Dark Dissension

Invitations for the following (plus 1 guest)

Ms Hannah Abbott
Mr Jude Alderton
Mr Laetus Chambers
Ms Seren Fawcett
Mr Justin Finch-Fletchley
Mr Seamus Finnigan
Ms Daphne Greengrass
Ms Ainsley Innis
Mr Neville Longbottom
Ms Morag MacDougal
Mr Harry Potter
Ms Demelza Robins
Mr Zacharias Smith
Ms Nephthys Spinks
Mr Dean Thomas

( Invitations by express owl post )

Who: Demelza Robins & Harry Potter
What: Mel and Harry decide Scrimgeour is one sexy mofo. Guess which scenario we picked? (And modified, because Ruth is made of fail and already tagged.)
Where: London. Mainly Scrimgeour's place
When: 12th March, evening
Rating: PG-13ish for language
Status: Open; incomplete

Harry pushed the chips in his hand around a bit, fingers prodding the greasy, vinegar soaked chips and making them move about the newspaper clutched in his hand. The smell wafting off them was delicious and he rather wanted to shove the lot of them in his mouth. It was a pity his stomach was protesting eating anything else.

Eyeing them, he sighed and offered the newspaper over to Demelza. "You want them?" he asked before continuing where he'd left off, "Anyway, like I was saying, Scrimgeour is...well, he's not bad for an old bloke, really. I mean, he's nothing special or anything but it's not like he's really bloody ugly, is it? He's got all that...hair."

That was rather a lame compliment, he knew, but it was the first thing that had came to mind.

Who: Hannah Abbott & Harry Potter
What: A ghost walk
Where: London
When: Sunday, 2nd March, night
Rating: Veering on the side of caution, R for language, potential for possible paranormal violence etc.
Status: Open; incomplete

His toe was throbbing rather painfully and Harry found himself barely resisting the urge to hop about on one foot, yelling and cursing like a kid who'd had their favourite toy yanked from their grasp. Unfortunately, he suspected that it wouldn't go over well, especially seeing as the woman who'd decided it would be fun to tread across his foot was wearing stilettos which could rival a deadly dagger with the point of them. Wary eyes followed the brunette as she walked ahead of him, her short form disappearing into the crowd standing in front of him.

"If you'll just follow me and stay close together to ensure nobody gets lost we'll be fine," a clear, male voice said, ringing through the night air. Harry watched the clouds the came out of his mouth with every word and the expression's of those around him rather than the bearded Muggle leading the tour, interest shining in green eyes. Occasionally he wandered what it would have been like to live his life as strictly Muggle, if he'd never known about Hogwarts, if he didn't know for certain real ghosts existed. Sometimes he wondered if he'd have been drawn to paranormal activities regardless and if he'd end up like these people, many of them tourists, taking a ghost tour with a supposedly experience guide just to get a glimpse into another world.

Pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Harry unconsciously cleared his throat and shook his head, his hair which was still damp from earlier rain plastering itself to his face and refusing to move. A few people glanced over at him but for the most part he was ignored and he was okay with that; he'd come here mainly to observe. Out of morbid curiosity, he supposed.

Ducking his head down and keeping his eyes, for the most part, on the ground, Harry followed when the group began to move forward, shuffling footsteps. For the most part he didn't listen to the guide. Listening with only half an ear let him know that what he was talking about was, mostly, misinformed rubbish.

Who: Seren Fawcett & Harry Potter
What: Waxing philosophical about the way paint peels off the walls in the DoM. Perhaps not, but you never know.
Where: The Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries
When: 29th February, night. Assuming late because it's Seren.
Rating: PG-13/R for language
Status: Open within reason; incomplete

The Death chamber had an odd pull to it, Harry thought. It wasn't something he'd expected when he'd started here; then again he couldn't have said what he had expected. The Unspeakables were hidden deep in the bowels of the Ministry, not talked much about in the other departments within the building and for the most part people went out of their way to avoid them. Their purpose was unknown to nearly everyone else outside of the department and Harry thought, shoulder pressing against the stone of one of the archways surrounding the chamber, that it was perhaps a good thing.

Even Unspeakables shuddered walking past this room.

Pushing himself off from the wall, he walked further into the chamber, his steps loud on stone ground loud in the silence of the room, the sound hitting off the walls and bouncing back at him, filling his ears. The closer he got to the centre, the more the echo of his footsteps faded in his mind, instead replaced by the sound of soft rustling, like velvet passing over velvet. A hand lifted, thumb rubbing across his nose and Harry's head turned slightly, glancing at the long shadows in the room, searching for another person. He was almost sure he heard breathing other than his own but no one seemed to be there and he was grateful. He supposed it could be seen as rather odd that he was here.

Finally stopping in front of the veil, his eyes lifted to see the gauzy layers passing over one another and here the sound of velvet passing over velvet was louder than it had been before. Harry had known it would be. His eyes remained on them even as his hands groped through thin air and then rested on the stone of one of the benches that surrounded the veil. It was tall and higher off the ground than he'd expected and his arms hoisted him up onto it, feet sliding against the wall almost blindly. When he managed to sit and not fall off, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

It was eerily calm here, he thought, dark and yet not at the same time. The glow from the veil made the shadows seem longer, darker, and far less threatening for some odd reason and from where he sat he could swear he could see straight into it. His breath caught slightly just staring.

"Do all dead things go there?" he muttered and then shook his head. "What a silly question." Fingers closing around a loose stone next to him, Harry turned it over and over in his palm, thumb tracing the sharp edge of it as teeth gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes remaining firmly fixed on the veil.

Who: Zacharias Smith & Harry Potter
What: Wards prove to be too difficult and temperamental for a group of Unspeakables, and Zacharias is sent to help break them.
Where: Wauchope Forest, England
When: Friday, 22nd February, afternoon
Rating: PG-13ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete

A hand over his eyes, Harry's head tilted back and he glanced upwards at the sky and the sun that sat there, blazing yellow. Sweat beaded on his forehead and for a moment he wished it was from the heat rather than the effort that had been expended in the last hour or so.

"Oi, Potter, stop standing about like a complete eejit."

Harry's nose scrunched slightly and he sighed, blowing air across his forehead in an attempt to cool himself off. "I'm coming," he muttered and turned, wand in hand already. Jack Rankin was standing a short way off, staring at the wall of trees in front of them, gazing intently at him and the closer Harry got to the other man the more he realised just how annoyed Rankin was; a muscle was twitching in his jaw, his arms were tight around his shoulders and every now and again his hand flexed as if he was stopping himself from hitting something.

"I owled someone about a ward caster about half an hour ago with co-ordinates," he supplied.

Rankin nodded sharply. "Right. Good." He kicked a stone at the wall of trees and for a moment it looked like it'd go through before, appearing to have simply hit thin air, it turned back on them and hit Rankin's face. He scowled and swore, lifting the stone and throwing it hard at the barrier of wards there. Once more it turned back on them, once more it hit Rankin full in the face despite the fact the other man ducked.

"I don't think the wards like you," Harry said, a hand over his mouth as he tried not to laugh too much.

A rock was flung at him and hit his elbow. "Fuck off."

Who: Eleanor Branstone & Harry Potter
What: A walking tour of the places Harry's slept in. I'm blaming this on Gwen.
Where: England
When: Saturday, 16th February
Rating: R-ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete

"If you offer to pay me, though, I'm going to have to look into doing something else," Harry said, glancing pointedly over at the woman. "I think I could be a whore. I'd make a really bloody awful whore but I reckon I could do it. Probably. Possibly." Nose scrunching, he ducked his head and shook it slightly. "Actually, you know, no. I'm going to say it's because I've morals and...you know what? Just don't pay me."

His shoes scuffed off the ground, feet kicking loose rocks on the ground as he walked, eyes on the ground rather than the landscape in front of him. His shoulder glanced off that of one of the passersby and an apology tumbled from his lips before he'd even really thought about it, walking straight past the crowds until he'd got to a rather secluded spot. Or, rather, it was what could have been considered a secluded spot in London, the only people about Polish workers, who spoke with one another in their native tongue, calling back and forth to the people across the way. He didn't understand a word out of their mouths but it sounded fairly angry; then again he considered any language other than English as vicious sounding.

"You're up for being reckless, right?" he asked, grinning. "Except for how it's not really being reckless but, you know, perhaps you'd some fucking huge and important lecture to be at today on how to work in a museum or some such and wandering about could be considered reckless. If not we can just pretend you do, okay?"

Hand disappearing into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his wand and stepped further into the shadows just in case there were any passing Muggles. He'd prefer not to have to spend time trying to convince a Muggle they were insane, or seeing things.

WHO: Nora Branstone, Nephthys Spinks & OPEN
WHAT: Tea with hookers (to be edited when someone tags in, and you all know you want to)
WHERE: Shipp's Tearooms, Park Street, London
WHEN: Saturday, February 9, afternoon
RATING: R-ish for potential discussion of sex and who knows what.
STATUS: OPEN; Incomplete

"Sooo, Candida-"

"Candy." The woman- or was she supposed to be a girl- across from her snapped her gum, then blew a gum bubble so large that Nora couldn't see her eyes. Tilting her head, she speculated about what would happen to Candy's wall of bangs were she to pop it.

"So, Candy," Nora picked up her cup of tea, ignoring the stares of the old couple in the corner. The man had been watching Candy's legs from about an hour. While she had to admit that the girl's constant crossing and uncrossing of flesh was distracting, it was also a bit irritating to hear the occasional thunk of the man's wife shoving him with her cane. "I thought really that I'd call you up and ask you to tea for a question."

"Oh, bugger, I knew you was one of those."

"One of what?" She leaned forward, brown eyes lively with curiosity.

"You're one of those what's going to ask me about what it's like-" A choke, then Candy swallowed the gum with her extraordinarily large mouth. She was wearing orange lipstick. Nora hadn't known they made orange. She made a note to buy some. "About sucking cock and taking it up the bloody ass and what do men want and how does it feel to get bloody spanked all the time- well, that bit's not a picnic, I tell you but the rest- and then you're going to try and sell me Jaysus."

"Jay- oh. Right." Her brows knitted in confusion as she picked up her teacup. "No, actually, that's not it." Nora pointed to the bump of a stomach that was currently jiggling the table. "I'm having a baby."

"Did I fuck the father?"

"No- well, maybe- I won't be surprised but that's not the point." Another sip of tea. "See, I've got to come up with a middle name. And I haven't really got any female friends- or friends at all, really- and it struck me that you'd likely know a ton of names. I mean, I'm sure your clients call you all sorts of things. So I thought that I'd ask you for a name."

"A name?" The woman seemed flabbergasted. "Me? Oh, bollocks, that's..." To Nora's great surprise, Candy burst into tears. A black flood began to rush from around her eyes at such a rate that the smaller woman was surprised. Stumbling up, Nora's head craned around the room.

"Has anyone got a handkerchief?" She called out. Then, after a desperate pause- "Napkin? Loo roll?"