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(Weston) A Family History
Author: Marzipan
Date: 02-10-13 15:56
"I must confess," Redberga began, after taking a sip of her English Afternoon Tea, "this business in the Prophet sits very unwell with me."
"Which business do you mean?" Weston queried. He had taken the afternoon off from work to visit his grandmother, this time without his mother accompanying him.
"Why, the insinuation that you and your wife are involved in an incestuous relationship." Before Weston could comment, Redberga pressed on, "I know that you aren't biologically related, but you must admit that your story is a bit unusual and certainly one that might create scandal. Well, I suppose it already has, hasn't it?"
Weston chewed the inside of his lip. Although his grandmother didn't possess the friendliest personality, she had at least been civil with him since their first meeting and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. She hadn't yet met his wife or children, however, and only knew what Weston had told her and what Rita Skeeter had written.
"There's nothing wrong with our story," Weston replied. "That Skeeter woman can write all she likes, but she'll always get it wrong. She doesn't know us, not the real us. If she did, then she wouldn't have anything sensational to write about because we're actually rather boring."
Redberga pursed her lips together. "So you say, but I respectfully disagree. I may not know you very well, Weston, but I don't see a boring person sitting before me. I see an intelligent young man who reminds me of my grandfather. He worked for the Department of Magical Education too."
"Really?" Weston asked, intrigued.
"Yes. His speciality was Ancient Runes."
"Marzi's father taught Ancient Runes in Australia."
"How interesting," Redberga murmured. She sipped her tea some more.
"Have you got a picture of your grandfather? What was his name?"
Redberga pointed to an old, leatherbound photo album on the bookshelf and said, "Bring that to me. The burgundy one."
Weston put down his cup and saucer and retrieved the photo album. Family Fawley was written in gold leaf on the front. He handed it to his grandmother, who thumbed towards the middle of the album and pointed at a wizard, who looked almost exactly like Weston, only the man had a mustache and beard. In the photo, the man removed his glasses and used a handkerchief to polish them before setting them back onto his nose.
"This is my grandfather, Clarence Fawley." She pointed to the photograph adjacent to Clarence's, which portrayed a witch with curly hair piled up high on her head. "And this is my grandmother, Marianna Fawley."
She flipped to the next page, which showed the Fawleys pictured with half a dozen children. "My father was the youngest," she said, pointing at a baby who appeared to be wearing a dress. "His name was Leander."
She flipped past the next few pages and then stopped at an older photo of Leander. He had short, tidy hair and a very handsome face.
"Leander married Sylvania, my mother, when he was just twenty years old and she only eighteen. Their first child, my older brother, died a day after his birth. Then they had my sister, and then my twin sister and me."
Redberga flipped to the pages of the young family all together, first with the twins as babies, then around five years old, and then perhaps ten years old. The girls had short hair, cut just under their ears, and they looked identical.
"Our line of the Fawley name died out with my father," Redberga said. "I changed my name back after the death of my husband." She said it so matter-of-factly that Weston wondered if she even missed her spouse. "But it will die with me once I'm gone."
By now, Weston was sitting on the arm of his grandmother's chair. "Tell me more about the Fawleys. Tell me about your siblings. Are they still alive?"
"No, I've outlived everybody."
Weston frowned. Perhaps a lack of family was the reason why she had willingly allowed Kitty and Weston into her home all those weeks ago. Maybe she had come to realize that she had few family members left, and she didn't want to waste another moment without them in her life.
She carefully closed the photo album and looked up at her grandson. "One thing I will say about the Fawleys is that they never would have appeared in an article written by a hack journalist."
"Surely they didn't all live perfect lives," Weston said. "We're all only human. There's not one of us who hasn't some sort of blemish in his or her past."
"Oh, I'm not implying that any of us are perfect. We are, as you say, only human, although I find that phrasing terribly mundane… No, I only mean that the Fawleys were the sort no one would ever dare insult with published gossipmongering."
Weston's eyebrows shot skyward. "However did they manage that?"
"Many ways. Quite a few of the Fawleys worked for the Prophet over the years. The rest held other positions of power or influence."
"I see," Weston murmured, except he didn't really. "Tell me more?"
"All in good time, Weston. Now, I am feeling a bit tired. Perhaps you'll come back another day?"
Weston nodded, though he was reluctant to leave. "Yes, of course. I'll write to you."
"Very well. You can see yourself out."
Although Weston hadn't finished his tea, he felt his grandmother had effectually ended his visit by suggesting he find the front door himself. He bid her adieu and removed his cloak from the hook by the door. He fastened it around his neck and stepped outside, where he walked a few steps and then disapparated for Hogsmeade.
Discharged
Author: Ginny Weasley
Date: 02-11-13 14:34
"My other shoes," Ginny says.
Molly turns from the chair where she's bent over a small bag to ask, "What was that?"
"My other shoes. I was wearing a different pair Tuesday but I don't see them in the wardrobe."
"Under the bed perhaps?" Her mum asks even as she's peering under the bed. "Not here."
"I can't imagine where they've gotten off to. Harry might have taken them but why would he take only the shoes and not my other clothes? I'll have to ask one of the nurses."
Molly returns her attention to the overnight bag. "I'll double check here. Maybe they were packed and we just weren't paying attention."
Shuffling to ease herself down on the bed Ginny absentmindedly rubs a spot on her abdomen just above one hip. At some point during 37 hours of labor the spot started hurting as if a nerve had been aggravated. It's hurt on and off since. Her healer said it might bother Ginny for a few more days but if it persists after that to let her know.
With the shoes not in the bag, Molly rechecks under the bed, under the chair, in the wardrobe, and wherever else she thinks a pair of shoes might have strayed. After a few minutes she gives up and joins Ginny sitting on the bed. "Shouldn't they be here by now?"
"They're very busy, Mum. I'm sure they'll be here soon."
"Is Harry coming?"
"He's already here. You didn't see him with the camera taking endless pictures?"
Molly laughs lightly, "How many pictures does he need of the baby in a hospital bassinet?"
"Hundreds apparently. If it's this bad now imagine when we get the baby home and he's able to take as many photos as he wishes without a nurse or healer telling him enough."
Molly puts her arm around Ginny and gives her a small hug. "He's probably just making up for how few pictures he has of himself and his parents."
"Yes, I think that's what it is; that and my husband is going to be one of those parents who is forever whipping out photos to show off to the unsuspecting."
Molly is about to reply when a nurse enters with the baby. "Here he is, all ready to go."
Harry comes in right behind, camera in hand. "Wait! Let me get around to get a shot of the handoff."
The nurse has an expression on her face of one used to proud fathers and grandparents not wanting to miss any photo opportunity. With a small smile she hands the baby off to Ginny asking as she does, "Do we have a name yet?"
A girl's name had been easy. A name for a boy was much harder. Harry understandably had James, his father's name, at the top of his list. His hesitation had been that his godson's name is James. After a great deal of discussion, Ginny and Harry decided to go with James after all and with a middle name of Sirius after his own godfather.
It's Harry who answers the nurse's question, pride lighting up his face. "James Sirius Potter."
"Be sure to give that information for records so you'll have the birth certificate in proper order. Other than some papers to sign as you leave, your healer has discharged you, Mrs. Potter."
"Thank you. One question though. I can't find the brown loafers I was wearing when I got here Tuesday."
"Let me check for you. I'll meet you at the desk."
Molly retrieves the overnight bag and Ginny, baby in her arms, gingerly gets up from the bed with a little help from Harry. He makes her pose with the baby then scooping up the baby carrier he says, "Let's get Jamie home. I can't wait to get some pictures of him in his room."
Ginny smiles but suppresses the grin that threatens to turn into out and out laughter, as Harry, Molly, Jamie, and she head for the desk to sign whatever parchmentwork there is before going home.
Vault 799
Author: Giles
Date: 02-11-13 21:59
His Kentish Glory broomstick is a relic. Fashioned in 1896, it originally belonged to his grandfather. It survived a dragon battle in 1939, during the Global Wizarding War. With teammates boasting the latest models, Giles played Keeper for Ravenclaw on the same besom. Tonight, it flies him to Charing Cross, on what promises to be comparatively mundane business.
The Leaky Cauldron is particularly cosy this chilly autumn evening; not so busy, however, that Hannah doesn't notice him enter. She manages a wave of acknowledgment through the exchange of Sickles and tankards, and Giles returns the gesture, hastily negotiating his way between the patrons with their meads and whiskeys. He finds the lantern-lit cobbled street in Diagon Alley less congested, and the foot traffic clips along at a pace accordant with Giles' brisk strides. His broomstick slips into the pocket within his bewitched cloak, an Undetectable Extension Charm accommodating it easily enough, along with Merlin-knows-what-else.
Giles once again unrolls the small piece of parchment he'd discovered among his late father's things. A small key falls into his palm. On the parchment is branded a strange sort of eye insignia along with the number 799. To Gringotts he goes, certain the key and number correspond to the long-hidden Maythorne Family vault. Established centuries earlier by his seafaring forebears who'd amassed great wealth through dubious means, the vault became a treasure hoard, a king's grave. Until his death, only Giles' father, Old Hew, had access to it. The old wizard was a very private gentleman, and it was unlikely he'd tell his wife and child where he'd taken tea that day much less the family's vault number.
It is on principle, not out of necessity, that Giles desires access to it. It's the family vault, and it is Giles who must take responsibility for it. This is not to say a generous inheritance does not currently reside in his own personal repository, along with the handsome fees he collects through freelance Auror work. His associate, a sleek raven, swoops into the alley and perches himself upon Giles' arm. "Where have you been, Harigast?" the wizard asks in Corvish.
"Protecting the Realm from ruin, of course. Where else?" Harigast caws. A great majority of Giles' work is fetched through indirect means. The Ministry of Magic has its own interests, of course, and their Aurors work accordingly. But the average witch or wizard in need of justice must look to the ravens. When the Tower of London was still a prison, the ravens comprised an elaborate network. Through the few who could speak the language, the wizarding world employed the birds to gather news, such as the identities of inmates wrongly imprisoned or of outlaws at large. Ravens have always symbolised England's fortitude, and Tower Green is never seen without them. These days, they convene at the Tower to exchange gossip, intelligence, secrets, and anything else of value. Harigast visits regularly to seek work for his master. There are many hapless witches and wizards in London who need a hero, and sometimes the ravens are their only hope for justice.
It is like any other visit to Gringotts in nearly every way, except for the perfidious ache in his heart. The key hadn't been bequeathed to him; it had been found, and quite by accident. And, though his father was dead, Giles knew Old Hew valued secrecy above anything else in life. If he could ask his father's spirit whether or not the key and the vault's contents should go to him, Giles could with confidence say that the answer would be no. And yet, the goblin-driven cart rumbles through the cavernous passages and arrives at Vault 799.
As the large door opens, Giles fears an encounter with the old man's ghost, catching his own son in an act of betrayal. Instead, the open door reveals a long corridor that befits a stately home better than a dank cave. The goblin present is unfazed by the curious vault interior, standing vigilantly outside. Harigast looks sideways at the corridor and clucks with contentment to remain at the cart. The young wizard enters the vault and passes through the dusty corridor. It ends at a door with an old brass knob, which Giles doesn't hesitate to open. The room beyond is a drawing room. A small fire crackles in the hearth, shedding enough light to make out the décor: a sofa, two armchairs, a coffee table, an armillary sphere on a plinth, a bookcase, and several indistinct portraits on unlit walls. It is as though he's walked into someone's home.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr Maythorne," a man's voice utters softly. It is a close enough sound to have come from the chairs or the sofa, but they appear to be empty.
"Who's there?" Giles demands, resisting the impulse to go for his wand.
"Are you certain that's him?" another unseen man asks.
"He's here, isn't he?"
"Whomever he is, I like the cut of his jib," a third phantom interjects.
"Forgive my associates, Mr Maythorne," the first addresses him again. "We forget ourselves. Frequently. We know why you're here, and we're prepared to grant you full access to your family's belongings provided you perform one or two little tasks for us. That...er...was the agreement, was it not?"
"Lumos," Giles invokes, as his drawn wand-tip blazes before the empty seats. "Who are you? What sort of tasks?"
"We cannot give you specifics, I'm afraid. But you can trust that the tasks you perform for us will be of great importance to all mankind. You will be continuing your father's work, you see."
Giles sighs. "Oh, my giddy aunt."
"In the Hogwarts School library..." the voice continues, "...there is a certain book of no small importance. Your first task is to bring it here."
(Madeline) Yes, I Understand Transfiguration
Author: Sy Tremont
Date: 02-12-13 14:01
Fridays for me, meant three day weekend. That meant that I had the most time to relax because I had nothing to worry about until Monday morning when I went back to class. I usually had my homework completed by dinnertime on Friday and that literally left my entire weekend free. With it getting progressively colder, I spent most of my weekends either in the Gryffindor Commons or in the Common Commons, occasionally going down to swim in the pool when F&A wasn't in session.
Today, as usual I was in the library working on my homework assignments and reading ahead for Monday's and Tuesday's lectures to ensure that I knew what was going on. I was taking notes and making notations of passages that raised questions in my own studies. Earlier this week I'd gotten a letter from Sylvain and had yet to fashion a response. I was not entirely what my thoughts were on this new family member that was thrust upon me after the death of my father. Nor was I entirely sure what I thought of the fact that my father had an illegitimate child with another woman (though it was before I was born), not that I could talk to him about it anyway because well, one can't really talk to the dead.
I'd pulled out the letter from Sylvain, who kept insisting that I call him Sy – some foolish shortening of his given name. Americans are weird. Read it over again and figured that I would probably write to him this weekend when I had nothing better to do. I could surely find a few minutes to write to my brother or would it be better to call him guardian considering that was also what he was. Though, I suppose I -should- at least give the poor boy a chance – that's the least I can do right?
"Maddie?"
I blinked, looking up at the sound of someone saying my name, it wasn't the librarian so it wasn't approaching curfew, that and I'm usually cleared out before dinner so I can eat with my roommates. Either way, I focused on the individual and smiled when I recognized who it was.
"Hey Ollie, Hiram."
"Hey...have you done the transfiguration assignment yet?" Ollie asked.
"Nope, was getting ready to work on that next. Just put the finishing touches on my essay for History of Magic, and was reading over a letter from my..." I paused for a minute before deciding to just go with it. "brother, Sylvain, who is still getting used to being in London from living in Los Angeles."
"Oh, cool, well, do you mind if we work on transfiguration with you? We are kinda having trouble understanding exactly what it is we have to do and stuff..." Hiram said.
I shrugged and motioned to the two empty seats at the table.
"I don't mind at all. I mean, I've always been good with theories, maybe I can help you understand it a bit better. In return, Hiram you can help me with potions and Ollie you can help me with DADA."
"Sure." Both boys said in unison and settled themselves down at the table across from me.
We managed to get Transfiguration, Potions and DADA done by about four thirty, and gathered our stuff up and I headed to Gryffindor and the boys headed back to Hufflepuff. It was a good day, a productive day and ultimately at dinner I'd probably start working on my reply to Sylvain and get that ready to go out in the post tomorrow morning before I went to watch the play.
Of Poltergeists and Sketches
Author: Araxie Loren
Date: 02-12-13 14:02
Sitting in one of the alcoves scattered throughout the corridors Araxie sketched those milling between classes. She had only one class today and that had ended at three. Eventually she would need to leave her perch and head to the Great Hall for something to eat, but for now she was enjoying sketching in the somewhat warmth of the corridor deeper within the heart of the castle.
She watched as various ghosts that inhabited the castle floated by, catching a couple of them and smiling as she did so. Tongue dancing upon her lips as she worked to catch a quick sketch of Peeves who was no doubt off to cause some form of mischief that would require Filch to clean up and hopefully it wouldn't be pinned on any students that would ultimately lose points for their house or gain detentions with the groundskeeper.
"What are you drawing?"
She jumped and nearly sent a thick charcoal smudge across the sketchbook at the intrusion of the voice into her little island of quiet that was the alcove.
"Just what I see. People and ghost watching mainly." She answered and turned her sketchbook so that the poltergeist could see what was being worked on.
"So, you are drawing me? Interesting! I didn't realize you could draw so well..." He said and encouraged me to flip through the sketchbook to show him more of the pieces within. He was somewhat shocked that I'd caught him so many times in action – setting up pranks, watching pranks unfold on his unsuspecting victims.
"You provide me with some entertaining things to draw, and ultimately I usually draw the aftermath once I'm elsewhere so I don't get blamed for the prank." She said with a light smile.
"Well! I will have to provide you with some interesting things to draw for the rest of your time at Hogwarts!"
With that the poltergeist headed off in the opposite direction before Araxie gathered her things and went to go meet Aderyn and Wendy for dinner in the Great Hall, she'd also show them her current round of sketches – and ultimately she wanted to get a couple of sketches of Aderyn on her broom in action on the quidditch pitch – she hadn't been able to during the exhibition matches due to being otherwise distracted with her aunt and uncle and catching up with Nichole who was insanely jealous that she had to wait another year before coming to Hogwarts.
(Serano Estate to Prague, Czech Republic) Unique Meeting Pending
Author: Xiomara Sofia Serano
Date: 02-12-13 16:23
"Alexander, please cancel my meetings for this afternoon. I'm going to be heading to Prague. There is a woman there I've need to meet with and she's only available this evening..."
"Very well Xio. I will send word to Senora Valdez and Monsieur LaVie and let them know that you will be rescheduling their meetings. I would be correct in assuming you are not taking Miss Jasmine with you?"
I flicked a glance over my shoulder at him, giving him all the answer he needed.
"No, I will not be taking Jasmine with me this time. However, eventually I will be introducing her to the wonder that is Prague."
"Very well Xio, I will keep an eye on her of course."
"Of that I have no doubt Alexander, now leave me to finish getting my things together. I will be gone until about mid-week. Should Jasmine wish access to the library in my study for her studies, she is more than welcome. The items she has access to are on the shelf just behind my desk and to the left. She knows where they are."
Alexander nodded. "Of course."
He slipped out of the room, leaving her to finish packing for her stay in Prague. Alexander slipped down the hallway to lightly knock upon the door of the nursery where Jasmine was currently having a tea party - odd that she wasn't up in the attic, but either way, she'd brought some of the things down with her.
"Miss Jasmine, if you wish to bid your mother farewell, now would be the time to do it. She will be leaving for Prague soon and will not be back until the middle of the week. Also, she's given you access to extra books for your studies from the library in her study."
Jasmine perked up at being granted access to her mother's study while she was gone in Prague - it would give her a chance to find the book that she needed - the one for her friend in the attic.
Pushing herself up she nodded at Alexander.
"Alright, I will go say goodbye."
Jasmine slipped down the hall, skipping merrily as she knocked lightly on her mother's closet door when she's in her bedroom. "Bring be back something pretty from Prague please mama?"
"Of course angelic one." I said, turning to face my daughter and slipping over to wrap my arms around her and press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Behave while I'm away."
"Of course mama."
"Good. Now, dinner should be ready soon, and I will fire chat with you before bed before my meeting."
"Sounds good!"
A quick kiss later and Jasmine was downstairs and I was gone, stepping into the floo to appear in the antiquated foyer of the hotel that will be my lodgings for the three days I will be in Prague.
You Know What
Author: Jolyon
Date: 02-12-13 17:39
Jolyon arrived at The Red Lion, a small pub near his childhood home, and immediately spotted his mother standing at the bar. She and the bartender laughed following a joke they'd shared, and then Bridget turned to claim one of the empty tables. In her hands were two, frothy glasses of ale.
She spotted Jolyon straightaway and motioned awkwardly for him to join her at a table tucked away near the hearth.
"Where's Gaius?" he asked.
"Sick with a bad strain of influenza," Bridget replied, placing one of the ales in front of her son. "I think he's about had enough of me babying him. He practically shooed me out the door!"
Jolyon knew better than to think the illness of his mother's paramour would put a damper on their relationship, but he couldn't help but be hopeful.
"You're being careful not to get sick yourself, aren't you?" he asked her.
She waved her hand dismissively. "I raised a boy and I had a husband. I know how to stay well when the men around me are sick. Enough about Gaius," Bridget said, changing the subject. "How was your day?"
"It was fine. My fifth years learned about dugbogs and my seventh years learned about dementors."
Bridget made a face. "Oh, must you really teach children about those dreadful creatures?"
"They need to know what's out there," Jolyon answered, "and no, I didn't bring one to class. I'm not sure Professor McGonagall would have allowed it, even if it were possible."
The bartender suddenly appeared, bearing two Scotch pies. "Enjoy!" he said, leaving one plate in front of Bridget and the other in front of Jolyon.
"Thanks," Jolyon said.
As the bartender walked away, Bridget said, "I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you don't mind."
"No, you know I like Scotch pie."
"Yes, and I didn't want us to waste any time so that we could discuss you know what."
Jolyon put down the fork he'd just lifted and said, "Oh, Mum."
"Oh, Mum what?" Bridget asked. "I want to know why she keeps stringing you along."
"It's not about me. It's about them. Merrie doesn't want them getting distracted from their studies."
"Yes, but they are your children and my grandchildren. They have a right to know us for who we are."
"They will."
"When?"
"Merrie thinks we should do it over the Christmas holiday. The children will be away from school and can have a few weeks to think about everything before classes start again."
"And when Christmas comes, she will say 'Let's wait till summer', and then it will be, 'Let's wait till they graduate'," Bridget said with a huff. "We've been excluded from their lives long enough."
"I don't disagree with you," Jolyon said, "but Christmas is a month from tomorrow. I'm confident we will spend it as one big happy family."