effervescence

anum. she/her. 20+ multi-muse. multi-verse. i am myself. that is not enough.

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the bright face of a star

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

“You are assuming that I was ever interested in school. Doesn’t matter that I started young. It just means that I have had to endure both types of schooling. And I don’t like either, but I can at least see the value in Muggle education. Between Mahoutokoro and here, I feel like I’ve learned shit about what the point of having magic is.” Even if he did bother to pay attention to his lessons, he doubted that he would gain an appreciation for his magic. To him, his magic was a hindrance, if anything. It only served to further alienate him and cloud his identity. “That’s still common then? For squibs to be rejected?” Muggles were no different with wixen in that respect. Neither of them could embrace those who were different. Esme’s family rejecting her cousin was similar to how his maternal family had rejected him. He had always assumed that it was the reason his father was absent as well, though he had never bothered to ask his mother about it. It didn’t matter, ultimately. 

With an upturn of his lip, he welcomed the introduction of alcohol into their gathering. “How lucky for me. I have to give you all that. Your alcohol isn’t half-bad. It’s a helleva lot easier to smuggle here too.” He wasn’t sure about a conspiracy, but he wouldn’t be surprised. “Mm, cell phones are far more Muggle culture than the simple games. Why use owls when you can just send a text?” 

“Mayhaps. Or mayhaps I’m saying that the very prospect of going to school for so long made you a crusty baguette anyway. A cheeseless sandwich, pun intended. But please, I bet all school is rubbish. It's not like they don't try here either. It's just that old people's idea of trying to do better is basically the same as a cup of tea left overnight: i.e. it starts as something great but just winds up disgusting, old and kinda grey. It's probably every generation being full of selfish tits who don't think ahead enough to plan well for their kids that sucks more than magic.” Esme finished her little spiel with a careless shrug, the observation underlined with her characteristic attitude, like the perfect exemplification of the way her brain worked. It wasn’t unknown, after all, for the girl to have opinions – firm, loud ones even – but her dislike for following rules and any semblance of organisation often hid them under the guise of apathy. “Eh, depends on how much of a dick your family is, if we're honest. It's a bit like being gay, yeah? Nothing you can control, but aspects of your person that can get you ostracized anyway, if you were unfortunate enough to share blood with a lot of bigoted idiots. 'S just that the Nott family prides itself on being super, super talented at the bigoted idiot bit,” she explained, rolling her eyes emphatically as she sat up to swipe the bottle for herself.

“I keep telling you, you really are. Who else is lucky enough to have the best beater in the school keeping their arse on their broom and their head in one piece? And you say that, but have you ever had GIllywater? It tastes like grass and not in a good way, le'mme tell you. Besides, texting is cool and all, and social media can be wild, but what about the aesthetic, hm? Nobody would be able to tell magic exists if we stopped using owls and quills just to look cool and witchy, I thought you knew that.”

[soundsofwinter]

the bright face of a star

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

“Casual example. Right. That must be the ultimate plan of the Founders, hm? If the goal was for students to actually learn shit you wouldn’t only have seven years of boring coursework. You know when I started school? At eight. Or around six Western age. And most kids start even earlier, at around three.” He didn’t because most kindergartens were private, and his mother couldn’t afford their monthly cost. It had set him behind from the getgo, and he had never bothered to try and catch up. When magic reared its ugly head, it had taken all of his energy to not reveal the skill while he attended his lessons. Before Hogwarts. Before Mahoutokoro. “Here, what do we even get from all of this? I hate to burst your bubble, but Muggle Studies teaching you how to play rock, paper, scissors isn’t gonna cut it if you wanna blend in. So you’re stuck with, what, working for the Ministry and that’s it? Rather nice that Hogwarts is run by the Ministry too.” 

“Listen, maybe that's why you're such a crusty baguette now. It’s like your interest in school peaked when you were still the size of a human instead of a flagpole, because that’s like your average Korean kid has been at school for longer than we dumb shits are at Hogwarts before we’re even old enough for Hogwarts. That’s some wild shit. Although, to be fair, muggle kids here get much better school too, I think. I have a squib cousin who we never see, obviously, because his parents weren’t shitheads and actually liked him and all that craziness and he went to school eons before we did. However—” 

She paused, digging through the leather satchel abandoned at her feet, its insides a bedlam of disordered possessions, until she withdrew a bright pink water bottle. “—since we cannot yet dismantle the ministry, I think it’s a good time to let you know that I may or may not have managed to nick an entire lifetime’s worth of shampoo bottles’ worth of classy old Odgen’s over Christmas and you get fellow bunkee booze privileges. D’you think maybe it’s all one grand conspiracy to brainwash generation after generation and turn them into mindless government drones? Because you right, rock paper scissors is the least of our problems when half our society still thinks it’s acceptable to wear jelly mules and Bermuda shorts with granny sweaters and think mobile phones are magical metal bricks or whatever.”

[soundsofwinter]

the bright face of a star

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

Seungri couldn’t pinpoint what he hated most about the wizarding school, but the uniforms would undoubtedly make the top 10 if he were to sit down and draw out a list. The robes were nearly worse than Hanbok, drabby and shapeless with the one saving grace being their dark color. Shedding the robes revealed that Seungri was wearing more black underneath, black undershirt highlighted with a forestry green emblem and his jeans a faded hue.  He plopped down next to Esme with a scoff. “I don’t get what any of that,” He waved his hand upwards toward the night’s sky, “has to do with magic. All of the classes here are so outdated.” Astronomy was one of the only science classes and the other elective, Alchemy, was just as ancient. Picking idly at the grass, he noted, “Even the maths class is all about trying to guess the future. It’s pointless.”

The edges of her mouth quirked up in amusement at how fast Seungri shed his own robes, revealing a pair of jeans just as dilapidated as her fashionably ripped ones. But that was chill, because the shredded denim was definitely breaking a few school uniform rules, but at least he wasn’t alone in the dress code violation. She huffed a laugh at the grumbling, however, wondering for the hundredth time if her lovable (asshole) cat had maybe rubbed off too much on her (lovable) asshole housemate. “Excuse me, but do you mean to say that Arithmancy and Divination aren’t, like, totally dope?” she quipped, sarcasm and mirth dragging out the words. “It’s almost like the school has some evil scheme against fun and wants to bore us enough with menial bullshit until one of us cracks and decides to go on a murder spree and split our souls a few times out of boredom. You know, just as a casual example.”

[soundsofwinter]

the bright face of a star

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

What kind of school held classes at midnight? Not even cram school back in Seoul went that late. Seungri couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to Astronomy (or any of the classes at Hogwarts), slipping out of the tower and  into the night where he could ignore the stars rather than study them, using their glimmering shine to illuminate the path in front of him that revealed that he wasn’t alone in skipping out on his lessons. “You not care to learn about when Neptune’s in…” He couldn’t think of the English word he was searching for, shaking his head and straightening his back. “Whatever the hell the professor was going on about?” 

Esmerelda didn't hate Astronomy – it was, in fact, one of the classes she didn't really mind – but she hated charting with a fiery burning passion, and the fact that tonight's class had been focussed entirely on the dreaded activity had her bailing faster than one could say dungbombs. Plotting planet movements and their astrological significance just wasn't her idea of a good time. Mischief was, however, which was why she might have possibly been lying in wait all along, uniform robes stuffed behind her in lieu of a cushion as she reclined in an alcove just past the astronomy class space, booted foot crossed at the ankle. “Retrograde? Duh, of course not. Who cares about that? I was just waiting to see how long you would survive pretending to.”

[iinkhecrt]

between the shadow and soul

@soundsofwinter​.

Underneath, Lourdes is screaming.

The Probes don’t care.

There are so many under her skin, creeping and crawling and caving into her, into her skin and brain and thoughts and decisions. They form a barrier between think and do, a smokescreen that separates what she wants to do and the commands her body winds up following. Lourdes wishes it were opaque.

Had it been thick bullet-proof steel, she might have been isolated. Alone, but capable of dealing with it. She would give anything for the bliss of ignorance with the way things are now, when the barrier between her and the rest of the world is nothing less than cold, cruel glass, crystal clear and excruciating. She can see everything, feel everything: the guns sit cool and firm and perfect in her grasp, the triggers wield easily when squeezed just so, and she watches as life leaves Manchester’s eyes, as fragments of Hathaway’s skull join the debris of his collapsing floor, as she takes life after life and smiles guilelessly in the faces of all she fools.

Hal is one of them.

There was one under his skin too, a worm just like the several that feed on her cerebral cortex, crept under the delicate skin that sweeps under their eyes. She hadn’t seen them bulging out, if there is more than one even, but she could tell, if only from the curtain of blankness that shuttered his gaze too often to be real. Because if there is one thing about Hal Mason that Lourdes – the real Lourdes – has known all along, it’s that his eyes laugh. After all, that is what has drawn her to him from the very first time they met. There is no shortage of people who have mocked her for her faith, especially now when the world seems so close to ending, but the oldest Mason boy has always had a twinkle in his eye that winks as valiantly as the hope she prays with to keep alive.

And then, she is tasked with removing the worms.

It is only after that she learns of how deep he was buried, when she hears that he doesn’t remember anything at all from while he was under mind control. Lourdes sees it all, and she thinks some of it might just be Karen all over again, still not entirely ready to let Hal and her strange aversion against Lourdes slide, even as an alien host. At the end of the day, there is no telling for certain.

She isn’t even sure why they let the removal unfold perfectly, why her probes are allowed such close exposure to the Hunter-Killer at all, except that it does throw off suspicion and she’s so, so thankful. Another doctor might not have been so willing to help him, not when the others are from Charleston and don’t even know him, and especially not after he held his own father hostage for ransom. But her worms don’t interfere and it works and after, well. After, she is still grateful that it worked.

That is what she tells herself as she goes to him that night. She is just thankful she could save her friend, she thinks, slipping into the private room he’s being kept in overnight as a precaution. Despite all the builds and shifts in dynamics, that’s what they all are – family and friends – and she is closest to the Masons after Anne. It doesn’t matter how: she just loves them, all four of them. The worms are still there, hovering just over the surface of her mind, ready to slip in and take a control at a moment’s notice, but they don’t interfere as she stays at the door and just watches him, back pressed tight to the door and hand still on the handle.

She doesn’t know how long has passed before Hal stirs, only that it startles her enough to jerk the door handle back without turning it and the noise she makes has him bolting upright in bed. A beat passes without notice, with her frozen in shock, and then the worms take over. Clearly, she can’t be trusted at the moment.

There is smooth calm that follows the mind control now, a resignation that impales her in the weakest of her moments because she tries so hard but she can’t, she just can’t, fight and she would cry tears of frustration at the very fact, except she can’t do that either. She can’t do anything except exist and remain as she is, as she is commanded, because that is all she is good at these days.

If only she could say as much. If only he could notice the bugs that crawl and swell under her skin just as they did his.

Instead, he just flashes her that same disarming grin that has always charmed the shy out of her and she is helpless but to smile back. She would be even without the worms, to be honest. Even in this dim underground room, Hal Mason is as steady as the sun and it just happens. Weaker than ever but it still makes her heart swell with fondness and then she whispers a quiet, “Hi. Welcome back.”

She would fight now, if she could. She does try, just to see if she can tell him, if there is a way to let loose even a single word that could alert him to something out of the ordinary. Now, on the other side of mind control, she thinks Hal of all people might just pick up on it a little easier than anybody else.

But she can’t fight it. She’s just not strong enough. A sob crawls up her throat and catches in it, caught in the web of lies and deceit and helplessness and murder that she cannot force her way out of.

Save me back, she thinks furiously. Just look at me and see, please.

The imposter smiles on.

[soundsofwinter]

rejuvenating energy

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

It had been years since the Tri-wizard tournament. All things told, Viktor preferred to not openly discuss that time in his life. A turbulent time, to be certain. He had thoroughly enjoyed his time at Hogwarts, meeting new comrades and engaging in a romance with Hermione Granger, even if the latter relationship was but a brief spark that had dimmed to a no-less-important friendship. It was a period in his life that defined him in ways that he chose not to dwell on. 

It was a time that he mostly associated with defeat. 

As he looked up at the waitress, he tried to place her from that period of time. Was she a Hogwarts or Beauxbatons student? Given how she spoke of Hermione by her fist name rather than surname, Viktor would guess the former. But, then again, part of the tournament’s purpose had been to foster friendships between schools, and the woman before him wouldn’t have been misplaced in Beauxbatons. It seemed that even in a secluded place such as Nida, he was destined to be recognized. “Ah. Ex-boyfriend, yes.” A beat, then a moment of clarity as he realized how bitter he could have unintentionally sounded. “I say that not because my relationship with her is poor. We are still good friends, but I do not believe that that Ron fellow of hers would appreciate the reference.” 

Ever since Fleur and Bill’s wedding, he had adamantly been working on being more perceptive, more sensitive. 

“Are you a friend of hers as well?” He wanted to change the topic, but it could also be good to find common ground with someone that thought of him first as someone’s previous boyfriend before they saw an international, professional quidditch player. “And, ah, about those spurgos –” Back to the original purpose of their interaction, “Are they fried? I try to stay away from the more fatty foods during the off-season.” Yet there he was, in a cafe of all places. He shouldn’t really be expecting the most healthy of options.

An uncomfortable cough bubbled to the surface. He so often came across as rude when he didn’t mean to. His personality was more straightforward. He did not understand those who beat around the bush and ran around in circles. How could they get anywhere when they could not confront such matters? Maybe that was why he was unable to pick up on social cues. He expected a sort of honesty from others that was not common. 

“Do you serve smoothies by chance?” Viktor inquired, bundling his sweaty hands together and wringing his fingers, hoping to find a happy medium. Even when he was on ‘vacation,’ all he thought about was how to better himself at quidditch and all he was consistently reminded of was how he may be considered a genius quidditch player, but he stumbled as a functioning human from time to time. 

If Lavender Brown was a candle – and she very much would like to be, a scented shimmery one – then chatter would be the match that lit her fire. She wasn’t necessarily invested in gossip always or liable to spread it, but she was talkative, with a flair for dramatics that lent itself easily to her chatter. Like this, she was in her element — brightly, cheerfully, effervescently so.

And that was the image she reverted to now, clutching on to perky bubbly happy with single-minded determination. This did not have to be a thing if she did not want it to be. He could be just like the kindly old lady who came in every Thursday morning and always mentioned how her grandkids were doing, because Lavender talked to her every week before taking her order and that didn’t make her feel sick and hollow in the slightest. It was rather like living outside her life, actually, or stepping into somebody else’s for a moment, but she was okay with that for the moment.

It had been years now since normal had been redefined for them, just as long as it had been since she had seen this serious young man, ironically enough, and Lavender did not want to think of what had come to pass since. She still remembered the fourteen year old who had stood in a crowd of assembled students and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of him, her best friend searching her pockets frantically for something to get his autograph with.

If she stopped to think about it, she knew she’d miss that girl with a hot rush of sudden desperate yearning, so she didn’t. Instead, she turned up her smile at her customer as she looked down at him. “Oh, I knew that. He definitely wouldn’t either. Ron and I were, like, kind of a thing before they decided they wanted to be more than friends and got all dramatic, and he’s definitely stupid about Hermione.” A beat of weighty silence, and then: “Um, not that I wish them any ill or whatever either. Obviously. That’s just…school gossip, you know. Hermione and I were dormmates for six years, so even though I would say that we’re maybe not precisely friends and too different for that, I don’t know, we’re…we’re good. They’re good people— and I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m going to stop now.”

Idly scratching at her cheek, glad that she had improved at transfiguration enough for the glamour to hold, she moved her attention back to the notepad in her hand, purple pen tapping against it. “Oh right, I forgot about that pro athlete bit. Sorry.” Much to her Puddlemere fanatic father’s chagrin, Lavender didn’t care much for quidditch. It was easy to forget that the man she was looking down at – not that she had to look down much – was an international celebrity and not just any vague distant acquaintance as a customer. “You probably don’t want spurgos then, honestly. They’re deep-fried and dusted with sugar and not that great for anyone’s body. We do have smoothies though. Not the fancy and green ones, but your basic fruity drinks. And smoothie bowls and oatmeal-fruit bowls. Oh, and the fruit and granola parfaits are delicious, if you want a little fun with your healthiness. It’s not indulgent, but it’s not as boring as porridge either, if that’s your sort of thing.”

[taleoftwoindies-blog]

first encounters of the dragon kind /

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

As if physically possible, Bill could feel her light up even more. So much so that he was afraid he might go blind from looking at her for too long. Maybe that was her curse. Bill himself had spent years breaking the curses that haunted the pyramids in Egypt. The traps that had been laid. Could it be possible that the blinding beauty was in itself a cage, except, the only one who truly suffered was the person stuck inside.

“Bravery comes in a lot of forms. Took me a while to learn that when I was young, but by now I can spot in a few hundred meters away.” He winked, serious in what he was saying, but playful enough that he didn’t want her to take him too seriously.

It was the touch of her skin to his that truly made Bill feel like maybe he didn’t want to go back to Egypt. Curse Breaking was fun in all, but suddenly watching the Triwizard Tournament felt like a much more important duty. If only so he could be in the stands, and make sure that Fleur knew there were people in her corner.

“I’m afraid I did know that. Hazards of you being on the front page of the Prophet,” Bill began, “I’m a Curse Breaker. I’m usually in Egypt, but the artifacts I find usually demand I interact with Goblins. They’re not bad, they’re just a tricky sort that are far more intelligent than the average man. Makes things easier when we can understand one another, don’t you think?”

Fleur had forgotten about her singed skirt. It was still horribly burnt up one side, like some comical allusion to Jo March, but she had stopped thinking about it the minute she had felt the warm flush of pleasure pulse through her at just how unexpectedly nice this man was. He was cute, in a rather charmingly rebellious way with all his leather and long hair and earring, but cute boys tended to be unbearably arrogant more often than not. This was — different.

Definitely different in a good way, though. In a way that made her laugh at his quick wink, too cheeky to be slick. “Good eyesight, better answer,” she commented, her answering nod serious even while the laughter continued to linger in her eyes.

She could already imagine telling Gabrielle about this encounter, lighting up her baby sister’s romantic ideals with the kindness and quick grins. Fleur didn’t write often of such things – well aware that, at ten, Gabby was already sweet and dreamy enough – but this Bill Weasley’s manner already had her impeccable posture loosening at the hinges, shoulders relaxing with how effortlessly his presence put her at ease.

“And this.” Fleur held up the massive golden egg she still held idly by her side, patting the definitely metallic side. “But ah, I see why you came to watch the First Task now. Artefacts from Egypt and dealing with shrewd goblins about them sounds suspiciously like you go on adventures for a living. I don’t know about language, though. My English is not the best, but we can understand each other just fine, oui?” she noted, unexpectedly sly grin emerging across her delicate visage.

[iinkhecrt]

all my friends, we’re glorious

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

Violence had never been the answer to Eli’s issues. Violence was the issue. The reliance on killing, torture, and mutilation was long what Eli fought against. He didn’t believe those to be necessary in a conflict. However, he had never been naive. Not about his own feelings, and not about the reality of war. It surprised him then, that while his daily job was about channeling the correct amount of violence, in the perameters of what he could do, he had never had as much anger build under his skin as he did with Alexandra Flint standing mere inches away, towing with him.

His hands itched, foregoing any thought of a wand, and immediately thinking about what a relief it would be to grab hold of her swan-like neck, and squeeze. No more memories. No more reminders. No more of his fears being thrown into his face as easily as a gust of wind. None of it would have to happen anymore, and better yet, there would be one less would-be Death Eater on everyone’s hands. One less enemy with a wand pointed towards them all.

Instead of choking her, he moved forward again until his scratchy face hit her ear. The sensation shocked him for a moment, but like the violence that threatened to erupt, he shoved that down too. Unwilling to lose control.

“You disgust me,” Eli whispered harshly, shocked at the honesty in the words. In the ferocity in which he spoke them. They really had changed. A few months ago he couldn’t have said that with such conviction, and yet now he couldn’t feel anything else. All thoughts of their shared moments stayed where they were meant to be; in the past, buried under years of fucked up choices, and splitting paths.

Eli went to move back, any previous feelings of fondness forgotten, even when looking into her too familiar eyes. He couldn’t be weak anymore. Especially not with her. They had diverged, and although there were no physical masks separating them anymore, there was a line in the sand that told the full story.

Contrary to what most might presume, her taste for bloodshed was vaguely lacking, at best. Lust for violence had never been a draw for her. Power was. Anything else was just collateral; necessary evils of the job that had to be utilised as a means to an end but too messy and pointless and crude for her liking.

That was one reason she had chosen the profession she had. While they often literally held responsibility for a person’s memories at wand-tip on a daily basis, obliviation was essentially a rather sterile vocation that required little to no personal input or investment, only control. It was easy to switch off there and focus on the technicalities of alteration.

It wasn’t like this, when one person could leave her blood rushing in her ears just by proximity. When every new indicator of his rising temper was a boost to her ego. That was the easier end of possible responses anyway. It was easier to revel in his obvious impatience with her than to question its existence, or to wonder when exactly it was that the line between banter and argument had been cemented so clearly.

Alexandra wasn’t sure if it had happened overnight or if she had simply failed to notice the downwards slide, but she was sure she stiffened at the physical reminder of Eli’s proximity, laughter dying in her throat at the sudden dark honesty of his tone. Anger, anger, anger. At the end of the day, that was all there was, righteous fucking anger that fuelled and pushed them, fooling them into thinking either of them was in a better place. They were proof of otherwise, weren’t they? She was still cold and he was still fire and they still clashed together like steel forged under pressure, only their blades were dulled by camaraderie no more.

Perhaps it might have been enough to quake a lesser person, but Alexandra merely summoned another derisive smile. “Am I supposed to still care about what you think?” She reached for the embellished strip of fabric pushed up over her head, pulling the velvet back into place and smoothing it against the contours of her face again. Her fingers combed through her ruffled fringe to rearrange it back into place, hand brushing against him as she reached, almost consciously unconscious of the breath of space between them.

When she looked up at him again, the mask was back in place, but her gaze met his directly despite it, directness of her dark eyes rendering the façade useless. “Piss off. That’s what you’re best at.”

[taleoftwoindies-blog]

first encounters of the dragon kind /

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

Bill laughed, hoping she understood that he wasn’t laughing at her, more the situation. It wasn’t very often that the TriWizard Tournment happened, and the fact that he was even there, cheering people on, it felt a bit surreal. 

“I’m congratulating you because most people wouldn’t have even wanted to write their names and throw them into the goblet for consideration, let alone actually take part in all of this,” His smile was easy, and he knew that he was an easy person to get along with. In large families it was always better to be flexible than rigid. His younger brother Percy being the exception.

“You speak impressive English by the way. I always wanted to learn French, but Gobbledegook seemed a more natural fit due to my job.”

He kept his eyes fixed on the blue that reflected back. Never before had he been so enraptured and captivated. But he knew that this wasn’t due to any sort of magical power that Veela magic brought with it. Something about Fleur Delacour made Bill want to sit still for once.

“I’m Bill, Bill Weasley.” His hand reached outward, unsure of what customs dictated in this sort of situation. He knew that the French usually greeted one another with a kiss by each cheek, but a first greeting hardly seemed like an appropriate moment.

“Well, when you put it like that.”

The curve of her lips loosened into something softer, oddly mollified by the almost generous praise and good-natured laughter but rather more by the disconcertingly steady gaze that refused to dip into her cleavage. Literal beacon that she was with the sweep of silver blonde hair and sparkling sapphire eyes that were both of little more consequence than her grandmother being a different breed of magical creature, it was easy to forget that there were other noticeable things about her. The goblet of fire hadn’t chosen her out of the entire Beauxbatons delegation, the crème de la crème of their prestigious school, just because she was pretty but that was easy to forget for most when her appearance, quite literally, outshone her other characteristics. 

To be called brave – for that’s what he meant, wasn’t it? – was a refreshing change. Fleur wasn’t sure what it meant, but just for the moment, she rather liked it.

So she took his hand, long slim digits curling firmly around his larger ones for a single solid shake. “Merci beaucoup. Fleur Delacour, but you knew that already.” A laugh lingered underneath her tone, lighter than it had been yet in this strange foreboding castle in frosty Scotland. “Gobbledegook, you said? That sounds like it would make for a strangely wonderful or wondrously terrible job.”

[iinkhecrt]

all my friends, we’re glorious

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

Though their side of the room was darkly lit, with little light to be seen, Eli felt as if a spotlight had been shoved on him at her questioning. Every moment of every day was a challenge for him. Would today be the day that his life finally and truly crumbled? Would his coworkers suddenly remember that the names of his parents were on a list reserved for those being watched? Would they remember that a Slytherin crest held a special place in his heart, despite it all? He knew the risk would always be there. Acceptance wasn’t just difficult for the obviously prejudice, it was difficult for those who assumed themselves to be accepting. A Pureblood name was powerful. It could both lift someone up, and drag them six feet under.

Elijah removed his mask in a haze filled anger, refusing to be the one that was hiding.

“I made my choice. I made it and I would make it again a thousand times over. Maybe everyone in my life isn’t trusting of me. Maybe they’re waiting for me to slip up and come in with a silver mask on and the mark on my forearm–” Eli held his eyes away from Lex’s arm, a large part of him refusing to believe, even then, that she had slipped so far away. “But at least I can look all of them in the eye and know, with complete honesty, that my allegiances are final. They don’t have to believe me. I believe me.”

He stepped closer, knowing that it would truly be impossible to intimdate his old friend into anything. She would never cower. The act did manage to give Eli some additional confidence, especially as he remembered that he did have training. He was a Hit Wizard for Merlin’s sake. “I’m not going to play this game with you. I’m not going to allow you to try and worm your way into my head to make me doubt anything.”

Eli’s voice was a harsh whisper, filled with rage that both drove him to victory, and drove him absolutely mad. Not all of it could be blamed on his parents. They had loved him, and for most of the time, that had been enough. The rest of the burning came down to the very feeling of helplessness that he so desperately refused to give into.

There were enough similarities to liken her to the moon, cold and shadowed and forever borrowing the light from others as she was, but there was a downside to it. The moon had a dark side, and Alexandra revelled in hers. It was the path of least resistance, maybe, to stamp down on her conscience and lean into the easier ( safer ) route of falling in line, but it came with the treacherous temptation of tasting the light and knowing what that too felt like. That was what arguing with Eli – arguing with Eli again, after so long – felt like, like the light of a star on her tongue, burning her down and lighting her up from the inside out.

It was a heady, intoxicating enticement after so long without it, luring her into leaning closer into his space as he stepped in, close enough that she had to tip her chin up to meet his eyes. Finally, her gaze hardened to a reflection of her name, goading him into igniting with the challenge that glinted in their depths.

“Are you fucking sure?” Contrary to the expletive and defiance, her voice dropped into something so much softer than before, silky and daring in a way she knew not many knew how to read but he always had. It was the Alexandra Flint who did not throw tantrums as a child because she knew how to charm adults, who never got into fights on the playground because she never started any unless she intended to win. It was the Lex who fought as dirty as she needed to and came out of it looking like a lady always. Maybe she had always been that person and always would be, only now the playground was different, the stakes higher and the allies different. It didn’t matter, if she could meet him head on.

“How sure? Enough that you think this—” And here she shook her head to indicate the bare handspan of space between them, hair flicking behind her shoulders— “wouldn’t mean anything to anyone? Shocking. But then, you always do have such a funny perception of things.” She laughed, the sound gone cold and mean with her derision. “Who are you trying to convince here? Because from where I’m standing, I don’t need to sow doubt in your pretty little head, Eli. You’ve done that all on your own.”

[soundsofwinter]

we keep marchin’ on

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

Time was moving on, slow but steady. 

The Burrow was abuzz with noise, yet it was not the same. The warmth had not dissipated, but the laughter was far less frequent and the rare laughs rang hollow. The liveliness of spring had melted into the heat of a summer that was heavy with grief. Loss enveloped them like one of the itchy quilts that one of his great aunts used to send them for Christmas, suffocating and weighted. 

Ron didn’t know how to maneuver himself in these new surroundings. The environment was delicate, fragile, in a way that Ron was hesitant to touch. He often had a way of screwing things up, after all. So he stayed tucked in the background for the most part. It was what he was best at after all. 

They were all gathered together once more, what remained of family and friends, at a barbeque to commemorate the start of a new school year. Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were going back. Ron had never excelled at school, and he didn’t see the point in doing so when he could ride the wave of his supposed heroism. He certainly didn’t feel like a hero, not in the same way that his friends were. 

But he had to be brave. He had to – wanted to – take a step forward. He glanced next to him, to Hermione, the buzz of the conversations around him drowning out. As if only the two of them existed in the cramped, crowded space. “Think it’ll be weird, ‘Mione? Going back without me and Harry, I mean. Who’ll be there to drag your nose out of the books when you need some fresh air and an adventure?” 

The itchy feelings of unrest were unprecedented.

Her parents were back but things weren’t the same, not when they fully understood the magnitude of magic for the first time in their lives and couldn’t help but fear it, just a little. The Burrow still felt like her second home (Hogwarts was always third, if that), but it felt wrong these days, as if sadness had the same scratchy ill-fitting feelings as a shrunken sweater. Even her boys were— well, everything was different now, wasn’t it? Harry and Ron were still her favourite people in the world, but they were heading in different directions for the first time since the three of them had met at eleven, splitting up not for a brief vacation before their reunion in the holidays but for most of the year. Even the aroma of Mrs. Weasley’s treacle tart couldn’t battle those blues.

Hermione, who had grown up with a list of things about her that people looked down upon her for and turned those same traits into her strength, felt like she was failing herself. It might have been the first such occurrence in a long time, but this time, life wasn’t throwing her a hard catch because she was muggleborn or female or black, and there was no way for her books to save her.

This time, she just had to make her way through the fog until the world was brighter again. Her books and cleverness had helped them live in the wild all those long, terrifying, lonely months. Surely, she could deal through the aftershocks.

And if she couldn’t, well, they could just deal with it together, like they had been doing all along. Across the table, Fleur tweaked her nose at a laughing infant with a shock of brilliant turquoise hair and a faint smile crossed her face at the sight. At the end of the day, even in a circle of death and grief, there were already new beginnings starting to make their mark. Maybe that would be what might help them move forward, if anything could, she thought.

Of course, Ron helped. She had always depended on him being perfectly engaging, and she wasn’t disappointed now, pulled out of her observation as she was by his question. “Of course not, I’ve already replaced you two with Neville and Ginny,” she joked, grinning immediately so he knew it too. “I mean, it’s all weird, isn’t it? I keep thinking Hogwarts without you two will be weird, but everything else is no less strange, just less aware of what happened, maybe. Objectively, after everything else, I kind of hate it a little.”

[soundsofwinter]

rejuvenating energy

[iinkhecrt]

soundsofwinter.

Nida, Lithuania boasted mild conditions even in mid-January and a relatively isolated strip of coast that made for ideal walks along the beach. Accustomed to the harsher conditions at Durmstrang and back home in Bulgaria, Viktor was not deterred by the nippy weather, merrily indulging in the quiet, sand underneath his feet and salt tickling against his nostrils. The fresh, chilled air served him well, a welcome reprieve from the roaring noise of the quidditch pitch. The sport was his passion, one that he drove himself into head first and he had not once looked back with an ounce of regret. Becoming pro so young, however, meant growing up in the spotlight, having every move he made scrutinized. It was all rather mentally taxing. He could push himself physically to his limits, but there was only so far that he could go before he longed to escape back into his shell.

Perspiration lined the hair along his temple. Swiping his hand across his face, Viktor came to a stop, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon.  The time away during the off season was exhilarating, reenergizing his spirits while he prepped his body for the upcoming season, more determined than ever to make it back to the World Cup. This time, he was determined to win it. He needed to become faster, stronger. 

But his muscles were aching and his fingers had gone numb. There would be ample time for more exercise. In the meantime, he enjoyed his offtime in other ways. He wasn’t familiar enough with the locale to know the best spots, but his eyes caught a nearby cafe with a view of the water. Reaching into the pack at his waist, he slipped on his glasses after running his fingers through the fringey mess of his hair, attempting to look more presentable. 

He took a seat next to the window, mind wandering as he breathed out adrenaline. He thought of how he ought to write to Hermione and Fleur, detail his vacation to them and touch base with their own adventures. 

He had barely glanced at the menu when the waitress stopped by. “Ah, I apologize. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the cuisine around here. Do you have any recommendations?” 

For somebody who hated absurdly early mornings with the kind of lazy petulant ire only such extremes deserved, Lavender loved early shifts. Perhaps, in a place like busy London, they wouldn’t have been quite so calm, but early mornings in Nida, Lithuania were a pleasure. The town was small enough to feel safe, but not so small that she felt cornered. Instead, it was calm. Almost friendly, with only the rare regulars ambling into the café by the sea.

It had been long enough now that she could admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, she was allowing her dad to hand her another pass to an easy way out and running away. But everything about this – the job at the quaint café, the tiny and sparsely furnished studio she would stumble home to, scant crowds of tourists that were thin enough to be manageable at the end of autumn when she had arrived and mostly gone by now – was a step further in letting her forget it all, just a little.

Lavender Brown, for all her silly little flaws, didn’t believe in running and hiding. No, she had been a Gryffindor for a reason. Even a mere schoolgirl crush deserved her full devotion until he didn’t.  Besides, the Browns may not have been as illustrious a wizarding family as many others, but as her grandad had told her, they were always beautiful and successful and charming and brave. She wasn’t ready to be an exception, not when everyone on her dad’s side of the family was so blond, dimpled and perfect nor when her mum was the sweetest, kindest human ever to live. She had some great, absolutely stylish shoes to fill.

But it was okay, to run away for a little while. There was no shame in it, and Parvati and Dad had both told her that enough times that she could repeat it to herself in the mirror, at the scared and turtlenecked reflection staring back, and mostly believe the words.

That didn’t mean, however, that she was prepared for a blast from the past.

As a rare new customer walked into her section, she didn’t pay him too much mind until she was close enough to really see him. Customers were supposed to safe, especially in frigid lonely January, when nobody wanted to be on holiday and then up so early. They weren’t supposed to be people she knew, no matter how vaguely.

Yet somehow, her voice did not crack as she approached him and her smile did not waver, even though her fingers tightened on the notepad she grasped. “Um, the spurgos are good? They’re like doughnuts, but we do some cute ones in-house.” And then, before she could stop herself— “You’re Hermione’s quidditch boyfriend.”

[iinkhecrt]

all my friends, we’re glorious

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

Eli scoffed, too unwilling to hear anything other than the voice of a stranger. There may have been a time when she could have been called friend, but that was ancient history. As soon as he walked out of his parents doors and heard the heavy mahogany thud behind him, it was over. She was in the same place his family was. A distant echoing in his memory that, while refusing to ever leave him alone, was just another challenge along the way. His job now was to keep a clear mind and to protect others from people like her. From people like his parents. They were ignorant and power hungry, and sometimes that combination was lethaly enough to severe ties that seemed unbreakable.

“As I recall, having a pretty face was never enough for anyone. Especially you.” Eli remembered the looks people gave Alexandra. He could admit it easily now that he had been attracted to her–but everyone had been at some point. Her face was easy to like, and her form had never been anything other than amiable. It was her mouth that usually set him straight. The harsh words she managed to spout, and the way her tongue tried to curl around peoples throats, as if she herself were trying to speak for them.

Seeing her move her mask up to her forehead made him tense. Somehow the masks made him feel disconnected. As if the pieces of fabric alone could make this whole situation some sort of dream, or perhaps nightmare. But at least there was safety in the faux anonymity. Now, with her face mostly exposed, there was no pretending what sides they had chosen. 

“Considering it’s my job to know things, maybe you should update your information. I’m plenty trusted around here, Flint. I earned everything I’ve gotten.”

His tone was biting, and he knew it was stupid to let her get to him so easily, but the wound never did heal, and if there was one thing Alexandra Flint was the best at, it was hitting someone in their most vulnerable places. Eli had always been worried about his perception and the way the world might view him. It was a miracle, and some shear strength of will that led him to leaving his family behind, becoming a Hit Wizard, and now, joining the Order.

There would always be an ache, an itch that he could never scratch. What would life had been like if he had stayed? Would he be there now, with Alexandra by his side, and yet not as adversaries, but as partners? There were too many scenarios that he would never truly know the answer. Eli simply knew that there were some things that were too big for people to ever recover from.

He wasn’t wrong. That was the one thing that bristled against her admittedly-delicate patience. There had never been a day in her life that she could have been happy just being a pretty face in the crowd and he knew that, a fact that prickled. Being pretty was no achievement — Alexandra knew that she wasn’t ugly, per se, but she was fairly average in all areas of appearance and it didn’t interest her. Looking good went as far as being well-dressed and well-groomed. Her ambitions went further than a pretty dress and crown braid.

Besides, he had no business knowing what she wanted anymore. That door had slammed shut the day he had decided to walk out of the lives they had been born into and chosen to forge his own path. Irony, at the fact that they were technically doing the same thing by trying to escape the links their blood purity indicated, did not escape her. But it was too late for it to be anything but bitter.

He was just a boy now. Perhaps they had been on the brink of something different once – a suggestion that had whispered of more just before they had tipped off the edge of the cliff and into this gross frothing cesspool of ugliness. Frankly, had she paused to contemplate the complications of such a thought, she might never have moved on in the conversation, because Alexandra Flint had wealth, sure, but not when it came to people, and those she trusted implicitly held a rare place in her heart. Those she had been sure of once and refused to trust now did not really exist, apart from him.

Maybe that was why she so enjoyed winding him up. She may have been a social climber in the crudest of senses, but Lex had not gotten there by ruffling feathers. Being docile, passive, came easily to her where warranted. And yet, with Eli, it was all she could do not to physically be flicking him on the nose with how much she was enjoying herself getting on his nerve, his tone getting sharper the sweeter her tone got.

It was dripping saccharine again when she replied, mocking amusement curling the corners of her expressive mouth. “Are you? And how long do you think that will last, Travers? You think your side cares any less about how clean your blood is? Didn’t have you pegged for a blind optimist, Eli.”

It was a shot in the dark, sure, but it was an educated shot in the dark. Being a Slytherin had taught her enough about prejudice in the supposed heroes; they may have been better people by some standards, but they certainly weren’t any kinder. She had no doubts he was aware of that as well as she was, now if he hadn’t known before.

[taleoftwoindies-blog]

first encounters of the dragon kind /

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

There was something about the Triwizard Tournament that drew Bill in like a magnet. A part of him was jealous that he couldn’t have submitted his name into the Goblet, and another part of him was still relishing in the story of Fred and George’s failure of entering their own name in. There was also the allure of other schools entering into the fray, and while Bill never had much experience with them, his experience in traveling was always helpful.

That was why he was there today, watching each contestant, one by one, attempt to get an egg that was protected by a dragon. With each success, and each contestant closer to Harry, Bill could feel himself growing anxious. It wasn’t until the entire event was over that he could feel himself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t been paying attention when one of the very contestants he had worried over, unintentionally so, ended up square in his line of sight. Her blonde hair making her stand out among the darker colors of the Scottish skies. She seemed to glow, and radiate–and Bill was accustomed enough to know that she had Veela blood in her. Drawing everyone near. A more potent magnet than the Tournament ever could have been.

Unlike his younger brother Ron, Bill had no issues moving to introduce himself. 

“Fleur, right? I just wanted to congratulate you on the first task. You were amazing out there.”

The first task down and Fleur Delacour was coming to realise that she may have overestimated herself the slightest bit. Somehow, magically – nay, mysteriously – all the other contestants had performed better than her, even the little boy. Madame Maxime was not going to be pleased, especially when she had been so certain the Hogwarts contestants hadn’t even been aware there were dragons involved. She really should have been so much better.

It was just that knowing you were representing school and country and responsible for their glory was different from this; facing a creature you had only intellectually known about and not actually expected before was an entirely different cup of tea. One she definitely hadn’t been fully prepared for, her hands cold and clammy by the time she had come to stride out into the clearing to face the Welsh green.

Maybe that – and definitely not the fact that her cerulean skirt was singed to smithereens on one side – was the reason that she was milling at the edges of the crowd, features fixed and brow furrowed. And that was probably how she would have continued, had nobody noticed her.

Somebody had, though, and that somebody was a rather attractive man, ponytail and all. At seventeen, Fleur was old enough to know that looks had little to do with how men acted, but that didn’t entirely stop him from piquing her interest as she looked up at the alarmingly ginger man.

She sniffed, more imperious than self-deprecating. “You English people have a very strange sense of humour. That was passable, at best. You can congratulate me when I’m not in last place next time.”

[iinkhecrt]

just brew it

@soundsofwinter.

there was something endlessly charming about the ahn family bakery, a rustic appeal beyond the wafting aroma of baking and the cosy memories of childhood it invited. their street was slowly, but surely, losing that charm of the 90′s now, and it struck her as terribly sad that development was encroaching on what had essentially been a multicultural family, spanning decades.

             fucking parasites, she thought but would not say, because she was a content creator and there were rules out there. her aesthetic was sunlit selfies, backlit picturesque yoga poses and matcha lattes and that was what she would maintain; hence, her trip to the little café in the first place. despite having been there nearly every day for most of her life, she was always ready to be surprised, and she stepped up to the counter with a bright smile and greeting. “morning, hi. surprise me today with something sweet?”

[iinkhecrt]

cyphers

@soundsofwinter​.

For some situations, bitter though the pill may be swallow, asking for help from above – be it a cry to god or a sniper on the roof – simply was not enough. Had it been so, she might have had yet another free afternoon to kill doing target practice; it was obvious that her sister had a handle on the latter and the former had no place in a town like Ironhollow.

But main gas line explosions were no laughing matter, not where the balance was fragile and state frail, and with no legitimate law enforcement in the area, the responsibility for unearthing the deplorable excuse for an arsonist out and delivering a worthy reckoning fell upon the Moreau family. Ordinarily, petty crime did not much bother their mother—which meant, of course, that it did not much bother the Khan matriarch. It was encouraged, even, fostered as the ever-present catalyst to help pull the hairpin trigger of chaos that reigned under their joint rule, as and when required. In Ironhollow, being a harbinger of havoc was appreciated if it fell in with existing plans. It just wasn’t acceptable when it crossed with plans already underway.

Naturally, it was not that she had been made aware of what those particularities exactly were, in this situation. She rarely was, if ever, and the lack of information grated on her nerves. It was one thing entirely to be a lower member of the House who could not be trusted with sensitive information and another entirely to be a daughter sent in for reconnaissance with no more information than the basics: that the blast had been unplanned and disruptive, its instigator clearly perfect to be made an example of. 

Questions teased the tip of her tongue, begging closure or at least the complete information, but she knew now that it was futile: there were people who shifted the tide and those who supplied a push from the back, and her mother had long since made the decision regarding which daughter was to fill each role. It was just as well that she preferred to work with as few allies as possible, because the sheer indignity of being trusted with only the base facts stung more than enraged her. There was simply no mistaking their mother’s preferences regarding her two daughters. One was a clear favourite – savage, soldier, sly, confidante and trusted liaison between ruling families – and the other was a faithful soldier willing to pull her boots on and stride into the lion’s den. There was no more mincing of words than that, and Ysabel, for all that she was almost (almost) used to the way things worked, hated it almost as much as she expected the status quo now.

At least, she did until she dropped off the low wall and into the shadows, behind the man himself.

Ysabel had been corresponding with him to arrange the meeting and was no stranger to reports about him, many of them laughably reminiscent of a rabid animal. From all reports, the man was dangerous, but held enough influence in town to have the kind of pull among the masses that she needed at the moment. Yet her first thought upon locating him was not of influence or violence or business —  it was fuck, he was massive.

Her hands itched inside their leather confines to wrap around the barrel of a gun, hers secure in its holster at her thigh, tempted to resettle the odds and return some modicum of strength, lest her presence be completely undermined by the sheer size of the behemoth before her. Only, that was the move of a coward, a rookie mistake that would betray misgivings. She could afford none, so instead she stepped out of the shadows, hands lowered in mock surrender and held out in a thin veneer of peace.

Unless she was mistaken, however, he had already known she was there, she thought. Whether it was the swish of air against her trousers before she landed silently on the ground or the rustle of her gloves as she clenched, some sound had given her presence away the perfect amount, which conveniently eradicated the need for any show of violence. Instead, she swaggered easily into view and drawled, tone alight with detached amusement. “I had heard that they call this your base of operations, but it is quite a lair, isn’t it? Dramatic.”

[iinkhecrt]

all my friends, we’re glorious

[iinkhecrt]

taleoftwoindies.

“My questionable taste? My–” Eli felt himself tense, and all of the memories came flooding back. The good and the bad. The heartache and the frustration. Leaving ones family was never an easy or simple task. There were never moments where everything felt right and at peace. On the contrary, holidays became memorials, and birthdays felt a lot like funerals. His life had been so incredibly different, and with Lex standing in front of him, her name automatically turning into the shortened version that he used to call her, he knew he made the right choice.

Eli took a deep breath. “Why are you even here? Last I heard you weren’t working at the Ministry. Last I heard you were–seems like you must’ve charmed enough people into letting you be here. What’d you do, Lex, flash your last name around as if it meant anything?”

He knew he was making dangerous moves, and for someone who spent their life on the edge, it should’ve have surprised him how angry he had become. How dare she say anything to him at all. To think that anything she could say to him would matter in the least. Eli knew what she had become. What they all had become. Puppets. If he looked hard enough he was sure he could see her strings, and at one point in his life, he had so desperately wanted to cut them. To free her. But Alexandra Flint never wanted to be free of anything–except him.

The people dancing started to blur together, until Eli wasn’t sure he was there at the Ministry at all. Maybe he was simply back home in his flat without the reminder of the life he used to have, and the people he used to love.

Love sounded like too strong of a word, but there had been a time when he fancied himself in love with the woman in front of him. There was always something about her eyes, the very same ones that gave her away through the mask, that made Eli want to reverse time, stop everything, and take it all back. Life had been better when she wasn’t there to remind him of the losses. 

“It’s a joke. Mostly. Jesus Christ, Elijah.” The comment slipped out with a characteristic amount of impatience, but she was keenly aware what a glaring failure the expletive was. Wixen used Merlin and Circe, because wixen were largely secular, unlike her filthy mudblood mother, who had forsaken everything but her inconvenient cursing habit. She was normally better at concealing those parts of her anyway, better even than her mother was after decades of practice, but Eli fucking Travers had the uncomfortable tendency to be too damned comfortable for her own good.

It was an ugly reminder of childhood, a leftover snag of history like a scratchy tag, left worrying and nagging the exposed back of her neck where it was tucked inside her collar. There had been no loyalties to be spoken of then, and war hadn’t been breaking down their front doors. Being children had been simpler, just because the choices were so much fewer and mattered so little. Alexandra missed it like she did icy lemonade on a summer day; it was an impractical craving in the proverbial winter that was the current climate, but she wanted it so much sometimes that she could almost taste the tart-sweet zing on her tongue anyway.

The bite in her tone tasted nowhere as satisfying. Being here, standing her with him, was just another reminder of why it was silly and childish and pathetic as a desire — to want the easiness back, but also that she was so lulled by it in the first place. She was there for a reason, and Alexandra didn’t allow herself room for error when her position was so precarious. Especially not when he made her want to throw caution to the wind a little.

Worst of all, it was stupid. Stupid that her childish nickname rolling off his tongue almost sounded like it meant something and stupider still that she wanted it to, that she wanted dark marks and dark lords and power and prestige just as much as she wanted twelve-year olds and Hogwarts towers and freedom back. History was clear about the gluttons who wanted to keep their cake and eat it too: they wound up with their necks in guillotines.

And still, she could not help it. Her tone was as syrupy sweet as his was dangerous, belying the detached levelness of her expression. “Nah, haven’t you heard? You don’t need useful last names if you’ve a pretty face. A short skirt opens doors more easily than an access pass around here.”

She could have given him the obvious answer; that she was an obliviator and the Ministry occasionally hired externally when there was a dearth of hands at the DMLE. It wasn’t strictly the truth though, and more importantly, it wouldn’t push enough buttons. For someone who made it her business to ruffle the least number of feathers and find the path of least resistance to a secure future, Alexandra was enjoying herself far too much doing the inadvisable. Like the sun-warm rays of attention she sought, his reaction felt like it mattered. Raising irritation felt better than the wine and dancing.

She raised her mask, pushing the fringe off her forehead and presenting unobstructed eyes, now alight with a cold spark of humour. “But you— you seem to be hearing a lot of things around here. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, would you?”