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03 January 2006 @ 01:44 pm
owl  
owl to mumCollapse )
 
 
Returning from the Burrow just in time to write a few quick responses to Harry in his journal that he had yet to look over. He'd made a few diagnostic inquiries, to make sure it hadn't been cursed by the person who had returned it, but other than that, Fred hadn't dared look at any of the entries regarding him and... well the past few days.

He changed his clothes to feel a little better about himself. It wouldn't do to give a tour of their shop wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants. Fred bustled about their flat, making sure things were clean, and they had food, only to be shoo'd away by their house-elf Tipsy.

"Sir is not to be cleaning!" she squeaked an admonishment at him and pointed down the stairs. Fred sulked playfully, but went down to the shop to make sure everything was in order. He made sure none of their 'in testing stage' products were visible or within reach, and put up the safety wards around bubbling cauldrons and partially prepared potions ingredients.

He looked at his watch and realised he had a bit of time before people were supposed to show up, so he set a charm on the entrance to let him know if anyone entered the shop. He left the workshop door open so he could see the floor of the store and set about finishing preparing ingredients for testing the capsule line. Fred had been thoroughly confused by Ginny's reaction to the alcohol and Loopies, and was determined to figure out what went wrong.
 
 
 
28 December 2005 @ 10:29 am
Seamus left the Leaky Cauldron and went back to his apartment, taking out his journal.

He promised himself he wasn't going to angst, so he wasn't.Collapse )
 
 
28 December 2005 @ 02:39 am
A large stone basin, carved with innumerable runes and filled with thick, silvery liquid sat on a low, dark wooden table in the center of the reception hall. Beside the basin stood two Aurors, a witch and a wizard, provided by Kingsly Shacklebolt to keep watch over the contents, lest the numerous charms and enchantments cast on the Pensieve to keep it from being tampered with were not enough to deter mischief-makers; meddling with people's memories was not something looked upon lightly in the wizarding world.

A spell, difficult to cast (but the Headmistress had managed it well enough), allowed the contents of the Pensieve (the memories of many of the reunion attendees), to be broadcast like mini Muggle movies all along the walls of the large hall. The hall itself was silent; you could see all the memories, playing on a continuous loop side by side, but you could hear them only if you stood in front of a specific memory and focused on it directly.

There was much to see and hear.

Luna seeks her belongingsCollapse )

Millicent holds her ownCollapse )

Draco makes the cutCollapse )

Tonks misses her callingCollapse )

Three become a trioCollapse )

Ron and Harry's first ChristmansCollapse )

Fred and George fly off into the sunsetCollapse )

Angelina remembers a Quidditch victory partCollapse )

Alicia's first Quidditch matchCollapse )

An anonymous collage of memories of Albus DumbledoreCollapse )

A NOTE: If I forgot anyone's memory, or anyone was at one of the tour threads and didn't get a chance to put in a memory and would like to, please email me and let me know.

Events open for play:
May 22nd, anything from morning until 5:00 p.m.
 
 
 

It was nearing one thirty when Tonks finally went to sleep, though she'd retreated to the quiet of her bedroom shortly after Remus had left.  She did not take the Dreamless Sleeping draught, like she'd said she would. She would save that for tomorrow, when she could afford to devote a full night to sleep. Instead, she used her next best sleep aid to a draught: music.

With a flick of her wand towards the wireless, the soft strains of Frank Sinatra, a muggle crooner whose music had been part of her bedtime ritual since she was a child (couresty of her father), filled the room. It was comforting, and God knows she needed that now.

'Fly me to the moon,
Let me play among the stars,
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars...'


Tonks was asleep before the song had finished. Her dreams were fitful, causing her to toss and turn and wish that Ginny were here, because she needed someone next to her.

"Wittle 'Dora, my ickle half-breed freak niece," croons Bellatrix, reaching out to touch her face. She was oddly affectionate, despite the manic look in her eyes.
Tonks flinches despite her training at the touch.
"She's all grown up and looking more like me every day. She could have been powerful, she could have been mine..."


That's when she woke up, cold and shivering and she knew she couldn't  fall asleep again, even though it was only five o'clock and she could have use another hour, at least. To help with the cold feeling that had swept over her, she went into the bathroom and cranked the shower to as hot as it could go.

The scalding temperature stung at first, but quickly turned soothing. She stayed there, letting it wash over her, until the water began to cool and her mirrors had been fogged up twice by all steam. Even then, she was reluctant to get out.

She used a hand to wipe the mirror so she could see her reflection through the steam. Bellatrix's words rang in her ears, and for a minute it was hard to remind herself it had just been a dream. Just a dream, images conjured up by the stress of the evening before.

Still... there was some truth in it, Tonks thought, scrutinizing her natural appearance. It was easy to see the resemblance in the shape of her face and pale, almost flawless complexion. But it was her eyes that gave her away as a Black, more than anything. Their exact shade of grey....

This was balanced out by her father's mouth, and her Granny Tonks's tip tilted nose, and their hair which looked almost mousy when she neglected it. Even though she tended to like to down play it, Tonks had to admit to herself that she was naturally rather pretty... almost nymphish in appearance. The irony of that did not escape her, which was why she was not admitting to this in public.

Admitting she was beautiful, attractive, whatever, was still not something she was used to. From the time she was seven until she graduated Hogwarts, she had been a tomboy; delighting more in rough housing and Quidditch than she ever had in romance novels and late night gossip fests. When she was younger, trying to be feminine made Tonks feel uncomfortable and awkward and more clumsy than usual. Now she could embrace it somewhat, but she always knew she would never be like Fleur, to whom being feminine came as easy as existing.

Tonks didn't let this bother her much, because she had never wanted to be like Fleur (bless her), anyway. She was herself, and that was more than enough for her.

Having moved back into her bedroom as she pondered all this, she pulled on her navy blue Auror robes and checked the clock. 6:30. She still had an hour and a half before the others expected her at the reception hall.

She put on some tea and grabbed the latest defence book she'd been making notes on, hoping to make some more headway before her shift. She could clearly see Sirius rolling his eyes and shaking his head at her for that, but this particular book (on the history behind the Unforgivables and other nasty curses) was fascinating. It didn't matter to Tonks that most people would have been reading nothing more challenging than the instructions on how to make pancakes at this hour. (For the record, she did not make pancakes. Have you seen Nymphadora Tonks try to cook anything more complicated than toast?).

At quarter to eight, she set aside the book (carefully marking her last page), grabbed her wand and journal, and headed to the reception hall for her shift. It was going to be a long, and most likely boring morning.

Unless, of course, someone were to visit with her.

 
 
27 December 2005 @ 10:23 pm
One of the last things Draco wanted to do after his stressful morning (and, really, stress ought to be outlawed until at least noon because anytime before that was too fucking early) was go to lunch with anyone because interacting socially with others was going to be a draining task. What made it infinitely worse was that now Draco was going to have to spend a prolonged amount of time with Severus and there were three problems with that.

First, Draco was still recovering from his . . . conversation with Weasley. He was bound to be short-tempered, touchy, and Draco had the distinct feeling that Severus of all people would know something was wrong just by looking at him. Second, after Skeeter's hideous article detailing her depraved fantasies about Severus, Draco could hardly expect to see the man and not take the piss. And even if he managed to refrain, there was still the distinct possibility that seeing Severus would cause Draco to giggle in a very embarrassing way.

Third, and the one reason that Draco was planning on not examining too closely, was that little slip-up in his journal earlier.

My, my, but somebody's had a busy morning, haven't they?

That particular thought made Draco's lips curl downward in a frown and his fists clenched as he made his way into the Gilded Dragon. How was it possible that he could go five bloody years without anything more exciting than Thierry mastering a complicated maneuver on his broom or Melisande being hit on by a member of the Weird Sisters and then, in less than three full days, Draco had snogged a Weasley, developed feelings for a Weasley, received word of his impending fatherhood, been through a Death Eater attack, had been rejected by a Weasley Merlin only knew how many times at this point, and now there was this whatever-it-was with Severus.

Oh no, nononono, Draco thought as he grinned at Lydia, a petite woman who wasn't too fond of Draco but knew enough to be very fond of his money. Not going to think about it. You didn't think about it for how many years? You could certainly hold off thinking about it for another fifty or sixty, or just until one of you dies.

Lydia quirked her lips up at Draco and led him into the restaurant. The Gilded Dragon was one of the finest restaurants on Diagon Alley and had been hailed for its excellent cousine all over Europe. If you visited London, it was the restaurant you had to dine in. Draco was one of the few patrons that could get into the Gilded Dragon at any time, day or night. It had little to do with his name, though, and everything to do with his money. Lydia didn't even bother sneering at him. She just smiled coolly, asked how many, and said, "Right this way, Sir."

She led him through the large dining area which was decorated lavishly in soft blues and golds and much of the room's lighting came from rich sunlight pouring through large windows. Lydia seated Draco at a table sitting in a pool of light near the rear, laid the menu she'd brought with her on the table and told him to have a lovely meal.

Draco sat down heavily and highly doubted that, but he was determined to make the best of it.
 
 
 
25 December 2005 @ 10:25 pm
Fred still wasn't feeling all that well. After he'd woken up in Tonks' backyard on a transfigured hammock with a headache trying to pound it's version of a Weird Sister's tune and an overwhelming desire to use the loo, Fred had apparated back to his shared flat and downed an after-party potion (complete with cotton-mouth remover and hangover cure!) and took a shower.

He'd replied to some owls, business and personal, he'd sat down to eat some toast, when a letter from his mother came in with Errol, who seemed to have dropped dead on Fred's plate. He'd replied using a work owl, and silently made plans to go over to the Burrow. Despite what she'd said in the Howlers, he could understand that she had just been flustered over having to see all of it in The Daily Prophet, and had been a tad overly harsh. But it still hurt, Fred noted, as he made ready to head over to the Burrow. George had been nowhere to be found, so Fred decided just to go on his own.

He grabbed up his wand and apparated into his old bedroom, knowing that Molly kept their rooms clear and clean, in case any of them wanted to stay a night. Fred trampled down the stairs, like usual, and headed into the kitchen, "Mum? Are you around?" he called out, running a hand through his hair. His head still ached slightly, despite the potion, so Fred figured it probably had nothing to do with all of the alcohol he'd consumed last night, in order to forget the previous days' events.
 
 
Ginny appeared in her flat with a loud crack, and immediately fell to her knees, hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face. "Fuck," she said pitifully. "Fucking, fuck." She was at least relieved that she'd managed to hold off until she'd left Remus's. For a moment, she stared at her dangling shirt strap, transfixed as the morning replayed in her head. Letting her hair fall into her face, she choked on a sob as the scent of Harry filled her nostrils. She stood on wobbly legs and kicked the side of her chair angrily, ignoring the pain shooting into her bare toes. She deposited her things in the chair and peeled off her clothes, leaving them in a trail to the shower. She stood under cold water, numb and unblinking, silently chastising herself for making such a big deal of this.

Her mind wanted to work its way through the logic of the morning. But she shook her head, her mind was not allowed to do that. Harry Potter was back, and she got carried away in a completely unwelcome way. Well, not completely unwelcome, but unwelcome in the ways that could break her. She dried herself and dressed in a pair of denims and one of Ron's threadbare, child hood shirts. It was once dark blue, and the cotton was so well worn it bordered on sheer in the elbows and shoulders. Unbelievably soft, it was usually accompanied, on really bad days, by a glass of strawberry milk and bottomless plates of macaroni and cheese. Strawberry milk in hand, an owl she recognized as her mother's tapped on the glass. She opened the window and sighed, realizing at the thought of her Mum, that she'd utterly forgotten her manners. She found the alumni journal in the pile of things in her chair and scrawled notes to Remus, Tonks, and Hermione.

Ginny claimed her Macaroni and Cheese and settled in with the journal. Not only did it provide a good home for things she didn't want to think of but couldn't seem to keep out of her mind, but there was also harmless conversation happening inside it. Anything resembling normal, thoughtless social interaction was what she needed to keep her mind off of Harry. The journal was perfect. It meant that she didn't have to go outside and risk seeing anyone, and the Mac and Cheese was only a few feet away. After a small nap, a bit of conversation with Seamus and Stephen, two owls to Molly, both of which seemed to be a painful stretch of the imagination but she wasn't ready to talk about anything yet, Ginny stretched and braided her hair. She was thankful that she was communicating with her mother in writing, because she would've never gotten away with the lies in person.

She look around her flat and the mussed journal. Writing in it had helped a bit, but she needed to talk to a real person that didn't cause her any emotional tempests. Pulling on a loosely crocheted hat, she popped a sobering draught into her pocket and walked down Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. She felt a bit guilty about standing everyone else up, but she figured they didn't miss her.