Jan 13. 1892 - Foxwood House, Wellingtonshire (early evening)

Basil hated to admit it, but the reality of his mother’s condition hadn’t quite sunk in yet despite Atticus’ rather alarming letter that morning. It was finally evening and he was packing up his things to hopefully make it home in time for supper, but goodness had it been a long day. Every class seemed to take a remarkably long time today, every conversation to drone on and one while all he could think about was leaving.

Normally, Hogwarts was Basil’s every respite. He adored living at the castle; teaching, research and transfiguration was his life. There was not a day that went by that he didn’t wish he could be in the classroom, or in his study, chattering away with Aubrey or Ida or - yes - even grading essays! But today had been a rough day. He’d almost seemed in a fog the majority of it. All he could really think about was the situation at home, both his mother’s condition and, unfortunately, his relationship with his brother. The two had not left things off on a good foot last year and Basil was not yet ready to face Atticus.

As he took one last look around his office, Basil let out a haggard sigh. He’d left some instructions with his classes today for extra readings that would hopefully take them through the next few days until he could return, assuming all went well. Now, all that was left to do was make his way to Hogsmeade.

- - -

When Basil finally arrived home, he was damp from rain and darkness had fallen. He hesitated on the front stoop before letting himself in, unsure if he was really ready to face whatever news or conflict tonight would bring. He supposed the sooner he got it over with the better. Taking in a shaky breath, he let himself in.

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Atticus Foxwood

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Atticus glanced out the window one last time as the sun began to set, his fingers smoothing out the edges of the latest parchment his owl had arrived with; he had gotten his bout of exercise over the course of the day, and as the small scops owl fluttered on the stand in Atticus’ office, the elder Foxwood knew sending another would be too much for him. A bit pudgier than when Atticus had gotten him nearly 20 (!) years ago, Merlin was much slower in his older years; he made a mental note to look at purchasing a second owl. Maybe one Merlin wouldn’t pester too much with his need to be the constant center of attention.

He stood up and gently patted Merlin’s head as he offered the owl a piece of fish he’d requested from the kitchen. They were all used to it - if anyone was spoiled the most by Atticus, it was most certainly Merlin. He always had the house elves keep snacks and treats stocked for the owl, and sometimes he would pester the staff for something before delivering a letter or package. He certainly thrived off attention.

Merlin took the piece of fish without hesitation, swallowing it whole.

“Thank you, Mer. Go get some rest.” He murmured quietly. Merlin fluttered happily and left Atticus to his own devices. He pulled the window shut. Sighing again, he ran his hands through his hair, knowing full well just how untidy it made him look; the doctor had hastily written he couldn’t make a house call tonight, and taking her to St. Mungos had been out of the question when he’d approached the idea with her. Perhaps Basil would be able to talk some sense into her.

A few more moments passed before a house elf knocked at the door, opening it upon the elder Foxwood's approval to announce the arrival of his brother; he nodded in response and the elf vanished from his sight. Atticus stood from the office chair and stretched. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to face him. Things had been tense between them and the distance was much needed, lest one said something they didn’t mean. Again. He sighed softly, held his head up and waltzed out of the office.

Only to deflate as he set eyes on his brother.

“Welcome home.” He greeted quietly as he descended the stairs, standing a good bit away from him upon reaching the bottom. He looked just as tired as Atticus felt. He raked his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, steeling himself before he opened them; he didn’t have time to be weary. “Mum is resting a bit before supper, but I requested it be ready not too long after your arrival. Shall I call someone to make some tea for you?” He asked, tilting his head toward another room.

“And Bas? Thank you for coming.” It was so reticent he hoped his brother couldn’t hear him.

  ****
Basil Foxwood

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Basil stiffened as his brother’s voice floated through the foyer to greet him. He hadn’t brought much, just a case with some grading and other things he might need while home, but as a footman approached, Basil handed off his top hat and case to be set aside. He didn’t make eye contact with his brother as he did so, instead nodding at the footman in thanks. His pulse was beating annoyingly on the inside of Basil’s wrist and the professor could feel his own nerves begin to fray. He supposed he had better get this overdue interaction over with.

“Tea would be fine, thank you,” he replied. Atticus’ tone seemed tired, drained even. Looking up at his brother finally, Basil could see it even in his face. Perhaps there was a glimmer of relief hidden somewhere there too, or maybe Basil just imagined it wishfully. He nodded. “Of course.”

Moving further into the house through the small parlor just off the entrance and into the library, Basil scratched the back of his head. He hated how awkward he felt in his own home sometimes; it was like he was a stranger intruding upon the private life of his brother and mama. Immediately gravitating towards books, he pulled a few medical ones from the shelf. Then, turning to Atticus who’d followed him into the room, he gave little shuffle. “For research purposes,” he offered by way of explanation.

The tea was brought up then and laid out on a side table nearest the big windows. Darkness from outside crept into the room and candlelight seemed insufficient to keep shadows at bay. Basil moved towards the small sitting area in the center of the room and placed his books down on the parlor table. Then, with a swish of his wand he poured the tea from the side table and floated it over to himself in silence.

Basil itched to throw over the pleasantries and run upstairs into his mother’s chambers to check on her. He knew that Atticus said she was resting, but he couldn’t help the impetuous childish impulse urging him to do so. How was she doing? Did she need him to bring her anything? Was she hot? Cold? Basil could think of a million questions to ask but instead he was rooted here, forced to make nice with his older brother. Clearing his throat, Basil finally broke the silence.

“So,” he started. “What exactly… transpired? How long ago did mother come down with her symptoms and what’s been done to alleviate her discomfort?”

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Atticus Foxwood

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As his brother moved from the parlor to the library Atticus followed, merely nodding when he pulled a few books from the shelf for medical purposes; he’d thumbed through the books himself, although his mind had been a blur of worry and guilt and there was no recollection of having understood of a word of it. The emotions he felt were similar to those when their father fell ill - the inability to do anything while watching a loved one wither away into nothing; the elder Foxwood had failed his mother before, unable to console her as her husband died. It was gut wrenching and Atticus could only wish he was the bedridden one.  (Maybe then, Basil would permanently come home.)

Sighing, Atticus scrubbed a hand across his face as the tea was set out near the tables; Basil made himself a cup while he swished his own wand to pour another glass of whiskey, the bottle abandoned on the table earlier in the day. The liquid would be warm, but it would do. He wrapped his fingers across the glass as it lingered in front of him before he took a sip of it, sinking into the velvet armchair. His body relaxed, begging him for sleep - when was the last time he’d allowed himself more than a few hours, and even then, when was the last time it hadn’t been a fitful sleep? Atticus blinked slowly.

Silence settled around them despite the words that pressed against his teeth, begging to be let out. He had little desire to fight with Basil, knowing full well he had to choose them carefully, lest his little brother run back to Hogwarts. He didn’t - couldn’t - do this alone. Basil cleared his throat, and Atticus’ gaze shifted to him. He took a sip of his drink before placing it on the side table nestled next to him.

“It has only been a couple days at most. At first mum was just tired, retiring early to her chambers. She claimed she’d overdone it at some of the recent social events, and I assumed she would  start to feel better…” Atticus trailed off for a moment. He licked his lips as he formed his words carefully. Basil surely would have picked up on it sooner than he had.  “But then the coughing began. It was Clippy who alerted me, and as I listened to her, I realized it was the same high pitch laugh Father was exhibiting during the early stages of the plague. The coughs were, are, a ploy.”

There were a few details he felt the need to leave out, finding them insigificant - fighting with her about St. Mungo’s and how he respected her wishes to not be taken there. Fighting with her over writing Basil of her condition, something she’d obviously won. He hadn’t planned on it; he would have lied to her before he sent a letter to him, but she’d been delirious for a few hours this morning, laughing at nearly everything he said, and Atticus had feared the worst; it was then, and only then, that he had written. His hands still shook.

“I sent Merlin after she developed a fever. The laughing comes in stronger bouts now, and I’ve spent the past few nights prior in her room to ensure her condition doesn’t worsen. We’ve done a few healing charms on her, and I sent for a physician but he is unable to make a house call tonight.” Atticus chuckled half-heartedly. He’d been unable to sleep and spent much of his time hovering around her. She shooed away him when she became aware, although he would merely return to a chair in her room. “Scared one of the maids she’d come in to check on mum, and she found me sprawled out on the chaise lounge.”

Closing his eyes, the elder Foxwood blew out a small breath of air. “I sent Ada out this morning to collect the ingredients for a Wiggenweld Potion, but there were some issues procuring the Horklump juice.” He massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he sighed - he hadn’t reacted as nicely as he should have, and the poor cook was probably still shaking in the kitchen. “After supper, I plan on procuring it myself at an apothecary.”

Not that it was an invite for his brother to join him.

****
Basil Foxwood

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Basil listened carefully as his brother spoke, absorbing everything and storing it away for later reflection. If he also looked for errors in Atticus’ handling of the situation, it wasn’t consciously. Instead, Basil rather applauded Atticus’ efforts; it sounded like his elder brother had done everything he himself could have thought to do. He was a little bit surprised his brother had actually bothered to stay up with their mother overnight. Not that Basil doubted his love and loyalty to the woman, it just seemed… uncharacteristically considerate of him.

Nodding as the other spoke, the professor ran a hand though his incredibly too long and downright unruly hair. It was an unconscious action, one that he did most when he was enraptured in a new discovery, thinking too hard, or worried. He’d done it quite a bit today and by this point in the evening he was probably looking quite the eccentric. Basil made a mental note to get a haircut while he was back in Hogsmeade in this week, but otherwise dismissed the train of thought altogether.

“I agree, a drought of that might help ease the symptoms,” he said, considering Atticus’ approach. Had he known the difficulty he would have asked at the school for some horklump juice.

“We should see if we can arrange for a nurse to attend her. That way you can get some rest. I can sit up with her tonight, until something can be arranged.” Basil took another sip of his tea. He would read to her; their mother always loved it when he’d read to her growing up and the soothing lull of a familiar, rhythmic voice might help with some of the fever dreams.

Basil worried his bottom lip, thoughtfully. He had so much all of a sudden to think about, both here and at Hogwarts. It was remarkable how in the span of a few weeks his life could be turned so completely upside down. The end of last term had come and gone, taking with it any sense of normalcy in the professor’s life and Basil dreadfully wished things would just right themselves again. He didn’t have time to manage personal relationships when his mother was ailing, he had classes to maintain, his research was wanting and he was in communications with the Flint Institute about potential future alignments. (Which, come to think of it, he had yet to mention to Atticus in the least.)

Scrubbing a hand over his face, the youngest Foxwood let out a tired sigh. “Well,” he continued. “At least she’s resting now.” He said it more for himself than for Atticus. There was nothing else to be done in this moment other than send an owl out for a nurse, and likely they wouldn’t hear from anyone until morning.

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Atticus Foxwood

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“Ay, a nurse is a grand idea. My back would be very thankful.” Atticus turned toward his brother as his lips quirked in amusement; she would probably hate the idea of a nurse attending to her, although a nurse would be better than him.

Atticus remained silent as he watched his brother for a moment; he looked just as tired as the elder Foxwood felt. A thought that made him chortle before he could cover his mouth with his hand. For a pair of young men without much true hardships in their lives, they looked like life constantly beat on them. How would they feel when they had little ones running around the house?

He should have married the boring girl who’s name he couldn’t even recall anymore.

Atticus must be delirious from the lack of sleep if he was thinking that. She would have bored him to death by now. (Maybe he’d contracted whatever mother had, and this was a giant fever dream he’d made up.)

Standing, Atticus walked to stand behind Basil’s chair, his hand clasping against  his shoulder. He meant to tease him, although he wasn’t sure how his brother would take it - it’d been a long while since they’d been lighthearted with each other. “Let’s go wake mum for supper so you can tell her the grand idea. She’ll be pleased to see you. Maybe she’ll even give you a welcome home haircut.”

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Basil didn’t know how to react to his brother’s thanks or amusement, so he didn’t. He ignored Atticus and took another sip of his tea.

It was sad that they were such strangers now. Even as the other came to place a hand on his shoulder in what was, probably (?), an olive branch: Basil couldn’t stand the skin crawling feeling it gave him. He shrugged out from under it awkwardly and moved to place his saucer on the table. “We should leave her to rest, don’t you think?” He replied. “Maybe you ought to run to the apothecary now?” The suggestion was mild, but it still sounded forceful even to Basil. He didn’t want Atticus to think he was trying to get rid of him but, well, maybe he was.

In all truth, Basil really just wanted this interaction over with. He had a lot to untangle in his stilted emotions that, frankly, he’d been putting off until Merlin knows when. He hadn’t faced much of anything that had happened this month, from that awkwardness at the school to now his mother ailing and then this strange business with Atticus. All he wanted was to run upstairs, peek in on his mother, and then curl up in his old bedroom to think. Think through, and avoid, most of his emotions.

Thinking instead on his brother's quip about a haircut, Basil also frowned. "I have plans to get it trimmed in Hogsmeade tomorrow," he grumbled a little petulantly. He knew his hair was getting quite too long to be sightly but he hadn't had a lot of time to deal with it lately! And if there was one thing he was not good at himself, it was cosmetic or appearance-changing charms. Transfigurations, sure! He could turn an ugly petticoat into a gorgeous.. erm... frock or whatever, but aesthetic charms? Well that was women's work he supposed.

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Atticus Foxwood

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Atticus couldn’t help but frown as Basil shivered under his touch; once upon he’d been the person he’d come crying to when he had a nightmare and they’d curl together in his bed only to be scolded by their governess in the morning. Now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped inside his brother’s room, or when his brother had knocked on his door for anything. His gut twisted into something although he couldn’t put a name to it; instead he merely nodded at him. “Ay, I just need to grab my coat.”

Then he laughed as Basil grumbled; he reached forward to ruffle his hair before he abruptly pulled away. “Would you mind asking Ada if supper will be ready upon my return? Maybe you and mama could eat in her room, if she’s lucid enough. Unless you would like to accompany me, but I shall be quick.”

Which he hoped not. Atticus was too emotionally drained from tending to their mother to deal with Basil and he merely wanted to be in and out. A breath of fresh air would do him so good, and the younger Foxwood seeing their mother with his own eyes would be helpful, too. He felt like he hadn’t embellished much, or anything, but Basil needed to see it before he’d fully trust him. Maybe then, they could work on building trust between themselves again, too.

After he returned he had immediate plans to check in on their mother (with high hopes Basil would keep true to his word and spend the night attending to her), followed by curling into his own bed and sleeping until his body forgave him for spending the past few nights curled up on the chaise. He knew he had to wake early to brew this potion. He didn’t trust any number of the staff to care for his mother the way he would. The way they would when he roused Basil to help be his assistant.

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Basil Foxwood

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Nodding, Basil watched as his brother moved away from him towards the door. He was glad this interaction was coming to a close and lifted his tea to take another sip. When Atticus asked if he’d like to come along, Basil sucked in a breath to reply and accidentally huffed too much of the hot liquid. He coughed nastily and tried to cover it up with his hand. “N-no,” he replied. “You go, I’ll stay here in case mama wakes.”

Clearing his throat, and cheeks a little warm, Basil replaced the teacup and set it aside. He was done with that for the time being. Standing, he joined his brother by the door and gave Atticus an attempt at a smile. “Go,” he urged gently. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

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Atticus Foxwood

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Watching as his little brother choked on his tea, Atticus couldn’t help but laugh sharply; that was his brother he knew well, and that was the brother he almost missed dearly. As he joined him by the doorway, Atticus nodded at him before he reached out to pat Basil’s head. He opened his mouth to say something but promptly clamped it shut, finding he didn’t have anything to add; he’d already thanked him for coming and he wasn’t about to thank him again for sharing the duties of caring for their ill mother. Shoving his hands into his pocket, Atticus took a step back and apparated before he could utter another word.


Finding the Horklump juice proved to be of little problem, and when he returned home to the manor he dropped it off in the kitchen before heading to his room, pleased to finally sleep in a bed rather than the chaise of their mother’s room. He made a point to stretch his limbs out. Atticus slept through the night without much fanfare, and he wondered if perhaps the help had bothered Basil over himself during the night over Mama Foxwood’s progress. He woke well after the sun rose in the sky, something Atticus rarely did as he preferred to begin his day as early as possible, but it was still enjoyable to feel most refreshed. He’d needed it.

Dressing himself in something casual as he had little plans to leave the house today, Atticus poked his head into their mother’s room; it was void outside Mama Foxwood sleeping soundly. He smiled as he closed the door and moved down the hallway to gently knock on his brother’s door; as a child he would have barged in and made demands of him to come do this and that with him, something Basil would have readily agreed to, but that had stopped when Basil had joined him at Hogwarts and the two made separate friend groups. They didn’t need each other as companions anymore.

He waited for his brother to answer before he spoke to him. “I plan on making the potion if you would like to join me. Perhaps after breakfast?” Atticus paused before adding, “And good morning.”

****
Basil Foxwood

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Unamused by his brother’s laugh at his expense, Basil remembered why they had such a strained relationship to begin with. Luckily Atticus didn’t say anything else and instead aparated away, giving Basil the room to let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. The house was quiet as he moved back through it, only a few house elves still meandering about and a manservant by the door. Basil ignored all of them as he promptly made his way upstairs and peeked into his mother’s bedroom.

It was dark with the curtains drawn and evening upon them. The only light came from a small candle flickering by her nightstand. Basil smiled softly as he opened the door further and stepped into the room. Rose Foxwood was awake and she turned groggily at the noise as he entered. “Hello mother,” the youngest greeted quietly.

She seemed pleased to see him and seeing her made something heavy in Basil’s heart fade into nothing as he approached her bedside and sank into the chair already positioned there. Even just the sound of her voice alleviated so much of the stress he felt weighing down over his shoulders these days. Taking her hand and conversing quietly about her health, the nurse, and later his hair (she made it quite clear he needed a haircut first thing in the morning), Basil felt some of his concern abate. Eventually, after supper, he drifted off in the chair there by her bedside with a book in his lap and didn’t rouse again until morning.

As the first trickle of light filtered in from the sun, Basil felt himself blink awake with an awful krink in his neck. Twisting uncomfortably, he stood and gave a small stretch. Mama Foxwood was still sleeping soundly, her breathing much more even than it had seemed the evening before. Pushing away from the chair, Basil placed the text carefully on his mother’s night-table. He would fetch it later, in case it held any interest for her when she awoke. Then, turning to sneak carefully out of the room and down the hall to his own unfamiliar chamber, Basil dropped backwards into his own bed - exhausted.

He stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling for a good minute, still fully clothed. Perhaps he ought to work on some of the grading he’d brought with him… sleep was likely not going to come to him now. Decided, Basil changed into something a little more comfortable and a little fresher (leaving his waistcoat to the wayside altogether, imagine that!) and settled into the ancient desk by the window.

A few hours later, Atticus re-appeared at his door with a knock and dragged Basil back from the world of N.E.W.T essays to the present. Blinking up at his brother, the brunette nodded drowsily. “Sure,” he replied. “Just give me a moment to wrap this up and I’ll be down.” He hadn’t realized he’d skipped breakfast and it was at that moment that Basil’s stomach decided to betray him, rumbling loudly. The youngest Foxwood frowned and set aside his quill. “Or, I suppose, I could join you now.” He amended.

Pushing back from his desk, Basil ran a hand through his too-long hair (perhaps they were all right) and nodded towards Atticus. As the two of them made joint work of the hallway and down the spiral staircase, he turned towards his brother skeptically. “You don’t still eat those hard-boiled eggs like an old man do you?” He asked. There was something too familiar in the question, something almost akin to brotherly teasing, but Basil was too tired to notice.

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Atticus Foxwood

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Chuckling quietly at his little brother, Atticus merely nodded at the prospect of him joining him for breakfast; while it would be quite unusual to have him home and them not ignoring each other or at each other’s throats, it was a thought he’d welcome. It had been quite some time since he’d brewed a potion and while he’d hate to admit that Basil was much better academically than he was (but they could both agree Atticus was much more adept at the social aspects of life), he would take his help quite happily in this matter.

“One day you’ll learn to love them,” Atticus grinned as they descended the spiral staircase toward the dining area, “And please stop feeding Merlin whatever you can get your hands on. He’s becoming quite picky.” And fat, but he felt that little bit out; Merlin was too heavy to carry a package and himself, although with letters he did just fine. He settled at the table and found breakfast went quickly, as did the potion making.

Mama Foxwood seemed to be responding to it, and when he was seeing Basil off he promised to owl later (Merlin did need his exercise he supposed) of their mother’s condition. When his little brother left for Hogwarts Atticus found himself sighing loudly in the too large, too empty house. He couldn’t possibly miss the biggest thorn in his side already.

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Basil Foxwood

Wrapped<3

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