Another long day, another sleepless night on holiday.

Exhausted, Saoirse rested her chin between her knees, hugging her own legs close to her chest while slowly lighting the couple of small candles on the table before her. It was late, and this impromptu holiday spearheaded by Penelope was coming to a close, but she felt no different than prior to their grand departure two days earlier.

No in fact, Saoirse thought darkly as she coiled to the back of the chair, she indeed felt different; she felt worse. No closer to making any resemblance of a certain important decision, and actually, even less equipped to do so five days ago. Because upon arrival to this beautiful home, she had discovered many unfortunate twists of fate, the two most significant being that this almost-palace belonged to Oliver Comstock, a wizard that seemed determined to confound her at every turn, and that Howell was here.

How white she had turned upon seeing her estranged inamorato there was no way to tell, but Nona had quite helpfully commented if Saoirse so desired, she would have surely encountered no problem fooling a Venetian ghost of her current undead status.

After that, Saoirse had done her very best to stay busy and away from the house at all costs, but even wizards and witches driven to continue sight-seeing and walking nonstop needed to sleep. So, for the third time in a row, Saoirse found herself restless and unable to do much else than wait for the sun to rise into a new day in the downstairs living room as everyone else she knew slept peacefully in the floors above.

She had been doing a marvelous job at staring blankly at the pile of contracts that either needed to be signed or ripped up within the next twenty-four hours when a soft creak of a door from the other side of the room caught her ears, and she looked up guiltily at the room's new occupant. There were so many faces residing within these walls it seemed, she had lost track at this but, but her luck would have no such strength here.

Brow burrowing and the hair on the back of her neck springing up, Saoirse watched as Howell, candle in hand, stopped gliding across the room upon seeing who it was that occupied the lone couch near the window. She swallowed, and blinked quickly, wishing very much that she could think of anything to say at all. When nothing came to her and the growing silence began to be too much to bear, Saoirse, without much thought or notice, suddenly asked, "Will you help me?"

She had been standing motionless on the lift for a vague five minutes now, fingers hovering over two buttons on the switch board. One would bring her back to her and Holly’s room, for it was very late and she should already be asleep by now, and the other….

Saoirse felt her hand spring to life, and quickly her thumb jammed down a decision. Tomorrow was a very important day; tomorrow would be her first World Cup match, tomorrow needed all her focus, tomorrow (today?) could not be filled with the doubt, misery, and guilt that had been plaguing her for the past three weeks. She had to--- no, she must---

The lift door pinged open, and with quiet feet Saoirse ambled onto the Welsh wing of the tournament’s housing facility.

She felt tired of feeling tired, tired of feeling miserable, and most importantly, tired of feeling cold, empty, and unhappy with herself. What had happened between her and Howell…. that hadn’t been what she wanted, it certainly wasn’t what she continued to want, so why it had occurred, with the strike of her hand no less was not…

Knowing that he was here, with a few floors always separating them, had been maddening at first. She had wanted to see him constantly, talk to Howell everyday, stupidly hoped that fate would intervene and allow them a fleeting moment in which they could share their lost days with one another. But then, as the week had progressed, that frenzy within her began to fade, and it quickly occurred to her there was a feeling nothing as terrifying as that. Losing her ridiculous, encompassing thoughts meant an outcome she did not wish to see realized, and it was because of this fear that had lead her to brashly uncover where Howell specifically was staying in a previous late-night stroll entirely unrelated to this one. There wasn’t much time left, was there?

Pulling her hair back, Saoirse easily stopped before her intended destination. It was not difficult to locate the door she wanted, the rooms were numbered the same in Irish quarters. Not waiting any longer, she knocked gently at first, and after a few silent moments, pressed close to the door.

“Howell?” Her voice sounded small, as she felt thus, and uncertain. A couple of more silent moments passed, and her lips formed into a frown. Perhaps it was too late, in both senses. Resting her forehead against the wood, Saoirse closed her eyes. “Howell?”

Who: Howell Williams & Saoirse Mullet
What: UGH I HATE EVERYTHING
Where: bookclub!
When: before Valentine's!

( This was definitely a good thing. )

She was a champion.

Holly wouldn't (and couldn't, since she was sure it was well-documented) deny that she had cried. Quidditch had been her life for so long, and to have this stretch of a career without a league cup to call her own, it was hard to deal with. Seasons were long and ehxausting, they took away all your time and energy, and to not win the cup meant that you'd just wasted the year. Sure, there were the fans, there was making personal records, and even the international circuit was fun, but Holly had needed this win so badly that she still got shivers when she thought about it. She'd done it, and she'd been the best.

She sighed, taking in the surroundings. Appleby Park had been transformed into a wonderful setting for the event, the spells on the stadium keeping the guests warm and the night sky bright above them. The league cup sat on its platform in the middle of the dance floor, looking like a glorious holy grail that she'd finally wrapped her hands around. Her husband was here somewhere, but she was lost in the sea of people. Teammates, competitors, agents, and the media, it was simply a night for the game she loved, and Holly couldn't remember a moment when she'd been happier with everything in her life.

As she made her way to the bar, she spotted one of her aforementioned teammates standing off and away from the rest of the guests. Holly, not one to ignore a teammate as she'd taken on the role this past season as, well, a mother-hen (but don't tell Theo), she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her head.

"You're missing all the fun," she said, taking their elbow. When Holly finally got a good look at their face, she frowned, "What's wrong? It looks like you've seen a ghost."

While she wasn't particularly keen on parties, she was set on saving wildlife. Everyone else seemed to rake in the galleons by throwing large events, no matter the scandals that erupted from them, so why couldn't they? Nora had conservatory's committee for quite some time now, and being the youngest by a good forty years, had devised this plan as a new and fresh way of funding. It helped greatly that she had friends that had access to some of the best party planners (or that she could twist Charlie Spinnet's ear until he helped her out), and things seemed to have turned out well. So far.

For the brave at heart, there was a grand maze that made its way throughout the haunted castle. Guests would be offered clues to get themselves to the ballroom, and if they were truly lost (as Nora was sure was to occur), for just a small donation (it's for charity), any money dropped into a clue box would light up a blue path down the correct route to lead the way out. With all the Gryffindors that Nora had put on the guest list, she was sure they were going to triple their goal.

There was a simpler route than the maze, which was simply to walk through the double doors to the dance floor. Nora was currently wavering between the two, having run out of pamphlets to give out at the front entrance therefore giving her no excuse to join the festivities. She felt rather exposed, as Delilah had stolen her cloak, and when someone tapped her shoulder she jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"Bloody hell!" she let out, spinning around. "You scared the life out of me!"

Charlie was literally bouncing around like a school kid. How was he so keen on the ways of excited, shriek-filled Hogwarts students? Why, he was surrounded by a gaggle of them! Bouncing, the lot of them, and all donned in red and gold! It was a beautiful sight, really, and it made the slightly overcast day seem bright and sunny and warm. He wanted to hug each and every one of those kids, so he did and it was a good feeling to be recognized as some 'Gryffindor Hero!' A Gryffindor Hero! Legend, some were saying. Some teeny, tiny voice in the back of Charlie's head knew that legend, even hero was pushing it a bit far, but he would happily accept the compliments because they made him feel damn special.

He hadn't been much of a standout in school, popular enough not to lurk around the corridors without anyone noticing you were there, but he was no quidditch captain or head boy. He was just Charlie, and even if his quidditch fame and popularity had skyrocketed these past few years, he was still very much in awe of the fact that people could be impressed by him.

"All right, all right!" he laughed, prying off the clamped fingers of a young third year girl's off his arm. "I'll be back, I promise!"

There was a chorus of moans, but soon the group had spotted yet another player to lay their tremendous excitement and focus on, and Charlie was free. He bounded down the pavement, Gryffindor scarf proudly flapping in the wind behind him, and dropped down onto a wooden bench beside his very Hufflepuff-y girlfriend.

"The kids," he said, waving his hand out toward the crowd before dropping it down onto the back of the bench behind Penelope, "They dig me."

WHO: Howell Williams & an unexpected someone
WHAT: Oh snap
WHERE: Saoirse & Nona's
WHEN: April 6th

( Do you think I don't know who you are? )

She had shoved the ragged wand box under and behind the stack of her favorite books on her desk, but the corner of her unwanted weekend delivery was jutting out just enough that it could still be seen if one looked hard enough. Which she did, so Saoirse had, yet again, taken to fixedly staring her package, wrestling with what, if anything, to do concerning its disturbing appearance. Would it be better or worse to give her broken wand the attention it undoubtably deserved? Give into the simmering terror it had immediately created within her, or continue to push any emotion concerning it down because she would not let anyone have that kind of power over her? It was even difficult to decide if she should contact Thomas, for that sprouted a whole new slew of issues her mind felt haggard at the thought of dealing with.

Howell shuffling into her bedroom broke Saoirse from her tangled thoughts, though only temporarily. She turned to look at him blankly, unable to truly take in what he was doing or saying, as her thoughts had become all consuming. Howell would... she would want him to tell her if something like this was happening to him, and she wanted to tell him... but, she didn't want to burden him, or anyone else for that matter, as he had just begun to feel better, and with his birthday on Thursday... that sounded silly. Those excuses were trite and downright thoughtless, and she knew she couldn't hold to them, but everything would be at lot easier if she could. She had to tell him, she must tell him; she could not hide behind trying to make this development insignificant, because it was not.

Taking in a shuddering breath, her gaze raked back across the room. Unaware to Howell other than that he was present in the room, Saoirse quietly slipped over to her desk. She pulled her lips back, then quickly reached to slip the box out of its hiding place.

"Howell," Saoirse started softly, now clutching the parcel in her hand tightly. She turned finally to look at him, seemingly much more aware of him, and their surroundings. "I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you to get upset over it."

WHO: Saoirse Mullet, Howell Williams, & Nona Pepper
WHAT: FML feels
WHERE: 221B Baker Street
WHEN: Like... weeks ago LOL after Louis and Saoirse

( That would have been the ideal moment to make a joke and cut the mounting tension of the room, perhaps with some asinine comment about how of course he was hot at all times )

WHO: Howell Williams, Drystan Fawcett & Saoirse Mullet
WHAT: AHAHAHA no but actually WWIII
WHERE: Istanbul! Holly and Saoirse's room
WHEN: today!

( It was really rather surprising that they made even it a floor before attacking each other. )

Who: Galvin Gudgeon, Michal Conway Lynch, Seth Wadcock, Howell Williams & GUESTS
What: SPENDING SOME HARD TIME
Where: ISTANBUL
When: last night!

( Team building, Howell. That is what is happening. )

WHO: Nona Pepper, Saoirse Mullet, and a guest
WHAT: Explosions, sexual harassment, and spotted dick
WHERE: 221B Baker St Mullet & Pepper Residence
WHEN: WHY, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY!

( In all honesty, it sounded like Father Christmas had taken quite a beating and fell through the roof. )

WHO: HOWELL WILLIAMS & SAOIRSE MULLET!
WHAT: DEAD AND GONE
WHERE: appleby stadium!
WHEN: after the match!

( I don’t have to explain every thought and action I have to you )