Charming

“Sir, sir! Did you still want to mail this letter? It must have fallen out when you handed the package to the man.” The woman behind the counter asked as she held out the letter to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly; she had followed him through the streets until she had finally caught Gus’ attention. His face flushed red before he offered her a smile, accepting the letter from her; he’d tucked it between the twine in the package although it must have fallen out when he’d jostled the package at Basil. It wouldn’t make much sense without it, and while Gus expected him to toss the entire thing in the trash without even opening it, he hoped, deep down, that Basil would at least be curious enough to open it. While the letter wasn’t vital, it would take away from the experience if he wasn’t sure what he was looking at - it was a pairing of tea and desserts, and the letter explained in detail what went with what.

He shook his head as he clutched the letter, the envelope crinkling in his grasp. “No, thank you. I’ll just - I’ll deliver it. It’s time sensitive.” The woman opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head. “I, wow. Thank you so much for finding it. I appreciate it. Have a great day.” Gus flashed her another smile and apparated away from Hogsmeade; he had to make this quick because he really was playing tennis with some muggles he met in Irvingly and was looking forward to learning how to play. The concept sounded interesting and he really needed to get some fresh air before he went stir crazy inside. 

Gus hadn’t apparated to the Foxwood home for a long time, yet as he stared up at it he found it looked exactly the same: the stone that looked impeccable, the door that was large and looming and the windows where he swore people in the home constantly stared down at him. He swallowed hard as he stared at the door, although he wasn't sure what he was waiting for - an army? Someone to come out and shoo him away with a broom? It wasn’t as if he was asking to stay. He just wanted to hand the letter to a staff member to give to Basil, who, if he was lucky, was still off in London grabbing a bite to eat. Then he wouldn’t have to look desperate enough to come deliver it in person.

So of course when he finally gathered enough courage to knock on the door and a young man answered, he was told to wait and off he went, leaving Gus nervously fiddling with the envelope standing in the threshold of the door. Basil’s name was scratched across the middle, nearly unreadable. When the door finally opened, Atticus Foxwood stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. Gus laughed nervously. “I, uh. Hi. Mr. Foxwood. I, well, I have a letter for Basil and I was hoping you could give it to him - ” He stopped speaking the moment the man raised his hand.

---

---

Atticus was annoyed when a footman had appeared at his shoulder to inform him Mr. Augustus Lissington had showed up uninvited to the party. He figured he would - the damn redhead was fantastic at ruining everything and anything he caught wind of - and had informed the footman to get him the moment he saw him. He supposed, as his fingers wrapped around the door knob, that at least he had the decency to knock instead of just showing up at the party. He also had to figure out who had told him about the party and have a word with them. Merlin hadn’t been used to send any mail as far as he was concerned so it hadn’t been Basil, and anyone who thought inviting a middle class man to an upper class party was acceptable would never have an invite again. (Or anyone who was indecent enough to invite someone to a house they didn’t own!)

The minute he opened the door the man started spewing words out, explaining why he was here. Atticus didn’t care. He raised his hand and Mr. Lissington stopped speaking immediately; at the least the idiot had some sort of manners instilled in him. “I don’t care why you’re here. I just need you to leave before you ruin everything. You’re like a gnat. Annoying. A nuisance. Unwanted. What good do you bring to any situation, Mr. Lissington?” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice as much as he did, although there weren’t any guests that had arrived just yet.

He watched his face fall. Atticus frowned; the question wasn’t rhetorical. “The correct answer is nothing.” He hissed at him.

The man fiddled nervously with the letter in his hands, not responding. His eyes were drawn to the movement. Ah, the letter. Whatever was in it wasn’t going to do his brother any good, and he may as well dispose of it before it upset Basil. Lissington was good at that. Atticus sighed and put his hand out. “Let me see.” The man squeaked out a thank you and stepped forward to press the envelope against his palm. He flicked his eyes up to see a hopeful smile spreading across his lips. He truly was a moron, wasn’t he?

Atticus tore the letter in half.

---

Basil had decided, ultimately, not to send his letter to Eldritch and tucked the box Lissington had given to him under his arm. It was heavier than he’d expected for a birthday present but the uneasiness with which Lissington had practically shoved it at him left something to be desired. Basil wondered if he’d said or done anything recently to upset the red-head or if his moronic reference to that time had done it. Basil wanted to shove his face directly into his palm, or under his sheets, at the thought. Argh, he always had to stuff it didn’t he? Turning on his heel to leave the post, the brunette reluctantly made his way back to Wellingtonshire. He supposed he’d spend the next few hours hiding out in his room with his new birthday present. Maybe he could enchant the lock to keep Atticus at bay and pretend he wasn’t home.

As time toiled away, Basil found himself reading an old novel he hadn’t picked up in many years. It was an old, dilapidated thing he kept tucked away from undue eyes. A muggle book, really, about the sorry life of one Maurice Hall. Basil didn’t know why he’d kept it, or even how he’d come across it in the first place. It just… resonated with him for some reason; some reason he was unwilling to unpack. It was one of the few things he kept tucked away in the enchanted box under his floorboards and, having replaced that letter he’d written all those years ago - realizing now there was no reason for him to ever give it to Lissington - he’d found the text. A few hours had passed leafing through the pages and at last the time had come for him to change for this wretched assembly.

Basil reluctantly reattired himself in a smart waistcoat and freshly pressed shirt. He didn’t mind the more formal dress these events required, it was the social aspect that he so hated. When that was done, the brunette carefully replaced his text in the box under the floor and made his way towards the grand staircase leading into the foyer. As he made his way, Atticus’ familiar, angry voice echoed up to him. ”What good do you bring to any situation, Mr. Lissington?

Basil’s heart skipped a heavy beat. Lissington was here? Had he changed his mind about lunch and decided to swing by? Was he finished with his ‘tennis’ activities and decided to go for a drink? The brunette hurried himself to join the pair by the door; he knew Atticus was the last person in the world that he needed addressing Lissington at this moment.

His brother had never really… warmed up to Lissing. Over the course of their short friendship throughout seventh year, the red-head had visited a number of times and each time Atticus always seemed a little bent over backwards. Then, in the wake of the incident, his view of the red-head had only solidified and Basil knew it was far from favorable. Atticus was protective, sure, but also cold and calculated when he wanted to be. Skipping the steps two at a time, the brunette forced his way towards the door with a frown at the rude answer his brother had given the man for his own ridiculous question.

“Atticus!” He called sharply across the foyer. His voice was loud and echoed a touch as Basil crossed the room. He was just in time to see his brother tear something - a piece of parchment, or a letter perhaps - in half. Furious, knowing it was likely something Lissington had brought for him, he rounded on his brother. “What do you think you’re doing?” He demanded.

---

Mr. Foxwood always made him feel uncomfortable. He had made it very clear from the beginning that he was a second rate citizen, and although he shouldn’t have been shocked at words the man spewed at him, he couldn’t help but take a step back and frown. He wasn’t going to answer that. Gus tried so hard to be a good person; he wasn’t perfect by any means, far from it if he could voice his own opinions of himself, but he always gave the benefit of the doubt to people over and over until he felt like he had nothing more to give. And even then, if they asked for another chance Gus would give it to them without sparing a thought of how they could screw him over. He knew the man wasn’t fond of him, and he could only assume that much of it stemmed from after he and Basil had split ways.

Still, as he held his hand out for the letter, Gus gave him the benefit of the doubt; it had been a decade and he’d matured in some instances. The moment Basil needed him to take a step back, let go, disappear forever, he would without a second thought. Hopefully the elder Foxwood would see that. He squeaked out a thank you.

The letter had taken him a good bulk of the late morning to write; he knew how much Basil valued education, so while the gift was meant to be enjoyed, Gus had taken the time to explain the background of each tea, tossing in as much of the history as he was able to find. It was a way for him to share his time away without actually sharing with Basil. Of course after the post office debacle and despite agreeing to move on, Gus could tell they both still blamed him for how things had ended between them, although he couldn’t condone those thoughts. If the roles were reversed he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to fully trust Basil again, nor would he have desire to. He’d take baby steps toward that open door of friendship until Basil slammed it shut in his face and locked it. Atticus Foxwood stared him down, with seemingly the same questions dancing across his face as he ripped the letter in half, allowing the two sides to flutter to the ground.

His fingers tightened around the now split paper, another small tear ripping on the edges as he moved to rip it in half again. It was Basil’s voice that made both of them pause in their actions. “I’m sorry, I was just -” But the door shut in his face. “...leaving.”

---

---

Atticus frowned when he heard his brother’s voice sharp and angry echoing through the foyer; his eyes narrowed at Mr. Lissington, daring him to squeak out some daft words when Basil hadn’t even addressed him before he turned his attention toward his brother. “Just dealing with this unlicked cub*.” He mumbled under his breath, at the same time the redhead was speaking about leaving. Good riddance.

He nodded then, pushing the front door closed before the man had even finished speaking. “Just chatting with our guest, but Mr. Lissington was just leaving. What a shame he couldn’t stick around for the party.” Atticus sighed softly, raking his fingers through his hair as he held the torn letter in the other; he couldn’t just hide the pieces behind his back and pretend like he wasn’t holding it, so instead he stepped forward to brush past his brother. He’d burn it in a fire before he let his brother glimpse at desperate words from a desperate man; maybe he’d write to the headmaster of Hogwarts and complain about him in regard to his job. Surely a black mark against his record wouldn’t look good.

“Guests will be arriving in a few moments, so please make your way to the garden. It wouldn’t look good for you to be late to your own party, now would it?” Atticus offered him a small and squeezed his shoulder.

---

*A rude uncouth young fellow

---

Basil had just approached the door when he heard Gus squeak something. Obviously unaware of really what was going on, the brunette poked his head around the frame. Even though he knew Lissington was on the other side of it, he was still surprised to actually see the red-head’s face here, like this, again. (How long had it been since he’d graced the Foxwood house with his presence?) Before Basil could say anything though, and while Lissing was still mid-sentence! Atticus shut the door on both of them. Basil blinked.

“Atticus!” He shrieked again, flabbergasted. How dare his brother just… just expel a guest like that?! Wasn’t he the one who was always on about manners and refinement and everything else the upper classes supposedly stood for? He couldn’t just do that!

The eldest Foxwood was on the move before Basil could do much else and, for a moment, he was torn. What was he supposed to do here? He wanted to run after Lissington and apologize for his brother’s ridiculously childish and rude behavior, but he also knew that if he didn’t snatch that letter back from the elder, it would be burnt long before he returned. Making a split second decision, Basil turned and grabbed Atticus by the arm.

“Give it to me!” He demanded.

---

Basil was shrieking and it was giving Atticus a headache. He sighed and rubbed his fingers against his temples as he moved past his brother, already done with the entire conversation. Mr. Lissington had a way of laying waste to everything he touched, and even if he hadn’t stepped inside the home, the day was tittering on ruin because of his visit. Who hand-delivered a letter? If he didn’t have an owl the post office provided some with a fee, and surely even his middle class self could afford that. (And if he couldn’t he could ask his whore of a sister now she had dug her claws into the Foxwood fortune.) Basil still didn’t know about the elopement between his cousin and that… woman, and it would remain as such. Edmund had been cast from the family for having an almost bastard child, saved only by marrying the woman who trapped him. Why the siblings had targeted his family was yet to be seen, but the Lissingtons were a bunch of money-hungry, low-class people who needed to learn how to make their own way.

Atticus frowned. Basil grabbed his arm and demanded the letter from him. “It’s not for you.” He hissed at him, wrenching his arm out of his grasp. “And if it was, you would absolutely not read it. He is no good for you, for society, and it was better all around when he was traipsing wherever the hell he was before away from you.” The elder brother pursed his lips together. He softened his voice as he spoke. “Do you remember that night you came home? Why, Basil, would you jump right back into that? He will break you and it will be me who is picking up the pieces again.” All he could think of was his brother clutching him, how broken he’d been over a friend. Over Mr. Lissington.

“I will not ask again. Go greet your guests.” He hissed, placing both his hands on his brother’s shoulder to give him a push in the right direction.

---

---

Basil could feel himself rankling; with every second, every step, Lissington was getting further and further away from the door. There was no way he was going to be able to salvage the situation and retrieve the letter. He had to choose one path forward and, perhaps choosing wrongly, he turned away from the door. Sorry, Gus.

“Of course it’s for me,” he spat acerbically at his brother. “He certainly wouldn’t be writing to you!” Basil scowled as Atticus pulled away from him. “You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do! You’re not our father!” And thank Merlin for that. The declaration rung loudly in the echoing foyer and Basil was surprised at himself for being so vocal. It was true, however. Atticus was not their father - not his father - and they were all the better off for it.

Basil had never gotten along with their father, not really. Not in the way a father and son might. Papa Foxwood had never respected him, or admired anything he did. Basil had never been good enough for him and it was a sore, sour spot between them up until the man’s death. It was why Basil was so close with their mother, and why he’d always been so close to Atticus growing up too. Filling the void of a father’s approval with that of a protective older brother had always been enough for Basil. But he would not stand here and let Atticus run his life anymore than he already did. It was enough that the other managed him as much as he did, he could not also condemn Basil’s acquaintances!

“I’m not jumping into anything,” he said then, voice lower and more even. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his brother, but he knew some explanation was… warranted. “Lissington has… taken up a position at the school. He’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he’s my colleague. I don’t have any choice but to be friendly with him. We’ve both decided to put the past behind us, and if it’s enough for me it should be enough for you too!” Basil ignored Atticus’ little push and put his hand out towards the other.

“Now give me the letter. Don’t make me take it from you.”

---

Atticus’s eyebrows knitted together as the air left his lungs. He wasn’t their father! He had no desire to be him yet somehow he’d be thrust into the role without much warning - without any semblance of knowing what the hell he was doing - and he’d tried his best to do good by his family. He hadn’t asked for this. “No, I’m not father and I am thankful for that every damn day of my life! Did you know he disapproved of my bride Basil? I won’t ever control you like that. I’m not looking to play puppeteer with your life, I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.” Atticus tossed his hands into the air in frustration as he bellowed at his little brother; father had always been cruel to Basil and he’d done his best to shelter him. He gave his approval to his brother as much as he was able to, and despite what he thought, everything he did was for his family.

Atticus nearly rolled his eyes at the colleague's comment; he didn’t care if they’d put their past behind them. He’d seen Basil at his worst. He’d held him. He’d soothed him. And he’d be damned to see him slip back into that because Augustus Lissington walked back into his life. He was cancerous. Anger seeped into his skin and the words started flowing faster than his brain could manage to filter them. “Mr. Lissington hurt you and it took you a very long time to come back from that. I will not watch you spiral back into that mindset simply because he dropped by with a preposterous letter. Hogwarts must be desperate if they hired him and you must be desperate for friends if you want to be friendly with him. The Lissingtons -” Atticus spat the name out like it was a curse. “Are a waste of space. Their mother is insane and his sister came sniffing around for a marriage proposal like some kind of gold digger. Pathetic if you ask me.” He’d heard the rumors about Mrs. Lissington, and while he didn’t care about the truth, it concerned him that Mrs. Figueroa was bringing that kind of genetics into his family line.

Atticus wished he could have talked Edmund out of marrying her.

His eyes narrowed as Basil demanded the letter. Atticus raised it over both their heads and tore it again. “As I said, it’s not for you. But, if you really must read it-” The paper crinkled as he tightened his fingers against the parchment, ripping it again. “Good luck.” Atticus let go of the paper, watching as the torn bits rained to the floor. He stepped on one for good measure.

---

---

Basil wasn’t sure if he’d heard Atticus correctly or not, but the word ‘bride’ had certainly just dropped out of his vocals, had it not? On top of, well, all of whatever that involved, there was plenty Atticus did control! Excessively so, if Basil was being honest. He was demanding and expected too much from the whole world, too much that Basil wasn’t frankly even sure he was capable of giving! He didn’t want a wife, he didn’t want the perfect little future Atticus wanted for him! That their mother wanted for him! He wasn’t even sure that if he ever did have to admit anything to Atticus that his brother wouldn’t ostracize him and kick him out of the family for… daring to question something he might, maybe, one day, feel. Basil scrunched his brows together at the thought and felt the overwhelming urge to vomit. He couldn’t dwell on that now. It wasn’t the time.

Swallowing the sensation down, he refocused on the most alarming portion of Atticus’ statement instead. “What bride?” He asked, too evenly, too in-control for the amount of emotion swirling around within. Atticus didn’t seem inclined to answer, or didn’t care, as he continued on steamrolling straight through Lissington and his sister. Basil felt affronted. What did Figueroa have to do with this?!

“Do you hear yourself?” The younger growled back. “How can you say those things about a family you don’t know, or understand? Figueroa would never come sniff around you; she has more self-respect than that.” He spat the dig nastily, not knowing really where this protective instinct had come from. He didn’t know if there was any merit to what Atticus was saying, about Lissington’s mother or sister, but he wasn’t about to let Atticus get away with dragging them through the mud.

As Atticus lifted the paper over his head like a child, Basil scowled. “You’re a juvenile brat, Atticus,” he replied, watching as the letter was ripped and then skittered to the ground. It was of no consequence to him; ripped paper was easy enough to repair. Bending over and pulling his wand out from his waistcoat pocket, Basil gave it a flick and wordlessly the little fragments began to come back together like puzzle pieces. From the few sentences Basil managed to read, despite Atticus’ shoe print, it looked to be some kind of accompaniment to the gift he hadn’t yet opened. Basil folded the thing gently and tucked it, with his wand, back into his waistcoat pocket before standing.

“You’ve no right to control me, or dictate whom I can and cannot” love “communicate with.” He said then, angrily. “If I chose to throw my lot in with Lissington, you can’t stop me. He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

---

Basil had picked up on his slip of words, but he wasn’t going to speak to him of the past. That wasn’t a here, now or ever conversation.

“Do you hear yourself?” The elder shot back as he raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you even know what happens around you? Because you spend so much time in your fantasy land pretending things around you aren’t happening that sometimes I’m not sure!” And that was why Atticus spent so much time controlling his schedule - he had to remind Basil, constantly, what it was like to live in reality he so readily detached himself from. He couldn’t run forever and he was trying his hardest to ensure the life of an upper class man was going to be a complete shock when he finally came to terms with what his life was going to be like. It constantly made him the villain in Basil’s story.

Atticus pursed his lips together. It was annoying to have Basil stick up for Mrs. Foxwood - a tidbit he was going to leave out. They'd been caught up in the amortentia laced envelopes, or so the pair claimed. Atticus assumed she was a social climber. The Foxwood family wouldn’t be caught up in her scandal because she couldn’t keep her legs closed all because poor, young Edmund had fallen victim to being lured into bed. He’d handed her money - more than the procedure would cost her - and Figueroa Foxwood had merely told him to go to hell while tossing the coin bag at his face as hard as she could manage. It had caught him by surprise. Then Edmund had gone off and done the right thing and married her. What was with his family constantly making bad decisions he tried to save them from?

He didn’t respond to his brother, merely watching as he pulled out his wand to fix the paper. It was wrinkled still and that much Atticus was smug over. He’d deal with it later. He sighed instead. “I’m not -” He shot back just as angrily. “Fine! But when you get your feelings hurt again don’t you dare come crying to me. I'm telling you here and now Mr. Lissington is going to tear you apart. All I’ll want to hear is how right I am. Remember that he hit you with a memory spell, so maybe one day you’ll get all them back and see what I see. But learn the lesson the hard way. Again. See if I care.”

---

---

Atticus’ comment felt like a slap in the face.

Was that really how little his brother thought of him? That he spent his life off in some fantasy reality, abstractly unaware of the ongoings around him and those he supposedly cared for? Basil’s teeth set and his lips thinned into a fine line. He always knew Atticus didn’t respect his ambitions in life, or his research. But he never thought the other would throw it so meaninglessly back in his face.

“Is that why you feel the incessant need to control everything around you?” He barked back. “My life, my schedule, the family’s social calendar - even Poppy! God forbid she celebrate her first season without blessed Atticus Foxwood overseeing to make sure it go just so!” He rolled his eyes derisively. “What are you going to do when she inevitably marries someone you don’t approve of?” Basil was treading into dangerous territory and for once he was glad mama was not around to hear it. “She won’t let you control her Atticus, you know damn well that girl has a mind of her own. Are you willing to lose her over your banal insecurities?”

In truth, Basil had no notion as to what kind of man his cousin would gravitate towards and he did not give her the benefit of the doubt in his anger. There was very little that actually tore at Atticus and Poppy Dashwood was one of them. If Basil was vindictive and spiteful and Poppy got caught in the cross-fire, then so be it.

Setting his teeth again as the other prattled on about Basil’s getting hurt, the younger Foxwood sucked in a deep breath. Atticus didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t… Lissing couldn’t… they weren’t in the same position as before! This was different. “It’s not like that this time,” Basil hissed, a furious red blush crossing his face as he dared to admit anything aloud. “I’m not going to get hurt because there’s nothing to— to hurt!” He floundered. “I told you before, he works at the school and I’ve no choice but to be friendly!”

---

Atticus was done with his little brother and done with this conversation; with their tempers flaring as quickly as they were, they were sure to set an awkward precedent for the party that was going to begin soon. Neither of them would want to be there and force smiles and conversations which wouldn’t reflect well on the Foxwood family. He mirrored his brother’s expression.

“I’m not trying to control you! Or Poppy! Unlike you Basil, I actually care about our family. I care that we remain as we are in the eyes of society because if you had it your way the Foxwood family would be an illusionary family people only spoke of. A family no one ever saw.” Sighing, the elder Foxwood moved to rub his temple with his fingers as he brought Poppy up. “Have you spoken to her, Basil? Because I have and I can tell you damn well that everyone she's thinking of courting right now I approve of. And I don’t have to control her because she’s not a bumbling moron like you chose to be at times.” He hissed at him.

If Basil was going for a low blow and bringing Poppy into this, then he would do the same. He trusted his cousin more than his trusted his brother to not embarrass him which spoke a lot. Then his brother’s face contorted into something he didn’t feel like deciphering, so Atticus held up a hand. “Not like it this time.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t, Basil, be that person who’s going to associate with someone like Lissington. I don’t care how friendly you think the kid is -” Everyone thinks the kid is, because all he had to do was flash a dopey grin. “He’s going to drag you down and ruin you.” And no matter how much his brother made him angry, he didn’t want to see him shattered the way he’d been before. He had an inkling what Lissington was and it worried him his brother might be the same. He'd be shunned at the least, and at the worst, taken from him. No one was worth that.

Atticus reached forward to press his hands against his brother’s shoulder. “Now please start making your way outside as your guests will be arriving soon.”

---

---

Basil wasn’t surprised when Atticus took Poppy’s side. He always did and he always would. Sometimes Basil wondered if his brother wished Poppy had been his actual sibling rather than Basil himself; they were damn well suited that was for sure, even when she was being a disaster. Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less to actually hear the other admit it aloud. He swallowed back a childish urge to tout ‘I am not a moron’ and instead raised his chin defiantly. In all truth, there was as high a probability Poppy was lying to him as there was she wasn’t, and Basil was not about to get into hypotheticals now without proof. The point of the mater was not Poppy or her future prospects. It was Basil’s.

As Atticus held up a hand and quieted his tone, Basil felt something in the air shift; something that was almost imperceptible but made all the difference in the world. It wasn’t so much Atticus’ words as much as it might be the inference of the implication behind them… Basil felt himself begin to panic just so. He wasn’t ready to talk about this with Atticus, or anybody really, and to hear the outright opinion of the only brother he had so condemning only made matters worse. Darkness tickled at the peripheral of Basil’s vision, swimming around and forcing him to take deep breaths.

He didn’t know how to defend Lissington. He didn’t know what even to say. Everything inside of Basil screamed out that this wasn’t fair, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t— them! Whatever this bizarre thing between him and Lissington was, this friendship or acquaintanceship, it was none of Atticus’ business! Basil had a hard enough time already accepting that the red-head was back in his life and now, since term had ended, he’d been struggling with this incessant need to be in contact with the red-head, to know and be there and just… have him. It was horribly reminiscent of that nagging feeling from before but Basil refused to think that after all these years he was ready to dive back in, no matter what Atticus or Lissing or anyone might think!

“That’s not true,” he finally breathed. He wasn’t sure if he was defending Lissington against the claims of ruining him or deflecting his own assumptions about his issues, but deciding to stick to the former Basil took a step back - away from Atticus - and swatted at his hands. “I’m not doing anything, you don’t…” He balled his right hand into a small fist. “You don’t even know me, Atticus! You have this broken vision in your head of a newly graduated, simpering child. I’m not that person anymore, I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m not about to dive back into whatever headspace that was willingly!” He sucked in a deep breath, not even sure what he was really owning up to. It wasn’t like they’d ever talked about this before. “If I choose to associate with Gus Lissington, then that’s my choice. He can’t ruin me without my playing some part, any part in it! At the end of the day, you don’t trust me. You don’t know what it’s like to be inside my head and frankly, I’d ask you not to try!”

---

He could see the anger boiling across his brother’s face, across his skin yet he wouldn’t walk away from the conversation despite all the outs Atticus was trying to give him. He snapped his teeth as his brother took a step away from him, claiming that it wasn’t true, but he wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Was he wrong about Lissington? They didn’t run in the same circles, not when the other was a lower class than they were, and he wasn’t going to ask around if anyone watched if the kid danced with any females. How unlucky any woman would be to married to him - it would be a miserable life, and Atticus wasn't sure he'd wish that on anyone. His attention was drawn when his brother swatted at his hands he’d help up to silence him - that clearly worked, and he took his own step back.

“You’re right Basil, I don’t know you.” He snapped at him. “And you know who’s fault that is? Yours. Because you’d rather be off doing whatever the hell you want in your fantasy world while pretending that your family doesn’t exist. Unless of course, it benefits you. You, Basil Arthur Foxwood, are selfish. And I hope one day you take your head out of your ass to see it.” He growled, then, before raking his fingers through his hair. “Mama worries for you. She sees you as the same simpering child because you’re never around long enough to show us how grown up you are! Learn from that mistake.” If he could take a stab at their cousin, he’d drag their mother into this too.

Then Atticus flicked his wrist dismissively. “And fine. Make your own mistakes. But don’t come crawling back home when you find out that I’m right.” But Basil did have a point - he was willingly choosing to step back into Lissington’s life, and willingly choosing to associate with someone who had broken him into pieces. This time around, he was going to sweep the pieces under the rung.

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Basil frowned at Atticus’ agreement. He hadn’t expected that, and the words that followed only made him want to sigh. It was always the same thing, over and over. He wasn’t home enough, he didn’t try enough, their mother worried for him. Well, their mother worried for Atticus too! Basil knew she did, because she wrote to him. He was a hell of a lot closer with their mama than Atticus and the other would never dare to admit it.

“You always marginalize the concessions I do make for you,” he huffed. “Do you think I enjoy parading around with these simpering debutants? Or coming out from my ‘fantasy world’ as you call it, to even pretend for your sake? I don’t. I do it for you Atticus! To satisfy your vulgar ego and keep you out of my hair! But it’s never enough for you is it?”

Basil took another step back and debated running out the door after Lissnigton after all. It had to be better than hanging around here being tossed every direction. “And I am not selfish for wanting a career,” he shot back instead. “I’ve made something of my life! What have you accomplished since father died, hm? All you’ve done is step into his too-big shoes and tripped around over your own feet trying to control everyone around you! You haven’t married and started a family as is expected of the heir! You haven’t managed your own business pursuits like Anthony. You haven’t done anything, and yet you stand there daring to call me selfish for contributing to society!” Basil laughed derisively.

“I will make my own choices, and I don’t need you to come crawling back to.” He paused, feeling a small flush dot his features again. Of course he wouldn’t need to come crawling back, because there was nothing with Lissington to break. Right? He steamrolled through that small lapse determinedly. “He’s not a mistake. And you have no right to treat him badly.”

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