Who: Morcant And Elowen @nobelandloved Where: Nott Library, Nott Manor

Morcant was, after all, a Nott. A snobby, arrogant, stuck-up nose pureblood. He was self-aware of that, and he wasn't about to lie to himself and say he didn't have a reason to be. He was all of that, simply because it was owed to him and his legacy.

That said, all he felt was contempt and disgust. It took all of him to act like a gentleman, supress what he really felt and try to have fun. His entire life, Morcant always believed that you get more flies with honey, than vinegar. It wasn't like him to express what he truly felt, even if all he wanted to do now was bitch about it.

"Well, a single corridor in the Nott Manor has more cursed artifacts than this. Come on, Lucius. We both know that we came here for a comedy exhibit, especially if some stupid kid tries to rob it." He sighed, imagining the scene. "That would be a good laugh, wouldn't it?"

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: open | 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: zonko's, cursed artifact exhibition

a  slender  finger  slides  along  the  sleek  marble  of  the  countertops  before  him,  already  coated  with  a  thin  layer  of  dust  for  special  affects.  lucius  could  tell,  even  to  the  naked  eye,  that  the  so  called  cursed  artifacts  scattered  around  the  joke  shop  were  also  jokes.  pieces  of  plastic  disguised  as  actual  artifacts  hidden  around  the  wizarding  world.  ❝  they  have  to  know  they  aren't  fooling  anyone,  ❞  lucius  says  aloud  to  no  one  in  particular.  ❝  although  it  would  be  quite  the  event  if  someone  were  to  try  robbing  this  place  for  a  piece  of  junk.  ❞

Did Gamon know what he was doing? Absolutely not. Was that a common occurrency? Maybe. Was it wrong to lurk on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep because you didn't want to face him again and your father asked you to buy potions supplies? Hell no, he was not a fucking coward.

The Gryffindor sighed, watching as the other man flipped the "OPEN" sign and marked the store as available to receive customers. Now he had no excuse to procrastinate. Great.

He walked to the door, pushing it open with a sigh and closing it behind him.

"Er... Hello. Morning. I'm here as a client... I mean, I have a list of ingredients." He said, fumbling while trying to take a crumpled piece of parchment out of his pocket. By Godric's polkadotted pants, could he be more awkward? Please, someone take him down with an entire Hit Wizard team. "Can you help me?"

Open for business

Setting: Hexes and Jinxs Characters: Severus Snape & open

Severus Snape was not what many people would consider normal. He was far too skinny, too pale, too everything. No one was there to see the closed doors, to see the options close before your eyes. Yet he still lived; he kept going. He kept moving, growing, learning. He never could satisfy his hunger for knowledge, even now, as he returned to his shop on a lazy Sunday afternoon. His luggage was in one hand as he unlocked the door, happy to return.

Severus opened this shop two years ago and named it “Hexes and Jinxs.” It was his pride and joy that was the place he had had saved up for. This was his sanctuary, his home. In more ways than one, it had an apartment attached to the upper floor and a potion lab in the back. It was perfect. He used a simple spell to turn on the lights, humming a soft melody as he began to clean up. It had been a month since he had been in the shop now, and the dust annoyed him greatly. After spending a few minutes cleaning until he was satisfied, he put his luggage in the lab. He had planned to put it away later, but he instead started cleaning the lab. It didn’t take him too long to clean, mainly dusting off his supplies and checking his ingredients. Smiling once it was finished, he moved back to the front. Flipping the open sign, he started to check his stock, making sure everything was still okay. 

Gamon looked at the whole exchange with an amused smile in his eyes, as he followed Ted to the exam room.

"I don't know, Healer Ted. Maybe I'm gonna have a sudden case of uncontrollable giggling if you keep being that funny, and that's gonna be your fault." He grinned cheekily, settling comfortably in his usual place.

Most healers in St. Mungus knew his case. The big shot quidditch player who ended his career way too early after he fell from a broom, and it never healed properly. Some medical gibberish about magical injuries, all he knew was that they couldn't heal his broken bones like every other time he fell from a broom. It was the end of the line for him.

It had been a few months since that whole drama happened. He was on the way to recovery, steadily receiving treatments from capable healers, all so that he could dream of getting on a broom again. Not to play, that he knew would never happen again. But he missed having full control of his limbs, thank you very much.

"I'm here for the treatment. I think there was something about checking the progress, if the bones healed in the right places without magic interference." Gamon explained, trying his best to not show how hurt he still was, inside.

setting: st mungo's, third floor: ward for potion and plant poisoning featuring: ted tonks & open !

"You're late.”

That was the monotonous greeting Ted received as he crossed onto the third floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries, swapping out his signature brown leather jacket for the bright green robes healers wore as their uniform. Pulling out the lollipop he'd had in his mouth, Ted stuck out his tongue, which was tinted an electric blue from the sucker. "C'mon, Healer Boyle — you know, I'm actually fifty minutes early as far as time in Cabo Verde is concerned," he replied cheekily, earning an eye roll as a chart was shoved at his chest.

"Relative to where you are now, Healer Tonks, you're late, and on the day we’re dealing with an overflow of patients from other wards. Room five," the Chief Healer motioned with a flourish of his hand, setting Ted onto his first patient of the day. “And lose the lolli, will you.”

With a sigh, Ted twisted in the direction of the exam room in question, leaving Healer Boyle with a, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're no fun, Boyle," in a tone that was as friendly as it was sarcastic. Tapping a jaunty tune with his knuckles against the door before pushing it open, lollipop still in his mouth, Ted Tonks gave his patient a large smile. Plopping down onto a stool beside them, he caught glimpse of the Daily Prophet on the bedside table and had to bite down on the lollipop stick hard to keep from grimacing at the sight. That was hardly appropriate for sick people, or so he thought. Especially given what it was reporting on. "Wotcher!” Came a quirky greeting from the healer. “Someone’s having an eventful morning, hm?” Brows rose, clearly not referencing the newspaper and the distress it was causing everyone but instead the fact they were here, in an exam room in St. Mungo’s. “Now then, how about you tell Healer Ted what's going on and I'll see about getting you right and on your way," he spoke with an even and low voice, warm and open so as to break any tension his patient may feel. “Doesn’t look like a case of uncontrollable giggling, so we have that going for us.”

morc: how would you metaphorically describe your life and the journey(s) you've been on?

Barty Crouch Jr. was a small gift life dropped on his lap when things got hard. Not that Morcant was particularly deserving of it, he wasn't. And he knew that. Morcant was selfish, arrogant, greedy, evil, truly individualistic and filled with hubris. He was a liar, and he thought he was better than most people. He was the byproduct of centuries of sludge and madness, and that was fine with him, because at least he didn't appear to be as insane as he felt inside. If his life was a journey, Morcant was getting the shortcut with a smile and a picnic basket. Not because he deserved, but because he was the best kind of cheater there was. And it was okay, because Barty didn't really mind that about him. They were one and the same. Two fucking bastards in a single bastard picnic basket. It happed on a friday night, during one of the underground masked parties Alecto hosted at Delirium. Mouths touched, bodies hotly against each other and suppressed moans so nobody would hear. Things escaled to a level Morcant couldn't believe, and now, three weeks later, they lied together in Barty's flat. In Barty's bed.

"It's like you showed up in the right time, you know. Teeth baring, bright eyed and a fuck everybody attitude." Morcant whispered, fingers threading Barty's hair, short strands tickling his hand and giving him chills. "You deserve the world, Barty. I know you don't believe me, and that's okay, I don't believe I deserve anything good either. But I need you to know." Morcant got lost in Barty's sad eyes, his dark eyebags drawing him closer in a way that two magnets didn't normally attract each other. He could see himself in the way Barty screamed about his father, all the anger and resentment building up inside. When the Crouch boy appeared vulnerable with Morcant, unlike the invulnerable wall of attitude he gave most people... It drove Morcant to start petty fights with Crouch Sr. for no reason, feeding the enmity between the aurors and the unspeakables. "Everything is shit right now, so at least we're together here. Whatever you need, I'll be there, no questions asked." If Morcant ended up dying, he would send Barty a letter telling him to be happy, because that would make his father miserable. @bcrtiesjr

character posters: garrick ollivander

❛━  curious indeed how these things happen. the wand chooses the wizard, remember… ❜

Odin had a great time at playing catch with the baby dragons and the baby thestral today. Morcant couldn't help but feel like a proud dad watching his antisocial son making friends, except his son had the spirit of an eighty year-old grumpy grandfather.

"They are cute, but I guess it's an acquired taste." Morcant's laugh was soft, silence settling in for a few moments. He liked Narcissa, her steadiness somehow made him few at peace. It was like someone created a bubble in space-continuum where his duties and worries disappeared. "He had a great time today, work has been demanding. There's a lot of unstable magical energy these days, he's talented at keeping my aura balanced, but it takes a lot out of him. I'm glad he had fun today. The dragons are fantastic, though. Congratulations."

open !  where : thestral night flight .

narcissa had been waiting by the side of the line with the thestrals that were grazing in the grass, she smiled down at the little babies grabbing the treats that she seemed to always carry on hand for the baby dragons. grabbing them out of their pocket they reached a hand out for the baby thestral to take thumb rubbing it's forehead. "honestly, they're very cute creatures." she says looking up, "if you can't see them there's a baby right here." she didn't know if she actually wanted to go on the ride, but this was a far enough place away from her mother and father who were undoubtedly searching for her.

MORCANT'S POV UNDER THE CUT -- (i'm considering it's his first fiancée, not bryrony!)

How pathetic was he, again? Morcant was supposed to be happy for Valerian. It was his best friend's engagement party, he was going to be the best man. The best man at his best friend's wedding.

The man Morcant had been in love with for years.

But the worst part? That wasn't even the reason why Morcant was sad about the whole thing, no. He already came to terms that he can't be in a relationship with Valerian, that his best friend didn't like him back and it was impossible. So no, he wasn't devastated for the whole unrequited love situation.

He was devastated because Valerian looked miserable.

Maybe he could try to fool someone else, but not Morcant. The way his eyes danced across the room, as if looking for a way out, somewhere to run. His hands resting on the abs Morcant knew he had, but not for any biblical reason, but because he was the best friend. It was like Valerian was trying his best not to puke.

It wasn't obvious, it was just... Morcant knew Valerian more than anyone else.

From his bed hair in the morning, to the way his bright eyes narrowed when he was sarcastic, to the shape of his lips when he said Morcant's name. He knew everything. Or so he thought.

He wasn't stupid, his best friend wasn't getting married for a burning love towards his wife. It was duty. But, still... Why was he looking that miserable? Did something else happened?

Morcant wanted to cradle the Parkinson's face in his hands, caress his cheekbone with his thumb and feel the warmth of his forehead against his lips. Oh Merlin, it felt like a punch in his gut.

"Of couse I'm going to be the best man, are you kidding? They look great together." Morcant replied to the other person, as if his gut wasn't tearing itself into shreds.

And he was good at it. Acting like his heart didn't belong to Valerian, like he didn't want to press him against the wall and show him the filthiest sounds a body could make.

Morcant was the best at lying through his teeth. He even lied to himself.

for valerian: what is something or someone you know you can't afford to lose? how far are you willing to go to make sure you don't lose it/them?

Valerian had drunk too much, but he didn't think he could be blamed for that. It was a party after all, his own engagement party. He was allowed to celebrate. It was definitely the alcohol that made him sick to his stomach, not the thought of marrying this woman. They'd been together for years, why would the thought of the engagement make him feel like he wanted to run, and then keep running, until no one could find him.

His eyes drifted, not for the first time, to the other end of the room. He had never been good at keeping his eyes off his best friend. They sought him out against his will. It was easy between them, with a look he would know, know if both of them were engaged in mind numbing, banal conversation, or if one needed rescuing from an overbearing relative. The worst times were when he didn't look back. When Valerian was left to wonder what the person had said to capture his attention, if this would be the one to steal him away. It was so easy, in those moments, to imagine pulling the other into a side room. Whispering all the unspoken things, demanding his attention and more. But then more images followed, of rejection, of things going horribly wrong, of Valerian left alone, without the only person who knew how to care about. Those images terrified him far more than simply allowing things to remain as they were. Someone approached Valerian from behind, evidently having noticed his mood. "Everything ok?" They asked, a hand settling on his shoulder. "Yeah man, I'm fine."

WHO: gamon ollivander & barty crouch jr. @bcrtiesjr WHERE: ollivanders, diagon alley WHEN: midnight

It was a disquieting night for Gamon at Ollivanders. Rosie, one of his closest friends, had warned him in the morning about a danger appearing in his workplace. He thought about a robbery, maybe. He heard about some stores getting looted at night, with the crisis starting to show its face, some people were losing their marbles.

The little bell on the door warned him about a new presence entering the store. The man lifted his head from the wand catalogue he was updating—boring service, really, but unfortunately he had to do it— and lifted his brow when he saw who it was.

"Hello, welcome to Ollivanders. How can I help you?" Gamon asked, politely. Talk about awkward, your ex-boyfriend's friend showing up in your workplace. Of course, the chance of him actually being there to talk about Sev—Severus, he corrected himself— was small, considering Ollivanders was almost the only wand shop in Britain...

who: morcant and regulus @impcrios where: room of prophecies, department of mysteries, ministry of magic

Neither of them knew, but both Morcant Nott and Regulus Black had already been fucked over by narrative before they were even born. Perhaps they knew, in the same self-aware arrogance where they fished they self-loathing, bit by bit. They didn't know what the Moirai would spun for them in the fabric of fate. Since they worked for the Room of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, some would call that poetic justice. The Nott heir stood by one of the shelves, watching the long line of prophecies with the intent of someone listening to music. Crystal balls that looked inofensive enough, but he knew people that had gone crazy while working there. Lucky him, he was halfway there, maybe that's why he almost didn't feel the pull. Working there during midnight was peaceful and eerie, which was his mood of preference when studying their cases. You couldn't be too comfortable over there. — Black. — He nodded to Regulus as he saw him. For someone with the social skills Morcant had —you get more flies with honey—, not knowing how to approach the topic was disquieting. He couldn't exactly be blatant and outright ask him what he wanted to know. — Did you see anything missing or out of place in your hand? He asked, looking closely to the other's face with a somber sort of respect. It was the best resemblance of friendliness he could emulate in the present circunstances.

"Mrs. Parkinson, it's great to meet you. The festival looks much better now that you're here." Morcant smiled courteously to Bryony, as if they didn't grow up in the same social circles their whole lives.

There was a playful undertone underneath all the politeness, of course. It was interesting to see his childhood friend as a married woman. But, then, that was probably his fault for not having settled down yet.

"I don't believe I'm the best person to have an opinion on tapestries, since the only tapestry I truly remember is the Nott's family tree tapestry. But I do enjoy the Yuletide spirit, it's my favorite." Morcant said, settling comfortably beside her.

Who: Bryony & Open Where: Samhain Festival, Market Stalls

Bryony had thought long and hard how her re-entrance back into society post-wedding would go, and it hadn't been this damned festival. They were supposed to attend a gala last weekend for one of the many charities she helped out with, but of course, she had been sick and they couldn't attend. And now her husband goes and tells her at the last minute that he would join her later, that something had come up. She was not pleased but she was unwilling to sit at home for another weekend. So here she was, hoping he would come and find her before it was too late.

"The holiday may be over tomorrow, but the season will go on for a while. It wouldn't be particularly tacky to keep this up, would it?" Bryony mused to the person beside her, showing them the tapestry that she had been looking at.