She had not done many rash or stupid things since Caradoc had disappeared the first time. As Emmeline ducked through the open doors of the ministry lift as a custodian boarded, hiding under her invisibility cloak, she figured it was about time. Caradoc was back, that meant it was time to start making ridiculous decisions and jumping into things she could probably not get out of by herself. Emmeline didn't know how she managed to keep her heavy breaths hidden from the custodian as the elevator lowered and twisted itself down the floors of the ministry, but she thanked whatever song he had stuck in his head that had him humming loud enough not to hear her.

Emmeline had nearly splinched herself when Archie's patronus had arrived. After his accident last year during the earthquake, and with all the mess that was going on (he was a father now, her favorite uncle was a father), she had thought it would be for the best to teach him how to send a messenger patronus. Emmeline had hidden the lesson under the thin veil of having read it in a book and found it interesting, because she knew it would not take much for Archie to question her intentions, but it would take even less for him to be excited about learning the rather difficult bit of magic.

Bottom floor, bottom floor. Emmeline reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial of a molten gold liquid. For the last birthday Caradoc had been around for, he had provided her with a small dosage of Felix Felicis, claiming that he had done a few illegal things to obtain the potion, and that she should only use it for something of great importance as she was constantly getting into trouble and should not waste it on a trivial mission. Emmeline hadn't felt the need until this night, and she quickly drank half the vial, stuffing the rest in her pocket in hopes of being able to give it to her uncle.

Ooh. She straightened up and felt a great wave of energy pass over her. Tonight was going to be a good night! She nearly skipped out of the lift, and if she'd been a second late she would not have noticed the cloaked figure heading into a door that was clearly a classified room. If she hadn't hurried out of the lift as fast as she had, she would not have overheard the password, 'Lenore.' Ahh, how lucky.

It was late. Far later than Octavia Lestrange would have preferred to remain awake, especially on a night such as this, but there were some matters more pressing than sleep at hand. Her husband of more than three months (a miraculous feat in her eyes, being that they didn't even think they were going to get to the wedding) was out incredibly late. She knew for certain he was not working, because he hadn't gone in to the Ministry at all this day. Instead, she arrived home to find a note left with one of the House-Elves, that the master of the house had gone out--he would be out late, and she should certainly not wait up. Octavia's lips curled in cold amusement at his use of master, knowing full well the implications it carried. Having received the same note about five times in this short time span, she would have disregarded Rabastan and his worthless message entirely, had it not been for a certain piece of information that had reached her ears.

Being the owner of a restaurant meant that one was privy to a slew of gossip, all of which pertained to staff and patron for all the dining establishments in the area, be they bars, four-star destinations such as her own, or a sidewalk cafe. What should reach her ears but the suspicious if not largely discreet behavior of her husband, in the company of other females.

To say Octavia was astonished was not far from the truth. The man had, after all, gone on and on about propriety and public image, and all such rot when she told him to break off the engagement. That he should cavort about with women from only-Merlin-knew-where was nearly staggering. But no one--no one--scorned Octavia Alexandra Borgin, and walked away from it unscathed. Her husband, even with a rumored reputation such as his, was no exception.

Octavia had seated herself calmly in one of the large, high-backed armchairs in virtual darkness, the flames in the fireplace extinguished. The white of her nightgown glowed softly in the weak moonlight streaming in from the uncovered windows, and her fingers stroked the small vial of potion she had taken to wearing around her neck. The clock struck ten to one.

She waited.

He had a wife, now.

Rabastan rolled his eyes at the thought, something that he never believed would become a fact in his life. Octavia was his wife, and by the looks of their extravagant wedding and reception, it was going to be a bloody long ride. At least she was pretty, beautiful, even. Rabastan would have had a much bigger problem if he had been stuck with a dog-faced woman like Parkinson was, or a woman who was mousey and quiet, with no opinion at all. As much as he showed his apparent disdain for his bride, Rabastan knew that he had lucked out.

Ugh.

The guests seemed to be having a delightful time, how very good for them. Rabastan knew that his brother was around somewhere, ready to humiliate him in some manner. Maybe Grayson could provide a wedding gift in the form of a deceased Rodolphus...that would be most pleasing.

His eyes lifted as he was approached, but he made no movement from his slightly slumped over position. His chin in his hands kept his head up, and Rabastan was quite sure that it was the only thing doing so. He wanted to go to bed, but since he could not, he would drink, and was already on his third, or fourth--whatever it was, glass.

Who: Rabastan Lestrange and Octavia Borgin
What: Engagement, murder... your run-of-the-mill daily activities
Where: Esculentus!
When: Today! Thiiis morning?

( She was merely a house-elf to him, now. )

Who: Rabastan Lestrange and Dorcas Meadows
What: Kidnapping of the swiftest kind
Where: Outside of Dorcas and Derek's flat

( If you make one move, one sound, your beautiful Hitwizard is going to suffer pleasantly )

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.

In all of her years at Hogwarts, in all of her years being a prefect and working on a team full of the best students in Hogwarts, Phoebe Smethwyck had never been as impressed as she was right now as she stared around the Great Hall. Illuminated with candles in all shapes and sizes (and colors, a nifty charm a sixth year had found), the tables surrounding the dance floor were decorated with pumpkins, spiderwebs, and fall leaves, creating a spooky, yet beautiful design. The Ghosts of Hogwarts had volunteered to mingle more than usual (she thanked Nearly Headless Nick profusely, and promised to hold him a belated Death-Day party), captivating the guests with stories---how much truth they held, she couldn't be sure, but they were interesting nonetheless.

The band was a new kind of wizard rock, a bit more political than the Hobgoblins, W.O.A.R. There had been a lot of discussion at the prefect meetings about whether or not they should try and book them, but at the end of the day the naysayers (read: the Slytherins) were outvoted, and the band with the hit song "Do You Believe in M.A.G.I.C" was creating an incredible atmosphere.

So---people looked happy. They were laughing, smiling, and just---happy. Not something Phoebe felt like the wizarding world had been in a long time, and she was glad to be a big part of it.

Now, if only she could find a reason to be happy, herself.

ooc: No wands! Just your ID is needed. Everyone is welcome!

A shoddy mood and Rabastan Lestrange was never a good combination. He frowned deeply across the parlour of the Malfoy Mansion, keeping his shoulders slouched and arms along the back of the couch. Not the most gentlemanly of positions, but he had not come here to be a gentleman. No, Narcissa was one of the few Rabastan could tolerate for more than ten minutes at a time, and he'd come here to be comfortable and relaxed. It was no secret that Narcissa enjoyed his company, even if it was to simply dote on him.

Of course, he never minded this kind of attention, and would only admit to himself that he was looking for it.

His parents, it seemed, had found it to be time to find him a bride. Now, this had failed before, when he was seventeen; the girl they'd chosen for him had tragically keeled over in the middle of the engagement party. Allergic to the shrimp, or so many believed. One of Rabastan's proudest performances, he'd even managed to get in a few dances before she'd taken a drink of the deadly potion he'd slipped into her drink.

At any rate, the annoyed rumblings about Bellatrix not producing an heir yet was causing his parents to start suggesting names, women that he might be able to call his wife and---no. He was not getting married. He would kill them before he got married, and right now he needed Narcissa to calm his murderous thoughts because he was very close to going through with them.

Rabastan's eyes lit up gently as the woman entered the room, and a smile curved up on his lips as he stood to greet her, "Narcissa, it's so good to see you."

WHO: Rabastan Lestrange & Juliana Wilkes
WHAT: She needs a distraction, he needs some ass. I mean--
WHEN: Aha ummmm backdated to about a week before the Travers wedding
WHERE: Ministry of Magic
RATING: Totally PG-13, don't worry

( 'Don't waste another thought on It. Come.' )

She pulled the invisibility cloak tighter over herself, taking in deep, steady breaths. The streets of Godric's Hollow were calm, still, not a person in sight as it was rather late; in the houses of the muggles in the area, you could see the telly flickering through the windows. Alice couldn't see the Order members hidden about the town, but she had a rough idea of where they were all located. It was strange to have the upper hand for once, but she knew it wouldn't last for long, no matter how pessimistic a thought. The tip to Dumbledore had arrived with a good amount of time before nightfall and had given the Order a lot of time to prepare for whatever was going to strike the small village.

James had been adamant about being one of those to go and find Sirius, but it was obvious that with his past relations with the death eaters that they couldn't risk it. Alice knew that Frank was eager to help as well, but it was finally decided on who was to stay and who was to go, and things would just have to deal.

Alice slowly made her way through a garden of one of the small cottages. She couldn't help but peer through the kitchen window, eyes softening at the sight of a daughter helping her mother was the dishes. These people were completely innocent; why had Voldemort decided to attack this village? Surely it couldn't be because wizards and muggles were living together, Hogsmeade was the only all-wizarding village and he'd already attacked there twice.

Quickly, she put up a ward on the houses' windows, feeling a guilt rise up in her at not being able to warn the family about what was to happen. She saw the flare of a spell before she heard it erupt, and Alice gripped her wand tighter, sending one last look toward the window before heading out into the starts of the fray.


( OOC )

Who: Moses and Rabastan
Where: Gringotts; Moses' "office"
When: Monday, mid-afternoon

Moses had been having a difficult week; between traveling to Egypt and Romania to tie up some loose strings on his end (for paperworks sake, of course) and trying to keep up with his parents and siblings. Not only that, but he hadn't seen Harmony in a few days and it was frustrating him more than he thought to be possible.

With a rather loud sigh, he threw his quill down before trying to nurse his splitting headache away. There was a knock at his door. Assuming that it was Brand or someone else he didn't care to talk to, he ignored it while he looked over at his calendar quickly; oi, Valentine's Day. He'd need to do something special for Harmony tonight...maybe dinner. At the second knock, he rolled his eyes before shouting out that the door was open as he went back to furiously scribbling out a summary of his past month's work. Moses Dodderidge was not in the mood to play.