November 7, 1892  - Ravenclaw Tower

Emptiness was all he felt when he fled the Bartonburg house, the silence of the walls echoing around him; he’d left with nothing but empty confusion, the feeling of dread sinking to the very pit of stomach that nothing was ever going to be the same again. The walls of the house would hold nothing but memories, and even then they’d been overwhelming: Fig’s first burst of magic when she’d accidentally turned his hair blonde and the magical reversal squad had to be called; he and Fig settled by their father’s feet while he spun magical tales of his early curse breaking days; Ma helping him with his writing so he could write to Da while he was gone and anxiously awaiting the return of the owl. Each step was a new memory.  Each step chipped away at his heart until he felt there was nothing left in his chest.

Gus had no intention of ever stepping foot inside that house again,  but of course he’d have to – no matter how much he yearned for it, he couldn’t just abandon the house. No, he’d have to deal with everything inside. Box it, sell it, donate it because he didn’t have his own place to put it all. The very thought of it all made him feel sick. It all made everything real when all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and will himself to wake up from his nightmare.

But the nightmare was his reality and all it made him feel was empty. His heart was gone; what Foxwood had broken the past few days had shattered beyond recognition – he was going to be living proof that it was possible to die from a broken heart. What made it worse was there was no one who would make him feel the slightest bit of something, that there wasn’t a single person who could explain why it was his dad who had died and not one someone else. It had been abrupt. No one had given him time to prepare. Then in the same breath of burying his father, his mother had been whisked away to an asylum because she couldn’t live alone. She hadn’t even recognized him. Fig was inaccessible. The only people he wanted in life were the ones who had left him.

The emptiness felt like pins and needles that stabbed at his insides until he felt sick. Gus was lonely and scared and lost, and it was only his inability to say anything without the tears falling that kept him from screaming. He’d done that inside the walls of his childhood home until his throat was raw. Then he’d collapsed to the floor and sobbed in agony, flooding the bottom floor with tears until he was drowning in sorrow; he was a boat lost at sea with wishes that he would drown in it.

But Gus had returned to Hogwarts to get away from the ghosts of memories past, of a time where things were simpler. Of times where he’d been truly and utterly happy. Now he paced the hallway with his hands pulled to his chest, wringing them together to fight the tears that welled. His breathing was ragged and each one felt like it would be his last because pulling in more air felt like an uphill battle Gus didn’t want to fight. Just laying down and admitting defeat sounded wonderful. Anyone who would miss him had lived without him for a decade, and would continue to be fine if he were to just disappear. 

Every time he paced in front of Foxwood’s door his hands raked through his hair and he blew a hot breath of air from his lips because he could never force himself to pause long enough to knock.

He didn’t know why he’d gone to Foxwood at all – perhaps it was the familiarity, perhaps it was the warmness that had once grown in his chest whenever he saw the man. Perhaps now he knew Foxwood couldn’t break his heart anymore no matter how hard he tried. He’d done a damn good job at that earlier. Foxwood had always been good at talking him off the ledge, at pulling him back down to earth, but he felt like this time he’d drifted too far.

They weren’t friends anymore.

All Foxwood was going to do was turn him away.

Just another person he’d lost in a short amount of time.

Gus covered his mouth as he hiccupped, the feeling of grief overwhelming him with each step. Finally abandoning the idea of knocking, the professor pressed his back against the brick and slid down the wall, his knees raising to his chest. Then he dropped his head toward his knees, his fingers raking through his hair and swallowed a sob. It hurt as it bubbled from his throat, ricocheting around him. If he didn’t keep this feeling inside his chest he was going to shatter into an infinite amount of pieces without a single spell in existence that could put him back together.

All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn’t put Gus together again.

All he wanted was a hug and the sweet lies whispered that everything was going to be alright.

It wasn’t going to be – Gus had lost mostly everything that mattered to him and there wasn’t a way to replace it. He’d loved and it had done nothing but nearly kill him in the end. Part of him regretted that it didn’t. But at least with the emptiness it meant he didn’t feel the pain; he didn’t feel much of anything. (But it would all come crashing down on him soon, wouldn’t it?)

He curled in on himself  as he dropped his forward to his knees, a watery sigh escaping him. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. Gus shakily exhaled between his fingers still covering his lips like it was going to help at all. Just a few more minutes and he’d will himself to his feet to lay in his bed. There at least he’d be out of the way.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Merida Greyback

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One month and ten days… that was how long it had been since the evening on the cliff face with Lissington. Forty days and forty nights. How poetic, Basil thought ironically. Even still, despite everything that had happened with Atticus (the engagement, the fights, the appearance of courting) and with Ms. Victoire (her support, their agreement, his reliance on her), even Diana (her transformation, their little chat, the pain of being known and loved anyway) — Basil still felt just as empty as he had that evening.

It was like his gut had clenched, wrapping his intestines all up into knots, and had refused to budge since. Eating was impossible, and smoking? Basil hated to admit how daily a habit it had become. He looked more drawn these days than usual, like a walking corpse. One of the first years had commented upon it; she’d cracked a joke when she thought the professor was out of earshot but Basil had heard it. He’d heard it, and sunk into it. The grief wasn’t just Lissington though, he supposed. It was probably a combination of stressors that were starting to overwhelm the brunette what with everything happening all at once.

Out there, in the great wide world, there was someone who knew more than he wanted anyone to know about him and Lissington. Someone he didn’t really know in return and who, at the drop of a sickle, could decide she no longer wanted to keep his— their secret. Diana had, in the palm of her once-paw, every power over Basil that the brunette had never in all his days willed anyone to have. Some nights he was sure she would tell someone - mama maybe, or Atticus - and he couldn’t keep down the bile that rose at the thought and made him wretch. (He’d already had to apologize to the house elves twice.)

All in all, the transfiguration professor was veritably a ghost of who he’d been at the beginning of term. What a lovely summer had come before everything went straight to hell.

Today he was trying his best to keep everything under wraps; to keep the lid on a bubbling, brewing anxiety that threatened at every moment to consume him. As Basil shut the door to his office and tried to escape his thoughts, he wondered idly if the only safe space left was his quarters. He didn’t trust lingering too long in his classroom, or even his office really. It felt… too exposed. At any moment someone could waltz in on him having an episode and Basil wouldn't be able to explain himself if prompted. No. He'd taken to grading in his quarters as of late, and research? He hadn't looked at his work in weeks. (Poor Ida would fret soon if he ignored her much longer.) He barely popped into the Great Hall as it was.

A disservice to the students, surely? You’re a wretched excuse for a professor, putting your own needs before theirs.

Basil grit his teeth.

The walk from his Transfiguration classroom to Ravenclaw Tower was muscle memory by now, instinct even, after the past few weeks. Basil was on autopilot as he rounded the final corner and wholly unprepared for the sight that would greet him. Coming up short and halting abruptly, the brunette started.

There, curled up like an urchin and looking miserably low was the very person he’d been avoiding like the plague. And, to make matters worse, the red-head was camped out in front of his door evidently here with purpose. For a moment, Basil was inclined to think he was imagining things. Had his nerves finally frayed enough that he was cracked? Was this early madness coming to swallow him whole? You’re not that lucky, Foxwood… something nasty whispered in the back of his mind. So this had to be reality then.

Inching forward, confusion scrawled all over weary features, Basil approached the very clear form of Lissington curled up on the ground. He looked… worn too, broken even. Instantly Basil’s frazzled confusion spluttered. Had he done this? Was Gus looking, feeling, and sitting here like this his fault? Guilt touched at the anxiety in Basil’s heart but the brunette shoved it aside as he crouched carefully before the other. No, something had happened. Something more than just their conversation had to have prompted Lissington into this state, that much Basil knew deep in his bones.

“Gus?” He whispered gently, reaching out a hand to brush against the red-head’s sleeve. Touching him after all that had passed felt different, electric maybe even, but Basil ignored the sensation. He had to get to the bottom of whatever this was… and soon, before a wandering Ravenclaw on their way to the common room spotted them. Basil’s fingers curled into the red-head’s sleeve (and held for dear life). “Gus, what’s happened?” His voice was molten with concern, even as Basil bit back an endearment between ‘Gus’ and ‘ what’. Even before it had never been his place to speak in such a way, but now? (Now, knowing what he wanted and how much he couldn’t have it, was hard for Basil to reconcile.) The brunette cleared his throat.

“Come in to my rooms,” Basil murmured gently, tugging on the other’s sleeve. “Let me get you a cup of tea.”

Please.

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Gus Lissington

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Closing his eyes had been a horrible idea, and he was too wrapped up in his own head to even consider the repercussions of what would happen if someone outside of Foxwood found him. But at the point in time it didn’t matter – all Gus could focus on was the letter that had come abruptly the night before, an owl he didn’t recognize insistently tapping at his window until he retched it up to allow it to flutter inside his room. The owl had just gone straight to his desk and perched on the edge of it, waiting for the professor to take the envelope with his name across it, written in a handwriting that was unfamiliar to him…

The hand that brushed against his sleeve sent a jolt of electricity through him, and it took everything in Gus not to tear his arm away, especially as Foxwood's voice broke through the darkness and shifted his mind back to clarity of why he was even here; maybe he was just overwhelmed, but every little touch felt ten times as intense. Instead he pressed his face against his knees and shook his head, his fingers digging into his hair. There was so much that was wrong – the fallout of losing Foxwood a few weeks ago, five years missing of being an uncle, his dad, that there he wasn’t even sure where to start. There wasn’t a beginning, just an end, and it was taking everything he had to keep himself from shattering. He breathed out and swallowed a half sob; it took everything in him to keep the feeling locked away in his ribcage.

“I’m sorry.” His voice broke, hardly louder than a whisper as he finally dared to raise his eyes to meet the man’s gaze. There were a few emotions that flickered across his face, although Gus focused on the concern that matched the tone he was trying to focus on; to keep himself grounded with. Something in the back of his brain chimed in that he didn’t deserve that look anymore, that he’d been the one to walk away so what right did he have to waltz back to him like nothing had happened? Nothing. Gus just wanted a friend and without being able to reach Fig, Basil was the closest person to him he wanted comfort from. He didn’t offer anything more – there wasn’t anything else to say, but instead lifted the hand Basil wasn’t attached to and wiped his face with it, before he nodded.

He didn’t particularly like tea but something warm sounded nice – Mam always fed them honey by the spoonful when he and Fig weren’t feeling well, and he’d pour copious amounts of honey into the tea until he felt like himself again; maybe it would fill the space where he began not to feel anything. Numbness was a feeling he wasn’t used to, and Gus was frightened to embrace it. It took him another moment to straighten his legs, followed by a second to drag himself up the wall, and then, almost instantly leaned against the other with most of his body weight, curling into him. He was grounding and Gus didn’t want to feel like he was floating off again because it was the worst feeling he’d dealt with in a while; he'd been spiraling down a drain the past few weeks.

Even when they stepped toward the door Gus was unwilling to let Foxwood go, and he curled his fingers into the back of his robe to keep himself close. His throat felt like it was closing and he let out a tiny whimper as he shuffled inside of the room; once upon a time Gus would have taken the time to look around, to soak in the homeliness and comfort that Basil Foxwood’s room would bestow, but today he pressed further against him. Sighing softly, he finally released the back of his robe, lifting each finger one by one until his hand lingered against his back.

Gus’ gaze flicked to the ground with the refusal to step away, so instead he raked his fingers through his hair before dropping his head against his shoulder, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Foxwood was warm and smelled of old books and a mixture of spices – a stark contrast to his father who’d always smelled more earthy than anything. ((He realized too late how difficult it would be to actually make tea if he wouldn’t let Basil go, but Gus had lost enough people that the thought of him stepping away was almost frightening.)

He hiccupped quietly. The explanation of what happened was on the tip of his tongue because rationality told him Basil wanted to know what drove him here, in this instance; he’d spent the better part of their time apart avoiding him, spending copious amount of time cooped up inside of his own room, or, when he needed a breath of fresh air, sitting on top one of the countertops in the Greenhouse absentmindedly stroking a plant. Mason hadn’t mentioned anything to him yet, although he felt it was only a matter of time before he did. Gus wasn’t sure what he’d say. 

It took him another moment to speak. “I’m sorry.” A repetition of words in case Foxwood hadn’t heard him the first time. Sorry for being here, sorry for asking for your support, especially when I wasn’t even here when your father passed. Did he even deserve the comfort he knew Foxwood was going to show him? ‘

Probably not, but he was always a glutton for things he didn’t deserve.

The words were sticky in his throat as he continued to force them out. “I didn’t…” A heavy breath, another sigh; it was getting harder and harder to keep himself together and he felt himself start to shake. He looked anywhere else except for Basil’s face.. “ I didn't know where else to go.” He couldn’t even get the words out, couldn’t find the right words to explain it.

“My dad, Basil. My dad…” Gus whispered the words as he took a step backward; saying them would make it real, wouldn’t it? His heart hurt. He raised his head toward the ceiling and let out a strangled noise.

“I’m sorry.” He finally settled on instead. Although this time, he wasn’t sure what he meant by it.

---

Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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Lissington’s first sad little words nearly broke Basil’s heart all over again. I’m sorry. There was nothing in the world the red-head had to apologize for in this instance; not showing up here, not being upset, not even making a scene in the corridor and expecting it to all work out fine. Whatever it was that had driven him to this state was evidently egregious and Basil’s heart went out to Lissing, his fingers curling tighter into the other professor’s sleeve.

“Don’t be,” he murmured, patiently. This was not going to be a quick duck and run, that much Basil knew. His skin was on fire at the idea of being discovered. This, here, curled up and leaning over Lissington - was exactly what Basil had been scared of all these years. He knew that when the other needed him most, there wasn’t anything in the bloody world that would stop him from being there. He’d never understood exactly why, other than their being friends, but now… (Basil had never realized before why the thought was always so alarming, so dangerous.)

It was painful watching Lissington wipe his face and then having to stare into those miserable blue eyes. There was nothing that Basil wanted more in this world than to make everything better, even if he didn’t know what ‘everything’ entailed. Instead, he kept a close hold of the wobbly red-head even as Lissington acquiesced to stand and they moved towards his quarters. He could feel the other pressing into him, trying to almost melt into a contact that would somehow, some way, make him feel less… lonely? It was a familiar sentiment, and Basil allowed it as they maneuvered into the room past his spells and enchantments.

When the door finally closed behind them, Basil sucked in a deep breath, suddenly very aware that Lissington was nuzzled into his shoulder. His heart ached as he brought up a hand to press gently against the other’s head. He didn’t want to move away, to create a space between them that might suck Lissington into a vacuum lacking air. It was obvious something devastating had occurred, and if Basil was familiar with anyone’s coping mechanisms, it was the red-head pressed into his side. Any wrong move and the other would run scurrying away in the direction most opposed to his own needs, and this time Basil wasn’t going to let him. (Or give him an excuse to run.)

Gus hiccuped in his ear and Basil stood still, willing himself not to turn around or encroach any closer. (It was almost like handling a porcelain doll that might leap to life at any moment; one needed care and tact to keep from loosing their marbles.) Eventually Lissington apologized again and Basil’s heart sank. Again. He didn’t respond, waiting to see if there was anything else. (There was and slowly the red-head managed to splutter something out making it finally impossible for him to stand there with his back to Lissing.)

I didn’t know where else to go.

Basil’s heart skipped a beat and he turned with the utmost care, one hand always on the red-head. He maneuvered Lissing onto the front of his shoulder and carefully placed his free hand on the other’s hip, fingers tangling into his robes. He didn’t want to tug Gus closer for fear of startling him but the urge to wrap him in an embrace was overwhelming. When the other tugged away, whispered little words seemed to shatter their world and suddenly — Basil understood. No!

“Oh Gus,” the brunette breathed, his voice raspy. What a terrible reality.

Basil had known Mr. Lissington, once. He was a vibrant individual, full of life and stories just like Gus. He remembered in that moment the first time he’d ever met the man. It had been over the holiday break their seventh year and Basil could remember so vividly how awed he’d been to meet a living, breathing version of his best friend… from the future. Mr. Lissington had been like an adult replica of his son in everything from appearance to mannerisms. The way they walked, talked, and even laughed! He couldn’t have imagined a more clear look into his friend’s future than if they’d looked into a magical glass. Now, comparing that version of Lissington to this, Basil could clearly delineate differences but they were remarkably similar, even still.

Without thinking much about what he was doing, Basil’s hands came up and wrapped around the red-head’s torso, tugging him into a hug. Distance be damned. (This was an extenuating circumstance, anyway.) Burying his nose in Gus’ shoulder, Basil breathed in the scent of chocolate and spices. Gus always had smelled like a sweet shop, he remembered with chagrin. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” the brunette whispered. “I’m sorry, to hear this terrible news.” His voice was soft, but held strong. Basil knew he had to be in that moment, even if he was still a little shell-shocked himself. 

Pulling back a touch, the brunette pressed his forehead against the other’s and placed one hand on the back of the former Hufflepuff’s neck. He carded his fingers gently through the hair at the nape there, soothingly. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He murmured, wishing more than life itself he could do something to make this better. There likely wasn’t, but he was determined to try.

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Gus Lissington

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   Gus Lissington

When they finally parted, Foxwood’s back was to him, and he could only ponder if this was going to be him turning him away; he didn’t deserve this comfort, and while recognition flared across his face for a second, it didn’t mean he didn’t want it. He’d always been a tactile person, so when he finally turned around and touched him, Gus let out a sigh of contentment. It wasn’t a hug that he wanted, but he couldn’t blame Foxwood for not wanting to touch him. He’d just have to wait for Fig to answer his letter and come home before he’d be allowed one of those. (Fig gave the best hugs anyway.)

Basil understood without him needing to finish the sentence and for a moment he was able to ignore the realities of his life – his dad was dead and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. Gus selfishly would take him as a ghost to have in his life, but wouldn’t wish him an entire eternity of unfinished business, being forced to watch his family die again and again. If it hurt this much to lose one person, Gus didn’t even want to consider the thought of having to watch generations of people die. He knew his father wasn’t coming back, as the letter had been a request to identify his body this morning. He’d touched his face and felt the coolness of his skin against his fingers. It was a sight that would haunt Gus every time he closed his eyes.

Then he’d spent a whirlwind of the morning attempting – and failing – to make funeral arrangements, being pulled this way and that way. Strangers had made him feel like a caged animal as they watched him, whispering and prodding him to ensure his cracks weren’t going to break him. They had; the redhead had just been waiting to be alone before he allowed them to show.

Basil’s arms snaked around him, and Gus breathed in deeply as he stepped into the embrace. This was his comfort and if anyone was going to keep him from shattering into pieces, it was him; he knew the man would put him into a jar and work tirelessly until he was positive he’d be able to piece Gus together perfectly again and for that, he was thankful. Foxwood was being far too kind to him in his moment of need, and Gus, selfish as he was, was going to soak up every moment. He couldn’t hurt more later than he did right now. He shook against him and buried his nose into the brunette’s hair, nodding against his locks instead of trusting his voice to speak. There wasn’t a single person – living or dead – who had disliked his father and the sky was going to be much darker without his father’s presence to light up the world.

The sobs were stifled as he first attempted to hide his grief until the other carded his fingers through his hair; defenses were washed away as a wave of emotion shattered his walls. “I miss him.” Gus’ voice was raw as he forced the words from his throat; saying the word spoke his passing into existence - something Gus wasn’t ready to face. Instead he focused on saying what Basil asked – if he needed anything.

A hug had been a start. In that moment he didn’t feel entirely empty, a tiny of spark of something fluttering his stomach – appreciation, perhaps? Basil felt like a cocoon, and he felt safe from the world, even if just for a moment; his body relaxed against his and he sighed.That made the dam break, and he finally wrapped his own arms around Foxwood’s waist to sob against his shoulder; it was ugly and his legs wobbled but he managed to keep himself upright. They kept coming and coming until he felt the entire room was going to flood and they’d both drowned; it poured out of him in waves and he recognized in the back of his mind it was more than just his father he was mourning in that moment. Grief was something he had learned to lock away in a box, but this moment he hadn’t been able to lock away. It wasn’t common to outwardly express emotions as he was, but if anyone knew Gus, they knew how large he lived life; how he wore every emotion on his sleeve for the world to see. Outside of owling Fig he hadn’t told anyone else; he was a coward and didn’t want to face the world right now.

His breath shuddered as he finally stepped back from him, wiping his sleeve against his face; his eyes were rimmed red, puffy, and glossy with his cheeks bright red. SHe swallowed as he rubbed the back of his neck, knowing damn well he had to answer his question one way or another.

Then he paused and blew out a breath of air while sniffling as he raised his eyes toward the ceiling, unwilling to make any form of eye contact with Basil Foxwood; his fingers nervously rubbed against the sleeve of his robe. “A friend.” He finally whispered. They had decided not to be friends (or rather, he had decided not to be anything when he’d walked away from him.) But now, more than ever, he wanted Basil Foxwood as one. He wasn’t going to make everything disappear and vanish with the wave of his wand, but he was going to serve as solid ground while Gus attempted to find his footing again.

“ And maybe some tea?” Gus finally croaked as he took a step back “With honey?”

---

  

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As he stood there, holding the most precious part of any humans’ body (the cranium) in his palm and carding his fingers through Lissington’s hair, Basil felt all the anguish in the redhead’s large frame begin to dribble out. It was almost a tangible thing, something that with the right spell could be cast into a fog that would have filled the whole room. Basil ached for him, to make it better, to do anything he possibly could— but the reality of it was that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anybody could do.

As Gus spluttered three little words into his shoulder and began to break, Basil closed grey eyes and tangled his fingers deeper into the other’s robes. He clung as if both their lives depended on not being separated by any means and perhaps it helped, perhaps it didn’t. He didn’t want to stifle Lissington in any way, but he wanted the redhead to know he was supported, that he was cared for in the event of anything else that might come hurling his way. There wasn’t much Basil was realizing he wouldn’t do for Gus and frankly - the thought scared him a little bit.

Fingers continued carding through red locks as the other let out all of his emotions into the big wide room. This was good. This was… healthy, right? It was a tad uncomfortable, as everything British and stilted and emotionally stifled inside of Basil cried out against the inelegance of it, but even more than that, Basil was just glad Gus felt comfortable enough to come to him in the first place. It was a strangely flattering thought, if he let himself think on it. Surely this meant there was something not yet broken between them? Some small remnant of a tie that could be built upon if they willed it? It was selfish of him to think this way, especially now as Gus practically collapsed in his arms from grief, and yet Basil held onto the idea. He would tuck it away for later, perhaps, for further reflection.

Eventually Lissington eased enough to lift his head and Basil offered the other a watery, lopsided smile. He brushed red, sweaty bangs from the ginger’s face and tried to keep his heart from breaking, again, as the other’s request settled into the small space between them. A friend. the one thing he’d told Lissington he couldn’t be anymore.

“Of course,” Basil murmured, without hesitation. For what was he, if not a friend to Lissington at this stage? There was nothing less he could conceive of being anymore, even if they never took another step— past friendship.

Fingers dropped form the other’s head as Gus stepped back, but Basil held still to his robes, unwilling to let Lissington go entirely. Already he felt cold and sad without the other in his arms; at least holding him had been a way of providing some comfort. He dropped the robes a moment later - reluctantly - as Gus requested tea, but moved only to rest that same hand on the other’s arm gently. He nodded, and made motion to guide Lissington to his armchair by the window. When Basil was satisfied Lissington was comfortable, he turned to the small corner of his quarters where he kept a teapot and some snacks. His secret stash for particularly rough nights. The empty fire whiskey bottle had been cleared long ago, but the space it had occupied still haunted him when he passed.

Basil gave his wand a flick and a teacup floated to life. The tea began to prepare itself, water filling the pot and a small device used to strain leaves settling within. Basil selected a softer tea for Lissington, something with valerian root and chamomile to calm the nerves, as opposed to the monstrosity of a black ink tea he himself drank day and night. He added a copious amount of honey into the thing, knowing full well that the sweet smell that accompanied his redhead was not solely scent alone. It was indication of preference, and if anything was going to help Lissington now, it was the comfort of something sweet. Then, adding three drops of a potion the apothecary had been prescribing him since his first case of vapors in his third year, Basil turned back to his guest.

“Here,” he said gently, moving to pass the saucer into Lissington’s hands. The pot floated after him delicately, waiting to refill as needed. “It’s a gentler sort, and I added a few drops of my erm— calming draught.” Here Basil paused to scratch the back of his head awkwardly, cheeks turning pink. He didn’t know if Gus would remember his episodes, but he didn’t particularly want to elaborate. “It should help ease your discomfort a touch.” At least he could do that.

Settling another hand, again, on Lissington’s shoulder, Basil sighed. He knew it wasn’t enough, his companionship and a cup of tea, but he didn’t know what else to do. Touch was his way of comforting others, his ‘love language’ if you could believe it. Very few knew, or were privy to this select group, but Basil decided not to hesitate now with Lissington. The other needed him and this at least was familiar and known to them.

“Do you need any help with preparations or the like?” He offered, gently. It was a bit of a shot in the dark if mentioning funeral preparations would send Gus into another spiral, but Basil was trying. He hoped the redhead could see that.

---

Gus Lissington

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Gus inclined his head at him as Foxwood confirmed their friendship, even if it was just a temporary one while he worked on piecing himself back together; the man kept a hold of him as if he thought the redhead was going to run – even if he wanted to it would be impossible for him. There was no one else in the world who would step up and arrange a funeral, and there was nowhere on the entire globe Gus could hide from the truth. He shuffled his feet with a desire to jump back into his arms, to bury his face into his shoulder and hold on for dear, but inside he found his fingers tremulously rubbing the fabric of his sleeve. (There was no doubt that the professor was going to have to replace his robes sooner rather than later, as he was going to wear the fabric thin if he kept that up.)

His body relaxed when Basil guided him to chair, and he hummed quietly as he sat on the edge; even at nearly thirty there was an innate desire to curl in on himself rather than sit like a normal person would, but he wasn’t sure the man would appreciate having dirty feet against the fabric. Rather, Gus leaned forward and rested his elbow against his thighs before dropping his head into his hands, fingers digging into his hair. As each second ticked by, the empty confusion that had filled him began to drain, merely to be replaced with a deep melancholy that was settling into his bones, feeling each crevice and nook with something so overwhelming he wasn’t sure he was ever going to smile again.

Lifting his eyes then to prevent himself from spiraling down that path, Gus watched as Basil made a pot of tea; it was something mundane and it felt domestic, to be sitting in his living quarters watching it happen, and had he been here for any other reason he may have allowed his imagination to run wild. What it would be like to have this forever. But no, they were just temporary friends (probably until Basil could figure out a way to kindly ask him to leave), and Gus was going to milk every moment he could. He missed him more than he was willing to admit to anyone; ever since Basil had come back into his life things had been tense, but better than they had in years. It warmed his heart to see him jump into action when Gus needed him, even if Gus hadn’t been able to extend the same courtesy when he’d found Foxwood in the woods some weeks ago. He was selfish.

He sighed again as he scrubbed his hands over his face, only lifting his head as Foxwood finally addressed him.

Accepting the saucer then, Gus straightened his back as he stared down at the inviting liquid; it smelled overly sweet, just how he liked most liquids (everything outside of gilly water, although there had been a time many years ago he’d drop a sugar cube into it for some kind of taste), but his stomach squelched at the sight of it. Instead of taking a sip, he wrapped his fingers around the mug and blew on the rising steam. “Thanks.” He mumbled, taking note of the extra items Basil had put in to help cure some of his ailments; it made sense for him to have the calming draught, especially as the man’s cheeks tinted because, but dredging up the past seemed like it would only end in ruin. Gus had had enough of that today.

Gus leaned his head toward the hand settling against his shoulder and sighed. Then he finally took a sip of the tea; it warmed his chest and settled into the pit of his stomach, but somehow it didn’t feel foreign. The numbness he’d been feeling since this morning was beginning to wear off.

“I don’t even know where to start. I went by the house and did everything I could there…” The house elves had been upset too, as they helped cover the mirrors and draw the curtains. Placing family portraits face-down had taken ages because each one held a memory that he felt he should take the time to reminisce on. “I spent the morning doing what I could –” Only because someone who’d watched him crumple had stepped him through the process, but even then Gus had been hardly listening; the fear of missing a step and being shunned for it was something else that weighed in the back of his mind. His shoulders slumped as he shifted to stare down at the tea again.. “But do I send invitations out? How am I going to get the house ready from here? I don’t… I don’t think I can even go back inside without them in it.”

Shaking his head, that had been a lot to throw at Basil at once,  Gus maneuvered himself to be able to look at his face. “I can’t get in contact with Fig. She doesn’t even know yet, but I know she'd have everything planned to the last detail if she did.” He sighed again as he closed his eyes. “What do I even wear now?” He hadn’t realized by that time he’d started shaking again, and the tea sloshed around in the cup, but luckily didn’t spill over the side. He wrapped both hands around the tea before he took a long sip of it to let his mind catch up with what his mouth had been saying.

“I can’t do this, Basil. I can’t –”

---

Basil Foxwood

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---

Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil noted immediately how Lissington accepted the teacup and saucer but proceeded not to lift it to his lips, once. He gave the redhead’s shoulder a small squeeze.

It was terrible, really, what Lissington was going through. There was so little anyone could do for him and the pain that had swelled up inside was like a bubble that was both uncomfortable and painful all at once. Basil wished he could alleviate it, but beyond giving the other a draught and maybe patting him on the back, he wasn’t sure what else there really was to do? Besides… regrettably, Basil didn’t know what the pain of losing a father one was close to even felt like.

He’d loved his father, sure. Or respected him, maybe, more aptly. But the first Atticus Foxwood had been a hard man to please. Nothing Basil ever did was good enough for him, not in school and certainly not out of it. When he’d passed away from the plague Basil had felt a sense of loss, but it had never come close to the way he’d felt originally when Lissington abandoned him left for Egypt. It had been uncomfortable as all change was, maybe even a little bit more sad than usual. But Basil hadn’t felt the devastation that was rocking through the pretty redhead beside him now. That had fallen more to Atticus than to Basil. Running his fingers through Gus’ hair gently as the other leaned into his touch, Basil sighed. He knew it was going to be like this for him when Mama passed away. Hopefully that wouldn’t be for a long time yet, but the thought still troubled him.

Basil turned grey hues dutifully to Lissington as the other began to discuss funeral preparations. He nodded gravely, brow creased with worry as the other admitted to his hardship. “I think a notice in the post should be enough,” he said gently. “Invitations shouldn’t be necessary.” Basil thought about it for a moment and then added: “But you may want to owl any relatives at a distance. I can help if you’d like? I’ve no problem scribbling up a few things if it would help.” He felt his heartstrings tug tighter at the thought. Imagining Gus just sitting in his office at a desk, writing out the same death notice over and over again made something inside of Basil flinch.

When the other revealed he hadn’t yet gotten in touch with his sister, Basil sucked in a small breath. Figueroa. He hadn’t even considered her in the whirlwind of Lissington’s emotions and sweeping into the room. Oh how devastatingly terrible this would be for her, too. And Gus was right; Figueroa probably would have planned everything seamlessly, painfully, on her own. She was just… the best? In that way. Deciding he couldn’t say as much to Gus at a thought of discouraging him, Basil met the other’s gaze reassuringly. “Don’t worry about Fig,” he replied. “She’s strong and she’ll be fine, just like you.” Because I promise Gus, you will be fine, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. “I can help you with the attire if you need, that’s an easy fix, and you can do this Gus.” Basil slid from his place beside the chair to bend just beside the other at eye level. (Almost as if he was talking to a first year.)

“You’re both the strongest, most independent people I know,” he whispered gently. His hand had come to rest on the redhead’s arm and Basil tangled his fingers gently into Gus’ robes to give him a small squeeze. “I know it’s going to be hard. The house is always going to feel a little different now, sure. But you can do this Gus,” he repeated again, more firmly. “And I’ll be here with you step by step, along with Fig and all the other friends you’ve amassed over the years. We’ll support you both through this, and always.” He tried to offer a helpful little smile, but even Basil could feel that it was a half-hearted attempt. He pressed the teacup closer to Lissington.

“Why don’t you take a sip of this? It should help the overwhelmed feeling you have,” he prompted, gently. Overwhelmed was one way of putting it. The draught was meant to pull him back from the edges of frayed insanity when the world was feeling too tight, too asphyxiating around him. Basil had come out of many an episode with the aid of this little liquid, something he’d learned quickly to rely upon when Atticus talking him down in public quickly became a non-starter.

---

Gus Lissington

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A notice in the post should be enough.

Gus hadn’t even considered submitting a notice to the post – there wasn’t a single bone in him that wanted the condolences and pity that would flood in after, especially because the blasted owls would come here to deliver them. How was he supposed to live in denial if everyone around him knew something was amiss? The notice was just going to have to wait then.

(He was well aware that if he didn’t do it, Fig would take care of it. She always had a way with words in ways he didn’t; Gus was good at talking about his adventures, but Fig was phenomenal at spinning tales out of the ordinary. Seamus was a very lucky child to have a mother who could pluck story after story out of thin air on a dime; his dreams must be a stark contrast to his he quotidian realities, although Gus could only hope he embraced it. He was a Lissington after all, even if just by blood and not by name, and the need for adventure rippled through all their souls.

The need to run away from his own realities was part of his, but this time it was something that would follow him for the remainder of his miserable existence no matter how far he ran. Gus slunk further into the chair before he nodded. The thought of sitting at his desk writing the same words repetitively – painstakingly slow too, so they were legible, made his stomach squelch. “If it’s not an inconvenience to you. I know you’re busy.” A breath shuddered from his chest and he slowly raised his head toward him. “Thank you.” Even though the real thing he wanted to say was I’m sorry for uprooting your entire evening; you can kick me out whenever you want. His gaze lowered toward the teacup still nestled in his hands.

He chuckled quietly at the idea of not worrying about Fig; she had been his first friend – his best friend, too, even when he’d been shitty to her in every aspect, and on top of that, she was his little sister. She was married to someone he had never even met – Edward, Eduardo, Edison, Edwin, Eamon? He was a mystery to Gus and he could only pray that he treated Fig with the dignity and respect she deserved. Until they met face to face so he could size his brother-in-law up he’d worry for her. Hopefully Eidan would be just as supportive as Foxwood was for him. His fingers drummed against the side of the porcelain as Gus considered his words.

Would he be fine? When things went wrong and he felt like everything was crashing down around him, he was self destructive; but he’d come to Basil to prevent himself from spiraling down that path again. So, he sucked in a sharp breath of air before he raised his eyes to meet Basil, who was now in front of him. Gus wanted to reach out to take his hand, but Basil beat him to it by tangling his own hands in his robe. “Okay. I trust your judgment on clothing better than me.” He didn’t even try to smile, and the joke fell flat. Gus cleared his throat. He’d have to do this. “My scarf though… Do you still, um, have it? I want to, you know. He wasn’t one, but I still want him to… well.” Shrugging his shoulders, the redhead blinked back down at his legs. He knew what was trying to convey, and Basil was a smart man. He’d figure it out, too.

He almost laughed at the thought of him being strong. He was weak when it came to things that mattered, either running away from his problems or pushing them on to someone else; but that wasn’t a here and now argument. Instead he forced an uncomfortable smile. “I’m going to sell it, I think. Fig is married now, living with her husband, and what will I do with a house that large? I’m never going to fill it.” It was a fair statement – it was always going to be just him and maybe a house elf. Plus Phil, but the niffler was prone to sleeping above his head and would do just fine in a flat. But then Basil was repeating that he could do this, and his stomach flipped at the thought of Foxwood believing in him, even if he wasn’t able to decipher it was a truth or a lie. But then he went and lied through his teeth, spewing a world like always – Basil was going to redefine the damn word because Gus, as his stomach flipped and his heart broke even further, knew that he wouldn’t stick around.

Once Fig was home and Gus wasn’t in his space, Basil Foxwood would forget about him. The thought was a punch to the gut. He didn’t want to tell anyone either; it wasn’t that he didn’t want the support, he just didn’t want to have to put on a happy face eventually, when right now he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay. “I don’t want to ever have to do this without you.” He finally breathed out. Even with his heart in pieces, they still beat for Basil Foxwood. He wished they’d stopped beating altogether. “I wish I hadn’t walked away from you, you know. Back then, now. Ever. I’m sorry that I did.” Gus swallowed hard, then, but he lifted his gaze and refused to look away from the grey eyes in front of him.

Despite the insistence of Foxwood, he would have taken a sip of the liquid anyway; Gus had no desire to flounce down this path again, but here was dredging up the past. Again. He was good at that. So he finally brought the cup to his lips and took a deep sip of it, thankful that Basil knew him well enough that it was almost too sweet to bear. (Not that too sweet existed for the redhead, but others would certainly argue that thought.)

---

Basil Foxwood

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---

Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil offered Lissington another reassuring little grin as the redhead acquiesced to let him assist. It was the least he could do, help send out a few owls about what had happened. Basil was good at being distantly tactful anyway; all he needed was for Lissington to sign a few things and he could handle the rest. The clothing was another matter. He’d have to enlist a bit of help from Mama for that one, but it was still better than not helping. “Of course,” the brunette hummed gently as he continued to crouch by the redhead’s side.

As the topic of the scarf was brought up, Basil felt something akin to recognition dawn on him. He did still have that battered Hufflepuff scarf from the evening on the cliffs, didn’t he. It was like a wave of reality washed over him then, a reminder of where they’d left things off. Basil had returned to his rooms that evening in a state of complete and utter turmoil, reeling from the whole debacle. He remembered removing the scarf with some sense of anger that was quickly swallowed by grief as he tossed it onto his bed and promptly forgot about it. The fabric had lain there as he curled up miserably beside it after many more hours of stewing (and haphazard letter writing). Over time it had gotten pushed up against the headboard, just beside the pillow that Basil barely used anymore. (It wasn’t like he could sleep much with everyone going on.)

The brunette gave a solemn little nod and straightened to retrieve it. He didn’t need Gus to say anything more. He understood.

Burying Mr. Lissington with that scarf was easily the most sensical thing Basil could equate in the moment. For as long as he’d known Lissing, that scarf had been with him. Through thick, thin, and even thinner, Gus Lissington carried that scarf around like a security blanket. Perhaps that was why Basil had held onto it after their… break. (Perhaps it reminded him too of the security and safety of what having Lissigton had been like.)

All of that was past now.

Basil’s heart gave an empty little lurch as he retrieved the scarf from its recent place half under his pillow. If his cheeks reddened at the idea of Lissington seeing it there, he tried not to think on it much. Basil returned and handed the scarf silently over to its rightful owner. It was soft and worn even as it slipped from his fingers.

Lissington’s next comment about selling the house only made him nod again. He was a little surprised to hear that Fig was married, however. It seemed odd that he hadn’t caught onto that tidbit before now but it did make sense. She’d have long since been a spinster otherwise. Besides, she was a sweet girl. Basil couldn’t imagine her being forgotten. She likely even had children running about by now. That was an endearing thought. For a moment Basil considered mentioning as much to Gus, about perhaps transferring the house to whomever Fig had married but… he didn’t know how the middle classes worked, really. Would she have moved into her husband’s space as an upper class woman did? Would they have need, or means to maintain two properties? It wasn’t his place to get involved.

(Basil distracted himself from Lissington’s last statement with these vaguely classist thoughts, so set in his  own lifestyle that it didn’t occur to him to consider otherwise. Never going to fill a house, indeed…)

As he tried to reassure the other with resounding affirmatives and statements about support, Gus seemed to wilt again. It was the exact opposite effect of what Basil had intended and the brunette began to fret. He disentangled his fingers from Lissington’s robes, hoping that giving a little more space would help, but in the end he couldn’t resist. Basil shifted so that he could remain crouching by Lissington’s side and placed a free hand on the other’s knee. Perhaps if he made himself smaller, it would be less… intimidating? Lissington’s comment however caught him entirely off guard.

Their gazes locked and Basil could hear the apology in Gus’ voice, despite everything that was crumbling around them. I wish I hadn’t walked away from you… Then, now, ever? Basil’s heart began to race and the box into which he’d hastily shoved all his own feelings, the old and the more recent, began to shudder deep inside. This was… not the right time for this conversation. Or maybe it was? Death did seem to have a way of casting a fresh perspective on the banalities of the living. But was… this merely a banality that they could somehow manage to bridge?

Basil sucked in a small breath and straightened his spine. “Me too,” the brunette whispered back, unhelpfully. Those two little words held more emotion than anything Basil had expressed in the past ten years. A whole veritable lifetime of pain condensed down into the singular notion that… things could have been different if Lissington had stayed. Basil knew it. Lissington evidently knew it too. But… what was past was past.There was no way to change it, and harping here and now when the other was at rock bottom would help neither of them. Instead, Basil straightened to full height and debated sharing something he never thought he’d look at again.

The letter he’d written that night after their original break was seared into the brunette’s mind with fire and anguish. Thinking on it now, he could only see how sharing it would rub salt into an already raw, deadly wound. But… too… it showed… loyalty? It provided Gus the context for how Basil had felt all those years ago, specifically the post script. If he felt like that then, the years in between had only managed to mask those sentiments, perhaps even hide them behind the indoctrination of society reinforcing the way of things. Basil almost crossed the small space to his desk to retrieve the letter. In the end however, he didn’t. In the end, he just placed a hand gently on the top of Lissington’s head and sighed. There would be time enough for all of that later.

“Let’s not delve into the past tonight,” he said gently. “All that matters now is that you’re here, and I’m here, and we’re together for the foreseeable future.” Basil ran his fingers shakily through Lissington’s hair. He hadn’t realized his hand was trembling. “The tea will help,” he said again, glad the other was finally sipping it. “And I promise Gus, you won’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be here, as long as you’ll have me.”

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Gus Lissington

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The following 1 user Likes Basil Foxwood's post:1 user Likes Basil Foxwood's post
   Gus Lissington

He watched with vague interest as Foxwood unfolded himself from the ground to retrieve the Hufflepuff scarf, and his eyes widened as he made his way toward his bed. Of all the places Gus expected it be, in the bed, curled up next to his head while he slept would have been last on his list. It looked unusually worn in his hands, the colors faded and the holes more evident, almost as if it had known its last days were upon it. He accepted the scarf with an audible thanks, and instead of wrapping it around his neck like he would usually do, the professor draped it across one of his knees next to the teacup  as he dug his fingers into the fabric.

It was amazing how one article of clothing could provide so much relief for Gus; he’d missed the weight around his neck and the softness against his cheek as he drifted off into a fitful night’s sleep; a reminder of better days, when things were much simpler, but then again he’d always be one to cling to the past while simultaneously looking forward to the future. Every single person who mattered to him had worn the scarf at some point, and maybe in a messed up way Gus viewed it as a suit of armor; if he was wearing it, what could happen to him?

(Look what had happened to him in the time when he didn’t have it with him.) The magic of protection had worn off, and now it was just him versus the world.

(It was going to eat him alive.)

That was why he wanted to bury it with his dad, hoping it would provide him with a sense of relief that wherever his dad winded up, he’d get there safely. Fionn Lissington had been a true Gryffindor – loyal, strong, and chivalrous, Gus hadn’t ever met someone who didn’t like him. He was the life of the party and the love of his mam’s life; he was Gus’ hero and the person he strived to become each day of his day. Fionn could be reckless and arrogant, too, just as his children were. People often spoke about how he was similar to his father in almost every way: from his appearance to his mannerisms, very little of Gus was his mam. (Although she'd argue he was kinder than his father, gentler, and wore his heart on his sleeve in ways that Fionn was never able to.)

Not that any of it mattered anymore.

Da was dead and mam didn’t even recognize him anymore.

Gus wasn’t even sure he was going to replace the scarf once it was gone. Maybe it was time to grow up a little and learn how to stand on his own two feet without the need for a security blanket. He was a professor now, and none of the other staff wore clothing meant for students. Plus it wasn’t black (and he inhaled sharply as he blinked back tears at the very thought of having to wear mourning clothing), and wouldn't be allowed around his neck for an entire year. It’d probably look and feel foreign by then.

In that time of contemplation, Foxwood pulled back and Gus whined softly from the back of his throat; he relaxed almost immediately when the hand rested against his knee. He wasn’t sure what he wanted at that moment. A hug? Affection? Just physical touch because it made him feel less alone? Gus had a deep desire to tell Basil just how much he appreciated him – this, now, then, always, and apologizing seemed to be the best way to do. But of course two little words that meant very little was all the man could provide him with, and Gus knew, as his stomach tightened and it became hard to breath, that he wasn’t ever going to be forgiven. He didn’t deserve it, not in the long run, and it became evident as he was told to stop dredging up the past. He was good at that, wasn’t he? Blue eyes closed as his fingers gently curled into his hair, and he sighed with contentment.

Allowing a beat of silence between them, Gus finally gathered the courage to speak. “I know .” He croaked. “The past is all I have now.” It was all he had of his parents, all he had of Fig and all he had of Basil. The man could speak about the foreseeable future all he wanted, but Gus knew, deep in his heart, that it was all going to come crashing down again. He didn’t want to live in the present.

When his eyes opened, Gus saw Basil slightly trembling; he brought the cup back up to his lips and took a deep sip, more to appease the other than for himself, before he sent it to float next to the kettle near the window. Then he stood from the armchair and tugged the other into a tight hug, his face burying into his shoulder. It seemed like tonight, they both needed comfort in each other, although Gus had a sneaking suspicion that Basil's was because of him.

His eyes closed again and he sighed against the man’s robes, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was; how exhausted he was going to be until this was all over. (How exhausted he was going to be until he came to realize that this was his reality.) “Can we work on being friends again?” He asked quietly. If you want to be. But he didn’t expect him to want to. “Because I’m going to keep you to that promise.”

Then, stepping back, Gus reached forward to entwine his fingers with Basil’s before he tugged him toward the floor. Once there, he sat beside him and gave Basil’s hand a squeeze, offering him a rather pathetic lopsided grin. It fell from his face as he finally sighed and dropped his head against his shoulder, finding he didn’t have much else to say. He wasn’t going to beg Foxwood to be his friend, but at the same time there wasn’t much else he wanted in life right now than knowing he’d have him by his side until he felt okay.

“It’s on Thursday. So I plan on taking this weekend off.” Gus supplied as he closed his eyes again. What he was going to do or where he was going was up in the air – maybe he’d work on figuring out how to pack or the house. Or, even better, he’d steal Fig away for a quick trip somewhere so they could finally catch up.

---

  

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil was surprised by the small noise that escaped Lissington’s throat as he pulled away. If that was not a clear indication for physical consolation, Basil didn’t know what was. He happily resettled his hand on the other’s knee and watched, carefully, as the redhead shifted. Grey eyes narrowed at the comments that followed.

“The past is not all you have left,” he stated firmly. Even as Lissing pushed the teacup aside and let it float towards the window, Basil watched the small motion skeptically. He knew the grief was going to take some time to overcome. He knew that it was going to be difficult to convince Lissington that he had anything else to live for if he felt like this, but he did. At the very least, he had to find something… for, for Basil. The brunette frowned at his own selfish thoughts. He did need Gus though, more than the redhead knew and more than he was able to admit in that moment.

It would seem something in his expression may have given his thoughts away however because the next thing Basil knew, Lissington was standing and hugging him. Instantly the brunette felt guilt knot in his stomach; he was supposed to be comforting Lissington, not the other way around. Even still, Basil wrapped his arms tightly around the redhead and held on for dear life. The least he could do was prove to Gus that he mattered here and now. And that Basil was grateful for him, always. Nose buried in the slightly taller man’s robes, Basil could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He could feel Gus’ in his chest, from where they were pressed close. It was a quiet moment, one he would etch into his memory for some time to come. It felt like… coming home after a particularly bad experience out in the unfriendly world. It felt safe, and comfortable, and necessary for life - to hold Gus like this. How was it that something so simple, so right could be so… dangerously terrible? Basil tucked his face further into the other’s robes and pushed the thoughts aside.

Gus’ voice was quiet in his ear and for a moment, Basil’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment his traitorous brain interpreted that statement entirely differently than it was likely meant. Lissington certainly meant friends, not friends… didn’t he? Basil sucked in a breath, waiting to find out. He wasn’t sure in those few, heavy seconds, he could have denied the other anything.

Lissington stepped away from him and entwined their fingers making Basil’s heart skip another beat. He could feel his internal organs as if they were on fire under his skin. When Gus tugged him to the ground, Basil complied without a second thought. His brain was stalled, waiting, hoping. The other settled his head into Basil’s shoulder and the brunette… just sat there, non-responsive. It wasn’t until Gus’ voice broke the silence again that he seemed to snap back to reality. Tilting his head, Basil pressed his cheek against the top of Lissington’s. He nodded vaguely, heart hammering away in his chest. “I’d like to be there,” he replied gently. Then, thinking better of Lissington’s original question, he sighed.

“I think I’d like that,” he said. “Being… friends, again.” If there was an emphasis or implication on the word ‘friends’ Basil ignored it, despite his heart picking up the pace. “It’s hard for life to come into focus when we’re not…” he grappled for the right word. “In one another’s orbit,” he finally decided. There was another beat of hesitation and then: “It was terrible when you left, Gus… I don’t think I ate or slept for two weeks. Mother about died, and I went to a few clinics but… I don’t want you to ever have to go through that. Not with your father and certainly not with me.” He lifted the hand that was entwined with Gus’ and looked at it for a moment. Pale skin with freckles, on pale skin without. There was nothing particularly poetic about it, but it was finally comfortable. He raised their joint hands to his lips and gave the redhead’s knuckle a small kiss. “I promise I’ll be here to support you through it. You just have to let me.”

He didn't know, ultimately, what he was really saying or what he wanted. He just knew... in that moment, this was the right sentiment to convey. The one he wanted, all else be damned.

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Gus Lissington

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If only Basil knew the implications of his words. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything he wanted to live for – he did just come into the possession of the cutest niffler he’d ever laid eyes on and Phil looked at him with as much love and wonder as Gus did to him – it was just… everything he held dearly was slipping through his fingers like sand. Basil had made it clear where they stood. How much longer would it be until Winnie cast him aside? Or until Sophia decided she’d had enough of England digging its claws into her until it drove her away? And Fig… Fig was already gone, it seemed, living a brand new life with her husband and son. Instead of replying he only heaved a heavy sigh; Gus’ heart was ponderous and there weren’t any words to explain that the past was all he had left.

It was something that they could argue about until they were blue in the face; Foxwood would go about his business, back to his family who adored him, find a wonderful girl who his entire world would revolve around while Gus would slip into the shadows of the past until he was all but been forgotten, allowing him to step back into the role of a curse breaker where he could do anything he damn well pleased, because in the end who would miss him? Really miss him? Everyone had lived perfectly fine before and would live perfectly fine without him again.

(Deep down though, Gus didn’t want to leave. He was just tired of being a consistent burden to the people he loved.)

While there was a refusal to believe that Basil would breathe a sigh of relief when Gus was finally gone, the redhead knew that Foxwood would feel a sense of a weight lifted without having to worry about sparing the redhead's feelings. But those were words that would remain heavy in his heart. Half of Gus had been afraid that Basil would shove him away when he stood up to hug him, but instead he seemed to melt into him; he sighed against him too. His stomach flipped, and he knew then that he wanted to stay in his arms forever. Here he was safe and sound. His question wasn’t immediately answered, or rather wasn’t answered at all, and Gus frowned against his shoulder. So it was just a temporary thing even if he wanted more. (More as friends, more than friends – it wasn’t like he could fall out of love with him that quickly. If he could, he would have the day he tumbled into Egypt, wide-eyed, heart broken and ready to take on the world.)

But neither seemed implausible and before Gus knew it, Basil had readily allowed him to pull him onto the floor, his own head tolled against his shoulder. He could stay here forever too, a limbo in which the past was behind him and the future didn’t have to exist.  Basil wasn’t breathing and Gus nearly lifted his head to look at him; it was unfair to either of them for him to try to step over a line the man had clearly drawn in the sand, but he instantly relaxed, melting further into him as the man’s cheek rested against him. His stomach flipped again and he felt his heartbeat beating in his throat, blocking his airway and ability to speak.

His mouth was suddenly dry and his palms sweaty, and as Basil spoke to tell him he wanted to be at the funeral, he swallowed around the blockage and nodded. “Okay.” There wasn’t much more Gus could say because then Basil finally addressed the part he wanted him to – the knot in his stomach tightened before releasing into a flurry of butterflies. Inhaling sharply, the redhead wasn’t sure if he was hearing anything correctly; there was an underlying implication on the word friends, although it was something Gus wasn’t going to try to dissect here and now, especially as his heart beat against his chest and inside his throat and ears, clogging them as he attempted to fully grasp what Basil Foxwood was trying to tell him.

Oh.

Oh.

Gus lifted his head and turned fully toward him. The kiss that was pressed against his knuckles was poetic; it was something he’d read about in books and something he’d seen gentlemen do for ladies they enjoyed the company of. A soft glow of pink dipped between his freckles. All the air left his lungs and for probably the first time in his entire life, Gus was at a loss for words and for a moment he didn’t respond to anything that Basil had said. He relished the idea of being in each other’s orbit – Basil Foxwood with his sun, his moon and his stars. A low noise escaped him before he clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat. “It was an awful few weeks, wasn’t it?” His fingers squeezed the ones still entwined within his. “I’m not proud of what I did –” Like get drunk for one, and worrying Sophia nearly to death in the process… writing a letter to Gringotts begging for his old job back, “I don’t want either of us to feel like that again."

Then, Gus wet his lips. “I would never ask you to give up your family. Or a future, if that’s what you want. I just want… you.” He whispered. “However I can get you. Even if it’s just supporting each other when we can.”

He’d take whatever Basil would give him, now and forever.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil wasn’t sure what he’d just admitted to, or what he was expecting in response. What he was not expecting was Lisington to be so …easy about it. A small rush of anguish left Basil as the brunette breathed out, nodding miserably in response to the other’s little quip. Yes! some part of Basil wanted to whimper. Yes, it was a bloody awful few weeks without you! If it hurt this much just to be out of sync for a few weeks, Basil couldn’t even stomach the idea of months, or years. Of losing Gus for good this time. He wouldn’t survive it.

Gus squeezed his hand in return and Basil’s grey hues fell to their entwined fingers once more. He nodded at the other’s assertion that neither of them should feel like that again, that he wasn’t proud of… walking away. (Because that was all he’d done, really. Walk away when Basil needed him to fight back. It was not a criminal offense, it was not even a moral one.) He glanced up briefly as Lissington licked his lips and if Basil’s gaze caught on the small action, he didn’t acknowledge it. He certainly didn’t think what it would be like to kiss Lissington again. Fully this time, knowing… what he knew now. What he wanted.

Family. His gut clenched again. Future. Basil’s face lost a little of its color.

He didn’t know what either of those two things looked like anymore. He knew that someway, somehow, both of them had to involved Gus Lissington… else he’d never truly be happy. But that sentiment was one that took a knife to everything Basil knew. He wasn’t ready to face it head-on, and frankly, with everything that was happening around poor Lissington, it was not the time either. For now the best he could do was be honest, and not make any promises he couldn’t keep. The brunette nodded, still pale. “Me too,” he admitted with a whisper.

Shoulders pressed together, hands entwined, there was something captivating about the moment as Basil’s gaze slowly searched for Gus. He swallowed a small lump that was building in his throat. His voice felt far away now, lost amongst the stars millions of lightyears away. He was all breath and angst and… hope, in that moment. Without realizing what he was doing, Basil leaned closer. Some small part of him wondered if he was wrong to press, wondered if he ought to ask for permission somehow. The look in the redhead’s eye told him that they were… probably alright, though. Basil shut his brain off. There was no use in overthinking this, as he always did. Instead, he pressed forward and closed his eyes just in time to find Gus’ lips.

It was a sweet little kiss, chaste and short lived. Basil pulled away a moment later, grey hues opening to ensure everything was still alright. There was a small blush that was stretching across his nose, but he didn’t retreat far. His voice was gone, but his expression seemed to ask 'is this alright?’

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Gus Lissington

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Watching the color drain from Basil’s face, Gus gnawed on the inside of his cheek, already forming an excuse as to why he had to leave. He’d overstepped his boundaries, again, and stepped over the line that Basil had redrawn in the sand, again. But as he opened his mouth to tell him it was late and he was tired and emotionally drained from today, now that the calmness of the tea had brought him back from the brink of hysteria, the man startled him with two little words. Instead his lips formed into an ‘O’ as every word he’d ever learned vacated his brain.

He hadn’t expected Basil to want him in any capacity after he’d walked away from him (outside of temporary friends when he truly needed someone in his time of need). He’d burned the bridge leading to him. When the brunette leaned forward Gus did too, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for him to pull back and tell him to get out. It was a tale as old as time, a story beginning to end that wasn’t ever going to change for either of them. But there was something twinkling in the man’s eyes that told him maybe they were going to rewrite their story. Gus knew he should tell him to stop, that there wasn’t a single bone in his body that wanted him to. He tightened his fingers instead.

Basil Foxwood was full of surprises tonight and instead of words he felt a soft pair of lips against his own; he sighed into his lips, content. It was over much too quickly and he swallowed a soft whine, instead choosing to blink at the beautiful grey hues staring at him, unsure of what they were doing. His own face flushed further, but his lips quipped up into a gentle smile to tell him that was more than okay. They could do as fast or slow as they needed. Gus wasn’t sure what they were doing either, as whatever they had formed between them tonight was delicate at best, waiting to shatter if either of them made the wrong move.

But he didn’t care. Gus tightened his grip on the hand holding his before he curled his other hand around the base of his neck, and leaned forward to close the gap between them. Like the previous it was still chaste and soft, but he couldn’t help but hum against him before he melted. The butterflies in his stomach roared to life, but why wouldn’t they when Gus was happily (very happily) kissing the love of his life. It might be the very last time he was ever able to, and damn if he wasn't going to take advantage of this moment.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil realized he was holding his breath as he watched the expression on Lissington’s face change. The encouraging smile he saw there made the brunette release what felt like ten tons of pressure from his chest. This really wasn’t the time to be pushing boundaries but something inside of Basil didn’t particularly care anymore. He was tired after nearly a year of confusion, misunderstanding, anger and resentment. These past few weeks had proved to him it was all in vain anyhow, because without Gus there was no reason to fight anymore. For anything, really. He didn’t know… what that looked like. Or what it meant. But he did know that right here, right now, the whole bloody world could mind its own business.

Basil leaned into Lissington’s touch as the pretty redhead wrapped his fingers around Basil’s neck. Their foreheads pressed together and Basil was careful, alert, as he watched the other’s movements. It wasn’t until Lissington made to press forward into another kiss that Basil finally let go of his reservation. 

It was sweet, and comfortable, and well overdue, this sense of longing that settled into his gut. Basil wasn’t sure he’d ever kissed Gus like this, fully aware and fully understanding the rational behind his own ridiculous impulses. He’d always felt the draw, the need, but before this disastrous month, he’d never understood how essential for life the pretty redhead had become. It was not healthy in the least, and he’d have to work on that, sure. But right now, as he pressed closer, invading Lissington’s personal space, Basil couldn’t be bothered.

He released his hold of Gus’ fingers and brought both his hands up to gently cup the redhead’s cheeks. There was an urgency behind Basil’s kiss now, a driving force that was overruling any semblance of modesty or tact that he ought to respect that this man’s father had just died. If he could distract Lissington from his own grief just for a moment, wasn’t that reason enough to press on? Basil let one hand slide down  the other’s neck and over the front of his robes, tangling his fingers there to tug Gus even closer. There was no more space between them that could possibly be filled, and yet Basil tugged. He tugged against the hair at the back of Lissington’s neck too, desperate and urgent and altogether slightly unhinged. He pulled away abruptly then, foreheads still pressed together, as he realized exactly what he wanted.

“Are you— Is this— alright—?” He asked, panting a touch. Something self preservative in the brunette wanted to slide backwards, away from Lissington before everything could catch on fire. The selfish, needy part of Basil’s brain refused. Instead, he waited with bated breath to be sure that Lissington was alright. It was worth nothing to Basil if in the end, he just hurt the pretty redhead more.

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Gus Lissington

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