I Opened My Mouth, Almost Said Something. Almost. The Rest Of My Life Might Have Turned Out Differently

antonin-whoisleft​:

Antonin kept his mouth shut when he heard the grand doors of Malfoy Manor open and close from the parlor down the hall. He didn’t not like being there, though that had nothing to do with the manor so much as it had to do with Malfoy himself. The pair of them had never quite gotten along, too similar in their ambitions and dissimilar in their means of achieving their goals; but Antonin was nothing if not a loyal member of Lord Voldemort’s army, and he went where he was told to go.

Besides, getting to enjoy a glass of hideously expensive scotch while he waited for his contact to arrive was a bonus. The Malfoy house elf had scampered up to him with it, one ice cube perfectly chilled inside, and he’d been left to his own devices while some of his comrades went over their own mission plans a few doors down.

It was a respectable place to call a safe house, that much was for sure. As long as they all staggered their exits, disapparating or floo or otherwise, it was nearly impossible to draw attention to the place. It was too out in the open, too obvious, too… belonging to a powerful family. It really was perfect.

The doors opening was a sign as good as any that his contact had arrived; she would be the only one using the doors that day, most likely. Malfoy had arranged some ridiculous measures for anyone not pureblood to enter his house, he was sure it would be abandoned once it was clear having their few halfblood comrades walking up visibly to his manor might cause a bit of a curious stare from anyone looking too hard.

“Harper Baddock, yes?” He asked, voice smooth and welcoming, standing now in the doorway and watching the woman with his curious, perhaps a bit unsettling, large green eyes. “Lovely room, isn’t it? Lot of blondes, though.”

-

“Indeed” Harper replied, matching the smoothness of Antonin’s tone, answering his questions and comment in one word. While she wanted to make a wise-crack about what would happen should a Malfoy child be anything but blonde, Harper knew this was certainly not the place, and was still unsure enough about the company to do so. “You must be Antonin,” she stated, rather than asked, with a slight lift of her chin.

Antonin, she had already gathered, was a young man with an edge; Death Eater associations and beliefs aside. There was something about him that wrenched her stomach a bit, but she could not yet put a finger on what it was. Large eyes often gave an innocent appearance, but in Antonin’s case, the trait that came to Harper’s mind was snake-like. She hoped that she could charm him enough to end up at least on his neutral-to-positive side.

“I’d ask what else is going on around here, maybe even try to get the grand tour… but I doubt that I’d be shown or told much, or that it would even be well-received” Harper quipped, though internally unsure how much of her comment was actually in jest. She moved to focus on the business matters before she could dwell too much on her own words.

“Obviously, I have all the paperwork I was to bring. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. I can take you through it, if you’d like,” Harper continued, gesturing to the couch and table towards the center of the room. “Or we could just chat…” she offered tentatively. “I guess getting the short end of the stick and having to meet with me isn’t so bad, considering you get a nice drink out of it,” she remarked, her eyes flicking from his face to the glass in his hand.

rxtaskeeter​:

date: 2nd august, 1978 time: 7am location: diagon alley OPEN

Rita did not consider herself to be an early bird or a night owl. She found labels of all kinds to be unnecessary and extremely limiting (heterosexual, gossip columnist, Muggleborn), and these were no exception. Not only that, but neither really applied to her, being one of those freakish souls who could survive on astonishingly little sleep; falling into her bed at 2am after a long night of writing and bouncing out of bed again at 5:30am so that she could be one of the first in the office.

That being said, there was something about mornings that she found incredibly energising - the possibilities, the blank slate. Living on Diagon Alley certainly helped, her curiosity always propelling her out of her flat to watch all the shops open, their wares for the day displayed outside or in the windows. Her pace would slow as she passed the market stalls, eyes scanning to see if there was anything worth buying or writing about (there never was) as she sipped a coffee bought along the way.

It was a warm morning already, and Rita happily sat on a bench in the sun, soaking it up as much as she could ahead of her long day in a room where sunlight was often obscured by cigarette smoke and many enormous male egos. Her eyes had closed in contentment for a moment, only for a shadow to fall across her face seconds later and cause her to open them again, expression confused until she registered who it was.

“Oh, it’s you. I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”

-

Harper’s schedule could easily vary from one day to the next. A perk of more or less being your own boss, she supposed, though she was acutely aware that her situation was much more complex than that. Usually when it started this early, though, she tended to opt for either apparating or she had stayed over at whichever hotel she had to be at the night before. But this morning she had just risen extra early; it seemed like it was shaping up to be a warm, beautiful August day, and Harper knew that the fresh air would be good for her.

She stopped to grab an iced coffee on her way from her flat to the hotel, a light breeze on her back as she strolled. Slowing down as she walked passed some benches, scanning for any familiar faces, Harper caught the glimpse of a face and some blonde hair that she surely recognized as Rita.

Sitting down next to her, she gave a small smile to the younger woman. “I know” she nodded, “usually we run into each other around lunch time or later in the day. But you’ve gotta change it up sometimes, as I’m sure you know” Harper swirled her cup around in her hands before taking a sip through the straw. “How’s work going?” she continued, “The hustle and bustle of the Prophet keeping you on your toes?”

Laying Flowers //

Harper had created a tradition for herself that she followed every year on the anniversary of her parents passing. They— She — still owned the house she grew up in. She didn’t spend much time there after the summer they passed, but she wasn’t looking to let go of it, either. Besides, it wasn’t like they— SHE— couldn’t afford it. She was constantly still referring to her family in terms of “they” rather than “she,” even though for five years now it had just been, well, She. It wasn’t denial, it was just discomfort and force of habit.

So the house was where she went. She arrived there the night before, with a bottle or two of her parents’ favorite wine in tow, and stayed over. She cooked for herself, read, watched some old movies, looked through old albums. That night and the following day were the only times she permitted herself to cry. On that next day Harper would lie low, largely continuing the previous night’s activities, before heading to the cemetery where her parents were buried. She’d spend some time there; talking to them, doing some more reading and maybe even writing a bit, and laying flowers. Then she would return to the house, get take out or delivery for dinner, and spend the night again before heading out in the morning.

This was a very solitary experience for Harper, but that didn’t stop her from maintaining a certain appearance, specifically for her time at the graveyard. In fact, she considered it to be very much tied in as a part of her ritual. Waterproof makeup was a must, as was an elegant black outfit… Even though afterwards it was promptly shoved into a designated corner of Harper’s closet. The main facets of this year’s look were nude lipstick and a slightly flow-y black chiffon dress. She was in the midst of reading her book, enjoying the warm summer breeze on her skin, when she looked up, startled, at the rustle of approaching footsteps on the grass.

“Oh… hey,” she said softly, feeling caught off-guard and distant, but hoping that her waterproof eye-makeup made good on its claims.

You’re so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.

Tracy Chevalier, Girl with a Pearl Earring  (via roseir)

Drinks and Distractions // Harper and Ava

Harper closed her notebook and shuffled her papers into a pile before locking them all in the desk drawer of one of her office suites. Glancing at her watch, she let out a sigh as she wondered where the evening had gone. Hadn’t it just been half six? She knew she hadn’t been working quite so effectively this afternoon, but Harper really didn’t mind as she had been burying herself in busywork; she’d done too well it seemed, as she’d intended to head out a couple hours back.

She stood up, shaking her hair out before pressing her index fingers into her temples, massaging them slightly. She headed to the dressing table and mirror, where a smaller version of her makeup collection lived; Harper’s eyes wandered over the various items, ultimately opting to refresh her eye makeup, adding some sparkle to her lids, along with eyeliner and mascara. She swiped on some fresh lipstick before giving herself a once over, and grabbing her small purse from inside the larger bag by her desk on her way out.

Deciding on the path of least resistance, she headed downstairs to the hotel’s bar. It was typically decently populated on any given night, even more so because it was a Friday. Harper took pride in the fact that there was a diverse crowd; middle and upper-middle-aged professionals, singles and couples of various ages and stages, groups of young partiers bar-hopping.

As she approached the crowd, Harper scanned it for any familiar faces, perking up when she spotted Ava Avery across the room. Harper didn’t know her too well, but the girls sometimes ran into each other on nights out, and tended to share some casual company and chit-chat when they did. Noticing that Ava seemed to be alone, Harper expertly navigated her way through the room, arriving next to her and trying to grab her attention without startling the woman, “Ava, hey” she started with a soft smile.

@ava-avery​

safiyeece​:

-

“Yes, it simply must be!” Safiye simpered along with Harper, then rolled her eyes again. “Nevermind that exponential growth is fundamentally unsustainable.” It was always like this with Safiye, swift shifting between shallow swimming and deeper waters. She was by necessity comfortable with surface interactions, but she craved greater stimulation. Usually, she ignored the urge, pushing it down until it was little more than a vague irritation, but she didn’t go to the same trouble to appear Proper when it was just  her and Harper.

For a moment, Safiye allowed herself to imagine it. Her hand went to the watch in her pocket and she traced its outline as she pictured seeing the world with Harper at her side, showing her friend around Istanbul, even reconnecting with Dilara. But the memory of her fallen cousin pushed Safiye out of her reverie and she shook her head. They could, technically, but at what cost? 

“Oh, but think of all of the Society we would miss.” The joke came out thin and dry. Safiye knew all too well that neither she nor Harper would truly miss the society they’d grown up in. Sometimes she craved a lack of it, and though they danced around the subject, never openly addressing it, she had a feeling Harper did as well. The truth of it was like the sun, easier to look at through the corner of an eye rather than directly.

Safiye took the offered menu and perused it eagerly, happy to follow Harper’s plan away from the ‘sad wine-tipsy road.’ Her eyes went immediately to the cocktail Harper mentioned, gin mixed with black tea and a ginger simple syrup poured over muddled plum. It combined several of Safiye’s favorite flavors and was something she’d mentioned to Harper on more than one occasion. It was touching that Harper had remembered to include it this season, and the kind of silent gift that their friendship was built on. “Well, if you have that, then I don’t need to look at the menu.” Safiye smiled as she handed the menu back to Harper.

-

Harper internally felt a surge of pride in herself as she took in Safiye’s response to the drink. She thrived on positive feedback as it was, but coming from Safiye it hit a different chord. It felt so genuine and natural; she knew Safiye wasn’t looking to gain something from her, she had just made her friend happy. And in a world where Harper knew that was a struggle for both of them, she was honored.

They didn’t often discuss it, their feelings about their respective situations. It was clear that there was more beneath the surface that neither friend could or would discuss, but part of what made their friendship so special was their understanding and respect of those boundaries; their shared ability to catch each other’s drifts in spite of things left out. It was this same understanding that guided Harper to drop the joke. If it were anyone else, she probably would have continued in order to keep her guard up and her edge intact. Truth be told, she also had the feeling that if she tried, her voice would crack or some other tell would show itself.

Unsure of what more she actually wanted to drink, herself, Harper pondered the menu. She let out a soft laugh. “You know, considering the role I had in shaping this menu, you’d think I’d have an easier time picking something,” she mused aloud. Truth be told, beyond Safiye’s drink, she could barely remember what they’d actually selected for this menu.

The summer was difficult for Harper. Between the memories of graduation, and then her parents, plus her birthday thrown in there too, the early part of summer especially tended to be blurry and hard to focus on. For one or two years after her parents passing, Harper attempted to actively deal with both, which just resulted in whiplash and guilt. She’d considered trying again this year, but ultimately hadn’t decided for sure.

Settling on an elderflower cocktail for herself, Harper sent word down to the kitchen and bar to deliver a couple of their chosen drinks along with some sweet biscuits up to her suite.