#a-glasshalfempty

(set at some point during their overlapping Hogwarts years)

-

Dear Fabian,

First and foremost, it’s imperative that I let you know that your brother in no way, shape or form put me up to this. It might seem as though he did, and I admit that would make a lot more sense, but he didn’t.

Now that this is out of the way, I simply have to let you know that I thought you did admirably in that last game against Hufflepuff! Clearly, luck wasn’t on your side this time, but you persevered and didn’t give up until the very end, and I think that’s commendable!

Admittedly, I don’t know much about Quidditch, but I still thought you did very well! Great reflexes! Impressive momentum! And you didn’t send any of those black quaffles towards the audience even once which I, as part of said audience, very much appreciated! (I’m fully aware they have a special name and are not, in fact, called quaffles, but I cannot for the life of me remember it right now and you know exactly what I mean anyway so I should ask you to forgive the inaccuracy.)

All of this to say, you have no reason to feel bad for that loss! Yes, admittedly it was very unexpected, and by a pretty wide margin, and to arguably the weakest House team, but that’s okay! One lost game isn’t a reflection of your skill but rather of bad luck and I’m sure you’ll win the next one!

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

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

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

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

Time: Fabruary 14th, evening Location: Potter Estate Status: Closed, for @a-glasshalfempty

Bran whistled through her teeth when Fabian in his new look stepped out of the Potter Estate.

“So the tooth was legit? By Morgana, Prewett, I mean I always knew you were insane, but stealing a grandma’s third teeth seems quite extreme, even to me.” She cast Fabian a grin, brows knitting as she had to raise her gaze against the setting sun. “Are you at least properly ashamed of yourself? What’s next? Stealing candy from a baby?”

Date: February 17, 1982

Location: Potter Estate

@a-glasshalfempty​

It had been two weeks since he had been at the Potter Estate on Order business. It was poor timing to join the organization fighting against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s evil efforts, just as his mother had gotten sick back in Birmingham. However, he was assured his place would be saved for him in his return, as the Order of the Phoenix needed all the help they could get. And now that his mother was feeling better, Ted finally came back and after spending the day catching up with his wife Andromeda, it was time for him to check back in.

Ted apparated to the Potter Estate grounds, entering in the main door and began his search for Edgar Bones, who had been his main person for contact throughout the process. As he walked by the rooms and began his way upstairs, he felt an odd sense of emptiness and silence. Ted hadn’t visited the Estate many times at all, but it still felt odd. However, it was a passing thought, quickly thrown away as Ted felt his instinct was probably due to nerves or something of the sort.

Instead of finding Edgar, as he turned the corridor of the second floor, Ted encountered Fabian Prewett instead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his old, good friend’s face or the matching looks of his twin brother Gideon. After a small delay of realization, Ted’s eyes widened and he bore a grin as he called out towards him, “Fab, aye! It’s good to see you, mate!”

Location: Sirius’ apartment in Muggle London Time: December 27, late afternoon Starter: @a-glasshalfempty

Sirius hadn’t known what to think when Fabian sent him a letter promising a favor of repayment if Sirius needed it. His first instinct had been to ignore it. Technically Fabian had saved his life, although that was probably necessary considering Sirius wouldn’t have splinched himself if Fabian hadn’t messed up Alaric. Still, if Fabian had guilt he wanted to repay, who was Sirius to say no?

The problem was that he didn’t really know what all Fabian was capable of doing. His first thought that had any weight to it was his bike. Sirius had charmed the parts himself to get the bike to fly, and although he had done a good job and gotten stable flight, he wasn’t a magical mechanic. He had no experience with combining magic and metal the way a magical clock maker might, although Sirius’ natural predilection toward understanding complex magic when motivated had helped him develop the trial and error needed to safely achieve stable flight. 

Leave a “Quite Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

“Hey! Hey, stop!”

Amelia had been on her way into the office when she’d heard a commotion and made her way quickly towards it. The voice had sounded familiar, and when she saw an Auror dragging Maurice in towards the cells and him struggling and yelling, she had felt her heart sink. She was torn between just walking away, because clearly he must have been arrested for something, but also feeling guilty because she had been trying to help and what if it had been something she’d said to cause this.

Quickly, she made her way over to where they’d thrown him in a cell, standing in front of the bars and trying to get his attention away from the Aurors and towards her, to get him to stop yelling at them. “Maurice, stop it!” She said quickly, “Stop yelling!”

“No! They can’t just do this!”

“Hey!” Amelia tried again, tempted to just reach through the bars and grab him, but almost afraid that he’d jump or freak out if she did. Besides, grabbing him and shaking him, as much as it was something she wanted to do, probably wouldn’t be the most effective way of getting his attention. Still, she moved herself in his line of sight so he was looking at her, and narrowed her eyes at him, waiting on him to stop.

He did, but he just looked at her and she narrowed her eyes more. “What did I tell you?” she demanded then, “What did I tell you last time? What did I tell you about the yelling and dramatics? Was I stuttering? Did you not hear what I said? Did you just selectively listen to me?”

“I wasn’t even doing anything wrong this time!” He protested, huffing at her in annoyance.

“Do you think you could handle watching him be happy with someone else?”

Edgar’s words still rang in Ryland’s ears as he stepped out of the floo and into Gideon’s parlor. It had been a long hard conversation, and Ryland had needed to confront a lot of things he’d been ignoring for a long time. He couldn’t ignore them anymore. Gideon needed to know how he felt, and he needed to know now.

As he stepped through into the hall, Ryland saw Pippin run from the ajar bedroom door. He smiled and scooped up the cat to kiss the top of his head. “Gideon in there?” he asked, but Pippin only blinked in response. 

Ryland set down the cat and slipped into the bedroom. Through darkened curtains, little light settled in the room, but Ryland could just barely make out a ginger-covered head sticking out above a heap of blankets.

He took a deep breath and steeled up his courage. Ryland knelt on the edge of the bed, reaching forward to slip his hand along his sleeping friend’s jaw. “Wake up,” he said quietly. As soon as the redhead stirred. Ryland leaned forward to press his lips against the other’s. He savored it, enjoying that moment, especially once he felt the surge of the kiss being returned.

When Ryland finally pulled back, he stayed close, prepared to press back in for another kiss. 

“Ryland?”

The voice wasn’t quite right. Ryland’s eyes flew open, and he stared into eyes that while similar, were definitely not Gideon’s. “Fabian?”

“What--”

Coming off his shift at the Ministry of Magic, having had another day of erasing Muggles’ memories and filling paperwork, in triple copy, Caradoc was ready to head back to the little family cottage in Abertridwr, a few miles from Caerphilly. Wales was too far off from London to make a pleasant and safe trip by appareting, and while using the floo system was an easy and quick matter, some times he preferred to take the Knight Bus. The coach ride allowed him time to be by himself, undisturbed, without requiring him to put on a face for anyone—colleagues, fellow Order members, or his father. People knew not to chat on the bus, at least not to him, somehow knowing he wouldn’t welcome anyone that were to try,  and that’s what he liked most about it. Sitting, quietly, he would use that time to think about the Order and their latest mission or their newest plans, either re-examining their steps or charting the road ahead.

Thus, it was not rare for him to cross paths with Fabian Prewett, but neither of them had ever struck a conversation. Not just because Fabian was working and Caradoc had no desire to talk, but because they both had no great like of one another and had made a silent yet mutual decision to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible. Not to mention that this, this small ride from London to Caerphilly, was Caradoc’s one moment for himself, which he had no desire to share with anyone.