Emory hadn’t slept. Instead, he’d been drinking and celebrating his victory. Sleeping may have been an intelligent idea, but Emory couldn’t. Not with excitement buzzing through his veins, alert and waiting for the Daily Prophet to arrive. Surely it would be front page news.
Harpies Player Found Dead in Holyhead!
He would be revered, legendary. Oh yes, today would be a glorious day indeed.
The day he finally proved being worth more than mere dirty work. The day that would lead him to one day being among the inner circle.
So when his mark began to violently burn at the exact moment he’d popped open a new bottle, Emory nearly screamed out as he dropped the bottle. No. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. It kept burning, pain increasing with every passing second until Emory had no choice but to put on his mask and wait for the call as to where to go.
The call never came. Instead, several pops sounded all around him where he stood in the dingy one room shack he called a home. Masked men stood proud, eyes glaring through the intricate masks that hid their identities from him. He recognized a few, ones he knew ranked far above himself. Ones he hoped to stand beside one day.
Confusion wrapped around him, uncertain as to why they would come to greet him in such a fashion. “Fancy a beer?” he half garbled out, his attempt at confidence sounding false even in his own ears.
Emory nearly shouted as the first spell hit him, searing through his toes to the tips of his hair, almost bringing him to his knees. Yet, the confusion still rang louder. Something was horribly wrong -- they ought to be celebrating, not cursing him!
And then they spoke. Spoke of his failure. Of how disappointed their Lord was with him. How he was no better than the mere bottom feeders. How he didn’t deserve his mark.
Curse after curse hit his body, twisting and contorting him in unbelievable pain. Caking his exposed skin with the filth he never cleaned from his floor. Scratching up his mask as his face was ground into the floor from the power of the spells.
Emory always assumed he would never cry out due to pain. He’d gotten into tufts with vampires, more tattoos than he could count now.
None of it compared to this.
It never seemed to end, his mind and body and eventually even his mouth screaming in agony until finally the inner most circle of the Death Eaters decided they’d had enough of him.
They left him there, panting, aching, on the verge of passing out. Or perhaps he had passed out at some point, only to be forced back into consciousness. It was too hard to tell by the time they’d finished. And really, only one thing mattered in the end.
He’d failed.
The bitch had been found and saved.
He wasn’t even worthy his Lord’s time and energy when it came to punishment.
Failure was not a new concept to Emory, but never before had it filled him with such anger. Never before had he wanted a single person dead so much.
Once upon a time, Robert couldn’t dream of having a team he preferred in the League. He figured his team would be the best team, and that was that. Now, he loved the Cannons simply because of Galvin. He loved the Harpies for being all female team, even if most of them were too feminist for him. He loved the Tornados for fighting to be better than everyone gave them credit for.
So when the Captain, the coach, and the investors in the team called Robert in for a meeting after they’d gotten locked down for the finals (a most delicious defeat of the Magpies, of which he was too happy to call), Robert couldn’t help but anxious. It was well known that this would be their Keepers final game of the League, and they would want someone worthy of the spot. Keepers tended to be the weakest on the pitch, but Robert had made it a point to make sure every team knew he was still in practice, and still more than capable of playing the position. Sure, he could perform in the other positions decently well, but his heart would always be placed in the Keepers position.
Swallowing, he held the handle to the door that would lead him into a meeting that could possibly change his life forever. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Macshitface growled in his head that it was probably a ruse, a meeting to see Robert’s thoughts on certain players. One that had the optimistic quirk of his sisters voice urged him that it had to be an offer for him. Dawn’s and Kat’s voices bantered about the many things it could be about, including the orgy of Robert’s dreams. But one that sounded like Caradoc told him to just open the fucking door and see what it was already.
He listened to Caradoc.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted by many a hand shakes and well wishes and thank yous for making time for them as they ushered him inside and into a seat at the head of the table, the other end being the manager of the Tornadoes. His heart hammered as he eyed the folders in front of everyone, and the one that was placed in front of him. What would be there? Players info? His? A bribe?
Anything was possible.
The hour that followed blew Robert’s mind into a million pieces.
He exited the room with the biggest of grins, and the lightest of hearts.
He had a real offer.
If he could keep his mouth shut until a few weeks after the finals, and keep his nose out of trouble, he would be joining the team. Laughing with joy as he made his way home, Robert chewed over all of the conversations that had passed around him. They had been hesitant after his birthday party, but seeing as his name had been kept out of the papers ever since, and they all knew he’d been keeping in top shape, they’d hoped he would take their offer. The pay was more or less rubbish for the first year, but if he could prove himself useful, he was in.
He had done it.
He’d gotten one giant leap closer to accomplishing his biggest dream.
All he had to do was behave, and really, how hard could that be?
Alice entered the Ministry of Magic after having gone home to change into something more appropriate for traipsing through whatever she may come across today. Shoulders squared, eyes grey and stormy, filled with a determination that would cut anyone to shreds dare they stand in their way. In fact, rather a few men and women were quick to step out of her way as she pointedly went directly for the DMLE once checked in.
No one greeted her once she hit the correct floor. She could feel the eyes upon her, but only for brief moments. There were hardly as many Aurors and Hitwizards on sight as there ought to have been, a good sign in her mind. It meant they were out there, searching. Doing something more than twiddling their thumbs and waiting for clues.
Either that, or something else awful had happened. A thought she didn’t allow to linger. Today, her focus needed to entirely be on finding Dawn.
For a moment, Alice worried that Moody may not even be here-- he might be out there, looking as well. But no, after two sharp knocks upon his door, his gravelly voice called her in. Wasting no time, she entered.
“I’m going to Tutshill,” she informed him the second the door snapped shut behind her. There was no room for debate left within her words as she stared directly into his eyes. Yet, she could see he didn’t agree even before he spoke.
“Waste of your bloody time, Prew-- sorry, Longbottom,” he corrected, and even in saying her name, she could tell he didn’t approve of that either. Not too surprising, but Alice didn’t care. Being Frank’s wife did not make her lesser, it made her stronger. “You and I both know this isn’t the Tornados trying to pull one over.”
“We don’t know that they wouldn’t be double crossing us. Not the Tornados. I mean his people. Is it not the perfect set up? The last place we would think to go look would be Tutshill, because of course the Tornados would never take her, Moody. They’re decent, hardworking people.” Frank had been right, there was a smidge of logic to be found, and while she still thought it to be feeble, it was better than anything else she had to go on. “Now, you can assign me a partner, come with me yourself, or I can go on my own and you can sit in here, hoping for a ransom note to fall on your lap with all of the answers. But I cannot and will not sit on my bum and wait around for something that may never come while a good, loving, deserving to live person is out there, possibly dying!”
She’d snapped. It was perhaps a testament to how much Alice trusted Alastor Moody that she felt the tears finally begin to slide down her cheeks. Yet she made no move to brush them aside, still staring, shoulders squared, at the now blurred picture of Moody. There was no movement for one minute. Two minutes. Three. Alice cried for two of them, her shoulders sagging bit by bit until finally she reached a hand up and brushed the tears away.
“You’re in no condition to go,” Moody declared gruffly. At the same time, he magicked a handkerchief to her, allowing Alice to clean herself up.
The moment the tears were more or less dried off, she tossed the piece of cloth onto the arm of the chair across from him. “I’m in no condition to be anywhere but searching for Dawn Withey. The question is whether or not you will approve of it and mark down that I have gone out, and ensure that I come back before fifteen hundred. Or would it prove more prudent for me to speak to Dumbledore about this?”
Moody huffed, grabbing out parchment and a quill and waving his wand, calling a map to him. “I’m going to stamp you down for certain areas at certain times. You follow this map to a T, you got it Longbottom? Take whoever is free out there, let me know who it is, and go. And from now on, don’t expect to barge in here and take over. I don’t grant favours every day.”
Alice nodded, taking in the rest of his lecture and advice in with eager ears, entirely focused on him, on the mission at hand. Finally, something productive.
The search however, proved to be as fruitless as she’d imagined it would be when Frank first suggested it. In the end, she and the fellow Auror she’d gone with came back to the Ministry, exhausted, let down, and Alice was near tears once more as she admitted defeat to Moody. To his benefit, he had the decency to not tell her he’d told her so. Something Alice would keep in mind when speaking with Frank later that night.
“We’ll find her, Longbottom. Chin up. I’ll owl you in if we catch wind of leads. Go home. Spend time with your husband.”
So Alice, feeling all the more worse than she had this morning, went home to do just that.
Lorraine Orpington watched the second hand press closer to midnight, the ending of her twenty-first birthday. A day that’d gone forgotten by all of her friends and family. She woke up after her parents had left for work, and the house looked as ordinary as ever. A sad yet hopeful piece of her heart thought perhaps that she would arrive home to some sort of surprise as she packed Marietta up and took her with her to the Leaky Cauldron.
Work had been utterly ordinary, her boss giving her dirty looks for having her daughter with her once again. Customers varied from adoring Marietta to giving her looks that rivaled her bosses. Another day, nothing special. Last year, Florence had come in and taunted her, her old friends had come in and commented on how they’d have a drink for her before shrugging and going off to have fun with one another.
This year... nothing. A year ago, she’d wished she could fade into nothing. This year, she’d found herself having that wish answered, and hating every moment for it.
“Be careful what you wish for when your day comes,” she whispered to her daughter as the last thirty seconds of her birthday began to wane before her eyes. Marietta stared up blankly at her, not at all understanding. And how could Lori blame her?
Any hopes she’d had of celebrating once arriving home had been dashed. By the time she got home, her mum who’d picked Marietta up hours earlier, had already gone to bed. The house looked just the same, and no matter where Lori looked, she couldn’t find a cake, a special dinner, nothing.
She’d become nothing.
That thought had her curled up in her bed until Marietta began to cry, no doubt sensing her mums horrid emotions stifling the room. And now, here she was, cradling her child, watching what was easily marked as her worst birthday, fade into nothingness.
A single tear fell as the clock struck midnight.
There had been no candles, but deep in her heart, she still wished for one wish.
To be accepted into the position at the Department of Education. The application had been sent out this morning, and if nothing else, she could live with that single wish being granted. It would make everything better. She could survive with the snakes, she just needed to be granted entry.
Giving Marietta a final kiss, she put her daughter down for the night before curling up, allowing her birthday to go entirely unnoticed.
Beach: I’ll write a drabble of our characters at the beach together.
Benjy knew long ago that should they make it to this point, six months were well worth celebrating being together. While students may have celebrated one month, two month, and so on... it felt too time consuming to go that far as adults, in his opinion. However, the fact that summer was jam packed with the League, he’d also known that planning anything would have been far too risky.
So the moment Dawn had informed him of the only game she had during the semi-finals, he’d let out a breath of relief. The weekend would already be difficult to work with, given Frank and Alice marrying the day after, but this was important to him as well. A reminder to Dawn that he was taking this seriously, even though as of late they’d barely had time together. Even going as far as using her work outs as ‘dates’ if only to be together for a couple of hours a day once in awhile when his schedule allowed for it.
With every passing day, it was growing harder for him. Harder to hide the fact that he was part of something as dangerous as the Order. Harder for him to explain away the missing hours. Harder for him to not kiss her harder and hug her tighter, knowing he could come back injured if not worse.
For this one day, however, he put all of that out of his mind, holding her hand as they walked down to the beach, having already coated one another in sunblock. Together they played in the water, racing with swimming (of which Benjy would like to point out, Dawn did not win every round), building castles, swimming more, until both were tired from the sun and headed back up to Tinworth.
Together, they received a couples massage, and after being thoroughly relaxed, headed over to a nice dinner, where Benjy slipped a wrapped necklace onto Dawn’s cleared spot while she went to the loo between dinner and dessert (of which he skipped out on, naturally).
Many a kiss and hug were exchanged between forgotten bites of Dawn’s dessert, and though Benjy felt certain words at the tip of his tongue, he choked them down, instead showing Dawn all of his feelings late into the night in her flat.
(It's this I haven't asked, I'm going nuts) Deathbed of Malfoy!
Drabble List!
Death: I’ll write a drabble of my character with yours on their deathbed.
A whisper of a gasp slipped through Peter’s lips as Lucius Malfoy’s body fell limp in the middle of the Malfoy Mansion foyer. As the Dark Lord slipped his wand into its hidden location of his cloak, he grimaced down at the dying man with disdain.
“Such a pity. You were never able to give your son the brother you perhaps hoped he’d have. Now he won’t even have a father... truly a pity...”
Peter couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was happening. Near him he could hear the choked sobs of Narcissa, and it took all of his strength not to join her in crying. He couldn’t cry. If he cried, he would die.
Why did Lucius have to die?
Peter didn’t like the man, by any means. But as far as Death Eaters went, he was easily one of the most bearable to be around. Frightening, yes, but not cruel for the sake of being cruel. Peter had an odd sort of respect for that. Not that said respect ever would have been returned, but Lucius didn’t go out of his way to make Peter hate himself further either, which was something, at the very least.
He watched in stunned silence as muscle by muscle, Lucius lost power over his body. Over his very soul.
Peter assumed he’d never see anything more horrific than the torture the Death Eaters unleashed on muggleborns, but today he’d been proven wrong. He didn’t know what Lucius Malfoy did to earn his sentence, but he’d been forced to watch as a reminder.
A reminder that failure was not an option.
“Get rid of these wasteful scraps, would you, Wormtail?”
A shudder tingled down his spine at the casual words, knowing they were anything but. Numbly, he nodded, shooting Narcissa an apologetic look as she began to plead with him to let her.
“Jugson, deal with Narcissa. I must be off to do what those who are incapable of have failed at.”
The moment he disappeared, Narcissa’s thinly veiled grief broke free. Sobbing more openly, she rushed forwards towards Lucius, wand in hand, attempting to heal him, to fix him. And more importantly, to shield him from the two males who threatened to erase him from the planet as far as anyone else knew.
“Peter, Peter no. Let me. Please, he must be buried properly-- Tristan if you take one more step, I swear, I will not hesitate in hexing you!”
Peter couldn’t remember ever hearing Narcissa so off balance, so improper, and even more so - he’d never heard her plead in such a way. No matter how much he wanted her to have her way, to give her something to help with the grief, he knew there was no point. Tristan would soon erase all memories she’d had of this day, which left Peter to wonder - why make her watch in the first place?
Their Dark Lord was sick. Vile. A shared glance between the two males was enough to confirm both felt the same way, but neither had any option but to do as they were told. Both of them directed their wands at Narcissa, Peter to disarm her, Tristan to remove her memories and put her into a deep sleep.
“I’ll take care of her, you deal with this.”
Peter swallowed down the bile threatening to rise in his throat as he nodded, bending down beside Lucius, wishing he could do something to fix this. But the reality was, Lucius couldn’t be brought back from the dead.
“How am I supposed to survive?” Peter whispered pleadingly to him, a tear of his own falling down his cheek. A weak show of emotion he shouldn’t have. Especially not for a Death Eater.
But if a man like Lucius Malfoy could be killed by the Dark Lord without a second thought, what stopped him from killing Peter? Or having someone else kill Peter? Were they all just faceless pawns to him? Soldiers for a war based on killing as many people as possible? Peter no longer understood what he wanted out of this. If it were a plead for blood purity, why kill one of the purest, most respected men in the wizarding world?
“You’re her brother aren’t you? The precious King, oh how I always did hate her too cheery attitude,” the masked woman spoke, as though she could look down upon him despite being shorter than he.
Robert practically growled through his tears. He’d left Natalie alone for not even a moment. Only long enough to send out a message for help, and when he’d returned... the unthinkable was found. The one and only comfort was that it’d been silent. She hadn’t been in pain. It’d been so quick.
But he couldn’t let this go.
He’d lost too many people now. Marlene. Dorcas. Benjy. Dawn (for no matter how alive she was physically, it didn’t take an idiot to see she was dead inside). Too many others to count. James and Lily had been the last straw. It didn’t matter that Voldemort was gone. No one seemed to understand his followers were still out there, still demented as fuck, still determined to kill.
He needed his sister as far away from this fucking place as possible -- and yet he’d been too late.
“Avada--”
A spell knocked him to the ground before he got the words out, a cruel tinkle of a laugh followed. “You Order members are really losing your minds, aren’t you? Oh yes, we know. We know who all of you are,” she laughed, sending further chills down Robert’s spine as he stood, shooting off curse after curse, all of which she deflected, save for the last.
It started a fight unlike any other Robert had ever fought. He’d lost too much. It didn’t matter that Caradoc was still alive. He’d lost everything else, too many fractions of his life to keep sane. Each glimpse of Natalie’s lifeless body spurred him on until finally, the Death Eater managed to get his wand from him, leaving him defenseless, bruised, sweating, sobbing, and broken, on his knees.
“It would be too much of a mercy to kill your worthless mudblood body,” she decided, snapping his wand over her knees and tossing the pieces to the side. “Weep over her, if you must. Spend the rest of your days on the brink of insanity. Know that he will come back. And when he does, we will reign supreme once again. Until then... beware of the shadows, for they will strike when you least expect it.”
Like that, she vanished, leaving Robert to cradle his sister, sobbing and laying upon the dirty, blood soaked ground, for Caradoc to find minutes later.
