Application for Henry Winter, 'The Secret History'

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

(Cleared with Camilla-mun!)


The tall, dark-haired man strides through a door, looking down at his watch. The wire-rimmed glasses he wears glint as he reaches the middle of the room and lifts his head, checking where he is.

When Henry Winter speaks, it is in a cool voice.

’I do hope I’m not late.’



1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

Bel Paese. I like Italian cheeses; preferred them over the more readily available, in any case. The name itself means ‘beautiful country’—and cheddar, what does that mean? Nothing. It’s named after the village where it was made. Lack of imagination never made a good cheese.*his mouth quirks slightly here, at the absurdity of the questions; but match absurdity with absurdity*

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

Bu--? Ah. Barney. I’m afraid I don’t hold a particular hatred for either; is this a failing at this place?

3. What time is it where you are?

*he spreads his arms wide; he is rather intimidating in this pose, it would seem* Here? I have no idea where here is. But my own watch says it is five pm, so I will agree with that for the time being.

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

*Henry looks vaguely disgusted* No. No. I don’t think this question lends itself to any sensible answer.

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

‘Live Forever’. Too often drunks and layabouts really do believe that; at least we’ll know where they are, drawn by the shining lights, perhaps.

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

*here, he squints, pulling his glasses off* Fra--? Oh, no, Fred. How could I possibly answer? I don’t know any man referenced in the question.

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

Maybe you’ve missed a few too many deadlines; perhaps you’ve not anticipated the workload. But it’s more than likely you’re finding it too difficult; even with challenging amounts of work, if you are competent you should find time to do it.

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Why, how can a man prove that? Even if I were to answer, all you would have is my word. Would that really be enough?

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe.

*here, he really does look disgusted* I did not anticipate this sort of question. All I have is my watch, and my wallet. *Henry opens his wallet, and, after getting a photograph from it, throws it contemptuously to the floor* Find something you want in there.




"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___HW_________
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___HW________.
I agree to be a good sport (pip pip!) and not get my knickers in a bunch. ___HW________.
One day, marmalade will rule the world (Not if I get to Hampden first). _____HW________"

Comments

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

She's unsure of what to do. She's older now, by a few years. He's the same age he was the day he died. But he's smiling at her, in that way he never really smiled at anyone else (except maybe Julian?), and she feels as though her blood's been frozen for years and just now starting to thaw.

"My God, Henry, you're exactly the same," she says, voice low. She still doesn't move to go to him. Though part of her wants nothing more than to rush into his arms with a joyous khairei! and reassure herself it's not illusory.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

Exactly the same? He quickly reaches to his right temple; no hole. Equally as quickly, he puts his hand back down.

'How many years has it been?' he asks, to draw attention away from the movement and to allow himself time to see her; older. Wiser? Possibly. She hasn't run to him yet, at least.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"Six," she says, simply. She'd flinched when his hand moved to the place where the gunshot wound had been, and she half-hopes he didn't notice her flinching. He's the same as she remembers him; she doesn't remember him with a hole in his head.

"I didn't even get to go to your funeral," she says. "Charles would have killed me." She'd had to take her brother back to Virginia instead. She should have been by the graveside. In white.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

'You didn't come to my funeral.'

Stated. Henry looks composed, yes, but he can't be properly angry with her. He's disappointed. He should have been with her at Charles' funeral, consoling her.

'How have you been, then?' Still with Charles? The unbreakable bond staying strong?

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"How do you think? Without you --" She sounds almost exasperated. How can he even ask? Not that she hadn't tried to make things work with Charles in the aftermath of everything that went down at Hampden. She hadn't exactly been building candlelit shrines to her true love's memory. But try telling her that and all you'll get is a withering look. If you're lucky. Luckily no one's here who can try to remind her.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

Henry didn't think she would be. Part of him is pleased.

'It was six years,' he says quietly. 'I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten you for six years.'

He was travelling, but he came to places he couldn't get to; then he was reminded of Camilla.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"I never would have thought you did," she says, just as quietly, and softer now, the edge of exasperation gone, responding to his tone. The ancients believed in ghosts, shades. Why not she? "And I hope you know I'd never have forgotten you." Not telling him she's here because of him, because she wanted to bring him back. She hasn't learned much yet and can't claim any credit. But her eyes speak for her, fierce and bright, greedy. She's wanted to see him again for so long.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

'Every day, did you remember me?' he asks mildly. Does he still have a degree of control after all that time? Or, more accurately: is that control enough?

He sees the greediness in her eyes, and thinks: Yes. Perhaps.

If he had two good eyes, he would make them bore into hers. But he does not, and she is not close enough, not yet.

Not yet.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

She nods silently. And it's not a lie. Sometimes she thought of him with longing, sometimes with anger, sometimes with disgust at what he'd let happen to all of them (he'd had to let it all happen, surely nothing ever got out of Henry's control). But she thought of him every day, in one way or another. She still does. It's why she's here.

He's never had as much control as he wanted to have. Couldn't have, as long as Charles was alive. But these days, Charles may as well be dead to her.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

'I'm sorry,' he says.

It's a calculated move. If she accepts it, he's a little closer to her. If not...well, he's done the right thing, whatever happens.

'Is anyone else here?'

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

Sorry for what? He's always been an enigma, even to her. But it's a stupid question and she won't ask it. Obviously he doesn't mean he's sorry she remembered him. Not when he's looking at her this way.

"No one else is here," she says, knowing by 'anyone' he means anyone that mattered.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

'So it's just you and me?' he asks her slowly. Not as if he's considering it, more like he's letting the words release their full meaning to her. Language has power. It had the power to make him wonder how it felt to lose control.

He still wonders whose fault that was.

'Though this place does seem complicated, I suppose that will help me adjust.'

Not too many, not less than enough, but just right. Camilla was the one he had the affinity with; the rest were lower, surely. Lower than him.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

Language does have power. Then, too, there are phenomena for which no language suffices. Just you and me -- and it had been just them, at one point, that night, hadn't it? And after that nothing was ever the same. Before that, it was Camilla and Charles, inseparable, no matter what else Charles might do from time to time. After that -- well. Every day, did you remember me? Every day for a good while before he died.

"It's not as complicated a place as it wants to look," she says. Conspiratorial already. "I've been here a little while now."

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

'How long?' Not the full six years, surely? 'How did you get here? I don't think I meant to, but I knew I had to go somewhere.'

He almost wants it to be Henry-and-Camilla, but he knows better than to even properly admit that to himself.

Most things aren't complicated, when you break them down. Bunny. The farmer. They were... well. The acts were easy, in themselves.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

She bites her lip. She doesn't want to explain. Not yet. He's only just gotten here.

"A few months," she says. "I came here on a plane."

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

Out of practice, he chides himself, letting a smile slip out for her.

'I mean,' he continues, 'Did you mean to come here?'

He wonders why he didn't think of her reaction beforehand; and it's because he feels distanced from her. Years away will do that to a person. Even him.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"I did mean to come here." She's looking at him intently. She doesn't smile back.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

The lack of the smile unnerves him--just a tiny bit. But it's enough to make him stop asking.

'Are you enjoying it here?' It's so formal, so polite. The time made a difference, it seems. Too much of one.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"I am." A beat. "Now." And then she does go to him, finally.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

He appears to have gained her trust again. That is... welcomed. He smiles once more.

'Did you not before?' he asks in a low voice.

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

"I was working on a problem I couldn't solve," she explains. "And now I don't need to anymore." She's standing within arm's reach now, close enough to realise again how tall he is. That presence -- time had diminished it, yes. Made her remember only the comfort she used to feel in his presence, and forget the awe.

She's afraid. But she's also glowing.

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

Camilla was always glowing. He was afraid, maybe, that the gold leaf she always seemed covered in could have flaked off; he needn't have worried.

Henry is an astute man. Maybe he guesses what she was working on. Maybe not.

'So,' he begins, looking straight at her. 'What happens now?'

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

Now she does smile, and if she glowed before, the smile makes of her face something so luminous she may as well have a halo, not the silly sort you see in cartoons, but a full nimbus, like a Byzantine saint.

"Anything," she says. "Anything we want."

[onewinteryday.livejournal.com]

For some reason, his thoughts immediately leap to another bacchanal. He has to draw the line somewhere--that lead to far too much trouble--so he simply affects interest.

'Would I be correct in assuming you have some ideas?'

[c-macaulay.livejournal.com]

Camilla falters. Her whole purpose -- what she's lived for since Richard made his idiotic proposal -- has been to bring Henry back. After that, Henry would be in the driver's seat. He always had been.

She runs a hand through her hair nervously.