#gideonprewxtt

Ryland raced to the elevators once inside. It felt like a terrible plan, but if the Ministry had stairs, he'd never used them. He hadn't spent much time here at all. He'd occasionally visited friends at work or come for a Gringotts collaboration, but Ryland had very few instincts to fall back on in this situation. He had to try, though. Perhaps because of his background with security, Ryland's first thought had been the Department of Mysteries and some of the weapons it possessed. If Death Eaters got their hands on those, it would be all over.

Somehow Ryland secured a lift by himself and headed down. He gripped his wand tightly, not know what he'd find at the bottom. When the doors opened to reveal a masked figure, they seemed as surprised as Ryland. Still with Bran barking orders in his head, Ryland called out a stunning spell. It hit, and even better, it worked! Ryland knew it wouldn't hold them long, so he lifted the figure under their arms and dragged them back into the lift. That could be someone else's problem.

Longbottom Estate, the Conservatory 22 March 1982 - morning @gideonprewxtt​

Augusta had spent much more time in the main house in the last 12 hours than she had in the last few months, even though Frank was settled enough in his favorite chair in the conservatory. Not that she didn’t have a good reason to be worried: Frank’s wound seemed to fluctuate between becoming worse and doing nothing.

Frank’s last Death Eater related injury had at least bought him time to heal it under Emmeline’s help, but with so many Order members that needed to be cared for he’d need to go to St. Mungo’s and hope that they would know how to put him back together.

He had a feeling that he’d make it out of this war alive, for the sole reason of making sure that his mother did not permanently live with the expression she had when his father had died. She had made him his favorite tea under the pretense that this was another Sunday brunch—had Frank just stayed yesterday morning when it was actually Sunday, he might not actually have to deal with feeling ill.

Skimble had entered the room again to introduce someone, and Frank talked his mother down from making them leave. It was not that Augusta did not enjoy having guests over, it was that she hated having them when she was not prepared to host. Rarely did she have to take over being a hostess for two reasons: Alice was now the mistress of the main house and the two occupants were always so busy that they almost never had guests.

When Gideon had been led to the conservatory, Augusta made herself busy by making scones. It was not that the house elf wasn’t capable of making them, but she and Gideon shared the same habits when they were upset.

Frank gave his friend a soft smile, but he didn’t move from the slouched position, barely sitting up straight on his armchair with his legs stretched over the ottoman. And Frank decided that perhaps he would play into his mother’s pretense too, that this visit was a perfectly ordinary one on a perfectly ordinary morning, choosing a topic that was, for Gideon perhaps, perfectly ordinary.

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.

Cookies: Fabian (hasn’t really met)

Five-course meal: Lily (one of the DTF leaders and generally a nice person from what Kiran can tell)

Emmeline was tired, to be completely frank. It had been a rather long week complete with long shifts at St. Mungo’s and even longer shifts at the Potter Estate as a just in case. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she went home, if she didn’t expect the unexpected, they could lose someone else in this aftermath. 

Good as he was, Gideon seemed to have noticed, and while Emmeline didn’t know him super well, she’d smiled and accepted when he’d asked if he could visit her at the end of her shift for tea. Emmeline had always liked the atmosphere of the St. Mungo’s tearoom. It was kept calm and atmospheric through a series of spells and charms to ease worried patients. Sometimes on her breaks, she preferred it to the staff rooms. 

When Gideon walked in, Emmeline waved from her table in the corner. She’d purposefully picked somewhere secluded in case he wanted to talk about Order business.

Benjy couldn’t believe it. They were at James Potter’s memorial. James, who had died over a week ago. James, who Benjy looked up to in school - in the Order. James, who Benjy thought was invincible. 

There was a picture of him sitting on the table, but not much else. This wasn’t the funeral - this was for the Order. This was a remembrance of a person who had died for their cause. Benjy’s eyes moved over to Lily, who he didn’t know well and had no fucking clue what to say. Instead of heading towards his to give her empty words, he took one of the shots laid one, the burn on his throat making him cough slightly.

It wasn’t often he drank - though more these days than in school. Back then, life was Quidditch and being drunk wasn’t good for the sport. But now... nothing was holding him back. He took another and put the empty shot glass upside down on the table before grabbing a scone nearby. His gaze caught Gideon and he held it up. “You make this?”

Engagement Party: As hell breaks loose Location: Just outside the Manor Starter: @gideonprewxtt

Sirius wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, but people were moving quickly with lots of yelling. He sprinted down the hall to try and figure things out, but by the time he realized he should make a plan with Mundungus first, he’d gone too far. It was clear things had gone wrong. Sirius didn’t want to get trapped down a hallway in a long dress and heels. He glanced around, and his eyes landed on the balcony visible through an open door. 

Sirius hurried toward it and used a cushioning charm to make his jump. He still ending up wincing as the landing on his heels, but after a quick testing of his foot and angle, he was fine. Sirius kicked off the shoes, figuring at this point, he’d look suspicious enough as it was, wandering around as Morgana Yaxley without her husband. How much time did they have left anyway? It couldn’t be long.