InsaneJournal

Who: Gwenog Jones and Fabian Prewett
What: Moving in and moving on
When: Evening of 4 July, 1998
Where: His Their flat off Diagon Alley
Warnings: None significant



Moving around the furniture in the flat, even with the assistance of magic, was something of an effort. After some juggling of items both new to the flat and old between upstairs and down--and Fabian had no idea how they would have managed had it not been for the loft, because they'd literally had to hold a couple of things in the open area over the living area while they installed others upstairs--Fabian and Gwen were both exhausted. Instead of cooking, they'd settled for delivery takeaway from the Chinese place round the corner, which they were now eating from the containers with chopsticks. Apparently Fabian's bachelor days, including his tiny meals of cheese, apples, and summer sausage, were well and truly over.

He picked out a piece of the hung sue beef he'd been enjoying and offered it to Gwen. "So what do you think? Satisfied with the mix, or are we going to have another go at the furniture later?"

Gwenog was thoroughly enjoying her food and sitting down. It had been a long and rather exhausting day, but there it was - she was moved in. Officially. All the belongings she had wanted to (and could) keep were here, all her clothes were here, all her make-up and beauty products, everything. She was officially living with Fabian Prewett. She couldn’t believe it, even as she sat looking at her own things, shoving chow-mein in a rather unladylike fashion into her mouth.

“I don’t want to move anything around for at least a week.” She said with a bit of a smirk. “I like the mix, but we’ll have to actually live in it for a while to make sure everything fits the way we have it. If something feels out of place then, maybe we can move a few things around once more. But I like the way it looks right now.”

"I do too. Things are a bit tight with the piano, still, but we've got more seating downstairs, at least. We could entertain without putting people on the bench or at the dining table." The piano had been the stumbling block for everything; it was non-negotiable and took up a lot of space and could not be moved very far for reasons of space and acoustics. "Not that my nephews care about that." Which made Fabian think: "What about Megan? Is she going to care? When are we having her over?" He didn't ask whether Megan knew whether they were moving in. Fabian hadn't kept it a secret, exactly, but his habits of confidentiality were such that he didn't mention things when he didn't have to--and he hadn't had to until now.

He was right, of course. They had enough room for entertaining and things, though tight, were still cozy. She was absolutely fine with how everything was situated, apart from the lack of Quidditch posters on the walls. She’d change that soon enough, though. “Megan will be fine. I’m sure she’ll be happy for me. I haven’t wanted to distract her, but I’ll let her know soon enough.” She knew Megan would be overjoyed, knowing that despite everything that had happened, Gwen was really happy. That she was doing well. “And much like your nephews, I’m sure she’d be fine with sitting on the floor too if it ever came to that. But let’s try not to entertain too many house guests at once, maybe?”

"The most I usually entertain is Molly's brood, sometimes with Bilius or their parents." There had been a time when Gideon would have been mentioned, but that was long ago. "So no more than, what, eight or nine, plus us ... yeah, that's a lot." That would have been a lot, even without the piano. "Which reminds me, I need to ask you to find out whether your boss has any summer positions for sixth-years. Ginny was asking me about the possibility of summer work and I said I'd check." Which brought Fabian back round to-- "I guess we're announcing on the journals that we've moved in rather than throwing a flat-warming. Re-warming, since my flat is already warm from having had me in it."

“That’s quite a lot of people.” She could only imagine how cramped it had been before they moved in both of their things to his flat, but now with what it was like… eight or nine would be extremely difficult to maneuver around. Gwenog wouldn’t complain, though. She loved the Weasley brood and had no issues if she had to sit sandwiched in between a Weasley or two. She couldn’t imagine a better family to have to share tight quarters with during a sort of gathering. “I suppose we could announce it that way, yeah. Seems silly to have a housewarming when we have everything we need already and we’re all moved in.”

Fabian nodded his agreement with the last point. "And it's not like people won't notice the next time they're up here that it's no longer bachelor central. How are your parents taking it? I haven't formally said anything to my parents but I'm about to have to do that. Mum's making noises about setting me up with women she thinks are appropriate because she's anxious to see me breeding an heir, and I'm hoping this will put paid to that." The temptation to roll his eyes at his mother's meddling was irresistible, so Fabian didn't resist it.

“My parents are actually very happy. I think they have their… reservations,” She said briefly, deciding not to go in to what those might be, “but they know I’m happy and that’s all that really matters to them.” It was mostly the age difference that bothered them, but it wasn’t something that Gwenog noticed at all, and she didn’t really care what anyone else thought. At the mention of Mrs. Prewett trying to find Fabian suitable wives to procreate with, Gwenog rose a brow. “Am I not appropriate for you?” She asked, a small pout on her lips.

The irresistible urge struck again, and so did Fabian's eyeroll. "Well, you are young enough that fertility stands in your favour, at least." He straightened and poked at Gwen's midsection with his free hand, the one with no sauce-stained chopsticks in it. "But I think there are two things she doesn't care for about you--one, it would be nicer if you were a pureblood--" and here Fabian made a face "--though I think she's given up on the idea on the grounds of me being, you know, a convict. The second is sort of related, and wouldn't matter as much except for things being the way they were with Gideon. Which is that she worries that you won't be the kind of wife she thinks a man who owns and maintains a big estate like Prewett House needs. And I can see why she'd be concerned about that but, first, when I inherit that house, I don't know that I'll run it or use it the way Dad does, and second, anything you don't know that I don't know either, she can teach you, and Andromeda would probably love to talk about all that sort of thing with you if you wanted to know.

"Also Mum loves to matchmake. So you're getting in the way of her fun, but that's her problem, not ours."

“Oi, well I’m glad my fertility is living up to standards, then.” She replied, bopping his nose with the end of her chopsticks before she went back to eating. Of course, they had exchanged the I love you’s, they had moved in together, but it wasn’t as if they had discussed marriage, or had any immediate plans to have children. So it was a little strange to be discussing it, but in the sense that it was his mother’s expectations, Gwenog didn’t really think on it too much. It was just his mum being his mum and when the time came, if it ever did, they would have their own discussion about where their lives would go together. Of course, she knew he wanted children and so did she - and she could figure it would be together at this point, but there was no need to get so serious at this exact moment.

“I suppose I don’t live up to every expectation your mother may have wanted for her child, and that’s not really surprising. What woman ever really does?” Gwenog shrugged, never having really thought about what it might be like to impress someone’s mum in that way, but she was sure she could prove herself in time. “I’m no stranger to large houses and the sort of maintenance it takes to keep those sorts of things up and going. I may have lived in a small flat the last two years but I had larger houses before that, when I was still playing Quidditch and had a disgustingly large income.” Of course, it was nowhere near the fortune she was sure the Prewett’s all had stashed away, but it had been hefty and she had lived a charmed sort of life for quite a few years, she knew how to handle that sort of thing.

After a moment (and another bite of food), she turned back to Fabian with a more somber sort of expression. “And it doesn’t matter to you, what she thinks? We won’t get on in our relationship and I’ll think we’re completely in love and you’ll end up voting in favor of a more appropriate, can handle a large estate or whatever sort of woman?”

The question was serious, and Fabian took it seriously, so he didn't offer an immediate no. Instead he felt his way to the right answer in a thinking-aloud tone. "What they tell us, a lot, growing up, is that you have to marry someone you're compatible with, who shares your values and your understanding of the world, and that's why we all move in this small circle and mostly marry each other. They don't just mean purism by that, whether it's the sort that murders Muggleborns or the soft version that involves expecting them to fail. They also mean things about expectations, about our place in our families, about how money is properly handled, things like that. Obviously I rejected a lot of that or I wouldn't have this." Fabian held up his left hand, the one with the chopsticks, showing the Azkaban tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. "Or this, for that matter." He held up his right arm, showing the basilisk venom scar. "But we don't know that we agree well enough on everything just because we're moving in together. I love you, but I've been taught all my life that that's not enough for marriage.

"So that's my way of saying, I'm not planning to drop you in favour of, oh, I don't know, Giatta Bulstrode if she turns up freshly divorced from Reggie Parkinson. But I can't say that we won't end up parting over some deep difference that we don't see now. But this is part of why we're having this conversation, I reckon, so we can start looking at what we want out of life, and whether we are compatible in a way that might lead to marriage.

"It would have been easier if Gideon hadn't died. That's what's driving my mum right now. I'm the heir but I don't have an heir of my own, and what happens if Lady Noir decides to kill me, too?"

“Well then, what sort of things would make us compatible or not compatible? I feel like we’re not only both adults, but compatible in a lot of ways already.” In fact, moving in and just setting up a home together could prove to break a lot of relationships, but they had been living together for quite some time already and had little trouble moving their two spaces into one. She would have liked to move somewhere new with him, pick out a new flat they both liked together - but she also didn’t mind moving in to his place and making it her own, as long as he didn’t resent her for taking over. Which, she was quite sure he wouldn’t. “I understand what you mean, but I also wish for a certain bit of… security in our relationship, is all.”

She understood, as Fabian explained it, where his family was coming from and where he too was coming from. It wasn’t like she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea, and she certainly didn’t blame him for thinking about it practically. She had thought about it both emotionally and practically at this point as well. She did want children, she wanted a husband. Things that had been so foreign to her, so out of sight and out of mind while she was busy being a famous Quidditch player, were things that had started to become a reality and a possibility to her over the last year. And once her relationship with Fabian had developed into what it was now, she had no trouble admitting that those types of thoughts - marriage, children, futures and all that, were on her mind with far more frequency than before.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to win her over, someday.”

"If you don't, it's not your fault. My mother has never liked any woman I ever dated. And let's not even get into her deciding to matchmake for Molly and Gideon." Fabian visibly cringed as he thought about the stories he'd heard about his mother's last, worst attempt to find someone special for Gideon, with Bilius right in the room. "And, for the rest of it--I mean, obviously if I knew something was wrong, I'd say it. Moving in together is a way of figuring out if we're compatible, not just in the day-to-day sense, but what happens when we have a crisis, as if we haven't had enough of those, and over time. It's not how my parents would have done it, obviously, but I'm not my father.

"Sometimes I think I should just abdicate being Dad's heir and let it go to whatever Prewett cousin would inherit and wash my hands of the whole thing. But there's a lot of good I could do--we could do--with it, if I had it. So I don't know." Mentally, Fabian damned Gideon for dying, for failing to deal with his refusal to either act as heir or give up the role, for every stupid thing he'd left to Fabian to clean up one more time. He was going to be doing a lot of that over the months and years, Fabian reckoned.

Gwenog had nearly forgotten about her food, but continued to eat it as Fabian explained himself, and moreso, explained his mother. It must have been difficult, growing up like that, with the kind of money that could actually change things in their world. Gwenog had been quite rich once - she was still quite well off, even, but she didn’t have the kind of income she’d once had. Being a professional Quidditch player paid extraordinarily well, and though she had saved far more than she had spent, she wished she had done something a little more with it than just simply live her life.

“Considering all we’ve been through already, and how we’ve handled it, I don’t think we need to worry much about how we are together when dealing with a crisis.” They were strong for each other, and Fabian knew just how to calm Gwenog down if something was happening, and she hoped she had been able to do the same for him. They were growing together, and it was really quite fantastic to feel this way. “And when the time comes, we’ll need to discuss…” She put on a very serious face. “Moving into a bigger place, whether of our own purchase decided together, or wherever, and I absolutely refuse to not have at least one Quidditch poster up somewhere.”

"There's still wall room upstairs, I think. Not in the bedroom, because the movement isn't good in a sleeping area, but maybe out front on the other side of the wall in the living area? There's no room in the office because the walls are all covered in books." Fabian rolled back a little as if he could see over the half-wall in the loft and to the wall to see where the art he'd sent back to Prewett House had been and whether it had room for Quidditch posters. "The next place needs to have more wall space for art, and room to entertain."

“Alright, then I’ll be hanging a few… later. Sometime later, when I’m not feeling quite so lazy and full of delicious food.” She smiled at him and nodded her agreement about the next place being a bit bigger. “Oh, definitely. We’ll need a bit more space and preferably, I’d like somewhere I can fly. So a bit of yard space or something.” She liked flats and all, she even liked this one quite a lot, but it had the dramatic downfall (in her opinion) of not having any free space to fly around in. It was definitely something she sincerely missed.

"We can always fly over the grounds of Prewett House," Fabian offered, before he could think better of it. "It's not huge, as these things go--I mean we're not the Malfoys or anything--but you could do a little flying there. And if you didn't want to go alone, I mean, if you didn't want to deal with my parents, I could go with you."

“I’ve seen the Prewett House, and it may not be Malfoy Manor but it’s certainly quite large and there’s plenty of room to fly.” But he was right - she wouldn’t feel right going there without him, and it would be uncomfortable to go while his parents were there. “But I would like you to come with me, if I go there to fly.” Mostly, she’d been going to little spots around London she knew to be inhabited only by Wizards, and flew around there. Or she flew at Hogwarts, which was not quite so available to her now. “You’ve proven yourself on a broom well enough to fly with me, and I like the company.”

Fabian poked at Gwen with the chopsticks again. "Thanks for that, Gwen. I guess I could try to keep up," he teased.

“Try is precisely the right word, as you’ll never be able to actually keep up.” She teased him back, poking his belly with her finger before taking one last bite of her food and setting it down. “I think I may very well just sleep on this couch, moving sounds like a terrible idea.”

"No tempting you with a hot shower with ridiculous bath products?" Fabian pouted visibly as he pushed himself up to make room for Gwen to stretch out. A wave of his wand sent the discarded containers toward the wall that served as his--their--kitchen.

“Oh well if ridiculous bath products are involved, there may be tempting me just yet.” She replied, stretching slightly before she finally managed to stand herself up, leaning over to kiss Fabian briefly. “Alright, alright. I’m up.”

Fabian took Gwen's hand and kissed it, then led her up the stairs.