Leave a “Get Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character saving yours
Edgar took his feet off the desk. “Professor.”
Fabian’s face lit up. From the open door came an icy wind, his face and clothes were stained with mud, he was drenched from the rain outside, and his hair thus dark brown as it stuck to his temples and forehead. But his face lit up all the same. “Edgar!” he breathed.
Edgar swung to his feet and crossed the room to him.
He was about to put a hand to his shoulder and lean in to greet him when Fabian took a hasty step back. “I’m drenched!”
“I can see that.” But he pressed a kiss to his cheek anyway and turned back to the desk. “Did you have a good class then?”
“I...” Fabian cleared his throat, shuffling his feet indecisively for a moment before turning to take off his rain coat. “I did, actually. It was fun.” He almost sounded surprised by it. “I enjoyed it, yeah. And I think they did, too.”
Sitting at the edge of the desk, Edgar kept his smile. He knew Fabian just well enough to recognise his lies. And this wasn’t one. It was cold up here in Scotland, but this little truth warmed his heart.
Because I missed you. “I needed to ask Dumbledore for advice.” Not a lie. Just not the whole truth. “Ah. Also. Gideon asked me to bring you this.” And he nodded towards the desk behind him on which stood a little package full of baked goods. Of course.
Fabian paused, looked at it, nodded. “I see.” And continued to take off the thick leather Quidditch over-coat before beginning to rummage through his bag for something dry to wear. He was careful to hide his expression from Edgar, and it told Edgar more than words.
He hummed. “You haven’t told him?”
“I’m going to.” He kept rummaging.
“Cariño, are you looking for this?” Edgar reached over the desk to the chair and held up a jumper that had hung over it.
Fabian exhaled a chuckle. “I should really find me a wardrobe to hang that stuff in.”
“I must admit,” Edgar said as he made his way to Fabian once more, feeling the softness of the jumper, “I always assumed these rooms came with the furniture.” His hands reached for Fabian’s scarf and untied it, tossed it over a drawer, then began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Fabian let it happen and Edgar pretended he was too preoccupied by the buttons to notice his flusteredness.
“I mean, the bed was here.”
“Curious. Do you think someone stole the wardrobe?” They looked at each other for a second, then laughed at the absurdity of that thought. “Does the job pay so badly that the professors are reduced to steal furniture?”
“You’d be surprised,” Fabian said.
Humming, Edgar took the drenched shirt off his shoulders, lay it neatly over the drawer, then handed him the jumper.
Fabian put it on as he spoke. “The far greater mystery is, who pays us. Weirdly I always assumed it was the headmaster. But... where would Dumbledore get the money from? Were you, as an alumni, ever asked to donate? Does Hogwarts just run on parents’ donations? I thought it would be written in the contract but ... nothing.”
Surprised and puzzled alike, Edgar raised his gaze up to the ceiling, then let it travel around the room, smiling once more at the absurdity of these thoughts. As he moved, his fingers ran along the walls, over the desk, the backrest of the chair. For a moment silence filled the room, and as Edgar sat down once more -- now on the students’ chair in front of the desk --, he saw Fabian looking around his new home as well, smiling softly, lost in thoughts.
“I can save you, you know,” was what brought him back to the present.
Edgar smirked. “From the baked goods. I’m very selfless like that. If you don’t want them, I can eat them all for you.”
“Ah,” Fabian exhaled, sinking down on the professor’s chair behind the desk and smiled. “So gracious. I’ll think about it.”
Edgar opened the box nodded towards the cookies.
Fabian shook his head so Edgar took one. “You’ll have to decide eventually.”
“I know. Just...” He watched Edgar bring the cookie to his lips, not yet taking a bite. “What if I decide to give them to you only to realise later I did want them after all?”
“Then he’ll make you some more.”
“How do you know? What if-, What if he learns that I gave them to you? That I-, That I needed you to ... save me from them. What if it hurts him?”
Edgar leaned forward, the cookie still at his lips as he smiled up at Fabian from below. “Then you’ll just have to tell him how terribly bad I am at not saving you.” And he took a bite.
