Who: Salazar Brownless, Samuel Bigglesworth, no consciences included!
When: August 15 1979, morning. Well. Afternoon. Knockturn morning!
Where: La res Brownsworth, Sal & Sam's room.
Summary: The last time we saw Sal and Sam, Sal had ingested E and Sam pretended to be on it too to get in bed with Sal! Now, a few weeks later, we had Sal's birthday! ... on which he slipped Sam E to get him into bed! Hilarity ensues! Liberal drug use! Probable hangovers! Awkward moments!

Sal was very confused. This was understandable. If you'd spent your entire life being a raging homophobe, largely due to the training of your best friend, but had spent the past number of weeks having Funny Feelings for said friend, and had gone so far as to drug them to get them to sleep with you, you would be confused, too. It's a confusing sort of situation. Sal's 27th birthday had, as far as 27th birthdays went, been very fun, he thought. He couldn't fully remember. He did remember buying the E, though, and slipping it into Sam's drink while he'd been doing lines. And, being that there was an obnoxious amount of sunlight pouring through their constantly closed curtains, and being that they were both naked, and being that he had his arm over Sam's chest, that had probably gone well. He was distantly aware of being very sore, so it must have gone very well.

Still, there remained the nagging problem of the morning after. Well, afternoon, probably. Sal wasn't entirely sure how to handle this. Not that he'd been sure the last time, but Sam had woken up first the first time, so Sal hadn't had to wait. Now Sal was awake and Sam wasn't yet, so Sal was just lying there, trying not to move, wondering what Sam would do when he woke up. He wondered if Sam would figure out what Sal had done. He wondered what Sam would do if he did. He wondered if it mattered. He wondered how much longer he could stay still before that godawful feeling throughout his body led to him retching.

Who: A bunch of people!
Where: The Edelen Residence.
When: August 12, 1979.
Summary: Adonis made too much food, Venus invites people to eat the food. Thus a party is had.


There weren't very many people who handled situations quite like Adonis Edelen. He was a male. A heterosexual male, to make that clear. And yet, when he found himself overcome with one too many thoughts, he would make his way straight to the kitchen. He didn't bake cakes or cookies, oh no. Adonis cooked lasagnas and pastas and briskets. Real food. On this particular day, he had received news that the old lady who ran the florist shop in which he worked in was practically on her death bed. He had worked for the woman since he was 13, delivering flowers and moving up to arranging them. There was no news as to what the fate of the store was, and that worried Adonis. So he cooked lasagna. And made a lot of salad. And there were fresh dinner rolls.

Venus took one look at all the food in the kitchen, and without a word disappeared. Adonis could only assume she went to invite a few people over to eat the food. Adonis continued with his cooking, washing a few apples as he prepared to make a very tasty fruit salad. Yes, Adonis was a very heterosexual male, damnit.

WHO: Poldie Lochlin, Conor Moran, and Death Eaters™.
WHEN: The evening of July 22, 1979.
WHERE: Conor Moran's flat and Outside™.
SUMMARY: Conor asked Poldie to save him from Imperius. So Poldie is. Kind of.


Poldie Lochlin was at his best when he was risking everybody's lives. This was, perhaps, part of why he was a Slytherin rather than a Gryffindor. Yes, he was very brave, but he enjoyed being stupidly reckless to try to save the day with little hope of succeeding and just barely pulling it off. It was fun to him and this, more than the guiding morals of his actions, was what had led him down the path of Aurorhood. Never mind that he made a good Auror and a good hero; he just liked doing it. If he hadn't, he probably wouldn't be doing things like this. Well, not probably. Definitely.

So, you see, when I tell you that Poldie Lochlin had just deliberately let the Death Eater he'd deliberately let catch his tail catch a solid glimpse of him, yelled out, "I'M OFF TO SAVE CONOR MORAN, PASS IT ON!" triumphantly, and Apparated to the outside of Conor Moran's apartment, which he quickly knocked on with all his might, hoping Conor was there (as Conor was under the Imperius, telling him Poldie's plans for saving his soul would have been impractical), you should not get it into your head that Poldie was being entirely selfless. He was having a lot of fun foolishly risking his neck.

"CONOR MORAN OPEN UP YOUR BLOODY DOOR BEFORE I KICK IT DOWN MYSELF," he yelled, all wild eyes, not-enough-bathing, and messy beard as he looked wildly around the corridor for any quick pursuers. The way he saw it, his tracker, even if he was his tracker, probably wasn't good enough to remember where Conor's flat was to Apparate to it. That was the beautiful thing about Death Eaters: they just weren't well-trained enough to do their job right.

Who: Sam & Sal.
When: July 13, 1979. FRIDAY THE 13TH, BITCHES.
Where: Their flat, Knockturn, Hell, London.
Summary: Jess said that Sam screams in his sleep now thanks to Azkaban, so Sal demanded a thread.

Sal was not okay with the world. True enough, Sam was out of Azkaban, and that was good. Nobody he cared about had died lately (which wasn't saying much as he only cared for a handful of people, but still). He had booze and cigarettes! All the basic requirements were there. He'd even gotten laid the day before! Consentually! However, Sam wasn't 100%, and when Sam was not 100%, Sal was not satisfied. They were best mates, and as such, should always both be 100%.

So, of course, to cheer Sam up, Sal had picked him up some coke and booze on the way home from beating up a 14-year-old boy for money! It was like getting the groceries, only better, because food is for morons.

"'Lo," he said cheerfully as he walked into the flat (because when Sal gets laid, gets to beat on people and win, and buy drugs and booze, life is good).