like chalk on a blackboard • • {genevieve}

Today, like most days, had been a pretty shit day.

The morning began well enough. He floundered into the flat – noisily and heedlessly after a wild night – to meet breakfast on the table with a nice note adjacent to it written in Mihwa’s swirly scrawl. He shoved the portion of paper aside and bolted down the food, only to regret it in an instant when he felt his stomach lurch. A moment later he was sloped against ceramic, emptying the contents into the bowl. He rarely threw up anymore. That had been the first sign.

After a cold shower and rigorous brush of his teeth, he chose to stay in. He would order a pizza, shuffle through Mihwa’s liquor cabinets, plop himself on the couch, and listen to the radio until he inevitably dozed off. The perfect plan for the perfect lazy day. But fate would not tolerate lethargy. His pizza never came, Mihwa was out of liquor – he was to blame, likely, but kept his irritation aimed at her – and today was Celestina Warbeck’s birthday, so every wizarding station thought it best to pay tribute. When awful music became inescapable, hope for the world was officially lost. Another sign.

To top everything off, he received an owl informing him that he had a delivery to make, giving him no choice but to leave the house. He should have been grateful, as he was running low on money, but the lack of anticipation frustrated him. Even though his plans had gone to shit, he didn’t want them replaced with a new plan he hadn’t made. The unnecessary intrusion on his already ruined day only served to further agitate him. But he shrugged on a jacket to shield the plain t-shirt he wore and, with a light crack, apparated to his destination.

Perusing a store in Diagon Alley led to the final sign. The store owner was a quiet client of his boss’ and Felix made a speedy and subtle delivery under the guise of a transaction – the potion for one of his artefacts. It was a small shop, crammed within a more quiet corner on the street, overwhelmed by the larger buildings surrounding it. It was miss-able, which he guessed was intentional, but still a silent gem. Felix did not have an eye for most things, but even he could admit that the crafts homed here were especially unique. Tamped against a wooden counter, he was observing an aquamarine stone when she entered.

The soft chime of a bell alerted the store to her entry and murky eyes flitted to the doorway. She seemed familiar, but he thought nothing of it. At this point, Hogwarts felt like a dim nightmare – only fragments of it permanently etched into his memories, stowed away in an attempt at avoidance. She was probably just another clouded face, a blot in his mind. And then she spoke. A condescending lilt coloured her shrill tone. He listened closely as she rattled on about a particular artefact, noticed when an ugly phrase slid past her porcelain teeth. Every part of him went cold, and then violently hot.

“You have a problem with half-breeds?” He spat the final word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Felix provided her with his full attention, glaring with stormy eyes, his lip curling.


@Genevieve Grosvenor If you need me to change anything, let me know. <3

There was nothing more ire inspiring to the young witch than the word no. 

It had been a part of her very nature since she had been a little girl. The word no simply was unacceptable to the Grosvenor family. They had always found a way to get what they wanted, whether it was through more money or more intimidation. Her family members each had their way of dealing with rejection, however young Genevieve, privileged and spoiled to a fault, met such words negatively and often with force. Therefore when a certain Mr. Robinson, dealer in rare artefacts in a small hole in the wall store along Diagon Alley wrote her a letter to express his regrets over a piece she had longed to acquire several weeks prior, the woman was rightfully enraged.

Had he never mentioned it again, it would have slipped her mind but the very thought that someone had been given something she herself desired only made matters worse. Genevieve could barely remember what it was that she wanted, the store seemingly three times too small when she entered with a huff, an expression of annoyance clearly written on her face as she approached the front counter almost immediately.

“And please do tell me what’s happened the piece we discussed the other day, Mr. Robinson?” the woman asked, the tone of her voice measured and equally venomous, the expression on her face making it quite obvious that she would not be content with any excuse, regardless of how convincing it was. The old man looked concerned, laughing nervously as he averted his gaze and mumbled a few words. Something along the lines of another purchaser had appeared, had paid in cash, and in turn had taken the item. “Surely you’ve forgotten, Mr. Robinson that the Grosvenor purchase of the artefacts you held in your store in 1994 has been what’s kept your business afloat. We’ve many friends who would pay good money for this trash,” her voice rose just slightly, one gloved hand proceeding forth from under the thick, burgundy color cape coat she wore to point around the cramped store, as if to make her point.

“But no, you’ve rather do business with the likes of mudbloods and halfbreeds,” she sneered. She leaned forward tapping her nail against the glass of the counter to punctuate her words. “I want that artefact returned and prepared for purchase by tomorrow at five o’clock on the dot. If you do not make this so, this store will be bought up and demolished by supper,” she continued pointedly, “And if—“ she continued only to be interrupted by a man she had not even noticed until she heard his voice. When had someone come into the shop? Genevieve had been too involved in her tirade to notice.

She took a deep breath, the sneer in the man’s voice along with his words giving her all of the information she needed to know. “Oh my,” she started the surprise in her voice a direct contrast to the corner of her lips that turned upwards in unadulterated amusement. Her eyes swept over him, but she could not put a name to his face—not that she wanted to regardless, whoever became offended by the word half-breed was not someone Genevieve was looking forward to befriending. And while Genevieve could have very well ignored him, her very decent upbringing dictated that it was only polite to respond. “Have I offended you, sir? I apologize, does the word blood traitors suit your sensibilities much better?” she offered, a disparaging smile on her lips. “Listen, this conversation has nothing to do with you and I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d return to your own business,” she said with a curt nod before returning to the man. “So, as I was saying, you’ve a little over twenty-four hours.” 

He should have ignored her, should have let the comment roll off his back like nothing. These weren’t his battles to fight anymore. Felix wasn't in Hogwarts begging for his life and safety, and he’d left his life of problems and status behind. What was the point of arguing with someone whose views couldn't be changed anyway? Did he even really care to change them? He could easily see what she was about. Vanity and selfishness oozed from her. She represented entirely what he wanted so badly to separate himself from. Yet, here he remained, hands fidgeting with anger. Both his instinctive reaction and the apathy in her speech frustrated him. Eyes flickered to the store owner who seemed smaller as he paled beneath her gaze. Pathetic.

His icy stare transferred to the girl. Physically, she posed no threat. She was willowy and, though taller than the average witch, not close enough to his own height to even be remotely intimidating. In fact the idea of someone thinking of her as threatening was laughable. She looked young, was obviously privileged, and therefore probably sheltered from the true grittiness of the world. Probably brainwashed by the elders of her family into thinking their cause was just and noble. Fooled into believing that, intrinsically, they were better - more magical - because of their blood. He wondered if she knew what it was like to be targeted for something as insignificant and uncontrollable as status. Even as the climate changed before their eyes and expressing these taboo views became more and more unacceptable, she spoke loudly and unashamedly, like she thought she was untouchable. His anger boiled hotly.

When she spoke again, Felix could barely process his own movement as he lunged forward, fingers digging into the fabric of her robe. Coal coloured eyes made four with her cobalt pair, brow wrinkling above as his eyebrows curved. He could feel his blood searing beneath his skin. “Say it again,” he dared. Previously he was completely aware of the shopkeeper, but now he was focused only on this girl – this child who thought she knew everything. An image of Luke flashed through his head before he could repress it, and Felix only glowered more, the fire within him blazing. He wanted to show this girl that she wasn’t untouchable – that being a pureblood didn’t exempt her from cruelty. The weight of his wand was heavy in his pocket.

“Go ahead, princess,” he spat, feeling a panicked tug at his side. His eyes met the owner’s, whose expression could only be described as ‘panicked’, but Felix shrugged him off roughly.

Genevieve could not help the small noise that proceeded from her lips, a mixture between a gasp and a whisper, when the man who had so rudely interrupted her conversation, dug his fingers into her robe. Was this seriously what the backstreets of London had become? A place for wild hooligans and misguided youth to run rampant picking fights with respectable strangers? No wonder her family often sent out the staff to handle the errands, it was obvious that the population had lost control of their senses. Genevieve was certainly afraid, for someone that spoke so ill of others, the young witch had luckily only ever gotten close to a physical fight once or twice but was often rescued by her older cousin, or better yet, one of the many close family friends that found themselves looking out for her against their better judgment. The witch could play the ideal victim when necessary.

Nevertheless, she refused to allow herself to be intimidated by this delinquent, and though her breath became shallower and the beat of her heart quickened with anxiety, she was determined to stand her ground. She was not about to let some man push her into a corner over a word, though deep down, she knew that she would remember how pleasant it was to have such an effect on another person. “Say, what, exactly?” she tried, tilting her head just slightly as if she had no idea what he was referring to. ”Halfbreed?” she tried slowly, savoring every syllable with pleasure.

This would one day be the death of her, it was something she was well aware of deep down. However, Genevieve was a stubborn girl and she was often not in possession of practical things such as common sense. “Now, now, Mr…” she started, almost as if to ask for his name. “Are you honestly intending to assault me over some terminology? I am not sure of where you’re from however I am sure that chivalry is not yet dead wherever that is. Haven’t you ever been told the saying sticks and stones and whatever nonsense that is?” she offered. “Please unhand me,” she added, though the request was a little more firm than polite.

Genevieve glared in the direction of the owner just slightly, wondering why he did not think it proper to intervene in the conversation. This was a shop she would certainly not be visiting again in the future, though she was still intent on keeping her promise. Especially now because the man, apparently just as cowardly as she thought, was doing nothing to ensure her safety or to call on Law Enforcement. These strangers could not be trusted she decided; it was a shame, she actually did enjoy coming here once in a while. “If it is money that you want, I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” she offered, unsure of why this stranger felt it necessary to rough handle her. However, as she had always been reminded by her uncle, the right amount of money, can solve any problem and as such, she was willing to try her luck.