Halfveela. Don't comment on it unless you'd like to learn how hard we hit. Closed rp blog for Homenum Revelio
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dedalusdiggâ:
Oh, well, that was just ideal, wasnât it? Dedalus couldnât even find it in himself to summon any sort of exasperation at the news because that was exactly the kind of muted feeling he was in too much of a frenzy for. Running, however, was much simpler; his legs were already following long before his brain had caught up.
âArenât they all mad as hell?â he huffed quickly as they tried to put some distance between them and their pursuer â it didnât seem to matter too much, though, as a blast of something without a doubt deadly flew past his head. Dedalus cursed quickly but didnât stop running even as he threw a charm over his shoulder â aimed at the ground, not at Death Eater. Hopefully, the newly formed rubble would at least slow him down a little.
And oh, did he hate being the voice of reason but alas, sometimes it was just inevitable. âWe canât keep running, itâs only a matter of time before we run into more of them.â And as he said this, he glanced back, instinctively by now. This time, he sent a blast straight at the Death Eater and it shouldnât have been a surprise that he managed to dodge, but it was discouraging nonetheless. With another huff, Dedalus looked back at Artem; not even he himself knew what he was looking for, whether it was guidance or protection or something else.
âProbably,â Artem shot back as the two of them ran. They saw out of the corner of their eye Dedalus send back a spell. Good. Fighting on the run was always good. They ducked down as they heard a curse behind them, but it ricocheted far overhead. Apparently whoever it was didnât have good aim with a moving target.
Artem glanced back as Dedalus shot out another spell. âI know, but we needed to do something.â Facing front again, Artem saw a doorway approaching on their left. âIn there!â they called, leaving little time for Dedalus to do anything but slow down before they shoved into him, pushing both through the open doorway. No one was inside, which was good. Artem nearly slipped on the papers strewn across the floor; someone must have left here in a hurry.Â
Righting themself, Artem stepped around the pile and over toward the wall. âHeâll know itâs an ambush, but at least weâll be ready.â They raised their wand. As soon as the handle turned, Artem shot out a stunning spell, but they went too quickly. It bounced harmlessly off the door, and Artem barely got a shield charm up before a spell came flying at them. The strength of it shattered the shield, and Artemâs eyes widened as they hoped that Dedalus managed to get some spells in while Artem held his attention.
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dedalusdiggâ:
Ministry of Magic | Dedalus Diggle & Artem Tremblay May 2, 1982 Closed starter for @artemthevictorious
Chaos didnât even begin to cover it, but then again, there also wasnât much time to ponder on word choice. From the moment Dedalus had apparated into the atrium, heâd had to dodge bodies and curses alike; any thought that didnât have to do with that was pushed to the very back of his mind. He didnât have a plan. He just made his way deeper inside the Ministry, turning corners and duelling Death Eaters until it all blurred into an endless cycle of doing the same thing over and over again.
Initially, it was a relief. He held his own, and that was exhilarating in a way. With adrenaline rushing through his veins and his magic let loose, it was easy to get caught in the moment. But the moment was indeed just a moment â once it passed, fear reared its ugly head once again. The Death Eaters didnât stop coming; for every one that fell, it seemed two more were ready to take his place. And it was chilling.
What choice was here, though, but to keep going? Death certainly held no appeal. So Dedalus kept firing spells, one after another, making use of his surroundings where he could, just as Bran had taught him. Contrary to those lessons, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a clear head. And when he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway behind him, he was half-certain it was over for him.
Naturally, the relief that came from seeing Artem instead was very nearly overwhelming. âOh, thank all the gods,â he sighed. âIâve never been happier to see you!â
The Beast Division office was no place to be once screams started from the halls. Artem had stiffened, stared at the woman before her for a moment, then bolted for the hall. The masked figure they found on the other side confirmed all Artemâs worst fears. They lifted their wand, but before Artem got a spell out, the Death Eater moved first.Â
Artem felt their legs lock, but as they fell, they shot out a desperate relashio that connected and sent the Death Eater flying in the other direction. Their head hit as they landed, but Artem grit their teeth against the pain and scrambled as upright as they could to unlock their legs. As they looked up at the Death Eater, they saw Cuthbert Gibbon glaring back, both wand and mask lying a few feet from him. As Artem scrambled to their feet, Gibbon turned and crawled toward his wand. Shit.
They founded the corner, already tripping as they stopped so quickly upon finding Dedalus. âDonât be too happy,â Artem said, grabbing him by the hand to keep moving. âDeath Eater back there, and he is mad as hell. Pretty sure heâs about to throw something around this corner.â Perhaps they should have stayed and fought, but Artem wasnât about to set themself up to get cornered. Having a partner for themself was certainly not a bad thing.
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arabellafiggafâ:
It was nice to hear him say that, but it didnât really change much. She was too used to it. And the Squib marches, even though itâd been nearly twenty years since, were still fresh in her mind. Not the memories, perhaps, but the disappointment. The resignation. But she didnât want to burden Artem with those same feelings, not him, not anyone else who still managed to find hope somewhere in the middle of all this insanity. âMaybe one day the Ministry will see that too.â
But she did tend to forget, sometimes, that people could seek her out for her. It wasnât self-pity; heavens knew she didnât mind solitude. But even so, it was always a pleasant surprise. âThatâs good to know. They mightâve been a little too proud of themselves, anyway, if theyâd scared away a visitor.â Although Artem was really doing quite well; she hadnât said that just because. Still, it was no surprise that as she went to get the treats, Tabitha followed. No amount of pleading looks worked, however; Arabella was very careful to keep the bag out of reach as she handed it to Artem and it was entirely too funny to watch the way Tabithaâs eyes followed the bag the entire time only for her entire expression to close off as soon as it landed in Artemâs hand. Arabella didnât say anything as her kitten seemed to struggle to choose between pride and dignity, and wanting a treat. Sandy, on the other hand, had no such issues and her tiny meow was perfectly clear in its demands.
It was just easier at this point to focus on the cats, especially when he and Arabella could talk some on shared experiences but not much. Theyâd both been hurt by the average wix but in such different ways. No, talking of cats and paying attention to them seemed a better bet.
âWell, I canât deny the girl that likes me,â Artem said, glancing up almost guiltily at Arabella has he offered up the treat in his hand to Sandy. He didnât want to offend her after all. âBut just that one,â he told her as it disappeared off his hand, her little pink tongue scratching against his palm. âThe next one is for Tabitha.â He looked back up at Arabella. âCan I have another to coax her with. She didnât seem like she planned on walking over, but given how closely sheâd watched her sister gobble the other, Artem hoped she might be swayed.
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horseheartedmarleneâ:
âYeah, at least you always know youâve got something to do,â Marlene quipped back. It was nice that Artem seemed to understand the appeal of her routine, or at least to not mock her for her own contentment; so many other Ravenclaws had turned up their noses or rolled their eyes, interpreting it as equivalent to inertia or stagnation. It wasnât. Marlene had no lack of interest in the world, no surfeit of curiosity; she just found comfort in a life that was otherwise predictable, which gave her a foundation from which she could stretch herself in any and all directions that caught her fancy. Maybe Artem did understand that; they had gone off to live in the Muggle world for a while, hadnât they? And then come back. Just like Alaric, theyâd come back to what they knew â whereas Marlene had simply never left.
She listened avidly (telling herself that it was the story that was so appealing, not the source; Marlene wasnât sure she believed herself, but it was what she needed to hear regardless) to Artemâs words, to Artemâs life. âIâve never been to Ganymedeâs, actually,â Marlene said, a little surprised herself now that she thought about it. âIâm not sure why not â Iâve just never actually thought about going there.â She blinked and mused, âMaybe I should sometime.â
Artemâs mock-excitement made her laugh, and some of the tension that gripped Marleneâs shoulders whenever she was in the scarily-appealing presence of the half-Veela eased. âOh, well, nothing more exciting than an illicit breakfast before bed, is there? How truly scandalous of you,â she quipped back. âNo wonder you work at Ganymedeâs, behaving like that.â When Marlene smiled, it was almost wholly genuine as she said, âAny rate, Iâm glad you did. We donât really see much of you around here, do we?â Or maybe that was just Marlene, avoiding Artem and the charms she couldnât ignore any more than she could let herself trust â but it was easier to say we. She didnât have to admit to anything if she said we.
Artem nearly laughed at the confession, not out of malice but because it seemed so foreign from their day to day. Maybe slightly at Marleneâs expense, though. Artem wondered if she realized how often her brother stopped by, but if that wasnât comment knowledge, they certainly werenât going to rat Alaric out. âI know there used to be a time when women werenât allowed through the door, but thatâs changed. Youâre welcome to stop by and get a drink, maybe play some cards or dance with someone pretty enough to pretend you donât have to pay them for it at the end.â Artem winked. âYou might find you like it.â
They grinned at the easy way she dished things back, the friendly sass of it. Artem had friends here, of course, but they often wondered if there was anyone they hadnât known before that they could actually call a friend. Perhaps if this continued, Marlene would fit that bill.Â
Still, they bristled slightly at the next comment. Artem knew they didnât put as much time in as some people, but they tried to be around. âI try to stop by at least once a week,â they said, trying to keep anything defensive from their voice. âBring some things and all that. I canât say I hang around long, but Iâm sure if you asked around, Iâve been seen.â Even with the work Artem did to hide it, they still tended to be pegged as part veela or at least remembered, even if people couldnât say why.
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alices-husbandâ:
Nothing Ventured
âSo you didnât name yourself after any dead people, I hope?â Frank found it amusing, but he had to agree on the strength of their name. He wasnât good with name meanings at all, unless it was a very literal and frank meaning. âI like it too. It suits you.â
He grimaced at the idea of the Ministry court battles; it was hard to imagine anyone else taking over the ice cream parlor and even harder to think about the possibility that the ice cream parlor would be replaced by something different, like a frozen yogurt place.Â
Was there anything worth salvaging? He thought of Sirius, but there wasnât anything he could give him to make him feel better.Â
Frank stepped forward, reaching for the sign that had fallen to the ground due to the explosion. It was cracked, splintered, and the colors fadedâbut the name was still inscribed clearly enough to make out the name of the place.Â
âI guess this is the best we can do for now.â He dragged it with his good hand and leaned it against the wall, and he had to bite his lip to keep it from quivering. He didnât feel the loss quite as potently as he did now, realizing that anyone can just come and kick the sign away if they wanted to. There wasnât any real way to pay his respects other than staring at the sign.Â
He let the silence pass between him and Artem, and he bit his lip before pulling himself back to ask. âSoâif you were a dark wizard teen and you just murdered an ice cream man, where would you go next?â
Artem chuckled and shook their head. âNo dead people, no,â they promised. âAlthough Iâm sure thereâs a dead person or two with it. They just donât happen to be related to me.â
It was hard to keep any lightness to their conversation in such a dark place, especially as Artem watched Frank pick up the Fortescueâs sign. They grimaced. The brightness and happiness of the sign was trying to pop through, but the explosion and resulting battle had left it worse for wear. Artem wondered if this was where it had fallen from the initial impact or if someone had moved it, maybe tried to use it as a shield.Â
They were still focused on that haze of thoughts about the sign when Frank spoke again, and it took several moments before Artem processed even part of the request. âWait, what? Say that again.â More of it started to filter, though, and Artem stared. âWell, um... I canât say Iâve ever been a dark wizard teen, but... A kid murdered Florean? A kid? Holy shit. Um... I guess probably back to their parents? Or whoever their approval figure is if it isnât a parent. If they were here to murder Florean and that was the point, I canât imagine they wouldnât want to immediately go shout that theyâd done it.â
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dedalusdiggâ:
That much he could understand, certainly. âOh, goodness, no. I valued my sleep much too much for that â very Ravenclaw smart of me, isnât it? Now, waking up on time, that was a whole other matter. Nothing sounded more tempting than five extra minutes of sleep before a test early in the morning, did it?â He shook his head at the memories, nothing but fondness. âWhich is part of why I made my watch, actually. It wouldâve been of great use back then! Not that itâs not useful now, Merlin knows Iâd probably forget my head if it wasnât attached to my body, but you understandâ
He was almost offended Artem would assume he didnât know about movies, though. âOf course I know about them! Well, not the science fiction bit, evidently, but the rest is familiar, yes, yes.â Unfortunately, he knew significantly less about Muggles and dragons. âSurely some of them know. I canât imagine itâs possible not to. But then again, sometimes the Muggle World can be very confusing.â
.
Artem could honestly listen to Dedalus ramble for a while. He was quite good at it and made interesting points as he meandered his way through various subjects. Still, they knew they couldnât focus too much on him. They were still at work, after all. âThat it can be,â Artem agreed. âWho knows what muggles know? I donât even think I do, even after time with them.â
A gesture from one of the card dealers caught Artem attention, and they nodded. âWeâll have to keep this up another time,â they promised, glancing back at Dedalus. âI have some things I need to take care of real quick. Help yourself to a drink at the bar. I just wouldnât be here by the door in about three minutes.â
[The end]
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The First Wand
At age eleven, a then female presenting Artem was dragging all the way to France for school shopping, primarily because Alanna wanted her half-Veela daughter to have a wand as exotic as she was. She also insisted on a Veela hair core, despite the fact that none of the wands really spoke to Artem. The child kept gravitating toward the simpler wands, but Alanna spoke over the wandmaker they were working with to get exactly what she thought Artem needed. The wand they walked out with was a firm 8 inch African Blackwood wand with a Veela hair core. Everything from the wood to the core radiated a stubborn and finnicky personality that Artem never clicked with. Even the ornate design of the wand was hard to hold. They did terribly their first year at Hogwarts, and in hindsight, Artem blamed their wand.
Artem canât even pretend they snapped the wand accidentally because they looked their mother in the eye and broke it in half. She was understandably pissed, and Artem suffered the consequences of it all summer. Once they had a new wand, though, Artem couldnât help feeling it was worth it.
The Second Wand
Artemâs father took them to Ollivanderâs at the end of the summer because they couldnât well be sent back to school without a wand. He had a much more hands off approach, but Artem also suspected that Ollivander wouldnât have let himself be bullied as much as the French maker had. He helped Artem select a wand that in some ways was similar to the last. It was on the shorter side and unyielding, but instead of the finnicky stubbornness of the other, this one felt like an ally Artem could trust from the moment it was placed in their right hand. It was 9 1/4 inches of fir wood with a dragon heartstring core. It was simple but sturdy, and thatâs what Artem needed.
Itâs been hanging at their side ever since.
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Date: April 1, 1982 Location: Private Library Starter: @ainsleyabbottâ
Artem had spent the last week going in circles mentally. Heâd kept his information about who had helped him to himself. Dorcas hadnât noticed, and who was he going to tell? Bran had enough frustrations when theyâd argued over bringing in Avery, and the Inner Circle member had immediately focused on him too as Artem saw his way out. In the time since, heâd wondered if he should bring it up, but heâd always stopped himself in concern of who to bring it up to.Â
Eventually Artem had decided that if he couldnât pass it along to someone else, he needed more information. Before work the past few days, Artem had hung out in Diagon Alley, hoping to catch Ainsley on her way out of The Prophet, but so far, he hadnât been successful. Fine, if he couldnât catch her in public, Artem would figure out where he could. Ainsley had mentioned her occasional visits to the library in passing, and it hadnât taken long for Artem to verbally charm--not Veela charm, they wouldnât stoop so low--his way into an open invite from the little old woman who ran it. He also asked if sheâd let him know when Ainsley next visited since he was hoping to surprise her. Artem hadnât expected an owl for a while, much less the next day.
Still, he dropped what he was doing and left half his dishes sitting in the sick as he apparated to the library. Moments later he was talking into a backroom, face to face with Ainsley Abbot in such a way that he could see for the first time since sheâd killed James Potter.
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moaningmaddyâ:
The look on Maddyâs face didnât disappear. She still couldnât pinpoint it, the thing that sounded off, but she knew it wasnât Artemâs fault because sheâd heard it all before, and it had always bothered her. âYes,â she eventually said, âyes I think thatâs what I mean too.â But the confusion had returned and while she was sure of it, sure that it all made sense somewhere, she was now looking at Artem as though he could explain it better.Â
âA twin?â she asked, curious as always. âAny other siblings?â And then just as eagerly: âWhatâs his name, do I know him?â She smiled. âWhat do you stand for, Artem?â
âAh, thatâs a shame. I think love is neat.â She laughed. âThen again, I guess itâs also dangerous, here in the Wix World, with people turning to ghosts and all that. I mean, I know that most times they do that because of a dissatisfying death, we all learnt the theory in school, but really, most ghosts I know, got stuck because their loved ones were still alive.â
Artem shifted, unsure what exactly had changed but able to tell something had. Oh well, best to focus on what Artem could control, and currently that was family conversation. He didnât really talk about them much outside the people who actually knew them, especially friends from school or--around here, it seemed--Ellieâs friends from school.
âNot exactly twins,â Artem admitted. âI was adopted. My mom...â wanted a girl. âWell, she thought a token Veela would be a perfect way to completed the family.â Artem shrugged. Theyâd spent enough time dwelling on it that it didnât sting just to mention, not truly anyway. âYou might. Ellwood Tremblay. Or perhaps youâve heard of my brother Douglas. Heâs at the Ministry now and rising, I suppose. Neither of them are involved around here.â Artem had almost brought it up time and time again to Ellie, but it never seemed right. He couldnât drag his brother in.
âStand for?â Artem repeated and leaned back against the counter. âHmm, thatâs an interesting one. Cheesy to say the moment probably, but thatâs been true for I think my entire adult life. Stability. Simplicity. Thatâs what Iâm trying for anyway.â
Artem couldnât say heâd spent a lot of time thinking about ghosts, but it seemed that perhaps Maddy had. âI guess that would be hard, knowing youâre leaving people behind, especially if it seems impossible to face whatâs ahead without them.â
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bristlybranwenâ:
Her new friend. Bran grinned but it looked like she was showing her teeth with angry mockery and disgust. If Avery, or any of his cousins or brothers, ended up being a friend of Artem⊠âYeah. Better prove your loyalty.âÂ
Avery listened to Artem as though she was one of those stupid religious Muggle leaders, gaze wide and brain dead. Then his eyes flickered to Bran. âPleaseâŠâ he begged, voice hoarse, and Bran sucked in air through her teeth and stunned him. âTake him home, Tremblay.â
Artem grimaced as they took hold of Averyâs limp form. Theyâd kept him from dying here in the street, but was that better? A small, bitter part of them was thankful that at least they wouldnât have to watch. They nodded once, made eye contact with Bran, and apparated away.
[end]
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alices-husbandâ:
Nothing Ventured
âI donât have any idea,â Frank shrugged. âI believe I was named after my grandfather. He and my grandmother died before I was born. Maybe the name was longer before, justâyou know, everyone eventually goes by a nickname and that gets passed down because everyone, for some reason, really likes naming their kids after dead people. Now, I certainly hope you werenât named after a dead person, no?â
He kicked some of the brick on the ground and let it clatter down the street. None of it seemed to be salvageable, but there didnât seem like an attempt had been made to do anything to try and help. Nor did he think that there would be any children running around anytime soon named Florean. Â
âDo you think theyâd just leave everything a mess like this?â Frank asked, referring to the giant crater in the street. Most everything had been swept or vanished away and while some of the storefronts were boarded up, the wrecked ice cream parlor didnât have anyone to take ownership of it. âI meanâitâs kind of hard to think that it canât be fixed, just because⊠I donât know. Weâre just so used to fixing everything, you know?â
Artem flashed him a smile. âI named myself,â they said, not necessarily intending to give him more but figuring they probably should. âI changed it in school. Doesnât matter what it was before. My brother and I spent weeks pouring over possibilities once Iâd decided I needed one. It just fit. Good references. Strong enough to stand on its own.â They shrugged. âI like it.â
That smile faded as they looked back at the mess in and in front of the ice cream parlor. âI think the street will probably get done first. The parlor... I donât know. Feels like a bad omen to immediately build something new, but Iâm sure if Florean didnât have it willed to anybody, there will be some big Ministry court battle over who even gets the location. Probably less than there would have been if heâd, well, if it was natural causes, you know?â
Artemâs mother lived for the kind of petty drama involved in things being parsed out after death. Theyâd heard far too much about such things. They hadnât seen their mother in the past few days, but with everything else, surely even sure wasnât speculating quite yet. âSomeone itâll fix it,â they said quietly. âOr replace it. It canât sit here like this forever.â Perhaps it should. Perhaps it should be a reminder of just how little regard the Death Eaters had even for pureblood life, the thing they claimed to be protecting.
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bristlybranwenâ:
Bran, still thinking about the dead bodies, shook her head, looking both disgusted and disappointed alike. âAnd just because it wasnât your business you just dropped it? You just thought, ah, well, my job is done, time to go back to my lousy barmaid job and let other people bother with it? Is this the type of person you are, Tremblay?â Bran wasnât even surprised. Of course heâd be. He had no skin in the game. He was just like every other Pureblood Mary was always yelling about, and Bran finally got it. Leave the Muggleborns at the door like your coat on your way home, after all, their lives wasnât your business. And their deaths wasnât your fault.Â
She looked at the Avery on the ground. But it was his fault, wasnât it? She kneeled down before him, letting the blade of her knife glide up his chest to his throat. âYou hear that?â she asked the unconscious face, âRevenge fantasy my dear cousin calls it. Like he thinks killing you would satisfy anything.â Because that was the crux, wasnât it? Bran could cut open as many people as she wanted, as long as it wasnât the one right one, her job wouldnât be done. With a tight fist, she punched Avery in the face, who woke with a start. After some squirming and trying to get away, Bran had him pinned back against the wall again and his attention was on her.
âHello, Avery,â she said, âwould you rather die right now or rat out on your friends first with a bit of pain?â His eyes widened, not familiar with the metal pressing into his throat but understanding the situation easily anyway. His gaze jumped to Artem, and with a hoarse, panicked voice he let out a begging: âTremblayâŠâ
Artem huffed out a breath. No, he hadnât continued on, but unlike Bran, he didnât have the luxury of being able to say whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. Better hold that Veela temper, heâd heard more than once, and perhaps this was just another example of it. She was trying to kill a witness, and he was being berated for not being committed enough. âIâll get right on that,â he snapped. âRight after I get done with dropping off your new friend.â Artem might not have had some strong conviction toward solving everything. Heâd always left puzzles for other people. He was here to help where he was told because thatâs all he could do, and he didnât know how to put it in terms that sheâd get.Â
For a split second, Artem considered the unthinkable before quickly dismissing it. No only would it make him physically sick later if he charmed Bran, but he also couldnât say whether it would work. Even if he was willing to push it so far, Artem wasnât going to try it. It was easy to dismiss.
âIâm not here to save you,â he said, voice clipped as Bran started playing with his food. âBut I suggest you take her options seriously. She very much wants to kill you right now. Do you want to die right here in the alley? Or would you like to make yourself useful?â First. Useful first. That was the full phrase, the full intent, and Bran had made it clear that Avery wasnât getting out alive. Artem just couldnât quite bring himself to repeat the whole thing.
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dedalusdiggâ:
âRight! Right.â It did make sense, when they put it like that. But those were small, mundane things and he just didnât think they applied that much to the bigger picture. When it was a matter of life and death, when something pivotal was on the line, he had to imagine people would be less rash. Abruptly, he turned to Artem, eyebrows furrowed. âHas that happened to you? To fall asleep in the middle of an exam because of an all-nighter?â
The little sound caught both his attention and his curiosity and he was very much looking forward to the explanation. When one didnât come, however, he raised a hand to ask them to pause. âWhat does that mean? Is it another Muggle genre?â
And while he knew, technically, that Muggles were more than magicless Wix, it was still difficult to wrap his head around the fact their entire world and understandings were so fundamentally different from his own. âThey⊠donât know about dragons? But what if they come across one? What do they think dragons are? Do they know to stay away? How do they write about it if they donât know it exists?â
.
Artem nearly laughed aloud. âTrust me, when it came to studying, I was not the all-nighter type. Or if I was, it was because I sat up enjoying the frustration of and slightly harassing my brother. I studied, sure, but not like that. Was that something you did often?â
Although Artem was sure Dedalus would be fascinated by Rocky Horror, they werenât sure they had that explanation in them after so little sleep. âNo, itâs from a song,â they said instead. âA song in a movie. You know, the things muggles have that are like our pictures but with sound and always moving the same way? Itâs science fiction again actually.â
His confusion over dragons, though, had Artem nodded emphatically. âRight? I donât get it. I think at some point they must have known they existed, probably left over from before the Statute of Secrecy, but the fact that they havenât figured out that so many cultures write about them because they do in face exist boggles me. Something so big and so visible if theyâd just look, but I guess we do a good job of making sure they canât see.â Artem shrugged. Such spell procedures was a bit beyond their knowledge.
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You should have the opportunity to be more than one person with different people because you have that within you. Itâs not like youâre faking it. If everyone knows you so well and can always get a hold of you, then youâre stuck to this thing that people think you are. You should have the opportunity to reinvent yourself. Because you do. Naturally.
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đ„ - Amelia, Frank, Lu
đ„ - pinch, slap, punch
Pinch: Frank?Â
Slap: Lu? (Seems slightly more likely to happen than Frank, but could flip very quickly)
Punch: Amelia (With gloves on in a workout scenario, of course)
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alices-husbandâ:
Nothing Ventured
Frank stepped over the rubble, wondering if anyone had been around to actually help put some of it back together now that the shop owner had been murdered. He glanced over at where the counter used to be, and his hand tightened into a fist in his pocket, following the same motion he used with his wand when he tried to heal Florean.Â
âYeah, I know,â Frank answered. âYou would think that weâd be much more effective against terrorist groups, butââ
The end of the sentence felt obvious (that it was probably really likely that the Death Eaters were operating within the Ministry). It was hard to suspect anyone he worked with, but much like he had been saying about the possibility of dying and/or near death experiences, it might just be an inevitability.Â
But Frank just shook his head with an amused smile.
âI think my mother would have wanted me to have a name that was less⊠frank.â He had a love-hate relationship about the puns made about his name, but he was old enough at this point that it didnât matter. âYou know, something that would help me rub elbows a little more with the Selwyns or the Blacks. But you know what, Art? You can call dibs on a longer name for me.â
Artem nodded, letting Frankâs thought trail off. They got it well enough. When no one cared to fix something because the people in charge benefited from the thing staying that way, they werenât exactly going to spend a lot of time and energy trying to stop the group further reinforcing that status quo. Not that the Order had done much to convince the public they were a better alternative. Just last night, Artem had overheard two customers who didnât seem like the Death Eater type whispering about âthose phoenix terrorists out the exterminate purebloods.â It was rich considering the number of purebloods the Order had, but how would the general public know that? All they had was the fearmongering from those very purebloods and a Ministry happy to let them have that reputation.
The name thing was easier to focus on. A simpler thought and a less dangerous one in public. âHowâd you end up with Frank then?â they asked. âWhy not Frankford or Franklinson or Francion? Your name is far too... well, not ridiculous to truly blend in among that bunch.â Their lips quirked in half a smile as he called them Art again. Would that be charming or get annoying? Time would tell apparently. âIâll keep that in mind, Frankius. Iâll keep that in mind.â
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