“For what it’s worth, I don’t think they’d have replaced you as SIO if you were a bloke.”
“Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind.”
make me choose - @grangr asked:
minerva mcgonagall oralbus dumbledore
get to know our members challenge: favorite rare-pairs - andromeda black & ted tonks (8/5) - ana
i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. - lemony snicket
m o o d b o a r d :
ravenclaw / Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.
Elizabeth II
Even the head of the Commonwealth hates being told to smile.
(via silk-dreams)
Attack || Poppy + Alastor
@allthal0nelype0ple
The room felt as though it was spinning.
The light-colored tile of the kitchen floor had become stained beyond recognition; smeared with the darkest pool of crimson that Poppy had ever seen. It trailed like red rivers, thick and viscous. The scent of blood overwhelmed the room, once smelling of oak, lemon tea and wildflowers. She wondered how she would ever manage to forget the scent of copper now that all was said and done, but Poppy had far more to worry about than the mess caused by the scuffle.
Each breath had become difficult; painful, as though shards of glass had embedded themselves into her lungs. Though she knew that was not the case. Or, at least, she hoped. Her eyes wandered across the rubble of the walls, the debris scattered across the floor. And even if it was, she could not be bothered with her own injuries. Not when she had not yet checked Ariana. The possibilities were too much for her to comprehend.
It was not as though Poppy had not seen blood before. In her profession, it was an everyday sight; like concrete in the city, or grass sprawling over the hills. It was the violence of the color that rang so shattering to her composure. Sure, she had been behind the scalpel too many times to count. Bones, muscle, torn ligaments and punctured organs – she had seen so much in her career that nothing about the human body could have shocked her.
But this – this was violence at its most personal. And never before had she found herself in a position to willingly kill another.
This was war; in her own home.
Heavy-lidded eyes felt drowsy, but she knew that she could not fall victim to the sensation. Her back pressed against the wall as she struggled to find the footing to stand. The soles of her shoes slid against the floor, but she managed to push herself upright. Her hand clutched at her chest, feeling the bruising of the intruder’s curse setting in before she could even manage to see it. She was sure that she was covered in patches of dark purple and blue, but that was the least of her troubles. Poppy wondered how much of the spilled blood was her own, but she would deal with that thought later. She pushed herself well past the limit of her own strength, each step more vicious than the last; but she had to find her wand. Wherever it had landed.
She eyed the body upon the floor; the face of a man she certainly did not know, but he had most definitely known her. Now he lay still, cold. His eyes remained opened, staring forever at the ceiling. His body was bruised, battered and torn; victorious slashes at his chest a sign of Poppy’s determination.
The flesh of his forearm exposed, the fading lines of the laughing Mark burned itself into her memory. Vengeful, the hateful smile was faint, and yet it remained so heavily in all of their minds. The war had ended with the fall of the Dark Lord, but those who remained in the aftermath had grown bitter. Albus’ involvement in the war effort had made the Dumbledore name a target. Abe’s paranoia had more than certainly come true, and the evidence lay upon their floor for all to see.
Her eyes found her wand, hidden among splintered wood, shattered picture frames, and the dust of plaster. The struggle to capture it within her grasp left her tumbling to the floor, but the will to reach her daughter was enough to drive her back upon her feet. She needed to call Alastor. He would know what to do.
A flourish of her wrist called forth a spell to alert him; a precaution set between them after things in the world had proven far too dangerous. And now was most certainly a time to use it. She only hoped that the intruder had decided to come alone. With her wand in hand, she decided that it did not matter. Limping her way up the stairs, she headed to the nursery. The distinct crackle of apparation would alert her to Alastor’s arrival.
It was too quiet.
The war was over, yes. Only in a sense. The Dark Lord had seemingly been defeated. That didn’t mean the cause was dead. There had been a few attacks. Scattered. Disorganised. Then everything had stopped. It was as if they had just given up. While to many it seemed like the victory was finally there to celebrate, Alastor saw it as animals scurrying away to lick their wounds. There was more to come, to his mind, regardless of what those around him thought. It was what kept him in the office. Going home would only lead to an argument with Minerva over his state of mind.
A few people were still milling about the Department when the alarms started ringing. Alastor gripped his staff, leaning heavily on it with each step as he moved quickly to the doorway. Vance was already there to greet him, a look of fear in her eyes despite her stern expression.
“Reports are coming in of home invasions-”
“Wake ‘em all up,” he growled. “Teams o’ two or more. Wands at the ready. I want every ane o’ these bastards in Azkaban by morning-” He summoned his coat, prepared to go out there himself. Yet he was stopped in the hall by a white light. Almost a patronus but not quite. It blinked, growing bright and then dulling rapidly as it swirled around him. A spell he’d devised with Poppy; it served as a warning as well as a plea. “Get Shacklebolt. Tell ‘im he’s in charge.”
“Sir?”
“Pomfrey,” he said, ending the spell. “When ye’ve got every ane assigned I want two more ta apparate ta me.”
He didn’t give her much time to argue. It wasn’t long until he found himself bursting through his friend’s doorway. The smell of death was in the air. His wand sat firmly in one hand, his staff ready to deliver a good beating from the other. His eye scanned the building. Only two within. Abe would be at the Inn. Considering the body he found, the grown figure he could see would only be Poppy.
Calling out her name, he pushed himself up the stairs. She would have heard him, he was sure. His leg did not allow for him to be quiet anymore unless he took the time to ward it. He was almost to the nursery door by the time she met him. Covered in blood. Pale. For a moment he couldn’t speak. The fear that had built up inside him crumbled and he pulled her into a tight embrace.
dirty little purebloods {marlene & sirius}
Marlene had always hated how much he got to her; the way he could push all her buttons down like no one else. Her reactions to him tended to be knee-jerk; they would be satisfying in the moment, but ultimately leave her feeling out of control. She was just too tired for that anymore, too wary of him. Why let him get his when it often came at her expense?
Before he could try and get another rise out of her, she was off towards the castle, absentmindedly wondering what the elves would offer her this afternoon. In truth, student weren’t supposed to be making trips to the kitchens like that, but the little beings were so lovely and so concerned for their well-being that they would always heap food onto any soul that wandered into their domain. Marlene’s irregular eating habits had made her a frequent and welcome visitor, and she had no doubts her wee pals would be happy to provide her with lunch yet again.
The first elf to notice her was Blinky, who immediately exclaimed, “Mistress McKinnon!” and sauntered over, a bright smile on her wrinkly little face. “How may Blinky be of service?” Marlene quickly explained that she was after an easy, picnic-style lunch for two (trying not to roll her eyes at the thought of Sirius), and off the elf went, assembling sandwiches, fruit, and some nice sparkling water in a little basket. After thanking her profusely, Marlene headed back to the grounds, where Sirius was nowhere to be found.
He finally graced her with his presence a few minutes later, taking out a promising bottle of wine by way of greeting. Her eyes narrowed as he spoke, weighing the dryness in her throat against what little principles she may have had. “Dinnae how a feel aboot drinkin’ ocht o’ thairs.” Nonetheless, her eyes stayed glued to the bottle as she sat down and took the food out of the basket. The more she thought about it, the more she didn’t think she could do this sober.
“Ach weel, let’s see whit they’ve git.”
Sitting down cross-legged opposite her, Sirius made a show of opening the wine bottle. The only task he had. “The boys - or possibly a bonny hieland lass - drank me out of spirits at the last bash,” he said. The cork came free and he gave the bottle a sniff before he drew it to his lips.
You must let it breathe, boy. A red needs to aerate.
The mouthful he took was as bitter as the smell. It would be perfect if he followed the rules he’d been given growing up. As it was; it was alcohol, who gave a fuck? He held the bottle out to her.
Escapee || Amelia & Rabastan
Emmeline Vance
"Happiness in intelligent people
is the rarest thing I know"
-Ernest Hemingway
Emmeline Vance (pt.1/?)
Marlene McKinnon (via flickers-of-memory)