#dulcestarter

[euphemiarowles]

where: leaky cauldron  when:  february 17,  late  evening who:    open.

Hogwarts was closed. 

         The flurry of owls was a great addition to Euphemia’s afternoon reading. The indefinitely was a nice addition, she must admit, truly elevated the danger in the air. Which by all accounts did exist, perhaps not just in the forms of educational institutions closing but something more pressing. Additionally, the missing figurehead of Alastor Moody was a worrisome piece of the puzzle. Mia wasn’t one to befriend others at the Ministry easily, and Moody was no exception. The change of leadership was more of a nuisance than anything. A difference in dynamic was something she could get accustomed to, perhaps it would even benefit her. 

        Euphemia thought that such a tumultuous day deserved a drink. Spiny Serpent was a longer walk than she was willing to make that night, so she’d settle for the Cauldron. She slipped a piece of hair behind her hair and headed for the door. There was a buzz in the air that she couldn’t place but was certainly enjoying. She walked up to the bartender ordering a firewhiskey. It was a busy night given all the excitement of the day. There didn’t seem to be a spare table in the place, at least not one that she could place. Mia handed the money over for the drink and taking a sip. Too loud. Too entitled. Too sad.  She thought as she went over the tables that looked mildly viable. 

        “That’s the one.” She muttered to herself, noticing a table in the corner that looked like it would make a good company. Euphemia slipped through the crowd, carefully avoiding the servers with drinks. When she finally made it to her destination she looked down at the occupant of the table, a grin on her features. “You mind if I sit here ? ” She paused a moment, taking another sip of her drink. “I’ll buy the next round.”  

[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.”

[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.”

[marymacd]

WHO: Mary && WHERE: St Mungo’s Hospital WHEN: February 29 1980, 11:00pm

Poisoned. That’s what the healers had told Mary as soon as she’d woken up, that she had been poisoned. Apparently someone had laced the drinks at the induction ceremony, and that Mary had been one of the many misfortunate souls to consume the toxic substance. How she was still alive, she wasn’t quite sure, she thought she had heard mention of a miraculous antidote, but she couldn’t quite process the words coming from the healers’ mouths, her mind still lagging on the fact that she had been poisoned, the last few moments before she had lost consciousness replaying in her mind, her vision going foggy as she watched bodies drop around her. She had been fairly certain at the time that she wouldn’t wake up again, that this would be her demise.

Waking up was relieving, though she still felt on the brink of death. Her mind was still cloudy and her limbs felt heavy. She was left on her own after the healers had given her the run down of what had happened, presumably so they could move on and do the same with the other victims of the mass poisoning. There it was again, that word that seemed to hang over her like the plague. Victim. 

The last time she had been in this hospital as a patient was following her attack with Mulciber, though there was little to be treated then, most of the scars from that had been psychological rather than physical. It all felt so familiar, the stark white walls and the smell of antiseptic. But not just this place, the situation. Once again, she’d been struck down by someone with no good reason. This time she’d merely been an incidental casualty, a victim of an attack with no specificity, no perceivable target. But it still made her feel the same way, it made her feel helpless.

It takes all she has not to spiral out of control, blinking back tears and turning her eyes to the clean, fluorescent-lit ceiling and breathing deeply. Get it together Mary, you’re alive, you’re okay. Nothing can happen to you in here. She’s so focused on repeating her mantra that Mary barely registers the footfalls of someone else approaching the room, only noticing that she is no longer alone once they have made it through the doorway, turning her attention to them and offering a weak smile. “Um... h-hi.”

[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.”

[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?”

[nmalfoy]

WHO: OPEN TO ALL ! WHEN: February 29, 1980 WHERE: Hogsmeade Village 

The woman’s platform stiletto heels clicked against the concrete as she strolled through the road of Hogsmeade Village. Clipboard in hand, Narcissa tossed an amiable smile to volunteers and business owners, all of whom she had personally introduced herself to earlier that morning, and a critically quirked brow to those who appeared to have wandered from their assigned tasks. The clicking came to a clean stop near the corner of the street, where a group of wizards assisted Madam Rosmerta in installing a new sign for The Three Broomsticks. “When you’re finished with that, let’s get rid of that mess over there,” she suggested, a polished finger pointing towards the corner. “Over there? That’s snow,” one of the wizards remarked. “It’s an eyesore,” Cissa corrected. “Get rid of it.”

Proudly checking another task off her list, she continued on down the street in search of another problem to solve, basking in the power as one may bask in that morning’s gentle sunlight after a long winter. It was a lone bystander who caught her attention next. “Pardon me,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think you and I have had a chance to talk this morning. It’s so nice to see you. My husband and I want everyone here to know how much we appreciate them for showing up today. Will you be volunteering to help?” She asked. “There are plenty of open tasks if you are; and if you aren’t, it was so nice to see you.” Narcissa’s expression said what she was too polite to say aloud: now leave.  

[crowalecto]

WHO: Alecto & OPEN WHERE: Mulpeppers Apothecary WHEN: February 16th, mid-afternoon

Generally speaking, Alecto wouldn’t be caught dead out in an event like the Valentine’s Day Celebration being held in the Alley, but she’d run out of a few key ingredients and had backorders for particular tonics that were driving her up the wall -- she did so hate to leave a task undone -- and so she’d ventured headstrong and cocksure into the Apothecary. Dodging the madmen who thought it wise to hit on her and the ones bogged down by potions they were sure would give them the virility to keep up with their purported partners, she managed to snag the parcels she needed and get out the door before ramming right into someone.

A few vials fell from her fingertips and ingredients spilled across the cobbles like a whisper after a screech of shattered glass -- frog spawn and something far more sinister mixed and made their way down between the set stones -- and she let her temper flare up before she could stop herself, “I really do hope you plan to pay for and replace everything I have just dropped.”

She hadn’t bothered to find the gaze of the person across from her, and knowing Alecto it wouldn’t have mattered if she had: the response would have been the same.