Knockturn Bound - Flat/Terrace Houses

76 Rue de Marcheries - The Thief Of Joy [Closed]

Wed, 06 May 2026 15:47:20 +0000

Saturday, June 3, 1922

3:12 PM

It was late afternoon when Cassian stepped into the apartment building at 76 Rue de Marcheries.

Alençon.

They’d only been gone a week, but already it felt like a lifetime since this had been their world. The bakery on the corner was still open; the streets were still full of people. Cassian had walked by the park he’d confessed his demons to Rosie in late that night. The French that blared in the street was familiar, pulling him back to heated factories and heavy boxes to be loaded. Working from dawn until dusk, a poorly educated middle-aged man barking orders and slurs in equal measure.

He pushed his way through the lobby door and into the small foyer where the mailboxes sat.

Their box…was it still theirs? It held a few envelopes, remnants of an independence that had been stripped away. They mocked him now, asking whether he really thought he could’ve carried on for much longer. If the men hadn’t come, if they hadn’t returned to his parents’ house, how much longer could he have provided?

What would he have done when the baby came? Would they have been fine? They’d never know now because someone else had thought to make the decision for them.

Cassian crushed the bills and tossed them to the floor. Electricity, water, gas, rent; none of them mattered.

The boy ascended the stairs with a false calm, getting off the stairwell on their floor.

Apartment 20.

Apartment 22.

…Apartment 24.

Beyond it was their apartment. The door was locked but it was nothing an ‘alohomora’ couldn’t fix. There was an eeriness to the normalcy of the apartment inside. The curtains were drawn, the furniture set in place, it was a world stuck in time—the wrong time. It didn’t speak to any of the horrors; it kept the secrets of that night hidden behind organisation. They hadn’t been back to collect their stuff. Cassian found them packed away in a box by the door.

The land lord, maybe.

There was the evidence of what used to be a blood stain near the centre. Drifting toward the balcony, he found Rosie’s plants wilting. Some of them. Others had obviously been taken, leaving behind the empty spaces where they once sat.

Cass shrank everything, stuffing them carefully into his pocket before leaving.

92 Rue de Sasse - Run To Me || Rossian Snaps

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 04:33:29 +0000

Saturday, March 18, 1922
4:42 PM

He was ready to collapse.

The sentiment was nothing new. Each shift left him feeling like his body itself had been put through several of the factory's machines. Muscles laden with fatigue, his body still overheating, the boy slowly made his way to #92. With spring approaching, the days were getting a little warmer. While he was glad it meant he didn't have to walk to work in freezing temperatures, the shift made it a little harder for his body to come down from the blaze that always settled on him.

Despite the untenable heat, he could admit the work was getting easier. He might have been getting stronger or otherwise desensitised to the conditions that once overwhelmed him. Was he getting stronger? His shirts fit a little closer. The boy wasn't in danger of ripping the seams, but as the end of his third month approached, it was hard to ignore the difference.

Stronger, sturdier, whatever the case, one thing remained the same, and that was the relief that spread through him as he approached the door to be met by the tantalising smells of whatever his wife had prepared for them.

Rosie quitting the diner was the best thing they could've agreed on. Cassian's heart was no longer filled with dread on his walks home. There was no longer a gaping hole in his chest at the thought of the front door swinging open to reveal a cold flat that echoed in its silence. Since she'd quit, Cass was greeted by warmth every afternoon. The flat that they shared started to feel like a home, a real one, where there was someone waiting when he got there.

They could study together, read together, and spend their evenings listening to the radio together. They weren't passing ships in the night anymore, clinging to the end of the week for one fleeting day. The entire week was theirs, and they'd done what they could to make good use of it. Just two afternoons back, they'd travelled to the neighbouring city to catch a show, then they'd walked a portion of the way back just to have a moment, hands held under the stars.

Slowly, romance was creeping back into their lives. It wasn't the loud and flashy kind but the kind filled with wonder and hope, abstract but warm.

Cass nudged the door open, his heart swelling with anticipation. It had only been two weeks, and in some ways, it still didn't feel real.

"Special delivery," he called. One hand remained tucked behind his back while he nudged the door closed with his foot.

There she was, not at a diner until after he'd fallen asleep, but in the kitchen filling their flat with aromas that made his stomach growl. Wordlessly, he drifted over to her, planting a kiss at the base of her neck before extending the single rose he'd picked up for her on the way home. He spun her around, taking a proper kiss. "I'd have gotten more, but it was the only one the vendor had left."

92 Rue de Sasse - Sparks | Rossian Snaps

Wed, 04 Feb 2026 03:54:22 +0000

Saturday, January 28, 1922
3:30 PM
<3

Since arriving in Allonnes, life had hit the the girl square in the face.

Gone were the carefree days she and Cassian had enjoyed while they wandered from place to place, trying to remain under the radar and doing odd jobs here and there to keep them afloat. They'd seen more small villages and larger towns than she'd anticipated, trying to find a place to lay down roots. She wasn't sure what had made them choose the tiny suburbs of Le Mans, other than needing to be more conservative with their 'savings' and it had just been their most recent stop.

The flat they'd found was perfect. One bedroom with a tight layout and a kitchen a bit too small for her liking. But it had its own designated back garden with a mini makeshift greenhouse in the corner where her plants were already flourishing with a little help from her magic.

She didn't anticipate them leaving anytime soon. Cassian had found a decent-paying job at the local glass factory and she spent her days at the local market, selling her garden produce and the small potions she brewed from them. They were successful, much to her delight, the townspeople already praising her for how nice her flowers smelled and how well her 'holistic medicines' worked for their various ailments.

Still, it didn't bring in much money, and so she had found a waitressing job to supplement the weight she wanted to pull. The Maison des Patenôtres was a cafe that had once been a rosary factory in the late 1800s, and still had Catholic imagery around the place. It was a blue-collar establishment, mostly catering to the men who worked in nearby factories and agriculture. Rosalie had secured a night shift, beginning around four each afternoon and ending around midnight. While the cafe was less than a mile from their flat, closing duties usually kept her there later and she often wasn't home until one in the morning.

It had been...difficult. With Cassian's work schedule clashing against her own, the two rarely saw each other, getting a measly two hours to sleep next to one another before he was up and gone for his day. Sundays were their one day to spend together, often spent rehashing their weeks to one another and trying to reconnect before it all started over on Monday.

They were both trying, but Rosalie missed him horribly. This - the separation and distance between them - wasn't what she had envisioned for the first year of their marriage, but she told herself it was only temporary until they found their footing.

A month into the routine, she still hadn't gotten used to it, and had decided to take Saturday off to surprise him.

She hummed to the radio, her light blue apron covered in flour while a soft breeze carried in through the open kitchen window. Her hands worked diligently at the pasta dough on the counter, kneading and folding the egg yolks into the flour until she had a solid pale yellow ball. Toddles had taught her last term how to make pasta from scratch - certainly cheaper than buying it at the store - and she was happy to put her skills to the test to make her husband a special meal.

After the meal, she had plans to take him to the theatre to see one of the new films that had just been released. Blood and Sand was popular and featured an actor named Rudolph Valentino - certainly someone Cass probably knew - and she was excited to have a fun night out with him.

She checked the clock. He'd be getting off in thirty minutes. Just enough time to finish up the pasta and take the fresh bread out of the oven.

6:30 PM

Well...maybe they could make the late showing of the film. It was Saturday night, and the muggle village they lived in certainly liked to make the most of their nights off. She didn't know what was keeping Cassian - other than maybe he'd had to work late.

She should have told him she was taking the night off.

She picked at the bread on the table, taking a small bite, but finding she had lost her appetite.

It was her own fault.

8:15 PM

Dinner had long gone cold.

A simple flick of her wrist had seen all the food put away into the icebox, and she had spent the last thirty minutes or so cleaning up. Dishes washed, counters wiped down, floor swept. She could have had her wand do all the work, but she had nothing else to keep her busy.

The radio remained on to give her the illusion of company, the window now shut and curtains drawn. Her apron was hung up near the back door, and she straightened the vase of flowers on the table wondering if adding some white sprigs of baby breath wouldn't make it look a little more full.

In the quiet, she thought about her mother. In the end she and Gretchen had clashed horribly, but for a long time, they had been close-knit. She wondered, if her mother could see the little home she'd created for her and Cassian, if she'd be proud? Or would she be like her father, critical and hateful about it all, stating it wasn't good enough?

She pushed the thought out of her head, glancing towards the clock again. Where could he be? Was it like him to stay out this late now? She knew he had a group of mates he was spending time with, but she didn't know if that's what he was doing tonight, or if something had happened.

She could go looking for him, and another hour without him arriving would see her putting on her coat and heading out. For now, she would just -

The front door lock clicked, and she glanced up, her face soft and neutral as he walked in. The surprise on his face was one she had hoped earlier in the evening to see, but now she supposed it didn't really matter. Dinner wouldn't be as good, and she wasn't hungry anyway. By the time they would have finished it would be too late for the film.

"Hey," she said quietly, straightening the vase and moving back to the kitchen so she could warm up his food.

"Where were you?"