florence wilson

  24 ♔ MUGGLEBORN ♔ HUFFLEPUFF ♔ AVERSIO  “when injustice becomes law, rebellion becomes duty.”

[florence-wilson]

waning-therianthrope‌:

Remus felt himself blush, flustered over her insistence to see that he was alright. Most people who were bold enough to acknowledge his injuries left it at that, as if he wouldn’t have known that they were there, they didn’t push it like Florence was. There was a conflicting emotion rising in him, something between annoyance and embarrassment. Remus’ throat tightened slightly in anxiety, but even as the situation flustered him, the genuine philanthropy of her demeanor shamed him. It could be hard to remember, even in times of peace, that some people were just helpful.

Exhaustion, more than consent, won over Remus to nodding at Florence. “That is very kind of you-” He said softly, he added quickly, “These are part and parcel of my… job, scratches like these, but I know better than to refuse a Hufflepuff.” Remus said this last bit with a smile, attempting to glaze over his obvious anxiety and embarrassment. Though he was a taller man, he softened his shoulders in an effort to take up less space, kept his voice quiet, and seemed unwilling to stand out. Remus tried to shuffle out of the way of the front door, giving Florence a wide birth to unlock it if she so choose.

Bringing more attention to the places where the man was banged up, scratched, and bruised might not have been the best idea, but Florence couldn’t help herself. She wanted to make sure that he was alright. If not for his sake, then for her own. Whatever caused his injuries could’ve gotten more than surface deep... and if they weren’t checked on, could get infected. “I promise to be quick, even if I’m thorough. If you don’t ask... what is it that you do for a living?” She gave him a small smile, hoping that if she showed him some kindness, he wouldn’t feel as awkward about the whole thing. “Let’s head inside, yeah?” Florence brushed herself off and gestured for the man to follow her inside. Where they were, people might watch. Stare. And that wouldn’t look good for either of them... no matter what it happened to look like. Opening the door and stepping inside, Florence tried to find the best place for him to sit down. “How about you sit down over on the couch? I can get you something to drink, if you’d like. To calm yourself. I can’t imagine you’re feeling your best, and all, what with a nervous Nellie like myself pestering you about your injuries.”

[florence-wilson]

She glanced down at the man again, careful not to stare too long, concerned that if she did, he would snap at her. It wasn’t becoming of a person to stare… especially if that person just so happened to look disheveled and dusty, as this man seemed to. There was a look in his eye – a distant look. Perhaps he was avoiding eye contact with her just as much as she was trying to avoid it with him. Florence folded her arms across her chest for a moment before unfolding them again, unsure of what to do with her limbs and whether or not this man was a danger to her or not. She knew nothing about him. He could be a homeless stranger just looking for a place to sleep for the night or he could be a stalker, someone ready to kill her on behalf of the Death Eaters or some other blood purist. “Are you sure? You look a bit banged up. And there’s no shame in needing a check-up. No judgement. Promise.” Her compassion for wanting to help someone who looked like they were in pain outweighed her fear of him being a Death Eater missionary. It was her desire to help people that led her to wanting to be a Healer, after all. If she wasn’t going to act on that instinct, she would be a bigger hypocrite than most people she knew. Cautiously, Florence shook the man’s hand. “Florence.” It was too soon to trust him with a surname. The name rang a bell, though she couldn’t be certain that she knew exactly who he was. And she couldn’t tell his age – not exactly – so she couldn’t even be certain that they were in the same year. “It’s certainly a possibility. I finished school… six years ago? I was a Hufflepuff.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You could come inside, join me for tea? Let me make sure that none of those bumps and bruises are infected or anything. It’d make me feel so much better if I knew you were alright before I let you go on your way.”

[florence-wilson]

While it was nice to think that people, at their very core, were kind and good people, Florence had a hard time believing that it was a universal truth. It was clear that many people picked up ideologies from their parents and gave little thought or effort when it came to examining or dismantling them. But still, the fact that so many people bought into such ideas, the fact that so many people didn’t want to examine their beliefs and were so adamant about it, made Florence think that it was possible that they weren’t as good deep down and to their core as people like Lily seemed to want to believe. “I think that people understand kindness. I think they accept it. But I think that kindness is a thing that many people need to be taught. Most of us have forgotten what it’s like to actually be kind, ourselves.” She included herself in that assumption. Florence knew that she could be a better person. A nicer person. There were things that she could change about herself that would help her relationships and make the world an easier and more kind place not only for herself to navigate, but for the people around her as well. But that would take time, energy, and effort – all things that she felt she did not have an abundance of. As a compromise, Florence decided to try in bits and pieces, putting in the effort where she could, when she thought of it as an option, instead of making it her current life project. But Lily’s next words surprised Florence. The woman’s soft voice almost hid the content of her words. While she wasn’t close to the redheaded woman, Florence couldn’t help but wonder who exactly she was referring to. Was it appropriate to ask, or was this one of the many things that were better left unspoken? “Care to elaborate?” she asked, her own voice softening. Her choice of words could’ve been better, but at the moment, it was the best that she could do. “So we’re fucked either way,” Florence summarized. There was nobody in the world that she felt she could fully open up to. Her father would never understand the compromises that she’d made on her mother’s behalf. Even her closest friends didn’t need that extra burden. Sharing her grief simply wasn’t an option. Maybe it was about time she started seeing a therapist after all. Florence noted the thought before focusing her attention back on the other woman. “Maybe we’re approaching this all wrong, then. Maybe we’re focusing too much on retaliation and not cutting them off at the source. We’re reactive. Not proactive. And I know that acting first comes with its own slew of problems, but… something needs to change if we want to end this war once and for all.”

[florence-wilson]

Florence was silent. Not having the words to describe how she felt was foreign to her; she always had something to say, and she always found some way to say it. Even if it made people angry, even if it pushed them away, Florence never let someone leave a conversation without receiving a piece of her mind. But her pleading with Marlene hadn’t done her any good… and now the two women sat in silence. She looked down at her lap, trying to find some way to pull some sort of response out of her friend, but it was all in vain. If Marlene did not want to share, or if she couldn’t find the words to do so, Florence wasn’t going to force her. She knew all too well what it felt like to be consumed by grief and pain. Marlene’s experiences were just so heightened that it must have hurt all that much more. Marlene’s apology hung out in the air, surrounded by quiet, both women unable to continue. After yet another moment of uncomfortable silence, Florence spoke up. “No,” she murmured. “Don’t be.” There was nothing to be sorry about. Marlene’s experiences were entirely her own, and perhaps it was too soon for Florence to expect the woman to explain her thoughts and feelings in any sort of way that would make sense. She wiped at her eyes, trying to keep any tears that formed from falling onto her cheeks. “Sometimes doing what’s best for us isn’t something we enjoy doing. It doesn’t mean we should avoid it,” she offered. “And it might be difficult. And painful. But… I don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward and through all of this if you don’t start putting words to what happened.” She took a deep breath. “It isn’t weak. But I’d rather lose you any other way than at the bottom of a bottle.”

[florence-wilson]

Amelia’s response made Florence chuckle. The woman still had a sense of humor about her – and that in and of itself was rather impressive. “As long as it isn’t me, I won’t complain. I’ve had enough shocks in my life to know that they’re not pleasant, and I could go a little while before I have to encounter one again.” She gave her friend an amused wink. Amelia surely would stun anyone that crossed her. Florence was certain that the woman’s anger would make the spell a strong one, too. It was another thing she admired about the brunette, if not something that she envied. It seemed that Amelia knew how to use her anger, how to direct it. Florence, however, felt like the more time that passed, the more she could sense herself turning into a ticking time bomb. At the woman’s comment, Florence glanced down at her chest, widening her eyes with surprise. “Oh! There they are. I thought they just walked off and found someone who would actually put them to use.” She laughed once more. It felt strange, laughing this much when the two women were filled with spite. But it also felt good. “I can’t see why anyone would want to date when everything’s such a mess. Or how anyone has the emotional capacity or the time. I worry about myself enough – why add another person into the mix when I can’t guarantee their safety?” It was a pragmatic approach to romance, but it was also the only one that Florence knew. “I didn’t sleep well. I woke up in the middle of the night with a migraine, and once I fell back asleep, I could only sleep for another hour or so. I’ve pretty much been up since four in the morning. What about you? Have you been sleeping alright?”

[serpentinelestrange]

Compromising Position || Rabastan & Open

Winter 1979 London Open

The cold air hit him, and his stomach turned but he kept the bile rising in his throat down. The noise from bar muffled as the door closed behind him. Rabastan took a second, bracing himself against the wall as his eyes adjusted to the street light and the ringing in his ears decreased. 

He could see his breath rising in clouds in front of him but he was hot, as if he’d just run a mile. Perhaps it was the effect of one of the potions he’d taken. His lips quirked at the thought. His head spun. 

Merlin, he needed a piss. 

He looked around and saw an alley across the street. He made a beeline, although it was probably more meandering than he thought. It was like his mind was working ten times faster than his body, making it feel like he was moving in slow motion. 

He reached the darkness of the alley, and unzipped his trousers. He made an audible sigh as he started to relieve himself. Then, above the sound of urine spattering on the concrete he heard footsteps. He looked around and chuckled. The closest streetlight illuminated their face enough for him to recognise them. What a coincidence. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled. 

[florence-wilson]

Smoking isn’t good for you. She could hear her mother’s voice in her ear, as if she were a small child being chastised for some bad behavior. But Florence didn’t care what her mother would think. Not now, anyway. She fiddled with the carton of cigarettes in her hand as she walked, looking for a quiet place where she could have a moment alone. Tonight was supposed to be a good night. A nice night with friends, as if there wasn’t chaos surrounding them. A way to bring herself back to an old normal that no longer seemed to exist. And as much as she wanted to enjoy herself, something inside of her didn’t feel right. She felt anxious. Nervous. The night was too nice, too perfect, and things could change at any moment. She needed a smoke to calm her nerves and remind herself that it was okay to enjoy the moment, even if it was proving to be quite difficult to do so. Florence approached an alley, hearing the sound of something liquid hitting the pavement as she did so. Turning her head to look, Florence found herself surprised to find Rabastan Lestrange with trousers down, relieving himself in an otherwise public setting. “And here I thought that the Lestrange family prided themselves on their dignity. When exactly was it that you lost yours?”

[waning-therianthrope-deactivate]

Circumstances || Florence + Remus

@florence-wilson

London was a display of circumstance. Remus could remember being a child, gently pulled along by his mother as he watched strangers in fully lined fur coats step over others asleep on the street. Remus cautiously wondered how anyone could end up that way. But now as an adult with life’s hand fully dealt to him, he realized that what was more frightening than the how was how very easy it was.

Because Remus was asleep on someone’s sidewalk. He hadn’t meant to, he had just been waiting for the next bus, but all the outside world could see was a man asleep on a sidewalk. Remus jerked to wake intermittently, whether from a particularly cold bite of air or a passing traveler. The back and forth from wake to sleep disoriented him and before long it was difficult to remember when the bus would be there, or if it was coming at all.

The next time Remus was awoken a shadow fell over him. He started abruptly, his hand falling over the area of his coat where he kept his wand, before looking up at the stranger. “I’m-“ he grunted, voice rough and startled, Remus could feel heat seep up to his face, “I’m sorry.” He groggily realized that he was blocking this person from accessing their front door. “I-“ he started again, embarrassment shaking his voice, “I- i- had been waiting for the bus and must if became too tired. “

Remus knew this didn’t look good. His face, covered with fresh scars, was haggard beyond how a young, otherwise healthy man should look. He swallowed dryly, standing up to his full height to force himself to meet this stranger in the eye. He wanted to disappear, but another part of him wanted to make sure this stranger knew he wasn’t someone to step over.

[florence-wilson]

Florence rarely had visitors. She preferred it that way. The fewer people that she had darkening her doorway, the less time she had to spend trying to politely shoo them away so that she could have some peace and quiet in the humble solitude of her own home. The only people who were welcome to come over at any time that they pleased were her father and Marlene McKinnon. They were the people closest to her, the people that wouldn’t ask her invasive questions unless absolutely necessary. They were never a bother. The man on the sidewalk outside of her flat, however… he wasn’t exactly a welcome guest. At first, she barely recognized him. He looked like little other than a sack of bones covered in dirtied clothing, cut and bruised like an eggplant that had been in the back of a refrigerator for far too long. Florence stood over him for a second, contemplating what to do and how to get rid of him. But then the man spoke, and as he did so, she began to piece together where they might’ve met and how they might have known each other. A few names came to mind – nobody that would likely find themselves in this man’s position, though. “You must’ve been waiting a while, then. The last bus came and went a while ago. They’ve got an intermittent schedule on weekends, I’m pretty sure.” She thought about offering him a hand to help him to his feet, but decided not to. The less interaction the better. “Are you sure you need a bus, though? You look like you could use a doctor. No offense intended. You’re just… cut up a bit, that’s all.”

[florence-wilson]

While the concept of listening to other people and offering them time, energy, and compassion wasn’t completely unknown by Florence, it certainly seemed like a somewhat foreign concept. People were complicated. They had too many moving pieces, many of which did not fit within the pieces of Florence’s own personal life and problems. They were like puzzles – always being sorted through and adjusted and turned and twisted about to be put back into a uniform image. And as much as Florence liked puzzles, she simply did not have the time to solve every single one that came her way. “I suppose that seems fair,” she conceded to Lily. The redheaded woman seemed to thrive by incorporating pieces from other people’s puzzles into her own. It was impressive, to say the least. And more than that… she was good at it. She could take another person’s words, think about them for only a few minutes, and somehow find a way to respond that not only made sense, but made people feel better in doing so. The woman would be a great healer. A compassionate one. Lily Evans surely had more bedside manner in her pinky finger than Florence Wilson had in her entire body. “And what if it doesn’t change us for the better? What if grief turns us into a monster? Or worse – what if it shuts us down entirely?” Since her mother’s passing, Florence felt like she couldn’t feel as wholly as she once had. That part of her had gone cold along with her mother’s corpse. “There isn’t much to do with grief other than to shut it down. There’s nothing good that can come from feeling sorry for yourself or missing the dead. It only leads to melancholy, and nobody has time for that.” But as Lily spoke, it became apparent that the girl was speaking from some sort of personal experience. “It sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” Florence offered in return. It wasn’t a complete offer to listen to Lily’s own problems, but Florence would reciprocate Lily’s openness and willingness to listen if the girl wanted to open up to her as well. “We have to believe there’s something better coming. That we are part of a change. Maybe it’ll take more than our lifetime. Maybe it’ll take decades. But if we don’t fight for what we think is right, we’re complicit in our own destruction. And I’d rather be the person putting my life on the line than have it be taken from me anyway and have not done anything to stop it.”

[florence-wilson]

Florence wasn’t just unsure of what to say to Amelia. She wasn’t sure how to be around the woman. Any word could set the other off, just like the slightest of things set off Marlene these days. Amelia Bones was far from fragile, but that didn’t mean that any conversations with her shouldn’t be approached with care. Florence wanted to use her anger for good. To harness it. That couldn’t be done if they started off on the wrong foot. “Have I? That’s good news, then. I’ve started to worry that this is the best I’ll get.” She ran a hand through her hair before tying it up in a ponytail. “You always look stunning, Amelia,” she teased. It was a lighthearted joke – something that Florence typically wasn’t good at, though she figured that a little humor wouldn’t exactly hurt on a morning like this one. “Me? A breakfast date? I couldn’t tell you the last time I went on a date at all, much less so at this hour. Plus, I’ve barely had time to think about anyone in that way. How could anyone think about dating in a time like this? I just wanted to make sure that I look as awful as I feel.”

[florence-wilson]

As much as it pained Florence to see her friend snap, she knew that it was a long time coming. There was only so much that any one person could hold in, and Marlene… she was holding in more than Florence could imagine keeping to herself. Even as a mostly private person, she knew that sharing her experiences with others was important. It had to be done, even if it was difficult to do. So even though it wasn’t pleasant to be on the receiving end of Marlene’s anger, Florence was, in a way, relieved. The girl had to release all of that pent up anger at some point. It was probably better that it was towards Florence than if it was directed at someone else. But at the same time, she could tell that it wasn’t easy for her younger friend to let it out. Marlene’s hands were curled into fists, her frustration visible on her face. “Because it isn’t right, me making assumptions about you. Your life. Your family.” It took a lot of restraint not to fight back, to call out Marlene for the way her words were just as hurtful as anything that Florence might’ve said herself. But doing that wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t much that could do any good. Not in this situation, anyway. “I might not know everything there is to know about how you grew up, but I know enough to criticize it. If I step out of line, or if I say anything that hurts you, I trust that you know me well enough to call me out on it. If I don’t know something, tell me. I can’t be the best friend I can be, or make the best difference I can if I don’t learn, right? Tell me. Show me. If I’m not meeting some standard you have, you have to tell me. I can’t read your mind and change just because you think I’m in the wrong, Marlene. That’s not a fair expectation to put on me.” It sounded more like she was pleading with her friend than having a discussion, and in some ways, Florence was. “Admitting it might not feel great, but it’s healthier than being an alcoholic. I’m worried about you, Marlene. Really, I am.”

[florence-wilson]

Amelia Bones wasn’t the kind of woman to be treated gingerly. Florence learned long ago that most members of Aversio were not the kind who needed that kind of attentive care. She didn’t need to walk on eggshells when they all were already standing on so much debris. But still, there was something about Amelia that, at times, caught Florence off guard. Perhaps it was that she saw so much of herself in the other woman. She was familiar, and that, in a sense, was unsettling. It was difficult to stare someone else in the eyes and see so much of herself. Or maybe it was the fact that Amelia had already been through so much, lost so much for so little, and yet Florence had yet to experience any consequences for her involvement in the war. That second part wasn’t true. Not entirely. She’d lost plenty of friends and been caught up in the mess herself. But she hadn’t been captured and tortured and held hostage like Amelia had. So maybe it was her guilt, a sense that she should’ve been in Amelia’s place instead, that left Florence feeling so uneasy around Amelia Bones. Sitting down at a table next to the woman in Aversio’s headquarters, Florence rested her arms on the table. “I’d say good morning, but I don’t know if that’s necessarily the right phrasing anymore. So... morning,” she offered. “Be honest with me -- do I look like shit? Because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a week.”

@unbrokcnbones

[xen-lovegood]

August, 1979 Open 

Xenophilius stared at the letter in his hands. His father didn’t know he had taken it. Hell, Obadiah didn’t even know Xeno had seen it on their last trip home. But the Ministry seal was cause to draw attention, particularly when his father was acting stressed out and his mother kept worrying her lip. Obadiah wasn’t the friendliest person to have walked God’s green earth, but his mother? Debbie had never rushed him out of the house before. A quick spell had brought the spell into his hand, tucked out of sight by his leather jacket. They didn’t need to know he knew.

But he could see why they hadn’t told him. An official warning from the Ministry about use of magic in front of a muggle. Plenty of phrasing thrown in about ‘strenuous times’ calling for ‘more conscientious behavior and responsible use of magic.’ From the sound of it, it wasn’t the first letter his father had received recently either.

“He’s always use magic around her,” Xeno said, their ringed fingers picking at their lips. “Always. It’s always been in the house. And they’re married for Merlin’s sake. It’s not like she’ll tell anyone. She loves him. She loves both of us. She wouldn’t tell anyone about the wizarding world, not anyone that doesn’t already know. She’s already kept it a secret for more than two decades, even from her own family. Why- Why are they saying this? Why are they doing this now? They can’t just … dictate who we act in our own homes.”

[florence-wilson]

Watching as the person across from her read the letter, Florence couldn’t help but wonder what the contents of that letter were. Whatever they’d received, they seemed to be affected by it. She could sense the pain in their contorted expression, could feel the confusion in his gaze. She knew that it wasn’t her business. If someone asked her about a piece of mail she received, she would’ve been furious that anyone thought to ask about her personal matters. But Xenophilius seemed to have little interest in keeping the letter’s context to themselves, so Florence felt no guilt offering up her own opinions and asking questions herself. But when they spoke, she felt a pain in her own chest. It was a personal matter after all. A family matter. She knew perfectly well just how difficult such things could be, especially as a witch born into a Muggle family. “I take it she’s known for some time, your mum?” Florence asked hesitantly, her voice strangely quiet. “And if this is from the Ministry, I don’t think there’s much sense to make from it to begin with. They’re hardly logical, these days.” It was a humorless joke, and one that Florence had bought into for some time. “I don’t know if I can say anything marginally helpful, but... we all know why they’re doing it. They want to end all contact with Muggles, if possible. That’s what I think, anyway.”

[florence-wilson]

She might not of seen herself that way, but Florence couldn’t help but see Lily as someone who was always there, always caring, always listening… and somehow, always kind, too. It was something that she wished she could be, but knew that she couldn’t. There was always something that got in the way of Florence stepping up to be that kind, caring friend. Perhaps she was too judgmental. Perhaps she’d seen enough people give into their kindness only to have it used against them. Or maybe, as much as she didn’t want this to be true, she simply wasn’t capable of being that kind of friend. “As long as you say so,” she shrugged, trying to keep the smile on her face. “Because grief isn’t useful when the person you’re mourning was lost to something so senseless.” She’d watched her mother fade, watched as the life drained out of her and she became little more than a body and a whisper of a soul. Grieving her mother wasn’t useful to her fight with Aversio. Her loss had nothing to do with the prejudice and awful views of the Death Eaters. Her mother had been lost to one of the most mundane things in the history of humankind – illness. “All my grief is good for is remembering what I can’t have anymore and wishing that things were different. I can’t use that pain for anything more than reminiscing.” Though… she supposed that Lily had a point. It would take a good amount of creative thinking and posturing to find use for her pain, but that wasn’t to say that it was impossible. “If I’m not pushing my grief and sadness onto you, you certainly wouldn’t be pushing it onto me. Plus, I offered. If I end up regretting it later, let me assure you that it will be entirely my fault.”

[florence-wilson]

There were no nice words left inside of her, either to speak towards her friend or to offer towards herself. Even if there were, Florence was too worked up, too upset to use them. She was angry with herself for not doing more. She was angry with her friend for not knowing exactly how to comfort her. She was angry with the world for continuing to dump devastation after devastation into her life without giving her a chance to catch up. “And yet that’s exactly what she did. Only she couldn’t help it, so I can’t be angry with her, because she didn’t choose to get ill and she didn’t choose to die. But she made my life harder all the same, and she wouldn’t even understand half of the reason why.” Florence didn’t even notice the nudge, too caught up in her emotions to feel much of anything else. “You didn’t know her, and – and what do you know about losing people, anyway? Last I checked, you still have everyone you love.”

[florence-wilson]

Marlene snapped so suddenly that it caught Florence off guard. She knew that their conversation was bound to get heated – talking about these kinds of things always were. And when Andromeda’s capture was something so personal and close to the redheaded woman, things were bound to get out of hand eventually. But Florence was expecting things to burn slowly, to turn into a manageable fire that she could predict and react to accordingly. The sudden burst of emotion stunned Florence into silence, however. For the first time in a long time, she did not have any words with which to respond to her friend. She’d always thought that she understood everything about the Death Eaters and Pureblooded society. It never seemed hard to decipher, difficult to pick apart the ways in which they were bound to implode upon themselves eventually. But it became clear, through recent conversations with friends like Marlene, that Florence only knew what she chose to believe, and that, sometimes, her beliefs were based on incomplete information. “I…I know who they are,” Florence asserted after a moment of silence. But she didn’t feel like she did. Not really. She’d assumed Marlene’s captor’s identities, but never quite known for certain. “I know that they’re monsters and that they’ll stop at nothing to get rid of all of us. They’re cold and calculating and…” She took a deep breath, unsure where the conversation was going to go next. “Maybe I don’t know everything, and maybe I’ve made assumptions, and maybe those assumptions are wrong. – I’m sorry.” It was the first time that she admitted to not having all of the answers. Doing so left her feeling sick to her stomach, like she was unravelling at her very core. “It doesn’t sound like you don’t feel anything, Marlene. Maybe you don’t want to admit it, but you’re feeling something.”

[florence-wilson]

She didn’t like to admit that she was in pain, much less so that she was suffering. Her own personal sense of pain was something that she wished to control, to push out of her mind so as to pretend that it didn’t exist in the first place. She knew that doing so was not healthy, that such behavior and thought patters were unsustainable. Florence would have to feel eventually. And perhaps that was why she was feeling it now – she’d pushed it away for too long, and now that she had a spare moment to consider the ongoings of her own mind, she could not escape it any longer. “But you shouldn’t always have to be the listening ear. You’re not a therapist, and you’re not my therapist, and the last thing that I would want is to push that role onto you.” People didn’t really turn to Florence for emotional support. She wasn’t one to sit and listen, to console and comfort. Instead, she sought action. She always wanted a plan put into place and to figure out a way to solve problems instead of wallow within them. While it worked for Florence, she knew that it didn’t work for everyone. People wanted to wallow. They wanted to sit with their own emotions, to let their problems overwhelm them until they could make peace with themselves. “Feelings are only valid if you can use them for something. There’s no point in feeling sorry for myself, in grieving endlessly when it won’t bring her back. I lost my mother. Eventually, we all lose our mothers. There’s no point in thinking about what I could’ve done, or what she might’ve known, or what I could’ve changed. She’s dead. And I’m obsessing over something that isn’t going to move anything forward.” Being hyper-logical was a coping mechanism, sure, but it had worked for Florence up to this point. “You can talk to me, if you want to.” The words came out before Florence could even consider if she really meant them. It was the least that she could do for Lily. “Let me be the listener for once. We can both try on new roles.”

[florence-wilson]

Apparently Marlene and everyone else would always know more than Florence would when it came to these matters. They knew the Blacks better than she did. They knew the way they thought about things. They knew their motives. They knew Andromeda. And despite whatever logic Florence felt she was bringing to a situation, there was absolutely no chance that Marlene or anyone else in her position would take her seriously. On one hand, Florence knew that it wasn’t anything personal, that their experience with such matters made them more knowledgeable than she ever could be. But at moments like this, when she was fraught with emotion, it certainly felt like something personal. “So they’re sadistic, the entire family, and they see no point of making an example out of her? They’ll always have another person to torture, another person to torment for years on end. Whether it’s Sirius or Andromeda or some other member of their family that is bound to come to the realization that their family is made up of the worst human beings around. I can’t believe that they don’t see Andromeda as disposable.” She tried her best not to sound overly emotional, though it was clear that she had a lot of feelings about the matter. “They’ll always have another fight to try and win. Why draw out this one only to have to do it again, later?” Her feelings were boiling up inside of her, almost too much for her to bare. She couldn’t make sense of them all as they swam inside of her head… she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to. “But we are, aren’t we? We’re supposed to be angry. We’re supposed to be furious, upset, but all I can feel is empty right now, like I know we’re doing the right thing but that it won’t make a difference. And then I get mad at myself for feeling empty, because I know I should feel something more, but I can’t.” She paused. “But are you?”