sunkissed

to die would be an awfully big adventure. charity burbage. former slytherin. muggleborn. muggle relations intern.

[bcharitable]

trewlaneys:

sybill’s smile was soft as she said goodbye to the young muggle couple, wishing them luck on their journey. they’d come in wanting to know if they’d have children – she’d let her hands circle the crystal ball for a minute ( she wasn’t quite sure she understood muggle’s obsession with that, but she had tried not using it before, and they were not pleased ) until they seemed satisfied. she then closed her eyes, let the voices fill her head, all talking at once. she focused, tried her best to pull one forward, but she couldn’t. overwhelmed, she resurfaced, smiled and said yes of course, they’d have two beautiful daughters. 

she lied through her own teeth, but let herself do it for a good cause. they seemed so sweet, such beautiful young lovers just wanting to start a family. she couldn’t break their hearts, not today, not any day. a lie only hurts if they find out, she repeated that over and over until they were out of sight. before she got a chance to sigh, she heard the door bell ring: someone had entered her shop.

“ oh ! charity ! hi ! what brings you to muggle london ? ”

@bcharitable

          “morning, sybill!” bright smile alights her face - it’s good to see people outside of work, be it for the ministry or order. charity has almost forgotten what it’s like to have time off. it’s nice to not be behind a desk or drowned in parchment and quills, fingers stained with ink. “i’m visiting my mum and aunts and realized you’re in the neighborhood. i hope it’s alright that i stopped by?”           people always called sybill odd in school. charity knows people gave the other girl a wide berth, whispering mocking words under their breath. all that did was make charity want to be her friend more. she knew what it was like to feel out of place and isolated in her common room. it was something she wouldn’t wish on anyone, and if she could make sybill feel a little less alone, of course she would. even if sybill didn’t usually seem to mind what others said about her.           “this place is lovely! it’s very you.”

[bcharitable]

liammackenna:

she’s tired. they’re all tired. it radiates around the room, dashing in between people like a quickly spreading flu. this was the last time he was getting involved in a war for money. but then again, charity was the most disarming person he knew. taut shoulders immediately slump as he shakes his head, fingers coming to rub at his temple.

“fine. i’ll reword it. going at this head on is stupid with what little you have now. you’re all going to get us and yourselves killed if you can’t find a loophole, a back door in and out of that place. either send a second team for recon or sit on your asses until we can get you something to scry with. what you need is time and if you aren’t willing to wait it out, that’s where my skills end.”

he half expected to hear charity say something along the lines of ‘there, now was that so hard?’ but he didn’t bother to glance or tune in to her.

          “thank you, liam,” god, when did she become the voice of reason? lithe fingers push strands of hair that has escaped pins back behind her ears as she looks to the room at large, most fallen silent instead of bickering with each other. “if we’re finished arguing like a gaggle of second years arguing over potions work instead of adults in a war, i suggest we take liams advice and either find a way to scry or discover another way in. maybe a team can polyjuice into a patrol of known death eaters, act like it’s a routine check of the area, or - something. ‘till them there’s no use being at each others throats about it.” with that she moves forward and slumps into a chair.           “how about we call it quits for now? take a night to cool off before someone does something we’ll all regret?” it’s a suggestion, not an order. for a group of people calling themselves agents and rebels and members, not many here appreciate being told to do things. too many cooks in the kitchen. everyone with their strong ideas and indomitable wills not wanting to admit someone else might have a better idea. hands shift to pile of parchment on the table and she begins rolling up maps and plans.           “ - really, liam, thanks for being - willing to explain. i know people aren’t always especially interested in listening to ideas that aren’t their own around here.” she offers it quietly as people seem to take her advice, breaking off to gather in corners or apparate back to their homes.

[ipoetried]

The growth begins with your hands. Relax your fists. This is not the time to fight back. This is the moment you touch hearts gently. It starts at your fingertips.

BEGINS HERE (k.p.k)

[bcharitable]

liammackenna:

“alright, fine. humor me. what kind of grand plan do you have because so far all i’m hearing is a bunch of suicide missions from people who are so painfully way out of their depth.”

liam turns to look at the far side of the room, narrowing his eyes down at an utterly silent figure by the back wall. “well that idea is even worse than the first three. i wouldn’t even bother, mate.”

          “what’s your idea, then, liam?” charity’s voice isn’t sharp. it’s tired. they’ve been arguing for so long her head is utterly spinning, heart hammering in her ears. if every conversation devolves into an argument, what’s the point? “i don’t think anything we’ve heard tonight has been anyone’s best, but complaining about the plans while not offering your own isn’t at all constructive. we didn’t get together to argue with each other for hours. we got together to discuss.”

[bcharitable]

alastoring:

he nodded with a slight chuckle, taking his eyes off of her and analyzing the quickly emptying office ( automatically starting to count how many people were in the room and where all doors were - all habits die hard ). alastor took a step back to give her some space and glanced at the entry door. time was passing, time they could be using to get stuff done, time that could prove valuable later on - he fought the urge to ask charity to hurry up. “no problem. give and you shall receive, i guess.” more times than he cared to remember had charity been the one with food in hand and an inviting smile that said ‘you and i both need this’, a break, like opening a window and realising for the first time in days that there was more to the world than case files and rubbing eyes in order to chase overdue sleep away. “why are you so hell-bent on that paperwork? i’d figured that, at least for a bit now, most work would pour over to he aurors and the higher-ups - or both.” he began walking. “they’ve been sending more of us to SECURE office heads and such. not yours.” he added as if it was obvious - the overlooked office should always remain that way. there was some sharpness to his words which he knew she’d share. alastor stopped after only a couple of steps, looking back at her desk and the drawer she’d put papers in. “y'sure you don’t want to lock that?”

          “it’s mostly muggle parents expressing concern for the safety of their children in the wizarding community, nothing worth taking an auror away from their job,” she shuffles an inkwell off to the side of her desk so it won’t fall to the ground. damned inkwells and quills. charity loves all things wizarding, truly she does, by why can’t they use damned ballpoint pens? she has a package of them in a drawer for when she doesn’t have to use the thick parchment that doesn’t take so well to the thinner ink. a small sigh passes her lips and she shrugs one shoulder, “i can either lie and tell them their children are completely safe or tell the truth and have them all pull their children from schooling. it’s - a lot.” eyes fall to the drawer and a soft laugh falls from her lips. “alastor, anyone can open a locked drawer here. doing it is just giving myself a false sense of security.” like everyone else in the ministry is left unsaid and she starts towards the door. “c’mon, times a-wasting.” voice has a little bit of forced levity, contracting the rather downtrodden tone of just moments before. everyone in this department is wearing thin.

[returntohorrorhigh]

emma duval in vacancy (season two, episode three)

[wishfulromancing]

[bcharitable]

alastoring:

things had been quite intense ever since the attack on hogsmeade, and moody’s mind had been on nothing but work and work and work. he’d been a break eventually, for his sake and everyone else who’d have to deal with him, and charity was the perfect person for that. alastor walked into the muggle relations office with two foil-wrapped sandwiches in his hands and a tired look, nodding at a few of the workers he knew ( that office had always been one of his favourites, after the aurors, of course ) before arriving at the targetted desk and setting one of the silver packages on it. “got you a piece. are you finally turning into me, or do you plan on taking the lunch hour?”

@bcharitable

          ink-stained fingers rest against her temples, eyes shuttered closed against the onslaught of parchment on her desk. charity truly isn’t being paid enough for this - still working her way up to a proper position in the ministry even while she does a great deal of the work that comes through the muggle relations branch. not that she blames her coworkers here, they are woefully understaffed in the division and everyone knows it. eyes crack open and lips set in a line turn to bright smile, hands falling away as she glances to her watch. “well, one of us has to at least try and work through lunch. it’s tradition.” charity speaks even as she brushes a stack of parchment into a drawer and closes it with little regard, getting up from her seat. “it’s lovely outside today and i’m sick of being cooped up in here.” she scoops up the foil-wrapped parcel and smiles at alastor, slinging her jacket off the back of her seat and onto her shoulders. “thank you for getting this for me. i probably would’ve forgotten entirely.”

[bcharitable]

          charity && magic.

talk a little about their wand : 12″ pear, phoenix feather, unyielding. charitys wand was the very first one she touched in ollivanders, having grabbed the box off a shelf in a moment of pure instinct.

can they conjure a patronus? what about a corporeal patronus? even if they can’t, hypothetically, which form would it have? : charity can conjure a corporeal patronus. it comes in the form of a monarch butterfly.

what’s their boggart? : a death eater with a wand crackling with the green energy of an unforgivable curse.

name three scents they’d pick up should they smell amortentia : charity smells chocolate, pepper, and the ocean.

which electives did they pick for their third year? : muggle studies and alchemy.

were they a prefect? what about head boy/girl? : no!

did they ever join the hogwarts quidditch team? : no!

do they have a favorite professional quidditch team? do they even care about the sport? : charity is a huge puddlemere united fan. she can often be found in the front row of any game, cheering on her dear friend emma vanity.

while at hogwarts, did they join any clubs? : charity was, truly, not the most involved at hogwarts. she stuck with her core classes and electives.

[bcharitable]

cptnvanity:

     “ Falling is a generous term, I think. It was more of a – a catapulted crybaby incident. ” Emma muffled the snort behind her glass, ungracefully almost gurgling the expensive champagne. Of course, it gave her all the more reason to laugh. “ I’m terrible at being fancy, Charity. i’ve become a caveman since I hit the pitch for a living. You, on the other hand – are the picture of sophisticated grace. ” She took the free hand from her hip and brought it to Charity’s, giving her friend’s a meaningful squeeze. “ Thank you for coming along for the ride. ” 

          charitys laughter only increases when emma laughs with a mouthful of champagne and she has to hide her mouth behind a hand. “oh, god. shut up, emma. you look lovely, even if you still act like you’re on the pitch.” there’s no bite to the words, giggles pealing from her voice as she shakes her head. fingers wrap around those of her friend and she gives a soft squeeze back. “please. thank you for inviting me. i never get invited to any of the fancy ministry parties, and the few i’ve been to were boring as hell. this is lovely.”

[bcharitable]

cptnvanity:

@bcharitable​ ! 

      “ You see that bloke? ” Emma whispered in her very much practiced gossiping croon, a finger detaching itself from its hold on her champagne flute to point at a quidditch player across the room – no shame, and he probably couldn’t even see them from where he stood. “ That’s Roy Keats – Wasps beater, laughed at me when I got on the pitch on my first game in the leagues; called me princess like it was my name, and made sure to purposefully hit me throughout the game even when I stayed out of his way, ” Her face twisted in disdain that quickly fizzled away ( always a flair for the dramatic ! ), and turned so that she could flash Charity her signature triumphant grin. “ Sorry arse is now sitting at the bottom of the standings this season ! Fate works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it, Char ? ”

          “emma!” she hides a grin behind the lip of champagne flute, giggle on her lips as she brushes strand of honey-colored hair from her face. “didn’t he fall from his broom in his third game that season in that horrifically embarrassing jumble? cried on the green for half an hour over a twisted ankle?” charity nudges emma’s side slightly and takes a sip from her glass. “anyways, the wasps are dreadful.”

[bcharitable]

wormtvil:

Pete had still been working at the booth when the attack began. He had just given a little boy, probably no more than six, a big stuffed hippogriff for pinning the beard on Merlin. Truth be told, the kid was way off, but it was near the end of the night and he still had a ton of prizes left. All of a sudden, there was an unmistakable flash of green light in the distance. More lights–spells going every which way–and then smoke. Fire. The rest of the night was a blur. Save a child from the flames. Stun a… well, they weren’t Death Eaters, whoever they were. He was an Order member first, but luckily his status as a Ministry employee meant no one questioned his presence.

When dawn came, he apparated to the Ministry for work and when that was over, he found himself back in Hogsmeade. He had to see it for himself, see what could still be done. Peter had a couple different wounds–a slight burn on his arm and a few cuts of varying sizes–that definitely should have been checked out by now, but he was nothing if not relentless.

Pete was lost in thought, staring at the wreckage, when the sound of footsteps behind him knocked him back into the present. “Who’s there?” he questioned, whipping around with wand at the ready.

          “it’s just me,” soft, clear voice replies, hands lax at her sides. she hadn’t expected to run into peter here again. in truth? charity wasn’t expecting much of any reaction to her being here. she’s in general pretty good at blending in, at looking like she belongs wherever she is. it’s something to do with the set of her mouth and the look in her eyes, she thinks. and how she holds herself. people just don’t question her existing in places she maybe shouldn’t be.           one of the girls she had helped heal in the little shop she had turned into a makeshift medical center had forgotten her wand. charity is determined to find and return it. “is there - something you’re looking for?” this place has her hair on end, heart hammering. everything smells like soot. it all looks wrong.

[wnq-writers]

I wish people couldn’t break people.

yachtsandwhales, writing prompt #67: write about an almost relationship, which broke your heart (via wnq-writers)

[bcharitable]

sephdolohov:

The celebration in Hogsmeade had been a much needed escape from the confining walls of the Manor - until suddenly, it hadn’t been. The sight of such violence had struck a vein of ice cold fear to pierce her heart - the pause just long enough for someones fingers to wrap around her wrist and drag her away. The pace was close to neck breaking - her feet consistently tripping and her balance nearly faltering as the two whipped around countless corners. 

It was only once they were safely away that the familiar crack of apparation had churned her stomach. Despite wrecked nerves - Persephone had kept enough sense to finally wrench her wrist from their grasp. Eyes had shown a mixture of judgement for running and gratitude for getting her out of there. But without pausing to really say anything, she’d drawn her wand and apparated home.

A few days later - seated at a coffee shop in the middle of Wizarding London, was the first time she’d seen her savior again. “Sit - I think I owe you.”

          what happened that night is a blur, one she sees every time she closes her eyes, burned into the backs of her eyelids with frightening accuracy. blood on her hands. the sound of healing spells falling from her lips with the same veracity of desperate prayers over a death bed. what she does remember of it was the half grateful half not look in persephone dolohovs eyes after charity hooked fingers ‘round her wrist and pulled her away from the commotion. it was enough of an oddity to remember - the older woman vanishing before her eyes before charity returned to the horror of the night to aid those hurt.           it’s odd to see her in this context, too. small smile graces pink lips and she takes the seat across the table with a slight shake of the head. “you don’t owe me anything. i just did what any decent person would do.” charity shrugs a shoulder, rolling any idea of debt off her shoulders. she doesn’t like people thinking they owe her anything, especially when the deed was as simple as pulling someone from the line of fire.

[bcharitable]

wormtvil:

He couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. It was infectious, even if the day was long and tiresome. “All day? Well, what time is it? — Actually, don’t answer that. It’s better if I don’t know,” he admitted with a laugh. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you showing house pride, Char. Must be a Merlin Day miracle, eh?”

          “hey, maybe time is flying for you! are you having fun?” she jokes with a wide smile, glad to see peter, even if he’s stuck in some ministry-approved booth for the day. charity touches a hand to the scarf, gathered by her throat, and shares a sort of smile that implies some kind of secret. “i like to pull it out to make all the old-school purebloods uncomfortable with the fact i graduated with them.” she admits with a one-shouldered shrug.

[bcharitable]

cnimagus:

Her hands are stained with blood, dark red drying up under her slightly bitten nails. It’s not her own, of course, it’s that of someone else, of someone younger, of a kid. ( She hasn’t even gotten the chance to teach this one yet. ) She’s carrying her, her blonde head slamming against Minerva’s side as she runs, searching for a place to put her down, to help her, make sure she was alright. The first shop is right, even if she’s met by a wand pointed at her, and she bursts in, putting the girl down, a breath of relief leaving quivering lips. “I’m fine,” she says ( there’s a trickle of blood running past her eyebrow, but it’s nothing, nothing compared to what others have ( she’s still breathing, and some others aren’t lucky enough ) ) . “She’s not — she was caught up in the crowds, passed out when I was on my way here. She’s bleeding.” 

          “oh, god,” the words come out under her breath, small and private, before charity gathers the girls blonde hair up and away from the wound on her head. head wounds aren’t good, testy things even with magical interference. ok. ok. charity can do this. she’s no trained mediwitch but she always took to healing magic well enough. “thanks for bringing her here, professor,” charity does her best to keep her voice even and strong, for the frightened children inhabiting the room more for herself. they don’t need her inner worry added onto their own panic. a quick tergeo cleans blood from the wound and charity lets out a breath. at least head wounds always look worse than they are. wand is pointed gently to the gash and spell is murmured, the edges of the wound beginning to knit together slowly but surely. it takes longer than it would a professional, but within a minute or two the wound is healed to smooth skin. “i - she should be alright. do you know where her parents went?” there’s some level of dread in her voice even as charity asks the question.

[bcharitable]

          “there’s nothing else i can do for him - i’m sorry,” it’s a kid. a kid. can’t be more than eleven years old, bleeding from broken limb. it’s sick. charity scrubs a hand across her forehead, managing only to replace soot and beading sweat with a dark smear across pale skin. the door of the shop she’s holed up in with groups of weeping and injured people creaks open and wand is pointed to the noise without a second thought - body binding spell stuck on her lips. it’s lowered slightly and she squints to make out a face in the wavering light of bursting panic that flickers through the windows. “are you hurt? i’m doing my best to take care of injuries in here. c’mon.” she motions for the person to get in, get down to the level people are sitting and crouching at, and close the door.