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('Heather link' dateline='1596041015')Hello I'd like to apply for Stewart Ackerley. He was a mentioned character but was moved to minor. My Stewie, who I played for a while, is now an intern potioneer and researching cures for magical bugs and diseases. He's 20 per canon. ^^Thank you.Stewart raised his protective goggles from his face to sit on his head, feeling quite accomplished about the potion that he had just finished producing. It was in its fifteenth version, a way to reduce the scarring effect of Spattergroit. There were many ways to reduce the time one had spattergroit, but hardly anything with its aftereffects. The young man was assisting Edwin with the potion, mostly because it was his job to. His side project of reducing the overuse of cruciatus curse effects on someone was just that, a side project, at least until he got his own little research place of his own. He'd call it Ackerley's Medical Apothecary. Maybe he could sell some simple potions over-the-counter for colds and the like while staying busy behind the scenes doing wonderful research."Edwin," he called over, beckoning with his gloved hand, "come take a look, I think this one is promising from your recommended changes." The head of the group of potioneers wandered over and Stewart nervously stood still as he inspected it. There was a long silence of note observation, color observation, and swirling the potion delicately in the cauldron. A nod of approval meant this version was to go into the next phase of production, the trial stage. It was a good feeling for Stewart as he sighed a breath of relief when the man wandered away to check on a few of his other underlings. If the former Ravenclaw could help produce this healing potion to the point of actually getting it into the hands of Healers, he'd be really happy about it. Sure there was the whole Potion Masters Guild that he was a part of, and if he did well on this potion it meant he was ready to sit for the Silver Cauldron exam and gain his own potioneer seal. Edwin was Platinum on the Guild scale, which was really amazing to work under. Stewarts goal was to reach Nimue, and how he'd do it, he was unsure. The potioneer realigned his goggles to his face, ensuring his protective equipment was properly aligned before pouring the potion into several small vials where it'd some would be stored, and some would be introduced into testing in a bunch of modified lab flobberworms to figure out the effects. From there, they'd either go back to stage one, or continue onto stage three.
('Remi Park link' dateline='1625619399')hello i'd like to apply for terry boot! i've talked with fosse and lianne about michael/tony things <333The night was mostly quiet, aside from the sounds of his footsteps.Terry had apparated down the street, rather than right in front of the house; he had purposefully given himself extra time, but was currently spending it with his sneakered feet pounding the pavement with impatient purpose as he marched to the front door. So that hadn?óÔé¼Ôäót been much use, he supposed. God, he was going to get shit for this, and honestly, it?óÔé¼Ôäód be completely deserved. He tucked his wand away distractedly, then adjusted his backpack straps as he walked. Ideally, he?óÔé¼Ôäód just slip right in without anyone asking any questions, but he knew that that fantasy was steeped entirely in insanity. He was supposed to have been away for two months, and was instead back after exactly seventeen days. Two and a half weeks. Oh, there would be questions. Questions and looks and ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ and he?óÔé¼Ôäód take it all and let it roll off of him, like he always did. Even imagining the most disapproving, smug versions of Michael and Anthony just made him feel sentimental, right at this moment. He made it to the front door and hesitated for the shortest moment, uncertainty slipping in suddenly, as if he?óÔé¼Ôäód only just realised how silly this all was and hadn?óÔé¼Ôäót been thinking about it from the moment he?óÔé¼Ôäód left the hostel. Get it together, Boot. He rapped his knuckles on the door a couple of times, overthinking how to make a knock sound more ?óÔé¼?£casual?óÔé¼Ôäó.Terry and his (now ex?óÔé¼ÔÇØ)girlfriend had made all kinds of promises in the last couple of months of ?óÔé¼?£term?óÔé¼Ôäó, if it could be called that. He?óÔé¼Ôäód already forgiven himself for that part in particular; things had been very intense in April, to put it lightly. Naturally, he?óÔé¼Ôäód spent most of May with his Mum, and she?óÔé¼Ôäód been supportive of his late-summer backpacking trip with his girlfriend. It had seemed like a grand idea at the time, some kind of ill-advised right of passage or a moment of relaxation after all of the bullshit, but he?óÔé¼Ôäód known as soon as he?óÔé¼Ôäód left that he wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót ready to go. It was completely and utterly his own fault for getting caught up, like he always did, and committing to far more than he was ready for. Poor Jenna, of course, had been rightfully pissed off. Who wouldn?óÔé¼Ôäót be, after basically being ditched in a foreign country by someone who was supposed to be in love with you? That part was a lot less forgivable than the initial making-promises part, and he felt (another) twist of guilt about it, but Terry was trying hard not to let it dominate his thoughts Right Now. He?óÔé¼Ôäód known he needed to be here, so here he was. He didn?óÔé¼Ôäót know if the others would understand, but they understood him better than anyone ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ Jenna and his Mum included ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ and that was all he could ask for. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting (im)patiently for someone to open the door. After a million years (maybe twenty seconds), it happened. ?óÔé¼?ôHey,?óÔé¼?Ø he breathed, stilling. His expression, his smile, was initially sheepish and a little guilty, but even the guilt couldn?óÔé¼Ôäót hold out against the relief he felt seeing his friends, and he could feel his expression shifting and ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ Merlin he was being sappy, wasn't he? He was going to get so much (completely appropriate) shit, for this. But right now he just felt happy to see them.
('Emily link' dateline='1606081720')Back again--I've been waiting ages for an excuse to apply for Hannah Abbott.Have consulted with Neville et al.When she started coming here during her days at St. Mungo?óÔé¼Ôäós she would sit with one Firewhiskey Sour for maybe five hours, sipping it in drops until the ice melted. She didn?óÔé¼Ôäót mind watering them down, of course. Getting drunk wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót really her intention, she?óÔé¼Ôäód just wanted to order something to fit in. She?óÔé¼Ôäód chosen her dad?óÔé¼Ôäós favorite cocktail. He was right, she did like them.Her mum?óÔé¼Ôäós favorite cocktail had been the White Russian. Hannah had been disappointed not to fancy those as much.Tonight the witch at the bar had drunk her pint of Ogden?óÔé¼Ôäós in impressive time and now she was asking for another. Clearly getting drunk was her intention. Hannah admired that, actually. She?óÔé¼Ôäód told Tom this once early on when she was on the other side of the bar. It?óÔé¼Ôäós sort of brave, isn?óÔé¼Ôäót it, to not worry about losing your inhibitions? Tom had laughed at that one. (He?óÔé¼Ôäód been a Gryffindor in school; she?óÔé¼Ôäód asked.)She worried a lot about her inhibitions herself. Despite being a life-ruining affliction alcoholism had often sounded sort of nice to her, in the way that it could blot everything out when life was too much. The first time she tried liquor, when she was sixteen, she?óÔé¼Ôäód even managed to push through her nervousness about it: climbing up on the counter to get into the liquor cabinet above the stove, drinking so much gin she?óÔé¼Ôäód been sick on her bedroom carpet. But after that she?óÔé¼Ôäód been all the more fearful. For months she didn?óÔé¼Ôäót talk to anyone at the Leaky. Just sat there and sipped at her melted Firewhiskey Sours. Being a Welcome Witch had been enough talking for her, and more than anything she?óÔé¼Ôäód rather have been at home in bed. But she?óÔé¼Ôäód wanted her dad to think she had a life outside their home, or at least, to think she wanted one. He?óÔé¼Ôäód wanted her to think she was trying. It took ages for it to occur to her to actually try. She?óÔé¼Ôäód sat at the bar, and she?óÔé¼Ôäód answered when Tom had asked how she was that evening. And they?óÔé¼Ôäód become friendly, and he?óÔé¼Ôäód offered her a job when she?óÔé¼Ôäód lost hers.It was so much harder to live when you didn?óÔé¼Ôäót try to. So much harder to move forward when you weren?óÔé¼Ôäót building any roads. But she?óÔé¼Ôäód gotten somewhere now. Hannah stood on her tiptoes to grab the bottle of Ogden?óÔé¼Ôäós Old and refilled her customer?óÔé¼Ôäós glass.
('Lianne link' dateline='1607568531')it's me againi've been mulling this over for a scant several months and while school is relatively calmed down i'd like to apply for harry because i love & miss himhave spoken with <a href='http://www.magical-hogwarts.com/index.php?action=profile;u=25573' rel='nofollow noopener' target='_blank'>@Ginny Weasley[/url] & <a href='http://www.magical-hogwarts.com/index.php?action=profile;u=25732' rel='nofollow noopener' target='_blank'>@Ron Weasley[/url] & <a href='http://www.magical-hogwarts.com/index.php?action=profile;u=25647' rel='nofollow noopener' target='_blank'>@Hermione Granger[/url] and their respective drivers, sundry other canon drivers, and am ofc open to plot with other characters as well, anyway: yeetIn the years since he?óÔé¼Ôäód first set place in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the house had grown cleaner and cheerier by far. He had worked hard to make it livable. The moth-bitten, cobwebby curtains that had shrouded the house in gloom had been replaced with lighter, airier things. At times Harry could believe that the kitchen, with gingham hand towels and sun streaming through the windows, was no worse than any other kitchen -- that this house had never felt as grisly as he remembered it.The hallway was a different story. Though he and Ginny had long since buried the house elves?óÔé¼Ôäó heads, even Hermione?óÔé¼Ôäós best efforts hadn?óÔé¼Ôäót managed a better solution for Walburga Black?óÔé¼Ôäós portrait than a Silencing Charm, which, pitted against Walburga Black?óÔé¼Ôäós tenacity, needed periodic replacement. Harry heard a mutter, as he passed her portrait on his way inside -- he said tiredly, ?óÔé¼?ôShut up,?óÔé¼?Ø and continued down the hallway, made a mental note to charm her silent when he got back from the greengrocer. Only a moment later, though, he paused at the doorway -- when he looked over his shoulder, the curtains over the portrait were stirring slightly. He couldn?óÔé¼Ôäót tell whether they were reacting to the portrait?óÔé¼Ôäós unrest or he?óÔé¼Ôäód just disturbed them by walking past. For a moment he stared at them with anticipation, but they just settled back into place.When Ginny had first come to live here, he?óÔé¼Ôäód been thrilled to share the house again; when they?óÔé¼Ôäód realised they were having a child, he?óÔé¼Ôäód been ecstatic to share it with a family. But they?óÔé¼Ôäód have to take out the wall to take out Walburga Black, and Harry didn?óÔé¼Ôäót want to go on remembering to hex her silent like it was the last item on his grocery list. As an adult he?óÔé¼Ôäód gotten used to a number of ridiculous things -- as an Auror, perhaps even more -- but this might be a little too far. He closed the door behind him quietly as he left. There were no windows in the parlour; the furniture was well-worn but not well-loved. Sirius and Kreacher had grown up here; that seemed like the most convincing reason for Harry not to let his children do the same. Harry didn?óÔé¼Ôäót remember how old he?óÔé¼Ôäód been when he?óÔé¼Ôäód realised how different his life was from anybody else?óÔé¼Ôäós, but he remembered how it?óÔé¼Ôäód felt to think he couldn?óÔé¼Ôäót tell anybody about it. Sometimes he was astonished by how lonely he?óÔé¼Ôäód grown up. Harry knew better than to expect that he and Ginny would give their children a completely average childhood when they were who they were, but he believed with certainty that they could be good parents. Whenever he could, in the moments he grabbed at his desk or on his breaks, working at the kitchen table after dinner or in the evenings as he and Ginny quietly kept each other company, he had begun dwelling on his own childhood -- on the ridiculous things he?óÔé¼Ôäód gotten used to back then. Growing up seemed as much of a mystery now as it had then; nothing in his life had ever given him the impression that he knew how to do it. But, he thought, looking around the austere parlour, moving out might be a start.
('Laura link' dateline='1580007919')<div align="right">1998</div>Draco sat, back straight and head high, beside his mother as they awaited the verdict. Out of view, his hands balled into tight fists atop his thighs, his short nails cutting into the flesh of his palms. He knew this trial would determine, one way or another, the rest of his life. One the one hand, he felt an odd, guilt-filled thrill at the prospect of his father being sentenced to Azkaban; he could become his own man, away from the watchful, judging eye of Lucius Malfoy -- a man who, by all accounts, had lost the respect of his peers and drawn only disgust from his enemies. On the other hand, he was still his father -- the man he had idolised for most of his life, whom he had wanted to impress and make proud until some point in his sixteenth year, where he had seen Lucius Malfoy for what he really was. And then there was his mother. Narcissa Malfoy had played an instrumental role in the downfall of the Dark Lord, and for that she had already been given clemency along with her son. She had reassured Draco that his father would be acquitted too, that his generous donations to the Ministry and commitment to Hogwarts School as a Governor would set him in good stead -- Draco wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót stupid, and he thought maybe his mother was if she truly thought any of that would save her husband. More likely, she was just clinging to the hope that they could somehow put all of this behind them and go back to the way things had been before.Before. Draco didn?óÔé¼Ôäót want before. Well, he wanted some of it. He wanted his friends back. Those who were in Death Eater families had kept away -- either through prudence (many were still awaiting their own trials) or through prejudice (who wanted to associate with the family that had switched sides before the battle had been truly lost?) -- and those who weren?óÔé¼Ôäót so obviously tainted but still sympathised looked upon him with no less disdain; Draco and his mother -- and Lucius -- had made their choice. They were no longer welcome at the tables they had once sat.And what did that mean for his future? If his father was cleared, or not condemned at the very least, then the Malfoys would be treated with endless suspicion by the side they had turned to -- the side they didn?óÔé¼Ôäót truly belong with nor wish to -- and with contempt by the side they had abandoned. If he was sent to gaol, did Draco have a chance at redeeming himself, with one side or the other? We?óÔé¼Ôäóve paid our price, I?óÔé¼Ôäóm just like the rest of you.The grand doors of the courtroom opened and Draco stood with his mother and the rest of the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt led ten or so witches and wizards in from where they had been deliberating. They took their seats, and Draco retook his, holding his breath.
('Laura link' dateline='1614110282')new sample up top, old sample below for reference to how i'd like to approach mr malfoy:<div align="right">hartnoll house, dorset | december 1999</div>Draco hadn?óÔé¼Ôäót expected to have an enjoyable evening, but this was turning out to be far worse than he had imagined. The Greengrasses were long-time friends of the Malfoys, and Draco assumed that was the only reason Dahlia Greengrass had invited him and his mother to the auction. He was wishing now that the woman hadn?óÔé¼Ôäót felt the need to be so ?óÔé¼?£polite?óÔé¼Ôäó.Lucius Malfoy was in gaol. However, thanks to their respective actions at the Battle of Hogwarts -- and, Draco thought, his young age and the threat against his family -- Draco and his mother had been given clemency. This, and the general leniency that the Malfoys had purportedly received at the hands of Shacklebolt?óÔé¼Ôäós new Ministry were only two of the innumerable reasons many of Draco?óÔé¼Ôäós former friends (if one could really call them ?óÔé¼?£friends?óÔé¼Ôäó) now kept a respectable distance from him. His mother had slipped back in with her crowd easily enough -- Narcissa regretted being caught, more than taking part. Draco, on the other hand, while he wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót exactly vocal about his remorse, it radiated off of him. He and his mother had played a part in ending it all, and in doing so torn apart many of the families here. And if they weren?óÔé¼Ôäót his former allies, they were his former enemies -- it was no great wonder then that Draco had spent most of the night thus far brooding alone on the edge of the room.Draco finished his glass of champagne (not his first choice) and abandoned the empty vessel on a nearby table, then turned to find the closest elf carrying a tray of fresh drinks. Reaching one, he went for a glass at the same time as someone else and drew his hand back hastily. His light eyes flicked to her face: Daphne?óÔé¼Ôäós younger sister. She looked different to the last time he?óÔé¼Ôäód seen her, older, maybe, thanks to her gown and jewels, away from her Hogwarts uniform. Draco relaxed a little and took a glass in each hand from the tray, offering one to her silently.
('Inga link' dateline='1616152831')I?óÔé¼Ôäód like to apply for Luna Lovegood. I?óÔé¼Ôäóve briefly spoken to the drivers of Ginny, Harry and Neville so far and am looking forward to working on canon and original connections in case this gets approved.?óÔé¼?ôJust because you cannot see the wrackspurt, doesn?óÔé¼Ôäót mean it doesn?óÔé¼Ôäót exist,?óÔé¼?Ø Luna patiently explained a young wizard who was sitting at the neighbour table in her favourite caf?â?®. ?óÔé¼?ôIt is invisible.?óÔé¼?Ø She tilted her head a little to the side and offered a slight smile. ?óÔé¼?ôI?óÔé¼Ôäóm sure there is one right here.?óÔé¼?Ø Her protuberant eyes widened slightly and she blinked. ?óÔé¼?ôThey float through people?óÔé¼Ôäós ears and do funny things to their brains, you know?!?óÔé¼?ØAlthough the prospect of a creature messing with a person's brain wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót exactly promising, Luna wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót too bothered. She was actually rather fascinated, in a both childlike and scientific way. However, that was probably what made a good magizoologist - curiosity and enthusiasm were valuable traits for a scientist, after all. ?óÔé¼?ôBut don?óÔé¼Ôäót worry,?óÔé¼?Ø she added in a calm voice, seeing the young man?óÔé¼Ôäós expression, ?óÔé¼?ôthey don?óÔé¼Ôäót do permanent damage, I don?óÔé¼Ôäót think.?óÔé¼?Ø She wasn?óÔé¼Ôäót exactly sure about that but there was no proof for any lasting damage and that was enough to make her assume that it was only temporary.The waitress came to her table now, putting down a cup of tea in front of Luna and the young wizard she had been talking to took the opportunity to excuse himself and leave the caf?â?®. Luna said a soft ?óÔé¼?ôgoodbye?óÔé¼?Ø as he walked out, thinking that he probably had very urgent business to deal with or was scared of what the wrackspurt would do to his brain. Some people just feared the things they couldn?óÔé¼Ôäót see or comprehend. Luna was different there, she was always eager to discover new things and thought that one should believe in things even if their existence couldn?óÔé¼Ôäót be proven. After all, the fact that nobody had seen a crumple-horned snorkack, for example, could have many reasons other than that it didn?óÔé¼Ôäót exist.Now, without anyone to talk to, Luna pulled out the recent edition of the Quibbler and flipped it open. She had, of course, read most of it already. In fact, she had seen some articles before the actual magazine had come out, but reading Quibbler articles was a good way to pass the time until she?óÔé¼Ôäód be meeting her friend. A fond little smile spread across her face as she read the editor?óÔé¼Ôäós note her father had written and gently ran her finger over his small portrait. Although she often visited the small village near Ottery St Catchpole, she still missed her father a little when she was travelling. In the past they had made journeys together during her Hogwarts holidays, trying to find the creatures that Xenophilius believed to exist. Now Luna had different travel companions.Luna took a sip of her tea and narrowed her eyes a little. It was not what she had ordered. ?óÔé¼?ôExcuse me,?óÔé¼?Ø she addressed the waitress when she passed her table again, ?óÔé¼?ôwhat kind of tea is this? It tastes nice, but, personally, I prefer dirigible plum tea. Have you ever...?óÔé¼?Ø Her voice trailed off as her attention was caught by the person approaching her table now. She smiled and got to her feet, thus showing off her dress which had a golden snidget print all over it. ?óÔé¼?ôHello Harry,?óÔé¼?Ø she said softly, as she took a closer look at her friend.
('Carys link' dateline='1616153074')Inga made me do this?á And I would like to apply to play Rolf Scamander. I know I don't need to write an RP sample for a canon-plus char, but it helped me get a feel for him, so here it is: Article, check. Photographs, check. Sources, check. Rolf brushed his hair back out of his eyes for the fourth time that morning and let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. A quick glance out of the window told him it was still raining and he felt his heart sink. Logically, he knew it was irrational to consider this a bad omen, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that today would go better if there was bright sunshine outside. It was late February though, and sunshine was unlikely. He took one last check through the documents and closed his briefcase. It was an ancient thing, discarded by his grandfather some years earlier. The right clasp tended to flip open at inopportune moments, but he loved the worn leather, even if the monogram didn't match his own initials, and he'd claimed it as his own six years earlier shortly after his thirteenth birthday. He brushed kneazle hair off his best tweed trousers and reached for the cloak hanging on the peg by the door, automatically searching through the pockets for unexpected inhabitants. He extracted his hand with an exclamation of surprise, shaking it and automatically sucking the bitten finger before cautiously extracting a hibernating fairy. Holding it carefully by the scruff of the neck so it couldn't bite again, he tucked it into a torn cushion cover where it settled back down with a series of approving squeaks.Finally he was ready to leave, still an hour earlier than he really needed to, but this was an important meeting and he wanted to be sure everything went according to plan. Rolf was well aware that some people thought he was riding on the coattails of his grandfather's success and thus he felt the need to prove himself just as capable, just as competent - though as he had been told numerous times, he already had a head start, having never been threatened with expulsion from school. Naturally Rolf had countered by pointing out that due to a series of unavoidable circumstances he had never attended school at all. It was a familiar argument that was hardly an argument at all, just a comfortable exchange that left him feeling reassured of his own worth. ?óÔé¼?ôNo, you stay here?óÔé¼?Ø he told a pair of miniature dachshunds who bounded enthusiastically up to the door. These ones weren't his; he was caring for them for a muggle villager who was on holiday. Rolf produced a couple of biscuits from another pocket and gave them one each, distracting them long enough that he could leave the house, taking a quick glance to be sure nobody was around before he ducked behind the high hedge and disapparated. He reappeared in a small lane off Diagon Alley, close to the Daily Prophet offices, and felt his heartrate increase. Up until this moment, his interview to join the Prophet's Consulting Magizoologist team had been an abstract event, important but not something that he actually felt nervous about. Now that he was here, he suddenly felt that his articles - ?óÔé¼?ôNew mooncalf reserve in Puddledown woods?óÔé¼?Ø ?óÔé¼?ôThe humane relocation of garden gnomes?óÔé¼?Ø ?óÔé¼?ôWhy ghouls should be welcomed?óÔé¼?Ø - were somehow inadequate. Suddenly he felt very young, and very small indeed. His stomach made a growling noise, reminding him that he hadn't eaten breakfast (he'd made some toast, but absent-mindedly left the plate on a low table and the lodging dachshunds had enjoyed it). Well, it was still almost an hour until his appointment, and there was a cafe just across the street. It was nearly empty, which was never a good sign, but maybe something to eat would settle his nerves. Rolf gripped his briefcase more tightly and headed into the cafe, smiling vaguely at a young woman already seated at one of the window tables.
('Taylor link' dateline='1622513085')here to apply for lav lav! firm believer that lavender brown in the books did not die, and have gotten permission to mention/convened with drivers mentioned in the post. thanks for reading!Lavender went back to St Mungo's sometimes. She rarely ventured in; sometimes she went to the tea room, but mostly she just went to look.At one point, she thought it would be her second home, when she was still healing up from her attacks and couldn't tell night from day. She expected to be in St Mungo's for months and months, but just a couple of weeks later she was deemed fit to leave, and a particularly crabby mediwitch who processed her discharge had muttered something about her taking up bed space.Her friends were indignant, but she was just sort of... baffled; baffled at their reaction and her lack of one. See, up until this point in her life, she's not had many catastrophically life-changing horrible things happen to her, and of those she's had, she can tick off on one hand. Binky's death was one, her and Ron breaking up was another, and that was about it (there was also Professor Trelawny's entirely unjust sacking and her best friend almost pulled out of school, but those didn't really happen to her). Between the pain in the injury and the pain in healing, all that's left was for her to actually understand it, and Lavender just didn't. Not for a while, and not like she was trying very hard to.The first time she truly felt the impact was when she saw herself in the mirror, months after the attack, and it was as if she was looking at herself for the first time. It was still her, mostly, but with a nasty, raised and mottled scar over her chest that had previously been covered by the hospital gown. She didn't hold grudges against people and she forgave herself just as easily, but she couldn't get over this one. If she'd been braver, smarter, quicker (if she was more like Hermione, the voice in the back of her head whispered); would she have been able to avoid getting hurt?In the midst of torrential tears that came soon after, she almost found it amusing that the most preoccupying thought on her mind was that she wouldn't be able to wear cute low-cut tops in the summer anymore.That'd been a year ago, and Lavender didn't think she was any closer to fully understanding anything about it. She had tons of questions about it, no doubt ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ Was she a were... something now? Would she become like Greyback? Why her? Does she have to eat her steaks raw now even though she didn't like steaks very much? She heard about Ron's oldest brother through the grapevine, could she get in touch with him to pick his brain a little (not literally)? Why her? Was there an almost-werewolf support group? ?óÔé¼ÔÇØ but not really anyone to answer most of them.Instead she got a job, had tea with Seamus's mum in her free time sometimes, got a different job, walked the dogs, and most of all, tried her best to smile when everyone told her what a brave girl she was. She coped the best she could, and on days that she felt she couldn't quite do that anymore, she came to St Mungo's and looked; looked and reminded herself that she was one of the lucky ones.Lavender Brown, perhaps only ninety-ish per cent of who she used to be, perhaps would've just been left to expire if it wasn't for an act of unbidden kindness, was still alive. And that was good enough for now.
