Ezra Goldstein (notgolden) wrote in thebreach, @ 2010-08-26 16:51:00 |
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Ezra hadn’t bothered to unpack all of his belongings. He’d already moved twice since he’d taken the job as Deputy Head of the Muggle Liaison Office. He’d been inundated with letters at home. And not all of them were telling him to bugger off. Some were from fellow muggleborns, pleading for help. Those were the worst. After this last move, two months ago, he decided he’d live out of his boxes. Honestly, all he really needed were his clothes and sheets and towels. He was rarely home anyway. The boxes, however, were now stacked neatly in the corner of the lounge. He’d even dug out a couple of pint glasses. He settled himself on the couch with a book on World War II. He was having difficulty concentrating though, feeling as if someone were watching him. The gnome. Which had seemed to taunt him for the last few days. Are you going to send me or not? For the first time in a long while, Edgar told his wife that he was going out and he was merely going to visit a friend. A friend who had nothing to do with the Order at that. It wasn't often that Edgar got a chance to see anyone who wasn't related to him, a coworker or a member of the Order. Between his work schedule and taking care of projects on the side and attempting to still be a husband and father, Edgar was lucky if he found the time to sleep. Socialising came dead last on his list of priorities these days, and as he left his house, he actually wondered if he should follow through on it. Weren't there more important things he could be doing? Maybe so, but he already had plans, and he was certain everyone needed a break from work and the state of the world. Even people like his sister, who never listened to him when it came to relaxing for even just half an hour. Edgar knocked on the door of Ezra's flat and called out -- "Bones here, with refreshments. Better open up before I drink them all myself.” Ezra opened the door. Giving the package Edgar was holding a once over, he grinned. “Oh, you brought enough for me. What are you planning on drinking?” After Edgar stepped through the doorway, Ezra gave a quick look around just to make certain no one was paying attention. He didn’t fancy moving again. But no one looked to be about. He shut the door and, with a wave of his wand, fetched the pint glasses from his kitchen counter. “How are you? Beatrix and the little ones well?” "Brought a few beers and whatever's left in this bottle of whiskey I had at home. I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I figured... why not a variety?" Edgar shrugged. It seemed like the nice thing to do when he didn't know what Ezra was in the mood for that night. The presence of the boxes had stopped phasing Edgar weeks ago. At first, he'd wondered why Ezra still hadn't unpacked; it simply hadn't occurred to him how much of a hassle it would be to pack and unpack and pack again. Now, while he wished his friend wasn't in the sort of situation where he'd have to move house often, he also found that the boxes were useful. As coffee tables, for example. "All's well," Edgar answered as he made his way into the room. "Clara's more determined than ever to become just like Amelia, and Elliott's doing what a three year old boy does best: track dirt into the house." Edgar grinned, just so Ezra would be able to tell that he wasn't complaining. "How're things with you? Your brother still being a stick in the mud?" “Beer’s good,” he said, helping himself to one. He opened it and poured it into one of the pint glasses. He shrugged. “Worse things to be than Amelia, I suppose.” He didn’t know Amelia as well as Edgar obviously, but she was head of the aurors and not too much older than him. That was quite an accomplishment. “And here’s to dirt,” he said, raising his pint glass in salute. Ezra loved his nieces, but he was looking forward to when Anthony was older and could do things like track dirt into the house. And not only because it would drive Abraham mad. He made a face. “I still can’t take them to Diagon. I went for dinner the other night though and saw them,” he explained, settling on his couch and settling his glass on a nearby box. Ain't that the truth, Edgar thought with a smile. Of all the women his daughter could aspire to be when she grew up, a woman like his sister Amelia was a damn sight better than others. Of course, Edgar wouldn't want his daughter to become an Auror during some god-forsaken war. He had no idea how his parents stood it. "Here's to dirt," Edgar echoed, raising his own glass in return. He took a sip, thinking over Ezra's situation with his brother for a moment before speaking up again. He really couldn't understand what Ezra and Abraham faced on a daily basis, and he knew that. He couldn't imagine doing nothing about it, though. "Does your brother plan on hiding out for however long this lasts?" Or hiding out, either. He couldn't really blame someone for wanting to, though, particularly not if they had children. To each their own -- to a point. Ezra reached for his glass and took a long pull. “I’ve no idea. I - I know that things aren’t good. And I know that he loves his children.” He’d never doubted that Abraham loved them. “But he can’t hide. Not unless he decides to go back to the Muggle world.” He couldn’t fathom going back. Not after all he’d seen and done. He was a wizard - as was his brother - and this was where he belonged. No matter what others might think. “I went down to Diagon today. For work. More ‘No Muggleborns Need Apply’ signs than not now. I try to talk to the shop owners. But - “ He broke off, shaking his head. “How is Gringotts?” The goblins at least had one motivation and one motivation only - making money. "But it's a bit hopeless, isn't it?" Edgar wrinkled his nose. It seemed the more people fought back against the discrimination, the worse it got. His friendship with Ezra gave him a much needed outlet for his frustrations: there, he knew he was safe to say what he wanted when he might otherwise bite his tongue. Edgar shrugged. Work was work. It gave him something to do during the day, and a lot of access to things he wouldn't be able to get to without it, but if it weren't for his wife and children, he didn't think he would still be at the bank. "Busy. I keep waiting for them to ask me to go help out in Egypt. I'd love to take Beatrix and the children. Especially Bea. I promised her I'd take her, and that was seven years ago." Ezra made a low grumbling noise in the back of his throat. “All the more reason for Abraham to fight back. After what happened to Mum, simply because of an accident of her birth, I can’t believe he’d stand idly by. Children or not. What kind of example is he setting?” Half of his pint disappeared in one gulp. “Well,” he said, “maybe they’ll send you after the children are off at Hogwarts. Be a bit of a second honeymoon for the two of you.” His lips twitched. “Or a first, I suppose.” Edgar couldn't answer Ezra's question. He hoped that Abraham's children would understand, once they were old enough, but it was tough to swallow. He always believed children learned best from example -- he and his siblings did, and that was how he hoped the younger generation of Order members did as well. "It's different when there are children involved," Edgar offered simply. That hadn't changed his life much, but Ezra didn't know that. "Touche." His own lips tugged upwards into a smile, albeit one with a hint of regret. His relationship with Beatrix had moved so quickly that he hadn't been able to give her everything he wanted. "After the children are off at Hogwarts, I'm quitting," he announced, though he wasn't sure how serious he was. After a moment, he decided he was quite serious. Edgar cast his gaze about the flat as he took a sip from his glass, nearly choking when his eyes fell upon what was sitting on a box in the corner of the room. "Is that a gnome?" Ezra said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow when Edgar said he was quitting his job when the Clara and Elliott went off to school. He did wonder what Beatrix would have to say about that. He knew that the gnome had been spotted before Edgar even asked. Reluctantly, he nodded. “You know how I’m going golfing with Dedalus Diggle?” The other bloke had announced it publicly on his journal after all. “I traded him my dad’s old clubs for the gnome.” Then he proceeded to finish his beer, hoping that Edgar would consider the matter closed. That had been too much to hope evidently. Edgar was staring at him. With great interest and an amused look on his face. Ezra sighed, “It’s a gift. Although I’m not certain I ought to send it. I’ve already made her feel awkward once.” When Ezra caved, Edgar's eyebrows shot up even further -- he hadn't really thought that was possible -- and he could no longer keep the grin off his face. "A gift?" Not only was it a gift, which was odd enough on its own and would have warranted questioning, it was a gift for a woman. Edgar chuckled behind his glass. "So who's the, uh," he snorted, "lucky bird who gets the gnome? I hope it's not someone you fancy, because that's not getting you anywhere near her knickers. Of course, if you've made her feel awkward, I suppose you're not getting anywhere near them even without the gnome." He couldn't help teasing his friend a little; what were friends for, after all? "I sense this is a good story, so... go on." He nodded in Ezra's direction and gestured grandly with his hand for him to continue. He needed another beer if he were going to recount this. It was one thing to explain it (sort of) to Marlene over his journal and quite another to say it aloud. To Edgar. “It’s a joke,” he started off slowly as he poured his second beer. Perhaps the whisky would be a better choice now. “I sent Sophie Lufkin a book on keeping a pet gnome. Also as a joke,” he clarified. “And she thought it was funny. She sent me some cookies as a thank you and we started corresponding.” He sipped at his beer and played with a loose thread on the arm of his couch. “I offered to trade her dinner for cookies and...things got awkward. ‘m not certain what she’ll make of the gnome.” Its beady little eyes were staring at him and he could almost hear the thing laughing at him and his indecisiveness. He didn’t blame it; he sounded like a bloody girl. Sophie? The story was suddenly a whole lot more interesting. He and Beatrix knew Sophie fairly well, and their children often played together -- Matthew and Clara, in particular, since they were closer in age. She was a good woman, and likely a lonely one as well, though Edgar couldn't be sure she was ready for another relationship yet. "Awkward because you think she might have taken it as a date?" Edgar thought Ezra sounded awfully defensive about the entire thing, but he kept that to himself for now. "If she thought the book was funny, why wouldn't she think the gnome itself is?" “I don’t know what she thought but she said that dinner for cookies didn’t seem fair. But things seem normal now,” he snorted a bit because really what was normal? They’d only been corresponding for a week or two. “I don’t want to muck that up. So even if she thinks the gnome is funny, she might think it’s too much.” He shook his head slightly and snorted again, setting down his beer to scrub his hands over his face and through his hair until it stuck up slightly. “This is so stupid. I don’t even know her. Couldn’t pick her out of a crowd even.” "Only one way to find out," Edgar commented. He smirked a little behind his glass as he drained a bit more of the beer, amused by how stressed Ezra seemed to be over what to do. He remembered those days, when he overanalysed every single word Beatrix said. It had been very frustrating and tiring. Then again, even as he'd worried, Edgar had never been the type of person to let that hold him back. If he mucked something up -- so be it. "We could introduce you. Beatrix and I know her and her son. If you want." He shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant about it so Ezra wouldn't feel pressured. Picking up his glass and having a drink, he considered Edgar’s offer for a long moment. Finally he shook his head. “No. I mean, I’d like to meet her, certainly. But she should set the pace. I can be patient.” Edgar’s smirk grew wider at that. “I can!” If only he had something to lob at Edgar’s head. There was always the gnome. Of course, if he sent Edgar home bloody, Beatrix would have his head. Plus, it might damage the gnome. And he hadn’t decided not to send it. Not yet anyhow. Or not at all. “I’m sending the gnome. We’ll see if she thinks it’s funny.” "Whatever you say," Edgar answered, biting back a chuckle. If he sounded like he didn't believe Ezra for a second, that was because he didn't. It was a good idea, however, to let Sophie set the pace. Edgar knew she'd been through a lot over the last few years, and she deserved to have a man be patient with her as she sorted everything out. And of course, then there was Matthew. There was no telling how Matthew would react to another man in his mother's life, and patience would be needed there too. "Good man. Cheers." Edgar lifted his glass to toast Ezra for his recent decision. "What've you got to lose?" Her friendship, possibly. "That is to say, does what you've got to lose outweigh what you could gain?" Ezra lifted his own glass, mirroring Edgar. “Thanks,” he said, taking a pull from his glass. “And possibly. Remains to be seen, I suppose. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that though.” He really hoped Sophie would think it was funny. If she didn’t, or if things were awkward again, he’d back off. A lot, he silently promised himself. “Enough about me,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. ”I think we ought to open the whisky.” |