date: april 2nd, 1925
location: somewhere near swish n’ flick
closed to @fab-prxwett​
it’s not exactly his job to be patrolling the streets, but it doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t, especially when they have to be on high alert. some of his new colleagues seemed to think that just because evan rosier was caught, it meant they actually had something useful. but no -- he knew better than that: rosier was only a piece of the puzzle.
and he’d been unable to fall asleep exactly because of this, and in his reverie, he had walked all the way down to a street he didn’t tend to frequent. what he should have foreseen was that he might run into some familiar, perhaps a little too familiar, faces.
“ -- fabian?” he sounds breathless, almost, as he comes face to face with his old friend, features dimly lit under the street light. there’s all kinds of emotions running through him at once -- nostalgia, joy, confusion -- guilt.Â
“fabian,” he says again, collecting himself. “its -- it’s been awhile.”Â
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date: march 30th
location: random street
status: open
How fucking stupid was Evan Rosier to get caught? His entire job was dedicated to not slipping up.
Technically, she shouldn’t be worried. If he identifies her, there’s a fail-safe with Kingsley — at least, there should be. If Evan uttered her name, or any Death Eater’s, she should walk away fine, and slip into obscurity. maybe marked for dead and sent home. She should be fine.
But that doesn’t stop the wild flare of doom to rage, and she couldn’t think straight. Any slip of information passed and then acted upon would become that much more noticeable now. She had been careful for so long, and now she had to be that much more cautious.
She was going to fucking die before this job finished at this rate.
And here she was, a storm as she strode down the sidewalk, carrying the last few bottles for the week, attempting to mask her frustration. She could scream, she could sneer, she could —
      T R I P
Skidding along the sidewalk, her palms and knees burned, and she muffled a groan. “Fuck, she muttered under her breath. She was entirely done for the day.
the thing was, even with rosier technically behind bars, there’s only so much they could do with someone who refuses to talk. not that edgar thought that the bureau was much better than the local policemen here, but it didn’t seem like there was much progress being made, despite trying to scare rosier into giving away names.Â
more than that, it was dangerous to have him there -- rosier was someone who was familiar with his sister, and there was no way to tell how this was going to end for her. and truthfully, he couldn’t see any decent way out of this, even if she did manage to succeed in infiltrating the mob.Â
and yes -- he’d been watching her walk angrily down the street: he’d grabbed some late-night dinner for himself and was driving back home when he saw the much too familiar figure -- had been trying to figure out if it was better to let her do her job or to go over to greet her when she tripped, falling face first onto the ground.
instinctively, he hopped out of his car and ran over to amelia, bending down to hold her arm. “amelia, what the hell --”Â
his face hardened when he realized what she’d been carrying, bottles now broken and scattered all around them.Â
date: june 26th, 1925.
location: edgar’s apartment.
status: closed to @officerrevans​
he would be lying if he said he didn’t have ulterior motives in inviting lily to his apartment. showing off his cooking skills was one thing, but there was, fortunately or unfortunately, a reason he wanted her here. also deliberate were his files strewn on the table, as unorganized as ever, specifically ones he’d spent the last few months collecting on the new york city mobs.
but of course, this wasn’t something that he could do on his own, which was precisely why he needed lily’s help.
at the sound of light footsteps, he turned from the pot for one moment, a small, almost polite smile appearing at his lips. “you made it,” he greeted her, walking up to her with a hand extended.
date: june 24th, 1925.
location: amelia’s apartment.
status: closed to @ameliasresolve
“are you sure you live here? because it’s messier than some zoos i’ve seen,” edgar laughed as he stepped over a box of files, two hands holding food he’d picked up on the way to amelia’s. there was genuine concern hidden behind the teasing, of course, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood as soon as he walked in.Â
instead, he let himself into the kitchen and began to unpack the food, looking at amelia out of the corners of his eyes before he continued.Â
“...you know, mom called. she, um, wanted to know if you were going to be there for dad’s anniversary.” he sighed, “i think she’d like it if you came.”Â
midday inside honeydukes, one of the rare occasions it is open
“good morning,” ambrosia found herself saying despite the time. once the old bell rang above the door and the light caught all the dust, she knew that she was falling behind on keeping this place cleaned up. she had finally found the motivation to flip the sign from closed to open, which was so inconsistent she couldn’t imagine having an actual customer.
 she took a drink from her pop that she had poured in a glass only so she could mix it with some of the alcohol those trouble makers had left in the back room. “what can i interest you in today?” her eyes didn’t flit up from the page of the newspaper she was reading.
“more of an afternoon, i think,” edgar smiled, walking in with a curt knock to the door. the shop was...surprisingly unkempt, and the owner seemed less than happy to see him in the shop, and he raised an eyebrow at the oddity that was honeydukes.Â
“just looking around. got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he said, nose scrunching as he smelled something just a bit...off. he didn’t say anything much, though his eyes did travel down to the glass she was holding. “whatever you’re drinking smells interesting. not for sale, i presume.”Â
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edgar bones is a 31 year old bureau (fbi) agent from washington, d.c. he’s here in order to both keep his eyes on his sister, amelia, and to work with the nypd in squashing the mobs that have been growing in new york city.Â
full bio underneath.Â
you don’t remember your mother. you feel guilty about it, even to this day, but there’s not a thing about her that you can recall. you were only one, after all, and your father refused to talk about her. (you figure out why, eventually, while you’re away in college. by then, you don’t really care.) then one day, there’s a new face that comes through the door, hand in hand with your father. she’s beautiful, really, and you like her well enough. it’s easy to call her mother when she asks you to. you adore her, and she loves you, too - life is perfect for the next little while.
but soon enough, your mother’s belly grows and she tells you that you’ll be getting a little sister or brother soon. secretly, you hope for a little brother - you want someone to play ball with, since your father is always too busy to play, and too tired to make conversation on nights he does come back home.
still, he does make more of an effort when amelia is born, and you love her instantly - god, you love her. she is the smallest thing you’ve ever seen, and you tell your parents you’ll protect her no matter what. they laugh and ruffle your hair.
-
the room feels cold. he’s been gone for awhile and it’s impossible to talk to your mother these days. she’s here, but not there enough. you don’t blame her - how could you? none of this was her fault. but you do worry about amelia, because she’s far too young to deal with any of this, and it shouldn’t be her burden to bear.
but it comes around anyway, and she surprises you when she tells him she wants to go to the trial. you see your father in handcuffs - you meet his eyes when they announce his guilt. it’s not quite anger that you feel when you see him mouth an apology to you. it’s not anger, but you do know that you will never forgive him for what he’s done to you. to them.
you don’t cry. you can’t.
-
it almost feels silly that the two of you have gone down a relatively similar path. you’d briefly considered going into academics to teach before deciding that you’d do terribly with children (or students, for that matter). you send off a letter to the bureau - big dreams and a risk, sure, but they hire you despite your father’s name.
when you do get there, the bureau isn’t quite what you’ve imagined; reform is a word you hear often. overhaul is another. you see people come and go, men with ten years of experience getting the boot and fresh faces filling the office. in the midst of all the chaos, you somehow manage to stick around. they like you, they say - kid’s got real heart.
you’re not sure that you agree but it does help you rise through the ranks quickly. it’s not to say that you don’t deserve it. you keep yourself going with two hours of sleep a night and a pot of coffee first thing in the morning - your father was one piece to a much bigger puzzle, and you work yourself down to your bones trying to make sure nobody ends up like your family.
it works - not always, but it does. it feels like progress, almost - you nearly forget about your history until you get the letter.
-
amelia -
he’s gone.
i know it’s not our mistake to fix but i think mom would like it if you’d consider coming back to say our goodbyes. even if he doesn’t deserve it.
i’d like to see you, too.
all the love,
edgar.
-
this isn’t our mistake to fix.
you tell her, but you’re not sure you believe it yourself.
he was a tall man, your father. tall, handsome, a hefty 180 pounds of a person reduced into ashes in a plain blue urn. your mother says she hates him but she sobs as they watch him go, spread across the lake waters like he never existed in the first place.
there’s an empty seat at your table at night, and neither of you bring up amelia’s name. you leave back to d.c. with a kiss to your mother’s cheek.
-
you meet someone in d.c. you’re logical and calculated when it comes to your work, but apparently not when it comes to love. you’re not sure if it’s because you have your father’s blood in you or if it’s because of what he’s done that you’re desperate to look for it - either way, you give her everything you’ve got.
but your everything isn’t nearly enough for her. you spend too much time at the office, and even at home, you pour all your time and your heart into your cases.
she asks you for a divorce on april 11th. april’s never been a good month for you, now that you think about it.
you don’t tell your mother or amelia when it happens, because you don’t want them to worry about you. your mother always told you how much she liked astrid and you don’t want to disappoint her, either. but it does make the move to new york easier, because d.c. reminds you too much of astrid still for you to want to stick around.
so really, it is a blessing in disguise that you’ve overheard the director talking about a deep, undercover operation going on in new york - that you hear the name amelia hart and something in your gut tells him that it’s her.
there’s no hesitation in his steps as he walks into his office and tells him he wants to be in new york working the case for himself.
-
you still keep secrets from amelia. she doesn’t know everything - or at least you don’t think she does, because there’s still a part of you that wants to keep her safe from the darker parts of the world. logically, you do know better, and that you know she’s already seen the worst for herself. but it never hurts to try.
you tell her whenever you get the chance that you can make space for her at the bureau - that it’s an unnecessary sacrifice she’s making.
more than that, you fear that she wants to be there, in the middle of it all. and you fear you’ve already lost her - the little sister you used to know.
