InsaneJournal

Who: Fabian Prewett and George Weasley
What: “I want in.”
Where: Fabian's office/workplace on Diagon Alley
When: Friday afternoon, 24 April 1998
Rating: Call that an R for language, mention of torture and other DE-related activities.
Status: Log. Complete.



George had been on his best behavior since Monday--staying calm and steady when he was at the Burrow, being where he was needed, not being where he wasn't. And not panicking, not panicking--not where anyone could see at least. But calm and steady was never his forte, and sitting around waiting for things to happen was entirely beyond him. Especially when he knew there was more he could be doing, if only he had an idea what.

Which was why he left the shop in Percy's more-than-capable hands and headed down to Fabian's, hoping his uncle was there (and able to step out for a bit). They'd seen plenty of one another in the past few days, but he couldn't very well ask what he wanted to ask in front of Molly (or even Arthur, to a lesser degree). He could have warded, but he thought he might have a better chance if it was an unannounced visit.

Fabian had been mostly useless since the various crises with his family and loved ones had started. He was in the red with Dedalus for how much he'd dumped in his partner's lap after Gideon had gone missing, but with Gwen at least recovered, Fabian had decided to at least try to get back to work. He was alone in the office when the rap on the door, ignoring the closed sign, came.

A peep through the glass near the top of the door confirmed it was someone Fabian actually wanted to talk to, so he opened the door and greeted George with an avuncular hug. Right now it just seemed important to hang on to everyone.

The door locked behind George and Fabian gestured to him to sit down in one of the client chairs. Instead of taking his own desk chair, Fabian pulled the guest chair from Dedalus' desk over to sit with George. "What's up?" That it wasn't news of Gideon was evident: George would have already said as much.

George returned the hug perhaps a little harder than usual; he was clearly also feeling as if he couldn't take anyone's presence for granted. He took the chair offered and looked around the office before responding, making sure no one else was around to hear them. "I know you're not..." he paused for a moment, looking for the right way to phrase it, "as reformed as you let on, Uncle Fabian. And I know you want us to stay safe and out of things, but that's not really an option anymore. I want in. I want to help. You know we can. I mean, obviously I'm not a trained duelist, but we can make things and nobody really takes us seriously which is a great cover and..." He realized he was babbling a bit and made himself stop. "Let us help. Please."

Fabian held up a hand when George paused for breath after the head of steam he'd built up to bowl Fabian over ran out. "Let me think of how to say this," was where Fabian began, "because--" he hesitated, then lifted his left hand to his mouth, thumb touched to first and second fingers as if he were holding something, which he turned from vertical to horizontal in the traditional solicitor's code for an oath of silence. "Do you understand?"

It took George a moment before it clicked, but he suddenly realized what Fabian meant. Of course, if anyone could talk their way around such a thing it was Fabian (a skill that George hoped to learn half as well someday). "Got it." He grinned despite the seriousness of it. "I'm pretty good at charades, if it helps."

"I'm used to this. Circumlocution is part of the old job. And the old game." Fabian's wry grin didn't make it to his eyes. "The first thing I need to say is that you and Fred asked me a question once, one I kind of half-arsed the answer to in hindsight, because I wasn't sure exactly which thing I was answering. But I think you got the answer anyway. But I answered for myself, and nobody else."

Fabian paused to let that sink in.

"And I know you and Fred are of a mind, more of a mind than--" Fabian stopped himself there, because that wasn't what George needed to talk about and Fabian didn't need to say that to George. So he pivoted to "--but that doesn't mean I don't need to hear whatever Fred has to say for himself from him."

Those silences were easy enough to read between. "Yeah, of course. I say 'we' out of habit, and I'm sure Fred is probably on the same page, but I don't want to speak for him. Especially not about something like this." As for the rest of it... "You mean Gideon wasn't back at it, I'm guessing." George wasn't sure if that was good news or bad. Probably bad, if it meant that people who weren't even involved were disappearing... not to mention that (by George's guess) it probably also meant they didn't know where to even start looking for him. His stomach dropped a little.

Fabian shook his head. "He wasn't involved in anything I might have been involved with," he clarified, which since it wasn't about what he had been doing, or with whom, he could be more open about. "This next bit, I'm not supposed to tell you, I don't think, but I trust you and Fred to keep your mouth shut the way you did about the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. But this, this can't even go to Lee or Percy. Just you and Fred.

"I understand he went after the person who attacked Bilius. And I understand he had backup. Just that--sometimes that's not enough. But that means they have some hope of finding him." Fabian reached out to offer George a reassuring clasp, because George might well know the truth: after two days, the odds of finding Gideon alive were low. And the miracle that Fabian might have hoped for there had probably been spent on Gwen.

That was reassuring--and then again, it wasn't. George had been determinedly not thinking about what state Gideon would be in when he was found, only about the need to find him. Thinking about it now, he felt vaguely ill, but he did his best to put a brave face on it. "Thank you. For telling me." He took a deep breath. "I assume Bilius is looking for him? I didn't ask questions when I took him the defense stuff, because I didn't think it would be helpful, but..." It worries me not to know who else might disappear next, or get hurt, or... He didn't say that part.

"Bilius has backup and more help he can call on if he needs it. He's not alone; I don't know everything that's going on, but at least one of the people with him is someone I'd trust my own life to." Fabian let out a huff of breath and looked George straight in the eye. "Do you blame me for not going?"

"What? No, of course not!" The thought hadn't even occurred to him--Fabian had been busy keeping things together for everyone else. "No, I figure you know where you're the most useful. And you had Gwenog to think about too... I'm just worried. About everyone." Belatedly, he realized he should have asked-- "How is she? Was... whatever happened to her related to what Gideon was doing?"

While his eyes hadn't physically moved, Fabian's thoughts had clearly turned inward. "She's--as well as we have any hope to expect, I guess. She ought to recover physically. There are other things it'll be a hard road back from." He forced himself to stop thinking about the Cruciatus and focus on George. "The Death Eater who attacked Bilius was Alecto Carrow. The Death Eater who grabbed Gwen is, we think, the one who used to be called the Knocker back in the war. We don't know who he, or she, is. I don't think it's someone who went to Azkaban. My best guess is that Gwen said something publicly that the Knocker didn't like. It would fit the old pattern."

That rose the hair on the back of George's neck, sure enough, but then again that was the point of having an alias like The Knocker, wasn't it? "So we're there already. Say the wrong thing and they're coming for you." It was one thing to know that kind of thing had happened in the past, but it seemed so out of place in the world where he lived now--where things like elections were happening as normal, where a joke shop could thrive. But then, he guessed it was always that way--things weren't that bad until suddenly they were.

"They're not organised like they were in the old days, though. In the war we had one mind to deal with: Voldemort. Now, we have the Death Eaters raising the Mark they way they did at the Macnair trial and we have people murdering in the name of Lady Noir, plus whoever killed those women and left that list at Gringotts in December. At least with Voldemort, when we got him, we had good reason to believe that the rest of them, even the ones the Aurors didn't catch, would settle down for a while." Fabian smiled crookedly at George for half a moment before his expression settled again into the increasingly deep lines of exhaustion he'd been wearing since Gideon had vanished. "The upside of this lot is that we're probably not going to do any more pitched battles like we did in the old days." He thought about the Order's last large outing and repeated, "Probably."

Which brought Fabian back round to George's original question. "The thing is that if you're interested in helping certain people, there are things you could be doing. Things you are doing, have already been doing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

That wasn't reassuring. But then again, what would be? People were getting hurt, disappearing, dying--and George's family was made up entirely of potential targets. Short of saying 'Gideon's been found, it was all a big misunderstanding,' there wasn't anything that would be too terribly reassuring at this point.

He nodded at Fabian's question, though. "Supply lines, right? It doesn't have to be just for the defense stuff we already have either, you know. We can import a lot of things that might seem suspicious otherwise, under the guise of using them in our products--whether we actually do or not. And we can always make new things. Give us a pot of coffee and a problem to solve and we'll have prototypes in under forty-eight hours." All right, maybe he was exaggerating a bit, but that was where he and Fred both excelled: taking an idea and figuring out how to make it reality.

"I don't know what I need right now. I don't know anything right now." Fabian shook his head again as if he could shake the fog that was still shrouding his higher thinking processes off with it. "But I'll come to you when I do. I can promise you that much. And I want you two to learn how to defend yourselves, and Lee as well. The Knocker isn't the only one who can cut through a ward by breaking the stones or the door." He pressed his lips together, but couldn't keep the other thing from coming out. "I'm glad you don't blame me because I fucking well blame myself."

That startled George--he was so used to thinking of Fabian as unflappable and in control, it was hard to reconcile. That was an unforeseen side effect of getting older, he was beginning to discover--realizing that none of the adults knew all the answers either. But George thought he maybe knew this one, even if his uncle didn’t. “If you had gone, still worrying about Gwenog, would you have been the best person for the job? Think about where we’d be if you and Gideon both ended up…” he took a breath and settled carefully on, “gone. Mum especially. You said you would trust the person who’s with Uncle Bill with your life, right?” He paused. “Why wouldn’t you trust them with Gideon’s, then?”

"I do. And I couldn't go. Both because of Gwen--and how suspicious would it have been if I'd vanished just then?--and because of your mum and the rest of you lot." There was another truth there that Fabian couldn't bring himself to say, so he didn't. "The thing about knowing it in your head is that it doesn't always extend to your heart." His head fell back for a moment; his gaze rested on the blank ceiling of his office. "Or your gut."

George leaned in, reaching across to squeeze Fabian’s shoulder, and didn’t say anything for a minute. He could understand that, at least. He wanted to offer some reassurance, but there wasn’t much to say at this point that wasn’t just empty words. They’ll find him. He’ll be all right. But would he? Fabian would know that better than George, anyway, so even if it was true it wouldn’t be much comfort coming from him.

At last, he decided to let it drop, because there was nothing he could say that would make it better. Instead, he focused on what Fabian had said before-- “I do want to get better at defending myself. We did some practice with Tonks, but…” he glanced down a little guiltily. “It’s kind of hard to take it very seriously when Fred and Lee are around. Or, I guess I should say, I make it hard for them to take it seriously. Might be better to work on some things one-on-one with somebody.”

The reassuring squeeze on the shoulder reminded Fabian it was his job to man up and stop wibbling. Defence training. Right. That he could do. "We'll do that. And I'll sharpen Fred and Lee up, if they want.

"I thought when I went in, when they sent me to Azkaban, that I had spared you youngsters all this. I'm sorry, George." Fabian huffed out another sigh. "But that's not on me either, and I know it. It's on the bastards who hate people for reasons of blood. We'll get through this somehow. Together." He reached out to take George's hand in an affectionate clasp.

“If you hadn’t done what you did then, we might not have had the chance to grow up before we had to deal with it.” Fabian could decide whether it had been worth it, but George would never let him think it didn’t mean something. “We will. We’ll look out for each other, and we’ll get through it, and--Merlin help anyone who tries to stop us.”