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Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune

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"The Prodigal Sister" for Ophelia Devine. Faked deaths, scandal, and schemes!
Kristoffer was going to be great at this, because he was great at everything. Also his memory was greater than everyone else's, because he bet no one else had ever lost their virginity somewhere exotic like Morocco. Hell, he bet no one else had even lost their virginity. Inexperienced losers.

Kristoffer Lestrange in Shining, Shimmering Splendour

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A Scrimgeour's Son
April 20th, 1888

It was a relatively quiet evening in the Scrimgeour household; Media was downstairs doing her evening cleaning routine and his children, Argus supposed, were likely in their rooms reading or similar.

Argus, however, was sat in his study going over a small pile of letters sent by his most unfortunate daughter Annabelle. As he analysed - or rather, scrutinised - every word and accent in every letter, Argus could feel his blood beginning to boil.

He'd taken her into his house, provided her with clothing, food, an education, and everything she had needed - nay, wanted - and this is how she repaid him?

By getting herself put in a gossip tabloid almost weekly and dragging her name - his name - through the mud? It was certain her way of acting out because of the tainted childhood she had by being exposed to muggles.

Muggles. Vermin. They were a weird people and Argus could not see how they had survived this long. He couldn't see past the fact that they stole his daughter and turned her into a harlot.

Argus grabbed his wand and half-heartedly flicked it toward the paper, causing the sheets to begin floating. There were small indentations in each full-stop that stressed to him she had some emotions when writing her letters. How disrespectful.

Another flick and the papers flew violently into the fireplace. Argus sighed and noticed a shadow in the doorframe of what looked suspiciously like Julius Scrimgeour

"Stop dilly-dallying, child. What are you doing standing there? Aren't you to be doing something more productive than watch your father work?" Argus spoke gruffly as he moved from his chair, placing his wand on the desk.

"What is Araminta doing, Julius? I trust she's being more well-behaved than that other sister of yours."
His father was a harsh man to deal with. He showed little to no affection towards his children and was prone to outburst of violent natures. Julius had been subjected to them before, and while he knew his had been minute compared to his sister, he still rarely sought out his father, not particularly tempted to risk provoking his anger if at all avoidable, nor did he choose to act an a way that would give his father any fuel. However, today he sought his father out. While he saw no joy in the prospect, Annabelle had requested that he attempt to smooth the fire - like he often did - in her letter the day before. While he idolized the man his father had once been, in this state, he cared far more for his sisters than he did the man before him who flipped through his papers before abruptly hurling them to become folder for the flames.

"Father," he greeted at Argus's call, moving into the man's study now rather than hovering in the door way. Under the older man's glare, he felt the need to fidget and pull on his suit sleeves - though years of habit and drilling caused him to remain still. Argus Scrimgeour was not a man to show weakness before. Julius might be his heir, and the heir to the family, but he had no doubts that his father would find a way to replace him if he became displeased with him. "Araminta? I presume she is in her room. Likely reading. Or she might be in the garden. I have not seen her since supper."

"As for Annabelle, father, I believe you are taking this issue with Witch Weekly too far. It is a tabloid, sir, it is as creditable as your common fallen woman. They could spin a story out of anything. I believe you'd be well advised to ignore what it says, just as everyone else does."
He'd had to look up the article once Bella had written him. He rarely read the thing, let alone scavenged it for mentions of his sisters. Frankly he was surprised his father had seen it.

[Image: mSMnBX.jpg]
bree does things!
Julius stood in the doorway and greeted Argus before moving into his father's study; Argus' gaze fixed on the twenty-five year old. It was clear from the moment Julius stepped into the room that he had something to say - and Argus could already tell it was not something he was going to like.

There was a time when Argus used to spend hours upon hours with his son teaching him various spells and helping the boy learn what it is to be a man. Argus could remember vividly the sense of pride he felt when Julius was accepted into the auror training program though that faded very quickly as the sense of dread that his son would succumb to the same curse Argus had been subjected to over twenty-years ago began to overwhelm him.

But his son still looked up to him.
And as Argus stood there watching his son cautiously enter the room and begin speaking about Araminta, he found himself thinking that this was not the same child who - whenever Argus was suffering with a panic-stricken episode - would try comfort his father and assure him everything would be okay.

This was not the same child who never spoke out of turn and never questioned Argus.

This boy, Argus' son, was not the same child who knew better than offer advice to his father.

"Be sure to send her up here when you leave. I wish to speak with her briefly." Argus said with a demanding tone.

However, at Julius' next words, Argus could feel his heart-rate increasing.

He moved over to his desk and placed his hand next to his wand.

"Excuse me, Julius Markus Scrimgeour? Are you to be so disrespectful as to suggest to me -" Argus took hold of his wand, his voice raising as he could feel his anger - however unfounded - getting the better of him, "Your father - that that tabloid has no merit and I am overreacting?" Argus swallowed and moved in front of his son, his wand firmly in his grip.

"There is no smoke without a flame, boy, and how dare you question my concern over my family name and my family's reputation. I raised you far better than to show such blatant disrespect toward me." Argus stepped back, red flourishes on his cheeks.

"Give me a single reason why I ought not give you several lashings. And why is this of any relevance to you? Do not concern yourself with the actions of your harlot of a sister and do not dare speak out of turn again."

At this point, Argus couldn't see red from blue and his focus had shifted entirely onto the fact that his son had been disrespectful - however contrary the situation actually was to this.

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