#( 𝐄𝐃𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 ) ━━━ * convos !

[fortnas]

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  :  the lion & the snitch, horizont alley  ! 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙼𝙿 : immediately after plot drop 18. 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶  :  @rebuildeds / clementine weasley​  !

for what it's worth, he'd regretted calling her the minute he'd realised she was actually going to come. it could've been innocent enough. "our niece-" ( she still was both of theirs, wasn't she ? ), "is alive. everyone else is fine. unless you count that malfoy prick, but you probably don't." he should've just left it at that and not used the illusion of a late night update to bring up the fact he'd been hurt in it all, that he was bleeding, that he hadn't bothered with a healer so that... well. it was obvious enough what he'd wanted. his pride - and that enviable ability he had to reshape his own reality on a whim and decide that he was decidely not to blame for whatever may come - had gotten in the way of him calling back and putting a stop to it, and both were interfering now that she was actually here. he'd left the door on the latch so that she could let herself in. set himself up behind the dimly lit kitchenette with a glass of something strong so that there was a distance between them, now that they were face to face. he actually had the audacity to look surprised, worse still that he finds it acceptable to tell her, by way of greeting, "you wasted your time. i'm fine."

[fortnas]

"you're not going to freeze," he tells her, very much with the air of someone answering a very silly question versus a valid concern. the weather had taken a sudden dip over the last week & the little boiler ( that couldn't ) which previously kept the flat over the pub a habitable temperature had finally given up. ned had been forced to breakout the various christmas jumpers and lumpy scarves gifted by his sister in law over the years and had tried to tough it out until hired help could fix the problem, but had been forced to admit defeat when he'd woken up shivering the night before - arthur had agreed to letting him stay at the burrow for the night, but the residual sense of cold that had settled into his bones had him wrapped up more than usual. the scarf wasn't a loss, exactly, since he still felt TOASTY inside his heavy winter coat, but he can never resist a wounded exterior. "i'll do the lights, how about that ? then you can do the trees."

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: ❛ here, you can have my scarf. ❜ 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: outside of the lion and the snitch. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: closed for ned weasley ( @fortnas )

it feels like the weight of a st bernard is dropped onto her shoulders, the woman of smaller stature almost glaring up at her boss from behind the hand-knitted bundle of yarn that now suffocated her from the blistering cold. the nipping of her father's voice haunts her thoughts as she bites her tongue, the stern timber of a man across the ocean scolding her for not thanking ned for his kindness. if her mouth were not hidden behind a layer of mismatched colours, the sound of a snort would be heard as she looks to the grump standing before her as they lock up the pub for the evening. bare hands reach to pull at the fabric before freeing her chin, the blood rushing fast to the exposed flesh as she speaks. "if i take this off and freeze, do i still have to put the lights up outside tomorrow?"

[fortnas]

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:  diagon alley   !

emotionally, he handles the charmed birthday card about as well as one would expect. after tearing into the envelopes of four bills and two advertisements best classed 'junk mail', the heavy parchment covering on it is a welcome change, a flood of relief that quickly evaporates when he opens it up and it begins to sing - shrilly. he closes it. it doesn't stop. he opens it again - long enough to read that he had george to thank for his new hell, but taking in nothing else of the paragraph written inside - and in one, angry movement, lip curled, tears it into several pieces. when it still doesn't stop its singing, the bin where half of his other letters ended up is where he aims for, though he's so flustered by the noise ( and the attention he's now self conscious of it attracting ) that a number of the sections end up scattered on the cobble. "bollocks-" he huffs, bending down to grab them and taking the slowing footsteps of another as an immediately bad sign, "- i'm picking it up, alright ? give me a bloody second-"

[fortnas]

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  :  the lion & the snitch, horizont alley  !

it starts as just a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t care to confirm, but when the creaky double doors leading into his pub herald the arrival of another, ned is forced to deal with the fact that he really DIDN’T turn the lock upon his early morning arrival. “we’re closed,” he says, brusquely, words directed towards the many rolls of parchment spread out across bartop before him. he doesn’t like to admit mistake and he’s rather loathe to face the consequences of the same so he refuses to turn to face them, though it’s obvious enough from the stilling of his quill that he isn’t quite as engrossed in the monthly stocktake and wage slip that he pools over as he’s trying to imply. he gives them little more than a second to turn back around and make their exit before he barks, “have you got bubotuber pus in your ears ? we’re not open.”  

[fortnas]

if  it’s  any  consolation  to  ned,  she  doesn’t  mean  to  laugh.  andie  has  been  the  butt  of  other  people’s  jokes  enough  times  to  know  better,  but  the  louder  the  charmed  card  sings,  the  harder  it  is  not  to  feel  at  least  some  amusement  towards  the  sight  she’s  witnessing.  it  doesn’t  matter  at  first.  the  woman  is  at  a  safe  enough  distance  that  stifled  snort  can  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  cough,  but  then  little  marco  runs  forward  in  a  bid  to  be  the  hero,  tiny  hands  helping  the  gentleman  pick  up  scattered  sections  as  if  he’s  dropped  something  most  cherished  rather  than  his  own  rubbish.  she  has  no  choice  but  to  chase  after  the  boy,  expression  now  schooled  while  hands  settle  down  on  her  son’s  shoulders  just  as  he’s  gleefully  passing  the  remains  of  torn  cardboard  over  with  a  proud  here  you  go,  sir!  ＂  sorry.  he  likes  to  be  helpful.  ＂  to  her  credit,  andie  manages  to  speak  without  cracking,  voice  slightly  raised  to  be  heard  over  the  merry  tune.  whoever  had  sent  him  that  surely  knew  exactly  what  they  were  doing.  ＂  don’t  worry.  it’s  your  birthday.  you  can    …    litter  if  you  want  to.  ＂  no,  that’s  definitely  not  how  the  song  goes. 

marco's little hands appear and ned, for what it's worth, takes a very deep, very steadying kind of breath. his mood can still best be described as soured - it was bad enough that he had to spend the day thinking about his impending mortality without the shrill reminder from an illtimed birthday card - but he can hardly direct that towards a little kid. or he could, but he really wouldn't like himself very much. still crouched at marco's level, some of the errant strips of paper already held in one closed fist, he takes the offered bundle from him and says, with forced cheer, "thanks, mate. you're a little star," complete with a little clap on his small shoulder. he straightens up, overly aware that andie has not only the barely disguised amusement of someone who's seen everything but also assumed maturity to know that he's actually pretty ticked off and tells her, with some amount of shame attached, "s'okay. i probably shouldn't teach that lesson to...?" he waits, looking to marco for the introduction.

[fortnas]

“ i s'pose that's something. ”    the way it sounds like small talk feels ludicrous and inappropriate in this setting, with the air as thick as it is, and she's overly conscious of the fact that her feet are hanging a couple of feet off the ground from the perch that she's in. it's childish, and it's accompanied by flashes of memories : ned closer, his chest under her ear, and she could really feel like she knew his heart. clem's feet hit the ground with an audible thunk, and she digs the nail of her thumb into her index finger with just enough pressure to force herself into the here-and-now.    “ bloody hell. ”   a hand goes up to her mouth, and it's only then that the realisation that lucius malfoy isn't just injured hits home. she used to have a steelier stomach for this : it was never easy, there were always times after a long day at work where she'd just collapsed into tears, but clementine had had a purpose then. it felt like there was something feasible she could do to actually stem the hurt & stop everything from getting worse.

she pushes off the sofa arm without a word, leaving the kitchenette's counter between them on purpose, but leaning forward over it to gently pry the glass out of his hand. there's only a sip left in it, but she finishes it off with her head tilted back. it feels achingly hypocritical, because she recognises that what she really wants to do is finish the bottle he's cracked into, and maybe the secret one she's sure he's got stored under the sink. perhaps secret isn't entirely the right word, seeing as there was no one to hide it from anymore. and what would follow the drinks? bittersweet. her shoulders drop like lead weights, and she finally takes a moment to look him in the eyes, the sigh in her throat aching up through her eardrums.    “ don't. please – ”   there's a croak in the word that she's hoping ned will ignore. she reaches out to take his hand in her own, eyes on his expression – she's pretty sure this is where the injury is, but she knows there'll be something in his the way the muscles around his eyebrows will twitch to confirm it.    “ why can't you ever just ask? ”   might ruin it, but the words tumble out of their own free will ( and maybe if he's angry about it, she won't want to give in again ).

he wishes she'd been there. or doesn't, really, but thinks that this would all be easier if she had been - words escape him more often than ever, these days, and ned would appreciate any EDGE that he could get. what happened to lucius malfoy was horrifying. he knew that. he's not so gone as to miss it, not so void as to think otherwise or to be so wholly unaffected by what he'd witnessed to pretend. but in not wanting to dwell on the image or spend any more time than he has to unpacking what it means, the fresh horror the death eaters are unleashing, the fact that if they're so willing to employ such a curse on one of their OWN then the next one to fall could be any one of them - well... that's the problem. he's closing up, again, same as he always does, and he knows that, too, but the only way she could understand ( at least as far as he's concerned ) is if she'd seen it with her own two eyes and she didn't, so here they stand : her distress an obvious thing, his impassiveness damning.

he wants... he doesn't know what he wants. can't even bring himself to step out of the danger zone as she approaches, doesn't even fight it when she reaches for the glass and takes it from him, can't find the words of accusation that would give him that temporary sense of triumph he chased for so long, when they still lived together. he wants everything. to have his cake & eat it too ; win the argument they've been stuck in for so many years, emerge victorious, and have her look at him with something more than the pain he causes her, for once. that's probably part of the problem. if he could just set aside that need to be right that had governed his every, mistaken step...- his expression is guarded, lips pressed in a tight line, and he winces. it's only a small thing. he's had much WORSE, so ned has framed the wound in such a way that even when he had actively been bleeding he was boxing the hurt of it away, but that involuntary twitch and the way his eyes glaze, just a bit, will tell her everything. he's at war with himself & his own miserable instincts, his frustration so poised to always get the better of him, even when what he wants...- he exhales, shakily, his gaze downturned. "what if...-" ned swallows, thickly, voice cracking when it matters. he brushes the thumb of the hand held in her own against hers, his chest aching, and mumbles, in spite of himself, "what if that isn't what i want to ask for ?"

[fortnas]

she had dropped everything as soon as she’d gotten wind of the news — but had been informed too late to do anything to really help, other than utilise her ( currently unlicensed ) healer skills. until ned had called her, clementine had managed to drop everything & functionally stood still, waiting desperately for a call to action. she’s blissfully unaware of how un-put-together she looks in the first t-shirt snatched up off the floor, and the coffee-stained jeans pinched from the top of the laundry basket, with at least two ringlets of hair stuck straight up, defying gravity. it’s one of the first times she’s been in his flat, and the temptation to look around is only just offset by the concern in her bones. her shoulders relax and a half-smile even starts to emerge when they hear ginny is okay, the ‘our’ both balm & sting. the smile then immediately drops, of course.   “ the malfoy prick? not ginny’s boyfriend? ”  in theory, he wouldn't be that callous if it was the young malfoy in question, but at this point it's not unbelievable. clem rolls her eyes at the pronouncement that she's had a wasted journey, arms going up in exasperation and flopping down to perch on the edge of the arm of his sofa.   “ 'course you are. you look like shit. ”  she can't tell if ned's actively attempting to keep the blood on his arm hidden, but she had spotted it the second she'd walked in through the door. she always wanted him to actually ask for help – but an ask forgiveness, not permission approach always seemed to work best. she doesn't move from her perch, not yet, but there's clear analysis in her gaze. 

"no. not that one," as if there's a surplus of them to choose from. as if her confusion is anything but his fault, same as this whole, sorry situation they've now found themselves in ; ned actually manages to feel affronted, eyes turned downward and frown forming because clementine has the audacity to assume he means the kid. it's a difficult thing to be so aware of your own shortcomings, so tuned into the truth of your own nature. he's not put out by her, really, not as much as he is HIMSELF & the very idea that he might now be the kind of person she has to second guess like that. he hadn't always been so cruel, had he ? he hadn't always given her so much reason to doubt ? his rising disgust at himself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth he washes down with a gulp from his glass, another thing he knows she'll notice, another fight - or at least, it had been, once - that they've had before. "lucius. he caught a curse... we don't know what one- might've been homemade. ate him from the inside," he shakes his head & it doesn't half dispel the image burned into the back of his eyelids. ned used to be better at that. used to have a stomach for it, so to speak, or used to have the ability to leave work at work, at least. now he'll think about it forever, just another brutal memory to keep him up at night. he takes another drink for good measure, her next words causing him to exhale sharply into the depths of it, a miserable sort of laugh. "cheers. and you know, you look beautiful as ever, but..." and he actually looks at her, now - from the few pieces of hair sticking straight up all the way down to her loosely tied shoes, and he bites his lip, gives a kind of one shouldered shrug, kicked puppy eyes wet in spite of himself. but he's not allowed say it anymore. or he is, but it doesn't matter. "whatever. i can patch myself up, clem. same as always."