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Catching Up
Topic Started: Aug 5 2011, 02:23 AM (150 Views)
Veronica Banks
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Groaning slightly, Veronica rolled over to slap absently at the muggle alarm clock that was beeping loudly on the bedside table by her head. Prying one heavy eyelid open, she saw that it was nearly eleven.

She could sleep for another fifteen minutes and still make lunch on time, she bargained with herself as she rolled over. Her pillows felt unbelievably comfortable and her blankets has formed a perfect cocoon around her. She was fairly sure that there had never been a more luxurious bed in all the world. As she snuggled back against the soft pillow, she felt the unmistakable raspy sensation of a rough tongue lapping gently at her cheek. It brought a smile to her face as she opened her eyes again. She reached up to scratch the old calico cat behind his ears.

“Morning Thurston.” She murmured. “Just let me sleep for another ten minutes, alright?” Her eyes were already closing. She hadn’t gotten to bed until sometime after the sun had begun to rise. She’d been on call at St Mungo’s for the past 36 hours and she was exhausted.

Thurston’s meow was not a happy one as he reached out to bat her face with his paw. She knew the poor thing needed breakfast. He was not impressed with her work schedule as of late. Since she’d finished training a few months ago, she’d become a resident of the prestigious hospital. And being a resident meant a lot of very long, draining hours.

Veronica rolled over and pulled the blankets off as she swung her feet onto the cool stone floor. She grabbed her robe and pulled it on as she padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen. Her apartment was the tiny attic space of Mrs Haversham’s house. Mrs Haversham was a dear old woman who was a lifelong friend of her Gran’s. So when Veronica had begun healer training, the sweet woman had offered to put her up for a very reasonable rent. And Thurston had the older woman wrapped around his little paw. She checked in on him while Veronica was at work and judging from the weight he'd put on lately, she was feeding him all the treats he could eat.

She opened the cabinet to grab the bag of cat food and filled Thurston’s bowl. Then she brewed a very strong pot of coffee. As she waited for it to finish, she went over her plans for the day in her head. It was a rare occasion for her to actually get a full day off. She had to run to Gringott’s to get a bit of cash out, then to Flourish and Blotts to get a few more research books she’d ordered, then to the Apothecary to get more mullein, hawthorn and sagewort for Mrs. Haversham (she’d been running low on those last time Veronica had been down to see her) and finally to have a late lunch with Anne Kerrigan. The last of the list put a small grin on her face. It had been ages since she and Anne had had a chance to talk.

The war was taking its toll on all of them. The battles at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade had meant that Anne had been devoting all of her time at the school. Doing everything she could to protect her students from further harm. It was something Veronica admired greatly about her friend. Anne had a reputation as a very strict professor but she had a big heart and she truly cared about her students. More than that, she loved that school, always had.

The war had made life at St Mungo’s infinitely busier as well. There were mass casualties from the two large attacks but more than that, there was a steady stream of patients arriving from smaller scale attacks throughout the region. No where seemed safe anymore. Reed’s followers were brazen and vicious, not afraid to attack in daylight, or in public. There had been attacks in peoples home’s and in the streets. And these were savage attacks. Severe injuries caused by spells that none of the healers had ever heard of. They’d lost more patients that anyone cared to admit.

Veronica reached into another cupboard and pulled out her favourite mug. It was a garish orange monstrosity with Cannons written on the side. She couldn’t care less about quidditch, what she did care about was that the cup was enormous. It could hold the most coffee, therefore it was her favourite. Hell, she’d drink straight from the coffee pot if she didn’t think Mrs Haversham would report it back to her Gran. She smiled at the mere thought of her Gran’s reaction.

She filled the large mug with coffee and opened the fridge to grab the cream. The icebox was nearly empty but for a small container of cream (that was almost ready to expire) and a plate wrapped neatly in plastic film. Mrs. H. had brought her a plate of goodies. She pulled both out and set them on the counter. She added a splash of cream to her coffee and paused only for a moment before pouring some into Thurston’s bowl with his kibble. The old calico started to purr loudly and he rubbed his head against her hand for a second before lapping up the rich cream. She took a sip of the steaming hot coffee, not even caring that she was burning her tongue in the process. She simply needed the caffeine.

Pulling back the plastic wrap on the plate, Veronica grinned. Homemade biscuits and sweets. Just what she needed to get herself moving. She grabbed a chocolate square and munched on it as she brought it and the coffee with her into the bedroom to get ready. She pulled on her favourite jeans and sensible blouse before running a brush through her short blonde hair. She’d cut it short after she graduated from Hogwarts. Training to be a healer had left her little time to be fussing about with her hair every morning. The cropped hair was simple and it suited her.

As she readied to leave the apartment, she stooped to pick up Thurston who was finished breakfast by now and was sprawled out on the only spot of sunlight peeking into the apartment at this time of day. She planted a kiss on his head and scratched the back of his ear again. “I’ll be back later and I plan on spending the rest of the day napping… so we will get some quality bonding time.”

She was pretty sure he was asleep again before she could even set him down. Thurston could sleep through anything.

The rest of the morning was a blur. She hurried about getting her errands done and arrived at The Leaky Cauldron with ten minutes to spare. The lunch rush had long since finished and she had no problems finding an empty table. As she settled down, she ordered another cup of coffee and pulled out one of the new books she’d just purchased. Aberforth Ahearn’s Guide to Healing Stubborn Hexes She had a few minutes to spare before Anne arrived so she decided to put that time to good use, maybe she could find something in here to help with the mysterious and deadly symptoms they were seeing at St Mungo’s lately.
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Anne Kerrigan
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She had never been more exhausted in her life. It was the type of weariness that sunk straight to the bone, affecting not only her physical capabilities, but her emotional capacity as well. Through sheer will she managed to keep to her feet, striding through the corridors with the confident step of somebody who had seen tragedy and refused to be cowed. Her students responded to her own fortitude, straightening their backs ever so slightly. Perhaps that was the fuel she was using.

It was fine that nobody noticed how her eyes stared determinedly forward when she passed a newly repaired part of the school, or that her pace quickened almost imperceptibly. Nobody need know that she carefully applied a spell that erased the circles under her eyes and smoothed her hair into a sharp, precise bun. And certainly nobody would ever discover the silencing charm she had put around her sleeping quarters, confining her restless gasps and terrified whimpers to the room. Despite the nightmares that plagued her, the crawling sensation of her skin when she was alone, the feeling of Reed’s eyes seeming to follow her every move… Anne’s head was high, her appearance impeccable, and her behavior normal.

Only she knew how she teetered on the edge of something vast and horrifying.

But there was something she could rely on to get her blood stirring, grounding her so forcefully that she always managed to forget the abyss she dangled over. It wasn’t the classroom or the children, though that responsibility certainly kept her alert and busy.

It was Dylan. Dylan and his conniving, snarky, smirking self. Dylan and his ability to turn every strand of her honey-colored hair gray before she reached thirty. Dylan and her brother, who had become so inseparable as of late that she would have expected them to have taken baths as toddlers together. They already had inside jokes, dear Merlin, and it had been what, a week since she had pulled their sorry drunk behinds out of the Hogs Head? It irked her to no end, this new bromance that they had managed to strike up. Yet, what concerned her even more was how much it annoyed her. Why should she care that Andy happened to view Dylan in a more sympathetic light than her? It wasn’t as if she was jealous of their friendship. Certainly not. Never.

A frown touched her painted lips, her steps falling a bit heavier than normal on the sidewalk as she paused, looking both ways before crossing the street. She hefted her purse further up her shoulder, simultaneously checking her watch. Five minutes before she was due. She would make it exactly on time, as was her way. Never late, but never early.

She slipped back into her thoughts, letting the faces of the people she passed blur into the background.

The world would be a much better place without men. That was the conclusion that Anne had drawn. She had never particularly considered herself a feminist, but Merlin, Dylan might just be enough to fling her over that line. Though to be fair, this rather radical idea had come from another male entirely.

See, Andy and Dylan seemed to have decided that they couldn’t just be a duo, oh no, they had to go and be a trio. Now, Anne was the one forced to deal with the consequences of their actions. Honestly, she knew Andy was by no means discriminatory in his friends, but the damned boy could start choosing ones that did not already have a connection to her. It was starting to become detrimental to her lifestyle.

Dusty Slant (yes, that Slant’s brother) had naturally been in the bar, she had momentarily looked at him, and wha-la. Some instantaneous, one-sided bond had formed between them. It was a complex. She was doomed to have every Slant in the world infatuated with her. All of whom, she was beginning to think, had an obsession with pirates. And yes, there were in fact more brothers, one of whom was supposedly named Olaf and ran his own swan-boat paddling company. She knew this from Dusty, who had ever so subtly suggested they ride one of said boats down the Tunnel of Love.

She was fairly certain Dylan literally pee’d himself upon hearing that. Andy had been far too fascinated with the idea of using live swans as boats to notice.

This was why she was extremely thankful that her closest friend, her dearest companion, her probably only love was a woman.

Veronica Banks, the only person in Hogwarts who had ever understood Anne completely. They were sisters separated at birth, both ambitious and highly intelligent, both working with an unmatched drive to accomplish their every goal. The only difference between them came in their chosen career paths, though this was definitely not a hitch in their relationship. If anything, it made them work better for they did not have to compete against each other. While Anne had taken the teacher route, Veronica worked the long, grueling hours of a Healer. In fact, it was this that kept them from going months without seeing each other. Still, no matter how out of contact they were, whenever they did spare some time to call or meet, it was as if they had seen each other every day until that point. Veronica was the only one whom Anne would pour out her ever secret and thought without discretion, instinctively knowing that Veronica would accept everything in stride without judgment. Anne did the same for her in turn. They were equals in each other’s eyes, the only one she felt that way about.

Bells clinked as she pushed the door open, her eyes adjusting almost immediately to the dim interior. It took her but a moment’s scanning of the room to identify the head of blonde hair seated at a nearby table. A tiny smile touched the corner or her lips as she moved purposely towards the beacon, gracefully swiveling around pulled out chairs and strewn bags.

“I have a proposition to address,” she stated evenly as she slipped her fingers around the back of the empty chair opposite to her friend. Curious eyes rose from a book to regard her as Anne kept talking, concurrently settling herself into the seat.

“It namely involves men being shipped off to a remote island where they can practice their asinine pick-up lines on each other,” she continued dryly, her lips pressing together to form a thin line. “There will also be a dictionary with the exact translation of 'not in this lifetime buddy'. It’ll do women everywhere a favor.”
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Veronica Banks
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Veronica lifted her head from the book she was reading as the waiter set down a steaming pot of tea on the table in front of her. She cast a distracted but bright smile of thanks at him as she reached up to pour herself a cup.

The young man was a few years younger than her and if she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed how attractive he was. Or the fact that he was lingering at her table far longer than necessary. His hopeful grin was completely ignored as she lifted the teacup to her lips and let her eyes drift back down the book held open before her.

Aberforth Ahearn had some odd ideas about healing. His writing style was a verbose and insulting prose that vaguely skimmed over the real issues but there were some intriguing and possibly valid theories hidden beneath his ramblings. He drew comparisons to several ancient spells that she’d never heard of. As she dog earred the corner of the page, a deep tone broke into her thoughts.

“Excuse me, darling?”

“Yes?” Veronica couldn’t hide the puzzled, yet mildly annoyed look from her eyes as she looked up at the tall stranger. His light brown hair was a bit too long and looked as though he spent a great deal of time making himself looking casually disheveled. His stylish clothes were clearly expensive and bit too bright for her tastes. Honestly, what man looked good in that shade of acid green? The merry glint in his hazel eyes was evident as he leaned close to her. His tone lowered just a tiny bit.

“I was wondering if you could tell me the time.” His smile was just a touch too charming. Veronica’s own expression became a bit guarded as she pointedly looked up at the large clock on the wall.

“It’s almost three.” Her tone was dry, but it didn’t even phase the smarmy stranger. If anything his grin widened slightly.

“Three pm? Thank you so much. I just want to remember the exact moment that I met the woman of my dreams.”

Veronica couldn’t stifle the groan at the ridiculously cheesy pick up line. Nor did she try to. She chuckled with a shake of her head.

“Really?” She asked. “That’s the best you’ve got, Mr…?”

“Finn Lancaster.” His beaming grin was mildly expectant, as though his name should mean something to her. She couldn’t help but disappoint him, she’d never heard the name before. “Of the Cannons?”

She simply shrugged and shook her head but it was enough to dim the confident grin slightly. She continued on in a gentle tone. She wasn't trying to be rude, she was honestly just giving him a way out. “Listen, Mr Lancaster. I’m sure you are a charming fellow but honestly, I’m not interested. So, why not just part now before things get awkward?”

“Aw, angelface, you just have to give me a chance. I simply can’t bear to see a beautiful woman sitting alone with her nose buried in a boring book.” He took a seat across from her and leaned his elbows on the table. “I guarantee you that I’m far more interesting that whatever you are reading.”

“Really? This book is pretty interesting” She pushed her book aside and leaned forward on the table. Closing the distance between them down to a few inches. “Make you a deal, Finn. You tell me how to reverse a hex that causes human bones to turn as brittle as glass then I’ll not only invite you to join me for lunch, but I’ll even treat.”

“Glass?” His grin finally faltered. “I…”

“Right. Thanks for stopping by, Finn.” And with that, Veronica pulled her book back toward herself and began to read again. She barely smothered an amused smirk from lighting her face, as he got up quietly and made his way out of the bar. Incidents like this weren’t uncommon. Veronica had fended off her fair share of cocky Casanovas over the years. She was flattered by the attention but she was determined to focus on her career. There was simply no time for anything else at the moment.

Healing was her life and she knew what she wanted to accomplish. She wasn’t going to let anything to get in her way of achieving those goals. As she tried to get back into the book, she knew she’d have to accept the fact that Mr. Lancaster had destroyed her concentration but before she could put it away, another voice broke into her thoughts.

“I have a proposition to address,”

Veronica’s broke into a warm smile as her eyes raised to take in the slender figure of her old friend, Anne Kerrigan standing before her. In a graceful move, she pulled the chair opposite Veronica out and sat down.

“A proposition?” Veronica quirked a brow as her lips curled into an amused little grin.

“It namely involves men being shipped off to a remote island where they can practice their asinine pick-up lines on each other,” she continued dryly. “There will also be a dictionary with the exact translation of 'not in this lifetime buddy'. It’ll do women everywhere a favor.”

“You have my full support in this plan.” For a moment, she wondered just how long Anne had been in the bar. Maybe the professor had witnessed Finn Lancaster’s ill-fated attempt at picking her up. “I don’t think a single one of them will learn a damn thing though. Do you have a backup plan?”

She reached for the teapot and lifted it up to pour Anne a cup of the still steaming tea. Her tone was matter of fact when she continued. “There have been studies that show certain classical conditioning methods can be quite effective.” A teasing glint lit her blue eyes as she met Anne’s gaze. “Perhaps some shock therapy will help train them out of the ridiculous notion that they are Merlin’s gift to women?”
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Anne Kerrigan
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“You have my full support in this plan,” Veronica approved predictably. It was one of the qualities that Anne loved most about the other woman. She had never been prone to tittering giggle fits whenever a handsome man walked into the room. Well, handsome man being acne-faced boy since she based this conclusion on their Hogwarts days. Honestly, Anne had never understood the appeal of the opposite sex in school. Sure, she had admired Danny Parker’s toned physique and Ethan Lewis’ charming grin with the rest of them, but never had obsession taken root. While the other girls were drooling on the sidelines of the Quidditch Pitch on hot, steamy days, Anne was in the library expanding her knowledge, not her fatuity. On such days, Veronica was the only other student left behind with Anne, a situation that proved her worth and esteem in the brunette’s eyes. Well, unless you counted Willy McDougal, whom Anne certainly did not, for she had always loathed that despicable, provocative boy, possibly more than Dylan, which was really saying something.

It always seemed astonishing how many childhood memories could be brought back by just seeing her old friends face. But this was not the time to reminisce about Willy’s challenge that he could produce a Felix Felicis potion quicker than her, only to have it blow up and singe his eyebrows completely off (even if this did threaten to draw a triumphant smile even now). No, Veronica deserved her full, unwavering attention, as the two hadn’t spoken face-to-face in what had to be a year now. Time really did seem to fly. And yet, she was still only twenty-four years old. She felt as though she had already reached her thirties.

“I don’t think a single one of them will learn a damn thing though,” her astute friend advised, causing Anne to concur with the sound judgment. “Do you have a backup plan?” There was a twinkle in Veronica’s sapphire gaze that prompted Anne to purse her lips in dramatic thought.

Naturally, Veronica had something in mind, which she revealed as soon as she had poured Anne a cup of warm tea. The blonde had that ability to conform to decorum as easily as if she had spent a lifetime learning the art of pouring tea and folding napkins. Anne considered it a rare gift, as fluidity in this department was rather rare, with more attention being placed on the practice than was needed. For example, Douglas Sullivan, the Charms Professor, who insisted on whipping his napkin as if he were snapping a towel before tucking it with a flourish into his collar. Every single night. Anne had learned to start her conversation with him after the ostentatious display had been performed, as it was guaranteed to disrupt any attempts at communication.

“There have been studies that show certain classical conditioning methods can be quite effective,” Veronica continued, oblivious to Anne’s musings and her own display of incredible intelligence. Some could consider it haughty speaking so, but for Anne, it was rather refreshing.

“Perhaps some shock therapy will help train them out of the ridiculous notion that they are Merlin’s gift to women?” the blonde finished, laughter sparkling from her eyes. Anne allowed the corners of her lips to tuck upwards briefly, tilting her head slightly as she picked up her cup.

“Yes, that would work,” Anne consented thoughtfully, before adding somewhat dryly, “if men didn’t have the inane ability to transform everything into a sexual exploit.” She shook her head, nose wrinkling in disgust as she regarded the liquid in her cup, though the repugnance was not directed at the tea.

“There’s a new… flying instructor,” she presented the title with a small grimace, “though I believe ‘bane of my existence’ would be a more suitable way to describe his purpose in life…” she countered with a sullen mutter, pausing for a moment to catch her previous train of thought. “Whom I have the displeasure of working with,” Anne continued, setting her tea down once more, her amber eyes flying up to catch curious blue. A frown crossed her lips.

“He would probably think shock therapy was a new form of bondage and craft us into dominatrixes.” The bitter tone of her words lingered for a moment before she supplanted them with a rare demonstration of her coarser humor, shown only to those closest to her.

“Which is really rather wearisome as I not only have never found leather corsets comfortable in the least, but I’ve seemed to have misplaced my whip as well.”
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Veronica Banks
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The heat of the delicate porcelain teacup warmed her palms as she wrapped both hands around the cup before her. Veronica’s attention was focused on her oldest, dearest friend as she peered at Anne through the lazy curls of steam rising from the surface. She let a small smile linger on her face as Anne began to speak.

“Yes, that would work,” Anne admitted as she picked up her own steaming cup of tea, “if men didn’t have the inane ability to transform everything into a sexual exploit.”

Veronica had to nod her head in agreement. It was a fact that most men were stuck at a perpetually adolescent stage mentally. It was beyond frustrating. She’d faced more than her fair share of hormone driven buffoons attempting to catch her attention over the years. And the sad part was that it hadn’t let up in at all in the years since graduating from Hogwarts. She was beginning to contemplate a hex first policy when being forced to deal with said buffoons.

Yet even as she was quietly mulling over her own thoughts, her eyes fell onto her friend’s face. The professor’s face held the signs of exhaustion that Veronica recognized as similar to the ones she’d seen on her own reflection in the mirror recently. The dark circles that ringed the perceptive brown eyes. Her smooth complexion was pale. Obviously, the attack on the school had left Anne in a bit of a stressed state. Veronica felt a wave of concern wash over her. Anne was not one to ask for help but perhaps a mild sleeping draught would be warranted in this situation.

“There’s a new… flying instructor,” she continued, not noticing Veronica’s keen gaze, “though I believe ‘bane of my existence’ would be a more suitable way to describe his purpose in life…” Her tone was dark and dour. Clearly this new instructor had gotten under her skin. “Whom I have the displeasure of working with,”

“He would probably think shock therapy was a new form of bondage and craft us into dominatrixes.” Anne set the tea down as a frown lingered on her face. Her eyes lifted back up to Veronica’s. There was a tiny glimmer of amusement hidden in the brown irises, that sparked an expectant grin from Veronica. Anne Kerrigan was a strict professor, a dedicated educator and to a select few people, an incredibly funny individual. Veronica counted herself lucky that she was among the few who were privy to this side of the brunette.

“Which is really rather wearisome as I not only have never found leather corsets comfortable in the least, but I’ve seemed to have misplaced my whip as well.” She continued with a spark of merriment lingering in her words.

Veronica burst out laughing. The very thought of either of them as a dominatrix was simply absurd. “I’d lend you my whip but I’m contemplating on bringing it with me everywhere from now on. There are simply too many imbeciles out there to deal with in the constraints of polite company. Perhaps a whip is the only way to go.”

“Although, I’ll have to agree with you on the corsets. I’ll have to refuse. Why can’t dominatrixes wear a pair of comfy flannel pajamas? I mean, honestly. I’m much too tired at the end of the day to think about trying to bind myself into something as ridiculous as a leather corset.”

“This flying instructor sounds like a real peach.” She didn’t bother to hide the cheeky grin as she leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess, another one of Reynolds projects? Another criminal seeking atonement for his petty crimes?” She asked with an eye roll.

While she admired everything the older man had accomplished in his long career, she could never understand his need to offer up second chances the way Dumbledore had been rumoured to offer sherbet lemons. Not everyone could change, and even if they could, most wouldn’t want to. Those fighting for Reed weren’t misguided or lost. They were fighting for evil, and in Veronica’s eyes, that made them evil as well.

There may have been a time back in school where she’d been more of an idealist. She’d believed that there was a chance for everyone to change. That everyone deserved a chance at redemption.

That wasn’t a feeling she held onto any longer. Perhaps she had been jaded by the horrors she faced every single day at St Mungo’s. Gruesome injuries that they couldn’t heal. The screams of gut wrenching pains that rang in her ears, long after her shifts ended. Bruises, blood, flayed skin, shattered bones, internal burns – these were the injuries that haunted her every day. And it was endless torment to not be able to help. They were magical, for Merlin’s sake. They should be able to help, they should be able to heal. But the dark wizards. Reed’s wizards, made damn sure that they were unable to do a damn thing.

“Perhaps the headmaster needs to visit us at the hospital.” She responded, her tone a tiny bit bitter. “Maybe that would help him to rethink his policy on second chances for all.”

“Sorry, it’s been a rough week. For all of us, I suppose.” She glanced up at Anne with a bit of a start. She hadn’t meant to bring the mood down. She offered in way of apology. “Don’t mind me, apparently I’m in a bit of a mood. Lack of sleep and all.” She flashed a grin at her friend.
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The laughter that burst from Veronica’s lips was welcomed dearly, a sorely missed friend whose mere presence could lift Anne’s spirits. She hadn’t even realized how deeply she had descended into her depression. But sink she had, though she hadn’t floundered in it. Controlled, smooth was her submersion, enabling her to carry the weight of it like a lie. Her features unclouded of its effect, her back straight and strong, muscles tight, not daring to show the quiver of the strain on them. It was an impeccable mask, one that had fooled even her. Until now, when the bright laugh of a friend could both bear pain and tug hopefully at her heart. She brushed it aside, much as she had done with all disconcerting emotion lately, keeping that deceitful facade intact.

“I’d lend you my whip but I’m contemplating on bringing it with me everywhere from now on,” Veronica responded humorously. “There are simply too many imbeciles out there to deal with in the constraints of polite company. Perhaps a whip is the only way to go.” Anne allowed appreciative amusement to enter her stare, causing her lips to quirk that slight fraction upwards, the corners digging into her prominent cheekbones.

“Although, I’ll have to agree with you on the corsets,” she continued, apparently pleased with the reaction she was receiving from Anne. “I’ll have to refuse. Why can’t dominatrixes wear a pair of comfy flannel pajamas? I mean, honestly. I’m much too tired at the end of the day to think about trying to bind myself into something as ridiculous as a leather corset.”

Here, here. And had she been a rebellious young woman, dismissing all decorum, she would have raised a fork wildly above her head while shouting just that. But she wasn’t some young upstart, eyes glittering with drive and determination and an appreciation for her personal rights as an individual. No, she was a strict adherer to rules, a stern, civilized lady wrapped as tight as her bun. She sipped her tea instead.

“This flying instructor sounds like a real peach,” Veronica mused, lounging against the back of her chair with a knowing tilt of her lips. Shockingly, the comment caused a spark of irritation. It was brief, quickly smothered by Anne in her own astonishment. The statement itself was to be expected, a friend just being a friend and following that unspoken code to always agree with the other on topics of men they had never met. Anne did not fault her in the slightest. And yet, to hear somebody else talk ill of Dylan had almost caused her to bristle, defensive words springing to the tip of her tongue. What did that mean, then, when she decided that only she was allowed to demean Dylan? Just another worry she now had to add to her list.

“Let me guess, another one of Reynolds projects?” Veronica continued, her blue eyes sparkling with comprehension. “Another criminal seeking atonement for his petty crimes?” The eye roll that accompanied the question confirmed the uneasy direction their conversation had taken. It was one of the only differences between the women, and one that had formed only recently. Anne watched, perturbed, as Veronica’s optimism slowly waned through the years, brilliant eyes dimming as interminable time passed them by. She didn’t want to know the horrors that she saw reflected as haunted shadows from the sapphire depths of her eyes, but whatever it was Veronica saw, it had a profound effect. There was once a time when they had both believed that everybody could saved, whether it was a flick of their wand or a slap on the wrist, even a display of affection.

And now? Veronica could no longer bother to think it. Anne... well, she had observed the demon suck the compassion right out of her, swallowing it into an abyss void of morality. Torturing her with it. And she still wasn’t whole. She clung to the idea, however, stubborn to the bitter end that reformation could occur. Because without hope, she was certainly lost. Without conscience, she would never feel truly alive again.

Unbidden, an image of Dylan flitted across her mind. Angled cheeks and wicked smirk and eyes the color of breaking waves. The nearly imperceptible crease in his brow as he stared at her in what could only be concern. The way only his sympathy could reach like a fist into her chest, grab her heart in its tightened grip, and squeeze until she broke. A lump formed in her throat.

Don’t take him from me. I still need him!

She pushed it away again, focused on the past night when he had proved himself to still be that prickly thorn in her side. A royal pain in her ass. So Anne nodded in reply to her friend’s assessment, wisely choosing not to comment further on the issue.

“Perhaps the headmaster needs to visit us at the hospital,” Veronica said, clearly stuck on the thought. There was the faintest tinge of resentment in her voice as she added, “Maybe that would help him to rethink his policy on second chances for all.”

There was a somberness that crept over her form then, sorrow softening her features that slightest bit. Because he didn’t need to visit a hospital to see it. It had been in his very halls. The castle transformed into a morgue within hours. The stones cracking, bleeding, crying out in echoing anguish, clearly audible in the silent corridors. Student’s, innocent student’s, the purest of human beings, blank slates to be sculpted and molded, just discovering their purpose in the world. Bodies mutilated, limp, eyes open, lifeless, skin withered, torn. Organs and bone and muscle and everything scarlet, crimson, red!

Red, red, red...

For fuck sake’s, they were only children!

She breathed in, her lungs tight, and she wanted to wince with the pain of it all. Knock skulls and crush throats, tilt her head back and scream another “Why?!” Furious at the world. At him. At the pathetic belief that violence creates respect, that murder is the pinnacle of ultimate power.

Somehow, she didn’t, remaining a stoic form in her seat, untouched by grief. The turmoil was kept hidden within, not even the barest flicker of it crossing the contours of her face. When had she become so skilled in disguise?

“Sorry, it’s been a rough week. For all of us, I suppose,” she seemed to sigh before startling, looking up to meet Anne’s careful gaze as though just coming back to herself. For a moment fear struck her as Anne wondered how much Veronica knew about that day. As if on cue, the healing flesh of her abdomen ached, reminding her of her mortality once again. She deliberately did not disclose her injuries to anybody, a selfish desire to not deal with people’s empathy. It was already bad enough that Garridan and Dylan knew about it, and the nurse whom she had not let fully heal her. But to have Veronica, even Andy know the torment Reed and his woman had put her through? No.

No.

“Don’t mind me, apparently I’m in a bit of a mood. Lack of sleep and all,” Veronica grinned apologetically, an attempt at normalcy once again. What was normalcy now? Everything had become atypical. Attacks in broad daylight, attacks on Hogwarts, attacks by evil of the foulest nature. That was not normal. She hoped it didn’t become so.

Rousing herself, casting away the beginning of the week as though it had never happened, Anne bestowed her oldest friend with a narrow stare.

“Do I need to remind your supervisors that Wizarding Worker Laws are still in effect,” she queried, only half-seriously, “and that they have certain rights that need to be adhered to?” It was at that moment that she realized how rigidly she had been seated, her knuckles white from where she had been holding the handle of her cup in a bruising grip. She forcibly relaxed herself as she added, “For example, the right to a bed and the ability to lie in it?”

Her tone was purposely kept light, good-natured.

“Or does this exhaustion stem from another source?” she added, a perfectly poised brow arching over a sly gaze, “Something a tad more masculine with certain pleasing, exhaustion-inducing bits?”

All that existed in this moment was her blonde-haired, snarky friend and the pleasure her company afforded Anne.

There was no death. There were no nightmares. And there certainly weren’t ice-blue demonic eyes.
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Veronica Banks
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There was a certain look that entered Anne’s eyes every time Veronica spoke ill of Reynolds. And Veronica knew why. Throughout their years in the prominent school, both girls had held a certain respect and admiration for the headmaster. His magnanimous view on the world and his hopeful approach had been seen by most people as far too idealistic to be practical. But he was Garridan Reynolds, one of the greatest wizards of the century, so he was granted a great deal of latitude in his philosophical beliefs. No one was about to tell this man that he was a fool for believing so wholeheartedly in redemption and penitence. So as wide eyed, impressionable youths, she and Anne had taken his approach to heart. They had believed in him completely.

Merlin, she could still remember the optimism that had coloured their own views. Everything seemed brighter, hopeful and alive. She missed that feeling. Working at the hospital had dimmed that outlook for her. The tragedies she faced everyday had taken some of the colour from her world and painted it with dark strokes of realism. She knew that not everything still had that rosy hue she’d once taken for granted. Harsh and unapologetic, the dark shades dulled the sunny optimism she’d once held so dear.

It was the one facet of their relationship on which Anne and Veronica agreed to disagree. And one they rarely spoke of. She was immediately sorry for having brought it up to her friend. Merlin’s beard, maybe if she wasn’t so bloody tired, she’d have been able to keep her traitorous tongue under control.

Luckily, Anne seemed just as eager to dismiss that conversation topic before it got going. Veronica smiled gratefully at her friend.

“Do I need to remind your supervisors that Wizarding Worker Laws are still in effect,” Anne asked as she sipped her tea. Her mildly teasing tone held a faint edge to it. Veronica knew she only had to say a word and Anne would do just what she had suggested. It was another part of Anne's personality that Veronica adored. She was such a dedicated friend and protector. She always had been. Throughout school (and even now) she knew that Anne would be at her side in a moment's notice if Veronica needed her. “and that they have certain rights that need to be adhered to? For example, the right to a bed and the ability to lie in it?”

Veronica sighed. Bed… wasn’t that just the most delectable word in the English language. It just conjured up images of comfortable, soft pillows, fluffy blankets and crisp white linen. It was pretty much the only thing she ever craved nowadays. Just a few solid hours of sleep, though that was never going to happen. Not with the horrors she witnessed everyday haunting her every dream. Not even sheer exhaustion was enough to dull the nightmares some nights. She’d wake up in a panic, tears streaming down her cheeks as she found herself tangled in sweat soaked sheets.

“Or does this exhaustion stem from another source?” Anne arched a brow with a slightly devious grin curving her lips upward “Something a tad more masculine with certain pleasing, exhaustion-inducing bits?”

And Veronica’s cheeks filled with colour as she chuckled at the notion. Maybe sleep wasn’t the only thing she craved.

The last man she’d been with had been Lucas Weaver. The good looking, intelligent, very married muggle doctor who’d consulted on a case a few months back. There had been an outbreak of dragon pox in the small village of Sheffield just before the war had begun. The town was populated mainly by muggles but for Lucas’s wife, Amelie – a young French witch close to Veronica’s age. Because of her magical connections, Lucas had been brought in by the ministry to help heal the community while maintaining the Statute of Secrecy.

Lucas was tall and slim, with black hair and intense blue eyes. He was the sort of man that could make the nurses blush with nothing more than a wink. Worse than that, he was a genuinely kind man. A gentle, but confident bedside manner that immediately put his patients at ease.

He and Veronica had worked closely together for several weeks - doling out potions and monitoring patients. Over that time, they had grown rather close and late one night, the pair had settled onto the sofa in his office for a nightcap. One drink led to another, and it wasn’t long before they were sharing a passionate but drunken night together.

They’d woken up together in the wee hours of the morning, naked and hungover. She had been filled with an almost unbearable shame and Lucas couldn’t even look at her. He mumbled his apologies and profusely claimed that this had never happened before. That he loved his wife and it could never happen again. Veronica apparated out before things could get more awkward and gone to her superiors to be reassigned. She hadn’t seen him since, nor did she have any desire to. She was humiliated at how she’d behaved that night. It was the only one night stand she’d ever had and it had been with another woman’s man. She had been (and still was) mortified at her behavior.

“Who has time for a man?” She asked with a deliberately glib tone as she pushed memories of Lucas from her mind. “I barely have time for a shower these days.”

And it was true. Since the war had begun, she had been incredibly busy. Focused and dedicated solely on her job. She’d always wanted to help people, maybe that was due in part to Reynolds’s idealistic influence over her formative years. Veronica worked through her exhaustion and frustration to help ease as much of the suffering as she possibly could, most of the time it came at a cost to her own well-being. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had more than a few hours sleep at a time. And she was running on a steady combination of caffeine and adrenaline, food was a luxury that she rarely had time for anymore.

Yet, she wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. She loved what she did, and though there were days where it was all she could do not to sit down and cry, the other days made it all seem worthwhile. The days where she was able to pull someone back from the brink of death. To see a family reunited because she had been able to help bring them back to health. To see the pain ease from a child’s eyes because she’d managed to diagnose the problem. Those were the reason she worked so tirelessly in her career.

“What about you, Anne?” Veronica set her teacup down and grinned at her old friend. It felt good to be a little gossipy and let a lighthearted mood settle in once again. “Any new men at the old school who are keeping you up at night?”


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