Paul Graves

Virtuous Venoms (Paul, Herdman) - July 1999

The Helpful Herbs and Practical Plants Symposium for 1999 was being held on the grounds of Kelmscott Manor, a Gloucestershire estate situated on the River Thames. The setting was lush, with thick lawn surrounding an old manor built of local limestone. Normally, the site was open to Muggle visitors, but on this date it had been reserved for the Symposium, and the collection of wizards and witches animatedly discussing all manner of plants and potions would surely have raised more than a few Muggle eyebrows.

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By Chantal and Sarah
Paul Graves

Shopping in Knockturn Alley - early June 1999 (Paul, Apothecary)

Paul sighed as he pored through the last pages of Sir Justin Vyntor's Compendium of Unique Magical Artifacts, Vol LV. The Compendium was the most exhaustive listing of known magical artifacts that Paul was aware of, and it listed new ones each year. The annual compendia were updated with additions of new artifacts created that year and with deletions of artifacts known to have been destroyed.

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By Chantal and Sarah

Shock to the System [Sylvie, Cedric, Wilf, Anders]

Timestamp: Prior to most recent post, after Anders' mother's funeral - my bad for not posting it up quicker.

Anders was late out of bed the morning after his mother's funeral, which wasn't that much of a surprise, given that it had been the wee small hours until he'd finally been so tired he'd fallen asleep in the chair next to the fire. At some point he'd woken and removed himself to his room, where he had slept fitfully.

It hadn't even been the funeral itself that had sent him into thoughtful melancholy; it had been the shock he'd felt at the number of people who had turned up to support him. Minerva McGonagall, of course, Bill and Fleur...even Paul Graves. He'd shed a few tears when the simple, plain casket containing his mother's body had been lowered into the damp earth - but he had shed a lot more later when he realised just how many people were prepared to ignore the Daily Prophet and be there to support him through this.

When he emerged into the kitchen, his hair was a mess, he was unshaven, but he seemed happy enough as he greeted Wilf.

"Morning, son." Wilf was sitting in his usual seat by the fire, patiently combing the Old English Sheepdog.

Anders glanced up at the clock. "Only just. Another fifteen minutes and it'd have been afternoon." He stuck his head in the fridge and emerged with a carton of orange juice. He placed some bread in the toaster and sliced himself up some cheese. "Can I get you anything?"

Wilf had not been with him last night when he had finally let go of his grief. It had been too personal; something he needed to do alone.

"You could pour me a glass of the apple juice if you're by the fridge." The old wizard was patiently combing burrs out of the dog's fur.

Anders did so and ferried the drink across to his mentor. "One glass of apple juice," he said, plunking himself down in the chair opposite with his toasted cheese sandwich and orange juice, which he ate with a healthy appetite - definitely a good sign. "I hope I didn't wake you up when I came up to bed last night, I dozed off in the chair. Brain was working a lot, you know."

"Thank you kindly," Wilf paused to sip at the juice. "No, you didn't bother me in the slightest."

"Good." Anders fell silent again and ate his food. "I was thinking...I might send an owl to Sylvie. She did say she'd come to Mam's funeral. I was bit worried that she didn't turn up, the message she sent was a bit cryptic. Said she wasn't too well again. I feel sort of responsible, y'know?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Wilf nodded. "I was concerned she didn't make it, knowing how stubborn she is about things."

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Contact [Anders, Wilf, Lupin]

Anders was doing the only thing he knew to do to block out how awful he was feeling over the situation with Sylvie.

He was losing himself in his work.

Bill had provided him several scrolls that needed painstakingly slow translation and he had set himself up at the table in Wilf's sitting room and let himself sink into the mind-numbing glory of work.

Mid-morning, Wilf brought him in a teatray with a cafetiere, some mugs, and a plate of sandwiches.

The young man barely looked up from his work. When he did, he almost did a double-take. "Thank you," he said, setting down his quill and stretching out the ache in his shoulders.

"How are things going? Did the house clearing go alright?"

"I got most of it done," was the reply. "I had a friend come over and take my mind off it for a while. I never realised just how little stuff Mam really had." He took a bite of the sandwich and realised how hungry he was. Wilf had also thoughtfully brought his potion down as well and he took a swig of it.

"The translation's going well," he said, tapping at the scroll he was currently working on. "Feels good to be doing it again."

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Paul Graves

An Owl to Professor Bradshaw - May 1999 (Paul)

(Late afternoon, the day after "A Book Burning." Expertly warded)

Dear Professor Bradshaw,

I took your advice and attempted to destroy the book but met with minimal success. The book is now, unsurprisingly, in a raging temper, and I have lost a fair quantity of blood.

I am currently at home recuperating whilst I take a step back and assess the situation. The book remains under heavy wards.

Should you have any further advice or questions, I would be interested to speak with you. I remain,

Respectfully yours,

Paul E. Graves
  • Current Mood
    exhausted exhausted

Lost and Found [Timestamp: Sometime in 1997, two years previous to present time]

The room was tiny. It also stank of damp that wasn't so much rising, but more risen. It was cold, dark and there was the occasional scrabbling sound as though it was rat infested.

It probably was.

The ferret stayed very firmly on the young man's shoulder, with claws rooted in the soft dark fabric of his jumper in a manner that said it wasn't getting down any time soon. Nathan didn't push the issue; merely stood very still for a long minute or so and let his eyes adjust.

It seemed, to all intents and purposes, that Nathan was the only occupant in the room. But with a lot of concentration and effort, if you looked at the shadows just ... so ... and perhaps tipped your head ... slightly to one side ... yes. There it was. A very definite figure, crouched as if ready to spring. So still as to be almost a statue.

Nathan smiled and crouched down himself, dropping to a hunkered down position though his gaze rested steadily on the other poised figure. Apart from that, he made no other movement.

It was evident, after some time, that the darkly shadowed figure was probably capable of maintaining its pose for a considerable length of time but - as predicted - impatience got the better of it. The voice, when it came, was almost snarled.

"What do you want?"

"Hello," the young wizard said politely - there was very rarely any call not to be polite, he found. "I was wondering if you'd like to chat."

"No. Get out."

The shadow uncurled to reveal itself to be a fairly tall, lean figure - no, not lean - thin. Painfully thin. Ill. Undernourished. "I have no wish to talk to you." There was the faintest hint of an accent - Russian. "You are intruding upon my privacy and I do not take very kindly to that. So unless you want your throat ripping out, I suggest you take that piece of vermin and get out."

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Paul Graves

The Wall of Swords and Music - mid-May 1999 (Paul, Seth)

The house felt uncomfortably quiet with Seth gone. Paul almost wished he had asked his son to stay but chided himself for such foolishness. Seth was a grown man now--and admittedly, the sudden feeling of needing his son made Paul grimace. He could not remember feeling such need for Seth since his wife's murder, when Seth had been, for a few weeks, his sole reason to continue living.

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By Chantal
Paul Graves

A Book Burning - May 1999 (Paul)

Author's Note: This post occurs immediately following Paul's visit with Wilfred Bradshaw and occurs well before he sees Piotr/Sergei. To read Paul's posts in chronological order, please visit his journal.

Paul departed the offices of the Ordo Ravus around 5pm and apparated home to Arbour Grove. He appeared in the tool shed, his usual apparation point, and made his way into the back of the house.

He changed out of business attire into a comfortable robe and fixed himself a salad. Paul was capable of cooking rather decent meals for other people, such as his son, but he rarely cooked for himself--there were so many more interesting things to do in life than cook his own meals.

Tonight, for instance, he was thinking.

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Developments [Anders, Bill]

(OOC: This SHOULD have been posted before Anders' last entry, but like a muppet, I didn't. I haven't backdated it, because it might just vanish off the face of the Earth!)

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Bill."

Anders was wearing his smartest clothes (which meant a t-shirt that
didn't have the logo of some Quidditch team or Muggle band on it and a
pair of jeans with no holes in the knees) and had agreed to meet Bill
in Diagon Alley.

"That's alright, Anders." Bill put out his hand to shake Anders', a
little formally but in a friendly way none the less. "It's been a
while. How are you, ah, doing?"

"A lot better. I'm down to three doses of potion a day instead of
six. I've been eating and sleeping like a normal person. I'm on the
road to recovery." Indeed, the young Curse Breaker looked much more
healthy than he had done in months if not years. "But I need to get
back to doing something before my brain melts."

"Look, Anders... I have to apologise."

He was genuinely surprised.

"For what?"

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