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[attr="class","ctopline"]Look me in my eyes

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]tell me everything's not fine

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[attr="class","clyrics"]Or the people ain't happy[break]
And the river has run dry

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[attr="class","cbody"]She had already taken out her mood on everybody down at the pub, and the bartender had officially made it there for her late-night shift, which meant that Apolline could head back upstairs. Finally. Normally, any minute spent behind the bar was a minute too long, in her book, but recently? Well, recently, what the hell else was she supposed to do? Sit up in her room and think about all the experiments that she couldn’t do?
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Yes, this had given her plenty of time to do research, but she couldn’t just read all of the time. She had to do something. She had to create, had to work with her hands—perform rituals, experiment with new chemicals, do whatever necessary to recreate the resurrection stone. Even if she found a breakthrough in a book somewhere, even if a new idea came across her, she couldn’t do anything about it. Apolline couldn’t even summon a quill, let alone partake in her usual alchemy experiments. Ones that normally lasted far into the night. But now… she couldn’t do anything.
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So, she had been spending more time behind the bar than she normally did. For her brothers’ own good, really. Honestly, it was a small show of consideration to try to give them a break from her near constant mood swings.
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They should thank her, really.
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But now that her self-imposed shift at downstairs had come to an end, there was nothing for her to do but head back upstairs. She had thought about heading into the kitchen to throw something together for dinner. Apolline couldn’t even say for sure that either of her brothers were currently home, but if they were, she thought they’d be working. Probably hadn’t eaten for hours, probably hadn’t even taken a break. She was like that, and they were related.
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Normally, she wasn’t the one cooking them dinner and making sure that they all ate. She had never been the maternal one, despite being the only girl, but what the hell else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t do her own experiments. She supposed she might as well make sure that her siblings didn’t starve and work themselves to death. Consider it her sisterly duty, or whatever.
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Figuring that she didn’t have anything better to do, she headed into the kitchen. Half her day had already been spent on research, and she knew she’d end back in her notes before too long, but she had to take a break. Without magic, her research only ended up frustrating her more when she remembered she couldn’t act on anything that she wanted to do. Any of it.
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If she thought too much about it, her fist would likely just end up through another wall, and she had already cut her hand on a broken glass. A scrap of fabric was tied around her palm—the best way of keeping it clean and covered when there hadn’t been any bandages downstairs. But it would certainly impair her from doing any real cooking.
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In the end, she decided she would make sandwiches and if her brothers didn’t want the bloody things, then they could cook dinner themselves. Ham, cheese, mustard, and done. That was all the effort that she planned on putting into it. And pickles, maybe. If she was feeling nice.
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When she had finished the preparations, she grabbed a plate and headed toward Alistair’s room. Maybe he would be doing something interesting. Hopefully, anyway.
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If it was particularly good, he might not even let her in the room. They all had their secrets, after all. But it was worth a shot, worth trying to get a peek at what he was working on. So, she knocked with her free—and injured, hand, on her older brother’s door.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]630 ● @alistair ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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blood // water

[attr="class","reasonsmallannabella"]Now I am the violence I am the sickness Won't accept your silence Beg me for forgiveness

[attr="class","reasonbodannabella"]Alistair’s hands moved intently as he zeroed in on the core of the wand that he was currently working on. Another attempt – another try. Another chance to get things right. Up to this point, every wand that he had created to replicate the Elder Wand had been a failure.

They sputtered out before they were able to take root of magic, or they were too unstable to handle even the simplest of spells. There must have been something that he was doing wrong…Alistair could make simple wands with no problems. Normal cores, normal woods…they were stable. But as soon as he began experimenting with other materials…the wands deteriorated in his very fingertips.

Today’s experiment was Grindylow Horn, coupled with Apple. The core was experimental. Harvested with great care a few days ago. Alistair couldn’t be sure how it would turn out…after all, it had never been attempted before. He drew up the small pair of splicing scissors next to him, trimming the last bit of core before he sealed the wand’s wood back together.

And just like that…it was alive. It seemed to awaken with a startle – honing in on him like a bloodhound. It was a familiar feeling – he’d used Apple wood as the wood for many of his Elder experiments as of late.

The sound of someone at his door made Alistair pause.

He wasn’t in the mood for company…but perhaps now was the perfect time to see if this wand was made of anything.

Turning the wand slightly to the left with his wrist, he pointed it at the door. It hummed with unseen energy – connecting into the unseen magic that coursed through his body. The magic he still had, thank Merlin. Without it, everything would have been down the drain. Because what good was a wandmaker with no access to a wand?

“Alohomora,” he spoke the spell quietly, not loud enough for the person on the other side to hear it. If this wand was an absolute flop, it would save him the embarrassment of explaining what had happened when he finally did open the door.

But, it appeared that this one was not a flop. With a crack, part of the door came completely off, pulling itself inside as if some mysterious black hole had taken hold of it. The spell had not unlocked the door but created a gash in the middle – large enough that he could see his sister standing on the other side.

“Apolline,” Alistair said, coolly. Looking down, the wand had begun to splinter. It was unstable. Too unstable to keep. With deft hands, he snapped it over his knee, throwing it into the corner with the rest of the rejects. No progress today, he lamented internally. A door to replace and a sister to entertain, instead.

Getting to his feet and avoiding the large pile of splintered wood that now lay in the middle of the room, Alistair approached the damaged door and pulled it open to reveal his sister…holding what appeared to be a sandwich. “You’ve brought…dinner,” the surprise was evident in the expression on his face. A lifted eyebrow and a slight smile playing on his lips. It would undoubtedly infuriate his little sister that he was so bemused by her gift, though he couldn’t help himself.

[attr="class","reasontagannabella"]@ sister | 549 | OUTFIT

[attr="class","credannabella"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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[attr="class","ctopline"]LOOK ME IN MY EYES

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]tell me everything's not fine

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[attr="class","clyrics"]OR THE PEOPLE AIN'T HAPPY[break]
AND THE RIVER HAS RUN DRY

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[attr="class","cbody"]Being without magic was not something that she’d ever thought she would have to deal with. Even when the epidemic had first struck and it had been a real concern, Apolline hadn’t thought that she would fall pray to such a sickness. She had been sure that she would be all right, and then she had woken up that first day and had felt awful. She had tried to blame it on… anything else, but she had known what was really going on.
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And she knew that she should be relieved that her brothers hadn’t gotten sick too. She should be happy that they weren’t being subjected to this too. That would be nice of her, wouldn’t it?
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Maybe deep down, she was. Maybe she was glad that they were perfectly healthy and able to continue their work on their hollows, but she didn’t feel that way. She didn’t feel glad that she was reduced to practically being a Squib, and their lives were going on like normal. She was stuck at a standstill, her life had been completely changed, and they were just… fine.
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So, yes, she was a little bitter about it. Why her? Why had she been the one Dumbledore that had gotten sick? What made her brothers better than her? Why wasn’t she somehow immune from this like they were? It was frustrating to not have those answers, because there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to why she had gotten sick and they hadn’t. They lived in the same apartment, they worked at the same pub. Sure, they weren’t around each other every second of the day, but they were exposed to a lot of the same places, the same people. There was no explanation for why she had gotten sick and they hadn’t.
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Now, her research was just… at a complete halt. She could keep reading, keep taking notes, but she wasn’t going to be able to act on it—any of it, for Merlin knew how long. Would they ever find a cure? There was no way of knowing that either. There were hundreds of healers working in the United Kingdom, and not one of them had found a cure yet. It had been six months, nearly. Six months since it had struck, five months since she had gotten sick, and there was no sign of any improvement.
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Apolline could only sit around in her room and research for so long before she got too frustrated and had to do something else. Her anger had been getting the better of her more and more these days, with more than a few holes being punched in walls in their apartment. Someone always fixed them up, but whether it was Axton or Alistair or both of them, she had no idea. Alistair was wandless—he could fix a hole in the wall with a thought in his head, blast him, and she couldn’t even summon a pen.
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She wanted to see what he was up to. Wanted to distract herself and maybe a part of her wanted to distract him too. Apolline had always thought she would be the first one to figure out her hollow. Alistair and Axton were naturally competitive against each other, as brothers tended to be, but she thought herself smart enough to best them both, and now she couldn’t make any process. If she distracted Al with her presence for a little while, that was a few hours where he wasn’t working. Was it petty? Sure. But she didn’t care.
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And she could also use the distraction herself.
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It was only moments after she knocked that she heard a crack and saw a piece of the door float away from her and further into the room.
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Well then.
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Clearly, he was not making that much progress. She heard footsteps then, and eventually, Alistair pulled open the door. “Don’t make that face at me,” she rolled her eyes at him, then pressed the plate into his hands. “Keep me company?” Apolline asked then, squeezing her way into his room before he could even reply.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]685 ● @ brother ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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blood // water

[attr="class","reasonsmallannabella"]Now I am the violence I am the sickness Won't accept your silence Beg me for forgiveness

[attr="class","reasonbodannabella"]
“I can’t control my face, Apolline,” Alistair said, moving to the side so she could enter his room, though she hardly seemed to care. She was already inside, weaseling her way into the small space between him and the damaged doorframe. All he could do was sigh. Because he was not about to ask her to leave. He always had a soft spot for his sister. Unlike Axton, he felt as if they were kindred souls, sometimes. As if they were meant to be friends more so than siblings. There was a darkness to her that she embraced. It was the same sort of Darkness that seemed to radiate inside all of the Dumbledore siblings, but Apolline’s was more pronounced. “You made dinner?” He attempted to change his tone, but it was far from convincing.

She had been rendered ill by Epidemic X – the horrible, magic sucking parasite that was latching onto them like a leech. Fortunately, Axton and Alistair had remained unaffected. But there was no telling how long it would last. Was it permanent? Or was it possible that they would be struck down in the next few months? He wasn’t sure… all he knew was it was more important than ever before for him to find out how to create a superior Elder Wand. With it, perhaps there would be a way to reverse what had happened. And, as much as he believed his siblings’ research was also important, he sincerely doubted that a cloak or a stone would help return a sense of normalcy to the Wizarding World.

She was bored. Alistair could only imagine how much so, given that she had no magic herself. Without his, he would have been lost. Not only unable to perform mundane tasks required of him at the bar but also unable to research to the fullest extent. Magic was at the epicenter of everything that he was doing. And to be without it would be like being without water – or perhaps more aptly, without liquor.

So, he would need to entertain her, at least for the time being. Who knew, perhaps she would bring news of her own advancements in study. For all Alistair knew, perhaps she’d found a way to perform alchemy without the protection of her magic. Reckless and dangerous, but not entirely unexpected when it came to Apolline.

“Gladly,” he said, turning to face her and offering a gentle smile. He wasn’t unfeeling – he never had been. To his sister, especially. She was the youngest of the three – the last Dumbledore child. “What have you been doing? Manning the bar?” The idea seemed preposterous – Apolline hated manning the bar. She’d rather leave it up to her brothers than be caught dead filling drink orders. Still, it would make sense that she had resorted to desperate measures in order to ensure she wasn’t entirely bored out of her mind.

“Anything exciting happening downstairs?” He sincerely doubted it. After all, the floor wasn’t moving with the sound of a bar fight, nor could he hear any yelling. In truth, there were probably few patrons there, at the moment. The Hog’s Head seemed to attract a late-night crowd that was more interested in drinking under the cover of night than they were with ordering Butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks.

[attr="class","reasontagannabella"]@ little sis | 551 | OUTFIT

[attr="class","credannabella"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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[attr="class","ctopline"]LOOK ME IN MY EYES

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]tell me everything's not fine

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[attr="class","clyrics"]OR THE PEOPLE AIN'T HAPPY[break]
AND THE RIVER HAS RUN DRY

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[attr="class","cbody"]Since her shift had come to end downstairs, Apolline had known that her night would likely consist of her reading in her room—doing endless research that she couldn’t actually act on. Sometimes that was okay. If she was in a rare optimistic mood, which rarely happened, then she told herself that she would have dozens of ideas to try by the time her magic came back. She would be able to work on enough research to have ideas that might just actually work. That was something, wasn’t it?
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No. Not really, actually. There was a reason why she did not have all that many optimistic moods. That wasn’t enough. Doing the research but not being able to act on it was probably one of the most frustrating things that she’d ever had to do. In theory, sure, she was giving herself plenty of work to do later. But that wasn’t the case. In reality, if she had a brilliant idea while researching, putting it immediately to action was necessary. It was fresh in her mind, she was full of inspiration and she was ready to make it happen.
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But months later, would she have the same feeling when she read that research? Would the idea have left her entirely, or would she realize there was a flaw in her idea that she hadn’t seen back then? And if she’d had her magic, she would have found that flaw immediately and she’d be able to push through it. Months later, there was no telling if she would be able to do that, or if that train of thought would have just come to an end. So, no. Research wasn’t enough.
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And tonight, she felt like she’d be more likely to punch another hole in the wall if she even attempted to sit down and attempt to crack open any of the books she’d been pouring over recently. Instead, the best option that she’d had was seeing what her brother was up to. It might make herself feel better to see how little progress he was making—no offense to him, of course.
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Well, maybe a little.
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“You should work on that, then,” she retorted, already well into his room. If he hadn’t wanted company, then he’d lost the opportunity to close his now broken door in her face. He would have to entertain her for a little while. And she’d made food, so it was really the least that he could do. If she happened to distract him from his work for a little while, all the better. She had had months of no progress, he could at least have one evening. “I can’t tell if your surprise comes from the fact that I made food, or that I think a sandwich is dinner. Either way, a thank you would be nice. Unless you want to make me dinner.” And they both knew how that would go. Alistair was hardly an expert in the kitchen, so really, he should take the sandwich and be happy about it.
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Normally, the entire concept of her manning the bar would be absurd. Though they did end up splitting most of the bar shifts, she always conveniently ended up with less than her brothers did—and for good reason. They didn’t mind it, and she really would rather do just about anything else than be stuck behind the bar for hours on end. But now, it was that or the frustratingly pointless research and she wasn’t sure what was worse, in all honestly. “Yes, manning the bar. You know how much I love that.” An eyeroll punctuated her point. Even if it kept her from being completely bored out of her mind, it wasn’t going to stop her from complaining about it. “Not really,” she lied, moving her injured hand behind her back. The last thing that she needed was him to realize that she’d sliced her palm open after breaking a glass.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]659 ● @ brother ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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