However discreet it was supposed to be, Evander - much to his dismay - didn’t miss the movement of Miss Fisk’s hand back towards Alfred’s. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be discreet at all, and was just defiant again, like his brother’s explanation had been. This proved rather confusing. Because that made it look like Miss Fisk had no problem with the idea of marrying him - which, firstly, was insane, and secondly did not fit the story of Alfred trying and failing. Unless by not marriageable he meant to say the match hadn’t been approved (which was not a wild twist in the least; how could Alfred have been expecting anything else? This young woman might work at the Ministry, which wouldn’t say much for her prospects, but if she was a Fisk she was related to the Minister of Magic, presumably her parents were aiming higher for her than Alfred even if she was not), but Evander also couldn’t see why he ought to pity his brother for this, or be to blame. It wasn’t any of his doing! Hadn’t he tried, time and again, to advise Alfred towards a more settled life?
Maybe then he’d have been suitably marriageable, hm? Maybe then, Evander considered - returning to the principal issue here, however astray his brother’s priorities looked to be - Alfred wouldn’t have gone and found himself cursed.
Which wasn’t what he’d meant to say, exactly. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant. He had too little room to think now, with worry twisting in his gut; all this thrown at him at once; a tremor of fear still ricocheting up his spine, quite out of his control. Evander did his best to absorb what Miss Fisk was saying about the spell on Alfred’s lungs, but his own chest was still tight with the worst thoughts of what might have been, not yet fully dissipated from his brain: what if he had gotten here too late? What if there had been nothing that they could do for Alfred? What if Evander had had to be here again, helpless by another bedside, having to say goodbye to the only family member he had left. (Close family, he ought to say, although Evander wasn’t sure whether Alfred would even grant them that.)
Alfred had latched onto his words immediately as fuel for an argument, anyway. (Clearly he was on the road to recovery, then, if he had the energy for it.) “That’s not what I said,” Evander said curtly, though not nearly as acidly as his brother was being. He knew he was only an inconvenience here, interrupting Alfred’s private moment; supposed, now that he thought about it, that Alfred might not have even wanted him to come. The letter had been from Miss Fisk, after all. If he’d been awake to intervene, perhaps Alfred would not have even bothered to tell him about today.
“But the curse is gone now, at least?” Evander added eventually, hoping that this would somehow come across as what he actually supposed he wanted to say, which was I’m glad you’re okay.
Maybe then he’d have been suitably marriageable, hm? Maybe then, Evander considered - returning to the principal issue here, however astray his brother’s priorities looked to be - Alfred wouldn’t have gone and found himself cursed.
Which wasn’t what he’d meant to say, exactly. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant. He had too little room to think now, with worry twisting in his gut; all this thrown at him at once; a tremor of fear still ricocheting up his spine, quite out of his control. Evander did his best to absorb what Miss Fisk was saying about the spell on Alfred’s lungs, but his own chest was still tight with the worst thoughts of what might have been, not yet fully dissipated from his brain: what if he had gotten here too late? What if there had been nothing that they could do for Alfred? What if Evander had had to be here again, helpless by another bedside, having to say goodbye to the only family member he had left. (Close family, he ought to say, although Evander wasn’t sure whether Alfred would even grant them that.)
Alfred had latched onto his words immediately as fuel for an argument, anyway. (Clearly he was on the road to recovery, then, if he had the energy for it.) “That’s not what I said,” Evander said curtly, though not nearly as acidly as his brother was being. He knew he was only an inconvenience here, interrupting Alfred’s private moment; supposed, now that he thought about it, that Alfred might not have even wanted him to come. The letter had been from Miss Fisk, after all. If he’d been awake to intervene, perhaps Alfred would not have even bothered to tell him about today.
“But the curse is gone now, at least?” Evander added eventually, hoping that this would somehow come across as what he actually supposed he wanted to say, which was I’m glad you’re okay.
