edgar bones

guardian angel // dorcas & edgar

“Hello, there,” said Dorcas, looking up to greet the shadow approaching her across the rambling, overgrown lawn. It was a rare moment of peace, but she didn’t feel rare or peaceful – it was taking all her mental energy to sit where she was, cross-legged and picking at loose blades of grass, letting the sun warm her face and dry her tears of frustration. Her physical energy was already gone; drained by the few days of training she’d already been thrown into.

So much for research and development, and making herself at home at headquarters…

Dorcas knew the truth about the universe: that doing the right thing was never easy, and never without compromise or asking oneself tough questions about worldviews and morality. But she wasn’t expecting to have the wind knocked out of her her the way it had been at the Barns so far, the emotional toll rivaling the physical to keep her up at night.

“I see that look on your face, Edgar Bones, and I’m sorry to tell you that I already know what it means. But you don’t have to worry about me, I’m just…keeping busy.” 

@skinxxandxxbones

- 

“This is the most neutral face I am capable of making,” said Edgar, nevertheless leaning into the unintentional, highly concerned grimace that colored his face as he made his cautious approach. One hand raised in caution; the other still held the apple left over from his lunch. “And hello!” 

Edgar hadn’t spent much time one-on-one with Dorcas over the years, but she’d always been on the happy outskirts of his awareness. Pre-exam stretches at the Hogwarts library; Gudgeon family gatherings where neither of them were technically family but always treated as such; and, of course, the new crossing of their paths at Order headquarters and across camp. Even though they weren’t close, there was still a lot of caring there -- not to mention the fact that Dorcas and Edgar were both the care-too-much-about-others type. 

“If you’re so busy,” he said, making his approach and nodding at the empty path of grass behind Dorcas. “And I can see that you are, shredding grass.” He said it like it was perfectly valid, didn’t look down on it in the slightest. “Sounds like you could use some help. May I?” 

isn’t it a lovely night // edgar & daniyah

Daniyah had reached a point where she had to get out of the barn. She had only been there for a grand total of a half hour that night, but the energy of was just too much, bouncing around the old wood slates and infecting everyone with its drunken revelry.

Maybe it was because of the dueling session she had thrown herself into that day, or maybe it was the fact that she had already attended this little bonding session the night before and her socialization meter hadn’t quite replenished. Either way, she was ready to take just one person off with her to escape the party. And luckily she already had just the right something-more-than-an-acquaintance in mind.

“Hey, come with me,” she said to Edgar. She found him sitting on a barrel and lightly kicked his foot in an attempt at a friendly gesture. Daniyah wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person to begin with, but the longer she spent in England the more her limited social skills seemed to deplete.

“I might have snagged this-” A half-full bottle of rum dangled from between her fingers as she tried to shield it from the view of others who probably didn’t care anyway. “-and would love to enjoy it out in the fresh air. Join me. Please?”

@skinxxandxxbones​

- 

Edgar’s smile brightened when he looked up and saw Daniyah hovering over him, his foot still pendulum-swinging in response to her football-style greeting. “Everything okay?” he asked, out of pure habit; she was smiling and waving a bottle of rum around, so he didn’t have any real reasons—other than his incurable ‘wanting to protect everybody’ disease’—to think things were any less than splendid. 

“Oh, you’re amazing,” he said, standing up at once and brushing his hands off on his jeans before joining her in a beeline for the door. “Rum al fresco. I love it! Sheer genius.” 

Part of his enthusiasm came from the normal sources: a few drinks down the hatch and the pleasantness of spending time around so many good friends. But part of it came to surface because Daniyah’s timing couldn’t have been better. No way to say for sure, but Caradoc Dearborn and Sturgis Podmore were starting to give one another increasingly annoyed, increasingly obvious glares each time one passed the other, and if they were going to fight – well, Edgar would normally want to be around to break it up, but there was plenty of competition for chief peacekeeper among the other Order members and, for once, Edgar was happy to cede control to one of them.   

“So,” Edgar asked, as the cover of night replaced the stuffy hayseed roofcover of the barn. “Should I feel special for being chosen for this little celebration, or am I actually helping you escape something?”

put up or suit up || @savingdavey​ 

Edgar was a welcome sight as—hopefully—an unconditionally friendly face and one holding an extra beer at that. He’d barely been through his first before being pulled off with Emma for a probably deserved bathroom… debate. He didn’t want to call it a fight, especially when he was still certain that most people would have gotten the “chilling with friends and sports” message from what he told Emma, and that it’d be more uncomfortable and noticeable alike if she left the bathroom wearing his shirt.

No, he was still fully clothed and quick to match Edgar’s bump with one of his own. 

“Oh, I should be thanking you right about now,” Davey said, graciously taking the beer. He cracked it open and tapped it against Edgar’s before taking a drink. “It’s not everyday you’re born. Had to do something with that, and ’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Davey shook his head fondly and chuckled. “No, yeah, everything’s great. Really would’ve appreciated a bathroom emergency somewhere in there, but honestly, might not’ve gotten me out of it” he said, grin never wavering. “This is gonna sound nuts, but you don’t happen to have a blazer I could borrow, do you? Any sort of jacket, really.” He knew he didn’t need to, just as he knew it would go a long way. Once he got an idea in his head for helping a friend feel even a bit better—over fine, yes, what could be called his mistake—there was really no shaking it.

- 

"I don’t know that I can actually take credit for being born,” Edgar pointed out, pulling a face as he said it; for better or worse, he was a glory hog, and it wasn’t as fun to realize, smack dab in the middle of his special day, that birthdays maybe weren’t as warranted of a celebration as the world treated them. And yet? They were ridiculously fun, so Edgar let it all roll off his shoulders and refused to complain. Instead, he laughed and took a sip from the beer he hadn’t passed over. 

“It’s just....everything after that. But I’ll gladly take credit for all of that. Twenty years of lighting up your life and the lives of your loved ones. You’re welcome.” 

Ducking his head with a laugh and checking first—and second, Moody’s ‘constant vigilance’ chant finding new ways to save lives here tonight—to make sure the coast was clear of the one and only woman in his flat, Edgar snorted at Davey’s comment. “Nobody was coming to save you from that. Half the lads thought you were having the time of your life, and the other half were way too scared to try and intervene.” He pointed at himself, none too sheepishly. “Team scared.” 

Edgar squinted at the question for perhaps a moment too long, trying to understand what Davey had in mind...before deciding that he didn’t need to in order to help. Whether the blazer ended up going to Emma or Davey or someone else entirely, Edgar wasn’t fussed about his closetful of clearance-sale golden finds to consider not helping, even in passing. 

“On the condition that you’re not just stealing it so you can skive off and get into a fancier party elsewhere,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom. “I think I can find you something a little nicer than the pyjamas it sounds like you think I wear to work at the Ministry.” The closet door had a little stubborn squeak to it, but Edgar pushed past that with a practiced hand and let Davey have his free roam of the crowded closet. 

“The only one I don’t recommend is the grey one all the way down the end. Amelia left that here in case of emergencies. Although....now that I think about it, you two are probably...not far off in the size department.”

summer spectators || 

Davey laughed and gave his arm an Emma-worthy smack. “I’ll know for sure in a couple weeks, but I also know you better get ready for that,” he answered, still chuckling. “But lucky you, we’ll have the summer. Takes years to get picked for even the World Cup matches, and cause of it, preseason for the local teams isn’t starting til late September. Just gonna have to bug you until then.”

He already couldn’t help it. With the hours he spent flipping through images, trying to spot the penalty or sneaking into the loose Kestrel summer practices where violations were made liberally and frequently, the perspective was already ingrained in him. He always had an eye for it, but this was a reminder of how conscious he was gonna have to be to avoid becoming entirely intolerable. He needed someone to still watch Quidditch with him.

“This is why you’re the favorite—hey!” Davey protested, certainly not finishing the thought after having popcorn thrown at him. Sure, he dodged it and was laughing, but the principle. “Gotta be faster than that. The Quidditch reflexes haven’t faded that quick." 

Davey stared at him, taken aback for a moment. "This is it? I got you a gift! It’s not even your birthday!” He turned his indignant gaze from Edgar to the commentators. “I wonder if it’s not too late to get them to announce it. Edgar Bones’ birthday—this is not all you’re doing.”

- 

"And lucky for both of us, you can fit six months’ worth of bugging me into that three month window,” said Edgar, laughing under his breath and not sounding put out about it in the slightest. He’d always had a soft spot for family after all, and Davey was as good as. “Just keep in mind that you’re going to need me later, when you’re a fully-fledged enemy of the athletic state and need Auror-led escorts out of the stadium.” 

As an afterthought, he added, “Although? Between you and I, you might light more of a fire under the Aurors’ arses if you go through your much scarier Games and Sports connections. Speaking from experience.” 

Edgar snorted and responded by throwing yet another piece of popcorn, happy to sacrifice it to the wind in order to make a point. The next kernel he reached for found its way back to life as a snack, however. “Not yet! Give it time. One day you’re running kilometers around a lake before dawn for fun; the next you can’t turn your head left for a week because you slept on it oddly. Your time will come, Davey, and those lightning fast reflexes will go.” 

It wasn’t a threat so much as a joking warning about the fleetingness of youth. The big difference between Edgar and Davey was, however, that Edgar aged into his personality the older he got, and Davey seemed better suited for eternal youth. He might be the one to crack the code of time, yet, and hold onto all that boundless energy. 

In Auror training, there was always a frustrating, fearsome day for new recruits during which they were taken out into the woods by Alastor Moody himself and made to look. Some of it was aimless looking; observational skills honed by learning the difference between wind shaking through trees and muffling spells cast along the forest floor, suspiciously too-quiet and absent of broken twigs. Some of it was more targeted: learning to see a scrape of blood on bark, or figuring out where someone had lost the trail, whether it looked like they’d been chased. 

None of it was as difficult as finding one normal-sized blonde woman in this forest, today. 

“Adelaide,” Edgar called out, hand cupped around his mouth. Moody wasn’t here to scold him for shouting and, besides, the point of this little crash into the forest was to find her – not find her quietly. And an apparation-lesson-gone-wrong didn’t hold the same potent fear of tracking a suspect. Edgar didn’t sleep well most places anymore but – perhaps foolishly – felt very safe at the Barns. He had names for the things he feared now, and none of them lived in these woods. 

He was starting to get worried about possible splinching, but wouldn’t an injured Adelaide make more noise than less? It seemed impossible until Edgar remembered that pesky little thing called ‘pride’ and doubt came creeping in at last. “Adelaide!” 

Success came, at last, by the edge of the creek that gently wound through the shallower forest groves. “Found you!” he said with a grin. As though they’d been playing a game; as though he wasn’t very suddenly and very intently scanning her for signs of physical damage, of bleeding, of broken bones, of parts left behind. 

(She didn’t look good, granted – a secret he’d take to his grave – but she didn’t look dead, either. There was a lot of optimism to be found in the middle ground between the two, shockingly.) 

“You’re way far out here,” he added, more to fill the pause than anything else. “Did you hear me coming? I tried to be noisy so I wouldn’t creek you out.” 

The joke was bad, but it was allowed to be; the real reason he tried to be noisy was so that she could call for help if she was in much worse shape, and he would go on the record about how pale and sickly Adelaide looked right now before he’d willingly cop to the protection strategy to her face. 

"Mate!” Edgar said, striding up to Davey with a two-can stack of beers in his hand, a fresh one for each of them. He was grinning in the way that only drinking a handful of them already could accomplish – that, and the admitted curiosity that could only be generated by two guests at a very small party, one a lifelong friend and one a head-turning, overdressed curveball, disappearing into the bathroom for an unexplained and lengthy while. 

“Thank you for coming! Hell, thank you for convincing me to do anything at all.” 

Edgar brushed his knuckles against Davey’s bicep as he strolled up, a toothless punch to match his toothy refreshed-hello as he joined the other man in the shadow of his cracked bedroom door. He passed one of the beers over and cracked the tab on the remaining can, nodding his head in the direction of the radio across the room, which had the attention of most everyone else in the room; the folding table serving as a makeshift bar had everyone else’s. 

“Everything all good with you and....uh. With you? Doing well, having fun?” 

+ many more // emma & edgar

“Happy birthday,” said Emma, leaning against the kitchen counter of Edgar’s tiny, shabby flat.  Her hip was pressed against a cabinet that didn’t seem to stay closed otherwise; she had a plastic cup of red wine in one hand and the bottle in the other, replenishing only herself without sharing around. Which didn’t seem to bother the other guests, cracking open cans of lukewarm beer and sitting huddled closely around a radio – which Emma could hear perfectly well from the kitchen, by the way. 

But she could also hear that the Arrows were losing, which didn’t exactly have her eager to press her ear to the speaker. 

“I brought you this bottle of wine as a present, but your selection is pitiable,” she added, pouring a little more wine into her cup – which was ruining the otherwise spectacular taste of it, in the way only plastic could. She was overdressed, for sure, but still underserved and raring to misplace her annoyance at Davey into feistiness with her likely-clueless host. “But my taste is excellent, so we can call it even.” 

Emma held up her glass—no, cup— in Edgar’s direction. “Cheers, old man.” 

@skinxxandxxbones​

-

“Thank you!” Edgar said brightly. “Thank you for coming. Are you having fun?” And, before he could think himself out of it, he leaned forward and pulled Emma into a fleeting hug. 

Edgar did his best to be undaunted by the – frankly – disconcertingly, frightening presence Emma had brought into his flat. Something about her being so dressed up and siloed while also looking impossible, uncharacteristically casual while leaned against the counter and sipping wine from the foil-wrapped neck of a bottle. It was elevated above the real casual of the rest of the party, while also being...for better or for worse, the most human he’d ever seen Emma Vanity looking. 

(Which wasn’t saying much, because she still looked superhuman and was managing his sticky kitchen floors in sharp, high heels, which was also superhuman in of itself.) 

“Oh, your taste was never in question,” he said solemnly. “I’m glad you brought something you enjoy. And I hope it goes with pizza, because we are ordering that in about....half an hour. Unless you want to hop into the kitchen and cook something up? I feel like you bragged about being, what was it? A world class chef last time we hung out?” 

Laughing, Edgar lifted his beer to bump against Emma’s cup - the tin and plastic crinkling together anticlimactically. 

“Cheers,” he said, gaze still lingering on their drink receptacles. “But that won’t do. Hang on. I think I have some really ugly, expensive crystal glasses that my parents gave me when I moved in. I said I’d never use them, tucked them away in the back of some cabinet, but...” Edgar set off to rummage at once, pulling cabinets open at random and trying to remember where he’d stashed them. “Oh! Here, I think we have a winner...” 

just for a few drinks  // marya & edgar

“You’re a good kid, Edgar.” She considered the room, already filled with objects that were being sorted. Without a thought to just how much Edgar had in his arms, she took her time choosing the right place and clearing off a spot before motioning for him to put down the boxes. Chattering the whole time. 

“I’m sure your parents are proud to have a son like you. I know I would be. If you know any secrets I can use on Nathanial, please don’t hold back. Don’t get me wrong, he is a sweet kid, always has been. But, you know, then they go off to school for so many years– Yes, here you go. You can put those here.” 

“Marya, please,” she corrected him instantly with her usual refrain. ‘Mrs. Warrington’ was reserved for her son’s playmates. And occasionally for her fits of jealousy when a pretty woman has been acting a little too friendly with Tyler. 

Marya held a solidly middling status in the pureblood hierarchy, both before and after her marriage. And while she didn’t care any more about said hierarchy than was required of her, she still reaped the benefits. Such as being able not to care. Others might feel the need to chose their company wisely for fear of how it would be perceived, but Marya had no qualms about associating with both the Blacks and the Boneses of the world. (After all, they are all still purebloods, right?) 

So any such concerns Edgar may have were falling on deaf ears. The only valid excuse she would give him was the way he was dressed. But that, at least, was an easy matter to fix. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll let you in on a secret us event planners never want to admit – there is always room for one more as long as you know the right people. And really, you don’t know how many of these I have attended with the same people over and over,” she said as though she weren’t the very person planning and creating the guest lists. “It would be nice to have a fresh face in the bunch.” At that, she couldn’t resist giving his cheek a few gentle pats. 

“Eighty hours?” she exclaimed loud enough to cause a few of the helpers about the room to start. “Oh no, someone your age shouldn’t be working that hard. There will be plenty of time for that later on. Right now you should be having some fun. Enjoying the young bachelor life. Well, not enjoying it too much, mind you. But how would you even go about finding a wife at all with a schedule like that?” 

- 

"Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Wa— Marya,” Edgar said, out of breath from hefting the boxes onto the table after his arms began to shake...but more disastrously thrown by calling a real adult person by their first name than by the weight of the heirlooms and artifacts in his arms. “You’d have to ask them directly for their parenting tips and tricks, but if I had to point to anything, uh...” 

Flexing his arms now that they were free, Edgar rubbed at one elbow crook to soothe it. He knew the chances were low that she was actually interested in his input, but it was hard to pass up a compliment and easy as anything to indulge in paying compliments to his parents at the same time. “Quality time. Lots of quality time with the family. Uh, goal setting...having Amelia and Sam around all the time to look over helped, too...” 

He did not say, pitting the kids against each other in competition, because it only occurred to him when he was annoyed with his parents and, even then, it was fleeting. He’d never repeat it to a third party. 

Edgar got to watch in real time as Marya breezed past his concerns, smiling and speaking on as if he hadn’t spoken at all. If she wasn’t echoing those concerns back to him with blithe, charming disconcern, he’d worry that he hadn’t actually spoken up at all. He wasn’t the most imaginative guy in the world, but that didn’t seem like too much of a stretch. 

“That sounds like too good of a secret to give up on my account,” was the last card Edgar felt he had to play in his deck. But it was gone and useless as soon as Marya patted his cheek with her soft hand, in a gesture so strikingly kind and seemingly fond that it succeeded in both charming Edgar and throwing him off his polite defenses all at once. He was used to people being scripted at these things, especially the hosts with a role to play. But either Marya was deceptively down to earth or she played her role better than most, because Edgar was effectively enchanted. 

It didn’t seem worth it, either, to point out that ‘fresh faces’ seemed to be kept out of the rotation for a reason, so he fell back onto the only excuse she hadn’t yet refused, saying: “I would have to, you know...go home and change, probably. Then all the way back, and then I’ll be late, surely, and how would that look....?” 

The waitstaff might have been spooked, but Edgar couldn’t help but laugh – kindly – at Marya’s reaction. Truth be told, he appreciated it; someone recognizing that he was working his tail off. It was flattering, her well-meaning horror, and he was lapping it up. “I’m sure it’ll only get more time intensive from here, I’m afraid.” 

The wife comment threw Edgar more than the invitation to joint the party; he let out a nervous, shocked cough and only managed at the last second to make it sound...a little...more like a splutter. “Oh! Well. I hadn’t even...ha! Considered that yet. You know? That’s what, um. Weekends are for...I assume. In a year or two, when I’m off weekend duty. I’m sure that will happen at some point, most likely, just...organically. Lots of places to meet people. The office, for one. The coffee shop by the...by the office.” 

all I do is try, try, try // emma & edgar 

“I work in Games and Sports,” said Emma, wielding her weapon too bluntly to set him straight with the usual pride the Department brought into her voice. Aware though she was that it wasn’t the most prestigious of the Ministry’s branches on paper, Emma was never one to let it be belittled in terms of importance. But it made her point cleanly enough, tonight. “Where would I have heard about a secret attack before you? On top of not reporting it immediately, for some reason.” 

Emma left it at that – choosing instead to tilt her head to one side to watch Edgar stammer himself in circles. apparently unwoven by a thread she hadn’t even meant to tug on.  

“Well, I’m excellent with confrontation, so I suggest you get to the point,” were the words that Emma wanted to eat a moment later – when Bones got to said point, and left her feeling more put out that she had on arrival. 

After so many years of being immune to brush-offs—through intimidation or, lo and behold, actual earned friendship—she was thrown by this one in a way she knew she shouldn’t have been. Because it was not personal; because it made sense; because she was technically back on the bottom of a totem pole after clawing her way up one no longer relevant in the post-graduation world. 

“If that’s Stevens’s classic brush-off tactic, what’s his classic coffee order?” asked Emma, anger pursed between her lips but purposefully absent from the rest of her tailor-shaped face. “I’d love to have somebody spit in it tomorrow.” Bonus points if he was one of the Aurors tasked with the overnight raid in Surrey; sleepy never made for pleasant Ministry employees, but it did make for ones who gave up easily when pushed. That had been a week one lesson for Emma, and she cherished it. 

“No, I didn’t stay late just for this,” Emma added. “I had some Cup planning documents to pull together, vendor approval forms that are going to take half the night anyway.” Even with her arms folded over her chest defensively and her mind clearly set to distraction by this news—and the fallout it would cause—it was polite as she’d been all night, answering both because it was the truth and because she could foresee Edgar worrying about it even though it was none of his business. 

Emma watched Edgar laugh his nervous little laugh, and it inspired a brand new level of dryness in her own voice as she rounded her focus back on him. “I don’t want those,” she protested, caring not that one of those was standing before her now, her only potential ally. “What good will that do me? I need people to protect the stadium, not file paperwork in the box office.” 

For all her eye-rolling with Antonin over the years about Edgar Bones and his inflated importance, Emma actually did have a large measure of respect for the Auror program; she’d been raised to, and had experiences of her own to back up her family’s high opinion of the Department and its handpicked recruits. But it was late and she was frustrated. If that meant she was less than kind about the skillset offered by a trainee? So be it, in Emma’s opinion. 

“Thank you,” she gurmbled, stubborn but just shy of sarcasm – because if it was the only deal she was getting, she’d take the damn deal. “I’ll come back tomorrow, then. Find out how many are actually available, try to get something in ironclad writing. During business hours. But you tell your little buddy Stevens that I’m going to be back tomorrow. And if he doesn’t help me then, I will be back the next day. And the next day. And the next.”  

- 

"Good at confrontation and an excellent delegator,” Edgar pointed out with a laugh, very aware that he was doing so at the risk of life and limb. “You’re not even going to spit in the coffee yourself? I don’t know whether to be impressed that you’re covering your tracks with a degree of separation, or give you a warning about making accessories out of baristas.” 

Head cocked to one side, Edgar watched Emma as she...well, not ‘zone out’ because she didn’t seem like the type to ever fall out of focus completely, but drift back to thoughts of her work. “Really?” he asked, concern in his voice and concern as he looked down at his watch. He was blind to the risk this time, as well as to the fact he was being a bloody hypocrite. “It’s really late, though. That stuff can’t wait until tomorrow?” 

It was admirable that Emma was still here, burning the midnight oil and no doubt working through the least fun tasks in a department dedicated to games and sports. But in typical Edgar fashion, his being impressed and admitting his respect was put on the back burner in favor of wanting everyone else to take care of themselves more than he took care of him self. 

“We don’t just file paperwork,” Edgar pointed out, defensive – and, for how tired he was – a little heated. It wasn’t a snap, but it was still the sign of a rubber band pulled too tightly; a nerve touched. “We’re extremely well-trained, and if you think one calendar year. between a third year trainee and a newly minted Auror is the big difference between alphabetizing and life-saving, I’m not sure you should be the one in charge of booking security. With all due respect.” 

Despite the hasty, but genuine, last words he tacked onto the end there, Edgar still felt bad enough about it to deflate a little. He took a deep breath and shifted into damage control mode, which is where he felt that he spent most of his time lately anyway. He said, “As much as I’d like to see you take Stevens, who is not my buddy, by the way, to task? I think I might be able to help you out. You said you’re planning on sticking around for awhile tonight anyway, right?” 

With a dip of his head to one side, Edgar invited Emma to follow him as he turned and waded a little further into the offices, stopping when he got to a central desk and squeezing the handle of a drawer - since it would only unlock for department members - tightly before pulling it open. 

“i’ve done a lot of favors for these guys in the past few months,” he explained, producing a calendar of availability and pursing his lips, beginning to look it over. It wasn’t exactly the most classified document the Aurors had on hand, but he was still sensitive about that stuff...and wouldn’t be showing it to Emma at all if he wasn’t absolutely sure. It wasn’t that nobody wanted to give Games and Sports extra security. Just that nobody wanted to be the one to sit down and work out the messy details; do the lifting. 

“I can only promise you people who are genuinely, already available to work on those days,” he said. “But if you sit tight and wait just a little while, I can work out for you which of us are available...and which ones you’ll actually want.” 

“That story is-” In lieu of being able to find a word to properly describe it, she just broke out in a peal of bright laughter. It pulled the attention of one or two of the other patrons, as it usually did. But Mary was used to having eyes drawn to her in the crowd and was unbothered as she gave them a small wave before returning to their respective conversations. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re exactly the person I would expect to have red wine as their first drink,” she said, genuinely meaning it to be a compliment. Edgar was a Real Adult type, with an important job he had to show up to every morning and probably a decent apartment he returned to at the end of the day. The kind of person who had plenty of responsibilities that he handled with ease, and would then unwind from all of that easy handling with a single glass or red wine before bed.

Unlike her, who was still just pretending at it. “I think I could count how many times in my life I’ve even had wine.”

She accepted both of his compliments with a graceful bow of her head, trying to hide the proud smile that was pushing its way onto her face. Whether or not it meant much, she thought she was doing a good job here. And the external validation was just a nice top off. 

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out his meaning. If took her an extra minute if only because the concept of blowing someone off at the last minute like that was foreign to her. Let alone lying in order to do so. Whether or not that was what actually happened, Mary was now stuck on the fact that he didn’t deserve that. No one should have to spend the night alone if they didn’t want to. 

“Well, I’m sorry that your plans fell through. Guess now you’re stuck here with me,” she said with a shrug and a smile. “And I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, if only because I do have to lock up tonight. So I’m here for as long as you need me.” Leaning down on the bar that separated them, she didn’t even stop to consider whether or not Edgar would want her there. 

- 

"I was sucked into the wine propaganda!” Insisted Edgar, in his defense – but not actually defending himself at all, or really getting defensive about it. Instead he just laughed along with Mary, shaking his head and looking down at the bar like he was properly ashamed of being so dorky and predictable, all the while letting the grin and deep, Bones-inherited dimples take over his face as they pleased. 

“My parents had it with dinner every night. It always looked good, when someone else had it! How was I supposed to know that it’s overpriced juice that doesn’t even taste like juice? Total rip-off, Mary Macdonald. Never get into wine. Anyone who can tell you a lot about ‘fine wine’ is someone who can get you to spend the most amount of money on something that tastes exactly the same as the wine that’s the least amount of money on the menu.” 

Edgar watched Mary watching him with a curious expression, and relaxed right back into the conversation the moment it was clear she wasn’t going to do something terrible like pity him. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he insisted with a shrug. “And I have been stuck with much less pleasant people, who are much worse at making drinks. Not to mention conversation.” He paused to take a sip but, rushing to quickly add something, Edgar ended up choking out a few violently suppressed coughs and, in his attempt to smooth this over quickly, swallowing a none-too-small ice cube. 

“Assuming that’s alright with you,” was what he’d been so insistent on adding. He folded his arms against the bar too, matching her posture the best he could while keeping command over his stool. “I promise I am an easy customer, and I won’t force you to make conversation with me if you don’t feel like it. I’m sure you have to do it all day long, and I will be zero percent offended.” 

-

“And that is one of the many things I love about you brother. I wish I could have that much faith,” she replied, only a hint of amusement. Amelia was being honest though, she did wish more than once that she could be a bit more optimistic about things, or believe in humans just a little more than she did, but the middle Bones was a realist at heart. Not a pessimist, not an optimist, just rooted in fact. “I think that’s true for most people, but not all. Some people are willing to learn and change, others will always be stuck in their ignorance. You can lead a horse to water but can’t make them drink and all that,” she shrugged. 

“I genuinely think they’d appreciate it,” she laughed. “Mum would absolutely put it in her office, golden frame and everything,” Amelia grinned. Their mother was brilliant in every way with a dash of pettiness and a hint of sarcasm. Despite coming off as being more like her father, she was her mother’s daughter through and through. “Dad could keep it as a warning,” she teased.

When it came to her parents, they had always had a healthy sense of humor. Amelia had always felt blessed to grow up in a home run by two educated progressives that cultivated an environment of love, healthy competition, and never ending teasing. 

Rolling her eyes, she laughed at his joke and nudged him playfully. “Obviously you’re just that good, Ed. What could they even say?” she added, amusement clear in her tone. “Maybe that should be our new family competition; who can get the most outrageous Prophet headline?” she joked. 

While Amelia has always been focused on becoming a successful name in the Ministry, she never took the words of others too seriously. She accepted criticism from her superiors, because she knew it would allow her to grow. However, the opinions of writers and being the subject of lowly Ministry gossip, never phased her. Truthfully, Amelia didn’t care enough about others opinions to let it rattle her. Like her mother, she let the comments roll off her back and did the one thing that would make them even angrier; continued to succeed. 

When Edgar had first passed his apparition test, she had been one of the first to go along for the ride with him. Amelia hadn’t been all that keen on apparition as a whole, but she trusted her brother to make sure she made it through safely. Now that she’d been doing it for a little over a year, she was more than comfortable apparating both herself and someone alongside her. 

“I don’t ever sleep before an exam,” she laughed, but she nodded nonetheless. “I was worried I’d splinter myself, or someone else once I brought another person along. It’s one of those things you have to be certain of to do it properly, and for someone that’s already a perfectionist, it just added that much pressure,” Amelia answered with a laugh. Shaking her head, she chuckled as she added, “Well, I’m nothing if not efficient.”

Manchester was a city that felt both big and small at the same time. It was a comfort to her, and she loved that she was able to live in the city that felt like home. Commutes weren’t much of an issue when she could apparate to London in a cinch or have a floo network put into her apartment. 

As they walked from the darker alley towards her apartment building in the Northern Quarter, she looked at him with a head tilt and answered, “Relatively low considering it’s a fairly busy city. This neighborhood in particular is about as safe as a city can get. I usually floo to and from work, but if I’m somewhere else this is typically where I’d walk from, sure. My building is right across the street though.” Amelia gave him an inquisitive look as she asked, “Why are you suddenly worried about where I live? You know I can protect myself.”

- 

"The joke is on you,” said Edgar, in an earnest attempt to seem like he’d been joking at all. “I’m not suddenly worried, I’ve just been hiding it really, really well. I’ve been worried the whole entire time” 

That part was a genuine joke at least, because even though he’d held himself back – or tried to hold himself back, which counted! – from dialing it up to maximum concerned brother, Edgar never hid his worry well. It was all he could say in his defense that he hadn’t suddenly faked an urge to move to Manchester too, just to be better placed to keep an eye out on Amelia. Not that it wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had...

“Just because I know you can protect yourself doesn’t mean you should have to,” said Edgar. If it sounded rehearsed it was because he’d given this speech a thousand times, in these exact words and in very close variations. He’d feel worse about boring Amelia with it if he didn’t think it was such great advice. “And even if I do think you’d win in even the most sudden of street fights. Why, why, why test the theory?” 

It could have been worse. Edgar could have gotten a sister in Amelia who was more risk prone; who the Order recruiters would have tried to tempt into battle. Not that Edgar would have stood for it. He’d made that very clear to Moody, on more than one occasion. 

“I’ll shut up about it for the whole rest of the night if you let me check on your wards before I get into the liquor,” he offered, batting his eyes and putting on that insufferable big brother face he wore so well. 

Edgar Bones  canon information

Edgar Bones (b.1958 – d.1981) was a wizard, son of Mr and Mrs Bones, brother of Amelia and at least one other person Samuel. He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was possibly sorted into Hufflepuff. 

Edgar became a member of the original Order of the Phoenix and fought in the First Wizarding War. At some point he married a woman and had more than one child with her. According to Alastor Moody Edgar was a "great wizard." 

men of the ministry || @antonin-whoisleft​

“Hm?” Antonin hummed, like he hadn’t heard; it was good measure, really, making himself seem busier, more politely distracted by his work, than he might have been. He blinked up at the familiar voice only after a moment’s pause, then broke out into an absolutely shark-like grin at the sight. Edgar Bones. “Oh, yes. It is Friday, isn’t it? The week goes by so quickly sometimes.”

Antonin shifted over slightly as the larger - taller, more muscular, just a couple things he’d never particularly enjoyed about the eldest Bones - entered the lift, thankfully devoid of anyone else. Antonin wasted no time in looking the other man over, curious and a little delighted, in a petty way, to see Edgar looking a bit rough around the edges. At least compared to Antonin’s immaculate… everything. 

“Things getting rough down there, eh, Bones?” He asked brightly, keeping his - sometimes offputting, sure, but just as often genuinely curious - stare fixed on Bones. “I haven’t seen you in a while, my goodness. Your sister is working with me these days, you know, maybe it’s a sign that our paths are crossing. How have you been?” 

- 

Edgar had been trained in two types of observation. One, handed down to him from the heroic and, in his opinion, downright dogmatic Alastor Moody taught him things he didn’t really need to know here, in the comfort of a Ministry lift. He could see that Antonin was giving him a once-over, but that wasn’t suspicious when he wasn’t tucked in an alleyway under the cover of night; he could tell which hand the other man’s wand favored by the shift of his posture; could see that Antonin was both genuinely alert and acting alert, that he would probably be deceptively fast on his feet in a fight or in danger. 

Slippery was the word that came to mind, the type of bloke that could surprise you by slipping through your fingers when he’d seemed so stocky and solid a moment before. 

But, again, that wasn’t worth much. Not here. Edgar wasn’t going to fight Antonin Dolohov or anything close to it. 

The other kind of observation had been developed less formally, curated as Edgar stood on the edge of ballrooms at Ministry balls his family didn’t really fit in at, despite their DNA and the Ministry’s brown-brick foundation being intertwined, all made up of the same institutional stuff. And at the edge of school dances, where all were welcomed but all did not fit in, because even the lower-purebloods with money, like him and Amelia and Sam, didn’t speak that unspoken pureblood language well enough to break the barrier between the Real Student Population and the overdressed, lifelong frenemies floating, impassable, at the center of every room. And even now sometimes, at the edge of Order meetings, stuck between the polished Sirius Blacks and Adelaide Duboises and the spitfire, hardened sheen of the Benjy Fenwicks and Vince Sinclairs. 

It seemed that these days, you could either be blinded by solidly knowing the people you were fighting, or being critically mired in the circumstances you were fighting against. Edgar Bones, stuck in the middle, didn’t think of himself as disadvantaged by that privilege, obviously. He didn’t think it made him care any less, fight any less hard. 

But it was a good place to observe from, the middle. If Antonin was a shiny diamond up for appraisal, Edgar would probably be able to guess the cost of his suit, the silk tie, the impeccable haircut. Even the fine-ground coffee that kept the handsome sparkle in those wide, unnerving eyes of him. 

“The day they aren’t rough is the day I can retire happily on some land somewhere,” said Edgar cheerfully, sliding his hands into his pockets and reaching a comfortable slouch. He was unaware that Antonin was judging him for looking rumpled; he was too busy judging Antonin for looking so primped. “I didn’t get into this line of work to sit relaxing at a desk all day, after all. I’d lose more sleep if I wasn’t out there helping handle it.” 

It was hard to imagine a world where Edgar got less sleep than he was currently getting, and he was too tired at present to imagine it. 

The mention of Amelia brought a smile to Edgar’s face, even if Antonin was the one bringing her up. At least the other young man had had the good sense to say she was working with him, not for him – maybe Edgar had set his expectations too low? They weren’t schoolboys anymore, after all. 

“I did hear that, actually! Do you get to see her in action a lot? She fitting in well?” Even during small talk, Edgar couldn’t resist the chance to pry a little. “I’ve been....good, actually. As good as can be expected, what with everything going on.” He nodded in the direction of Antonin’s newspaper. No need to point out a specific headline. They were all bad these days, it seemed. “What about yourself? Sounds like you’re doing well, based on what I’ve heard around the water cooler. Your department just had that big success with, ah...it’s slipped my mind, but I swear I was just hearing some rumblings about it.” 

He hadn’t forgotten because he hadn’t heard at all, but he was sure there was something. There was always something at the Ministry, and Antonin seemed like the type to offer up a fill-in-the-blank once the praise was already out there. It was a surefire way to get into somebody’s good graces, in Edgar’s experience, and even though he didn’t care much about the good graces of Antonin Dolohov, he’d been raised to be polite. 

-

“You know, I think I might have heard that somewhere.” Lily was fighting hard not to purse her lips in her classic Lily Evans Is Annoyed face that she was sure Edgar would recognize. Was he capable of not being patronizing? Maybe she was just too sensitive, but that seemed less likely. It almost made it better to hear him say he’d been wrong and she’d been right, except he hadn’t actually said that, more vaguely waved at it. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help but be a little snarky. “Hm, if only there had been someone who already thought that. But of course, nothing is really right until you decide it for yourself, is it.” It wasn’t a question, not really.

The whole conversation was so bizarre to Lily. This was her first time running into an ex in what was more of an adult setting than a school room. She felt like she needed to be more mature than she actually felt now that she was surrounded by real grownups. Not that that had stopped her from leaning into James’ arm when they’d been making the rounds earlier, hoping in the back of her mind that Edgar was watching. But she liked to think she was mature enough not to lash out, and besides, she was trying to be friendly.

“Are you such a big shot auror that you have to worry about death threats already?” She disguised the subtle dig with a joking tone. It was easier to poke fun than talk about actual serious things, at least with Edgar. She didn’t want to think too hard about who she was actually talking to, that way led difficult conversations that were better not witnessed.

- 

"Or we live in a world where there isn’t just one perfect answer to a situation, and people don’t care less if they don’t immediately jump into the most extreme conceivable option,” said Edgar. He said it with a laugh, and a wink, and a very big smile, and it would have seemed pleasant to anyone who didn’t know him so well. 

But Lily did know him well and, unless the passage of time had smoothed away her memories as much as it had smoothed down the bumpy ground between them – in either case, not enough – she would know his expression for what it was. And it was: Edgar annoyed, but going out of his way to not start an argument; all the while patting himself on the back for being the bigger person. 

For instance, he could have said: your path always seems like the correct one when you see yourself as the moral center of the universe. But he didn’t, because he’d been selfish before he was more battle tested, too. And Lily did have good morals, to boot! Good morals. And snap, persisting judgements enough to spare. 

But in the name of being friendly – all the while forgetting that overcommitting to being friendly and undercommitting to actually communicating was what had landed them in more than their fair share of cold wars – Edgar just smiled again, and paused long enough to bump his fist against Gideon Prewett’s as he strolled past. Not showing off his deep connections here as much as looking for someone well-meaning enough to interrupt them or offer a polite lifeline, but neither option sat comfortably at his moral center.

Her question, however much of a joke it was, thawed Edgar; turned in him into more a man than an ex. He looked at Lily with softer eyes, a jaw less clenched; he became a little sadder, sure, but it was about the state of the world and not the state of this conversation. “If we were living in a world where only big-shot Aurors got death threats,” he said quietly. “I’d feel a lot better about living in it.” 

A touch overdramatic, sure, but it wasn’t for show. 

There was no good, logical reason for the offer he made next. Maybe getting lost in thought and forgetting who was talking to; maybe the same cause, but with instead the symptom of remembering who he was talking to but forgetting they no longer shared a rhythm or repertoire. 

“Have you had a tour yet? Do you want one?”