June 29th, 1888, just after dark
an isolated, abandoned garden in Bartonburg
Edric Umbridge

Merlin, if Fortunata wasn't one of her best friends, she may have punched her. Ever since Edric's last letter, Febs had been a hot mess, just barely able to contain the nerves and the unease floating around her stomach. She must have looked ill, because she'd been excused from dinner early and gone upstairs, leaving her bedroom door open just a crack, waiting for her mother to inevitably check on her before she could sneak out.

Febs was athletic, but climbing down the tree outside her bedroom was something she hadn't done in actual  years. In an real dress no less. She'd nearly fallen, but as soon as she hit the ground, she hit it running, pulling her shawl up around her face as she scooted out her neighbor's fence and down the street. The fog wasn't any thinner, but at least there wasn't an unnatural darkness to it either. The lamps lit down the street cast easy shadows for her to stick to, but she skirted around the entrance to the alley to the garden more than once, before ducking inside one of the adjacent buildings and finding a way out the back.

Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing for an entirely different reason than last time. It was panic that flooded her system and it had taken that angry letter for her to realize why. Against her better judgement, despite the mere weeks that she'd known him, she'd absolutely started to fall for him. That unsent letter that sat in her trunk with the rest of the ones he'd sent to her said it all. She'd gone and gotten attached, and worse, emotionally attached to their "hypothetical" marriage, that perhaps wasn't quite as hypothetical as he had made it seem on his end.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she squeezed through the hedge. It was so hard to see in the fog and now the dim light, but there he was, and her breath caught in her throat. She'd half expected him not to come and end it, just like that. "Edric?" She stepped forward hesitantly, unsure of how he was going to react.

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They'd spoken just the day before about being able to see each other sooner rather than later, and Edric had fully expected that any such instance would be under good terms—but here they were, in the garden, a mere hours after a short letter exchange that had ended in accidental admissions, rambling, and all-out arguing.

There was no denying that the pounding in his chest came from a mixture of emotions; he wanted to see her, but he was also angry beyond comprehension. Well, perhaps angry was the wrong term; he felt betrayed, upset, and partly afraid of who else might be aware of their tryst and what details they might know.

He'd gotten there first; he'd apparated straight to the nearest platform outside the fog-zone, and fortunately the train had just stopped to let passengers board when he'd arrived. He was far more familiar with the garden than she was (it had been formerly used by the Auror Office) and thus arrived first.

Her voice was one he'd been longing to hear for a week now, and for a moment there was no controlling the leap in his chest that came from the sound of it. He turned and looked at her, his jaw clenched and lips tight, yet with lifted brows and wide eyes that suggested he was pleased to once be in her presence.

"—Febby," he choked out after a moment. He was torn by his desire to scream at her (a poor option, given that the fog didn't obscure sound) and his desire to close the gap between them and pull her into his arms. He was falling in love with her—that much was obvious to him by now—but the question of her trustworthiness was enough to make him question whether he'd act on it. After a moment, he collected himself and said: "You said you'd explain."

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— set by MJ! —

The wait was agonizing; she held her breath, waiting to see just how mad he was. Tuni was getting the most strongly worded letter of her life after this. Good or bad. She felt her voice hitch and she tried to push down the flood of emotions that threatened to bubble up and overflow.

Taking a hesitant step forward, she half-smiled reflexively when he at least refrained from calling her Miss Lynch. She closed the distance between them, yet left enough of a hesitant gap in case he truly didn't want her in his space right now. She couldn't blame him; she'd half broken her promise to him. Though she hadn't told Tuni exactly what was going on, she had alluded to it, and had thought it an eventuality. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever thought Tuni would approach Edric about it on the street.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't-" She pushed down the panic in her voice, tried to sound some kind of in control. "I told her about punching you yes, weeks ago, when it happened. I was pretty proud of myself at the time." And frankly she still kind of was, it was fun to tease him about it. Now was clearly not the time though. "I told her about the second one too. Then there was the article in the Prophet after the hospital, she made the connection and I didn't flat out deny it." She should have, she supposed. Maybe it would have been a lot easier.

"Then there was the night in my kitchen," Her voice cracked a little, but she pushed on. "It sounds pathetic, but you damn near shattered me that night in more ways than one. I didn't have anyone to talk to, I tried to just get it out- those letters I sent you, those were supposed to be it." That had failed.

"All of those initial letters, I was so frustrated. You were so infuriating and I couldn't stop thinking about you." Man looking back on it now everything seemed a little obvious. "She's been stuck in London and we've been writing, all I do all day is write letters, I swear." She wasn't complaining, but that's what it felt like. "She must have noticed a change in my tone, I don't know. I am happier, a lot happier now than I was before." Balls, she admitted that a little too easily, but it was true and she was desperate.

She was out of breath, trying to get it all out as fast as she could. Febs pressed her hands to her corset, trying to hold herself together physically. Damn him for being able to do this to her!

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His Febs was always brash, witty, and confident to the point of arrogance; this, obviously, was not the Feb he knew, but a much more broken and desperate one. It hit him all at once, but he realized how hard those two or three letters must have hit her. To go from addressing her as Febs to Mrs. Umbridge (teasingly, but still), and then to the cold Miss Lynch must have been a punch in the gut. It was very difficult to grasp tone when put in writing—they'd figured that out days ago—but even grasping a tone of ardor was seemingly just as difficult from the looks of it.

It was all too much for him, really. He wasn't the sort of man who regularly expressed his emotions. Emotions made him weak, and weakness was a non-option in his career path. The only emotions he'd been taught to show were anger and seriousness, and yet neither one were the best way to react to February's anguish.

"You should have been more careful," he offered as his only respose, his tone wavering. "If anyone were to find about this—this arrangement—I would lose you or my job. Don't make me choose."

Because if it came down to that, he couldn't choose her—he couldn't choose a woman he'd known for hardly a month. If anyone were to find out about this, she would be ruined and him dubbed an irresponsible rake. His heart dropped at the notion of a crying February Lynch, either locked in her room for eternity or thrown to the streets in ruin. He couldn't do that, not to her. Not to the woman he—

He opened his arms after a moment, a welcome for her to come into them.

"Come here, lover."

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— set by MJ! —

The tears threatened and she pushed them back momentarily. She was desperate yes and she knew why for fuck's sake, but she couldn't, she just couldn't. When he spoke, she felt a little relief, he didn't sound as mad as his letter had made it seem and she was beyond grateful that he'd even agreed to see her so she could explain better.

She collapsed into him when he opened his arms to her, the flood spilling over, though the tears streamed quietly down her cheeks instead of sobs wracking her body. Febs pressed her face into his chest. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I never thought she'd say anything. I will be more careful." It was muffled as she clung to him, but still audible in the quiet of the garden. "I would never, ever want to jeopardize your job. Ever." She was not worth his job. Not even close. She knew how that would go and it would not end favorably for her. How could she expect it to?

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It seemed the time it had taken him to leave work, ponder on his movements, get to Hogsmeade, and then to the garden had been enough time to work some things out within his own head, as the anger he'd sworn would burst out the moment he saw her seemed to slip right out of his mind. It was definitely in part due to her despair, but even then he thought he'd feel something—resentment at the very least.

The soft spot he had for her—literally—was very obvious as she rested against his chest. His arms wound themselves around her shoulders, pressing her tightly against him while leaned down to press his lips against her forehead.

She was concerned for his job, and while that was definitely a concern of his, it was far from the only one he had. It was ridiculously silly how she'd managed to work his way into his heart without knowing much about him or his past at all. Of course, she knew trivia facts about him, but she didn't know his deepest fears or worries.

She didn't know, and she had to... eventually.

"Don't cry," he murmured, struggling to hear his own soft tone over her quiet sobs. He angled her face so he could look at her, and carefully wiped her tear-stained cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm not sure how I'm meant to kiss you when your face is so wet," he soothed. "It's been a week, you know."

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— set by MJ! —

Blowing out a shaky breath, Febby felt the emotional letdown from all of the worry an anxiety that had built up over the course of the afternoon. She'd expected a lot worse than her spilling out an emotional explanation of an apology and him warning her to be more careful. Oh, she was going to be more careful and Tuni was most assuredly getting a howler.

Allowing him to tip her chin up towards him, her hands automatically followed his to wipe the excess tears from her cheeks. She let out a weak chuckle, the relief mixed with just a little annoyance. That was three times he'd managed to make her cry, though she supposed this time was mostly her fault. Merlin it was ridiculous how attached she'd grown in such a short amount of time. Confined to letters for however long, getting to know one another that way was the only option and she'd learned a lot in a short amount of time. Even when they spent time arguing through the post. They'd pretty much planned a hypothetical elopement and home in the last couple days. There was clearly something deeper going on here.

Blue eyes sought his in the dark as she wiped away the last few remaining tears. "I'm sorry." She reiterated, feeling so incredibly guilty she didn't know what else to do but to keep apologizing. "I thought you were going to call it off-" She admitted with a sniffle. "And I couldn't stand the thought of it." Ugh, there it was, she was a smitten fool. Damn him.

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Her assumption was not too far off from his own. In the midst of her anger, he'd almost done as much through letter, and if she hadn't begged him for an in-person meet to explain herself, he likely would have.

"I- I was going to," he admitted, his chest shaking as he stumbled over his words. "But I couldn't find the words. I've always considered myself a man of logic, but it seems you've managed to dig out my heart." Oh what a damn sap he was being; it was so unlike him, yet the words left his lips with such ease.

He was never supposed to love. He was never even supposed to like. Love had seen his mother heartbroken and his father left with a distrust of marriage, and he'd always imagined he'd end up some old bachelor. However, he couldn't think about that right now; any more sappy thoughts might see him run off to find a rose bush in this long-abandoned garden, and he didn't think he could bear the teasing he'd face when she returned to her senses.

So he did the only thing that would ensure he would shut up: he leaned down and kissed her.

It was a full, tender kiss, and one much different from the passionate, heated ones. It was also accompanied with a jolt entirely different from the one of desire he'd felt before; he felt like he was melting rather than being set ablaze, so much so that he could feel the gradual heating of his cheeks.

Insufferable, irresistible, lovable woman.

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   February Umbridge

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— set by MJ! —

February felt the drop in her stomach when he admitted her worst fear. Would she have been able to blame him? She'd once told him she was incredibly loyal, but she'd gone and broken a promise. It had been careless of her, something she'd once accused him of being. Never again.

At a loss for words, she was glad he prolonged the need to find any as he kissed her. Her fingers tightened their grip on the front of his robes, completely thrown off balance by the emotion behind the kiss. She could feel the warmth of it right down to her toes, radiating inward.

There it was, the last little push over the edge.

Fuck, she'd fallen in love with him.

The realization hit her hard and fast as she pressed closer to him, pouring every ounce she had into the kiss, lest she get ahead of herself and actually say it out loud.  

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The following 1 user Likes February Umbridge's post:1 user Likes February Umbridge's post
   Edric Umbridge

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The difference in the way he handled her was painfully obvious, especially to him. Rather than his arms falling around her waist, his hands slid from her face to around her neck, gently moving the hair so he could hold her head in place. This was not the sort of kiss he was used to, nor was it was he felt confident to lead, but he did so out of necessity; she'd practically melted against him, him larger frame supporting hers as she grabbed at his robes.

He pulled back long enough to catch a break, not bothering enough to pull himself entirely away from her. He nudged her nose gently with his own while he took in her scent—a rosemary, maybe even lemony scent so distinct against the dusty smell of the fog. He was sick of considering how long it would be until they saw each other next, but he found himself doing just that as he tried to ingrain all of the sensations into his mind.

"I need you, Febs," he murmured, pulling back just far enough so he could look into her eyes. "But we need to be honest with each other—with our actions and our feelings."

Which probably meant an entirely (well, maybe not entirely) different thing for her than it did for him.

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— set by MJ! —

Febs felt as though she was going to melt right there on the spot. The only grounding sensation she could find was the feeling of his hands literally holding her in place. When he pulled back, she exhaled in a sigh, eyes still closed, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Her head was reeling, from the kiss, from the argument, from the realizations, it was a miracle she hadn't actually collapsed altogether. Her lashes fluttered open when he spoke next, a little jolt of anticipation shooting through her body.

Blue eyes met his in the dim light, wide and curious, but she nodded slowly anyway. He was right, there was no going forward if they weren't honest with one another, but she'd just realized how she felt, was now really the best time to tell him? She didn't doubt that he cared for her, but she suspected he wasn't there yet either.

Febs bit her lip, trying to find the words she could use to tell him without actually having to say them just yet. She wanted to simmer over it a little longer, just to be sure it wasn't a gut reaction to almost losing him. "Edric, I-" Where the hell did she start? "When I thought this might be the end of everything, of what we talked about, not-so-hypothetically; that I was losing the potential of what we have, it felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn't breathe, that's how much I need you." She still felt breathless.

"I know it hasn't been very long at all. It's all happening so fast. Just a few weeks ago I didn't even know who you were, now I can't imagine what it would be like without you. All that talk about eloping and where we'd live, I can picture it damn it, really easily, and I can't get it out of my head. I want that more than words could ever describe. I want you, just you, and that life we imagined." She'd almost screwed it up and ruined it and the thought of that being reality would crush her; she'd never be so careless again.

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For all that he believed that he was the one acting outside the norm, hearing her ramble about her feelings made it obvious that this meeting—and the series of letters before it—had changed them and their feelings towards each other. Her works were in stark contrast to the sort of words he thought he'd be hearing after taking on Miss February Lynch as a sort of lover. It was all meant to be casual, but it was clear it was more than that now.

(But was it ever casual? Being truly casual would have meant that many of their early arguments would never have happened, and neither would some of the pissy arguments they'd have through letters. Being casual would have meant being able to sleep with a whore without moaning her name, just as it would meant feeling little jealousy at the notion of her simply flirting with another gentleman. Had this always been more than casual?)

"I want that, too," he breathed. "I'm not a man who ponders simply to do so, and especially not with a woman I've known for such a short time. You must know I care deeply for you."

He couldn't manage to get the word love out of his mouth, similarly how he'd had difficulty getting his hand to write the word marriage. To some it would seem like a symptom of commitment issues, but it was far from; he wanted commitment and he wanted to give it without holding back, but an admission of his feelings gave her the power to use that against him. Even if she was so willing to be his wife today... did that matter?

"But." His hands found the sides of his face once more, his thumbs brushing gently over her brows. "I need to tell you that I'm not supposed to be seen with you—not publicly," he whispered, searching her eyes for any immediate distress. "The public needs total confidence in me right now; the community's in chaos and I'm an unfamiliar face. We need to stay quiet and stay private until things settle down."

He then continued. "That's why I'm so anxious about the notion of being caught. I could lose my job—not because of you, but because of insubordination. But I can't give you up, either."

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— set by MJ! —

Febby covered his hands with hers as she closed her eyes, leaning into the sensation. She nodded along to what he started to say. She knew, she could tell, they wouldn't be here otherwise. He could have just called it quits and not come to let her explain. Merlin's beard they were sunk. How the hell had that happened so fast?

Then came the but. Febs opened her eyes, watching him carefully as he spoke. Her initial reaction was surprise- and she opened her mouth to protest, but managed to wait, letting him finish before jumping to conclusions. Still, her brows furrowed in confusion. Was it from the hospital thing? Really? People needed to stop reading into situations they knew nothing about. Febs tried to rationalize what that meant, but the sting of disappointment was so strong she was struggling.

She waited a moment, trying to come to terms with what he'd told her, disappointment warring with resignation, until she finally sighed slowly in the latter. It wasn't a good time, at all. And they needed to wait for the stupid hospital thing to blow over. She was just one of the most impatient creatures on the planet and when she wanted something, or in this case, someone, it was hard for her to wait. Being  reduced to letters was nearly impossible when there was so much potential.

"Right, of course. I understand." She said quietly. It was miserable, but she did understand. Febs had really meant it when she said she would never jeopardize his job, not when it was obviously so important to him.

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Her disappointment was evident and it was heartbreaking, especially since he wanted exactly what she did. The details—the where, the when, and the how—were admittedly not ones that could be planned with ease, nor were they certain in any respect, but he would give her what she wanted when the time was right. Eventually.

"Perhaps the gossip will be long-forgotten by the time the fog dissipates," he said quietly in his best attempt to comfort her. "It isn't as if I could whisk you away to the countryside before then. You're stuck here and I don't have the power to get you out—not without getting myself in trouble."

Not wishing to make her any more upset with his comments (which, as a natural pessimist, he was prone to doing), he tilted her face up once again and pressed a kiss to her lips. He had no desire to leave once again before getting his fair share of affection, especially before putting himself in danger to accompany others on the fog expedition.

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— set by MJ! —

It was hard to be too upset when he was being reasonable; he was actually pretty good at that. Sometimes, anyway. It was like they had a hard time finding the happy medium in that respect."I know," She could wait, she would have to. "You're right." Having something to hold onto would have to sustain her. That and moments like this- though they would be few and far between for a long while yet.

Thankfully, she was saved yet again from having to say anything else as he kissed her. Febs softened into him easily, trying to soak up as much as she could while she had him. He would be off on that Merlin-forsaken expedition soon and who knew what would happen. She'd be stuck here worrying about him. Febby supposed she best get used to that.

That realization sent her heart skittering into overdrive, she tangled her fingers in his hair, a hint of desperation tinting the kiss now though she tried not to get too carried away.

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It was hard to control himself in the moment; he'd gone a week, sexually-frustrated, without her touch (or any touch), and now that he had her it was difficult to hold back. Her hands in his hair prompted memories from their last rendezvous to come flooding back to the forefront of his mind, and his hands slid easily down to her waist. He wished he could have more of her—something to hold onto while he was trekking through the wilderness, sitting at his desk while trying to solve the crisis at hand, and while sitting on his bed alone each evening.

"One day we'll be able to do this whenever we want," he mumbled against her lips, "—up against a bookshelf, in bed, in our own garden. Every morning, every evening." Their little fantasy—their hypothetical elopement and home they'd come up to cope with their stress and the distance between them—definitely could become a reality, but he wasn't sure how easily it would come.

If the gossip too long to blow over and Minister didn't learn to stay out of his personal business, he'd be forced to face a sticky situation. While his Febs was far from the most proper woman in regards to their private activities, her public reputation was not one of a loose woman by any means; to deny him the opportunity to pursue her (or, more realistically, punish him for doing so) was a complete overstep of his authority.

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— set by MJ! —