— S A B O T A G E @tcnks - Tumblr Blog

THE ROOM IS ON FIRE AND SHE’S FIXING HER HAIR—

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“Sometimes he looked at her and thought, Gosh, I wonder what’s underneath all that anger, all that hard glossy armor? Maybe there’s just an innocent, wounded little girl in there who wants to come out and play and be loved and get happy. But now he wondered if maybe that little girl was long gone, or if she’d ever been there at all. What was under all that armor, all that anger? More anger, and more armor. Anger and armor, all the way down.” — The Magician’s Land, Lev Grossman.

RESIDES: A flat located above Dogweed & Death Cap, Diagon Alley. BORN: Porthmeor, Cornwall. RAISED: A cottage right on the waterfront, Porthmeor, Cornwall. PETS: None that are hers, specifically. She recently gave a dog to her parents in the hopes it might absorb some of their attention. CAREER: Former-Auror. Current Head of Security for Club Raven. EXPERIENCE: Auror’s Academy Graduate, 1994. Eight and a half years as an active duty Auror before suspension. EMPLOYER: Cavalier Avery. POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Light. BELIEFS: Alastor Moody was (and still is) the greatest auror of their time. That blame falls as much on the shoulders of those who fail to take action as those who commit the crime. That neutrality really isn’t an option when there is a choice to be made about human rights. MISDEMEANORS: She is an officer of the law. FELONIES: .. In the name of the law? (No.) DRUGS: She really does care about her career. SMOKES: Has never once made it through an entire cigarette. ALCOHOL: Yes. DIET: A steady diet of leftovers that her father’s filled her freezer with. LANGUAGES: Spanish, English. A creative combination of both. PHOBIAS: She is terrified of losing her abilities or the prospect of failure. HOBBIES: Finding trouble wherever she goes. Fixating on work. Annoying Moody. Terrorising her cousins. TRAITS: + Vibrant / - Tactless: Loud. Energetic. Brash. Annoying. There were many ways in which Tonks’ existence could be quantified, but subtle was not one of them. Over time Tonks has taken to wearing her loud reputation like her own coat of arms; her very best and worst attributes flaunted with a deliberateness that seems almost too knowing, too on the nose, to not be covering for something. Arrogance and recklessness, hot-headed impulsiveness and a particularly caustic brand of wit wielded with a blunt charm that she’s grown increasingly fond of throwing in the face of the people who would whisper behind her back about just where here loyalties lie these days. The flippancy with which she greets the world, like she’s in on the joke that the rest of the world hasn’t quite caught the punchline of, only seems to grate on those who wish she’d treat the importance of her position with a little more respect. Tonks lives her life at full volume, with little regard for the opinions or delicate feelings of others who would ask her to reign it in, just a little, for their own comfort. + Driven / - Reckless: Nobody could ever say that Tonks did not possess an iron will, when it came to the things she wanted in life. Underneath all that vibrant glossy armour she wears like a warning sign, Tonks’ honourable qualities lurk: she may not always enjoy the banal, everyday routine of being an Auror, just as she may not think much of the people in charge, but Tonks is dedicated and steadfast in her job and worked tirelessly to get there. She has proven, time and again, a willingness to make the hard choice and put the greater good over her own reputation or honour. It takes a certain kind of steel to say precisely what is on your mind, to act even when duty and honour and all those boring noble virtues they try to instil in young Aurors tell you not to. She has never lacked for that sort of courage: the kind that requires a certain amount of defiance and a whole lot of audacity (and the willingness to circumvent every rule of authority, when your real loyalties and values are tested). Tonks has been forging the steel in her spine since she was old enough to frustrate her parents with her own headstrong opinions on what she wanted from life and how that differed from their hopes for her, and if she did not flinch (often) beneath her father’s gentle disappointment than there was certainly no one in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who could make her cringe. And that was the truth of it: what people called boldness was only a matter of knowing what you wanted and being unafraid of what it would take to get it — and there was no length that Tonks was not willing to go to in order to do what’s right. + Insightful / - Nosy: If there was one thing that Alastor Moody taught her during those long years in the Academy, it was the value of deeds over words. The department may have been overrun, of late, with those too preoccupied by political ambitions to see the bigger picture and be willing to ruffle feathers, but Tonks has always been more insightful than she’s given credit for. Her knack for reading a room and the intentions of the people in it had been honed by her naturally suspicious mentor and years spent studying faces intently, all their little quirks and shapes, in order to recreate them in the mirror. For better or for worse, when put into a tight corner Tonks does not falter and she does not hesitate. Those who would call her impulsive would probably be correct, but she vastly prefers decisive and while her approach doesn’t always end well, she’s resourceful enough to almost always land on her feet running. The talents of a fighter, however, are not the talents required of a diplomat and lately her propensity for digging her nose into things that the higher ups have deemed off limits have landed her in hot water within the department. While Tonks has always considered her talent for thinking on her feet, acting decisively without wasting time on the buffering, to be her strongest asset, she fears that in order to return to the job she worked so hard to get, it will be inaction that is required of her this time around. Trading her autonomy for one man’s whims again is not something Tonks relishes the idea of, especially when there are dire consequences for turning a blind eye to what might be coming.

#&. DEVELOPMENT

draggingon:

“Fucking ‘course I am. Have you met her?” Like there was anyone on the fucking planet who wasn’t scared of Andromeda Tonks. “She’s got that look. You know the one. Not the fucking Mum Stare but the…well, the Mum Stare and the Healer Eyes and every time I see her I know the first fucking thing out of her mouth is gonna be I’m not taking care of myself– If she’s not getting after me about you. I’m not your bloody keeper.”

Turning on his side, Charlie squinted at the chair and the wix occupying it. “Yeah? You sure you’re comfy in there? Don’t need any help at all?” Pushing himself up on his elbows, Charlie grabbed one of the desserts his mother had made for Tonks. And was extremely disappointed. Cookies. Sweets. All sorts of egg and milk based products he wouldn’t and couldn’t eat. Tossing the wrapped baked nonsense in Tonks’ lap, he collapsed back in the bed.

“You eat lately? You’re getting your, you know, thing.” The thing in question was the attitude that seemed to take over whenever they got hungry. “Your mum said he went to see your abuelita, yeah? Haven’t left the country since yesterday so no? Haven’t seen him.”

“No,” they replied, entirely deadpan in the hopes Charlie would have to confront the reality of what he’d just said. They sank back against the decidedly less comfortable than they’d hoped it’d be back of the wheelchair, eyebrows arching at the complaints being levelled their way. “Maybe you should take care of yourself then,” they replied, reaching for the wheels of the chair and trying to leverage them into moving, even just a bit, with limited effort.

Something pulled uncomfortably in their abdomen and their hands withdrew, slinking back to the armrests. “I’m fine,” they replied with a sniff, mouth set in a grim line as a shower of desserts was dumped into their lap. With a grimace they reached for the neat little bundle of biscuits, picking apart the whimsical packaging with tired fingers. “There is no thing,” they added with a narrowing of their eyes, as if in warning, freeing a slightly crumbled biscuit from it’s trappings of ribbons and cellophane to take a bite and pointedly ignoring the way their mood seemed that much less grim with each bite devoured.

“Oh, so you believe it then,” they replied around a mouthful of biscuit, frowning as a hail of crumbs escaped their lips and pausing to chew and swallow for a moment and narrowing their eyes, again, on the glaring omission from their bedside table. Dusting the crumbs off of the hospital gown they continued, “I think mum’s hiding something. Dad wouldn’t just ..” Tonks trailed off, staring hard at the crumbly shortbread in their fingers as they considered how to impress upon Charlie how weird it was that there had been nothing. No letter, no card, no candy arrangements. Emergencies they could believe. It was the radio silence that was inherently suspicious. “It’s weird, okay.”

#&. CHARLIE #d. 8 May 2003

hcstiia:

“you sure about that?” she shook her head, judging them with abandon as they stood in the apothecary. “i mean, yes i can brew that for you but it won’t actually help, you can try primpernelle’s but she sells nothing but water in those pretty little bottles of hers, you want the real thing you come here. but like i said, the chances of it working for you are slim to none.” she sighed heavily, looking around for theo but they were likely hiding in the backroom again.

“let me offer you a special brew, of my own making. i can actually guarantee results with it, but it’ll cost quite a bit more than this junk.” she tossed the bottle aside and let it roll down the counter, coming to a stop against another display. “now, what do you want? cheap but useless or pricey but worth it’s weight in gold?” it didn’t seem like a hard choice to her.

“The cheaper the better,” they replied bluntly, the grim pall of exhaustion that they’d been carrying around with them later not entirely to blame for the lack of filter, “But I’m only looking for Wiggentree Bark, so I doubt I’m your target demographic.”

Tonks didn’t frequent Mulpepper’s, but their reputation somewhat preceded them around these parts. Their last visit had been amusing (for them, at least, Theodore Nott’s memory of Abel Spudmore might not be nearly so fond) but it had only served to set the Nott empire back on edge, like they knew Big Brother was still watching over them. Running errands for their mother seemed dull by comparison, but Tonks was still feeling a little dull herself, the endless stocks of dried whatevers failing to keep their attention. It wasn’t their business anymore what shady schemes the Nott family had dipped their fingers into this time or who they’d put on their counter but it didn’t make them, and their choices, less interesting.

"So what’d Primpernelle do to you anyway? Trap you in a Tesco and try and buy you new towels?”

#&. HESTIA #HC01

ofpercival:

“Oh, so now you’re mocking me? Very nice, real mature.” Maybe he wasn’t being the most mature back at them, sniping like he was, but he hadn’t had his coffee and was dragged to the middle of nowhere before he could even start his day. Percy believed a little attitude was acceptable, given the circumstances. “All my meetings are back in my office. Whatever this is is hardly more important than my livelihood.”

Despite his complaining, Percy knew when he was defeated. Tonks was walking up the mountain one jovial step at a time, far too energetic for how early it was in the morning, and he knew he had no choice but to follow. He was more careful with the steps he took as he followed them up, foot slipping on a few loose rocks but managing to catch himself before he did something embarrassing like roll down the mountain.

“I’m coming, calm yourself,” Percy huffed, making his way to Tonks’ side and looking up ahead. He didn’t see anything of interest, but Tonks seemed to know the way. “There, I’m following. Can you tell me who we’re meeting, now?”

“I wasn’t aware that maturity was what we were aiming for,” Tonks replied distractedly, squinting against the mist swirling around the higher ground of the mountain in search of — there. The blocky shapes of rustic buildings that were little better than huts all clustered together. “You’d be surprised at what’s more important than your livelihood.”

They set off with renewed vigour in the direction of the distant huts, humming beneath their breath the whole way with a sense of purpose that had been lacking of recent months. The sound of Percy huffing and puffing his way along behind them, saved them from the necessity of having to look back to see if he was following. At least he had the sense not to try and run away.

Pursuit had always been one of Tonks’s favourite parts of the job. Which, now that they thought about it.

Slowing to a halt to allow Percy’s wheezing self to catch up they swooped in, linking arms companionably (as if it weren’t just an exercise in ensuring he couldn’t try to run) and continued aloud, “Davies,” they informed him cheerfully, “We’re here to see Gawain Davies on pressing business. He likes barrel-aged firewhiskey, knitting, 80′s hair-rock and talking to people about his greatest passions in life, all of which we’re about to indulge him in because he’s a very important person with a very important signature. Does that help?”

Cheerfully they continued the ascent at a far greater pace than Percy necessarily seemed equipped to handle it, their eyes drifting to the iron archway that stretched up over the gate and the words engraved there, ‘Tân y Ddraig Gwyrdd’. A distant, echoing roar suddenly pierced the air, echoing off the mountains and sending the stones rattling beneath their feet.

Tonks beamed.

“Lets go in shall we?”

#&. PERCY #PW01 #d. 1 March 2003

bellalestrvnge:

Blowing out a circle of smoke which Bella childishly aimed towards her niece, her eyes narrowed at the child. The eyes were unmistakable, and only Tonks would have the foolishness to remain lying there with a bleeding hand while Bellatrix stared at her. She had a certain air about her that usually scared children off, back to hide within their mother’s skirts - and that was how she liked it. But Tonks had never shied away - and that made them all the more interesting.

They had caught glimpses of one another multiple times across the years now, and yet still these opportunities arose. Bella was certain that every time Nymphadora caught a glimpse of her, particularly those first few where she had heard the child exclaim about how similar she looked to Andromeda, the Tonks’ family surely locked down for weeks after these meetings. Ted Tonks was nothing more than a coward, and Andromeda knew how to survive. Black blood still ran through her veins, even if she might have muddied it.

Bellatrix glared at Tonks as they dusted themselves off, opening her mouth as if to address her and utter her first word after all these times to her niece but the quiet of the graveyard was shattered by Moody’s yelling. “Fucks sake,” Bellatrix cursed, not a care in the world that there was a child before her - a child which swiftly disappeared. A smirk painted itself across her lips as she took another lazy drag of her cigarette while Alastor Moody told her she had “no right to interrupt a funeral”, as if Bellatrix had forced her way into the church.

Pushing down an anger that Bellatrix had bubbling at this fool’s berating, she chose to remain blasé knowing that it would surely infuriate him further. “Can I not pay my respects to an old schoolmate? A friendly rival? A man I knew intimately, and I’m sure far better than you,” Bellatrix shrugged, flicking her cigarette butt towards Moody who grumbled his discomfort once more - although Bellatrix had now lost interest in him.

Casting a long glance towards the Tonks’ family across the way, now reunited, Bellatrix shot Andromeda a shit-eating grin before apparating away.

Outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, Diagon Alley, August, 1985.

Tonks was bored.

Back to Hogwarts shopping was the first time they’d made it out of Cornwall that summer beyond the usual trips to the Burrow. The freedom that a year away at Hogwarts had given them the taste of having made the tedium of their safe, sheltered little family home that much more unbearable. Tonks wanted nothing more than to go exploring, to poke at the weirder potions ingredients at the apothecaries and make friends with the creatures at the menagerie and stop feeling like they were still under house arrest when the war had ended years ago.

Instead they waited on the cobblestones outside of the shade of Fortescue’s awning, their school supplies piled around them while their dad waited in the line inside and the hustle and bustle of back to school shopping swarmed on around them. Diagon Alley was full of students and end of summer excitement and they’d seen half their dormmates over the course of the morning, had fallen into deep discussion with Penny for almost half an hour in Flourish and Blotts while their dad pretended to be engrossed in a book on toadstools, but none of her classmates were currently in sight, except for—

“OI!” Tonks raised an arm to wave, in case the furious shade of magenta adorning their head wasn’t enough of a neon sign at the sight of a gaggle of redheads straggling down the street, cursing when one of their bags tipped over in the process, quills and ink bottles spilling out of the paper and onto the cobblestones. “You lot!”

The boogle of Weasley’s turned around in varying directions, gawking over at them, but they weren’t the only pair of eyes that Tonks found they’d attracted as they stooped to gather up their things and found one of the quills promptly crushed beneath someone’s boot. Their eyes darted upward, fixed for a moment with confusion upon the familiar face that seemed — worse, somehow. There was desperation around the strikingly cold eyes, so unlike their mother’s that Tonks wondered how they had ever mistaken the woman before them.

“D’you mind?” they prompted, well aware that Bellatrix Lestrange was precisely the reason they’d spent most of their summer sequestered in the middle of nowhere. Anytime they were finally allowed out it seemed like Bellatrix was there to remind their parents of precisely why they shouldn’t be. The war was over — what could their aunt possibly do anyway?

#&. BELLATRIX #d. 1978 - 2003 #t. one way or another #shall we say this is just before they attack the potters?#i think so.

draggingon:

STEP 1 Preheat the oven to 180C/160C fan/gas 4 and grease and line 4 x 20cm cake tins. If you don’t have 4, halve the sponge recipe and bake in 2 batches.

“A bloody chimpanzee.” He didn’t know shite about chimpanzees or apes or any kind of monkey. Never even seen one before in person. Charlie was rushing forward, snaking his hand through the bars with little awareness of any danger or threat. “Hey there, big man. What got you stuck up in here? Can’t be too good for you, can it?” Turning around at Dora’s comments, a wild grin of her knowing what was coming next, Charlie shook his head. “Not yours. Gotta bring the cats back to yours. But Ron’s? Or the twins after that shite is all over? I’d need a few days…if I write to Lizard, she might know where we can send this guy. Gotta be lonely all on his own. Need a forest for him? Or, uh, a jungle? Where the fuck–” He spun again, fingers now grasped by a tiny almost human like hand. “Where you from, buddy? We’ll get you back there.”

With no idea where to start or what the first steps to rehabilitation of all these creatures should be, Charlie was muttering an alohamora and the cage was swinging open. The monkey chimpanzee climbing out and attaching itself to his leg as he laughed in delight at their fucking odd night. “Look! He already bloody loves me!”

STEP 2

Put the sugar, butter and vanilla paste in a large bowl and beat with an electric whisk (or in a table top mixer) until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs gradually, beating between each addition until fully incorporated. Add a tbsp or 2 of flour if the mixture looks like it’s curdling.

Tonks turned slowly upon their heel to take in the multitude of cages containing every magical (and decidedly non-magical) species under the sun and came to the conclusion that tonight, apparently, was going to be a busy night. Fuck Granger and her bullshit attitude towards the protection of Magical Creatures that she spouted from behind her desk — tonight, it seemed, that with a whole lot of mixed liquors to fuel them they were going to save some actual creatures.

And not solely out of spite — at least on Charlie’s part.

It really was a good thing their parents seemed to have settled upon giving them space lately — Tonks wasn’t sure how they’d be able to explain any of this to them. “Of course he does,” Tonks replied, glancing back to find that the chimpanzee had attached himself to Charlie’s leg in the same way that every creature always seemed to do. It was like they instinctually knew that Charlie Weasley was to be trusted, that he would fight for them in the same way he did for everyone else he took it upon himself to care about.

STEP 3

Sift in the flour and baking powder with a tsp of salt and fold into the cake batter. Pour in the milk and beat to loosen the mixture. Scatter over the sprinkles and ripple through the cake batter before dividing between each cake tin. Bake for 25-30 mins until golden and the sponge springs back when you press it lightly. Swap the tins around in the oven after 15 mins to ensure they cook evenly. Cool on wire racks completely before icing.

Tonks wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with.

They knew, that on some level, being an Auror had fundamentally changed the way that they saw the world. That they’d subscribed to Moody’s worldview increasingly over the years if only because it made it easier to cope with the day to day realities their job demanded of them. Having Charlie around for any amount of time was a reminder of how drastically the person they had been had changed to accommodate the person they were, and they supposed that shuttling cages of cats and owls and streelers and every other thing to their flat in order to be dispersed out to secondary locations was a fair indication of just how drastic that change had been.

Still, as they hauled another three cages of owls up the steps under the cover of a disillusionment charm or seven, the earlier buzz of anger replaced by the same unflinching determination that had dragged them through every step of the Auror Academy, the sounds of Charlie and the muffled yeowling of cats and monkey chatter already filling the flat above and their heart pumped with the same adrenaline boost they got from leaping wandfirst into a duel, they wondered if maybe they hadn’t changed quite as much as they liked to think they had.

STEP 4

Meanwhile, make the icing by beating the butter with half of the icing sugar until combined and fluffy. Add the cream cheese and the rest of the icing sugar, beating again until fully combined. Drizzle over the vanilla paste and beat until incorporated. Put a large round nozzle into a piping bag and spoon in the icing. When the cakes have cooled put a blob of icing onto a cake board and sit 1 of the sponges on top. Pipe blobs of vanilla icing in a circle covering the whole base of the sponge, then top with the next sponge. Repeat with all 3 layers, scattering over some extra sprinkles on the top. Serve in slices.

There were a dozen little scratches decorating their legs and the cage-full of kittens still seemed determined to chew their fingers to pieces as they slathered dittany onto their arms, pulling their attention away from the fireplace that Charlie currently had his head stuck into, his voice raised in the excitable tone he only got when something brilliant (and creature-related) had just taken place. But amidst a cacophany of hooting and purring and monkey chatter that had risen over the one-sided floo-conversation they definitely weren’t listening into and the sight of cats on their bench, licking clean the mixing bowls from their disaster of a cake and the chimpanzee currently tugging at the back of Charlie’s shirt insistently, they realised they hadn’t felt more like themself in weeks — months — years maybe.

If only a life of creature-based crime was a viable career option, maybe then they could tell Scrimegour to stick his stupid job anyway.

With a drunken yawn they slumped back into the couch cushions, doing their best to ignore the kitten gnawing on their hair and let their eyes drift closed.

Perhaps April wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#&. CHARLIE #d. 1 April 2003 #t. a recipe for disaster #started making it. had a breakdown. bon appetit

blvnk-art

wotcher

#&.#ty for an excellent tonks take.

draggingon:

19th of January, 2003

“Right!? That’s what I’ve been saying!” More accurately he had been sticking his head in the office of the reserve’s founder’s son office multiple times a day to show him just how fucking strong Gaspacho was getting. The strong chick that had nipped his finger again. “Ow. Little Bastard.” Looking up at Tonks, Charlie’s grin couldn’t be tampered down by the pain the little lizard inflicted. “Teething. I’m a fucking nurse maid now ‘cause no one else will take him on.” With an eye roll, Charlie sat more firmly back on the ground and held the bottle up to the dragon determined to act up. “We’re here for rehabilitation, Charles. Not permanent habitation. He’ll never be able to hunt on his own. Like it fucking matters. How many fucking acres and they can’t put him up? Just stick him close by, not out in the fucking mountains with the rest of them. It’s shite. Got me stuck in the nursery for the next month.”

28th of February, 2003

Dora was made of sharp edges and pointy appendages and pure fucking spite. Charlie couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing that mattered at the current moment had just been burned up in the fire. He couldn’t ignore the steady poke to his spine, twitching at the touch and reaching a hand back to slap at them, but they weren’t wrong. Both of them might have been stubborn but Tonks had made a fucking career out of it.

“You fucking read it so what’s the fucking point?” was hissed into the carpet as Charlie finally landed a slap against their thigh. He didn’t have to share everything. England didn’t mean everyone go to look into every nook and cranny of his life and sift through all the parts of Charlie that clearly showed how much of a fuckup he really was. Despite his hopeless of ever getting back to Romania, Charlie wasn’t going to start diving into his feelings just because there was a fucking monster sitting on him. “Fucking restraining order.”

19th of January, 2003

For all the gushing disguised as complaining about his time in the nursery, Tonks was fairly sure they’d never seen Charlie quite so happy as he’d been over the last few weeks with his collection of little monsters depending on him. Charlie had always needed to be needed, and Gaspacho needed more than most of the creatures Charlie had sworn into his protection. “Uh huh,” they replied, wriggling just a little to a more comfortable position where their nose wasn’t full of ash. “He seems to have plenty of fire in his belly to me. Maybe next time I come visit I’ll get Moody to come along and they can tell him how a missing limb will slow you down.”

There were very few things in the world that Moody couldn’t accomplish in Tonks’s eyes and convincing Charlie’s boss’s that Gaspacho would be worth the investment was certainly not one of them. “Maybe they just need to spend some time with the little guy. Let them see what you see.”

28th of February, 2003

“The point,” they replied, frowning as he thrashed about and finally landed a hit on their thigh (rude), “Is that you never shut up about anything but you weren’t going to tell me about this?” They dug a finger into his spine, “What gives Weasley? You were going to let me mope around this whole time feeling sorry for myself and just not tell me what’s going on?”

Of course he was, because he was Charlie and digging his nose into other people’s business was just fine until they tried to do the same to him. They’d always been painfully alike in some respects. “Talk to me about it, you git. What did you do to get their knickers in a bunch anyway?”

#&. CHARLIE #t. in the ashes #d. 19 January 2003 #d. 28 February 2003

ravenousappetite:

draggingon:

Charlie’s head cocked to the side, disbelief wide in his eyes as he choked back a laugh. Because you could never escape the poor Weasel stereotype in this bloody country. Like Charlie had ever gone a night hungry and unfed or hadn’t had clothes for his back or shoes on his feet. There was a big fucking difference between blood money opulence and needing a scholarship to study at your dream reserve but there was also a big fucking difference between his parents being stretched just a little too thin and them not having enough money to survive. Merlin, this prick had never met a fucking wixen in real poverty in his whole life. “I paid the fucking cover. Nipped out for a smoke but guess I’d have to tell you that. Never were good at fucking reading the room, Avery. Always a bit too fucking slow if I’m remembering right.” He cocked his brow, anger giving away to childish pride that came from always besting the wanker across from him on the pitch. “You ever end up catching the snitch? ‘Cause this insolent little fool fucking did.” And Charlie kept walking, easily brushing past Avery and ignoring the small part of him that wanted to stay and taunt and fight because fuck his mission, talking some sense into his broken person was more important. Except, things weren’t going the way Charlie wanted them to lately.

His hands scrambled to get Avery’s hand off of his shirt, turning in surprise and receiving a knock into his jaw that snapped his head back before he could even get a fucking word out. His hands gripped the slick fabric of Avery’s shirt, tugging the taller man to his level. He grinned, mouth open to spat out another insult but paused. Fuck talking. It was never one of Charlie’s strengths anyway. Instead, he reared his head back and smacked his own forehead straight into Avery’s.

“ Reading what room exactly? We’re outside, you painfully observant genius, ” The words came out uncontrollably, laced with taunts. While it was true the brooding wizard was not necessarily the best at picking up social cues, he was vividly aware of his strengths and clung to them like a man verging on the edge of losing everything ( it was ironic, all things considered—especially with much of the night still left to unfold ). Perhaps Cavalier’s greatest asset was his ability to annihilate with utter annoyance. There was no doubt those closest to him would agree. Cavalier’s inclination was to roll his eyes and counter what Charlie said, but it seemed futile. It wasn’t as if he designed an exquisite outdoor space located on the roof for those looking to catch a smoke, amongst other feasible activities ( and yet Charlie claimed he was the one with no brains? ). Instead, he chose to narrow his lackluster eyes on the alleged intruder.

There was something particularly infuriating about the way Charlie Weasley spoke to him, but especially on a night as dear to Cavalier Avery’s heart as this one. Why was Charlie even here anyways? Besides being a nuisance, that is. He was quite literally the last person the wizard ever hoped to see attend his ever-grand Beltane celebration. His late father in the flesh or the Dark Lord himself were both much more desirable guests, and Cavi could only assume neither would be completely delighted by the mixing pot brought forth in this establishment tonight branded by the sacred Avery family surname. Charlie’s presence only felt like a recurring bout of bad luck—a karmic punishment haunting the Avery family in the flesh. “ Catch the snitch? You mean back at Hogwarts? What—are you stuck trying to relive the best days of your life? ” Cavi laughed scornfully.

Seizing through teeth in a poorly abashed attempt to eclipse the glint of pain with a spark of fury, Cavalier staggered forward slightly—the other wizard tugging on his shirt haughtily. Cavi inwardly cringed, the imminent fear of this blood traitor gathering unsought wrinkles in his silk shirt voiding his mind of anything else. His hand continued to burn from that initial punch, the fossil of Charlie’s face imprinted on the back of his exceptionally well-moisturized knuckles. It wasn’t often he found himself in a fight of the physical nature ( one free of the use of any wands ), but Charlie was not just anyone. He was a sworn enemy and lifelong rival, one Cavi harbored such indescribable feelings for. The all-consuming feelings of hatred seemed to be mutual, sparking an uncontrolled siege of emotions that surged from his stomach before manifesting physically.

Cavalier tried to break free from Charlie’s clutches, but gravity proved to be against him. Time was irately slow, and the proximity between himself and his adversary suffocatingly close. Then came a violent crack! followed by a convulsion of pain stampeding to his brain. He stumbled sideways, briefly overcome with shock. He didn’t think the other wix had it in him ( and what exactly was his head made out of anyways—hard steel? ), but apparently he was wrong. Catching Charlie’s shoulders in each arm, he violently proceeded to shake him like a rag-doll. Then, using the full weight of his body, thrust his foe’s back into the adjacent wall—Cavi hungrily towering over him like a vulture circling its prey.

It seemed the nonsense of this night was never ending.

As the night drew on and drinks continued to flow, the high spirits of Beltane had turned decidedly fiery and the number of fights they’d been forced to break up had escalated quickly into double digits. With their own disagreement with Charlie shoved forcefully to the back of their head and put on pause, they’d thrown themself into crowd control and remained deep in the trenches of it until being summoned by a panicked member of the bar staff who’d only wanted to take a smoke break and stumbled upon another brawl in the back alley.

Tonks slipped through the crowds on the heels of the bartender, thanking Heathcliff as he hovered near the exit and stomping out into the night air to hear the spitting and snarling of two figures silhouetted against the street-light, pressed up against one of the walls and looking for all the world like they were not-fighting at all. They skidded out into the alleyway and reacted, a silent mobilicorpus and swift flick of their wand simultaneously hooking each scrabbling body by the scruff of their neck and hoisting them up into the air and forcefully apart, like their own angry little puppet show left to kick and swing from afar.

For a moment Tonks simply gawked between them as recognition set in, their irritation at Charlie for causing them grief once again at war with the incongruent presence of their odd, smug boss and the positively feral expressions on both of their faces all colliding together in a suspicious little mess. Tonks was not a natural peacekeeper.

“What’s all this then?”

@draggingon

#&. CHARLIE #&. CAVALIER #d. 1 May 2003 #abevent.02

WHO @georgeweasel WHEN 7 June 2003 WHERE The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley.

Tonks was in no shape to be leaving the protective little bubble that was their childhood home with it’s arsenal of potions and tinctures for more than a light outing, really, certainly not at the beckoning of a frankly, odd, little note that rode a fine line between business proposal and ransom note. But they had come to the conclusion, while staring at the ceiling of their parents living room, that boredom was a far greater evil than — well, whatever this alternative was. Their hair had settled into a muted shade of plum today, like it was as tired as they were, but Tonks had been resolutely paying it no attention. Their mother had been doing enough of that for both of them lately.

Tom had offered a broad toothless smile and a butterbeer on the house when they’d trudged inside (and they must still look a bit grey if that was what was on offer) and Tonks had tucked up into a corner booth, wand nestled into their sleeve and eyes fixed curiously upon the room in search of whoever might have produced that strange missive. They had to be desperate — the only person in town still keen to give them a job was, according to Charlie at least, one of the same people they would have been trying to get thrown into Azkaban only months earlier.

Still, the note had asked for help, in a roundabout sort of way and it had been a while since they’d been of any help to anyone. It might be nice to do something other than wonder what it was about their father’s mysterious trip back to Chile that their mother was keeping from them for a change. Fingers busily drawing patterns through the condensation rings left behind on the table, their eyes narrowed at a glimpse of ginger in the crowd, suspicions beginning to rise. Perhaps this was a stitch up after all — something Charlie had concocted to convince them they didn’t need to go back to Club Raven, if Avery would even have them back. Another sip of their butterbeer settled on their tongue as they tracked the head of ginger through the crowd. It wasn’t uncommon to see either of the twins anywhere in Diagon — there was no need to assume anything.

Not yet, anyway.

#&. GEORGE #GW01 #d. 7 June 2003 #what's a dialogue #just try and hurt me email i'm ready for you

draggingon:

“From the enemy.” Charlie grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes as they crossed into the cool night air more fitting for sad excuse of a clubbing outfit he had try to hobble together for the night. “I like this one.” As if subtly and kindness that didn’t involve popping up at them in surprise would have worked.

He planned on leaning against the wall, relaxing now that his limbs were out of the grip of Tonk but Charlie rolled his shoulder, foot still aching and energy thrumming under the surface at the wave of wrong surrounded the two of them. Somewhere, in the back of a brain rattled with smoke inhalation and too many close calls with bludgers and quaffles and the fucking ground, Charlie realized that getting Tonks alone to talk wouldn’t be happening. Stomping back in their face, pained foot not withstanding, and leaning down, Charlie tried his best at using his indoor voice. “You’re being a fucking bitch and I’m over it. What kind of fucking move is this? Huh? Like, I know things are shit right now, Dora, but come on. You’re better than this. You’re better than Avery. And, like, if you’re fucking here, why the fuck I am here too? You’re the perfect fucking person for undercover and I’m the one getting bloody stuck doing it because you can’t show your bloody face for book club? Just talk to me. What the fuck can I do to get you back?”

“I’ve been blacklisted,” they hissed back, any thoughts of hearing him out or staying calm withdrawing back behind the armored defences as the hurt of that ambush of a meeting at the Department rose back to the surface with just a little prodding. “Who the fuck else is going to hire me, huh? I’m not good at anything else.”

Who else in this stupid fucking country had enough money and none of the sense to not go hiring washed-up former Aurors? And of course Charlie never fucking learned, because he took the minute space they’d allowed each other and swallowed it up to get right back in their face again. “And why should I have to explain myself to you or to — to book club. What did they do for me when I needed them? Nothing. I lost my fucking job because of—”

And that wasn’t fair, to swallow Moody’s name like that, because he was half the reason they’d even become an auror. The reason they’d thrived as an auror. If anyone had to be the reason they lost it all then .. It didn’t matter anyway. The armour clanged shut and they retreated behind it, something cold and impenetrable and safe to hide behind where the world and its many disappointments, Charlie Weasley included, could be kept firmly on the outside.

“I’m working, Charlie. Go the fuck home.”

They stepped away, stalking swiftly back towards the entrance and snapping to the nosy pair of bouncers who’d been busily gawking at them the entire time, “He doesn’t get back in, got it?”

Twin nods followed with a, “Got it, chief” called after them as Tonks ducked resolutely back through the doors and back into the crowds. They still had a job to do, after all, even if it wasn’t the one they wanted.

#&. CHARLIE #d. 1 May 2003 #abevent.02 #t. blessed fucking beltane #does that count as an ending

tedtks:

“What do you mean?” The flair up of anger should be expect by now. Dora hadn’t changed that much, not really. Perhaps it was hereditary, the Tonks never having much of a tolerance for holding on to sadness when better emotions could be had or the Blacks penchant for anger. Ted had hope, and he though he had, done a good job of teaching that emotions (even the less than fun ones) weren’t a sign of weakness. He’d shoulder through and help Dora work this out.

“The Ministry is the Ministry, Dora. They’ve never changed. And if they’re still up to their old tricks, what is you being there going to change? If they want you out and you want to be there, we’ll find a way to get you back in. I’ll talk to Arthur. See if he can work with Kingsley but you’re not…It’s bigger than just you. Always has been and you can’t expect to fight it all by yourself. You shouldn’t even be fighting it. I don’t need to tell you what happens to be people that do.” Ted caught himself, pulling back both physical and shutting up at once. Fingers drumming uselessly on his knee for a moment before his grip on his wand renewed and he was standing up and assessing the untidy kitchen with the eye of a man who had spent a lifetime getting training on how to keep a clean house and hadn’t managed to learn a lick of tidiness. “Let’s fix Harvey.” He shot a half-thought out cleaning spell towards the sink, the plates and bowls and dishes banging into each other with little care to delicacy as he turned to his daughter with a plastered on grin of positivity. “You can do it. Just a nice bit of sunshine for him.”

I don’t need to tell you what happens to people that do.

Tonks hadn’t been so young during the first war to forget the arguments they had wandered into the midsts of, far too often, in those final months between their father and Uncle Fabian before he died. They hadn’t understood back then, why they were always arguing, because Charlie was her best friend and they didn’t argue nearly as much as her dad and Uncle Fabian did, but the time had come now where those same arguments began to bubble up from beneath their dad’s resilient positivity once again.

Ted Tonks had never had much of a taste for conflict.

“But I can,” they replied, rattled by how swiftly he began to pack that conversation for another day, in the same way that he always did when it came to the dubious topic of war. Their father was a peacemaker at heart, forever trying to see the world from everyone else’s perspective. War had stolen so much from him that he clung just a little too tightly to what remained. “I can fight — I should fight — that’s my job, to keep people safe. Doesn’t that mean I should?”

He had already put that conversation away, however, tucking it firmly into the packed away boxes of things they didn’t talk about and focusing instead on a dish-rattling spell and a broad, forced smile and the insistence that they fix the plant snaking through their floorboards. Except this time around, fix meant kill. Much like everything else in their life right now, Harvey was not what he seemed. They sighed, rolling back to their feet in an ungainly tangle of limbs and watching a tendril of a vine sneak cheekily towards their toes.

Sunlight burst from the tip of their wand without a word and the effect was immediate — Harvey shrivelling backwards with a horrific sound as it tried to escape, vines withering under exposure before they could withdraw through the cracks in the floorboards. Tonks sighed, scrubbing at their unsettlingly wet eyes and glancing away. It was stupid to be upset about a dumb plant anyway. “You don’t have to do that dad,” they offered after a steadying moment, breathing in deeply before announcing, “I think I’m just going to go to bed anyway.”

At 6.30pm, according to the clock, but maybe that’s just what getting old did anyway. They didn’t want change, they didn’t want to be fixed — they wanted a do-over. To turn the clock back to February and start over again from when everything in their life had begun to nosedive.

“I’ll come over for breakfast tomorrow,” they offered finally, a peace-offering.

At least there was one person in their life they could always rely on to be around.

#&. TED #t. happy birthday #d. 6 April 2003 #i tried !! so hard !! to round this off !!

draggingon:

Hands landed with food from the Burrow, Charlie snorted and put the gifts down on their bedside table. He grabbed the wheelchair, yanking it a bit harshly backwards before pushing them to the door and circling past it, turning back into the room and towards the bed. “I’m not getting on your Mum’s bad side.” Again. He was already having it tough with Andromeda. He was going to add adding and abetting to it. Maybe if it was his own Mum or, like, Ted he’d feel better about it, less likely to get caught, but Dora’s mother was scary. Real scary. Scary enough to strike fear into Charlie’s heart they way a Ridgeback never could.

“ Sides, I only push my friends around, yeah? Now, you want help up or are you still going to try to make your grand fucking escape?” He sat himself on their bed, leaning back into the pillows and getting comfy. If they weren’t going to use it he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. His neck ached something fierce after nights on nights spent sleeping in that old arsed visitor’s chair and he could do with a real nap in a real fucking bed.

There was a moment, a shining golden moment, where Tonks thought that just maybe Charlie was going to go for it — they were heading right for the door and the sweet taste of freedom before he made a cruel loop back towards the bed. “What — are you scared of my mum?” they goaded, knowing full well that the answer was always a resounding yes. Unfortunately, as they had come to understand over the years, everyone was scared of their mum. Tonks scowled as the wheelchair was parked up neatly beside their bed, the effort it had taken to acquire said wheelchair and the energy to get into it conspiring together with Charlie and his stupid insistence on apologies that they had very little desire to give.

Twat.

“The chairs more comfortable anyway,” they lied, tapping their fingers against the armrests and staring hard at their knees as the growing familiar wooziness swum for a moment behind their vision. They looked up, staring hard at the bedside table and it’s little collection of oddities from hospital staff for whom they’d become a frequent flyer and visitors. It was what was missing that bothered them the most. Not even a card charmed to sing some strangely apt Muggle song. They paused, chewing at their lower lip before asking, as casually as they could, “Have you seen my dad?”

#&. CHARLIE #d. 8 May 2003

bweezley:

cobblestones & ice cream cones | open

The evening drew near, and the streets of Diagon Alley had nearly emptied – all the mummies and daddies wanted to be home in time for supper, shopping could wait. Gringotts had been busy, but, like clockwork, as the sun went away, so did their clientele. The cobblestoned streets beckoned, as did the lure to be home with his girls, but it was a feeling rather than any actual reasoning, that he should wait, just a moment longer, before heading home. A familiar face fell into his line of vision in almost an instant, and a smile brightened his features. Bill raised his hand in greeting, lengthening his stride to catch up to them.

Though he’d always deny any and all similarities between himself and his mother, there was no question that Bill was a bit of a mother hen. Of course, he wasn’t as much a worrier or as much a busybody as Molly, but he’d inherited her need for an open-door policy. If someone needed a place to stay or a hot meal or a quick conversation, there wasn’t a way Bill could possibly say no. He looked a bit frightening, especially with his newly-accessorized face, but smiles came easily to Bill and a greeting always seemed to be exchanged.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bill said lightly, “Everything goin’ alright at the moment?” He glanced around him – would have offered a drink or a cup of coffee, even, but only Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour beckoned. “Can I buy you, erm, a cone?”

Having finally, finally managed to slip their mother’s watchful eyes with the advent of Madame Primpernelles sales section and with half a mind of seeing how fast they could leg it towards the grim intersection of Diagon and Knockturn and their own tragically unoccupied flat to attempt to barricade themself in, Tonks had not anticipated another roadblock.

Curse the Weasleys and their gangly legs.

“Not the time, Bill,” they hissed, dipping the brim of the stupid hat they’d conjured a little lower like if it hadn’t fooled him it might still fool her uncommonly scary mother. What little energy they’d been slowly amassing lately was quickly flagging and their hair was already bleeding colour back towards their mother’s shade of brunette. The hat would have to do. “I have stuff to do.” They chewed at their lip, considering the resounding mess hovering around them and Weasleys and added, for emphasis, “Things.”

#&. BILL #BW01 #d. May 2003

bellalestrvnge:

The headlines in the Prophet hadn’t come as a surprise to Bellatrix. She’d been there when Antonin had made his mission report, stating that Fabian and Gideon Prewett had died on their feet with their wands outstretched to the very end. She’d expected nothing else from the pair - they had always been tricky, brave little Gryffindors who didn’t know how to lie down and take it. Fabian had always been a thorn in Bellatrix’s side, even before they chose their respective sides of the war. But beneath her distaste of his choices, Bellatrix had always had something of a respect for Fabian Prewett. He had never once backed away from a fight with her, he had stared her down and challenged her in ways that few dared.

When she had heard the news of their death, Bellatrix hadn’t been sad. Of course she hadn’t, she didn’t care for the Prewett boys. But she had felt something of a loss - a loss of a worthy advisory. A sense of disappointment that she hadn’t been there to see it through. She had no doubt that a duel between them would have been one of the most difficult Bellatrix ever faced. It was a sense of respect, not a sadness.

The date of the funeral hadn’t been difficult to find out. It was one of the highest profile funerals of the war so far. Bellatrix wasn’t a fool, she knew that if she tried to step foot through the door of the church in order to attend the ceremony she would be forced straight back out again. Half the fucking Order were sure to be there - she didn’t have a death wish just quite yet. So she found herself outside in the graveyard, leaning against a tree.

Which of these plots of land would Fabian and Gideon rot in? Buried next to each other, she was certain. Would they have a shared tombstone, together until the very end and then even beyond? Reaching inside her robes, Bellatrix reached for a packet of cigarettes and lit one. She was a stress smoker, not habitual as she kept telling Rolf. There was a difference (except for the fact that Bellatrix seemed to be eternally stressed these days).

There was a faint sound of footsteps moving around her. Bellatrix half expected to see Sirius and his gaggle of friends. Potter was surely around, and Lupin. Maybe if she was lucky it would be Alastor Moody to taunt. Then a gasp and a thud as something fell. Breathing out a plume of smoke, Bellatrix gazed down into the familiar eyes of her niece. Her blood was viciously red, but it was dirty. Bellatrix’s gaze flickered between her niece’s eyes and the cut on her hand, but her eyes never once left the child.

Last time Dora had seen her, their parents had refused to leave the house for weeks afterward, except to go to work. It had been a long few weeks with very serious lectures about being safe and not speaking to strangers and not drawing attention to themself in public because there were bad people out there, bad people who looked so much like their mum and who might hurt her. Dora stared back at her, ignoring the slow drip of blood from their palm with barely a wrinkle of their nose (a little bit of blood was nothing to get worked up over — though their mum always seemed to disagree).

If they ever saw their aunt in public, their dad had told them they were to run to the nearest safe adult. They weren’t to talk to her or look at her or draw her attention in any way. The problem with that, Dora had discovered, was that she hadn’t meant to see her — the woman just happened to be there. Dora sniffed, dusting grass off their knees and leaving an ungainly smear of red in the path of her hand before glancing back towards the group clustered at the other end of the cemetery.

There was someone picking their way through the headstones with surprising speed, considering the heavy limp they were walking with, their hair dishevelled and their face scarred, eyes wild with fury as he swept towards them, wand in hand, dark eyes focused solely on — Dora’s eyes turned, bemused, towards the woman and the smoke that trailed from her hands. Dora gawked for a moment between them.

“Get away from there you stupid girl,” the man bellowed and Dora, startled at being addressed, skipped hastily away through the grass because she was pretty sure this man wasn’t the safe adult her dad had been talking about when he told her to run away. Dora could still hear the snarling words being exchanged as they ducked behind an old, crumbling stone statue, watching as the group on the other side of the cemetery began to turn around to see what the disturbance was.

Dora wasn’t sure why they all looked so angry that she was here — it made sense to her that even bad people had to have liked their godfather. Still, a demand of, “Dora,” filtered out across the cemetery and they sighed, scrambling out from behind the statue to hurry towards their mother as the argument behind her grew ever louder.

#&. BELLATRIX #d. 1978 - 2003 #t. one way or another #👀#smoking cw #blood cw

WHERE: Spell Damage Ward, Fourth Floor, St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Illnesses WHEN: 8 May, 2003. WHO: @draggingon

Tonks was ready to commit all kinds of crimes to get out of this ward.

The healers who prowled the floor seemed to be under their mother’s strictest instructions to keep an eye out for jailbreaks and their fear of Andromeda seemed to counteract any fear that Tonks might have been able to extract from them if they could stay upright for longer than half an hour. They had a plan, however, and with a wheelchair carefully co-opted from their snoring neighbour and some very slow-paced movements that had gotten them into it, the plan seemed almost to be coming to fruition until the curtain from around their bed was abruptly swept open.

Tonks froze guiltily, hands curled around the wheels of the chair they had been trying to summon the determination to start pushing, and their eyes darted up to find Charlie hesitating on the verge of their little cubicle. “Good,” they concluded after a moment of blinking and rearranging their face to look less guilty about the whole thing, sifting through the complicated array of problems that continued to heap down upon their life anytime they were in the vicinity of a Weasley before clearing their throat like they weren’t about to do anything strictly against Healers orders. “You can push me. We need to hurry, mum’s got spies everywhere on this floor but it’s the charge nurses tea break for the next fifteen minutes and we might be able to make it past without her replacement noticing.”

#&. CHARLIE #d. 8 May 2003 #a full week since i started writing this later.

grcngernotes:

Throughout all of this, her eyes couldn’t help but scan the roof for familiar tufts of red hair… which was difficult given their present company, but Ron was luckily very oddly tall in comparison. But nothing. If she knew him, he was likely sitting in the kitchen with the cake and a frosting bag in hand to craft some roses on there or whatnot. Her grip tightened on her wand, eyes narrowed at Tonks though her heart beat more rapidly than ever before. Duels hadn’t been Hermione’s strong point at Hogwarts, though she supposed that with her anger getting the best of her, it made this all slightly easier… In fact, she could hardly even comprehend what had just happened. Eyes were on the pair of them, and now all she could think of was the ministry. What would they do if they found out? Her daze was broken with Tonks’ squeals at Charlie to let them go and Hermione took a step back, stomach churning and palms sweating as she finally allowed herself to properly examine the room for Ron. Their insults didn’t have any sort of impact given the fact that Hermione had heard it all before at the ripe old age of twelve back in school. “Oh, go shift into a rat, I’m sure you’d feel more at home then-” she grimaced, finally turning around and stomping off to the kitchen in her own little search. Surely this wouldn’t be the last of this situation though. Not when the pair worked relatively close to each other.

END.

#&. HERMIONE #d. 31 March 2003 #t. fight night #a christmas miracle #we finished a thread.

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