antlerswithego (antlerswithego) wrote in bloodburn, @ 2011-04-21 01:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: aberforth dumbledore, character: diana selwyn, character: james potter, location: london - bloomsbury |
Who: James Potter, Aberforth Dumbledore and Diana Selwyn
What: The nefarious doings of underground rebels - just as soon as they get themselves organised!
When: 19 April, 1982 (backdated)
Where: The Lamb, a pub in Bloomsbury, London
Rating: PG? - TBD
For the first time since he’d picked up enough of the knack for working with Muggles to avoid being regarded as a complete nutter, James found it very difficult to keep his head down and his mind on the job. It was a bloody good thing the work wasn’t intellectually challenging – he’d managed to pick up a short-term job with some local movers who had a lad out for a few weeks with a broken leg – because he had quite enough to do just behaving as though this were an ordinary day; perhaps it wasn’t very likely that Death Eaters would ever track down and question his Muggle workmates, but he couldn’t afford to risk it, for their sake as much as for his.
He wasn’t ordinarily this jumpy – he’d spent the worst of the war years fighting midnight duels, luring Death Eaters into traps and ferreting out useful bits of information for the Order without letting his nerves bother him. But this, this was a matter of a wand. Since he was 11 years old he’d had one in his hand, and, aside from the odd game of cricket with the village kids (which had taught him that it was possible to play a sport on the ground) he had very little idea of how people lived from day to day without them. Apparently, at least according to the labels on several of the boxes he’d been lugging about for the past few days, it involved a lot of things called appliances - but what most of them were was a bloody mystery. The idea of getting hold of a wand had obsessed him since he’d managed to scrabble his way out of prison. Besides, he couldn’t forget that he hadn’t had his wand the night Lily and Harry had died. If only …
Thoughts like those did tend to overshadow everything else. Still, he managed to get through to lunchtime without dropping anything important on his feet or breaking any of the furniture. He’d smiled and nodded at the lady of the house when she’d insisted that he take particular care with her box of absurd fairy ornaments (though he did think somebody should explain to Muggles about those little pests – trouble was going to come of their bizarre infatuation, one of these days), and managed not to ask any daft questions about wires or plugs. About half-past twelve they knocked off for lunch, and he declined an offer from his workmates to come with them to their usual place. They probably thought he was an unfriendly prat, but that was all right – if all went well, he mightn’t need to come back.
Instead, he began the walk to a little Victorian pub in Bloomsbury that he’d found the week before, thoroughly grateful that he wasn’t currently doing the sort of work that made him stink like he’d rolled in dragon dung and stick out like a sore thumb. Diana was to meet him outside: Aberforth wouldn’t know her by sight so they’d have to go in together. For the first time in ages he felt something like hope: it might be worth still being alive, if he could start to do something. And getting a wand and some work, and getting himself and his friend out of Death Eater-riddled London, seemed like a good start.