The-harperbaddock - (False) Bravado

Aesthetic - Cancer Sun, Capricorn Moon, Virgo rising. 

rxtaskeeter​:

date: 2nd august, 1978 time: 7am location: diagon alley OPEN

Rita did not consider herself to be an early bird or a night owl. She found labels of all kinds to be unnecessary and extremely limiting (heterosexual, gossip columnist, Muggleborn), and these were no exception. Not only that, but neither really applied to her, being one of those freakish souls who could survive on astonishingly little sleep; falling into her bed at 2am after a long night of writing and bouncing out of bed again at 5:30am so that she could be one of the first in the office.

That being said, there was something about mornings that she found incredibly energising - the possibilities, the blank slate. Living on Diagon Alley certainly helped, her curiosity always propelling her out of her flat to watch all the shops open, their wares for the day displayed outside or in the windows. Her pace would slow as she passed the market stalls, eyes scanning to see if there was anything worth buying or writing about (there never was) as she sipped a coffee bought along the way.

It was a warm morning already, and Rita happily sat on a bench in the sun, soaking it up as much as she could ahead of her long day in a room where sunlight was often obscured by cigarette smoke and many enormous male egos. Her eyes had closed in contentment for a moment, only for a shadow to fall across her face seconds later and cause her to open them again, expression confused until she registered who it was.

“Oh, it’s you. I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”

-

Harper’s schedule could easily vary from one day to the next. A perk of more or less being your own boss, she supposed, though she was acutely aware that her situation was much more complex than that. Usually when it started this early, though, she tended to opt for either apparating or she had stayed over at whichever hotel she had to be at the night before. But this morning she had just risen extra early; it seemed like it was shaping up to be a warm, beautiful August day, and Harper knew that the fresh air would be good for her.

She stopped to grab an iced coffee on her way from her flat to the hotel, a light breeze on her back as she strolled. Slowing down as she walked passed some benches, scanning for any familiar faces, Harper caught the glimpse of a face and some blonde hair that she surely recognized as Rita.

Sitting down next to her, she gave a small smile to the younger woman. “I know” she nodded, “usually we run into each other around lunch time or later in the day. But you’ve gotta change it up sometimes, as I’m sure you know” Harper swirled her cup around in her hands before taking a sip through the straw. “How’s work going?” she continued, “The hustle and bustle of the Prophet keeping you on your toes?”

Laying Flowers //

Harper had created a tradition for herself that she followed every year on the anniversary of her parents passing. They— She — still owned the house she grew up in. She didn’t spend much time there after the summer they passed, but she wasn’t looking to let go of it, either. Besides, it wasn’t like they— SHE— couldn’t afford it. She was constantly still referring to her family in terms of “they” rather than “she,” even though for five years now it had just been, well, She. It wasn’t denial, it was just discomfort and force of habit.

So the house was where she went. She arrived there the night before, with a bottle or two of her parents’ favorite wine in tow, and stayed over. She cooked for herself, read, watched some old movies, looked through old albums. That night and the following day were the only times she permitted herself to cry. On that next day Harper would lie low, largely continuing the previous night’s activities, before heading to the cemetery where her parents were buried. She’d spend some time there; talking to them, doing some more reading and maybe even writing a bit, and laying flowers. Then she would return to the house, get take out or delivery for dinner, and spend the night again before heading out in the morning.

This was a very solitary experience for Harper, but that didn’t stop her from maintaining a certain appearance, specifically for her time at the graveyard. In fact, she considered it to be very much tied in as a part of her ritual. Waterproof makeup was a must, as was an elegant black outfit… Even though afterwards it was promptly shoved into a designated corner of Harper’s closet. The main facets of this year’s look were nude lipstick and a slightly flow-y black chiffon dress. She was in the midst of reading her book, enjoying the warm summer breeze on her skin, when she looked up, startled, at the rustle of approaching footsteps on the grass.

“Oh… hey,” she said softly, feeling caught off-guard and distant, but hoping that her waterproof eye-makeup made good on its claims.

Chasing Tails //

Harper was never really an animal person. That was one of the reasons she was never inclined to become an animagus, despite knowing that she technically could, and perhaps should. Not to mention her job owning the hotels was eventually inevitable, and there wasn’t much benefit that being or having an animal could provide in that context.

But loneliness sunk in, especially with her parents passing and her leaving Hogwarts, where there was nearly always built in company of some sort. She resigned herself to that loneliness for a while, but the idea of adopting a pet, having a built in companion, popped up now and again. Sometimes she’d walk through Diagon Alley until she reached the Magical Menagerie, where she would casually window shop. A bit overwhelmed by all the smells and noises, she rarely ventured deeper inside.

How… how did people go about adopting pets? Harper wondered to herself. Did they just pick their favorite looking one? Was there supposed to be some special connection? Was it supposed to be like a getting your wand experience, where your pet picks you?

Maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all. She imperceptibly shook her head. No, Harper. You’re almost 23 years old, and you have the means to take care of an animal. Plenty of other people do it, so you can too. Stop getting in your own damn head and just do it. She was about to mentally debate back to herself when she felt a presence at the window next to her. Looking up with wide eyes, she stammered “Um, sorry, I’ll get out of your way.”

sebastian-whoisleft​:

Sebastian did his best to be on time to the meeting, which was to say he was just over twenty minutes late. It was strange for him, too – not to be late to meetings, but certainly to be late to the information-drops held at bars. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was why he’d been chosen for today’s handoff…but it almost might have had something to do with the fact that it was Harper Baddock he was meeting and, unless they were sleeping with or enjoyed intimidating them, many of Sebastian’s fellow Death Eaters considered themselves above meeting with the lower-level informations. 

Knowing who he was meeting – and knowing the venue well – took a lot of the pressure off things. (A little more pressure might have encouraged him to show up on time, even early, but Sebastian wasn’t interested in connecting any Point A to Point B that would make him be a more devoted servant of his Dark Lord.) 

The Gilded Serpent was an infamous Death Eater haunt, frequented by seedy people doing seedy dealings often enough that people didn’t blink any eye when spooky, grizzled folks crossed the threshold. 

And so nobody, either, cast a second look in the direction of Sebastian Nott: his youthful glow, his recently-arrested father, his tousled hair. 

“Right on time,” he said, laying the fake congratulations on himself while he sidled up to the bar. 

Get in, get the information, get out, Antonin’s voice said in his head. Quickly. 

Sebastian flagged down the bartender instead. 

“Is that your first one,” he asked Harper, lifting a brow. “Or do I have some catching up to do?” 

-

Finally he arrives Harper thought, resisting the urge to look down at her watch as Sebastian slid into the seat next to her at the bar. She didn’t know him well. She didn’t know many of the Death Eaters well, to be honest. But the fact that he didn’t seem too keen on immediately turning his nose up at her gave Harper some semblance of hope. Combined with his tousled hair and the easy smile on his face, she felt like she couldn't be mad at the young man.

She was impressed that he was even making an effort to have a conversation; his words implying that he was going to stay for at least a drink or two. Harper had enough encounters that lasted barely long enough for the documents she had prepared to leave her hands, and she could count the number of times she received a thank you.

“And to think I was worried you’d stood me up,” she remarked, shooting him a sly smirk. “Don’t worry, you’re only-” she paused to effortlessly polish off what was left in her glass, “two drinks behind,”

For what it was worth, the Gilded Serpent made surprisingly good drinks, and most drinks were even better when you weren't drinking alone, as far as Harper was concerned. As a general rule, she was a private person: In her day-to-day life she didn’t usually let people in, and she certainly wasn’t the one who usually initiated conversations. But her rules changed when she was out at night; at a bar, a club, a party, really anywhere with drinking and nightlife. Definitely when she was drinking— but even when she wasn’t— something made her want to socialize; and she was damn good at it when she wanted to be.

“So, what are you drinking?” she asked Sebastian, tilting her head towards the waiting bartender.

*checks my email at the club*

“Bergdorf Goodman” 1971

“Powder room” Architectural digest 1977.

cinemagraph artist on instagram