Spirit

Hestia’s mind was racing. He only confirmed what she’d already had guessed, but didn’t want to accept. A coup… Why else would they move so openly? The confirmation only amplified the questions that buzzed through her mind, all too quick to really settle. “What’s changed?” she asked out loud, musing rather than expecting an answer. “What’s happened to make them move so openly?”

She shook her head, letting him lead her onward. No, this wasn’t the time for questions or letting her mind wander. Anything other than vigilance could mean death in a situation like this. Hestia tried to empty her mind –a feat rarely done- and moved on. If they survived this, and that was a big if, then she could try to unravel the motivation of the coup.

For now, the priority was survival. Survive and get as many out in one piece as possible. She lifted her wand arm as they moved, ready to lash out at every turn.

“Good,” she said, nodding. If the Order was here, that meant that they might actually have a chance. “I haven’t seen anyone either. Not many Death Eaters either… Maybe they’re headed for somewhere in particular. Or just spreading out to cause chaos.”

Hestia bit her lip. This wasn’t the time to start rambling or nervously chatter. She had always thought that if she was in a life or death situation, her body would freeze up. Instead, she found herself fidgety. It was an effort not to bounce with every step.

Hestia nodded again. This time she risked a glance up at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. Wherever they hit first, I wasn’t there. Everything just sorta… trickled down, I suppose.”

She considered for a moment. With Fabian by her side, she felt a bit braver. And now that she knew what the situation was, she could deal with it. The Order had come to help and that included her. So she glanced up at Fabian again.

“Is it bad elsewhere? We should help.”

What had changed? It was a good question. One that Fabian didn’t have the answer to. “I don’t know,” Fabian admitted, somewhat disappointed in himself. Of course, there was no way he could reasonably know, if even the leaders of their organisation hadn’t seen this coming, but still, it felt like some kind of failure.

He nodded in agreement with her hypothesis. “Probably a bit of both. They’ll have a goal, but if I were them, I’d want to cause as much chaos as I could to disguise it.” Which wasn’t a particularly reassuring thought. Were you wasting your time if you got distracted patching up the small wounds all whilst there was some huge internal haemorrhage going on? But how were you expected to ignore the little wounds when they could be Death Eater’s torturing innocents, killing them. An impossible situation, and one that did not get easier the more you thought about it. In times like this he had to rely on instinct and hope for the best.

“Good.” He glanced down at her again. Merlin, she was so small. Over a foot shorter than he was, and whilst he knew that was no indication of how powerful or competent she was, it still made his heart constrict to think of her in danger. “Good.” He repeated. He was glad she was safe, at least for now. 

Ready, set...

Ministry of Magic

For @a-glasshalfempty

This was the second time Hestia had been caught unaware, and it was equally terrifying. Maybe even more so this time around. Whenever she was with the Order, she was always on alert in a sense. Not expecting the windows to get kicked in, by any means, but aware on a wholly different level than usual. The Ministry was supposed to be the safe part of her life but now her two spheres had crashed violently into each other. And even worse, this time she was alone when it happened.

There was nobody to lean on as she bounced through hallways, wand at the ready, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The first silver mask she saw had almost stopped her heart. This wasn’t happening. Maybe had she been any braver, Hestia would have stood her ground and fought. The part of her brain that was constantly weaving excuses figured that nobody could connect her to the Order; she was simply defending the Ministry. But this was way past being an Order member, and Hestia was alone. So she had stunned and bolted.

Once familiar hallways now seemed foreign in the chaos as she slunk through them, desperately trying to orient herself as to what was happening. Her adrenaline was so high, she almost flung a spell at Fabian the second he came into her line of sight. Hestia let out a shaky breath.

“Fabian!” she called, rushing over. Relief spread through her; whatever was going on, at least she wasn’t on her own anymore. Her hand clenched around her wand. “What is happening? Death Eaters are here – is the Order?”

Fabian had gotten to the ministry as fast as he could, but it still felt too late. The chaos had clearly spread out from the atrium to the other floors of the Ministry, and it was that realisation that drove a spike of fear through him. Gideon would have been at work today. He would already be here. What if he’d been taken unawares. He guarded dark magic, dark secrets, what if he was standing right between the Death Eaters and what they wanted.

There was only so much good he could do here, help the public to flee, fend off the foot soldiers the Death Eaters had left behind to guard exits. The worst of them would already be seeping out like poison through the corridors of the Ministry. Fabian had to stop that poison before it reached Gideon. For everything he owed his twin, if he could save him just one more time, perhaps it would make up for it all.

So he set out, hasty, but not uncautiously. If only the Ministry wasn’t so maze-like.

He’d been searching for a little when he suddenly heard his name. It wasn’t the deep and familiar voice of his brother, but it still lightened his heart significantly. “Hestia,” he sighed, lowering his wand just slightly. He could tell only a moment after spotting her that she was shaken. Of course, she must have been here when the invasion began, she wouldn’t have had any warning.

“The Death Eaters are staging some kind of coup- I think.” It was hard to know exactly what the Death Eater’s plan was, he’d only heard Snape’s warning second or perhaps third hand.

As glad as he was to see Hestia, he didn’t want to stop moving. Hanging around in hallways made them sitting ducks. With a protective hand on her shoulder, he ushered her onwards in the direction she’d been heading before they’d met. “The Order are coming, we had some warning, but there was no time to co-ordinate. I don’t know how many of us are already here, you’re the first person I’ve seen.”

Open Starter Time: April 1st, 1982 Location: House Of Bones

The fact that people thought the House of Bones was haunted didn’t sit well with Amelia. Neither did the idea that they would be silly enough to be scared by it, or worse yet, not like it. It was an amazing home! Sure, it wasn’t their childhood home in Mexico, but it was their family home. Amelia had lived there for how many years? And she’d turned out completely fine, hadn’t she?

The thoughts continued to plague her, and so she’d decided to see just what she could do. It wasn’t like the house was really haunted, but if people were going to assume that… then what was the harm of playing into it and pretending? Maybe it could be a little mean, but if people were so preoccupied with their own prejudices about the house, that was their own fault and not hers. Or, at least, that’s what Amelia thought.

Which was what had led her to be heading down the hallway, talking to herself under her breath in Spanish. “Alright, if they want to act like that, then we’ll give them something to take from it. Let’s see how this goes,” She muttered. Finally, she stopped, cleared her throat a little and then let out a rather loud gasp, as if she’d heard something and was surprised by it. Acting. She could do this, yes?

“Richard! No! You are not allowed to say things about our guests like that!” She spoke, rather loudly, in English, “They are here for a good cause, and they were invited in! Were you invited in? No, you know what, don’t answer that, I know what you’re going to say and it’s the wrong answer. You need to stop being such a pompous prat!”

Fabian didn’t intend to be at the house for long, he just had to drop off some notes, pick up a cloak he’d left here last time he’d stayed the night, perhaps check on the new flower beds, maybe even catch a glimpse of Edgar. Just the ordinary everyday tasks that kept him coming back to the House of Bones.

He was rarely here long enough to substantiate any of the haunting rumours that flew around. Any extended period of time he was here was spent in the garden, or in meetings when he was too focused to think about ghosts, or rare and blissful evenings spent with Edgar when he was too dedicated to forgetting worries to pay attention to any spooky occurrences. Either that or the ghosts were avoiding him for some reason. No, despite its sometimes morbid appearance, the House of Bones was mostly a place of pleasant memories for Fabian.

But he had heard the rumours.

Which was why, when he stumbled upon Amelia fabricating a conversation with a made-up ghost, he couldn’t help but laugh. Amelia, who he knew to be so serious, playing a trick? His uncontrollable laugh had given him away, so he stepped closer with a wry smile, looking around in the direction of Amelia's 'ghost' as if trying to find him.

“Edgar said you’d started a rumour that the toilets were haunted, I thought he was pulling my leg.” He gave up searching the empty air and turned back to Amelia. “Richard hm? Not a very spooky name. I would have thought you’d be a bit more creative than Richard.”

On that morning, it was there again, this feeling of being proud of Fabian and how far he had come since that one night he had dragged himself on Caradoc’s doorstep. Except, of course, that Caradoc did not remember of ever having felt a strong unstoppable urge of saying the words out loud or why it would be important for him to say it there and then. And because there was so much he did not remember, he wasn’t exactly sure why there was this prickling pain in his chest upon hearing the news. 

Maybe breakfast wasn’t agreeing with him. Maybe the realisation that he would have to mind his own mail again once Fabian left. Maybe it was how impossibly long the hallways in Strongarm Cottage were sometimes. 

“It’s a good job,” he said, though, because in the end it was. He had thought it over, trying to see if there could be a chance this new job could come in the way of Fabian’s role in the Order, but he had failed to find any. The offer had been made by Dumbledore himself, and Fabian would always be allowed to get out of the school when he was needed on the field. “It is certainly more interesting than replying to mothers trying to get a date for their daughters. I’m sure it pays better, too.“ And at least, Caradoc would know where Fabian would be. At Hogwarts, his soon-to-be-former housemate would not be alone, either. A school full of teachers and students would definitely be better for him, too, than to stay in this lonely house with a recluse and someone determined to forget their moments together.

“My father will want to have a dinner to celebrate.” Which meant a proper dinner—opening up the dining room instead of eating supper in the kitchen; getting out the good china and the charmed silverware; inviting Edgar, too. Which also meant that Caradoc had taken the news as final. This was it, the moment they both knew would come one day: for Fabian to leave Strongarm behind and find his own independence back. It was the goal they had been working on since the start, and Caradoc did not doubt Fabian was ready to leave. Yet… Yet… “If you have time,” he added, "you are starting in the middle of the year, right?”

It was a good job, almost too good to be true. Which was perhaps why, after the initial shock and exhilaration of being offered the job, apprehension was starting to stir. “You have been more than generous with your money Caradoc.” He said, almost sternly. He still felt bad about taking the ‘wage’ Caradoc gave him for the few jobs he did around the house, but it had ensured he had a small but respectable pile of coins to his name again, and for that, he would always be grateful. “And I wouldn’t say more interesting. Some of the gossip you get in those letters is extraordinary.” A sly smirk and an airy shrug. He knew Caradoc would never read the multitude of letters that had arrived for him, so it was a special delight to tease him about the contents. Whether those details were real or fabricated known only by Fabian himself.

“But yes, it is a good job. It’ll be good to stand on my own two feet again.” His smile slipped a little. He didn’t want Caradoc to think he was ungrateful for all this time he’d acted as his crutch. But he resolved that Caradoc already knew how thankful he was. He never wasted a moment to tell him.

He chuckled at Caradoc’s prediction. Some insistence of a celebration did indeed sound like Meurig, and it lightened his heart to think he might have achieved something worthy of the old man’s pride. “I’m sure we can manage a dinner.” Where Caradoc’s tone had been full of resigned annoyance, Fabian’s was only pleased anticipation.

With the expression but not so much the colour of a blush, Edgar kept his gaze down on the tea cup, now filled. There wasn’t much he wanted or could say, and so he just looked down, at the little porcelain thing in his hands, and allowed himself to feel safe. He kept watching the white steam twirl up as Fabian told him the story. Of Caradoc missing a training session, of the fight, of the memory, removed. He didn’t judge Fabian, neither for his reaction nor the way he told it now, full of upset and spiky energy, because, well, how could he? He recognised the story and knew the feelings it conjured too well, and thus he just listened, understandingly, watching his finger brush against the cup. 

It was the last word of his story, that carried all the weight, all the meaning, as well as all the truth, and Edgar let out a breath. A breath which seemed to have resided within him for years now, heavy and icy, taken once with a promise, and never released. “Finally,” he said, and raised his gaze to Fabian. The dark energies had been dragged around the whole room now from the pacing, and in midst of it all was the familiar red hair, a colour Edgar had until so very recently believed to be nothing but a symbol of joyful escapism. Of course. War had managed to get to it, in more ways than one. And Edgar? Edgar was smiling. “Took you long enough.” 

He didn’t want to mock, though, nor dismiss Fabian’s unrest and anger over all this, and so he didn’t ask Fabian to sit, to calm down, instead just straightened his shoulders himself and paid attention. “He did forget. He made himself. How much did he tell you?” 

He looked up at Edgar, as if coming out of a dream, and not a particularly nice one. The smile on Edgar’s face was a surprise, but somehow it made sense. He sighed a resigned sigh and returned a resigned smile. “Well, you know I’ve always favoured brute force over speed and agility.” The truth was he’d known for a while, or at least, he’d had all the puzzle pieces, he just hadn’t put them together. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. Even if he had, this was the first time he’d seen the real impact of what Caradoc was doing to himself. It made sense that Edgar already knew. He was much quicker, much sharper, much closer to Caradoc. Some part of Fabian had hoped this would be the case.

He thought back to his and Caradoc’s conversation over a month ago. “Nothing specific. Just once, right after the Valentine’s fiasco, we talked and he kept saying he couldn’t remember. Or wouldn’t remember. That it was too heavy, or something like that.” He did sit now, having made his way back over to Edgar as he followed the thread of his memory. The weight of it dragging him down into the seat beside his confidant “At first I thought he was just talking about the kind of forgetting we all do with time, just the natural fading of things. But eventually, I realised it was more targeted than that, more purposeful.” 

Peter had to let out a small chuckle too, knowing it probably would be a bit difficult at first to get the kids not to see right through Fabian. It made his heart ache as he remembered his Hogwarts days and how they’d teased and spoke about the teachers, and he was sure that those kids that were still there would do the same. What he wouldn’t do to go back to such an easier time, he thought, and hearing Fabian’s more forceful words about ‘another time, he grinned. Nodding, Peter was sure that Fabian meant it. And, when the time came, he would be more than ready to step back into the halls he missed so much.

“Of course, no problem,” he said softly, nodding his head again when Fabian said he had to go, “Best to go get those tips committed to memory, yeah? Have fun while you do it.” It was all he could hope for, really, that Fabian enjoyed himself while going through the passages and using the tips Peter had given him. Perhaps there would be an echo of laughter still from the four Marauders, especially in the passages they’d frequented the most. But perhaps that was just a dream that Peter was hoping for again. Either way. “That sounds perfect,” he agreed then, deciding to stay and finish his cup, and maybe even grab another before going back to his shopping and wandering around, “Have a good day, Fabian.”

Well, that was just sad. It was like having a conversation with a particularly emotionally-stunted robot – the words were all there but delivered so painstakingly flatly that you’d think she had a gun aimed at him. “Hell if I know,” she said in a tone to match his, no hint of a joke. “I think I’m very nice. Some people disagree. No idea why.”

But it wasn’t like she preferred silence either. She groaned. “Fine. We’ll talk. Whatever.” She racked her brain for a question; she wasn’t asking him about his favourite colour or any of that shit, that was for damn sure. “So. Have any hobbies that aren’t getting pissed?”

And by god did he look like a kicked puppy at the mere idea that he might’ve tried talking to others first. Mary waved a hand, just barely holding back an irritated sigh. “Shit, you’re the sensitive type, are you? Of course that wouldn’t have worked. And they don’t even know the plan anyway so I doubt they could’ve helped you.” It wasn’t a secret, exactly. Bones knew there was a plan. But Mary had been purposefully cagey about the details. “If I let you in are you gonna tell ‘em?”

He smirked at her flat response. Her abrasiveness reminded him somewhat of Bran, and how unapologetic she was. So instead of being put off, he was almost endeared. “Perhaps they were whiney cunts before you found them then. You can’t be held responsible if you’re as nice as you think,” this was more teasing, more playful. If Mary wished to break him with her sharp remarks, she’d have to try a damn sight harder. She wasn’t even nearly the most stressful thing in this room.

A wry eyebrow lifted at her question about hobbies. So she was above the weather, but hobbies were the best she could summon up. He didn’t remark verbally, but the eyebrow said it all. “I do as it happens.” Thank Merlin for Caradoc and Strongarm giving him the gift of hobbies again. “I garden, I fly. Caradoc’s dad tried to get me into chess but I’ve never been much good at it.” He’d never been much good at thinking 10 moves ahead of himself. Here and now he was fine with, reacting to the other player’s moves, changing his plan with a moments notice, fine, but knowing what he’d do 10 moves down the line, not his forte. He decided not to bring that part up, not if this was an interview. Let Mary decide for herself what him being bad at chess meant. “And you? When you’re not calming people with your sunny disposition?”

Good to know he was at least feeling well enough to crack jokes again. Arabella rolled her eyes, but he managed to get a smile out of her regardless. A small, entirely exasperated smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Is this more Gryffindor nonsense? Well, you see, Arabella,” she lowered her voice, a purposefully terrible impression of Fabian. “I wore red for seven years in school that obviously means my head should only be for decoration. I would use it, I would, but how could I betray my beloved house like that?”

She softened at his next words and this time her squeeze was much more gentle. “If only you would care about yourself a little more too.” And until then, she would just have to care enough for two. It was hardly a burden, not at all, but she did wish Fabian would be kinder to himself.

“I’ll even add marshmallows,” she promised. “And no more forest walks. We’ll just have to find somewhere else to sledge. Maybe that’s a good thing, actually. Gives me the chance to remind you of the safety protocol at length. I wasn’t going to, originally, but clearly you could use it.” And finally, finally they were out of the blasted forest. Arabella glanced towards the fence they’d been sat on before. “Do you want to wait here while I go grab the drinks and the sandwiches? I can send Sandy to keep you company.”

He didn’t laugh, not because Arabella’s impression wasn’t hilarious. His voice just seemed to be stuck behind his wide open-mouthed grin, trapped somewhere between surprise and mock offense. “Arabella Figg!” He huffed in amusement. “I would ask that you respect my dedication to the colour red, and therefore, my abstinence from logical thought. Please.”

The amusement ebbed away at her next words. He hummed, thoughtfully, to show that he’d heard, but he didn’t reply. Didn’t he care about himself? He took relatively good care of himself, didn’t he? He’d spent all that time getting better. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t all out of self-interest. If he existed in a void, he would have drunk himself to death. No, his sobriety was for the people around him as much as himself. His worth was what he could do for others. And taking risks, like back in the forest with the thestral, or in battle, well they were all justifiable, somehow. Arabella was right. His own safety was not his top priority.

“You spoil me.” He teased about the marshmallows. Simple joys, simple pleasures. They were worth much more these days than actual treasures. And he did chuckle at her reprimand about safety protocols. “Where’s your sense of adventure hm? You never get any good stories if nothing ever goes wrong.” But even this didn’t have the same energy it might once have had. Fabian had had enough ‘adventure’ to last him a lifetime by this point, still, it was nice to pretend sometimes. Especially when the adventure in question was only sledging. He didn’t think their little adventure in the forest with the creature would be a tale he’d be telling very often.

“Well, you have been spending a lot of time in the garden…” Edgar replied, and because he wasn’t usually one for jokes of impropriety, he averted his eyes, looking a little embarrassed by his own words. Fabian’s hands came into vision anyway, pouring him a tea. It had him raise his gaze again, softness in it. “Thank you,” he said, smiling. And with the same smile, he huffed out a: “Be nice,” because while he was almost certain that it really was Amelia who had planted all those horror stories into people’s minds, and that Fabian and Amelia were on … rather good terms now again, he didn’t want to fuel neither the first aspect nor the second.

The smile disappeared, however, when Fabian still didn’t sit and instead started pacing. Edgar closed his eyes, just for a second, and when he opened them again, the nebulous colours of everyone’s energies who’d been in the room previously were visible to him. In their midst, looking the newest, was Fabian’s, and indeed, the energies that surrounded him and followed his every step weren’t of giddiness or of a fun surprise about to be revealed. They were sharp and dark, sinking down to the ground rather than dissipating high into the ceiling. His words told him as much. Edgar frowned. Why? he wanted to ask. And instead went for: “An argument about what?”

The joke almost passed him by, partly because it felt odd coming from Edgar and partly because of his distraction. “Oh,” he gave a small hesitant chuckle. “Yes, the flowers will all be well fertilised.” He hadn’t meant the comment about Amelia in a particularly mean way, but he took the reprimand easily, almost expecting it, almost taking comfort in the certainty that if he said something bad about Amelia, then Edgar would defend her. It was nice when the unshakable pillars remained unshakable.

He was less certain about outcomes when it came to this discussion about Caradoc. “Well, we had arranged a training session for last week.” There was nothing odd about this, he and Caradoc had trained regularly when he’d been recovering, it was a practise Fabian liked to keep up, and it appeared Caradoc didn’t mind either. “But he didn’t turn up.” Usually, this would not have bothered Fabian. He was by all standards rather easy going. He had also forgotten his fair share of engagements, neither was he a stranger to turning up late to appointments. These were all forgivable sins in Fabian’s book, more than forgivable, barely sins. No, it was not so much being stood up that Fabian minded, but by who, and the possible why behind it. A pointed look at Edgar was all he did to convey those deeper fears.

“I probably overreacted. I got angry when I finally tracked him down. And then later, I-” He was not proud of the next part. Though it had started out as an accident on Caradoc’s part, Fabian was in no way an innocent party and he knew that. “I went poking around, in his old room. I’m not even sure what I was hoping to find but Caradoc found me before I saw anything. He wasn’t happy, understandably. We didn’t part on the best of terms.” And all that would have been bad enough, but nothing unscalable, nothing friends couldn’t overcome. 

The question hurt. Caradoc knew to be an hypocrite, then, because he would beg Fabian to never forget when forgetting was all that he ever did. How many vials would have the man’s name written on them? Enough, enough for them to have their own drawer, that much he could remember. 

Yet, even as his lips were ready to beg, he knew in the end he wouldn’t. He did not need to, because Fabian would never truly ask him to erase his memories no matter how painful and cruel they were. Where that conviction came from, he wasn’t sure he knew. Maybe it was a leftover from a forgotten memory, maybe all he remembered about Fabian was enough to let him know that the man who stood in front of him in that very moment wouldn’t want to forget. 

And, indeed, the question was withdrawn with no need for Caradoc to say anything at all.

“Thank you,” he breathed, words spoken into a sigh of relief and shoulders that were allowed to let go a little of this weight they carried. His hands still wanted to chase the feeling of Fabian’s, and he couldn’t help the selfish thought that came to him then of letting them be selfish and reach out to him again. Yet, he stood still, never following through, because he knew the moment he fell to one temptation then he would fall to all of them.

They shouldn’t have, yet Fabian’s words brought a small and sad smile on his lips.

“We each have our own plague and our own cure,” he said, knowing all too well how true this was. After all, where Caradoc needed oblivion to survive, Fabian needed knowledge. 

Caradoc needed to forget he loved, and Fabian needed to know he was loved.

“I…” whatever he meant to say next was lost somewhere between his heart and his lips, forgotten, as he failed to hold onto the words and Fabian’s gaze. Instead, he looked away. 

Through the window, the moon shone. Not in its dangerous fullness, lonely half, or even in a romantic crescent, but instead into in its awkward waning gibbous. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Caradoc said anyway, having moved towards it, seeking what little moonlight made it into the room to bathe in, yet he had looked at Fabian as he spoke. His seriousness was still there but it was less severe, less commandeering, yet no less sincere. If anything there was only sincerity in that serious gaze of his as he committed this moment to memory, so then when harvested it would be a blooming flower that he would cut away. 

“I think we should go now,” he said, then, when the ghost of Fabian’s hand was back to torment him. “It’s late, and we both need to rest.”

He had thanked Caradoc countless times since that fateful night in January, too many thank yous to keep track of. He’d had to fight to stop the words from becoming meaningless, because they weren’t. Each time he’d said them, for reasons big or small, he’d meant them in their entirety.

To hear the words now from Caradoc was like a blow to the chest. He didn’t know it was healing to hear, or if it just hurt. His face twisted into something between a smile and wince, between happiness and tears. Caradoc was thankful to him, and all he had to do was remember.

Though Fabian was still convinced that forgetting was not the cure, he didn’t have any suggestions for what might be, so he stayed quiet, a conceding nod. Concede now, in hopes to fight another day. Was winning the war worth it, if the price was that Caradoc must erase himself? That question alone scared Fabian. The potential answers scared him even more. He had never before questioned the worthiness of their cause before. Wasn’t he willing to make any number of sacrifices if it meant some kind of forward motion, some step towards their goal? Had he finally found something he wasn’t willing to lose? No, there were plenty of things he wasn’t willing to lose. His family for one, he would never willingly sacrifice them. He loved his family.

“It is,” he therefore replied. “Very.” It was almost comforting, on a night like tonight, that the moon could still be beautiful and that they could still find beauty in it.

Fabian’s eyes were drawn away from Caradoc at his suggestion. One thing was for sure, and it was that drinking was no longer foremost on his mind. He might still have trouble sleeping, but it would not be for want of a bottle, no more than usual. “Yes, rest, that’s a good idea.” He scooped up his still warm tea and made towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He promised, hoping Caradoc might remember at least that.

----

Location: Strongarm Cottage

Date: 17th February 1982

“Well?” He asked. He had broken the news of the job offer Dumbledore had given him, perhaps quite unceremoniously as they walked through the corridors of Strongarm, after breakfast, after saying goodbye to Edgar, in the few minutes they had alone together before the separated to start their days.

Fabian had a few letters to reply too, a gutter to repair outside, he’d likely find Meurig later on for some company, and finally, of course, there was the garden to check up on. It was a familiar routine by now, a comforting one. It was with a somewhat heavy heart that he realised it would soon be coming to an end. Obviously he’d known, but now he felt the weight of it. 

“Maybe-…” Bran started, but this time did not finish her thoughts. Maybe others had been able to see it. Others like Mary. Who had no interest in believing the good in those people, who had always actively looked for the bad in them. Maybe they’d always known, and Bran had just been blind. Stupid. She couldn’t say it, though. Couldn’t, unless admitting that she’d been wrong. So she shook her head. “Maybe good and evil do exist.” And Bran, who had always mocked the other Order members – the real, idealistic, idiotic Order members – wondered if perhaps they really were the good guys after all. 

She nodded. This was another thing she couldn’t say: Thank you. Two tiny words that were, and had always felt, too heavy on her tongue. But today, if she’d been able to say them, she would’ve truly meant them, and she wouldn’t have been embarrassed for Fabian to hear it. Not Fabian. Not for this. So instead, she gave his arm another punch. “Now don’t start crying, aye? You’re already nothing but a dress away from being too girly in my books.” She grabbed her wand, ready to apparate away. “Go back to your flowers. I see you soon.”

Fabian nodded, not necessarily in agreement, but in solidarity. Good and evil. He was not much of a philosopher, but those words came up a lot, in conversation, in his own thoughts. “I think better to live like they do, than pretend they don’t. The latter might be easier for a time, but far more dangerous if we’re wrong.” He couldn’t say for sure, if she was right, if they did exist, even if he believed in them as steadfast foundations from which to build on, he definitely did sometimes, but not every hour, not every day, his buildings wouldn’t stay standing for long. However, he also didn’t mind being wrong, and he did believe that if you didn’t have some concept of good, some concept of evil, truly evil, then you’d lose your way quicker than you wanted.

The punch shook him out of the philosophical melancholy. The pain in his arm was warm and comforting. He gave her a sharp shove in return. “Find a dress that fits and I’ll be impressed.” He stepped away then, allowing her the room she needed to apparate, the distance he needed to accept she was going. “See you soon.” Stay safe. 

on the side of the faint-hearted

Time: Post Order Meeting, 30th of March Place: House of Bones Status: Closed, for @a-glasshalfempty

Edgar sank down into the couch, still awake just enough – thanks to the usual adrenaline which most Order meetings conjured – to find the strength to reach for a teacup from the table. Though not awake enough to also reach for the teapot and fill the cup up. Holding the empty cup defeatedly, he lulled his head over to look at Fabian, waiting for him to join him. Join him as he always did on such afternoons. Join him with an arm around Edgar’s shoulder, or join him with a leg thrown over Edgar’s. Join him for an easy conversation, or join him for a back-and-forth of jokes.

It was a simple routine they had – without intending to but also without fighting it – fallen into over the last last few weeks, a routine where they spent the hours after Order meetings together, catching up. Between Fabian moving out of Strongarm Cottage and Edgar finding himself busy (and thus mentally distracted), those afternoons had become the only times they really found the time to talk. They wrote letters, of course, back and forth between Hastings and Hogsmeade, but this was different. Hearing Fabian’s voice. Seeing his smile. Feeling his warmth…

Edgar enjoyed those afternoons; the peace they brought into his mind and the distraction Fabian’s stories posed, caused little ripples of calm to spread through him until the night, sometimes even until the next morning. It felt good to see his friend doing better, doing well. And even if Edgar would always feel guilty that he hadn’t been the help he should’ve been, as well as fear that it might all go bad again soon, he allowed himself – forced himself – to take those afternoons for how they were. To trust the unknown between the familiar and his carefully crafted plans. 

But today, instead of joining him on the couch, Fabian was hovering. Hesitating, it seemed, or perhaps just distracted as well. “Cariño?” he called, softly, curious more than worried. “Is something the matter?” A brief pause. “You know the bathrooms here aren’t really haunted by malicious ghosts, yes? That’s just a rumor Amelia started.” A joke, but said in this very genuine, serious tone of his.

These afternoons, though fairly new, had become ingrained in Fabian very quickly. He’d come to expect them, not with any great anticipation, but with a natural comfort in the surety that they would happen. So it was more by muscle memory that he found himself alone in the room with Edgar, than through conscious action. His thoughts had created a kind of fog around him, and apparently, Edgar had noticed it too.

He was pulled back by the endearment from Edgar. He looked over his shoulder and cast a smile, small and sad but still a sliver of light struggling through the fog. The joke drew a huff of amusement from him. “You mean I’ve been holding it til I get home all these weeks for nothing?” It was half-hearted, but again, these jokes were so deeply ingrained in him that even in the greatest shock he’d probably still come up with something. And he wasn’t shocked right now, just distracted. “Perhaps Amelia is the real malicious ghost.” He walked over as he spoke, picking up the teapot and filling Edgar’s cup without thinking.

“Yeah, I bet you have,” Mary snorted. She got it, in a way. This coping shit was hard. But at the same time, when it started to fuck up your entire life, she thought that was a pretty clear sign to back off. Prewett was at least trying to do that now and so she followed him back to the booth without complaint; it wasn’t really about the seat anyway. “Oh, nice, do you also wanna talk about the weather?” She rolled her eyes, but answered nonetheless, “Yeah, I had a stressful day. Hell, every other day is a stressful day. Apparently I stress people out which makes them whiny cunts. Go figure.”

She then took a big sip from her drink and used that time to really take in Prewett. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else and yeah, that checked out. But he was here. Sucked to suck. “Am I supposed to ask about you now? ‘Cause I bet this is the most stressful part of your day. Unless you’ve been, I dun know, chasing after ‘bad guys’ all day.” Another roll of her eyes at the mention of ‘bad guys’ but whether or not she agreed with the Order’s secrecy policy, she didn’t trust this dump enough to mention Death Eaters so freely. “And going off the fact you came to me of all people, I’m guessing you weren’t. What’s that about anyway? Bones and Dearborn already said no so you decided to try me?”

It normal circumstances, he might have made some quip. ‘Well, seeing as you bring it up it has been unseasonably warm for the time of year don’t you think.’ But his brain was in fight or flight mode and he only just had enough capacity for straight forward conversation, never mind jokes and nuance. Still. “Only every other day, that’s impressive.” It wasn’t quite a joke, the smile, the glint one's eye, that’s what more often than not set a joke apart, and they were both absent. “What are you doing to stress them out?” He asked. Other than convincing them to walk back into the den of their former addiction, he added silently. “Everyone deals with stress differently. I think whining is one of the safer side effects.” His eyes lingered on her as she took a drink, but eventually he tore his gaze away and took a sip of his water.

He almost chuckled at her astute observation, but he came out as more of a strangled choke. “You don’t have to ask me anything, but don’t blame me if we run out of conversation. I’m not the one too mighty to discuss the weather.” He replied instead. If he talked too much about this, paid it too much attention, it would be unbearable. 

He could be almost as reckless as Dorcas and her crew, Arabella thought to herself as she watched Fabian look at her as if it’d never even crossed his mind to pull his hand back. He still did, though, fortunately, and it wasn’t quite enough to calm her but it was a start.

At the same time, the gesture also made her tense up even more. If this creature decided to get violent, what could she even do? Nothing. She probably wouldn’t even be able to react in time, without seeing it. She was half-expecting Fabian to keel over at any moment and the horrid anticipation almost made her reach out and forcibly pull him back, this creature be damned. She didn’t, though. Even through her worries, she still had enough of common sense to know this was a terrible idea.

“It’s leaving?” she repeated, incredulous. Her heart was still pounding, and it took a moment for her to actually believe him. She wasn’t sure she ever fully did, at least not until Fabian himself relaxed and turned back to her. He wasn’t that good of an actor to sell a story like that, they’d already established that; the creature really must’ve left.

And she let him wrap an arm around her shoulders, but not before reaching out and gently slapping the back of his neck. “Am I okay? Are you okay, you reckless fool? You almost gave me a heart attack! What if it’d bitten your hand off? What if it’d bitten your head off? You wouldn’t miss it, clearly, since you’re not using it!” But her words didn’t come from anger. There was only worry and relief, mixing together until the relief won over and Arabella also wrapped a hand around him, squeezing tightly. She let out a sigh, but there was affection in her voice as she added, “For God’s sake, you’ll be the end of me. Not any of Voldemort’s minions, but you specifically.”

She wanted to keep an eye out while they walked through the forest, but a lot of good that would do. Still, she couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered at every shadow until she forced herself to look away. “I think this calls for hot chocolate. You don’t have to come in, I’ll just make it quickly and bring it to you, but I’m not taking no for an answer. And I’m also making you another sandwich since that thing took the last one.”

He took the slap graciously, with only a little ‘ow’ as he rubbed the back of his neck. “So far you’ve done more damage than it has.” It was teasing, but not as easy as before. He probably wouldn’t be fully relaxed until they were out of the forest, but he also wanted to put Arabella at ease as quickly as possible. 

“It makes a useful paperweight at times.” He said, referring to the head which he was clearly not using. This was not the first time he’d been called a fool and it would not be the last, and if he could use some foolishness to make Arabella smile again then at least it was good for something.

He flinched, just a little, at Voldemort’s name, though he couldn’t have said exactly why. But it was the sentiment of Arabella’s words that hit him more than anything else. His smile was pressed to his face, as if to keep the sadness in his eyes from sinking down and changing it. He squeezed her a little as they walked. “I care about you too Figg.” Because that’s what she was saying, really, and he appreciated it. Even if the immediate meaning destroyed him, the thought that his recklessness could harm Arabella in such a way. Even if he knew it to be true. If anything ever happened to Arabella, it would be an end for Fabian too, perhaps not the end, though he really couldn’t guarantee it. 

Annalise felt a flare of anger at his question. A big enough family, she wanted to say, though it’s at least one member smaller thanks to your lot. It could be thanks to Fabian, for all she knew. She was avoiding finding out who, precisely, was responsible for her sister’s death; the temptation to murder them on sight would be far too great.

Of course, none of these thoughts showed in her expression as she nodded. “Oh, yes. My immediate family is small, really just my parents and my little nephew now, but I have more cousins than I can count,” she explained with a laugh. “Considering how large a family we are, we are fairly close, though I generally only see my younger cousins perhaps once or twice a year. Family is important— I’m sure you agree,” she added with a smile. “I understand you have quite a large family yourself.”

She laughed along with Fabian as he pointed out the flaws in her avoiding-eye-contact approach. “It’s true,” she said. “A terribly flawed plan, and yet generation after generation of students use that approach. Are you that style of teacher, then? Calling on those who are never ready? The poor students!” She smiled at the offer to hide behind him. “I shall likely take you up on it. And speaking of which,” she said, opening one of the drawers under the desk and removing a tape measure. “I’d best actually take your measurements.” A quick spell and the tape measure was swirling toward Fabian, its accompanying quill poised to begin magically transcribing the measurements.

Annalise noted the catch in his voice as his spoke of friends no longer with him, and she felt a moment of sympathy before remembering that these friends had been with the Order. She was sure they had deserved their fates. “I’m sorry,” she told him. She nodded consideringly as Fabian continued to explain how most came to join the Order. It was about what she had expected. If they were smart, they would have been more actively recruiting— but of course, she didn’t have too high an opinion of their general intelligence.

“That makes sense,” she agreed. “One cannot be too careful. Not that I think I have too many friends or family members who would be apt to join up,” she added with a slightly rueful smile, as she glanced at the scrawling measurements to ensure they were recording accurately. “But I’m not certain I would want to encourage them to join, even if they were interested. Seeing people you care about in danger is far too awful. It must be difficult, having your brother in the Order with you and having to worry about him as well as yourself.”

Fabian listened fondly, glad it didn’t appear he’d stirred anything upsetting with his thoughtless question. “Ah yes, the endless line of cousins, that sounds familiar.” When you were a pureblood, every other pureblood seemed to be some cousin or other. “Family is very important.” He agreed. More important than he could properly express.

“Well, it was quite small until recently. Just me, my two siblings, and my father.” They had an uncle on their father’s side they never saw much of, along with his grandparents, some of whom were dead now. He didn’t even speak to his father much anymore. “But then Molly and Arthur have been rather busy. They just had their seventh baby, a little girl at last.” It would have been impossible to keep the joy from his face. “How old is your nephew?” He asked, conscious that he could ramble about his baby niece for hours and he didn’t want to hog the conversation.

He huffed and laugh and shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve been a teacher long enough to have been let in on all the tips and tricks, so no, not yet, but we’ll see.” There was a hint of mischief, and then he stood a little straighter, getting ready to be measured.

He would have waved away her apology, but he didn’t want to throw off the measuring tape as it whizzed around him. “Ancient history,” he reassured her, even if it wasn’t. The truth was he was far too hardened against it considering just how recent it all was. Not that the hardening had come easily or without sacrifice.

Not like the past but like the present, Fabian said, and then he kissed him. It was indeed no trick, only a surprise, and as Edgar leaned in – not at all like one would flinch from having bumped into someone – he realised quickly that this was perhaps new but it was also so endlessly familiar. 

Instead of pushing into the kiss hungrily, perhaps almost sloppily, his lips discovered Fabian’s curiously and carefully; they still found curves they’d met before. Instead of plunging straight below all fabric, his hands travelled down Fabian’s chest shyly, as though every inch was an inch too far travelled on undiscovered land; undiscovered but mapped years ago already. And instead of giving in to the heavy heartbeats of someone who had all too eagerly waited for this, his breath was shallow, as though wanting to make sure his heartbeats would not escape in sounds past his throat; Fabian would’ve been no stranger to them. 

The old habits discarded, but the present still built on the familiar past. This was where this kiss was located, wasn’t it? Right in the empty space between the carefully planned New and the many-times discovered Familiar, right in that space where it was dark and quiet and safe. And Edgar had no choice but to trust Fabian, didn’t he? 

He did, didn’t he? When the kiss broke, Edgar held onto Fabian, fingers curling into the front of his jumper both tightly and shyly at the same time, and he shook his head. His eyes remained close, let him stay in that space, that dark space where there were no thoughts or plans or pre-determined actions, and his heart was beating just fast enough to make his voice sound out of breath: “No.” He pulled Fabian back closer. “No, don’t leave.” Still holding onto Fabian, he let himself sink down into the mattress, bringing him with him, slowly. Carefully, trying to trust Fabian in the dark. No tricks, he’d promised, and Edgar just needed to learn and believe that.

Once he’d covered himself with Fabian’s warmth and weight like a blanket, his hand moving into Fabian’s hair to pull him closer still, he let the familiarly new kiss come down on him as well.

Fabian’s eyes closed too then. He thought of that old adage, the blind leading the blind, and he smiled into Edgar’s curious lips. Because Merlin, it was true. He didn’t have a clue where he was going. But he knew this, and it was comforting, to be welcomed back to familiar arms, to know where to press where to pull, to know what he’d find there.

He was almost surprised when it broke, but it wasn’t like the snapping of a twig, more like the pause in a melody. He took the opportunity to kiss elsewhere, Edgar’s cheek, temple, brows, as he was pulled closer and closer. “I’m right here.” He murmured, kissing away any concern, any apprehension that lay in Edgar’s features. “The entire time.”

They stayed up late, perhaps later than they should have done, but there was more interest to be found in each other that night than in the darkness of sleep, or even dreams.

They woke the next morning, still mostly dressed in the clothes they’d been wearing the night before, if a little more rumpled. Waking up with Edgar was not an unfamiliar experience, but somehow it felt new this time, more fragile. Though nothing was said, there seemed to be a mutual reluctance to leave the room and start the day, as if some spell would be broken and something would be lost. But they had to keep going forward, even if it was just one blind man leading another.

“No, you don’t understand,” Bran started, before even quite knowing what it was in Fabian’s words that made her bristle. Evil, she’d called them.  Evil was not an insult. It was not a colourful word to be thrown around, another description for someone you disliked. Evil was the darkness. The thing that had created Black Magic, had even away on the purity of Wizards’ hearts, thousands and thousands of years ago. Evil was what you kept away from, what you avoided, what you needed to fear – not just to survive, but also to live right. “They’re gone, Fabian. There’s no way to bring them back.” One non-magical member in a Sacred 28 family was enough to taint their blood forever. One drop of evil in the blood of a Wizard, and he’d never be fully good again. 

“Let’s just do it during the next meeting. Catch them all together. Make it an official thing.”

Fabian was taken back a bit by Bran’s protest. He was not offended though, only surprised, perhaps concerned. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t quite know what he didn’t understand, but he was sure she was right, whatever it was. She had something that made sense in her brain, something fundamental if her looks were anything to go by, and he could not puzzle it out. But when she went on he gave a defeated sigh. And then he nodded. Even if he didn’t fully understand.

“It’s only surprising it took us this long to find the point of no return.” Could they have really forgiven everything that had come before? If these people had truly repented, asked for forgiveness, changed their ways, could they have forgotten all that they’d done up to that point? If Fabian was honest, there was a part of him that had still hoped that one day they’d all wake up and realise how wrong they’d been. The Order had taken Snape under their wing hadn’t they? Why not others? But no, Bran was right. This was something more. They couldn’t bring them back from this.

“Good plan,” he agreed. He was quiet for a moment then. He felt like he should say something more. Apologise perhaps, for bringing a downer to her day, or thank her, for caring as much as she did, but they seemed empty. Empty or not enough.