Warfic
Believe it or not, I do occasionally visit the current version of the Potterverse, not just the past. dolosus has been reforming and restructuring for the last few months trying to get ahold of the modern Wizarding World in the midst of the Voldemort war. In our discussions, our dear Mod used some real life comparisons to explain the Death Eater style of warfare, including a random question out into the fray. Being slightly familiar with the subject, I had an immediate vision of a potential character. Only when I finally got around to writing the piece, the character turned out rather different, proving you never know what stories those names can provoke.
Watching Paint Dry
Orla Quirke stood in front of the wall with her illuminated wand, admiring her handiwork. Not too shabby, given the time she had allotted herself. She glanced around the broken down old neighborhood, hearing Muggle cars backfiring down the street.
Before long, Muggles and Wizards alike would be waking soon to begin their day. They would walk right past this new addition to their neighborhood. Some of the Muggles might only be frightened by the death imagery, commenting on the increasing presence of graffiti in their neighborhoods. Mothers would pull their children along, not wanting them to look too closely.
Wizards would have a different reaction to the murals. Orla had seen witches and wizards cheerfully stroll down the streets of London until they came across one of her paintings. No matter which side of the war she portrayed, she had seen their reactions. She had seen the change in their step, the pallor of their skin. Orla had seen their wide-eyed expressions darting around street corners searching for an outstretched wand and flashing green eyes. Even a few had reached into their pockets, as if expecting an old-fashioned Muggle style shootout.
Orla had learned her craft well, even better than her magic. She had learned the power of artwork at home in Northern Ireland, where political and religious divisions could be demarked by a frightening coat of paint. Turning a corner could bring a person into a completely different world. Seeing its effect firsthand, Orla had borrowed a few ideas from the Muggles when the war broke out in earnest. She retreated to the one thing she could trust -- her paintbrush.
Not to warn them, not to scare them, but to remind them. Orla wanted to remind everyone that there were two sides to every battle, costs on both sides of the war.
A halfblood, Orla had learned that bitter truth hard way, losing both her past and her future in a short space of time. Her magical future died with the murder of Dumbledore, closing down Hogwarts before she could finish her education properly.
Caught in between both worlds, Orla Quirke became an orphan at seventeen. Her parents had been early victims in the war in Ireland, one deliberately killed and one "accidentally". Orla never forgave either side.
Most people would have sworn an unholy vengeance, but Orla knew the futility of that fight. Orla lacked the training to join either side in the field. Even with her strong OWLs, no one had wanted to take a chance on young and not quite fully trained witch. Schooling did count for some things, after all.
But Orla Quirke was a Ravenclaw. And clever eagles that they are, Ravenclaws find ways to fight back. Orla just chose to do her fighting with paintbrushes instead of wands. If she couldn't end the war, Orla certainly could remind them of the cost.
Watching Paint Dry
Orla Quirke stood in front of the wall with her illuminated wand, admiring her handiwork. Not too shabby, given the time she had allotted herself. She glanced around the broken down old neighborhood, hearing Muggle cars backfiring down the street.
Before long, Muggles and Wizards alike would be waking soon to begin their day. They would walk right past this new addition to their neighborhood. Some of the Muggles might only be frightened by the death imagery, commenting on the increasing presence of graffiti in their neighborhoods. Mothers would pull their children along, not wanting them to look too closely.
Wizards would have a different reaction to the murals. Orla had seen witches and wizards cheerfully stroll down the streets of London until they came across one of her paintings. No matter which side of the war she portrayed, she had seen their reactions. She had seen the change in their step, the pallor of their skin. Orla had seen their wide-eyed expressions darting around street corners searching for an outstretched wand and flashing green eyes. Even a few had reached into their pockets, as if expecting an old-fashioned Muggle style shootout.
Orla had learned her craft well, even better than her magic. She had learned the power of artwork at home in Northern Ireland, where political and religious divisions could be demarked by a frightening coat of paint. Turning a corner could bring a person into a completely different world. Seeing its effect firsthand, Orla had borrowed a few ideas from the Muggles when the war broke out in earnest. She retreated to the one thing she could trust -- her paintbrush.
Not to warn them, not to scare them, but to remind them. Orla wanted to remind everyone that there were two sides to every battle, costs on both sides of the war.
A halfblood, Orla had learned that bitter truth hard way, losing both her past and her future in a short space of time. Her magical future died with the murder of Dumbledore, closing down Hogwarts before she could finish her education properly.
Caught in between both worlds, Orla Quirke became an orphan at seventeen. Her parents had been early victims in the war in Ireland, one deliberately killed and one "accidentally". Orla never forgave either side.
Most people would have sworn an unholy vengeance, but Orla knew the futility of that fight. Orla lacked the training to join either side in the field. Even with her strong OWLs, no one had wanted to take a chance on young and not quite fully trained witch. Schooling did count for some things, after all.
But Orla Quirke was a Ravenclaw. And clever eagles that they are, Ravenclaws find ways to fight back. Orla just chose to do her fighting with paintbrushes instead of wands. If she couldn't end the war, Orla certainly could remind them of the cost.