[eviebrxnnan-deactivated20160723]

She’d been drinking. Not enough to have her vision blur but still the firewhiskey made it difficult to stand for very long and so she’d spent the better part of the first hour of that godforsaken masquerade ball on a chair. She’d done all she could to make herself look presentable, her long curls were bound in intricate braids and she adorned a silk lavender dress. Yes, she had done her best to get into the spirit of this ball but the great hall only brought back memories of a godless creature ripping through the silence of Matilda’s Vane funeral and all of a sudden she had felt sick. Sick with worry, sick with disgust. This was no way to spend time with a monster on the loose. Somehow she had gotten herself robbed into a dance with a less than skilled partner and the man was twice as inebriated as she was, his hands roaming places they had no business to. “No!” She protested, batting his hands away from where it attempted to crawl under her dress. “I will break all your damned fingers, I swear it.” She hissed, desperate not to draw attention to her but too feeble to hold back the man as he grabbed her waist and she winced in pain.

[rolestrange-blog]

The bloodhound of a girl could sniff trouble brewing in the air from miles away, and as of right now she was only a metre or so away from the point of impact. It was salt and rust, anticipation of blood that hadn’t been spilled yet. Something about the way the air condensed, and weighed down on you until you forgot how to breath, the prelude to a storm. 

Roberta was never much inclined to do much in the way off assisting a needy party ( she had spent her whole life tending to the sick, she had done her part in the way of kindness to fellow man ) she liked to watch as the scenes unfolded, emotionless and still, a devil’s watcher woman. 

“I’ll break all your damn fingers---” 

Instantaneously Roberta’s fair head snapped up in interest, that promise of violence was all it took to gain her attention, and her lower lip was worried between her teeth and her dancing partner all but ignored as she survived the floor with curious eyes, surprised when the source turned out to be coming from close by her, and the threat made by none other than Bathilda Bagshot. It was immediately obvious what the nature of this whispered fury was, and when Roberta’s eyes flicked down to stare daggers into the male’s wandering hands her lips curled into an ugly sneer. 

She doubted Bathilda was capable of such a violent act, not because she thought the other was in any way soft or unable to look out for herself, but simply because it was so terribly difficult to break someone’s fingers..

A small hand untucked her wand from where it had been concealed at her waist, and a soft voice murmured a quick curse that would remove every damn bone in the pervert’s hand with only the smallest hint of a contained smile, and a quick, childish wink intended for Bathilda’s eyes only. 

[silaslongbottom-blog]

Silas was never much of a dancer. Sure, his mother had made sure he new every step known to man and wizard alike, but after years of being forced to perform like a trick pony, he had cooled to the concept. Still, he liked the idea of an escape from the tedium of classes, and there was something about a disguise that was, well, intriguing, and Silas figured if nobody could recognize him, he might as well do a bit of poking around.

For this moment, he stood in the Great Hall, watching dancers spin by. He was prepared, a flask of cheap Muggle whiskey in one pocket, to sneak sips from on the sly, and maybe offer to a pretty wix who passed. As far as he could tell, the professors were occupied, or at least not looking for him, so he lazily removed the flask from his pocket.

“Care for a sip?”

[rolestrange-blog]

Roberta danced as she walked, which is to say she didn’t so much as dance as float as though she were lost to a childish daydream, the tips of her petite feet hardly brushing the stone floor. Having a partner to her dancing however, disagreed with her, as she would much rather waltz on her own or with the castle ghosts than allow a clumsy pair of hands to clasp at her skin, or feel the hot stinking breath glance of a courting comrade looking for a suitable young wife he could move to his own desire and lead round the dance floor. 

A song change gave her the escape opportunity she had been looking for, and a lifetime of having attended balls like this one allowed her the necessary knowledge needed to successfully elude all who tried to catch her attention, leaving empty hands snatching at the lace cascading from her, nothing but spider webs. 

How she had ended up taking respite in Silas shadow she didn’t quite know, but the boy did seem to have a talent for avoiding prying eyes, and he was a good deal taller than her and hid her quite easily. Roberta had assumed her presence hadn’t been noted by him, but when he spoke up she saw that she was quite glad to be wrong on that account. 

“I’d care for more --- if you’d be so generous.” 

Greedy hands were held out for the flask, and grey eyes darted around the ballroom, cold and cautious. 

“I must say you’ve quite the gall, Silas. It would be almost impressive if your whisky was up to par with your nerve.” 

[lestrxnged-blog]

Francis was grateful to have Roberta by his side. He hated to ask, and rarely did, but there were days when he could barely walk on his own, couldn’t so much as lift the sheets off of his bed without breaking a sweat. They were his worst days, and the last had been a time ago, but there was a part of Francis which could always predict when it would come next; and it would be soon. “Doing your school work?” Francis asked, bemused, leaning into her shoulder    lightly so lightly, as not to appear too weak. He disliked when she worried and fretted over him, disliked it because it reminded him how little the cards ever reversed. Roberta was the stronger of the two of them    braver and brighter and bolder, but to Francis it only meant she carried her burdens on the inside with a sweet smile, whereas his were displayed to the world. He craved for the day when he was healthy and she would allow herself to be weak for once, for his shoulder to be less frail and more robust, so that she could be the one to lean on him. “You needn’t,” Francis replied, though he smiled, “I’ll be fine. I have enough detention nowadays.” Such was the truth, though it was a regrettable one. His parents hadn’t yet found out, but once they did any talk of a retreat to Switzerland would be questionable. Did he have to ruin everything? “That would be nice,” he sighed, “if they aren’t too mad, that would be nice.”

[rolestrange-blog]

“Why on earth would I ever worry about something as mundane as that?” Roberta had a quick, conniving mind, and the sort of sharp intelligence that ran in their family--- the sort that could cut down to bone with nothing but a word. However her mind didn’t translate well to school work, the language of examinations and rules baffled her and left her lost. It didn’t help, either, that looking after Francis had left most of her concerns for her studies left by the wayside, although it had enriched her knowledge in other areas considerably. She could whip up a Sleeping Draught in no time at all, could conceal bruises by pressing her hands over the affected spot and muttering a quick incantation, could go through whole days with half of her soul missing and only need to fight for breath twice, tremble once, and never cry when there was anyone there to see. So no, school work most certainly wouldn’t be done, not tonight when she could be by Francis’ side, and not tomorrow when she had plans with Bilius to see through ---- something about a new cough medicine he wanted to try, a little bit of hope for time like these, when Francis leant on her so lightly it felt like a ghost was passing her by, something so otherworldly that it could not be understood or loved or called brother. Her grip on him was slipping, he was becoming something far less tangible, an echo of the boy she knew, smoke slipping through her fingers. But Roberta was determined to keep holding onto him as best she could, even if all she was doing was clenching her own hands to fists, fingers passing through the mirage of her brother, digging her nails into soft flesh until they bled. “Well of course asking for mother and father to be anything less than mad is a quest doomed for failure.” She joked lightly, seeming not to mind either way. “Perhaps they can manage a mildly insane from time to time. Don’t worry little brother, I’ll diffuse them before they come to get their claws in you.” 

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

The quick jab back made him slap a little too big smile on his lips. Fake smiles seemed to be a commonality among the children of pureblood fuck ups. “My brother died because of a bullet to the chest. And yours is going to be taken out by… what? A measly cough? Doesn’t sound like capability to me.”

[rolestrange-blog]

Rather then become enraged, which was no doubt the response that Phineas was looking to see, Roberta seemed to glow with delight and the turn their conversation had taken. Shooting him a honeyed smile, baring poisoned teeth, she responded just as quickly as he, “Although of course, that’s purely hypothetical, isn’t it darling? Unlike your brother, mine is still alive, and unless you possess the sight I think I’d much rather rely on the words of doctors and others far more capable than you to diagnose him. Such a common way to die, wasn’t it? For Sirius, I mean.” She lets out a light laugh as she changes the subject, eyes glittering dangerously. “Taken down by a common muggle, your family must be so proud.” 

[lestrxnged-blog]

Truth be told, Francis was just as afraid as most of the students in response to the death of Matilda Vane. The difference between their paranoia and his calm demeanour was made in large part of how used Francis was to feeling afraid. It was a lingering presence in his daily life, akin to the dull ache of his chest which, though still painful, had become so persistent it felt normal. Roberta’s confidence comforted him; a steady hand which stopped the shaking. He frowned as she checked his temperature, staying as still as possible so as not to rudely retract at her cool touch. “If you insist,” he replied, though Francis was glad Roberta suggested it. He hated the infirmary, even moreso being left alone in it. Especially now. “Funny you mention that, because I would feel safer by your side.” He laughed, a light, pleasant sound which was privy to only a few ears - namely, Roberta’s. “And that’s rather unfortunate, does it mean they’ll round me up as soon as you leave? I only have so much company.”

[rolestrange-blog]

She kept her palm against his skin for a few moments more, wishing there were some way to suck the fever from his skin into hers, like a leech. They shared everything after all, it was only fair that they share this pain bubbling up inside of Francis’ skin too. “Well, where else would I be?” Roberta asked, an amused smirk playing at her lips as she slipped her arm under her brother’s so that they could link up, pretend to be extensions of one another just like when they were children. Of course, she assumed this position not just for fun anymore, but also so she was in the optimum place to catch Francis’ if he fell, to allow herself to be his crutch, his walking stick, his arms and his legs. “If they do, I’ll break you out. Having to sit quietly for hours on end is a form of torture that no-one should have to go through.” For the restless girl could truly think of nothing worse, forgetting for a moment that of course her brother could. “Mother sent word yesterday of a retreat in Switzerland that they might send us too over the holidays. You know, because your physician continues to harp on about fresh air and all that lark. I think it could be rather lovely, it’s been so long since we’ve gone on a good holiday.” 

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

“Ah, right– when it’s anyone’s funeral except for Francis’s, right?”

[rolestrange-blog]

Her smile took on a wolfish angle, her teeth grounding sharply together. “Well I suppose that’s true, but I wouldn’t really know. You see, my brother is perfectly capable of keeping himself alive.”

[moriartyhiii]

Visit Original Link

[abraxasmadfoy-blog]

“You speak as if I am always chirpy.” Which he was never, never. Abraxas was quite sure she understood that well. “Why, aren’t you quite ill-mannered. Of course that would very much make me a hypocrite, all the same      Are you in true danger lurking on your lonesome through these halls?”

[rolestrange-blog]

“Oh, more so than any bird I’ve ever met.” Roberta replied with a teasing titter, her eyes dancing across Abraxas’ features to watch out for any signs of amusement or irritation at her banter--- either would please her. “A gentleman wouldn’t ask such a question, but would just assume the role of faithful protector without much provoking.” She huffed, but there was a sly smile on her lips. “I’d say that there would certainly be some danger in my lonesome lurking, but whether I am the victim or the perpetrator of such danger is completely open to your own interpretation.” 

[ursula-flint-blog]

“You are truly amusing. I think it’s rather foolish for Headmistress Mole to ask us all to walk in pairs every where, as though we are not all perfectly capable of handling ourselves. At least those of us that matter.”

[rolestrange-blog]

“Foolish? Why, I can’t help but find it rather funny. I would like to agree with you, but they don’t seem to have found a way to defend us against the monsters just yet... and oh-- my dear Ursula, are you suggesting that you have stumbled across the answer of how to rid our hallways of the beasts before our esteemed professors have even thought to open their books? 

[lestrxnged-blog]

“One would hope that whomever is lurking in the shadows is quicker to fright than a Lestrange.” Francis’ tone was light and mocking; however, his somber face betrayed the attempt at ease. A girl had died not long ago, and Francis had been present for it, albeit unconscious. The thought that Death had been so close to Francis made a shiver run down his spine. He steadied himself. “Besides, I can’t. I have to go back to the infirmary.” The idea of the hospital wing was unpleasant on a good day. Today, with the terrible news that had been announced, Francis felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of it. But there was no second option; he was already leaning against the cool castle wall and fighting a cough forming in his throat. His temperature was rising. Francis wiped at beads of sweat which were forming on the back of his neck.

[rolestrange-blog]

“Don’t ruin my fun, I enjoy toying with the idea that I too can be afraid in a time such as this.” Roberta pouts, although her light, childish demeanor is banished immediately following Francis’ next words, the running commentary to their lives. I can’t, doctor’s orders, fresh air could do the world of good, perhaps tomorrow-- when I feel better. “Well, then I suppose I’ll just have to come with you.” She smiles, smoothing back the blond hair that flops over his forehead so she could press the cool back of her palm to his feverish skin. A small shiver of discomfort runs down her spine, but her look of smothering concern is quickly replaced with a conspirator’s smile. She was Francis’ sister and friend, not his keeper, a fact that she occasionally had to go to great lengths to find the distinction between. “I’d feel safer by your side, and I’d rather not get caught out in the halls on my own, I hear they’re giving detentions to all the loners these days just to give them someplace safe to spend their time.” 

[abraxasmadfoy-blog]

“Why, don’t you simply overdramatize it all. Perhaps what lurks in the shadows would do us some good and dispose of you as well. After all, what you lack, quite irritates me. Independence is core to success. What you possess is fear, which is quite a wrong.”

[rolestrange-blog]

“Oh Abraxas, aren’t you grumpy today.” Roberta cooed, seeming vaguely pleased by this information. “And you do make me laugh. The assumption that I would allow you to walk me to my dormitory is nothing short of unsightly, do you have no sense of propriety left in you at all?” 

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

“What a pity. I suppose my Friday will be wasted then– You’d think that a competent Headmistess wouldn’t let a student die within the first few days of term.”

[rolestrange-blog]

“I disagree. A good funeral can be such a lovely way to pass the time.” 

[rolestrange-blog]

“---Oh but my darling, you’re not really going to let me walk back to my dormitory all by myself, are you? You never know who could end up being the next victim of such frightful, wicked acts, and I’m terribly afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows.” 

[lacrovx-deactivated20160810]

“She was in my Arithmancy class. Really, really bright girl. I just can’t believe it. Of all the people for this sort of thing to happen to….”

[rolestrange-blog]

“I’m sorry, who was in your Arithmancy class?” Roberta asked politely, bemused as to why the girl beside her would feel the sudden need to share such information. “And what was it that happened to them? You really ought to speak clearer, dear, and don’t slouch quite so much.”