9 August, 1975 Fort Fancourt had finally won a bet for the first time in a quarter of a year. This was seriously important and exciting news, because now he could pay off some of his debts without putting himself into further debt with his younger brothers. It called for tea. He owled his cousin Toby in cheerful excitement -- it was a Saturday, he'd be around -- and made some tea.
Toby had received the owl, and had sighed when he'd read it. Fort's unfortunate tendency to make unwise bets really did not need encouragement. On the other hand, it meant he was saved from experiencing a little bit of the guilt he always had in watching Fort flounder. And Fort was pleased! So that was good. He reminded himself that really, that was what mattered. Perhaps he would learn his lesson this time. Besides which, tea. It was a meal best shared over good news and with friends. So he Apparated in, owl post still in hand. "Congratulations?" he said, hesitantly.
"Toby!" Fort greeted his cousin cheerfully. "There's tea. Sit, sit," he encouraged.
Toby sat, hesitantly. "Tea's good," he said, irrelevantly. "...Look. I. I think you should..." Tea, or this awkward discussion, which... if he was being honest with himself, he doubted if it would ever sink in with Fort. "...I think you should remind me to bring some of those little chocolate biscuit things Mum's elf makes, they're really good!" he said quickly, and perhaps a bit overenthusiastically. "They'd go well with celebratory tea."
"That elf, he's a genius," Fort said, carefully pouring the tea. "Next time, then. Jessi's all settled in with her new flat and I'll actually be able to pay the last installment on the gift I bought her for doing so well on her NEWTs. That's my girl!"
"Well, that's... wonderful!" said Toby, who hoped he had not saddled poor Jessi with a gift that was both ridiculously expensive and utterly impractical. One or the other should really suffice. (He was recalling his own just-moved-out post-Hogwarts years, rather fuzzily, and he was fairly certain he had not actually owned any forks for those first two years, merely because he and his mother had quite forgot he needed them.) "I'm afraid I sent her some rather dull store vouchers, I thought she might need books for her training. Er. What'd you get her?"
"Oh, she tries to live far too Spartan, I bought her a piece of art to put in her tiny little flat. I told her her family would be more than willing to help her find a better flat, especially for someone about to embark on such a serious career," Fort rambled off. "Something from that art gallery down in Brighton, she quite liked it when I took her even if she wouldn't stop talking about money. Poor girl, she's got such a good head on her shoulders but she worries so much."
Toby grabbed the sugar bowl, resisting the urge to cringe visibly. Art. Really. Well... he thought back to what little he remembered of those first two years and his flat had been rather spare for his tastes. ...he was distracting himself again. The thing was, he really liked Fort, really, but... really? He looked down at his tea, realizing he had just put five cubes of sugar into it. It was probably supersaturated with sugar by now, and, stirring experimentally, he noted far too much crunchy sludge at the bottom. "...Fort," he said, wearily. Then he realized he didn't know what he even wanted to say. "...That was really very kind of you," he said, trying to imply the but... at the end.
"But," Fort prompted, not being quite so oblivious enough to miss that hint. "But she's too young to appreciate getting art instead of money or something practical, I know. She needs to treat herself well, for once."
"Well, when I was her age..." Toby paused. He didn't actually remember what it was like to be exactly that age. "When I was about her age, you know, I was more interested in going out and having a good time with my friends. I wouldn't worry about her, she's a very... a very sensible girl. But," he said, and then hesitated yet again. There was no avoiding it. It still seemed a pity to ruin tea like this, though, so he took a long sip before continuing. "What sort of bet did you win?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light and merely curious.
"Oh, Quidditch," Fort dismissed. "No one expected the Kestrels to pull it out, but they did, I knew they would."
"...look, the thing is, Fort," said Toby. He was pained. He was a guest in Fort's own house. What right did he have, really, to criticize? "The thing is, you know, you've been saying that sort of thing about the hippogriffs and cards and, and, and that nonsense with the basilisk at Hogwarts, and..." He trailed off. "Look, I'm sorry, Fort, I don't mean to be awful, but perhaps it's time you stopped."
"Wait." Fort sipped his tea, let that sink in, then checked, "you think I can't make money off of gambling? I just did," he added, reasonably.
"...Yes, that's very nice," said Toby, sighing, "but if you average it all out it's a bit... well. Less of a gain and more of a... not really a gain at all," he said, trying to be delicate about this. He sipped at his tea again. It was far too sweet, and he felt far too guilty to enjoy it.
Fort had every intention to keep this day a good one and not to think about all the losses in the past. "Oh, no reason to look back, today is the start of a new life, after all," he said. "I'll start saving once I've paid Balthasar back."
And Toby had to have a talk with Balthasar about this, too. They were brothers, he didn't understand why Balthasar didn't forgive some of these debts anyway. Balthasar was a tad thoughtless sometimes, though. He would come around eventually. "I... yes," he said. "That's wonderful. Good!" he said. "Or perhaps before. It's sometimes best to do these things slowly," he added hopefully. "...I mean, you could save a bit and pay a bit back and eventually you'll be in the clear, no need to mess about with Quidditch."
"But this season, Toby! It's going to be excellent," Fort pressed. "Don't you remember the article in last week's QW?"
"...Which article?" Toby asked. He had of course looked at the statistics and been rather outraged about some of the trades that were being proposed -- they were betrayals of the worst order -- but he could not recall an article with headlines like FORTINBRAS FANCOURT TO MAKE A KILLING IN BETTING or anything that would imply such a season would be coming soon. "Forgive me, I may have skimmed a bit," he added. "Busy week."
"Well the trades, they're going to shake everything up, it's all in the statistics, you know how it is," Fort rambled on, in his happiest state explaining his grand plan to make enough money to actually buy the things he'd bought for his family. "I half-want to owl Rookwood, you know, ask his opinion on the arithmancy, since he's always been so happy to provide them when they're unwanted."
"Augustus really was a bit..." Toby paused. Augustus had been correct, generally, but he had a very obnoxious way of saying things, and Toby had never quite managed to make himself like his roommate. "Well. He meant well, I'm certain," he said. "At any rate, some of those trades are -- I mean. Can you believe the manager of the Arrows? He's ruining the team."
"He is," Fort had to agree. "Forcing me to bet against my own team, good Merlin. It'd be a waste to quit betting now, at any rate," he added, not exactly defensively.
Toby saw an opportunity here! Maybe. "Well," he said, "you could just stop, you know, in protest. As a devoted Arrows fan, you of course shouldn't bet against them, but this nonsense cannot possibly be encouraged by enthusiastic reactions. We ought to be responsible. Best just to ignore the Arrows altogether in your plans. It's a matter of honor." He supposed if Fort wouldn't listen to reason, he might at least listen to nonsense.
That didn't seem to make sense on the face of it, but Fort got it after a second, he thought. "It's an idea. I'll stick with the hippogriffs, I've a knack for them. And for the record Salazar Slytherin was really wasting his talents if he really kept an acromantula around instead of a giant snake," he added, yet another phrasing of a common complaint.
"Well, he was an evil overlord," Toby pointed out. "Like Ming the Merciless. You don't expect rationality from the sort of fellow who keeps pet monsters or names his currency after himself. I doubt he was too keen on sanity. Although, I must say, that Hagrid could've just been an isolated idiot. Wasn't he a Hufflepuff or something?" Although he wanted to challenge Fort's knack for hippogriffs, he was really very glad of a change of topic.
"Gryffindor, which is a strange twist of fate if you think of it," Fort said, "but either way that was not a good way to spend my OWL year, with my mother breathing down my neck about having bet money on something as frivolous as that. Supposedly."
"...And also that girl died," Toby pointed out. He hadn't actually known Myrtle, really, as she had been an infamous wet blanket, but... well. Death couldn't have improved her spirits.
"Yes, but my mother was hardly concerned about that, you know how she is. She hated Beatrix," he added, as though Toby wouldn't have noticed that.
"And Beatrix ...wasn't overly fond of her, actually," Toby agreed. In point of fact, they had had several long and rather heated arguments about how he could even put up with his admittedly ridiculous Aunt Josephine, especially at Christmas, when Toby didn't much like to argue. Toby had not been permitted to go to Christmas parties for large swathes of his childhood, and so his refusal to snub her later invitations had annoyed his wife to no end. "I... I'm sure they could have got on, if only..." He considered this, and could not think of any reason either Beatrix or Aunt Josephine would have to ever get on. "Well, at least they had stubbornness in common."
"Mother just looks for fights," Fort said reasonably. "Some people are like that. Balthasar and his trouble, me and my bets, everyone has a monkey on their back of some sort. Some just have a tighter grip than others."
It would have been nice, it really would have been, if Toby could have spent less time arguing with his wife and less time with her out of the country on work, making excuses to stay away from mad Aunt Josephine's parties and sniping, and perhaps she wouldn't even have been flattened by that boulder if only she'd taken less distant assignments. And that made him a bit crankier. "Well, some of us manage to avoid it almost altogether," he pointed out. It came out a bit more snappish than he'd meant it to sound.
"And I have to admire that," Fort said lightly, looking into his very black tea. It'd gone cold. "At any rate, something to strive for. One day I'll get it all sorted."
"I'm certain you will," said Toby, encouragingly. He really hadn't meant to be critical of Fort, only it wasn't as though he had any urge to throw money at sport, and of course if he and Beatrix had had their disagreements, they were... well. He could forgive them. "I just... it made Beatrix rather... sometimes I think she wasn't entirely...." Happy. There, he had thought it. That was enough. "Well. She was opinionated."
"She certainly was. I sometimes think it'd be worth it to go out looking for a woman, like Edmund says," Fort added, apropos of nothing. "The house was cleaner, for one."
Toby looked around in confusion. Seemed clean enough. Besides, women were not to be wooed with offers of cleaning jobs to be done, of this he was certain. "Is your elf not doing her job properly?" he asked, with some concern. "I'm certain there are ...veterenarians for that sort of thing if she's ill." He wasn't terribly experienced with house elves or their physiology.
"The house seemed cleaner when Meg lived here, or Jessi, that's all," Fort said, handwaving it. "Maybe I should have her looked at, but the tea's still quite good so I don't have much to complain about."
"...Well," said Toby. "While there's a science to tea, it isn't terribly difficult. ...Or perhaps I've lived alone for too long. Then, Beatrix never did clean much. Still, you had better get Peaseblossom checked out. She's terribly sweet-natured."
"I'll see what I can do," Fort said, as though this was a terribly honourable thing to do. "There is a bad way to prepare tea, that's all I mean. Peaseblossom, she's quite clever, quick as a whip."
"Almost human, really," said Toby. "...Well. No. But you wouldn't want to lose her." He didn't think tea was all that difficult. You preheated the pot, boiled the water, put in the leaves, remembered the strainer, put three lumps in and some cream, and Lo! there was tea. Still, perhaps Fort's rituals were a little more complex.
"Another thing to put on the to-do list, I suppose," Fort said idly, stirring his tea. "I still can't quite believe Jessi's all moved out. But she's always been so grown."
"Oh, I know, I remember that even when she was a tiny little thing," said Toby. "But that's what happens, I suppose. She ought to do very well at the Ministry. Although I do hope she stays safe," he said. Was there an actual safe way to be a Hit Witch? Probably not, Toby decided. "Of course, we all know she can take care of herself," he said quickly, so as not to worry Fort. "Beatrix would've been proud of her, you know, she was always very fond of Jessi."
"Yes. Such a good influence on her, closest thing she had to a mother -- " Fort snapped out of his reverie. "Well. She'll be fine," he said doubtfully.
Toby didn't really think Beatrix had been a good influence, really, but... she'd been a different influence. Which Jessi had probably rather needed. "She will," he said. "I know Jessi. ...Does she need anything in her flat? Silverware? Blankets? Bookshelves?" Those two years without forks were still haunting him.
Fort looked perturbed as something struck him. "I think she was using plastic forks."
"Plastic forks? They do make the strangest things nowadays," said Toby. "I can't imagine how they'd hold up under washing charms at all well." But he had to admit, he was a little bit pleased that his suspicions were correct. "Perhaps I should get her something a little more serviceable. At least until she settles down and all that," he said.
"It would be helpful. Good Merlin, I wouldn't even know where to start," Fort admitted. "She's been getting the plastic from takeaway. Takeaway, Toby. I do worry that she'll run off and -- well. I don't want her mixing with bad sorts. I imagine she will settle down one day, though, the war is quite too much for my girl."
"Well, I don't know where to start either," said Toby. "I mean, they must sell forks somewhere. I mean, you know, decent sturdy forks, not the sort that get all... bendy. Forks that are made of reputable substances," he said. "I'm certain she'll find someone decent. Eventually. I mean, she is young," he said, "but quite sensible, really."
"I just hope that Edmund's boys won't get protective over her the way they have over little Mariana," Fort added. "You never find someone unless you're out there looking, after all."
"Well, I met Beatrix in training, after all," said Toby, sipping at his tea. Then he actually thought through the next sentence he had prepared, which was Maybe she'll marry a nice Hit Wizard, and gulped it down rather too quickly. "...But really, I don't think she'd stand for that sort of thing, if it got to be a problem, do you?"
Fort looked into his tea, and dared voice it. "I do hope she doesn't just marry someone she meets in training. Who knows what sort of men go into -- well, of course Cassius is a Hit Wizard, there are perfectly good sorts there, but -- "
"But there are some who aren't," said Toby, "yes, that had occurred to me. ...Maybe she'll meet an Auror. They're not so bad," he said.
"And it's quite prestigious," Fort had to admit.
"It is," said Toby, "it's just also a bit dangerous, you know, especially since there's a war on. I don't know that I'd be thrilled." He took a biscuit off the tray, and laughed a bit as something occurred to him. "You know, she'd probably be a bit annoyed with us if she heard all this, I think. Young people. But that's why I know she'll be fine."
"She'll be brilliant," Fort agreed. "I can't keep on about her, I'll go mad if I do -- have you heard about the newest research at the hospital?"
"You mean that new additive to speed the dragon pox cure, or Epimetheus' ridiculous bone-strengthening treatment for children?" He rolled his eyes. "His test rats keep coming out rubbery, and I've been reminding him that the Skele-Gro people won't be very pleased, but --" he shrugged "-- what else can you do? He'll work it out when they sue him, I suppose."
"I meant the dragon pox cure but don't start me on the bone nonsense," Fort sighed, wearily. "Let me tell you, I heard Clement talking and it sounds like complete alchemical tomfoolery..."