#dulcestarter

[seirioscanis]

Where: St. Mungo’s When: 29 February 1980, evening Who: Open

Sirius was having a rough time of it.

He hadn’t expected the scouting mission in Hogwarts to go south, for one. After the initial infiltration, it was supposed to be easy going as they swept the castle for anything that would be useful, but nothing was ever that easy. Why would it be easy? This was his life, after all--easy was at the bottom of things that Sirius Black deserved, apparently.

He also hadn’t expected to come across his cousin in Hogwarts, to finally face off with her... and to lose. Sirius was frankly surprise she let him live at all; maybe that part of her plan was a mistake. If Bellatrix had known he would survive the injuries she caused him, she probably would’ve shot one last curse to finish the job before going on her merry way. It almost did do him in, but then James and Amelia found him, and here he was: alive for another day.

Worse for wear, certainly, but alive. 

His entire body ached, and even with all the work done on him, the Healers wanted him to stay for a day or two to be safe. Sirius absolutely did not want to do that, so when a figure came into his view, his first words were, “Wanna break me outta here? Before I lose my damn mind?”

[alicclongbottom]

WHERE  :  st. mungo’s WHEN  :   29th of february, 1980. late night. WHO  :  alice longbottom & ?

Alice doesn’t let herself believe in fate. She thinks she used to, when she was little and when she was in school - thinking there’s such a thing as destiny and that we can understand it was the only thing that got her up the stairs of the divination tower for class every day. But now? She can’t - because the only conclusion it would bring is that she’s fated to become a victim of this war. A name on a memorial, some day. Someone people talk about in the past tense.

Attempted murder once is a fluke - is an accident, a mistaken identity, a whisper aimed at the wrong person. Twice, though? It means something, if you dare let it.

She’d stood by the refreshment tables nearly the whole time. She had been right there. Alice can’t help but feel that it might have been personal. Anyone could have seen her with the interval of full-empty-full glasses in her hands, stormy eyes glancing daggers at Scrimgeour. There were other victims of the poisoning, of course - other Aurors, thinning out numbers, making it easier for a future fight - but Alice can’t help but wonder; had it been meant for her?

And then - what will it be next time? Who will try next? When?

Does it ever end? Or will she have to glance over her shoulder until it finally catches her?

There’s a figure at the door and Alice represses a startle at the sight. “Don’t lurk over there,” voice is raspy. She should probably still be asleep, but the idea of closing her eyes now - when anyone could come in, when some healer moonlighting for them or some familiar face with a knife in their smile could wander through and do something - is impossible, “It makes you look suspicious.”

[marymacd]

WHO: Mary && Open WHERE: St Mungo’s Hospital WHEN: January 18th, Memorial Service

A MEMORIAL. Mary had thought she was going to throw up when she heard the news. The news that she, as a Ministry employee, was expected to attend the memorial service of Malcolm Mulciber. She had grappled with the decision for the past couple of days, before ultimately deciding that it would be looked upon as poor form if she were not to attend. Though she was only a low-ranking Ministry employee, if she ever hoped to make it further than Wizengamot Administration Services, she would have to play the part of a model employee, wouldn’t she? Once this war was over, she still wanted to have her job.

Mary sat in silence aboard the Knight Train, even as her colleagues prattled on amongst themselves. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, he wasn’t going to be there. He couldn’t be. It was his own memorial service -- as in for the dead. No, she told herself again sternly, she wasn’t there for Mulciber, she was there to pay her respects for the other unfortunate souls who had perished during the battle. That was all. 

Of course, her composure seems to go to hell the moment she steps through the entrance of St Mungo’s, eyes casting over the beautiful memorial that had been set up for him. Mary feels bile rise up in her throat once more, and it takes everything she has not to collapse at the sight of all this. “Excuse me,” She murmurs, pushing through the small crowd of people huddled at the entrance, looking for something to steady herself. Finding a small table of food and drink, Mary leans against it, fingers digging into the material as she breathes heavily. In and out. She doesn’t notice the person beside her until they brush against her -- presumably trying to reach past to get to the food -- causing Mary to flinch and straighten up. Get it together, a voice sneers. “Sorry.” She mutters, a plastered-on smile finding its way to her face, “I must be right in your way.”

[dclohcv]

Where: Ministry Atrium When: 28 February 1980 Who: Open

Antonin watched as the atrium was slowly transformed from what was its norm to something more festive with mild curiosity, sitting on one of the many staircases and eating a sandwich. He felt the dirty looks sent his way as people almost ran into him, being forced to take a few steps to the side and go around him instead, but he didn’t care; maybe taking his lunch on the stairs wasn’t the most dignified thing he could do, especially for a man with his position in the Ministry, but Antonin came to learn a long time ago that caring what others thought was the least of his worries. He could practically hear Lucius’ voice in his head yelling about how important appearances were, but he ignored it with another bite of his Reuben. 

He was content to simply people watch or silently judge the decorators before his view was obscured, and it took him a moment to realize that it was intentional rather than someone passing by. Antonin sighed heavily and looked up, raising an eyebrow and looking less-than-amused. “I’m not moving, if that’s what you’re after. Take a few steps to the left and go around or be stuck there forever if you must.”

[archivist-bones]

WHO: Amelia & open WHERE: St. Mungo’s WHEN: January 18th, Memorial Service

The pitying looks at the memorial service unnerved Amelia, setting her teeth on edge. She supposed it was natural, to feel sympathy for someone who had lost a loved one. It was the right thing to do, the proper thing to do, but it was suffocating. As friends, coworkers, even strangers approached Amelia with condolences, she just felt herself getting angrier. Angry that Gideon was gone. No, angry that he had been snatched away from her. That she never had the opportunity to say goodbye.

Amelia hadn’t wanted to come tonight but Edgar had convinced her it was for the best. Their parents weren’t going to show up, Esther Bones hadn’t been able to leave the confines of her own bedroom. Bitter, bereft over the loss of her first born child. Amelia’s father was fearful to leave his wife alone for too long. So, it was up to the siblings to represent the family. Amelia had delivered Gideon’s obituary, feeling just as numb as she had when she received news of his death. Her voice had been eloquent but betraying no grief, it felt like she had been giving some kind of report at work. 

Now she stood next to the refreshments table. A half empty, plastic cup of tepid tea in hand, more of a prop than anything else. Waiting on Edgar to find her again so she could, hopefully, go home and retreat to her own bedroom to sleep for an entirety. It was when Amelia suddenly felt someone’s gaze now boring holes into the side of her face that she heaved a sigh. “Yes?” she prompted as she turned to see the culprit, desperately wishing they would just say something and get the conversation over with.

[mundxngus]

WHO:  Open. WHERE: The Chapel, St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. WHEN: January 18th, 1980.

Flickering votive candles and the thick, heady perfume of gladiolas were reason enough to steer well clear of the memorials set up at the front of the chapel and the sea of mourners and rubberneckers, even if one wasn’t scouring the crowds with a wary sort of interest. If Dumbledore were to emerge with the wrath of an angry god from wherever it was he’d been hiding it’d be here, with his de facto life partner’s framed face smiling down from the gaudy altars, but the crowds were suspiciously light in knowing, thunderous eyes and perhaps the rumours were true, for once, and the old bastard really had gone and played ding, dong, ditch on his own rebellion. The snare around his neck certainly felt a little looser today. 

Mundungus had liked Elphie in the mad-cap way that he liked most people with a definitively stupid taste in hats and Emma had been a shout, when she wasn’t shouting at him, and he supposed Gideon Bones had been as stalwart of a square-jawed hero as one could ask for. Mulciber, in a hereditary way, had likely been a giant twat, but Mundungus knew many a giant twat who’d been allowed to continue their twattish lives so he took a swig of heavily spiked tea for him regardless as he dropped a shoulder against the nearest wall and rummaged elbow deep into a deceptively shallow inner pocket with a clinking of a great many metal things before triumphantly emerging with a silver flask in hand which he opened one-handed, to dump a little more into his ‘tea’. 

He doubted any of the dearly departed would have come to his wake so really, he had no reason to go getting maudlin about theirs, instead he turned to his nearest neighbour to ask, “What do you imagine the Doge foundation is worth?”

All of that money and nobody to inherit it. A terrible waste.

[arthur--weasley]

who: open when: february 27th, 1980 where: ministry of magic atrium

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Arthur leans his back heavily on the bare stretch of wall, his newspaper clutched firmly in his grip. In one hand is a blue crayon rather than his quill, and he has an odd feeling that as soon as he gets home he’s likely to find at least one of his sons (one of the three who can reach the kitchen table, that is) has flinched it.

If he was a betting man, which he isn’t, he’d put at least two galleons, which he doesn't have, on it being Percy. 

Quill quarrels aside, Arthur thinks, it had been a good day. He only had a few hours of his shift left before he was able to take his leave, and he wasn’t expected to return for at least another two weeks. They’d miss the paycheck, of course, but they’d made do before, and Arthur would much rather have a few weeks away from work that he could spend with his sons and prepare for their new arrival more than anything else.

The Ministry would always be there, but how long would his kids stay young for?

Frowning at the blank squares in front of him, Arthur leans over to the figure beside him. “S’cuse me. Do you know a four-letter-word for a ‘narrow strip of wood’? Seems like ‘wand’ isn’t going to fit.”

[mllyweasly]

WHO: Molly && OPEN WHERE: Diagon Alley WHEN: February 16, 1980. 2:15pm

Valentine’s Day was never something that Molly had taken much notice of. She thought it was a pointless holiday -- if you really do love someone, you shouldn’t have to wait for some arbitrary winter’s day to let them know. Arthur, however, found the day rather fascinating -- though it was somewhat celebrated in the wizarding world, it was nothing short of a phenomenon in the muggle world, and her husband was entranced by their celebrations, always trying to figure out why when Molly suspected it was all just for a little fun. 

They had enjoyed a nice dinner on the day itself, cooked by Molly, of course, in their dining room, with their boys -- so not terribly different to every other night they spent in each other’s company -- and Molly didn’t think she would be interested in celebrating any further, but hearing of the festivities happening in Diagon Alley had enticed her. It seemed like their world could use a little bit of celebration, something to distract everyone from what was going on around them. That, and their boys were going a little mad cooped up in the house all day, it would be nice for them to be able to get out and have a little fun for the day -- not that they had any trouble coming up with their own fun at home.

Arthur had taken the older boys into the ice cream parlour to pick themselves out a treat, while Molly continued through the market with the twins in their stroller, chattering along happily over the noise of the crowd. She glances absently at each of the stalls as she walks along, not wanting to go too quickly so as not to lose Arthur, when she feels the wheels of the stroller ram into something, jolting her as she snaps her attention to whatever it is that is blocking her path. “Excuse me, not sure whether you’ve realised, but you’re just about blocking the whole path.”