author_by_night (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
author_by_night) wrote2015-05-12 07:56 am
author_by_night) wrote2015-05-12 07:56 am
Entry tags:
Spectators: Fog
Wild Dragon Chase
It had been one hell of a twelve hour period.
Tonks had waited for Scrimegour, only for him to not show up. Finally she found him at the office.
"Oh," Scrimegour had said. "Yes, false alarm, false alarm..."
"Rufus," Tonks had said firmly, "are you telling me that I just missed the Triwizard Tournament for no reason? That I wasted hours waiting for you, trying to find you, wondering what the urgency was?"
"I told Alastor to tell you not to come after all. Or I think I did..."
Tonks frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I think I need some rest." Scrimegour stood. "Good night."
Confused but too exhausted to put much stock into it, Tonks had returned home as well.
"How was it?" Remus asked when she walked in the door.
"Didn't go. Work. I'm going to bed, I'll explain in the morning."
Something horrible began to stir in Tonks's mind, but sleep pushed it away.
Unimaginable
They'd spent the night in Madame Maxime's office, despite the protests of their families, who wanted them to stay in the special rooms designated for guests. But Fleur and Viktor needed to be together. Madame Maxime had given them sleeping bags, but they hadn't slept. Instead they just sat.
"I am sorry I cursed you," Viktor told her. "I wasn't myself."
"I know you weren't."
"I do not know where Karkaroff went," Viktor continued.
Something unimaginable occurred to Fleur - but what was unimaginable anymore? "Did he have something to do with this?"
"I doubt it, but I think he knew something was going to happen and ran."
"Cedric would never have run," Fleur said firmly.
"No," Viktor agreed.
Fleur put her head to her knees, and started to cry. Viktor paused, then put his arm around her so awkwardly it made her snort through her tears.
Brothers and Broomstcks
When Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon had died, none of the kids took it worse than Charlie. Of course, they were also all too young to really understand.
He'd screamed at their parents when given the news, his lungs as loud as they could go. Molly ran out of the room crying, and Bill had dragged Charlie outside and let his brother ruin a broomstick by hitting it against the shed over and over. Bill seldom left Charlie's side for months afterwards, except when he was watching his other younger siblings.
Before Bill went to Egypt, Charlie had thanked him for being there. But Bill didn't think he'd done anything out of the ordinary; it was just what good brothers did.
And now he had to be that person again.
He'd told Charlie over Floo, hoping it wasn't a bad idea.
"You're joking," Charlie said.
"I wish I were."
"But..."
"Don't think. Just come home. I'll have a broomstick ready for you by the shed."
Helga
The portrait of Helga was at the center of the hearth.
Portraits didn't have feelings the way their real selves had; not proper ones, anyway. They had basic emotions like fear and relief and happiness and sadness.
Helga watched the House that had been hers, the real her, who would have been able to emerge and comfort them.
Not a single Hufflepuff had gone back to their dormitory; they were unified, as always. Some were sleeping in chairs or on the sofa, but most were sitting with lost looks in their eyes. Cho Chang was there - normally someone from another House would not have been permitted, but exceptions could be made.
They were so lost, so desolate... the worst thing that could happen to anyone was to lose someone they cared about, but it especially hurt Hufflepuffs. They took unity and friendship so very seriously, and Helga suspected they had many dark days ahead.
The real Helga would have comforted them, taken them into her arms and let them cry or sleep or just feel. Her portrait could only watch helplessly.
It had been one hell of a twelve hour period.
Tonks had waited for Scrimegour, only for him to not show up. Finally she found him at the office.
"Oh," Scrimegour had said. "Yes, false alarm, false alarm..."
"Rufus," Tonks had said firmly, "are you telling me that I just missed the Triwizard Tournament for no reason? That I wasted hours waiting for you, trying to find you, wondering what the urgency was?"
"I told Alastor to tell you not to come after all. Or I think I did..."
Tonks frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I think I need some rest." Scrimegour stood. "Good night."
Confused but too exhausted to put much stock into it, Tonks had returned home as well.
"How was it?" Remus asked when she walked in the door.
"Didn't go. Work. I'm going to bed, I'll explain in the morning."
Something horrible began to stir in Tonks's mind, but sleep pushed it away.
Unimaginable
They'd spent the night in Madame Maxime's office, despite the protests of their families, who wanted them to stay in the special rooms designated for guests. But Fleur and Viktor needed to be together. Madame Maxime had given them sleeping bags, but they hadn't slept. Instead they just sat.
"I am sorry I cursed you," Viktor told her. "I wasn't myself."
"I know you weren't."
"I do not know where Karkaroff went," Viktor continued.
Something unimaginable occurred to Fleur - but what was unimaginable anymore? "Did he have something to do with this?"
"I doubt it, but I think he knew something was going to happen and ran."
"Cedric would never have run," Fleur said firmly.
"No," Viktor agreed.
Fleur put her head to her knees, and started to cry. Viktor paused, then put his arm around her so awkwardly it made her snort through her tears.
Brothers and Broomstcks
When Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon had died, none of the kids took it worse than Charlie. Of course, they were also all too young to really understand.
He'd screamed at their parents when given the news, his lungs as loud as they could go. Molly ran out of the room crying, and Bill had dragged Charlie outside and let his brother ruin a broomstick by hitting it against the shed over and over. Bill seldom left Charlie's side for months afterwards, except when he was watching his other younger siblings.
Before Bill went to Egypt, Charlie had thanked him for being there. But Bill didn't think he'd done anything out of the ordinary; it was just what good brothers did.
And now he had to be that person again.
He'd told Charlie over Floo, hoping it wasn't a bad idea.
"You're joking," Charlie said.
"I wish I were."
"But..."
"Don't think. Just come home. I'll have a broomstick ready for you by the shed."
Helga
The portrait of Helga was at the center of the hearth.
Portraits didn't have feelings the way their real selves had; not proper ones, anyway. They had basic emotions like fear and relief and happiness and sadness.
Helga watched the House that had been hers, the real her, who would have been able to emerge and comfort them.
Not a single Hufflepuff had gone back to their dormitory; they were unified, as always. Some were sleeping in chairs or on the sofa, but most were sitting with lost looks in their eyes. Cho Chang was there - normally someone from another House would not have been permitted, but exceptions could be made.
They were so lost, so desolate... the worst thing that could happen to anyone was to lose someone they cared about, but it especially hurt Hufflepuffs. They took unity and friendship so very seriously, and Helga suspected they had many dark days ahead.
The real Helga would have comforted them, taken them into her arms and let them cry or sleep or just feel. Her portrait could only watch helplessly.
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Such a great image and so in character for both of them. I had never thought of it before, but it makes perfect sense that they would stay together after what happened.
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I don't think my heart has ever broken for a portrait before . . .
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