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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