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Old 12-02-2016, 01:59 AM   #103 (permalink)
Cassirin

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Join Date: Sep 2003
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Hogwarts RPG Name:
Mercer Branxton
Ravenclaw
Seventh Year

Ministry RPG Name:
Genevieve James
Minister's Office

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Made of Awesome | Ern-la the Best-wa | TZ's Apogee

SPOILER!!: Comments
Quote:
Originally Posted by SilverTiger View Post
Eeeeee *flails* <- a verbalization of what happened inside my head at the mystery present and the significance.

Also, perfect description of a Weasley Christmas. Really.
I like that your head is providing you with sound effects for us <3

Quote:
Originally Posted by Optimist.Prime View Post
I love it. Seriously love it.
Love you. Keep reading!


8.1 Hogmanay in Hogsmeade

Uncle Harry delivered Rose's knife back to her personally late in the evening on New Year's Eve. Despite Al's threat to reveal Malfoy as the gift giver, he must have changed his mind. The knife underwent several days of intensive study from Uncle Bill, as a curse-breaker, and some of the Dark Magic experts in Uncle Harry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but the consensus was unanimous: it was just a knife, albeit a very fine one. Rose only had a few minutes to enjoy being the proud owner of her impressive blade before she was ushered off so they could catch their Portkey to Hogsmeade.


Spending New Year's Eve into the early morning celebrating Hogmanay in Hogsmeade village was a family tradition started when her parents were newly married and did not yet have children to tote with them. Over time, they'd added their growing family and friends to the celebration. Rose could remember being carried in a sleepy bundle over her father's shoulder, watching her mother swing overhead a charmed ball of blue fire attached to a long stick. The flame would flash into view over their heads from time to time, waking Rose again and again. Now, she and Hugo were old enough to swing the fireballs, and their parents would stroll just out of reach and catch up with the Hogsmeade villagers they hadn't seen since their last visit.


The fireball swinging took place down the high street, and when they reached the end, they threw the still-flaming balls into the lake, where they circled and bobbed on the surface of the water until the squid pulled each light under one by one or they drifted out of sight toward the castle. It was just about midnight by that point, and the parade of celebrants followed Uncle Harry in 'first-footing' into several of the homes and businesses along high street. The villagers, and indeed even many Muggles in Scotland, believed that luck followed the first visitor of the first year, especially if that visitor was a tall dark-haired man. Uncle Harry had led the first-footing for years, although James was now slightly taller and eager for a chance to lead the festivities.


"RO-O-O-SIE." They crossed in front of the Three Broomsticks, and James picked Rose up neatly with one arm. He really was quite the brute, especially with the horned Viking helmet he wore for Hogmanay effect. It was all she could do to hold on and hope the weight of his helmet didn't send them both plummeting to the sidewalk. "I get to enter first at the Hog's Head, and you go with me now that you've been pillaged."


"You think anyone will thank you to let a freckled thing cross the threshold ahead of you?"


James lowered her feet back to the ground, although he kept her pressed tight to his side. Seekers were generally slight and quick, but James preferred to play his father's old position regardless of his bulkier build. If he wanted to go professional, and Rose suspected he did in spite of James' unnatural silence on the subject, her cousin would have to be willing to switch positions. "Thank me or not, they'll feed me," he ruffled her hair with his free hand.


It was true. The homes they visited would have plenty of food to share with the visitors, and, in exchange, Mum and Aunt Gin carried gifts to share for luck in the upcoming year; mostly sprigs of juniper to be burned and salt to sprinkle on the floor as part of archaic protection spells that had long been forgotten in other parts of the world.


A few feet ahead of them, Hugo and Al teetered on the curb and sang Auld Lang Syne loudly, with Lily throwing in her own shrill descant from just behind. The weather was probably too chilly to be tramping around after dark, but Rose barely felt it iin her thick-soled boots and fur-lined cloak. Plus, they'd be inside again soon, and ol' Aberforth had glasses of firewhiskey and warm cider waiting for them. Rose tucked her head against James to warm one ear, even though doing so tugged loose the intricate Nordic-style braid she wore.


"You aren't to call yourself names, though. I would fight anyone else who tried it, so don't think I won't punch you for the same. Hard." He wound a corkscrew of hair around his finger and gave it a sharp pull, making Rose wince.


"What? Freckled? Thing? Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can't win every battle with your fists?"


She swatted at his hair-pulling, but James stubbornly held on, even pulling the strand toward his mouth as if he'd eat it. "Everyone says that, but evidence would prove otherwise. 'Sides, some boys like freckles. Not me personally, but there must be some." He grunted when her elbow connected with his gut, but still, James held onto her. In spite of his assertions otherwise, Rose could think of a fair few examples of times James had been out-smarted due to his reliance on pure physicality. He lacked subtlety, and the older they got, the more the world relied on tact and discretion. James had neither.


"Aw, Rose." He read something in her face, although she wasn't sure exactly what, and James' grin pulled into a scowl. "I wish you'd quit messing around with Malfoy. I don't know what your game is, but now you've got Wood playing it too."


It rubbed Rose all the wrong ways that he called Jayne by her last name, as if she was one of the boys on his squad and not practically a sister. Perhaps that was the problem, then... he saw Jayne as an extension of Rose, and it was impossible to extricate the two. It was unfortunate that Jayne seemed to have developed a deeper attachment to James, especially because Rose wasn't sure James had the capacity to love anything more than his broom and himself. Just her own impartial observation, of course.


"Jayne isn't playing," Rose responded softly. "If you don't like seeing her on a date with Malfoy, you could do something about it." Although her friend had said she didn't need assistance getting a date to Hogsmeade, there was no way James was going to make that leap on his own. He needed a gentle nudge, and Rose was very good at getting people where they needed to go.


"I told her I forbade it, and she laughed at me." It rankled with him, too, if his tone was any indication. "I could tell him I forbid it, but Malfoy does things just to make me angry, it seems. Suppose I could get the lads together for a little physical intimidation. Aiden and Fred would help, I'm sure."


Fred was Head Boy, though, and Rose sincerely doubted that he was foolish enough to bully another student and put his position in jeopardy, regardless of how much James loathed having Malfoy theoretically pawing up a Gryffindor female. "I didn't... Merlin, you forbade it? You big-headed idiot, why don't you just officiate at their wedding or something? Telling Jayne not to do something is an engraved invitation." Pot, meet kettle. They were Gryffindor women, after all. "I was suggesting something more along the lines of preempting him."


James didn't respond, which was unusual of itself, and Rose closed the loop for him. "You ask her first." She didn't bother explaining to him that there was no real harm in Malfoy, or that Jayne didn't have any romantic feelings for the Slytherin boy, or, especially, that Jayne would much prefer to go to Hogsmeade with James. She'd leave a bit of mystery in his life.


When he remained silent, Rose sagged against him, and she'd just decided he was a hopeless case, when James burst out, "I'm just saying... it's never a good idea to ally yourself with a Slytherin. They don't play by the same rules as the rest of us, and it's impossible to win." And another impossible thing? Getting through to one James Sirius Potter. He was clearly stuck in a place where what Malfoy did or wanted was more important than the bigger picture, and Rose didn't fancy spending the rest of the holiday trying to talk him into anything. She'd let the idea of asking Jayne to Hogsmeade percolate a little longer before revisiting the topic.


"Not everything is about winning," Rose's mother fell into step beside James and gave his arm a tap with one finger, encouraging him to let Rose go. "I think you're to lead the charge this time, Jamie. Best run up to the front or your brother might have a go in your place." James released Rose with a final tug to her rapidly disintegrating hair style and jogged to the head of their small party where Uncle Harry and Rose's father were setting the pace.


Hermione Granger-Weasley shared some of Rose's physical attributes. For one, Rose had inherited her mother's fine-boned facial structure, a special blessing since Hugo had inherited the long Weasley nose and sharp chin, features that were better pulled off on Hugo's broad, masculine face. Rose also had the texture and curl from her mother's unruly hair, although Rose had conquered her curls with hair potions and determination, and her mother had conquered them by cutting most of it off and layering the rest. It had taken her several decades to realize that the only real way to overcome disastrous hair was to have less of it.


Rose wondered just how much of the conversation had been overheard until Mum slid an arm over Rose's shoulder and murmured, "Maybe you should tell me about Scorpius Malfoy now, hmm?" They were nearly of a height, an oddity Rose had noticed more and more recently when she couldn't tuck her head in against her mother for a quick hug anymore. "Believe it or not, I'm not a stranger to the appeal of the forbidden fruit, Rosie."


Ew. Were they really having this conversation about her mother? And with Dad strolling up the street just a few meters ahead of them? Rose scowled, although the dark hid her displeasure. It was Hogmanay, and they were supposed to be having fun. There was nothing fun about one's parents revealing horrifying information that was likely to leave lasting damage to her psyche.


"Lily has been telling her mother the most interesting stories about you, and about Jayne too." Of course. Lily couldn't be trusted to keep her mouth shut, and she'd gone blabbing to Aunt Gin. It was likely the entire Weasley clan, from Uncle Percy all the way to Uncle Charlie off in Peru, knew that Rose had been seen keeping company with Scorpius Malfoy.


"People have nothing better to do than gossip about things they don't understand. It's just gossip. I promise."


"That's pretty much what I told your father. I know that if there was something to tell us, you would do so." Rose's stomach dropped considerably, in spite of the loving pat Mum gave her shoulder. Super. Her father had heard about the Malfoy stuff too? In truth, her mother had an uncanny way of simply knowing things, and Rose told her parents nearly everything out of the expectation that omissions would be spotted immediately. She didn't struggle with the legacy of being the remarkable Hermione Granger's daughter for nothing... her mother was still remarkable. Fastest to be promoted at the Ministry, easily beating Uncle Percy's record, and now her name was attached to nearly every new piece of legislation that came out of the Minister's office. It was no mystery that Rose had her eye on Head Girl when it was the only position her mother had never managed to achieve. And that was only because Mum hadn't been at Hogwarts for her seventh year. She'd been saving the world, a feat Rose was certain she'd never be able to match.


Somehow, in spite of Rose's desire not to talk about Potions class and the Quidditch tryout, she found her mother pulling details from the past few months out of her. Talking about Malfoy gave him more weight than he deserved and more than she felt he ought to have, despite the number of times he'd come up in conversation over the Christmas holiday. It wasn't as if she'd personally initiated those conversations, though, and Rose was looking forward to getting back to a place where Malfoy was just part of the scenery and not everyone's favorite subject matter. If people would just stop talking about him all the time, he would be on her mind less.


"Can we skip the part where you talk about forbidden fruit, please? Since I'm not dealing with any fruit, forbidden or not, you know?" Rose and her mother paused on the street as James stomped across the threshold of the Hog's Head, raising a giant cheer from those gathered within. The rest of the group soon followed, and Rose was delighted by the warmth from the roaring fire and heated cider waiting for them at the bar. The Hog's Head was never the cleanest of establishments, and honestly, Rose wouldn't enter it without an adult in company, but it was a welcome respite in the middle of their Hogmanay evening. Across the bar, James hooked an elbow around Al's neck as he led the small group of celebrants and fellow first-steppers in another rambling version of Auld Lang Syne, and Rose was astonished to note that Al was the same height as his brother, albeit whippet thin and angular.


The patrons cheered again, and Uncle Harry herded them toward the door. There were a few cottages and businesses left to visit before Hogmanay ended and they were all trooped home to drop exhausted into bed. Before they left, Aunt Gin snuffed out the burning sprig of juniper in her hand, letting the aromatic smoke curl in rings around the door. It filled Rose's nose as she passed back into the cold night air, and she emerged from the pub coughing. It was a good cough, however, sort of cleansing, and she felt a bit like a phoenix breaking back into a world full of sharp edges and colors muted by the waxing moon after the haze of smoke.


Rose was always one to feel the shiny promise of a new year, like a freshly minted galleon to turn over in her hands. In this moment, with her hair fragrant with juniper smoke and the people she loved winding their way down the high street and singing obnoxiously in the lengthening shadows, Rose felt the press of all her hopes for the upcoming year pushing out of her skin. There was something else, though, something dark and unsatisfied as she gazed at the year that stretched ahead of her. Nebulous though it may be, it felt like dissatisfaction, and all Rose could do was pull her cloak tight around her body and hurry after her family in hopes that celebrating might tamp that strange emotion back down where it belonged.
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