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Soulmates, or Something || Vincent and Charity || Love is Intoxicating

February 15th

8:30 AM

A B&B tucked away in the depths of Northern England

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The Love Maker. Vincent should have snorted and walked past the advertisement. Yet, he found himself taking a step back, and turning towards the paper, looking over it once, twice. After his falling out with Charity he hadn’t even considered the idea of looking for a romantic partner. Not that he’d been remotely capable of being in a relationship at any point in his life, least of all after Elladora.

Elladora. He scratched that brief moment from his mind. The advertisement was becoming more enticing, the distraction for the weekend, the idea of finding a “soulmate.” Perhaps it was stupid and idealistic and hopeless, but Vincent was enticed by the idea of someone setting him for the weekend. The opportunity to meet someone new, to start fresh, to even have a chance at wooing a woman.

He had no idea how to woo a woman, of course. His few relationship experiences were scattered and strained. Vincent didn’t know what a successful relationship looked like, he’d never been presented with the image of love. But somehow, the idea of a partner, of stability, of even a smile of genuine appreciation had appealed to something in Vincent. So he had sent the owl.

What Vincent did not expect what to be once more confronted with Charity Burbage. Pouring himself a tall glass of orange juice, he looked at her rather uncomfortably. Due to the love potion fiasco, they’d both arrived rather late the night before, and hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk. But simply glimpsing her face was enough to send Vincent into spirals of worry and fear.

It was as if she was inescapable. While a small, small part of Vincent was pleased to see her lovely face, an overwhelming part of him was terrified of confronting the woman that had rejected his advance, who still didn’t agree with his political views, his life-or-death principles. Vincent didn’t know how he was going to move forward with her from this moment. He was overwhelmingly and inexplicably attracted to her, more that, really—he cared about her, in ways that Vincent didn’t quite realize he possessed.

It was bloody awful.

Taking a long swig of his orange juice (which he wished was spiked), Vincent thought to actually address the woman sitting across from him. Giving her a rather uneasy look, he set his glass down.

"So, we’re here. The two of us." He started uncomfortably, before smiling uneasily. "Guess we’re soulmates, then? Fancy that."

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If she never had another love potion encounter in her life she would be perfectly alright with that. Not that there was anything wrong with Marlene McKinnon. She was a very beautiful woman, but the idea of being in love with someone she didn’t even know? She remembered again the kissing and petting, her cheeks flushing before she looked down. She’d come closer to intimacy with a complete stranger than she had with anyone else in her thirty-some-odd years.

Now she was in a cozy little bed-and-breakfast because, for a laugh, she’d tossed her name into the hat of potential love matches. She’d expected some cheesy dinner with an equally awkward companion that ended abruptly and they never saw each other again. Instead she was staring across the room at none other than Vincent Crabbe. He looked too good in his casual morning clothes, the shirt clinging naturally to broad shoulders and tapering down his waist, making her long to see the hidden abdomen beneath.

Merlin’s hairy pits, this is a disaster!

Mainly because she really could fall in love with him. Oh who was she kidding? She was half in love with him already. But he’s a death eater. She’d been clinging to that bit of knowledge for days now. Making him leave had been one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made, and now by some twisted quirk of fate, he was there, making a mockery of her control.

“Guess that makes us soulmates then? Fancy that.”

She wanted to take a page out of Marlene’s book, and just cross the room and kiss him senseless. There was a bed in the joined room, and nothing had ever sounded more wonderful than the idea of Vincent Crabbe ravishing her. It wasn’t who she was though. She could be brave, but boldness was something else entirely. Lips dry, she traced her tongue over them and tucked her chin, focusing on the delightful spread of breakfast delicacies. “So it would seem.” She murmured, her voice husky.

The air was salty from bacon, twined with cinnamon and oats. Her fork scraped along the plate, but never cut the air because she wasn’t hungry. She was too consumed with this new problem. “Seems a shame to waste everything.” She offered lamely. I don’t want you to go.

#Soulmates or Something #para:Crabbe #bigbadcrabbe #hope that works #sooooo sorry it took so long

menentk

#likes #snowfall

battemberg

#memories #Charity's childhood bedroom #Before Hogwarts #headcanon

the-hotter-carrow-twin

I Remember You! | Charity & Amycus | 2/14/79

Amycus did not like reminders of the damned tosser Rosier. He was doing his level best to forget that the arsehat existed, let alone that he was eventually going to marry his beloved sister. He would prefer that he just… went away entirely.

But unfortunately, Master Carrow had made it clear that this was not a party he was allowed to miss for any reason whatsoever. It wasn’t really all that surprising. Since Amycus could remember he’d been trussed up in his finest and trotted out to the other purebloods. The pretty heir with raw magical power oozing from every pore and no-no Amycus don’t speak, just smile and… yes that’s right. Are you wearing the shirt I told you to wear? The tight one? Good, open your robe then. Excellent. Yes here come the Rowle’s… give them that smirk… excellent now remember, keep quiet and let Father do the talking yes?

He didn’t even realize that he’d drifted, his mind wandering as it so often did, until he bumped into someone. He snapped back to reality with an absent apology on his lips, manners firmly in place given that he was in society and MasterCarrow had made it clear that he was to be the perfect heir tonight, when he actually looked at the blonde he’d run into.

He frowned, eyes narrowing on her for a moment before they widened suddenly, “Hey! I remember you!” he said, catching hold of her little hand gently but firmly.

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She was resplendent in red. Her parents, had they bothered to show up to see if their edict had been obeyed would have been impressed. She certainly was. The woman that had stared back at her from the vanity mirror had not been Charity Burbage, head muggle liaison, dog lover, and Hufflepuff. She’d been Charity Sophia Burbage, pureblood, single and full of potential—at least that was the image. She knew that under the fancy wrappings she was still herself, or she hoped so.

She’d passed off her wrap hesitantly, wishing she could keep it, not just because of the chill in the air. She wasn’t accustomed to being on display and that was exactly what the extravagant red gown did. It practically shouted ‘look at me—I’m available’ which wasn’t exactly the message anyone wanted to send on Valentine’s day. She flushed as the thought of the holiday instantly summoned Vincent’s image to her mind. She licked her lips wondering if she’d run into him here.

She hoped so.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed a nerve hand along the material at her hips as though smoothing it when it was already perfect and she knew it. She managed to avoid several approaches (damning her parents every time a set of lecherous eyes swept over her). The danger of being 33 in a crowd like this was that she became more appealing to the older pure bloods that had yet to take wives, or wanted to replace lost wives. She shuddered at the very idea.

A hand caught hers, pulling her from the safety of her mind and she blinked owlishly up at the person speaking to her before color flamed along her cheeks. Shit. She pasted on a smile, searching for his name before she said, “Mr. Carrow wasn’t it?” Maybe if she played vague he’d forget the events of that night, and that she’d narrowly escaped his attentions. Had he figured out she’d been distracting him? Had he even given her another thought? Merlin she hoped not!

#I Remember You #para:AmCarrow #the-hotter-carrow-twin

plantsandpotions

For Whom the Mandrake Cries || January 24th 1979 || Tilden and Charity

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It sounded like Charity hadn’t had a very good day, but Tilden resisted the urge to ask what had made it trying. After all, they had just met and she likely didn’t feel like talking about her problems with a stranger. Maybe she’d simply had a tough day. Working as a Muggle liaison probably came with its fair share of headaches. He could only imagine some of the difficult situations she had to deal with.

“I’m glad they’ve been well-behaved. Or as well-behaved as you can expect from Mandrakes. Is Bruno your dog?” ‘Yapping at postmen’ was a pretty dog-like description, though he supposed it was possible she just had a very talkative roommate or husband. Merlin’s nose, I hope it’s not her husband. Please tell me I didn’t just ask if her husband’s a dog.

Doing his best to stem his questions and avoid any more potential conversational blunders, he followed her further into the room, trying to look everywhere at once. She was several steps ahead of him because he couldn’t resist slowing his pace to take in his surroundings in further detail.

He glanced up from examining an impressively flourishing shrub at her words. He grinned back at her. “Thanks. This is really—- Oh, is this them then?” he said, interrupting himself as he noticed the pot in her hands. Attention immediately diverted back onto Charity and the Mandrakes, he hurried forward to take a closer look at the plant she was holding.

When potted, the Mandrake looked like a fairly normal plant, only the occasional rustling of its leaves indication that something out of the ordinary was hidden beneath the soil. The one Charity was carrying was quite large, which Tilden took to mean it was fairly mature. Indeed, upon examination, the size and quality of the leaves and stem were indicative of an older plant. “Brilliant,” he muttered, mostly to himself and at no one characteristic of the plant in particular. “They look excellent. Did the Muggles have them long? Were they avid gardeners? These look well-taken care of, ‘specially for having been misidentified.”

Spotting the rest of the Mandrakes in their pots, he crouched next to them, stroking a leaf with his finger and grinning happily as the plant rustled in response. Looking around at the different pots, some of the Mandrakes looked nearly as big as the one Charity had hefted up, while others were small enough to still be toddler-aged. “Where did they come from? Before the Muggles, I mean. Do you know?” He was asking a lot of questions, he knew, and he half-turned to throw her an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry. It’s like an interrogation, I know. Can’t help myself. I’m just curious.”

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She watched him, her lips twitching at the almost comical parade of expressions that danced across his countenance. What are you thinking I wonder. “Ah yes, someone left him on my doorstep. He was injured so I fixed him and found I couldn’t quite give him up.” In fact she hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed a pet in her life until he’d filled that unknown hole.

She folded her hands in front of her, truly delighted by his appreciation. “This is them.” She confirmed, aquamarine eyes twinkling as he stepped forward to examine the beauties. Well okay, so Mandrakes were truly hideous plants, but these were thriving and that made them beautiful to her.

She sidled to the side, watching him take an account of the plants. “If I recall correctly, the lady was quite the gardener, had them almost a year. I guess they weren’t thriving, and so she was trying different things to help them. She finally decided to repot them, and that’s what led to the incident. They were quite yellow and brown when I got them.” She explained reaching out to trace her fingers over the brilliant green leaves.

She stepped back. “I’ve had them about six months. I never send them off until they’re good and healthy.” She waved a hand. “Its no problem. I’ve picked up plants from so many places…let me see… I believe she got these at an estate sell.” At his look, she laughed softly. “When muggles die, the relatives will sometimes hold a sell that lets other muggles come in and buy things from the home. I believe the estate belonged to a muggle-born wizard. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to track down their original sell point because the obliviators had already done their thing when I was called in. I only got the basic details.” She explained, resting a hip against the planter as she watched him. She couldn’t really determine his age. He had one of those faces that defied aging. She could have guessed 16 or 28 and likely been no closer to his actual age.

“You should have a look around though. Madam Pomfrey told me she gets potions from you, and I may have ingredients you need. I’d like to know they were being used for something good.” She said nodding to the other assortment of plants. She glanced back and saw him eyeing the leaves on the oldest mandrake in the back and stepped forward to touch the back of his hand. “That’s Gerry, and he’s mine.” She smiled at the plant, watching his leaves ruffle a bit.

#For Whom the Mandrake Cries #para:Toots #plantsandpotions

bjd-resinrome

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Headcanon:

Named Titania, this Vela doll was the last gift Charity ever received at Hogwarts for her parents. It arrived on her 12th birthday. Charity still has her, preserved in a box hidden away in her storage space. A reminder of a time before when her parents still cared to make an effort regarding their first and only child.

#memories #Titania #12th birthday #headcanon