the future perfect

Billie Weasley - 22 - she/her - Curse Breaker - Ottery St. Catchpole - Revolutionary

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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.

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.

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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.”

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. 

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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?”

     ‘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.’

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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.”

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?’

[billieweasley]

sybtrelawney:

For a moment Sybill fooled themself into hoping the recognition in the woman’s eyes would be caused by Sybill’s current work, or at least their great-great-grandmother’s. But, of course, of course, it had to be connected with the particular period of Sybill’s life that they weren’t least interested in. They stiffled a disappointed sigh and kept a friendly smile on their face, but there wasn’t as much feeling behind it as before.

During their short time at Hogwarts Sybill had met perhaps a handful of students who had made a memorable impression for their particular talent for interpreting signs and symbols. This witch surely wasn’t among them, though, she was way too young to even attend Sybill’s classes, a fact she confirmed. And if she had been a first year, when Sybill had still taught, that meant Sybill had zero chances to remember her. They’d hardly paid attention to the students, particularly the youngest ones, as they’d spent most of their time in their classroom or their chambers. At least, they hadn’t foretold this witch’s death at school, that seemed to always sit wrong with people for a long time.

“Yes, I used to be a teacher,” Sybill admitted. “I’m surprised you would remember me, I worked at Hogwarts for a very short time, mostly out of necessity…” They let themself trail off as they recognised the witch’s last name and eagerly took the perfect opportunity to steer the conversation slightly away from Hogwarts. It wasn’t a particularly interesting topic to begin with, anyway.

“Nice to meet you, Billie,” they grinned. “But, sorry, did you say Weasley? Are you by any chance the daughter of Arthur Weasley? He left quite an impression on me back when we were both students,” they said, remembering the tall boy they used to see in the library, in the Muggle Studies aisle which was opposite to the Divination one. It’d been reassuring, then, to know that Sybill wasn’t the only one with specific interests.

    ‘I was a bit of an overachiever, honestly,’ she admitted, with a shrug. It was true: in her fourth year she’d gotten approval to use a time turner to take more than the allotted number of classes. As the oldest sibling, she’d always felt the need to push herself farther than anyone expected of her, and it hadn’t been until she found something she really wanted to do that she mellowed out a bit and let herself be content with just doing what she wanted. 

Of course, now that she didn’t have that, it seemed to be the opposite: a complete under achiever, barely getting through the job she was meant to be doing on any given day, certainly not doing anything outside of her job that could’ve been thought of as work. Oh, how the mighty fell, she thought, and then wondered what it said about her that this was what her life had become.

But the mention of her dad cheered her up -- her relationship with her mum was contentious, sure, but her dad had been supportive, the past few years, in his own awkward and fumbling way, and she couldn’t help but love him for it, the ease and contentedness with which she could exist in Arthur’s presence and not worry about disappointing him, or not being what he wanted her to be.

     ‘He’s got a tendency to do that, honestly. Make impressions and all that. Gets a bit fixated on things, really, but we love him for it. He’s gotten himself a computer, now, and everything, and one of those books -- oh, what’re they called, the muggle ones -- Computers for Dummies? Carries it everywhere with him, bless him.’

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

“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.”

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?’

[billieweasley]

sybtrelawney:

The woman had a point to some extent. Caught up in fighting for a better future, Sybill forgot that there was already a generation out there who didn’t have to live with the burden of memories of the First War. It made sense that to them the Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself, would seem like some historical Big Bad Wolf. A terrible story your parents might tell you once in a while, a semi-mythical beast Minister Evans might warn everyone against. Still, it seemed odd that with all the executions going around one could think of Death Eaters as just that.

Perhaps the woman realised her mistake because she left the last sentence unfinished. And even if she hadn’t, Sybill wasn’t going to make any fuss about it. They didn’t come here to preach about Death Eaters and purebloods, and what have you. The war had been terrifying, a lesson to be learned and never repeated, that much should be clear to anyone.

“I can imagine how that period of our history is just a cautionary tale for you and your peers,” Sybill said with a small smile. “You’re lucky, this isn’t the kind of thing you want to experience first-hand.” Even experiencing the war from afar, only observing the battlefields from their hiding spot had marred Sybill’s dreams for years after. “That is not to say, of course, that the danger has passed. While our government seems to be taking care of one possible threat, it is not unlikely that our peace and order will be destroyed by some other forces.”

Now that they hinted at the subject more dear to their heart, they realised it might be the right moment to introduce themself. Not that it would probably make much difference, Sybill thought. The younger generation was usually only vaguely aware of Sybill’s great ancestors and their legacy. Well, either way, at least Sybill would learn the name of their new companion. “By the way,” they said, “I’m Sybill Trelawney.”

She started to respond to what the wix had said, about dangers other than Death Eaters -- what had they meant? Billie wanted to know. What other dangers did this stranger see facing them, and where they the same ones Alastor was doing his best to protect against? Ever since she’d spoken with him, it was like she was seeing potential allies everywhere, in every offhand word about the state of the world. And, in the same breath, seeing potential  enemies  everywhere, people who might have wanted to align themselves with the likes of Ted Tonks rather than take a real stand. 

But then the wix said their name, and Billie paused, for a moment, recognizing it, and trying to place why, or how, they knew this person, and why they hadn’t recognized them--

     ‘Oh! You used to teach Divination, didn’t you? At Hogwarts? I remember you, now, when I was a first year. Merlin, it’s been ages since then--’

Billie had taken Divination in her third and fourth years, before giving it up for the subjects she really needed her OWLs in, but only because the teacher who had replaced Trelawney was a rather handsome centaur who spent most of their classes letting them lie on their backs in a room charmed to look like the night sky and discussing what they saw in the stars. Not exactly the most academically rigorous of subjects, but she’d enjoyed it nonetheless. 

     ‘I’m Billie. Billie Weasley.’

[billieweasley]

madalastor:

“Then we have a deal,” he responds, still struggling to keep in his excitement over just what this could mean for him and this new band of rebels he’d been slowly gathering. One more fighter may not have seemed a lot when compared to the enemy that lay before them, but it meant everything when it came to the slow shift it meant for what was soon to come. 

Standing up once again, Alastor removes his wand from its holster that remained strapped to his upper right thigh. With a flick of the wrist and a few mumbled phrases in Latin the door behind the witch clicks open and with it the security wards that lay woven within it. “If you ever run into any trouble you know where to reach me- and I mean any trouble at all. Alright?”, he assures her, knowing all too well from past experience the potential danger that could lay ahead for her. 

After waiting a beat, he extends his hand out to her’s this time, much like how she’d done to him when she first stepped into his office, “I look forward to seeing you next week, Miss Weasley.”

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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.

     ‘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?’

[billieweasley]

madalastor:

A small smile makes its way across his features at the witch’s response, her words giving him something that had been in short supply as of late: hope. Maybe it would be this generation that could finally turn the tide for the world, that could help the previous one wake up to the mess they had so willingly gotten themselves entangled in. Alastor had fought in the last war in order to give these children a better future, to make sure they didn’t have to live a life of fear. But now, thinking of the world his soldiers had left behind, maybe it would take these children to finally do for themselves what he had failed to do ten years ago. 

“Good,” he nods, fighting the grin that so badly wanted to materialize. There was still much more work to be done, but he couldn’t help but revel in this small victory. The small band of allies he and Kinglsey had been gathering up was finally beginning to grow in number, which meant it wouldn’t be much longer before they could finally reveal themselves to the world. 

“If you’d like to help me with something, I’ve been looking for other… like-minded individuals,” he offers, his tone suggesting there was more to this task than what his words implied. “And in return we could continue to meet up- say once a week? I could answer any more questions you might have about the war or your uncles, and you could catch me up on what you find. How does that sound?” 

She does smile at his words, allowing herself the grin he won’t. There is a warmth, in her chest, a spark, that ignites at the sound of his offer.

     ‘Sounds grand,’ she answers, trying her hardest to sound nonchalant, trying her hardest not to sound like he’s just given her the best gift she’s ever received. For a moment, she wonders if this is what her uncles felt like, when they joined up with the Order of the Phoenix; had they, too, sought out Alastor Moody and been asked to join up? Had they felt this rush of exhilaration at the idea that there was something concrete that they could do to right the wrongs they saw in the world? 

For maybe the first time since she’d found out she was being sent home to England, on indefinite leave from her position in Egypt, she feels like she has a purpose, a reason for getting up in the morning, something to focus on, rather than just waiting as the hours pass her by, each morning looking forward only for the chance to go to sleep again and make it through another day. 

     ‘I’ll see what I can find, and drop by next week.’

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

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.

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. 

[sarah-kay]

[billieweasley]

mvmckinnon:

Marlene nodded without hesitation. It wasn’t as if they particularly needed the money. They had more inheritance than they knew what to do with, truth be told. More than they wanted or needed, a paltry sum of treasure in exchange for eleven lives. A handful of coins wouldn’t make or break them, certainly. Besides, it would go against everything they’d ever been taught, to see an opportunity like this to do something charitable and kind and to pass it up in favor of something as trivial as money. Their family wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would the set of brothers they were trying to honor now.

It was still so strange, the familiarity that struck Marlene as they looked at the witch before them, knowing she was connected in some way to the friends they had once loved so dearly. They worked as hard as they could to piece things together, and still they were only just beginning to form an idea of where she’d come from by the time she extended a friendly hand to them.

Billie Weasley, she’d said. And suddenly it all fell into place. Marlene felt foolish for not seeing it earlier, as close as they’d been to the twins… But then again, it had been years… Gideon and Fabian were already gone before the fire… the two of them hadn’t lived to see what had become of them after the war… Who was to say either one would recognize them for what they were now? They tried not to let it affect them, but they were a bit gutted to learn who she truly was. They shook her hand anyway, their grip delicate to match the too-soft skin of their palms. It took them just a moment too long to recall their false identity, to step back into Vivienne’s skin when they’d been so suddenly torn out of it and forced back into Marley’s.

“I’m pleased to know you, BIllie,” they answered finally. “I’m Vivienne. I hope to see you again soon.” It was easier to stomach, somehow, sandwiching one lie between two truths. Not that it made them feel any better about the lie, not now that they knew who they were talking to. Suddenly Marlene felt very protective of her, although they had only known her before by her relation to the twins… They felt the need to do something else, something more to protect Billie. It was the least they could do when they hadn’t managed to save her uncles; they were still struggling with the idea that it had been out of their hands… 

“Wait,” they said suddenly, as they saw a flick of red hair beginning to turn away. They had to stop her before they lost the opportunity to ever see her again… even if that wasn’t true, it felt like it could be, and Marlene was in the habit now of not taking those final moments of contact for granted. For a moment, they weren’t sure what they had stopped her for, but then inspiration struck, and they went to a nearby display on the wall and fetched a small red leather pouch. Crossing the store, they pressed it into her hand with a friendly smile, or a shadow of one at least. 

“Take this as well- there’s some resin inside you can burn that should help boost the potion’s effects,” they explained. They supposed that even if Billie thought they were completely mad, she might still take their advice, which was all they could hope for now. The charm bag contained more than just resin, of course. And it could do more than just give them a good night’s rest.

[billieweasley]

atticusrookwood:

Atticus nodded, maybe a little distracted as he tried to juggle all of the books so that wouldn’t undo all the work they had just done. Something about her answer sounded not quite right, but it felt wrong to push, especially considering they were still such new acquaintances, and that he was still fairly convinced one of the only reasons she was so nice to him was pity. Still, he appreciated the kindness, and strangely enough he wanted to give her the same, or at least the little bit he could offer in return with his mind so full of worry.

He was lonely, and as much of that he blamed on the current feelings on anyone pureblood, he knew that a lot of it was by his own choice. He had been purposefully separating himself from the few people he was still close to, for his own protection. But this newly found almost friendship with Billie felt a little easier, a little less pressure, given the distance she had from anything that was happening at the Ministry.

It made it feel safer to be a little more open, or at least have a pint.

Of course, the Wizengamot probably had a dozen more things for him to do for the evening, but the temptation to just fuck off for a bit was too strong, to not have to think about what Crouch’s trial meant for him for even just an hour or so. Maybe it was a dangerous choice, given how fragile his position felt, but it was just a bloody pint, after all. They could deal without their unwanted intern, for an evening. 

“Yeah, yes, that’d be fantastic, actually. Could use a bit of a break. I’ll just run back and drop these off, and then meet you there, yeah?”

     ‘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. 

[billieweasley]

sybtrelawney:

Now that their thoughts weren’t solely focused on unpacking the news, Sybill could look closer at the woman. She was young, they’d noticed it before but it truly struck them only now. Her slightly nervous chatter just strengthened this impression, and Sybill watched her talk with curiosity. She must have been a child, when the war had broken out, no wonder she thought of Death Eaters as a thing of the past. It was endearing, in a way, this kind of youthful naivety which let someone assume the danger was long gone.

“If there hadn’t been any left,” Sybill pointed out gently, “there probably would be no need for Minister Evans to implement all those policies and to encourage all those hunts.” They’d been following the news closely for months now, and it was easier to think there was a good reason for all those accusations and killings, that it was really keeping everyone safe, because the alternative… But Sybill did not let their thoughts wander too far. There was enough bad blood between them and Lily Evans; announcing that the Minister’s decisions didn’t sit right with Sybill wouldn’t be the best course of action at this point. “A lot of Death Eaters went into hiding back when their master died, and it is quite astonishing how good people can be at hiding long-term,” they added, a bit of bitterness seeping into their voice.

They could still remember spending most of the war squatting in abandoned buildings, sleeping with one eye open, dreaming visions of someone watching them through the keyhole. They could still smell the dust that had covered everything wherever Sybill had gone to. They’d been handling all of this better than their fiancée had before her death, but perhaps their grief had clouded their perception, dampened the unbearable until it’d become routine. They wondered if those they’d been hiding from back then had to live like this right now. Wondered how they felt about it, too, but it was difficult to figure out in the short moment it took for the woman to skim through the article.

Sybill accepted the newspaper and nodded. “Yeah, well, imagine how it’s going to get when his trial starts,” they said, folding the newspaper and frowning slightly. They didn’t exactly trust all that noise made by journalists around a story like that; when you focused on one event, it was easy to let something less sensational yet as important slip your attention.

Sybill looked up again. “Would you like to join me?” they gestured towards the empty chair in front of them. In their experience, discussions about Death Eaters usually took some time.

     ‘I’ve got to be heading back to work, soon, but...’ She thought, for a moment, about the oppressive gloom of Gringotts, of the stack of paperwork on her desk; it was a rare sunny day outside, the big glass windows of the cafe let the light in, just perfectly, and her sandwich would be cold again by the time she got back if she waited to eat it... ‘Well, if you don’t mind-- just for a minute or two, while I finish my lunch.’

She dropped into the chair across from them, pulling her food out of its take away packaging, taking a bite, making sure to swallow before going on.

     ‘I hadn’t thought about it that way,’ she admitted. ‘Death Eaters, you know, they’re like the bogeyman, you don’t think about them actually existing until-- well, er, well I don’t, at least--’ she added, realizing that the wix across from her, at least ten years older than her, had probably met plenty of Death Eaters in their time. ‘You know, they’re just stories to me. Figures in a history book. You think of them all as having been rounded up and carted off to Azkaban already...’

She trailed off, realizing she sounded silly, naive, to someone who had probably lived through it all. Of course there were still Death Eaters -- everything that had happened with the Rookwoods was proof enough that there were still Death Eaters masquerading as normal, reasonable people, hiding from the punishment their views and actions had wrought. They didn’t even need to be in hiding, just good enough at pretending they’d never been involved. 

[billieweasley]

madalastor:

As he watches the young witch accept the offered photograph, and the wave of emotions that soon come with it, he begins to feel a small weight lift off his chest. A weight that he hadn’t realized was even dwelling there until it began to dissipate. After everything the two men in the picture gave to him, from their unwavering loyalties to eventually their very lives, he felt an odd sense of peace in doing this for them. In breathing life into them once again in the form of their story, retold to someone who was robbed the chance to hear it from the two men themselves. 

He wishes he could do more than give her a simple photograph and an old memory, a poor replacement when compared to their real life counterparts. But then, as he watches the girl closely as she examines the photograph, and the mixture of sorrow and slight confusion in her features while she looks from one uncle to the other, he realizes there was one more thing he could give her. 

“I would say they questioned it at times, like every one of us did at one point,” he sighs, and lifts a hand to scratch at the graying stubble that lay at the edge of his jawline. His face hardens for a moment as he does this, thinking back to his many speeches of vigilance and strength to a sea of downtrodden soldiers. “We all thought we had an idea of what we were signing up for at the time, but I doubt any of us expected things to go the way they did.” 

“But that never stopped them,” he adds, his tone now strengthening in hope, serving as a small glimpse into the leader he once was. “They continued to fight, even when times were at their toughest,” he nods.  “And looking back, I think they both knew what was going to happen.  About a week before they died, I caught Fabian sending your mother that gold watch you see him wearing in that photograph.” His pauses for a moment, nodding his head in the direction of the picture she still held. When their eyes meet he gives her a small smile, serving as a silent answer to the question that lurked in her eyes only moments earlier.  

“But even then they never ran,” he continues, not acknowledging the moment they had just shared. “They never turned down an assignment, never allowed the fear of death to dictate their actions. They knew what they were fighting for was worth the risk in the end. And-,” he emphasizes, and waits a moment to continue to let his words sink in, “I think it’s our duty now to ensure their dream doesn’t die out with them, that we make their sacrifice matter….

Wouldn’t you agree?” 

As his question lingers in the air he gives her a pointed look, letting her know that while he couldn’t say the treasonous words out loud, even in the security of his own office, he meant exactly what she had thought he meant. Although his talk of war had been in the past tense, the fighting was far from over.  

She closes her eyes, for a moment, like she’s trying to capture the portrait of her uncle’s he’s just painted for her, like she’s trying to preserve the memory somewhere safe where she won’t lose it, somewhere she’ll be able to hold onto it when things get hard. She tucks the photograph into her bag, carefully, making sure its corners don’t bend, making sure it lies flat against the book she keeps in there so it won’t fold or wrinkle.

And as he waits for her answer, she thinks of Ted Tonks, of the way they’d talked down to her, like she was a kid who didn’t understand that the world was hard and would take from you people you cared about. As if he were the only person in the world who had ever lost something. As if a fear of loss, or a fear of death, was enough reason to stand aside and let other people do all the hard work for you. 

Moody isn’t talking to her like she’s a child, spelling out things she already understands. He’s right, even if he isn’t saying it aloud: something is wrong, in this world they live in; something has been wrong for a long time, and she isn’t prepared to stand by while other people do all the hard work.

She wants to make them proud.

She wants to make him proud. 

     ‘Yeah,’ she says, with a nod. ‘I think it is.’

[billieweasley]

madalastor:

“Um, yes I did,” he nods, his gaze dropping down to his glass as he swirls the amber liquid within it. Bringing up such ghosts was not something he particularly enjoyed doing, but felt it important given his present company. If she wanted to know about the war, really know about it, then it would be a disgrace to her uncles’ sacrifice not to mention them. This is not what troubles Alastor the most though, it’s why he’s even bothering to answer her questions in the first place that has him beginning to second guess himself. Given his motives, part of him feels as though he’s using her uncles’ dead corpses as a form of recruitment technique, as a way to inspire her to join just as they had. 

“Both of ‘em fought like damn heroes,” he sighs, thinking back to the scene of their battered bodies after they were discovered by his aurors. “Did you know it took five Death Eaters to take down just the two of them? And you better believe they made sure a couple of ‘em went down with ‘em.” He huffs a weak laugh thinking back to the two men, smiling just briefly at their memory before his face falls flat again. 

“Here, I have something you might want,” he says suddenly. Pulling a small key from his pocket, he opens a drawer in the bottom of his desk, and produces an old leather bound photo album. “This was Albus’s, and for whatever reason he thought it should go to me after he died. I guess the bastard thought I didn’t have enough reasons to drink already,” he chuckles flatly. Having nearly memorized the album by that point, he flips directly to the page he’d had in mind. On it is taped a moving photograph of the Prewett twins, both wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear with Marley McKinnon standing between them, wearing a pair of over-sized sunglasses and throwing up a peace sign to the photographer.

“Here, I’d much rather have this be with their family, than gathering dust in my drawer,” he says as he hands her the photograph. 

She takes the photograph from him with a sort of reverence, holding it delicately around the edges so as not to smudge the image with her fingerprints, or disturb the moving subjects inside. They look different, here, than in the picture her mum keeps on the mantle in the Burrow. Less formal, somehow, something free in their eyes. She’s never seen them smiling like that, except in her foggiest memories. She can’t tell them apart, the two men on either side of the short, slight wix in the middle of the frame -- she doesn’t know which one is Gideon and which is Fabian, not the way she can look at Fred or George and instinctively understand which is which even where they’re identical. 

She wishes she could. She wishes she’d known them well enough to see the slight differences in the lines of their face, the shape of their smiles. 

     ‘Thank you,’ she says, quietly, and she’s not sure which she’s saying it for: the photograph, or the story. Heroes; she’s always thought of them that way. She remembers her mum saying, once, in a fit of anger or despair, that they were fools.

The picture is shaking, and for a moment she thinks that there’s something wrong with the charm that makes them move, after all these years, but then she realizes all at once that it’s her hands that are shaking, that something in her throat has tightened and something behind her eyes is beginning to ache. She doesn’t want to cry, not here, not in front of Alastor Moody, who has lost so much more than she has. So instead she looks back up at him with a shaky sort of smile, lets out a small breath.

     ‘Do you think they ever regretted it? Joining up? Fighting?’