hide his bag behind him, lest they began criticising his poor bag as well. “Quite frankly, they appear the same colour to me. How can black be brown? There are other mysteries to solve.”

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inkspillcd:

“that bag with those shoes? oh, honey, NO.”

The comment stopped Percy in his tracks - he glanced down at himself with a confused frown. Both his shoes and his bag were of the same colour... didn’t they match? “Why would you say that?” he asked the other, his curiousity piqued (and ego slightly bruised).

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elixiriisms:

“Well actually, this potions contains four drops of acromantula venom, not three and a half.” Regis said, eyeing the shop keeper at slug and jiggers apothecary. “Maybe you should be careful, might give the impression you know a lot about what you’re selling.”

Hugo couldn’t help the snort that escaped him -- well he could have but, what was the point? “Didn’t know you’re, you’re ah, equally annoying. Outside Hogwarts.” He threw an overly innocent grin at the other boy, sidestepping him in order to get to the cauldrons. 

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mvlancholia:

“They have. I’ll need to have a word with them later, I can hardly allow this to happen under my nose,” said Minerva, head shaking. As headmistress, it hardly was her job to check if her students were drinking – she cast that responsibility away when she took up more pressing ones – and she was frustrated that there were no professors stepping in, leaving her to do it. 

Minerva eyed Percy for a moment at his comment, surprised by it, to say the least. “Don’t you have a wife, Mr Weasley?,” she questioned, sharply. “Maybe you should save your compliments for her.”

The woman’s blunt comments made him sputter over his drink, his glass shaking dangerously. “W-Well I certainly did not- I assure you, ma’am--” Percy had no other defense but making a face at his surroundings. As if he did not have enough reminders that he had no idea how to crack a joke. 

“Perhaps a refill?” he quickly changed the topic, bringing the pitcher of soda over from a nearby wandering tray. “preparations for the new school year going well?”

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weasleyfreddy:

&& FRED ACTUALLY LIKED talking to Hugo. Maybe it was the fact he always answered his questions without fail, or maybe Fred found it easier to communicate without words. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was one over the other, or a mixture of both but Fred wouldn’t question it. His own hands moved slower in response, Has he met one before?  He asked, curious to know who he could throw his questions at. With a good natured laugh, Fred made a quick glance around them before looking back at his cousin,  Grindylow are boring, mate. It’s the pixie party that I want to be at. You can come too, I’ll vouch for you. Fred would never in a thousand years admit to such a thing, however his over large, nearly proud smile said what his words couldn’t. 

Hugo knew that smile far too well and he couldn’t help but mirror it, glancing back at the mess happening behind them. Not bad, cuz. Though he had to admit, he did want to have a round at the karaoke machine. Maybe belt out a classic or two. Yeah, something about pixies and detention. Hugo hummed under his breath for a while, an idea forming in his head. Y’know what. We should go find a pixie. For research purposes. Pretty sure we’ve got it hidden somewhere at Hogwarts. He lifted an eyebrow at Fred, silently daring him to accept his warped notion of adventure.

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leucosidea:

“I’m simply enjoying the fast metabolism I was blessed with until my body decides it’s been put through enough misery. I’ve about five, ten years tops before this starts giving me stomach aches. Now eat a bloody biscuit.” They started divvying up their spoils onto another plate at one of the high-top tables lining the fence nearby. “…brother dear, I love you much, but you’re very clearly still a spotty twelve-year-old who doesn’t drink. Entertain that fantasy for me, please.” 

“’M seventeen,” he protested in vain, his mouth already stuffed with a chocolate frog. “You always think I’m a, I’m a child.” Honestly, Hugo really wasn’t helping his case with the rate he was finishing up his portion of the sweets. He let out a contented sigh after a while, leaning against the fence. Is this your grand scheme to make me lose my amazing figure, dear sibling? He joked with an easy grin, eyeing another chocolate frog jumping around on their table. We could at least get a butterbeer. Come on.

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phantombones:

Ginny had seen glimpses of her brothers at the festival – but Percy, she found, more often than not with a crease between his brows and a look on his face that screamed: STRESSED. While Bill was enjoying himself, George talking to people, Percy seemed to look for every little thing that could go wrong in an effort she knew, not just to nit pick, but to help. Even when others insisted he was wired differently than most of the other Weasley’s – Ginny never thought so. She watched as he kicked the random glove and joined her, thinking about how like all of them, he just wanted to do something to make their mark on the world. Even be as ambitious as to make it better than when they left. “Well, Percival, if you must know, I was just in the very comfortable bushes making out with a lover, and decided to come out here and take a break.”

Truthfully? Ginny was beyond tired, she was exhausted. Another event, one that fell on her birthday no less ( and Lily Luna’s ), that would be celebrated without Harry. Another event where she had to put a WARRIOR’S face on, because showing weakness in public was not an option for her. She hoped she wasn’t teaching this to her kids but she hoped they knew they could fall apart around her, be honest with her – she just couldn’t be the same way with them. She had to be strong for them, time and time again, Ginny never saw an option to be anything else. An event like this, while she found the silver linings, she was still in mourning. It wasn’t the first time she had to celebrate a birthday with one less part of family alive. 

“Really though, I didn’t realize people needed three days to get drunk and stuff their faces. Though, one day of that doesn’t sound horrible.”

Percy had never been shy of the fact that he had certain favourites - especially when it comes to his family. While he had never gelled well with his more athletic and vociferous brothers as a child, Ginny was someone who seemed to accept him without many questions. Even after all these years, it was her rather than his more emotional parents or excitable brothers he looked for first. “Ginevra,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against the tent pole. “I would expect you of all people to pick somewhere more worthy than a clumsy bush.” 

Ah, Ginevra. He saw the grief etched in lines on her face: lines which had been barely visible before Harry’s death. He knew what it felt like to lose a spouse and as much as he wanted to broach the topic, he doubted whether they could both carry it through. Not today, at least. “Well I’m glad I came on the last day. If I see any more of reckless drunk apparating, I might have to call my entire department on overtime.” The sad truth was that there was no trace of humour in Percy’s statement - he would have done it.

“Oh, that’s strange,” he mumbled suddenly, his hand slipping into his robes’ pocket. He seemed confused as he rummaged around before pulling out an Acid Pop. “Hmm. Look what we have here.” He offered it with a flourish to his sister, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Well, we don’t want it being wasted, do we?”

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juxtaposc:

It’s not that Brent wasn’t enjoying himself. On the contrary, he was. So long as the rest of his family was having fun, then Brent was content in mostly watching them. Holding their belongings, including a new assortment of stuffed animals, when they would go on rides ( the ones that were Brent-approved, that is ) and contributing to conversation when he had something to say. Barbara was also displaying a food stand for her chocolate shop, and Brent was on his way there when Percy addressed him. 

Nodding at the older man in greeting, he stilled his movements. “The crowd size is not something that bothers me, no. The characters in the crowd, perhaps, are not all as efficient in applying deodorant as I would prefer they be for the sake of smell, but that is not my biggest complaint.” He imagined that Percy was similar to him, questioning the safety of some of the attractions. As Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, Percy had even more of a vested interest in such concerns. 

“I am going to rejoin Barbara and Beau. I was with Molly earlier as well and assisted with her school supply purchases.” He tilted his head. “Are you not fond of big crowds then? I would have assumed you were accustomed to large gatherings, given your family.” The comment was not meant to be disparaging, merely an assertion. 

Percy found that it was easier to relax when not surrounded by constant possibilities of errors. He surprised himself with the chuckle that escaped him at Brent’s reply and he nodded along, hardly taking offence to the other’s forthright demeanour. It mirrored Percy’s - he enjoyed having conversations with people who did not wax lyrical and was direct with him. There was something about Brent’s almost curt honesty that not only made him a good colleague but someone he could ask for second opinion if needed. 

“Family gatherings tend to be alcohol free. Well, relatively.” He didn’t want to voice out that he could trust his family whereas the possibility of threat was much higher here. “How’s your son? I believe he’ll be starting school soon.” Percy leaned in slightly then, his tone getting softer. “Trust me, you’ll miss them for a while and then you’ll start looking forward to the holidays ending.” 

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weasleyfreddy:

&& THERE WAS SOMETHING going unsaid as he stood there by the karaoke booth, a familiar twinkle sparked in his eye (( though subtle it was )). Now it was just a waiting game, he’d put in the work and Fred he was almost certain he had gotten it this time. The two minute window between songs is when he went about his business trying to dismantle the protective spells on the machine. As another happy soul got up to give it a try, they picked their song but the sound that erupted from them sounded more like a screeching pixie. Granted… Fred hadn’t ever heard a pixie before, but he could imagine well enough. Like a number of shrill arguing budgies mixed with the quick fluttering of their wings. As his mind drifted to pixies, he forgot to enjoy the –short lived- aftermath of his work. “I think I might have been a pixie in another life.” He blurted, although he spoke to no one in particular. Fred wasn’t sure if there was anyone even around him to talk to, nor did he really even think on the matter, but his voice still carried in the lively tent. “I hope I was anyways. They’re interesting fellows ain’t they?”

The sound that practically exploded from the karaoke booth made Hugo choke on his Butterbeer -- and turn a curious eye over at the area in question. Safe to say, he wasn’t surprised to see someone who looked awfully like his cousin. Trust Fred to be wherever trouble was brewing. 

He laughed at the conversation Fred was having with himself, effectively attracting his attention. Dad hates pixies. Says they are horrible creatures who deserve to be in hell, he signed to him, his hands flying quicker than he could ever speak. You’re much better than a pixie, Fred. A grindylow, maybe? Hugo offered a breezy smile, adding in a casual shrug at the taunt. He glanced over at the karaoke booth, where a bunch of wizards were looking over at the machine looking extremely perplexed. Your masterpiece?

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“How has it only been two hours?” His question was directed at no one in particular and Percy could only manage a quick smile at the woman who threw a concerned look at him. It wasn’t that Percy didn’t like fun (though his daughters might argue otherwise), it was just that fun on this scale should really come with more restrictions. Did the organisers even apply a permit for that floo powder portal? 

As much as he wanted to ask someone about the legitimacy of the entire festival, he instructed himself to walk it out. Literally. He took a lap around the entire tent, the fresh air stablising his nerves. Plus, stumbling into kids awkwardly trying to pretend they weren’t trying to make out in the bushes was... amusing, to say the least. 

He let out a small smile when he spotted a familiar figure at the entrance of the tent. Away from the noise of the tent, he was actually keen to strike up a conversation. “The crowd getting to you as well?” he called out, kicking a random glove in his way -- and then belatedly hoping it wasn’t a portkey. Oh dear.

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headmistressed:

      “Some of these wixes are definitely not of age,” mutters Minerva, glass in hand, brow creased in worry. She had chosen a wood-finished whiskey and secretly wished for a glass of wine in stead; whiskey made her feel queasy at times. “And I, of all people, should know.”

“The barkeeps have gotten lax,” he commented with a stern eye trained at the bar. It troubled him to see so many of his own nieces and nephews with suspicious glasses gripped in their hands but he had forced himself to “calm down and enjoy the drink,” as Audrey demanded him to. He was, of course, sticking to the rather limited array of non-alcoholic drinks - he wasn’t very keen to apparate in a non-sober state. 

“You hardly look a day over 16,” he cocked a genial smile at the woman, raising his glass as a toast. “I should be stopping you from having that glass.”

[calamiticus-blog]

Pouting often got you what you wanted. At least that was what Mikołaj had noticed whenever his younger sister pouted. If she just scrunched her little face adorably up at papa, he would bend over backwards and make her every little wish come true. The sad thing is when you’re an obnoxiously tall sixteen year old boy, pouting did not do the same for you. No matter how much Mickey pouted at the man standing before the Ogden’s tasting tent, no matter how hard he tried to convince him he was “of age” (a lie, of course), the man would not budge and allow the young wizard into the tent. If only he knew how helpful it would be to the anxious boy to be drunk off his arse while in the middle of the animated crowd attending the festival. If they just let him have a couple quick shots, then maybe Mickey would be able to stand being there.

“No,” the employee said sharply, and Mickey tried not to scowl when he heard the man’s internal thoughts. Sod off. So be it. Turning on his heels, the boy sulked away, trying hard to occupy his mind with anything but the loud and obnoxious thoughts of the crowd around him. Think of riddles, he suggested to himself, brandishing a rubik’s cube from his enchanted messenger bag. Fingers twisted the device, following the familiar path to its solution. It was no longer a mind numbing exercise, he would need to find another distraction to keep him from reading everyone around him. Like a finely tuned radio, he was tapped into their minds at all times, so he occupied himself with anything he could so as to avoid listening in to intimate thoughts. Okay, Mik, how far can you recite Pi? Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-five-three-five-eight-nine-seven…

He kept thinking up math equations, riddles and puzzles which drowned out the voices rummaging about his head, eyes glued on the cube as he pushed through the throng. But as always, so occupied in distracting himself, Mickey was not paying attention to where he was going. Twisting the rubik’s cube until all the sides were a singular color, he tossed the cube with glee but missed it as his shoulder collided with another, sending himself half-spinning and tumbling backwards until he’d fallen on his side. Hissing lightly, the boy scrambled to his feet and offered an apologetic smile-slash-grimace to the person whom he nearly knocked aside. “So sorry, so sorry, I wasn’t looking,” he mumbled quickly, occupying his eyes and mind with searching for the cube he dropped rather than on what he was sure was an internal scolding in the mind of the person he bumped into. He avoided eye contact completely, dropping down on all fours and rummaging about for his lost object. “Please forgive me.”

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There was a distinct rhythm haunting Hugo. Wherever he turned, whoever he talked to, he couldn’t help but hum the strange tune - his fingers were beginning to drum it out incessantly. He knew he needed a drink. A strong one, preferably. His eyes were drawn to the bar at the far corner and he made a beeline towards it, still humming under his breath. He was never going to be free of the tune. Not until he wrote it down somewhere. He composed it in his head, the notes slotting themselves perfectly onto the blank music sheet in his head. 

Which was why he completely missed the person he practically walked into - he only saw the flash of colours which dropped from the other’s hand.

“No wor-rr--” He could barely complete his sentence before the boy in front of him literally dropped and Hugo could only blink in confusion. What was that? It was only when he realised the boy was searchingfor something that Hugo followed suit as well. He scrambled around awkwardly on all fours, his head craning strangely till he found the Rubik’s cube. It took him a quick whisper of Accio to retrieve the cube. He found himself still in that position, almost face to face with the other boy.

“Ah... yours, I believe?” Hugo couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, the cube outstretched towards the other.

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leucosidea:

“i’m not very sure what happened,” rose stared at the literal bounty in front of them, a cardboard tray piled high with the fried foods and sweets offered at every stall at ogden’s festival. “i walked in with the intention of purchasing candy floss and lost myself somewhere within. if you stare into the abyss, the abyss looks back, right?” 

“…spare me some food-baby shame and have a biscuit or something, mmm?”

The only reaction he could muster, the only reaction anyone would be able to give, at the sight of the mountain in front of Rose was just... plain confusion. Which was the reaction he gave them, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes rapidly scanning. “You rob-b-bbed the entire carnival.” He stared at the food for a while before grinning. “Slight problem,” he practically sing-songed, the way he did when he believed he had a great idea. (It was, more often than not, a terrible idea). “We’re missing drinks, rose petals!” 

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curses-and-classic-rock:

“Oh, there it is!” Bill exclaimed, pointing to a stall. He led the way over to the ice cream stall. The ice cream was being kept cold with a cooling charm, as there wasn’t any refrigeration out here. Bill looked over the different flavors. They managed to have all the same flavors they had at the regular Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. “I think I’m going to go for the butterbeer flavor… what about you?” he asked his companion.

As much as Hugo knew it wasn’t exactly right to keep favourites among family members, he often succumbed to it. If the meaning of often was all the damn time. He reasoned to himself that it was only logical to have people he preferred more, especially when his family was the size of a rabbit colony. The thought made him pause --- did rabbits have colonies? He blinked back to reality when Bill (honestly, the Delacour-Weasleys were undoubtedly his favourites) (a secret he would never tell anyone) asked for his choice and he only had to scan once before nodding. He pointed at the liquorice (too much effort to even try pronouncing it), his face automatically brightening. “Is this a bribe?” he asked with a chuckle, his eyes still pinned on the ice cream. 

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warwovnds:

valeria was rarely stunned, but the sight of a weasley actually getting someone off her back surprised her enough to set her on edge—-as if she needed the help! “um, bonkers? he was being rude, and unprofessional, and not all of us have war hero mommies to fight our battles for us—-so, weasley, granger, whatever,” she flapped her hand at him, “call me bonkers again and i’ll show you it.”

What. The hell. He knew all his conversations with Valeria often ended up with him wanting to hex her out of his existence but-- Maybe it was the firewhiskey he had downed earlier but for once, he did have a retort. “Oh stop crying about, about your, your family.” He stepped back, his hands folding to show her how unimpressed he was. “He was doing his job. And I. I was being nice.”

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reburied:

Lucy sauntered over to the line to the Tunnel of Love, arms crossed, an expression that reeked of blasé plain on her face. The bushy-haired girl had always been erred on the side of pragmatism and had very little tolerance for romantic and fanciful attractions such as this. And then suddenly – an indistinguishable scent in the air. “What in Merlin’s asscrack is that smell? – wait, Amortentia? Who fucking sanctioned this? Were they on pixie dust?” She gestured at the ride operator. “Hey you! Amortentia is a very dangerous love potion that shouldn’t be used like this. Hell, this – this should be illegal!”

The bitter punch of coffee hit him almost as soon as he stepped into the Tunnel. He barely reacted - it was the same scent that he experienced the first time he breathed in the potion during Potions. There was a trace of something stronger - alcohol? - that lingered in the air as well but hell, it was probably one of the teenagers near him. 

“D’you s-smell--” he glanced to his right for his companion and couldn’t help the scowl that appeared when he realised he had lost them. Great. He hadn’t even wanted to be here in the first place. He muttered under his breath while trying to escape the queue when he heard a distinct sound wailing at the end of the queue. 

“Lulu,” he called out, a grin now plastered all over his face. He walked closer to her before his hands start flying at a speed he knew she would be able to catch. Let people have fun, Merlin knows we deserve it. 

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dreamcatchvr:

he’d been caught off guard; sitting several pints in and smug with a winning hand splayed out in front of him on their table when they’d pulled their wands. usually he would save the drinking for later but a recent visit back home had left him looking to rum for comfort. teddy barely managed to escape the man and not without a hex burning at his side. he appeared with a crack – a whopping two blocks away from where he’d intended – in the middle of a family friendly festival. The world swirled around him as he stepped forward due to the familiar buzz that still lingered in his mind and apparating under the influence – for shame! still he was in control of himself and continued walking towards the first bar he spotted. Navy blue hair shifted to jet black and each feature that was distinctly his own shifted to someone else’s until he was unrecognizable. teddy slipped through the crowd, thumb swiping the blood from his lip as he found his seat just as his pursuers had appeared. A chuckle left him as he motioned to the bartender for a drink, pulling an empty glass in front of him as he joined in on the conversation. “–just pretend like you know me.” he laughed, clapping the person beside of him on the shoulder as if they’d said something funny– though that small action ad cause him more pain that he thought it would.

Scanning his surroundings for what was probably the hundredth time, Hugo forced himself to settle in, to switch off his niggling paranoia for a while. It wasn’t just the fact that he was drinking probably 20 feet away from his mother but there was the constant prickling of his neck - the feeling that something was definitely going to go wrong - that was haunting him. And he had not a single shred of doubt that most of his family members carried that burden with them as well. 

He let out an empty laugh at the thread of conversation he was barely listening to, working on his second firewhiskey of the day. The clap on his shoulder took him by surprise and the unfamiliar face worsened the dread building up in the pit of the stomach. He took one quick glance at the stranger before forcing out another laugh - he wasn’t going to make a scene in such a public place.

"You all right?” he blurted out, mainly due to reflex. The hand that wasn’t gripping his glass of firewhiskey slipped into his pocket. Hugo sniffed at the air-- blood? He turned slightly to get a better look at the man, the smell becoming stronger now.