#barnabus cuffe

[unravellingsilencehq]

“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE DETERMINED get what she deserves?” She is NEUTRAL & OPEN to finding out.“

— she walks through the world as ;

name → emma squiggle  pronouns → she/her identification → trans-woman year of birth → september 1955 - september 1956 face claim → zion moreno blood status → pure-blood sexual orientation → up to applicant occupation → investigative journalist for the daily prophet future information → n/a

— she is best described as ;

The CLARITY & SUBSTANCE of a CRYSTAL INKWELL & the SOFTNESS & SENSUALITY of a LEATHER DESK CHAIR. She is as REFINED as a full bodied RED and as plush as a long FEATHERED EVENING GOWN. 

— her story starts with ;

Some people in life are simply better than others and Emma Squiggle has made that her mantra. Born in New York to the former British Wizarding Ambassador and her menswear fashion designer husband, Emma was raised in the knowledge that the world rewards those who were willing to try and thrive. Of course, Emma knew she would be thriving. Although the Squiggle family would not grace the tapestries of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, Emma never lost a wink of sleep over it. Everyone who was anyone knew old money was out and the best way to make a splash was good family connections, a healthy traceable bloodline and a winning smile. Her very busy parents put as much effort as they could muster into Emma, treating her as a best friend or an associate rather than a child. Whilst most children were trying to grapple with The Tales of Beedle The Bard, Emma was encouraged to sit at the table alongside her parents and discuss what a day of tutoring had taught her, listening intently afterwards as her parents discussed their days. The family moved back to London not long before Emma had received her multiple offers for schooling. Hogwarts was an easy choice for her. Her family had all attended and any school that was regarded as the best in the world would be the only one she would consider. 

The hat barely brushed her head before she was announced a Ravenclaw and Emma seated herself on the long mahogany table waiting for people to begin assessing one another so she could wow them with her brilliance. The qualities that Emma loved most about herself was her creativity, strong sense of self and considered herself a good leader- the issue with being sorted into Ravenclaw was that her entire house felt the same way and it was very difficult to get a word in edgeways. Her year group housed some very strong personalities, including Quidditch legends, ELEZAR SMITH [adversary/former romantic liaison], MICHAEL THOMAS [adversary/former romantic liaison] and CRISTIANO PARKINSON [acquaintance], self-established queen bee GENEVIEVE AVERY [rival] and political princess ISOLDE CROUCH [rival]. With everyone in her year intent on a wand measuring competition, Emma forged her own group of likeminded people it wouldn’t hurt her brain to try and associate with. It surprised her how much she adored the company of ADRIAN CAVERLY [former best friend/colleague] and RITA SKEETER [adversary/former best friend/colleague]. In a flock of pigeons they were the true flamingos and nothing made her happier than when they were together. 

The three bonded over their love of pop culture, good reads, newspapers and magazines. Each day the three would sit in the common room, passing round issues of muggle and wizarding publications they’d managed to get their hands on, underlining passages for the other to read. It had been Emma’s bright idea that they go into the press business together, though it’s something Rita debates. The school was lacking a newspaper and between them they had the skills to set one up and ensure it succeeded. Emma quickly declared herself the hard news journalist amongst them, happy to give up the position of editor in order to focus on the issues that mattered. Her passion lied in investigation and nothing made Emma’s heart beat faster than a good story. The mystery of The Shrieking Shack was one that made her famous, though her theory that there was a werewolf roaming their grounds was laughed off by most of the staff and the students, except for XENOPHILIUS LOVEGOOD [friend], though she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. She earned herself a reputation for trouble, sticking her nose in places it didn’t belong and despite having a better wardrobe and more money than most of her classmates she struggled popularity wise. 

To her surprise, Michael Thomas didn’t seem to think that ambition was a bad thing. To the whole world they seemed like a couple, but the problem with Michael was that he was allergic to commitment and no matter how much Emma thought she could change him, the likelihood is no witch ever would. He was the first man to break her heart and began a bit of an unhealthy relationship for Emma when it came to love. Emma knew that she was always the better option. The smartest woman in the room, but boys her age were simply stupid. She went looking for love in all the wrong places, the fun single girl with the good job and the cute flat, with the failed love life. Unlike her best friend Rita, Emma didn’t have to pull any strings to get her job at The Daily Prophet, though it did help that her mother was good friends with the Cuffe family. She worked as the intern for ELIAS SPENCER-MOON [former boss], spending her time getting his coffee. Understandably for such a main character, Emma got bored pretty quickly and began taking it upon herself to listen in on Elias’ conversations and do some detective work of her own. 

It was only after she undercut him for a scoop and brought it straight to BARNABUS CUFFE [boss] she was awarded a position as an investigative journalist. Though Emma worked hard at her job, it just never seemed to be good enough- not in her eyes of course, but in the eyes of the establishment she worked for. While she was doing noble work trying to uncover injustice, Rita would write about Florence and her boyfriend having another argument and was gifted her own column by the time she was twenty-five. Emma was irritated about the whole thing, but then again she had always felt that way about her. Rita wasn’t a team player, she didn’t want to share the spotlight, always concerned with herself and enjoyed putting down others. Silently she plotted to take her down a peg, Emma knew there was only one real MVP at The Daily Prophet and until she had some breathing room no one would see it. At Rita’s launch party, Emma flirted shamelessly with Rita’s boyfriend AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD [partner]. It didn’t take long for him to follow her out the door in front of Rita’s face and as she settled into bed with him that evening she did so with a smile. 

Emma didn’t expect to fall in love with him. She also didn’t expect for him to fall in love with her, yet here they both were five years later. With Rita out of her life, Emma is truly thriving. She has better friends like, EDGAR CUFFE [best friend] and AURELIA ROOKWOOD [close friend].  An investigative journalist, she has been on the front line trying to figure out who is responsible for the murders taking place in the city, by any means necessary. Like anyone with more than half a brain-cell, Emma believes The Ministry are some how involved, looking to point the finger at a werewolf to contain the issue. With whispers of a dark wizard on the rise bouncing around the street Emma is curious to see if any of these claims have traction and unmask such a figure. The topic of such an investigation has spelt trouble in paradise in one area of her life, as Augustus has often seemed a little too invested in her latest case. Emma believes she might be self-sabotaging, clear on who she has been sharing a bed with for half a decade, but with his behaviour becoming increasingly strange she can’t help but wonder, is she sleeping with the enemy?

— she is a LEVEL 5 WITCH & readied for war ;

[masterlist-hq]

banabus

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   <h1>the editor</h1> <!---- Character Name Here -------------->

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   <pre>BARNABUS CUFFE</pre>

description to go here

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[fernrisulfr]

Barnabus Galaewho Astor III

This was another one I used for a One-shot. He had the most pompous accent of all time, and it was great. One of the other players loved his laugh so much, though everyone agreed they weren’t sure they could stand him in a full campaign. 

Barnabus Galaewho Astor III - Aarakocra - Wizard (Chronurgy) - Noble

Family of Wizards with the ability to see the past rather than the future, but only through their ancestors. Advisors to local rulers prized for their insights into the past. This one wandered off following the path of one of the few ancestors to have left, and who disappeared mysteriously.

Backstory Used: Born into the prestigious and noble house Astor, advisors to the local rulering class, and renowned for their ability to witness the past rather than the future; though only from the position of their ancestors. For this very reason nary an Astor has left the general area of the city in generations...save for two; the second following the footsteps of the first. Only one member of their familial line had departed their lands in the past, and no one ever knew the why of it, because they'd never returned. When Baranbus began having visions of that very same ancestor, he knew he had to pursue it. To follow in their footsteps and learn the truth. He just didn't expect there'd be so much walking involved.

His spellbook is a series of pocket watches with runes instead of numbers.

Appearance: 5′4, 85 lbs. Sort of a humanoid speckled hawk, gangly. Feathers style in accordance with the latest fashion tends. Large round orange eyes. Wears a monocle on one side. Brown and green vest, gold trimmed. White shirt, sleeves rolled because the cuffs have to be wide to avoid the talons. Sensible brown trousers and belt. Wears a tie, but alternates what kind and colour.  Watch spellbook naturally kept on a chain in his pocket. 

[morsmordrenews]

Have Your Elf A Merry Christmas   

Saturday the 22nd December 1978

Pardon the pun deer readers.... 

Apparently Christmas is just round the corner, as is 1979, the last year of the decade.  I do find myself wondering what the 80′s will have to offer, only time will tell as they say.    What will you all be hoping to find under your tree?  Personally, I hope that this Christmas, and subsequent new year will bring us more light, in the metaphorical sense.  I don’t expect to get much sun in London.... I digress.   It might be easy to push to the back of our minds the attacks that happened barely two months ago on Halloween night.   Of course, I don’t wish to dampen your Christmas spirit, I wouldn’t like to think of myself as a scrouge as it were.    However, it is always sensible to remain cautious.    Personally, I look forward to the new year street party and I commend those who are working everyday to keep our wizarding community safe.  As of last week we have gone four entire weeks without having to call upon the Ministry to deal with suspicious behaviour.  

In regards to the resignation of Harold Minchum, all of here at the Daily Prophet would like to thank him for his service to our community and extend our support to his successor, whoever she may be, or whoever he may be... 

In lighter news, It has been brought to my attention that the Leaky Cauldron will be serving Christmas dinners as of tonight.  Will the Christmas pudding be as lethal as the pea soup?  Only the brave will be able to report back.   But what would Christmas be without some excitement at the dinner table?   

As always my inbox remains open

Barnabus Cuffe 

Editor in Chief 

P.s  Thank you, Madam Malkin for the new robes, the heating charm is brilliant. 

[veritas-roleplay]

hey there! Just wondering if Barnabas Cuffe is a cis or trans man? Wasn't sure because of his fc :)

Barnabus Cuffe is a trans man, yes. All of our characters with transgender faceclaims ( Georgiana Ollivander, Barnabus Cuffe, etc. ) should be played and written as transgender. I hope that clears up any confusion!

[mxrsmxrdrxpromox]

17th January 1979

Now that our new Minister for Magic has settled into her role seamlessly, we reach the end of the last January of the 70′s.  Quite a decade it has been, usually I would make a shortlist of the noteworthy moments this era has brought us, but I fear the tragedies would greatly outweigh the triumphs.   So instead, let us focus on the future. 

Tomorrow the Montrose Magpies will be playing the Pride of Portree in the first of many annual friendlies, the Magpies are currently favourites to win.  Yours truly shall be reporting on it, so make sure to keep an eye on the Prophet for the score if you cannot attend.  

This week the Weird sisters are rumoured to be playing at the Three Broomsticks, though when I tracked down Rosie to ask she only had this to say.  

*Disclaimer she did get rather uppity so I wouldn’t recommend reading on if your in public.*

“Barnabus, I have absolutely NO IDEA where you get your information, was it Sirius Black?  The little **** These rumours have absolutely no truth, and no I did not date the bassist, where on earth did you hear that? Definitely not...”

Take from that what you will.

Send in your own stories or questions to me;

Barnabus Cuffe

Editor in chief

Daily Prophet

1A Diagon Alley,  London

Madam Malkin has asked me to print that all winter cloaks will be offered on a discounted price if you have already purchased a cloak from her.

[xavecamourconnections]

summary:

35. he/him. ravenclaw. halfblood. heterosexual. famous author of fantasy fiction novels. likes lazy days in bed, free champagne and talking about himself. dislikes lack of muse, short deadlines and being asked whether he’s related to “barnabus cuffe” (still to be confirmed ;) he is). (muse page: x)

current connections

“fake” girlfriend - piper potts best friends - armani marino fellow writers - cherry scrimgeour, ciaran killick, auden reyes friends and fans - glenda chittock publicist - ellie dowson

wanted connections

best friends (open) exes (open) rivals (open) fans (open)

[cupcakecoterie]

@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard/sorcerer

@miaaoi - Froseth, dragonborn monk

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin/warlock

@lindira - Clarity, tiefling rogue/warlock

Marion - Ava, human ranger

Brian - Barnabus, minotaur fighter

Wedding wedding wedding

First thing to cover was Hazel actually picking up Egref-style priestly robes, which resemble a kimono more than anything else. She and Barnabus also met a Tabaxi individual (not generally found on their continent beyond refugees from the Southern Lands, which don’t like Tabaxi much) and a half-elf Academy student working for his study grant who’d already met Remi and was vibrating with excitement over the previous meeting.

The half-elf kid told Hazel about the ‘romantic dramedy’ play chronicling Remi and Alisaie’s relationship to date and showed her the magazine with the review. Hazel went to buy a copy of the magazine and is going to host a trip to see the play in the immediate future.

Alisaie is not going and is facepalming at the whole thing.

Dinner with the Crestwind parents pre-bachelorette parties involved some conversation in which Corri insisted she was going to Have Words with Kreia Bendis about denying Alisaie entry into the Brass Arrows as punishment for something she wasn’t even responsible for. Barnabus was very interested in the concept of timetabling the inevitable wedding altercation. The Scheduled Bar Brawl Incident came up.

The couple exchanged wedding presents, somewhat earlier than Alisaie expected but Remi wanted Alisaie to wear hers on the day. Alisaie has a circlet that does Things (that’s still after being a surprise, to most of the party at least). Remi has a wrist-cuff that, in conjunction with an ‘eldritch’ invocation from Ziriel, will get her into her armour quite fast wherever it is.

The group split up a little afterwards. Corri and Amell Crestwind went off to see if they could find a couple of tickets to That Play. Remi, Froseth, Darvin and Barnabus went to a sort of rock / grunge bar, drank beer and the occasional whiskey, stopped at ‘somewhat buzzed’ and Remi won four gold off of Darvin at the upstairs pool table.

Alisaie, Clarity, Ava and Hazel, on the other hand, had a couple of errands first. Hazel wanted to practice getting into the Fancy Vestments (with Clarity’s help) so Alisaie took them to the beauticians’ place where she was having her hair done on the day, and her dress stored until the day. There was a lot of oooooh-ing over the dress, and then something of a struggle to make a nervous-about-impending First Major Priestly Ceremony Hazel stand still.

Then Alisaie gave Hazel the promised ten-minute flying tour of Egref. The awe of that did finally put somewhat paid to Hazel’s fear of heights. Basically, pretty.

After that, all four of them went to an upmarket cocktail bar called the Nightingale’s Wing where they had a couple of very good drinks and Alisaie explained that the dance-custom for the People’s pair-bonding ceremonies didn’t entirely work unless all parties ‘spoke’ the gesture-based language of the People, and even then didn’t entirely work unless both parties had someone around who had known them since childhood.

Next morning, no one required Lesser Restoration for the hangover! Alisaie left before everyone else got up to get prettied up; Corri and Amell came by for breakfast so that Corri could help Remi get into her military formalwear. Polly of the Riddler’s Stump got Darvin a pain-au-chocolat type thing specially because he missed out on the breakfast pastries last time because Bunny. Darvin had a lot to react to favourably - pastry, Remi in her formalwear, Hazel looking like Real Formal Cleric...

They bundled into a trolley and headed to the Conundrum Pavilion, where Cal Etielle and Hial Fortinbras were already waiting. Vieve Alled, Bahir Zet and Kreia Bendis turned up in short order, and there was ... a prelude to shouting but Corri kept her promise. Then Alisaie turned up and Remi’s reaction was priceless.

The ceremony went well. Hazel was more than a little nervous but chilled out towards the end. Corri and Ava said lovely things about Remi and Alisaie respectively. Remi and Alisaie said lovely things about each other, and Alisaie, not wanting to give up all of her chosen surname but wanting some part of Remi’s name to stay with her, has now taken the name ‘Featherwind’. Froseth drew on the elements at the appropriate moments in the ceremony. Corri cried. Barnabus also cried. Darvin had been trying not to cry but when Barnabus started blubbing, Darvin followed suit.

We had to stop there because we were already running over time but we’re going right back to the precise ‘end of the ceremony’ moment next session so that Remi can Do A Thing, apparently.

[chaoswillfallrpg]

BETTY BRAITHWAITE is TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD and a JOURNALIST in ARTS AND ENTERTAINMENT at THE DAILY PROPHET. She looks remarkably like JAZ SINCLAIR and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently OPEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, murder, discrimination

Betty Braithwaite would remember her childhood fondly. It was simple yet the love between her parents and herself was bountiful. She couldn’t recall her early years, just flashes of her mother’s smile and her father’s glasses as they played with her. JACQUELINE and NICHOLAS BRAITHWAITE were both Muggle university professors. Jacqueline would teach english literature whilst Nicholas had his doctorate in ancient cultural studies and anthropology. Despite their busy schedules, they consistently made time for Betty, who grew up in their small apartment in Oxford. Betty had a curious mind, she learnt to read early just so that she could flip through the pages of her mother’s books and read the captions to the beautiful graphics in her father’s research. Homeschooled by both her parents, she developed a passion for literature and history. It was only when Nicholas returned home to Betty sitting on the living room floor with books floating around her that her father realised that she was not ‘normal’. Nicholas knew exactly what was going on as he’d witnessed such things before. Whilst Betty’s father was a Muggle, his brother, GABRIEL BRAITHWAITE, had been born a wizard. Nicholas had known about the wizarding world since childhood but had chosen to bury the memories deep. What should have brought the Braithwaite brother’s closer, only drove a deeper wedge between them as Nicholas remembered the jealousy towards his brother and feared that Betty might one day choose her uncle over her own parents.

And so the secrecy in the Braithwaite household began, Nicholas hiding it from not only Betty, but Jacqueline as well. If anything strange occurred, Betty’s father would try his hardest to blame it on a natural phenomenon or simply pretend as if nothing had happened. He refused for his beloved daughter to be swallowed by a magical world that had done the same to his brother. Betty hardly noticed. She just lived the life that she assumed every other child was living too. She didn’t have many friends whilst growing up in Oxford but then again, she did. Her friends were the knights and princesses, the dragons and donkeys, all things big and small that were in her stories. It didn’t take long before Betty craved more, desired more and eventually she began to write her own stories which were sequels to the books she had already read. As she grew older, Betty became a girl of honesty and wisdom. Her moral compass had been nurtured by fairy tales allowing her to know between what was right, what was wrong and what was grey. It was at this time that her first letter to Hogwarts arrived. Nicholas immediately disposed of it in the fireplace but before long, new letters seemed to appear everywhere and whilst Nicholas tried his best to keep them from Betty, it wasn’t long until she noticed something was up and that her father was lying to her. Almost like a feeling in her bones, she waited one night by the window only for an owl to appear and deliver the letter in her hands. Betty could not believe her eyes as she read the letter, yet something inside her knew that it was not a prank or false. Betty Braithwaite was a witch, just like in her story books.

After confronting her father about it, she discovered that he had known all along and had kept a whole part of her life from Betty. Upset, she reached out to her uncle, asking if he’d take her to Diagon Alley for the supplies she needed to start her schooling career at Hogwarts. Whilst her relationship with her father was strained, she forgave him and still loved her parents dearly, promising to come back every term holiday. The following day she had been whisked away to a magical alley with so many curiosities she could barely contain herself. It was during this trip that she met her cousin, ZYRELL BRAITHWAITE, who was twenty-one at the time and had finished his own Hogwarts career. The three of them sat down at an ice-cream parlour and spoke for hours about Hogwarts and the wizarding world. The following morning it was finally time for Betty to board the Hogwarts Express and begin her journey in self discovery. On the train Betty met the most interesting pair of twins, GIDEON and FABIAN PREWETT who were also starting their first year at Hogwarts. They were just as interested to meet a Muggle-Born but warned her that there were many on the train and at Hogwarts that would simply discriminate against her due to her blood status. During the sorting ceremony Betty was sorted into Ravenclaw and sat next to a friendly young boy named BOOKER BAGNOLD. Whilst the two of them would grow in different directions, Booker became someone that Betty held dear, someone she could always touch base with. Despite Booker’s apparent popularity, most people recognising him as HARRISON BAGNOLD’s younger brother, she knew that he was someone she could rely on.

Being in a world where magic wasn’t just myths and fairytales was overwhelming but Betty took it one day and book at a time. She read endlessly about the history of the wizarding world, Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic and anything else she could get her hands on. Her thirst for knowledge of this new world just couldn’t be quenched. She excelled in most of her classes and studied harder for the ones she struggled in. Life at Hogwarts was fun and exciting but with every happy day she had a bad one too. The Prewett twins had been right and although Betty kept quiet about her personal life, including her blood status, it wasn’t long until she was being pushed around in the corridors or someone hexing her. This is how she met AMELIA BONES, a Hufflepuff girl who stood up for her at every chance she could. Betty appreciated the help and refused to let some stuck up students get her down. She belonged in that school just as much as anyone else did. As she studied harder to prove herself, she discovered that she was gifted with divination. Betty was specifically talented in being able to tell if someone was lying to her or withholding the whole truth. That’s how she knew her father was keeping something from her, how she knew when and where to wait for the owl with her letter and how she knew kids like WALDEN MACNAIR were just as afraid of their peers as anyone else was. Whilst Betty kept this gift to herself for most of her school career, it’s only when she became friends with RITA SKEETER, CAMILLE ROWLE and DAISY HOOKUM that she began to put it to use. Due to her writing hobbies, the four girls had decided to start the Weekly Raven, a school newspaper that centred around Quidditch matches, gossip and all things Hogwarts.

In her final year, Betty looked back at her Hogwarts career and could honestly say that she enjoyed it. She also realised that Hogwarts was just a gateway into the larger wizarding world which excited her so much. She was ready to ace her final exams and looking forward to a potential career in either investigative journalism or possibly becoming an author. It was just before the winter break when Betty found out the horrific news that her parents had been murdered. She wasn’t given much information other than it seemed as if someone had broken into their flat and murdered the two in their sleep using magic. Betty was devastated and furious that the aurors had treated it as just another killing in a string of muggle murders. From what Betty discovered, this so-called string of murders had been going on for a while and the lack of effort from the ministry was disgusting. During the winter break she stayed with her uncle and Zyrell. She had made up her mind, she was going to become an investigative journalist and expose the ministry for its corruption. She passed her N.E.W.T.s with flying colours and sent out her cv to multiple papers and magazines. Her most promising option was The Daily Prophet. About a month before she was about to start, the editor in chief, BARNABUS CUFFE sent Betty an owl saying that their current Investigative Journalism department was full, but if she was still interested in becoming part of the Daily Prophet team, they had an opening in the Arts and Entertainment department. Betty’s heart sank, but she still accepted in the hopes that having her foot in the door was better than nothing.

She packed her bags and moved into a shared house with a few other aspiring journalists including Daisy and THEODORE STEBBINS. Betty would work hard all day, trying to impress all those above her in the hopes that she may one day move up to investigative journalism. It wasn’t until EDWARD TONKS moved into their house and shared with her that he had a position in the Investigative Journalism department that she felt despondent. She had worked so hard for so many years yet here was someone, fresh out of Hogwarts, that had landed a position in the department. Regardless, the two got along well and she held her head up high. She continually attempted to send Barnabus examples of her work in the hopes that he’d one day publish them and she could start doing some meaningful work that could actually change peoples lives. After a long day at work, she would go visit The Hopping Pot and would offer to help close up. This is how she met AMIRIA MACNAIR, a young potioneer who had a lot of potential ahead of her. She recently started spending her free time with Rita, the two of them had a good connection by now and the chemistry between them was undeniable. It was through Rita that Betty discovered that one of the reasons she hadn’t been promoted was her lack of connections amongst the young wizarding elite. This prevented her from being moved upward. Betty was angry that her connections were holding her back instead of being promoted for her quality of work. She promised herself that one day she’d find a way to get published and expose the Ministry and its friends for the corruption within.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle-Born

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality  → Bisexual

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Ravenclaw)

Societies → TBD

Family → Jacqueline Braithwaite (mother/deceased), Nicholas Braithwaite (father/deceased), Gabriel Braithwaite (unlce), Zyrell Braithwaite (cousin)

Connections  → Rita Skeeter (close friend/potential love interest), Camille Rowle (close friend), Daisy Hookum (close friend/colleague/housemate), Theodore Stebbins (close friend/colleague/housemate), Edward Tonks (close friend/colleague/housemate), Amiria MacNair (close friend), Fabian Prewett (friend), Booker Bagnold (friend), Amelia Bones (friend), Barnabus Cuffe (boss), Walden MacNair (adversary)

Future Information → N/A

BETTY BRAITHWAITE IS A LEVEL 5 WITCH.

[foxrp]

pistols at dawn

PISTOLS AT DAWN

with a widening gap in information released by the ministry and what was becoming apparent on the streets, the ether group was formed. cuffe’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to sit idly by while the community was being lied to. it started slowly, words in meetings, seeking out like minded individuals within the prophet until he found some who were in agreement. progressing to other forms of media, the group continues to get larger as time goes on and more people become aware of the lies.

this group is looking to expose corruption wherever they may find it. perhaps watching the world they know and love slowly be destroyed by war and infighting has lit a fire underneath them. or maybe they are looking for glory in their stories and are hoping to make themselves a household name by writing big thing. whatever their motivation is, there’s no towing the line when it comes to the ministry pr machine, they don’t believe it. and they’re not about to stop with just the ministry, they’re also trying to uncover members of the order and the death eaters.

THE ETHER

GLENDA CHITTOCK

25+. WWN HOST. EIZA GONZALEZ (OPEN) 

host of the enormously popular programme witching hour, landing the biggest story of all time would only help boost her show.

BARNABUS CUFFE

35+*. EDITOR DAILY PROPHET. PAUL RUDD (OPEN) 

with a heart in the right place, the not quite editor-in-chief, cuffe will take whatever assistance he can to get the story first.

HELBERT SPLEEN

30+. HEALER/COLUMNIST PROPHET OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN (OPEN) 

with first hand experience at st. mungo’s, helbert is aware of the costs of war. as a columnist at the daily prophet he usually writes in response to health questions but he’s looking for more.

- FENETRE

25+. JOURNALIST - PROPHET JOHN BOYEGA (OPEN) 

currently a journalist, fenetre has been put on the job by cuffe and he’s not one to shy away from difficult work.

- CARNEIRUS

20+. ASSISTANT - PROPHET ZENDAYA (OPEN) 

new to the Prophet, carneirus wants to hit it big with a story and land their dream position of journalist. as they’re new and have no byline, it’s easier for them to slip under the radar.

CALLA SAVAGE (reserved for athena)

25. COLUMNIST W.W. MARA LAFONTAN. 

after her parents death and a fall from grace, savage has been looking to live up to the family name. having anonymously published a story on the pro’s and con’s of tainted blood, the rebellion are using it as propaganda.

[unravellingsilencehq]

“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE PHOTOGRAPHER get what he deserves?” He is NEUTRAL & OPEN to finding out.”

— he walks through the world as ;

name → benedict misslethorpe pronouns → he/him identification → cis-male year of birth → september 1957 - september 1958 face claim → ncuti gatwa blood status → pure-blood sexual orientation → homosexual (gay) occupation → photographer for the daily prophet  future information → n/a

— he is best described as ;

A POLAROID PICTURE, ever CHANGING with the light but BEAUTIFUL & DETERMINED once DEVELOPED. He is the DOODLED PLANS in the back of a NOTEBOOK & the DREAMS SHARED in a hushed WHISPER. He is CREATIVITY & CONTROL, with a GLEAM in his EYE for the WANT of SOMETHING GREATER than HIMSELF. The DESIRE to be REMEMBERED. The DESIRE to make HISTORY.

— his story starts with ;

tw: death

The name Misslethrope means something in Wizarding Britain. Whilst the Malfoys are associated with politics and the Jones family with the law, the blood of the Misslethrope family runs black with ink. His great grandfather Augustine Misslethorpe was once the editor of The Daily Prophet, his grandmother Mary Misslethrope was the first British editor-in-chief of Enchantée in Paris and his uncle TOBIAS MISSLETHROPE [uncle] is the current and most successful editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly magazine. Benedict wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps, but heavy was the hand that held the quill. His family were successful but they were ruthless and there was no room within the family for those who were deemed subpar. Benedict’s father William was an established senior reporter at The Daily Prophet who lost out on the position of editor to up and coming journalist BARNABUS CUFFE [boss]. The family were outraged and instead of seeing it as an unfortunate incident of Barnabas beating William to the story of the century through means no one knew, he became a cautionary tale as to what might happen if you lose your nerve.

Each evening before the family sat down to dinner at their opulent town house in London, his grandmother Mary would remind him of their legacy. The words bounced around in Benedict’s mind, his palms sweaty as he recorded them in his journal. Sorted into Ravenclaw, Benedict was proud to join the other members of his family who had been in the house for generations and found his family name preceded him. Teachers expected more from Benedict because of his name and he found he was judged more harshly because of it, especially when he joined The Hogwarts Gazette. Like his father, EDGAR CUFFE [adversary] was an editor who ruled with an iron first. Edgar didn’t care what it took to get a story and favoured students who weren’t afraid to go the distance like RITA SKEETER [boss/former adversary] and BERTHA JORKINS [adversary]. It was expected Benedict would join them in their escapades and after refusing he was subject to scathing comments from his colleagues. It was only when muggle-born student EDWARD TONKS [close friend/housemate/colleague] joined the paper that their cruelty came to an end. 

People like Ted proved you didn’t need a famous name or pure-blood to be successful at the paper and introduced him to ELIZABETH BRAITHWAITE [close friend/housemate/colleague] and EMILIA GREY [close friend/housemate/colleague] who could write circles round their adversaries. Benedict came to trust the group, enough so that they told him that his writing at times wasn’t up to scratch; he was inclined to believe it. People like Emilia and Betty had ink in their veins because they longed to be journalists, unlike Benedict who had been convinced since he was born he was destined to be one. When Benedict left school he was lost and his parents wanted answers. Thinking on his feet, Benedict told his family he had accepted a writing internship in New York, instead running away to Whitby to stay with Ted and his family for the summer while he decided what to do when he returned home. Staying with the Tonks family opened up Benedict to a whole new world, a one of love rather than expectation and above all a one of enlightenment. Ted never left the house without his camera and one day by the beach with Ted’s friends, Benedict decided to experiment with it. 

At first he began taking photos of the seaside, then the people enjoying themselves on the sand, before moving to take close up shots of Ted and the muggles he called friends. Each day he would photograph them, their strange fashions, their behaviour, the looks they gave one another when no one noticed. Benedict had found his passion and he wouldn’t see himself be parted with it. Swanning back to London with his photo series of muggles in his arm, he applied for a job at The Daily Prophet as a photographer and was elated when it was accepted. Benedict was adamant that his talent would speak for itself in his new job and he began introducing himself as Bozo, a name he thought sounded anonymous and artistic, rather than his own that was synonymous in his mind with nepotism. Benedict had grand ideas about the life that lay ahead of him, pitching stories to Barnabus Cuffe and creating beautiful photo stories that would illuminate the pages of the paper. He would be the first person in the Misslethorpe family to be famous in spite of being a Misslethrope and although he worked hard, he quickly found that life without his surname was much harder than he thought it would be.

His position often involved accompanying a lower paid journalist to photograph something menial like a ribbon cutting or a person who suspected gnomes had eaten their newspaper. Each story he went to photograph he did with a smile, patiently awaiting the day his big break would arrive, trying not to grit his teeth as the likes of Edgar Cuffe and ADRIAN CAVERELY [rival] climbed over the years due to their connections. Moving in with his friends from The Hogwarts Gazette, Benedict hoped to ground himself outside of the world of his family, with real journalists with the same hunger he had. Although Benedict loved living with his friends, he once again felt the familiar hand of jealousy as he tried to be happy for Ted securing a dream role of working directly for ELIAS SPENSER-MOON [colleague]. Benedict still tried to stay true to himself however, suggesting QUIRINUS QUIRRELL [close friend/housemate/colleague] for a job with GILDEROY LOCKHART [colleague] and honestly hoping he would succeed. When a position came up with Rita Skeeter, who was now an established columnist. to be her personal photographer, Benedict shamelessly jumped at it. He knew he deserved more than life as a celebrity photographer, but he was growing impatient. 

Working with Rita was surprisingly more interesting than he thought it would be. Rita had connections and before he knew it, Benedict was invited to glittering parties and shaking hands with the elite he’d long since associated with his uncle. His new world was exciting, the one he deserved but it came with a horrible price he knew he’d have to pay for fame. Rita famously worked in the grey, which meant Benedict now did also. Days were spent following people around snapping photos of people in private moments and he was sorry to say he’d contributed to various celebrity break-ups and the fall of a cosmetics company due to his photos. But Rita longed for something more and the pair believe they may have found it. When the young eligible bachelorette GENEVIEVE AVERY [person of interest] married Victor Wilkes the world was shocked, but more shocking still, was when he turned up dead on their wedding night. Benedict and Rita are certain there is more to this story than meets the eye and are determined to prove Genevive is to blame. The story is one Benedict can’t help but get lost in, but as he emerges himself in the world of the British Wizarding elite Benedict must be careful not to lose himself in the process and be cautious about who he plasters on the front page.

— he is a LEVEL 4 WIZARD &  readied for war ;

[fabianprewctt]

    ANYTHING WORTH DOING STARTS AS A BAD IDEA.

                                                     1952—1981.

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“(…) to be embodied was to be the altar and the flesh and the knife. Sometimes the gods just want to see what you are going to do.” — Freshwater, Akwaeke Emezi. “I touch the world not as myself, but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet? Can you read me?” — On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong. “(...) had been told that hope was dangerous, had been warned of it many times. But he’d never believed that. Hope was the wind that came from nowhere to fill your sails and carry you home..” — King of Scars, Leigh Bardugo.

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Fabian Ignatius Prewett NICKNAMES: Bean, Fab, Oi Prewett. AGE: 28 BIRTHDAY: August 5, 1952.  (Leo.) DEATHDAY: July 24, 1981. GENDER: CisMale PRONOUNS: he/his

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Florence Prewett (nee Greengrass.) FATHER: Tiberius Prewett

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: James Norton BUILD:  Tall, lanky. HAIR:  Most frequently bordering on too-long and slightly unkempt these days. HAIR COLOR: Strawberry-Blonde. EYE COLOR: Bright Blue. SKIN COLOR: Paler even than usual from detainment. Freckled, but they’ve faded considerably without sunlight. DOMINANT HAND: Left-handed. ANOMALIES: He’d had many scars before he died but the wounds of his death had been so gruesome he’s almost afraid to look — they’re there, pale spiderwebs of scars if he could bring himself to look closely. Faded lines that carve through his chest, down his back and through his arms, that had carved through bone and flesh.�� SCENT: Fresh laundry, peppermint, roasting coffee. Lately, nothing distinctive beyond the nondescript soap they were issued for their showers. ACCENT: Welsh/West Country hybrid. Softened by many years spent away from home. FASHION: Fabian was never the stuffy sort of person who wore robes everywhere he went, he preferred more practical attire in his every day life. Pants and shirts and patented knitted sweaters thrust upon him by his sister. He had a particularly nice leather jacket that he wore before his death that is missing from the trunks of his and Gideon’s things that have been locked away from sight and memory in his father’s and Molly’s homes. He would quite happily return to the clothing he wore before his death, as he doesn’t understand much of anything about modern life, let alone its fashion trends. Once he experiences a little more of the world outside, this is likely to change. NERVOUS TICS: Picking at his cuticles, humming constantly, disassociation through Earth, Wind and Fire.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Currently residing under his sister’s care at The Burrow.  BORN: Tutshill, Gloucestershire. RAISED: The Prewett family home, north of Tutshill, within the Forest of Dean. PETS: In his childhood they had dogs and a cat and a particularly ornery Great Horned Owl named Merle. The man wants a dog. Let him have a dog.

CAREER:  Unemployable, at present. In his first life he was a journalist. EXPERIENCE: A war time correspondent for the Daily Prophet. EMPLOYER: Barnabus Cuffe, many moons ago.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix, once upon a time.  BELIEFS: Truth is greater than power. Hope is strength.  MISDEMEANORS: Trespassing, Harassment, Public Intoxication. (Waived, for the most part, by vaguely amused law enforcement.) FELONIES: None. DRUGS: Infrequently. SMOKES: Frequently. A symptom of bad coping mechanisms. ALCOHOL: Similarly, a symptom of bad coping mechanisms. DIET: Before he died, terrible if he was investigating a particularly difficult story (which was usually, always).  LANGUAGES: English. TRAITS:

{ + }: Outspoken, Idealistic, Pragmatic. { - }: Temperamental, Argumentative, Impulsive. 

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: The Black Shuck, in Tutshill. SPORTS TEAM: Tornados.  GAME: Quidditch, once upon a time. FOOD: Bacon sandwiches. BEVERAGE: Coffee. COLOR: Yellow.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Ravenclaw. WAND:   Ebony, 14 3/4″, flexible, dragon heartstring. Fabian’s wand was destroyed in the attack that killed him. AMORTENTIA: The smell of summer rain, campfire smoke, freshly spilled ink, Irish coffee and bacon frying. PATRONUS:  Ferret — curious, mischievous and high energy, ferrets manifest for people with playful spirits and calculating minds. They represent resourcefulness, self-reliance, and ingenuity. BOGGART: [ cut scene. ]

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good. MBTI: ESTP-A MBTI ROLE: The Entrepreneur  ENNEAGRAM: 8 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Challenger TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo CHINESE ZODIAC: Dragon PRIMAL SIGN: Orca TAROT CARD: Knight of Swords, Five of Cups. TV TROPES: Came Back Wrong, Unwanted Revival, Intrepid Reporter, The Anti-Nihilist, Cynic-Idealist Duo, Sliding Scale of Idealism Versus Cynicism.  SONGS: The Good Fight by Gang of Youths. Spanish Sahara by Foals. The deepest sighs, the frankest shadows by Gang of Youths. Iron Sky by Paolo Nutini. The Lament of Eustace Scrubb by The Oh Hellos. Magnolia by Gang of Youths.  ALBUMS: Go Farther in Lightness by Gang of Youths, Day & Age by The Killers.

[raywritesthings]

The Ground

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Mrs (Carys) Diggory, Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, Barnabus Cuffe, Molly Weasley Summary: "Mrs Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears." ("The Beginning", Goblet of Fire pg 716) Notes: Mrs Diggory’s occupation, Welsh background and first name are all liberties taken by myself in the absence of canon information. *Can be read on my AO3 and FFN, links are in bio*

She’d never thought it would be this way. A mother burying her son. Not once the war had ended. How could Cedric be dead in a time of peace? How could she be expected to watch him go into the ground?

Carys remained in a quiet daze several days after the tournament, only emerging in moments of acute grief. She knew young Harry Potter was attempting to be kind when he offered the money, could see the crushing weight of guilt on his shoulders, but everything in her had revolted at the idea of putting a price on Cedric’s loss.

The other two champions had visited with them as well, each expressing their sincerest apologies for what had happened. The French girl, Fleur she thought, had even spoken of her plans to remain in England to improve her mastery of the language.

“I weesh I could ‘ave practiced eet with your son. We did not ‘ave nearly enough time to get to know each ozzer.”

The Durmstrang boy had said the same thing. That Cedric had mentioned he played on the school team once, and that he wished he had asked him to fly together sometime. “Potter could have joined us. Made it a Seeker’s tournament.”

Amos had tried to explain what an honor that was, that a professional like Viktor Krum would have liked to play with their boy. All Carys kept hearing was the wasted time, wasted opportunities. She listened to the Headmaster’s speech about friendships forged and thought it couldn’t be further from the truth.

They went home to an empty nest, though not in the way they had thought it might be. Every little thing in the house reminded her of her son. The photos and old drawings on the wall, the Hufflepuff banners, the summer clothes still sitting in his dresser. She couldn’t take two steps without feeling as though she wanted to curl up and vanish.

Amos took some days off to arrange the funeral. She knew she could have done it, should have been helping him, yet she couldn’t think about it without thinking of his body which had been turned over to them only that morning, stiff and cold and eyes wide with shock. He looked the opposite of at peace.

Carys maintained the wake all the same that night, her nostrils filled with the scent of sweet herbs and her tongue coated with sweet wine. Her cousins from Bangor sat with her. Amos came and went; this wasn’t his tradition, and she knew he wasn’t quite sure where he fit. But he let them get on with it.

The girl Cedric had been writing to her about all school year, Cho Chang, came to the funeral. “I hope you don’t mind. Cedric always said he wanted me to meet you. I just… I need to say goodbye.”

“That’s alright, dear,” Carys told her, voice shaking.

“I’m not ready to,” the girl admitted, her eyes screwed up in an effort not to cry which she was soon to lose.

“That’s alright, too. Neither am I,” she confessed. She never would be.

Carys stood by Amos’ side as words were spoken, words she hardly heard. She leant into him so that it looked as though he was supporting her, so that no one would know the shaking of his shoulders was all his own. Amos was proud even through his tears, and he would not want anyone thinking lesser of him, not even in the midst of their great tragedy.

Cedric was laid to rest and soon would be covered over. Separated from them forever. She placed a silver Sickel on the gravedigger’s shovel and tucked her black-gloved hands back into her pockets, trudging down the hill before he was completely swallowed up into the Earth.

The Weasley family’s old owl arrived with gingerbread after. Carys didn’t know where Molly could have learned the custom, but it brought a lump to her throat all the same. Her neighbor of sorts had included a short note offering her deepest condolences and asking to be informed if there was anything to be done. 

She asked that an owl be sent rather than a Floo call, which felt odd. Perhaps their funds were low for Floo powder again. Carys wished she could bring herself to care more than just the vague thought she gave it.

She hardly cared for anything. The nature of her research work – magical plants, though in recent years she had branched into cross-breeding with Muggle ones. Only Cedric and Arthur Weasley had ever known, and now only two would keep the secret – had made her already something of a recluse, and now with the time off she retreated further into her shell. Amos returned to work, and they hardly spoke at all when he was home. She didn’t know why. They were husband and wife; they ought to be able to get through this together.

The Weasleys were oddly quiet that summer. Usually she could hear the far-off shouts of the boys through her open kitchen window in the summers. They were always careful not to fly over the trees — she had been sure Molly and Arthur had drilled it into them how important it was not to be seen. She wondered now if they had told the children not to be heard, either. Carys wasn’t sure if she should be offended or grateful; she didn’t know how hearing a bunch of boys having fun at Quidditch might affect her.

When Cedric had gotten old enough to fly on his own, Carys had encouraged him to head over to the Weasleys’ pitch to play with the other children, but Amos had said it just wouldn’t do. Cedric was going to be a Hufflepuff like the two of them, after all, and that Charlie Weasley didn’t need to know his tactics before they ever faced off at school.

It all seemed so silly now. They could’ve all been such friends. What was the point of these competitions in the end? What good had it done?

Perhaps Amos was thinking of the empty pitch, too, for one morning he quietly murmured into the tea she had placed in front of him, “I never should have done it.”

Carys stilled. “Done what?”

“Told him to do it. Encouraged him. He wrote me about the Tournament, you know.” Amos raised his sad eyes to her at last, and there were gray whiskers in his beard she couldn’t remember having been there before. “I told him he’d make a brilliant champion. I should have told him to be safe.”

His voice broke on the last word, and she rushed forward, her own tea forgotten. “You couldn’t have known—”

“Couldn’t I? The stories all said people died in the damned thing. I was just too proud.”

“Of course you were proud. He was- he—” Neither of them were capable of saying his name aloud, she realized with a chill. Another unspeakable name within their walls. “He was the most wonderful boy. Of course you were proud of him. Any father should be proud of his son.”

“I just wish they’d tell us what happened,” he moaned, his head resting in his hands. “There was Dumbledore saying, and then Fudge is telling everyone at work he’s wrong and all those stories about Harry Potter now.” He gestured down at the paper he had spread onto the table. “What if- what if—”

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Carys said, and her husband’s mouth snapped shut. “He brought our son home to us.”

“Yes, but, Carys—”

“Why would he bring back proof of his own crime? And you remember how he looked when he came to see us.”

“Guilty,” Amos pointed out.

“Because he saw it happen.” Again, she thought to herself. Though it wasn’t a guarantee a boy could remember something like that from such a young age. “Because they were becoming friends.”

Cedric had written to her about the younger boy, how he had given up the advantage in the First Task by letting Cedric know about the dragons ahead of time, how Cedric had wanted to repay him, how she shouldn’t mention this to Amos because Amos wouldn’t be able to resist bringing up that old Quidditch match, bless him.

She wished he were here to smile with discomfort as Amos carried proudly on. He would look at her, and she would shake her head just slightly to indicate they ought to just let it be, and they would share a private grin. She could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye, but it would only ever exist in her head now.

“I don’t want to see what they’re saying about that boy,” Carys decided, turning and sweeping from the room.

Amos obliged her, and there were no copies of the Prophet to be found for the next few weeks.

She did her best to keep herself busy the morning of September 1st. Carys felt the emptiness in their lives even more now that they had no reason to go to King’s Cross station. It was meant to be his final year; he should have made Head Boy, should’ve been captaining his team, should’ve been studying for his N.E.W.T.s

She made the trek up to the hill on which they’d buried him. “Oh, Ced,” she whispered to the unmoving stone and the dirt below it. It barely looked fresh anymore. “Everything’s so… so wrong in the world. I don’t think it’ll ever be right again.”

A part of her knew he wouldn’t wish for her to live this way. But she’d never meant to live past her own son. No mother ever did.

The weeks dragged on. She received an invitation from the Bangor cousins to come back home for a while. She said nothing of it to Amos, both wanting him to beg her to stay and tell her to go. It was terrible being in the house, and yet going back to Wales would only mean she was running away. It would poison the good memories of her childhood and the trips she had taken out there bringing Cedric with her as a boy.

He’d still been a boy, of age or not.

It was a late, grey morning when Amos forgot his lunch. Carys noticed with a start that the calendar had already been flipped to October. She hadn’t noticed the days growing shorter. That was a sign, probably, that she’d been tucked away in the house for too long. So she grabbed up the wrapped sandwiches and the apple from the orchard that spanned the hills between their home and the Weasley Burrow and sent herself spinning through the Floo.

It wasn’t strictly regulation for her to go through the Floo, not being an employee herself. But she would be in and out.

Carys rode the lift to Level 4 and got off, making her way through the office with its rows of cubicles. Amos’ was near the end, but two voices caught her attention and she paused.

“...talking about Diggory’s boy like that. He really must be deranged.”

“And Umbridge set him straight?”

“From what I hear. As if Amos needs people speculating about the way his son died. Accidents happen.”

Carys remained rooted to the spot. Accidents? What on Earth was accidental about her son’s murder?

“Carys?”

Amos must have stepped out for some business, for she turned and saw him standing down the aisle, staring at her. Two heads poked out of the cubicle she had stopped near, faces going slack with surprise.

“What are you doing here, love?”

“Lunch.” She held the bag aloft with the mechanical lift of an arm. Her mind was still racing.

Amos hurried to her and took it with a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you. Look, why don’t you head home. We’ll go out somewhere for dinner. Somewhere nice.”

She nodded, not really paying attention, and left the office in a daze. What had she just heard?

Carys had the presence of mind to grab a copy of the Prophet off the stand as she walked back through the Atrium, and the headline made her stomach clench.

High Inquisitor Silences Potter’s Lies

The article went on to detail a verbal altercation between Dolores Umbridge, who appeared to be a teacher as well as whatever a High Inquisitor was, and Harry Potter in which she claimed his account of Cedric’s death was incorrect. Cedric had died in an accident, not been murdered to her view. The Prophet touted her words as fact.

Carys’ calm snapped.

Rather than home, she took another trip in the Floo to the Daily Prophet’s offices, striding into the lobby with her head held high.

“Good day, ma’am, how can I assist you?” The desk witch asked, quailing when Carys slapped the paper down between them.

“You can help me by pointing me towards whoever wrote this tripe. A ‘tragic accident’?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not sure I can help you with that request.”

“Then get me Barnabus Cuffe. He’s in charge, isn’t he? Tell him Mrs. Diggory would like to have some words with him about her son.”

The desk witch’s face paled, and she waved a wand at a little box before speaking into it. “Mr. Cuffe, there is a Mrs. Diggory here to see you.”

By the time Cuffe shuffled out into the lobby, a number of reporters had stuck their heads in and remained there, gawking at her. Carys didn’t care. In fact, she hoped they listened if only to teach them a lesson on printing the truth.

“Mrs. Diggory, what an unexpected surprise. We can head back into my office and—”

“I don’t think we will. This concerns every last person at this paper.” She squared her hips, doing her best to channel Molly the few times she had seen her hard at work disciplining the twins that had been in Cedric’s year. They still were. “I don’t care what you may have heard, I don’t care what you may have been told. If it came from the new teacher or the Minister for Magic himself!”

They all jumped.

She drew in a breath, willing her voice not to shake. “My son was not taken from me by some accident. I did not sit up the whole night before the burial staring at his beautiful face marred by the Killing Curse, for you to print in your rag of a paper that he passed away by some silly mistake! He was murdered. And I’m inclined to believe the witness to that murder.”

Some of the reporters were still gaping at her while others fidgeted or looked away, shamefaced. Cuffe looked at a total loss for words.

“Now maybe that’s too much for you to believe. But if I see my son’s name in print again without my permission, you’ll think of today as a friendly little chat compared to what I will do to protect his legacy. Cedric is not some political plaything. He was a boy. He was my boy, and if no one will help find his killer—” her breath caught and her throat closed up. Her voice sounded strangled and unnatural to her ears. “—then just leave my son alone!”

She left the office in a thunderous silence. It was just as silent at home. In the stillness, she was shocked at a wetness that rolled down her cheek.

A tear. The first she had cried since the night he had died.

Carys let it fall, then another, then a sob was ripped out of her lungs and her throat, unsticking the block that had been in her head and her heart. She sank to her knees, feeling weak and feeling light all at the same time as the weight of it all finally spilled out of her. It was out there, wasn’t just hers to carry anymore.

The sun had set by the time she stood on shaky legs like a newborn foal. Carys staggered to the bedroom throwing things haphazardly into a travel bag. Clothes, toiletries, one of Cedric’s scarves, a bit of dirt summoned from the hill into a pouch — all of it went into one big pile.

“Carys!” Amos’ shout sounded more like a bellow in the midst of her blessedly clear head. 

She stepped out into the sitting room. “Yes, Amos?”

“What’s this about you storming the Prophet? I had Fudge in my office this afternoon. Fudge! Seemed to think I couldn’t keep a handle on my hysterical wife— now what’s that?”

She looked down at the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t known it would be right now, but she supposed that was for the best. “You and the Minister won’t need to worry about your hysterical wife anymore.”

He grimaced. “Carys, you know I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t know what you mean. And you don’t know what I mean. I think we haven’t for a very long time, but without- without Cedric, it’s become all the more apparent.”

He had flinched the way others did when You-Know-Who’s name was spoken. Her son’s killer. Both were forbidden now in this house.

He stared at her, shoulders slowly dragging down. “You really are going?”

“Can you honestly say it would change anything if I didn’t?”

His silence was the answer. Carys walked forward until she drew level with him. She leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Try to be well.”

Two tears slid down his nose as he nodded, and she went past him out the door.

She looked out over the darkened hills of Devon, seeing in her mind’s eye the homes of their neighbors. She thought of Molly and the brothers she had lost to a war they had fought to end, Xeno and the wife who had been taken from him in an accident. Cedric, who had fallen to a spell used in war, but who had not been a fighter. Was there to be more loss in this place?

Carys gripped her wand and turned on the spot, disappearing with a crack! She was squeezed from all sides, there was no room to breathe, and then suddenly there was.

She took a great gulp of the air, felt it settle in her lungs like an old friend. She was home.

It didn’t change any of the facts. She was childless, her marriage had crumbled and the Ministry saw fit to ignore all that pain. But it was time to keep living the way Cedric would have wanted, and she could think of nowhere and no way else to do it. On her own ground.

[morsmordrenews]

Out of work Goblin seeking advice. I lost my job at Gringots on my very first day. A woman asked me to check her balance, so I pushed her over. What did I do wrong dearest Cuffey? Ask D. Shaman isn't returning my owls. Please advise.

*Reads the message twice and rolls his eyes, exhales very loudly, goes back and forth for a good ten minutes as to whether or not to reply* Have you been going too hard on the firewhiskey my friend?  I’m going to assume this is just you having a laugh to yourself, and not a serious question.  If it is, then I can only imagine it is a cry for help and Gringotts should probably not have hired someone such as yourself, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.    You might be more suited to security if you have a propensity for pushing strangers over.     

Yes well, clearly he has more sense than I, because here I’am answering your nonsense. 

[veritas-roleplay]

i know rita skeeter isn't open for apps, but do you have characters that are close to her personality?

Ooh good question. I would say Octavia Rowle, Cicero Belby, Barnabus Cuffe, Davey Gudggeon, Rosmerta Malloy, Gideon Prewett, Meaghan McCormack, and Mundungus Fletcher all have a lot of similarities with Rita. I hope that helps!

[mxrsmxrdrxpromox]

August 10th 1979

Afternoon dear reader, we at the Daily Prophet hope you are all keeping well, and are safe wherever you may be. The news we bring to you this morning is not something we inform you of easily.  

It is with a heavy heart that we can confirm the victim of the attack, which took place in Diagon Alley just over a week ago, has been named as Madison Dehoff.  Madison was only twenty three years of age, and was training to be a mediwitch to help in our world and it’s never ending war on itself.   We, at the Prophet were invited to the first official public address from our Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum and he had this to say;

“It breaks my heart to know that someone so young has paid the ultimate price whilst trying to protect our world.  I have been to visit her mother and father since the attacks, and given my heart felt condolences to them both.  And to those who have been working tirelessly to help the injured and to rebuild structures in Diagon Alley, I can only thank you and tell you how much we all appreciate your hard work.  I’am fully aware that many of you do no longer feel safe, and that is something for which I’am truly sorry for.   However, you all have my personal guarantee that the Ministry and I will not allow this to happen again, and to those of you who were present and took part in the attacks, know this; you are not welcome here, and your ideals are not shared by the Ministry, nor myself, and as you hide away under your rocks, know this; you will not win.” ******************

Though we can only speak impartially, we hope that you all do more than assume the Ministry will protect you.  Aside from this one public appearance, we are yet to know what sort of changes may be implemented, if any because it is certainly clear that changes are needed.

To Madison’s family, we all want to thank your daughter for standing brave in this war and we ask readers of this newspaper on their behalf to give them time and space to grieve.

Send in any stories, questions or queries directly to me;

Barnabus Cuffe

Editor in chief

Daily Prophet

1A Diagon Alley,  London