a-glasshalffull-blog

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

trustingpotter‌:

James was busy, as always. He was glad to be finally over that damned sickness - the last one, one of the only people who had held out taking the potion. In the end, he might’ve stayed sick longer, but at least he hadn’t been poisoned or whatever Severus Snape was planning to do. James still wasn’t convinced this ‘imagined cured’ wouldn’t kill them all in a year, a long con. While he would’ve like to say Severus wasn’t smart enough to pull it off, James knew that wasn’t true. He was just glad that none of his friends except for him had been hit with it. If everyone was going to drop dead from the potion, at least James and his mates could stay standing.

But even illness didn’t stop war, though it had put damper on things - made stuff move slower. Even when the Order members had blood dripping from their eyes like tears and tearing his bloody house apart because of damn hallucinations, the Wizarding World kept moving. People continued to die - others continued to have information. He swore that if he survived this whole thing in the end, he’d just take a really long nap. Before having to do something crazy… like find a job or whatever.

Today, he was gaining intel from Gideon. The older man worked for the Department of Mysteries in a highly secretive department that shouldn’t have included James or the Order, but did on account of Gideon’s role. Recently, it had been brought up in an inner-circle meeting the possibility of bringing Gideon even farther into the Order, but nothing had come of it yet. James would have to keep an eye on him tonight - see how he handled things - and report back.

James grinned when the door opened, but quickly fell at the so-called greeting. “When isn’t there an issue, mate? For once, I would love for someone to say, ‘Great new, James! The Arrows won the Cup and the winning snitch held the answers to Moldy-mort’s downfall!’ Is that too much to ask?” he said, side-stepping Gideon to get into the house. He pulled off his jacket. “Is this a we-should-have-a-drink-and-talk kind of issue? Or a we-should-owl-Kingsley kind of issue?”

Gideon found some comfort in the fact that with everything that was going on, James still managed to keep his humour somehow. A brief smile smoothed out the wrinkles in his forehead as he took the jacket from James and neatly hung it next to his own coats. 

“You wish. They’ll have to defeat the Catapults first and that’s never going to happen.” Quidditch was such an easy topic, one they could relate over. After all, while they were supporting different teams nowadays, they’d both played for the same team once - in the same position even, although never at the same time. If only they could spend the night discussing the best maneuvers and debating the odds of the English national team at the next world cup. They’d have to make up for that, when the war was over.

“But you’re right, that was indeed rude of me, I’m sorry. I could at least have offered a greeting first.” He looked the younger man over with concern. “How are you doing, James?” He’d never been a fan of empty phrases, when Gideon asked something like this, he meant it and especially after most of his friends had just recovered from an unknown and frightening disease he was even more on high alert than usual.

“No alcohol in the house, I’m afraid, but I can offer tea, coffee or hot chocolate and a hot meal if you’re hungry?” Turning around Gideon began to lead James down the hallway and into the living room. Mortimer was curled up in his favourite armchair and Gideon didn’t have the heart to move the sleeping cat so he offered James the remaining armchair and took the sofa for himself.

“Possibly, although I’d rather try and find a solution to offer alongside the problem first. Merlin knows, that poor man hasn’t had a full night of rest since the sixties and I’ve sent him two owls this week already.” 

To be fair, only one had actually been about an issue - Gideon had begun to send weekly letters alternating between Alastor and Kingsley to request and update on where they stood in the search for Ryland. By now, he wasn’t getting responses from either of them anymore. The other letter had been a simple invitation to catch up over coffee and to inquire after his health. 

“Do you want the boring general rundown first or do you want me to get right to the precarious stuff?”

A Man Who Leads a Life of Danger

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

spellnbone‌:

Edgar wasn’t the kind of person to lose sleep over private issues. His life could be on the line and he’d still fall asleep the moment he laid his head down on the pillow. It had always been like that. Not in Hogwarts, the night before an important exam. Not when he first moved to Muggle London and had a long to do list of Muggle affairs to deal with, from opening a bank account to moving into the apartment on the fifth floor with no help of magic. Not even after the first night as an official Order member, when it became so obvious that his life was from now on going to be a web of lies.

However, when it came to other people’s issues, there was no peace to be found. And at the moment, the Order was being threatened. It always was, of course, but recently it had shown direct effects. A severe attack on their inner stability suggesting that someone among them was not as trustful as they seemed to be. A few of them, Edgar assumed most everyone from the inner-circle, had been told to pay particular attention to the members, finding out if there really was a leak, and if yes, where it came from.

It wasn’t their priority, as their were always more obvious, more pressing matters needing to be dealt with, but it was always there, this doubt, those skeptical glances cast at one another. Edgar had seen those glances being cast quite wildly, but his own gaze was fastened on Gideon Prewett, mid-level Gryffindor alumnus and owner of a face that awoke more memories within Edgar than he had initially realised.

A reason to lose sleep over. So Edgar rose, ignoring the Muggle watch on his night stand and dressed to go for a walk. He went by the philosophy to believe everyone innocent unless proven guilty, and for now Prewett had not proven himself guilty. Edgar had gathered quite a lot of information in the passed few weeks, but none of it was, while interesting, incriminating. At all, actually. Prewett was a good man, dutiful and intelligent, wasn’t he? If just there wasn’t this … nervousness about him…

A voice startled him out of his heavy thoughts, his eyebrows rising high when he realised where he had walked to. And then the voice again. He straightened his shoulders, looked at the door as though it was Prewett behind it, and said: “Perhaps ‘courtesy’ is the wrong term to begin with.” Investigation visit, rather. “Edgar Bones here.” And a quick fact only members of the Order knew was added to prove that it really was him.

The cats had followed him to the door, curious about the newcomer and eager to venture out into the night for a few hours to maybe catch a few mice and likely sneak into the neighbours’ flat where the muggle children would undoubtedly sneak them ham for breakfast again. Mortimer pressed his fluffy white body against Gideon’s leg, purring loudly and it calmed his nerves for a few moments before he heard the voice on the other side of the door answer.

Something inside Gideon froze. Fabian. Molly. Arthur. The children. Someone had hurt them. Or worse…. No! It couldn’t be! If something had happened to his family it would be Kingsley standing outside his door, not Edgar. They had a deal, dammit! 

That still left too many possibilities, though, too many people he loved and cared for. 

“Give me a moment.” Still frozen in place, wand raised and his knuckles white Gideon swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths, steeling himself and schooling his expression. When he opened the door with a flick of his wrist only seconds later, his stance was still tense and his wand ready at his side, but his expression was carefully neutral not giving away anything about the turmoil that had his heart pounding in his chest and the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. If there was anything he truly was good at, it was wearing masks. 

Perdita slipped out into the stairway as soon as the door was open, but Mortimer had sat down at Gideon’s feet, as if he could sense his human’s distress. 

Edgar looked as he usually did, maybe a bit more tired, like everyone else these days. But the distinct lack of blood on his clothes was a relief, even if it was short-lived. Gideon knew far too well that spells could kill and torture without ever spilling a single drop. 

Under different circumstances Gid would probably have been happy to see Edgar, despite how uncomfortable he was with the other’s sudden interest in seemingly everything Gideon did. But at this time, with no prior notification a surprise visit could only mean bad news. Gideon clenched his jaw, mentally preparing for the worst.

“Who died?”

No One’s Here to Sleep

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

ainsleyabbott‌:

“Ughhhh, I think you’re right.” The groan that came out of Ainsley was heavy enough to be a nearly physical thing and she let its reverberation drag her down in her seat, slumping until her elbows propped on the chair’s armrests were nearly level with her nose. Her glasses, apparently driven by the same capitulation to gravity as the rest of her, slipped down to rest on the very end of her nose and Ainsley eyed Gideon bleakly through the squat lenses.

She didn’t really talk about Nessie to anyone else – not about things that mattered anyway, not these days; not now that she was keeping secrets. But she didn’t have to share the truth to share her woes, did she? Didn’t have to confess the root of her feelings to vent them. And Gideon didn’t travel in the same circles as the Rosiers anyway, after all; he wasn’t going to go telling tales out of school on her…wasn’t going to be reporting back to the family that young Jayesh was planning a wedding they hadn’t yet approved of, or that his intended’s sister was less than enthusiastic about the prospect…

Maybe a little bit of truth would help lift the weight of the rest of the lie.

Ainsley pushed herself back to a semi-upright position and said bluntly, “She’s gone totally round the bend, is what she’s done. Decided to get married. Has yours ever done anything as daft as that?” Maybe not the most diplomatic way to phrase it…but diplomacy was her sister’s art; Ainsley preferred honesty, even when it hurt. “Because it gets worse on account of who Nessie’s planning to tie the knot with, you see: Jayesh Rosier.”

Gideon laughed quietly and pushed the plate with the biscuits closer to Ainsley with one hand while at the same time flicking his wand and prompting the tea pot to fill the second cup for her. “Here, I’ve found that sugar and a good cup of tea make a lot of things more bearable.”

Gideon himself considered his sibling a blessing more than anything else, even if they often caused him headaches and sleepless nights. But the three of them had always been close and when Molly had married Arthur, Gid and Fabian had embraced him as a brother. 

Still, that didn’t mean that there weren’t days when he wanted to shake them and yell at them over a dumb decision until they came to their senses. Fabian more than Molly or his brother-in-law, but even they had their moments. Who in their right mind named their child Ronald Bilius, after all…

“Hmmmm that’s does sound harrowing.” There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, Gideon doubted she’d even notice. “I have to admit, I don’t know your sister and I’ve met this specific Rosier maybe twice in passing. I’m not too fond of that entire family in general, I’m afraid.” Even though he probably only had to go back three or four generations on his own family tree to find out that he was in fact related to that family somehow. Oh the joys of being considered one of the twenty-eight. Gideon hated it.

“Your parents arranged it?” Because that’s what people in these circles still did, even though they lived in the twentieth century and not the Dark Ages. “What’s your impression of him then? And does she at least like him?”

The Woes of Siblinghood

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

a-glasshalfempty‌:

Fabian let out a short laugh, well, it was more of a scoff than a laugh. Gid was right about one thing, Molly would have Gid’s head if anything happened to him and vice-versa, they were, after all, meant to look out for one another. It had been drilled into them from an early age, not even consciously. But Gid was the only brother he was ever going to have and he had to look out for him because Merlin knew one else could be relied upon to do it, without question or payment or something in return.

If Fabian had been sober, he would have recognised that, but as it was, he was bitter and angry and defensive and in no mood to make allowances for his twin.

With suspicion, Fabian took his watch off and placed it on the table. Sure enough there was an extra hand, and sure enough, it was pointing at Gid’s watch.

“For fuck sake Gid.” He didn’t even summon the energy to shout. “Don’t bother, just take the fucking watch.” He tossed the watch across the table at his brother. The watch he had received on his 17th birthday, matching the watch Gid had received at the same time.

He struggled for words. Deep down he was touched, deep down he was grateful for the tool that could be used to track his brother and also make his presence known to the only person he really truly trusted with his life unequivocally. It was useful and practical and thoughtful and Fabian was craving lifelines like that. But on the surface, the alcohol could only allow him to be angry, hurt that Gideon didn’t trust him.

“Well good fucking luck finding me next time.” He stood with some difficulty and stumbled out of the pub.

He felt sick to his stomach. He hated that this was what he’d become. He hated talking to Gid like that. What had happened to him? They were words he’d never be able to take back. And now he felt sick. No, he really did feel sick.

The night air struck him and he turned almost immediately and threw up. He spluttered, bracing himself against a wall and reaching for air before another wave of vomit hit

Too much, too quick. Gideon knew he’d fucked up the moment the words left his mouth. His sorry excuse for an explanation hung heavy in the air between them, and instead of drawing them closer together once more, he suddenly felt more divided from his twin than ever. 

The expression on Fabian’s face shifted from confusion to rage and Gideon felt the panic rise. How did he always manage to fuck things up so spectacularly? He’d never meant for Fabian to find out about the addition to the watches like this. When he’d first thought of it, with Fabian delirious in his guest room and his own fear of losing his brother almost tearing him apart from the inside, Gideon had imagined how he’d present the finished project to his twin once he’d gotten better. Because even then, with the uncertainty of an unknown illness with no cure in sight, Gideon had refused to face the unthinkable. Instead he’d gone to fix the broken chain on Fabian’s watch - and then distracted himself with adding the spell. He’d never even thought about the fact that it might be used to track Fabian down when he didn’t want to be found. Not consciously, at least. His main concern had been that Fabian might need him in an emergency and what if he wasn’t able to locate him? 

But Gideon didn’t say any of that. He’d already fucked up enough with his words so all he got to do now was to sit in silence and let his brother rage. He didn’t get up immediately after Fabian left the table. Instead he took a moment to collect himself. With careful, precise motions he pocketed his own and Fabain’s watches and placed a neat stack of a few galleons on the table before getting up and straightening his coat and tie.

They’d been here before, more than once. Fabian was mad at him, and rightfully so. But he still had to get somewhere safe somehow and he was in no state to apparate. 

Gideon wasn’t the least bit surprised when he found his twin throwing up violently right outside the door. He stepped right next to him, carefully avoiding the sick on the cobblestones and not touching him just yet but close enough so Fabian would be able to reach for him if he wanted to. 

“Come on, out with it, don’t try to hold it in.” Gideon was surprised how calm and gentle his voice sounded even now when all he could feel was that all-consuming fear. “I’ll be here until you feel better and then I’ll get you home and leave you alone. Does that sound good to you?”

Mess Is Mine

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

A Man Who Leads a Life of Danger

@trustingpotter

November 25th, 1981

Gideon Prewett’s flat, London

Most days Gideon was uncertain of his work’s significance in the war but then there were the days when he was sure that what he was doing was actually making a difference. If only he knew which side was the one benefitting from it. 

Most of his work at the ministry really wasn’t as glamorous and exciting as some would probably think when they heard that he was working in the Department of Mysteries. They probably thought of secret artifacts and creatures, big laboratories and constant, exciting breakthroughs. And sure, they did have the laboratories and every now and then they did have a breakthrough, but if anyone knew how much of his time Gideon actually spent at his desk over books and scribbling runic equations into his notebooks they’d probably be disappointed. 

When he’d first agreed to give regular reports on his work to the Order, they had probably expected a little more as well but as it was, he mostly gave tedious updates on spell projects that sometimes took months to develop and of which most never left the drafting table. It was frustrating, to have so little to contribute most of the time, but this was the nature of magic experimentation; new spells weren’t developed in a day and most of it really was just a lot of trial and error. 

Today however he did have something to report, a breakthrough indeed and one that made him more uneasy than anything he’d worked on before. He was glad he was at least giving his report to James Potter. While he was still terribly young, he’d given Gideon the impression of being brighter than others. He had a feeling that James understood enough of the subject matter to follow most of Gid’s explanations without issue.

When he opened the door, he didn’t even bother with pleasantries. This was far too important.

“Good that you’re here. We have a bit of an issue, I believe.”

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

The Potters’ personal library was quite impressive, and Gideon was grateful that he’d been given permission to browse the collection and see if he could find something useful for his work. So far he’d mostly found books about hair care but had found those so amusing that he’d almost forgotten about his actual goal. But there had actually been one or two volumes on early defensive magic that could be quite useful for his latest side project.

With an armful of heavy books he’d been surprised to be ushered into a what appeared to be a spare study by a house elf who’d started a fire and even provided him with tea and biscuits which was much more that Gideon had expected, but his empty stomach was grateful for it.

He’d made himself at home his notebooks and parchment spread out all over the desk and his tea cooling on a top of a stack of books long forgotten as he copied full passages from the most promising one. He almost didn’t notice the newcomer until Ainsley was already right in front of him. Apparently, she was as unaware of his presence as he’d been of hers, much more focused on the biscuits than him.

That sigh resonated deeply with him and he almost laughed at her exasperated plea. Why indeed? Sometimes he wished there was, just to make his brother see his point of view for a change. But he’d also never force his own will on his twin, even if Gideon couldn’t help himself but cross certain boundaries sometimes, he’d never go this far. And he was sure, Ainsley wouldn’t either.

“Because apparently siblings were put on this earth to drive us mad and keep us humble. What’s yours done?”

The Woes of Siblinghood

@a-glasshalffull​

Ainsley had the most atrocious headache. She probably shouldn’t have Apparated with her skull pounding like this, but she only thought of that after stepping off the stoop of the Potter Estate and she hadn’t Splinched herself, so that was all right…

Nothing else was. She clumped inside, barely noticing the elf that appeared to take her heavy cloak as she passed, and made a beeline for James’s library. The scent of hot tea pulled her into a detour and she took a hard left into a drab study made cozy by its crackling fireplace, teapot so hot it was still giving off steam, and half-empty plate of biscuits. The sight of one of the Prewett twins sitting in front of said biscuits hardly registered.

Ainsley dropped gratefully into a chair and let her head fall back. There was a faint CRACK – probably the elf appearing with another teacup – that gave her temples a twinge, but it was so nice to just sit here for a moment and breathe that she hardly minded. The effort of actually pouring herself a cup or snagging a biscuit seemed too much to bother with just at the moment, but she could already feel some of the tension bleeding out of her limbs and into the soft cushion of James’s fancy old chair.

It wasn’t the war, or the letters to the editor, or her bosses, or the punctuation of her colleagues, or even the realization she’d had around noon that she had accidentally put on two different shoes this morning, that was weighing so on Ainsley today; it wasn’t the illness that had plagued her for so long and so horribly, whose cure she had finally consented to take three days ago; it was her sister. Nessie had come round the paper to share lunch – and to talk about flowers. Apparently, even though the engagement was yet to be official, she and Jayesh were already talking about what kind of flowers would be a good hypothetical choice for a wedding.

Ainsley let out a sigh heavy enough that she actually shifted in her seat and said, more to the world at large than to her inadvertent companion, “Why isn’t there a spell for forcing siblings to be sensible?”

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

BASICS.

NAME. Gideon Prewett AGE. 30 ALUMNI HOUSE. Gryffindor BLOOD STATUS. Pureblood ORDER RANK. Mid-level FACECLAIM. Sam Heughan

PAST.

Gideon never doubted that he was lucky. He had a happy childhood, a loving family and, most importantly, a twin. He never quite understood how singletons could function properly but then, they never knew what they were missing either. Growing up Gideon was, in most respects, the epitome of a good boy. He fulfilled most of his parents’ expectations – worked hard in school, got good grades and, as far as they knew, rarely got into trouble. Back then he was carefree, blissfully ignorant of the tension building and the looming war. As he grew older and more aware of the issues so deeply rooted within the society he called his own, he found that he couldn’t just turn his head and pretend not to see the injustice many of his classmates suffered through on a daily basis. Gideon knew he had to use his own privilege to take a stand, he just didn’t know how. As much as he tried to help out and speak up, nothing he did ever felt like it was enough. It wasn’t until his brother was recruited by the Order and simply dragged him along with him, that he found a way to truly make an impact.

PRESENT.

After graduating, Gideon’s curiosity and dedication secured him a spot in a training program for magical research and from there on brought him further and deep into the Department of Mysteries where he researches new ways of magic currently unheard of. Every day brings new risks and challenges and the fear of being found out as a spy for the Order is his constant companion. It’s what he wanted, though, isn’t it? He makes a difference. The intelligence he’s gathering is valuable and the research he’s able to do with the resources he wouldn’t have anywhere else could potentially aid the Order in the war. At the same time, he never knows who he’s actually working for. He can feel the pressure of countless expectations and responsibilities piling up and he knows, it’s only a matter of time until he’ll break under the weight.

CONNECTIONS.

FABIAN PREWETT. The ying to his yang - his other half - his right hand man. However it’s said, Fabian is the most important person in Gideon’s life. That’s why it’s so hard to see him take the path he’s been taking. Gideon wants to be there - and he tries as much as he can. But the closer he gets, the more Fabian pushes him away. The only thing Gideon knows is that he can’t let go now - not if he wants to keep his best friend alive. ANDROMEDA TONKS. The Department of Mysteries is small and, even though Andromeda mostly works alone while Gideon has a team of researchers, he can still tell she’s up to something. She’s smart though - and familiar, them having been to school together. So Gideon finds comfort in her presence, anyway. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. Can’t tell if she’s more like her family than she claims to be… EDGAR BONES. Edgar has been paying more attention to Gideon lately and it’s freaking him out. Do they suspect him to be the spy? Did they want him to do more? Less? If only Edgar were more upfront, instead of just name-dropping the so-called inner-circle all the time. What the Hell is he on about? 

Alternate FC Suggestions: James McAvoy, Sam Claflin

GIDEON IS CLOSED.

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

a-glasshalfempty‌:

It didn’t matter how right Gideon was. It didn’t matter that he probably would have passed out somewhere, hopefully not outside in the cold, but it was a distinct possibility. It didn’t matter because Fabian hated that Gid thought those things in the first place. He said it like it was a joke, but Fabian just knew it was a real concern of his.

“Well thanks, I guess. You don’t need to worry though. I’ve eaten. I feel fine.” He realized only after he’d finished talking that he was trying to get Gideon to leave. He wanted to wallow alone, and most of all he didn’t want Gideon to see him like this. 

With Gideon’s interrogation and the realisation of the time he huffed and bent forward, leaning his head on his hands, refusing to look at his twin as he rubbed his eyes. “A couple of hours?” He had a lump in his throat at the lie, but he couldn’t tell Gid the truth this time. “Look, what does it matter? I just wanted a drink. Do you want one? I’ll get you one shall I?” He asked, perhaps a little mockingly as he made to get up, wobbling ever so slightly as he did so. 

Before he’d gotten drunk, he’d had every intention of going back to Gideon’s tonight, and very humbly asking if he could stay with him a little longer. The truth was, he’d just lost the rooms he’d been living in after he’d missed his last rent payment. The rooms were a shithole, and it wasn’t like Fab was going to miss them, but it did mean he was now technically homeless. He’d also intended to grab a muggle newspaper and look up ads for a new place to live, but all that had flown out of the window when he’d entered the pub. 

But now he knew Gideon was checking up on him - because what else could this be? - his pride would not allow him to ask for help again. Actually, that was a good point. “How did you know I was here, by the way?” He hadn’t told anyone of his intentions, he had specifically chosen a place he knew he wouldn’t be found. So how had GIdeon turned up precisely where he shouldn’t have?

Lately it seemed like it didn’t matter what Gideon said, it was simply always wrong. He could practically see Fabian close off further right before his eyes and it felt as if someone had plunged a dagger into his heart and twisted it. With every day they grew further apart and nothing Gideon did to try and prevent it seemed to be able to fix their quickly crumbling relationship. If anything, it made it worse. Maybe he should just step back and leave give his twin some space for a while. If he were a stronger man, he would. Hell, he’d tried a couple times only to find himself tossing and turning and sick with anxiety two nights in and caved to his own obsessive need to know that Fabian was at least still alive and getting by.

“Good,” he gave in quickly, mindful not to appear controlling. “You know I’m really just looking out for myself here. Molly would have my head if I let you starve.” Another weak attempt at lightening the mood, get his brother to smile at him at least once so he knew Fabian didn’t despise him completely. Pathetic, how desperate he was for his brother’s approval.

“Thank you but no, not tonight. I need to finish some notes when I get home and I need a clear head for that otherwise I’ll blow up the whole Ministry tomorrow.” He really had to stop, for his own dignity’s sake.

Gideon sighed. He’d hoped Fabian wouldn’t ask, so he’d have time to explain beforehand.

“Get out your watch,” he asked, reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulling his own out and unhooking it from the chain to place it on the table. He opened it to reveal the intricate clock face and pointed at it. Where there had been three hands before, a fourth had been added and it was pointing directly at Fabian.

“Yours has the same. I added it while you were resting. They’re not pointing at us, but at each other.” Gid paused, already dreading his brother’s reaction. It had seemed like a great idea at the time, a thoughtful surprise – but now Gideon wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he should have brought it up in a conversation first. But when did they ever have normal conversations anymore?

“I can take it out,” he added quickly in an attempt to soothe the oncoming storm. “If you don’t like it I’ll take it out right here, it’ll only take five minutes, I swear.”

Mess Is Mine

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

goodgollymolly‌:

“Yeah, well, fuck your courtesy, Gid. And fuck you for that matter. Open up.” It wasn’t really Gideon’s fault. Connor had been visiting some old friends at an older haunt and he knew better. He damn well knew better. But here he was in skivvies and sequins with a right bloody nose and pink teeth. His shoes gave him a good four inches and a mean kick but unless he was supposed to pull his wand (his actual wand, perverts) well, only so much could be done to a group of muggles.

Fucking muggles.

“I hope to Christ you have fireplace. You do, don’t you?” Connor barged in the moment the door gave way, thinking about all the ways Caradoc was going to read him the riot but at least it was familiar. If Gideon had a fireplace, anyway.  Every self-respecting wizard did, but this was muggle London and Connor swore there were fewer and fewer flats with them. “Or an owl I can borrow, yeah. That’d be fine.”

That’d do, too, unless Caradoc was asleep. Unless Gideon made a bigger deal out of this than need be. Maybe he’d owl Antonin? Meet him … not here. Somewhere else. That’d be good.

Connor was good at loud and in-your-face. He did it every night under the safe lights of Ganymede. He loved the look here that hid everything else. 

Fuck he was tired. Fuck Gideon looked just as tired.

Maybe it was careless on his part, but for once Gideon decided to forego the usual process of confirming one another’s answers to the safety questions, but Gideon doubted that anyone could convincingly fake Connor’s particular brand of indignation. Not even the Death Eaters could be that good. A flick of his wrist dismissed the locking spells and opened the door to let the younger man in.

“You look like shit,” Gideon ascertained drily, his mind already racing. A year ago he would have gotten into Connor’s space, carefully gripped his chin to better evaluate the damage and probably cleaned the blood away himself. Now he simply got as close as he comfortably could without letting the other invade his personal space and tried to take inventory of Connor’s injuries. Cuts and bruises, mostly, it seemed, nothing a few spells and potions couldn’t fix.

“Took that off the network years ago and had it blocked,” Gideon said over his shoulder, already rolling up his shirt sleeves and securing them with the sleeve garters. He turned around the corner and into the bathroom, summoned a large bowl and a few clean, fluffy wash cloths and filled the bowl with warm water. “You can borrow Loki though, he should be in the living room. Ink and parchment’s on the escritoire. Feel free to go through and get comfortable, I’ll be with you in a second. Do you want tea or something stronger?”

No One’s Here to Sleep

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

a-glasshalfempty‌:

This was the first day after taking the cure that Fabian felt vaguely human again. Of course, the first thing he wanted to do when he could get out of bed, without thinking he was going to die, was go to a bar and have a drink. 

It wasn’t like he’d been completely sober while he’d been sick. He’d had a drink here or there, mostly when Gid wasn’t around, but drinking also hadn’t been his main priority. 

Mostly he’d just been thankful that Gid hadn’t been affected by the mysterious illness and had been around to look after him. He’d put off asking for help for as long as he could, preferring to suffer alone, but eventually, he had to admit he needed help, and Gid had provided it without question. Of course he had. 

But they weren’t what they used to be. There was a tension now. He didn’t think either of them had allowed it in willingly or had even been aware of it growing until it was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was his fault, maybe it wasn’t, but after days of Gid nursing him, he needed to escape. 

He had wound up in some dingy bar and had been drinking steadily since noon, confident that no one he knew would find him here. Until Gid sat down. 

It took him a second to grasp what was happening through the beer fog, but when he did he straighten up, and tried to appear a lot more sober than he was. “What are you doing here?” It was accusatory, Fab instantly going for the defensive route. 

He sighed and leaned back into his seat. “There was nothing to say, I’m a grown man Gid, I don’t need a nanny. Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

The thing about being a twin was that it was near impossible to lie to one another. They might not always talk about their issues in so many words, but Gideon knew about Fabian’s alcoholism just as Fabian probably had an idea why Gideon wouldn’t let people touch him anymore.

He hated seeing his brother like this, vulnerable and barely holding it together but desperately trying to appear sober.

Gideon wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to. Not with him. That he could let go and Gideon would catch him, no matter what. That he could fix this. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he hadn’t the slightest idea, how to fix this. Fabian turning to alcohol was merely a symptom – the real sickness was the war, and all the trauma and terror that came with it.

“Making sure you haven’t passed out in an alley and are slowly freezing somewhere.” Gideon offered a half-smile with it, a quiet attempt at a peace offering that hopefully conveyed at least some of what he didn’t say out loud. I’m not trying to monitor you – even if he probably was. I just want to protect you – even if Fabian didn’t want him to.

“You still had barely eaten anything when I left this morning and with that and all that blood loss I was honestly worried you’d collapse as soon as you’d get vertical again.” Gideon shrugged a little helplessly. “I was just worried.”

There was a pause in which Gideon absentmindedly stared at Fabian’s almost empty glass wondering how many he’d had already.

“It’s almost ten, Fab. I got home two hours ago. Just how long have you been sitting here, hm?”

Mess Is Mine

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

No One’s Here to Sleep

Gideon’s flat in London November 21st, 1981, sometime after midnight

When the first perimeter alarm went off Gideon thought one of the cats had somehow managed to get out and triggered the spell. But when he looked up from where he was scribbling into his notebook both Perdita and Mortimer where sleeping curled up in the armchair by the window, getting along for once.

When the second one went off Gideon had shoved his notebook into the hidden drawer of his desk and his wand at the ready before the signal chime of the spell had fully died down.

It wasn’t unusual for those within the Order who knew where he lived to pay him a visit. What was unusual was the lack of notice before the visit. Normally his visitors would send him a message at least a few minutes before turning up on his doorstep. It was common precaution these days, to ensure one wouldn’t be hexed upon entering someone else’s property. Some people had their fence gates triple-cursed out of fear of an attack. Whoever had just passed his perimeter could count themselves lucky that he’d only installed a few alert spells and nothing worse.

A sudden rapid knock at the front door broke the silence, just as Gideon entered the hallway. He froze, wand lifted and ready to fire.

“Who’s there,” he called loud enough so the person on the other side of that door could hear him clearly. “A bit late for a courtesy visit, don’t you think?”

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

Mess Is Mine

A shady bar somewhere in London November 20th, 1981 @a-glasshalfempty

The scent of old cigarette smoke, sweat and spilled ale hit him the moment he entered the dimly lit bar and it took all his willpower to not turn around right then and there and leave again. It wasn’t that Gideon disliked small, slightly shabby pubs in general, it was the dirt he couldn’t stand. He could see the grime on the tables from his spot by the door and it suddenly made him glad that he’d skipped dinner in favour of finding his brother.

The bar was nearly empty, and he spotted Fabian almost immediately, his unruly hair gleaming like fire in the candlelight. But despite the lack of patrons Gideon still made a point of carefully stepping around the few that sat hunched over their respective ale or liquor glasses. A tired-looking waiter passed him just a little too close for comfort and Gideon shuddered when he felt the whiff of air on his cheek. For just a few moments he had to stop to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing before he could continue. The bartender eyed him suspiciously from where he was wiping the bar with a rag that had maybe been clean some time two decades ago. Gideon ignored him.

The little corner table felt like a refuge when he finally reached it and slipped into the chair across from his twin, mindful to touch as little of the furniture as possible.

“You could have left a note, you know.”

[a-glasshalffull-blog]

Suits and Coffee Aesthetic ; requested by anon