Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

Peter was doing his best not to raise his voice; he knew Alice did not like him to answer back. She was keen on letting him do basically anything he wanted as long as he did not disrespect her. The boy had always received special treatment in the family; nobody was immune to his mother’s charm – or his. They often saw eye to eye and there never was ground for teenage angst. However, as soon as Mrs Drummond started to share her plans for his future, the student had started to rebel. At first covertly because Peter simply knew better than trying to catch her at her own game. Alice was cunning and had her family wrapped around her finger. If Harold’s wife had decided Peter would become a member of the Wizengamot – just like his father – there was no way around it; everything was planned. One could only imagine the mother’s reaction the day Peter had finally graduated after three years at Hungcalf. The magic of the Veela had dissipated and turned her into a real-life harpy; that is not an image one could easily forget. When she had regained her composition, the mummy had threatened to cut him from their will. What a woman! And he meant it; she was the embodiment of strength, temper and beauty. Things were gradually becoming right again; Peter had pursued his education in the occult and his mother had obtained he would let her keep an eye on the whole situation. A true compromise, really! So by Merlin’s beard, why are you putting this on the bloody table again?

“Mum, I swear I’m doing great, ‘kay?”, he articulated.

The defence was nowhere good enough for the strawberry-blond woman who sarcastically retorted.

“And what exactly is ‘great’?”

He knew exactly what this smile meant; he had seen it before. She was trying to appeal to his need for approval – a feature she could detect in just about anybody.

“Mum, I really have to go.”

No, he did not. Peter was not expected anywhere in the next couple of hours; the situation itself sufficed for today and he was growing wary. Alice would eventually get the best of him… if he let her.

“Of course you do, darling”, she allowed mysteriously.

She was brewing something. Something’s definitely cooking, he could read it in her eyes. Did he want to know though? Absolutely not, he had enough.

“I’ll see you soon. Say hi to dad for me, alright?”, he kissed his mother goodbye on the cheeks as they did in France.

The moment he got out of the family manor, Peter apparated in the very core of London. His gaze lingered on the river Thames as he was looking for the correct building. Here it is. Peter marched towards the front door and stared at the intercom for a few minutes. What the bloody hell? He tiptoed around the names and finally pressed the correct button to call on the intercom and complain:

“Evan, open the bloody door. I need you to stop me from murdering my entire household. No biggie. Maybe I’ll be content with just my mother, that’d be a good start.”

The sixth-year boy did not even know if his friend was home; he did not care. He stared at the brick walls for at least a year (drama queen much?) before Evan pressed the button to unlock the gate.

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

A steady beat had evolved from the chaos of their first days in the apartment. Aedan liked things tidy, while Evan was slightly more liberal about the concept of folding linens. When his new roommate showed him the little shelf in which he had carefully placed every towel, artfully folded, the future auror had stared at him with an air of disbelief. « Surely this is a one time thing, right? You don’t actually expect me to do this every time? » As it turns out, yes, he was expected to. But his friend was a gentle presence, and Merlin knew if they had been counting, Evan was indebted to him, as Aedan took the time to stitch him up every time a mission went awry and the Scot was in need of medical attention. Therefore, when his roommate was present, Evan dutifully folded everything – and in his absence, the loft became a slight bit more chaotic.

The mediwizard being away for a few days at his charming (but oh so very … sharp) flame’s place, the two friend’s apartment was a little wilder than the usual. Traces could be seen, here and there : tea towels that didn’t match, bath towels artfully thrown on top of the shower curtain and a fair amount of dishes in the sink – the Ethelred would take care of it before Aedan came back, he always did. Adjusting his tie to his neck (a red creation, gifted to him recently), he was sipping his coffee and reading the headlines of the Daily Prophet, scanning articles to see if anything interesting might catch his eye – namely, anything with regards to his auror duties and his musical inclinations. Nothing in sight, however: boring updates of yet another family tying an alliance to another through the sacrosanct marriage institution. Fly, you fools, he thought, and yet, there had been a growing trend in young heirs, of late : the audacity of « accepting » engagements while flaunting a boyfriend or a girlfriend on the side. The idea fascinated the blond giant – even if he approved of the rebellious acts, he also had the experience to back his reflexions : did they think no punishment would insue? If not, surely they were lucky to be members of minor pureblood families, in which alliances were not as crucial as in higher bloodlines.

A distinctive voice rendered slightly pitchy by the intercom (or was Peter always prone to oblate-levels of notes when he seemed annoyed?) ended his daydreaming. « Evan, open the bloody door. I need you to stop me from murdering my entire household. No biggie. Maybe I’ll be content with just my mother, that’d be a good start. » A small sigh made its way between his lips, immediately curling into a coy smile. He walked to the muggle intercom and pressed on the button to answer. « Peter, is it your lovely voice I’m hearing? » He didn’t wait for an answer, buzzing his younger friend in and immediately opening the door to his apartment, letting the tornado in. « I’m almost surprised you didn’t alohomora your way to my door », commented Evan, pointing the half full French press. « Coffee? Can’t offer you anything to eat, I’m afraid – the fridge is empty and my culinary skills are very specific » (non existent) « Alright. You’ve got … » checking the clock on the wall, he does the math – he was supposed to leave in ten minutes, but he’s always been on time and fairly certain Alice might cover for him in the event of tardiness. « half an hour before I head out to the Ministry. What’s happened? » He pours the steaming liquid in one of his mismatched mugs, holding it out to the wright before the hurricane takes over his apartment.

Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

Is it my voice? What kind of question is that?, Peter silently complained as he was entering the building and following the beeping sound of the intercom. The boy had only been there a few times – probably as many as Evan himself – but already knew his way around; he would normally apparate in front of the golden boy’s flat but this time had first needed some fresh air. The entry was quickly opened and the tornado twirled in. Evan welcomed him with derisive remark but made it up by offering some fresh hot coffee in a mug. It was summer indeed but Scotland had this humbling weather that, truth be told, nobody seemed to mind at all; Peter himself did not even feel frosty in his short navy shorts and his red wine polo shirt. Nevertheless, the wizard was up for coffee – was he not always? – and he dramatically shook his head yes. The boy momentarily forgot all about his mother’s paradox of love and hatred when Evan frankly stated his culinary skills. This was one of the many reasons why Peter enjoyed the presence of his very-distant cousin: the man was painfully honest.

“Coffee’s fine. I like my guts where they are. Besides, I’ve already had lunch at my parents’.”

It was best refusing his food offer. Peter first decided he would sit on the couch – without any crumb of invitation – but then chose to stand when Evan held the mug out to him. The student was unable to stand still; there was too much anger he needed to shout out if he did not want his face to crumble and turn to a harpy’s. Best avoid the monstrosity of a Veela’s fury! He took his first sip to calm himself down; the boy was clearly not a mediwizard, otherwise he would have known better about coffee.

“Thanks.”

He found the fluid soothing, still, and was honestly grateful for Evan’s offer. The tall handsome blond man estimated the time they had together. By Merlin’s beard, Peter would make the best of those thirty minutes! That is when he noticed the chap’s outfit; he was looking smart, as usual, and was tied up with a silky red tie which Peter never saw him with before. Evan had surely broken many hearts in his days; that is before he was to be married. The man was simply gorgeous, had an impeccable figure and his smile could met the iciest first impression. And he isn’t even a Veela progeny! Peter was not jealous but merely spellbound by his charisma.

“Well, thank you for asking! Remember when mother decided I would join my father in the Wizengamot?”, he started sarcastically. “Well, my beloved mother still hasn’t recovered from the fact I’ve decided I would study the occult instead. I mean… It’s been three more years! What did she expect? Did she think I would change curriculum all of a sudden? After six bloody years? The woman is mad! Gorgeous, but crazy, I’m telling you!”

He took a sip once more.

“And she had the impudence of questioning my ‘doing okay bit’! I mean, what is this? I’m a grown man alright?!”

The boy stopped pacing.

“Any tip on escaping your family, Sir I-went-away-for-a-bit?”

Peter did not know much about that period of time when Evan had disappeared from the wizarding world. His family never once mentioned it and the old Ravenclaw did not trouble himself with questions no one could – or would – answer.

“And who are we meeting at the Ministry? That fiancé of yours, maybe? Is it because of the wedding?”

None of his business. Plenty more reasons to ask! Peter had this impressive capacity to jump pillar to post. The boy was all over the place. He finally sat on the couch again and placed his mug on the coffee table before he started toying with his golden bracelet. The piece of jewellery fitted perfectly with his sun-kissed skin.

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

Hurricane Peter took hold of all his attention, words hitting every surface. A tale as old as pureblood families were : parental disobedience. « Any tip on escaping your family, Sir I-went-away-for-a-bit? » Evan laughed, almost coughing his coffee back into his mug, knowing his own tale is a bit of a legend in some circles. The type that cousins dreaming of freedom tell each other in disbelief – maybe he should be paying Ailean Macleòid royalties, the Scot did love to tell the tale of the heir that got away, making it sound much more glorious than it actually was. When people thought of Evan free, they saw the dandy musician (which he was), but not the couch that was his room in Jaïna’s apartment and the countless evenings eating pasta and drinking (very) cheap alcohol, wondering if they would make the rent. People loved the fictitious myth much more than they wanted to deal with the reality : Evan was lucky enough to enjoy luxuries without needing them, but it wasn’t the case of all purebloods, was it? « You sure you’re not addressing Sir-I-came-back-and-am-engaged-again? Cause he can very well be used as an example too you know. » The auror in training shot him a quiet glance, taking a sip from his coffee.

The wright seemed unstoppable, however. « And who are we meeting at the Ministry? That fiancé of yours, maybe? Is it because of the wedding? » There was something about Peter, his way of being direct without giving too much weight to the answers. It made conversations refreshing (and a tad chaotic). « Oh that fiancée of mine and I meet every day, we’ve been roped together by some cruel twist of fate, though I wouldn’t be surprised somewhere, either her brothers or mine, or even my father, are laughing at their brilliance, as they probably don’t believe in lady Fortuna », adds Evan, gaze fluttering to the ceiling in an acceptable imitation of a poor mortal accepting his fate. But it runs deeper, doesn’t it? The desire to hold a place, a home, a child, and understanding the sacrifices that must be made without letting go of a guarded heart. Facing the Wright, he can’t help but smile at him, at his apparent frustration, and wishes all of the adventures and none of the heartache on Peter.

( alas, freedom usually comes at a cost when it comes to powerful families. )

« When it comes to them … » his voice lowered for a moment, reaching the deep caress of a whisper, only to regain its composure a second later. The musician’s eyes fluttered on his younger friend’s face – he was aware of Peter’s family, but not quite enough as to know just how far his parents would go to keep their son in line. In some cases, pureblood lineages were sacrificed to keep material or political influence, though old lines were still a fast ticket to success in London. Being a member of such a clan, Evan knew he had to work harder than the average student to be taken seriously – especially with his past adventures. « I’ve just learned to accept that they always want to show who’s got the most strings to pull on. Most of the time it’s not even a matter of actually pulling strings. Just showing the world they can and will, if and when they want to. » Knowing the attention span of the younger wizard did not stretch that far from his own problems, however, he stirred the ship back to him. « And as to your problem, I’d say actual preparation should be thought of. I exploded, when I left. Hadn’t thought of anything, no savings. When I was cut off, I realized I didn’t know how to do much. Especially not cook. Merlin knows I’ve eaten a lot of bad food ». Yet he laughed, with a soft feeling for those years – and the love he found, before losing it forever. His secret marriage, his ballerina, and the way she laughed when she'd see dandelions blooming.

Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

On top of being a Greek god figure – Peter had slept with a few and could tell the difference by a quick peep – the man truly was a legend. Evan had disobeyed his own very bleak family to flee the country and disappear where nobody seemed to know. Of course, that particular tale had triggered a few alterations over the course of time; Peter could not remember whom exactly but someone had definitely once said he had been captured by a Muggle and kept prisoner for weeks. The stories had made the young boy laugh up in his sleeve more than once at dinner parties; nobody ever looked sensible enough to question anybody’s family link with the golden boy before they told cracked romances about him. Evidently, on no occasion had the Drummond boy felt the heart to correct them. Firstly, because he did not know the true story and secondly because that was utterly fun! Sipping on his coffee, Peter articulated a sounding nah! to answer his question. That ship was just about sailing.

“Do I want advice from the man who won’t even address his wife-to-be on something that isn’t sticky and yellow? Yes, I noticed. Do better in hiding them.”

He was referring to their very odd habit of leaving notes everywhere – what’s up with that?! – and quite not often speaking to each other in front of other people.

“Come on! I’m sure the old man still has some tricks he’d be lovely to share!”, he quickly implored.

Evan himself handed the topic on a plate; his fiancé was gorgeous, he was handsome, what in the bloody hell prevented them from actually getting along? Blondie here stated they met regularly and were merely victims of damned fate. The mental image of Evan actually roped to the oh-so-pretty Alice made the boy crack up and laugh in the living room. He could think of worse fates than this one. The dulcet sound of his bracelet on the ceramic mug drew his attention closer.

“I have to say I don’t understand you. The woman is gorgeous and she’s lovely. You could do worse.”

Peter had had the pleasure to meet Alice on many occasions. They clicked instantly and the very fact she was named the same her mother was had settled their connexion on a very light and warming level. Anyway, twenty minutes! Back to me now! He thought just as his eyes had caught a glance of the clock. Mr Busy had better be dexterous in the matter of dealing with families – and he was. The very mention of them seemed to throw Evan under the bus and his voice got lower and deeper. Peter could almost feel the pressure of the Wakefield lineage being bestowed upon his very large but very unwilling shoulders. That’s just about perfect! Evan did sum up the entire political agenda of pure-blood families such as theirs but that was not what Peter had wanted to hear. Maybe what he wanted could not been given to him – as if that ever stopped him.

“I’m sorry, the coffee must be strong. You can’t be serious! Are you actually suggesting… I learn how to cook?!”

That was it! He’d forever be a mother’s boy, whatever the price. Learning how to cook was absolutely out of the question. What kind of mad man suggests that? Maybe he’s broken. He felt the impossible desire to shake the man back to function.

“So that’s why you came back! I’ve always wondered…”, he joked.

Well, not entirely.

“But how did you do it? You seem almost content with your life now!”

Probably because Alice’s in the picture now… even if he won’t admit it. Evan had looked positively smart and glowing for past few weeks.

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

As his younger friend was listing the qualities of his betrothed, a sigh left his lips. « Yes, yes, she’s beautiful, she’s charming, she’s actually got a brain beneath those dashing curls of hers, her family’s a great match and we’ll make our parents proud with gorgeous children some day », he answers, his eyes rolling so fast they might’ve powered a windmill. It’s what everybody around them said – and truth be told, somewhere, somehow, Evan knew they were right, but oppositional natures weren’t meant to follow reason, or what was expected of them … and the second son would rather show signs of childish contempt towards his fiancée than admit that they were a good match. Ah, yes, on paper, they might have been … if it weren’t for the ever so slight detail of the original ruse – (( or else, she would’ve been good, wouldn’t she? And he would’ve lost interest, maybe? Who knows these things. Who could say precisely what could happen when fires meet – destruction, or creation? ))

Changing subjects, he tried to bestow a little wisdom upon Peter – alas, the younger wizard, much like his own former self, had no patience for sound counselling. « I’m sorry, the coffee must be strong. You can’t be serious! Are you actually suggesting… I learn how to cook?! So that’s why you came back! I’ve always wondered… » A smirk was all Peter got as an answer, the elder sipping his coffee with a carefree attitude, waiting for the wright’s enthusiasm to wear off – if that was even possible. « But how did you do it? You seem almost content with your life now! »

« I’m … » what? Beaten? No, never. « Well, let’s say certain factors have cemented my place in the family tree, and certain obligations have made sure I wouldn’t flee, this time, though to be quite honest with you, the idea of breaking free to leave again is sometimes on my mind ». How couldn’t it? A bird in a cage eventually dies, of seeing the sky without being able to touch it. « But what I meant earlier, Peter, is … you don’t have to live like a pauper in order to break free. Jaïna – you know my cousin? – and I didn’t have a choice because we didn’t think anything through. We tried to fit in the little boxes our families made for us. Merlin, Peter, we tried so hard. » They had, they really had – tried to please their parents, to appease whatever inch of freedom they could keep for themselves, until they simply couldn’t go on. « So when we couldn’t handle it anymore, we just … exploded. Left everything behind, but the point is – so little of it was planned that once we were in our muggle lives, we realized we didn’t actually know how to do anything. We didn’t have marketable skills, well I did, I could have been an auror, but then I would have worked beneath my brother and in the same building as my father, and that was bloody out of the question.»

His eyes bore a hard streak, all of a sudden, but they softened as he looked at Peter again. « What I mean to say is … if you plan it, you could get out, without having to sacrifice everything in your life. Is there an area where you could be useful, professionally, far from your mother’s gaze? Are there other young pure blood heirs you could align yourself with? You don’t have to live in this bubble, Peter. But you do need to prepare for it. » It almost felt like he was a general, preparing his soldiers for battle. « As for me, I felt a longing to belong to someone – not romantically. To my family, once more. Accepting a new engagement was just … part of the deal. And truth be told, yes, she’s not that bad. If she could just wipe that bloody smirk off her face, sometimes. » And here we are, back to the windmill, powering off an entire city. Ain’t no standards like double standards.

Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

Could the lad be even more apathetic? The raven boy stared at him while sipping on his coffee – which, truth be told, was getting smaller by the minute – in clear disbelief. No matter his efforts in hiding, Evan could never disguise his affection for the adventurous girl. He could try and sweep their match under the carpet but his act was getting weaker by every syllable; his heart simply wasn’t in it! Eyes were rolling in a theatrical last effort to convince his audience the fair-haired chap was growing jaded of having to exclaim what a match their love would be. Engaging in the same dance as theirs, Peter’s gaze followed the same move and trundled cynically in their sockets. It was quite difficult for a spoilt imp as him to change his very nature and for that reason, the curious little – but charming – devil changed subject. He went back to asking by what darken magics the young celebrity had managed to escape his forbidding family. Open for miracles, the young student kept his calm and drank his every word or reaction.

Even today, Evan sometimes thought of fleeing. What was all this good for? For once in their shared life, the eldest could not be of any assistance – or could he? He merely proclaimed his attachment to this newly regained life and the duties that came along with it. The cagey bird started to feel constrained behind bars that were not his yet. The metal jingling of his bracelet was proof enough the birdcage would one day be his home if he did not grasp the moment to leave in time. Jaïna? The name did ring a bell but Peter was too absorbed by his very own tragedy to reminisce which one. He listened distractedly to the man’s speech and tried to piece the puzzle together. Do you really have to speak in charades? Aren’t wee to old for this shit? Panic spread in his every bone – Peter never once had been hostage in his own life and the prospect certainly did not enchant him. He had been a mere spectator, too pleased not to be in others’ shoes. Was he or was he not arguing whether he should fit in his family’s plan? Sipping on the residual coffee, the young Drummond was unable to decide. As much as he was trying to hide his distress, his fingers were anxiously drumming on the ceramic. You have to do something with your life, otherwise you’ll forever be your family’s little bitch. Is that what he was articulating tacitly? To be fair, the solution was plain and unmistakeable; Peter did have to pursue his dream and become whatever in Morgana’s name he had decided! He bent his left eyebrow and finished his drink up – the dark liquid was now ice-cold.

The atmosphere grew darker at the mention of Evan’s father and brother; he could never live in their shadows and neither could Peter with his father’s. Having decided he had been prying more than enough in his distant cousin’s life, the raven opted not to bring it up.

“You do know that I’m not fighting in the special Auror forces, eh?”, he jokingly exclaimed to contrast with Evan’s serious tone. “Although, you’re certainly right… I think I have to go on. I like what I’m doing here – it’s surely not what mother had planned but I like it all the more so!”

Peter set the mug back onto the coffee table.

“I’m rather good at studying runes and the occult. I think I’d do a rather brilliant Unspeakable.” Silence fell upon the living room. “I guess I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. Mother only knows I’m studying the occult but she hasn’t pieced it together yet.”

Evan’s reaction would prove to be sharper than the guillotine blade that was awaiting him as soon as his mother would hear it.

“I’m sure you’ve got ways to wipe off this ‘bloody smirk’ of hers”, he instantly replied with a wink. “Come on! What are you waiting for? She’ll think you’re a bloody eunuch.”

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

Peter seemed ready to jump off the roof, even while his elder was donning his best serious, experimented and wise attire. « Here I thought you actually wanted advice », replied the future auror, a smile stretching across his face nevertheless. Something (well, several things, actually) in Peter reminded Evan of himself, younger – probably in a less dramatic fashion, though. Then again, one might’ve argued most exuberant pureblood heirs had similar stories. They mostly thought they were special, but rebelling against or following their parents’ wishes was the oldest rite of passage their society had. « I’m rather good at studying runes and the occult. I think I’d do a rather brilliant Unspeakable. I guess I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. Mother only knows I’m studying the occult but she hasn’t pieced it together yet. » His gaze grew thoughtful as he asked « and is that really out of the question? » Surely, there might have been some degree of compromise Alice Drummond was prepared to make. « If so, is there any way you might be able to add a legal shine to it? To throw her off the scent, maybe? With any luck you’ll be a respected member of your field before she realizes anything ».

But here they were, having two conversations at once, it seemed – the underline of every heir of most great families, the two questions their worlds revolved around : what will you become, and who will you marry? « I’m sure you’ve got ways to wipe off this ‘bloody smirk’ of hers. Come on! What are you waiting for? She’ll think you’re a bloody eunuch. » There was no denying it – or Peter. (but there had certainly been a lot of denying in the past months, and Evan was growing frustrated – with her, but mostly with himself.) Lifting his fingers to illustrate the list he was about to make, his index stretched out. « A – yes, I’ve got several, and most of them are called “simply existing and breathing”, my mere existence seems to annoy her to no end. » (although in all fairness, the feeling was mutual) « B – she knows I’m no eunuch, thank you very much, tried and tested already », and wasn’t that the stupidest, bro-est grin he’d worn all summer, etched on his lips? « C – yes it was good ». He stretched out the ring finger – though it was terribly naked. « and D – I will say no more on the subject, and will you bloody wipe off your own sodding grin?! »

Peter was hopeless, but his reaction was predictable, in all fairness. Evan laughed with sincerity, putting his mug away and facing his younger friend again. « Actually … Well, something happened, on our last mission. Turns out maybe we can be decent professional partners, even if we aren’t exactly harmonious when it comes to our personal relationship ». The flames, and her hands on his face as she told him to get out, the way she had faced her own fears. « Stop giving me that look », he warned, more than prepared to turn Peter into a pocket watch. « Besides, aren’t you supposed to get sent off to woo some girl? Or is your charming mum too focused on your career to think about such frivolities? »

Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

There was a distinctive line between wanting some advice and actually considering them. Peter seemed to illustrate this frontier perfectly and Evan pretended growing weary – not that it worked a tiny bit. The boy was finishing his now cold drink and placing the cup on the coffee table when the handsome god asked whether his dream job was totally crossed off. Peter could not answer but breathed in deeply in protest; he himself could not fathom why her mother was remarkably fixed on her husband’s position. The matter really did not make any sense at all but as so many times before, Peter had learnt to trust that his mother had something utterly different and unpredictable in mind – a plan that she would reveal so late in time it would not be possible to escape. And so he moaned and grumbled, told his favourite mate he was unvalued by his own family and fled at any sight of genuine resolution. Classic Peter.

“Like what? Sitting in conferences and such? Taking a whole new optional class simply because Mummy dearest can’t bite the bullet? Grin and bear it? I hate the legal department – no offence – and will probably be found bored to death in between the rows.”

Evan was almost certainly right and taking a new class would probably fit the purpose; Alice would undoubtedly regain her composure and he would be permitted to carry on with his true field of expertise. There has to be another means. He would however ponder and contemplate the idea for the following year. Speaking of pondering. The current topic shifted to their (perplexing) unhappy marriage; Alice and him would often argue and become famous for their petty bickering – and Peter was amongst the most eager listeners. Knowing effortlessly where to hit, he pricked and drew blood from the fortunate betrothed who promptly responded by lifting his fingers. Peter’s mouth simply grew wider and rounder by every finger. He acted stunned and offended but his mind was racing; they had tied the knot in the bed – or maybe not the bed (if his reading of Evan’s character was correct) – way before Peter thought they would. The young student could not retain his lips which already stretched far out in both directions. Tried it, tested it but has she adopted it… stop thinking it. Gross. Stop. Ew. The boy wanted to laugh but his blond cousin stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What sodding grin? Who’s grinning? I’m not grinning”, he certainly was. “So… Are you saying you two were not… harmonious? She doesn’t come off as a selfish lover… What a blow!”

Enough joking or else, Peter would probably never become neither a member of the Wizengamot nor an Unspeakable and would possibly finish his days ticking the time.

“Okay, okay, forget I said anything. What happened on your mission exactly? I bet she covered your arse pretty well!”

Truth be told, he could not picture the girl as a sidekick but rather as the asset. She was always fiery and strong and he could just see her kick some… arses. What look? Who’s looking? I’m not looking, I’m staring, possibly. You are giving me lots to look at too. Your willing mistake! A scowl drew itself on the boy’s features as soon as he heard the “besides” in his sentence.

“I think I’m lucky – Mother never mentioned any wedding on my part. She’s much too focused on my career. Besides, she knows I’m not anywhere ready to settle. Not like that at least. She probably sees herself in me, somehow.”

They all knew why but never quite mentioned it; there was an unspoken rule not ever to speak of the boy’s lineage and special features. They all acknowledged their gifts nonetheless never dwelt too much on them. Not so much a shame but rather an unrevealing pride and joy.

“I think she wants me to fall in love or something, yet again, she’s rather keen – oh, what am I saying – she absolutely adores Elsje and would very much like us to produce beautiful offspring. Which… I’m not ready to do. Not even close. Are you lot thinking about it? Has that time I shan’t mention sufficed? Or do you have to repeat the very unpleasant process?”

He could not take more the mickey out of the man. Respectfully, of course.

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

On most occasions when he was on the receiving end of Peter’s verbal tirades, Evan wondered to himself if he’d been half as frustrating as a lad, himself – knowing very well the answer was not half, but twice. What was it about sharp-witted and overly privileged heirs, feeling the need to have the last word out of every conversation until their opponents were almost at wit’s end? Yet, he smiled as Peter moaned and groaned. It was a constant in life that one might be open to hearing advice, but not so willing to actually do anything about it – even when it was given out of the mouth of someone more experienced in this sort of thing.

And, as they said across the Atlantic, one could bring the horse to the river, but not force it to drink – and this particular stallion had other ideas about where the conversation should be shifting, dangerously bringing it to a subject Evan would have preferred to keep quiet. As Peter kept piling on with his rambling about not harmonious-ness, the future auror let out a deep sigh of frustration – more than that, really. The Scot was angry with himself, more than he was willing to let out, and not only because of his recent saint-like habits between the sheets. Whose terrible idea had this been? His own, and it made the matters worse – but he’d known, back then, if he’d had the option of gallivanting elsewhere, that he’d never make the effort to see @Alice Hangbé. At least no more than the bimonthly part of their agreement, which was, alas, all about balls and not their homonym.

The young lion must have felt he was striking a sensitive cord, as he stepped away from the matter and focused on their past outing under the full moon. « Okay, okay, forget I said anything. What happened on your mission exactly? I bet she covered your arse pretty well! » His features closed themselves, a hard line creeping upon his jaw. « She shouldn’t have had to », Evan let out, still shocked at how reckless he’d been in thinking his traumatism was nothing more than a regular fear one might master without any help. « It was her first outing, and I made a mistake. She carried herself well, even when she was afraid. » It was the truth : she had proven herself capable, a good asset, even when the building had started crumbling underneath their feet.

His own clear gaze gave out a light warning, as he asked his own uncomfortable questions. Peter was old enough – when he had been his age, Evan had already been engaged. And what good that brought his family … maybe Peter’s parents were right, holding off on that matter. He stayed silent as Peter explained his mother’s ambitions for his career and the way they didn’t quite fit in wedding plans – to each his own cross to bear. When he mentioned love, Evan smiled. There was something romantic about it, but he couldn’t see Alice Drummond being so fleur bleue, not even for her own son. What did he know of a woman’s game when it came to the elaborate schemes mothers could drum up to get their offspring engaged?

« Are you lot thinking about it? Has that time I shan’t mention sufficed? Or do you have to repeat the very unpleasant process?» His eyes rolled up so quickly he might’ve bruised his eyelids, and shot an annoyed gaze at his distant cousin. « The not so unpleasant process has not been repeated, and I’m doubting it’ll be the case for a while. And I’d be grateful if you dropped the subject, Peter », he added, an unknown sternness slithering into his voice. Evan wasn’t angry – not at the wright, at least. He wasn’t responsible for his predicament, but the Scot’s nerves weren’t willing to be played with while they were already flaring. « What about this Elsje? Is that the lovely blue-eyed lass I see you with, sometimes? The one from Iceland? She looks like a fairy. Seems smart and calm. And maybe her wits might compensate for your unbridled tongue, hm? » A mischievous smile spread on his lips – he didn’t know @Pina Jakobsdóttir was simply a friend of his, but he had noticed them together more than once.

Mothers know best. ft. @Evan Wakefield

Young cubs learnt lots of interesting things during their upbringing in such incredible and respectable families; the idea of shutting it up and taking in advice was not part of it. They always knew better when they were young and rarely followed the example of their predecessors. In Peter, Evan could see himself in many ways; this stubbornness of his being one of them. The young boy was after all repeatedly taken for a Gryffindor when he used to step in the Great Hall of Hogwarts; it was a lucky mistake that the Sorting Hat had decided to send him to Ravenclaw instead. There, the black bird had learnt to embrace his own personality and how to wield knowledge as his sword. His lion-like features still did not go amiss and many of his friends had belonged to the golden and redden House. It was the ease he had to socialise that had sent the magical hat in all directions. Like a dog with a bone, the mongrel simply would not let go of this piece of information Evan had served him on a silver plate. Only the mention of their little action in the unknown, together as a team, had managed to shut him up but had also triggered his curiosity. Evan let an enigmatic and sere observation out of his mouth but cut the conversation short with an answer Peter would never be able to inquire again. The wizard gazed more seriously at his distant cousin and finally managed to probe Evan about their well-being.

“But were you two alright in the end? Did something bad happen?”

It was probably not his place to ask but the look on his face demanded answers. Maybe because he did not feel like satisfying his nosiness, the strapping man questioned him in return about his love life and the plans his parents certainly had up their sleeves for their child. The tale of his mother’s dream for a love marriage surely did not impress the older boy who kept looking intently at him. Hating that he was cornered, the younger man ogled the confident expression on his mentor’s features and quickly served him back on his backhand. As Evan gawped, the crow flew off on another branch. His feathered eyebrows bowed as the wise elder finally confessed the distressing truth. He liked it. He did! Of course, he did! Both his hands went up in the air to declare his surrender, then ended up on the nape of his neck for comfort. The student struggled some more with the need to pursue this conversation further but was taken aback when Evan mentioned his Icelander girlfriend; could he possibly have mistaken @Elsje de Booij for @Pina Jakobsdóttir. The Icelander was a tonic, surely, but they had decided to stay good friends long ago. How could he have missed this? Peter did not hold back his laughter and tried to articulate the truth in between his bursts.

“Pina? No, we’re just good friends”, he washed a joyful tear off his face. “She does look like fairy though…”

When his tummy eventually stopped rising, the unearthly beautiful Wright decided to explain.

“Pina’s my best friend. We did try to see if there wasn’t something more but we decided we were better as friends. She’s amazing, you’d like her unbridled tongue. She’s pure fun and a good listener too.”

He often realised how lucky he was to have his Colada in his life.

“Plus, Elsje’s blond. Wait…”, he asked before he pulled out his mobile phone from his shorts pocket. “Look, that’s Elsje. You’ve seen her before, surely! She’s Dutch.”

The memory of their encounter kept slipping through his fingers however.

“She’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I mean, no offence to Alice. Don’t tell me you don’t remember!”

He promised himself to tell Elsje the first chance he would get.

“I should probably go… I’m keeping you from work. We could maybe have drinks sometime soon, the four of us?”

Mothers know best. ft. @Peter Drummond

When Peter asked if Alice and him wounded up being alright, Evan nodded. « We were fine. We’re alright now, it’s what matters. » Seeking his own zone of comfort, the Auror was trying to find a subject his younger friend might find more appealing than his (dull, so dull, so very dry) sex life. Thanfully for Evan, there wasn’t a subject that Peter enjoyed more than the one he came up with : himself. He drew his distant cousin’s attention towards the matter of his own dating life, asking about the fairy-like Icelander he saw him with so often – but apparently, he’d been mistaken. « Look, that’s Elsje. You’ve seen her before, surely! She’s Dutch. She’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I mean, no offence to Alice. Don’t tell me you don’t remember! » The Scot shook his head, smiling – he did recognize the dazzling blonde’s smile, having seen her around a few housemates a couple of times. « I do remember, actually. Isn’t she cousins with that Fraser boy? The seeker, not Riley. Well, both of them, come to think of it. She looks lovely Peter. Good for you. » The musician started to sort out the few dirty dishes they had produced, eyes fluttering towards the clock – he would most likely be right on time, or slightly late. Perhaps seeing it as his cue to leave, Peter started to get a move on. « I should probably go… I’m keeping you from work. We could maybe have drinks sometime soon, the four of us? » The idea seemed about as pleasant as a visit to the dentist – not to be in Peter and his girlfriend’s company, no. The two of them would be splendid, Evan thought, but he had two dates a month to honor with this fiancée, no less – and certainly no more. The kind of evening a double date entailed, with extended chatting and bar hopping – no. Yet, the auror smiled, knowing damn well his challenge wouldn’t be met. « Tell you what. We’ll duel for it, and if you manage to get me on my arse, you’ll have your double date. » The Brit laughed, heading for the door. « Take care, Peter. I’ll be seeing you soon. And stay out of trouble! »

rp terminé.