November 10, 1892 – Lissington Home, Bartonburg, Fionn Lissington’s Memorial

“I can’t do this.”

It was a clear assertion uttered in the middle of the funeral preparations, the house elf standing in front of him with two types of arrangements for him to choose from when he didn’t want to choose either of them; he didn't care which one went where. Fig had taken over when she had finally sent an owl back in the wee hours of the morning, and had come home immediately upon hearing the news, although neither of the siblings had seen each other yet – he’d kept himself busy at Hogwarts doing what he could there and she’d been busy seeing the finer details that he’d overlooked. She was the only person Gus wanted to see, but instead he’d be put on display for everyone to see like a caged animal at the zoo.

His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, his eyes puffy and his hair a mess. The mourning garb that Basil had helped him procure earlier was itchy and uncomfortable, and so, so black. His scarf was gone, too. It was a constant reminder of what he’d lost, and he knew for the next year he’d be avoiding the mirror. Gus raked his hands through his hair for the millionth time as he nervously eyed the fireplace waiting for Fig’s arrival.

While he knew that she was completing the last minute details that he’d broken down over, he wanted his sister here with him, in this house for a final time before he emptied it out to put up for sale; not that he’d told her that was the plan because she’d lose her mind at the very thought of it. Both their emotions were running high. Instead he sighed loudly and moved to stand next to Basil with an air of indecision, his eyes fixated on the fireplace like it might just flash bright green to offer him a way to floo away and forget he’d ever come here – there were going to be countless strangers in his home, talking amongst themselves and laughing amongst themselves, as though his father’s life had meant nothing.

“Master Lissington, which would you prefer?” The house elf tried again as he followed him, standing a distance away. Gus turned his eyes toward Basil then and shook his head, ignoring the poor elf. “This was a bad idea.” He said, in a regretful murmur, as if he’d ever had a choice in the matter. "We should go home."

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Basil Foxwood | The title is a rather odd Victorian slang phrase for death that was used to indicate that someone had died and been buried.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Basil’s heart broke, over again, at the sound of those three little word’s coming from Lissington’s lips.

They were standing, both of them, in the middle of Bartonburg amidst the hustle and bustle of last minute funeral preparations clad entirely in black. Lissing for his part cut quite the dashing profile in the attire Basil had picked out for him. Sure, it was a little bit more… refined, than anything Gus had owned, but given the circumstances there wasn’t any reason to bring the cost to his attention. It was the least the brunette could do, anyway, to ease the pain he could see itched almost permanently into the other’s face. He was trying to make himself useful to Gus; it was why he’d made his excuses to Black and come along today at all. (What a week for Hogwarts, losing both its Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in one day.) But he was determined to assist, in any way he could. Even if it meant just glueing himself to the other’s side and forcing him to face this terrible, miserable day head on.

The house elf that was asking Lissing questions was doing his best to decipher his master’s moods. Basil watched them from his place by the doorway with a soft expression on his face. He raised a hand to rest it gently on the crook of Gus’ back as the redhead meandered over to him looking indecisive and upset. “The red one can rest beside the casket with the others and the white arrangements can be broken down to dress the mantle,” he replied authoritatively to the house elf. The little creature looked at him with a bit of a sniff but, realizing it was the only direction he was going to get, moved off to do as he was instructed.

Basil turned to Gus, aching to pull him into a hug. Instead he dropped his hand altogether for fear of… he wasn’t even sure what, considering they were alone save for the house elves who couldn’t well speak up to betray them and one maid who’d walked into the other room. “You can do this,” he insisted gently. “And we can go home as soon as it’s over.” A soft smile touched his face with the intention of encouraging the redhead. He felt warm at the thought of Gus considering Hogwarts home, almost as if it was a reflection of it being their home. 

“Can I make you a cup of tea? It might help your nerves a bit.” Basil offered. He didn’t have time to stop himself from reaching up to give Gus’ arm a squeeze because it was just then that someone floo'd into the house with aplomb. 

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Gus Lissington

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Gus settled as he felt the hand against his back and the house elf had directions on what to do; he loved the elf and had since he was a child, but now was not the time for asking him anything. At least the creature didn’t look at him for direction after having his question answered, and waltzed off without a second glance back to them. He hated working out all these details – he didn’t care. He didn’t care where the red flowers went or if the mantles had flowers on it. He didn’t care what shade of black the crape for the décor was. The staff could do anything they wanted design wise and Gus would approve it.

Turning his attention toward Basil then, Gus wanted nothing more than to sink into him, forever grateful that he’d taken the time to be here by his side, always lingering just within reach whenever the redhead needed him for comfort. He felt a sense of longing for his touch when it was gone altogether, even if it made sense to him to not let his hands linger lest someone walked in, although he did manage a small nod. “Okay.” Because he was ready to go home and continue on with his life like nothing had happened. Maybe if he ignored it he wouldn’t have to think about it.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of tea; Gus wasn’t a huge tea drinker but whenever Basil offered he didn’t seem to be able to turn down. “I’m sure we can ask Miranda to bring us a kettle.” He mused, because while she was losing her job as the Lissington maid, she at least was willing to help with the funeral preparations. Then he turned toward the doorway she’d just walked through, albeit lingering when he felt the hand against his arm. The contact was nice; it was grounding. His eyes softened as he glanced back to smile fondly at Basil. Then the sound of roaring fire behind him nearly made him jump. Gus sucked in a breath because that could only mean one thing –

And as he turned around he instantly saw his little sister, Fig ducking out of the fireplace, dressed in black with the look of sorrow etched across her face, although as her gaze toward him, a look of stupor replaced it. “Sorry we’re late. We got a little hung up...” She murmured as she stepped forward, keeping her eyes trained on Basil standing beside him. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” She wasn't angry, just... shocked.

It took a moment for the word we to register, but it occurred to Gus that Fig was married, and had been for quite a few years now. He just hadn’t met the man yet. “You’re here now.” He muttered in response, but her eyes only narrowed at the brunette. She frowned as she stood in front of Basil before she turned a questioning gaze toward her brother; Gus stepped forward, out of the reach of Basil to pull her into a hug. He buried his face into her hair and she wrapped her around his waist, although her head shot up, eyes wide at the sound of the someone else flooing in behind her. She stepped back from Gus and whirled around to tell Edmund what – ?

The jig was up, it seemed.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil found that sometimes it was difficult for him to transition from (mostly) self-sufficient Transfiguration professor to completely reliant upper class gentleman, moreso now that he was here with Lissing. Where in his quarters is was so natural to simply make himself - or Gus that one time - a cup of tea, here in public, or away from Hogwarts, it was the maid’s role, wasn’t it? To take care of them? He couldn’t help but want to be the one to do it, even if brewing a cup of tea was the only thing in the world Basil knew how to make for himself. He didn’t have much of a chance to correct the situation however because the floo went off and Basil turned to see none other than Figueroa Lissington appear. And the reception was frosty…

Basil squirmed a little bit in place, unsure of the reason for any undertones of hostility, but not blaming her regardless. He’d known she was going to be here today— hell if she hadn’t been, he’d have been shocked. He’d also been expecting a little bit of this, if Atticus’ reaction to Gus was any indication of sibling reactions. But… he’d always gotten along with Figueroa. She’d even sent him a pastry last February that he’d conveniently forgotten to indulge in. Basil had honestly hoped they might look past… whatever this was.

He wasn’t sure these days how much Figueroa knew about, well, their situation either. He and Gus hadn’t spoken for weeks before the abrupt departure from normal a few days ago. They hadn’t spoken much in the days between then either, not about them at least. Basil didn’t know what if anything Figueroa might know about their past, and how up to date she was kept in the interim. Warmth flooded Basil under the collar at the thought and he paled a little bit as she addressed him.

“Figueroa,” he greeted, trying to be cheery. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” His words were swallowed by Gus’ next action, drawing the tiny redhead into a hug. Tangled up together like that they looked almost like twins.  Basil felt the keen loss of Gus’ presence beside him, cold now, but he kept his distance giving the siblings a private moment. He was surprised however when the floor flashed into green flames again. Grey hues turned in the direction of this newest intruder and Basil zero’d in on the fact that Figueroa had said ‘we’ when she’d stepped out of the fireplace. She was likely married. That made sense. The figure that tumbled out however, did not. Basil’s brows creased almost immediately.

“Edmund?!”

The exclamation was a knee jerk reaction more than a conscious declaration of recognition. Why in bloody Merlin’s name was his cousin, Edmund Foxwood, stepping out of the fireplace in Bartonburg at the Lissington’s family home for a funeral?! Shock and incredulity were scrawled most ungallantly across Basil’s face as the aforementioned gentleman brushed himself off quietly and moved to join the little party. He had an awkward look on his face already, somewhat flabbergasted himself, and paused to stand just to the side of the hugging siblings.

“Ah, Basil,” he greeted, stiffly. “We didn’t expect to see you here…”

There was that ‘we’ again. Basil blinked quickly, remembering his manners, and reached out to shake his cousin’s hand. “Nor I you,” he replied, honestly. Before Basil could ask why Edmund was here, and why he and Figueroa kept saying ‘we’ as if they were intentional, the brunette finally realized: Figueroa Lissington was married. To Edmund blessed Foxwood! The shock was enough to make him absently reach for Gus, only to realize the other was not there.

Pointedly tucking his hands deep into his front pockets, Basil opened his mouth to say something but nothing materialized. He cleared his throat to try again, mind reeling. Still, nothing. In the end, Basil just turned a helpless look towards Gus, willing him to say something instead because there was no version of this conversation that he was able to facilitate!

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Gus Lissington

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Fig inclined her head toward Basil and murmured a soft thank you before her brother wrapping her into a hug. They’d always been best friends, one tumbling after the other until Gus had run off to Egypt after some incident with Basil Foxwood. He hadn’t wanted to share the details about what had happened, and all she’d gotten out of him was they weren’t friends because he’d made a grave mistake that was unforgivable – something that Fig always thought had been a lie. Still, she hadn’t pressed, and while she’d tried to show she wasn’t irate at him for breaking her brother the way he had (and scaring him so much that he refused to show his face in London as time went on), just seeing his face made the forgiveness fade.

Still, she’d seen the comforting hand against her brother’s arm and perhaps they had made up, which made the anger dissipate just enough that she wouldn’t yell at him. That was a thought for another time because right now they had another fire to put out. The siblings separated as Basil’s voice broke through the fog, with Gus taking a step backward toward Basil while Fig stepped backward toward her husband. She nervously crossed her arms across her chest, stroking her fingers against her arm. He turned toward the professor and arched an eyebrow wondering how in the world he knew Fig’s husband; Hogsmeade wasn’t that tiny, although maybe they knew each other from school.

Pushing that little puzzle aside Gus turned his gaze on Edmund. “Hey, wish we could’ve met first under better circumstances.” Gus stepped forward to offer his hand to him, although he couldn’t help but size him up. Fig instantly leveled him with a glare and he grinned sheepishly at her. Then he turned toward Basil as the other seemed to be at a loss for words and shrugged at him before he stepped back to stand next to him.

He too, was at a loss for words. Did this mean that he and Basil were related somehow? That was… cumbersome. He wished that Fig would have come clean that she’d married a Foxwood when it’d first happened, as it seemed unfair for them to be learning this now. “I only knew she was married. I didn’t know –” He leaned in to whisper to Basil, as if that would make it better. He felt like he was falling into a hole and trying to claw his way out while people were shoveling dirt onto him; he sucked in a deep breath of air and ached to reach out and squeeze Basil’s hand to give him some form of reassurance. Instead he cleared his throat.

An awkwardness seemed to settle around them. Brown eyes flicked from her brother over the other man. “We, well, we’ve been married for a few years now, but I guess you two didn’t know?” Although she posed it as a question, it was quite obvious that neither of the unmarried gentlemen in the room had been aware. “Surprise?” Her eyes were drawn up to Edmund, unsure of how much they wanted to tell them. Gus knew, accidentally, about Seamus but she wasn’t ready for Basil to know. He’d tell Atticus, and well… Atticus would have a field day with the knowledge. “We’re really not ready to tell anyone yet, but given the circumstances we thought only Gus would have to know.”

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil watched with limited cognitive recognition as Gus reached out to address Edmund. It was like watching outside of himself through a nightmare or daydream, something he wasn’t sure how to properly process quite yet. Something in the back of his mind prickled, sticking on the idea that Lissing hadn’t met his own sister’s husband yet…? That was, odd certainly. Did Gus know he was a Foxwood? Was Basil the odd duck out here, the butt of the joke?

Blinking quickly, Basil caught the bewildered look Lising tossed him and realized that he couldn’t possibly know who Edward was. Not yet, not unless he’d managed to guess? They did have a rather striking resemblance in the right light… (Unlike Atticus, Edmund was the most like Basil of the three Foxwood cousins. He was academic, quiet and eagerly keen on research. Unlike Basil however, Edmund was the first and only son to their father’s youngest brother and he was… a hair shyer than the rest of them. He’d never quite gotten on the with Aldertons because of it.)

Brushing a hand nervously through his hair and mussing it, Basil watched the exchange with a tightening in his stomach he was unsure about. He heard Figueroa’s  question, but remained mute as to answering her. Of course he didn’t know! How could he have. Basil turned a slightly wounded look towards his cousin without meaning to, but the reflection of betrayal was clear. Edmund shrunk back a touch.

“Well,” Basil’s voice was raw as he searched for something to say. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” It was a forced sentiment, one he wasn’t sure how to digest even still. It was good news, really. Or it wasn’t bad at least, right? Edmund took a tentative step forward and accepted Basil’s congratulations with an awkward incline of the head. “Thanks,” he replied gently. “I wanted to tell you…”

But you didn’t— Basil thought to himself bitterly. After all the letters they’d exchanged these past years, every research query shared and new discovery goaded, Edmund had never once bothered to mention he was married. To a Lissington much less, not that he knew about Gus, Basil supposed, but—

“But... well, after Atticus’ reaction—”

“Wait, Atticus knew about this?” Basil felt the sharp tick in his voice silence the room. He swallowed the rising ire in his throat, willing himself not to jump to conclusions. Edmund paled. He’d stuck his foot in it this time and Basil was not about to let him recede. “Edmund,” the transfiguration professor prompted quietly. “How long has my brother known you’ve been married to Figueroa Lissington?”

The look of apprehension and confusion - likely at Basil’s emphasis on ‘Lissington’ - spoke volumes as to his cousin’s truth. Basil let out a short breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Grey hues shuttered, all expression and emotion blocked as he stood a little straighter, determined not to make a spectacle of this. “It’s of no matter,” he replied in a clipped tone before anyone could say much else. They were here to grieve Papa Lissington anyhow, not spark war between the Foxwoods. Basil turned pointedly to Gus, the emotion and intensity still warring with his better sense of decorum. “I’m going to see that maid about the tea,” he said, albeit more gently than before. Resisting the urge to touch Lissing in any way as he passed, Basil made a beeline for the kitchen and the back door. He needed a smoke.

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Gus Lissington

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The interaction between Basil and Edmund was… interesting, and Gus pressed his lips together to keep from speaking out at all. Fig and Edmund’s marriage made no sense to him as he hadn’t quite wrapped his head around why they’d elope and then keep it a secret; he and Fig told each other nearly everything and outside of her mentioning she’d met someone she wasn’t too sure she was keen on a few years back, someone Gus wasn’t even sure was Edmund at this point, she’d never mentioned getting married in her letters. He figured it had to do with some upper class nonsense he didn’t have – and didn’t want to have privy of.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of Atticus, and instantly Gus stared down at the ground. It was probably his fault that Atticus didn’t like Fig, although he still wasn’t sure how Edmund fit into the puzzle; he wasn’t a brother, that much the redhead was certain of, although he could deduce that he was at least related to the Foxwoods in some manner. Basil seemed almost angry about it and he raised his head to look at him. Behind Edmund he watched his sister’s face flash with hurt at the emphasis of Lissington, because it was almost as if he had the same sentiments as his older brother – Figueroa was not meant to be a Foxwood and would be shunned for being one.

Basil was quick to leave then, and Gus turned to say something to him, but the words were stuck inside his throat. A lump formed then because now was not the day for any sort of family drama, and yet here he was being buried in it. Edmund followed him. When they stepped out of the room, Gus turned to his sister with his eyebrows knitted together. “What the hell Figueroa!”

She sighed. “Gus, it’s complicated.”

Gus grit his teeth together; he had every intention of going after Basil, but right now he had a bone to pick with his little sister. “No, what’s complicated is you lying to me and then stirring all this up on the day of Da’s funeral!” He scrubbed his arm across his face as all the emotions he’d been feeling boiled over. At least it was just the maid here to witness the trainwreck of today; every instinct in his body screamed at him to apparate somewhere – anywhere – that wasn’t here. His chest heaved.

Fig crossed her arms tightly across her chest, ready to square off with her brother. “I didn’t lie! We are married and it is complicated –”

“How in the hell was I supposed to know any of this? All I knew was you and your husband were showing up. But you were going to conveniently leave out that he’s a Foxwood. He is isn’t he? What I don’t get is why.” He thought Fig was trying to spare his feelings, although the package in February she sent Basil confused him; was that her way of trying to extend an olive branch in order to properly join the Foxwood family? Gus raked his fingers through his hair before he stepped back and held his hands up in his surrender. “I can’t, I can’t do this right now.” Their expressions mirrored each other, both shell-shocked and etched with hurt and grief.

He turned on heel to walk out of the room, following the same path Basil had taken a few moments ago, and stepped into the kitchen; the door to the back was slightly ajar, and the professor figured the man had stepped outside as Miranda worked on making the tea, so he nodded to her and stepped outside. There, he pulled the backdoor closed with a click before he leaned against the wall with his hip, his arm loosely crossed over his chest as he watched Edmund and Basil quietly conversing.

Gus cleared his throat to gain their attention. “I think my sister needs you more right now.” He didn’t mean to snap at the poor man, but he wasn’t ready to unravel the web that Edmund and Fig had brought along with them. Today was about their father and he’d be damned to have the day tainted in any fashion.

Then he waited for Edmund to shuffle out of the back yard before he turned his attention back to Basil. “I’m sorry.” It came out slowly, as if he was frightened the words would make the man leave him, and he certainly couldn’t do this alone. Basil was one of the few things keeping him together and he was sure to break if he let go of him. “That was a lot. I didn’t… well, I knew Fig was married, but I didn’t know exactly to who.” He licked his lips before he sighed and nudged his feet into the ground.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil could sense the discomfort that had settled upon the group as mention of his brother floated into the small living room. He ached to reach out to Gus who’d tensed beside him to reassure the pretty redhead that Atticus’ attitude and behavior was not to be considered reflective of all the Foxwoods’ sentiments of him, but he didn’t dare delve further upon the topic. Not here, and especially not in front of this crowd. He wasn’t sure himself how Figueroa fit into this puzzle, but he could imagine it was something akin to a triangular piece being shoved through a square hole… Possible at the wrong angle, but leaving many frayed edges in its wake, raw and exposed.

As he ended the conversation with a clipped statement and made his departure, Basil could hear Edmund mumbling something to his wife and walking off after him. He heard the familiar, quiet voice call out to him, but he ignored it, unwilling to face this reality within earshot of the Lissingtons for one second longer. When they were finally in the kitchen, Basil flicked his wand at the tea kettle on the stove and marched right past the maid (rather rudely) to stand on the porch steps outside. The frigid winter air was a welcome momentary distraction before Edmund slipped out behind him, exasperation clear on his cousins face. “Basil—”

“Of all the bloody women in the world, Edmund?!”

Grey hues flashed as Basil rounded on his cousin, the statement more accusatory that he perhaps meant. It stung though, that of all the families in England, Edmund had chosen to marry into the one Basil was allied against his brother with. That he was making a play for … that they were trying to bring into the fold… the complicated one! Edmund for his part frowned, pointedly, a coldness coming to his stance as he appraised Basil in irritation.

“Of all the classist bigots in this family, I’d never counted you as one of them,” he replied frigidly. Basil frowned.

“I don’t care about her class,” he snapped. (Though, in a sense, Basil could be a bit classist at times. This however was not one of those.) “I’ve known Figueroa Lissington since seventh year, she’s a perfectly charming choice as far as I’m concerned, but you should have told me!” There was that emphasis on Lissington again. This time, Edmund didn’t react other than to narrow his own hazel hues suspiciously.

“And why is that, cousin?” He parried, voice low. Basil prickled.

“Because we’re supposed to be family,” he shot back, deflecting from the real reasoning here. The reasoning that Gus was everything in the world to him and that Atticus hated it, hated the siblings both, and this nonsense was not going to make his case to shake that any easier! Also, they were family. Close, at that! Closer than Edmund was with anyone else, as far as Basil was concerned, and being kept in the dark hurt - significance of the bride be damned.

Edmund only sighed, running a hand through his short hair much in the same manner Basil often did. It was a shared habit they’d had for years and seeing it now only reflected as much to Basil, digging in the scalpel deeper. “We are,” Edmund finally acquiesced. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just… you know Atticus. He was so livid when he found out, that he essentially disowned us as Foxwoods.” Edmund’s helpless little shrug then made Basil sigh. He did know Atticus. He knew very well of his brother’s penchant for dramatics and zealous adherence to upper class norms. He wouldn’t have taken well to Edmund marrying anyone of the middle classes, but choosing a Lissington had only rubbed salt into a wound neither Figueroa nor Edmund were aware of.

“You should have told me,” he responded simply, voice low now and somewhat resigned. Edmund scuffed his foot a touch and shoved his hands deep in his front pockets.

“Well, then I suppose this is as good a time as any to mention we have a son,” the other said gently. Now here was another bit of news that caused Basil’s head to whip around, an injured look on his face. “His name is Seamus and he’s about to turn three and a half.”

Seamus.

The name rattled around in Basil’s head looking for a comfortable perch and finding none. It was a beautiful name, representative of the Lissington’s Irish heritage without making him so obvious that he’d stand out terribly in English society. (Not that they seemed to care much in the first place.)

Basil couldn’t help the slightest twinge of jealousy that prickled at him.

“I’m sure he’s lovely,” the transfiguration professor replied, quietly. “Has anyone met him yet?”

Here Edmund seemed to grow infinitely more awkward. “Yes, er— Augustus met him in London I believe, a few months back.”

Augustus. The name sounded far too uncomfortable on his cousin’s lips. “Gus,” Basil corrected, without hesitation. There was a pause, then— “I’d like to meet him too, one of these days.”

Edmund offered a shy little smile, relieved likely at the reception of this last bomb. Before he could respond however Gus himself appeared, catching them both by surprise. Basil turned grey hues towards the achingly familiar visage and he could see reflected there his own desperate need to have a moment with Gus. Edmund for his part flinched slightly at the dismissal, but bowed his head in acquiescence. When he was gone back into the house, Basil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

There was so much to process and yet no time or space to do so properly. He still itched to pull out a cigarette and smoke until he could properly regain himself, but with Gus joining him it didn’t seem quite so urgent anymore. Instead, Basil turned to join the redhead by the door even as Gus apologized and took the responsibility of this whole debate on himself.

“It’s not your fault,” Basil replied, breathing out one long puff of air that coiled into the frigidity around them like smoke. “Of all the families in the world, it seems mine is infinitely attracted to yours.” He tried to pass it off as a joke but it fell rather flat in the space between them because… well, it was true. It was odd hearing it confessed aloud. Basil cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter today,” he said softly, letting one hand come to rest gently on the redhead’s arm. He was careful to keep an appropriate distance considering they were outside, but he gave Gus a small squeeze for good measure.

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Gus Lissington

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A light chuckle escaped Gus at the very thought of the Foxwood and Lissingtons being bound together in some way; maybe it was a generational curse or maybe a blessing, but the idea of having a type was amusing. He didn't know Edmund at all, although from his demeanor he was surprised that Fig put up with it – she seemed like she would steamroll him with her feisty personality, and really, how happy could a wet noodle of a husband make her in the long run? There had to be something redeeming about him, and Gus was just going to have to look for it. If they thought they were going to slip away for years on end again they were sorely mistaken.

(Turned out he didn’t like when the tables were turned and people did to him what he did to others.)

His entire body relaxed as the hand came to rest on his arm. Basil had been the one holding him together and Gus would have shattered a long time if it hadn’t been for him. He offered a soft smile as he nodded because he was right, the drama didn’t matter today and would be there tomorrow for them to pick apart. “Do you trust me?” He turned blue eyes on as a sheepish smile tugged at the edges of his lips, knowing damn well what the answer was. Of course he knew Basil did, to an extent at least, which made Gus step forward into his space and wrap his arm around tightly around his waist to apparate them with a small ‘pop’ from the porch to his childhood bedroom.

It wasn’t an extravagant room by any means and for someone who still prided himself as a former Hufflepuff (which was apparent from the yellow and grey striped blanket haphazardly crumpled in the middle of the freshly made bed and the faded yellow wallpaper with a nearly indistinguishable pattern on the walls) the room also had a lot of blue/. The comforter on the bed was blue, the curtains were blue, and the oversized chair stuffed into the corner was blue, although the throw pillow nestled on top of it blocked most of the color. Somewhere on the desk was a raven, although given the amount of trinkets that carefully lined the shelves, it didn't look out of place.

Without letting go of Basil’s waist, Gus shifted to rest his forehead against his. “Thank you for being there today.” He hummed quietly before he leaned forward to press a very quick, chaste kiss against his lips. It was just what he needed.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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Gus’ question piqued Basil’s curiosity as grey hues searched blue. Of course, he trusted the pretty redhead and the gentle eye-roll with which he answered was telling enough. Basil wasn’t, however, prepared for Gus to encroach on his personal space so quickly - and in public - so the sudden apparition made him queasy. It was a good thing he didn’t move much; a splicing accident was the last thing either of them needed today!

The room in which they landed was so familiar that it felt almost as if he’d taken a time-turner back to 1881.  It had changed slightly, a small glance around informed him, but not much and the nostalgia was nearly overwhelming. The last time Basil had stood in this room was… well, before the debacle at graduation. Before everything had become murky and difficult and much before whatever it was now. (Still murky, and still difficult, but at least not asphyxiating.) When Gus leaned his head forward to press it against Basil’s own, the moment felt intimately symmetrical. Almost as if they’d come full circle.

Though Gus was really only an inch and some taller than him, and the height difference was hardly noticeable at a glance, standing here in this room with Gus leaning over him, Basil felt it. He could only hum in response to the other’s thanks before Gus kissed him gently, sweetly, in all the ways Basil needed right now. It felt like a balm, swiped over the ache and anxiety in his own heart. He surged forward, deepening their kiss, and then regretted it almost instantly. He was already bent at a slightly lowered angle, and the sheer force of Gus being a cursebreaker, pressed firmly against him, was enough to remind Basil that this really wasn’t the time and place. His fingers looped through the redhead’s belt loops however and Basil couldn’t help but pull him closer. He really had done a fine job dressing the ginger, hadn’t he?

Breaking their kiss with all the reluctance in the world, Basil tipped his head back to look up into big blue eyes. He offered an apologetic little smile and hoped Gus would understand. He pressed back against the redhead gently then, forcing some space between them. “We should go join the others,” he said, voice a little bit ragged even still. It wouldn’t do to hide out from the funeral guests as they arrived, or to greet them with anything unseemly that might develop if they stayed up here much longer.

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Gus Lissington

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Basil, Gus decided, wasn’t a fan of tender kisses. Every time he’d tried to initiate something chaste and sweet, he was turning it into something more – not that he minded at all because he returned the urgency without a second thought in his head. It was all he wanted, generally, but today his heart just wasn’t in it, not with so many other thoughts rushing and swirling around his head, so when Basil broke the kiss and forced space between them, the redhead inclined his head before he grinned sheepishly. It was what he needed right now.

Clearing his throat, Gus tossed a look at the closed door before he turned his gaze back toward Basil. “Yeah. But, before we go. I want… Well, I think…” He trailed off, unsure of where he wanted to go with that thought; he wanted to hear the full story of Edmund and Fig, but that wasn’t something he wanted to focus on today. Gus let go of the man’s waist as he stepped back, his hands instantly shifting to his neck to fiddle with the ends of a scarf that didn’t exist, so instead he rubbed the cravat fabric between his fingers, finding it much softer than the scarf had ever been. He resisted the urge to stick his finger between the fabric and his neck to pull it away – sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe in this stuffy outfit – but Basil would fuss over him if he did.

“I think the tea is probably done.” He reached forward to take his hand once more, and laced their fingers together as he tugged him toward the door. There, Gus squeezed it before he let go, lest people had showed up in the small span of time they’d been upstairs. His fingers wrapped around the handle before he turned back toward Basil, wearing a small frown. “Is Edmund a good person?” He finally asked quietly, curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn’t like he was going to go out of his way to do anything if Basil said no, but part of him worried just what kind of man she’d married.

His frown deepened. “No, you know what? Never mind. I’m sorry. That was a dumb question to ask.” Then he twisted the doorknob.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil could tell from the look on Gus’ face that he’d done the right thing stepping away. It was… hard sometimes for the brunette to reign in his instincts. He’d never dreamed of ever kissing Gus Lissington again after their fractured break and the chasm that had formed between them. When Gus had reappeared in his life almost a year ago now… Basil didn’t know what to expect. He knew better than to expect… whatever this was, but the thought had haunted him like a plague. Now… well… now he had something of an outlet for the pent up emotions he felt swirling through his gut all the time— a desperate desire to prove to Gus that he did care, even if that was… even it they weren’t—

A small frown creased the brunette’s brow as he studied Gus. The redhead was tittering on the edge of something. Something he either wanted to ask, or wanted to do, Basil wasn’t sure. There was space to be given there, and a hope that Gus would confide in him when he was ready. Basil didn’t want to push him, not today of all days. If a hand came up to gently squeeze the redhead's arm reassuringly, it was an unconscious motion. Ultimately Gus decided to comment upon the tea and Basil nodded. “Yes,” the brunette nodded gently. “It probably is.”

They made motion to exit the room then, Basil resisting the urge to drag Gus back into his arms and just… hold him there, until everything was over, when the redhead suddenly stopped short. He asked a question then that rocked Basil to his core, an understanding that suddenly made sense. Gus was worried about the kind of man Figueroa had married. Of course he was. Basil felt his expression soften as he turned a sweet little smile on Gus. The other seemed to change his mind about asking rather quickly but Basil reached out to place a hand over Gus’ own, to stop him from opening the door. “Gus,” he whispered gently.

There was a pause and Basil pressed a quick, chaste little kiss to the redhead’s cheek. “Yes,” he supplied, quietly. “Edmund is… a genuinely good person. He’s academic, like me, if a little shy.” The brunette gave a small shrug. “But he’s one of the most honest people I’ve had the pleasure of being related to.” It wasn’t much to go off of, considering Gus had never actually met anyone else in Basil’s family other than Atticus (and Poppy, he supposed) - both terrible examples. Edmund however was… a sweet thing. He’d always been the quietest of all Basil’s cousins and he remained unobtrusive even to date. He was the cousin Basil could boast being closest to in spirit and mind, and they shared quite a lot between them over the years. Not this evidently, but… most things.

Deciding that was enough of that, Basil pressed down on the door handle with the hand that was still over Gus’. Before either of them could move to open it however, he nuzzled gently into the redhead’s neck from behind. “Remember,” he said softly. “I’m here for whatever you need today.” Then, stepping wholly away, Basil tugged the door open and gestured for Gus to walk through first. He tossed the redhead a quick, subtle wink for good measure.

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Gus Lissington

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The hand that covered his own was warm, and Gus all but melted at the kiss against his cheek, a soft blush forming against his skin; for someone he’d spent the last decade avoiding after their entire debacle that had ruined every aspect of their friendship, they’d fallen into an easy pattern of caring for each other. Maybe there had been something there all along that was nearly impossible to kill. (Like the love Gus felt for Basil but readily refused to think about it because he hated feeling like he was less than human whenever he brought it up.) He sucked in a sharp breath as the words Basil had spit at him formed in his head –

But instead of letting them, he leaned his shoulder against the other man and nodded. He didn’t know Basil’s family outside of the terror that was his brother, and even Miss Dashwood had had her heart in the right place, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time. He figured if Edmund was half the man that Basil was (although hopefully more emotionally refined and wasn’t afraid to express his feelings), then Fig was in good hands. It might take some time for her to be able to seamlessly integrate into the family, but he couldn’t think of any reasons why she wouldn’t be able to. If she truly loved Edmund, which Gus had a feeling she did, Fig would do anything to make herself the perfect wife in the eyes of society and his family. She would be just fine.

(Or they could just continue their lives abroad and pretend like the rest of the family didn’t exist, but if he wasn’t allowed to stay away then neither was she.)

If only he could stay here forever, in this room where the world couldn’t touch him. That would make life much easier for everyone “Thank you, Basil.” He breathed out a quiet laugh as he turned to look at him, offering him an almost shy smile. “Out of every family out there, I’m glad that Fig gets to call the Foxwoods her family now, too.” It was just them now, but Fig deserved so much more. (Especially if things went sideways again and he disappeared off the face of the Earth for good.) He paused then, before he quietly added, “And me too, if I count. Forever yours.” And if he meant something else by it, well Gus wasn’t daft enough to say that aloud.

Gus leaned back against him. He felt like he could take on the world. “I’m ready. I can do this.” He whispered, feeling a lingering coolness as Basil stepped away from him to open the door. Sucking in a sharp breath at the wink - Basil was oddly affectionate today, Gus felt himself smile – truly smile – for the first time in days at the man next to him before he stepped through the doorway. One step at a time. He could get through today.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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