In the living area, Marcus Flint shuffled through the mail and personal items of Angelina. "Ministry trash, bill, bill, warning of death eater attacks in the area… blah… blah blah…past due, letter from Mom, letter from Wood, hmm…Hey Mont, how long you think she's been letting things go to shit like this?" He turned around to see Montague closing the double door to the bedroom.
He walked through her kitchen, nothing moldy or rotten, but very much unwashed and piled haphazardly. Moving around he examined the vases full of dead roses and carnations. Dried lily sprays and chrysanthemums were spilled over in the dining room. There were numerous cards on the table, some torn, others piled on the floor near the fireplace. Where were the house-elves when needed?
After a beat or two, Angelina came out of her room, hair damp fully dressed in the sloppy muggle clothing known as sweats. She wrung her hands in her top. "Would you all like…maybe a cup, cup of tea before…"
"Three lumps in mine please. I like it sweet, no milk."
Nodding and without waiting for Montague's request, the dazed woman padded off to the kitchen. The men eyed her form until she was out of earshot.
"How broken is that one?"
Montague sighed picking up a smashed rose. "She's not broken, just cracked."
Flint scratched the underside of his jaw. "I haven't time for cracked women. The next gathering is in a week and Johnson is sure to be the hot topic. Blood purity will only get her so far when she's been associated with the enemy."
"She'll be ready."