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——IDIOSYNCRASIES
AT ABOUT FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON, THE ORDER WOULD START CONGREGATING AGAIN TO RUN OVER THE PLAN ONE LAST TIME. Effie entered the kitchen (by this point, she's the only one allowed to ever barge in Order meetings because as Eleazar said, she knows) to make herself tea.
Mrs. Weasley never approved of her knowing, but Eleazar countered back that it's better he tells her or else she'll figure it out, either way.
"Kingsley," Effie greets him with a smile, which he reciprocates politely, and grinned brighter at the pink-haired woman next to him. "Tonks."
"Wotcher, Effie," Tonks winked. Sirius waved, Remus gave her a weary, tired smile. They'd gotten close over the therapy sessions, even though Effie still gets nightmares (although it decreased when she slept in her own home, or beside someone).
"Have you sent out the catalogue?" Effie asked her casually, relishing in the scent of ginger in the tea. "Let me know so I know I called them at the right time."
"I may've gotten. . . excited," Tonks said sheepishly, which Effie and Sirius barked a laugh at. "I know, I know—biggest understatement of the century."
Effie pulled her wool coat closer around herself, since the old place was actually cold—which Effie wouldn't wonder why. . . Sirius told her it's been ridden with dark history and questionable objects. They've all been trying to clean out the house for the past weeks.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
She tensed up, her hand stopping from when she was about to pour herself some tea. You're probably hallucinating again, calm down. Effie tried to shake it off, resuming her tea.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
Block it out, she thinks to herself. You're all right, you're fine. Effie grabbed her tea cup, clasped in both hands, although when she turned around—
Unmistakeable, spinning magical blue eye, the stump, the gait—Effie's throat closed up, a strangled stammer escaping her lips. "C—Crouch?" The tea cup slipped from her hands as she stumbled away, instinct trying to pull her away from him as possible.
"Hey—hey!" Warm hands grabbed at her arms, before that person was shielding her away from the auror. "Effie, it's not Crouch. It's not anyone—it's the real Moody—"
