It was an odd place for her feet to have taken her---but this was not the first evening that Lilith had walked among the silent ruins of the work camp. She had come here before, when it was filled with people to bring her father and brothers a warm lunch on the coldest days. Rafe had cursed her and told her the food she offered him was unfit for swine...but still, he, Seth and Ubel had eaten it greedy. The younger of her brothers had whispered a thanks to her one day when their father had been particularly nasty to her. Perhaps that simple thank you was what drew her back to wander this place. 

The truth was a far more complex thing than that. The truth was that she felt at ease here, deep within the darkness of Knockturn, away from all the noise and crowds of Diagon. This place felt safe to her. Plus, perhaps she would find something left behind here. She did sometimes, just little things---worthless to most, but able to used by a survivalist who produced little to no waste at all.

Tonights' wandering of the ghost work camp had merited the discovery of a warm old hat. As a hat, it would not serve her at all, but the fabric could be removed from that which molded it and would be excellent for patching a hole in her heaviest coat. The garment was older than her--like most of her clothing now, it had belonged to her mother before Lilith had been born. The hat was nearly the same brown. If Lilith took enough care with the mending--which she surely would--the coat might even look as if the moths had not gotten to the garment at all.

Autumn's chill was beginning to set in--soon winter's bite would be far colder. She would need the coat, but for now her light shawl kept her warm enough. Lilith like this time of year. Those she had never carved a jack-o-lantern herself, she liked to see them flickering in windows and on staircases. Residents of Knockturn Alley did not commonly decorate for holidays at all. There were really never any Christmas trees or other Yule decorations, but Halloween always got a bit merriment among the wixens.

The squib was just stepping back out into the alley, when she spotted another figure. "My apologies," she said, moving to make herself small against the gate of the camp to let the other person pass. No matter who it was, they were more deserving to walk ahead than she. 

SCAVENGING For Scrap
An Open Thread

scavenging

through the ash

looking for memories of the past

Ares wasn’t really sure what it was that had led him to come to the camp, of all places. He knew that the fire, and Halloween, held a certain sort of… Well, irony, for him. He wasn’t going to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to see where it had happened. Where they had burned. Where he had burned. Because this was where Andrew had died. This was where Ares had broken down the gates with the now Lady Rosier. This was where they had had to be. This was where the music stopped.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. The burning. The smells. The screams. Ares could close his eyes and remember the whole thing. Remember what it was that Durant had died for. Remember what it was that they had burned the camp for. He had, well, Nika had, killed him. After what had happened to Andrew. And Ares still didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why she had fought so hard for the man that had hurt her. But he supposed that he would never know. He didn’t ask her questions like that. He didn’t ask her anything.

One day, perhaps, things would get better, but he wasn’t going to hold out that hope. Anička, at least, would speak to him now. Though Ares was quite sure that that was Malcolm’s influence, and not her own choice. Ella hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. Not a word had passed between them, and Ares wasn’t sure what to make of it. Their lives were not easy. They were complicated, and he had made them ever more so when he had wed Issa.

Venturing here, to see what would come, Ares didn’t think that he had a great plan. He had just wanted to come. He had wanted to see it all again. His son had come into the bar today, to ask him for advice on talking to Issa, and Ares was proud of him for that. He was proud that someone was acting like an adult. Proud that there were a great many things that his son still wished to do with his life. For the loss of magic in their family had taken its toll. Ares had never been without his magic. Even in Azkaban, he had had his wandless abilities. Now, there were no such things. Now there was this block. This hinderance. He couldn’t quite come to terms with it, no matter what he did, or thought.

But he knew that it mattered not here. There was nothing in this ghost filled ruin that was going to require magic from him. Someone should build something here. They should turn it into something. But he had no idea what. Moving things in to Knockturn Alley wasn’t exactly on the top of anyone’s list. A brothel, perhaps. But he knew that there was already one in London. Run by a Burke, no less. No, a brothel wouldn’t do. But something… They needed something here, in this spot. To get rid of this shrine.

Stepping towards the gate, Ares was surprised to see that there was someone else already there. “And just who might you be?” He had seen her around, in the alley, but he didn’t know where she belonged, or who she belonged to.

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Lilith had not anticipated seeing anyone tonight. Silence was usually her companion in the burnt out shell of the work camp. She liked it that way. It was a more all encompassing than the quiet at her flat. There was a stillness here that one did not find in a place where the paper thin walls were filled with roaches and rats--and most rooms were occupied by angry, aggressive drunks. 

Shadows of night disguised the face of the man she had come upon. In the clear of day, Lilith would have recognized him as the man who owned The White Wyvern---a man who knew her father due to their historical involvement in the Death Eaters. Even if Rafe and Ares had not known one another well during the Second War, it had been Ares who a hand in her father's transfer from Azkaban to this place when it had been in action. She knew not the details of how the Wentzell had managed it. She only  knew that her father had felt Ares worthy of following--at least until The Lord Lestrange had decided differently.

But having no familiarity with the man's voice and little light to illuminate his face, Lilith did not know the wizard before her was Lord Ares Wentzell. She still assumed he was a wizard and she would call him Lord as a result. It was far worse to insult a pureblood by not showing them the honor they deserve that to have shown a halfblood more respect than they merited. So, when the man asked for her name, she answered him humbly and simply, her eyes downcast in a show of respect: "I am Lilith  Malvolia, my lord." Lilith gave her name and nothing more, not having anything of more substance to add to the statement anyway. She was an inconsequential person in her own opinion. There was nothing worthwhile to say about her. 

SCAVENGING For Scrap
@ares

SCAVENGING

THROUGH THE ASH

LOOKING FOR MEMORIES OF THE PAST

Trying to figure out how they were going to deal with everything that had happened was beyond him. They had all gotten sick, and Ares couldn’t really find a reason to think that they were going to get better. There was nothing that he thought that any of them had seen before. And it struck him, the irony of it all. Perhaps some of them missed it, but Ares couldn’t. He couldn’t miss the fact that they had been rendered powerless, that they had been rendered equal in a system where they had worked so hard to build themselves up. They were now something that they had never been before, and Ares didn’t like it. He didn’t like anything about it.

There was not all that much that he could do though. He knew that. He knew that he was just as broken as everyone else was now. That he had lost just as much. His magic was gone. It was not in his hands, it was not in his mind. And perhaps that was the advantage that he missed the most. He was an expert Legilimens, and bending people’s will, just enough. Or brushing through the hidden thoughts in their mind and pulling them forwards. He had been good at that. He had been good at that sort of subtle manipulation. The kind that made someone peel their own flesh off, with their teeth, and think it was their own idea. Those were the things that Ares could do.

And he couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t do anything like that. But he had found himself standing here, where, for him, the fight had really begun. And he was thinking about everything that had happened, and everything that could have been. All of the changes that had happened in time. Ares was surprised by the fact that there had been someone else already here. He didn’t expect that there were a lot of people around that actually ventured in here. There was no sense to it. They hated this place, and yet, no one could bring themselves to do anything with the space. It was still a marker of what had happened. Of just how much worse things could have been.

Andrew had died in that fire, and for as much of a monster as he had been. Ares had always thought that they were friends. And he figured that they had been. Because he had never pried, he had never had to look twice. He had been careful to mind what was going on in his sister’s marriage. But he knew the trouble that had caused. He had never looked, and now he was at fault for it. No longer her brother, and once again her cousin. The man that she didn’t want to see. Or hear from.

Neither of his sisters wanted anything to do with him if they could help it. And he thought that the fact that they had joined forces made them dangerous. Ares was tempted to ask Malcolm, to see if they really were friends, or if they were putting on a show. But he already knew the answer. The witches had struck a deal, and he was on the outside of it. Exactly where he didn’t want to be. “Malvolia…” That was a name that he knew. “You are the daughter of a Lord, what are you doing out here in the cold?”

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SCAVENGING

THROUGH THE ASH

LOOKING FOR MEMORIES OF THE PAST

The Malvolia had been shown so little kindness before she came to know Melanie Burke. It was still not something easily processed by the squib. She could find no reason what so ever why that a Lady, a pureblood with proper magic, would ever spare so much as a glance her way. Her father had reinforced the notion that Lilith was worthless her entire life. Not having magic had made her one more shameful mark against the Malvolia family.

She was not the first Malvolia squib. Every generation for awhile had seemed to produce more of them. It had the family traveling the globe to find other bloodlines to marry into. The old ways the family had once kept to had married far too many brothers to sisters and cousins to cousins. Those marriages and generations had been what made her what she was... but Lilith did not know that.

Her world view was off kilter. Sheltered so severely, she knew nothing of genetics. She had been brainwashed to believe that her state was her own fault--a punishment brought down on her for killing her mother. Neither sad circumstance should have been blamed on her. It is not the babe's fault when a mother dies in childbirth--but surely, Lilith would argue that it most certainly was. She believes that so intensely. It is ingrained into her--just as her subservience is.

Both were defining. Both made her eager to please--and apologetic for her very existence. She ached for love--for compassion, but was distraught anytime she received it. To believe so little of one's self makes it very difficult to accept any kindness. It felt wrong. It brought guilt. She would drown in it when offered a smile. She tried to make herself worthy. Though Lilith did not believe she could ever do anything to make up for her fatal flaws, she worked hard for Lady Burke. If the pure witch could give her employment, could show her charity, then the very least Lilith could do was perform every task assigned to her to the very best of her ability. She paid care and attention to every detail of the shoppe. Every speck of dust was a sworn enemy to the poor squib. She did all she could to eradicate every last one of them from each shelf and artifact. A more diligent and committed employee could not have been found anywhere.

The wixen world was so different since the epidemic hit. So many had lost their magic. So many were almost like her now---but they weren't. It wasn't the same. That was what Lilith thought anyway. Just because Lady Burke could not cast any longer, that did not make her what Lilith was. That did not make her inferior.

It was a complicated thing. Rational had no bearing on the opinion Lilith held of herself or others. She was not dumb, but she was ignorant. The girl had no learning to speak of. She could not read, nor write. Some arithmetic she could manage, just from dealing with coin. That her father had seen fit to instruct her on, so she could fetch groceries and the like when she had been a young girl and essentially treated as a house elf by the man and her brothers.

She showed the same deference and respect to the Lord before her now as she showed daily to Lady Burke and the other purebloods and wixen in the alley. Her respect to him was evident in all she did. She would scarcely look him in the eye. She battled against herself--trying to show respect properly. It had displeased The Lord Lestrange when she had looked only to the ground, but her father had beaten her if she met his eye. It was a confusing dichotomy to war against. There were so many more memories of her father, but still the Minister's husband had made such a tremendous impact on the young girl.

Her surname was echoed back at her and Lilith lifted her gaze up from the ground. "Yes, milord," she confirmed. He seemed to know her name. The man went on to speak about her father's station--and to ask why she would be here. How to explain? It was always a conundrum for her...one that she struggled with terribly any time she was required to speak about her family. "My father does not see me as a daughter. I should call myself Lilith only. He has disowned me for what I am." She frowned and seemed to shrink herself down as shame and self-loathing pressed in on the woman from all sides. "I am a squib, Lord Wentzell. Worthless, you see." She sounded heartbroken by the confession--and she was. She would have given anything to not be as she was.

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SCAVENGING

THROUGH THE ASH

LOOKING FOR MEMORIES OF THE PAST

The illness that had washed over them was something that he was certainly glad he was no longer Minister for. While he knew that the way that he had been pushed out was not exactly perfect, he could not be angry about it. Perhaps his niece had been. He knew that his sister was. But Ares had never wanted to be Minister in the first place. If anything, Athena should have taken the reigns, and he the Death Eaters. Much the way that the Lestrange’s had divvied up the tasks. He had tried to be too much. To hold too much control, and it had been abysmal.

There was only so much that a man could do, and no matter how powerful he had been before, he lacked all of that now. He had no way to get in people’s heads. To influence thoughts. To push them to his will. He could still do that with his words, to an extent. He was still a Wentzell. He could still manipulate someone to see the world his way. But Ares thought that there was always a better chance that he was going to get what he wanted if he had his magic. If he had some influencing factors on his side.

He could do things this way though. They were just slower. They were harder to concentrate on. And he found himself walking in the alley to what? Clear his head?

There was so much on his mind. Ares knew that his sister hated him a good majority of the time, and that his cousin would not speak to him unless Malcolm was present and forcing her to. He knew that the world that he had once known was entirely changed. And it was something that he simply had to try and adjust to. Orion and Clary needed him to adjust to that. But Ares could admit that he was not great with kids until they were about three, or four. Then he was better. Then they were more like people.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t love his children, he did. He was just not as good at interacting with them until they could learn things. Nick, he had been better with. He had had Aurora to guide him in the right direction, and he had only had the pressure of an uncle. He had been the father in his son’s life. But he had grown up thinking that Dominick was his father, and there had been something so much simpler about that. It was the same thing. He hadn’t changed what he was doing now, compared to what he had done back then, but everything about this was different.

He missed her. And he knew that he shouldn’t miss her. Not when there was Issa around. He wasn’t lonely. And he loved Issa too. But every time that he looked at his sons, his older sons. He missed their mother. It wasn’t great, their lives were so complicated, and so messy, but they could have figured it out. She could have come home, and they could have figured it out. But that wasn’t the way that it had turned out. And he didn’t regret getting Issa out of there. He didn’t regret marrying her or having Clary. But that didn’t change the way that the world had been in the meantime.

Focusing on anything that was not his dead wife, or his sister, or Anička. He didn’t want to think about the three women that he had lost. Instead, for the moment, he would focus on the one that was right in front of him now. She was young, perhaps his nieces’ age. And Ares found himself curious about why she was out here? Why she was wandering around, with a name like that? Reaching out to tip her chin up so that he could look in her eyes, Ares shook his head, “You may call yourself whatever you wish. And being a squib does not make you useless.” Perhaps not great, but not worthless. Everyone, even the mudbloods, had a purpose. And she was a station above them.

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