#tphqstarter

[dearmckinnon]

first june 79

late. literally, fucking always. it would’ve been fine had the room not been so uncommonly quiet when she entered it. her heart was beating so frantically in her ears, marlene wondered if anybody could hear it. it was an interesting realization that she was surrounded by people she knew and had known for most of her life, people infamous for their boisterousness and here they sat, thin-lipped and anxious. the idea that they should get to know each other again felt ridiculous to marlene.

well, no. it didn’t. it felt terrifying.

but she would disguise that under irritation until it killed her.

she watched as albus waved his hand and the smell of the hogwarts feast, something she hadn’t experienced in three years, exploded around them. the growling in her stomach was immediate, the nausea a second later. the bile that rose in her throat set her esophagus on fire and in a similar fashion to how she slipped in, she slipped out. she didn’t go back through the dining room, though. instead, she went out the side door that, coincidentally (or not), she stood right beside. it slammed behind her and she cursed it, tumbling down the stone steps and into the grass.

the june air was thick and wet, doing nothing for the sweat that had broken out on the back of her neck. marlene’s head spun, heart raced. slender fingers curled and uncurled as she looked around her. the house was made of light-colored bricks, cracked all over with years of weather damage. she sat down on the bottom step and coughed between her bent knees, taking a shaky breath in through her nose as she reached out and ran a finger along the length of a particularly long crack next to her thigh. “i’m fine,” she murmured, raising her head to look out on the field before her, fingertip feeling out the broken stone beside her. she swallowed, feeling the anxiety and the compulsion, and the instant reaction her body had to these living ghosts of her past dissipate with the muggy breeze around her. air whooshed out of her lips as she said, “shit.”

[its-marymac-blog]

June 3rd, 1979

It had been a few days since the welcome party, of which Mary had not been in attendance. It had been for the best; she never did well in large social gatherings. A family emergency had kept her busy that evening and, even though Dumbledore had been understanding, she couldn’t help but feel like she had already lost a bit of the group’s trust. She saw how close everyone had grown during that night and already began to feel as though she was on the outside, looking in. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with.

If Mary was being honest with herself, she hadn’t been very excited about moving in with a bunch of people. Ever since leaving Hogwarts, she has treasured her independence. Living alone with her best friend had turned out to be the ideal living situation and she wasn’t prepared to let that go just yet. The move was necessary, though. If she was going to actively oppose the Death Eaters she would be at an even greater risk, especially considering she had already been targeted once.

Since she had such a difficult time making deep connections with others during her time at Hogwarts, Mary has decided to change her approach. No matter how nervous she gets around the others, she will not retreat into herself. After all, if she was to trust these people with her life, shouldn’t they be a part of it? So, she has decided to embrace this change as an opportunity.

In her first real effort in putting herself out there, she has decided that she will be spending none of her free time alone in her room. So, on this afternoon, Mary can be found in the living room enjoying the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. This was her favorite way to spend rainy afternoons. She had opened the window slightly so that sound of the drizzle filled the room and she had a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her.

Her ears perked up at the sound of footsteps entering the room. She looked up from where she was seated on the floor, her back resting against the couch. “Settled in?”

[witticisms-of-a-wolf-blog]

Dated: 8 July, 1979 Location: Elphias Doge’s home; Wicklow, Ireland

Remus had waited until the last possible moment to arrive at the meeting, head bent low as he moved with purpose towards the back of the room. Sirius followed at his heels, coming to a stop at his side as he leaned against a warm beige wall. If anyone had watched them enter, he wouldn’t have known. He refused to allow himself to meet the eyes of the other members that filled the small space, the soft sounds of conversation around him little more than a gentle hum. With a glance down, his eyes focused on the metal handle of the door to his right. It wouldn’t take longer than a second to reach it and escape to the quiet garden outside. 

With a practiced motion, he pulled the sleeves of his sweater down, eyes training over his wrists with a steady focus to mask any glimpse of a raised scar. Inside, his mind was repeating the words uttered by Album Dumbledore in the days leading up to the meeting, committing them to memory. The wizard had never given Remus any reason to doubt him before. He knew this, and yet the moment the older man started to speak, Remus’ stomach twisted and he fought against the urge to be sick for the third time today.

He bit down on his lip instead, eyes trained on the fabric of the carpet and to the dark scuff on his laced boots. Wordlessly, fingertips brushed against Remus’ hand by his side, gently slipping around his own until he could feel the warm, steady heat of another man’s palms pressed against his own. Sirius squeezed his hand tightly before slipping away just as quietly.

Silence had fallen over the room as Albus spoke, reading the headline of the Daily Prophet. Remus recognized the article, dark ink staining his fingertips as he read over the words dozens of time since its publication the day before. It had only served to solidify his stance that this wasn’t a fight that was going to be won easily.  It’s not the right time, he had wanted to whisper to the man who stood now with so much certainty. Please, not today. His breath came with more effort now. I’m not ready to lose them all just yet.

There was a long pause, and Remus could feel the wizard’s eyes on him. Looking up with an indecipherable expression, Remus met his glance with hardened eyes, his heart sinking in his chest. He wasn’t brave enough to say anything, instead giving a short nod of approval, the small movement enough to send his head spinning. He gripped the side of his arm and pulled himself close, trying to do anything to stop his hands from visibly shaking. In the moment, he could hardly breath. The walls had seemed to close around them, the crowded space suddenly suffocating.

There is a werewolf among us.

Remus didn’t allow himself to look away from Dumbledore as he spoke, his jaw hardening and a cool mask dropping over the pale features of his face. He couldn’t appear weak. He couldn’t let them see that side of him. He needed to prove to his headmaster that accepting him all those years ago hadn’t been without hope. He would be everything he had ever promised the man he could be. If standing here and allowing his condition to be turned into a lesson would assist in paying back even a fraction of what he owed the older wizard, Remus had to try.

A wave of numbness washed over the young man as the wizard finally spoke his name, and he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room quickly fall on him, heavy and burning. His eyes didn’t dare waver from Dumbledore’s, and he ignored the quiet buzz of whispers that had quickly broken the silence. He didn’t want to know where they came from, or who they belonged to. He didn’t want to see their faces, or hear their words of condemnation. Instead he waited with steely determination for the meeting to finish, counting the seconds to himself.

As soon as the group had disbanded, Remus turned his shoulders to the crowd. James and Sirius were at his side without a need for words, hands brushing at his arms as low conversation filled the space. He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Staying here at his friend’s side would only serve to isolate them if things didn’t end up turning out the way Dumbledore had planned. If he moved to speak to others, he would be pushing himself onto them without invitation, at the best forcing unwanted pleasantries that he hadn’t the patience for. If he reached for a drink, they would all be watching him, eyes analyzing each and every act and waiting for a moment when they would see the monster that they imagined he ought to be. He felt like an animal in a cage, skin crawling with the explicit sensation of being watched. 

The choice was surprisingly easy. He had known it from the start. Pushing open the door to his side, he stepped out into the quiet night, wondering briefly if he would ever stand inside the house again. If things hadn’t gone over the way that Dumbledore had wanted, he imagined he wouldn’t be receiving an invitation to the next meeting. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in, feeling surprisingly light as he stepped out into a small garden.

Under his feet, broken stones were covered in a rich moss, and the high-pitched humming of bugs sung from an old rock wall by the edge of a gathering of trees. He walked over to this place, leaning his chest against the old stones and breathing in the sweet Irish breeze. Remus shut his eyes, trying to steady himself and clear his head when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

He stiffened at the sound, jaw hardening and automatically starting to apologize before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry-” He offered, his expression difficult to read. “I'll go somewhere else.”

[witticisms-of-a-wolf-blog]

1 June, 1979

Remus glanced over the large dining table that had been set up in the room adjacent to their meeting, overflowing with a sampling of a feast not unlike those that he had enjoyed time and time again at Hogwarts. The smell attracted the group, a few sitting at the table or helping themselves to a plate as conversation carried through the rooms. He had gone out in search of a drink, intending on bringing one back for James and Sirius, and had found a large crystal bowl filled with a glistening liquid that smelled sweet and pleasant.

Beside him stood a familiar face; a man who Remus remembers running in the same circle as Sirius during their time at school. Remus had remained on the peripheral of these hangouts, often coerced at the last moment by his grinning friends. Edgar Bones' charming personality and wit had always been contageous, and his good looks hadn't seemed to have faded in the few years that had passed since then. This is he how he remembered the man, although here he seemed much older.

“Should I be worried about spiked punch?” He asked with a tilt of his head, bracing himself for the confident man’s response.