I Face Death In The Hope That When You Meet Your Match, You Will Be Mortal Once More. R.A.B.

— unknown

Regulus Arcturus Black

Reg's shoulders tensed at Alecto's expression, almost curling in on himself to prepare for the agony that he felt was incoming. It wouldn't be the first time someone he liked and trusted had used the cruciatus on him, nor would it be the last. The pain didn't come though, and slowly the tension left his muscles. Nodding at her word of caution, Reg shot her a small grin - one of fondness, not of teasing. "Lesson learned. Don't poke the bear."

"I think if you were to turn me into some sort of other creature that might please my parents more than the person I am currently," he muttered, bitterness seeping into his tone. "I wouldn't mind tea if the elves can prepare a pot."

Her eyes narrow at him when he starts to mimic knitting, tempted to send a wave of pain throughout his body in warning, letting the thought fade when he lifted his hands up in surrender. He was family in a sense and wished to keep the little of the Black's that were left, close. "I am going to let you speak, be wise what you say." Her hand waves to remove the spell.

"I am not in the mood for trying my patience. Let's have a visit that won't have you turned into a vile creature." That was pregnant Alecto being nice. "Did you wish for something to drink?"

Despite the fact that Regulus was now twenty-one years old and lived alone, he was not immune from being sent to do his mother's dirty work on a quiet weekend. After all, why go to Knockturn Alley yourself when you can send your son to do it for you? Tugging his jacket a little tighter around his body as he pondered bitterly the fact his mother still didn't respect the sanctity of his time alone, Reg had kept his eyes downcast as he weaved in and out of the crowds. Just as he was about to take the turn towards Knockturn, Reg spotted a familiar flash of blonde hair and decided that Borgin and Burkes could wait. "Merely saying hello, cousin," Regulus said, offering her a small smile. "How was your honeymoon? And life at Malfoy Manor?"

WHO: Narcissa & OPEN WHERE: Diagon Alley

With a small list of items to collect on her travels, Narcissa had made her way to Diagon Alley for the afternoon. The streets were as busy as ever as she weaved in and out of the other witches and wizards who’d had the similar idea of coming in to town now that students were back at Hogwarts again for the year. Thoughts drifting off to the memories of her honeymoon as she perused, Narcissa hadn’t been aware of someone approaching her until she heard a voice that seemed to be closer than the rest around her. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?” She asked, looking around at the other person.

This was hell. It had to be. Some sort of sick, karmic punishment for all the harm Regulus had done. Didn't the Gods, or whatever powers may be, know that Regulus was trying to do better? Instead they offered him James fucking Potter, who was once again here to be the hero. James' stunned silence followed by the closing of his eyes led to a brief flush of relief through Regulus' bones as he thought James was about to apparate away, back to wherever Order headquarters might be and with them Edgar Bones and his stupid ideas of protection. That relief quickly died when James did not move, and Reg couldn’t help the roll of his eyes.

Blinking back at him, Regulus was aghast that James seemed most bothered about the beer. "It was getting into my socks," he said plainly. Nobody wanted wet socks, not even when faced with this situation. Taking another swig of firewhiskey for a bit of dutch courage, Regulus then settled the bottle onto the table before he gestured towards it, indicating James could take some if he wanted. "If I say no, will you forget this ever happened? Maybe you could just obliviate me right now and free us both from whatever funny business Edgar bloody Bones is doing," Reg said, staring furiously at the chair he'd been sat in as if that were the cause of all his problems. He remained rooted firmly in spot, and shrugged. "It might be hell. I think we're in hell."

If James had finished processing the scene in front of him, he did not look like it. Frozen to the spot, he didn't react – not to the clatter of the glass as it hit the table, not to the fervid string of words let out by Regulus. That all-too familiar ringing in his ears seemed to reverberate around the entire room, drowning everything else out, until it became so loud he had to close his eyes for a moment to stop the overstimulation. When he opened them again, he was still standing in the very same room at the Hog's Head. For some reason, he'd half-expected to be somewhere else. James realised Regulus must've said something to him, for all was suddenly quiet, waiting for a response.

"You cleaned up the beer?" It was the first thing he noticed. There was something oddly amusing about that. His weary eyes lingered on Regulus and the bottle that he was currently drinking from. What the fuck was happening right now? He'd never felt so confused in his life. Suddenly, he remembered why he was here, and snapped back to reality. "It's you? You're the double agent? What the ever-loving fuck, Reg?" He stared at him as if this would give him any sort of clarity. "I feel like I'm going mental. Is this a dream?"

"There's a small dash of mustard in there too, and some nutmeg," he said. He may work in a pub kitchen, he may be looked down upon within society, but he saw no reason to serve shit food. He kept his employers happy, and they continued to turn a blind eye to the days off that he requested each month like clockwork. "I find that the two work very well together. Just the right balance of each, and some finely sliced potatoes and...voila, or whatever the French say."

"Oh cheddar and parmesan together is a great idea. Usually people shy away from combining two stronger flavor profiles but I do find that they compliment each other well."

"You should know by now Potter that I am nothing but ridiculous," Regulus shot back easily, his tone almost teasing. He held a lot of bitterness towards James Potter, and yet frustratingly, with James stood in front of him he seemed to lose the bitter tinge to his feelings. He had to remind himself that James had made his choice, and he had turned his back on Regulus and it was that reason that they had not properly spoken in years. Still, it was nice to be reminded of when times were better, when the weight of the world on his shoulders had briefly been shared with James Potter's shoulders.

Smirking at James' words, Reg quirked an eyebrow in his direction as he continued piling vials into his basket. "That's a terrible shame. I hear there's a man with quite a stockpile of Jewelweed...you may have to grovel for it. There's probably some interest going to be added to the price as well...supply and demand, I'm sure you understand," Regulus said smoothly. He couldn't stop a short laugh at James' words, and he shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure you're positively drowning in fan mail. How many autographs do you send out a week?"

"It's what?" Regulus said haughtily, tilting his head slightly in question. A smug smile of victory tugged at his lips as James disappeared, and he returned to browsing in peace. Said peace was quickly broken by the reappearance of Potter, and Regulus sighed deeply. "Oh...that would be a shame wouldn't it. How desperately do you need it?" Regulus asked, stepping a little closer to James as he narrowed his eyes before he turned back to the shelf. A wave of pettiness washed over him, and he began placing all of the vials of Jewelweed into his basket. "I'm brewing a lot of potions at the moment, you see," he said, with an air of nonchalance. "Maybe I'll buy up Diagon Alley's stock of pyjamas too, and then I'll start owling you a pair of pyjamas every day until you can hardly move for pyjamas."

Whether the Wyvern was a dive bar or not, Fenrir took pride in his work. He wouldn't serve standard pub grub just because that was what was expected, like the shit that they served at the Leaky. He worked hard at the small menu they offered, and all of the kitchen staff knew how to make each dish. Being called out of the kitchen his natural assumption was that it was to be a question about the food, so when the blonde woman started talking about how to reach him, Fenrir straightened his spine and mentally prepared for whatever was coming next. "I don't mind. It's my job after all, to be available for questions. Thanks," he accepted the praise, tone full of curiosity as to whatever was happening here.

Fenrir reached for the proffered clothing, eyeing it with an analytical gaze. "Protection you say? What sort of protection does it offer?" he asked, his gaze darting to the tables either side to ensure they weren't being watched. "I assume you know my name, Leta, otherwise you wouldn't be here," he said, loathe to introduce himself unless absolutely necessary. He shook her hand firmly, before he turned his attention back to the clothing. "Do I owe you for this?"

Whether it would seem silly to the one in question or not, Leta felt a visit was long overdue. The White Wyvern was a place the witch could be found only rarely, when occasion would strike. It was convenient such a moment had come; the blonde had found her way there. In fact, for the first time she’d even tried the food there. Somehow the establishment had always given the impression of being a simple place, more for the drinking type than those wishing to dine. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you out here, but I’m not entirely sure how to reach you.” Of course, Leta could have sent an owl. That seemed too harsh, impersonal. “First of all, since it seems rude otherwise. The food was nice.”

Slender hands reached to take a quick sip of the wine in front of her. “That aside, I came to give you this. Whether you wish to use it is entirely up to you.” It was simple clothing. Not the usual cloaks she’d have handed other death eaters. Given that she wasn’t all that familiar with the one in front of her, it seemed like the most basic of things. “I have made these for all that have joined. Simple protection against the unwanted.” The former Slytherin could only hope it would make sense to the one in front of her. “Oh, Leta Rosier. I work at Madam Malkin’s. If I feel like it.” Wasn’t that the truth. Dedicated, yet growing more and more accustomed to just working in her own workshop. The blonde offered her hand. Least she could do. - @battle-scvrs

While Fenrir loved their physical relationship, it was the quiet moments like this where he felt like there was the potential for more. There was the undeniable issue of their difference in species, but for now, that didn't matter too much. Shifting slightly so that she could fit better on the couch, Fenrir leaned his head against hers. The warmth of the fire, a full stomach and the softness of the witch in his arms were the perfect concoction for a Christmas nap but he wouldn't dishonour Pandora or her time like that. "When they talk about the magic of Christmas, they don't talk about how feral five year olds can be with wrapping paper."

Noting the way that Pandora wanted to swiftly move on from discussion of her own day, Fenrir just snorted at the mention of Octavius. "I'm sure he fucking loved that. Someone will make a respectable man of him eventually," he sniggered.

Fenrir would not bring any of his hook-ups near Magnus, not wanting to expose the boy to any undue risk - or confuse him as to why his father was with different women. Fenrir and Pandora still weren't exclusive, but it had been some time since anyone other than Pandora had truly captured his attention. If it were just up to him, Fen would introduce Pandora to Magnus the next day. "I think it might be time. I would need to check with Nance though, see how she feels about it. She's almost as protective as I am, if not more. I will speak to her this week and see how she feels, if that's okay?"

Pandora leaned into his touch, resting her forehead against his, embracing the moment between them. She could see the tiredness in his eyes, shifting her body between the back of the couch and his, letting a leg drape over his waist, a palm coming to rest on his chest and her head on his shoulder. It was spending their time like this that mattered to the witch.

"My day was like the rest, besides a fancier dinner and a few extra family there." Pandora really didn't want to bore him with the irrelevant family talk, not that much attention was placed on her, which she preferred, blending into the wall, allowing herself to eat and quietly dismiss herself from the table. "Normal pureblood talk about marriages, for Octavius."

"One day, I want to be there with you two." Pandora let the words free in a soft tone. She knew all about Nancy and their co-parenting, impressed that they were able to do so. She also knew her feelings for Fenrir and they had discussed how to proceed with Magnus involved, which she agreed, whilst they figured them out. "I'd like to meet Magnus, if you think we are at that point." Hues glance up at him, the pad of her finger circling absentmindedly on his chest. She knew what she wanted.

“It’s not easy making a name for yourself, where do I draw the line? I never thought I'd be in this far.”

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Cassandra Joanne Borgin NICKNAMES: Cass, Cassie. AGE: 29 GENDER: Cis Female PRONOUNS: She/Her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Joanne Borgin FATHER: Henry Borgin SIBLINGS: Abigail Borgin, Nicholas Borgin (Death Eater).

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Jodie Comer BUILD: Slim, but muscled. HAIR COLOR: Dirty blonde. EYE COLOR: Hazel. SKIN COLOR: Pale. DOMINANT HAND: Right. ANOMALIES: Freckles on her cheeks, calluses on her fingers and some faded scarring on her wrists from potions accidents. SCENT: Usually sterile whilst working due to cleansing charms, otherwise Cassandra usually smells faintly floral. ACCENT: Strong yorkshire accent ALLERGIES: N/a DISORDERS: N/a FASHION: Cassandra is often found in healers robes, but otherwise wears a mix of casual dresses or shirts and trousers. Occasionally she will dress up formally. NERVOUS TICS: Biting down on her lower lip

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Semi-detached house in Godric's Hollow. BORN:  Outskirts of Leeds, Yorkshire. RAISED:  Outskirts of Leeds, Yorkshire. PETS: A small black cat called Jinx.

CAREER: Healer EMPLOYER: Private healer, with some occasional on call shifts at St Mungos where the healers become overwhelmed after battles. POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Neutral.

DRUGS: Occasionally to wind down after a long shift. SMOKES: Only when drunk. ALCOHOL: Cassandra is very fond of a glass of wine, but she is also known to wash away a long and difficult day with a glass of vodka tonic. DIET: Vegetarian.

LANGUAGES: English, French, Spanish, Gobbledegook, Runic Magic.

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: The Yorkshire dales. SPORTS TEAM: Appleby Arrows GAME: Exploding Snap FOOD: A hearty vegetable dhal with rice and naan. BEVERAGE: Strong Italian coffee, or a glass of red wine. COLOR: Purple.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Ravenclaw. BLOOD PURITY: Pure-blooded WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 10 and a quarter inches, Willow wood, Dragon Heartstring core, springy. AMORTENTIA: Bakewell tart, dusty shelves, dragonhide gloves, morning dew. PATRONUS: Cassandra is unable to produce a patronus. BOGGART: (to be decided)

Bio:

Cassandra Borgin was born as the second child to Joanne and Henry Borgin. Henry is the co-owner of a magical antiques and artefacts shop located on Knockturn Alley, and has carefully maintained an air of neutrality his whole life despite his career as a dealer of dark artefacts. As a child Cassandra remembers her father putting protective spells over her hands so that she could spend her days in the store with him and not risk accidentally touching, though she was usually hidden at the back of the store with her nose in a book. Cassandra's older brother Nicholas was fiercely protective of his sister, and that protectiveness only grew as their youngest sibling arrived when Cassandra was six.

As she spent much of her time surrounded by dark artefacts, Cassandra found herself wanting to curiously take them apart and figure out how things worked. Her father caught her on more than one occasion pulling apart a dangerous artefact with her hands, and no amount of warning against it would quell Cassandra's curious mind. Eventually, Joanne put her foot down and said that Cassie wouldn't be allowed to go to the store any more otherwise she was at risk of killing herself and anyone else in the store at the time. Little Cassie didn't understand why she was being punished for her curiosity - she just wanted to understand how the world worked, and what her papa's work involved.

Seeing that her daughter had an inquisitive mind, Joanne spent a lot of time taking Cassandra to the magical libraries. She quickly moved on from childish books like Babbity Rabbity to Hogwarts textbooks, and by the time Cassandra came of age to attend Hogwarts she had already read all of both first and second years text books, along with additional material. Her interest in taking things apart and understanding how they worked had led to Cassie spending time with her mother brewing potions, and practicing wand motions long before she had her own.

Her older brother had been at Hogwarts before herself and had been sorted into Slytherin, and the family expectation was that Cassandra would continue the tradition. She'd barely had a moment to think when the sorting hat touched her head as it shouted 'Ravenclaw' loudly, and she stumbled in surprise towards the Ravenclaw table. Within Ravenclaw house, she found kinship. As much as her mother wanted to foster her education, they couldn't hold conversations the way that other Ravenclaws did in the common room. While she had been apprehensive initially, Cassandra quickly came to love her house. School itself was a breeze, with Cassie regularly coming top in her classes.

When it came time to pick her OWLs and then her NEWTS, Cassie's original interest in taking things apart and putting them back together seemed to win out as she was drawn towards a healing path. Whilst taking apart dark artefacts was interesting, Cassie was fascinated by the way the human body worked and how different spells and curses could affect the inner workings of the body. She wanted to be different than the rest of her family who seemed content to continue the family legacy of artefact dealing, she wanted to carve her own place in the world and make her own legacy.

Her high grades were more than enough to get onto the St Mungos training course, but Henry and Joanne deemed the St Mungos course too poor for their daughter. Henry had built up a small fortune over the years via the antiques shop, never mind his illicit dealings of forbidden creatures and potions ingredients, and they used some of that money to send Cassie abroad to learn - firstly to France, then for further study in Spain. Whilst studying, there was a heavy focus on the healing qualities of potions and Cassie is now fully adept at creating a variety of healing potions which she keeps a heavy stock of. She has carved a basement out of her home in Godric's Hollow and uses that as a potions lab.

Cassie spent four years abroad and came back with all the relevant qualifications for healing. In her absence, the Dark Lord had been gathering power and many of the other pure-bloods she knew had pledged themselves to his service, including her older brother. Her father remained neutral, but it was widely accepted that he aligned to the dark arts. When she returned to England, Cassie felt some pressure to join the Death Eaters but she resisted - her focus was on healing, regardless of what side they were on. Cassandra does broadly agree with some of the Dark Lord's ideologies, but she cannot support it fully when her focus is the damage caused by the Death Eaters that he lets run riot. Like her father, Cassandra maintains quiet neutrality which allows her to heal those on both sides of the war.

Cassandra now works predominantly as a private healer for pure-blooded families who want a discreet service at home, rather than attending St Mungos. She is on retainer at St Mungos if they were ever entirely overwhelmed, and has been called in once or twice, but Cassie prefers the more personal method of private healing. She has made her position known that if a Death Eater were to come to her with injuries that they could not attend St Mungos with, those injuries and the circumstances with which they were gained would remain entirely confidential. She's still curious about the way the world works, and on occasions where she has healed wounds from particularly dark magic, Cassie has taken a copy of the magical signature and studies them at home to see if she can figure out a way to counter it.