When: April

Where: Gladrags Wizardwear

Who: Claudette + Open

After the way spring solstice unfolded, Claudette had taken herself off to France for a couple of weeks to destress. Something which seemed like a good idea at the start; enjoying glasses of wine in the evening sun, chatting with her friends from home and eating food that she couldn’t get in England. The reality was quiet different. As excited as she had been to see her siblings - or some of them anyway she seemed to have forgotten she would have to see her parents too. While her mother had warmed after Claudette gave in and married Alexander, Claude still couldn’t forgive her for it. She disliked her more than ever before, especially because all she ever did was remind her of how small and powerless she could be. Because of the necessary time spent with her mother, Claudette’s mood wasn’t improved all that much when she returned.

Still, when almost ran into someone as she was walking into the shop she smiled politely and apologetically. “Oh I’m sorry, I just needed to hurry out of that rain.”

@claudettetremblay

There was a time when Cordelia never would have shopped at Gladrags Wizardwear. According to Helena Davis Gladrags was garish, far too concerned with the latest trends to produce anything with real worth, and for much of her life Cordelia believed anything her mother said. Part of the process of distancing herself from her parents and stepping away from the society she’d grown up in was examining all of the ideas she’d always taken for granted and whether or not she actually agreed with them. It turned out, Cordelia did not share her mother’s opinion on Gladrags. She liked the avant-garde clothing the shop specialized in, and while she didn’t quite have the budget to buy all of her clothes there, it was a good place to find a statement piece. 

Cordelia was trying to find a sales associate to see if she could convince them to give her a discount on an unmarked skirt she’d found on the sale rack when she drifted too close to the door. When someone ran into her from the opposite direction from where she was looking, Cordelia jumped so badly that she dropped the clothing she was holding. A relatively new and decidedly unwelcome development, Cordelia had never been easily startled when she was growing up, nor even when she made her debut, but in recent years that had changed. 

Cordelia immediately knelt to gather the material and took the moment to regain her composure. “You’ve no reason to apologize, I imagine we are equally at fault.” When she stood back up, her smile was polite and her face unbothered, despite the fact that her heart rate had not yet returned to normal. “Spring rains can be dreadful, in Britain, and I expect it’s not something you’re accustomed to.” The woman’s French accent was unmistakable, although her English was flawless.

@lestrangerthings

Cordelia had always been fairly good at reading people. She was too curious and too attentive by nature to go through life unaware of the people around her, and it had been an asset when she’d moved in high society. And Rodolphus, of course, wasn’t just anyone; they’d been close not too long ago, and these days Cordelia liked him better than most of her former friends. So she noticed the discomfort in Rodolphus, even though he wasn’t voicing it, and she dropped her teasing tone. Cordelia settled into the chair near Rodolphus’ bed and leaned forward with her elbows planted firmly on her knees, all business. “It was probably less than an hour before you got to St. Mungo’s. What do you know about what happened last night? What have you heard and what do you remember?”

Cordelia couldn’t help but smile at Rodolphus’ grumbling, even though he was clearly not in a joking mood. Obviously, the fact that he was aware enough to complain about being bored didn’t mean he was feeling as well as she’d thought. “Don’t worry, nothing’s made it into the papers just yet. I have seen a few reporters milling around, trying to be inconspicuous, but they’re keeping to the waiting areas. The hospital’s protocol for any sort of event at a ministry function is to play dumb until there’s an official statement. The healers know not to talk to busybodies and we’re far too busy to give interviews, anyway.” Cordelia tried again, offering Rodolphus a wry smile. “I know relinquishing control and trusting people aren’t your favorite things, but we do know what we’re doing.”

lestrangerthings​:

Cordelia was not a patient person by nature, but she’d taught herself how to be patient because that was what was expected of her. Even though she’d been raised to believe she deserved only the best, she was never supposed to demand it. It had been a fine line to tread, but Cordelia had mastered it the way she’d mastered everything else that was expected of her. And, unlike a lot of things from her past life, patience was still a helpful tool for Cordelia. So she waited quietly for Rodolphus’ answer, putting on far more patience than she actually had. When it finally came, she nodded. “You and Andromeda were in an apothecary when the werewolf found you. It attacked you first, then Andromeda was able to drive it off, I assume. You’d already lost consciousness when I got there and someone was performing first aid, not from Mungo’s but the kid did a decent job of it. I was able to stabilize you, and Andromeda apparated you here.” Cordelia held back on gory details, not sure how many of those Rodolphus would want to know.

Cordelia was glad to see Rodolphus relax, although she suspected he still wouldn’t be the easiest patient. He wasn’t an idle person by nature, and he had the same high standards that made most of Cordelia’s coworkers groan and roll their eyes when they heard a patient was from the Sacred 28. For her part, Cordelia would rather have a supercilious pureblood than quarrelsome drunkard, but she came from a different background than many of her fellow healers. She smiled wryly at her old friend and shook her head. “I’m sure he’s heard worse. But a little extra manners go a long way in here; we don’t get many pleasant patients, especially in this ward.”

Trust Cordelia to take her self-deprecating nature so seriously. She knew that she was a bright witch, she always had been, even when it wasn't necessarily the 'cool' thing to be at school. Rosaline wasn't brilliant by any means, but when she put her mind to it, her professors always noticed. But being friends with Narcissa Black and fitting into that group meant not being too bright. The whole thing had been rather exhausting. She had hated it at school, and it was a cruel irony that she was in that position again, dating Harrison. He liked her to be bright when it was convenient to him, but then there were times when she had to...be less bright, otherwise, she might outshine someone. "No, I guess I'm not," she agreed, looking at her sister. "Just when it comes to danger I guess. You could say that I'm a bit of a cliche, the damsel in distress and all of that."

Was it mean, their ongoing jokes at Aurelia's expense? Sure. But Rosaline had never pretended to be nice. She had learned the art of being two-faced among some of the best, and she was very good at it. She had to be in order to survive the Hogwarts years. She had made a promise to herself at the time that when she was out of school she would let it go. She had never thought that she would be in this position, but here she was. Rosaline laughed. "True. I love our brother dearly but he truly has the worst taste in women. It's a shame, really. If I thought that I could fix it I would, but what's the point?"

Somehow Cordelia managed to cut into her without even realizing what she had said. She didn't care about her chart, or what the doctors thought about the state of her wound. What she cared about, had to care about was the damned scarring that was going to come with it. Cordelia could say that she was a strong woman but Rosaline knew the truth. No strong woman would put up with what she did. She was merely Harrison's pretty face, there to play a very specific role in his life, and she allowed it. She could have walked away from him, but she couldn't dream of it. As much as she hated it, she needed him. "You don't know that, Cordie," Rosaline finally murmured, her voice small, and she hated it. "You know how things are for women like us in our position. Ha--" she stopped herself. Somehow opening up about her relationship with Harrison to Cordelia seemed impossible. She cleared her throat. "Mother is rather displeased about the scar already. I'm certain she is going to look into French healers to see if there's something that can be done."

Perhaps for other sisters, it would be normal to have a vulnerable, messy, conversation. But not for the Davis sisters. Rosaline loved her sister as complicated as things were, but to talk to her about Harrison? She nearly shuddered. "You really think that I'm the prettiest one here?" Rosaline teased, feeling more comfortable returning to that kind of conversation. "If you think that I can change out of this horrid hospital gown, you don't need to tell me twice. Mother left the things she brought me over there. I...would appreciate the help."

@rosalinedavis

Cordelia was gratified by Rosaline conceding her point. It was no small victory, even if they hadn’t been properly arguing. Still, she didn’t like the way her sister was talking about herself. The youngest Davis almost seemed to be lacking in some of the fire that Cordelia had always so admired in her, although that wasn’t necessarily surprising, given the circumstances. “I can’t say I’ve ever known you to be a victim, my dear. It just wasn’t a situation you’d had any experience with. That’s not a bad thing.” Cordelia’s face clouded, and for a moment she was back on the cobblestones outside Morribunds, her hands slick with Ines’ blood. She shook her head and surreptitiously wiped her hands on her healer’s robes.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and sighed. “You are not wrong. I think most men get these sort of foolish mistakes out of their system while they’re still boys, but Ajax was always a bit distractible.” Of course, most people were distractible compared to Cordelia and the single-minded focus she applied to everything, but she was confident the point still stood. “And Aurelia Rookwood is certainly distracting.” Cordelia didn’t mean it as a compliment, and she didn’t say it as one. It was nice for her to be able to speak her mind about the woman, if only to Rosaline. It helped Cordelia keep her true thoughts to herself in front of Ajax, and keep her family together.

The change in Rosaline’s demeanor and voice didn’t escape Cordelia’s notice. She’d been distracted for the past three years and maybe even longer. Ines’ death had broken something in her, but only because cracks were already there; it had taken a while for her to put the pieces back together. Now it felt like she’d woken from a bad dream to a world she didn’t recognize. Ajax with his horrible girlfriend had been her biggest concern but Rosaline’s face made Cordelia wonder if her attention had been misplaced. “I do know what that world is like.” Cordelia ran her fingers through her hair, then fixed her gaze back on her sister. “But I also know you, and you’re the strongest of all of us.” Even if it was something she’d never said out loud before, it was something Cordelia believed and her words rang true, at least to her own ears.

With Rosaline’s agreement, Cordelia sprang from her chair with the same businesslike purpose that brought to most tasks. A simple spell set the hangers that Mrs. Davis had brought to hovering above the spare bed in Rosaline’s otherwise empty room and Cordelia eyed them critically, gauging which would be the most comfortable and afford the best access to the healers. Her mother had clearly been more concerned with which pieces would look the best both on Rosaline and in a hospital bed. As she considered, Cordelia continued her conversation with her sister. “Of course I do. You know I don’t do empty flattery.” Of course Cordelia had, in the past, been quite adept at empty flattery, but it was one of the many things she’d gladly left behind in her old life.

Finally, Cordelia settled on a sleeveless top, a sweater with sleeves that could easily be rolled up and was loose enough to quickly take off, and the only pair of pants their mother had seen fit to pack. “That should do. And you have plenty left over to pick out something appropriate to wear when they release you.” Cordelia hung the remaining clothes off the rod for the curtain that could be pulled around the bed for privacy, taking care to make sure that they wouldn’t interfere with the purpose it was actually intended for. “Do you want help with all of it, or just the sweater? Remember, I helped wrangle you for bath time when you were little so there’s no need for false modesty.”

It had been so long since Valeria had gotten to see, truly see, Cordelia. She'd caught her a few times out and about, partook in some casual conversation every so often, but Valeria didn't have the value of charm or allure like many of her friends did to keep her afloat in social circles. One wrong move could leave her dead in the water.

But, here she was, now nearly quite literally dead in the water, and Cordelia had been the one to help her.\

Of course, shortly after Lucius Malfoy, but that was a puzzle for another time.

When she looked at Cordelia to answer her, she nearly gave the same performance she'd been giving to her other visitors. A small, a hand-wave of her predicament, giving them the common courtesy of downplaying your own pain. But, Cordelia was here to help her. She also had no social-standing left with which to judge her from on high. So, truly, there was nothing to lose.

"Truly? Awful."

Valeria realized how that sounded and backtracked.

"Of course, your healing has been working tremendously! I feel far better every minute! It's just, um..."

She winced a bit at the memory, placing her hand under her chin, just below the bandage, absent-mindedly. Father had sounded so desperate, so angry, angry at the world. They only had the one child, after all. She was their one chance at maintaining their family's status. And in one fell swoop, it may have gone all to waste.

Instead of continuing further, Valeria found herself wanting to ask Cordelia something. Anything. She didn't know much about her life after everything. Where she lived, how she lived. Suddenly, she was curious. She changed the subject abruptly.

"How have you been, Cordelia? Have you been well?"

@verdant-valeria

Cordelia arranged the vials she was carrying in the table beside Valeria’s bed as she rambled, and when the young woman stopped for a breath, Cordelia shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize, we’re still early in the healing process. You’re also due for another dosage of pain potions, so you’re probably starting to feel that.” She offered Valeria a soft, reassuring smile as she combined the final ingredients into a cup and held it out. “Drinking this will help.” 

One of the things Cordelia enjoyed most about her work was the purpose of it. There was always something to do and little time for idle chit chat meant it wasn’t a priority, which made for a welcome change from her previous life. But one of the reasons Cordelia was so good at her job was her ability to tell what her patients needed, and right now Valeria needed to talk. Cordelia could not blame the girl for reaching for a bit of normalcy now when her world had been so suddenly upended, so she pulled up the visitor’s chair next to Valeria’s bed and took a seat. She could spare a few minutes, after all it’s what she’d want someone else to do for Rosaline. 

“I have been well; it’s kind of you to ask. It may be tactless to say given the circumstances, but I must admit I enjoy being a healer.” Cordelia combed her mental files for facts on her sister’s friend, then came up with a topic that she hoped they could both speak comfortably on. “Do you still enjoy spending time in your family’s greenhouse? If I recall correctly you were quite a Herbology prodigy at school.”

News travelled fast in Wizarding London (depending on who you knew, of course), and while he had heard murmurs about this and that from various conversations that surrounded him, nothing had grabbed his attention. Yet. Xander had positioned himself at the end of the bar, the Daily Prophet in hand, as he perused the paper while waiting for one of his associates. 

“It seems like a slow news day,” he muses, tutting his tongue, flipping to the puzzle segment of the paper. He’d always gotten bored quickly, much to his parents’ chagrin when he was younger. And it was a full moon yesterday, something that - no matter how hard he had tried - he’d always taken the care to track. He hadn’t been to see Mason, it had been years, and yet part of him still worried. 

“I suppose a slow news day is good.” A smile tugs at his mouth, not certain whether it was for his own benefit, or those around him. It had seemed lately that no news was good news. The difference was subtle (but present), particularly when he still travelled frequently between England and home, the former slowly changing before his eyes every time they returned.

@xandertremblay​

Cordelia had been volunteered to make a coffee run for the rest of the ward, although it was in question whether the coffee or the gossip was the most important thing to obtain. Most of her coworkers, like Cordelia, had been in St. Mungo’s since the middle of the night, the attacks at the festival necessitating all hands on deck. So while caffeine was imperative, it was also vital to hear what people were saying; after all, there were coffee pots in all the break rooms at the hospital. Cordelia would have been happier to stay behind and let someone else gather the provisions, but her protests had been overridden and now here she stood. 

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded, but only a bit more so than any other morning. The biggest indicator that this was not a normal day was the noise, or more precisely the lack thereof. Most of the customers were huddled in small groups, in corners or around tables, and talking in whispers that made it difficult for Cordelia to eavesdrop. It did, however, make it incredibly easy for her to hear what was possibly the only person in the pub speaking at a normal volume. With eyebrows raised, and expecting to see some sort of grin to indicate sarcasm, Cordelia turned toward the man at the end of the bar. She was surprised to see that he seemed entirely genuine, and indeed had the paper spread out before him. “Nothing of note in the Prophet?” She asked mildly, still a little baffled by the man’s ignorance.

“Who might have,” He mouthed then slowly shook his head. “For fuck's sake, how long was I down for?” Rodolphus didn’t expect an answer to the question, but it made him too aware of how much of the evening he couldn’t recall. The realization was unsettling, to say the least, since he prided himself on being able to rely on quick wit and decent memory. So much for not expecting an answer, though, since the reference to being passed out was enough to reveal Cordelia knew more than anticipated.

“I’m best kept out of the paper,” He grumbled. Work already mentioned taking time off to recuperate, which was nearly as inconvenient as the hospital stay. He didn’t like any of it and was in no position to go out of his way to get what he wanted. A truly terrible predicament to be stuck in with his not enjoying lacking a way of being in control of things.

@lestrangerthings

Cordelia had always been fairly good at reading people. She was too curious and too attentive by nature to go through life unaware of the people around her, and it had been an asset when she’d moved in high society. And Rodolphus, of course, wasn’t just anyone; they’d been close not too long ago, and these days Cordelia liked him better than most of her former friends. So she noticed the discomfort in Rodolphus, even though he wasn’t voicing it, and she dropped her teasing tone. Cordelia settled into the chair near Rodolphus’ bed and leaned forward with her elbows planted firmly on her knees, all business. “It was probably less than an hour before you got to St. Mungo’s. What do you know about what happened last night? What have you heard and what do you remember?”

Cordelia couldn’t help but smile at Rodolphus’ grumbling, even though he was clearly not in a joking mood. Obviously, the fact that he was aware enough to complain about being bored didn’t mean he was feeling as well as she’d thought. “Don’t worry, nothing’s made it into the papers just yet. I have seen a few reporters milling around, trying to be inconspicuous, but they’re keeping to the waiting areas. The hospital’s protocol for any sort of event at a ministry function is to play dumb until there’s an official statement. The healers know not to talk to busybodies and we’re far too busy to give interviews, anyway.” Cordelia tried again, offering Rodolphus a wry smile. “I know relinquishing control and trusting people aren’t your favorite things, but we do know what we’re doing.”

This was the second time that Rosaline had ended up in St. Mungo's after a Ministry sanctioned event. If she didn't know any better she would start to suspect that Millicent was trying to get rid of her. Relationships with your partner's parents were always a bit tense, but she didn't think that the Minister had it in her. And besides, even Millicent couldn't control the werewolves. And well...neither could Marlene as far as she was aware. It was just a freak incident, she was sure. Rosaline didn't quite remember what had happened after she was attacked, everything had been such a blur from the moment that she saw Val until the world had gone dark. She hadn't even begun to process what had happened last night, and she wasn't sure what it would look like, so for now she wasn't thinking about it. That was easiest, anyways. Rosaline was grateful that their mother had brought her a change of clothes and her makeup, but she hadn't brought herself to change out of the hospital gown or to try to do her makeup, but she would have to at some point. "What can I say I'm a slow learner," she teased with a shrug. It was easier that way. "I don't know, you hurt my ego Cordelia. How could a closet be more important than yours truly?"

Talking about their brother's awful taste in women felt right when the world was upside down. It was the constant that Cordelia and Rosaline had stuck with, even with all of the changes to their family as of late. She was also trying to distract her sister from the questions that she knew were coming. Shrugging, she glanced down at the bandage, her smile turning to a frown. "I've been taking all of the potions like they told me to," she responded. "Right now...I feel okay. I don't...I haven't looked at it," she whispered. A part of her was afraid to see her arm, they had said that it would scar, and she didn't know how to feel about that. Their mother had already said that she should be grateful the scar was on her arm and not her face. "Mother brought me some clothes and my makeup, so I guess I have everything I need."

@rosalinedavis

Cordelia gave Rosaline a significant look, but she bit back her weary sigh. “You aren’t always.” In fact, Rosaline had always been incredibly bright, and even as a child, when a subject caught her interest she would pick it up quite quickly. The difficult bit had been convincing Rosaline that something she didn’t like was also worth learning, something Cordelia still struggled with. Rosaline’s will had always been indomitable, even in the face of Cordelia and their mother combined. And while a rational part of Cordelia knew that if Rosaline had listened and hidden like she told her to then she wouldn’t be in St. Mungo’s today, she couldn’t help but take on the blame, anyway. Cordelia was 31, very nearly 32, and she should be able, by now, to tell Rosaline to do something in such a way that she actually would do it. Maybe later, that was something they could talk about, but now was neither the time nor the place for such a conversation. 

Instead Cordelia smiled wryly at her sister. “Of course you’re more important than clothes, but we can’t expect poor Aurelia to be as exceptionally bright as you and I.” Not that Aurelia wasn’t a clever witch, much to Cordelia’s dismay. She would probably worry less about Ajax if his girlfriend were too stupid to use him for her own gains, but alas the young woman showed no signs of that being the case. 

But Cordelia was more worried about Rosaline than Ajax at the moment, a return to what had been the normal order of things for most of her siblings’ lives until quite recently. Cordelia examined Rosaline’s chart with a practiced eye, then looked back to her sister. “I’m glad you’re feeling okay, at least, and there’s nothing concerning here.” Cordelia replaced the chart and took her sister’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s okay if you don’t want to look at it now. It will continue to heal and it will look better as it does, but it’s never going to go away completely, you know that. And Rosaline, you are far too strong a woman to be taken down by something as small as a scar.” By and large the Davis family didn’t talk about their feelings, and Cordelia had always followed their parents’ example of being sparing with praise, but the more she thought about it the more she felt like those choices had been mistakes. 

Still, it felt rather awkward and messy to Cordelia, being vulnerable with her sister. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She always preferred to be doing something, rather than talking about sentimental things, so when Rosaline mentioned what their mother brought Cordelia straightened. “Would you like me to help you? You don’t have to do anything, of course. People are allowed to look as peaked as they’d like when they’re in the hospital, and you are much prettier than the average patient even without makeup. But the hospital gowns really don’t do any favors and there’s no reason for you to stay in it when we just need access to your arm.”

visitation hours (open starter)

Date: March 27th, 1986

Time: Mid-Afternoon

Location: St. Mungo's

For: Open Starter

Valeria had heard the word "horrible" before. She'd heard it used to describe an ensemble, a meal, even, on one occasion, a particular DADA examination she'd managed to flunk.

She'd also heard others say that one cannot understand something until it has been lived, and the more studious side of Valeria had vehemently disagreed. She'd read many a book describing the indigenous homes of many of the plants she'd worked with, and could have sworn she'd gone there as well. A friend could describe their pain, and she'd feel herself grow teary-eyed beside them.

But, no description she could provide could ever account for every molecule of pain she'd experienced.

The attack itself had, somehow, been the least of it. It was over in a moment, and Valeria could remember very little. Blinding pain, as though her body had been torn in two, but only for as long as the blink of an eye, and then silent darkness, which had been a welcome reprieve.

It was the coming-to which had been "horrible."

What had awoken her was the sound of shouting, of voices she had recognized. She'd heard Mother. Mother was wailing, asking if she were alive, asking if she'd been bitten, which sent a horrible chill through her body. Had she?

Then, came Father's voice, there to remind her that she was worried about all the wrong things. Who cared about what they were unsure of? The most pertinent, most "horrible" thing, was her face.

"Oh, Merlin, what would she do now? What would become of her? Her face..."

At that moment, Valeria had chosen unconsciousness over listening even a moment longer.

She'd been awake for about two hours now and unable, no matter how she tried, to will herself back back to sleep. From what she could see of it, her bed had been decorated quite nicely, a bouquet of pansies left at her bedside with a note from Mother asking her to get well soon, but the bandages crossing over Valeria's left eye and down the side of her face had left her entirely unsure if that would ever be possible.

She'd been assured she hadn't been bitten. But, scarring in werewolf attacks was common. Her face may never be the same.

As she was about to try once again to fall asleep, she heard a knock at her door. Without turning her head, she used her voice for the first time since the attack, it coming out far foggier than she'd intended.

"Come in."

@verdant-valeria

Cordelia had been in and out of Valeria Blustrode’s room all morning, although her patient had been sleeping through most of it. The young woman’s wounds were more extensive than some of the other victims’, and the fact that Cordelia had gotten to Valeria first didn’t seem to have made much difference in her rate of recovery so far. Cordelia was trying to give the girl as much privacy as was reasonably possible in the circumstances, delaying checks that weren’t immediately necessary if she heard voices behind the closed door. Cordelia imagined it was bad enough for a young, beautiful socialite to wake up covered in bandages, especially given how the elder Bulstrodes had taken the news, without the added indignity of frequent visits from a healer. Such an event would have been devastating to Cordelia even four years ago, and as far as she knew Valeria didn’t have a job to occupy her like Cordelia had. 

When the time came to administer another dose of the pain potion, Cordelia was pleased to hear silence in the room. She knocked, but didn’t really wait before entering. Part of her was expecting Valeria to still be asleep, resting after having some visitors earlier, but she was pleasantly surprised to hear the young woman invite her in. “Miss Bulstrode, it’s nice to see you awake. How are you feeling?”