COMPLETE; don't read if you want fluffy, out-of-character tom.
18+
In 1926, Grindelwald is captured for the first time by Newt Scamander, making his followers go into hiding. The Petrov family, an ancient pure-blood eastern European family, is forc...
HI! Sorry for not updating, but the elections have had me so stressed my mind stopped functioning (if you follow me on Twitter, I apologize for my rants). I am also trying to write better chapters, so it takes time. I hope you enjoy it!
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CHAPTER FIFTY
Varya stood outside of the Nott Manor, eyes sunken in a downcasted expression, and she played her pendant between fragile digits, skimming the pattern of the skull and the snake as she waited for the Knights of Walpurgis to parade themselves down the entrance staircase.
It was Elladora Selwyn and Renold Rosier who arrived first, dressed in fine garments of the times, and Varya cherished the redhead's dark beret and long coat that she hid underneath, making her an apparition of obscuration and flame. Ren saluted the Eastern witch, and his eyes shimmered with shenanigans as they neared her.
"I see you are doing quite alright," he quipped, then his eyes fell on the necklace, "Beautiful thing there. I would ask who gave it to you, but I must say that everyone in the Manor heard it last night."
He winced as Elladora spanked him over the head, sending his curls flying around, "You filthy swine! Must I remind you how many times I have stood awake to you, pounding some girl on the wall behind my bed? Or, perhaps, that time, I walked in on you kissing that French waiter in the kitchens of my favorite restaurant on Rue du Moulin?"
"All in good faith, regardless."
"All of depravity and immorality, I say."
"Indiscretions are my specialty," the French boy sniggered, then he turned angelic eyes to the Eastern girl, "Worry not, I will not think much of it."
Varya bit down her lip apprehensively, then pressed hands against her flamed face. It was not Rosier that she was troubled about, but rather Icarus, who had surely heard everything. Right on cue, the Lestrange boy dragged his suitcase down with a morose look on his face. His eyes were bronze medallions, and his locks fell around his face in a perfect mixture of effortless beauty and style.
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