#(.Evanna: Hear the whispers in the dark.)

[milkxk]

❛ Hear the whispers in the dark ❜

Las imágenes de las marionetas cayendo, le pasaban una y otra vez por la mente. El tiempo de descanso que le había dado a causa de la lesión le dejaba demasiado tiempo libre, para repasar una y otra vez aquellas escenas, la sensación de muerte que de pronto ya se sentía conocida, la histeria y desesperación que se había vuelto natural cada tanto tiempo, y como nunca se había considerado una persona ansiosa, siempre pensaba que tenía todo bajo control. 

Se encontraba en el suelo, jugando con tail, y tal vez habían sido aquellos pensamientos los que habían provocado que buscara una conexión, levantó su mirada hacia Evanna, recibiéndola con una sonrisa  — La pregunta con la que me han recibido este día en cada conexión es ‘¿Lo viste’?”—  dijo mientras rascaba una de sus cejas  —  Así que ¿Lo viste?  — preguntó  —¿No sientes que la sensación de caos se ha vuelto algo común en nuestras vidas? *// @evcnnax​

[zorarpg]

I have died too many deaths that were not mine.

- Audre Lorde, Sequelae

NAME: Evanna MacTavish Harper BIRTHDAY: February 26, 1580 GENDER: Cisgender female SPECIES: Samodiva OCCUPATION: Singer at Club Entre Nous YEAR JOINED ZORA: 1885 FACECLAIM: Emilia Clarke

HISTORY

There was never a time before turning. Not for Evanna, the first child of the powerful Rolland clan and keeper of their legacy. Their clan wasn’t the typical sort speckled across the Scottish Lowlands, and thus their pride was different as well. They were of the samodivi, sworn to secrecy lest they lose their lives at the hands of vengeful humans. It was a threat they had already faced once, what with Evanna’s grandfather being of samodiva blood when his own brother was not. Divides like this left their clan sworn even more to legacy than to confidentiality, one could say, and thus their daughter was presented with a crucial task. She was hardly an ideal leader, more partial to making merry and music than legislation. But there was no choice. By now, Evanna hardly remembers the life she took in order to earn her timelessness and her flight, though she does remember the sight of blood upon her hands. Yet the memory that she has always found more striking is the sensation of feathers sprouting from her shuddering shoulders. These wings, symbolic as they may be, were overwhelming in size and painful beyond her young mind’s comprehension. Yet they made her whole. Finally, she was a proper samodiva, and thus, a proper Rolland. As it was, these names and titles were put to the test much sooner than anyone had anticipated: within a decade, witch hunters stormed the fragile refuge that the Rollands and their followers had turned into a home. Like Zmajkovo so long beforehand, their small semblance of a realm was destroyed, and their new leader was hardly equipped to cope with the fallout. Not even a century old, so pitifully young compared to others, Evanna was one of the few survivors and one of two keepers of her name. This new leadership was not an easy undertaking, and those under her haphazard care wandered off or withered within three years, including Evanna’s younger sister, who left without so much as a glance back. It was after that final brutal departure, when the scorned samodiva had given up on her skills as caretaker and leader alike, when she was utterly alone in the midst of the human world, that circumstances changed.

Meeting Conall MacTavish was like turning on a light after decades of darkness. A mischief-making friendship tumbled headfirst into romance and then, somehow, into family. A caretaker she’d failed to be once, yet there she was, content with her husband and children. It was a simple life, tucked away from the rabble that had the potential to disrupt their quiet peace. But interrupt it did. The memory of that day is burnt into her like the scar of a hot iron, seen every time she closes her eyes, even a century and a half later. Witch hunters stormed their quiet abode, and Evanna, fearful and pregnant, fled clutching the hand of one of their two children. It was the last time she would see her home, which was but ash by the time she returned. The last time she’d see her husband, too – there was no sign of Conall upon her return. What there was, however, was sign of their only daughter. Like a girl made of marble, she lay in the snow, looking practically untouched and utterly dead. The son that had fled with his mother suffered a similar fate not longer after, hastily succumbing to illness that Evanna could not mend, no matter what she tried. The baby she carried was lost as well. Due to stress, or shock, or the sheer power of grief – she’ll never be certain. All that Evanna knew then and knows so well now was that once again, she was utterly alone, surrounded by lives snuffed out all too quickly.

Little can be said of the years after that – much like the time before her turning, the time before her grief seems almost nonexistent. Stripping herself of her married name in an attempt at anonymity, Evanna blended into the shadows and became someone else entirely. This was an era of vengeance, wielded mercilessly and quietly. Her newfound legacy traveled in whispers: the ‘winged woman,’ her shaken survivors dared to call her. But as much as she valued the fear, it was never felt by the right people. Evanna has yet to discover the group of witch hunters who laid such terror upon her family so many years ago now. Proper tracking takes time, and she lacked it, working with a messy rage that led to her having to flee more often than not. Zora was a refuge she was pulled into by force by a recruiter hoping to guarantee her safety during one of these flights. It seemed less than ideal at first, but really, Evanna uses it as a safeguard: here, she can take her time, seeking information. No one is free from her searching, not even the New Orleans patrons who visit the smoky jazz club where she performs most nights. Not that they tend to truly know that they are privy to such persuasions. All that they know is that the notorious singer La Dame Blanche has a remarkable gaze and a charming, sultry voice. When she turns her attention to you, you almost want to tell her anything she wants to hear. Almost.

CONNECTIONS

Dina Meijer - Evanna’s niece – not that either of them know that just yet.

STATUS 

Evanna Harper is taken.

[novemberhope]

Crush (George x Adora)

Oneshot George's POV You never know what you might get to hear if you walk around in your twin's sweater

"Well, I'm off then", I said, walking down the stairs from our bedroom in Gryffindor tower and past Fred and Lee, who were setting on the couch nearby in the common room, obviously plotting another prank. I needed to get out a bit.

Looking up, Fred lifted his eyebrow. "That's my sweater you're wearing", he pointed out, noticing the dark red sweater with the canary yellow "F" in front I was wearing just now. It was a Saturday morning and therefore we were not required to wear school uniforms.

"Gee, I know. Looks better on me, I have to say." Grinning, I walked over to them. "Nah, honestly, it was just the first thing I found this morning. Apparently the houseelves took mine with them while collecting the dirty laundry. It had some nasty stains on them from our latest experiment."

We were always doing experiments of some sorts in our spare time. Those things we invented we'd use later for pranks and jokes. Sometimes things went wrong and left holes and stains on our clothes. And that were the harmless things that had happened so far.

"Otherwise I wouldn't want to be caught dead in a sweater bearing your name, dear brother", I added, smirking.

Fred rolled his eyes, pushing a strand of ginger-red hair out of his face.

"Just go, will ya?" he finally said. "Find someone else to annoy and bring me back my sweater in one piece. Looks more handsome on me anyway."

I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue - we were long past that age, after all - and left the common room. Some giggling first years, walking up the stairs to the tower, greeted me with "Hi, Fred" and big smiles. I smiled back, hiding back a grin. I wish I could do more flirting while I was supposedly Fred, but Keira, Fred's on-and-off-girlfriend, probably wouldn't take that so well. And since I liked Keira, I just smiled at the giggling girls and then went down the stairs.

Walking around the corridors, I saw Ines and some Hufflepuff first year standing at a corner. The poor boy had ink all over his sweater and looked like he was about to cry. With a charm and her wand, Adora removed the stains from the sweater, patting the boy on his shoulders.

"There you go", she said. "It's all cleaned up now. And I'll have a word with Angela later. She can't throw her ink bottle about, just because she's out of ideas for one of her stupid stories."

"Well, she wasn't exactly out of ideas, but rather ... ummm, she wanted to write about Cedric, and he forbid it, and then she threw a fit ...", the boy explained.

Adora rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, doesn't matter why, it's just not supposed to happen. No flying ink bottles in the common room."

"Make sure you tell her that." The boy sounded a lot more cheerful, now that his sweater was cleaned up. Smiling, he turned and ran away around the corner.

"Bloody dwarf", Adora muttured, refering to Angela Wentworth with her old nickname.

"Well, if it isn't little Miss Prefect ..."

Grinning, I walked over to her, leaning myself at the stone wall, right next to her, pulling at one of her long brown curls.

"Technically, it's Head Girl, not just Prefect", she automatically corrected me, turning around to face me.

I laughed. "Well then, Head Girl, go ahead, throw a fit at the dwarf for throwing around ink bottles and writing one of her stupid stories."

I knew perfectly well how good she was at throwing fits herself. Actually, I've seen her at her best and her worst. I've seen her happy and smiling, having fun with us in Hogsmeade or down at the lake. I've seen her nervous and scared, just about to do a speech in front of the whole school. I've seen her crying and miserable after my older brother, Charlie, had decided to give Romania a chance after all and left, together with their common friend, Evanna. And I've seen her yelling, mostly at her cousin, but I've heard stories about her yelling at a whole bunch of Slytherins, too.

"I'm not throwing a fit at the dwarf, it's a waste of time", she snorted, sounding annoyed. "But you shouldn't laugh about it. After all, since Cedric apparently forbade her writing a Cedric-centered story, she might just resort to write about you again or something."

I groaned, and she shook her head. "You know, and here I was thinking I was that close to actually being able to tell you two apart", she said. "When I just saw you coming my way, I thought, oh it's George. And then I realized it's you in your Fred-sweater."

I wanted to tell her to keep trusting her instincts because appearances could be deceiving, especially in the magical world or where Fred and I were concerned.

"Well, about that ..."

"Where is George, anyway?" she interrupted me. "Hanging around with Julia again?"

Julia Donovan was the new girl this year and a very loud one at that. She constantly screamed and joked around. Actually, I liked Julia a lot - but hanging around with her could actually be exhausting.

"Not today", I answered, which was correct - I wasn't hanging around with Julia just now, I was standing right next to Adora. In my brother's sweater, unfortunately.

"Well, he seems to like her a lot", she said, sighing. "Even Lyssa seems to have accepted that by now. Or at least that's why I think her witch-wars with Julia have finally stopped by now."

Lyssa Rushmore was my ex-girlfriend and she and Julia had kept hexing and jinxing each other and playing pranks and jokes until things had gotten out of hand and the teachers had stepped in. Gladly, Lyssa seemed to have accepted the fact that we were no longer an item. But that didn't mean I was romantically interested in Julia. Julia was fun to hang out with, but so was Jessie. But neither was girlfriend material, at least not in my book. Besides, Julia was a lot like Lyssa, and I wouldn't make that mistake twice.

"Yeah, I ... he likes her, but not in that way", I told Adora. "She's fun but ... well, I think she's too much like Lyssa."

It still hurt to think about Lyssa, although the breakup had been last year. But breakups were never easy to deal with. I still could see the hurt in Adora’s eyes when someone mentioned Charlie, although they'd parted as friends a few months back.

"Well, he likes girls like Lyssa. He always liked jokers and pranksters and cute giggling girls", she said, shrugging.

Geez. I wasn't that bad, was I? Was that was people said about us? That Fred liked big bad Slytherins and I liked cute little giggeling princesses who loved to play jokes and never took anything serious?

"No, he doesn't!" I insisted. "He loved Lyssa, but other than that, he never had a thing for the giggeling cutie kind of girl."

"That's not what you said before", she reminded me. "You said there's the possibility that he likes Julia. You even said that might be due to the fact that she reminds him of Lyssa!"

What? So Adora and Fred talked about me? I blinked. I certainly hadn't expected that.

"Well, that's bloody nonsense - I mean, I might have been wrong. George's definitely not interested in Julia in any romantic way!" I stated firmely to prevent any possible gossip going around.

Adora thought about it for a minute. "Well, good to know", she said after a while. "I'd hate to see him getting his heart broken again."

Awww, now that was sweet. I remembered that she'd been the one going through all the bad breakup-stuff with me back then, telling me everything would be alright in the end and that I had made the right decision and that Lyssa had to grow up first before entering a real relationship. Lyssa hadn't grown up so far, and although it still hurt, I didn't miss her that much anymore. I also remembered telling Adora stuff like that too - that Charlie was a fool for chosing dragons over her, that everyone was a fool to like Evanna better than Adora (although Evanna was a nice girl who hadn't done anything else expect becoming friends with Charlie and apparently convincing him to follow his dreams) and that one day she'd find a guy who'd appreciate her being worried about him. I mean, who could blame her. After Charlie had gotten his arm nearly burned off by a dragon during his internship, no one in my family was too fond of the idea of him going back to Romania. But then again, it had been his dream since childhood. I guess in the end, to him that had meant more than a girl.

"No more heartbreaks", I said to Adora, smiling.

We had promised that to each other a while back, after we'd realised that it didn't do us any good, meeting up in the room of requirement, crying over Charlie and Lyssa and lost love.

"Yeah, George told me so as well", she said, a smile on her lips. "Although he didn't say anything about no more heartache."

Heartache? Did she like anyone? And did Fred know about it? Apparently they had talked quite a bit. I could help but feel jealous. Fred had Keira who kept complaining about Fred not spending that much time with her. So instead of talking with Adora about heartbreaks and heartache, Fred could actually spend some quality time with his girlfriend. Adora was my friend, too. She could talk to me about that stuff. After all, we'd done so all the time after the Lyssa-and-Charlie-stuff.

"Sooo ... heartache, huh?" I asked, not knowing how to make her spill the secret without revealing that I hadn't got a clue what she was talking about.

"Don't laugh about it!" she snapped. "It's silly, really. And it's not like it's ever gonna work. And who knows, it's probably just a silly crush. Stupid me. Really, I should take a break from you Weasleys."

Whatever she wanted to do that for I didn't get, so I grabbed her and flung my arms around her. She looked surprised, and I grinned, bringing my face closer to hers.

"Now why would you want to do that, little Miss Head Girl?" I whispered into her ear. "I mean, look at us. We're handsome, we're charming, we're ..."

There was a bang and then Keira, Fred's girlfriend, stormed out of the library, glaring at us, then running past us.

"Fred! You idiot!"

Adora stepped back immediately, shrugging my hands off her.

"Why did you do that!? Why do you always have to fool around like that? Now my best friend thinks she just saw us hugging and god knows what else!"

I blinked, staring after Keira, then reminding myself again that I wore Fred's bloody sweater.

"Errr, I didn't mean to ..."

"Of course you didn't, but just imagine what this looked like just now! You know how Keira is! She might think I'm interested in you or you're interested in me or ..."

"Well, I'm not, I mean, Fred's not, I ..."

Crap. Fred would kill me for that. Things had been going good between him and Keira these days. And now apparently I ruined it.

She didn't even listen to me. "Really, Fred, you know better than that. Besides, you also know about my silly crush on George, so why ..."

I stared at her. She stared at me. I blinked. So did she. Then, realisation dawned. Her cheeks turned bright red. Meanwhile, all I could do was stare. What did she just say?

"Did you just say "Fred's not" ...!?" she shouted at me, looking ready to hit me in the face.

"Errr ... kinda", I managed to get out, carefully stepping back. When she was like that, it was better to not get in her way.

"George!!!!"

"Ummm ... yeah, that would be me. Had to borrow Fred's sweater this morning. Kinda ruined mine." I didn't really know what to say, so I just kept talking about some random shit. "Besides, your instincts are pretty good. Don't let yourself get fooled by a sweater next time around. I mean ..."

"I - really - really - hate - you - right - now!!" she shouted at me, her cheeks still bright red. And with that, she shoved me out of the way and ran off, taking the same direction Keira had just one minute ago.

I let myself fall against the wall, staring after her.

"No, we both know you don't!" I suddenly called after her, but I wasn't sure she'd heard.

But me, I was smiling now. So, little Miss Head Girl had a crush on me ... niiiice. Grinning, I started to imagine the possibilities. Hmmm. This could actually lead to something interesting ...

But for now, I had to go find my twin and tell him to go find his girlfriend - fast.

[nibimatatabi]

@hogwarts-junkie :: for the Christmas Fun Times

‘Vol de la mort’ theft of death

Voler la mort’ stealing death

‘Mongemorts’ Death Eaters

‘Noir batteurs’ dark beaters

Cassandra literally has to sit down because ‘holy love of God my family is so out of touch they think Voldemort and the Death Eaters are some sort of joke OH GOD’ coupled with them being French, they can actually say Voldemort properly (”the ‘t’ is SILENT you FOOLS it’s FRENCH oh my GOD if we’re fearing a name can we AT LEAST not BUTCHER the language it’s in?!”)

This started out as me just being stupid I *swear* but then it kind of fit and...yeah...

“So your father is an Auror?”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Cassandra is wondering if she can pour herself a glass of wine. She’s only seventeen but it’s going to be a very long evening.

“Has he put away many dark beaters? Or the stealing death himself?!” Cassandra’s eyebrows furrow as she turns from the counter, looking at the girl. Sixteen, her cousin is taller than Cassandra, heavier set, with long black hair and soft blue-gray eyes. She reminds Cassandra of Evanna. Except Evanna’s not this stupid.

“Sorry, I think I misheard you. The what now?”

“Volemort?” Her cousin repeats the name. Cassandra braces her arm on the counter.

“Stealing death,” she says it slowly. “Volemort,” it sounds even more ridiculous now. “You mean, you-know-who?” She suggests carefully. Her cousin laughs.

“No, I do mean Volemort. That’s his name, right?” Cassandra can’t decide if she wants to melt into the floor or just die on the spot.

“N-...no, not, not really. And they’re called Death Eaters, not...not dark beaters,” Cassandra places her free hand to her forehead, and then crosses herself again. “God save my soul,” she whispers.

“Mongemorts? How stupid is that!” Her cousin breaks into wild laughter.

“Oh, about as stupid as the man who calls himself ‘theft of death,’“ Cassandra says after a moment, ensuring that each of the three words were said very clearly apart.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Well everyone in my house says ‘Dark Lord’ and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I say that, and you-know-who is how the rest of us refer to him. It all sounds better in English,” Cassandra admits, blue eyes shifting back into the kitchen.

“What are they even hoping to accomplish?”

“Blood purity,” the words are out before she thinks. “Honestly, if you don’t know about this, there’s probably a reason why,” Cassandra’s hasty backtrack does little to deter the cousin’s interest.

“So do they just want a world for purebloods? That sounds amazing! Not having to hide, not having to be mindful of muggles or those trashy muggleborns or halfboods,” Cassandra’s head lowers, shocked and stunned.

“Seriously?” She hears herself asking.

“Seriously! It would be ideal! Unrealistic, of course, but ideal,” her cousin taps a finger to her cheek. “The best you could get would be like a coven near one of the big schools like Hogwarts, or Beauxbatons or Durmstrang,” the girl is oblivious to the look of horror on Cassandra’s face.

The trip comes out to Cassandra discovering two things about her family: they’re prone to delusions of grandeur and they have fully lied to their children and grandchildren - and husband and wife in the case of her Aunt and Uncle - about their blood status. Which, attending Beauxbatons, is an easy trick. Most of the Delacroixs had been pureblood or halfblood. They were a very stupidly large family, so convincing impressionable youths that ‘oh we don’t attend the gatherings’ was simple enough. Cassandra failed to be impressed, but at least it put her with her great-grandfather’s family.

“Grandpapa! Your brother and sister are crazy!” Is her greeting upon returning to her actual family.

“Why did you think Papa didn’t keep them around?”

“Well...I had assumed...”

“Because they were wizards? Child, I was surprised your father wasn’t a wizard,” Ghislain admitted to his granddaughter.