#legends:starter

[labetebelle-blog]

          Against her better judgement, Apolline remained stationary to listen to what the person opposing her had to say. Several times, she’d opened her mouth to speak, but each time was met with another string of sentences. A murmured zut was all the voice she had as her eyes scanned her surroundings for anyone to help her escape.

[transfigurare-blog]

Outside the Peverell Manor Febaruary 15th, 1979 11:15 AM open

They weren’t her first choice, the thestrals as a new form of messengers. In her own mind, it wouldn’t matter true method of sending news, but the people who sent and received them, their power far above anything a carrier could create. The thestrals use was logical, however, unseen by many and avoided by the rest, their ghost of a body not one that people would welcome so quickly. With a reputation as an omen of evil, Minerva found this ironic and more amusing than frightening, all the more aid for the rebellion's idea. The Ministry wouldn’t touch them.

In the backyard of the Peverell Manor, she watched them, a herd that didn’t mind her presence, knowing she observed them and the students that played quidditch around them. Some of the children pass their glances towards Minerva’s line of sight, all with varying degrees of utter confusion or tragic understanding of what she saw. The further irony of the death in the use of thestrals wasn’t lost on her, of all the children that now had the ability to see these creatures and know the moment that made such things true with each sighting. She would call it a metaphor or slight fate that they were using creatures tied to death for their aid, perhaps this was their way of honoring those fallen, or Hagrid and all his trust of creatures. Crows for messenger pigeons, their use was all the matter, however.

“If you’re here to name them, I’m afraid a few assistant professors have already beaten you there,” she said with some humor, though it would be hard to detect as her usual expression didn’t shift far too greatly. This was how Minerva would greet the one who would walk behind her, the rustle of grass and footsteps a warning of the presence, though she wouldn’t be able to tell if they were a student or not.

[heaven-sent-hellion-blog]

February 20th, 1979 A suburb outside Ludlow @vanityxburke

Amycus has imagined something different from the house that stood just down the street from where he sat. When he thought about ‘going into hiding’ he didn’t think of a quaint and freshly painted house with a little fence going around it. More of some abandoned home far far from other people. But here the house stood, in a row of nearly identical houses, all with little fences and similar colors. 

It was still a form of hiding; the neighborhood the woman was residing in was entirely filled with Muggles. Passing by earlier, he’d noticed her home was warded with quite a few spells, but they were all ones Amycus was familiar with. Nothing too complicated, or out of his league in any form. She’d been smart in some ways, but not in all of them; she didn’t even seem to know what dangers were in England. She escaped the wrath of her pureblodded family in France, but she exposed herself to a whole new evil here. One she seemed all too blind too. Poor woman. 

In a sense he pitied the woman, but really this was all her own fault. Brought upon by her own whims. Sometimes it paid not to be selfish. Though it seemed not all valued self preservation so high on the list of needs. It made him wonder, how much did Emma value self preservation. It seemed to him like she was being cautious, trying to not get ‘caught up’ in the Dark Lord’s plan. But should she have reason to be? There was no one to catch her, no one to punish her for doing the things the Dark Lord asked of her. So why was she so hesitant? There was something else motivating Emma. Amycus wanted to know what it was. 

He dug through his pocket to find the Muggle lighter he’d stashed away, lighting a cigarette he was biting down on. Blowing out smoke as he stared down at the road, he idly recalled how much his mother complained about his father’s smoking habits. She hated the smell of cigars, said he’d always smelled of cigars. His father still smoked often, more-so than he remembered as a child; the library had always had a smell of smoke mingled with the old books. As his thoughts lingered over muddy memories he noticed Emma approaching, but said nothing to her and only continued smoking. 

[fletchxr-blog]

February 13, 1979. Interrogation Cells, Department of Magical Law Enforcement Ministry of Magic. OPEN.

Mundungus had been pacing for most of the morning; back and forth and back and forth within the confines of the ‘interrogation room’ which, to him at least, far better resembled a cell. Being accused of being a thief was one thing — insomuch as that he was one and it came as no surprise to anyone. Being accused of being a rebel was something else entirely, a something else that came with a death sentence and if they knew anything about his ‘extracurricular activities’ he may as well be dead already.

There was no way he was ending up on the gallows today.

“Hey!” His fist thumped loudly against the door to the cell as he stretched up onto the tips of his toes to peer out the narrow pane of glass, “Hey! It’s been hours already. I’m just an honest bartender, I didn’t realise that was a crime these days.”

From one of the cells nearby he heard a familiar snort that could only have come from Elias. The twat. “Are you letting us go or what?”

[fletchxr-blog]

Ring Toss Booth, Festival Grounds. Hogsmeade. February 9, 1979 6.07pm @vanityxburke

The jingle of bells had been replaced by the heavy clinking of his pockets as the day wore on,  the last scraps of paint smeared in garish streaks across his face until all that remained of his costume were the brightly patched pants and the suspenders to hold them up over the (slightly) paint-smeared undershirt. It had been a profitable afternoon by any stretch of the imagination, but stashed in those pockets was still the information he’d been quietly putting off passing on, if only because he wasn’t entirely sure that Emma wouldn’t take his head off before he got a chance to.

Still. He had been paid for it. 

A tug at his pants turned his chin downward, meeting the wide-eyes of another sticky-fingered child. “Hey Mister—”

Mundungus kept walking. The child, much like the rest of the group who’d been tailing him for the past half hour, fell into step behind him. This was quickly growing tiresome.

He’d just slipped through a gap between Trelawney’s makeshift stall ( “The grim! The grim!” ) and a collection of game booths and was in the process of slipping through a group of finely dressed purebloods clustered a few feet away from the ringtoss (a few extra coins would never hurt) when he glanced up and blinked rapidly upon meeting Emma’s eyes. Oh. 

“Emma-Bee,” he greeted behind a flash of teeth as the familiar pitter-patter of his following of children began to catch up, “Can I have a word?”

[wcrmtxil-blog]

Ministry Festival 9 February 1979 12:33pm

Perhaps it was a bit curious why Peter hung around the Tunnel of Love and the area around it, because they certainly didn’t have anyone they considered a ‘love’ to enter the tunnel with. The area around it, though, was far enough away from the bustling crowds of the festival that Peter felt comfortable, and they simply watched as people walked by. Peter was more than merely a loner these days, at least they saw it that way, but they didn’t mind that much; it was easier that way. They were just starting to finally relax (maybe they’d go and grab some of the free food while they could) when they heard someone walk behind them, and Peter jumped up at once, turning around on their heels. “I was just going, bye.”

[andromxdae-blog]

Location: Festival Grounds Time: 10:32 am

Predictably, Nymphadora’s excitement about being allowed out of the castle was trumped only by her delight at the festival’s display. Her hair turned orange and then pink, then back to brown as Andromeda squeezed her shoulder in a gentle warning. A constantly-changing appearance attracted too much attention for Drom’s comfort; she perceived any eyes on her daughter as nefarious no matter what the reason. The other Hogwarts professors, seeing Dora’s lack of restraint, had given Dromeda their blessing to sneak away from her post and let her daughter enjoy the festival for a little while. A four-year-old could not easily be held back, especially one of Nymphadora’s temperament, and Andromeda found herself clutching her daughter’s hand very tightly in an attempt not to lose her in the crowd.

Dora made a beeline for the brightly-colored ice cream stand, hair again turning colors to match the shades of ice cream her eyes were on. This time, Andromeda allowed it, reasoning that the painted faces of the children also crowded around would conceal her abilities well enough. “Which one do you want?” she asked, fishing in her robes for loose change stowed away for this reason.

[heaven-sent-hellion-blog]

Festival Grounds Feb 9th @persxnatus

Amycus could say he was impressed with the amount of effort that went into this all. He’d expected less, something not as well put together as this all looked. Even a Ferris wheel. He’d wanted to come only to look, just to see what all that time had gone into. Alecto had declined coming, once again. Not today, not today. She said that all the more often now. 

Fucking kill-joy. Alecto never wanted to do anything anymore it seemed. Sit around, mope about her room. She was in a sour mood for whatever reason and it made her all the more unbearable. It was hard to be nice to her when she was being a bitch. Amycus mildly considered bringing his dog instead; he knew the animal would get more excitement out of this than he was. The dog loved anything that moved and was an absolute sucker for any kind of attention. 

Concerned with his own thoughts Amycus idly wandered around, looking over the stalls of games and foods with a disinterested eye. It was all a bit colorful and loud for his own tastes. Even as a child he doubted he would have wanted to stay for long. Another short while of aimless walking and he was at a vendor selling cotton candy, and convinced himself to buy some. Cotton candy was a lunch food, wasn’t it?

As he thought about how his mother would scold him for eating something that was pure sugar he spotted Marlene looking entirely unenthused. He snorted to himself, now walking directly over to her. His head tilted slightly and he raised his eyebrows at the woman, “You look. Like you’re having, the time. Of your fucking life. Right?” he smiled a bit at his own joke. “They say it, takes less muscles to smile. To, smile than to frown. Whoever, they might be.”