With the performance drowning in her ears, it was easy to simply slip away into the shadows. The shadows where she was safe and familiar. Where she had spent most of her time in the last few months since Tom had come to talk to her. It was easy to allow herself to go back into the shadows where she was unnoticed. Persephone was careful to not let the sound of her heels clicking as she backed away into the corridors give her away. Perhaps the sweet song of Etta James would allow her to leave in peace. There was just one problem; Persephone had no idea where the exit was.
Should she have been excited just the rest of the guests seemed to be? Probably. But Seph was on a mission, and she was wanted to leave as soon as possible. These kinds of occasions served a different kind of discomfort when she was younger. Being a Rowle had several expectations. None of which Seph measured up to. That was Hera’s jurisdiction. Her job was to lay low and take notes from her sister. But now that they were both grown? It was almost painful for her to stay where her perfect little family were still pretending that they had the perfect children.
Persephone never went anywhere without three tarot cards with her: The Star, The World and The Daughter of Cups. Each holding their own special meaning and serving as a sort of comfort in an otherwise uncomfortable situation. Which was why as she wandered the corridors of the manor, one hand trailed the cold walls and the other traced the length of the cards in her purse. But as her fingertips trailed behind her, Seph couldn’t help but feel as though she were being watched. “And here I thought the shadows were my thing,” she joked.
“I am,” Llewellyn said, with a fair amount of shame in his voice (well placed, and on time, for once) as he hung his head, “admittedly very lost. And admittedly ... not trying all that hard to find my way back. You see,” he started, ready to weav the elaborate tale of how he’d left the dinner table, set on finding the lavatory, and had gotten himself turned around several times upon finding distraction after distraction, and had now found themself several floors away and on the wrong side of the house from the ballroom, when he decided not to. “Actually, it’s quite a long story, I might get lost again telling it. Where were you headed? Would you mind terribly if I joined you? I’d rather enjoy the company.”
OPEN || Shafiq Estate (party, or just wandering around during the party)
Abe didn’t have a lot of rules for New Year’s. Well, to be fair, to some, Abe’s insistence on these things he did not do would technically count as rules, they were as follows: he did not make resolutions, he never showed up at any party on that specific date with a date, he didn’t kiss people at midnight (he kissed them, if he decided to kiss anyone, whenever the hell he felt like it), and skipped any event that seemed like a genuinely more interesting alternative to keeping the pub open.
Remember, those were things Abe wouldn’t do. So, naturally, Abe had a tent. That tent, of course, had a fully functional bar (small, personal) inside it. The bar, then, as we wouldn’t have had it any other way, was stocked from his favorite shelf at the pub. He’d been in and out of the tent all evening – the hubbub and the people, and the buzz, fuck, the buzz off that many voices in one room, was just enough to make Aberforth he’d had a better reason to stay home. “I’m thinking about ringing in an Australian New Year ... which ... by math should be in, like, the next hour. What do you say?”
Agnes was going to be staying in the Shafiq home that evening, but that didn’t mean that she was going to stay in ‘her room’ all day. The very idea was, truthfully, probably, the furthest thing from the truth possible at that moment. No, she’d pass the afternoon with the girls, just like always. and it was going to be plenty of fun but she wondered, for a moment, whether she should head straight for where Georgie had already promised she would be by the time Agnes arrived (Georgie could be counted on to be where she said she’d be when she said she’d be there) or ... if ... perhaps .... she should play ‘hello, neighbor’ for a bit first, to satisfy the curiosity and see who’d be staying where.
In the end, she’d ended up doing both, only to retreat back into the house and emerge from her room for supper looking like an entirely different person in her own eyes. Straightened hair and a dress with a hemline an inch shorter than usual? The bodysnatchers had come, how fun. One last look to throw out with the bathwater as far as she was concerned, but it hadn’t stopped her slinking around the ballroom and eavesdropping on people who hadn’t recognized her right away.
Eventually though, even she got bored, and found herself a drink and a patch of wall to lean on. “Heard anything juicy so far?”
Shafiq Estate || NYE || patio balcony off of the ballroom || OPEN
“It’s thirty minutes to midnight, to my birth month, to my birth week, seven days, thirty minutes – and counting – to my birthday....,” she trailed off, letting her drama build up. This was Agnes, after all, and it was about to be her favorite time of year. But she found herself without the options she’d hoped to have at this point, in the year, in her life, and her first pick for a midnight kiss ... was nowhere to be found. Rude. “How is it that I suddenly find – and declare – myself most eligible bachelorette in need of a kiss tonight? It isn’t fair. This needs to be fixed, immediately.”
By 9 o’clock, the Shafiqs had already announced (and repeated many times, Maddox) that brunch would be semi-formal, and would begin at 11 o’clock the next morning, for those interested in joining. So this time, when Mr. Shafiq (the younger, at 35) took the stage, it was for something totally new: The Shafiqs had a surprise for their guests, a very special one.
Though it had taken a few minutes to gather as much of the crowd back as they could, and from all over the grounds, as the party had already begun to spill over, Mr. Shafiq was patient, and willing to wait. His wife, though, beside him, could hardly contain her excitement, and it seemed to be contagious to those gathered and waiting for the next announcement.
Joining them this evening – and seeing them through, personally, to the new year – a rising star in two worlds, the one and only, Etta James.
HA! Gotcha! You really thought we’d waste a whole week and dedicate it solely to brunch? I mean.... maybe, but not this week.
It’s time for PART 2!
As we’re all far too aware, there are plenty of magical folk sprinkled throughout the different branches on the showbiz tree, and it should come as no surprise that some whom the Muggles deem the most spectacular, are not even truly theirs to claim (If you were asking someone magical, anyways, or a music snob, or both, perhaps, if you fancy the combo deal). One of the most spectacular (summer vc: go on, fight me, I dare u) also happens to be one of the young, rising stars of 1955: seventeen year old American, Etta James.
Truth be told, she’s actually a little more well known in magical circles, which probably surprises you. But you see, with two worlds in which she’s a celebrity, she’s already doing better than her single-world peers, and while their covers of her songs might out-chart her original releases in the Muggle World.....
In the magical one, it’ll be a while yet before there’s another voice quite like hers. Maybe not a long while, but, though the still fairly young (for a wizard, and, did you know? coincidentally, also halfblooded) Celestina Warbeck has already been making a stir for her impressive talents, she hasn’t yet made as solid a career for herself as others we know.
Miss James will be taking the stage – in the ballroom – at 10 o’clock, so if you don’t want to miss that, be sure to get back on the dance floor. Or, find yourself a balcony or veranda from which to enjoy a slightly more distanced experienced. She’ll be taking a half hour break, at 11, but then she’ll be back to send us off as only Etta James can, and carry us into 1956!
Have fun, friends. Enjoy. Happy New Year! See you on the other side.
BEGINS:
(*THIS*) SUNDAY - 17 April
(whenever you want, Happy Easter, if you celebrate)
ENDS:
(*NEXT*) SUNDAY - 24 April - 10 PM PST (5 am 25 April GMT)
–––––––––
BONUS: Summer lied to you in Part 1. Okay, lied is a strong word, misled is better. Starters from part 1 may still be posted, but now that you have an official notice of what Part 2 actually is, I hope you all now feel free to time your starters as you please, instead of wondering if you should save them.
BONUS #2: If you wish, you can actually post starters for brunch, but no more after the even is over (if anyone does at all)
REMINDERS (friendly):
Events are great for open starters, because they can lead to some of our favorite unlikely bro-ships, and some of the best brawls / cat fights
location: Georgie’s Tent on the grounds of the estate
Her goal had been met. The rather large tent she had borrowed from her grandfather was the perfect setting for their own little party. While the big party was fun, a lot of their parents were there. The idea of having to spend one of the most infamous party nights of the year on their best behavior was a bore. She had brought along a few of her elves, making sure the food and drinks were always available. Judging by the look of the party, that had been a smart move. While it wasn’t exclusive, it was clear who had gotten word of the festivities. And it was clear who had too much to drink. “Now, now gentleman,” she said after one of the house elves had gotten in between the pair who had been close to drawing their wands. “I’m sure whatever problem has arisen can be solved with cool heads and a cooler drink. I know Coopey can get you one.” She smiled and winked at the elf, knowing full well he could handle the two wizards. She felt eyes on her as the two men walked away. “If they cause trouble again, they’ll be gone. Don’t worry.”
At supper, the Shafiqs announced – though, yes, they promised to repeat the news again later, for those who weren’t listening (Maddox, Andrew, and Podric, we see you) – that brunch would begin the following morning at eleven, would last until tea time, flowing naturally, of course, into tea time and would only be semi-formal. Guests will then have the rest of the afternoon and evening to make their exits from the estate property for their own personal safety.
How nice of them, don’t you think? To start us off in the new year on a gentle foot? I certainly think so. We’ll have more details on that later.
For now, let’s get to what you came for:
Few know what a horcrux is, fewer know how to make one. Fewer still are brave enough to ask a mentor, and even fewer than that can drum up enough luck or courage, however strengthened, to admit they'd answered the forbidden queries.
Tom Riddle asked, Horace Slughorn answered.
Horace suspects, and now ... so does an out of place muggleborn ingenu who struggles to make their father proud, and has no business keeping the company they do. The animal healer up the road knows for certain that at least one exists, because he's held it. He's kept it safe, secret. And now, though he's long since cut ties (or so he'd have us believe), he's been bid to bury it.
Figuratively, and literally.
The problem is ..... he got rid of that thing ages ago, and in the worst way imaginable. Though, to be fair, his new orders aren’t actually all that much better than what he’d done himself. Years ago, when Winter Macnair was still running with Tom Riddle – when Tom’d murdered his then co-worker Hebzibah Smith after hours in the back of Borgin & Burke’s, when he’d stolen back his family’s heirloom locket and the missing but highly sought after cup of Helga Hufflepuff, when he’d gotten his hands on the long lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw – he’d been made to be an active participant in the exploits of his ... associate. But was he an associate? Or was he just another lackey?
If you were bold enough to ask, you’d get a different answer from each, and there’s no question of that. But what that leaves us to question, regardless, is this: can you ever really leave Tom Riddle’s service once you’ve entered into it?
One of those items, these horcruxes, were entrusted to Winter for safekeeping, even after his departure from Tom’s side. And that’s a level of trust which is not only hard to come by, it makes the idea that Winter could simply walk away that much more unbelievable. Macnair wasn’t a fool, though, and he knew that if he was ever going to truly distance himself from his past, his mistakes ... he was going to have to do something about those keepsakes. He’d buried them, after his exit, a sign – to himself, at least, since he couldn’t exactly proclaim it loudly anywhere; that would hardly be helpful. But where had he chosen to relieve himself of his burdens?
In a graveyard. Where else would one bury the ghosts of their past?
In a sick twist of fate, or perhaps a spectacularly clever one, Winter chose to desecrate the grave of someone most would say had already suffered enough: Myrtle Warren. And now, all these years later, with no contact between them, Tom has reached out to his old friend, who was once so ... inspiring .. to have around, with a new (and theoretically, final) request: he’d like one of those unbelievably dark items, the one he gave to Winter, the cup, buried somewhere – in the grave of the one whose murder had granted the acquisition ever so kindly in the first place: Hebzibah Smith.
But will he do what he’s been asked? One thing’s for sure – the so called Dark Lord certainly has a knack for keeping tabs on those he views as his, even those who say they’ve cut ties. Some ties, though, can’t be cut, and some things, once shared, will never be solely yours again. Like that drawing Winter used to do, the one he was so happy, once, to have marked permanently on his body. You know, the one he doesn’t talk about, or even doodle, anymore?
There’s another thing, too, though, that, while many might find surprising, others might consider a given: Winter Macnair is missing.
He was last seen on 30 December, locking up the animal clinic for the last time that week, the last business day of 1955. He hasn’t been seen since, and though, realistically, this is not news, and no report has yet been made – there are people, now, who just might notice the man’s absence. Damn. Right when he most needed to stay invisible and unnoticed.
Turns out, getting comfortable is a luxury some simply cannot afford. Not even when you’re dead and buried. Good luck, anyways, Winter, wherever you are. I have a feeling you’re gong to need it.
