Who: Agatha Timms and Fredrick Catchlove (NPC)
What: Midnight attacks!
Where: Their flat, St. Mungo's!



Her knees pressed down into the mattress of the bed, and Agatha crawled miserably under the covers. Her latest trip to the bathroom had confirmed that she was not just dealing with Fredrick's undercooked muffins, but a full blown flu.

"Haha, can't yell at me now," Fredrick teased sleepily, pulling her tightly against him once she was close enough. Agatha pouted and would have argued that it was probably was his fault because he was so terrible at cleaning up after himself that his hands were most likely filthy and were covered in germs, but she was feeling too wretched to argue. 'Too wretched to argue,' that's how you knew Agatha Timms was honestly under the weather.

"Shuddup," she mumbled, pressing her face into his chest. Agatha heard Fredrick laugh again and he kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek against her.

"Oy, Aggie, you're burning up!"

"That's what happens when you're sick."

Fredrick pulled back, looking surprised, "Oh really? Is that what this is? Man...I thought you were just being a pain in the ass..."

"I'll give you a pain in the----"

Agatha shuddered greatly, at the sound of a large crash outside their bedroom. She pulled herself up and watched Fredrick jump out of bed, grabbing a---cricket bat? "Wait, wait Fredrick!"

"C'mon, it's some bloody thug trying to get all our jewels," Fredrick hushed with a grin. Agatha felt herself get woozy as she scrambled out of bed, grabbing her wand off the nightstand. Like hell if some punk was going to take any of their new wedding-gift appliances!

Agatha stood behind Fredrick before he opened the door, and he banged it loudly to scare off the burglars.

"OY! WHO'S OUT THERE!" Fredrick shot a dirty look over his shoulder at Agatha and pushed her back. Her husband wasn't the most intimidating of men, but the fact that he was attempting to keep her out of harm's way was alarming. Did he really think whoever was out there would be trouble? Muggles had---

"Fredrick, what if he has a gun--" Agatha asked, but before he could respond the door was slammed open, bouncing off of--Fredrick. He stumbled back into Agatha and she fell into their dresser. A sharp pain struck her in the back of her head and Agatha's eyes blurred from the shock.

"Fredrick--!" she let out, attempting to stand but a jolt of red light lit up the bedroom. Red--that looked like---Agatha blindly searched for her wand as the intruders, the death eaters, began to shout out hexes and jinxes and---"Fredrick!"

A cricket bat wasn't going to do shit against death eaters!

Agatha screamed as she was tackled to the ground, and had pointed her wand to her attacker's face before she realized it was her husband. Her vision cleared and she saw the bruises already forming. Oh--

"Get us out of here!" he choked out, and Agatha gripped onto Fredrick's shirt as tightly as she could before disapparating out of the flat.

They landed with a great slam to the hard ground, and Agatha could barely regain focus before the healers of St. Mungo's swept in on them. How she had managed to get the two of them to the waiting room of the hospital she had no idea, but Agatha was glad for some sense---

"Wait---where are you---" she struggled to get to Fredrick, who looked like he had passed out---"That's my husband, that's my--Fredrick!"

"Ma'am! Ma'am, just---settle down!"

"He's a squib!" she shouted. Agatha had no idea if any of the magic they might perform on Fredrick would hurt him or react differently or---oh God, her head began to spin and the nausea that had been attacking her for the past two weeks struck again, and hard.

Agatha saw Smeth's face before she passed out, and she knew he'd manage to contact her family for her--right? Fucking hell, what a night.