January 15th, 1890 — Solicitor's Office, London

This was not how she'd imagined spending the first month of the new year. The accident and her father's subsequent injury had left Charity with the expectation that her father would not live; it had only been a matter of when he would succumb to his injuries. All tears had been shed by the time his black coffin was lowered into his grave, and all Charity could do from that point was move on.

She expected to be doing that at the neighbor's house. They had five children all around her age, and all had been quick to show her to her bed and include her in their games. She so fancied the idea of being a sister—even if only in spirit!—that she buried her pain deep in her chest and redirected her attention to fitting into the family as smoothly as possible.

But things that seemed too good to be true usually were. She'd awoken that morning to the sight of packed suitcases and one of the maids eager to dress her and get her down the stairs. There were murmurs of a solicitor and the Darrows, none of which made any sense out of context. She initially assumed her extended family was here to visit her, or maybe that she'd been left something by her father that had been overlooked, but all became apparent once she'd reached the bottom step.

She was being sent away—and to live with someone who was practically a stranger, at that!

Confused but too numb to show any emotions, Charity had silently climbed into the carriage, only bidding her neighbors farewell for politeness sake, and left.

"And that is how I got here," she finally said, after spending nearly half an hour recounting her life story to the old and tired-looking solicitor who sat across from her. There was no one to talk to here; everyone was either old or gloomy-looking (or, like the solicitor had proven was possible, both).

She was just about to start her monologue on the possible paths of her future when the solicitor suddenly stood up, his eyes caught on someone behind her.

Or someones.

Chairty whipped her head around, only to be met with the sight of two older, two very different-looking men. Neither of them stood out in her mind as someone she remembered, and for a moment she considered they were here for a different reason. That was, until the solicitor greeted them by name. Charity rose to her feet, smoothing the creases out of her blue skirt, and took a deep breath.

---

J. Alfred Darrow Evander Darrow

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   Aldous Crouch, Evander Darrow

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Evander had already been blindsided too many times today, and they had only just arrived at the solicitor’s. First off, the last he had heard from Alfred had been a letter to tell him that he was setting sail again on another trip - which was disappointing, yes, but not surprising. What was surprising was the small fact that he had just encountered his brother on Diagon Alley, in broad daylight, in the flesh, somehow on British soil?!

He was so entirely exasperated by the nonsense of this that he didn’t have the mental room for anger. Either Alfred had left and swiftly returned and hadn’t seen fit to perhaps let him know this minor detail, or this indeed had been his brother’s plan all along, all his life, to pretend to “set sail” across the world and get left for dead merely to excuse himself from all aspects of Evander’s life.

Well, the joke was on him today, wasn’t it? The Darrows had an appointment at the solicitor’s, and for once Johnny wasn’t getting out of something so easily! With that, then, and Evander perfectly willing to frogmarch his brother all the way there if Alfred had any more important business in mind, they had been shown in to the solicitor’s office, all his weary bewilderment about his brother fading in an instant as the reality of this sank in.

He greeted the solicitor with a handshake and a good day and then, at quite a loss already, turned to the solemn young girl with fiery hair who was already here. “Miss Lloyd,” he said awkwardly, telling himself this was his niece, after all, the very same one he sent Christmas and birthday cards to every year without fail, the one whose mother had been their sister. “Er, Charity,” he amended, not entirely certain of how to address a child, nor one that was, by all rights, family. He had been about to say something cordial about how pleasant it was to see her, but under the, er, circumstances, he didn’t think it was fitting. Instead, he settled for lamely echoing the solicitor and introducing himself, in case children her age had especially short-term memories for the names of one’s adult relatives. “Evander, and this is -” he gestured at his brother to fill in, silently begging him to do his part, and added, “How do you do?”

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   Charity Lloyd, J. Alfred Darrow

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Alfred had very little idea why he was here. He was fairly certain that this hadn't been mentioned to him at all before he'd departed England (although, to be fair, sometimes when Evander spoke about things that were dull he just sort of... didn't hear them). He certainly hadn't gotten a letter about it. The most information on the subject that he'd received since his chance run-in with Evander today was that:

1) there was something to be done at the solicitor's;
2) whatever it was apparently required the both of them;
3) Evander was annoyed at him.

Alfred wasn't sure he had ever been to a solicitor. He wasn't even properly sure what they did, outside of defending people from criminal charges — which was, if he knew his brother at all, very likely not why they were here. But if there was some mundane piece of business that Evander needed seen to and it needed a solicitor, why did Alfred have to come? Surely, whatever it was would only be sped along by his not being their to impede its progress. And Alfred had plenty of things to do, as well — it wasn't as though he had chosen to come back to port on a whim, and he was quite eager to be off again as soon as this whole business with the chest was resolved — which meant that he was quite eager to take the necessary steps to resolve it, instead of getting dragged along to do Merlin-only-knew-what.

The first thirty seconds at the office did absolutely nothing to clear up in his mind what it was they were doing there. The solicitor was introducing them to a child, Evander was re-introducing them (for what purpose? Alfred would never understand his brother) and this little redhead was gawping at them as though they were only half-human.

"I'm sorry," he said with some exasperation. "Who is this?"

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   Aldous Crouch, Charity Lloyd, Elias Grimstone

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

She'd seen portraits of her mother before, with her pretty blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. Neither of the men, upon first inspection, looked anything like her. One was dark and looked serious, even as he fumbled to find his words. How could one person look so naturally serious? Her mother never looked serious in the portraits! The other was almost worse, because although he looked a little friendlier by virtue of having softer features than the man beside him, his confused expression made her weary and uncertain herself.

"Mr. Darrow. It is nice to see you," she greeted in a quiet voice, not taking any chance of using the improper greeting even though she knew this man was her uncle. She found it difficult to keep eye contact with him, especially when the man beside him was eyeing her strangely. She couldn't immediately place him like she could her Uncle Evander Darrow, but she assumed he must be related.

His sudden outburst caught her off guard, but she jumped to answer before the solicitor could open his mouth.

"I'm Charity Lloyd," she blurted out, her eyes darting between the two men. She paused for a moment, waiting in the hopes that he'd be hit with a sudden realization. "My mother was Evelina Lloyd. His sister," she added, nodding towards her Uncle Evander.

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   Aldous Crouch, Ophelia Devine

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Evander was belatedly realising that it might have been better if Alfred hadn’t come. The thought that it was his brother’s turn to be blindsided was dampened somewhat by the fact that Alfred hadn’t the tact to catch on fast enough. (Evander having more tact than anyone else was something of a miracle.) Miss Lloyd, she had said, after all, and surely Alfred recalled who Evelina had married? Did he think all this a mere coincidence?

(At least the little girl seemed polite. Small mercies.)

“She’s your niece,” Evander hissed in Alfred’s ear, and was tempted to elbow him in the side to knock some sense into him, just in case Charity explaining it directly took a minute too long to sink in. Our niece, he ought to have said, only that would make it sound more as though they were in the same boat, and if Evander had resolved to do anything with his life, it was never to be in the same boat as his brother.

But some things could not be helped, and unfortunately family was one of them.

“Our sister, in fact,” Evander corrected - more kindly - speaking for young Miss Lloyd’s benefit now. “Alfred’s your uncle, too. But he’s been, er, away. For many years,” he explained helplessly. “Exploring,” he finished, with an imploring gaze at the child that read so forgive him his stupidity.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, tossing a glance at his brother in advance warning of the hint he was trying to drop. “We’re very sorry to hear about your father.” He said, pitying the child greatly - but also hoping this meeting was a mere formality about the will, and that the solicitor had missed a clause somewhere, with a convenient someone else in it.

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   Aldous Crouch, Charity Lloyd, Melody Crouch, Ophelia Devine

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Her mother was Evalina! Alfred turned his attention with surprise to Evander, looking for a confirmation or denial of this fact. Evander, though, was giving him a look as though he should have known this. As though he was an idiot for having asked at all. Alfred knew this had never come up, no matter how Evander was trying to play it off now. He certainly would have remembered being told he had a niece! When he'd come back from abroad, he'd been told that Evalina was dead, but not that she had a child (children? Who knew, at this point?) running about in the world. He could understand, perhaps, not bringing it up in the moment, since he'd been grieving for both Evalina and their mother at that point, but he'd been back for two years (and some change); surely there had been an opportunity to mention it at some point?

"I've been back for several years, too," Alfred said saltily. This comment was entirely directed at Evander, with the not-so-subtle implication of so you could have told me before today, you overgrown wart.

The conversation was moving on, into more what the fuck territory for Alfred. Why were they sorry to hear about her father? What the hell had happened to her father?

Not that he was going to ask, given how well his last question had gone over. Instead of saying anything, then, he decided to just step on the toes of Evander's closest shoe, hard, to let him know he wasn't bloody following.

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   Aldous Crouch, Charity Lloyd, Elias Grimstone

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Although she was young, Charity doubted anyone could have missed the not-s0-subtle war of words happening between the two men (brothers, she corrected internally, despite struggling to picture them as such). She struggled to find anything to say to the curly-haired Darrow considering his obvious discomfort, and was very happy that her Uncle Evander seemed to be treating her nice enough. For now.

"Exploring," she echoed quietly, wondering what that entailed or what it was meant to cover up. She'd heard her father use that tone of voice to cover up less savory activities of family friends and relatives. He'd called her grandparents 'difficult' when she'd tried to ask about them, with that same strain in his voice. Hm.

She couldn't recall having ever stood so stiffly as she tried to find her words, and with a glance upwards she could tell that the solicitor was even flabbergasted by the brother's subtle bickering. Charity rarely got nervous, and hated the tightening of her chest and stiffening of her limbs, but she could not help wondering whether they would agree to take her in like expected or if she'd become an orphan overnight. This was normal, right? To be nervous?

"It's... a pleasure to meet you, Uncle, er, Darrow." She didn't remember his name, or if he'd even been named. She quickly looked back to Uncle Evander, hoping to avoid more awkwardness.

"Thank you. I knew he was going to die, though. I have come to terms with it already. Nobody survives very long with a dent in their head," she replied, blinking rapidly in some attempt to clear the images from her head. (In hindsight, she'd realize that no child should have ever seen a body in such a state, even if it was her father and he wanted to see her before he died.)

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   Aldous Crouch, Elias Grimstone

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He couldn’t fathom why Alfred was looking at him like that. He hadn’t had time to get into it all today, naturally, since they were already halfway here when he’d bumped into his brother at all, but surely - surely Alfred had known the situation before? Wouldn’t - Well, Alfred had always been busy with his navy life. And busy being dead. And - in all the time since then - Evander, nonplussed, supposed he must have said something about the extended family, at least a time or two. Hadn’t he? (This was the burden of being one’s only living family; one was expected to do everything!) No, no, no, Alfred just must not have been listening.

He never did, as evidenced by the way instead of offering his damned condolences, he trod violently on Evander’s foot. In spite of himself, Evander let out a sudden sharp intake of breath, trying - and not quite refraining - from glowering at his brother. Ow. The solicitor would think them a pair of madmen if Alfred didn’t get his act together and fast.

And young, sensible, bright-eyed Charity was blinking rapidly now. Oh dear, oh dear, hopefully she wasn’t about to cry - but no, she seemed decidedly composed, in view of the horrifying words that were coming out of her mouth. Of course he remembered how it felt to lose one’s father - and Alfred too - but they had both been grown men and taken it far worse, he thought, than this. It was hard not to wince at her words, either.

“No, I, ah... suppose not,” Evander said faintly, grimacing at the girl in sincerest sympathy, though he rather wondered how any of them were now to be rid of the image of a dent in her late father’s head. He fought the urge, valiantly, not to bury his head in his hands, and for a moment he was as bewildered as his brother about how they had come to be here. When he spoke next - hopefully the poor girl and his brother would still be preoccupied with staring at each other in total incomprehension - he had lifted his gaze to the solicitor, and asked, stiltedly, “And - Alfred and I are truly all she has left?”

If that was not enough to make her cry, frankly, he didn’t know what was.

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   Ophelia Devine

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The girl's words were a bit of a shock, but not as much as they might have been. Alfred had seen his fair share of people die, after all, and several of them had died of causes a sight worse than dents in the head, so that part wasn't going to turn his stomach. He did feel bad about what she had been through, though — not because she was too young to have faced death, or anything naive like that, but because he recognized the way she was describing it. She was trying very hard, he suspected, to be mature about this entire situation — and if his suspicion was correct, she hadn't actually allowed herself to feel it yet. It was a pattern he'd seen repeated frequently on the ill-fated expedition that had seen so many of his comrades perish — and a pattern he had been through more than once himself, in fact.

He frowned at the girl, but he probably wouldn't have said anything in response if it weren't for Evander's last question. Well, if that wasn't a tragedy in and of itself — Alfred supposed she'd have to go live with Evander, and Merlin knew he wasn't going to handle this delicate emotional journey she was on very appropriately. The exceptionally awkward response he'd already given to her statement was proof enough of that. Evander probably had the a capacity for emotion and connection about as deep as a cat's milk dish. And he (or rather, they, the two of them) were all this poor little girl had, for the moment.

Alfred took a half-step to distance himself from Evander, then crouched slightly so that he was at eye level with the girl. His niece, apparently. "We don't always have to 'come to terms' with people dying right away, even if we expect it," he said gently. "It's okay to put it away for a bit and come back to it later, when it makes more sense. And it's okay to not deal with it all at once." Alfred straightened and ran one hand through a section of his unruly hair, trying to think of the best way to segue away from that topic, for the moment — since he was assuming she wouldn't want to keep talking about it here, with one uncle who was practically a stranger and one who was... Evander.

But what did one say to children? His most relevant experience with this age group was from when he'd been living with the tribe in South America. He had no idea what British children talked about. "My name is Alfred, and I'm happy to finally meet you," he began, almost surprising himself with the sincerity in his tone. True, this morning he hadn't even known he'd had a niece, but — well, family was family.

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   Aldous Crouch, Cassius Lestrange, Evander Darrow

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Charity had already been gutted once today when her neighbors had, for all intents and purposes, kicked her out of their home, and at this point she doubted there was an emotion that could physically move her to tears. It seemed obvious that her uncles didn't want her, whether it was their tone or words or just her own mind attempting to confirm her fears, but Charity knew that most orphans weren't wanted. It had always been that way, whether they were rich or poor.

Fortunately, Charity had become well-adjusted to bottling up her emotions over the last month. She held her breath when her uncle crouched in front of her, in the same way her father always had when he had to talk to her about something he'd deemed 'important' or 'sensitive', and blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. She didn't want to cry, especially not in front of these men who barely knew her. Nobody wanted an orphan, especially a crybaby orphan.

"I have come to terms with it, but thank you... Uncle Alfred," she said, lowering her gaze to focus on a spot behind him. Perhaps she had not come to terms with her impending loneliness, but she had (or at least she thought) come to terms with her father's death. At this point, she could only hope that her transition into a new household, whether it was Uncle Evander's or Uncle Alfred's or an orphanage if neither could care for it, would be a smooth one.

The solicitor would confirm that they were the only two left, but in the back of Charity's mind she knew there were others. She had grandparents, but she knew she was not to speak of them. Asking questions about them was forbidden under her father's roof, and even in his death she feared to bring the topic up.

"You don't want to keep me, do you? You can tell me. I won't be upset," she asked, her eyes moving to her Uncle Evander. "You don't look like a man who likes children."

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   Aldous Crouch, Ophelia Devine

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Charity had not seemed entirely convinced by Alfred’s unpicking of grief, but Evander - listening in spite of himself - was rather struck by it. His own experience of mourning had always been shaded by being the one left behind, the one left to deal with it all; he had felt, somehow, that his brother had gotten off more easily, had escaped the worst. He hadn’t been at Evelina’s bedside, or their mother’s, helpless and hopeless. Had not had to help see their funerals arranged, had not watched their mother waste away from having lost two of her children, one half a world away. And Alfred’s - supposed - death had been worse than them all, a slow, defeated slide into acceptance; the gradual extinguishing of all hopes and what ifs in the face of reason. Evander had rarely considered the reverse, and that his brother must have experienced a horribly similar state of people dying around him, being one of the lonely ones left. All the men on the ship, or nearly; and then, even when he had come home, it had been another shock all over for him, all at once, losing his mother and sister in one fell blow. No wonder he knew how hard it was to come to terms with death.

Indeed, no wonder Alfred was terribly-adjusted to a normal life.

But Charity Lloyd had already learnt the English way too well, was perfectly stoic and perfectly poised. Evander understood that, at least, and was just supposing that he might be able to understand her after all, when his niece spoke matter-of-factly enough to make him feel guilty. You don’t want to keep me, do you? Dear Merlin; she was too perceptive by half. He flushed slightly as she looked at him, wondering what she had seen in him to think that, and how on earth to convince her otherwise.

For half a moment, he even thought of stooping to speak to her, as Alfred had done. But he didn’t have Alfred’s instinctive way. (Whatever his brother thought of him, however, Evander did feel a pang just looking at her, could imagine nothing worse than leaving this young girl to think she was going to spend the rest of her life lonely and unwanted.)

“No, no, it’s not that,” Evander said hastily. “I’m afraid I - I just don’t know many children - and I fear I will be a disappointing guardian to you.” (Alfred would be a better fit, he could see that; but Alfred lived in a shared flat and spent most of his time on a ship and where was the place for a little girl in that?) “But you must not think I am not willing to learn how to.” He said earnestly. “I would be greatly obliged if you would not mind teaching me, Miss Charity, if you can have the patience for it. Indeed, for us.” Having two uncles, after all - even lacklustre ones - was surely better than one.

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   Ophelia Devine

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Alfred had watched her eyes as he spoke, and he could see the tears lurking there. This was neither the time nor the place to try and prod them out, though, when there was so much else happening and she was surrounded by strangers and trying oh so very hard to be a grown-up. She could handle them on her own time — he just wanted to let her know that there wasn't any shame in still having those feelings, whatever she said.

The little girl had moved on to what must have seemed, to her mind, a more pressing concern at the moment, which was her (very correct and astute) observation that Evander hardly seemed like the type to want a child. But it wasn't as though she was just a child; she was Evalina's child, and the idea of letting her get shipped off somewhere because she was something of an inconvenience was unconscionable. Surely, Evander couldn't have even been considering it. But if he was thinking that, Alfred wouldn't let him send her off somewhere. He didn't know what the alternative was — she certainly could not just climb aboard the Voyager and sail off into the sunset with him, cursed artifacts and all. But some sort of arrangement could be made, certainly, even if Evander wasn't able to step up to this particular challenge himself.

Luckily, none of that seemed to be necessary. At Evander's (admittedly rather bumbling) response, Alfred felt the first hint of goodwill towards his brother that he'd experienced that entire day. He grinned at the last remark (for us), and gave a mild shrug. "We know people with children, so we could probably get some pointers. Uncle H's had half a dozen," he pointed out — which was to say nothing of the fact that he taught at Hogwarts, and therefore probably knew a good deal more about children in general than either of them did.

The other person he knew with a particularly large family was Zelda, but — well. He wasn't sure they were speaking anymore.

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   Melody Crouch

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Charity felt comforted by her Uncle Evander's response, if "comforted" was the right word to use at all. There was nothing comfortable about becoming the ward (better known as a "nuisance" to some) of an unfamiliar uncle, and there was nothing comfortable about leaving her familiar circumstances. There would be nothing comfortable about visiting her father's grave site in the weeks to come, if Uncle Evander allowed her to. Even if he'd admitted that his prior experience with children was non-existent, she appreciated that he was open to learning.

(He would have to be, or she'd be doomed to a life like those girls with dreary parents in her story books—a fear that led her to leave behind her story books in favor of the newspaper, even if she could not understand many of the words. Newspapers were more dignified and adult-like.)

"I suppose I must teach you, because it seems I have no other choice," she declared with an air of confidence that came only from knowing she was right. "And don't worry, Uncle Evander, you won't disappoint me. I would only be disappointed if you sent me away." And even then, she imagined being sent away to live with Uncle Alfred would be a whole other adventure.

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   Elias Grimstone, Ophelia Devine

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Evander had never imagined, in dragging his brother unexpectedly along, that having Alfred here would be any comfort at all... but, circumstances being what they were, he was rather glad to have him. (Who would have thought it? Since coming back from the dead, Alfred had proved almost nothing but a nuisance!)

He nodded in support of Alfred’s last addition, hoping that between the two of them Charity Lloyd would at least not feel entirely doomed. And if she did, maybe Uncle Hamish would have to give them a lengthy course of parenting classes. And Charity drew herself up with a sternness that belied her young age and took the situation as squarely as a child possibly could,  for which Evander was again grateful. Children scared him slightly - primarily their inclination towards utter absurdity - but the little redhead seemed to have both command of reason and control of her emotions. Perhaps they would get along after all!

“Very well, Miss Charity. And we shan’t be doing that, I assure you,” Evander said gently, as earnest in this promise as he would have been in any. He was not a man to shirk his duty; certainly not a duty that sprung both from familial obligation and the sanctity of a solicitor’s office. And at least Alfred existed for backup, in case Evander found himself incapacitated for some reason or another, although frankly he couldn’t imagine it; he had never gotten into any sort of trouble or truly injurious situation before. (That family gene had mercifully skipped him.) “Have you... all your things here with you already?” He inquired, not entirely sure where she had arrived from today or whether she still had goodbyes to be put through before he took her... er, home, he supposed. To get settled in.

Merlin, every time he thought he was perfectly on track, and life derailed him again!

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Alfred had no doubt that Evander was sincere when he said she would not be sent away, but not because he had any inherent faith in Evander's ability to raise children, or anything. This might be a complete and utter shitshow, to be honest. Even if it was, though, the alternative was sending little Charity to live with Alfred, and he was sure Evander wouldn't do that. Why, at the moment she was the perfect little package of English propriety and stoicism, from what he could tell over the course of the past few minutes. No matter what happened at Evander's house, he surely wouldn't send her away and doom her to being corrupted by her uncle Alfred.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Charity felt a little hopeful, but was did not let her emotions get ahead of her. She still had her doubts about her Uncle Evander's ability to connect with her, if only because they were so different, but was not opposed to trying. Even if he turned out to be the least paternal figure, she knew she was not lacking much, as her own father had failed in that regard. There was a part of her, buried deep in her heart, that sincerely hoped he had a softer side to him; and that he and her Uncle Alfred would one day love her—truly love her!—and she would finally belong. For now, though, she was happy to have a place to sleep.

"I have all of my things," she said, rattling the handle of her suitcase. "But I do think some of my dresses are still in the carriage. I can't imagine they all fit in here." She hoped her Uncle Evander, if he did not have his eyes set on one already, would think to marry in the months or years that followed; she could hardly imagine turning to him for fashion advice!

"I must admit that the stress of this morning has taken a toll of my nerves, and I feel a nap is in order. May we go now?" she asked, glancing between the three men.

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   Elias Grimstone, J. Alfred Darrow

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