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Shit.
Donnan's face settled into the usual lines of worry and grief, watching Moira. If he hadn't said something first, would she have admitted to feeling watched? Probably not. Her mention of home and work made him especially uncomfortable, and he shifted his feet, shaking his head. He and Angus and Duncan and Moira were going to have a family meeting after this, no question about it, and he was going to find out from them how they were doing at the ranch and how often Moira was there alone and what they could do going forward to make sure she was alright. His nephews, too. Even stubborn Duncan who would try to appease him with a grin.
He didn't trust the Aurors to keep an eye out for his family while they were on Hunt's trail.
Just as that ungracious thought entered his head, the Scottish Auror offered a gift from the depths of his red robes. Donnan looked at it for a moment, but then took it, turning over the glass spinner in his hand.
"Thanks," he said gruffly. "You got a card or something so we can reach out to you or Trevelyan directly if we find any other gifts like these?"
He gestured at the bouquet and the skull without looking at the grisly arrangement.
Donnan held the sneakoscope out to Moira expectantly. She would keep it, and he'd figure something out with his nephews.
No question about it.
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| 1. | Added by Lyn/Moira! |
| 2. | I'm imagining that Lore asked around to find out where other McBoids were buried, which led her to Iona's grave here |
4
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
October 26, 2020, 01:49:50 PM
Donnan managed a nod at the redheaded Auror's sympathy.
"Trevelyan, is it?"
Yes, this was the Auror that his daughter had confided in. His tone was easy and personable.
"Late December. We'd talked about setting something up for her around Christmastime, to remember her by. I was here, and my nephews, and Moira. We'd only arranged for the gravestone. There's nothing else..." he cleared his throat.
No remains in the ground. That he knew of.
He shook his head, taking a step to the side to allow room for the trainee with the camera. His daughter had left this world and the girl she'd inhabited on December 22nd. Iona wasn't listening or watching or waiting for him to stop by. She was free. This stone was supposed to be a marker for the family. Proof that she was, and would always be, loved.
Marianne had understood, though she hadn't accompanied him in December. They could only stand to be around each other for the amount of time it took Marianne to finish a cigarette and for Donnan to get annoyed with the holiday crowd in Diagon. She'd nodded when he'd told her, directing the smoke away from him, the lines on her forehead reflecting the furrow of his own brow. They'd been divorced for many years, but they carried the same look of grief.
She'd said she might visit the grave sometime with someone, which Donnan assumed was code for her husband and that he didn't need to intrude.
"And what about Lori Lilly? The Lori we knew." She'd glanced away from him, towards a group of teenagers sporting Ravenclaw colors.
The murdered squib, the heiress? He didn't know. He'd moved aside for the group of teens, grumbling after them that they didn't need to take up the entire pavement. He didn't know what about Lori Lilly, or any remembrance for her. He didn't know why Marianne cared to ask. Lori was distantly related to the McBoids, and he never would have expected that Marianne would still think of her at all.
His ex-wife had given him a sharp look of disappointment, put out her cigarette and gone back to Bristol, to her muggle family, as he'd known she would.
Despite the distance between them, Marianne would have told him if she'd seen the grave like this.
"My nephew Duncan might have visited on his own,"[1] Donnan offered, pausing as he remembered Duncan's warning.
Then the other Auror stood, and asked the question that Donnan knew the answer to so immediately, so intensely, that he just looked at the Auror with a dreadful sense of knowing.
Moira might speak the names more quickly. She'd been quick to retort before, and the names might not weigh so heavy and bitter on her tongue.
"Trevelyan, is it?"
Yes, this was the Auror that his daughter had confided in. His tone was easy and personable.
"Late December. We'd talked about setting something up for her around Christmastime, to remember her by. I was here, and my nephews, and Moira. We'd only arranged for the gravestone. There's nothing else..." he cleared his throat.
No remains in the ground. That he knew of.
He shook his head, taking a step to the side to allow room for the trainee with the camera. His daughter had left this world and the girl she'd inhabited on December 22nd. Iona wasn't listening or watching or waiting for him to stop by. She was free. This stone was supposed to be a marker for the family. Proof that she was, and would always be, loved.
Marianne had understood, though she hadn't accompanied him in December. They could only stand to be around each other for the amount of time it took Marianne to finish a cigarette and for Donnan to get annoyed with the holiday crowd in Diagon. She'd nodded when he'd told her, directing the smoke away from him, the lines on her forehead reflecting the furrow of his own brow. They'd been divorced for many years, but they carried the same look of grief.
She'd said she might visit the grave sometime with someone, which Donnan assumed was code for her husband and that he didn't need to intrude.
"And what about Lori Lilly? The Lori we knew." She'd glanced away from him, towards a group of teenagers sporting Ravenclaw colors.
The murdered squib, the heiress? He didn't know. He'd moved aside for the group of teens, grumbling after them that they didn't need to take up the entire pavement. He didn't know what about Lori Lilly, or any remembrance for her. He didn't know why Marianne cared to ask. Lori was distantly related to the McBoids, and he never would have expected that Marianne would still think of her at all.
His ex-wife had given him a sharp look of disappointment, put out her cigarette and gone back to Bristol, to her muggle family, as he'd known she would.
Despite the distance between them, Marianne would have told him if she'd seen the grave like this.
"My nephew Duncan might have visited on his own,"[1] Donnan offered, pausing as he remembered Duncan's warning.
Then the other Auror stood, and asked the question that Donnan knew the answer to so immediately, so intensely, that he just looked at the Auror with a dreadful sense of knowing.
Moira might speak the names more quickly. She'd been quick to retort before, and the names might not weigh so heavy and bitter on her tongue.
| 1. | Thread here, wiki summary with list of spells here |
5
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
September 30, 2020, 10:52:27 AM
A static shock traveled up Donnan's arm as he rested his hand against the tree. Donnan lifted his palm, and set it against another part of the tree. Lightning, he thought again. Lightning had struck the branches and burnt the bark and made it flake against his skin.
The patronus ambled away and Donnan gave Moira a grateful nod, his eyes barely meeting hers, barely seeing her. She'd called the Aurors in their own language. Arrangement of flowers. Unidentified skull. It was his responsibility to look and to know, but if he kept looking, he wouldn't be any use to anyone.
Donnan kept his gaze on a point somewhere over Moira's shoulder. The time that passed could have been minutes or hours, but he kept his gaze on that point in the distance, letting the horrors in his mind settle, to tuck themselves around memories and words and thoughts that might be obvious to him later, like tree or grave or - don't think it, don't look - but could be just as innocuous, like the rustle of dry branches above, the raven that wouldn't shut up a few trees over, the ground uneven beneath his feet, the smoky and wintry smell in the air, or the way the sunlight dappled against the patchy grass. He wouldn't know until later.
Cracks split the air - one, two, then three - and jolted him enough to make him almost look, but he stepped away from the tree, closer to Moira.
He stared at the three of them. They must have heard the name of his daughter and understood the urgency, or else it was a slow Sunday. His gaze flicked to the girl with the gray hair and the very young face, which was not what he expected, and back to the red-robed Aurors who had spoken.
One of them was familiar - the one that his daughter had told her story to through the voice of Abby Reid.[1] The other sounded as familiar as the moors around here, but no more than that.
He took a few steps forward to face the Aurors, the skull's grin following him. He tried to think of Moira. His fingers curled in at his sides, protesting the cold and the tension in his arms.
"This is my daughter's grave," his voice sounded like the soft edge of aged parchment, the kind so thin that the pages stuck together.
He cleared this throat.
"My daughter," he said too gruffly, too loudly.
"Iona."
Her name felt more important than his. Though if they were familiar with Iona's name, they might know his - that he'd visited the Ministry in November, reconciling with his daughter before Level Nine had sent away her soul.[2] They might know that Lorelei Hunt had murdered Iona back in 1989, and that her body had not been recovered with the others buried in the woods.
"We found it like this a few minutes ago."
Ruined like this. Minutes ago, he supposed.
"The tree, too."
He rubbed his fingers against his thumb. A dark flake drifted from his hand to the ground.
The patronus ambled away and Donnan gave Moira a grateful nod, his eyes barely meeting hers, barely seeing her. She'd called the Aurors in their own language. Arrangement of flowers. Unidentified skull. It was his responsibility to look and to know, but if he kept looking, he wouldn't be any use to anyone.
Donnan kept his gaze on a point somewhere over Moira's shoulder. The time that passed could have been minutes or hours, but he kept his gaze on that point in the distance, letting the horrors in his mind settle, to tuck themselves around memories and words and thoughts that might be obvious to him later, like tree or grave or - don't think it, don't look - but could be just as innocuous, like the rustle of dry branches above, the raven that wouldn't shut up a few trees over, the ground uneven beneath his feet, the smoky and wintry smell in the air, or the way the sunlight dappled against the patchy grass. He wouldn't know until later.
Cracks split the air - one, two, then three - and jolted him enough to make him almost look, but he stepped away from the tree, closer to Moira.
He stared at the three of them. They must have heard the name of his daughter and understood the urgency, or else it was a slow Sunday. His gaze flicked to the girl with the gray hair and the very young face, which was not what he expected, and back to the red-robed Aurors who had spoken.
One of them was familiar - the one that his daughter had told her story to through the voice of Abby Reid.[1] The other sounded as familiar as the moors around here, but no more than that.
He took a few steps forward to face the Aurors, the skull's grin following him. He tried to think of Moira. His fingers curled in at his sides, protesting the cold and the tension in his arms.
"This is my daughter's grave," his voice sounded like the soft edge of aged parchment, the kind so thin that the pages stuck together.
He cleared this throat.
"My daughter," he said too gruffly, too loudly.
"Iona."
Her name felt more important than his. Though if they were familiar with Iona's name, they might know his - that he'd visited the Ministry in November, reconciling with his daughter before Level Nine had sent away her soul.[2] They might know that Lorelei Hunt had murdered Iona back in 1989, and that her body had not been recovered with the others buried in the woods.
"We found it like this a few minutes ago."
Ruined like this. Minutes ago, he supposed.
"The tree, too."
He rubbed his fingers against his thumb. A dark flake drifted from his hand to the ground.
| 1. | November 21: Never will I sleep like that again |
| 2. | November 26: Two Voices in One |
6
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
September 24, 2020, 02:48:18 PM
The skull. The skull again. Donnan glanced back at the ruined tree, the lines on his face falling into familiar sorrow. Bits of charred bark were piling against the roots and drifting onto the grass and smudging the grave. The tree had been dying for a long time, he thought, back when the days were colder than this one. But the skull?
The skull belonged to...
"We should call them," he tested the words out in a slow, measured tone.
"If it's real?"
He gestured at the arrangement. The faint smell of the flowers tickled the back of his throat, like the flowers found in the woods near the lakehouse.
He looked at Moira, his heart rate catching up to the horrors swirling in his head. Did she not see it too? She did. She was staring down at the skull with her arms crossed. She'd sighed a moment ago. Her face had looked puzzled... he didn't know when.
Someone had disturbed the ground beneath his feet, but Moira stood apart.
Donnan took a shaky step back from the grave and reached for the tree, his palm inches away from the blackened trunk.
The skull belonged to...
"We should call them," he tested the words out in a slow, measured tone.
"If it's real?"
He gestured at the arrangement. The faint smell of the flowers tickled the back of his throat, like the flowers found in the woods near the lakehouse.
He looked at Moira, his heart rate catching up to the horrors swirling in his head. Did she not see it too? She did. She was staring down at the skull with her arms crossed. She'd sighed a moment ago. Her face had looked puzzled... he didn't know when.
Someone had disturbed the ground beneath his feet, but Moira stood apart.
Donnan took a shaky step back from the grave and reached for the tree, his palm inches away from the blackened trunk.
7
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
September 22, 2020, 12:02:24 PM
The hand on his arm helped his thoughts settle. The word, the naming of a thing, brought him to earth with jarring impact. Donnan's eyes darted to the girl's.
He let his arm fall and his shoulders hunch.
Just a skull. A skull. They were looking down at - her? - skull. It looked dry and pitted and yellow-white as the flowers.
If he knelt, if he touched it, he didn't know what he would do.
The girl knelt. Her hair was dark enough to mistake for auburn in the patchy sunlight, and she wore simple clothes and set her jaw so stubbornly.
"I-" He cleared his throat, subconsciously mimicking the sound she had made earlier.
"Moira," he found her name. "Careful."
He glanced around the cemetery at the stones and the trees without really seeing them. His hands began to shake at his sides.
Should the Aurors come here? For what? They'd hardly searched for Iona. They'd been so quick to send her to a final death. They hadn't yet captured her killer.
He frowned at the terrible bouquet left before her gravestone. The faint smell of wilted flowers made his stomach churn. A thought circled around his head, another he couldn't quite name.
"I don't know. They won't fix the tree."
He let his arm fall and his shoulders hunch.
Just a skull. A skull. They were looking down at - her? - skull. It looked dry and pitted and yellow-white as the flowers.
If he knelt, if he touched it, he didn't know what he would do.
The girl knelt. Her hair was dark enough to mistake for auburn in the patchy sunlight, and she wore simple clothes and set her jaw so stubbornly.
"I-" He cleared his throat, subconsciously mimicking the sound she had made earlier.
"Moira," he found her name. "Careful."
He glanced around the cemetery at the stones and the trees without really seeing them. His hands began to shake at his sides.
Should the Aurors come here? For what? They'd hardly searched for Iona. They'd been so quick to send her to a final death. They hadn't yet captured her killer.
He frowned at the terrible bouquet left before her gravestone. The faint smell of wilted flowers made his stomach churn. A thought circled around his head, another he couldn't quite name.
"I don't know. They won't fix the tree."
8
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
September 18, 2020, 04:02:30 PM
No. Moira's one-word answer didn't surprise him, though he wondered if Duncan had also told her to avoid visiting the grave alone. Donnan had waved him off and grumbled, but in the end he'd listened because family needed to stick together in these times.
Donnan glanced around the cemetery, his stomach twisting in a knot as he followed Moira. Other trees stood tall and bare and whole, shading the gravestones from the sun. Had a lightning storm hit recently, during a cold winter rain? Why Iona's tree? Why the tree nearest her grave?
The tree loomed stark and skeletal. Moira had just stepped underneath its broken branches.
"Lass," he said sharply, hurrying to catch up.
She has a name, the memory of his daughter's voice reminded him.
Iona's voice in his head and Moira's voice in the air urged him nearer the tree. Scorched from the top down, it held a whiff of autumn, of fire and decay, of wilted flowers and churned earth.
He'd brought no flowers with him. He never would.
He looked down at the gravestone with Moira, expecting to find it chipped or charred. A hairline crack ran through the stone and a dark smudge blotted Iona's name.
But none of that mattered. At the base of the stone, a skull grinned. Flowers curled like yellow, grasping claws around the yellow-white skull, leaving only its gaping eyes untouched.
Seconds passed. Donnan froze beside Moira, his breathing steady and silent to his ears, his heartbeat so steady he could scarcely feel it, his mind skipping back to his earlier concern.
Had lightning struck the tree behind them?
Trees could blacken and burn in an instant, destroyed by one crooked finger from the sky.
Trees could burn from the inside too, hollowed by fire, each ring of time cut from sapling to giant, years scorched beneath graying bark. Until one day the tree would split down the middle, smoke billowing from cracks in the branches, flames feasting openly for all to see.
Donnan had his arm out, he realized by the ache in his shoulder. He'd stretched his arm out to shield Moira, though she'd already seen what he couldn't look away from.
"Don't look. Stand back," he whispered hoarsely, making no other move.
How far did the roots go? They'd disturbed the dirt that cradled the skull.
Donnan glanced around the cemetery, his stomach twisting in a knot as he followed Moira. Other trees stood tall and bare and whole, shading the gravestones from the sun. Had a lightning storm hit recently, during a cold winter rain? Why Iona's tree? Why the tree nearest her grave?
The tree loomed stark and skeletal. Moira had just stepped underneath its broken branches.
"Lass," he said sharply, hurrying to catch up.
She has a name, the memory of his daughter's voice reminded him.
Iona's voice in his head and Moira's voice in the air urged him nearer the tree. Scorched from the top down, it held a whiff of autumn, of fire and decay, of wilted flowers and churned earth.
He'd brought no flowers with him. He never would.
He looked down at the gravestone with Moira, expecting to find it chipped or charred. A hairline crack ran through the stone and a dark smudge blotted Iona's name.
But none of that mattered. At the base of the stone, a skull grinned. Flowers curled like yellow, grasping claws around the yellow-white skull, leaving only its gaping eyes untouched.
Seconds passed. Donnan froze beside Moira, his breathing steady and silent to his ears, his heartbeat so steady he could scarcely feel it, his mind skipping back to his earlier concern.
Had lightning struck the tree behind them?
Trees could blacken and burn in an instant, destroyed by one crooked finger from the sky.
Trees could burn from the inside too, hollowed by fire, each ring of time cut from sapling to giant, years scorched beneath graying bark. Until one day the tree would split down the middle, smoke billowing from cracks in the branches, flames feasting openly for all to see.
Donnan had his arm out, he realized by the ache in his shoulder. He'd stretched his arm out to shield Moira, though she'd already seen what he couldn't look away from.
"Don't look. Stand back," he whispered hoarsely, making no other move.
How far did the roots go? They'd disturbed the dirt that cradled the skull.
9
Other Wizarding Locations / Re: [February 19] The Grave
April 01, 2020, 12:03:03 PM
Moira was quiet. It didn't seem to be an unhappy quiet, but a state of being. If he knew her better it might be a comfortable quiet, but as it was, Donnan threw her a few glances every now and then and kept a slow, steady pace as they walked.
She had the day off of work, he remembered that. He didn't know much else about her other than her dedication in working with animals, something that she shared with her father and uncle. She had a hearty appetite - he knew from the holidays. She knew how to cook - he knew from a comment Duncan had made.
Family was important to her. She'd been there during the emotional reunion between him and his daughter in December, she'd been there for the memorial, and she was here now.
He hadn't been there for her when she'd lost her mother at a young age. His nephew had made that choice, which he was starting to understand. Angus had tried to keep the pain to himself, to bury it and shoulder it alone.
Donnan may have tried that this time, but the very nature of Iona's situation had required other people, other families to be involved. So here Iona was, surrounded by people in death. Her remains were still... out there. In the world. Likely with the Hunts, which he hated to think about. In spirit though, she was here, treated the same as everyone else, which was the least he'd ever wanted for her.
Here, on this cold but sunny day, where light and warmth slipped through the clouds, and the few trees rustled in the wind, and the greenery was tended to despite the faded names engraved on the aging stones.
There, just ahead, where a blackened, withered tree scarred the landscape.
Donnan came to a slow halt. Was this the right area? He'd walked it once in December. He would have remembered a tree like that. It couldn't be the oak tree near Iona's grave.
"This is it?" He squinted at the strange sight still a short walk away.
Donnan shoved his hands in his pockets and turned in a small circle. Right. This was it. None of the other trees looked like that.
He frowned, unease skipping quickly to irritation. What the hell had happened to her tree?
"Lass? Did Duncan mention anything to you about this?"
She had the day off of work, he remembered that. He didn't know much else about her other than her dedication in working with animals, something that she shared with her father and uncle. She had a hearty appetite - he knew from the holidays. She knew how to cook - he knew from a comment Duncan had made.
Family was important to her. She'd been there during the emotional reunion between him and his daughter in December, she'd been there for the memorial, and she was here now.
He hadn't been there for her when she'd lost her mother at a young age. His nephew had made that choice, which he was starting to understand. Angus had tried to keep the pain to himself, to bury it and shoulder it alone.
Donnan may have tried that this time, but the very nature of Iona's situation had required other people, other families to be involved. So here Iona was, surrounded by people in death. Her remains were still... out there. In the world. Likely with the Hunts, which he hated to think about. In spirit though, she was here, treated the same as everyone else, which was the least he'd ever wanted for her.
Here, on this cold but sunny day, where light and warmth slipped through the clouds, and the few trees rustled in the wind, and the greenery was tended to despite the faded names engraved on the aging stones.
There, just ahead, where a blackened, withered tree scarred the landscape.
Donnan came to a slow halt. Was this the right area? He'd walked it once in December. He would have remembered a tree like that. It couldn't be the oak tree near Iona's grave.
"This is it?" He squinted at the strange sight still a short walk away.
Donnan shoved his hands in his pockets and turned in a small circle. Right. This was it. None of the other trees looked like that.
He frowned, unease skipping quickly to irritation. What the hell had happened to her tree?
"Lass? Did Duncan mention anything to you about this?"
10
Other Wizarding Locations / [February 19] The Grave
March 23, 2020, 02:48:03 PM
Donnan had not visited Iona's gravestone since December, when he and the family had first arranged a memorial service for her. He felt a little better knowing it was there, but he hadn't thought to go stand over the marker in a cemetery that Iona hadn't known, atop the earth in which she hadn't been buried, to reflect on her life and to wonder where her soul was now.
He thought about his daughter the most on his walks through the neighborhood and Diagon Alley, where she'd grown up. He thought about her when he glanced through her favorite books, or glimpsed a young lass with red hair, or whenever he passed by the Ministry entrance, or cringed at the sight of white flowers in the window of the flower shop.
She was there all around him, like when she'd gone missing. She was still there in his hopes and sorrows.
He just knew that this time, she wouldn't be back.
He no longer kept all the lights shining in his house every night, or swept the porch quite as thoroughly. That day when Duncan had brought him the letter from the Ministry, and he'd learned that Iona was living within Abby Reid's mind, he had felt so devastated and angry and hopeful all at once. Those written words had dictated her future.
So he'd written his own, to remember her past.
Posting the obituary in the paper had helped ease his mind. Spending time with his nephews the day after Christmas had helped, too. They'd all welcomed him into the fold so warmly. Moira had even offered to accompany him today. Maybe she was being nice out of pity, or because of the Iona that she'd known through Abby, but Donnan would take it.
He glanced around the old cemetery, calm and quiet on a Sunday afternoon. They'd apparated nearby from a wizarding pub he knew, which was easier on him than making one long trip.
"Alright, Moira?" He cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his cloak against the wind.
"It's this way, near a large oak tree."
He thought about his daughter the most on his walks through the neighborhood and Diagon Alley, where she'd grown up. He thought about her when he glanced through her favorite books, or glimpsed a young lass with red hair, or whenever he passed by the Ministry entrance, or cringed at the sight of white flowers in the window of the flower shop.
She was there all around him, like when she'd gone missing. She was still there in his hopes and sorrows.
He just knew that this time, she wouldn't be back.
He no longer kept all the lights shining in his house every night, or swept the porch quite as thoroughly. That day when Duncan had brought him the letter from the Ministry, and he'd learned that Iona was living within Abby Reid's mind, he had felt so devastated and angry and hopeful all at once. Those written words had dictated her future.
So he'd written his own, to remember her past.
Posting the obituary in the paper had helped ease his mind. Spending time with his nephews the day after Christmas had helped, too. They'd all welcomed him into the fold so warmly. Moira had even offered to accompany him today. Maybe she was being nice out of pity, or because of the Iona that she'd known through Abby, but Donnan would take it.
He glanced around the old cemetery, calm and quiet on a Sunday afternoon. They'd apparated nearby from a wizarding pub he knew, which was easier on him than making one long trip.
"Alright, Moira?" He cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his cloak against the wind.
"It's this way, near a large oak tree."
11
McBoid Farm / Re: [December 26] People Make Holidays Special
February 09, 2020, 04:17:55 PM
Ah, so he suspected. Donnan smiled and raised his glass, though the smile didn't quite meet his eyes. He wondered how much Bagnold knew, if anything, about the trouble that the McBoids had faced with the horrible Hunts, or if Duncan had kept it private. He hoped that his nephew had someone to talk to outside of family, but maybe it was enough for now, to reunite with an old friend who had fought by his side.
Even after battles were won or lost, those left alive had to find their place in the world they'd just changed. Finding a place was another battle, a longer battle, one that never truly ended.
When Moira walked in, pausing to observe all three of them, Donnan sat up straighter, about to rise and give her a proper greeting. He got as far as setting his beer down, and putting his hands on the armrests, when the girl disappeared into her room.
Well. That felt familiar. A taste of his own dour medicine, too.
He sat back in his chair and made a sound between a laugh and a grunt at Bagnold's snark. He wasn't wrong! Still, Donnan hadn't considered how his presence here might make Moira feel. They'd only met each other this month.
"Aye, some days I can't get her to stop," Duncan replied dryly.[1]
Donnan decided he might as well get up anyway. The kid couldn't take too long in her room, could she? She must be hungry.
"I'm going to check on the food," Donnan passed his nephew, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He should relax a little. He'd been cooking all day.
"The food is done," he preemptively stated as he entered the kitchen, the corners of his mouth softening in amusement.
"I'll set the table," he turned to glance at the dining table.
"And you've set it," he grumbled, lifting his hands in exaggerated defeat.
About ten minutes later...
The McBoid family plus Kurby Bagnold had settled around the table, their plates full of an assortment of deliciousness. There was an assortment of casseroles, vegetable platters, salads (one of which Donnan swore had been directly placed in front of him, as punishment for all the takeaway he'd consumed over the years). The good stuff was near the end of the table. Roasted turkey and potatoes. Bacon rolls.
With a flick of his wand, he levitated the bacon roll dish closer, and smirked at his nephew. Nice try.
Everyone was seated except for Moira.
Then, the door to her room opened, and the kid emerged, carrying something in her hand.
Even after battles were won or lost, those left alive had to find their place in the world they'd just changed. Finding a place was another battle, a longer battle, one that never truly ended.
When Moira walked in, pausing to observe all three of them, Donnan sat up straighter, about to rise and give her a proper greeting. He got as far as setting his beer down, and putting his hands on the armrests, when the girl disappeared into her room.
Well. That felt familiar. A taste of his own dour medicine, too.
He sat back in his chair and made a sound between a laugh and a grunt at Bagnold's snark. He wasn't wrong! Still, Donnan hadn't considered how his presence here might make Moira feel. They'd only met each other this month.
"Aye, some days I can't get her to stop," Duncan replied dryly.[1]
Donnan decided he might as well get up anyway. The kid couldn't take too long in her room, could she? She must be hungry.
"I'm going to check on the food," Donnan passed his nephew, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He should relax a little. He'd been cooking all day.
"The food is done," he preemptively stated as he entered the kitchen, the corners of his mouth softening in amusement.
"I'll set the table," he turned to glance at the dining table.
"And you've set it," he grumbled, lifting his hands in exaggerated defeat.
About ten minutes later...
The McBoid family plus Kurby Bagnold had settled around the table, their plates full of an assortment of deliciousness. There was an assortment of casseroles, vegetable platters, salads (one of which Donnan swore had been directly placed in front of him, as punishment for all the takeaway he'd consumed over the years). The good stuff was near the end of the table. Roasted turkey and potatoes. Bacon rolls.
With a flick of his wand, he levitated the bacon roll dish closer, and smirked at his nephew. Nice try.
Everyone was seated except for Moira.
Then, the door to her room opened, and the kid emerged, carrying something in her hand.
| 1. | Okayed by Lyn! |
12
Ollivander's / Re: [Jan 21] Makers of Fine Burglaries Since Gone Three
October 03, 2019, 08:06:17 PM
Who was going to clean this mess up? He looked up the stairs, startled. Not him! He had enough to worry about, he had a whole mess of papers and books at home, he'd only stopped because of the red sparks, and he hadn't intended on sticking around long enough to be ordered about by Aurors. The Aurors had forgotten about him. Good! They could focus on important things like the jelly-legged intruder and his bundle of stolen wands.
He heaved a sigh, following the unruffled, unflappable witch back into the heart of the shop, deciding he'd ask a few of the shopkeepers he knew to stop by in the morning and help her set things right.
When Tamzin started cleaning things up herself, Donnan raised his wand, then lowered it again. He thought longingly of the takeaway bag he'd left on the pavement outside.
Booze? Now that was even better. He flicked his wand at some of the boxes on the shelves, straightening as he went.
"Ah, it's Donnan McBoid," he made an effort to speak clearly, embarrassed that he'd assumed she'd recognized his voice during this stressful situation.
"Whatever you have, you've earned it, Tamzin. One less rat in our neighborhood."
He nodded grimly. He'd drink to that, if she were offering.
He heaved a sigh, following the unruffled, unflappable witch back into the heart of the shop, deciding he'd ask a few of the shopkeepers he knew to stop by in the morning and help her set things right.
When Tamzin started cleaning things up herself, Donnan raised his wand, then lowered it again. He thought longingly of the takeaway bag he'd left on the pavement outside.
Booze? Now that was even better. He flicked his wand at some of the boxes on the shelves, straightening as he went.
"Ah, it's Donnan McBoid," he made an effort to speak clearly, embarrassed that he'd assumed she'd recognized his voice during this stressful situation.
"Whatever you have, you've earned it, Tamzin. One less rat in our neighborhood."
He nodded grimly. He'd drink to that, if she were offering.
Fin!
13
McBoid Farm / Re: [December 26] People Make Holidays Special
October 03, 2019, 08:05:04 PM
The intense young man had a good sense of humor! Smile not yet faded, Donnan sat back in his chair, letting his nephew protest and grin and add to it while the guest relaxed. See, Donnan hadn't lost all social skills and decency. He'd have to tell Norma.
"McBoids don't change much over the years, Kurby. We might be less likely to get into scraps in our old age," Donnan focused on Kurby, taking care not to look at Duncan lest he lose his composure, "But the fighting spark is always there," he shook his finger knowingly.
Donnan took a sip of his beer. This month had taken a toll on the whole family. The timing fit, didn't it? Duncan had reunited with an old comrade as he'd faced a very personal loss.
"You two meet up again to keep yourselves out of trouble, or get back into it?" He asked not too seriously, with a curious raise of his bushy brows.
"McBoids don't change much over the years, Kurby. We might be less likely to get into scraps in our old age," Donnan focused on Kurby, taking care not to look at Duncan lest he lose his composure, "But the fighting spark is always there," he shook his finger knowingly.
Donnan took a sip of his beer. This month had taken a toll on the whole family. The timing fit, didn't it? Duncan had reunited with an old comrade as he'd faced a very personal loss.
"You two meet up again to keep yourselves out of trouble, or get back into it?" He asked not too seriously, with a curious raise of his bushy brows.
14
Ollivander's / Re: [Jan 21] Makers of Fine Burglaries Since Gone Three
August 28, 2019, 05:49:07 PM
Cursing under his breath, Donnan shuffled quickly to the back of the shop as Tamzin hurried ahead. He couldn't let a blind witch barrel into all of the boxes, could he now? She'd already taken a fall.
He turned the corner, knocking into several boxes and hearing them crash behind him.
The lass who'd chased after the criminal popped up, a victorious grin on her face. Good, she'd done it. Without the help of the Head Auror, but fine. Donnan glanced at her red hair and glanced away, his mouth thinning into a rueful line.
When Tamzin raised her wand, Donnan merely stood back and caught his breath. The intruder could take another knock or two.
The Head Auror stopped her, trying to calm the situation.
"I don't recognize him as a regular around here," Donnan glanced over the unconscious wizard, his voice a low grumble. Did Tamzin?
He turned the corner, knocking into several boxes and hearing them crash behind him.
The lass who'd chased after the criminal popped up, a victorious grin on her face. Good, she'd done it. Without the help of the Head Auror, but fine. Donnan glanced at her red hair and glanced away, his mouth thinning into a rueful line.
When Tamzin raised her wand, Donnan merely stood back and caught his breath. The intruder could take another knock or two.
The Head Auror stopped her, trying to calm the situation.
"I don't recognize him as a regular around here," Donnan glanced over the unconscious wizard, his voice a low grumble. Did Tamzin?
15
Ollivander's / Re: [Jan 21] Makers of Fine Burglaries Since Gone Three
August 27, 2019, 10:32:06 PM
Another cat. A second cat. Donnan blinked at the retreating form of the cat bounding past the dusty boxes, and blinked at Tamzin now beside him. Was he going mad? Had the shop been overrun by cat... burglars?
Tamzin clutched his arm, hollering at the remaining Auror. Donnan bent his elbow automatically, though she didn't sound at all weary. His heart still raced. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Merlin's sake. Donnan frowned deeply at the Auror stating the obvious. Awkward! Who cared about awkward? What was the fool doing now, standing there? Head Auror?!
He took a moment to pick up his wand from the floor, grunting as he straightened.
BAM! A loud crash sounded at the back.
Donnan stared unhappily for a moment down the hall.
"Are you going to help or what?" He grumbled at the Head Auror marking a red line by the window. Donnan shook his head and took a few shuffling steps towards the sound, mindful of Tamzin beside him.
Tamzin clutched his arm, hollering at the remaining Auror. Donnan bent his elbow automatically, though she didn't sound at all weary. His heart still raced. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Merlin's sake. Donnan frowned deeply at the Auror stating the obvious. Awkward! Who cared about awkward? What was the fool doing now, standing there? Head Auror?!
He took a moment to pick up his wand from the floor, grunting as he straightened.
BAM! A loud crash sounded at the back.
Donnan stared unhappily for a moment down the hall.
"Are you going to help or what?" He grumbled at the Head Auror marking a red line by the window. Donnan shook his head and took a few shuffling steps towards the sound, mindful of Tamzin beside him.