Charity Burbage

24, hufflepuff alumni, muggle studies professor at Hogwarts

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strelawncy:

She wasn’t even sure why she was here in the first place. Bars and pubs weren’t really her scene, but she had read herself her cards and was certain something horrible was going to happen here. A couple hours past and nothing did. Had she read the cards wrong? Would this just be another thing to make everyone believe she was crazy?

She pushed past the line in the bathroom and headed to the sinks to try to wash her hands and clean her face, something to soothe her. Instead, she bumped into someone trying to not bump into another. 

“I am so sorry, Charity.” She bent down and tried to help the other. 

Charity let out a breath she hasn’t realized she was holding when she heard the apology. She’d always been an easy target for blood purists, and the war was only making them bolder. She didn’t want to let their hate affect her, but though she still held strong to her beliefs it was near impossible not to be weary of her surroundings. 

“Oh Sybill, it’s alright. Thank you for the help,” she smiled genuinely at the other woman before continuing to picking her belongings off the floor. “How’re you? I don’t see you at pubs often.”

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giftofxpandora:

The Three Broomsticks was always crowded, but Pandora had got used to it. It was the best place to go for a drink after work and she did like getting a drink after work. She didn’t do the bumping but she was a witness and dropped down to help the other woman gather her spilled belongings. “Here, mate, I think this one’s yours too?”

Charity forced a smile on her face before turning around. This entire situation was embarrassing, but that wasn’t going to stop her from being polite to the kind person that was helping her out. When she turned and found a familiar face her smile turned genuine, “Thanks Pandora.” She threw everything haphazardly into her bag, and did a quick sweep of the floor. “I think we got everything,” she sighed happily, before rising back to her feet and straightening out her skirt. “Can I buy you a thank you drink?”

[cburbage-blog1]

July 20 1996-- The Three Broomsticks

In the hope of touching up her makeup while still avoiding the bathroom line Charity had decided to deal with the poor lighting, and simply root around her purse for a compact. She came to regret that decision when someone bumped into her, and made her lose her grip on her purse. “Shoot,” she muttered kneeling down to gather the contents of her bag without thinking of glancing at the other person.

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padfootheblack:

LOCATION: hog’s head DATE:  16th of July, 1979   

   “Please,“ Sirius practically begged, wiping clean the last shot glass left. “Save me from my misery. Y’know, I feel like after people finish their drinks they take a leak in the glass. Like, how do they always smell so filthy when they give it back?“ He shook his head, clearly disappointed. “I’m tired, I want a drink and a pack of cigarettes.“

“Hard day?” Charity asked with a sympathetic smile. She’d never kept bar, but from her experience working customer service with sober people she could only imagine the kind of nonsense he must have had  to put up with. “I don’t smoke, but if you want to do a shot I promise not to tell if you won’t.”

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safiyas:

Safiya sits in the corner of a bar, legs crossed as she finishes off her virgin cocktail. The day had been a long and strenuous one; If her tolerance for alcohol had been better, she would no doubt be on her third or second glass of firewhiskey. Instead, she settled for sugary mocktails and watching others drink away their troubles.

“I’ll have another, please” she smiles, lifting her glass daintily towards the bartender. 

After her drunken antics at the Shafiq party a bar was the last place Charity needed to be, and yet she’d allowed herself to be talked into spending her night at one. She had been sticking to water with lime all night but while she rattled off her friend's order to the bartender with an apologetic smile she noticed the woman next to her had just topped off what appeared to be a wonderful cocktail. 

“And one of those cocktails too, please?”

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bellabtch:

Bellatrix was in intense need of a smoke. Her entire body had grown tense over the course of the evening and now that the party was filled with drunk and tired people, she snuck outside, fingers already curled around a cigarette. She was tired of the facade, of the mask of Bellatrix Lestrange: witty and pretty socialite and couldn’t wait until she could go home and smash some plates or rant away.

Restlessness wasn’t a feeling she was unfamiliar too: Bellatrix craved chaos wherever she went, but not every place demanded it of her. Places like these were perfect for chaos, but tonight had not been the night for destruction, and she was tired of watching people quipping about perfectly happy, without being able to destroy their feeling of peace. 

Once outside, however, eyes soon fell on Charity Burbage. Bellatrix knew that she was the muggle studies professor, which in her eyes was the worst job anyone could have. As if they needed any knowledge about people who were below them; all they needed to know was how to kill them, and she didn’t need any classes on that to know. She moved over, eyes cold. “I’m sure these kids are damned relieved to know that after tonight, they won’t have to see you again,” she spoke, lighting her cigarette and breathing the smoke out in Charity’s face.

@cburbage

When Charity grabbed her first drink she didn’t think she’d have time for one more. Five drinks later, and leaving was nowhere on her mind. A friend had led her outside for some fresh air, and Charity had refused to go back inside with them. She prefered the view of the night sky to that of the dwindling party. It allowed her to hold onto her drunken delight with how well the night had turned out despite her worries.

Or it had. It didn’t take long for a cold voice to knock the smile off of Charity’s face. Her head snapped in the direction of the cruel comments only to see that it was Bellatrix Lestrange of all people who had spoken to her. Bellatrix was everything Charity had hoped to avoid, and she was surprised to know the socialite even recognized her. She didn’t have to speak to her to know she held her subject with as much disdain as every blood purist before her.

“Oh no all of my students know they’re welcome to write our visit past graduation,” Charity replied cheerfully before shaking her head. “Sorry, you wouldn’t know. I’m sure none of your profesor wanted to keep in touch with someone who still follows wisdom from the 1500′s. It’s alright, we can’t all be intelligent, at least you have piles of money to fall back on.”

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x-enophilius:

It seemed as though everyone around him was getting friendlier and friendlier. Might of been because they were sipping on alcoholic beverages all night. Xeno wasn’t one of those people. He was 100% sober but just as friendly, just like the drinks made everyone else. Xeno wasn’t much of a drinker, he didn’t like anything that clouded his mind and didn’t really enjoy how the mornings after started off. Sipping on nothing but pumpkin juice, he stood at the edge of the party. He had been unsuccessful with getting any type of story for The Quibbler. All everyone wanted to talk about was politics and what expensive brand of robes they were wearing. Why couldn’t the people here talk about some of the important things. Like nargles for example. Pesky little devils they were, always taking what didn’t belong to them.

 A sigh escaped his lips quickly. His unsuccessful night wasn’t going to bring him down. He knew he was going to fail every once and a while and he needed to take it with pride. He turned to face someone familiar as she spoke. Charity Burbage was always very kind when others were not, and he liked her for that. Xenophilius shook his head, “No, I haven’t.” he said giving the girl a small smile. “I’ll take your word for it, I’m sure they are.”

“Oh Xeno!” she exclaimed happily as she took in the familiar face. He had a unique way of looking at the world which Charity admired. She didn’t always agree with him, but his conviction was refreshing. And his ideas, no matter how farfetched, were always interesting. Conversations with him were never boring.

“Keeping your mind clear? Smart move,” she commended before taking another sip from her drink. Another wave of giggles followed, and a delighted smile stayed on her lips once she had calmed down. “This drink is wonderful! How’s your night been?”

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ameliabncs:

A glance up and she was met with the face of Charity Burbage, a girl she only knew by name after the small story in the prophet of her being hired for, of all things, muggle studies. But Amelia had an eye for faces and names, still she’d give the other a chance to introduce herself. By experience she had come to learn people were uncomfortable when they didn’t know who you are but you knew who they were. “My seventh year was a breeze, but sure.” She muttered softly, trying not to brag, another social faux pas she had learned. “I never said it wasn’t a nice party, still bored out of my mind though.”

Charity figured if the other woman had wanted a response to her comment about her seventh year she wouldn’t have mumbled, so she nodded curtly and reached for a drink. She chose a flute of champagne; hoping it would make the conversation seem easier without lowering her inhibitions so much she’d embarrass herself. After taking a large drink of her liquid luck she attempted to save the conversation, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation. I’m Charity by the way; I teach muggle studies.”

[cburbage-blog1]

Charity was pleasantly tipsy. She could make small talk without questioning herself, and awkward conversations no longer felt so uncomfortable. Logically she knew that she didn’t need another drink, but the plate of cocktails next to her looked so tempting and the alcohol had dulled her fear of embarrassing herself.  “One more drink couldn’t hurt,” she assured herself before lifting a sparkling pink beverage to her lips. The pleasant tingling sensation lingered, and compelled her to call out a slightly too loud “Thank you!” in the direction of the house elf who had provided her the drink.

She let out a delighted giggle, ignoring her social faux-paus and turned to the person next to her with a grin. “Have you tried these. They are ahh-mazing!”

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wtchinghour:

With a tape recorder in one hand and a glass of wine in another, Glenda was standing at the edge of the party. She supposed that this was what she loved most about her job: recording typical quotes and memorable sounds at events. She liked sharing her experiences at events with her audience, doing so with just sound, rather than with pictures ( although she thought photojournalism was kick ass, too ), and was completely in her element. 

Observing the crowds, Glenda took a sip and searched for her next victim. Soon she found one, and she stepped up to them, mic raised. “Glenda Chittock, Witching Hour. Can I ask you a few questions?,” she asked, soon adding – because that question was rhetorical – another question. “D’you know Mr Shafiq, or did you just show up for the free drinks?”

Charity hadn’t expected tonight to be perfect. She was sure she would manage to fall into an awkward conversation or two, but it seemed she had gotten far more than she bargained for. All she wanted was to say goodbye to some students, but it was near impossible to see them from where she was hiding from the crowd. Her mind had drifted while scanning the crowd, and she found herself debating whether she ought to look for decent conversation to pass the night by or leave early. She was leaning towards the latter when she found a tape recorder in her face and wished she had left sooner.

“I’m just here to say goodbye to my students,” she answered coolly before retorting, “What about you? A friend or just a  gossip who thought tonight would be interesting?” 

[cburbage-blog1]

strelawncy:

Sybill found a seat in the outskirts of the chaos. A nice, hidden place for her to people watch. If she was being more honest with herself, she had been asked to sit out for predicting something terrible to happen at this event. Apparently such predictions were frowned upon. She was used to people responding this way, but she still felt it her duty to warn them. 

However, now, she sat, swirling her glass and taking turns look at the swishing champagne and the people when — she locked eyes with someone. 

“Is your grandmother quite well? I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

Charity had spent a few minutes chatting with an old student on the fringes of the party. After they had dismissed themselves to join an old friend she was left watching the party, and rebuilding her energy to join the crowd. She was an extrovert, but events filled with purebloods such as these made her uneasy. As she scanned the edge of the room for an excuse to stay away from the crowd for a moment longer she locked eyes with someone with a rather strange question for her. 

“I..urm,” she cleared her throat awkwardly. She wasn’t close to her mother's parents because they lived in America, and her father's family had never been a part of her life. The rest of the Burbage family preferred to ignore that a squib was a part of their lineage and subsequently shunned Charity and her siblings. The idea that a friend of this part of her family may have recognized her made her sick. Still, she forced a smile on her face, refusing to let those people bother her. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

[cburbage-blog1]

ameliabncs:

“Why am I here?” she chewed her cheek for a half second to mull it over but realized it made her look weird and knocked it off. “Boss told me to come, so here I am.” Amelia followed orders, for the most part, but this just seemed silly. She wasn’t a reporter and she somehow doubted that anyone was about to break the law and need a lawyer and yet still she had come. Maybe it was lonely, working her desk, buried under mount paperwork as she called it, ignoring her brother’s owls. A party, where she knew people but had few friends, didn’t seem so bad in comparison to the night she had planned, on her couch. “Free alcohol though, so I can’t really complain.”

“I was just asking myself the same question,” Charity chuckled earnestly. She was well aware that the Shafiq's-- and most of their social circle for that matter-- would be just fine without having her at the party. Still it was the graduation party of the year, and she wanted the chance to say goodbye to her students. Running into them was proving difficult among the crowd so she figured one drink couldn’t hurt. When she approached the table and found not only alcohol, but also someone who openly shared her sentiment she felt a small bit of relief and replied before she could think about it. “I haven’t been here long, but it does seem like a nice party. It’s a lovely home, and it seems like people are really enjoying themselves. I hope so at least seventh year isn’t easy. Which is why I’m here, to say goodbye to my students I mean.”