Dark side of the moon

Rowan Shafiq - Journalist for the Daily Prophet - Gryffindor Alumni

[cfdreamcrs]

august 16th, 1950 location : the  norris  estate timestamp : 006 THE SHEPHERD’S DREAM - LOUNGE public  &  unwarded      

ignatius was certainly a yes man as of late - what was the point on denying himself an experience? the invitation had been in his pondering hands for a mere second before he checked off those boxes with complete and utter ease and before he could even begin to question why his presence had been requested - the invitation had gone up in flames. cecil norris certainly had style. 

he had never been one to care too much about his appearance, happy to be comfortable and yet tonight was the night that he broke out his finest dress robes - the classic white and black - timeless as his mum would call it and for ignatius, it had just been the easiest choice. he couldn’t spend more time in the store fixated on the various patterns the shopkeeper had tried to sell him on. he had barely been on the estate for an hour before ignatius mind and feet began to wander – cecil norris was living well, probably hiding out in this ridiculously lavish estate while the festival attendees were getting interrogated – couldn’t blame him, with a place like this - escaping the world seemed seamless. it wasn’t too long the man stumbled into the room shining bright with colour - gripping his glass of wine tightly, he stepped in curious - he wasn’t one to pry, but the door hadn’t really been shut either – a little look wouldn’t hurt anybody – 

so enamoured with the faberge egg that held an alluring glow - ignatius didn’t hear the footsteps or take note of the fact that he wasn’t the only person in the room anymore, what he did notice was the movement from the corner of his eye – “merlin–” he breathed out, eyes wide as he nearly spilled the red liquid on the white shirt that cost a bit too much, “a little warning would have been nice –”  

[rowan-shafiq]

Rowan, similar to most guests, had been thoroughly enjoying their night so far. The invitation had been so unexpected and brought all kinds of questions forward that Rowan had felt like she couldn’t decline. The unexpectedness of it all had somehow made her feel a bit at ease. Like no one had really seen this coming and therefore had made it even more interesting to observe everyone.

She had slipped away from the ballroom and slowly started making her way through the rooms, which had currently led her into the lounge. There was so much going on in this room that it had been hard to watch people instead. The excess and treasure-like quality that the room had and all the objects that it held within it was enough to take anyone’s breath away. She seemingly hadn’t been the only one who had been under the room’s spell as she moved towards the fireplace she heard someone speak up. “I’m sorry!” Rowan replied, her eyes widened in surprise. 

“I didn’t quite see you there either. I was kind of...” She motioned around them, “Distracted. Are you alright? You didn’t spill your drink, did you?”

[moonlegacy]

timestamp:  16,  Aug.  1950,  approximately  11:00 ·  location:  norris  house,  the  ballroom  (  unwarded,  public  space  )  ·  tagging:  open !

there was more to see than the conservatory; spiraling staircases within the old house led to merlin knew where, corners where the dark lingered a little too ominously, and the ever present chatter of her peers set her nerves aflame. this house, though beautiful to look at and observe, chilled her bones. maybe she was wrong in coming, in accepting the invitation that had brought her here; had brought them all here. within the main hall, there were figures that she did not allow her gaze to linger, to snag on. gazes had burned her, scorned her, the entirety of the night — she would not give them the satisfaction of returning the favor. rather, she is aloof when gliding from the conservatory to the next room over. pale fingers reach for the knob only to find it locked.

                          curiosity killed the cat, 

brow creases for a fraction of a moment; without thinking further, she reaches for the wand attached to her hip muttering alohomora under her breath. a quick flick of her wrist and the deadbolt slides backwards within the door. there is no guilt in the quick motion. the entire gathering was eerie enough as it was, if their hosts intended to keep the guests out of every room there would surely be something stronger to keep the door locked than a simple deadbolt. stepping within the room, she quietly shuts the door behind her but does not slide the deadbolt back into place behind her. rather, her attention is pulled to the room itself. the moon had risen hours ago and, thus, caused its light to play in the glass of the chandeliers, casting an etherial glow in the otherwise darkened room. artemis fawley, for the first time in a long time, was awestruck.

                                                                 but satisfaction brought it back. 

the moonlight is calming, even more so than the conservatory had been. seeing it dance within the crystals brought a sense of home. it felt, for a fraction of a moment, like her mother reminding her to breathe. the world was not all bad. there were people who loved her. she was not alone. as she glides through the room, she stirs dust in her wake — this room has not been used for a while. it causes a sneeze, two, before she makes it to the other end of the room. the tall glass doors are pushed outwards, letting the cool night air wash over her and, subsequently, stirring the dust further. with wand still in her hand, she turns and faces the full expanse of the room.   “ tergeo, ”   another flick of her wrist and the dust disappears, leaving glittering surfaces it it’s wake. this room has to be one of the most beautiful she’s ever seen. she’s absolutely enamored. 

it’s only then, with the moonlight at her back and wand drawn, does the door begin to creak open. brow raises as her fingers tighten around her wand, though it is not raised. as the figure steps into the room, artemis almost utters an apology for being here, for her presence at all. she will not apologize, not for anything. not tonight. she’s unapologetic for getting caught in a space where she did not belong; it shows even in her posture. it seemed to be her modus operandi as of late. instead, she offers a radiant smile to the other, unashamed. this room, the moonlight, the air has lightened her mood even as her pulse skips for just a moment   —   “ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”

[rowan-shafiq]

As soon as Rowan had entered Norris House, she felt a certain twist inside of her. There were a lot of things that reminded her of her home and her childhood memories. She had been raised in a pure blood family and one that had been around for a long time, their riches often portrayed discreetly. Her parents used a lot of their money on anything she wanted to try or go and see. Often it had been a balance of experiences as well as material things. Her eyes cast down to the dress she was wearing, an old one she had received as a present for her 20th birthday. Since she had been bitten, Rowan didn’t reach out to her parents much at all. They weren’t the kind to call every day but it did feel harder every day to be so distant from them.

She wandered through the house as her eyes met a lot of people dressed up in beautiful robes, dresses and suits. A soft smile graced her lips but her eyes remained somewhat sad. As she continued to weave her way in and out of rooms and company of people, Rowan found herself needing a little more peace and quiet which led her down a hallway where spiralled staircases lead upstairs. She caught sight of some soft glows of spells being cast. “Hello?” She asked, starting to climb upstairs.

Rowan pushed open the door and found Artemis stood inside. She looked beautiful and it only took Rowan a second to glance towards what Artemis had been looking at. “Woah.” The moonlight was so strong and bright, so beautiful. “It really is. I mostly don’t really spend any time admiring it anymore.” Rowan replied, honestly.

[rowan-shafiq]

moonlegacy​:

artemis presses herself further into the building, tipping her chin down towards the ground. hood pulled farther, if possible, over her head. there is only so long she can go being trapped in her own mind, guilt beginning to eat her alive.   what would mama say?   she had no idea what they might do to her for her blood — something that was so wholly part of her. a familiar voice causes her pause as she glances up from her shadows to meet rowan’s gaze,   “ oh aye, lass, absolutely chipper, ”   she quips, though her tone is flat.   “ hidin’ from the public, tryin’ not t’be seen, ”   shoulders rise and fall in a shrug,   “ just a typical day, y’ken? ”

Rowan stopped next to Artemis and smiled at her quips. Some might read into her tone as rude or maybe slightly cold but Rowan found her flat, deadpan tone bring a smile to her lips as Artemis often said things that she thought but didn’t say out loud. “I’m happy to hear.” Rowan responded, cheerily.

“Yes,” She sighed, “I know what you mean.” Rowan looked around and saw unfamiliar faces as far as the eye could see. She could imagine it’s quite intimidating when anyone could come and take you from anywhere at any time. She shook her head and focused on Artemis instead. “Do you have any plans or could I interest you in a drink at the Leaky Cauldron?” 

[rowan-shafiq]

mr-lyall-lupin​:

It didn’t take long for things to turn rather dramatic and sour as it often did around Rowan. He didn’t have enough digits to count the amount times he had found himself chasing after her down the corridors of Hogwarts outside of curfew off on some sort of adventure. It had been worth it, he had to admit, if only just to see Rowan looking so free and happy.

Stay focused. Lyall snapped internally as the two security began to slow to a jog and stood in front of the pair of them. Wands weren’t out yet, thankfully for them, though he couldn’t help letting an awkward chuckle out anyway as he glanced between the two of them and awkwardly adjusted his bag.

“Ahh well gentleman I think we’re just going to…” His eyes flickered to Rowan and he cleared his throat, adrenaline pumping. He’d really rather not get into trouble.

So it was with that, that Lyall seized Rowan’s arm and ran as fast as his admittedly not long legs could take him. “RUN!”

He didn’t really think about it, but just kept sprinting as the sound of footsteps followed. Somewhere along the line his hand slid down to hold Rowan’s wrist, dragging her with him out of the ministry doors and across the streets of London. It was a good few minutes before he stopped and they were panting in an alley.

“Oh god, I think I have a stitch.” Lyall grumbled, looking down and spotting that he held his ex’s wrist. As if burnt, he let go immediately, glancing away and clearing his throat. 

“You need to be careful Rowan…the Ministry is getting really serious about things…last thing you want is to be taken in for asking too many questions.”

Rowan will have to admit that there have been numerous situations where she’s quickly had to slip away from a situation. On the whole, she is a very law-abiding citizen but there were definitely some rules she broke over the years at Hogwarts, especially the curfew. She would spend evenings in Ravenclaw tower with Lyall and then have to quickly make her way back to Gryffindor before anyone had noticed she was gone. Nowadays, she tried to stay as low key as possible and almost acted like people’s shadows. Lyall had completely thrown her off and she hadn’t been as seamless as she normally was.

Her eyes widened as she froze just for one second, her heart beating in her ears. Rowan paused as she considered what to do next without knowing that Lyall had already made that choice for her. She heard him yell “Run!” as soon quickly as she felt her whole body being yanked forwards. Her instincts were quick as her feet caught up with her and followed Lyall out by his side.

Her focus was making it out of the Ministry with little regard of what otherwise would happen next. They made their exit and they didn’t stop running until they were stood together in an alley, seeming apart from the rest of their world. Rowan was a little less out of breath due to all her exercise she gained from running during nights. Her breathing had accelerated but that was about it. She looked down and saw his handing holding her wrist, he must have noticed it at the same time as he pulled his hand away. The pain in his eyes was something she couldn’t miss as she also felt a pain, an ache, spread through her chest.

“Yes I know and you’re right but they’re also being a bit ridiculous,” She replied almost instantly, sighing softly at the end, “I was just trying to do my job.” Rowan looked around at where they were before her eyes landed back on Lyall. “So, what are you going to do now?”

[rowan-shafiq]

taliesinlestrange​:

                  taliesin  studies  the  way  she  turns  to  him,  trying  to  catch  something    ——    he  liked  to  think  he  should  be  good  at  spotting  things  other’s  were  trying  to  hide,  having  spent  so  long  at  the  practice  himself,  but  whether  that  was  truth  or  hope  was  still  time’s  to  tell.  perhaps  it  was  a  detriment  more  than  something  that  served  as  an  aid,  his  own  worries  and  his  defensive  state  more  like  blinders  than  clean  lenses.  he  doesn’t  get  anything  for  his  focus,  just  a  woman  looking  back  at  him  with  a  slight  bit  of  discomfort,  which  could  likely  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  they  weren’t  really   friends.

                 ‘  glad  to  hear  it,  ’  he  says,  giving  a  tentative  smile,  one  that  hopefully  reads  as  cordial  rather  than  guarded  or  nervous,  or  any  of  the  various  other  adjectives  that  could  describe  him  in  that  moment.  taliesin  nods  at  her  assumption,  not  going  to  correct  her,  that  was,   after  all,   the  whole  point  of  shopping  here.  he  had  even  thrown  in  a  few  things  that  could  not  be  mistaken  as  cooking  ingredients  to  round  out  the  purchase.  she  was  simply  making  the  mistake  he  hoped  everyone  did.

                 ‘   i’m  alright,  given  everything.  ’   it’s  an honest  answer,  to  a  certain  extent.  mostly  honest  answers  were  how  he  had  survived  this  long.  the  echo  chamber  of  the  knights  gave  him  confidence  that  this  expression  of  general  concern  for  the  current  state  of  the  world  was  universally  understandable.   ‘  i’m  sure  it’s  been  a  tumultuous  time  for  most    ——    though,  perhaps  that’s  better  for  business  ?   with  the  prophet  i  mean.  ’

Rowan’s eyes narrowed as she took the young wizard’s appearance in. Very well kept but despite that there was something about him that felt a bit distant. Like a celebrity in a magazine or more accurately a wealthy family member you had heard about but never met in person. She relaxed as he replied, rather friendly even if it might seem a tiny bit nervous which didn’t seem odd. It could be quite nerve racking when you’re talking to someone new. A soft smile made it onto Rowan’s lips as she replied in turn. 

“Yes, I can imagine.” Rowan continued as she moved over and looked at some herbs on the shelf. “Things seems to be changing quite rapidly.” She said as she turned to him. Him bringing up the Prophet made her even more curious because it meant that he clearly knew some details about her while she knew nothing about him. “Somewhat, there is always a story to chase no matter what but this does make it a bit easier.” Rowan paused as she looked him straight in the eye. “Have we met before?”

[rowan-shafiq]

miresofblack​:

“and you are that someone.” lucretia regards this so flatly and dead in the eye it’d shame even the minister of magic for waylaying her. though it wouldn’t be right to call it scathing, or unreceptive unto the other’s efforts. “i was there, but not for the entirety of the day. if there was anything out of the ordinary, i didn’t notice,” she says in earnest, no balm or indication, only what she has offered at the wake of june 13th and every day after it. almost nothing. which is to say: not quite guarded, implying the active maintenance of a façade, but naturally obscure, like the details of far off mountains or both sides of the moon.

but if there’s anything lucretia learned since then, it’s that very little is certain, and it’s better to assume more moving parts than not enough. all the more, now, that change that can be made when the pen is permitted to be mightier than the sword (a fact that had unfettered in her a degree of hate for every byline that added to walburga’s freak value to the press.) a sentiment that uncle pollux had matched tenfold, and whereby they family had agreed to do the impossible to not have the black family’s indignities on any article ever again.

but this, too, is a gesture careening into an offense. lucretia’s insight on mr. norris’ disappearance in the tabloids would have her chastised for having expressed herself in a way incapable of judgement and moderation, while the rest of the sacred, pureblooded families would have considered it a bleak attempt for notarization.

lucretia chuckles then, as if she is keen to a secret that rowan has yet to find out. lesser to known to the greater public was that pollux had upturned any and all writers after his son’s fall from grace. “but, i wouldn’t write that,” is all she says, narrowing in on her to intimate at a fact (not quite a secret, after all) they both know: the black family was worth its weight in galleons and secrets to govern over wizarding london’s opinions. “i’m sorry i wasted your ink,” she lies lazily, like the cat that ate the cheese, swallowed the rat, and drank the milk.

“i figure you’re busy, taking to inform us citizens and what not—” her back turns to rowan, but not unkindly; instead, her slow gait seems an invitation to join. “but right now i’d like it if you’d join me for lunch. i’ve got a few questions of my own and.. i think there could be something enlightening to us beyond whitehall.”

lucretia is staring now. “i do insist.”

Rowan smiled back, squinting her eyes. “Maybe I am or,” She looked up at the ceiling before looking before looking back at her, giving Lucretia a one second pause, “Maybe you are. Who knows?” She continued as she made notes as Lucretia quickly answered some of her questions. Rowan could tell her answer is truthful but there was something guarded about the girl but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it so she left it for now.

At Lucretia’s next words, Rowan felt confusing clouding herself as her forehead creased. “And do you care to explain why I shouldn’t write that?” She answered as she flipped the page and held her notebook to her side, not in the writing position. Rowan didn’t know Lucretia well but she had spent enough time with pure blood families to tell what an invitation to talk looked like. 

She fell in line with Lucretia as they walked together. Rowan rolled her eyes, knowing that her instance didn’t leave much room in her invitation to refuse her. “Okay, where would you like to go?” Rowan ask, smiling.

[rowan-shafiq]

mr-lyall-lupin​:

It would have been easier if she just walked away - but Lyall should have known better. Rowan Shafiq had never been one to give up on anything. 

The silence, while only lasting a few seconds felt like a life time to the ghoul hunter. It was plenty of time to take her in, every curve of her cheek, the faint curl of her hair, her olive skin. It was like slow torture, leaving him white knuckled as he found himself unable to really leave.

More questions just bought the a redder flush onto Lyall’s cheek and he cleared his throat, hand instinctively moving to scratch the back of his neck. “I was there at the festival yes…and I spoke to him around urm…I think one? I mean I don’t know Rowan I was just…”

“I don’t..think this is a good place to talk.” Or time. He said to himself, unable to be that blunt in reality. Never would be a better time, he could have handled that. Instead Lyall lamely gestured around to the passing Ministry employees throwing the pair of them glances.

Rowan was and had never been a quitter, that much was true. The fire inside of her wasn’t that easy to put out whether it regarded matters of personal stuff or her job. Then again, she had never planned to run into Lyall here and there was definitely a split second that she almost wishes she could make herself disappear.

It also seemed like she wasn’t the only one sharing that sentiment as she watched Lyall’s cheeks get redder and his eyes move around nervously, scratching the back of his neck which he always had done as a nervous tick. She let out a soft sigh. “Okay, thanks.” She replied as she wrote it down, “ You were just?” Rowan asked, nudging him on.

Just as Lyall said that Rowan heard someone yell out. “Hey!! What are you doing here?” Rowan turned around sharply as her eyes met the person who yelled. Shit, security.

[rowan-shafiq]

helenahyslop​:

❛  hello,  lena.  so  nice  to  see  you,  lena.  helena,  would  you  have  time  for  a  few  questions  on  the  record  for  the  daily  prophet  ?  helena  that  dress  looks  absolutely  divine  on  you.  ❜  in  true  helena  hyslop  fashion,  she  likely  could  have  gone  on  for  another  ten  more  minutes  but  she’d  been  working  on  her  self  control  and  while  a  fifth  quip  threatened  to  slip  past,  she  bit  at  her  tongue.  her  brows  knit  in  pain  as  she  made  a  small  noise  of  dissatisfaction  at  herself.  perhaps  her  overzealous  approach  to  most  situations  was  next  on  her  list  of  things  to  rein  in.  

it  was  best  not  to  answer,  for  as  long  as  she  could  manage  to  do  that.  discussing  exactly  what  she  knew  about  cecil  norris  and  his  disappearance  was  not  something  that  lena  was  particularly  fond  of.  hell,  she  hadn’t  even  told  euphemia  of  her  involvement  and  she  wasn’t  sure  how  much  she  wanted  to  do  that,  either.  so  instead,  lena  opted  for  lies  of  omission.  no  one  could  prove  what  she  knew  and  no  one  needed  to  know  she  knew  anything  about  it  either.  so,  instead,  she  would  make  her  jokes  and  smile  wide  as  she  asked,  ❛  have  you  been  successful  in  stopping  ministry  employees  on  their  lunch  breaks  ?  or  am  i  the  first  to  fall  victim  to  the  press  ?  ❜

“Well, yes. That dress does look fabulous on you.” Rowan replied immediately as soon as Helena paused. It was completely true and she was never one to lie. However, Rowan wasn’t there to report on fashion. She noticed her knitting her brows and observed her, curiously. 

Rowan was pulled from her observations as she heard another question being asked. “Not very successful but not entirely a failure either.” She replied, mysteriously as her eyes glanced over the crowd. She had been able to make a few notes but wasn’t sure yet how she was going to make it into a story. “Oh, you know we always keep going.” Rowan replied, as a comment to her being press. “I’m just trying to see if I can reveal something that no one else has noticed.”

“What are you doing here? Lunch?” Rowan asked, arching her eyebrow questioningly.

[moonlegacy]

burial open starter. 

artemis hadn’t been this exhausted since she’d left home before her first year. never having been away from her coven, her home, she found herself unable to sleep most nights. she hardly remembered that first month of school; her only distinct memory was her change that month and the pain that had ripped through her.    mama! mama please!   she’d begged into the abyss.   mama, help me!

the dark circles that lingered under her eyes are reministent of that time, nearly purple. she was lost in those memories, leaning against a storefront on diagon alley, as she silently begged her mother for forgiveness. selene had not known what had happened, yet she could feel the disappointment of her mother’s gaze all these miles away. her cloak is wrapped around her, hood pulled over her head to shield her from the mist.

it’s only when she feels gaze lingering on her shadowed form, burning into her side that she glances up.    wrong choice.   “keep walkin’.”   she snarled, her scottish accent licking at the last word. the passerby scurried off and she sighed. if she was to be deemed a nightmare by these people, then a nightmare she would be.

[rowan-shafiq]

Rowan had been walking through Diagon Alley, just from Flourish and Blotts to pick herself up a new quill and some more writing paper. She went through them quite a bit since she had become a writer for the Daily Prophet. She had just been admiring a window display for a new cloak when she heard a very familiar Scottish voice snap at someone.

Walking over, she stopped next to Artemis. “Hey,” She said, turning to her. “Having a lovely day as usual?” Rowan caught a glimpse of her purple circles and felt her heart go out to her. She felt the exact same way but her circles were slightly more hidden as she felt too self-conscious to go out with no make up on to hide little things like that.

[rowan-shafiq]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄.

FULL NAME: Rowan Layla Shafiq

KNOWN SOBRIQUETS AND/OR PSEUDONYMS: Mostly just Rowan or Row, pseudonym which she uses for her writing which is M. Marrash.

REGISTERED BLOOD STATUS:  Halfblood.

KNOWN LANGUAGES: English (fluent), Arabic (intermediate), French (upper intermediate)

BIRTHPLACE: Casablanca, Morocco.

GENDER, PRONOUNS: She/her

FAMILY: 

PARENTS: Idris and Salma (née Khouri) Shafiq

MARITAL STATUS: Formally engaged to Lyall Lupin, currently single.

SPOUSE, IF APPLICABLE: -

OFFSPRING, IF APPLICABLE: -

ORIENTATION: Heterosexual.

DATE OF BIRTH & AGE: 30th of November 1926, 24 years old

WESTERN ZODIAC: Sagittarius 

PROFILE:

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Black

BUILD & HEIGHT: 5 ‘5, slim build with slight muscle build

IDENTIFYING MARKS & SCARS: small scars on her fingers and knuckles and a thin line on the inside of her left upper arm, childhood accident.

SCHOOLING:

HOUSE, IF APPLICABLE: Gryffindor, Hogwarts

N.E.W.T.S:  Charms - Outstanding (O) History of Magic -  Outstanding (O) Transfiguration -  Outstanding (O) Potions -  Exceeds Expectations (E) Study of Ancient Runes -  Exceeds Expectations (E) Defence Against the Dark Arts -  Exceeds Expectations (E)

OCCUPATION: Journalist for The Daily Prophet

REGISTERED WAND: Yew wood with a unicorn hair core, 12" and unbending flexibility.

AMORTENTIA: Cinnamon, old books and Lyall Lupin’s hair

BOGGART: A full moon

PATRONUS: Maned wolf

KNOWN AFFILIATIONS: Lyall Lupin (formerly),  Artemis Fawley, The Burial Society

CURRENT MAILING ADDRESS: 50 Primrose Hill Road, Primrose Hill, London 

LAST SEEN LOCATION: Office of The Daily Prophet, London

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Leaves for a few days a month out of the city to visit her family.

SECURITY STATUS: Not known threat.

[rowan-shafiq]

mr-lyall-lupin​:

No, no, noooooooooooooooooooooooooo

NO!

By magic wouldn’t it be good if there was a curse that could reduce the caster into a puddle and allow him to merely be trodden on and eke out of existence than have to face a moment quite so awkward and humiliating than this moment. 

Lyall wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that his once true love fiancée partner wasn’t able to recognize him in the throng of Ministry employees or that she was had picked him out of this whole damn room to stop for a line about a story. 

The answer was definitely both. His shoulders immediately seized and the Ravenclaw silently turned in dramatic pauses, like a doll unwinding. Eventually his unkempt hair and white coated visage was in front of Rowan.

All Lyall could think was that she was still amazingly beautiful. His throat was dry and he licked his lips in desperate hope to not faint from sheer shock. “Urm…I…well…”

“Yes?” He finished lamely, brows almost shadowing his eyes with how tightly together they were knotted. It wasn’t a lie, he had seen the rather curt man before he went missing, but he’d rather not speak about it to Rowan of all people.

That is where Lyall was mistaken, because Rowan did recognize him. It was in a split second between her hand hovering her shoulder and gravity pulling it back down. In a sea of Ministry workers it had been impossible to recognize him from afar but when she got so close, Rowan immediately could tell. The colour of his hair, the slight slouch of his shoulders and the faint soft smell of the soap he always used. Once her hand had touched his shoulder, there wasn’t much she could do. She couldn’t believe that out of all people, she just happened to have managed to find Lyall. Oh, the luck.

Seeing him tense at her touch, quickly made her retract her hand as she felt a heat spread across her cheeks. Rowan bites the inside of her cheek as she quickly cast her gaze aside, her mind racing with what to say next. To her surprise, her replied first. She looked back up at him. “Yes?” Rowan paused, debating on asking further or letting him go. Eventually, the first won. Maybe it was also because deep down she wanted to talk to him. “So, you were there at the party? What time was it when you remember seeing him?” She asked, grabbing her quill which was tucked behind her ear and fiercely keeping her eyes trained on the paper as she tried to just focus on her story.

[taliesinlestrange]

                        timestamp :    18:13,  august  9th,  1950       location :     diagon  alley,   public  &  unwarded      tagging :     @rowan-shafiq​

                  it  had  been  a  week  since  cecil  norris’s  disappearance  and  the  on  edge  feeling  brought  on  it  had  not  so  much  faded,  but  rather  had  changed  into  a  dull  ache  that  was  ever  present  but  possible  to  ignore.    or  at  least,  to  include  it  with  the  usual  concerns  that  haunted  him.    it  was  also  a  week  since  he  last  stocked  his  kitchen,  and  thus  once  again  he  was  returning  to  diagon  alley  for  a  few  purchases,  and  likely  to  stop  by  his  cousin’s  family  store  if  he  had  the  time.    if  he  had  the  time    was  a  phrase  that  had  found  its  way  into  his  personal  lexicon  over  the  past  three  years,  something  he  said  as  a  vague  indication  of  other  things,  possibly  work  related,  that  all  people  must  have,  but  that  he  particularly  lacked.  the  only  downside  of  leaving  his  longer  stays  at  the  clinic  behind,  as  far  as  he  was  aware,  was  a  sudden  lack  of  structure  to  his  days  that  could  not  be  wholly  remedied,  for  his  lies  relied  on  him  appearing  to  be  the  successful  young  cursebreaker  his  parents  had  painted  his  as.

                  he’s  standing  in  front  of  a  wall  of  herb  jars,  intended  for  potions  but  the  more  mundane  of  which  would  find  their  way  into  his  dinner    ——    it  was  a  matter  of  appearance,  and  purchasing  thyme  here  looked  better  than  at  some  muggle  market,  even  if  it  was  likely  cheaper  there.  his  eyes  are  scanning  the  bottles  and  soon  his  selection  is  made,  he  turns  and  then  notices  someone  else  in  the  aisle.  someone  he  had  a  few  questions  about,  in  fact:  rowan  shafiq.  he  gives  her  a  smile,  and  wonders  if  artemis  has  told  her  anything  about  him.  that  would  certainly  turn  this  conversation  in  a  different  direction,  but  he  treads  cautiously  for  now,  unsure  if  his  next  step  will  find  purchase  or  fall  through.   ‘   rowan,    ’   he  says,  taking  the  step  and  hoping.   ‘   how’re  you   ?   ’  

[rowan-shafiq]

Rowan walked through the alleys, the disappearance of one Cecil Norris clear in every corner as photos of his handsome face smiled back at her. She continued walking towards Slug & Jiggers Apothecary where she was needing some herbs from. Not that anyone knew but she was trying to brew a new sleeping draught to battle her latest bout of insomnia. Rowan had left it right to the end so she could just pop in, get some things and then be on her merry way again.

As she entered the shop, the musky smell of all the herbs and the pots that they were kept in tickled her nose. Winding her way through the walkways, Rowan found her way quite easily, feeling quite at home in the potions section through out her years. As she picked up a jar of Flobberworm Mucus, she suddenly felt a pair of eyes on her. Her heart peaked in its pace for just a second as Rowan composed herself for just a second, which to any other person probably seemed like she was in deep thought for a second. She turned and came face to face with someone who was strange yet familiar. 

Rowan’s work on the Fawley trail had her dedication a lot of time towards Artemis Fawley and she had noticed on multiple occasions her talking to this young guy, but she still hadn’t been able to figure out who he was. Only his name. “Hi Taliesin,” She replied with a small discomfort, she’d never spoken to him but it felt weird not to address him by his name when he did use hers, “I am well, thank you. Getting ingredients to brew a potion, similar to yourself.”

“How are you?”

[rowan-shafiq]

miresofblack​:

the ministry inquiry does not descend upon her.

lucretia descends upon it, as if everything that had occurred over the past few months had been little more than a matter of altitude, cabin pressure, and landing gears. it unfolds like that, at least: reintroducing her slowly, nerve by nerve, to the particular dregs of the auror investigation offices, though it no less summons what little patience she has, all because of a goat herder of some significance.

with one foot off from the elevator and several meters away from the the floo fireplace, the whirling voices around outside the ministry are at breakneck pace, but they’re so tangled— by the time she is capable of thinking, ‘noisy,’ and ‘shut up,’ it’s only when she is thinking of knocking someone out of her line of sight partway to ireland that lucretia feels someone beside her.

hello, the other says. you, lucretia thinks. she looks rowan up and down as if it had taken her a moment to recall the other’s name, though whether this was symptomatic of apathy or arrogance could not be said.

“miss shafiq, that’s lazy journalism. very low hanging fruit,” is lucretia’s greeting, hitting all the flat notes in her dull regard for rowan.

and then, there’s a small sigh in appraisal: “why don’t you begin by asking me if i’d been at the festival at all?”

Rowan felt the thrill buzz through her as she got a response to her question. Finally someone who she could hopefully give her information she could use to write a good piece about. It wasn’t until the person turned around that she recognized the Raven-haired beauty that always seemed in control of, well, everything.

“Miss Black, lovely seeing you here,” Rowan replied, ever as warmly and ignoring what could be considered a personal dig. “Hey, low hanging fruit is all it takes for someone to take a bite.” She replied with a smile.

Rowan grabbed a quill that she had tucked behind her ear, almost impossible to see behind her long curls and a piece of paper she had held in her hand and started writing. “Were you there? At this festival.” Rowan asked directly as the quill moved at the pace of her words. “Did you see anything or anyone out of the ordinary?”

[rowan-shafiq]

Rowan Shafiq was weaving her way through all the people, trying to get a quote. With everything that was happening, she wasn’t the only writer vying to get more information. Nothing the press loved more than a mystery or three. Though in her mind, she was felt more concern - she was truly in the dark and had to be open to all answers, making her wonder if one of her compatriots had something to do with it.

Unlike the other reporters however, Rowan was bold enough to begin cold calling on people within the Ministry itself. Let them drag her out, she might get a quote or two first. She stopped and looked around, tapping someone on the shoulder. “Hello, did you happen to speak to Cecil Norris before he went missing?”