August 3rd, 1895 — Padmore Park after this

Zin was seen to - that had been the first priority. She was finally getting some rest thanks to a sleeping potion and Thistle was using this window of unconsciousness to take Emery out for a while. She was too young to understand the cloud of loss and crisis management that had descended on them but Thistle figured a bit of fresh air and change of scenery would do her well.

Just as exhausted as her mother, it wasn’t long before she fell asleep in the pram but Thistle kept walking. It was like a peaceful little spell she didn’t want to break… and she wasn’t ready to go back just yet. As her feet took them both farther and farther away from Pennyworth she realized the heaviness that had filled the little flat was just coming with them. Out here it was softer though, quieter. At least there was sun, bright and warm on her skin.

Without any intention to, she found herself in Padmore Park perched on a bench nestled in the shade of a large tree. She was tired but didn’t feel any right to it. It wasn’t her loss. The back-and-forth rustling of the pram as she rocked it was only punctuated with the distant sound of life as people went about their business. In the quiet she thought of Professor Skeeter, gone so suddenly, and the orphaned plants of his she’d taken over care of. And now her brother-in-law and the …

With a lurch she realized where she’d unwittingly brought them and stood immediately to leave.

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Endymion Dempsey

  

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Set by Bee <3

He had an invitation at the club later, but he had wanted to see some sun first, so had come through to Hogsmeade – and had spent awhile lying in the grass with a book, and absently people-watching. It was hard to believe there had been a duel here only a few days ago – there were no lingering signs of it, and if people were murmuring about it, Endymion was too far removed to hear anything of what they were saying, over the lapping of the lake inlet against the bank.

He wasn’t a local to Hogsmeade, and hadn’t known the chief constable – or his wife, not in more than name – but his mind had drifted to his Miss Potts in connection to it before his gaze caught up with him, and registered her there. It was her, in the flesh and not just conjured in his imagination – and, in any case, he would not have anticipated the pram.

She had stood up just before he reached her, and for a moment he couldn’t decide whether he ought to interrupt her or not – but there was a look of consternation or bewilderment on her face that worried him, he supposed. “Thistle,” Endymion said, aware of the impertinence of it, calling her by her first name; but also half-convinced she was too much in her own world to have heard him talking to her otherwise otherwise. The are you alright? died in his throat, because it hardly felt sufficient. Instead he glanced down at the sleeping occupant of the pram, and then soundlessly back at her.

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The following 2 users Like Endymion Dempsey's post:2 users Like Endymion Dempsey's post
   Daffodil Grimstone, Thistle Potts

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Thistle hadn't even made it a step when a near by voice cut through the noise of the wider park that had begun to press in on her. She turned towards it, almost instinctively, and found a familiar face but unexpected face. And on that face was... concern? Alarm? Say something she told herself but her mind had gone blank. Even the familiar scripts of social niceties were failing her. All together the sudden realization of where they were, getting caught trying to flee, and being addressed by her first name was a lethal cocktail for confusion. She might have paled when his eyes traveled to the pram if she wasn't already there.

"I was just going for a walk - " The words that finally came were meant to be an exculpation but out loud they rang just close enough to conversational to feel familiar and grounding.

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Set by Bee <3

“Yes, I see,” Endymion answered, more gentle than anything. She had come for a walk with probably-her-niece there, and there was nothing wrong with walking in the park. The park was just a park. But... it was too soon; it must feel resoundingly wrong, today. And he realised that sometimes he could be oblivious or otherwise obtuse, but really he wanted to tell her I know, whether or not it was his place.

He didn’t know if he should express his sympathies to her so directly, though, so instead, he asked: “Would you mind if I – come with you, for a while?” To the Potts’ house, or at least as far as the park gates – until he was more sure she was alright, that was all.

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The baby stirred softly in the pram, drawing her gaze down. She was peaceful and still mercifully asleep, unaware of the cruel irony of it all. Her father had been killed in that very park and the world including Thistle had apparently gone back to normal already. Thistle looked up to face the idyllic murder scene but found his faced again instead.

She stared at him for what felt like an age, watching the undercurrent of his expressions. Whatever she found there, the idea of walking away from him, back out of the park alone suddenly felt stark and resonantly lonely. Please.

She nodded and turned up the path, trusting that he'd fall into step with her. Her grip on the pram's push-bar was unnecessarily tight but it felt good to be moving. This was one thing that could soon be put to rights and they were on their way to doing it. "I hope you've been well," It was a typical sentiment to exchange but she found that she truly meant it.

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Set by Bee <3

She had only given him a nod, just a nod and a lingering look, and – as it turned out that struck him as answer enough. His instinct about Miss Potts was that – that she was probably more inclined, usually, to say no to people rather than yes. To resist help rather than accept it. Self-sufficient. Independent.

Not that he expected he could be of remotely any help, here, but. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing here, and he doubted there was anything he could do for her, or her family, but – he wanted to, nonetheless, and hopefully a well-meant thought counted for something?

“Ah, yes, I’ve been alright,” he answered, affable but not effusive. He could scarcely complain about a slight sense of dissatisfaction with his life – he was tiring of Gringotts-based desk work, and had come home mostly with the idea of getting married, which also hadn’t happened – when his problems did not equate with the senseless murder of an in-law. Her sister’s husband, this baby’s father, had been killed.

“What’s her name?” Endymion asked instead, tilting his head towards the sleeping little girl.

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