rook to pawn

atticus rookwood. 22. if there's a fire you're trying to douse you can't put it out from inside of the house.

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

He was– more considerate than she’d expected. That was the thing about Atticus Rookwood: he kept taking her by surprise. Everything she’d thought she’d known about him, when they were in Hogwarts, had turned out not to be true. Or maybe it had been true, maybe he’d changed that much while she was away, grown up and gotten different, like she had. She’d been so desperate, at that age, to impress, to exceed expectation, Head Boy and perfect marks on all her exams; she knew she wasn’t that, anymore, had long since moved on past the need to be what everyone else wanted to be.

Maybe he’d done the same. He certainly wasn’t the kind of self-absorbed, self-assured Slytherin she’d taken him for before they graduated. 

She smiled, at the suggestion, genuinely a little relieved by his new suggestion – she’d been meaning to go to Camden Market, anyway, and a chance to walk around without any purpose, to relax with someone else with no pressure or stress or expectation sounded like exactly what she needed, right now. 

     ‘Yeah,’ she said, letting her face soften, a little, now that the topic had changed. ‘Yeah, that sounds really nice.’

She laughed, a little, at his insistence that it wasn’t a come on, almost joked back that she wouldn’t have minded if it was – but hesitated, just a for a second, just for long enough to think better of saying it. She hadn’t so much as flirted with someone else since she got back to England, much less even joked about going back to someone’s flat with them in any kind of way, romantic or sexual.

He was glad to see that his attempt to come back from things was working, that she seemed to relax a little when he suggested that they just walk around Camden Market instead. This whole thing was about giving them both a chance not to have to think about any of the dozens of problems they were both probably facing, a chance to just be young, and he wanted to give her a chance for that just as much as she seemed to want to give that to him. That was what friends did for each other, after all, wasn’t it?

It was almost strange, to realize that this could be a real friendship. It wasn’t something he ever could have imagined coming to pass when they were both still in school. He had kept close with all of the Slytherins, and hadn’t paid much attention to anyone else at all, hadn’t considered it worth it. But he had been wrong about so much back then, so much had happened and so much had changed. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to be friends with a Weasley any longer.

He didn’t have to think about doing what his family wanted him to anymore, he didn’t have to worry about what his image looked like in that way. In fact, it was better to be seen hanging around with a Weasley than it would have been hanging around with any of the people he had back in school.

“Fantastic. I say we go then, we’re meant to be young and spontaneous, yeah?” he said, a grin spreading across his face. He raised his glass to her, and this time all but chugged the remaining beer like he was back in the Slytherin common room after a Quidditch match again. As soon as he finished, he stood up from the table and hesitated only a second before holding his hand out. “You ever taken the tube? I’ve only done it like twice, but that’s pretty fun.”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

She grimaced, just a little, at the suggestion – she made alright money now, sure, and even when they’d put her on desk duty they’d kept her salary at what it had been out in the field for the sake of fairness, but it still wasn’t the kind of money you lived alone on. When she’d been in the field it hadn’t mattered; she had a place to live, only used money for the occasional round of drinks for everyone, the occasional nice meal. She’d had a little bit stowed away in a vault in Gringotts waiting for the day she eventually decided to come home but it had never really amounted to a savings.

And now, with the way her parents lived – the boys all being away at school meant fewer mouths to feed, sure, but it also meant more books, more robes. Fred and George had outgrown theirs twice in the past year, and even hand-me-downs cost money. Living at the Burrow should have been saving her money, but every time she heard her mother quietly complain that something was wearing out or that someone needed a new cauldron, she turned over a little more of that meager savings, like some kind of karmic payment for being allowed to live at home. 

She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind; lamenting over her parents’ financial situation wasn’t going to make this night fun, and anyway, she somehow doubted Rookwood would understand. He might not have inherited his parents’ prejudice, but she imagined that even with so many former Death Eaters executed, pureblood fortunes still circulated. The Weasleys were probably the only Pureblood family without an estate or at least a hefty inheritance for sons like Atticus. 

     ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said, trying not to sound too disappointed. ‘Certainly worth a look.’ It would be nice, anyway, to get out into muggle London, have a look around. She’d only been to Camden once, since the Statute was lifted, and was excited to see what things were like there, now. 

As soon as he had made the suggestion, he could feel the slight shift, almost imperceptible, in her demeanor. It was the sort of thing that his father had taught him to notice to keep himself safe, to keep the family safe, a trait that he hadn’t lost, but had instead honed, especially since he had turned his own father in. It was a habit that carried over into his personal life, apparently, which now he couldn’t tell if he was glad of or guilty of. It was impossible to know what it was about the suggestion that had caused such a reaction, but he could guess.

After all, he was well aware of how stressful it was to have to deal with living on your own, especially suddenly without a lot of preparation. One day he had been living with his father, and then next he was walking around muggle London trying desparately to find something he could move into immediately–as there had been no way in hell he was going to stay in the family home after what had happened, especially not with the Ministry turning it over looking for Dark artifacts. He was lucky, he knew, in that he had a small fortune from his dad, what was left over that his mother hadn’t gotten to before he could withdraw it, but he was a bloody intern for the Wizengamot, and every day he watched that savings get lesser and lesser.

Maybe that was it. Because even as the Rookwood fortune diminished, he was still well off, living comfortable, hell, maybe even luxuriously for someone his age, he didn’t really know, in all honesty, as he’d never really been around people who weren’t also in exactly the same situation as him. And she was a Weasley, after all. Of course it wouldn’t be as simple as pulling rent from a massive familial savings. Another reminder of how messed up all of it was, why he had wanted to make a difference in the first place, so no one else was raised as obviously as he had been.

“Or we could do something else there... just walk around Camden Market, really, don’t even have to think an apartment. I could show you where I live, it’s near the market... and I swear I don’t mean that as a come on,” he said with a little laugh, a weak attempt at humor to pick her mood back up.

[atticusrookwood]

mvmckinnon:

There was definitely some miscommunication happening here, and the problem was that Marlene wasn’t sure just how far it went. There was still the question of this earlier conversation that Atticus seemed to remember having with them that Marlene had absolutely no recollection of… but it was hardly his problem if they’d been getting so drunk lately that they couldn’t even keep their encounters straight… It was just more of the same escapism that had driven him away in the first place… and bringing that up now certainly wasn’t going to do either of them any favors. The larger frustration at the moment was that Atticus seemed to be misinterpreting their offer as some kind of demand for reciprocation when it was nothing of the sort. But they could hardly blame him for that… he had a lot on his plate recently, which had been the whole point of their offer in the first place. After all, he’d been one of the first people Marlene had thought of upon hearing the news, even in the slurred drunken state they’d been in at the time.

Maybe that was part of the whole problem- they kept letting themself reach out to him when they were not exactly in a fit state to do so, and then they wondered why they weren’t being properly understood… why he would be confused about their intentions, when they did nothing but jump from one extreme to another… This wasn’t fair to either of them, but more than their own pain this time Marlene felt the guilt weighing down on them at having let it get so bad… While they’d been fooling around with Atticus, they’d somehow let themself shift into a form they didn’t like very much- one that was utterly dependent in their vulnerability, whose grief demanded too much attention. They hadn’t seen it before it was all too late, but it was honestly what they’d always feared they’d become since the fire. They felt that sorrow down to their bones like a bruise.

Sighing softly, Marlene slid into a barstool beside him without being invited, perched on the edge of the seat so as to make a quick escape if it became clear they weren’t welcome there. They just felt so tired suddenly, and the pain was beginning to get to them, the spike of anxiety that they couldn’t quite chase down making them feel on edge, pulling all of their muscles taut to attention. But they didn’t say anything about that, determined as they were to focus on Atticus for now and sort out their own problems later… They put a soft hand on his shoulder as his mind processed this new realization, much different from their usual touch which they supposed was too heavy for him… this was a light, encouraging thing, with a touch of comfort but also a calmness Marlene didn’t exactly feel, themself… It was a fleeting thing, just a small press of their warm hand, and then it was gone again and they put their hands in their lap.

“And I’m not trying to put any extra burden on you,” they elaborated, trying to make him see their offer for what it was- a resource if he ever came to need it, and specifically not something he should worry about. “I know you’re under an enormous amount of pressure, and that’s not fair at all, Atticus. It shouldn’t all be on you. I know there’s not a lot I can do, I’m not in the same position as you… I can’t help you fight that battle… I’ve never been much of a fighter, anyway… But I do want to help… you know there’s more I can do for you than provide an escape.” He’d been to their flat, after all, and would have crossed through the shop below to get there. He knew about their capabilities, and they hoped he’d come to trust them at least in some small way. 

“I think I’ve learned by now not to expect things from you that you can’t provide, and honestly I’ll be fine on my own, I’ve taken care of myself for this long haven’t I? …Anyway, what I’m saying is… you don’t have to act on this now. I’m not asking you to let me help right this second… I’m saying if you ever need me, you know where to find me, okay? And that I can put my own shit aside if it means helping you… I know that must be hard to believe but… I just want to to know you have somewhere to go if you need it. You have someone else who gives a shit about what you’re going through so just… don’t hesitate to ask me if you need something… That’s all.”

Marlene realized they should have gotten up them and left him in peace, but there was something about this situation that reminded them so much of when they’d met that they found it hard to leave. Still, they were prepared to do so if it became clear that they were just making him uncomfortable with their continued presence.

He had the urge to tense under their light touch, but he kept himself from doing so. Part of it was that he didn’t think that he could handle dealing with more on top of all of his own shite, without making a fatal mistake, but a bigger part of him didn’t think that Marlene should actually be trying to help other people as much as they were offering just now. Even though when he had met Marlene had had made it perfectly clear that all he wanted was something physical, they had given him more anyway, which he had realized was just what they were like, unable to let things seep over no matter how hard they tried. It wasn’t a fault, in fact, he admired their vulnerability, wished that he had grown up with more of that being encouraged than he had, but it also just showed him that there was so much that Marlene needed to deal with themself before they could have something verging on a normal friendship. They needed to take the time to deal with their own things, before trying to fix other people’s problems.

Maybe it was just another form of escapism. It would’ve made sense, all things considered. And it would’ve been hard for Marlene to see it like that themself. But maybe somewhere deep down they weren’t just trying to run away from their past by drowning themself in booze and trying to distract their body as best they could, maybe that stuff had stopped working––it had from what he’d seen first hand, the way that the more often they had slept together the more obvious it was that they were still dealing with the consequences of their past. But that was a cruel thought, too, wasn’t it? They probably really did want to help him in some small way if they thought they could, and he did appreciate, but he wasn’t sure that it was healthy for either of them. That was part of the reason that he had gone radio silent on them in the first place.

It felt like everything just made it clear how different things were for both of them. They were both dealing with massive problems, but they were so different that it was hard to know how to compare them. It all made him even more aware of their differences; Marlene had experienced the war firsthand, when he was just a kid. He desperately wanted the chance to move forward without having to be burdened by things that he wasn’t even around for, and they needed to spend time coming to terms with the past if they wanted to live in the present. 

“I know you’re not. And I do appreciate it, I swear, but...” he trailed off with a sigh, trying to decide how to phrase what he was thinking without sounding pushy or cruel. “Maybe I’m worried that you won’t be fine on your own, though, because it’s clear that you need help just as much as I do. But I don’t have potions and remedies to give you. I’m not even good at listening to problems when I’ve got a mind so full myself. I can’t handle the past when I have to think of the present, and I guess maybe I feel like you should also be doing that, except the other way around. Reconcile the past before you deal with the present. I dunno, I’m just talking out of my arse. Thanks for saying all that, really. But I don’t know what to say back.”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

     ‘It’s not,’ she agreed, and her voice softened, just a little bit, as she said it. Of course, none of this was fair, but in Atticus’ case, she knew it was worse. Whatever he’d been, when they were at Hogwarts, whatever his family had been during the war, it wasn’t right for any of that to deprive him of his chance to be who he wanted to be, to do what he wanted to do. War had taken things from their parents, sure, and it had taken things from them – her mind flickered to the picture of Gideon and Fabian in her bag and wondered if the Rookwoods had lost anyone, on the other side of the war – but it seemed like the worst thing it had taken from any of them was a chance to move on.

Grief was hard, grief was painful – she knew that much, much better than someone her age was meant to –  and maybe the dead never really left you, but what kind of world was it to live in, when the past couldn’t be past, when a day couldn’t go by without everything you did being affected by something that happened ten bloody years ago? 

Again, for a second, she thought about what Alastor had told her, had asked of her – with each passing minute, she felt more and more strongly that Atticus would have agreed, that he felt the same way she did, that he might be willing to take a risk if it meant getting back his future, getting back the opportunities that had been taken from him.

But again, she let the moment pass, scared of what he might say, scared that she might have been wrong.

      ‘We should do something,’ she said, instead, after another drink of her cider. ‘Something fun, something young. I’m sick of feeling like a bloody old maid, trudging back to my parents’ house every day when I get off of work.’

Her suggestion of doing something, of letting loose, was a good one, one that he hopped on maybe a little too eagerly. “Alright, yeah, let’s do something,” Atticus said, with an enthusiastic nod. A nod that slowed, when he realized that he had no real idea of what that was. “What do young people do....” he said, only half joking in the thoughtfulness of the words. 

Now that he thought about it, once she had posed the suggestion, he realized that he hadn’t really done anything that might be considering young and reckless in a long time. By the time he had graduated from Hogwarts, tensions were rising already and there were already a good amount of people who weren’t exactly keen on purebloods. He had had some friends from school, sure, but most of them had gone their separate ways, and he hadn’t really been close enough to anyone to truly care, except for how lonely he realized it made him once he was alone. Mostly, though, once he’d graduated, he had kept his head down, trained hard to try to get on a professional Quidditch team. Any of the playful, youthful fun he had had was kept to a minimum, and then it had been snuffed out completely once Minister Evans came into power and his life had changed completely.

There wasn’t much time for fun when you were worried that one wrong move could end up leading to a bullet in the head. Which was why nowadays when he wasn’t at work or running errands for work, he was locked up tight in his apartment alone, away from any trouble or anyone could could cause trouble. It sounded a lot like what Billie was describing, except without the added problem of parents. Sometimes he did think about fleeing, finding his mother in Cairo and starting a new life there, but he didn’t think he could, not after everything he had seen and done.

“We could find you a place to life,” he offered, a little out of nowhere, less aware of what he was suggesting until the words came out of his mouth. “I live up in Camden and there are plenty of cheap flats in the right places. Also quite certainly fun, young things to do, or at least I’d assume. It’s Camden, right? There’s gotta be something.”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

She downed a fair bit of her cider, with that, like something about the toast had given her permission not to just politely sip at it like she’d been doing since she’d gotten it. Just the mention of not thinking, the promise of maybe drinking enough to get a good night’s sleep without any nightmares or restlessness, made her eager for the onset of tipsiness. When she went to the pub with coworkers, these days, she felt guilty getting anything close to drunk, knowing she had to go home, knowing the mild-mannered and easy way people older than her tended to drink.

But being around Atticus, so close to her own age, with just as much to lose as she had – it felt like her days in Egypt, drinking with the other curse breakers, meeting up in pubs with local witches and wizards and being plied with locals brews until she could barely taste the difference between them anymore. 

For a moment, she felt easy, imagining herself there, the warmth of the days’ sun still lingering in the sand and on the white stone, rather than the bitter wind outside, the cold seeping deep into the building despite the fire going in the corner. 

     ‘Right?’ she repeated, enthusiastic. ‘It’s bloody ridiculous. We’re supposed to be finding ourselves in our early twenties, not making deals with important political figures and trying to change the bloody world. Not holding ourselves responsible for shite that happened when we were kids, or trying to fix it. Like, give us a bit of space, yeah?’

He let out a laugh at that. Making deals with important political figures. Somehow before this moment he hadn’t really sat back and looked objectively at what this whole thing was. It was hard to do it, when you were up close and personal with it all, when it felt more like a life and death choice. But that was what it was, and now that she had said it, now that she had mentioned that pressure to try to change the world, the very thing that had led him to turning in his father in the first place, he realized just how wild it was to be in this position at all. For any of them to be in this position, because he wasn’t the only one by far.

It was like talking to Billie, actually being a little bit honest and open, a rarity for him, was just proving how royally fucked this whole situation was. Maybe the Ministry thought they were doing a good thing, maybe the people who had experienced the war the first time around were still set on trying to change the world, but it felt a whole lot like they were all forcing it on them, and it hadn’t been their war in the first place.

They should’ve been jumping from career to career, in the process of finding what they loved, they should’ve been dating, having fun, but instead they were all burdened with the aftermath of a war that had been over for ten years. They weren’t in a new world, they were just living in a fucked up continuation of it all.

“Yeah. It’s like they’re all so focused on the past, they don’t want to let us think about the future. How fucked up is that?!” he said, shaking his head a little too vigorously. As soon as he said it, though, he was suddenly very aware that that was exactly the sort of thing someone might overhear and find a way to misconstrue against him. Atticus picked up his drink again in a hurry, taking another gulp, and when he went on, his voice was quieter, just in case. “It’s just not bloody fair, is it?”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

She let out a laugh, at that, and for a moment it might have sounded like she was laughing  at  him, but she wasn’t – fuck, no, it was just that what he’d said about being MIA was precisely how she’d been feeling for, Merlin, months now, ever since she got back home, like she was floating through the motions like a ghost, not actually ever present anywhere even when she was physically there. And she didn’t even have half the reason Atticus did to feel that way, no excuse at all.

     ‘Glad I’m not the only one overthinking my way into oblivion. Honestly, I think this is what I need right now. A few drinks, a chance to talk to someone and not think about my life and what I’m doing with it and what it’s doing to me. The more I think about this shite, the more I think I make it all worse.’

She knew her situation wasn’t comparable to his, but she had a feeling he didn’t want to think about that fact, not right now. Didn’t want to feel singled out any more than he already did, especially after the day he’d had. And even if their situations weren’t the same, she knew what it felt like to try to step out from under your parent’s shadow and not be able to escape it, after all.

     ‘What d’you say?’ she added, holding up her glass is if for a toast, hoping to hell that he didn’t just write her off as ridiculous. ‘To not thinking for a night and seeing if it bloody fixes anything?’

For a second, it felt a lot like she was laughing at him, but then she went on, and he realized that it was more of one of those hysterical sort of laughs that came out when you sat there looking at exactly what you felt. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who was feeling that way, even if it didn’t really change the fact that he did. Maybe this was the sort of thing he had been looking for, the thing that Marlene couldn’t possibly offer him that made it so impossible for him to actually be open with them. What he needed was someone who got it, not just the enormity of the situation––because Marlene certainly got that from their own past––but the simple feeling of being young and lost, like you were put into a world that you’re not met to be in, the past still a little too present to let you be anything other than your parents’ child.

So when she offered a toast, to trying, even just for a night, to not think, to play at normal, he actually smiled. “I’ll drink to that,” he said with a laugh, picking up his glass and tapping it against hers. “Cheers to not thinking.”

He realized as he took a generous gulp of his beer, that this was the first time someone had offered, in some small way, to help him just relax, to not think of any of the thousand things that constantly seemed to be on his mind. It was something he appreciated more than he would say, whether it ended up taking his mind off of things or not.

“You know, you’re bloody right about all that. It’s like there’s all this pressure we didn’t ask for, making us question every little thing we do. But we’re young. It’s so fucked that we can’t just be allowed to breathe without worrying what future is going to be forced on us.”

[atticusrookwood]

regulusblac-k:

This wasn’t going anywhere, that much was becoming increasingly clear. If he’d hoped for any kind of conversation about Rookwood’s father, or the deal he’d made with Evans, or anything even remotely useful, it was becoming increasingly clear that Marlene’s face was the wrong one to use: he’d need to find someone else’s, to get the information he wanted. 

For a split second, he thought about admitting to the facade, leaning close and whispering to the kid who he really was, telling him something he’d have to believe, and seeing what he could get out of him that way. But the kid was a rat, that much he knew: he’d turned over his own father to the Ministry and watched him die and as sad and confused as he seemed, he didn’t seem to regret it. Regulus had no way to guarantee the kid wouldn’t turn around and do the same thing the second he found out Regulus Black was still alive. 

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk it, not yet. Not with the bargaining chip he still held, the one he only needed an audience with the Minister to use, to get himself his freedom back, his life back.

     ‘Then fucking pick,’ he said, his voice sounding less like Marlene now than it had when he’d started, not putting the effort in to mimic their tone. ‘You want space? You want time? You’re the one who approached me. You don’t get to have it both ways. You take all of me, or you take none of me, yeah?’

He grabbed a bottle of lacewing flies off the shelf and tucked them close to his chest, pushing past the kid and heading for the till, not letting Rookwood grab his arm to stop him this time. Marlene could have the rest of this conversation themself. 

He took a step back instinctively when Marlene spoke again, something about their tone changing completely, to the point where they barely even sounded like themself. The words were no different. He couldn’t think of a time he had ever heard Marlene sound so venomous, which only made him realize that he must’ve fucked up even worse than he had thought, somehow, by trying to explain things to them. It made him feel a lot like just going back home to his flat and not leaving for anything other than work for a long, long time.

There was the sneaking suspicion that something else must’ve been bothering Marlene to make them snap like that, so aggressively, when usually their anger seemed to teeter more on the emotionally vulnerable side of things. He wanted to ask what was going on, what it was that was bothering them, but they were right, weren’t they? He shouldn’t have assumed that maybe they could figure out some sort of halfway deal between them, where they could start to slowly build up to a friendship, not a strictly physical fuck buddy situation. But he couldn’t deal with all of their problems on top of his own right now, as selfish as that was. So maybe it was fair for them to hit him so hard, maybe that was the only way they thought they to get through to him.

So instead of trying to stop them again, Atticus just let out a deep sigh, and stood there watching them go towards the counter. He couldn’t even remember what he had come into the shop to get in the first place, mind now full of guilt and regret that he had no way of doing anything about.

It was telling that his first thought was that he could really use a pint or two now, have a bit of a think over things at the Leaky Cauldron. Seemed like Marlene had rubbed off on him, whether he had wanted them to or not.

[atticusrookwood]

sybtrelawney:

They waved their hand dismissively. “No problem,” they said. Merlin knew this world needed as many small acts of kindness as possible. It was already so full of fear, hatred, suspicion, and, if Sybill’s vision should prove to be true, there was much more of it all yet to come. Of course, Sybill would fight tooth and nail to prevent it, but there was always this shadow of doubt that all their efforts would not be enough in the end, that they might put everything they have to give on the line and, still, one day they would have to stand face to face with the terrifying figure from their vision. But they didn’t let themself to ponder such a scenario for too long. Whatever the outcome, they had to do their job each day and hope with all their heart it would be enough this time.

They glanced at the fliers they were holding. That was a part of fulfilling their duty, one that they actually enjoyed. It wasn’t all that easy to steer a casual conversation to the topic of an approaching semi-apocalyptic event, but the fliers and leaflets provided the perfect starting point. Plus, that way Sybill could reach much more people at once, even if most of them wouldn’t even fully read the text and toss the paper into the garbage bin. At some point, Sybill hoped, the message would still seep into their minds.

“I’m afraid I have to confirm the end is indeed coming, and sooner rather than later,” they said, offering one of the fliers to Atticus with an apologetic smile. On the one hand, Sybill was surprised that he hadn’t heard about the prophecy before—they visited Diagon Alley with their leaflets regularly—but on the other hand, it was rather understandable that such news could slip his mind, considering everything that Atticus had been dealing with lately. Even Sybill had to admit that certain events in the present were meaningful enough that they could completely shut out the mere idea of the future.

“I have seen our world lost to chaos and conflict many times,” Sybill explained, their voice soft but serious. This was the crucial part. If they let themself sound too zealous or be too pushy, they could easily scare away the other person and be written off as bonkers, as usual. It took all their control to keep their emotions and facial expressions in check, as it seemed that intense eye contact worked far better than wild gestures.

“People will march out on the streets and fight each other to death, using any tools available. There will be endless suffering and death, so much death. And all of it orchestrated by one person, I believe.”

He took the flyer with a sort of half-disappointed hum, as if they were just talking about the possibility of rain the next day, instead of the end of the world. It was a simple sort of thing, with the point clear, which he appreciated, if he could really appreciate someone trying to say the world was coming to an end soon. It was a strange feeling, really, to stare down at the words on the page, and to listen to them walk about the end coming sooner rather than later, and to feel nothing particularly strong, one way or another. He didn’t think it was a crazy thing to suggest, but he also wasn’t sure he felt too concerned. Maybe that was because it already felt a lot like he was in the apocalypse of his life already. Got his father killed, his mother having abandoned him, a strange mix of outcast and political pawn. Never had he imagined this was the way things were going to go for him, or for the world.

So maybe the thought of things ending wasn’t too far off from what he already believed.

It helped that it was none other than Sybill Trelawney telling him about the prophecy. That alone made it seem all the more real. So when they went on, voice quiet, but serious, Atticus listened closely, taking their words in. It sure did sound like an image of the end if he had ever heard one, but there was one part of their words that struck him more than the others.

“Orchestrated by one person,” he repeated, a frown on his face. He couldn’t help but think of one very specific person as the harbinger of the end. If anyone was going to bring endless suffering and death, then wasn’t the answer obvious? She had already started bringing both, after all.

Not that he necessarily believed in all prophecies. He wasn’t against believing them, though, knowing even just a hint of the sort of shite his dad had seen in the Department of Mysteries. He knew better to disregard seers who had already given true prophecies before. If someone was going to given a vision of the end of things, who better that them?

“What do you do to change it? If you’ve already seen it, how can you make sure it doesn’t happen?”

[atticusrookwood]

mvmckinnon:

Their tough facade lasted all of a few seconds before Atticus’ hurt reaction snapped them completely out of it. They immediately regretted confronting him, wished they had just left instead, although they had no idea where else they would have gone to avoid being at home. But… that was the very point of this whole thing, wasn’t it? Atticus had told them that they couldn’t keep escaping, couldn’t keep hiding away from the world, and expect their problems to magically go away. In a way, it was because of him that Marlene had approached in the first place… it was only now that they understood that this clearly wasn’t the sort of thing he meant…

A deeply felt hurt replaced their earlier indignation, one that likely showed on their face, because Marlene was truly incapable of hiding their feelings when they were already this vulnerable. They were reminded more and more the longer they stood there that it was perhaps this very trait of theirs that Atticus couldn’t deal with. It made them want to disappear, to phase away and become a part of the wall or the ceiling, to stop annoying him with their presence. No matter how much they willed it though, they did not vanish or disapparate, and their feet would not carry them away. Another part of them wanted to reach out and touch him softly, to make up for the harsh words they’d said but didn’t mean in the slightest. Their hand ached with the sensation of reaching out and making contact, but they stopped it before it could do more than twitch and curl their fingers at their side. The last thing he likely wanted right now was to be touched…

Marlene wasn’t sure they could believe what he said- that he didn’t think they were pathetic. Sometimes that was the only input they processed coming from anyone, the pity and the vaguely disguised contempt for how they made their lives just a little darker when it was already so dim. And perhaps they didn’t see all of that in him right now, but they saw disdain, and whether it was real or imagined, they sensed that he would have rather not had to deal with them right now. They shook their head, mouth opening to argue back, because their wounded heart would let them do nothing less right now, but they were stopped suddenly by a comment of his that confused them. Had they… spoken since exchanging those messages that night? Marlene didn’t think so and yet… here was Atticus referencing some previous conversation of theirs… The bewilderment was clear on their face for a moment as they wondered what he was talking about, and if they had truly managed to forget an entire conversation somehow… But as Atticus steamrolled into some unexpected vulnerability of his own, they let the questions fade away in favor of attending to him instead. In some way, his seemed like the easier problems to solve, at the moment.

“You sound like you need to talk,” they said carefully, trying to manage the emotion clearly still present in their own voice and wrestle it into something that sounded calmer than they felt. “And that’s really all I meant to offer… I didn’t mean to confuse you by talking about my own problems I just… I don’t know, I thought it would make sense to relate about how afraid I am too… But… I should have known that wouldn’t be what you wanted to hear after… Well… after everything… after all the bullshit you’ve had to put up with because of me and my demons… I’m sorry, I honestly wish you’d never seen any of that…” They stopped, only to realize that they had started wringing their hands nervously, and that they had broken eye contact with him ages ago in favor of staring at their own deeply scarred palms and fingers which seemed purple and bruise-like in this light. “I guess it was selfish of me to reach out to you when you don’t need the burden of my problems added to yours… I just… I wanted you to be okay… I can’t…. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you…”

“Marlene, it wasn’t selfish,” Atticus said with a sigh. It was probably pointless to try to tell them that that was genuinely the case, that they had every right to try to seek someone out, to want to share the load with someone else, but he had to try anyway. It was only fair that he could offer them even that small thing if he wasn’t going to be able to be the one to be selfless for them. What Marlene had done for him and offered to do for him was more than half the people he had met in the past few months, and it wasn’t fair to just try to cut that off completely without any acknowledgement of what they had done to help him. Because there they were, even after he tried to disappear from their life, writing to make sure he was okay, to make sure he knew that if he needed someone to commiserate with, they were there still, even after the way he had acted or not acted. He could see clearly on their face the dozens of emotions they were going through, and he wished he could help, but he didn’t feel strong enough to know what to do.

“You deserve to have someone that you can come to, you shouldn’t have to apologize for being vulnerable. I never learned how to deal with any of that, though. I’m selfish for not being able to help you. There are just some things that have been so engrained in me since I was a kid that are still so hard not to do. And I know that I need to do better, but there’s just only so much I can do at once, you know?” he said, teeth gritted, not in anger at Marlene, but at his own situation. “I’m only one person and I feel like I’m here somehow having to proof for all purebloods that they should give us a chance to be better than our parents; it feels like it’s not just my life that I’m controlling. And I’m only one person.”

He paused, realizing as he had said the words that that was this all came down to, all of the stress that he had been feeling, the worries he had had not just for his own life, but what a mistake could mean for so many other people. He was an example in the making, and if he failed, there were more people in danger than just himself. The pressure was stifling in a way that even his mother’s constant, watchful gaze. Maybe because this time failing meant a lot more than just disappointing his parents. 

When he spoke again his voice was quieter, a little far off, clear that he was thinking about what he had accidentally just made clear to himself.

“I’m only one person.”

[atticusrookwood]

regulusblac-k:

Merlin’s bloody arsehole, he was out of his depth here. Maybe he’d overstepped – he wasn’t exactly in a position to be dealing with Marlene’s personal and romantic drama, not after he’d made a point of distancing himself from it so many years ago, ensuring that the lines between his gratitude and debt to them didn’t blur with any other kind of obligation. Maybe he should have left it, let Marlene deal with their own problems and sated his curiousity about the kid elsewhere. 

But he didn’t have much of a choice, now, couldn’t just walk away from this. He might as well get as much as he could out of it. 

And if anything, seeing Rookwood in distress was… interesting, maybe, wasn’t the right word for it, but telling, in a way. Is this was his freedom had cost him? 

     ‘You’re the one complicating things,’ he said, even though he had no idea whether or not is was true. It sounded vaguely like something Marlene might have said, and even more like something Rookwood would have trouble refuting from his clearly unstable emotional state. ‘Thought I made myself pretty clear.’

He added a slight sniffle, for good measure. He’d never been much of an actor, but melodrama didn’t take much talent.

Atticus knew they were right. He was the one who was making things harder than they should’ve been now, but it felt unfair to lay all of the blame on him. He hadn’t been trying to let things get personal, but it was nearly impossible not to with them, considering the state they were in, the way they were always trying to run from their demons, something that felt impossible. So instead he had just cut himself off completely, because he couldn’t afford getting his head all clouded with someone else’s worries, not now when his life was still very much on the line, when fucking Ted Tonks looked at him with that vicious smile every time he had to run and deliver papers to the Minister’s office.

So even if his letter had been a little harsh, if maybe he had misconstrued things a little bit, he wasn’t going to be the only one to blame here, not considering what they had done, too, nothing to make any of it any easier or any more sensible.

“Not really, you didn’t. You talk about wanting to escape, about dreams where everything’s on fire, and then you offer to help me. I don’t know, Marlene...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that?” he sighed. The only reason he managed to keep the annoyance from his voice was because of that little sniffle that went straight to his damn heartstrings, making him feel like the villain, when they had both agreed not to get involved with each other past the physicality in the first place.

“I think we both made this complicated. And I’m sorry for thinking we need a bit of time and space before we can un-complicate it and start fresh.”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

     ‘Yeah, they were,’ she answered. ‘They ah, they were killed a few months before the war ended. Alastor Moody gave it to me, honestly,’ she added, pointing at the picture again. For a moment, his voice rang in her ears: we’re always looking for like-minded individuals, and as her eyes darted up to take in Atticus’ face, she wondered for a moment if he might be one of these like-minded individuals, what, with the strange position he’d been put in by Minister Evans’ laws and regulations, unable to avoid the disdain of anyone who had ever met a Death Eater when all he’d done was follow the law and do the right thing. 

It was a conversation for another time, probably, and somewhere less conspicuous and crowded than the Leaky Cauldron, that was certain. And Atticus worked with the Wizengamot, anyway – if she misread the situation, clued him into what Alastor Moody was thinking and he wasn’t sympathetic to their case, it would have been bad for everyone involved. Mentally, she reminded herself that she needed to be patient, that this wasn’t something she could rush headlong into and expect it to go as well as anything else had. 

     ‘But that was a long time ago,’ she said, picking the picture back up, tucking it into her bag, and then propping her elbows on the table, trying to change the subject. ‘Anyway, haven’t seen you around much. What’ve you been getting yourself into these days?’

“I’m sorry,” was all that he really managed to say, staring down at the picture. He hoped and prayed that their deaths hadn’t been a result of something his father had known, shared with the worst of the worsts, but that felt like too much to hope for. And who would’ve known now? Maybe Moody; if anyone might have that sort of information anymore, he had a strong feeling it would be him. But in all honesty he didn’t really want to know which deaths his father’s secrets had helped bring about. He had even less desire to talk to the head auror alone at all, given the way everyone in the Ministry seemed to like to keep an eye on him. It sounded like Billie knew him at least a little personally, though, if he was giving her pictures of Marlene and her uncles.

For a second he thought about asking about that, but it felt a lot like prying a little too personally when they were just getting their footing around each other. Anyway, some things were private for a reason, and he had the sneaking suspicion, just based on how she was talking about it, that there was something more to her mention of Moody.  She didn’t seem keen to elaborate at the moment, anyway, as she took the picture back and moved on easily, which he was almost thankful for.

Curiosity was only going to get him into trouble.

“Been busy at work, mostly. Things are delicate, feels a lot like I’m walking on eggshells, so just trying to get by, do what they need me to. Keep my head down. I’ve been a little MIA from everything lately, in all honesty. Spending a lot of time alone thinking,” he shrugged, as if it was that simple. He took a sip before going on, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Don’t know how much good it’s doing, though.”

[mvmckinnon-blog]

location: the leaky cauldron date: 9 november, 1991 time: afternoon, just before suppertime @atticusrookwood

This time, it wasn’t so much that they had run out of booze, but that Marlene was having trouble escaping an immense feeling of dread whenever they stepped foot into their own flat. They weren’t sure what it was exactly, assumed it was some combination of their usual grief and all the negative emotions the Crouch news had brought up for them over the past few days. But beyond that, the dark corners of their home seemed today to be full of more familiar shadows; disfigured, charred remnants of their loved ones dripping with coldness… eyeless figures in the alleyways across from the shop that they could somehow feel watching them even still. 

Truth be told, they didn’t even feel safe from them in this bar- every half minute they were seeing something move out of the corner of their eye that then disappeared, and they suspected whatever it was had been getting closer ever since they sat down. But Marlene only knew one way to chase away these particular demons, and that was by getting drunk. Not for the first time, as they sat there, they considered how pathetic it was that this was their instinctive solution to every problem.

Half a pint in, and they were sure they were seeing things again when they saw him enter. It was easier to believe, for a moment, that the shadows that had been stalking them all day had learned to take another form, rather than believe that fate could truly be so cruel to them. But, they should have known better than that - fate had always been cruel. It only took them another fleeting moment to identify him as the true Atticus, and then they found themself biting their lip nervously. They both wanted and didn’t want to approach him, caught between not wanting to further annoy him with their presence and wanting to clarify what he had clearly misconstrued in their letter. In the end, the lonely part of their heart won out, and they slipped off their barstool and approached before they could think better of it.

“Just so you know, I’m not as pathetic as you may think I am, okay?” they said, forgoing any sort of proper greeting. “And okay, I was drunk when I wrote that because of course I was but that doesn’t mean I needed you to come make it better. I was offering comfort to you, Atticus. And I thought I made it clear that I’d be comfortable with whatever you wanted. But apparently I didn’t so I’m sorry for that… But I just wanted you to know… I don’t need you.” Okay, so that last part might have been a tiny lie, but it felt true enough now that they didn’t shy away from it, cruel as it tasted on their tongue. After all, they’d found the company of someone else recently (although while they didn’t regret it, they still weren’t convinced that it had been a terribly wise decision). It hardly mattered that they still couldn’t stand to pass the time alone these days, that it got harder and harder everyday to just be in their own company. It certainly wasn’t something they were going to share with Atticus now.

[atticusrookwood]

It was a dangerous game he was playing, really, being so out in the open so often lately, but he was feeling a little hopeless, which was making him a little too bold. Or rather, it made him care very little about what anyone might have to say to him. Nothing had changed, of course. He was still completely confused and worried and a dozen other emotions he didn’t know how to explain. So maybe that was why he was kept ending up in the Leaky Cauldron after work for a pint or two. To numb some of those feelings, if only for a bit. He was well aware that it wasn’t a smart choice, that it very easily could’ve become a problem, a crutch, and yet he couldn’t really bring himself to care about that potential when he had so much else to worry about.

So he’d come in for the third night in a row, and taken a seat at the end of the bar, near the corner where he was harder to see, ordering a pint and downing a good bit of it as soon as it was handed to him. He was so focused on getting a buzz as quickly as possible, that he didn’t notice anyone approaching him until he heard that familiar voice at his side. They made him jump slightly, taking him off guard, their words catching him even harder than the shock. It took a second for what they were saying to really sink in, the hurt clear on his face for a split second before he tempered it, a rare break in the mask he wore if only because of how hopeless his whole situation had been feeling lately.

“Marlene, you know I don’t think you’re pathetic, come on,” he said shaking his head. Atticus could feel the anger rising, even though he knew in his head that he deserved any of their own anger. But they had been through this all already, it felt cruel to go over it again, like they were doing it purposefully to hurt him, when he was trying to figure out how to move forward. “Cool, you don’t need me. Good to know. You know you didn’t have to come over and say any of that. You made it pretty clear what you think last time we ran into each other. I know you don’t want to deal with any of this.”

Anger was pointless, though. That was something he had learned very well over the past several months. Anger didn’t get you anywhere if you didn’t have something else behind it, the real need to actually do something. So maybe the solution hadn’t been to cut off everyone completely, not considering how he seemed so keen to keep talking now that Marlene was here. But that didn’t mean he was sure of what he needed or even wanted. “I know I’ve made things unnecessarily complicated, I’m well aware. I’m just so confused, Marlene, I don’t even know what the hell I want anymore. I appreciate that you’re so willing to offer me anything, but I don’t know what to do with it,” he sighed. “Do I want you to go away, do I want to be alone? Or do I want to tell you how afraid I am? Do I want a friend? Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I want. And I’m sorry that it’s you who’s getting the brunt of my shite.”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

She smiled as she noticed him walking her way, and was about to slip the photograph back into her bag when he pointed it out, so instead she set it carefully down on the table between them, where he could see it right-side up.

     ‘It’s ah– it was a gift,’ she explained, before taking another sip of her drink. ‘It’s my uncles, about a year before they died. I was only a kid, really, didn’t know them very well, but it’s… well, it’s really rather nice, having a reminder of them.’

She pointed to the two men on either side of the wix in between them, as if it was unclear which two they were; she didn’t look as much like Gideon and Fabian as she might have, if her life had been slightly different, but the resemblance was still a fairly strong one, their hair worn long, their faces shaped much like hers. She’d kept returning to the photo, over and over again since Alastor had given it to her, something about it tugging on her, somehow, and pulling her to return to it.

Maybe it was the reminder of Alastor’s words, their silent agreement, or maybe it was just that she felt better knowing that just because her parents had been cowards, once, she didn’t come from an entirely bad lot. It made it easier, she thought, to tolerate the idea of being back at home under her mother’s watchful eye to know that Molly’s brothers would have been proud to see the woman she was becoming. 

As soon as she turned the picture right-side up so that he could get a better look at it, part of him regretted asking about it.

He couldn’t even be surprised to see Marlene staring up at him, as if the universe was trying to guilt him for trying to protect himself. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already acutely aware that he was being an arsehole, he didn’t need the reminders. He tried to push that situation out of his mind, though, instead focusing his attention on the two wizards beside them, her uncles. 

Even if she hadn’t pointed them out, he would’ve known immediately that they were related. His classmates had always teased how easy it was to pick a Weasley out of a crowd, and he couldn’t help but think of that now, the guilt of the things he had said back then washing over him again. 

“Yeah, I’d imagine; nice to have a reminder of those who came before...Is this...they were in the Order,” he said, having meant for the words to come out as more of a question than they had. It probably wasn’t his place to ask, really, given that he and Billie were still getting used to the casualness of something verging on friendship, but he couldn’t help it. The image and that thought brought something he couldn’t quite identify up into his throat. No, he knew what it was, it was the need for penance. Always there. The unspoken question of was his father one of the people who had helped bring about her uncles’ deaths? Knowing that even if it was just in a small way, the answer was likely yes.

[atticusrookwood]

regulusblac-k:

The instinct to flinch away from someone else’s touch on his shoulder was almost too strong to resist; muscle memory had him almost reaching for the wand at his side to curse the kid’s hand off, but he just managed to stop himself. Marlene wasn’t prone to violence the way he was, and he had to remind himself for a moment that he was still wearing their face. Any trouble he got in came back to them, and he owed them better than that, owed it to them after everything they’d done for him.

He didn’t know what letter Rookwood was talking about, but apparently whatever it was, it was something the kid was worried had hurt Marlene – that rightfully might have – and that he seemed to be regretting already. Regulus was torn, for a moment, between wanting to defend Marlene from whatever this guy had been up to that might’ve hurt them, and wanting to have a conversation with him, wanting to understand why Rookwood had made the choice he had, about what it was like to be a pureblood like him and walk free. 

A better person would have felt bad about using someone else’s face to have a conversation they couldn’t have.

Regulus didn’t.

     ‘What do you want from me?’ he said, keeping his voice low, hoping it would come off at not wanting to cause a scene in the store, hoping the low volume would keep the kid from realizing that he didn’t sound all that much like Marlene. ‘If you don’t want me to distract you, what do you want?’

“I don’t know, Marley. I don’t know,” he nearly hissed, as if they were accusing him of being clueless, which granted, he felt. Because he didn’t know what he wanted, not from them or from anyone else. He didn’t want to feel soul-crushingly lonely constantly, but he didn’t want to put himself in any more danger than he already accidentally had. Why was trying to be good so fucking hard? Wasn’t he supposed to be rewarded for doing the right thing? Shouldn’t he have been celebrated, loved by the public? And instead here he was feeling like he couldn’t even talk with someone, for fear that he might say or hear something damning, something that could put his life in even more danger than it already was by virtue of being who he was.

Atticus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe he did know what he wanted, even if he knew that it wasn’t something he was likely to get from Marlene or anyone else after making the choices he had. 

He glanced around, to see if anyone had noticed that too-intense conversation happening between them, but no one seemed to be paying them any mind, thank god. When he went on his voice was quieter.

“I just don’t want things to be so complicated. Everything in my life is so complicated. I wish this one thing just could’ve stayed simple with us. It was supposed to be simple. And even this had to get complicated. Why can’t we just be friends?”

[atticusrookwood]

billieweasley:

     ‘That sounds great, yeah,’ she answered, unable to stop a genuine smile from spreading across her face – a perfect excuse to avoid going home, a nice drink and maybe an excuse to feel, for one evening, like she had any kind of social life, like her life was anything like she’d thought it was going to be when she’d left Hogwarts. 

The Leaky Cauldron was just around the corner, and she settled in to a cozy table in the back, far away from anyone who might want to give Atticus a hard time because he was born into a bad situation and had made the best of it. People, she thought, were frankly absurd: how anyone could look at a wizard who had turned his own Death Eater father in to the authorities and see him as just another pureblood worth their scorn was beyond her. She’d have thought that someone like him would be celebrated, in the current political climate. 

But what did she know? She’d spent nearly all of her time as an adult in Egypt, so far removed from what was going on back in Britain that she didn’t really know what it had been like, when Minister Evans first took office, when the executions started, when the Statute was lifted. She was as close to an outside, to it all, as any British witch could get, still doing her best to feel out the nuance of it all.

She ordered a cider, for herself, while she waited – she knew he wouldn’t be long, but she didn’t want to be presumptuous and order of him – and settled back in the booth to wait, taking the picture Moody had given her out of her bag and looking over it while she did. 

It only took a bit to get back to the Ministry and drop off the notebooks, before disappearing again. Luckily enough, no one had been in the offices when he’d showed up––presumably they were either gone already, or in a meeting he wouldn’t have been let in anyway––so it was simple enough to write a quick note about having to leave early and then hightailing it back out of there with his head down. The only good thing about the Ministry was that most people were well enough used to him by this point that they didn’t pay him much attention anymore, and the ones who did he was lucky enough not to run into on his way out. 

It was funny how genuinely pleased he was about even just getting a pint with someone, but then again he supposed that it made sense, really, considering that he spent much of his time not at the Ministry alone. So many of the people he had considered friends in school were either in hiding, or didn’t want to associate with him any longer, for their own safety. Which he felt was fair, considering the position he had inevitably put himself in by trying to do the right thing for once in his life. Still, that didn’t make it any better. So he was glad for the chance at something approaching a normal interaction, with no pretense, or heaviness involved.

As he came into the Leaky Cauldron, he spotted Billie near the back, tucked away in a booth in the corner, which he appreciated to no end, considering how people liked to act at times. He ordered a pint, and then made his way back to the booth, sliding in across from her, as she looked down at a picture of something. It felt a little personal to ask, considering how enthralled in it she seemed, but he was too curious not to.

“What’s that you’ve got?” he asked, as he settled into the booth, taking a sip of his beer.

[atticusrookwood]

regulusblac-k:

It took him a minute to even recognize the Rookwood kid. 

His picture had been in the papers, though, that was what did it. Atticus had been just that, a kid, when they’d been at Hogwarts together, a first year when Regulus left Hogwarts for the last time, in September of his seventh year. But everyone knew who Atticus Rookwood was, now, a traitor to the Death Eaters and having gotten nothing for it except, for now, his life. 

Everyone had their own reasons to treason, he knew, but he would never understand Rookwood’s. Augustus would have made it out, maybe escaped for good, had gone so many years with no one the wiser, if it hadn’t been for his damn son.

He didn’t realize the kid knew Marlene.

     ‘Yeah, cheers,’ he said, noncommittally, pitching his voice up just a little, trying to take on the gravelly sound of Marlene’s voice when they were just a little hungover and didn’t want to be bothered, and then turned back to the shelf, picking up a jar of lacewing flies and tucking it into the pile gathered in his left arm, moving past Rookwood in the thing aisleway of the shop and towards the till. He hadn’t gotten everything he needed yet, but there were other potions shops along Knockturn Alley he could duck into for the rest, places he was less likely to run into someone who might recognize Marlene.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Marlene seemed less than keen to talk to him, but it hurt nonetheless. Hypocritical, really, considering that he was the one who had told them that he didn’t have enough to give them emotionally right now, that he had himself to think of. And yet here he was, wanting something from them again.

“Come on, Marlene, don’t be that way,” he sighed, as they moved past him through the aisle. He didn’t know why he felt the need to follow them, to try any harder than he already had when he was the one who had said that he needed a bit of distance at the moment to focus on keeping himself safe, but here he was. Something about all of the stress brought on from Crouch’s capture and impending trial was just reminding him of how completely alone he was in this bloody world. 

Whatever it was, it propelled him to go after them, to reach out and put a hand on their shoulder to stop them, to make them at least have to listen.

“You know that letter wasn’t meant to hurt you. I just...I’m afraid that this trial’s gonna fuck with my place. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you still, though, I swear. But I have to be careful not to get distracted, you know what I mean? And it’s not healthy to keep running from the past, as hard as it is to face.”

[regulusblac-k-blog]

location: Slug & Jiggers Apothecary date: 6 November time: 11am      ( open )

No matter how many times he used polyjuice potion to disguise himself and get out of the house, he never got used to the feeling of looking like someone else. Even Marlene, whose hair littered the back of his couch comfortably enough that he could feasibly disguise himself as them every day for the rest of his life – it still felt wrong, his limbs too thin, his perspective seventeen or eighteen centimetres lower. The long hair, resting heavily against his back. 

But it was a necessary evil. He would’ve gone mad, confined to that basement forever, almost did even with his brief occasional outings while Marlene was at work. He’d been leaving more than they knew, lately, increasingly restless, and while he usually asked them to get him the potion ingredients he needed, he didn’t want them knowing how much polyjuice potion he’d gone through since the last time he asked.

Another jar of lacewing flies, a few hundred grams of ground horn of bicorn, he’d be able to tide himself over for another few weeks without them ever knowing he’d used everything they’d brought him. 

He pulled the jar down from the shelf, but, still unused to movement of Marlene’s long limbs, their bony elbows, he found himself bumping into the person next to him, his elbow digging into their back–

     ‘Shite.’

[atticusrookwood]

Of course, he would manage to run into Marlene not a few hours after replying to their owl, telling them that he couldn’t help them or be what they needed when he had his own future to worry about. Practically telling them that he couldn’t deal with emotions at the moment, not with the Crouch trial pending and his own future so fragile.

Their whole thing––because it sure as hell hadn’t been a relationship––had been about mindless fun, a bit of stress relief. Fuckbuddies is what he would’ve called it if pressed. It wasn’t meant to be anything emotional, and Atticus had done everything he could to make that the case, something he was a pro at considering his parents. But Marlene had shown him a bit too much of themself, given a little too much honesty, and in turn he had stopped hanging around abruptly upon realizing the danger. It was cruel, really, and he knew that. Selfish and cruel and exactly what he was sure the world would expect from someone like him, someone who had been raised to be just those things, but he had his own life to worry about. And he wasn’t sure he could handle being someone else’s escape while he was trying to save his own skin.

It was a lonely life, really, and he genuinely did care for Marlene, but not in the way that they needed now. If it had been another time, it would’ve been easy to be friends, to get drinks casually, exchange sorrows without letting it bleed over into everything, but he had to look out for himself, not them, just now.

“Er...hi Marls, Marlene...you alright?” he asked tentatively, hoping they wouldn’t be too hurt by what he had said in the letter, that they could still have something friendly. Maybe a small part of him hoped they would refuse to accept the distance he was trying to create. Maybe a part of him just really needed a friend just now.