Art museums, fancy restaurants with an outdoor sitting, satin silk dresses, perfume, wine glasses and pretty views.
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.
Harper wasn’t one to talk much about her parents or their passing. It sometimes came up in business, but thankfully most people knew better. Mostly through common courtesy, though a rare few because they knew her. These past five years were supposed to be some of the happiest years of her life, beginning with with graduation from Hogwarts, and consisting of living it up and making the most of the rest of her young adulthood. But instead, they became the most stressful and lonely.
At the time, the summer of 1973 seemed to both drag on and fly by; but looking back, it was more fuzzy than anything.
Planning a funeral was hard to begin with. Planning a joint funeral? For your parents (who died the night of your graduation)? While also taking over their hotel empire and handling all of the complications that come along with it? Despite not even being 18 yet?
For most, it would be impossible, but Harper knew she had no choice. For her parents and their legacy, for herself and her safety.
The funeral was sad but beautiful. Being planned by Harper and for her parents, there would be nothing less. She spoke in front of the large crowd that attended, remaining composed yet letting the appropriate hints of raw emotion through. She only broke down, herself, once everyone had left, and she was left truly and remarkably alone.
Harper wasn’t one to mind being alone, but this was different. It wasn’t just alone in the sense of “being by herself” or “not with other people,” it was Capital A, Alone, as in not having other people; as in being on her own... For the foreseeable future. A vast sense of isolation set in soon after, and still affected her deeply. Being Harper, of course, she did everything in her power not to let that show, mainly by channeling it into maintaining her reserved, witty, sophisticated, and at times, icy, demeanor. And when Harper put her all into something, she was successful...
Even if the voice inside her warning that it could actually be to her own detriment still hadn’t gone away, five years later.
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.
ava-avery:
Ava grinned as she took her newly made drink, lifting it up to take a sip to test it out. Not that she was ever picky, and it turned out that being friends with the owner resulted in getting the good stuff. “Thank you kindly,” she told Harper. “Well, now that you’ve been good and worked all day, you most definitely deserve some well-earned fun. I’m happy you chose this path; I was starting to worry I’d have to spend my evening alone.”
Not that Ava was ever stuck alone unless she wanted to be. There were always someone to talk to, someone to drink with. But the bar had seemed boringly tame until Harper had walked in. It was much more fun to party with a drinking buddy than to nod politely as some suit talked about his business.
“I’ve just been here a little while. Helped a friend of mine meet a bloke. Some blind-date she’d been put up on, wanted some courage – liquid and otherwise,” she explained, taking another sip. Ava looked up at Harper, giving her a friendly grin. “So far it’s been pretty uneventful; no drinks tossed or anyone stripping. But the night is still young! There’s a group of three girls in the corner that’s just ordered their second round of martinis since I got here. If I’d bet on any excitement happening, I’d reckon they are a good choice.”
-
“Alone? You? Never… At least, not for long” Harper laughed with Ava, “Although Mr. Suit over there seemed like he was enjoying a semi-captive audience to talk about himself to. That’s really sweet of you to accompany your friend, though. Blind dates can be… well…” She gave a little shudder and punctuated the sentence with a sip of her drink. Not that she’d actually gone on a blind date— any sort of date, actually— in quite some time, but the sentiment was the same regardless.
Harper listened as Ava told her about the group of girls in the corner. She appreciated that the younger woman was also the type to pick up on that sort of thing. Casually glancing over at them, Harper guessed that they were around her age, give or take a couple years, but she didn’t recognize them at first glance. Hmm,” she started, the corner of her mouth turning up into a half smirk, “What do you think they’re on about? Post-breakup cheer up? Birthday? Just a girl’s night out?” While she wasn’t keen on being involved in drama, herself, Harper loved to hear the gossip (or at least speculate), even if it was about random bar-goers she’d never see again.
The dragging day of working alone must have really put her in a state tonight, because after taking a long sip of her drink, she wondered aloud to Ava, “Do we want to find out?”
Harper Baddock 23. BDK Hotels Owner/Heiress. Ravenclaw Alumna. Featured in Transfiguration Today
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