WILDFLOWER, hermione granger.

ooox. nightmare before christmas

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OOOX. NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS
ten

A FEW DAYS AFTER IVY ARRIVED HOME TO HER APARTMENT, THE FIRST THING SHE DOES IS A MAJOR APARTMENT DO-OVER WITH ONE OF HER BANDMATES, THIERRY.

       So, here she was, redecorating her apartment and throwing out the stuff in her fridge that were probably past the expiry date. "Hey," Ivy called out from the kitchen while Thierry rifled through a box of tinsel they picked up from the bar's attic. "Hey! You sentient jar of artisanal mayonnaise!"

"Jesus, what?" He complains back. "Did being an abominable snowman help you improve nicknames?"

Ivy throws a rotten fish at him, watching in amusement as he squeals, his ass falling into the box of feather boas. "Don't study me, asshole. You won't graduate. Now, whose apartment are we spending Christmas in?"

"Yours, of course," He scoffs. "You're the only one in the band whose home we haven't Christmas in—not to mention this is the first time we've seen you again from boarding school."

This way, Ivy didn't have to be so uptight. All the muggles around the neighborhood only ever knew her as Wildflower, and her bandmates knew her by another name. They didn't know her as Ivy Lane Malfoy, the youngest child of the Malfoys, the disowned one. She didn't have to keep up a reputation as a stone cold bitch here.

She and Henley were quick to put up her story—that she was supposed to be under witness protection here, so people weren't allowed to know her name except for them. And, if all else fails, she was Lane Gardner to them.

With everything happening around them, muggleborn and muggle families being killed—and bloodtraitors too, like Ivy had been branded by, she wasn't stupid to throw her name around.

"That's because you've a hazard around you that might result into burning my entire apartment," Ivy rolled her eyes. "'Sides, we're still on for the gig tonight, right?"

Thierry's head snapped up, wide-eyed. "Holy shit."

Thank fuck for the planner in her room, Ivy smirked inwardly, watching Thierry lose his shit and panic.

He takes a deep breath, "Okay, so... I'm going home to change, then I'll come back and pick you up, capeesh? Great, good," He doesn't wait for her to reply—

Ivy realized a millisecond what he's going to do, "Wait, no, don't—" It was too late as he kissed her cheek. She sighed with a roll of her eyes. "—kiss me. Goddamit, for the love of Frodo."

With that, Ivy was left alone once again in the safety of her home. Alone, for Christmas—but this time, her brother won't be able to sneak out.

A gasp escapes her throat as the Dark Mark on her arm burned with intensity—so, so bad and she knew what it meant. Either someone called on Voldemort, or he summoned his Death Eaters.

God, I hope it't not my brother, she pleads as she struggled to ignore the pain, and tried to distract herself by putting away the boxes Thierry left scattered all over her living room. It's gone as soon as it came, but it left a bad feeling settling in the pit of Ivy's stomach.