the echoes snigger

Xenophilius Lovegood | 30 | any pronouns in search of the truth “Did you inherit a sickness? Did you blame god? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in yourself? Are you still on fire? Did you ever put out the fire?”

[xenosechoes-blog]

hollowedlilies‌:

Crying usually hurts. Salt burning a path down her cheeks, carving grief into her skin, the slow erosion of the rocks in her throat. Crying is an effort of force, not a gentle process–it’s wracked by sobs in the wreckage of a house clutching a shred of James’ shirt, whimpering quietly into Remus’ shoulder at the funeral, dry heaving every morning of the first few weeks she woke up in the musty cottage in Godric’s Hollow without James by her side. This, by contrast, is almost soothing, no energy expended to cause or cease them, warm rather than scalding streaks crossing the gulf between her eyes and jawline.

She can’t even be embarrassed, really, because Xeno and Pandora have given her every reason to be vulnerable here. They have, after all, opened themselves up to her repeatedly, allowed her in and given her ammunition oft used to ridicule them. Lily tries to stem the tears half-heartedly, more surprised at them than anything else. Surprised that she has the capacity to cry in this way, like an emotional release instead of compounding. “You have a very good outlook on things,” she comments, voice watery, something you could shine a light through to see the veins. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, if that makes sense.”

They had never been someone accused of having a good outlook on things. No, their outlook was realistic, bluntly so, to some people. They see the reality of things, and feel no need in trying to hide that, for anyone’s sake. They’ve always preferred the truth, even when the truth is painful. No way to get used to the harsh realities of the world and move forward without honesty. And just now, they truly do believe that things will get easier with time. That is the thing about human beings, after all, they’re adaptable, even to the most difficult of circumstances.

Looking at her with what feels like fresh eyes, her own vulnerability, the catharsis clear in the tears, makes them feel even more certain of their assertion. Xenophilius reaches a hand into the inside pocket of their housecoat, and pulls out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to her. “Yes, that makes perfect sense. And it does feel that way. It is nearly impossible to see the end of things when so much has already come to pass, it feels like it can’t possible stop, that this is our normal now. But nothing is forever. Take solace in the knowledge that all things are finite.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

Sirius would’ve preferred it if Xenophilius fought back, if only to prove that what they’ve said was right– was valid. But they don’t. They accept it with a sort of grace Sirius might’ve been impressed by, once, but now, sitting at this table, they just find it makes them feel guilty. Sirius knows that very few people, if any at all, will take their side in the argument; Xenophilius is far more likable than they, has many more people who’d go to bat for them than Sirius does.

Remus certainly won’t. It almost makes them regret saying anything at all, knowing he’ll just add this to the list of reasons to hate them.

“Aren’t we lucky,” Sirius says dryly. They don’t wait for a response from Xenophilius, though they’re sure they’ve got an arsenal of astute observations about Sirius’ character waiting. They can practically hear them all themself. 

Instead they rise from their chair, the movement sudden and loud, causing the turning of heads from the others in the cottage’s little meeting room. Sirius doesn’t stop to hear their reactions, either, before passing through the doorway and out into the street.

Just like that, it seems, the discussion is over. If only it had been so simple in the past, an uneasy acceptance of the inability to change each others’ minds, instead of all of the violence that they had endured by others who felt similarly to Sirius Black. They can’t say they’re surprised that they’re done fighting back, but it doesn’t give them the sort of satisfaction that they’ve felt in the past from coming out unscathed, because now they worry for what it will mean.

They’re a member of the Order, a valued and trusted member now, even if they’ve heard stories, themself, of how long it took even them to get to that point. Perhaps that should have meant they would understand Xenophilius’s own decisions, but as they had said, war changes those who survive. Now, instead of the hope of understanding, there’s the fear of what they might do with those feelings of suspicion, especially after the conversation.

People can think what they will of them, but when it has potential to effect their family, they can’t bear to think of it. The whispers will make sure they do, though, even now as they seem to grow louder as Sirius rises, making it clear the conversation is done.

Xenophilius lets out a sigh, and leans back in their chair, pulling their notebook towards them once again, ready to continue.

[xenosechoes-blog]

rcmus‌:

Since our conversation…

     ‘They said something to you?’ he replied, surprise coming through in his voice. It wasn’t a surprise that someone in the village might be enough of a bigoted piece of shit in their own way to say something unfair to Xeno, as much as Remus didn’t like to think about that – he’d seen how people treated Emmeline, after all – but to hear that it had been Sirius…

But… maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Sirius had always been one to speak their mind, to voice their opinions. And they’d been more reckless, since James’ death, than they had ever been before, even back before the war, back in school. Could Remus really not imagine that Sirius, possessed of some self-important idea that Xeno needed to be run out of the village, that it would be a good idea to confront them about it?

The thought stung, especially when presented in such proximity to talking about his own curse. What had Sirius said, when they first talked about Remus’ lycanthropy? Of course I still like you. You’re still you, yeah? 

But Xeno, apparently, didn’t get the same benefit of the doubt. 

      ‘That fucking– Merlin, Xeno, I’m so sorry.’ He rubbed a hand over his face, let out a sharp breath of frustration. He hated, all of a sudden, how responsible he felt for that. But… he’d spent almost eight years ignoring Sirius’ worst traits with the excuse of love behind it, and maybe that was a kind of cowardice too. 

It was a curious thing to suddenly care about the way someone might perceive them. Even when they were a child, the whispers behind their back had not mattered so much because of the cruelty, but because people were wrong. They had learned fast enough once they left the strange protection of even their shattered home that everyone closed off enough would see the same thing in them. Cruel whispers, with fear of something they couldn’t understand hidden behind the teasing laughter. No, Xenophilius only cared insomuch that people were wrong.

And yet, they worried what the outright admission might mean now, somehow. That perhaps telling him so clearly of the voices that plagued them, even louder after the disagreement, would make him see that Sirius Black was correct in their concern. Friend was not a familiar word to them, and yet here they were, fearing that could keep it that way.

“Yes; I suppose my presence has struck a nerve with them,” they muttered, finally looking back at him. It was a relief in a way, to hear his own surprise, clear in his voice, written on his face. It told them that this was not something to be expected, so perhaps, even if it took time, their mind could be changed. But that was hard to believe, knowing how they had spoken to them, so utterly certain and convinced in their distrust and hatred. The words they had said to them were true, war did such frightening things to people.

“You have no reason to apologize; their words are not yours. And I know that my...eccentricities have alienated others before. Worse, it seems, my neutrality does. You must understand, it is not with selfish intent; it is because I know that I’m a liability, as he seems to think. I’d never reject the offer to keep my family safe, but I do not have to put more people in danger,” they offered an explanation, even though they weren’t certain why they felt the need.

“Their poison has already seeped into my own mind, but I fear for the damage it could do to my Pandora’s safety, if they convince others the same fear is justified.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

emxxvance‌:

Emmeline didn’t put too much belief in fate, or destiny, or predetermination. Divination hadn’t fit into their schedule at Hogwarts and that had been the end of that, really. But they couldn’t deny that the coincidence of bumping into Xenophilius Lovegood was one fraught with intrigue, when one considered it. A cursebreaker bearing a curse on their arm and another wading through a curse lodged somewhere in their mind, effectively trapped in a village together. At the very least it seemed that destiny- if there were such a thing- hadn’t particularly favored either of them when doling out futures.

“I agree. One just has to keep looking.” It was a happy accident that their thirst for vengeance twinned so beautifully with the pleasure they found in knowledge. Em looked for knowledge everywhere, the lines between passion and vendetta blurring into a pursuit that was muddied but dogged. 

“I’m hardly anyone’s confidant.” They had heard talk of Xenophilius’ curse, however- just enough that their interest was throughly piqued. Em pulled out their wand, waving it at the scattered books with a whispered word and sending them floating into order on the shelf, effectively out of the way so that they could focus on Xenophilius. “And I should say that most of my experience is in the realm of removing curses from objects, not grappling with the effects of those curses on people. You had a question, though?” 

They hummed their assent at their words. It was a belief that Xenophilius lived much of their life by, that if only they kept looking, kept researching, kept asking questions, they would continue to find knowledge everywhere, even where others might not think it was possible to find. They appreciated that there was someone else in the little village with a similar outlook, even with perhaps a more obviously useful applied ability. Still, though, their similarities went beyond that, and they were pleased that perhaps they might find an ally in them.

“Yes, of course,” they nodded, as they came a bit closer, taking their removal of the books as a sign that they were truly interested. “I’ve gone to healers before, even sought out those who claim to specialize in that very subject, and yet none have been able to help me, even if my wife has managed to provide comfort other healers never thought to attempt. I can’t rule out any avenue of questioning, though, and your expertise may give light, or at least a fresh set of eyes.”

Another researcher, and one who had more experience with curses than they could imagine, would only be welcomed. Perhaps it meant more, too, that they had personal experience of their own, as well. “I wonder, do you have any experience with curses worsening over time? I find that as of late, my curse has been growing more difficult to deal with.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

hollowedlilies‌:

For all she is unsure of the stability of Xeno’s mind–and not, necessarily, through any fault of his own–she is certain that everything he says now is true. He has conviction in his voice that comes from being a genuine kind of person. Surrounded as she is by genuine people whose lives are shaken and broken by circumstance, Lily has learned the sound of it. She is better at telling when she is lied to than lying herself.

“Thank you,” she answers softly, suddenly blinking back tears, surprised at their existence. Lily turns her head a bit, trying to be discreet as she presses the back of her hand to her face and swallows back the rest of the unwanted saline. “We all have fewer places to put our love than we’re used to. It takes some adjusting to.” 

This isn’t the sort of thing they’re used to, a raw emotionality, put side-by-side with an empathy for someone else that never came easily to them. But it’s easy now, even if it’s uncomfortable thinking of all the ways the world isn’t what it should be for them all. Because even if each and every one of their circumstances are different, the pain is the same, and here in this strange village, the only way for them all to move forward, they think, is to do so together. Understanding and acknowledgement is just the beginning of that.

She sees him, and he sees her, and that has to count for something, even if the words don’t fix the pain. “I think with time, things will grow easier,” Xenophilius nods softly. It’s not optimism, it’s realism. Time moves forward, and they all keep moving, too. “We’ll find new places to put that love that’s slipping over, and one day, we’ll all have just enough space again. Until then, we all have this together.” 

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

Sirius’ mistrust of Xenophilius isn’t personal, despite how it may seem to them. In fact, in a different world, a better one, they might’ve even been friends. Up until a few short months ago, their chosen family had been made up of misfits, after all, rebels and outcasts just like them, and Sirius loved them all fiercely– not despite their shortcomings, but because of them. But Sirius is different now, shattered and twisted from loss. It’s a shame that this is the kind of person they’ve become: distrusting, paranoid, cold-hearted. Xenophilius shared with them their pain, and they couldn’t even react, too blinded by their own hurt to acknowledge someone else’s. Where once there was nothing but love in their heart, it has grown black and cold.

James was the glue that had been holding Sirius together; he took them in when their family started to turn on them, understood them in a way not even Remus could ( despite his best efforts ). He loved them like a brother. Sirius never thought they’d have to ask who they are without him, and now that James is gone, they’re drowning in his absence. It won’t be long before they’re swallowed completely, the process only accelerated without Remus to help keep them afloat.

( It really is no wonder Sirius and Remus fell apart. He has always been good, contrary to his own beliefs, an abundantly better person than Sirius even on their best day. Meanwhile, Sirius has always been careless, at times insensitive. More often than not, these days, he is both. )

Their arms are still crossed against their chest, stubbornness embodied both in Sirius’ body language and the look of irritation etched into their face. They won’t walk away from this argument the good guy– the hero, as Xenophilius said, because maybe that is what they’ve wanted all along– and yet they don’t let up. They’re doing exactly what Remus feared they would do, acting on impulse, fucking things up. That’s all Sirius seems to be able to do anymore– let Remus down– and yet. 

It keeps coming back to that. Sirius knows Remus is unhappy, and yet. Knows Xenophilius’ struggles aren’t their fault, and yet. Knows James is dead and is not coming back, and yet, and yet, cannot seem to stop themself from making it all worse. Cannot listen to reason, cannot feel empathy. 

Not anymore.

“No,” Sirius admits finally, after a long stretch of silence, “I don’t suppose there is.”

There’s silence between them, the question and the answer hanging in the air between them. The world keeps turning around them, the sounds of the other residents of the village going about their lives a few rooms over, still talking about the meeting, about what comes next, how to move forward. But there’s silence here.

Except there’s never really silence, for them, hasn’t been for as long as they can remember. The best they can hope for are echoes, far enough away that they don’t take over their thoughts. There are echoes now, as Sirius Black seems to contemplate something far off themself as well. The echoes they hear are of memories far gone, seemingly unrelated to the now. Their parents in the kitchen of their cramped, chaotic apartment, a hot summer evening, whispering furiously in German, when they sat in the living room, books surrounding them. It’s different than usual, they’re not shouting, they’re not arguing about work, or money, or any of the other dozens of things they grew to hate about each other. No, Xenophilius is sixteen, and mad, and somehow, this is the first time they hear their parents talking about them. 

To remember is to lose the present.

Perhaps that is why Godric’s Hollow is the way it is, now, perhaps that is why this comes as no surprise. At least they understand, because whether they want to be or not, they’re the same in that. 

“As I thought,” Xenophilius hums, with a satisfied nod.

It’s better to know who is shaped so wholly by the past, than to be taken by surprise, after all. Just another name to add to the list of those to guard their mind and their heart from. It’s not something new, but, in a way, it still makes their heart feel heavy, to see just how open Sirius Black is in their lack of care. They may never have known them personally before now, but the stories they had heard were nothing like this. Time and time again, it seems, they bear witness to the ways the world breaks the strongest among them down to their negative cores. 

Their parents’ voices echo in their ears.

“Well, then, it seems we are at an impasse. War does such frightening things to the people it leaves alive, doesn’t it?”

[xenosechoes-blog]

rcmus‌:

Everywhere is the same, he thought, an acrid pessimism he wasn’t used to bubbling up within him. There were half a dozen reasons for anyone to hate him, if werewolf wasn’t enough, and sometimes he was certain his own father had disapproved of every single one. He’d faced a whole different set of prejudices in the muggle world when working for the Order and gathering information, for the first time understanding his own mother’s hardships. If not his curse, then his gender; if not his gender, then his sexuality; if not his sexuality, then the color of his skin. Britain was no better than anywhere else, but it was probably also no worse. Just different shades of hatred from different groups of people.

But… still, the promise of this place– and a name, too, a place Xenophilius really knew existed… well, if everything else went to shite, there was at least a selfish hope for a place he might be able to start over. He cupped his tea in his hands, trying not to let his mind drift too far down that path.

Xeno was right: even here, in Godric’s Hollow, there were those who had mistrusted him from the beginning, as soon as they found out the secret he’d been guarding for so long. People fighting for justice, people he would have expected better from. He’d gotten good at ignoring it, but he knew he wasn’t the only one. People still looked at Emmeline out of the side of their eyes. He heard comments, here and there, about Arabella. And Xeno…

     ‘It sounds like you’re speaking from recent experience,’ he said, raising an eyebrow in their direction. Quietly, implicitly, he was sure it was something they dealt with all the time. But something about the tone of their voice suggested that something was prompting them to say this. 

A look of surprise crossed their face when he prompted them, saw so easily the thoughts plain on the front of their mind. They were not used to being seen in quite that way, and it made them shift a little in their seat, busy themself for an extra moment to assess with summoning the teapot, milk, and sugar, pouring it with laser focus by hand. “I suppose I am,” they muttered, frowning slightly. Xenophilius wasn’t certain it was worth the hassle, one way or another, to bring up the less than civil conversation that they had had with Sirius Black. Even if the other’s points had been mostly founded in fear and misunderstanding, they knew their own place in the community was precarious enough that others may find the antagonism founded, if it proved or disproved the mistrust. They didn’t believe that Remus was such a person, his aura understanding, his own condition leading him to an openness others did not have, but the whispers brought on fears that were unfounded.

But they enjoyed Remus’s company, and if anyone among them besides Pandora deserved their honesty, it was him. There was a chance he might understand, despite his connection to the other party. “I was confronted about my purpose here,” Xeno said, after a long pause, finally setting the teapot down again, and taking their cup, mostly for something else to occupy their hands. “Don’t mistake me, I understand the distrust, I understand the concern when so much is at risk––my wife and I aren’t members, that is a point of contention to some––but when concern turns to animosity because of unfounded fear, that is something I find difficult to tolerate after all I’ve faced.”

A deliberate pause, a decision made for a glimpse into their mind that they have never offered anyone but Pandora, since the other healer’s laughed their symptoms away as insanity. They prayed to nameless gods that the admission won’t lose his trust.

“The whispers are...constant, familiar voices among them, taunting, lying. And I’ve been hearing the former Black heir’s voice amongst the vile whispers crowding my mind with increasing frequency since our conversation,” they admitted, unable to meet Remus’s eye through the truth of their curse. “They mean well, but they’re young. I don’t claim to know even a fraction of the world’s secrets, but they don’t understand the world half as well as they think they do.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

“I wasn’t threatening you, either, Xenophilius,” Sirius replies darkly. He’s properly agitated now, their words hitting the mark they surely intended to hit. He looks at them intensely, his jaw set in a hard line, heart beating quicker by the minute. “Questioning your loyalty is hardly the same thing as torture, but clearly you’re able to make your own– what was it you said?– ‘inaccurate conclusions’, too.” 

Had Xenophilius told Sirius this in another circumstance, perhaps he would’ve retracted his concerns. He has been trying ( trying is the key word here ), after all, to make an exception for Emmeline, who hadn’t asked for the situation they were in. Just like Sirius, and, apparently, just like Xenophilius. But if anything, Xenophilius’ reaction only seems to prove Sirius’ point. Their quick jump to threats is not lost on him, their defensiveness scary. Surely Sirius isn’t the only one who feels this way.

By all means, he thinks to himself, attack me. Prove me right.

"Do you?” Sirius asks, his voice cold, an eyebrow arched high. “What do you think that is?”

“Ah, inaccurate conclusions, of course,” Xenophilius repeats, with a little laugh. It’s not the first time their own words have been turned back against them, and it won’t be the last. All of those fearful creatures who have had such similar arguments with them in the past are the same, at the core of their fear. The different, the unknowable, the other can’t be trusted, words or actions. Twist and turn words for their uses, disregarding true meaning behind them. “I think if you’re allowed to fear my motivations, I can question your plans, too. And as such, I don’t think you have a right to my name. The way it sounds on your tongue...like a curse, or something hateful. No, I don’t think you have a right. Lovegood will do just fine for you, Black.”

In some ways, they nearly want to prove him right, to see how far they may be able to push him, to show him that there is a reason to fear them, if not for the reasons of disloyalty he believes. But that sort of thinking is what landed them with the curse that caused such mistrust in the first place. They have Pandora to think of now, selfishness has no place in their relationship. So they lean forward in their chair, look at him with a mild interest, passivity.

“Yes. You’re not very hard to understand,” Xeno shrugs. “It’s nothing. You strike me as someone who, once your mind is made up, is hard-pressed to change it. And you’ve already decided I shouldn’t be trusted. I’ll be glad if I’m wrong, though, if you tell me that there is something I could say or do to change your feelings. But don’t expect me to believe you.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

pandora-goodlove‌:

It was a look Pandora had seen flash across her partners eyes many times in the past. Grey darkening clear blue, a storm cloud on a bright summer day. Guilt gripped at her stomach, Pandora felt a rush of shame. Not that she regretted what she said, but the way it had made Xenophilius feel. Just like when they admitted themselves to St Mungoes, broken and alone, desperate for answers only for the other Healers to dismiss their symptoms. “Crazy.” The Healers had said through lips curled into smirks. “Been like this since Hogwarts.” But Pandora could see, even then, the outside forces pushing through the cracks in Xenophilius’ mind. And she never wanted to see that grey look, that look of hurt and betrayal over being doubted of their own truth. 

She believed Xenophilius. She trusted him implicitly, their truth was her gospel. But she couldn’t trust those voices, those nameless, faceless whispers. They were in danger, there was no doubt about that, while He and His followers still roamed free they were in danger, while people carried hate in their hearts they were in danger, for as long as they were living, resisting, they were in danger. 

Pandora kept her breathing slow, waiting for Xenophilius to match that steady pace, to pass through the storm raging through their mind unscathed. Pandora brushed Xenophilius’ shaking fingers with her own, quivering and cold. “I’m safe now, thank you darling, thank you for looking out for me.” Her eyes shone with tears that wouldn’t fall, she couldn’t let Xeno see how scared and upset she felt, she needed to be strong for them. 

“If you went running off without a clear plan, that would put you in danger. I can’t lose you Xenophilius.” Pandora signed slowly. She felt her breathing hitch again and forced another deep breath. She knew she sounded like a teacher, a Healer, a parent, lecturing Xeno to stay safe, not to make rash decisions and felt the shame rise in her again. “I agree we need to do something. Whether this is a real threat or a trap we can’t just sit by. But we need to have a real plan, we need talk to Alastor, or Amelia or Kingsley. Tell them what we know. We can’t just run off to God knows where.” Pandora wrapped her arms tightly around Xeno’s waist and buried her head in their chest, tears finally falling, absorbed by the wool of their sweater. Another deep breath, filling her lungs with their scent. Pandora finally felt safe. Even while the world was burning, Xenophilius was her safety.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone.” Pandora murmured into their chest. “I don’t ever want to leave your side again." 

It was a difficult thing, to be betrayed by your own thoughts. To live in constant confusion over what was real and what was not, what was the truth and what was a fabrication by the vindictive voices that lived in their mind. They were so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being wrong, tired of being thought insane for something they had never asked to happen to them.

And now, the voices taunted them. The focus shifted from the danger without, to the danger within. How foolish they were, to believe what they heard, to be so unable to look at things logically and see just how ridiculous it was to consider running off without a plan, without a destination even, to try to help people they didn’t even know existed, from danger that wasn’t even real.

They knew she was right, but that didn’t make the words any easier to bear, and the whispers were cruel, even when she wasn’t, twisting those words into accusations and lectures in a dozen unrecognizable voices, and a dozen familiar ones all at once. Every now and again a word stood out in the jumble of noise. Irrational. Ludicrous. Dangerous. And wasn’t that the truth? Weren’t they the true danger here, so willing to follow untrustworthy whispers when they overtook them?

Xenophilius nodded at her words, but couldn’t bring themself to try to say anything in response to it all, ashamed of the worry they brought her. How foolish of them, how selfish, to consider running off without a plan, headfirst into danger that they couldn’t anticipate? They knew that the Order wouldn’t care so much––what were they to them, after all, besides an extra burden, who couldn’t be trusted fully––but Pandora. To think of leaving her, of unnecessarily raising the chances that something might happen, and they would hurt her, though their own failings...the thought made their throat close up, made warm tears pool at the corners of their eyes again. She wrapped her arms around them, burying her head against their chest, and they responded in kind, unable to keep the tears from falling again as they settled back to reality.

“No, I’m sorry,” they signed, pulling away only slightly after a pause. “You shouldn’t have to worry, you shouldn’t have to come back to this. I wish I wasn’t...I’ve been having a difficult time telling what’s real, and what’s not. The danger...it feels so close. But I don’t know how to tell what’s true. Everything is just so hazy. We can’t tell them about this without proof; half of them already think me mad enough. But how can I sit here when others may be in danger?”

[xenosechoes-blog]

emxxvance‌:

Perhaps they shouldn’t have assumed they were alone. Godric’s Hollow was practically a ghost town now, inhabited by so few, and yet enough of them were the sort to seek out silence that a search from home to empty home for books was bound to result in bumping into someone eventually. And yet when Emmeline dropped a pile of books and heard feet on the stairs they glanced up to the doorway in faint surprise regardless.

Xenophilius spoke in circles, a hint of poetry in their response to the world, and Em found it oddly charming. Not that’d they’d say so. They idly stacked a few of the books while Xenophilius passed through the entrance of the room, looking up again at them when they asked a question. “I don’t know, have you found anything else? If it’s just been me then it seems rather likely you’re right.” Their tone was practical, almost blunt, but there was no malice behind it. Some of the Order didn’t trust Xenophilius, but some of the Order didn’t trust Em either.

“Books. Magical theory and runic based magics, ideally, but I’m not too picky. Anything that might help.” Help with what, exactly, was the question. As far as Em was concerned there was plenty waiting to be discovered in the books they had yet to unearth, they might just have to get a bit creative to make it work.

As removed from the world as they were, Xenophilius was more observant than most believed; the real thing was that most of the time they were more preoccupied with something else to worry about what was right in front of them. They were well aware that Emmeline was in a similar position as them when it came to the trust of the Order. It wasn’t something they cared about, though. They found they appreciated their dedication to knowledge, and nearly obsessive nature for the pursuit of it; it was rare to find someone like them.

“No, I haven’t found much of anything else, so I suppose I am right,” they hummed, with a satisfied nod. The universe worked in ways beyond their comprehension, they had long ago learned that. As much as they searched for answers to questions many never asked, there was much they were happy to accept without proof. And coincidences held up so poorly when there could be a reason even for a chance meeting. After all, Xenophilius needed help. It was something they hated admitting––one of the reasons it had taken them years to finally attempt to find aid at St. Mungo’s, and why they had not been surprised when they did not find it there. More and more lately, though, it was clear that here, in Godirc’s Hollow, their curse was only worsening. Try as they and Pandora might, there was only so much they could do. An expert was needed. And how convenient that an expert resided in the village with them now.

“There is knowledge hidden everywhere. I’m certain there’s something useful among the ruins,” Xenophilius said, approaching them, eyes moving over the books they stacked. “I wonder if I might seize this chance to ask you about a problem I’ve been having. I’m sure you recall my mentioning––and many others’, in cruel whispers, I’m sure––a curse.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

“I’m not coercing you,” Sirius replies coldly, crossing his arms against his chest, “and I’m not being a hero.” He spits the last word back at Xenophilius, offended, once again, by their word choice. He believes it, too. He knows he’s not a hero, and certainly wouldn’t volunteer to be one. Confronting Xenophilius and volunteering for the mission to Ottery St. Catchpole weren’t heroic choices– they were, as far as he could tell, the only choice he had. It was another on the long list of decisions Sirius didn’t have the luxury of making himself. He didn’t ask to be sorted into Gryffindor, but he was. He didn’t ask for James to die, but he did. He didn’t ask for this war, this life, this position he’s in. 

Everything he’s done since that night in October has been because of James. Because he died, and Sirius didn’t, and now he’s got to do everything he can to try to make it up to him. To give Harry a future. To protect Lily, to protect Remus, to protect everyone that’s left that James loved because he’s not here to do it himself. 

That includes asking Xenophilius the questions everyone else has been too afraid to.

“I’m protecting my family,” Sirius says, rather forcefully despite the setting. At this point, he doesn’t care if the other members of the Order hear. They’ll find out eventually, the news the same as always: Sirius was being reckless again. No, he thinks, firmly in his mind, Sirius was doing what had to be done. “I have the right to be suspicious of anyone who threatens the safety of my godson. That includes you, no matter how much our ally you claim to be.”

They raise an eyebrow at the other’s insistence that they’re wrong about what he’s trying to do, but they say nothing, finding it wiser to let him sit with whatever perceived offense they’ve caused, despite him being the one making the accusations. This is playing with fire. If anything they had gone through had given them any sense of self preservation, they would have stopped the conversation, walked away. But the argument is too familiar, and the voices too loud, a quiet blaze of anger blinding reason, just as it so often had back in school.

This is different, though, worse, because now they know what happens when illogical fury overtakes reason, turning the harmless into the villainous. The innocent are the ones who suffer. Xenophilius had lost the little innocence they had had left the night they had been cursed; now only the people Sirius claimed to be protecting stood to be hurt.

“The last time someone called me a threat to the delicate safety of the status quo their families had created, they nearly killed me. Three weeks of my life lost to their violence, and some would say half my mind lost, too. It probably wouldn’t be hard for someone like you to finish off the rest of the job for them. To protect your family, of course,” they say, head cocked to the side as they look at Sirius Black curiously. Is he capable of that? The whispers tell them yes. 

 “You say you’re not being a hero; perhaps you’re more correct than you know,” Xeno comments, a hint of something unidentifiable in their voice. “Alright, though, I’ll play along. What is it that I can say or do that would make you less suspicious that I’m a threat to anyone’s safety here, especially your godson’s? I have a feeling I know the answer already.”

[emxxvance-blog]

time: mid-afternoon  place: abandoned cottage, near the center of Godric’s Hollow availability: open

Maybe it was macabre. Or at the very least it wouldn’t take much to turn it that way. But Emmeline didn’t let their focus waver and shift to the pictures and letters and deeply personal items that filled Godric’s Hollow’s empty, broken homes, instead resolutely sifting through the remnants of the deceased inhabitant’s belongings with a singular goal in mind. Em was on a fact-finding mission, a self-assigned search for any and all books on magic or history that might be in some way useful to the cause. Or, more concisely and perhaps more accurately, they were not particularly gifted at being idle, and were rooting around in a dust-filled cottage just to avoid climbing up the proverbial walls. 

They opened a cupboard, ushering forward the small glowing ball they’d charmed to float around, supplementing the paltry light coming through the windows, and let out a quietly pleased noise at the sight of a large cardboard box within. Wasting no time, Em grabbed the box and slid it off the shelf, realizing too late that the bottom hadn’t withstood it’s time languishing untouched nearly as well as they had expected. The good news was that it was in fact full of books. The bad news was that they tore straight through the bottom of the box and to the floor, toppling with a resounding avalanche of thumps that was almost certainly audible out on the street. 

As the dust, quite literally, settled, Em tossed the useless bit of cardboard aside before crouching down to sort through the mess, a muttered “fuck” leaving their lips in a sigh. 

[xenosechoes-blog]

Day by day, it only seemed to grow worse. It felt as if more of their time was spent in the fog of their curse, the whispers winning out all too easily against reality, blurring those lines, making it impossible to distinguish between the two. The clandestine mission to attempt to find the other headquarters that Glenda’s message had alerted them all to only made it all feel harder; they may not have been a proper part of the Order, but to be kept in the dark of such a potentially important and dangerous thing, when all the help they could get would have been welcome, only made Sirius’s words of mistrust ring more in their ears. They were going to their home, and yet, not even a mention, only hearing of it through thirdhand information. Paranoia grew, as well as restlessness. It made them want to leave themself.

Logic still prevailed, in most cases, though, and so instead, they distracted themself, searching for a place of quiet, where not even the whispers might touch them. A hint of a feeling had brought them to the abandoned cottage, an aura of something other, the pull of lingering magic that made them think there might be something to discover there, perhaps to keep the voices quiet. They’d been sat on the floor of the upstairs bathroom, engrossed in reading the handwritten potion labels, trying to see if there was anything enlightening, when they heard a crash from downstairs.

Xenophilius was surprised, upon descending the stairs and turning the corner, to see Emmeline kneeling among a mess of books. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realize there would be anyone else prodding around this house of ghosts just now. Perhaps that is why I was led here in the first place. To find you, instead. What are you seeking?” they asked. 

[xenosechoes-blog]

rcmus‌:

He took the seat Xeno offered, amidst the vials and potions spread out along the table, the pages of notes, the plants and herbs and powders. Once again, he found, Xenophilius was surprising him – with their kindness, with their keen understanding of everything happening, their ability to seemingly cut straight to the core of the thing. Just like the last time they’d spoken, they seemed to be answering all the questions he hadn’t even fully thought to ask yet. 

He hadn’t thought about that, after all – Pandora helped them with their own curse, different from his but similar in its own way, with its own set of social stigmas and complications. He know plenty of people who denigrated Xeno for it, calling them mad, not trusting them; even not knowing much about the wix, it struck him that that’s what life might have been like for him, had he not done a better job of hiding his curse until it became impossible to do so. Monster, beast, and all the worse things people would have called him. All the things he’d feared, once: parents demanding he be expelled to keep their children safe, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures keeping him from having a job, owning a home, marrying someday. Being locked up ‘for his own safety’ or whatever else they might say. 

He worried at his own fingernails, picking lightly at the skin as Xeno spoke, and then looked up as they mentioned communities where– where lycanthropy was accepted? It was hard to believe, but not impossible. And if there wasn’t so much at stake here, wasn’t so much wrong with Britain, danger that concerned his own life and all of his friends’, maybe he would have up and run away, tried to find one of them, or even tried a little harder to believe that they existed. 

     ‘Just tea’s fine,’ he said after a moment, so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it was all he could do to reply to that much. And then: ‘Are there really? Places like that?’

A break from the unproductive haze would probably do them good, someone to bring them back to reality, to give them something else to focus on, even if just for as long as it would take for Pandora to return from her outing. Some of the paranoia was easing, having someone else with them now, to ground them, but it was still there, always there, just easier to see as illogical.

There was a silence between them, but there was never silence in their own mind, voices from those who lived in the other tents and houses of Godric’s Hollow filling their ears now, saying things about Remus, about them. Whispers of similar fear and distrust, things that were difficult to believe purely conjured from imagination. One voice stood out amongst the others, and they considered a question their father had posed to them as a child, one that, no matter their research, they had not been able to answer.

“Yes, there are. When I was young, I remember my father telling me about several such places outside of Berlin. He wondered how it was possible for humans to accept some differences so readily, while condemning others in the same breath with such hatred and fear. They fled because of those problems, but Britain is the same,” Xenophilius said, shrugging lightly as they started the kettle of their own tea blend with a haphazard flick of their wand. They pulled out two mismatched cups, and brought them to the table, sitting in their seat again, pushing the mess away to give enough space for both of them.

“Falkensee. That was the place. I studied the wixen community there with a certain fervor at one point, wondering if they might be accepting of other curses, now, too. I find, just as I’m certain you do, that there are those even in this little community of ours, so steadfastly against the prejudices of the other side, who still don’t trust that which they can’t understand. And naysayers’ voices always feel so much louder.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

Off Xenophilius’ comment on inaccurate conclusions, Sirius says nothing. Instead he leans back in his chair, jaw clenched in a hard line, stubbornly refusing to apologize or defend his reasoning. Why should he? He believes he’s in the right, and this is war, after all. Questioning the motives of even those who claim to be allies is not a crime.

“It’s not your blood that I don’t trust,” Sirius says, the first honest thing he’s shared aloud in weeks. His eyes are narrowed still, voice dark as he attempts to size them up. “It’s you.” 

As unfair as it may be, he is insulted at the notion that blood status would mean anything to him. A few twists of fate could have easily placed Sirius in their position, or worse, on the enemy’s side. Had James not died in this very village, he may have never chosen a side in the war. Had the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin with the rest of his family, he may have definitively chosen the other. But he did, and it didn’t, and here Sirius is: terrified and angry and suspicious of anyone who could possibly betray the Order. He made that mistake once, and paid for it– continues to pay for it– gravely. He will not allow it to happen again.

“What do those voices tell you?” Sirius presses on, unwilling to concede just yet. Perhaps they aren’t as loyal as Xenophilius claims to be. “If you yourself can’t trust them, why should we? We’ve risked enough already,” he adds, unable to fight the slight wavering of his voice, “to put our faith in you.”

A small consolation that it’s not about where they’ve come from––the announcement of the census had that little problem sneaking into the whispered voices in their ears. Their blood have never made a difference, after all, their parents had been forced to flee their home despite that, and then here their strangeness had eclipsed the fact, easily. And again, it eclipses that, it seems, the other sitting here and telling them with such ease of disdain that they are the problem themself.

The way he looks at them, as if he’s trying not only to read them, but to intimidate them into, what, worry, perhaps? It reminds them so much of the group of Slytherins in school who had been the final straw. Perhaps he thinks he’s justified, too, perhaps he wouldn’t have a second thought in tearing them down, because of his fear of something he doesn’t understand. It pains them to know that there are people here, in what it meant to be safety, who could be persuaded to think that way.

And then, still, it gets worse. He taunts their curse, the very thing that’s haunted them, changed them from what they could have been. And like a storm, the noise rises; it’s mostly the voices of all those who hurt them at school, mixed with the naysayers once they graduated. Every other person who had mistrusted them for the same reasons as Sirius.

“Right now? They tell me to make you stop talking. Luckily, though, I know when to trust them, and when they’re looking for trouble,” they say cooly, cocking their head to the side. A lie, yes, but they don’t care to defend themself to someone who won’t listen, won’t have sympathy for the pain they suffer every moment. “Perhaps you should bring your concerns to the other members of the Order, who have already decided to put their faith in me. You’re not going to be able to coerce me into feeling wrong by yourself. You’re still young, you have a lot to learn to be the hero you believe you’re being right now.”

[xenosechoes-blog]

rcmus‌:

     ‘Yeah, I, er– thought I’d ask about it. See if there was anything else I could do, or get, to help out, too.’ 

 He followed them into the tent, picking up the pace to match their apparent hurried demeanor – and the tend was as nice as any of the houses, here in the village, if not nicer. He wouldn’t give up the little home he’d made for himself and Sirius and Lily and Harry, even if he didn’t really want to be there now, with everything going on, but he had to admit that he’d been thinking of the tents as such a temporary thing, and the inside of this one felt anything but. 

     ‘I really appreciate her doing this. It’s– a sensitive subject, seems like,’ he said, which was partially true and partially not. Some of the people here, he knew, didn’t care: Arabella had made that abundantly clear, and Lily and Sirius of course. Amos, too, he supposed, though he didn’t know Amos well enough to know what it really meant that Amos had stood up for him as the group’s secret keeper. The others he wasn’t so certain about: out of habit, he avoided bringing it up, which made it easy for anyone who wanted to to ignore the fact altogether. It was a habit well-worn into him over time, a lesson taught long ago: don’t bring it up, don’t mention it, if you’re polite enough and demure enough and amiable enough, no one will question it, and you can pretend it doesn’t matter at all. 

Which didn’t mean it wasn’t a problem he had to deal with. It just made it harder to ask people for help, when he needed it, and his precariously low source of wolfsbane was something he needed to resolve. 

They nodded vaguely as he explained why he’d stopped by, not surprised to hear that he was here to aid in the work that Pandora was doing for him. He struck them as the type who didn’t want to burden anyone else, and therefore was eager to lend a hand when given something. It wasn’t a quality that many people possessed outside this village, that they’d seen, the concern for others that manifested in that way.

Picking up the chair they had knocked over in their surprise, Xenophilius gestured for Remus to take a seat at the messy kitchen table, if he wanted. The table was currently taken up by vials of various liquids, a few notebooks full of their messy scribbles, dozens of different ingredients, as well as a nearly burned out bright purple cigarette that they’d long forgotten about.

“That’s very kind of you, to offer. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. And I know she’s glad to offer her aid. Besides, Pandora deals with what some people consider sensitive subjects for a living. And I suppose, to the outside world, she’s married to a sensitive subject,” they said with small laugh, as they straightened their chair unnecessarily in the chaos of the rest of the room. While they were well aware others in the community may have thought Remus’s little problem was something for concern, they thought nothing of that sort, dealing with their own curse of sorts, even if it was much less difficult. 

“I can’t imagine it’s easy to deal with lycanthropy in a place like this, trying to keep a sense of normalcy. I’ve read, though, of whole communities back in my parents’ home country in which lycanthropy is accepted by those without, instead of reviled. Perhaps one day, the British will see the connection to the moon as something to be inspired by, instead of fearful of, and more people will work to make it easier on those who experience it, so that life can be lived simply, openly. For now, though, we’re here to help,” they said, without a second thought. Barely pausing, they went on. “Would you like tea, or perhaps gurdyroot infusion?”

[xenosechoes-blog]

unbearablyblack‌:

“Are you?” Sirius shoots back, eyes narrowed. “Our ally?” He can feel his anger rising quickly, his desire to protect his friends– what’s left of them, anyway– momentarily clouding his already-poor judgment. He chose his side in the war the minute James was murdered, the world that once operated on a gray scale becoming very clearly black or white, right before his eyes. Goodness was no longer on a spectrum. For Sirius, you are either for the Order, or you are against it– and anyone against it is an enemy.

And here is Xenophilius, who has chosen neither side. They’ve received the comfort ( what little it has, admittedly ) and safety of Godric’s Hollow while still toeing the line of morality. They are neither in the Order nor out of it, and that scares Sirius more than if they were simply out of it. They do not prescribe to Sirius’ idea of black versus white, good versus evil. This, Sirius thinks, makes him dangerous. Would they turn down an invitation to join the Death Eaters? Or is that rude, too?

The rest of the Order is busy preparing dinner, the sound of laughter and the shuffling of silverware drowning out the conversation between Sirius and Xenophilius– not that Sirius would choose to lower his voice either way. 

“Then why do you refuse to join?”

Of all the things that they know he’s likely already questioning about them in his mind, that’s not something that they had believed, logically, could have been questioned, even from an outsider’s perspective. While they were not formally in the Order, they had done all they could to help Pandora support the group her cousin had asked her to aid, even if their best was very little at the moment. They were someone who knew what it was like to be torn down by the very people who the Order stood against; they’d lost so much of themself because of it, in fact, lost hours and hours of their own life from dark magic that the British purebloods delighted in, hatred bred at so young an age. 

“I am,” they say simply in reply. “It sounds as if you’ve already come to your own inaccurate conclusions, though, so I doubt there’s anything I can say to change your mind.”

Echoes whisper furiously, something about his voice only encouraging them, insisting that maybe he’s right, maybe they’ve done the wrong thing by sitting on the sidelines, insisting they have no choice. They can feel the familiar white hot anger that they became so skilled at suppressing, lest it put them in a position to be cursed again. No point in arguing, but impossible to leave the subject.

“I’m self-aware, I know I’m not well enough to fight any battles, but the ones in my own mind. Perhaps once I find a cure for my curse, I’ll be able to join in your fight,” they reason, making an effort to keep their voice even. “But now, I would be more of a hinderance than a help. This way, I can aid when I have clarity, without being a burden when I don’t. You must remember, the Order offered me refuge, I did not presume to ask for it. Or is it my blood that’s given you your doubt, Sirius Black?”

[xenosechoes-blog]

rcmus‌:

Ever since his conversation with Pandora, he hadn’t been able to get it all out of his mind. The possibility of doing something to take the strain off him, to make the full moon more bearable – with their situation as precarious as it was, with so many lives dependent on his ability to be okay, it felt vital that he do whatever he could to ensure his own safety. If that meant being in less pain, so that he was less vulnerable coming home after his transformations, well, Pandora was likely a genius, and he was eager to get to work. 

That’s what he’d been thinking of when, on a whim, needing desperately to get out of the house during Harry’s naptime lest he get cornered by Sirius again, he found himself strolling to the Lovegoods’ tent, knocking at the door and then, a moment later, greeted by Xeno’s face, seemingly checking him over to– make sure it was really him? Make sure he wasn’t hiding something?

There was nothing wrong with a little paranoia these days, he thought. He’d answered his own door with his wand at his side too many times to count, now, even if it was more often than not just Charity, checking in, or Dorcas bringing supplies. 

     ‘That’s alright, it was a bit of a last minute idea to stop by,’ he answered. It was nicer out today than it had been, a little warmer, like the first breath of false spring blowing its way through the village. Perhaps she’d felt the way he’d felt, needing to get out and do something while the feeling lasted. ‘I’d hate to trouble you, though, if you’re busy–’

Remus was someone in the village that they had started to feel a certain amount of fondness for, although they weren’t presumptuous enough to assume that he might consider it a friendship quite yet. Friendship was not a concept that they had much experience with, but that wasn’t something they minded, although they’d witnessed how uncomfortable others got when they mentioned that Pandora was the only friend they had now. The proximity in Godric’s Hollow, though, lent itself to forming closer bonds, just as the dormitories back at Hogwarts had––perhaps part of the reason they had spent the vast majority of their time anywhere but in the Ravenclaw dormitory. Here, the bonds meant more, somehow, with such pain surrounding them all.

If they were going to make a friend, here, Remus was someone they would highly consider for that title.

He trailed off, certainly waiting for them to stop him, but, in truth, they weren’t busy. The potions were nothing more than fragrant, brightly colored liquids at the moment, and it seemed that the whispers didn’t want them to focus at the moment. Xenophilius was silent for a second, just looking back at him with wide eyes, waiting themself for him to go on, but he didn’t. 

“No, I’m not busy, and your presence isn’t trouble. I enjoy talking to you...” they replied finally. Inside, the echoes whispered, urging them to hurry up. “And I daresay some might say I could use the company. Come in. Quickly, please.”

Gesturing him inside, Xenophilius closed the door firmly behind them, only then putting their wand away, starting back towards the kitchen and their work. “You’ve come to see if my Pandora has made progress on your potion, yes?”