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"So she's a little bit like some kind of... Not a tool, because she's a person, but a means of using it like a wand? A conduit, maybe, for the raw power we have, just like what we use our wands for." She nods her head, thinking about it. The hands in her hair are comforting and she lets herself have a moment of thought. "I know how to use my shard to make myself a little stronger, but I haven't been practising much - I learned from Lancelot and we've both been a bit busy."
Leaning back a little, she makes a noise, squeezing the bone one.
"Did you make them, Harry? Do you think you could show me how, if you did - and could we enchant the other ones, the ones that aren't bone?" Always eager to learn, always wanting to have as much as her service as she can.
Leaning back a little, she makes a noise, squeezing the bone one.
"Did you make them, Harry? Do you think you could show me how, if you did - and could we enchant the other ones, the ones that aren't bone?" Always eager to learn, always wanting to have as much as her service as she can.
"She's a Revenant. I say she's a person, so do you, but everything we've found and read says she's a weapon." He pauses, adjusting how he's holding the brush and her hair. Harry isn't good at talking about these sorts of things, and his voice is soft when he speaks, "I can't let that happen to her."
"I did make them." Grateful for the topic change, he continues on. "But they need to be bone, and bone from the animal whose traits you want to use."
"I did make them." Grateful for the topic change, he continues on. "But they need to be bone, and bone from the animal whose traits you want to use."
"It's not that simple, then, is it. She has feelings, she has thoughts, she has dreams, surely? Just because people say she's something doesn't mean she is. She's your friend, Harry, and that's what's important." Her own voice is soft and careful and she hums as she rolls the beads in her hand.
"Show me? I can work with bone, and animals. It's easier to hunt when I'm in my other form - it doesn't feel as terrible, tracking down animals. It's almost instinct, really."
"Show me? I can work with bone, and animals. It's easier to hunt when I'm in my other form - it doesn't feel as terrible, tracking down animals. It's almost instinct, really."
[When the harp music began Remus had thought it quite bizarre, but had not really thought much more of it, until he realized that it followed him everywhere it went, even into his dreams. As the days progress on, while Hermione puts her excess of emotion (and no doubt frustration) into her researching the phenomenon, getting to the bottom of it and solving the puzzle, Remus sinks into what he is loathe to admit is probably one of the deepest depressions he's ever allowed himself to fall into since James and Lily died and Sirius went to Azkaban for betraying them and killing Peter and everything he had ever known and loved fell out from underneath his feet literally overnight.
He sits at the little chair and table in his room, his gaze fixed out the window, one hand on the table, the other on Padfoot's head as it rests in his lap. Padfoot does not understand what is going on or what is wrong, just that something is, and he's doing his best to try and help. Remus understands that. He's just not sure there's anything to be done. Anything he can do. He misses his friends. He misses things he cannot have anymore, will never have again. He doesn't have the energy for putting on appearances, not for the last while, hasn't really had the energy for much of anything, either than taking care of Padfoot and only the most basic of care for himself.]
He sits at the little chair and table in his room, his gaze fixed out the window, one hand on the table, the other on Padfoot's head as it rests in his lap. Padfoot does not understand what is going on or what is wrong, just that something is, and he's doing his best to try and help. Remus understands that. He's just not sure there's anything to be done. Anything he can do. He misses his friends. He misses things he cannot have anymore, will never have again. He doesn't have the energy for putting on appearances, not for the last while, hasn't really had the energy for much of anything, either than taking care of Padfoot and only the most basic of care for himself.]
Edited 2015-03-15 14:50 (UTC)
[ Hermione hadn't been sure how to handle the harp music. She's been around the idea of things happening in dreams before, the power of it, the pulse of something drawing her back into sleep, but she had never felt the visions outside of her sleeping thoughts. The harp music follows her, makes her anxious and uncomfortable, and it had affected everything and everyone she had met. All she could do was bury herself in her books, forcing herself to shove herself into it, to feel it, to try and understand it -- even as she realises, slowly, that being awake isn't doing anything to make it go away. If anything it just makes it all the stronger.
It doesn't take her too long to find her way to Remus' room, to knock before she pokes her head inside. It's been a little while since she last saw him and she's worried, anxious about the impact the music might have had on him considering the weight of it on her. He looks so tired, so exhausted, that it makes her heart ache as she shuts the door behind her, walking over to brush her fingers over Padfoot's head and stroke behind his ears before she leans down, her arm sliding around Remus' body as she looks over at him.
Her voice, when she speaks, is soft and gentle. ]
Hi, Remus. How are you?
It doesn't take her too long to find her way to Remus' room, to knock before she pokes her head inside. It's been a little while since she last saw him and she's worried, anxious about the impact the music might have had on him considering the weight of it on her. He looks so tired, so exhausted, that it makes her heart ache as she shuts the door behind her, walking over to brush her fingers over Padfoot's head and stroke behind his ears before she leans down, her arm sliding around Remus' body as she looks over at him.
Her voice, when she speaks, is soft and gentle. ]
Hi, Remus. How are you?
"She does and she is." He looks at the braid he's done, at the fact that he's in a point where if he lets go, it'll unravel and then decides that what he wants to do is more important. He drops her hair and gives her a quick hug. "We're bound up so tight that it scares me. I've been trying to research what it all means, but with the library gone, I'm not having the luck I'd like. If you start to look, let me know, because I'll tell you what I've got. Give you somewhere to start."
"And for the bones, I'll show you. We'll find a good day to go and run around like idiots in the woods."
"And for the bones, I'll show you. We'll find a good day to go and run around like idiots in the woods."
She turns, wrapping herself around him easily, almost crawling into his lap as she leans close. Her hand touches the back of his head and she shakes her own, drawing him closer and letting herself have him here, gentle and warm in her arms, solid and alive. "I'll look for you, Harry. I'll do as much reading as I can to try and help you. I'll do whatever you need me to do and I won't fail this time. I promise." She leans back, her hands cupping his cheeks before she grins.
"It'll be just like home, then, won't it? I thought we'd had enough of us running around like prats in forests."
"It'll be just like home, then, won't it? I thought we'd had enough of us running around like prats in forests."
"I am an expert at being a prat in a forest. I think it's my true calling," he says with all due solemnity before trying to figure where he was in her braid again. Over? Under? Oh well, might as well unravel and redo it.
"I know, 'Mione, but you're also going to find out some ugly things. Reul is Linn's father and Revenants eat people. Like with the vampires, we've worked out a way to manage that so no one ...well, Linn suffers for it, but the others don't."
"I know, 'Mione, but you're also going to find out some ugly things. Reul is Linn's father and Revenants eat people. Like with the vampires, we've worked out a way to manage that so no one ...well, Linn suffers for it, but the others don't."
"You would say that. You didn't have to carry everything around while we were being prats." It's a joke, of course, considering that her bag wasn't heavy at all, but she settles and watches him all the same, her expression soft. Even as he continues, she keeps herself gently managed, nodding her head.
"Then we'll - I'll read what I can. I'll do whatever I can, Harry, to make it easier for the both of you." She isn't comfortable about it, happy about it, about Harry being tied with something (someone, she reminds herself) that eats people to survive, but he knows how she feels about it. She's sure about that. "We'll figure it out."
"Then we'll - I'll read what I can. I'll do whatever I can, Harry, to make it easier for the both of you." She isn't comfortable about it, happy about it, about Harry being tied with something (someone, she reminds herself) that eats people to survive, but he knows how she feels about it. She's sure about that. "We'll figure it out."
"I know we will. We always do." After deciding that the braid is done well enough, he taps at her hand for the beads. "And, you know, there's a bright side to this whole mess: I might finally trade in that terrible name I keep being called for something with a touch of class, like 'Royal Consort'."
Harry James Potter, don't you even.
Harry James Potter, don't you even.
"I will actually hit you if you even joke about that, Harry James Potter." She shakes her head, laughing. "Have you heard my full title lately? It's a little bit of a mouthful, but, really, I'm quite fond of it. I'm really learning about this place." She shifts, settling back against him, opening her hands to offer him the beads back.
"You better teach me everything you learn about magic, too."
"You better teach me everything you learn about magic, too."
[Faolan has been running the gamut of emotions ever since this business with the harps has started. He'd heard, through word of mouth, as the days passed and his feelings had careened everywhere from bitter self-loathing and hatred to intense and fiery anger to, much to his chagrin, deep affection, that it had something to do with the harps, and the secret to overcoming such things is to destroy the harp in his dreams. Such a thing he knows he will never be able to do, so he settles for second-best: waiting it out. He'd tried to spend as much time as he could to himself, although there was only so much avoiding people that he could manage, and avoiding Lancelot is most difficult of all. He handles himself as best as he can around the other man, but he is grateful when Lancelot announces he has a meeting that afternoon, and instead he is left to watch over Lady and Bridei.
At least, he had been grateful, until the harp started to work its way with him. And now there he remains, pacing the room, arms crossed across his chest, intense concern overtaking him. How is the meeting going, he wonders. Is everything alright? Should he have been there after all? Is Lancelot safe? Has something dire happened because Faolan has let down his guard? It's all he can do to stop himself from marching straight down there to find out, and probably only the presence of the little dragon that keeps him from it. The little dragon that, taking advantage of Faolan's distraction, has chosen this moment to climb his way up to the top of the drapes. Faolan only realizes what he's doing once he has flung himself from the fabric and down at him as he passes by, landing awkwardly sprawled across his shoulders and his head, little claws fumbling in his scalp for purchase.]
Bridei!
At least, he had been grateful, until the harp started to work its way with him. And now there he remains, pacing the room, arms crossed across his chest, intense concern overtaking him. How is the meeting going, he wonders. Is everything alright? Should he have been there after all? Is Lancelot safe? Has something dire happened because Faolan has let down his guard? It's all he can do to stop himself from marching straight down there to find out, and probably only the presence of the little dragon that keeps him from it. The little dragon that, taking advantage of Faolan's distraction, has chosen this moment to climb his way up to the top of the drapes. Faolan only realizes what he's doing once he has flung himself from the fabric and down at him as he passes by, landing awkwardly sprawled across his shoulders and his head, little claws fumbling in his scalp for purchase.]
Bridei!
"Of course." She might not like what he's learning, but he'll tell it all to her. "Now, you can't hit me while I'm putting these in or I'll drop them, we'll go looking for them, and knock our heads like coconuts."
"It's either joke about it or get business cards that say 'Beware the Dick Lord!' and I can't find a printshop I like."
"It's either joke about it or get business cards that say 'Beware the Dick Lord!' and I can't find a printshop I like."
"It wouldn't be the first time we've done something a little ridiculous, would it? I hope you remember the time I turned myself into a cat - everyone here thinks it's utterly hilarious." Not that she's being petulant, but she sniffs all the same, trying her best to hide it and not let on the fact that it still rather haunts her.
"Joke about it all you want, at least you've got one! Hermione Granger, Marchioness - or Marquis if you prefer - of the White Citadel and Sorceress-Protectress of Caer Glaem is far more of a mouthful."
"Joke about it all you want, at least you've got one! Hermione Granger, Marchioness - or Marquis if you prefer - of the White Citadel and Sorceress-Protectress of Caer Glaem is far more of a mouthful."
"You need a false identity. One you can pull on, hide your shard, and then just go out into the crowd." With a hum of thoughtfulness, he decides that the braids are done and her hair is just fine. It's mostly done in a simple series of plaits that will be easy enough to shake out later, but there's one piece that's a bit more tightly bound and that one holds the beads.
"I don't have any way of hiding my shard right now otherwise I might give it a go. Everything about me is a bit obvious now, especially with my new defining feature." She touches her face before she turns, lifting a hand to stroke over the braids before she smiles. "Maybe that should be a boon. A way to hide myself, so I can just be Hermione for a while."
I should say, it's more of an inscription than anything. Here, as follows...
[Apparently Gilgamesh has little use for traditional pen and paper. He simply takes her by the free hand, unfurls it gently finger by finger and starts to trace a series of symbols upon her palm. They are simple shapes, short in number, and yet more intricate than they would first seem; it is his name, written in cuneiform. GILGAMESH.
Over and over he traces with the tip of his finger. She may write it down if she so wishes, but this must be memorized into her very skin, which he seeks to do.]
Those. Etched on the very bottom. I leave the shape up to you, but they are the sacred letters of my tongue. I must have them.
[Apparently Gilgamesh has little use for traditional pen and paper. He simply takes her by the free hand, unfurls it gently finger by finger and starts to trace a series of symbols upon her palm. They are simple shapes, short in number, and yet more intricate than they would first seem; it is his name, written in cuneiform. GILGAMESH.
Over and over he traces with the tip of his finger. She may write it down if she so wishes, but this must be memorized into her very skin, which he seeks to do.]
Those. Etched on the very bottom. I leave the shape up to you, but they are the sacred letters of my tongue. I must have them.
"It's worth it, I think." Harry is quite glad that he's booned himself a way to hide his shard and that Aly had the good sense to tell him to set up another identity. Just in case things go terribly awry, he'll have something to fall back on.
[Remus is lost in thought - or more accurately consumed with his memories - that he hardly hears her come in until she's there at his side, her arm slipping around him. He can't really even find it within himself to be startled at her sudden appearance. She's welcome here, in his room, she knows that. Of course she's allowed to let herself as she did. He glances up at her and offers her a little, bittersweet smile, moving to place a hand on hers as he does.]
Hello, Hermione. I'm sorry, I was... [He takes in a deep breath, before continuing on to lie:] Gathering wool, I suppose. What brings you here?
Hello, Hermione. I'm sorry, I was... [He takes in a deep breath, before continuing on to lie:] Gathering wool, I suppose. What brings you here?
"I'm not too sure how common Mary or Susan really are here. Maybe more so in the South." He makes a little noise of contentment and snuggles up against her. "I took the name of one of Moody's favourite owls. Akos, if you hear it, that's me."
What experience in political matters do you have already, if I may ask?
[Anne was curious, perhaps she could build on prior experience.]
[Anne was curious, perhaps she could build on prior experience.]
An inscription.
[ She nods her head, looking down at her hand and letting her eyes flick over it before she purses her lips. At least she recognises that it's not going to last forever. Her memory is rather good and she nods her head before she looks up. ]
Alright, I can do that. I'll make sure you have it in a few days.
[ She nods her head, looking down at her hand and letting her eyes flick over it before she purses her lips. At least she recognises that it's not going to last forever. Her memory is rather good and she nods her head before she looks up. ]
Alright, I can do that. I'll make sure you have it in a few days.
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