#february23rd

Location: Stables, McKinnon Farm Time: 23rd of February Status: Closed, for: @alphaleoniis​

Bran wasn’t well acquainted with the Black family, let alone the two sons. By the time they had begun joining proper pureblood events and participating in the society they were born into, Bran was already in her rebellious phase, throwing fists at guys three times taller than her, knocking bludgers at Slytherins, and kissing girls in bathroom stalls. But she had heard the gossip of course.

Sirius Black -- in Gryffindor! Against all odds. Befriending Half-Bloods and Muggle-Borns (and as Bran had newly found out: a literal monster, too). Soon enough, the rumors about his status as a blood traitor reached the tea rooms of Bran’s mother, and the gasps had been loud despite the inevitableness of it all. Everyone had turned to look at the younger of the two, then, the one who had never caused such commotion: Regulus. A name, suited much better for a heir, was what everyone whispered, then. 

And the boy seemed to wear his name like a crown indeed, a head held proud, grades and demeanor rumored to be flawless. As this point, Bran was busy defying her mother, which resulted in her being sent to nursing school. She had no time to gossip along and hear about other pureblood families’ perfect heirs. She only cared about one heir, and that was her retched cousin Corban. By the time Regulus was out of school and could’ve run into her at pureblood events, Bran was already searching for a way into the Order.

Location: Gideon’s work space Time: 23rd of February, morning Status: Closed, @gideonprewxtt

Edgar rarely lost too much sleep over other people’s personal issues. Especially not when they were adults and knew what was best for them themselves. The same very much applied to the Prewett twins and the fight they had had, the built tension that had never been resolved, only worsened. He didn’t like interfering in matters he couldn’t fully comprehend, only knew one side of, and in this case, he also trusted Fabian to know what was the right thing to do.

But ever since the talk with Regulus, or perhaps something else that also had happened that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about the helplessness in the face of fate. How there was a universal Truth, and humans had so little access to it, they couldn’t even begin comprehending what it meant to make ‘the right decision’ for the ‘right path of their destiny’. How much could one change one’s own fate? How much was one merely the victim?

The questions kept circling through his mind -- and the only answer he found was: Gideon wasn’t a victim. He had chosen to reject Fabian’s attempt to open himself up to him, had refused to listen, to put himself in the shoes of his brother, understand what his illness contained. Had made it about himself, writing himself into the history books as a victim -- but he wasn’t.

Barely sleeping that night, Edgar read book after book, drank tea after tea, the heavy little necklace with the locket around his wrist, catching himself staring at it more often than he realised. Sometimes it was as though it was whispering to him, but whenever his gaze met it, it silenced. As though waiting... Never had he resented being alone as much as tonight.

He put it around his neck when he went to bring to Gideon the next day. Gideon. His thoughts were even darker now. Gideon, the victim. Gideon, who chose his steps by just how much he wanted into the Inner Circle. Gideon, who brought a child -- this kitten! -- into this war. Gideon, who heard about Ainsley and James and made it about himself. Gideon, who spoke about having to work things out and then worsened it instead.