#marry me mr moskovitz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fletchermundungus · 4 years ago

Text

At Home in Hackney

LOCATION: Hackney, London DATE: March 23rd, 1982 CHARACTERS: Mundungus, Cleometra and Calypso Fletcher

It was no cold spectral hand passing through him, or poking fork that woke Mundungus up, but an heavy weight settling on his chest and meowing right into his ear.

“Oi!” he shouted at the stray, a half-kneazle half-cat. It was both the usual reaction to any of creature’s antics and the short form of its full name Oi, watcha doing ya cursed beast.

Yet, for all of Mundungus’ attempts to get the cat off his chest, it was the banging on the door that managed to have it leap back onto the windowsill and then out the window. As if the little fellow had also recognised to whom that heavy hand belonged to.

“Get up, I ain’t keeping ye breakfast warm,” Mundungus’ grandmother shouted. “And wash up before ya come in the kitchen, ya don’t want yer mum seeing ya like that.”

A grunting noise was his only reply as he turned on the other side, blanket shifted to cover him completely, but he knew better than stay underneath it no matter how warm and comfortable it was there. He was still in a daze, more asleep than awake, as he got up from the bed in his childhood bedroom and walked to the bathroom. It was his face reflected back at him to fully wake him up, on it proof that there were things he couldn’t simply shrug or laugh off. And as any good thief, Mundungus made sure to get rid of it before anyone else could catch him with it. The cold water and lavender soap helped with that, erasing most traces of the previous night from it. Yet, they couldn’t erase everything. His eyes were still a bit red and his muscles felt sore, but he could lie to himself that this wasn’t different than any other morning after a wild night at the pub.

With a cigarette already lit between his lips, and old but clean clothes on him, Mundungus joined his grandmother in the small kitchen of the house he and his mother had both grown up in.

“Goodmorning, nan,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Yea, yea, all sweet now,” she lamented, even though she did not push him away, “after coming here a mess. What if yer mum had seen ya? Ya would’ve scared her and she would be fussing it about all night.”

“While ya only fuss about in the morning,” he teased her, grabbing the slice of bagel as it came out from the toaster.

“Don’t be cheeky with me, now, and sit. Why are ya always standing up?” She pulled out a chair for him and pushed him to sit down. Taller than him by three inches and even more willful, Cleometra knew how to boss her grandson around. “Don’t try running away before ya tell me what’s going on and why ya came home looking like that.” Her hand patted his shoulder, in a small gesture of reassurance, but underneath it Mundungus tensed as he was reminded of the face he had seen in the mirror only moments before.

“Nothing...” he said, sheepishly, and tried to focus all his attention and energy on putting butter on the bagel.

The cigarette was snatched from his lips and it found itself between her fingers.

“Speak up. I can never understand a word ya say when you mumble like that,” she scolded him.

A pout appeared on his face immediately. A childish yet vulnerable look on him. “I said.. it’s nothing,” he repeated, making sure not to fall into the temptation of mumbling each word as it came out of his mouth. But his grandmother didn’t seem convinced, and he only had to dare a quick glance her way to see the sceptical expression on her face even through the thin veil of the cigarette smoke now that she was the one smoking it.

“I.. I had this big job lined up..” so far so good, yet his voice broke again into a mumble as he went on, “..and.. it kinda.. fell.. through..” It was embarrassing to admit this to her. She wasn’t simply his grandmother. She was his mentor and the person he aspired to be when it came to his career as a thief and con-man. There had been moments when he had wanted to show off to her what he had been able to achieve with Lu’s help, having a muggleborn roaming around the British pureblood society like one of them. How even those that would be horrified to know the truth, nay especially them, were so in love with Lu and would do anything for a scrap of their time.

But Mundungus never had the chance to tell her. It was meant to be a secret, and then most of the work had been Lu, innit? They were the one with the charisma and the talent to keep the ruse up and have everyone drinking from the palm of their muggleborn hand. He hadn’t done much. Forged the papers and coached them on who was who, making sure there wouldn’t be any big blunders.

“Well, so?” Cleometra asked, once the silence between them had stretched for far too long. “Did the mark make ya? Are the minnies after ya?”

Chewing his breakfast, Mundungus shook his head. No one was after him and all that had been done to him the night before, he had been the one to do it to himself.

“Did ya have a partner and they ran out with the score?”

The bagel almost choked him. Or at least, that’s what Mundungus would say it happened. Just bad timing.

“Ah,” Cleometra said, with the tone of someone who had figured out the problem.

Mundungus didn’t know what would be worse, if she were to be disappointed in him or simply pitying him. He only knew that he did not have the courage to face either, feeling already ashamed to have made his way back here looking the way he had, after being left behind by another wix and having nothing to show for it, so like the coward he was he didn’t dare to look at her.

“Mundus!” His mother called him with genuine cheer in her voice. Her arms embraced him without restraint and engulfed him into a warm hug. “My baby is here,” she sang, as her lips peppered his cheeks with kisses.

“Mum. Mum... Mum! I can’t breathe,” he protested, but he wasn’t pushing her away with conviction. “I’m also thirty.. I think it’s been some time since I’ve stopped being a baby.”

“Nonsense,” she said, cleaning his cheeks from a little rogue her kisses had left on them. “Right, mum?”

“Just sit down and eat breakfast without making so much noise, Callie,” Cleometra replied, gentle despite the roughness of her words. She passed around the food, while Calypso, having finally let go of Mundungus, started to pour the tea. “Mun,” she then called him, sharply, “ya should go visit Mrs Moskovitz and help her grandson out.”

"Whut?” The bagel fell off from Mundungus’ mouth. “Not Mrs Moskovitz. Ugh, why?”

“Oh, that would be so nice, wouldn’t it, Mundus,” Calypso commented, adding the milk to their teas. “Which grandson is this? The solicitor or the healer?”

“You know why,” his grandmother gave him a determined look, “and this one is the healer. The solicitor married and moved to Banchory.”

“Hadn’t he gone to America? New Jersey or something like that?”

“That’s her sister, mum,” Mundungus kept his gaze on his grandmother, having gone back to a pout, “and I don’t want to be involved in your feud with Mrs Moskovitz. Plus, she’ll know right away what I’m there for.”

“Nonsense, why would she know?” Cleometra scoffed at the idea. “That woman has the brain of a drunken chicken. And even if she did, ya know how to get around her and get me that recipe.”

“Mum, that’s not very nice,” Calypso pouted as she scolded her own mother. “And are you still fighting with Mrs Moskovitz? It’s been years.. And it can’t be the sister, didn’t she marry a MacFusty?”

“Well that drunken chicken is gonna bore me to death detailing all her grandchildren’s accomplishments. No, that was Miss Lee.”

"Well, it’s very true, dear, and I don’t care how long it has been: that woman stole me recipe and I want it back. And her sister eloped with that Italian, her brother married a MacFusty, and Mrs Lee moved to New Jersey,” she said, ending that discussion with a knock on the table. “Now, Mun, once you’re in that hag’s house...”

“That can’t be, mum,” Calypso protested, refusing to end it there. “And Mundus, honey, you can still go and just spend time with our neighbours.”

Mundungus joined in, only in part because he wanted to have his grandmother forget everything about her plans to send him to spy on Mrs Moskovitz. “No, no, it was the brother that eloped with the Italian... and I don’t want to spend time with the neighbours. The neighbours are boring.”

All throughout their conversation, his grandmother kept stealing his cigarettes every time he lit one and his mother kept running her fingers through his hair. By the end of the morning, Mundungus’ presence at Mrs Moskovitz had been secured with an owl, a plan had been formed for him to search the witch’s house to look for the stolen recipe, and they had figured out who had moved to New Jersey, who had eloped with an Italian wix, and who had married a MacFusty.

As he put down the last word for that day The Daily Prophet’s crossword, Mundungus knew that in that small moment spent in that small kitchen, he was truly happy even if he was not completely fine.

#books from the forbidden section ( self paras )#npc: cleometra fletcher #npc: calypso fletcher

4 notes · View notes