February 14th, 1891 — Inverness, Scotland, after this thread

They'd needed to get away from the party without being caught, and they needed to arrive somewhere they wouldn't be caught. It narrowed down the list of places that Lach could think of in the short window of time he'd had, and somehow he'd settled on Inverness—or more specifically, the large field behind a muggle pub—as the best choice. He'd visited the pub in the months after the Quidditch World Cup. The patrons were usually older muggle men who talked about nothing but local politics and their families, which made sitting at the end of the bar by himself an easy task. No one had bothered him except to ask what he was drinking.

The field was wide and deep, and provided some coverage while not being so close that muggles would catch sight of them. Unfortunately it was snowing in Inverness that day, and Lach's shirt was ripped to shreds while the woman (whose name he still did not know) wore a torn dress and his coat. Lachlan stepped away from her as soon as their feet touched the ground, and he rand a hand through his long blond hair.

"I can't believe that just happened," he said, mostly to himself. He wondered what had become of his mother and Tilda with the hostess raging about their so-called "perversions"—and what of the woman's family? He glanced back at her, where she was still on the ground.

"I don't know what happened back there. But she could have - well, we're lucky she didn't scream," he settled on, his breathing his heavy. "What's your name, lass? I suppose I ought to know that while we're here." He motioned to the empty field around them.

---

@"Juliana Binns"

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Juliana could count the number of times she'd traveled via apparition on one hand, probably. She'd been expelled from Hogwarts before they'd held classes, so had never practiced it herself, and the feeling of being pulled along with someone always left her unsettled. She'd actually vomited on the person apparating her the first two times. Fortunately for this strange gentleman, she managed to hold down her lunch — probably because she hadn't had any lunch — she hadn't even found the refreshments before this disastrous interlude and she'd been distracted with work that morning so she actually hadn't eaten at all yet today — and now that she realized it maybe that was why she'd been so lightheaded, and not all the apparently-imaginary blood — but if this entire mess could be blamed on her accidentally skipping breakfast and subsequently fainting she thought she'd better keep it to herself because it might make this poor gentleman angry and she was, once again, alone with him.

Anyway, she hadn't vomited, she had fainted earlier, it may or may not have been her fault, and she still had no idea what had caused and subsequently un-caused the gaping chest wound. Now she was wearing a torn dress and a stranger's jacket, and was alone with said stranger... somewhere. She didn't recognize it, though she had no reason to believe she should have. The woman had told him to take her home, but this empty field was clearly not that.

She peered up at the man as he spoke, then climbed to her feet, arms still clutching his jacket tight to cover her bare stomach. "Lass," she repeated; it was ridiculous, given the situation, but it stuck out to her. "I don't believe anyone's ever called me that before. I'm Juliana Binns," she said, turning her attention to the landscape. "Where are we?"

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

Lach shook his head dismissively as she focused in on his manner of address. Of all the things to worry about, that wasn't it. At least he had a name for her now: Juliana Binns. He did not recognize it, nor did he remember anyone with the surname, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe she had a brother or a father who worked in the quidditch industry, or maybe it was just a common name. Speaking of things he shouldn't focus on...

"We're in Inverness," he explained, looking up in the direction of the rest of the town. A pelt of snow fell and hit his exposed bicep, causing a shiver to reach them. Why hadn't he just apparated home? It wasn't as if anyone would have known, and they could have been warm. "I tried to pick a place where we wouldn't be seen once we arrived. I know you..." He gestured towards her wardrobe situation. "And I didn't want anyone asking questions."

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"Inverness?" she repeated, incredulous. "You apparated us from Southampton to Inverness? In Scotland?" She knew of no other Inverness, but still could hardly believe it. "That's the whole length of the British Isles. We could have been killed. I'm amazed neither of us was splinched. What are you, a professional apparator?"

This was not a serious question, of course. There was no such profession, unless one counted test officials at the Ministry, and she doubted anyone would have let this gentleman work at the Ministry with his hair the way it was.

She was, she realized, being a bit unfair (some might have said hysterical) considering that this gentleman had first attempted to save her life and then shortly after to save her honor. He might have been discovered with little consequence; that was the way the world worked. It was easier for men. Yet here he was — in Scotland, of all the ridiculous places to be.

She looked around at the snow and the weeds and the nothing that surrounded them. This was a far cry from London. She glanced back at the gentleman and the state of his shirt — saw him shiver.

"You're cold," she observed. She made no move to return his jacket.

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

He rolled his eyes and did not pay much mind to her fussing. She was clearly upset, probably more about the whole dress situation than the apparating and she'd just chosen to focus on it. "I might as well be," he quipped. It was a long distance, but it wasn't as if they'd apparated over oceans or the European continent. "Try apparating from the mainland to the isles for years and you get good at it." No, he wasn't worried at all about the risk of being splinched, not when the alternative had been being caught.

Which... how were they going to get out of this without being caught? They hadn't been revealed to the whole of the party, but he had no reason to be an expert in stitching spells and they still had to manage to get home. There was only so much Inverness could do for them, especially hen it was so cold.

"Don't worry about it. We've got more important things to worry about than the weather." He supposed he could take her through town with the coat wrapped around her, but his shirt was in ruins and there was no way he could secure another one without drawing attention to her in a coat that very obviously belonged to him. It would be too easy for people, even muggles, to make assumptions. (But then, would it really be that terrible if muggles made assumptions? Well, maybe—did Miss Binns have any attachment to the muggle community?)

"Can you apparate?" he asked. She'd said before that she couldn't, but he wondered if that was a situational thing or a general thing. That would narrow down their options.

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"I already told you I couldn't," she said, assuming he'd forgotten. Understandable, really, given the circumstances. It was hardly the most interesting thing for his mind to have latched onto in the past twenty minutes. No, that award had to go to the illusory blood and gaping wound that had appeared and then just as suddenly disappeared on her chest.

"Oooo," she said suddenly, raising one knuckle to her lips as a thought suddenly occurred to her on that front. It ought to have occurred to her sooner, really, since she'd been off looking at them only a few moments before the incident, but — well, things had gotten rather hectic rather quickly. "I'll bet it had something to do with the boggarts," she said almost triumphantly, holding her finger up at him to punctuate this discovery. "The blood and everything. That must have been someone's boggart. There might have been half a dozen young woman with the same situation back at the party proper — we just didn't realize it since we were so far away from them."

Why it had chosen to impact her so far away was anyone's guess, but at least this solution helped to assure her that she was not about to imminently lose a chunk of her ribs again.

"I don't suppose you know any good stitching spells," she said, glancing down towards her stomach. She ought to have, working at the House of Lytton, but she'd never had a need — she was surrounded by people who actually did this as their job all day, and were much better at it than her.

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

So she couldn't apparate, period. That narrowed down their options as far as escaping this situation was concerned. Whatever they did had to be done together. Lachlan shook his head to himself, still so focused on their options moving forward that he'd nearly blocked out any questions regarding the situation they'd just escaped until she mentioned it. His gaze snapped to her again and he frowned. She seemed so pleased with her analysis, as if whatever had happened, boggart or not, had not nearly cost her everything. She was unmarried—perhaps not a early-seasons debutante—but unmarried nonetheless. She clearly had her priorities mixed up.

Though he had to admit... the boggart theory did have its credence. He hadn't seen his boggart since the last year of trauma had unfolded, and he remembered how panicked he'd felt watching Miss Binns stand there, a hole in her abdomen, and suddenly fall to the ground. He wouldn't admit it to her, but the somebody the boggart could have been intending to target could have very well been him. He sighed and stepped closer to her, trying to examine her bodice without looking.

"I know how to stitch up wounds by hand, but that's about it. No spells," he admitted, and looked up at her face. "Since you seem to have a mind for solving mysteries, do you have any ideas how to get out of this?" he asked, throwing his hands up in a vague gesture.

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Stitching up wounds by hand sounded both incredibly painful and entirely unnecessary. Had he never heard of healers before? Maybe he was injured so frequently that he couldn't always manage to get to a hospital in a timely fashion and it was more convenient to do it himself, but even that didn't make much sense. Juliana knew werewolves who handled things better than that. It would have been just as easy to learn rudimentary healing spells as it would be to — learn how to stitch wounds up by hand. Even the idea of it made her skin crawl.

So his answer was unhelpful, and his tone as he continued was a bit grating — it was understandable that he was exasperated, after what had happened, but it wouldn't do much good to be cross with her about it and it wasn't as though it was her fault. Well, it might have been, a little. The fainting bit might have been her fault, for not eating, but it wasn't as though he could have known that. So he had no right to be using that sort of tone with her, she thought, which impacted the way she responded sarcastically, "Out of this field? Walk in any direction, I suppose. You ought to know better than me. You're the one who chose Inverness."

This was, she realized, not particularly helping, so after taking a bit of a breath she continued, "If we had some needle and thread, do you think you could stitch my dress back up?" It couldn't be so different, mechanically speaking, from what he'd just said about stitching up wounds (though she would prefer not to think about that any more), and if they could get her dress held together she could at least give him his coat back. At that point, they might be respectably dressed enough to get by without people stopping to stare at them — provided they stayed far enough away that no one looked too close, of course.

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic in response, but closed it just as quickly. He was stressed, she was half-dressed, and neither of them seemed to have any solid ideas about how to get out of this situation. Lach had always been the type of person could survive through struggles, but never one to solve them; but he had the most control in this situation being the one with the ability to apparate, so he supposed he ought to think of something.

He made an effort to take an audibly deep breath and then spoke with a quieter, more even tone. "If we go into the city, we're unlikely to run into anyone who might know us. Most of the people on this side of town are muggles. That isn't to say that they won't point fingers, but we could probably find somewhere warm to eat, drink, and figure this out." That was the first option, and one he was not particularly excited about. It seemed too inconvenient.

"Another option is apparating somewhere else. I don't know where you live or if I could apparate close by with any reliability. We could also go to my home—" Which was probably not the best idea, but better than standing in a field.

"But if we could find some thread, we wouldn't have to do either. I'm sure I could stitch up a dress." It wouldn't be pretty, and it would definitely be awkward, and that was all assuming they could find some to begin with, but he would try.

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Getting her dress back in one piece would open up a world of options to them, so that was her top priority. Jules fished her wand out on a hidden pocket in her skirt and conjured a needle. That bit was easy, and she did it all the time at Lytton's. Easier to conjure a needle than to find one that had gone astray. It would vanish back into nothing sooner or later, but that didn't much matter. They'd be done with it by then. Thread, on the other hand, was more challenging. She didn't want the thread vanishing before she got home, leaving her dress unraveling in an inopportune moment and potentially getting her into even more trouble than before. This thing with Mr. MacFusty looked bad, but she wasn't in danger. Not everyone was such a gentleman that they could be alone with a woman in a garden (and certainly not in the wilderness of the Scottish highlands) without taking advantage, and so far Mr. MacFusty showed no inclination to do so.

"I've got a loose thread on the inside of my hem I can pull out," Juliana said, dropping down to sit on the cold ground so that she could flip the bottom of her skirt up and see. Her mother had asked her to fix it weeks ago, but she'd been too busy to bother and now she was glad. There was a stretch of thread she could tug free, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough. Only one way to find out.

"Here," she said, rising and handing both the needle and the little looped pile of thread to the gentleman. "Now, turn around, please."

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

Lachlan watched uncomfortably as Miss Binns sat on the cold, wet ground and began fussing with her dress. He leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. "How convenient," he said sourly, his tone more an expression of his growing discomfort in the cold than disapproval. He supposed he ought to be grateful that he'd gotten into this situation with a practical sort of woman; the last thing he would have needed was to be stuck in Inverness with a panicking debutante.

He dropped his arms and plucked the needle from between her fingers, holding it so tight that he knew he'd have little lines in his fingers afterwards. Confused, he did as she said and turned around. Did she intend to strip down to her undergarments? He cocked his head to the side; he could make out the blurry image of her silhouette out of the corner of his eyes. "Don't do anything that will get you sick," he warned.

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"Of course not," she replied, though her tone revealed her discomfort with what she was about to do despite trying to come off as confident and practical. "I've got your jacket. I'll be fine."

The alternative was trying to get him to stitch it up while it was on her, which couldn't be born. He'd necessarily get a very up close and personal look at the bare skin on her stomach, which she wasn't eager to grant him. Not to mention his hands on her body. No, being out here alone with a man was bad enough. Juliana had no desire to tempt his sensibilities, or fate. She'd had to fend off unwanted advances once before (though, granted, she had been ten years younger and considerably more attractive then).

She had to slip his jacket off to get her dress unbuttoned, which meant the cold did assault her as soon as she slipped it from her shoulders. She shivered and then held it out to him, reaching past him so he could take it without turning towards her. She bent to retrieve his jacket, but hesitated before putting it on. He'd ripped her corset, too, and having it laced on one side and mangled on the other was leading her to feel unbalanced. She hadn't planned to remove it but it occurred to her that even if she tried to push it flat beneath her dress it would create lumps, and draw attention to the mended gap in her dress.

"You know why they call it corset boning?" she asked him as she started to loosen the laces. "Because it has bones in it. Actual bones, and you've just torn through it like a piece of black crepe." This was not necessarily an admonishment; she was, frankly, amazed.

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

The thought of a woman stripping behind him might normally excite Lachlan, but even his body found it impossible to find the mental image arousing after watching her innards seep out of her body only minutes earlier (that, and the fact that he was cold and confused and was too concerned with her thought process to really consider what she might look like without a dress on).

"I'm not following," he murmured to himself, because for one he couldn't really remember the moment he'd torn through her clothes in the midst of all that trauma, but also because he wasn't sure what point she was trying to make. That he was strong? "I'm sure you've heard the stories of people finding strength they didn't know they had while panicking." (Since she seemed to be the type of person who would know those sort of things.) "Maybe that happened to me."

He was tempted to turn around, only to get proof of what she was saying, but he was too focused on his stitching. It had been a long time since he'd properly sewn, but he thought he was doing a good job of patching it up. It didn't have to look good; it just needed to cover her body.

---

  

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"A regular Heracles when a lady's in danger, then?" she joked dryly. She reached behind her to the space between her shoulder blades and tugged the knot free. She worked her fingers down across the laces, having to contort her arms and wriggle her back to continue reaching them as she moved down. When she'd gotten it loose enough, she started to work the corset up over her arms, mussing her hair terribly as she finally got it up over her head.

And wow, was it cold! With an involuntary noise of alarm and a quick shudder, Juliana dropped the corset and bent to retrieve the jacket.

"How's it coming?" she asked, turning her attention back to the dress as she wrapped herself in the coat.

  

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules

Lach rolled his eyes where she couldn't see him and quipped, "Your corset would have been safe if you hadn't been so dramatic. If you weren't in any real pain you could have said so sooner." For a woman so determined to seem practical and witty, she'd been so quick to faint. Surely if a giant hole had appeared in his chest without pain, he would have commented on the oddity of it instead of falling flat on the ground unconscious.

He fell silent as he focused on closing up the last stitch, but found it oddly difficult to concentrate when she was making noises behind him. He could hear quiet grunts as she worked herself out of her clothes, the sound of fabric scraping against the ground, and the woolen coat moving against her skin as she put it on. He tied the thread to the best of his ability and suddenly thrust the dress out behind him so she could grab it. "Not perfect, but it'll do."

---

The following 1 user Likes Lachlan MacFusty's post:1 user Likes Lachlan MacFusty's post
   Juliana Ainsworth

---

— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"Well, excuse me," she said sarcastically, with a frown at his comment. It wasn't really fair to go an accuse her of being dramatic when they had both been under the impression she would imminently be dead. "I'm not used to seeing my insides hanging out like that. And you're not, either, so don't try and pretend you would have handled it so coolly," she retorted, as she took the dress back. "I saw how pale your face was, you know."

He looked as though he'd seen a ghost — which, again, had seemed reasonable at the time as she had been apparently on the verge of becoming one. She remembered thinking he did not look like the sort who would be very good in a crisis, and aside from the melodramatic feats of strength she appeared to have been correct. Well, the feats of strength and the sewing skills.

"Alright, don't turn around," she cautioned. She could get the skirt up over her petticoat without taking the jacket off, but she'd have to expose herself again to get it up over her torso. She'd expected it to be difficult and ill-fitting, given the stitches, but she didn't have trouble getting it on. What room she'd lost by not having the corset holding her in she seemed to have made up for with the loss of the corset herself. Luckily, she wasn't the sort to lace them too tightly.

Unfortunately, the lack of the corset and the cold had given her a different sort of problem. She frowned at her chest, and awkwardly tried to rub at her breasts to warm them a little, or else to press them flat again. "I think it'll do," she said hesitantly, after a moment. They were still sort of visible, but if no one was looking too closely, she might be able to get away with it. "Can you tie the laces, in the back?"

The following 1 user Likes Juliana Ainsworth's post:1 user Likes Juliana Ainsworth's post
   Lachlan MacFusty

---

Prof. Marlowe Forfang

Jules