Who: Bertha and Charity What: Drinks and Venting When: Backdated - 2 July 1980 Where: Their flat Rating: PG-13 Status: Completed log
"Celebratory drinks!" chimed Charity as she entered the living room. The third issue of The Quibbler was tucked under her arm, a bottle of red wine in her left hand and two wine glasses in her right. She was happy and celebratory drinks were necessary for a great many reasons. Her first article had been published, she had finally moved in with Bertha and settled down, and they had promised to go for drinks a while ago. The top three reasons, and Charity could not think of three better reasons to crack open a bottle of wine on a Thursday evening.
Coming round the sofa, she placed their new best friend (or the first of their new best friends) on the table and sat down with a wide grin on her face. Her and Bertha had both been busy recently and hadn't the time to go out for drinks. It was rare that Charity should prefer a cosy night in over a fun and bustling night in London, but here it was. Her and Bertha, in their flat. Charity hadn't lived with another female since Hogwarts - it would certainly be fun! Before opening the wine though, she decided to take a moment to stop and calm down, to sink into the plush cushions and place her feet on the table.
Her eyes opened and she looked over at Bertha pathetically.
Bertha was somewhat disappointed they hadn't found the opportunity to run about London together, but work took up far too much time. Besides, even if they were reduced to staying at home, they could at least talk freely. None of the nonsense of watching every word they said in the presence of muggles. She came out of the kitchen at the sound of Charity's voice. She was still getting used to having a roommate - it was the first time since Hogwarts - but it had been enjoyable so far. And none of her family had descended without warning since Charity moved in.
The Daily Prophet lay on the table, but Bertha put that article out of mind as she plopped down next to Charity. "Let me see!" she insisted, curious about what nonsense that Lovegood fellow had come up with now, and excited to see her friend's name in the paper. She laughed freely at the cover story, and giggled when she read the title of Charity's piece. "You wrote about Elvis?" she teased. "He's not turning you into a conspiracy theorist, is he?"
Her pleading look, her 'I-do-not-feel-like-moving-after-all-could-you-please-open-the-wine?' look had gone unnoticed, instead her friend had decided to poke fun at her new job. She didn't mind so much - she would've only done the same to anybody else. It was a very strange job, after all, and Mr. Lovegood was a strange man. Although he had influenced her quite a bit already; who set the boundaries for strange? Who decides just what strange is and how strange people are? She shook her head and laughed abashedly.
"No!", she insisted, before holding up her hands in defence, "But you know, it could have happened. Not that I really think it did, of course, but I needed to submit an article!" She wasn't really sure what to say to defend herself. She had blatantly lied. She did not think Elvis Presley was killed by dark magic, but it was, believe it or not, the most plausible out of the other possible articles she came up with. "I needed something. I do feel quite awful; my head isn't in it as much as Mr. Lovegood's." Yet...
Bertha laughed, reaching over to open the bottle of wine her roommate had brought, pouring a bit into each of the glasses. "You couldn't think of something more believable?" she teased, swinging around so her back was against the arm of the couch and she sat with her legs tucked beneath her.
She set down the bottle, passing one glass to Charity and holding the other. "Come, now. We need a good toast to get things started!" Bertha stopped and thought for a moment, but nothing came to her. Instead, she looked expectantly at her friend. She'd never actually given a toast before. She left that to others.
Charity honestly thought that anything less interesting than what she had submitted to Mr. Lovegood would be considered boring. She wasn't sure who by though - Mr. Lovegood himself or their niche audience who were used to conspiracy theories and new discoveries? She was quite frightened that there was an invisible sanity barrier and she had to cross it with each article, although she supposed that whatever article she chose to write concerning muggles would be considered satisfactorily odd by the majority of their audience.
She was distracted from her own anxious train of thought as Bertha opened the wine for her, more than gladly took the glass and took her cue. They were still relatively new flatmates at this moment in time, and so she decided to make a toast to them, first of all.
"To us, and the many adventures we'll have in our home!" she called, a little louder than necessary. She paused and thought some more - while she didn't want to put a damper on their high spirits, she felt as though she should take the time to reassure her friend properly, to let her know that Charity was there. "And to our everlasting hope that Malfoy will remove the stick from his own arse!"
"To adventures!" Bertha smiled, amused by the reminder of her spat with Lucius Malfoy. "Cheers," she said, clinking her glass against Charity's and taking a drink of wine. Really, what was there to fear from Malfoy? The pretentious sod deserved whatever came his way, including articles that revealed his premarital indiscretions. It wasn't her fault that he provided such delightful gossip.
"And," she added, raising her glass again, "to bizarre theories! May you fabricate many, to the delight of your readers!" All right, so she was probably never going to let Charity forget this job, even years after she moved on to bigger and better things. It was a friend's right, after all, and there weren't many things better than this to tease a friend about.
Charity laughed softly. The mere presence of an open bottle seemed to relax her more than anything - even hot chocolate. She had mixed feelings about the job that she wasn't too keen on revealing, although with a bit more wine, one could never know. She was scared that she wasn't genuinely enthusiastic about the job enough. She had lied in her article, she didn't think Elvis had been killed by dark magic at all, but she needed an article. She was unsure of what she would find to write about in the future. At the moment things were new and exciting and she hoped that she'd find some sort of passion for the magazine, or that some of Mr. Lovegood's insanity rubbed off on her. Either way, she wanted to stay and see what happened.
"Oh, I'm sure I will," she replied, a smile tugging at her face as she did so, "Maybe you'll help me?"
Bertha laughed excitedly. "Are you kidding? Absolutely!" she replied. She didn't really have a knack for the bizarre, but she'd have quite a time making up things. Most of the gossip she spread was merely an exaggeration of things she had witnessed herself. It couldn't be much different making up something for a Quibbler article, could it? "I mean, you've got, what, a month to come up with another one?"
She laughed, sighing as she took another drink of wine. "At least there's some good news today," she murmured, setting down her glass on top of the Daily Prophet.
"Really?" she asked, excitement evident on her face. She hadn't expected that eager acceptance, or a reply of that kind at all, really. She didn't think it was Bertha's thing, which, now, looking back, was a stupid thing to assume. Bertha would be brilliant at this. Perhaps not the coming up with fresh articles, but once she had the tiniest something, she could make it oh so big and perfect for The Quibbler. She nodded in response to her question. Roughly that.
"Oh God, I know," she replied. She had always preferred using words such as God and Christ as opposed to Merlin and his variations, growing up in a relatively muggle household, she just thought they were so much more effective. Not exactly correct, but effective. "Don't even get me started. It's ridiculous." She sighed and sipped at her wine eagerly.
"I take it you've seen the paper, then?" Work hadn't been particularly pleasant because of it. Sure, the DMLE got the worst of it. They were supposed to keep the Ministry safe and the prisoners locked up tight. And then the mess with Potter had happened. Bertha didn't know him as well as she knew Sirius (and that was just a whole different problem) but they'd been housemates. He was younger than her. It simply shouldn't have happened.
She nodded over at her friend, glancing at the paper before looking at her feet. They were cold. She had indeed read the paper. While nobody wanted to, they all did. Things were happening more frequently and to a greater extent. The Prophet was most likely enjoying all of this sudden uproar of delicious, juicy news. It surely must have greatened their readership figures.
"Unfortunately," she started, quickly raising her eyebrows in silent acknowledgement, "I really don't want to. But it's hard. You know, not to read. It's either read reluctantly or not read at all and be completely out of the loop." She thought about James Potter, a stab of nostalgia, of longing for Hogwarts. She daren't think of not offering her condolences to somebody's family and friends, or missing their funeral because she had made the selfish decision of not reading the daily paper in case these things happened. It just wouldn't do. Of course she was over-reacting a little; these journals were very handy for news, not to mention Bertha's very own nature. The principle was there, though.
"Has work been hectic?"
Bertha nodded, taking a long drink of wine, emptying her glass. "Damn Aurors came down to question us. See if maybe they'd used a portkey to get in." She scoffed at the notion. Did they think everyone in Magical Transportation was daft? "Like we'd actually issue a portkey for within the Ministry." She sighed, trying to ignore how her hand shook as she poured more wine, offering to pour more for Charity before she set the bottle down again.
"Gods, Charity, I hate this war." It was hard enough, being the daughter of a pureblood man who'd gone and married a muggle. Others at school had teased her for it before the war began. Back then, they were only words. Now... it was life or death. And every day, it became more apparent how real the danger was.
Charity accepted the offer, opting for a refill instead of letting herself run out and go dry for some time before she finally moved from The Most Comfortable Position in the World to pour herself another glass. She could tell, now, that the tone was lowered and the mood dampened and the evening was pretty much going to carry on like this. Or at least for some time. It wasn't one of those subjects which you could mention in passing and move hastily on, oh no. It was a bloody war.
"Doesn't everyone?" she asked nonchalantly, but the hint of weariness was there, "Apart from those -- Death Eaters?" Charity frowned and cocked her head slightly. "What kind of name is that, any how? You'd think Slytherins could come up with something a lot better than that. Death Eaters? Why? Are they cannibals?" The brunette had always wondered. How does one eat death? She would've loved to ask on her journal, but for obvious reasons, that wouldn't work out.
Bertha laughed at Charity's puzzling, despite the somewhat serious turn the conversation had taken. She'd never seriously contemplated the name the ruddy terrorists had given themselves. But, really, when she thought about it, it was an utterly ridiculous name. "They probably thought they were being clever." Besides, they didn't eat death so much as bring it.
She sighed, leaning further into the couch. "Someone should point it out to them. Maybe they'd spend some time coming up with a name that makes sense, rather than wreaking havoc." It was wishful thinking, but, really, Bertha would find it terribly amusing. Finding the nerve to say it aloud to murderers, however, was a completely different story.
"I'd love to ask them where it's from and how it came to be, though," she replied quite animately, "But for obvious reasons, I don't think that's a great idea." She really was quite saddened that she couldn't ask. She'd either get no replies at all, obviously, or get a sarcastic reply from somebody she didn't think capable of killing or somebody who she didn't even know. Or, one of them might have been stupid enough to tell her. They probably wouldn't be stupid enough to forget to threaten or kill her though. It was too bad. She could've given Mr. Lovegood an article about it. Then she really would be in trouble. Wow, the wine was already kicking in? Charity inwardly scolded her imagination, before turning back to Bertha.
"Are you okay, though? I mean, I know it's a stupid question to ask but..." she trailed off. She often wanted to accuse her friend of harbouring her feelings - a 'bottle it all up' kind of person. Ironically, it would fit Bertha.
Bertha shuddered. She was not the most open person when it came to her feelings. She could talk up a storm about the last time she saw a celebrity, or witnessed something she wasn't supposed to see. Half the time she did it was so that she wouldn't have to talk about herself. "I don't know," she said, setting down the wine. She'd been more careful than usual since her little chat with Malfoy, and with what had happened to James now, inside the Ministry... and then Sirius... she hadn't even talked to him since... "There's just so much happening, Charity."
She emitted a heavy sigh. What Bertha said was only too true, unfortunately. The owls from her mother had increased by tenfold since the Ministry's mishaps and as much as she wanted to go back home and indulge in the long, hot baths and the hot chocolates and the cosy family TV watching, she couldn't. They were bound to be struggling with money, and Charity had her own life to live away from her parents and with friends instead - forging her own path and career.
"Tell me about it," she finally agreed, nodding solemnly, "Surely it isn't so hard for the Ministry to set up a specialist unit to deal with Death Eaters alone. The aurors must be up to their eyeballs in work."
Bertha shrugged. It was their job, to deal with dark wizards. And that's what the Death Eaters were. There were just a lot of them, and they worked together. "I don't think it'd make much of a difference." The Aurors were the best they had, and if they couldn't catch the bastards, what good would a specialist unit do? She reached for her glass, taking a short drink.
She laughed suddenly, an ironic laugh. "They ruin everything, don't they?" This was supposed to be a celebration, wasn't it? Not a time to drown in the thoughts of how horrible everything had become recently. "We were celebrating something, yeah?" she inquired playfully, the best way she could think of to change the subject. She didn't want to think about it any more.
"I suppose not," she agreed reluctantly. Charity was fond of thinking up miracle solutions and getting carried away with them. If she spent enough time on them, she often started to believe that they were the best solution - that they would work efficiently and the world would be okay again. She liked to have something to direct her anger to. The Ministry as a whole was too general, and seeing as Death Eaters were dark wizards, why not go with Aurors?
"That is very true, Bertha!" she plastered on a wide smile, before gulping down her second glass. "Next time, we will go out for celebratory drinks! The pretty men around us will distract us from anything negative, of course."