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 (-closed-) TW - all kinds

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Joshua Murray

Posts : 108
Birthday : 1996-11-25
Join date : 2017-07-26

PostSubject: (-closed-) TW - all kinds   Tue Aug 29, 2017 8:37 pm

13 August 2013

The summer before Seventh Year.

186 days.

4,464 hours.

4,465, Josh corrected in his head as his pocket watch struck 8 o'clock on the sunny evening of the 13 August. The Murray Manor cast a large shadow across the grounds to the East of the building, shrouding the Murray heir in shadows as he moved from the gardens back towards his father's study.

The lawn was strewn in a display of power of the Murray household that evening, the summer party that his parents had put on in his honour. Leyton and Eleanor Murray had, once again, placed their differences aside in the show of power that came all too naturally to the pair, but was completely unnecessary in every manner of the word. Joshua had not found the idea of a party at all enthralling, instead the Murray heir had sat through the ordeal silently, his features devoid of emotion.

Girls came forth, girls left when they got no where.

The Murray heir said nothing, and gave no one his attention.

His eyes had been trained to the flowers just to the left of the marquee. The flowers had bloomed in the ashes that had been left only a few months ago. The earth that had been turned over still charred from the fit of anger that had flooded through the Slytherin's body in the moment.

The flowers had moved Josh's jaw in to a locked position, the tension in his jaw growing infinitely more noticeable as time wore on. Fewer guests tried their luck with speaking with the Murray heir, until finally Josh was left to himself.

No one had openly acknowledged Josh's silent departure from the party, his eyes cold as he moved back to the manor.

The staff had moved from his path upon seeing Joshua's frame entering the building, the stark reminder of how anyone who got in his way ended up in an early grave was still quite fresh from the 8 February. Of that much, Josh had not let any of them forget.

With the manor empty, except from the occasional member of staff who flitted out of sight at the fall of Josh's footsteps, the heir found his way to his father's study without any one questioning him. The celebrations of his appointment of Head Boy -- which had only come today, even though the party had been arranged for weeks -- continued on outside, as suitor after suitor tried to impress his parents.

Not that it would matter.

His father's seal sat upon his desk, and almost fitting the situation, a roll of parchment sat out on the desk too. Joshua moved to the eat, and took up his father's quill without a second thought. His flowing handwriting quickly, yet neatly wrote out the instructions needed for his request to be fulfilled.

Nobody had seen or heard from Azalea Harrington -- to public knowledge -- for one hundred and eighty six days now.

Azalea Harrington had not returned to school after he had taken her out for the Valentine's evening he had set up for her.

Azalea Harrington had not returned his carefully written letters.

Joshua did not take this lightly, his Azalea would never treat him like that. His Azalea would never have treated anyone in that manner. For, his Azalea, was a woman who showed the utmost care and appreciation for everyone.

Which meant her silence could only be based on a serious problem.

Joshua's words were written to the top private investigator in the world. A country, or even a continent had not been good enough for Josh when he'd done his research on the topic, he had to have the best for his Azalea, and he'd finally found the woman to do the job.

The promise of fees -- no matter how high -- to be paid to the witch, together with the down payment to remove the witch from her own current financial difficulties was denoted in the letter. More money would follow with the more information that could be found.

Everything Josh knew of the witch was included within the letter, from the photo-like portrait Joshua had made of the witch, to the copious amounts of pictures he'd taken of her over the years, the details of how her hair looked in different lights, how it fell just above halfway down her back. He wrote of how her eyes were a rich dark brown that lit up in some of the most unusual ways dependent on her mood. Everything that the Murray heir could muster from his memory he wrote down.

The acceptance of the appointment had come shortly after his letter from Hogwarts that morning, overshadowing the news of his appointment as Head Boy.

It was almost ironic, Joshua had thought to himself as he read through the letter that denoted how Ms. Porter would take his case. The extra resources -- childishly labelled with costs -- that Ms. Porter needed were listed for the Murray heir. The first million dollars that she would need was signed off by the heir before he sealed it.

An owl had taken it not moments later, and Joshua pulled another piece of parchment towards himself.

My Azalea,

Today is your twentieth birthday. I, unlike so many others, have not forgotten this. I'm writing you again in the hope you will reply this time.

Where are you, my Azalea?

It's okay, though, I will find you. No matter the sacrifice. You're somewhere.

I can feel it.


Josh Murray

The second letter followed out of the window shortly after the first one had. Alone in his father's office, Joshua removed his pocket watch once more.


The hours did not matter, not in truth, for every time Joshua looked down in to his pocket watch, it was not the clock's face that he was looking down at. Not the hands that denoted the time that had passed since he'd seen his most precious flower's face.

It was simply her face looking back up at him. Smiling back at him. Reminding him that she was still alive, fighting, and waiting.

Waiting, for him.


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Joshua Murray

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PostSubject: Re: (-closed-) TW - all kinds   Wed Sep 20, 2017 7:00 pm

14 July 2014
The Summer After Seventh Year

522 days.

The, now, former Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat towards the back of the train as the British countryside flashed past his carriage with little and less consideration. Those that had joined him in the compartment sat chattering around Josh, but he had not contributed to the idle chat for hours now. -Instead, his attention was focused on the letter he'd received that morning.

News, but stale news.

It had been a month since the search had been expanded -- Azalea Harrington was not in the United States. Having to tell Ms. Porter to look further afield, in to Canada, had not been something Josh was impressed with. The apologetic letter that had come back was one that he'd discarded almost at once, instead waiting for the next correspondence to come his way.

Such a letter had come that morning, denoting that progress had been made.

Progress that had been short lived at best.

A trace of Azalea Harrington had been found in Canda, Ms. Porter had written. But, the trace of his Azalea had gone quite cold. Close, he had been so close, but the trail was not one that could be followed. This had left Josh most displeased the morning he was to leave the Hogwarts castle.

Ms. Porter had been told as much, as well, when Josh had replied saying that the news was not satisfactory. How could the trace simply disappear? It was not possible.

I will find you, my Azalea...

13 August 2014

551 days.

Josh sat in the withdrawing room with the correspondence of the whole house before him. Leyton Murray had not been tending to the affairs of the house appropriately. Since arriving home, Josh had been intercepting the post for the house and dealing with it appropriately whilst his father continued with the potioneering project he was working on.

His mother had been away since he'd been home, with some Pureblood function or another that Josh hadn't cared enough to listen to. The only part he'd take on board would be that Eleanor Murray would not be home until September.

The morning on the 13 August the Murray Manor had been quiet, just how Josh liked it.

His Azalea deserved his full attention that day.

Today was his Azalea's twenty first birthday. A milestone that should have been celebrated with as much extravagance and surprises as the Murray vault could afford. There was still no trail, though, and Joshua was running out of patience as he wrote the one hundredth letter to his most precious flower.


The handwriting of the letter had shook for perhaps one line, maybe two. The anger flushed through Josh's body. The audacity of his father to have chosen today to raise the question of the Murray funds being diverted to the U.S. -- the funds were not bringing in a return that his father could see, and thus awareness to the situation had been brought to the head of the Murray house. As he hadn't done it, Leyton had brought the problem to his son, who would not give his father any information on the subject.

Leyton had grown frustrated.

Josh had let him, with a silence that would not give anything away.

Leyton had not left it.


The pool of blood was sure to leave a stain in the perfectly polished wooden floor in the study, but it was inconsequential.

The last couple of breaths had been ragged, as if sucking on air would make any difference to the ultimate outcome. But it was inconsequential.

The Ministry would know the moment they arrived at the property that the body on the floor was not one hit by a rabble of halfwits looking for equality in the world, but it was… inconsequential.

Standing over the man who may have inspired many people in the world, Josh could only look down with distaste. For all the talent that Layton Murray possessed, he was an easy disposal, as long as you stayed away from the subtleties in life, it had been easy. Josh had known from the outset that an undetectable poison would not be the answer to getting rid of his father, nor would anything that could be ingested work.

Josh’s job had been made so much easier with the emergence of panic that had spread from the media after an attack on the Pureblood world. With the world looking for the next attack, it had been much too easy.

It didn’t much matter, for his father’s body had lain at his feet for longer than necessary, draining itself of blood as eyes looked up to him, accusing him of something that had never been said. Josh’s eyes had simply looked back with the lack of emotion that always followed him. Emotions had died a very long time ago with Josh, thanks to the man that now lay dead, or perhaps his mother, Josh blamed neither of them but the emotion no longer existed.

The envelope opener was in Josh’s hand, a drop of red carefully perched on the top, waiting to be released to add to the pool on the floor. A multitude wounds covered what was the head of the Murray household, some slashes, some puncture wounds. But every one of them was purposeful. Opening a main artery, puncturing an important organ, each of the wounds had a purpose.

Taking out his wand, Josh produced a flame hot enough to melt the metal, watching as the droplets fell to the skin of his father’s face. A soft hiss as it burned the flesh rose in the room, but Josh didn’t flinch. It continued for a few moments, until the metal was gone instead replaced with the smell of burned flesh. Metal covered what had once been the man's face, ruining the image that his father had worked so hard to make.

Josh was not a man anyone should push, but Leyton Murray had never known his son, in truth, and the cost had been his downfall.

A statement to all, the papers would read the next morning. Warning of the horrors of The Basilisks. Filling minds with lies in the hope of keeping order.

So long as nothing got in the way of him getting his Azalea back, Josh would stop at nothing to get her back safely.


My Azalea,

Today is your twenty first birthday. I'm getting closer to finding you.

Don't give up hope yet, my Azalea.


Joshua Murray

Josh sat back in his chair, his persona terribly calm considering the brutality of the murder in the room next door. As he'd promised a year ago to this day, no matter the sacrifice, he would find his Azalea.

Find her, and keep her from harm in the world.


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Joshua Murray

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PostSubject: Re: (-closed-) TW - all kinds   Fri Sep 29, 2017 8:38 pm

December 2014

685 days.

Christmas decorations adorned all of the Murray house in the same manner they did every year. Except, unlike any other year in the Murray household, the whole manor stood eerily silent, as if taunting a member of staff to break in to song for the festive period. There were no functions being put on this year -- Eleanor Murray had seen fit to not rejoice the holiday without her estranged husband present. Apparently, Joshua had been told, the witch was grieving.

The notion was not one Josh understood, or wanted to understand.

Whatever kept Eleanor Murray silent was enough to keep the brooding blonde man from losing concentration on the important things in life.

We're getting closer, Mr Murray, give me just a few more days.

The trail is definitely coming to something, Mr Murray. I will bring updates this evening for you.

I've narrowed my search now to a single street, Mr Murray.

Josh's mood was picking up -- not because of the season, not because he was in the festive mood. No, the upturn in mood, however slight, was because his Azalea was closer to returning to him. Though, until she was delivered home, back to him, where she belonged, Josh would not pretend he believed the words of the investigator. No, Merlin knew Joshua Murray would not be subjected to the weak emotions such as excitement without solid cause. And the promise of a woman who could not fathom the importance of this search was not something that could ever be considered a solid cause.


The day crept on slowly, the fading light denoted that Christmas was fast approaching. Everyone would be returning home to their families this evening, but Joshua would be sat waiting, staring out across the grounds as the day faded from being. That, the young man mused, was the beauty of winter.

Though, not even the winter had deemed it fitting to bless the country with snow for his Azalea's arrival.


The fuss had come like an alarm sounding through the manor. Almost as soon as the crack of apparition sounded through the rooms, Josh was on alert. Only a few people were capable of such feats. Three, people, in fact. His mother, who was confined to her rooms in the interest of still trying to reconcile with her loss at such a time.

Josh, of course, moved freely in and out of the manor without a second thought.

And then...

Ms. Porter.

But to be so brash as to come here now...

"Mr Murray!" Came the call, the voice not in control of emotions. Shaking. There were steps of servants that followed shortly after Josh in to the withdrawing room that he'd insisted the witch use should she come to find anything and needed to contact him instantly. The witch, however, had not listened to the fact she need only ring a bell and he would be informed.

Hysterical, yes, that was what it was.

Josh's steps were close to running as he moved in to the withdrawing room. No question of the problem came, instead the ex-Slytherin cast his gaze across the room, falling on the one thing he had both longed to see for more days than the normal person would count, and a sight that stirred something quite deadly in the young man.

"We had only enough time to get out, Mr. Murray. She nee-"

The connection of the back of Josh's hand to the woman's face rendered her silent as she fell back against the wall. Josh did not need to be told what his Azalea needed. He knew.

"We will need the Healers." Joshua told his footman, who nodded with deeper understanding than Josh had spoken, the boy ran from the room, knowing exactly what to do as Josh moved oh so very carefully to the witch who'd be unceremoniously placed on the sofa available.



And, Josh's eyes did quick work of picking out all the things that had changed in his Azalea, but most importantly, her ankle in the very least had been broken. It was not sitting correctly as she led out on the sofa, blissfully unaware of the world.

The head of the Murray house stood, jaw moving slowly as it clenched as he noticed yet another problem, relaxed momentarily as they moved, before the process repeated. The darkening of his eyes would be seen by no one. Barely ten minutes later, the room had been filled with experts, transfiguring the sofa in to a bed, setting up equipment, and working quickly, efficiently, and professionally to do what Josh had known was likely to come.

Being abducted -- for Joshua was sure there was no other explanation to the silence, to his Azalea's lack of connection with the outside world -- would leave him with two outcomes. His Azalea was going to be hurt in a multitude of ways that would not be said allowed by the blonde man, or...

Josh's mind would not move to the second option as he looked on, watching the men work to stabilise the witch.

Movement stirred in the corner of his eye, and Josh remember Ms. Porter for the first time.

"You moved her." Josh said, turning back to the witch, anger flaring in that moment -- he'd listened to the Healers talking about the complications. Moving the witch.

Ms. Porter's eyes widened, and she shook her head, trying to come up with some reasonable excuse that moving his Azalea had been the right way to deal with the situation. "The building she was in, Harold Swanson's home, was about to collapse on top of her, if I hadn't moved her she would have been d-"

Josh's hand was on the witch's throat before she could utter the final word of that sentence. Never, in a million years, would Josh Murray allow someone to suggest his Azalea would succumb to such a fate. No, he would not allow such a fate to come to his Azalea.

"Was he inside?" Josh asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but the tone was deadly.

Ms. Porter shook her head, clawing at the man's hand as she fought to free herself from his grip.

"You have a picture of him?"

A nod was managed by the witch, and Josh's grip released enough to allow her a breath which she sucked in greedily. Reaching in to his pocket, Josh pulled out a small envelope, and held it out to the witch, his mind working tirelessly to finish of the incantation for the Portkey. Ms. Porter looked at it for a moment, before taking it. She vanished from the room, a squeak of surprise emitting from her lips. Where? Only Josh Murray would know. Only Josh Murray could access it. But, the witch who knew too much was dealt with.

For now.

Turning back to his Azalea, now freed from most of her clothes so that she could be examined more thoroughly, Josh turned his gaze to her face. The once perfectly sculpted features were lost to malnutrition. The beautiful face that had kept the masses around her intrigued was lost, but to Josh, she was still his Azalea.

Only time would tell if she would ever be the same as she once was...

But, Joshua Murray's waiting had finally ceased.

685 days, and they'd been worth the wait.


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Joshua Murray

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PostSubject: Re: (-closed-) TW - all kinds   Mon Nov 13, 2017 9:21 pm

January 2017

Two years.

Two years and the world had not even begun to settle like it should have. The world was still at odds with his Azalea, unrelenting in it's grip, unrelenting in the fact it would not allow his Azalea back to him. He'd done everything, though, Josh knew that because he'd ticked each item off of a metaphorical list that resided in his head in the process of making his Azalea better.

But she was not better.


After the initial assessment with the Healers upon finding his Azalea in the withdrawing room on Christmas Eve of 2014, Josh had given them the go ahead to complete any and all procedures that were necessary.  Bones needed resetting. A specialised diet was now a necessity because there was no way they were going to get his Azalea to eat, which meant a number of tubes had to be instated to get her to do so.

Josh had lost his focus shortly after that, needing to sit by his Azalea's side for a moment and simply watch the rise and fall of her chest -- no matter how slight -- to make sure that he was not losing the witch he'd spent so long trying to find.

But, when the scalpels had been pulled for the first surgery, Joshua Murray could not be in the room.

Despite the young man's tendencies to violence, the sight of someone inflicting injury on his most precious flower had been too much. Hands flexing, and the air around him filled with a magical static, Josh had left the room with the very real threat of his Azalea's safety being held firmly in the balance of the Healer's lives. If they lost her, he'd told them in no uncertain words, they would not be going home to their families.

Whichever way each individual Healer took that threat, Josh didn't care, because he'd write each and every family off the face of the earth if his Azalea did not pull through.

No amount of money in the world, though, could speed up the progress of fixing his most precious flower, though. The waiting game was excruciating. Results did not come nearly as quickly as Joshua would have liked, which led him to grow anxious. Not in the usual manner of a man worrying over a loved one, though, no, Josh's anxiety gave him an unparalleled need to do something.

After two months of medical procedures that could span the length of his arm, and the assurance of his Azalea's well-being, Joshua had left the Murray Manor for Canada. His Azalea was in a medicated sleep -- the alternative word for such a state was one Josh was not comfortable with using -- whilst the healers built her back up to full strength. The question of how long this would take had not been answered to Josh's satisfaction, for the Healers had simply told him it would vary.

Thus, Canada had been his refuge.


Harold Swanson had not seen it coming. Nobody could have blamed the man, either. He had grown comfortable, much too comfortable in his habits, and it had been repeated again by the man in the same format as before. It was the trouble with people like Harold, once they'd had a taste of the life of a serial abductor, serial rapist and serial abuser they didn't wish to go back to the life they had before. Too intent on keeping and controlling people, the lack of such activities drew out the need for more.

Josh had found the man in a similar roadside cafe on a highway not overly used by main traffic. He'd been lingering around a young girl of little to no beauty, gaining her trust, and thinking he would get away with it again. Josh had seen the glint in the man's eyes as he spoke to the girl, seen the way he pressed at the crotch of his trousers when his excitement for the situation had grown too much, and noted the way he left his words hanging just a little bit too much when it came to questions of a home life.

Maybe another night, possibly two, and Harold Swanson would have gotten precisely what he wanted.

Josh, however, was not in the mood for waiting, though, so as Harold Swanson left for the evening, under the pretence of heading to the next town, Josh had followed him out to the old truck Ms. Porter had found out about. Harold Swanson had never made it to the truck, though. Intercepted by the Murray heir, Harold Swanson had found himself in the middle of a pine forest. It was a cold winter once more in Canada, the temperatures were already below freezing.

The Muggle had not understood what was going on when he was transported hundreds of miles from the cafe he'd just been leaving, turning abruptly on his heels to find Josh stood only a few feet away.

"Who are you?" Harold Swanson demanded, trying to act like the bigger man in that moment, but Josh's gaze was unrelenting. Even a big man like Harold considered the option of flight in that moment, his fleeting eyes giving him away much too easily as Josh watched silently. "Where are we?" Harold continued, though his demand in the second question was not nearly as strong as his first.

"Don't worry, Harold, no one will disturb us." Josh replied coldly, noting the way the man shivered in that moment. "You like it like that, don't you." Josh added, though it was not a question. It was clear that Josh knew exactly what had been going on, and the poor man before him was floundering without realising he was losing the charade of power.

"You took something very dear to me." Josh continued, his tone not lifting from the cold one with which he'd started. "And you tried so very hard to break my most precious flower. You almost succeeded, too." The tone of endearment in that moment held nothing of the warmth Josh usually spoke of Azalea.

Harold Swanson had begun to step away from Josh in that moment, trying to form sentences but ending up tripping over every word. Josh followed with slow purposeful step.

"People don't take what's mine, Harold." Josh continued, his voice dropping from cold to deadly. "Not, unless they're willing to pay the sacrifice."

The screams sent the remaining nesting birds in the forest to flight only a moment later. Harold Swanson's shins had split through both skin and trousers with perfect symmetry. The howl of pain had been nothing compared to the screams that followed when his body collapsed from the inability to hold itself up, making the break and the severe worse.

The begging followed only a moment later.

Make it stop.

Please, I didn't know.

I'll make it up to you.

Please, stop.

Blood was quickly staining the Canadian's clothes, but Josh did not care for Harold Swanson's health.

Stepping forward so that he was just outside of the man's reach, Josh sank to his knees so he could see the pitiful display of the man before him as he curled over in pain, still begging, screaming, and otherwise making too much noise. Not that the noise mattered, no one came to these woods.

"You're lucky." Josh told him. "That I found my Azalea before you could destroy her completely. If she'd not pulled through, this would have been much slower for you." Josh told the man -- though, the hope in Harold's eyes was quite something to behold. Did he really think Josh was going to make this quick?

A sickening smirk touched Josh's lips as slid his wand from his pocket. A few choice spells and Harold Swanson was left crouched on the frozen earth naked as the day he was born. Disgusting in every manner of the word, Josh could see why this man had resorted to the business he'd taken to. Nobody in their right mind would give him the attention he craved. Shivers racked the man's body, his begging coming out in broken words at a faster rate than Josh could have calculated.

Blood loss, in the cold, Josh adjusted his calculations.

There was still time...


The body of Harold Swanson had never been found. Nobody had reported the man to be missing, or, at least, his lack of presence had never been published. Josh's return to the Manor had been with a small keepsake of his trip to Canada that had brought the final humiliation to Howard Swanson. Oh, his screams would have been enough, the look on his face would have been another. Watching him bleed out... Josh would enjoy that for the rest of his life, but the keepsake... it had been important to Josh to take what Harold valued most, as a point to be made to the world.

You didn't take Josh's things unless you were willing to pay the price.


By the end of the first year, the therapy had begun for Azalea. Physiotherapy, psychotherapy, Cognitive Therapy, the list went on. Josh had sat and watched from afar, taking the results of each and every development with more interest than the actual name of the therapy. The physiotherapy was coming along quicker than the other types of therapy, though it was a slow progress in itself, Josh knew that these things would take time.

They were moving int he right direction, Josh was told again and again, but he was not satisfied.

His Azalea still could not be left on her own, though. She was growing stronger, but she was not yet ready to deal with the world on her own.


Two years since his Azalea's arrival had come and gone. Two years of slow progress had been agonised over. The Healers had been threatened again and again that if the results did not come to the point Josh wanted, they would find themselves ousted. But, even the smallest of progress could pacify the Murray heir for a time. The Healers managed to keep themselves afloat by pointing Josh to the next improvement in his most precious flower's progress.

Physically, Azalea was healthy now. She ate by her own accord -- her diet being carefully regulated to maintain the optimum weight as set out by Josh -- she exercised to the intensity suggested by the Healers. His Azalea went about her life as any physically fit person would. To anyone else, this would have been a triumph. His Azalea had overcome the largest hurdle in the world.

But, she was not his Azalea.

The woman who took on the form of his Azalea was compliant. She spoke when spoken to, and did not offer a single word more than necessary. She did not think for herself, and relied heavily on instructions to do the most basic of tasks. Josh's demands for more information on why his Azalea was not functioning as she should was something no Healer could explain.

Josh had sent for more and more Healers. Dismissing so many that very few would even come at his beckoned call.

Nothing, however, would bring his Azalea to him.

No matter how much he tried to rouse her from the stupor.

"A-A-Azalea..." Josh whispered as he stood over her that evening, watching her sleep peacefully as if the world around her was okay. She did not understand. She refused to comply with his only wish.

Come back...


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