#rrwhiteknight

[tildenfeelsalright-blog]

In pursuit of knowledge || July 2nd, 1978 || Andromeda and Tilden

Running a tired hand through tired hair, the man looked up at the imposing building before him, classical in style, and sighed. Tilden hadn't been able to rest easy in his own home since the arrival of the second note. It still sent a shiver through him if he thought about it too much. 

Best not to linger. The grey cloudy sky of the dim Sunday morning was reason enough to chase Tilden indoors. Yet as the man pushed open large oak doors to reveal an empty, marbled entrance hall, he knew that he had little other choice. Sweeping across the hallway with purpose, it was certainly a surprise to Tilden to discover that the library opened at 9am, let alone on a Sunday. Yet the way his shoes echoed around the vast room with a dull slap was telling; he was one of the only people around because nobody in their right minds would go to the Magical Library of London on a Sunday. It simply was not done. ( Which was exactly what Tilden had wanted.)

And yet, there Tilden stood, in front of the desk of a young-looking wizard (barely older than Daisy, he'd bet) who looked utterly tired with life. Tilden could relate to that. Clearing his throat, the man looked up from his travel magazine, startled. "I'm looking for books on chess," Tilden said simply, causing the boy's blue eyes to linger on him for a long moment before nodding. 

"You're not the first one in, this week, you know. Looking fer stuff on chess." The boy drawled as a quill leapt to attention and starting noting down a section of the library that lay beyond the double doors behind the librarian's desk. "Is there a convention on or sommat?" Tilden's eyes narrowed for a moment before offering the man a disarming grin. 

"Something like that," he agreed. Best not to say too much on it, though it struck him to ask the man for details as to who, exactly, had also been there. Not that the brunet expected the librarian to know. (He didn't look like the type who would care to know.) Perhaps if Tilden had no better ideas later, he could as the man a question or two. 

"Just follow the parchment." The man said drily, looking back to his magazine. Tilden was being dismissed. Rolling his eyes and biting his tongue, Tilden complied, following the floating document in through the heavy doors. Beyond, lay hundreds of rows of shelves, each one overflowing with books. Above him, the cavern-like room disappeared into darkness. The scent of old books was heavy on the air, sharp, one of his favourites. 

His destination was somewhere in the heart of the maze of shelves; a small enclave wherein stood a few desks and squishy armchair. "Right." The man said quietly, reaching out to take the parchment in hand and turning to gaze at the selection of books. All he needed was a book about chess-piece symbolism of a secret and horrid wizarding cult. Curiously enough, that wasn't an option. Instead, the man tugged out a massive tome entitled The History of Wizarding Chess and moved to sit at one of the desks. 900 pages with no index... "Brilliant," he mumbled, resigning himself to the notion that he may be there for some time. 

[stopstalkingrisingrev]

The White Knight is biding his time. The silent watcher is always present, though, and always influencing events...

You've been paired! Please contact your para partner and message the main with any questions or changes.

Marlene & Caradoc: Benjy is working through the night, so Marlene and Caradoc are stuck in the house together, still nervous after the White Knight incident and both afraid to fall asleep.

Dorcas & Sirius: Scarlet and Alastor have retired to a back room to discuss things, leaving Dorcas and Sirius alone to get to know each other.

Amelia & Emma: Emma has run into a bit of a problem with one of her international visitors violating some Improper Use of Magic clauses. She's not sure what the legal proceeding would be here, though, so when she asks for help, Legal refers to her Amelia Bones--a former legal employee who's now an Improper Use of Magic investigator.

Bellatrix, Lucius, & Walden: After being informed of Walden's rather over-the-top behavior at the last raid, the Dark Lord has assigned Bellatrix and Lucius to teaching him more refined version of torture.

Tilden & Andromeda: Both recipients of White Knight messages with no idea who sent them, Tilden and Andromeda start researching Wizarding knighthoods and organizations. On one such visit to the library, they find themselves both seeking the same book.

Narcissa & Daisy: Having promised to take Daisy to meet the child-genius inventor of the Self-Stirring Cauldron, Narcissa arrives at the Shingleton home with the reporter in tow.

Hendrix & Gideon: When investigating a Splinching, Gideon is pretty sure he recognizes the victim as a high-profile killer who escaped the Ministry before sentencing. He calls for backup and Hendrix is sent to see what he can do.

Charity & Amycus: As night falls in Knockturn Alley, Amycus recognizes Charity as a stripper in the club he frequents and decides to see what kind of woman she really is.

Scarlet & James: As most recent graduates do, James visits an old haunt of his to grab a drink and talk to Madam Rosmerta about how his life is changing since graduation.

If you did not like this post and your name is not included (but you would like to be), message the main and we'll see if we can include you!

[thesturgispodmore]

Be careful what you wish for.

The hinges on Sturgis’ front door squeaked in their customary way, and in his customary way he reminded himself to put a greasing charm on them as soon as possible. He never actually did, but the routine had become familiar and comfortable the way routines do. It took him awhile to notice the chess piece where it sat on his coffee table. He went about his apartment, putting away the groceries he’d picked up on his way home in the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea, changing from his work robes into something more comfortable. It was only when he emerged from his bedroom, pulling a thick old sweater the rest of the way down his torso that the chess piece caught his eye.

It was brilliantly white and pristine, the contrast between it and the scratched brown table almost blinding. The nervous hollowness that had been pinching his stomach and his throat so often lately returned in full force. He wanted to tell himself he was being ridiculous, as he had so often in the past weeks, but for once the evidence seemed to point to the contrary.

He felt weak as he read the note. A thousand possibilities of what it had meant, who it could be from, how it had gotten there rushed through his head, each less likely than the next. He knew he ought to tell someone. As a member of the Order reporting unusual happenings was important. But there was no one he could imagine telling. His immediate thought was to tell Augustus, but something that went far beyond instinct screamed not to. Finally he resolved not to tell anyone. He shoved the chess piece and the note into a drawer in his desk and told himself to forget it. 

[tildenfeelsalright-blog]

[Beneath the knight, a worn page, looking as if it was torn from a book, advises: "to focus these moments of our life for a greater purpose than our own needs, our own wants or even our own preservation.”]

Hair still mussed from sleep, hazel eyes blearily watched the chess piece for signs of life. The breeze that crept through the cracks of his old cottage tickled his exposed ankles and sent a chill racing up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight in attention. 

This was… problematic. Forcing himself to move from his place in the doorway, Tilden shuffled about, making himself a cup of tea and pointedly ignoring the message that had been left for him on his worn, wooden breakfast table. 

Turning on the radio and taking a seat before the stark chess piece, he took a long and brooding sip of his tea. The water was still much too warm for consumption and that was entirely the point. This was most problematic. 

(“Well it looks like it’s going to be a wonderful day, Diana. What can we expect for this evening?”) He felt… what was it? Ah, yes, utterly furious.

He had options, of course. If it was from the Death Eaters, then it was probably Lucius or Rabastan that had done it. (Amycus, even, though he couldn’t be sure.) A message of good will, perhaps, in their eyes. ‘Time to be part of the club, again, Tilden’ it said. Time to stain your arm with ink and your wand with blood. His heart sunk. 

(“Yes, Fidel, perfect weather for getting outside for a game of quidditch or an afternoon of shopping. Hogsmeade is beautiful this time of year.”)

Alternatively, it could have been the Order. Tilden wrapped his dressing gown tighter around his thin chest. Thinking about it, yes, it was their style. White for purity. The knight for chivalry; the most noble fighter. The fool. Dulce et Decorum Est. Wilfred Owen. A favourite.

(“But you better watch out if you’re going outside because it looks like this sunshine’s not going to last! There are showers sweeping in from the south.”)

Gently, Tilden pulled his wand from the pocket of his robe, pointing it at the knight. With a quick jerk of his wrist, the chess piece flew across the room, smashing against his coat stand. The harsh sound jarred painfully with the sound of chirping birds and the golden light of morning. What an awful start to a day. Tilden drained his cup and got to his feet, face serene except for the tight line of his jaw. 

He wasn’t playing this game because it wasn’t a game to him. This was ‘us’ versus ‘them’ and Tilden was not going to be subjected to the crossfire. Tracing a finger along the words of the parchment, he found himself folding it up and slipping it into his pocket. He had a couple of owls to send. 

[desolate-lestrange]

Be careful what you wish for.

He really could have done without the sunlight.

It burned his eyelids and when he brought up his hand to block it out, he ended up smacking himself in the eyeball. 

"Merlin!" Rabastan sat up, letting his soft cotton sheet slide off his chest to pool into his lap as he rubbed at his assaulted eye with the heel of his palm. He made a soft disgruntled sound, almost like an offended suspicious feline, before shaking out his head and looking around blearily. At least he had no hangover that he could feel throbbing against his skull but he did need to use the restroom. With a drawn-out sigh, the death eater kicked away his blanket absently, grumbling about a waste of earthly resources, and then made another sound as his warm socked feet hit the floor. He never did well with a sudden cold shock in the morning, even if his current naked state seemed to say otherwise.

"Where is Rod?" He murmured to himself, shuffling forward towards the bathroom before noticing something on his desk. A white chess piece. The knight, more specifically, one of the more versatile pieces, able to move in an L-shape and useful really until the endgame. 'Why in the world would Rodolphus...'

It wasn't his brother's handwriting.

And it wasn't his sister-in-law's.

And his house elves would have informed him if he'd received a message from someone.

His bright eyes narrowed significantly and he felt himself tense up, wandless except in the most base of senses. He could feel no odd magic from it though, Dark or Light, nor were there odd scents or a hint of refracted air surrounding the paper. Rabastan could pick it up in peace. He didn't need to to read it though. With another sigh, this one more wary than tired, he leaned his palms on the desk, reading the unsigned note carefully. At first, the former Slytherin was alarmed. Who could possibly know what he wished for? What type of magic was this that it could be more than some idle threat? Was his future in danger?

It was after these thoughts that the young man settled, a humorous smile on his face. His future was already bleak to begin with besides ridding the world of mudbloods and muggles. What wishes could he possibly have that would do damage upon becoming true? What wishes or dreams did he have at all? Rabastan actually laughed aloud then, hitting his desk twice with an open palm before making his way to his original destination. He would let someone know about this if they mentioned it first but really, this would probably be more funny than anything else if this actually was a situation.

[blackswan-andromeda]

[Beneath the knight, a worn page, looking as if it was torn from a book, advises: "to focus these moments of our life for a greater purpose than our own needs, our own wants or even our own preservation.”]

When she came home, the house was quiet. She'd had to unlock the door. Nothing had been disturbed. And still, there was a chill that swept down her spine as she crossed the threshold. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't place what. "Ted?" She called, but her voice only reverberated off of the nearby walls. "Ted, love, are you home?" 

But she knew he wasn't. He would've called his hello before she'd even called his name. That was just the way he was. 

There was nothing missing, nothing upset, nothing at all the matter. The cat was even curled up asleep in Ted's favorite chair. But her fingers still curled instinctively around her wand as she moved down the hall and into the kitchen. 

She spotted it almost immediately, small though it was. It was sitting there plain as day in the middle of the kitchen table, by the Gerbera daises in the old copper watering can. A white knight chess piece. Peering at it carefully, she cast a spell to reveal any charms or enchantments that might have been on it - nothing at all was revealed. Deeming the thing safe to touch, she lifted it up and peered at it from every angle before slipping it into her pocket and picking up the page. 

to focus these moments of our life for a greater purpose than our own needs, our own wants, or even our own preservation

It was that last line which struck her, which sent chills once more down her spine. Whose idea of a sick joke was this? To gain entry to her home and leave messages like this...? With surprising force, her slender fingers crushed the page before she ignited it with her wand and watched the edges curl into nothing but a pile of ash. This too was cleaned with a simple flick of her wand. 

There was no point in telling Ted, she decided with a small nod. There was no use worrying him. She'd figure this out for herself, and when she did, there would be hell to pay. She would see to that.