a light that never goes out

Gideon Prewett, she sometimes thought, was a bad influence, a perfect distraction. She should have been getting back to work – in the end, sifting through the never-ending list of things she needed to get done would be the only way to make her life easier – and yet just the suggestion of putting it all off, coming from him, sounded like the greatest idea in the entire world. She fell into step beside him after only a second of hesitation, lured in not only by the promise of a drink but also by the mention of hungry dragons. 

     ‘If only my problems were that easy to solve. Can you imagine the headlines? Minister for Magic Inexplicably Devoured by Dragons? That’d cause a bigger stir than Elphias Doge being a traitor, that’s for certain.’

She leaned against the side of the elevator, facing him, crossing her arms over her chest, a smile playing across her lips, one eyebrow arching in good humor.

     ‘Legend, is it? Maybe if I’d spent my whole Ministry career trying to look busy without doing any work, I would, but… well, now you have me intrigued.’

Gideon could imagine the headlines if the faintly dreamy smile that crossed his face was any indication, a smile which tightened perceptibly at the mention of Elphias Doge. He would not be sorry the day that Elphias’s memory finally fell into obscurity, buried in the nameless grave that traitors truly deserved. “If anything,” he forged ahead determinedly, “Being eaten by dragons might improve his approval ratings significantly. Keep it in mind for next time you’re in need of a morale boost.”

This, he supposed, was why he’d never been destined for a Ministry career.

Stifling another yawn behind his wrist he lent back against the wall, the cheerful humming of the elevator and soothing voice of the elevator announcing each floor a lulling reminder of the many days of his internship that had been whiled away riding the elevator for hours at a time. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply,” he replied delicately, lips twitching at the corners, “I was an excellent intern and any department would be lucky to have me. But as it so happens—”

His voice lowered dramatically, head turning towards the elevator door as it trundled ever onwards, “Legend,” a pointed look seemed to reiterate the words use, “Has it that buried deep inside the break room cupboard on level seven lies all of the ill-gotten gains and bribes accepted by Hamish MacFarlan from the British and Irish Quidditch League.”

Allowing the moment to hang in the air for a moment he finally added, “Rumor has it that Ludo Bagman sends him Brazilian Roast by the pound every month to avoid being done for blagging.”

Eyebrows raising slowly, theatrically as the elevator shuddered to a halt, doors creeping open with a cheerful ‘ding’ and soothing, “Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports”, Gideon sidled backward out of the elevator, still speaking in a comically hushed tone. “I figure that after what they keep trying to convince us is coffee up at the reserve I’m due a cup of good coffee and I believe the MacFusty’s incomparable home-brew Whiskey would pair brilliantly with a nice Brazilian Roast. So are you in or are you out, Bagnold? Because Team Bourgeoisie has limited placements available.”

Once again, Lily’s brow furrowed playfully, pretending to give a scolding look to Gideon. “Uncle Gideon! That’s so wrong! This partnership isn’t going to work out if you don’t tell us where the sprouts are! We have a mission here and Percy needs to make sure we achieve it.” Suddenly her voice was solemn, imitating the one of a captain perhaps. “If you withhold information from us, you will be accused of treason and all your chocolate frogs will be confiscated.”, she chuckled, unable to keep the charade going; but with a little bit of luck Percy wasn’t going to notice. 

The kid, however innocent he might have seemed, was truly unbreakable. She would have melted at the mention of sugar quills at his age, but apparently this was not the case. However, her next proposal was taken more seriously, and she smiled softly. At first it had been hard to interact so freely with children like that. Every little thing reminded her of Harry and she had been afraid to break down at the first sign of laughter. However, it hadn’t happened. She had seen Neville, then little Dora, then Fabian and Gideon’s brothers - and everything had turned out fine. 

“Pinky promise.”, she repeated, softly tangling Percy’s little finger between hers. She looked back at Gideon and laughed once more. “Come on uncle Gid. We need to go look for some caramel flavoured sugar quills and then sprouts it is.”

Percy seemed focused on the new mission, however different from the original one was, so she turned to her friend and this time her voice was a little more serious than before. “I feel the same way. I know everyone’s going to ask me to write a formal apology or something like that if I want my job back - and that’s the best case scenario. But honestly? I’d do it again. I don’t regret it, not even a little bit. You should have heard the things that monster told me.” 

Gideon’s treason seemed swiftly forgotten with a new task to be accomplished, at least in Percy’s eyes, the way he immediately took to the task at hand now that he had an ally to rally to his cause bringing an amused huff of laughter to Gideon’s lips but no further. Instead, he cleared his throat against the laughter that lingered there, biting his lip against the grin that surfaced and following behind as Percy marched them towards the Sugar Quills with a purposeful stride.

“What did they say?” Gideon’s eyes drifted towards the back of his nephew’s head, where he’d knelt to study the display of Sugar Quills with intense scrutiny and lowered his voice as he turned towards Lily, hackles raised and anger visible in the sharp lines of his mouth. It was such a sudden departure from his previous demeanor it was jarring in effect. “Those fucking cowards crawl their way into the ministry and think they can threaten and bribe and—”

His mouth snapped shut as Percy’s head swivelled back towards them, forehead furrowed as he studied the expression on his Uncle’s face before he said, “There’s no caramel, Lily.”

“Why don’t you go ask the lady at the counter if she has any in the cellar, Perce?” Gideon replied, watching as Percy nodded, seemingly pleased at being trusted with such an important task and wandered down the aisle towards the front counter.

Gideon’s head swiveled back to Lily, arms folding across his chest as he steadied the glimmer of temper that had seeped through his armor, “Don’t let them run you out, Lils.”

“Don’t we all,” Narcissa chimed, instantly romantic for all things that glimmered and gleamed. Had she been able to choose, she would have asked for her soul to be gold. To reflect all that it stood for, all that she stood for: purity, wealth, success. A dreamy sigh came close to escaping her lips, but the sound was sealed behind her teeth as she refocused her attention to the matters at hand. 

“You can’t expect the Ministry to do anything when you refuse to acknowledge that progress has been made. I accept that it may, in your opinion, be slow – but it’s not as though the Ministers have been sat twiddling their thumbs for the last two hundred years.” A part of her resented having turned this into a discussion about politics, particularly given who it was that she shared this conversation with. The Prewetts were ever-unsatisfied with Pureblood society, it was no surprise that Gideon openly disliked any other form of hierarchy. 

She pondered for a moment over the contradiction of his apparent loathing for those in positions of power and his adoration of powerful creatures. “For someone who studies beasts that thrive off of an imbalance of strength between themselves and their environment, you are surprisingly ignorant when it comes to society. Value and importance mean little unless you can turn it into power. Do you think your dragons stop to consider the contributions made by the people that they burn to cinders? Do you think they see beyond things that are weaker than them and things that threaten them? It’s simple competition and prey.” A blonde curl was twirled around one finger – a bad habit formed from a time when she had once wanted to diminish the validity of her own insights, preventing from coming across as too thoughtful or too outspoken. “People are not so dissimilar. There will always be those who rise to the top and those who can’t. It’s nature.”

The atmosphere seemed to shift with Gideon’s mood. Narcissa found herself studying the wizard with a faint frown, her gaze flitting over the silver ghosts of scars that decorated the freckled skin of his arms before narrowing her lashes at his query. “Well, I’m hardly going to start referring to it as a Murder Gala if that’s what you’re suggesting.” An ever-growing sense of hostility continued to curl itself into existence within her chest, offended by the mere notion that warfare was necessary. “The truth is not worth the loss of those you love,” she declared sharply. “I would tell a hundred lies if it allowed me to protect my son. Perhaps your solitude has made you forget that there are people who don’t want more conflict.” Narcissa let the distant whisper of a challenge to settle between them. “Would you really risk hurting others in order to prove a point that could be resolved through discussion and co-operation? If it’s the truth you want, Gideon, waging war doesn’t sound like the wisest way to go about getting it.”

A bright peal of laughter escaped him, not so much mocking as surprised as his ankle slid from  it’s lazy perch for his boot to settle with a thump against the floor, defense upon defense dropping (offense was a much better tact in any respect) and the smile on his face transitioning into something considerably more animated than it’s predecessor now that he had something to sink his teeth into. “But is that not the function of our government — to seek progress in the face of the challenges our society presents to it? Surely I can expect more from the people we have elected to represent our best interests within the Ministry. To move with the times instead of against them? Digging their heads in the sand while our society goes stagnant under outdated laws seems a lot like twiddling their thumbs to me.”

Gideon liked debates, had picked that particular trait up from his father, even if his own views were decidedly less moderate than those of the man who’d raised him. He imagined his father would be highly amused to find that the ministry and its politics had followed him even here, to the remote mountainside he’d so vehemently chosen over both. 

“Ah, but even dragons adapt to their environment, Mrs. Malfoy,” Gideon replied with a slow tilt of his head, trying to decide whether or not he should be amused or offended that the woman before him was trying to adapt the pureblood agenda into an apex predator metaphor. “A dragon can understand that the bird who picks the meat from its teeth may be different to it, preyeven, but it serves a more valuable purpose in ensuring the dragon doesn’t get sick. They’re powerful creatures, it’s true, but every powerful creature serves its own place in keeping the balance within an ecosystem. Nature finds a way of resetting the scales for even the top of the food chain when they tip the balance. I’m starting to think that our politicians could learn something from that.”

His eyes stuck, for a moment, on the winding of blonde hair around her finger — an oddly girlish gesture in the face of the gravity of her words and his forehead furrowed in response. The tension that followed the mention of war sucking any semblance of lightness from their discussion. He hated how viscerally that word appealed to him still, like an ugly, open wound that tore through his body still leaking blood that nobody could seem to find. (And of course, they couldn’t because it had found his brother instead.)

“I assure you,” he began slowly, testing the weight of each word on his tongue like it might control the underlying taste of blood or the tremor that threatened to crawl through his bones. “My solitude has not made me forget anything. Do you know what it’s like to be hunted? To watch your friends and their families slaughtered one by one and know that your name is next on that list. To know exactly what it feels like to hold your brother’s body while he's a hair’s breadth away from death and watch him suffer through every miserable minute of recovery since and that the people responsible for that, the people who wanted you both dead, are still out there facing no consequences for their actions.”

He took a moment to steady his breath, to relax the slow tightening of fists and release the tension from his shoulders. War had not come to this place, had not been invited into the one sanctuary he still had that did not stink of it. He wouldn’t welcome it in. “I think you’ve mistaken my meaning,” he began slowly, at last, cautious in a way that he rarely was. “I’m not looking for war, Mrs. Malfoy — what I’m looking for is justice. Do you think that discussion and co-operation will get me that? Because recent events have proven otherwise.”

     Emmeline exhaled a short laugh through her nose, pulling one of her legs up to meet her chest & resting her chin on it, “If all goes well, I expect a drink with my name on it sometime next month. But did you really insult Crouch to her face? A bold move, Prewett. Completely right about him, though, without a doubt.”

     She grinned with pride at his comment, though, giving a playful shrug before replying, “What can I say? I’m an eternal being of pure light. A couple of snarky comments couldn’t put me out.” Emmeline sits straight up, looking down her nose at Gideon with a copycat look of cold disgust on her face, “’You wouldn’t be able to pay for these dress robes even if you sold all of your earthly possessions.’ … Kinda wish I did ruin them, to be quite honest. Knock her down a few pegs, yeah?”

“If all goes well, next month you’ll find me living in sin at Malfoy Manor and I won’t have time for drinks at the pub because I’ll be busy feeding an entire flock of albino peacocks on Italian Vermouth,” he replied with his nose in the air, the wicked smile twitching at the corner of his lips giving way to a peal of laughter, rocking backwards to rest his weight upon his hands and tilting his head to regard her with amusement. This was precisely why Emmeline had been welcomed into the limited space Gideon reserved for the people dearest to him; she knew how to have fun. “I figure if I’m going to insult Crouch to his own face I can hardly stand on ceremony with Narcissa Malfoy. He’s a right old stick-in-the-mud and everyone knows it. If someone wasn’t—”

His lips snapped shut on a comment about dying of boredom before he could stick his foot in his mouth. Gideon’s feelings towards Elphias Doge might have undertaken a rapid and brutal transformation from friend to traitor, but he wasn’t entirely sure Emmeline was ready to hear his murder dismissively dropped into conversation. “—If someone wasn’t there, I’m sure she would have found it funny too.”

Another loud huff of laughter escaped Gideon’s lips at Emmeline’s (rather good, in his eyes) impression of Evan and he let out a low whistle, “You nearly spilt your drink on her? I think I would have paid to see that. Not that anything seems to stick to them anyway.”

At the next interaction between the boy and the young man, Septima couldn’t help but spare a smile. In her particularly complicated life such pockets of simple moments were a leisure, she often never was able to enjoy.

There was something undeniably light about the relationship between the man and and the younger boy, something she wondered if she would one day enjoy with her own nieces and nephews, perhaps spending future afternoons working through arithmancy problems with such company. Her sister was already bursting with delight at the prospect of having children, thus Septima imagined such afternoons couldn’t be too far away.

At the man’s response to her frustrations, she sighed lightly, “I suppose there are plenty worse ways to go, though I would certainly say death by Honeydukes is far from ideal,” she replied vaguely, before turning to face him, “My mother happens to be anything but a picky person, but I’m afraid I’m the problem here- I couldn’t tell the difference between the quality of an expensive box of firewhiskey chocolates and a chocolate frog,” she explained, “I happen to be a bit more like your ‘second head’ over there, an avid avoider of most things sweet, thus rendering me useless in a place like this.”

“You however seem to be fairly familiar with this place…any recommendations?” she inquired, noticing the way the man seemed to move with ease and confidence around the shop. 

“You’ve found me out,” Gideon replied around a huff of laughter, pointedly ignoring the periodic digging in of Percy’s heels into his sides as if Percy was a jockey and he the unwilling steed being urged to just get on with it. Wandering down the aisle towards where Septima had been ruminating over chocolates for seemingly the past half hour (Gideon was fairly sure he’d never spent so long on a decision in his life) he continued cheerfully, “As a big supporter of both sweets and firewhiskey, I’ll let you in on a secret — like any good whiskey you’ll find the best stuff on the top shelf.”

Reaching up — above the eyelines and sticky hands of Honeydukes most frequent visitors — he trailed a finger along the row of brightly coloured boxes, forehead furrowing as it settled against a deep red box. “The Blishens are made with very dark chocolate — classy, but they’ve got a mean kick to follow. Meanwhile, the Quintin Black, over there in the black box, gold writing, now that’s smooth, silkier going down.”

“Mum said—” Percy began, head perking up over Gideon’s shoulder and loudly continuing over Gideon’s hasty attempt to stifle another pearl of wisdom, “—Mum said that you like whiskey too much, Uncle Gid. She said she’s going to hide the Elf Wine when you come over because you always—”

Gideon cleared his throat loudly, pointedly, but Percy cheerfully carried on regardless, “—Drink like a fish and embarrass yourself. How much do fish drink, Uncle Gid?”

“Too much, apparently,” Gideon replied around a laugh designed to deflect just how awkward he felt, scratching at the back of his neck as he glanced towards Septima with a determinedly straight face. “For the record — Embarrassing Drunk Uncles give the Quintin Black an eight out of ten, excellent for taking home to your mother.”

“You don’t think Mcgonagall can stop candy packages or anything, right? I know my sister said I’m probably sending her way too many, but…” Marlene shrugs and smiles at the cashier, “actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter, if she doesn’t want it she can send it back with a note or something. Not like there’s a lot of things I can send her anyways.” She can’t bake like her brother used to, she can’t send her endless quidditch supplies like her parents used to send her, and if she keeps sending quills or pretty parchments, Talia might just kill her. Candy’s the easiest and safest solution. “That’ll be all,” she nods and pays, then turns with a chocolate wand hanging from her mouth and almost falling as she bumps into someone.

“Oi watch it!” Marlene frowns. It’s her fault for not looking, but it’s too late to say that now. “Oh– hey… not very happy to be here, are you?” She chuckles at Percy, messing with his hair and looking up to find whoever he’s here with. Gideon, of course– who else would it be, really? “You’re going to make these kids lose their teeth earlier than they should, you know that, right?” She laughs after covering Percy’s ears.

Distracted enough by the philosophical quandary that peppermint toads versus chocolate frogs presented, Gideon hadn’t exactly noticed that Percy had taken his sulking off to another aisle. What he did notice was the loud, ‘Oi,’ from his near vicinity, a chain effect that had his head jerking up to find that Percy was no longer scowling disapprovingly nearby and his feet hastily moving as the crushing realisation descended that losing Molly’s nerdiest child in a sweet store might be construed as bad Uncle-ing. 

He rounded the corner fast enough that he almost smacked directly into Marlene, a hasty step backward preventing any collisions that might squash the bespectacled creature caught between them. Gideon let the moment drag out, eyes hanging dubiously on the chocolate wand hanging from her mouth as if to underline the irony before saying, “I’ll have you know I drew the bad influence straw this week, it’s Fabian’s turn to be the responsible one.”

It was usually Fabian’s turn to be the responsible one, but that largely went unsaid.

Gideon grinned, wide and easy, noting the grumpy expression that had stuck to Percy’s face beneath his decidedly rumpled hair and hands-masquerading-as-earmuffs. “What brings you to Honeydukes then, McKinnon? Carrots? Some spinach, maybe?”

“Oh did she? Well I wouldn’t know about sprouts. Maybe you could tell me where to find them and what to do with them.” Lily reply, mirroring Percy’s solemnity. People used to say she was no fun, but that child was definitely something else. It was almost strange, considering both his parents and his uncles. Then again, Petunia definitely had nothing similar to either her parents or herself - so that could be a possibility. 

“I see. So that means Percy is doing the babysitting, right?”, she chuckled, if only because the whole situation was so fitting that she imagined this wasn’t the first time it had happened. “And I’m assuming the chaperone isn’t a big fan of candy, right? Not even sugar quills? I mean, I understand not liking chocolate frogs, they’re messy - the cards are nice though.”

Lily chuckled, once more. “Don’t be like that! He’s not being rude. How about you both stay with me for a little bit while I buy my quills, and then I help you make sure this silly billy here buys the sprouts your mum needs?” She left the question in the air, hoping Percy would take the bait as she turned to Gideon. “Well, you know, I’ve been suspended and all so that’s a bummer for sure.”

From the perturbed furrow of Percy’s brow, pinching at the skin above his spectacles, it was clear that he didn’t quite have a handle on the where or the what of the sprouts he’d been tasked with ensuring his uncle brought home, only that the responsibility was clearly his to ensure that it happened. “Uncle Gid won’t tell me,” he finally settled on, because narking without even a hint of pressure was one of Percy’s specialties.

Gideon, politely, ignored it. 

“You could say that,” he agreed, prodding at a jiggling box of chocolate frogs thoughtfully and watching one of the cartons jump. Percy was perhaps one of the only children he’d met that was so thoroughly impervious to the concept of bribery, it made the task of being the wayward uncle that much harder. “I believe young Percy here isn’t so much a fan of bribery, but perhaps he could be tempted by a sugar quill?”

Head craning towards his nephew he received merely a stern shake of the head in response. “Apparently not."

Percy seemed to consider Lily’s proposal with far more interest, as if the prospect of back-up in the increasingly difficult task of keeping his uncle on course was an appealing one. He came to a conclusion with a firm nod and extended a tiny hand as if to shake on the matter before extending his pinky instead with an entirely too serious, “Pinky promise?”

Gideon choked back a laugh, clearing his throat and turning away to regain his composure as the transaction was completed, retaining some semblance of calm by the time he dared to glance in Lily’s direction, lips twitching even as he searched her words for the edge that lingered beneath them.  “Fabian may have mentioned it. Personally, I think a promotion is in order, but that’s the Ministry for you.”

Part of being Draco’s self-proclaimed ‘favorite aunt’, meant that slipping him a sweet or two when Narcissa wasn’t looking was part of the job description. It’s what prompted Evan to stop into Honeydukes that afternoon before she apparated to her cousin’s manor for a visit. She passes the giant barrel of every flavor beans with a scowl – she had a dirt flavored one once and was promptly scarred for the remainder of her life. It’s then that she winds up by the peppermint toads, trying to choose between them and the sugar quills nearby. 

It’s the sound of the disgruntled child that draws her attention, first. It seemed the young boy didn’t wish to get into trouble for this seemingly impromptu trip to the candy shop. When she sees the red hair and the wry grin of the man he complained to, well – Evan couldn’t bring herself to be too surprised. Gideon Prewett never knew how to properly follow instructions of any kind. As he looks to her, Evan simply offers a shake of her head, in disappointment of him. “I suppose the large Honeydukes sign out-front and the barrels of sweets everywhere wasn’t enough to tip you off, hm,” she muses sarcastically, eyes drifting down so he might not see the mild amusement there.

She casts a soft, near-pleasant smile to the bespectacled boy then as she lowly points out, “You’re far more responsible than some people, it seems.”

Gideon had not yet noticed the arctic chill that accompanied a nearby stand, or perhaps he had simply mistaken it for a display of Ice Mice or a draft from the shop door, but as he looked, really looked, and found Evan Rosier looking back at him, he supposed the goosebumps trailing up his arms made that much more sense. The blot of a Wizengamot trial for war crimes loitered over the girl he remembered and all the gloss of a Ministerial letter of apology plastered overtop would not rub it away. 

How careless of him.

“I’m not the Auror in the family,” Gideon replied with a wry shrug of his shoulders and bat of his eyes, fingers trailing absently along the edge of a barrel of jelly slugs as he stepped away from the stand of licorice wands, consciously angling his body to place himself squarely between her and his nephew. “Clearly I missed a few crucial clues along the way.”

Gideon's smile held steady, impervious to the cold or his own misgivings, as he tilted his head back to regard the faintly pleased expression that had worked it’s way across his nephew’s face (Percy had always been most susceptible to flattery.) There were few restraints capable of reigning in his more impulsive behaviors, but his nephew’s presence seemed to do the trick. “Tell me again, what are we here for, Perce? Sugar quills, was it?”

A loud, miserable sigh followed his question, accompanied by the soft thunk of his nephew’s forehead colliding with his shoulder and indecipherable muttering. Gideon’s smile twitched at the corner, as if this development were expected, and reached for one of the aforementioned Sugar Quills, twirling it between his fingers as he spoke. “I’ve spent most of my life avoiding being responsible and I can’t imagine why I’d want to start now when Percy has it well enough covered for both of us.”

The silence got to him more than anything else. It was funny, most people thought that it was Gideon who’d be bothered by this and in many ways, this might be true. Gideon rarely ever went quiet. But it was Fabian who couldn’t live with silence, who constantly needed some sort of background noise to keep him sane. So he played music.

The record player sprang to life with a whisper. Fabian loved those precious seconds just before the record began to play, the scraping of the needle against the vinyl, the anticipation that never failed to make his heart beat just a little faster.

Bob Dylan’s scratchy voice seemed strangely appropriate for whatever this was. A crisis meeting, he decided because that he could handle, that he’d been trained for. Collect the data, analyse, evaluate, and create a strategy. It was simple, really, he’d done it a hundred times before.

“No offense to your… activism,” Fabian retorted, his voice now just as tight as Gideon’s fist, “but you don’t have nearly enough insight into the Auror department to judge its procedures.” Here was the thing, Fabian didn’t trust the Ministry. Too many turncoats and double agents. He didn’t even trust Dumbledore. Criticise those and he’d never bat an eye. But Alastor Moody had his unwavering loyalty and he wouldn’t have his methods put into question when he’d seen first-hand that, as unconventional as they might be, they worked. Not even by his twin.

“If necessary, yes, that’s exactly what I plan to do.” It wouldn’t be an easy task, but Fabian knew, that if it came down to it, both Molly and Arthur would put their children’s’ safety before their own comfort. “Or would you rather have them lose one – or all – of those seven children? Would you rather lose your sister, Gideon?” They were both so worn out and tired, the betrayal of a man they’d thought to be on their side still fresh and aching like an open wound. Fighting was the last thing they ought to be doing, and yet here they were. “Because I for one can’t. Not you, either. Especially not you. I’m selfish like that, you might have noticed.” He npointedly looked down at his own chest – a weak attempt at a joke. The scar had been a small price to pay for his brother’s life and they both knew that he’d do it – and so much more – a hundred times over to keep Gideon safe.

For now, there was still time. He could just not sign the paperwork. Not hand in the badge that lay heavy in his pocket, that he’d refused to give up for the better part of a year, holding on to that little shred of his past, of who he’d been before. He could go back, they’d offered. The tremor affected his left hand, not the right and with a bit of training he’d be back on the front lines in no time. Only that he didn’t want to go back.

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m making you miss work again. If you want I think I could manage on my own. Would just take a little longer.” Gideon had already given up too much to take care of him at a time when Fabian could barely stand by himself. At some point, he’d have to let his brother get back to his own life instead of forcing him to make compromises left and right for Fabian’s sake.

From where Fabian was sitting at his brothers’ feet, Gideon looked even more worn out and exhausted ad a little lost. “Oh and you don’t?” Yet the true concern softened his whole demeanour. “I already did. Today’s just a little worse than usual. Nothing you should worry ‘bout, though, I can manage. Have you eaten yet?”

Biting his tongue on the response that even Alastor Moody’s best intentions couldn’t save the Ministry’s tedious procedures from eating themselves, (he knew just how well pushing that particular button went, much like Fabian knew precisely which sore spots to apply pressure to and make it hurt). Gideon had always been an open book to his brother and where his laughter and smiles fooled most they rarely fooled him; he knew that each point made would register in the tension of his jaw and the sharp escape of air from his lungs but most of all in his eyes. He’d never quite learned how to disguise the truth from his eyes.

Fabian was a walking reminder of what his so-called activism had already cost his family; a reminder of how close he had come to watching his brother die. The mere reminder of that cost was a sharp pull at his center of gravity, like having his feet knocked out from under him and his heart lodged in this throat. “Do you think that I would ever intentionally put them — put you — in danger?”

The question hung uncertainly in the air and Gideon was suddenly certain that he didn’t want the answer. Gideon would fight for his family, he would bleed for them and he would die for them, if need be, but he simply couldn’t stomach the idea of any more sacrifices made for himself. 

He had never wanted to be kept safe or kept at all.

Fingertips drummed against his elbows as his arms coiled in around himself and he turned abruptly, pacing away like a lion that had just acknowledged the boundaries of its cage. “It’s important.” A dismissive wave of his hand followed, bare feet toeing aside the strewn news articles distractedly, “The reserve will understand, I can make up the time at the end of my week. It’ll be—”

Quick? Not likely with Molly’s kids to contend with or his parent's track record. 

“—Fun.”

Ruffling at the scruffy mane of his hair, he paced back toward where Fabian sat, chin jerking upward defiantly as he replied, “I always look good,” in lieu of I always worry about you. Sincerity sneaking up on him regardless in the way it always seemed to do as his hand was extended, interlocking with Fabian’s firmly to haul him back to his feet and swiftly forward into a hug, his free arm winding around his brother’s shoulders and for a moment all of the armor was allowed to soften.  

The past few days had been an adrenaline high he hadn’t been able to jump off of, the low the kind that sunk into his bones until they ached and itched. There was a promise and an apology written into his arms and the deep, tired sigh of relief that shuddered down Gideon’s spine. 

“Can you?” he asked finally, “Handle it, I mean? If I need to take more time—”

The offer hung in the air pointedly, as if he wasn’t dodging his brother’s question. 

     ‘Level four,’ she answered instinctively, before even fully processing who was in front of her. 

And then she took a second to look up, and another second to notice the minute difference between him and his twin brother, to make sure she knew this was Gideon, not Fabian – the vague scent of burn salve and the wrapped up arm a reasonably clear indicator – and let out a small sigh. It would be good for her, she thought, to interact with someone who wasn’t steeped in the bureaucratic nightmare that her life had spiralled into.

He was right, too, though most people didn’t come straight out and say it when they looked at her. She could absolutely use something stronger. Even if it wasn’t even noon yet. And even if she had meetings for the rest of the day. And even if the sight of her leaving the Ministry or drinking on the job would absolutely be weaponised against her in the campaign as a sign that she was unfit to do her job – though Merlin knew what kind of nonsense Lestrange was up to behind closed doors. 

What had her life become?

     ‘Is that an offer, Prewett?’

"It’s that bad, huh?” 

A low whistle of acknowledgment followed as Gideon stepped back to turn neatly on his heel, tipping his head in invitation back the way he’d come in search of the elevator and the ever elusive something stronger. "For the record, I know where you can find a very hungry pack of Welsh Greens that would very much appreciate some additional protein in their diet.”

The pointed raise of his eyebrows accompanied a deliberate jab at the elevator call button with his elbow, nose wrinkling as if he was giving the idea entirely too much thought as he readjusted his armload of paperwork, before he added a cheerful, “Just a thought.”

With a cheerful ‘ding’ the elevator doors slid open and Gideon loped inside, elbowing the button for level seven before slouching back against the elevator wall, twisting his bandaged wrist back and forth as if the idea of leaving it be was entirely foreign to him. The artful reshuffling of an overload of files in order to pick at his bandages followed as Gideon glanced up to eye Millicent thoughtfully.

 “Are you familiar with the legend of the Level Seven Break Room?”

“You’d be surprised at what a little bit of newspaper fame can do to help boost status,” Narcissa mused, despite being under the impression that someone like Gideon would be quick to turn down such an offer. His words would have read like an anti-advertisement, the concept of listing one’s own flaws an entirely foreign concept to Narcissa who listened on without truly knowing what to say. That was until she echoed him with a hint of amusement. “Leo?” She tried not to roll her eyes, the single syllable dropping heavily from her lips. “And people say that Slytherins are the easiest to identify. Don’t tell me that you sleep with a stuffed toy lion and refuse to buy furniture that isn’t red.” And despite her entire lack of comfort at being in a place where dragons had been known to incinerate people into tiny piles of ash, and despite interviewing a Prewett who had not-so-graciously made a terrible impression on her at an equally dreadful party, and despite the whispers of war that chased at her heels, Narcissa managed to expel a gentle laugh.

She settled as he spoke, childhood having made her more than well acquainted with sitting still and saying nothing. Perhaps that was part of what made her reasonably well suited to journalism – an ability to listen even when it didn’t necessarily look like she was. Gideon’s story was a charming one (which irked her just as much as it pleased her, well aware that her readers would lap it up). At his question, she shook her head delicately. “I haven’t, no.” She’d never truly wanted to see a dragon. And not because she didn’t think them impressive (she did; certainly enough to name her son after them, too), but because there came such a revered awe around the creatures that the potential of seeing one and being disappointed was enough to put her off. Far better for them to remain a vision of beauty and danger in her mind than risk disenchantment. 

“You feel powerful in the presence of something that kills because it chooses to keep you alive,” Narcissa surmised, surprised to find herself capable of relating somewhat. Trusting dragons sounded not unlike trusting Death Eaters. It was a notion as ridiculous as it was relevant. As he continued, she wondered why it was that Gideon didn’t use the platform that was the Sacred 28 to share his beliefs. He admitted himself that he was willing to make sacrifices for his work – surely re-integrating himself back into their society, ignoring the lingering remarks of bloodtraitor in favour of pockets heavy with money and people keen to look charitable in light of an unfortunate past couple of years. “Your cause sounds like a noble one,” she sniffed, remaining neutral as she spoke. “And I won’t deny that you are proficient at voicing your passion for it.” 

She almost didn’t want to ask what his take was on keeping smaller dragons as pets for the topic seemed contrary after all that he had shared. Instead, she latched on to his final statement with a sense of genuine curiosity. “Tell me more about your opinion on the role that the Ministry plays when it comes to dragons. Are they doing enough? Do you think that the next Minister for Magic ought to be more outspoken in matters concerning Magical Creatures?” She was yet to hear Rodolphus mention such matters and was far from sure as to whether he would give them much thought, but she was certainly keen to get some form of insight from Gideon if only to later help Lestrange strengthen his manifesto. Narcissa silently complimented herself for the multitasking. “I take it that the war had a negative effect on research funding and support? Considering what happened at the Peace Gala, you must be keen to avoid any further conflict for fear of the impact it would have.”

The prospect of status to be gained was a dangled hook left hanging in the air, deftly evaded as if it was the least of Gideon’s current concerns. He’d witnessed the terms at which the Sacred 28′s idea of status had to be bought and confinement of any kind, but most of all the kind that locked up all the genuine parts of yourself and your beliefs from the outside world (whether too abrasive or too unpolished or too loud for polite society), was the antithesis of the lifestyle he had chosen for himself. If a platform to speak upon would ever be worth such a price, Gideon had yet to encounter it. 

“A Leo,” he agreed.  “Though personally I prefer gold.”

If there was anything Gideon was good at, it was the hard sell: he’d been told once upon a time that he could charm the gold right out of a goblin’s hands if he only set his mind to it and there were few things Gideon spoke so passionately about as his work at the reserve. It was entirely too easy to get swept up in the topic, to speak freely where perhaps he should have shown more restraint. (Gideon rarely exhibited much restraint.)

“We can’t expect the Ministry to lead the way when they’ve been operating under the same rigid and ineffective rules since the seventeenth century with no consideration of social progress. The Ministry would have us sit back while the illegal dragon trade and poachers whittle away at dragon populations until the species were extinct before they thought to impose stronger regulations or limitations on the commercialization of dragon parts for personal uses.”

His hands, up until now having been thoroughly engaged in the storytelling process as he edged closer to the edge of his seat settled back across his knees and he cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts before he continued. “While I don’t doubt that the next Minister of Magic will have a great deal on their plate to contend with, if they can’t see the value and the importance in each and every person and creature and the place that they inhabit in our world, that their worth is greater than a family name or a jacket or an ingredient for their potions, I think they’d be doing a disservice to the office they hope to hold.”

And there, the word that unfailingly brought Gideon’s lofty thoughts straight back down to reality. War. The word tasted like copper in his mouth and the scalding, sticky heat of his brother’s blood seeping down his arms and through his shirt. It turned his smile brittle and the edges sharp. A long moment passed, drawing out with the ticking of the clock and rain upon the roof, before Gideon answered, “Can we really still call it a Peace Gala?”

His arms folded in, posture rolling back with a decided air of defiance, “I’m all too keen to avoid any more loss and selfishly I would like to know that my family and friends could be safe from harm, but sometimes conflict is the only way to bring the truth to light.” 

Sometimes justice still needed to be served.

“Well, that depends. If I tame it do I get to ride it?”

Septima took a moment from her candy search to look over at the younger boy, he was clearly younger than her first years, but the unimpressed visage painted on his face was one she considered herself quite familiar with, one that seemed to mirror the looks she received when she assigned an extra chapter of reader or a new essay. It was an ironic, if not amusing sight- that the younger boy was a clear rule-follower, while the elder boy was anything but. She was once like the younger boy, living life adhering to any and every rule, but it was phase she grew out of as she began to realize the world was not so black and white and that she had to live by her own rules, rather than those established by others.

“It appears your extra head seems to disagree with that notion,” Septima chuckled lightly, finding the situation to be a little dose of entertainment in her otherwise bleak day filled with grading numerology equations. “Perhaps finding a compromise between the two of you would help you regain your sense of direction?” she joked, mildly.

As Septima paused to ponder his inquiry, she put back the box she had previously picked up, deciding the chocolates were not worth 3 galleons and 3 sickles, regardless of the fancy packaging. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen any other redheaded travelers, though I would chalk that up to the fact I’ve been trapped in the building for the past half hour attempting to find a single box of chocolates for my mother,” Septima admitted, with an apologetic shrug, “This place is quite the maze.”

"What do we think, Perce?” Gideon asked, lips twitching as he acknowledged Septima’s suggestion, “Can we find a compromise for our disagreement? Candy-covered sprouts? Sprout-shaped candy?”

The forlorn sigh Gideon received in return, followed by the soft thunk of his nephew’s forehead colliding with his shoulder drew a huff of laughter from Gideon’s lips, the wry twist of his lips acknowledging that perhaps he’d hit the lion’s share of what a six-year-old could endure in the way of wayward uncles in one day. “Alright, Perce, just give us two ticks to grab some chocolate frogs and we’ll be on our way to The Magic Neep before you can say, but mum said—”

And if a muffled, “But mum said,” was huffed into his shoulder, Gideon chose to quietly ignore it.

“Trapped in a maze of sweets,” Gideon hummed aloud as he edged around the stand of licorice wands, twirling one absently between his fingers and descended upon the boxes upon boxes of chocolates piled around her. “I can think of worse ways to go. Is your mother a connoisseur of fine chocolates or just a particularly difficult person to buy for?”

He came to a pause in front of the vibrating stand of boxed chocolate frogs, head tilting in thought as a forehead bunted heavily into his shoulder-blade with pointed frequency.