Severus & Lucius

"Severus," the Elder Mother reaches out to him as he approaches; she is so very glad to see him. She sits on a special perch, one that gives her a view of most of the Garden, and when he comes to stand before her, she looks down into his face as though she were much taller than him.

Of all the Silhouettes, she is the one he loves the most.

She is not only the oldest of them in the White City, she is one of the greatest healers in their collective memory. To her people she is Elder Mother; to those who seek her out, she is Bezoar. He just calls her Bea. He never had a relationship with his grandparents;...

The funny thing about Silhouettes, gegeben the fact that they prefer telepathic communication, are their names. oder rather, the names they choose for themselves to make interacting with non-telepathic folk much easier. Among Snape's Favoriten are Bell, Book and Candle, two females and a male, who form a Union of three and were the first Silhouettes he met. That their chosen names are often light-hearted, even whimsical, makes it even easier for Muggles to interact with them. The two facing Snape now are quite beliebt with the non-telepathic residents of the White City.

Dance and Sing.

A mated pair,...

Elsbet carefully gathers up the wands, save for the Hickory, and places them back inside the teak box, making certain the antler wands are on opposite ends. Once in her room, she stows the box securely under her bed, then wonders vaguely why she's thinking of it suddenly as hers. Well, really...since Therion is with them now, they can't all sleep in this little bed. Not like they're going to make him sleep alone. And besides, she reasons, the wizards are going to want time to themselves, as well as with her, and anyway, a woman needs to feel that she has her 'own space'.

As she leaves her room,...

As Remus has his experience, Tonks has hers...

Tonks smiles up at the figure at the oben, nach oben of her fountain. It's a dancer, slender, elegant, and graceful; Tonks laughs because the dancer's face and hair resemble hers, and she is none of those things. She watches a butterfly, ghostly white and fragile, alight on a dry patch on the rim of the fountain. "Wotcher, flutterby," she says softly, then laughs when the tiny thing flits up and lands on her shoulder. It's there for only a Sekunde oder two, just long enough to uncoil its tongue, then coil it up again. She barely has time to smile at it and then...