MASS THREAD : Ministry Holding Cell

Kip Parsons had purposefully avoided every letter regarding the marriage law and now he was seeing the fruits of this effort. His objective was simple – he wanted to view this law, practically, from all sides. Rory were covering the other side for him, while Kenna and Remy went through the process of marriage (forging all the documents, of course) so he could look at all sides of this ridiculous law. Yuri, too, abstained from the law, though he showed up to the meetings. That was where his civil duties ended, however.

Not Kip was confident that he had a thorough view of the law. He would wager that he knew it better than the politicians who had bought their way out or who were exempt from the law, those who had only seen the law on paper and not in practice. He was not yet sure how this could help, but he knew one thing for certain – he would have plenty of time to mull it over in the Ministry holding cell.

He was one of the last to be brought in. He and Yuri, unlike so many of the others, did not struggle. They had expected this, and it was just another part of their observations. A blonde woman was leading him in, magical cuffs around his hands. She looked just as irritated to be in this position as many of the prisoners were. He turned to look back at her and she cleared her throat, immediately taking on the mask of professionalism. He smiled. “Your name?”

She glanced away, hiding the irritation. Nevertheless, she said, “Claire Bishop.”

Kip smiled, tilting his head at her. “It’s been a pleasure being imprisoned by you today,” he said.

She removed the cuffs and gently pushed him into the holding cell. Yuri followed, having been escorted by a woman who had not stopped talking to him. Claire grabbed the hand of the brunette girl, hissed, “Elsie, focus” and the two women were gone.

Kip sighed. Their wands were gone, having been confiscated at the very start of this process. He looked about. A few chamber pots were congregated in the corner, and there was an old fashioned muggle water jug. Two rows of benches, and lots of standing room. There were magical wards, surely. He exchanged a look with Yuri and grimaced. “May as well socialize, yeah?”

They’d come for her that morning, brandishing their badges and their pseudo-authority. Unfeeling eyes had appraised her, had asked for proof of identity, and then clasped her hands together. In her own home. Ariel’s protests had fallen on deaf ears. The charges rang out, high and clear in the warmth of the kitchen against the backdrop of bacon sizzling in a frying pan. She’d been disdainful of it then. Now, she would have given anything for it. Unlawful dissent is what they’d call it. A thrust of her hands against the larger one’s chest accompanied her own voice joining the fray, exclaiming that their actions were unlawful, not her own. Assault of an Auror was added to the list, the cuffs tightened and with a tug behind her navel she was removed forcibly from her home.

No amount of screaming did any good. It all proved for nought. Eventually she tired herself, allowing them to haul her through the halls in the Ministry, muttering to each other about the weather, about the meals their wives had made the night before and a Quidditch match one was supposedly going to miss that his son was starting in. And it was Alice’s fault. Then, there came the noise, the sound of discontent. The creak of a cell and the scuffle of feet, coughs and sneezes and suddenly darkness, then an eventual light. Familiar faces showed up within it, albeit unfamiliar at the same time. They weren’t quite friendly. Not quite. But all seemed scared.

Alice dropped her head into her hands, desperate to cry but no tears came. Her legs were drawn up to her chest and she curled her arms around them as she tipped her head back against the craggy stone wall. The letters had come and gone, this she recalled with vivid clarity and she had not responded to one, believing that her position as a French citizen absolved her from the need to be involved. It was naïve of her to think that, it seemed. For here she was, in a Ministry holding cell. A French woman. A Bulgarian woman. A Rousseau. An Anderson. Trapped. Stuck. For good?

The door opened again, not for the first time. Claire. Elsie. Names she should have known. Alice couldn’t muster it within herself to care, though. She couldn’t muster it within herself to try to understand the whys or the hows. It was all legal, wasn’t it, to keep people like this? It was legal to discard them because they did not align themselves with madness. Because they did not adhere to the idiocy of the Article. All she could pray is that someone overturned it or, at the very least, bail pending trial was an option.

They'd gave for her early this morning,  while she was at work with everything from badges to Garlic.  Really garlic? the must've of read her file to know she was a vampire.  With the amount of arguing that rung through the corridors of St. Mungo's as a group of aurors came and arrested her.  Digging the cuffs into her wrist,  Sophia let out an hiss in pain.  " Watch it those are my bloody wrists here!" Sophia yelped.

Sophia still argued with them even though they arrested her and took her wand.   " This is bull crap,  I did follow the stupid damn law, I was engaged at the time and not my fault you bloody pricks don't know how to keep track of everything. " said Sophia simply.   Leading her through the corridors of the ministry be for they threw her into the holding cell.  Stumbling into the cell, Sophia caught her balance before muttering "bloody pricks. " and taking her seat beside Alice.  

She knew their was going to be more that was going to come,  they must've of been at the top of the list.   Running her fingers through her hair,  Sophia looked at her fellow cell mates before falling on Kipling.  " They got you to, but how?"Sophia asked him softly.   Weird he was in here,  he seemed to be a person who followed the lawn after their talk at the Leaky Cauldron.   Sophia had to admit,  she was honestly surprised that she was in here she didn't do anything wrong.

Did they honestly think that they were going to spend forever in a cell?  She could see if the were criminals,  but they didn't do anything wrong other not follow a stupid law.  She refused to stay here all her life in a bloody cell.  She had a job and family,  she couldn't die in a damn cell.  For her,  she had a long time seeing how she's a vampire.

When you sit in your lawyer’s office, talking about summer barbeques and a slightly off-the-wall comment made by Witch Weekly, you don’t then expect Aurors to turn up with an arrest warrant – especially not when you’re the son of Neville Longbottom. But alas, Frank found himself on his feet, whirling around to confront the Aurors, his wand aloft. He’d tell it, eventually, that he’d outduelled them and that they’d cheated. It was partly true. He managed to disarm one, get the other with a stinging hex but a cutting curse clipped Frank on the shoulder and his wand hit the back wall, splintering to nothing. It was then that it got petty and Frank brought his fist down into the face of the Auror nearest him. It took a while to restrain him, their arms finally clawing around his and with one last kick to his stomach, the air finally being shoved out of him, Frank acquiesced and let himself be dragged down to the holding cells.

Thankfully, no one was alone which was the worst way to be. When Frank was thrown in, it took a moment for him to register the fact that he was face down in a cell. Then, impulsively he managed to get himself to his feet long enough to throw himself against the bars, his fingers curling fiercely around the steel rods. The Aurors did not deign to indulge and Frank let his head hang, grumbling to himself. There he stood, then, leant against the bars letting everything wash through his mind. He was able to give a little bit concern to the gnomes in his garden, to what his parents must have thought, but all he kept coming back to was Toby. Toby who he’d planned to cook for that night. Toby who he’d bought meat for because he noticed he preferred that to Frank’s rabbit food. Toby who he’d planned to wine and dine or whatever it was that you did for your spouses or dates or whatever.

Not now, though.

“This is such bullshit,” Frank burst, pushing himself off of the bars and lifting his hand to his shoulder. He winced, feeling the hot stickiness of blood soaking through his shirt.

Frank drew his other hand across his face and he shook himself, trying to ward off the pain of the shoulder. He’d live, he told himself. His father had been through worse. Falling off of a broomstick, he’d also been through worse. His grandfather. His grandmother. They’d been through worse. All he had was a bloody shoulder and a bruised ego. That was all he had to show for a little bit of dissent. He’d been silent. It wasn’t even open resistance. He scowled, mostly to himself, and rubbed at his neck before wiping his bloody fingers on his trousers. There was no helping this. There was no helping this at all.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” he offered the obvious. “But with great company.”

'Get off me!' Henry yelled fighting to break free from the constraints of the law enforcement squad that had him bound in magical chains before tossing him into a large holding cell, releasing the chains as they locked the door behind him. 'Let me out!' Henry yelled, running and ramming a hard few fists onto the metal door. Nothing. It did nothing.

Turning around the wizard saw a group of people, some he recognised by face and some he'd never seen in his life. Sophia Granger was there. He personally didn't know her, nor did he want to, but he was aware that she had been the one to heal Maura after he'd attacked her in his abduction to Hallie. How lovely. Thankfully neither he nor she had their wands.

Running a hand through his hair Henry slumped back against the wall and fell to the cold floor. An hour ago he'd mugged a feeble old witch, snatched her bag and disapparated. Forty minutes ago he'd used the money from the lady's bag to buy some spice. Half an hour ago he was getting high and ten minutes ago Henry had found himself hit by a knock back jinx, arrested and then thrown into a cell. Why? He couldn't recall for he was too high to really understand what was going on.

Little did Henry know it wasn't for his death eater activity, nor was it for what he did to Hallie Rookwood, it was for not obeying the marriage law. The pass couple of months he'd been a fugitive. Henry had fled St Mungo's, blasting a whole in their reception roof as he did, evaded work and letters from the Ministry. The wizard's life had been paused whilst he moved from run down shelter to run down shelter, hiding. He'd missed meetings with Scorpius. He'd missed his hearing. He'd devoted his life to sugar and spice and completely ignored the marriage law requests that had found their way to him.

Now it appeared the ministry had tracked him down and thrown him in a cell. Would he be sent to Azkaban? Right now Henry didn't care for he was high.

Lily was possibly the only person brought in that did not fight. What would fighting the Aurors do? She certainly could not overpower them, and she did not want them to cite her as being resistent to the course of justice, or whatever. And, hey, it was getting her out of the house. She had been trapped in her brother's home since he had found her unconscious in Hogsmeade, and she had self-contained herself to her room. She was merely trading cells for the day, or the week, or however long they were planning on keeping her.

As they brought her in, she could see the riot beginning. Of course, Jack Dyllan was trying to lead the pack - that woman took to leadership like a duck to water, and it was sort of annoying, really. beyond that, though, it was madness. She was nearly ripped from the grip of the Auror. As much as she appreciated the efforts, she just wanted to comply. She shrunk against the Auror and stared around at the madness, looking into the faces of men and women who had let anger and lack of knowledge turn them into beasts.

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love.

One way or another, she was delivered safely to the mass holding cell. She wasn’t thrilled to be sharing – she would rather avoid everyone altogether – but she stepped through the doors when the cell was opened for her. It clanged behind her and the cuffs fell from her wrists. She turned and the Auror who had brought her in beckoned for her to approach the bars. She did and turned her head. He whispered, “Just keep to yourself and no trouble will come to you.” And he was gone.

Yep. A new cell and more orders to just stay compliant. But if you close your eyes does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

She did close her eyes, leaning against the bars of her new cell, reminding herself that being imprisoned meant nothing. Nothing meant nothing. Whether she was here or at her brother’s… what did it matter? She was still incapable of making her own decision, still withdrawn from everyone, still unable to properly feel anything. Her eyes opened again and she took everything in. The sounds of the riot behind her. The desperation of the people before her. The world was descending into madness, and here she was caught in between them, unable to care.

Oh where do we begin? The rubble or our sins?

Lily walked among the crowd like a ghost, somehow touching no one as she slid between gaggles of people holding back tears or letting out screams of indignation. They all cared… so much. She needed human contact, she knew it. If she did not, she had a bad feeling. If she let herself remain a solitary prisoner, she would be worse than the beasts in the riot. She would cease to be, and was that not the very thing she most feared and most sought – nothingness. She had to break the pattern here. She had to ground herself.

It was then that she saw Henry Yewbeam. He was sitting against a wall, looking heavily distressed. Lily had seen no one else better suited. Either people knew her too well or not at all. She did not want someone stressing out about her because she was a Potter, and a stranger would not do. The only thing she and Henry shared was their mutual need for substances to numb themselves. Of all people in that cell, Lily knew he would do best.

She did not greet him. She glanced at him once – enough to tell he was high, she had seen him like this before. Without a second glance, she sat next to him, close in the confined space. And without an explanation or even much of a reason despite the fact that this was a strange situation and he was there, she reached out and slipped her hand into his.

In their apparatus, a kaleidoscopic myriad of frothing potions were bubbling away merrily. With his glasses perched on the end of his nose, James Potter bent low over the table, watching the Bunsen flame as he carefully adjusted the dial with a little twist of his fingers. Satisfied, he reached out and with his pencil James noted down his findings. Lifting his glasses off, he lowered himself down into his chair, sitting back to collect himself for a moment as he combed his fingers through his hair. Clearing his throat, James dropped his glasses onto the low table top and reached his hand into the packet of Doritos that were open beside his notebook. After dropping a broken piece of one of the cheesy crisps into his mouth, he leaned forward again and picked up his pencil, his inaccurate eyes flicking across the apparatus, watching as the potions began to alter in colour. After replacing his glasses back onto his face, James looked up, casting his gaze across the open-plan room, his breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of two plain-clothes Aurors making their way towards him.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” James inquired airily, moving his chair from side to side a little as he twisted his pencil between his fingers. His eyebrows arched and all of a sudden he found himself reliving a memory as though it was something he had experienced that very day. Images flashed past his mind and familiar voices tumbled around his ears, the smell of sulphur filling his nose. He could hear his father, his mother. Kingsley Shacklebot. All had told him that he’d make a fine Auror, for that had been his aspiration when he was very young. However, immediately thereafter he was plunged onto a Diagon Alley backstreet with a gaggle of camera-toting reporters following after him. The shouts he could hear as vividly as he could the sound of the boiling potions. It must have just been after he’d joined the Falcons. You’d never have made a good Auror anyway, Potter! How true. How ironic.

“James Sirius Potter?” The taller of the two Aurors grunted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, dark robe. James swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing over his deep hazel gaze. James inclined his head, nodding shortly. The taller Auror exchanged a look with his partner, a man with sandy-blonde hair and small, squinting eyes. Something within James stirred and he realised with sharp clarity that it was adrenaline thundering through him, trying to determine whether this new version of himself was going to fight like the old one or fly like the newer model seemed more inclined to do. However, despite the fear that seemed to be running parallel like a skittish fawn, James stood – or rather, sat – his ground and his eyebrows quirked upwards again, his jaw setting in resolute defiance.

“Do you know your rights?” The squinty Auror asked, his voice a few decibels higher than the scruff on his jaw and the throbbing Adam’s apple would have suggested. James’ lips curled into an involuntary smirk. “Mr Potter?” Squinty-Auror pressed. “Are you listening?”

“Oh, I’m listening,” James returned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But it’s not really sinking in. I am very aware of my rights and I can see that you fully intend to put those nice handcuffs around my wrists but I ask you this: on what charges, eh?”

James felt a little stab of pride shiver through him as something gave him a pat on the back for keeping his voice so level. The slight twinge of mocking in his tone seemed to have gotten through to the Aurors, too, and James watched as they squared their shoulders back, irritation registering on their faces. James tipped his head to the side a bit and drew his hand along his thigh absently, feeling for his wand. He brought his hand up, then, covering the action by itching just behind his ear and he threw it up after, palm open, expressing mock-exasperation and total innocence. The larger of the two Aurors took a small post-it note out of his pocket and, clearing his throat, began to read out what ultimately left James Sirius Potter stunned: a litany of charges, many of which he’d not ever been notified of but most interestingly:

“…inciting civil disobedience and dissent, failure to adhere to the laws set down by Article 203 and a number of drug related charges that wouldn’t fit on one sticky note.”

“You are joking,” James admonished, discretely removing his wand from his pocket, poking it up the cuff and into the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m clean – and what in the name of Salazar Slytherin’s hairy old arse do you mean by ‘inciting civil disobedience?’ How can I do that if I’m sat in a basement doing research for the Ministry?”

“Mr Potter,” Squinty-Auror growled, “please come peacefully.” He looked pleadingly at James – or, well, as pleadingly as you could if you had eyes the size of half a Knut. James’ upper lip curled at the side as disbelief registered on his features.

“Potter,” the tall Auror grunted, “we’re not playing with you. Now get up,” he removed his wand from an inner pocket of his robe, “or-”

“Or what?” A smirk drifted provokingly across James’ mouth, his lips lifting up over his teeth, allowing the gold fitting to glint a little in the low light of the room, “You’ll hex me, will you?”

The Auror shifted, a few beads of sweat forming around his hairline. This clearly wasn’t an eventuality that he had been prepared for. James Potter, or so they had all been told, was nothing like the man that had fought so valiantly for the Order of the Phoenix, who had taken to butchering Death Eaters like a duck to water. They had expected and found a lab rat with coiffed hair and a cashmere sweater over his meticulously ironed, pinstripe shirt. What they hadn’t expected to come with that was the Gryffindor temper; or rather, the Potter-Weasley temper. They hadn’t expected to find a Potter, just a shadow bearing the same appearance and the same name. At least in the littler Auror, a little proverb rattled through his head: wake not a sleeping lion – and sleeping lion James Potter most certainly was. No more.

“We’ll have to take you in on charges of resisting arrest, also,” the larger Auror cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m just sat here,” James returned silkily. “I would hardly call it resisting arrest.”

“James Sirius Potter, I am arresting you-” the Auror leaned forward, his hand curling around James’ bicep. The feel of cool, pointed wood under his chin gave him pause, however, and he released his grip, his mind vaguely registering that there was strength there. It seemed as though no amount of misuse could relieve this man’s body of its boisterous physicality. He turned his eyes onto James and licked his lips nervously, his gaze flicking down to his own wand, his periphery taking into account the fact that his partner had removed his wand, also.

“There will be no arresting here today, gentlemen,” James murmured dangerously, looking between the two men.

A red light began to burn at the end of Squinty-Auror’s wand and with a burst of particularly violent magic that James didn’t realise he had in him, he tossed the taller Auror into his friend, sending the two flying across the room into one of the tall shelves that crumbled on top of them upon impact. James got to his feet, reaffirming his grip on his wand and in good stead for not a moment later, the shelves were sent flying in his direction. The Potter man dropped himself to the floor, wincing as the shelves took out his potion apparatus with a crash-bang-whollop. Bright pink potion began to run down from the table. He shook his head briefly, his eyes widening as a flash of purple light graze past his ears. Lifting his wand aloft, James threw back every spell measure for measure, beating back the Aurors with a skilled but rusty hand. What he lacked in precision was made up for in speed, his familiarity with duelling returning to him as his blood screamed electrically through his veins. Laughter lit up his face. Magic flooded to every cell, buzzing about him. He felt lightheaded. Giddy. Insatiable. So very, very alive. With relish he tossed spells at them, deflecting the ones they returned. Some he allowed to sail past, his heart sparking inside of him as it realised the danger. Merlin, it had been too long. But as he grew more excitable, he grew more inaccurate yet that did not see him tire. No, somehow, he grew more resolute and more and more out of control.

“Potter! Enough!” The larger Auror bellowed, throwing one last spell at James. This one was on target, however, and the wand held so tightly in the brunette’s hand splintered to pieces, bits of Holly wood digging into his palm. James’ hand opened, his other coming to grip at his wrist as his eyes took in the pieces of wood that had drawn scarlet from his skin. He looked up, a snarl forming on his mouth but before it could be vocalised, binds squeezed around his arms and chest and he was drawn into the grasp of the Aurors. Caught. Shit.

A warm cheek was slammed violently against the icy glass of the Ministry observation deck that overlooked the atrium. James’ eyes widened as he took in the swollen crowds below. He shook himself, trying desperately to dislodge the Aurors but it was to no avail. He pressed his forehead against the glass, knocking his glasses back into place and his face fell as he took sight of the crowd properly. A flash of red in the crowd alerted him to the presence of Jack Dyllan. He thrashed again, desperate to free himself from the Aurors but just as before he achieved little.

“I didn’t know anything about this,” James shouted desperately, turning his head. “I didn’t do anything. I’m a pacifist.”

“Like hell,” Squinty-Auror pulled James back from the window, pointing to his face. A split lip and a rapidly swelling eye was what Squinty-Auror was wearing as well as a nasty looking graze across his cheekbone and a burn on his jaw from one of the potions. The bigger Auror didn’t look much better.

“You assaulted me,” James returned glibly, earning a smack around the back of the head for his trouble. “It’s not my fault if you don’t look pretty for each other anymore.”

“You’re telling us, you didn’t know anything about this?” The bigger Auror asked impatiently, coming to stand beside his friend.

“Did you get potion in your ears?” James ground out. “I didn’t know anything about this. Read my lips. I. Didn’t. Know. I. Did. Nothing. I. Am. Not. Involved. Capish?” Another smack. “Hey, you can cut that out an’ all!”

“When I find the rest of my eyebrow, Potter,” the bigger Auror hissed, “I just might. C’mon. Let’s get rid of him, Vince.”

So Squinty-Auror was called Vince. How interesting. Only, not really.

Before James knew it, He was being tossed into a cell with the rest of the miscreants. Only, they weren’t miscreants at all. They were composed of well-dressed members of Wizarding society including-

"Lily Luna?"

James gaped and lost his footing, slipping to the floor as the cell door closed behind him. The Potter man landed with an audible bump onto the tiles and he turned as the Aurors disappeared, complaining, down through the halls of the Ministry – no doubt to deal with some of the rioters.

“James, mate,” hands found James’ shoulders and he looked up to see none other than Frank Longbottom looking down over him. A crooked smile lifted his friend’s lips and James blearily let Frank haul him to his feet. James leant back against Frank briefly and for a moment he just took the time to breathe a few shuddering breaths of the cold, claggy air of the cell. “You alright?” James felt Frank’s hot breath brush past his ear and he stomached a nod.

“Yeah,” he breathed, dislodging himself from Frank’s grasp. “What’re you in for?” He asked, turning.

“For being too sexy for the Ministry to handle, of course,” Frank returned with a chuckle. James smirked. “You?”

“Same,” James grunted with his own little guffaw. “Worked out how we’re getting out yet?” He inquired.

“Bail money, my friend,” Frank returned with a sigh. “I don’t reckon my dad knows yet.”

James blew out a breath of air and smudged his lips together, casting one last glance in Lily Luna’s direction. He leaned against the cell door opposite Frank, watching idly as the man rubbed at his shoulder. His heart was beginning to slow now. The pain of some of the grazes he had gotten was beginning to kick in. He felt hungry, though. There was something in him that wanted to go back. To do it again. To let them get closer. To let them hit him only to grow complacent, only to bow beneath him, under the weight of his magic. The rush. He wanted it. He wanted in the same way a man lusted after the swaying hips of an attractive woman. He needed it like air. He needed it like he used to need Firewhisky or Spice. Like an addict. Merlin.

“We’re stuck for now,” Frank added grimly, drawing James out of his reverie. “Once the riot subsides we should be in the good. People will start coming down to get us, I reckon.”

“And if they don’t?” James asked, looking up at the slightly taller man, a weary feeling settling into his bones.

Frank raised an eyebrow, optimism fading a little bit. “They will, mate. Don’t you worry. They’ll come.”

A hand slipped into his fitting neatly Like a glove. It was a strange feeling, feeling that physical contact from somebody else. People never gave him the time of day, even a large number of the death eaters rolled their eyes at the mention of his name and who could blame them? After failing to accomplish anything time after time. A part of him could hardly expect anybody to care though, he'd lost the ability to care for himself so why should they? 

It was Lily's hand Henry discovered when he turned his face, his electric high blue eyes finding hers. A slight smile found it's way between his cheeks, a genuine burst of happiness.

'What are we doing here?' He asked, still unaware that the reason was because he'd ignored all letters regarding the marriage law. 

It had happened at breakfast two days after his conversation with Ally in the study room. Two aurors had entered The Great Hall, marched up to Alexander's spot at the Slytherin table with a warrant for his arrest. Initially Alexander was stumped, confused and a little skeptical that his arrest was in fact happening.

'You failed to attend your first marriage law meeting and failed to provide an explanation. Unless you can provide one now?'

Oh course Alexander was taken off guard and simply stared in disbelief before being spellbound and escorted from the hall before students who had all fell silent at the scene. His dark eyes had caught Ally's as he left. Would she tell Mother? She sure hoped so, if Pansy were to find out then... How would his Mother react?

Alexander hoped Pansy would be proud that he was standing up against the establishment and protecting their families pure blood line. On the other hand she may look down upon him, find herself disappointed that her son could be going to Azkaban (hopefully, if the aurors were telling the truth, it was simply a holding cell in the ministry). All Alexander hoped was that his Mother and Father would bail him out, perhaps pay the ministry to release him and excuse him from the law. Could his Mother write an article changing her stance to protect her son? It's something that she would do, but would probably cause suspicion in the magical community from going strongly against to strongly for the marriage law.

Now finding himself in the holding cell surrounded by people both his age and older Alexander sat down in the corner, crossing his legs and began to think about what would happen. His wand was gone, he had no power, his fate lay in the hands of.... Rioters.

Someone mentioned rioters, somewhere not too far away. Standing up he walked over to a dark haired man who couldn't be much older than twenty four.

'What were you saying about rioters?' He asked, offering his question to be answered by both the man (James Potter) or his companion, who Alexander recognised as a Quidditch Player - Longbottom.

Lily did not know what she expected out of Henry, but that was sort of the innocent part of taking his hand. She was not expecting anything of him, she wanted nothing out of him. She just had the gnawing suspicion that they both needed another human being to ground them through this odd experience. And he would be the one to just let it happen. And he was high – if an issue came of it, she could claim she was high too. It would mean nothing more than a brush of the hands. Wasn’t that all it meant anyway?

She didn’t know. Lily did not know much of anything anymore.

She heard her name and looked up, spotting a horribly familiar face. It seems her brother was in the same pickle. Part of her, the part that was Lily before drugs and depression, told her that she should have gone to him. Poor James was much meeker than the James she had been raised with. That James would have knocked out an Auror or two by now, surely. But this James needed protection, for he probably had no idea what he was doing here. The sisterly thing would have been to get up and go to her brother, protect him.

Instead, she looked to Henry, glancing up into those electric eyes. She spoke softly, wanting to find some privacy in this public setting. “They’re not pleased that we wanted to remain spinsters. We didn’t make babies in time.” The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “It shouldn’t belong. Fines, probably, and then they will do what they can to force us all into marriages. It’ll be quick and painless.”