chaotic lawful

mundungus fletcher - they/them - Order smuggler

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

He joked and complained about being treated like a teenager, but then there was a whole lot about their whole situation that was exactly that. They weren’t exactly sneaking around, per se, but it sure as hell felt like it the way they had to get so creative to snag even a few minutes of alone time. It made it all the more interesting, a lot of the time, but sometimes, with more and more frequency lately, he wished they had their own space where they wouldn’t have to worry about being quick or getting caught. He didn’t like to dwell on that thought too much, though.

And there was certainly no time to dwell on that now, or on the fact that Al might reappear at any given moment, considering he had no idea where she was, as Fletcher answered his snark by closing the space between them, and grabbing his face to kiss him. A little noise of surprise left his lips, muffled, before he managed to respond in kind. Maybe he should’ve been used to it by now, but every bloody time it took him by surprise that he was allowed this with anyone, yet alone Fletcher. It was too good to be true.

His hands instinctually went to their hips, following their lead as their fingers tugged them closer. The kiss was messy, and so good, and the feeling of their lips made it possible to let go of all the worry for a second. It was hard to think of anything mattering more than feeling like this, after all, in the moment. Augustus deepened the kiss, pressing forward until Fletcher’s back hit the wall, hands wandering, before lips trailed along their jaw. “Bloody lucky Al’s gone, someone’s needy this morning,” he hummed, teasing, before kissing them again.

     ‘Call me needy one more time,’ they said, voice a threatening growl between desperate kisses, but then again, wasn’t that exactly what this was? Wasn’t that exactly why they were here? They needed a distraction and, for some reason, he was the only person they could think of to provide it, they only person they wanted to provide it. And this wasn’t exactly the first time, though they usually managed to couch it in slightly less desperate terms. It was easier, after a few drinks, to admit it, or to ignore it, tactfully pretending that there was more to this than just physical need. It was easier in dark corners, easier when they only had a moment to spare. Easier when they knew they were going somewhere, crossing the border on a mission and maybe never coming back. Augustus calling it out, so blatantly, even as a joke, in broad daylight, made them feel naked, and not in the way they wanted to be naked. Speaking of which...

They pushed a hand up under his shirt, palm flat against his hot skin, the fabric of the shirt wrinkling up over his stomach and chest, high enough that it would be easier to just take it off than to keep it there, get rid of the obstruction entirely. Their sentence went unfinished, the I’ll just leave left unsaid. Because they wouldn’t: they knew they wouldn’t, and so did he, probably.

Some piece of armor, in the back of their mind kept reminding them that this was a bad idea—not just because Moody might walk in at any time and they were attempting to practically rip Augustus’ shirt off in the front hallway, but because this was getting to be too easy, too regular, too predictable. Too close for comfort, the way they kept finding themself gravitating back to him, ending up here again and again and again. But right now, it was that or facing the litany of their own sins, the bad news they had brought, subjecting everyone to its pull of despair. This was easier, so much easier, than all of that.

[flctchcrs]

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

The laugh that left their lips was hardly a laugh at all, and it probably said something that that alone was enough to send a pang of something indescribable through his chest. It would’ve been easy to explain it away as worry that maybe somehow Fletcher knew; if anyone was going to find out without meaning to, it would be them, and how cruel that was the case. But that wasn’t it. It would’ve been easy if it was a feeling that selfish, but instead it was worry for them, that maybe the mess with Sirius was affecting them just as much as it was him.

Closing the door behind them, Augustus watched them go through the motions of very clearly trying to assess if anyone else was around. Cute, that wasn’t a word that many probably associated with Fletcher, but that was exactly what he found himself thinking watching the familiar motions, the dance they played during the before, something a little more tense to it today. They needed a distraction, that much was sure. And maybe he needed one, too.

“Haven’t seen Al since last night, probably a secret meeting or some other shite she thinks I shouldn’t know about. You’d think I’m, like, a bloody teenager, the way she acts,” he scoffed, giving a nonchalant shrug, like there wasn’t a heat brewing in the pit of his stomach, knowing the reason they usually wanted to know if they were alone. 

The next sentence comes out closer to teasing, a perfect eyebrow arched, looking back at them, “Why d’you ask?”

There was a palpable feeling of relief, in their stomach, at his answer, at the knowledge that they at least had a short time alone. This had been the dilemma, for going on two months now: there were so few places to be alone, and it was maybe the first time Fletcher really had any craving to be alone with someone else. But there was a kid living in their apartment, right now—Narcissa was doing her best to find somewhere else to stay, they knew, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still using their bedroom. And the last person Fletcher wanted catching them in any kind of compromising position was Mad-Eye Moody, who they imagined would certainly know about anything happening under her roof. 

Which meant that their moments alone in private were few and far between, relegated to dark corners or quick moments. But right now, in this very moment, they were alone. And that was exactly what they needed right now. 

They didn’t answer Augustus’ question. At least, not in words. Instead, they took two long steps to close the distance between them, and kissed him, not exactly gentle, hands moving to grab his face and hold him there so he wouldn’t lose his balance with the force of it. Messy, imprecise, a little desperate, they tugged at the hair at the nape of Augustus’ neck with their fingers as they pulled themself closer, pressing against him, making sure there was no question of what they’d come here for. 

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

It wasn’t fair the way things could change so quickly without even noticing until it was much too late. It wasn’t fair that they had let him have the chance to just be for weeks and weeks, to settle into the idea that he had been abandoned, to move from worry, to anger, to acceptance before ruining all of it. But then, none of it had ever truly been fair. So when Fletcher had brought back the newspaper with the damning headline, something in their stomach had turned. They had had an agreement. Even if he hadn’t been the one to break it, did that mean he was in just as dangerous a position as Black suddenly was, if he decided to show his face back across the border?

There hadn’t been enough time to dwell on that anxiety, though, no, because not forty-eight hours later, he had received a message. No name attached, no mention of his father still, just three words that had made him sick to his stomach. Months undone in an instant, freedom ended before it had truly started. It felt a lot like he was fourteen again, like that night his father had told him he had to stay, but somehow even crueler now that he had finally been allowed to taste what having his own life was. This time, it wasn’t so easy to turn the tears to something useful, because he wasn’t certain he could.

Augustus hadn’t left the house since he’d gotten the message, instead spending his time between pacing anxiously, lying in bed for hours, and blistering hot showers. The knock on the door woke him from some of the haze, though; he’d gotten used to making mad dashes to the door whenever there was a knock, heading off Al before she had a chance to intervene and thoroughly ruin any chance of privacy. He opened the door, and sure enough there they were, arguably looking as tired as he felt. The sight of them made his stomach turn, something comforting, and something worrying all at once. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had happened if he wanted to, but the thought was there so readily, what would happen to them if he did what was asked of him? What would happen to them if he didn’t?

“What’d I do to deserve a house call so early?” he teased, the joke maybe falling a little more flat than he wanted. A pause. “Come on in, rough few days, yeah?”

It was almost unfair, that just the sight of his face was enough to loose something in their chest, just a little, like something had been stuck there and Augustus’s surprised look had dislodged it and knocked it free. They didn’t particularly feel like laughing, but they did it anyway, letting out a rough breath that could have sounded like a chuckle if you squinted right and felt particularly generous. 

     ‘Yeah, yeah—’

They slipped inside the instant the invitation fell from his lips, one fist clenched to try to stifle the impatience, the antsy nervousness their muscles were tensed with. For all the effort the put into seeming effortless, they were fairly certain Augustus was learning to see through them, to tell when they were on edge, when they needed a distraction, when the facade was beginning to slip, and that probably should have scared them for all it was worth. Instead of thinking about it, though, they just shoved their hands further in their pocket, ducking past him enough to glance around the apartment, into the adjoining rooms, looking for any sign of Moody’s presence—or, hopefully, absence. 

      ‘Your warden around anywhere, or’ve we got the place to ourselves?’

[flctchcrs]

     time. morning, 16 December      place. Augustus and Moody’s apartment           ( @augustustheyounger​ )

They didn’t like being the bearer of bad news. 

They’d already spent large parts of their life being glanced at out of the corners of eyes, people tiptoeing around them, voices quieting when they walked into rooms. They already knew more of the Order considered them untrustworthy than not. None of that had been made any better by bringing home a newspaper that sent half the Order and more than half the Insurgency into an absolute state. They hadn’t needed Remus Lupin, or anyone else, to associate them with anything else awful.

But it wasn’t like they could have kept the news about Sirius Black a secret. And if Remus Lupin wanted to shoot the messenger, well, at least Fletcher had a right to mope around about it for a couple of days before they pulled themself together. More than anything, what they needed was something to take their mind off things.

So they’d gone where they always did, these days, when the needed to relax; they weren’t entirely sure when it had happened, when they and Augustus Rookwood of all people had gone from bare acquaintances to something more—something they preferred to think of as rather undefinable—but they were knocking on Mad Eye Moody’s bloody door before they even fully realized where their feet had taken them and waiting patiently, hoping he’d be the one to open the door instead of the grouchy auror, another distrustful face in the crowd. 

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

All of this wasn’t something he could ever really remember feeling before. The boldness, the levity, the desire for something because it was what he wanted to do, not because it would serve his mission, or his father, or anyone else. Maybe later, once he was alone again his his bedroom in Al’s house, maybe he’d blame it on the cocktail he’d downed too fast, or the grief, but here, now, he was pretty sure it was the company, with Fletcher there looking back at him with that grin on their lips.

Maybe it was juvenile, the sort of thing sixteen year olds did, not twenty-five year olds, but he hadn’t really let himself have that chance nine years ago, hadn’t been given that chance, so what if it was a little late. Right now, in this moment, he wanted to dance, to dance with Fletcher, maybe get a little closer to them, maybe give them a reason to put their arm around him again. And that was all that mattered just now. Free, and certain.

And if his heart felt like it jumped against his breastbone when they teasingly agreed and finished their own drink, when they held out a hand for him to take, well, Augustus didn’t need to think about that too hard tonight.

He took their hand, with a mock bow and a grin wider than he was used to feeling, and then pulled them into the crowd.

[flctchcrs]

narciss-a‌:

Fletcher’s face is a study in consternation, and it’s enough to make her have to hide a smile. She hides it badly, because she doesn’t have a free hand to cover her face, but turning her head enough to make a show of setting the music–hair?–box down in its place does something to conceal her amusement. “I forgot,” she answers, not making any effort to close the door or back out of the space, he voice too mild to show any hint of deception (if any exists). It’s all too fascinating, this corner of Dark magic, artifacts old enough to be in dire need of a cleaning cloth.

Narcissa idly twists the dishrag around her hand and reaches in again, this time pulling out a necklace set with an opalescent stone. “This only works on vampires,” she points out, still mild and conversational, attempting not to attract Draco’s attention with a change in tone. “Lady Rowle had one like it, which didn’t help the rumors.” In Narcissa’s opinion, the necklace had been tacky, most likely a costume-jewelry replica of an artifact once coveted by high society ladies in the eras when vampire hunting had been en vogue. The worst example of fashion stuck in the past, as far as she was considered.

“Is all of this stuff enchanted?”

     ‘Cursed,’ they correct her. Anything enchanted with something not outright dangerous had gone to other people, people who could use the enchantments for other things. There was a dearth of magic, on this side of the border, but there were people who could move things from one object to another, take an enchanted key and move its charm over onto a broken broom. Curses were dangerous, even in the best of hands.

It was something of a private fascination. Their own little collection, meant to be kept for just themself. 

Not for their houseguest’s unauthorized cleaning spree, even if apparently she seemed to recognize more than one of the items. That wasn’t surprising, though: Fletcher had stolen the vast majority of them from Pureblood houses and Gringotts vaults and estate sales, gotten most of the rest from places like Borgin & Burke’s. 

     ‘It’s useless, that’s why it’s in there. If it was useful, I’d have given it to someone who could use it.’

That was a lie, but they wouldn’t say as much. 

[flctchcrs]

marleneonfire‌:

Fletcher has a hand on her arm before Marlene can get very far. She makes a small noise of protest as they tug her back and behind a tree. “What do you mean ‘stop’?” she asks hotly. But every second she’s there, breathing, is another second she thinks about. Thinks about how stupid it would be to go running headlong across the border, with no plan, no word to anyone else of what happened and what they were doing. The recklessness of it… It’s not something they can afford, certainly not something the Order can afford.

And every second she sits there, the anger burns off her, leaving room for the chill of fear. “Okay,” she says, a little shakily, to indicate that she wasn’t going to run off. Fletcher was right, of course. But now that she doesn’t have an immediate plan of action, the panic is settling in place. “I don’t… Fuck.” Her hands rake through her hair and she turns to look back at the barrier, its shimmering indifference. “That was really bad, huh?” She asks Fletcher, turning back to meet their eyes.

In another second, she has her hand linked around their wrist. “Thanks,” she says – without them there, Marlene likely would have made a fatal mistake.

First disaster avoided: they’re determined not to make a shit situation even worse than it already is, and with Marlene’s temper defused, with the certainty that she wasn’t going to go charging off after their ghosts the second they let go, Fletcher could move their mind along to the next issue here: the part where they were well and truly fucked.

     ‘Yeah, no problem,’ they answered, distracted, still staring off in the direction they’d come from-- not across the border, not where they’d gone, but where they’d come from. Not that it could tell them much: they’d apparated in, as far as they could, just to the edge of the border, which meant they could have come from anywhere in Scotland, could have been up to anything...

     ‘What the fuck where they doing here, though?’ they said, aloud, though mostly to themself. Their mind raced to the worst-case scenarios-- Hogwarts, the Ministry-- and then quickly blocked those out.

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

Maybe it wasn’t the right choice, maybe none of it really was, considering that all in all, his life was still in limbo. There was so little to be done, though, and certainly nothing to do tonight, and the taste of freedom, the knowledge that maybe this could be something he just did when he wanted, how he wanted, with who he wanted making the choice a little easier. The way Fletcher sat there, that amused look on their face looking back at him, made the choice a little easier.

This didn’t have to happen again; for all he knew, this was the only night he was going to spend at a muggle club, with or without Fletcher. And something about that was freeing, in a way, knowing that for once he could just think about tonight. There was no use in considering what came after. Tonight, it was just the now. The problem was how much he was liking that feeling.

He hadn’t really done this before, after all, any of it, but especially not this part, the ball in his court, the question posed, with that knowing smirk. The answer was already in the air, but again he had a choice. And it was easy, just now, somehow.

“Yeah, think I am,” he decided as the words came out of his mouth. Bolder than he’d ever really been, in a moment he’d never really had the chance to be bold during before. But it felt right, felt like the sort of thing he might’ve been used to doing by now if he had had the chance to grow up normally here. At least he could try now, though, in a place where no one but Fletcher knew him, and somehow it even felt like them knowing him was safe, that he didn’t need to worry about doing something wrong, saying the wrong thing. So he took a deep drink of his cocktail, and put it down decidedly, standing back up, stretching a little.

“Or am I gonna have to dance alone?”

They grinned: they hadn’t expected Rookwood to agree, to take the bait, to rise to their unspoken dare. Maybe it was the booze-- when they’d first started drinking, it had gone to them quickly, made them bolder and more reckless so much faster than it did now; Rookwood had had, what, one butterbeer at least before they left, had already gone through the sugary sweet cocktail in his hand far faster than he probably should have.

But there was something else in his eyes, some purpose hidden there far clearer than alcohol would usually influence. They could see the decision being made there, could see the forceful resolve once the decision had been made, the determination not to regret what they’d just said. It was... cute, honestly, except that cute felt like a weird word to apply to someone who looked like that, all six and a half feet of him.

     ‘As much as I’d love to watch that,’ they teased, and then finished their own drink, sliding the glass back across the bar to the bartender on the other side. They extended their hand, a joking semi-formal invitation for Rookwood to take it and pull them out onto the floor. 

[historyarchaeologyartefacts]

Curious Artefacts: The Black Orlov (Eye of Brahma), one of the most famous cursed diamonds (Story in comments) [1000x721]

[narciss-a]

When: 23 October Where: Fletcher’s flat Who: @flctchcrs

She shouldn’t pay attention to the papers, but how can she help it? That’s her old life, and it’s hard to cut herself off entirely, even if she chose to leave. And the date–she knows what’s coming. It happens every year, and this is always a huge part of her year, assisting with the planning if it’s a friend hosting and making arrangements for her own outfit and Draco’s brief appearance before he’s whisked away by a nanny. Balls and parties were her job, practically, and the Riddle Ball was hers to host this year.

And then she’d left. They’d been mid-preparations for it already, when she’d gone, because that kind of party took half a year to arrange properly if not more. And Lucius was still hosting it, as if his wife and son’s disappearance was no more than a brief disruption in his life. As if he barely even cared.

At home, if she found herself agitated, she used to vent it by finding house-elves and berating them about anything she found out of place in the manor. In Fletcher’s flat, there were no house-elves, no household at all, just Narcissa and a dingy flat and Draco with a coloring book in the other room. He was, if nothing else, a remarkably focused child, unbothered by his mother’s flustered attitude.

Narcissa begins flinging open cupboards and rearranging what she finds inside–not enough to keep her occupied for more than twenty minutes, she moves on to the rest of the flat, tidying what little Fletcher owns. It’s when she goes looking for a broom that she finds the closet full of curios, and a vague memory pings of Fletcher mentioning it when she and Draco moved in.

Like a magpie, they’ve cluttered the floor with them, a vague sense of organization only discernible to a truly chaotic mind. Narcissa knows better than to reach in with a bare hand and procures a dishcloth, pulling out a round music box that looks familiar.

When she brings it too close to her face, it pops open, metal teeth protruding around the edge. “Ah!” Narcissa laughs. “I remember you. You eat hair, yes?” She flicks her head, bringing the box close to her hair, and the box makes a threatening whirr. “Oh, not eat, I forget. Collect. Like lovelocks.” She twists the key in the side and the box shuts again. “How odd. How did Fletcher get their hands on you, I wonder? Strange little curio.”

[flctchcrs]

She’s cleaned. 

At some point, in the... what forty eight? seventy two hours? that they’d left their flat unattended, inhabited only by Narcissa and her kid, she’d decided to clean, and it’s the first thing they notice as they walk through the door. The kitchenette, which they hardly use anyway but which is generally cluttered and unusuable, is clear. Blankets are folded, pillows are fluffed, knick knacks are lined up, chairs are pushed in. The pile of shoes they leave by the door has disappeared, whisked off to some closet somewhere in all likelihood.

It’s disastrous. It’s hideous. It’s so... orderly. 

And Narcissa is standing in front of a closet -- their closet, their stash, despite the fact that the door had been locked to stop the kid from accidentally stumbling across a tiny room filled with deadly curses -- and holding a music box with a dishrag. All she needs, they think distantly, is a pair of marigolds to complete the image.

     ‘Thought I told you lot to stay out of there,’ they say, leaning against the doorway. There’s no harshness in their voice, no accusation. It’s matter of fact. The closet she’s standing in front of is full of things a lot more dangerous than a music box that -- apparently, according to her -- collects hair, and it’s all stored carefully and precisely to avoid cursing the shit out of themself or anyone else. 

[flctchcrs]

marleneonfire‌:

She didn’t see, not right at first. Her eyes are down, and she’s distracted, thinking of a way she can try to convince Fletcher to let her duck over to England. She’s not meant to go over tonight, neither of them are, but, well, Dumbledore is dead and it’s about damn time she put some real muscle into the search for her family.

But then Fletcher just….stops moving. And they’re so rarely still that it sets her a little on edge and she casts her eyes up and it’s just in time to see the great looming figures. Cloaks so long it almost looks like their gliding and the masks… It’s blood-chilling, the sight of them, and that’s before she even works out the circumstances. Because they’re moving from Scotland back into England. Leave out that they very nearly saw herself and Fletcher. Leave out that they could have discovered any of the stores or safe-houses. Just their presence, their existence in this country is… well.

“I did,” she mutters back. And then she starts to charge past their arm, head for the border. No excuse needed, now. They had a live line to follow. “We have to go after them!” she whispers hurriedly. Maybe they could track them, find some meeting place, or even just figure out what the Death Eaters had been doing in Scotland. “Fletch?”

Marlene’s off and moving before Fletcher has a chance to reach out and stop her, despite the arm in her way, and it takes them a second to catch up to her, to grab her by the arm this time and stop her, to pull her back behind a tree and out of sightline, even though the two figures have now apparated again, out of sight to who knows where on the other side of the border. 

     ‘Stop,’ they say, and find that they’re whispering too, even with the figures gone. The possibilities race across their mind -- they’re used to thinks like this, in some way, quickly calculating the likelihood that more danger might follow -- what if there was a third or fourth, still coming? What if they’d left something dangerous behind? It’s half self-preservational instinct: everything is, with them.

But it’s half something else, too. Marlene’s the Order’s secret keeper. If she goes after them, or crosses the border angry and scared and gets caught unaware by one of the Death Eaters or werewolves on patrol, they’ll torture her until they know everything there is to know about the Order. They’ll-- the thought sticks in their mind, for a second, unwilling to be thought-- they’ll kill her, in all likelihood, when they’re done with her. 

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

The reply was enough to make him acutely aware of how unusual a normal thing like a mate taking him somewhere was. But he didn’t have time to process before Fletcher continued to take him off guard. The arm around his shoulder was something a little jarring, might’ve made him freeze for an instant if he had had a chance to think before they were suddenly apparating away. It took a second for his stomach and his thoughts to catch up, just enough to think what is happening, before they looped an arm through his, pulling him onward. They could’ve taken him bloody anywhere, for how hard a time he was having focusing on anything but the places where their arms touched. The ease and casualness wasn’t something he was used to, but it made him think that maybe he’d like to be.

There wasn’t enough time to truly take everything in, just the distinct sign outside the place, the way the bouncer clearly knew Fletcher, then suddenly surrounded by warm bodies, bright lights, adrenaline pumping as they took him straight to the bar, cocktail in hand in no time. He was still pleasantly overwhelmed with the dozens of people dancing to the deafening bass, drinking like nothing else could matter. 

“Yeah,” he said, with a laugh he couldn’t contain. The stunned look turned into something of a smile as his eyes went back to Fletcher. Something about seeing them here, under the colorful, flashing lights, in a place where no one knew him but them felt like something new, good. He never would’ve let himself do this, before now, but the thrill of being unknown doing the unknown was as intoxicating as the generous sip he took of the cocktail. “Fuck yeah.”

This night was supposedly about showing him the many wonders of different alcohols, but he was a lot less focused on the bright, delicious cocktail in his hand than anticipated with so much contagious energy flowing around him.

“You dance, Fletcher, or you just watch?”

Fletcher had been an anonymous thing, unknowable and unknown, since they were a child, never anchoring an identity in anything other than the ability to go unnoticed when they wanted to, unbeholden to much of anything, too hard to pin down to be worth anyone’s time. It was a part of why they’d taken to the muggle world with such ease: it was even easier, there, to move about unknown, to make sure people’s eyes passed them over without really seeing them. To be somewhere like here, lost in a crowd, unimpeded, no one around them taking note of their actions.

And yet... here was Augustus. Looking at them, smiling at them. They’d brought him here, and they weren’t sure why. The people they’d chosen to keep in their life in any way greater than just delivery runs -- Mert, Marlene, now Narcissa... they were people who knew better than to expect anything more from Fletcher than an occasional appearance, like a feral cat you might leave food out for every once in a while in exchange for the dead mouse they left on your doorstep. 

Would Augustus know better? If Fletcher stayed and didn’t just disappear to leave him here on his own, if Fletcher had a little fun tonight? Or was Fletcher just setting themself up for disaster, setting him up for disappointment? 

Did it matter? 

     ‘Depends. You asking me to dance, Junior?’

[flctchcrs]

     time. 20 October, dusk, moments after the Death Eaters disappear      place. just north of the border            ( @marleneonfire​ )

They were frozen, totally and utterly stuck in place. It was an unusual reaction for them -- they weren’t usually the type to freeze up in shock, more the type to roll with the punches no matter how bad they god. But this-- 

Death Eaters. Crossing the border. And not just that, crossing back over the border, back into England, with their bloody stupid masks and their bloody stupid cloaks and their wands drawn like some muggle horror movie costume getting ready for Halloween. Crossing back, which meant they’d already been in Scotland. They’d already been in Scotland, and the Order didn’t know.

They realized, suddenly, that in their panic, they’d thrown an arm out in front of Marlene, to block her from moving in case she hadn’t also seen them, to block her from accidentally stumbling into their view. It felt, suddenly, very important to them that these Death Eaters not find out they’d been seen, that the Order not lose whatever minuscule advantage it might still have. 

When they’re sure the two figures are gone, they let out a breath they hadn’t realize they’d been holding.

     ‘Motherfucker,’ they swear, under their breath. ‘Tell me you didn’t just see what I saw.’

[flctchcrs]

augustustheyounger‌:

He let out a scoff, but merely raised an eyebrow, even more interested because of the denial. That was what Fletcher did, after all, every single thing about them was a mystery, he’d only barely heard about what they did for the Order, and he was well aware that was because of his living situation, not any real attempt to understand. Looking at it now, though, out from under the lens of information to send back, secrets to be learned, he wondered how he hadn’t been curious before. Maybe it was a testament to how well he’d done at his job, singularly focused so that those on the periphery were nothing but blurs. But that had apparently blinded him to even more.

Fletcher was a puzzle, a person who had made an identity on not letting anyone know anything about them. And here he was, someone who’d made an identity on learning secrets. He was curious, but this was purely his own curiosity, now, not something he was obligated to have.

Following their lead, Augustus paid for his own drink, and stood, following them out through the crowd. The idea of him having been to a club, yet alone a muggle club made him laugh. 

“Clubs? Fuck no, look at me; I haven’t been going to bloody muggle clubs,” he scoffed, although he wasn’t entirely opposed, as the new possibilities opened up to him on a night of his own choosing. It was easy to imagine Fletcher surrounded by people who liked them, having a grand old time drinking, dancing, which made it all the odder, to him, that they were asking him what he did. “Don’t really have many mates around to drag me to something like that, and, like, I’m not gonna go on my own, am I? I take it that’s not an issue you have, though.”

     ‘Alright, well, now you’ve got a mate to drag you.’

With no more preface than that, they slung an arm around Rookwood’s shoulder -- despite the height difference and the way they had to stretch up to do so -- and, without warning and with nothing but a loud crack, they apparated away from Hogsmeade to a location a bit more their speed. A familiar alley, not far from their own flat, warded so that no muggle walking by ever looked into it, one of the designated safe apparation spots not far from the Scottish Ministry’s entrances. 

It was only a few blocks from there to one of their usual haunts, and Rookwood seemed stunned enough that it was all too easy to loop an arm around his and drag him through the handful of twists and turns that took them there, til they stopped just outside a door, a bright sign designating it SNEAKY PETE’S. 

A nod to the bouncer and the two of them were in, a nod to the bartender and there were two elaborate and brightly colored cocktails in their hands, and they passed one of them to Rookwood and then leaned back against the bar, taking a sip of their own as they looked at him, evaluating his reaction. The loud music, the colorful lights, the dense crowd of drunk muggles doing their best to have a good time. The feeling of absolute anonymity -- except that now, for once, they were here with someone who knew who they were, knew anything about them even if he didn’t know all that much. 

     ‘Well?’

[flctchcrs]

marleneonfire‌:

The usual.

Which meant nothing about her family. Marlene tried not to be disappointed. Or, at least, tried not to let the disappointment show over her face too much. “Eat,” she urged, “before it goes cold.” With a brief wave of her wand, she summoned a cup of tea for herself as well, mostly so she could have something to do. 

“Probably keep ‘em in,” she murmured to her tea cup. “Only ones to keep out are the likes of us, hoping to rescue others.” That was important to note, though. Heavier guard meant she would have to be even more careful, more alert, when she went over. “No trouble once you’re in, though?” she wanted to know. Getting over was risky, that much was always true. But at long as she could still spare a couple extra hours once within Britain. As long as she could still try to find something, anything, about her family. 

Despite the sweetness of her tea, Marlene reached over for another licorice wand. She watched him chew thoughtfully for a moment before speaking up: “I thought you didn’t like licorice.”

[flctchcrs]

narciss-a‌:

Alone scares her. Like sleep scares her. Alone means shadows in the darkness, visions of her sister melting out from the walls, a twisted sneer on her face. A green flash for her. A tattoo for her son.

(Maybe that’s why she holds him so tight against her. She knows they won’t kill her if there’s a risk of hitting Draco.)

That part of her that used to be Mrs. Malfoy flares again, as it so often does, and she fights it with difficulty, too tired to resist. She does not enjoy being told what to do as a parent. With Andromeda and Ted, she can bear it. It’s easier, coming from family. Coming from Fletcher–it rankles.

As much as she fears the silence of the empty flat, she lets them go. Nods. Does not move. If they don’t want to spend the night in a flat with a child, that’s their choice–she did not ask to come here, not to be a burden, to force them to their couch and intrude on their space. Yet she feels guilty for it. Guilty and bitter. Familiar emotions.

“I will,” Narcissa answers. She hates being a burden on others. She doesn’t know how to be anything else. “I just felt…” Hesitates, having started the sentence before deciding how to finish it. She can feel a carapace forming around her. Against her will. Something defensive settles in her throat and she can’t get any more words out. Her body is stiff, held in such a way to keep Draco reclined, and Narcissa stares sightlessly and moves to place her feet back on the floor.

Maybe Fletcher leaving is not a rejection of her company. Maybe they are trying to help, not correct, with their suggestion. Perhaps intention does not matter when Narcissa is incapable of interpreting it without extreme prejudice and doubt. Suspicion, even. If you cannot stand to be around me now, she thinks, how long until you take steps to be rid of me entirely?

“Enjoy your evening, then.”