July 12, 1892 - Irvingly lockdown, Foxwood House Wellingtonshire (evening)

To say that Basil was pleased about the Acromantula in Irvingly was a selfish over-exaggeration; he was in fact concerned about Ms. Ida Chang, whom he knew was home-bound from a frantic owl Poppy had sent earlier, demanding if he’d heard from her. (He had not, but he had sent his own little note of concern in case his protege needed anything.) As it was, however, the circumstances had brought one Mr. Lissington back into the Foxwood household as, having no way of getting back to his shared flat in Irvingly, the gentleman had been obliged to accept Basil’s offer to stay in Wellingtonshire. Bonus only to the fact that Basil had the house mostly to himself this summer since Mama and Atticus had agreed with Aunt Georgie to chaperone Poppy in London her whole first season! Now that was something the brunette found himself increasingly chipper over.

So far he’d been allowed to do as little or as much socialization as he liked, other than the mandatory Foxwood event in Bath for Atticus’ birthday. It wouldn’t be so terrible either, he hoped. Anthony, Tillie and the other family were going, not to mention Ms. Victoire. There were enough people on the guest list he liked and was comfortable with for Basil to entertain himself such that he didn’t have to actually speak to a judgmental society mama or prying debutant if he didn’t want to. In the meantime too, he’d had a rather good go of it at the Flint Institute so far!

Basil had started in late June to host the handful of guest lectures Mr. Flint had asked of him in exchange for his use of their facilities in his research. He had a nice little office there with a house elf assigned to personally assist in case he needed cleaning - which Basil rarely did - and his work with Ms. Chang was proving invaluable. All in all, he had a grand routine and had even considered that, if this was life as a perpetual bachelor on his own, perhaps it really wasn’t so bad. Granted, he could not see himself leaving Hogwarts and, in the interim, it did not make sense to leave Wellingtonshire either until he was forced to marry. (So never.)

Yesterday however, after the dreadful news was distributed about Irvingly, he’d been a touch worried about Gus. It wasn’t beyond Basil to admit that he’d been thinking about the red-head a lot recently, especially since that run-in with Atticus. (Awful luck that, his brother making a scene and the absolute row that had followed!) Luckily enough he’d happened to run into Lissington and pried from him an agreement to stay in Wellingtonshire, at least until he figured out a backup plan, stranded as he was. Basil had been surprised to hear he was unable to stay with his parents in Hogsmeade but hadn’t pried seeing as it was neither his place, nor in his best interest. He hated to admit it but... he missed Lissington and if trapping him in this house meant actually speaking to him again, then, Basil would take it.

The other had seemed… a bit twitchy since term had ended. Maybe it was just that business with the birthday gift and… not wanting to grab lunch, but Basil was starting to grow a little anxious. He’d written a few times to Lissington, once on his own birthday and then again after the brother attack, only to hear neither hide nor hair of him. It was too familiarly reminiscent of what had happened this time ten years ago and Basil was not going to let him get away without a fight. Or at least a damn good reason to be avoidant! So, having given the other ample time to settle in, he’d grabbed a decanter and plush blanket from the library and made his way to the guest room Lissington had been put up in. (He’d tried to work on his research and give the other space, really, but focus evaded him.)

Stopping before the door, Basil sucked in a breath. The decanter and glasses floated behind him as the brunette picked absently at a loose thread in the blanket. He hoped this would go… as well as he hoped it would go. Then, knocking gently, Basil took a step back.

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Gus Lissington

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This summer had been the worst one Gus could ever remember having, and he still had an entire month and a half to go before he returned to Hogwarts. He still wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be a professor, but he supposed he could give an entire year a try before he scuttled back to his old boss with his tail between his legs begging for his job back. While he’d expected to miss curse breaking because it was all he’d known for a decade, he hadn’t expected to hate being a professor as much as he did. It wasn’t for the weak hearted, that was for sure. And he knew, in his gut, in his heart, hell, even in his head, that Augustus Lissington wasn’t cut out for being a professor long term. Gus didn’t like change, though. (Which was odd considering most of his career he’d jumped from place to place without much notice, but then again, he always seemed to wind up in the same places with the same people after a couple years.)

He was still trying to wrap his head around the decision of what he wanted to do, but the events of the worst summer even kept getting in the way and occupied his mind with other things - Atticus Foxwood telling him he was a terrible person had been the beginning, then finding out Fig was married via elopement some odd years ago, an almost attack because someone thought he’d been a terrible person toward his best friend, followed by having to find a place to temporarily stay because Fig was on vacation and mam and da were out of the question. Algernon Astorwood was a sweetheart, interested in him but he was petrified to pursue anything. What if he turned on him too? Or things turned awkward and he’d have to move out, only to find he didn’t have a place he could go?

It had already happened, given the acromantula discovery and his inability to return to Irvingly yesterday morning; he’d gone straight to his parents home who had opened him with open arms, thrilled with the prospect of having their son home for a while, but this morning during breakfast… he’d agreed to leave after mam had one of her episodes. What else could possibly go wrong this summer? Gus had then found himself in Hogsmeade, which, shockingly enough, did not have an inn. Padmore Park was his last resort. Benches were uncomfortable. London seemed so far away, but without any options outside of dragging his feet and asking one of his friends if he could burden them for however long it took for the acromantula to be dealt with, he’d been on his way there.

But then Foxwood appeared. They had gone back and forth in an arrangement for Gus to sleep at his Wellingtonshire home while he figured out a plan, all while he was trying to explain that staying at an inn in London was his backup plan. But, the idea of spending some time with him was a refreshing thought; he hadn’t seen him since he’d asked him to grab something to eat on his birthday, and he’d been terrible at returning his letters. But what was he to say after his brother tore down his character? It wasn’t as if he was wrong per say, but he wasn’t ready to confirm nor deny the words that had been spewed at him. Gus should have known then, how terrible this summer was going to be.

Somehow though, Gus sat in the middle of the guestroom Foxwood had shown to him, unsure of how he’d even gotten here. He liked spending time with Basil despite what the other may think, but he felt tense and uncomfortable in his home, even with reassurance that his family was in London for the season. He wasn’t sure what to do now - it wasn’t as if he had luggage to unpack, or really anything on his persona outside of the clothes on his back. His hands fiddled with the tiny box Endymion had helped him find a few weeks ago. He pushed a button on the side of the box and it shuddered violently in his hand before a flicker of flame licked at his fingertip. He hissed. The box fumbled from his fingers as a knock at the door drew his attention, forcing Gus to slowly unfold his legs and stand up, leaving the now inconspicuous box somewhere on the floor. He’d deal with that later.

He wasn’t shocked to see Foxwood behind the door, and Gus offered a shy smile as he stepped aside to allow him entry into the room. “Hi.” He cleared his throat as he tilted his head at the other’s appearance: his face was a bit flushed as if he’d been drinking, his hair mussed that Gus wanted to reach forward and run his fingers through it; had he been holed away with company for the last couple hours? He had a few items with him, as if he planned on staying for some time, which forced a smile to the redhead lips that he couldn’t stop. “I, well, thank you. Again. You don’t have to, but you did and I…” Breathing out a laugh, he shook his head. “I really appreciate it. Are we drinking?” Gus asked quietly, nodding toward the glasses floating behind him. He wasn’t a drinker but after the worst summer ever, he might indulge in a drink or too. It wasn’t as if he never drank. He just didn’t like to.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil was still holding his breath even as Lissington opened the door for him. He didn’t know why but the sight of the red-head here, in this house, was still such a thrill that sometimes it scared him, frankly. Basil knew that he should count himself lucky Lissington had even agreed to this after the despicable behavior his brother had shown the man, but he tried not to think about it too much as he entered the room, trailing the decanter and glasses behind himself. “Nonsense,” he replied easily, hoping that if he pretended everything was normal that it would somehow feel more normal. “I just thought you might like… a blanket, in case it gets cold in the evening.” He gestured awkwardly at the thing in his arms as if it wasn’t obvious.

As for the drinking… “Er, yes— well,” Basil blushed a touch and looked at the ground. “I also thought you might like a little something stronger than gillywater given the circumstances.” The circumstances being the obvious terror Lissing felt at being spotted in this house by the elder Foxwood as well as all the chaos in Irvingly. He knew the red-head didn’t drink often, or much at all really, but it never hurt to offer. Basil himself had already spent the better part of an hour indulging in it himself. It had started with a small glass of port while he tried to pour over some of the letters Ms. Chang had sent about their latest research endeavor, and had ended with Basil drinking by himself and pacing back and forth in his room. Before he got too drunk, but perhaps just tipsy enough to think this was a good idea, he’d decided to check in on his guest. The blanket had been a last-ditch effort to seem… charitable and not desperate for company.

The decanter, seeming to have a mind of its own, poured out two glasses with little more encouragement. One such floated towards the red-head and the other towards the brunette. Setting the blanket to the wayside, Basil accepted his glass and moved closer to Lissington awkwardly. “I am glad you decided to stay,” he said, voice low and perhaps a bit encouraged by the warmth pulsing through his veins. A part of him almost added “just like old times” but a strong self-preservative instinct prevented as much. Instead, Basil spotted and gestured to the funny little box in the middle of the floor. “What is that?” He asked, tone growing skeptical. He wasn’t keen on the idea of curse breaking artifacts accidentally blowing up his house… because, evidently, that was what Basil assumed they all did.

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Gus Lissington

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Tilting his head at the other, Gus wasn’t sure what angle he was playing. It was still the beginning of July, but the weather was just beginning to edge against his favorite time of year: hot, drenched in sweat, and tan. But he supposed Foxwood knew him well enough that he hated being cold, and perhaps their home was enchanted with a spell that made it frigid. Deciding that was the angle, Gus offered him a wide smile as he nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.” He replied softly. There was a certainty that the elder Foxwood would know he was in the house, and he wondered if he could get away with sleeping on the floor with the blanket so as to not mess up the bed. If anything it would be more comfortable to sit on than just the carpet before he made the decision of where he was actually going to sleep in the room. (He'd argued for a couch because he didn't want the staff to have to do extra work while his family was away before of him but he had quickly lost that battle.)

As for the drinking… “No, I think it’ll be good. It’s been a harrowing summer,” Basil blushed and Gus awkwardly shifted his feet. He’d been there for a few of the instances, and wasn’t ready to announce the other things to him just yet. Yet, as he eyed the decanter and the glasses, would he be able to properly throw a spell if he was tipsy? He wasn’t sure what Mr. Foxwood would do when he found him living in his home - invited, but not approved by him - but he had some ideas. He’d probably drag Gus to Irvingly and offer him as bait to capture the acromantula.

The decanter poured out two glasses on its own, and the redhead accepted the glass in his hand as he eyed the man who stepped closer to him. His own gaze softened as he offered him a shy smile. “Me too.” He murmured, and he took a step toward him without thinking, his fingers grazing against the other man’s; Gus pulled a moment later as the other addressed something in the room.

It was a tiny box carved with swirls and foreign markings he had yet to discern the meaning of, that nestled perfectly into the palm of his hand. A couple spots on it stuck out further, as if a drawer had been pulled open and refused to be pushed back in. Hearing the slight panic in his voice, Gus let out a slight strangled laugh as he eyed the box on the floor. It was hard to explain what the box meant to him - not that he was attached to it. It was the first item he couldn't break a spell on. “My summer project.” He murmured, making no movement toward grabbing it. He turned his attention back toward Foxwood, wondering how much he should say - he knew the other wasn’t fond of hearing about his time away and he didn’t want to ruin the fragility between them by speaking too much.. “My da was helping me try to break some curses on it because I’m determined to see what’s inside, but I figured it’d keep me occupied… here. So I took it before I left. It’s not dangerous, and I don’t have to keep it here if you’re not comfortable with it. I can take it home you know, or wherever I go next-”

Gus took a deep breath before mumbling an apology. He took a sidestep toward him and gently knocked their shoulders together.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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Basil was glad Lissington acquiesced to drinking with him; it would have been lonely and a little sad to continue doing as much on his own but to admit that he needed the assistance of liquor to face Lissing didn’t sit right either. Still, as the other man’s fingertips brushed against his own, Basil couldn’t help but look down dumbly at them as the feeling of little sparks flared where their skin came into contact. For a moment, Basil remembered that feeling in the maze… The feeling of warmth and fullness that had encompassed him when Lissing had launched forward. It had vanished so quickly, leaving him wanting, that Basil had almost been able to convince himself it hadn’t happened in the moment. But at night, when that sneaking sensation came back to haunt his dreams, he was less able to set it aside. Today, as Lissing agreed that he was glad to have stayed and Basil’s gaze fell upon the funny little box chosing to deflect, Basil wondered what it would be like to feel that again… and this time in full.

The explanation of the box was enough to distract him, momentarily, and Basil scrunched his brows together almost comically. A curious, inquisitive part of him wanted to prompt Lissing to let him help with the puzzle; Basil loved solving complex problems but the notion of it actually being a dark object and full of curses set him off it. He wasn’t sure how safe something like that could be in a proper home either, but he kept his opinions to himself. Lissing knew better than he anyways, and if the red-head was willing to admit that the box wasn’t dangerous, then Basil was willing to believe him. “N-no, don’t apologize,” he replied, quietly. “I’m… just glad you felt comfortable bringing it here with you.” He tried to offer a small smile. Basil knew mentioning Lissing’s family was hard enough, but to actually bring something special to him here (regardless of danger) well it said something. Basil didn’t know what, but, something.

Leaning into the other’s shoulder bump a touch, Basil looked about the rather large room. The fireplace was lit, despite the disgustingly warm temperatures out, but as it was one of the sole sources of lighting at this hour the house elf had enchanted it to keep cool. The blanket was also likely unnecessary in retrospect, but Basil glanced at it anyhow. He raised the glass in his hand a touch. “Well, er— cheers!” He offered with a small shrug before taking a sip.

The fire whiskey burnt on its way down but Basil welcomed the now familiar sensation on his slightly dulled senses. He reluctantly moved away from Lissington and sat carefully on the bed, hoping the other would either follow or chose a spot that was less uncomfortable than simply standing about not willing to touch anything. Basil knew it was because of Atticus that Lissing felt so stiff and unwelcome, and he hated it. A small frown touched the corners of the brunette’s lips and he cleared his throat. “You can sit,” he said gently. “Merlin knows you’ll need to sleep somehow and I promise the bed is more comfortable than the floor."

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Gus Lissington

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Gus paused before he flicked his gaze up to blink at Basil. So he hadn’t done a very good job at hiding how uncomfortable he was in the house, and he blinked at the box he wondered if it had been a bad idea to bring it all. He just wasn’t sure when mam would be up to having visitors again, and honestly it was one of the few things that kept his mind occupied whenever he drifted to how terrible this summer was turning out to be. His cheeks painted red then, and he covered up any sort of response by taking a drink of the fire whisky. It burnt, tasted terrible and he sputtered a cough after forcing himself to swallow it.

Why did people consume this on purpose? There were a lot of other things Gus would rather consume than a terrible tasting drink: chocolate covered cockroaches for one, although if he had to pick a drink, he’d rather pick a lemonade with a splash of whiskey. And it certainly wasn’t going to be a cinnamon whiskey. It was going to be just a splash, enough that people would see he was consuming alcohol not definitely not enough to taste. He scrunched his nose up as he took another sip, only to come away with almost the same reaction - at least he didn’t choke on it this time. During that time Foxwood moved to sit on the bed, and the redhead found himself staring at him from the middle of the room, clutching the glass of liquor he didn’t want, wondering what his next move was.

Then he was speaking softly, inviting him into a room where he was frightened to touch anything. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and shuffled over to the bed. He sat on the edge of it. “I was considering the floor with the blanket,” Gus forced out a laugh as he glanced at the other from the corner of his eye. “But the bed is a lot more comfortable.” He bounced on it - slowly, carefully, to keep the fire whiskey from spilling over the side of the cup. When he settled, he found his leg pressed against Basil’s, but didn’t do anything to move it.

A laugh slipped out of him, surprising even himself, but it was enough that a smile broke out across his features. “Are you here by yourself the whole summer?” It wasn’t weird to ask something personal, was it? “I’m.. ready to go back? I think. To Hogwarts.” Maybe not to Hogwarts, but he sure did miss having a permanent space to call his home.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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If Basil felt a little bit guilty about peer pressuring Lissing into drinking alcohol, he tried not to show it. Surley the red-head would have denied him if he desperately hadn’t wanted to partake, wouldn’t he? Basil hated that he couldn’t be sure and he swallowed his reservations down with another large gulp of his own drink. Perhaps he could encourage Lissington to set it aside in a bit, once they settled. For his own part, Basil was buzzing along rather at a convenient height. He was dulled enough to not feel so hyper fixated on the anxieties that plagued his everyday, but he was not so drunk that he was a blubbering mess. There was a fine line between just enough and too much, with the consequences of the latter being quite devastating on the wrong evening.

As Lissing responded about sleeping on the floor, Basil forced out a small laugh. He knew the other was being perfectly serious but he hoped if he feigned amusement that it would be dismissed as the joke it really ought to be. He watched then, with actual amusement filtering into his features, as the red-head bounced up and down a touch. He was so easy sometimes, so jovial, that Basil felt a tiny pang. When they settled at last, the contact between them sent another small jolt up Basil’s spine and the brunette didn’t dare move away.

Despite the fact that it had been… almost three weeks since the blowout that had caused him to avoid Atticus, Basil couldn’t help but still feel rankled. He was resentful of his brother, and everything they’d spat at one another that afternoon. Atticus didn’t know him, not really, not deep down (or maybe he did and it scared Basil too much to admit) but he couldn’t control the brunette all the way from London. Maybe it was the fire in his gut that caused Basil to be so brazen, or maybe it was just resistance against his brother’s idiotic assumptions, but either way he felt a need bubbling up. A need to touch Lissington -  to hold him, pet him, snog him senseless. He tried to stifle the sensation even as he shifted closer to the other.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Atticus and mama have gone to London to host Poppy for her first season. They should be there for the better part of the summer and early autumn, at least until we head back for fall term.” Here he paused and a small smile came to light up Basil’s features. He was so very pleased to hear that Lissing was ready and eager to go back to Hogwarts! For a time he’d really wondered if the professor had doubted his abilities enough to consider abdicating the position. It would have been a real loss for the students had it come to that. Despite their history, there was nothing blinding Basil from the realization that Lissington was an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he conceded quietly. “You really are a splendid professor; Hogwarts is lucky to have you.”  Pressing his shoulder gently against Lissington and nudging him, Basil offered a lopsided little grin. “I’m lucky to have you too, as a colleague.”

From this distance, in the flickering firelight, Basil could see Lissing’s face so clearly and so close that it tugged at something inside of him again. He didn’t know what it was, this sudden inane desire to cling to the red-head as if terrified he’d disappear. Basil tried to ignore it, but the sensation was somewhat overwhelming in this moment here and now with Lissing finally close at hand. The brunette reached out and tugged absently at his companion’s robes, twisting his finger idly in the dark material. It wasn’t the same as holding him but it was enough, for now. “I really am glad you stayed,” he echoed again, quietly. “I… I was worried, I guess, when you didn’t answer my letters.” Basil ducked a little out of embarrassment and hid his face in his glass behind another sip.

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Gus Lissington

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Part of him had expected Basil to move away from the contact, yet every part of him was relieved that he hadn’t, relishing in the comfort it brought to him. After his brother had belittled him during his unexpected visit a few weeks back, he expected Basil to avoid him altogether - he knew how Atticus Foxwood felt about him and wasn’t a stranger to hiding it. Gus wasn’t entirely sure what Basil’s brother had told him, he hadn’t outlined it in the letter that he hadn’t responded to yet, but he knew it hadn’t been anything good. It was a miracle in itself that he still had a positive opinion of Gus, and after the initial panic of having to hide from Atticus, his heart had fluttered happily when he’d first brought up the idea of staying with him.

This was the life he so desperately wanted with Basil but was always out of reach. He had to let it go. He knew that, but it still hurt.

Gus leaned forward to push the fire whiskey onto a table nestled next to the bed as Basil began to speak of the season; it was disgusting and his stomach curled in on itself every time he tried to take a sip of it. If he had to drink anymore of that he might get sick. He settled back next to him in the same position before he hummed quietly. “That’s exciting, although I’m sure the house gets lonely.” Gus looked at him from the corner of his eye, not sure what he meant by it, if anything. But then he was speaking of Hogwarts and the redhead dipped his head against his shoulder to hide his embarrassment. He managed to mumble a “thank you” although didn’t speak anymore on the matter. He had his doubts. Basil knew of them for the most part and did his best to squash them, but it was a demon that only Gus would truly expel. He just needed to be sure of himself and if his choice had been the correct one.

A benefit to Hogwarts was being so close to Basil again. Turning to look at him, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to linger on him. His smile, as always, was breathtaking, and he wanted nothing more than to press his lips against his. But that would be rude so instead he took to just looking at him. His stomach fluttered with butterflies as Foxwood’s fingers twisted into his robe. Gus placed his hand on top of his and shifted to rest his head against his shoulder. “Thank you for allowing me to stay,” He hummed in response. “And I’m sorry for not answering your letters. This summer has been…” Sighing, Gus lifted his head as the other shifted to take a sip. Once he was done, he nestled his head back against his shoulder and tightened his grip on Basil’s hand.

“Terrible.” Gus finished his sentence after another beat of silence. “But it’s been more than just your brother -” He winced, hoping that wasn’t something they were never going to reference again. “Some days picking up a quill is more effort than I’m willing to put in, and I spend the day staring at my ceiling.” Normally his summers were filled with adventures - he was sick and tired of these feelings of constant doubt. He was tired of looking over his shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was tired of being afraid. He just wanted to be happy again, like he was here, right in this moment. “I’ll try to be better at that. I don’t mean to make you worry. I won’t… you know, disappear again. I promise.” He swallowed. That was going to be a hard one to keep.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil found himself glad when, inevitably, Lissing set aside his drink and decided to abandon ship. There, from its place on the side table, they could indulge in the idea that Basil was not drinking alone but neither did Lissing have to actually force anything down he didn’t want. A little pang of relief hit the brunette and he sucked another gulp of his own. Basil nearly spluttered on it as the other’s statement filtered into his understanding though. Lonely? Did that… imply anything? Basil didn’t find the emptiness lonely at all; in fact, he relished in it. He supposed in a house this big he was never really alone though. There were always human and house elf staff running about prepping this and that. Less so, maybe, since the majority of the family was away but even so. Shrugging a touch so as to not contradict the red-head, Basil conceded. “It’s quiet,” he agreed.

As Lissing then hummed at him about the letters, Basil felt that self-conscious tug pull at him again. He hated hearing that the red-head had been having a wretched summer, but he supposed he could commiserate a touch. As Lissing actually mentioned Atticus being part of that horrible chain of events, Basil felt himself flush terribly. He was so embarrassed for his brother, and himself he supposed, that such a demonstration had even transpired! He’d sent a note immediately following, thanking Lissing for the gift and trying to apologize, but it too had gone unanswered.

Basil untangled his fingers from Lissington’s robe and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I am sorry about that, again,” he said softly. Then, surprised at himself for feeling particularly chatty about it, he continued. “We haven’t spoken since, actually.” Basil paused. “A lot was said that afternoon that frankly I’m not sure I can forgive so easily.” Or forget, a small voice chirped unhelpfully in the back of his mind. (Basil was still determined to get to the bottom of that ex-fiance nonsense that he didn’t believe.) He turned a small smile onto Lissing. “And before you take the blame, don’t even dare. He was a cad, and it’s inconceivable of a supposed gentleman to act in such a way.” Basil frowned. “I’m glad you’re not going anywhere though,” he breathed quietly. “It would be a loss of ghastly proportions.”

The brunette took another sip of his drink, praying it would loosen him up a touch. He didn’t know why he was being so ridiculously awkward. It was… Lissing. Gus. His old friend. They should have been able to pick up where they left off? Though, he supposed, that ship had sailed over the many, many rehashings they’d had ever the past months of what there even had been to pickup. Basil swallowed the firewhsikey down with a hint of bile. He stalled on a subject to change to. It didn’t seem fair to pry into whatever else had happened to the red-head, but he still felt the overwhelming urge to touch comfort him. Shifting then to face more fully towards the fireplace so that he could bump their shoulders together, Basil nudged the other. A little electric current rattled through his spine.

“Hey,” he said, gently, playfully. “Do you remember the first time we found our spot?” A grin touched the corners of the man’s lips and Basil laughed lightly. “Your transfiguration book went careening over the side of the gorge and we never managed to get it back.” The fondness in his tone and on his face was unmistakable. This was a memory Basil hadn’t touched in a long time, and for whatever reason, he’d thought of it just now. “I was sure you were going to dive after it, and I was determined to tie you up against a tree! Luckily you seemed to wisen up before I had the chance.” A mischievous glint touched the brunette’s face and Basil leaned into Lissing’s space. And then they’d kissed. It had been their first kiss, that afternoon.

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Gus Lissington

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A ghost of a smile touched the edge of his lips but he didn’t comment further on the matter. The Lissington house wasn’t even half the size of the Foxwood home, and when his entire family had been present, the house had never been quiet: laughter, squealing, talks of the futures and whispers of their fears soaked into the walls, and if he looked anywhere hard enough Gus could conjure a happy memory. His family meant everything to him even if he’d allowed his relationship with Fig to rot and turn to dust between his fingertips, as if he had hidden real things from him for years now. But he’d done the same to her, hadn’t he? Being home now was different; sometimes Gus felt like he was walking on eggshells, but that wasn’t a conversation he was going to readily start with Foxwood. He just understood how disheartening living in a quiet home that was once filled with so much noise could be.

Instead Gus focused on the man’s words, a frown touching his lips as he apologized for his brother’s actions. “Please don’t drive a wedge between yourself and your brother on my account.” The red-head squeezed his fingers. “I’m okay. Whatever he said I didn’t take to heart-” even if they both knew that wasn’t true, and had Basil not steamrolled him before he could get a word in, he also would have shifted the blame from his brother to himself, “Because I don’t think anything could take me away from you again.” Because of all the moving parts, the crappy summer and the doubt that plagued his mind, if it meant he’d wind up right here, at this moment, Gus would live every moment again and again. Even people called him a monster or a sinner… condemned him to hell for his preferences, he wasn’t sure he’d give up being in love with Basil for anything the world had to offer him.

Basil shifted to take another sip of his drink and Gus scrunched his nose up. The taste of fire whiskey still lingered on his tongue, in his mouth, and there wasn’t much he could do to rid himself of it. He straightened his back as Foxwood knocked their shoulders together and his lips quipped up into a grin. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure when I would be able to buy a new one, and we both knew I needed the practice.” An easy laugh slipped out of his lips as he turned toward him. “If I had gotten a glimpse of even a corner of that book floating in the water, I would have dived in after it.” Hogsmeade weekend had just happened and he couldn’t wait an entire month in hopes that the bookstore would have another copy. His fingers tightened against Basil’s and he pressed their foreheads together as the man leaned into his face. “But I think we spent the afternoon in a much better way.” It had been the first of many shared kisses. It had been shy, chaste and sweet, but Gus had butterflies floating around his stomach for days after - he was certain he was floating at times too.

“Out of all the places I’ve been to Basil, I’m pretty sure our spot is still my favorite.” Gus leaned back a touch and wrapped his free hand around the glass in Foxwood’s to take it from him. It joined his own on the side table. Then the red-head wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and tugged him backwards on the bed, so they were both laying on their backs. Gus nuzzled his head into Basil’s shoulder. “Although, this year we’re going to see if I can summon a broom faster than I hit the water.” A soft laugh sounded from Gus before he fell silent.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil frowned at Lissington’s suggestion that any rift that might exist between Atticus and himself was at all attributed to that fiasco in June. No, his brother constantly found ways to dig that grave deeper for himself; the ungallant scene he’d made had only been one such example. It was disheartening in a way, since things had seemed so much better as of late. Yes, Atticus was still a pushy sod, but generally he’d been… tolerable. Maybe even safe, for the briefest of moments. 

Distracted from these thoughts by Lissington’s obvious fib then, and little squeeze, Basil pursed his lips in protest. He debated emphasizing that it really had nothing to do with Lissing and that Atticus was off his rocker but he held back as the other made a quiet little admission. I don’t think anything could take me away from you again. Basil felt something flutter against the walls of his stomach and he instinctively ducked into his drink to take a sip, cheeks warm. He realized in that moment that he hoped it was true. He really did, and it was… jarring, maybe. Something about that hope made his brain nearly short circuit as he tried to process what it meant.

Basil knew he wanted Gus around, that much had become rather obvious by his notable absence and Basil’s attention to it. He’d tried to kid himself for awhile thinking that he was only so atune to the absence because he was anxious about trusting the red-head with too much. And he was, really. Basil certainly felt apprehension still that one day something would happen, either to do with him or not, and it would be too much for Lissing to handle and he’d jump ship, again, fleeing to Merlin knew what obscure corner of the planet. But… more than just a fear of abandonment, he also knew that his attention to Lissington’s absence meant that Basil missed him. And missed him, truly. 

Basil didn’t have many friends he cared for, and even fewer who knew him well. He had mostly his crazy family, for better or worse, and a small collection of individuals he could likely count on one hand. Even then, some of those really didn’t even know him the way Lissing knew him. (Though, in retrospect, none of them could possibly know him the way Lissing knew him for other reasons…) But letting himself get attached was dangerous. Basil knew it was, though not because of Gus, whatever Atticus might think. He frankly didn’t trust himself to keep a safe distance, a safe headspace, when around the former cursebreaker.

Gus was to Basil what heat was to ice: thawing, and dangerous. It made him susceptible to vulnerability and in the wrong light could subject him to loss of self. And much like a melting snowman, he was defenseless against the barrage of invisible, intangible rays of sunshine that drew him in. As the other joked and teased about that day in their spot, it was all Basil could do to keep from touching him. But I think we spent the afternoon in a much better way. The brunette felt himself flush at the thought and unconsciously found himself agreeing. If Lissington only knew how much he’d rather have spent this moment in much the same way.

Abruptly, a laugh bubbled up from Basil breaking his dangerous thought process and he settled onto the bed beside Lissington to stare straight up at the moldings on the ceiling. Shadows danced across it, casting little figures against the stark white from the light of the fireplace. “We are not,” he protested, firmly. “That trick is as dangerous and reckless now as it was then.” And I won’t risk losing you over something stupid, he thought to himself with a sniff.

Turning his head into Lissings red hair, Basil buried his nose into it and just lay there. He didn’t have anything else to say or add, nothing that wouldn’t absolutely ruin the peace of this moment. Maybe it was the fire whiskey settling into his system, or maybe he’d always just… needed this, but he felt at peace with Lissing for the first time since January. There was an unspoken attachment between them despite everything that had happened then and since, but Basil could feel the edges of the frayed strings beginning to heal. He hoped desperately against everything he knew and believed in that Atticus was wrong. This time would be different.

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Gus Lissington

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Basil Foxwood was no fun, but Gus couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face at his laugh. He liked it when he did that. His laugh was something that made his heart swell and butterflies flutter around his stomach to remind him of feelings he couldn’t bury. It was unfair for his heart to have attached to someone like Foxwood and refuse to let go, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted and Gus learned very early on there was no reasoning with it. The brunette hadn’t helped matters since January with his constant pushing and pulling, kissing him silly and then pretending like it didn’t happen. Gus was constantly confused and consistently wanting more, torn between keeping his fingers twisted into Basil’s shirt to keep him next to him and pushing him at arm’s distance to protect himself.

Laying here now side by side, with the man’s nose pressed into his hair, he wasn’t sure where they stood. He felt like he belonged here, next to Basil, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. The real world was outside and Gus was still struggling to find his place in a world he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be a part of - the only thing that kept him in England was Basil, and even he knew he couldn’t rely on the man being his tither forever. There was just… something terrifying about losing him again.

Gus reached out to entwine their fingers together. He wondered if he should thank him again for his hospitality to shatter the silence that had fallen around them, but he knew Foxwood would just roll his eyes and frown at him. He rolled then, onto his side to face him before he leaned forward without missing a beat to press a very chaste kiss against his lips. If they were going to reminisce about their Hogwarts days of doing this, he might as well make it a reality. What’s the worst that could happen? Gus could tuck tail and find another place to stay until Irvingly was open.

(He also thought he didn’t even have to go back to Hogwarts if things ended badly between them. A bonus for a bad situation, really.)

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil was wholly unprepared, lost in his own thoughts as he was, for Lissington to reach for his hand. He felt the movement before he realized what it was and, before he could jerk away, a warmth spread all across his cheeks. Basil felt himself melt into the touch a little, unmoving even as Lissing shuffled beside him. He was entirely still, grey gaze turned up towards the ceiling once more. He… ought to tug away. He ought to sit up and leave the other to his nightly routines, but his arm felt like lead.

Not knowing what was running through the red-head’s mind worried Basil. With the amount of port and fire whiskey he'd drank dulling his usual anxieties, he wasn’t so concerned about it as he might have been, but the brunette still wondered. What could Lissing be thinking about right now? Was he too reminiscing about that time they didn’t dare to mention? Was he too feeling the nostalgia of something lost and missed? Basil let out a soft little breath, almost a sigh, as he reveled in the light contact. He was glad in a way that he couldn’t be bothered to overthink this. It wasn’t much of anything, really.

Too bad the same blasé, devil-may-care attitude could not be so easily applied to what followed.

Lissington rolled over towards him and Basil turned an expectant look on the other. He marveled briefly at how close the red-head was but reflected mostly on the idea that he was finally going to be allowed a glimpse into that bustling mind. He had expected words however, not action. As Lissington moved to close the space between them, Basil was caught entirely off guard.

For one splendidly alarming moment, every one of Basil’s warning bells went off only to be quickly hushed by the dulcet haze of alcohol and cinnamon spice. He felt overwhelmed in that moment by the scent and feel of Lissington, so much so he didn’t notice as his hand came up to press against the back of the red-head’s neck. He felt something, deep, deep down stirring in him and Basil tried not to search blindly through the dulling haze. This was good, a small voice said in the back of his mind. Just let it happen and deal with the repercussions later.

Self-destructive seemed as apt a sentiment as any in the seconds leading up to Basil’s reaction. He knew better, despite the alcohol, than to encourage this. He’d been obsessively anxious and careful around Lissington for this very reason, for not wanting to give the other the wrong impression. Evidently, something tonight had gone amiss of that goal, and Basil knew once morning came he’d be wracking his brain trying to determine what he could have done differently. (Not that it was difficult to discern, he supposed.) Still, that was a problem that he would have to come to later regardless at this point, and, taking a risk he knew could only blow up in his face more, Basil reacted.

Every fiber of his being felt like it had been lit aflame. With his fingers gently tangled into the hair at the nape of Lissing’s neck, Basil pressed forward. He felt his entire body reach out for Lissington, demanding the feel of him against every inch. It was like muscle memory, his instincts remembering something before he could properly even process what it was. Swiping his tongue demandingly against Lissington’s bottom lip, Basil made his intention clear. Battle lines had been drawn.

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Gus Lissington

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Reading Basil Foxwood was like opening a book to a random page in a book and expecting to understand the entire story from the start; Gus was never sure what reaction he’d be getting, and no two outcomes to the same situation were ever truly the same. Sometimes he wondered how fearful the man was of allowing his past and present to collide; his emotions had been stronger, less reserved, and it was almost as if he felt he might cease to exist if he were to unshelve some of the more difficult emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Gus didn’t expect him to say he loved him - that ship had sailed a long time ago, leaving himself marooned on an island as he tried desperately not to be in love with a man who broke his heart.

(Gus was quite aware if he wanted to let go of Basil, he could have. There was just something about him that made him feel like home; like he’d wasted an entire decade looking for his place in the world when he’d found it already. He’d take any place in the brunette’s life he was willing to offer.)

If anyone broke his heart, it was himself; he held onto memories like this because there was one miniscule sliver that maybe, just maybe one day, Basil would say those three words. Gus almost breathed out a laugh, knowing full well he was delusional for even thinking that. He wasn’t sure what he was to Foxwood, but someone he was in love with? Never. The very notion was ridiculous and Gus knew the universe would cease to exist in that very instance. But there was a tiny part of his heart that held onto that hope (and if he could rip that part out and stomp it to death, he would.)

This was one of those moments.

The small flicker of hope spread through his chest and warmed his entire body. Basil’s fingers slipped against the nape of his neck and Gus felt goosebumps rise against his skin; it was reminiscent of how they spent much of their seventh year. Some of his happiest moments had been with Basil; tucked against his side in their spot, sitting across from him in the Great Hall as he traumatized Basil with just how many pieces of pumpkin pie he could eat in one sitting, laughing the first time he’d gotten a spell right that the brunette had tirelessly spent weeks trying to show him how to do correctly. (Of course Gus had fallen in love. Basil had made it so easy.)

Closing his eyes, the redhead sighed against his lips and opened them obediently, the taste of fire whiskey staining his tongue. Gus loosely tangled his fingers into his shirt and pulled him forward, his other hand curling against Basil’s cheek. He pulled Basil forward before relaxing his fingers. Greed was nipping at the edges of mind, wanting more. Demanding more. But whatever the brunette was willing to give, he was willing to take.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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The feel of Lissington against him, so new and yet so achingly familiar, tugged at Basil’s heartstrings. Strings he wasn’t supposed to have laced that way to tug in the first place. The science and chemistry of it all still baffled Basil; it wasn’t… he couldn’t… and yet, here he was feeling all these wretchedly provoking emotions that made him want to stick his head in the sand and never come out again, and simultaneously give everything over to Lissing and not look back. Cloudy minded and feeling much too content to possibly care at the moment however, Basil felt a little thrill run up and down his spine.

Lissing sighed against him then, allowing Basil entry into his mouth and it took everything in the brunette not to intrude like his life depended on it. He’d never thought himself a particularly skilled kisser, having often felt the need to practice before, and he was self-conscious now, rusty as he probably was. As an adult Basil supposed he knew better than to think it was difficult, but he still felt a touch on display. Hoping to compensate by tossing caution to the wind, he pressed his tongue urgently against the red-head’s. If there was one thing the brunette knew about himself it was his determination to take charge. His hand slid down from around Lissington’s neck and without thinking about what he was doing, Basil curled his fingers through the other’s belt loops. Then, jerking Lissing forward in a possessive little tug, he felt his urgency escalate. There was something almost finite about this moment. It was fragile: a bubble growing around their heads ready to burst at any moment.

In truth, the haziness from alcohol intermingling with the headiness of having Lissington - Gus - here, beside him, touching him, snogging him, made Basil dizzy. He wasn’t sure which side was up and a lack of breath certainly didn’t help. He felt a long since buried something unfurl in his gut, tugging at his libido in a way that was startling. Reluctantly, and rather abruptly, Basil broke contact.

“Gus…” the name was strangled between soft pants and the wretched haziness he could still feel. Grey eyes screwed shut for a minute and Basil almost wished that upon opening them he’d be alone in his own room, dreaming. Not because he particularly had regrets but… only because the reality was so complicated. He stared into bright baby blues with so much emotion, so much need in his own, that it took a moment for him to come back into himself. Bloody Lissington and his bloody handsome self.

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Gus Lissington

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There was no turning back. No shutting the door and throwing up a façade that they’d done anything else today outside of snogging in the Foxwood guest room. It was scandalous, and Atticus Foxwood would be appalled if he knew what was happening on this bed. More goosebumps rose across his skin, but he focused on the pair of lips that fit perfectly against his, and how intoxicating his tongue tasted. Vaguely, Gus recognized he was taking advantage of him - alcohol dulled the senses, and while he was clearly consenting, his mind wasn’t sharp to remind him what a bad idea this was. What a bad idea Gus was. He felt his body move forward and in turn he looped his leg, albeit a bit awkwardly given the angle, around Basil’s waist to keep him in place.

Any thought he had dissipated: his entire mind swirled with thoughts of Basil, Basil, Basil. The greed continued to fill in around the edges demanding to take what the other would give. Demand it. Make him give what he’d withheld for so long. But then he was leaning back, and Gus was panting, staring up at cloudy, grey hues. Blinking, well aware his own eyes must be glossy, he breathed out and unhooked his leg from Basil’s waist, allowing it to drop awkwardly back to the bed. His hand slid from his cheek as he released his shirt, where he folded his fingers against his chest to keep himself from tracing his fingertips lightly against the man’s skin.

A strangled noise came from his throat as he opened his mouth, causing Gus to clamp his mouth and offer him a sheepish grin instead. The events of the past few minutes finally flitted into his brain, clarity, rather, and he found his cheeks tinged pink; it wasn’t a secret how he felt about Basil. Should he apologize? That would make the situation even more awkward plus he was never going to be truly apologetic about the whole ordeal. He managed to get his breathing under control, and Gus turned his eyes toward him. “We don’t have to do that again if you don’t want to.” A whisper. A promise. He wasn’t going to take advantage of him. (Even if he really wanted to.)

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Basil Foxwood

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