In the past year, Grayson Wilkes had had a lot of time to himself to think. Granted, most of that time had been spent having something of a psychotic break -- but the last month or so, he'd just been thinking. His brother was dead -- by his own hand -- and his family was more on the rocks than they'd been in years. He'd spent a good deal of time regretting Amery's death, but the fact was ... if he hadn't ended his brother's life, their entire family would've suffered even more than they were suffering now. It had been a long, hard road to this conclusion, but he had to believe it.

None of this silly regressing bullshit: he was the only son of the family now, and he needed to pull himself together. Continuing to wallow was just going to drag his family through the mud again, and that wasn't something he was going to tolerate.

Truth be told, he'd been well enough for the last few weeks. He knew he should've been the one to contact Ophelia, but he'd spent the majority of his time getting back into shape (apparently not eating and subsisting mostly on grain alcohols did not do wonders for a man's figure) and finding house elves to replace the ones that he'd messily thrown out windows or through walls. He needed to know that Ophelia would still come back to him, that he was (at least in his opinion) in control of that situation.

The manor looked lovely now, though; fresh coats of paint on some of the walls, flowers in the vase by the door. Grayson himself looked for every intent and purpose like he had before his brother's death; the fire was back in his eyes and he felt sharper than ever.

No more of this failure nonsense.

Who: Grayson and Jules
What: Siblings that love and trust each other do what they do best, duh.
Where: Juliana's home
When: Sunday evening

( Unfortunately for him, Grayson's mere presence was all it took to set off alarm bells when it came to Juliana. )

WHO: Grayson, Ophelia + Anastasiya Wilkes
WHAT: AWWWWWKWARD!
WHEN: Midday
WHERE: Wilkes Manor

( This all seemed like a very terrible idea. )

WHO: Brianna O'Hara and Grayson Wilkes
WHAT: This physical exam isn't as innocent as Brianna thinks
WHERE: St. Mungo's
WHEN: Today!

( He had other ways of seeing her where she wouldn’t necessarily see him. )

Gabriel was silently wording his opening lines for the next segment of news when the lights dropped. He lifted his head in a curious manner, having been standing away from the news desk and wondering if it was just a backdrop thing. It wasn't exactly peculiar, there had been men working on the spells earlier this week which had caused the lighting charms to flicker and crackle. He let out a breath and stood where he was, watching as nearly everyone around him performed lumos with their wands. Gabriel supposed he should as well, and wondered if this sort of incident would mess up the wireless airwaves. He didn't know much about the magic behind the WWN, but he supposed those who did would fix things.

He muttered to his assistant that he was going to go into the corridor to see if it was only their studio that had gone out, and she quickly skittered away to find the snack trays. Gabriel let out a breath, sighing at the thought of having to stay at work later because of this delay. He had dinner plans for Rachel and the children, he did not need the annoyance of pushing back reservations. As he pushed out into the hallway, he let out a groan at the darkness. His wand was soon out and he felt awfully tired, frustrated that his day was going to be spent in near darkness.

"Do you have light?" he called out to a figure down the hall, noticing a brighter light than that of a normal lit wand. "The spells have gone out over here, it's pitch---"

Why had he been so languid in his movements just now? Darkness overcoming the WWN studios? In the middle of Diagon Alley? Diagon Alley, which was the near breeding ground for death eater attacks. Gabriel wished he had the mindset to jump to the worst possible conclusion, but the spell the cloaked death eater shot off sliced him across the side of the head, knocking him out cold and to the ground.

If he didn't die today, right now, Rachel was going to kill him.


( OOC! )

Getting married was absolutely terrifying. No matter how smoothly Gabriel proceeded through the planning, the discussions, and the actual event, he was holding back getting sick the second he could catch a moment to himself. He knew he didn't love Rachel yet, which might be the reason why he was finding himself so nervous as they sat at the head table of their reception, but he did honestly---he did honestly believe that he could fall in love with this woman. She was fiery with a mind of her own, and though some people might be irritated by it, Gabriel actually appreciated the way she took control of things. He had always been a bit of a follower, and it was easy to agree with Rachel because her reasoning simply made sense.

The reception did look fantastic. Gabriel couldn't believe it was all put together within two short months, but then again he was learning that Rachel was a woman who set her goals and refused to leave them unfinished. Maybe he should look at that as a good thing; surely someone who did not want to get married would not have put so much effort into the ceremony? Or she simply wanted to throw the most beautiful wedding of them all, simply because she could. He didn't know, and didn't mind not finding out as long as they remained content with each other.

He did find her very interesting, however, and that was the first thing a Ravenclaw looked for in a spouse. Maybe all of his concerns were for naught, and it was simply wedding day jitters. His parents had been arranged in a similar manner, and they were still quite happily married (and sometimes nauseatingly sweet about it, too). Gabriel turned and smiled at Rachel, pushing his chair out and offering his hand, "Would you like to dance?"

A chorus of glasses clinging supported Gabriel, and he flushed slightly at all the attention that was on them, once again.


ooc: guest list! We did our best, but if we missed someone let us know!

Fuck. This. Shit.

Fiona glared at the wall across the salon, arms crossed tightly over her chest, resting on her immensely large belly. Tom's sisters were so bloody lucky that they were muggles and she couldn't pull her wand out on them, because dragging her to the hair salon, when she did not want to get her damn hair done, would've earned them swift bat-bogey hexes to the face. Did they not see that she was quite literally about to give birth? Seamus' due date was in a few days, but who really thought that it was a good idea to rile up a pregnant woman, especially one with a natural temper like Fiona's?

Fuck. This. Shit.

While she sat in the waiting chair, watching his sisters chatter under the hair dryers (how they could hear each other, she didn't know, Fiona's eyes drifted to the window. It was rare that she got into the city, on her own behalf, anyway, so Dublin was a bit of a treat. The streets were always busy, and maybe if she forced some tears out they wouldn't mind heading into the bakery down the block, for some pastries---hold on!

She grinned, pushing herself up by the arms of the chair to a wobbly standing position. No one would miss her if she hurried, so Fiona quickly made her way out of the salon and to the pavement, "Hey! Hold on!"

This was the absolute last thing Adrian wanted to be doing.

He didn't hate Grayson, he didn't. Adrian found his brother-in-law more than amusing, and quite brilliant in his very sadistic manners. He was vital to the Dark Lord's army, and Adriand respected that. Grayson was just so damn irritating. No one had ever rubbed Adrian has badly as the man had, and in all the years he'd known him, it had always been the same. Since he was a child, Adrian had been seventeen when he'd officially met Grayson. Of course, that had been at Daniella's wedding to his older brother, so everyone had been in sour spirits.

Adrian rapped his fingers on the table, eyes nearly hidden under the rim of his hat. His plans for Grayson were simple, but with the man's recent involvement with the demise (or near?) of one of Dumbledore's finest, Adrian was sure that he would take interest in a chance at revenge.

His hand raised slowly at the sight of Grayson, in a mediocre greeting.

So, this wasn't awkward at all.

In fact, it was so not awkward, that Ophelia was literally fidgeting in her chair every thirty seconds or so, and hadn't gotten through more than a paragraph of the book she had been attempting to read for the past fifteen minutes. Suppressing the urge to groan in frustration, she moved again, pulling her legs up next to her and repositioning herself in the library's large armchair, while at the same time attempting to keep from glancing up at her boyfriend--no, husband, husband now--just across the room.

In truth, this shouldn't be this awkward. Sitting around in the library after dinner with Grayson, reading a book, had never been weird. Or, at least it hadn't been weird until they'd come home from the honeymoon, she'd promptly found out that she was carrying a child she wasn't sure he wanted, and the best advice she'd gotten about the situation was Tell him. Soon. No, none of that was helping in the least, nor was his signature cool and serious attitude that had made fulfilling that advice deathly frightening every time she had even thought about it.

So she continued to sit. And fidget. And fake like she was actually paying any attention at all to the novel in her hands. And hope beyond all hope that he wasn't going to ask questions.

Oy.

What a strange feeling.

In the middle of all this chaos, Caradoc felt quite calm. Incredibly calm, actually. Whether that was a positive or negative, he decided not to care to divulge into that inner meaning. All he cared to know was that it felt good. Unrealistically good. There was nothing else running through him, he had efficiently locked away all resolved issues, emotions with them. So now... no, the battle surrounding him did not effect him one bit. It felt like he was watching this all from afar, or from behind a protected screen. But when in reality, a red jet of light had just missed his leg by a few meters and he hadn't even moved away from it.

That should have gotten his heart going, shouldn't it? But it... didn't; Caradoc knew what he was waiting for, who he was waiting for. Nothing else seemed to be that dangerous. And if he was accidently killed while he was standing here? If he could be so lucky. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long, and there was no reason for him to bring attention to himself. They would know he was here, just like how he would have known that a traitor had finally decided to make a public presence. Call it something of a sixth sense, but you don't just waltz into a battle undetected when the other side was desperately grasping to kill you. Nope, it just never happened. Life wasn't easy like that.

Though-- this suddenly came to him as something of a side note--- for some reason, he hoped Dorcas would make this out of it alive. Perhaps it was this new mood he was in, or maybe it was just the fact that he knew his death was coming, but either way, he figured he could forgive her now, of all times.

Caradoc, wand in hand and back up against a high stone wall, looked away from the street for a moment. But once he looked back, two jets of light were already heading straight at him. He deflected and moved away from them easily. Again, while by instinct his body jerked into action, he was not scared. This death eater wasn't going to be the one to kill him, he was sure of that. He had made this very personal to the Dark Lord, no doubt they were told to bring him back still breathing.

Who: Caradoc Dearborn and Grayson Wilkes
What: Someone missed their deadline.
Where: Caradoc's Manor-type-thing.
When: Just after 12:01 AM on the 6th. No, really.

( He was currently rearranging a book shelf so that it was ordered alphabetically by subject and author. )

Who: Grayson Wilkes & Caradoc Dearborn
What: Sigh
Where: Wilkes abode
When: Tonight

( The thought that he was waiting for Grayson Wilkes was more than enough to make him stay and not leave (sadly...) )

Rabastan was in a bad fucking mood.

He'd been in a bad mood for about a week, probably a bit before then because he'd somehow been dragged into decorating the entire bloody manor with his mother. She'd guilted him, to be honest, crying about how she didn't have grandchildren and he snapped that he'd help her put the bloody garland up if she would stop her ridiculous attempts at getting him to procreate.

St. Mungo's was ridiculously obnoxious with its brightly lit corridors and bustling employees. How could anyone possibly be jolly all the fucking time? Rabastan supposed it let him slip in and out of the crowds a bit easier, but still. When you were trying to create a bloody scene to save a man's life (not something he found himself thinking--ever), it became irritating, quickly.

He turned a corner and pulled out his wand, extracting the spell from the walls of the hospital that kept it lit so brightly. Rabastan grinned as the light flashed and turned into darkness, his wand spinning once in his hands.

Well, then.

Things had been going well -- eerily well, in all honesty. 'Work' - inasmuch as what he did for the Dark Lord could be called 'work' - had him pleasantly on-time, although he had a few ticking annoyances plaguing the back of his mind that he'd have to take care of sooner rather than later.

He palmed the box in his pocket before he apparated to the door of the house he shared with Ophelia, glancing into the hall as he stepped inside. Grayson would be the first to admit that he kept an odd schedule, so there was no telling whether his girlfriend would even be home. He smelled food, but that was more than likely a house-elf preparing the evening meal at the time it had been told to earlier in the morning by Grayson himself.

Stepping into the living room area, he drew off his gloves and shoved them into the sleeve of his overcoat and hung the thing up on its proper hook. He wasn't one to announce his presence, but Ophelia had probably heard the activity if she was home. He slid down into a chair, opting to wait rather than call out to her.

Fuming in the lift to get out of this damned place, Fiona's mind kept replaying the infuriating meeting she'd just had with the official behind the M.A.G.I.C. information desk. She wasn't allowed to ask questions until their meeting, here's a brochure with the documents you need to bring to the meeting, see you at the meeting---don't bring your muggle husband.

Fiona's arms were tightly crossed as she pushed into the corner of the lift, ignoring the ministry workers coming on and off without a second look toward her. It was so strange--yesterday she was having a conversation with Isobel about how she didn't feel any different, being a pureblood, from a muggleborn, even a muggle. It just never came into her mind that there was something better about it, that it was a privilege and honor to not have any muggles in your family, but today. Today she found herself feeling insulted that they were questioning her blood status, and that made her sick.

She needed to fix this. Brianna's internship was at stake, and if she couldn't find the right documents, her sister might lose everything she worked so hard for and--Fiona let out a shuddering breath, angry at everything going on right now, especially the tears in her eyes. Brilliant.