Minister Bagnold

I assert our inalienable right to party" Millicent Bagnold | 30 Years Old | Minister of Magic

[unmillierdevies]

They had failed. Those months fighting, going behind everyone’s back, lying to his own wife; it hadn’t mattered at all, not with Voldemort back. They should have done something, anything to stop this madness. Now Rabastan and Gideon were dead, two brave man who had fought for their beliefs and died defending them.

He saw them every time he closed his eyes and he could still hear Alice’s asking Gideon to stay with her. It had been heartbreaking. It was a nightmare. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And now they all knew Marlene and Severus were part of Janus, they knew many of them were, and Frank didn’t know what to do to fix it. But it wasn’t the moment to think of a way to help Janus, because as much he believed in the cause, it didn’t feel right.

Frank looked up at Millicent at the sound of her voice. “Thank you,” he said as he accepted the cup and gave her a gentle smile. It seemed impossible to find the words to explain what he was feeling and thinking, he couldn’t believe that it had happened. “I don’t know what to say.” He didn’t know anything about his mother, Marlene was gone and now he was trapped in there with many people who obviously disliked him. “I want to believe that tomorrow will be better, but I highly doubt it.”

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

Millicent didn’t exactly have a reaction planned for whatever Frank would say. She knew it wouldn’t be easy talking to him, or anybody for that matter. If anything, she should have just kept to herself like she was before so she wouldn’t risk the possibility of slipping up and saying something stupid. Frank looks exhausted and defeated, and probably for good reason. He has people that he cares about out there with no way of contacting them, or even knowing if they’re alive. All Millicent has done is sit behind a desk and fiddle her thumbs while trying decide what’s best for millions of people. How could she possibly know what’s best for people like Frank? 

She nodded her head and began to trace her thumb along the rim of her teacup, her eyes lowered out of guilt and shame and many other emotions she could hardly describe. “I suppose we can only hope, right? Tomorrow is never certain, under any circumstances,” she said while glancing up at him briefly, then lowering her gaze once again. “Everyone is doing their best; the Ministry, the Order, Janus... It’s hard to see a brighter future right now, but I’d like to think that good is meant to overcome evil.” Millicent wasn’t exactly being careful of what she was saying at this point, but she didn’t necessarily care, either. It’s not like reporters were in the room writing down every word she said and spreading her quotes to the public. 

“But are your friends and family okay? Are they safe?”

[dailyamberheard]

“No matter what people want to label me as, I still fight for equality, and I think popular opinion will catch up. I think it already has, actually. I think our generation sees themselves as part of a larger global community, and therefore, it’s harder to enact basic tribalistic prejudices based on ignorance and hate.”

[valkyras-blog]

Men categorize women in one of four ways: mothers, virgins, sluts and bitches. Of course, none of the above is suitable for the modern business woman but you can create your own image by selecting pieces of each archetype that work for you.

This leaves men confused and unable to pigeonhole you. What they’re forced to do instead is take you seriously.

[postlitany]

100% truthful hour, ask anything and I have to answer with the truth and nothing but the truth.

[mfoxaheard]

[theagifs]

“Please………”

[herquill-blog]

Arabella’s Figg’s Kitchen May 22nd, 1982 8:13 am

It was a habit perhaps, though an unexpected one, as Hestia tended to be found in peculiar situations, even now in the morning, sitting against cabinets on a tile floor by the refrigerator with a pen in hand and napkins held on a book in her lap, a uneaten bit of toast and jelly on the counter and a bit of biscuits she intended to pass out later, made with whatever she could find from the kitchen ( ingredients for pancakes were also placed out on the counter behind her, as if waiting for Ms. Figg’s approval for a group breakfast, as if this will mend something, or at least for her. ). Hestia was writing away at another letter, now written on napkins as she doesn’t want to use all of Ms. Figg’s paper, it’s another to one of her sisters, and the finished letter beside this was to her mother, each saying the same words, each desperate for anything from them, anything at all. She’s written at least two to each thus far, even her sister Eleanora in America, and five to her father and one to his partner at the Ministry. 

( If one was to read these words, they may not have believed Hestia to be writing them if one only knew her in conversational matters, where she couldn’t seem to grasp how to articulate her own words, where a pen gave her time, let her write sentences as a poem, paragraphs into prose, enough to be surprising with all the practice Hestia held in her writing, causing perhaps a pause in the development of her speech patterns, but this wasn’t the worry these days, as it may should have been. Perhaps, now, it would mostly be a shock to see Hestia this quiet, without working to see if she could enter the field and discover what she can. )

In the end, she’s not finished with the letter when she runs out of ink and still tries to write, and it’s a desperate movement, going over the word several times before the napkin breaks, before she must notice that another joined her in the kitchen.

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

“Oh, god,” Millicent muttered, her hand pressing against her skipping heart as she almost tripped over the woman sitting on the floor of the kitchen. Perhaps Millicent would have noticed her sitting there if she was actually paying attention for once, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere that day. Although, who could blame her? The nation was in terror and all Millicent could do as Minister was provide a vague speech and hide out in a stranger’s home. Her mind seemed a little too preoccupied to notice the woman on the floor.

She let out a slow breath to calm her racing heart, then said, “You should probably find a different seat. I know the house is a little crowded, but the last thing anyone around here wants is a broken nose because they tripped over you.” Millicent raised her brows and pursed her lips at her, then glanced around the kitchen at all the ingredients laid out yet untouched. “Was this your doing? Or was someone just incredibly lazy?” Millicent asked before picking up a biscuit.

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

Home of Arabella Figg

May 22, 1982

@unmillierdevies

Millicent was pacing again. Whenever her mind was moving too fast or her nerves were getting the best of her, the only thing she could think to do was pace until there was a hole in the floor. Poor Arabella’s carpet… Millicent would probably have to pay for it to be replaced by the time she leaves and heads back to the Ministry.

The constant waiting around was doing nothing for Millicent. The house was quiet and she was alone with her thoughts for far too long- she needed a distraction. With a huff, she walked into the kitchen and began to make herself a cup of tea, and then remembered a familiar face she stole a glance of earlier- Frank. He was friendly enough, and a member of Janus… Maybe she could make the most of her stay here by being in his company.

She made enough tea for two, and set out scrounging the house for Frank. When she finally found him after a few minutes of searching, she let out a small sigh of relief before holding up the cups and saying, “I hope you like tea. I made enough for the both of us.” She flashed him a warm smile while she sat down across from him, crossing her legs and taking a sip before asking, “How are you holding up?”

[songinourhearts]

[gentlebadger-blog]

Helene Delacour’s farm

22 May 1982

Open

Benjy was exhausted. It was always a question on his mind as to whether being a Healer in the middle of a war was good for his health or not, because tonight, much like the fateful Battle of the Highlands, had left him shaking. So many fought, so many were injured, and so many were killed. It would never leave his mind that he could have saved at least one person from that final fate. Maybe, had he been at St. Mungo’s, some of those patients wouldn’t have died. Had he been on the field, he could have protected someone who otherwise met a disastrous end. Maybe…

And, to top it all off, he’d yet to get a patronus back from his parents. He hoped Aliza was there. He wouldn’t know where to look if she wasn’t, and Benjy refused to believe that she could have turned into one of those… things.

As it was, he was just laying on a couch in Helene’s little farm, curled up and eyes closed. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to think, but the only thing that entered his mind was worry and fear. It was draining, so much so that he considered not talking at all to the person who had sat near him. Benjy couldn’t bring himself to that, however, so he let out a quiet sigh and asked quietly, “Yes?”

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

Millicent sat down in the arm chair with a huff. She had only arrived at the residence only an hour or two (she had trouble keeping track of time nowadays) beforehand, and was already exhausted from talking with anybody and everybody she saw. She sneaked out of the reach of her security team at the Figg residence in order to visit other safe houses, so she could find out any information she could about the recent tragedies. Her team wanted her to stay put, wait it out, but she couldn’t do that. No matter how much she hated war and the horrific events that occurred, she couldn’t sit idly by. Not now. Action needed to be taken. 

She didn’t realize she awoke the stranger sprawled out on the couch until he spoke, and she frowned slightly before saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Millicent adjusted herself in her seat, nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs in attempt to calm down her nerves. As Minister, she’s hardly ever left alone. But now she’s by herself in a stranger’s home, completely exposed to possible threats, and she can’t help but feel a little anxious. “Although I don’t know how anybody can really sleep at a time like this. My nerves won’t stop long enough to let me catch my breath,” she added while firmly crossing her arms across her stomach, hoping that constricting herself would provide some sort of relief. But the efforts were futile. 

[wearybxnes-blog]

State of emergency. That was putting it lightly. One could definitely call the Inferi currently littering the streets a state of emergency, if the didn’t do so with the body count or the siege itself. There was no sure way of telling who was dead, who was missing, and who was alive, unless you saw them with your very eyes–and in the situation now, no telling who was an Inferi, either. Well, at least not at a glance; one clear look at the rotting corpses would tell you exactly who wasn’t alive. Not to mention the smell.

Amelia wished that the Inferi were the most of her worries, but (such is her life) that was not the case. The fact that she was even able to bounce from safe house to safe house was a miracle, and she was glad for it. She’d been discovered as Janus, and Edgar had been quick to rip her a new one when she saw him at Helene Delacour’s farm. That evening she’d traveled to the Ruins of Nurmengard, but was quick to flee after Gretchen had flung one too many hexes her way (not to mention avoiding both Marlene and Severus, whom she’d caught glances of on her way out). Finally she was at Arabella Figg’s home, and hopefully she would be able to stay here for the time being.

Amelia was keen on avoiding people as well, but once glance at Millicent changed her mind. Yes, the Minister looked busy, but she knew that look, that action. Stay busy, and people will leave you alone. She’d used it far too many times over the years. Her feet were suddenly dragging her toward the other woman, and after managing to get past the security surrounding the area of the house, Amelia was sitting beside Millicent, watching her for a moment.

“Never expected Inferi when running, did you?”

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

Millicent was too focused on appearing inconspicuous to notice Amelia residing next to her. She was gripping the parchment so tight it began to rip at the edges, and she swore she’s read the same line over and over again about a hundred times. But when Amelia’s familiar voice broke through Millicent’s feigned focus, she wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed or relieved at the interruption. The last thing she wanted was someone placing the blame on her for the recent tragedies. 

At her question, Millicent let out a small sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “I didn’t expect Inferi like this in my lifetime, let alone while I’m Minister,” she answered quietly before folding the parchment and placing it inside her bag. It’s not like it was useful to her, anyway. 

Millicent couldn’t hold Amelia’s gaze for more than a second or two. Something about looking people in the eye and seeing the fear consuming them made her chest feel heavy and empty all at the same time. But Millicent couldn’t let the doubt and insecurities of her failures become visible to those around her. If the Minister appeared to be afraid, then there wouldn’t be much hope left for a resolution. 

“What about you, though?” she asked Amelia, trying to move any attention off of herself. “Is your family safe? Your friends?”

[sexlife-e]

Are you fucking kidding me? You ignore my calls for this?

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

“Wizarding London is in a state of emergency.

It is advised to avoid the streets and to relocate to a safe location outside of the city until the state of emergency is lifted, if possible. If anyone is unable to leave their home, please stay indoors and use protective charms to avoid any possible danger. There will also be aurors on patrol and are available to those who require any assistance.

The recent events that have come to the Ministry’s attention are shocking, to say the least. We were not anticipating these tragedies to occur, such as the victims of St. Mungo’s at the hands of the emerging Inferi, as well as the events at Hogwarts and the Lestrange residence. The, uh- The Ministry is scrambling to find solutions and help to those who need it.

If anybody has any information that could be useful to the Ministry’s knowledge, please find your nearest auror and share what you know with them. In addition, the Ministry, as well as my office, will be accepting any owls that come through.

I pray that everyone stays safe while we try our best to resolve the distressing events that have overtaken our nation. Thank you.”

May 22, 1982 Home of Arabella Figg 1:15 p.m.

As soon as Millicent delivered her speech to the press, she was ushered away by her security team into a private room before any reporters had the time to ask questions, much to her relief. She struggled to keep her voice steady while delivering the carefully prepared speech, hoping that the words would be enough to keep the citizens satisfied with her. She could only do so much- she was only one person. Her questions outweighed her answers and she was as lost as the rest of them.

Her security’s priority was to relocate Millicent to one of the emerging safe zones that have appeared in recent hours, and although she wanted nothing more than to remain in the confines of her office with the doors shut and locked, she knew that this was the smartest and only solution for the time being. Some may think she’s a coward for going into hiding, but there seemed to be a hefty price on her head, and that was a risk she couldn’t afford to take.

A few hours later, after practically stuffing her entire office into her extension-charmed bag, she was apparated to the home of Arabella Figg. Millicent was in a stranger’s home, surrounded by familiar and not-so familiar faces, and she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Yes, she had her security team watching over her, but who could blame her for feeling paranoid? She had no clear way of knowing a friend from a foe.

Her helplessness was only magnified as she was seated in a cushioned arm chair, her slender fingers anxiously drumming on her lap as she pretended to read over a piece of parchment that she retrieved from her bag. Maybe no one will speak to her if she looks busy? She is the Minister, after all. She has vital documents to read, and ambassadors to speak to, and… Well, that’s slightly exaggerated. At the moment, she was completely and utterly powerless.

[millicentxbagnold-blog]

Millicent Bagnold: An Aesthetic