Post by tate rory weyland-knott on Jan 19, 2023 20:28:35 GMT -5
“
Tate's parents were dead, and Merlin knew who else was.
Whatever the hell had happened, Tate sure as hell hadn't seen it coming. They'd been at home when whatever shit started, waiting for their parents to return from their shopping trip in London so they could have a quiet and festive Christmas Eve together before their siblings came the next morning for Christmas day. Tate had been perfectly content to bounce around the house by themself, hanging up the last few Christmas decorations and otherwise laying on the couch with the family cat. Since Hogwarts had closed for good, they hadn't done much else, despite their mother's prodding to get a job until they figured out how to finish Tate's schooling.
The smell of smoke was Tate's first indication that something was wrong. Then came the screams, people fleeing down the street from something Tate could only guess at. The danger became evident quickly, fire and explosions spreading like, well, wildfire, down the long rows of suburban houses and claiming everything in its path. Tate was able to keep the fire at bay for the most part, but it was an exploding curse that blew out all of the windows and a large portion of the front of the house that made them retreat to the cellar. They could protect the single door to the underground a lot better than an entire house, while they waited for their parents to return or someone they knew to appear. Surely, if their parents didn't, one of their siblings would come looking for them eventually.
When the worst of the first assault died down, they had sent Moira to Archie's flat in London, hoping that maybe their parents had taken refuge with their older brother. No answer; the inky black owl had returned with a handful of singed feathers and the letter still tied to her leg. The same thing happened with letters to Oakley and their sister, and by then Moira was in bad shape, and Tate didn't feel comfortable sending her out again.
So Tate stayed put. They slept in the cellar, which locked from inside and had only one port of entry. They ate what was left in the fridge and then started on the canned foods in the cabinets and cellar. Thank Merlin their mother had always been a strong proponent of growing egregious amounts of food in the summer and canning it for the winter. They could survive for months, at the very least, before they had to worry about food. The wizard radio that had once sat on the mantle was their only source of news, but the feed cut out not long after things went to shit.
They were on their own.
The biggest threat to their safety and security was the looters. Muggle and wizard alike, there seemed to be no shortage of people looking to take advantage of the state of the world. The house might have been half blown apart, but they would be damned if they let just anyone inside to ransack the place.
Tate knew enough magic to keep the muggles at bay with ease, but it was the wizards and the occasional vampire that caused them issue. By the time the sun rose on the frozen wasteland that was Adamsdown that January morning—January 19, if Tate had been counting the days correctly. Almost a month since they'd heard from their parents or anyone they knew—Tate was sporting a broken arm, supported by a makeshift sling, and any number of scrapes, burns, and bruises. They looked like shit, they were sure, but at least they were alive. That was all that mattered, now.
It was the sound that alerted Tate; they'd found they slept lightly anymore, the first sound of movement from the house above waking them. They rose from the pile of blankets that was their bed in the cellar, wincing as their broken arm was jostled in the process. If only they'd paid more attention in Charms, maybe they would have known how to fix it, or at least set it.
The cellar door creaked as Tate eased it open; their father had been getting on to them to grease it just two days prior to the end of the world, but it didn't matter much now. The sound no doubt gave them away, but it didn't matter. They'd learned to be the first one to act, to throw curses before the other person could react.
And that was exactly what they did, a stunning jinx ricocheting from their wand tip and towards the short figure standing in what had once been the living room as soon as Tate caught sight of her. It missed, hitting the half-fallen wall with little more than red sparks. Tate's lips stretched into a snarl, nearly animalistic as they ducked behind what used to be the piano, waiting for the intruder's response, whether it be a curse of their own or something else.
When nothing came flying at them in return, Tate rose cautiously, only then catching the mop of red hair that was so familiar to them. "Rory?"
Whatever the hell had happened, Tate sure as hell hadn't seen it coming. They'd been at home when whatever shit started, waiting for their parents to return from their shopping trip in London so they could have a quiet and festive Christmas Eve together before their siblings came the next morning for Christmas day. Tate had been perfectly content to bounce around the house by themself, hanging up the last few Christmas decorations and otherwise laying on the couch with the family cat. Since Hogwarts had closed for good, they hadn't done much else, despite their mother's prodding to get a job until they figured out how to finish Tate's schooling.
The smell of smoke was Tate's first indication that something was wrong. Then came the screams, people fleeing down the street from something Tate could only guess at. The danger became evident quickly, fire and explosions spreading like, well, wildfire, down the long rows of suburban houses and claiming everything in its path. Tate was able to keep the fire at bay for the most part, but it was an exploding curse that blew out all of the windows and a large portion of the front of the house that made them retreat to the cellar. They could protect the single door to the underground a lot better than an entire house, while they waited for their parents to return or someone they knew to appear. Surely, if their parents didn't, one of their siblings would come looking for them eventually.
When the worst of the first assault died down, they had sent Moira to Archie's flat in London, hoping that maybe their parents had taken refuge with their older brother. No answer; the inky black owl had returned with a handful of singed feathers and the letter still tied to her leg. The same thing happened with letters to Oakley and their sister, and by then Moira was in bad shape, and Tate didn't feel comfortable sending her out again.
So Tate stayed put. They slept in the cellar, which locked from inside and had only one port of entry. They ate what was left in the fridge and then started on the canned foods in the cabinets and cellar. Thank Merlin their mother had always been a strong proponent of growing egregious amounts of food in the summer and canning it for the winter. They could survive for months, at the very least, before they had to worry about food. The wizard radio that had once sat on the mantle was their only source of news, but the feed cut out not long after things went to shit.
They were on their own.
The biggest threat to their safety and security was the looters. Muggle and wizard alike, there seemed to be no shortage of people looking to take advantage of the state of the world. The house might have been half blown apart, but they would be damned if they let just anyone inside to ransack the place.
Tate knew enough magic to keep the muggles at bay with ease, but it was the wizards and the occasional vampire that caused them issue. By the time the sun rose on the frozen wasteland that was Adamsdown that January morning—January 19, if Tate had been counting the days correctly. Almost a month since they'd heard from their parents or anyone they knew—Tate was sporting a broken arm, supported by a makeshift sling, and any number of scrapes, burns, and bruises. They looked like shit, they were sure, but at least they were alive. That was all that mattered, now.
It was the sound that alerted Tate; they'd found they slept lightly anymore, the first sound of movement from the house above waking them. They rose from the pile of blankets that was their bed in the cellar, wincing as their broken arm was jostled in the process. If only they'd paid more attention in Charms, maybe they would have known how to fix it, or at least set it.
The cellar door creaked as Tate eased it open; their father had been getting on to them to grease it just two days prior to the end of the world, but it didn't matter much now. The sound no doubt gave them away, but it didn't matter. They'd learned to be the first one to act, to throw curses before the other person could react.
And that was exactly what they did, a stunning jinx ricocheting from their wand tip and towards the short figure standing in what had once been the living room as soon as Tate caught sight of her. It missed, hitting the half-fallen wall with little more than red sparks. Tate's lips stretched into a snarl, nearly animalistic as they ducked behind what used to be the piano, waiting for the intruder's response, whether it be a curse of their own or something else.
When nothing came flying at them in return, Tate rose cautiously, only then catching the mop of red hair that was so familiar to them. "Rory?"
TATE RORY
WEYLAND-KNOTT★
WEYLAND-KNOTT★
dandy ♫
