He fought against the crowd, away from the exit that most of them were streaming for. A hex flew by, hitting someone a few metres over and Brenton turned automatically to look for the source, breath catching when his eyes fell on her. “Freya.” Then, louder to reach her over the crowd. “Freya!” He pushed passed someone, vaguely aware of them grumbling behind him and reached out for her, looking for signs of injury. “Are you okay?” Of course she wasn’t. Her reaction had been his first thought when he had been given the order but if it hadn’t been Brenton, it would have been someone else.

The door left on the latch; a pair of shoes by the welcome mat; Ash being a little slower than usual to rush to meet him. Brenton might not be the best at logical conclusions but at least this one was simple to reach. “Freya!” There was irritation in his voice as he strode through the entranceway of the flat into the living room. He didn’t even bother to strip himself of the heavy dragon-hide protective clothing he wore to work ⁠— if Freya was here, he probably wanted to be wearing it. “Brat,” he said in lieu of a greeting, his hands fussing over Ash while his eyes glared daggers at his sister. “Tell me you at least made yourself useful with breaking into my flat and fed the dog?” Not that she would actually have to break in. She had been the obvious choice to give the spare key.

It was going to be a strange conversation and there really was no getting around that. How was one to tell their sister that all the boys who had lived under her father’s roof during her childhood were now dating each other? Percy and Walden might not be much of a surprise. They had dated before, after all, and it had been clear for anyone to see that they had been getting back to that sort of a place over the past half a year. Walden and Brenton, again, might not surprise Freya, at the very least. However much they might have denied to themselves that it meant anything, they had lived together before, not in the sense of Ruben taking Walden in after his parents’ deaths but later, just Walden-and-Brenton as adults, as lovers. They had hardly been subtle at Christmas, either. This, though, with official labels and talking and threesome referring to something more than a sexual thing was hard enough for Brenton to get his head around so it felt extra weird to show up here to announce it to Freya. He knew, though, that he didn’t want to spring it on her the way he had sprung his and Rabastan’s relationship on her. Not with Walden and Percy. He didn’t think she had ever called either of them brother but she had something of a familial relationship with them all the same and he didn’t know if she would find it all a little too strange.

However much he knew he wanted to have the conversation, Brenton was still going to try and put it off as much as possible so he still spent a good amount of time when he first got there, poking around Freya’s kitchen. “Do you have any caramel shortbread? What’s in here?” He picked up a biscuit tin without waiting for her to give him permission.

“Definitely the day Freya was born. Not being an only child any more was awful.”

It’s a lie and nobody’s fooled. If anything that day was one of his better childhood memories, although the first eight years of his life didn’t particularly have bad memories at all. Then the fights started. It was no longer the regular bickering of marriage and parenthood. The worst day wasn’t even the day their parents sat them down and said they were moving into different houses. That sounded quite fun to begin with, getting two bedrooms. The worst was after a few months of switching from house to house when the novelty had worn off and he realised that this was life now. His parents not speaking to each other. Tensing when the other was mentioned. Birthdays spent split in two instead of together as a family and every piece of news having to be told twice. And he hated it, and he hated his ma for being the one to ask for a divorce.

The last thing on Brenton’s mind at the moment was Buchanan. He certainly wasn’t that interested in looking too hard for him. He probably should care more, because the world knowing that Buchanan was with the Death Eaters might cast suspicion over his arrest of Diggle but while Buchanan was wimping out of his task in the worst way, Brenton was having the shouting match of his life. It had been months of up and down. Mostly ups, in Brenton’s mind, but it seemed Julian Gage didn’t agree. It had been too much. Too fast. The switch from just hooking up to dating and living together and family dinner for Freya and Walden’s birthday and casual domesticity had been so sudden and yet bizarrely, despite it arguably having been the most serious relationship Brenton had ever had, so Brenton. He did intense emotions and passion and when he decided he liked someone he didn’t let go of them easily.

He’d shouted himself hoarse and was still left behind, the house suddenly feeling cold without all of Julian’s things that Brenton had grown used to around the place. Without the cat and the books and the second toothbrush in the bathroom, empty spaces in the drawers and cupboards and only one pair of boots by the door. And no sooner had Ash laid his head on Brenton’s knee in comfort, when the Dark Mark burned.