Hard Words Break No Bones

Edgar Bones | 28 | Order of the Phoenix | A Silencio RP Blog

[elderbonesman]

To Hell and Back | C&E

[elderbonesman]

themoralthief​

He had no idea how long he’d been out, not completely. It’d been a few days at least, a week? Who cared. He vaguely remembered being roused awake by Moody, remembered the clear liquid that hit his cracked lips before the questioning started. It was standard issue, nothing he hadn’t done himself before.

It was veritaserum, flavourless, odorless, utterly unremarkable. It was as if the drops that hit him were water- only, they had the power to see the truth in anything. It was the only way he’d get clearance back into the Order, the only way that Moody would know he could still be trusted. It didn’t matter what Fenrir had done to him; Caradoc Dearborn remained unbroken.

When his mind finally registered his surroundings, the dim silhouette of a figure parked in a chair beside him had the newfound wizard fighting to raise his consciousness to the surface. He knew who it was before the lens of his vision had even zoomed into focus.

His mind wondered over his body, taking current stock of the damages. He didn’t quite feel like death any more but he wasn’t exactly warmed up. What was warm… was the guy who had perched himself beside his head. He attempted to crack a lid, but his eyes felt like they’d been covered in lead.

It was a good minute or two more before he was able to pry them open, marginally so. A quick glance up told him where he was… he recognised the stark unfamiliarity of St Mungo’s. Lord knows he’d visited here enough.

Lips parted in an attempt to say hello to an old friend but all he managed to do was cough, the act causing a fresh, shooting pain to run up his chest. “Starsky & Hutch, back at it again.” There was success in his speech but it was marginal, the words slurred and drawn out. “What’re you doin’ here?”

He groaned as the feel of lead on his chest intensified. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, couldn’t imagine waking up to anyone else by his side. If only he could just move his god damn hand, reach out and grab him… anything to reassure him of the other’s presence.

After the last two months, it was exactly this moment that had kept him going. The knowledge that he’d find his way back to Edgar eventually… and the Order. Whether it was by his escaping, or finding them all in Heaven when it was time, they’d be re-united again. Fate was just a benevolent spirit that had granted him his one wish, sooner than planned.

“You good?”

Maybe horror literature had been a bad choice. Some parts read like a comedy, but the novel’s overall tone was… dark. Edgar grimaced as he leafed to the next page of William Blatty’s “The Exorcist.” He’d borrowed it from one of the nurses, a transplant from America who’d come to get to know her English relatives or some shit. He hadn’t been listening. Not enough to be quizzed on it. Edgar had just seen the book at the nurse’s station and made small talk until she lent it to him. 

He sat where he always did when he watched over Doc, guarded him and prayed on every passing turn of the second arm that today would be the day he finally woke up. Slouched in the chair near the head of Dearborn’s hospital bed, Edgar’s feet were kicked up onto the mattress, one ankle crossed over the other as he read the book propped up on his sternum. 

This was where he’d been for the last five days, not moving unless Moody told him to clear out and sleep in an actual bed. He’d have told Moody to sod off, but the threat of him summoning his sister --the cavalry-- had been enough to make him sigh in distaste and grumble the promise to be back in a few hours. Knowing that he’d call him if there were any changes had also helped get him out the door. 

There hadn’t been, though. Not in days and days. Caradoc was still sleeping like a fucking princess and Edgar had read every goddamn magazinge, tabloid, old news paper the hospital had to offer. He’d even read Rita’s articles, Merlin help him. So, while “The Exorcist” was a bad choice, he was starved for an alternative. 

The scratchy sound of Doc’s raspy voice ripped Edgar’s focus from the page onto the man beside him. His every instinct was to jump out of his seat, grab Doc by the face, and stare into those blood ringed blue eyes, undecided between laughing or cursing, or some other inarticulate sound. Instead, surprise, incredulity, complete and utter shock had frozen him to the spot and all Edgar could do was gape. 

A second turned into ten, a minute, before he blinked, shook his head, and drawled out, “With better hair, I hope.” 

He snapped the book shut, moved his boots from the edge of Doc’s bed to plant them on the floor, and turned his body to face his not-as-dead-as-he-looked best friend. “What am I doing here,” he repeated, choking on a laugh that was either wary or insulted, or the most crushing kind of relieved. 

Edgar shrugged, half cocked grin finding its way onto his face. He rested his elbows on his knees, the book dangling from his hand as he held Doc’s gaze, muttering, “You know, I actually got turned around trying to find the cantine. Decided to hole up in here because, hey, odds are they gotta feed you eventually, right? Just been biding my time until then. Can I have your pudding cup?”

He lifted the book and lightly thwacked it on the only spot of Doc’s arm that wasn’t bandaged. “I’ve been keeping your comatose ass company, you fucking tosser.” Edgar stood up from his chair, tossed the book onto the table beside his hospital bed, and strode over to the jug of water the nurses kept fresh for visitors. As he filled the cup, he said, “Not that all that beauty sleep’s done you any favors,” and walked it over to Doc. 

Licking his lips as he regarded the blond, Edgar remembered the handsome face, the sparkling blue eyes and the way they crinkled at the edges when he laughed and smiled. Clenching his jaw, he carefully slipped a hand under Doc’s nap and helped lift his head with a muttered, “Here,” and watered him like an oversized houseplant. 

“Easy,” he said, mindful of how much water he was drinking, of how fast and when to stop so he didn’t cough it out before he could actually swallow it down. Their eyes met and his brows bent in question. ‘more?’ When Doc was done the cup went to the table and Edgar moved the chair closer to the bed before reclaiming it. 

As he got comfortable in the chair that made every effort to make it impossible, Edgar barked a laugh at Caradoc’s question. “Am I good,” he said, shaking his head, grinning a mirthless smile as he stared quizzically at him. “Yeah, Doc. Couldn’t be better. How about you?” Beaten to shit, violated and tortured, he suspected he knew the answer to that question, but if either of them should have been asking it it was him. The one who hadn’t been abducted by Death Eaters and tortured for months. Months. Was he good? Peachy keen, thanks for asking.

[elderbonesman]

No Bones Left Behind | A&E

[elderbonesman]

the-underestimated-amelia-bones​

Around only meant that Edgar had been hiding, the coward. Of course he could get away with it. She had no doubt hawkish eyes watched his every move as well, but men could walk with purpose out of a room and get away with it. Of course, he might be pursued as well by a particularly determined miss or her mother. Amelia knew she couldn’t really blame him for hiding when she wished she could do the same.

“You’d take a fully shifted werewolf over a lot of things,” she reminded him. It was much to her dismay. Her brother thought nothing of throwing himself into whatever danger he came across. It was easier than thinking after all, and far easier than facing the veritable dragons of their social set.

She squirmed under his muscular arm, despite knowing it was just what he wanted. She couldn’t fight back as she’d wish to, having to keep up some appearances. It would be mortifying to be caught roughhousing with Edgar at an event such as this. Plus, she ran the risk of damaging her hair or dress, and that just wouldn’t do. She actually liked her dress, and her hair looked good tonight. As she felt his grip releasing, she gave him a particularly hard jab in the side.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said derisively, hands automatically going to her hair to smooth and push her curls out of her face. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at the boyish look on his face as he backed towards the door, tempting her to follow. And honestly, what was the point in staying? It was certainly late enough that no one could say they had ducked out early. They had made their appearances—or at least she had—she thought severely, throwing him a look.

“Ohoho, don’t think I didn’t notice that, brother of mine,” she said, jumping forward lightly on her heels, and clasping his arm between her two hands. “What was that wince about?”

She rolled her eyes at the claim that he was going to be something close to a saint. She didn’t think that her brother was a cad by any means, but he enjoyed company. “And how long will the straight and narrow last?” She smirked, tilting her head towards him. “And what exactly does it all entail?”

His eyebrows rose in agreement, face set in consideration as he nodded vaguely that she had a point. “They’re very straightforward creatures, Amelia,” he rebuked, making his case in a serious tone that was belied by his teasing eyes. “Either I successfully capture them or they’re someone else’s problem. Can’t really say the same about persistent matrons looking to auction off their daughters to the highest bidder. Or sons, in your case.”

Almost distractedly Edgar asked, “Do you enjoy the company of women?” He glanced over, brows bent, the laugh gone from his eyes as he considered the best loophole to save her from this misery. “Maybe a girlfriend would repel all but the most determined mothers. What could it hurt, right? Next wedding we go to, you should keep it in mind.” Edgar winked and tapped the side of his nose, pointing at his sister in an I-got-you gesture. 

He’d never understand the craze, matchmaking for title and wealth like either of those things meant anything. Where was love in all of this? It was a ridiculous thought. He knew it was. If love mattered at all to any of these people maybe they wouldn’t be at fucking war. 

Maybe he was just remembering the best of his parents, but he didn’t think they’d have pushed either him or Amelia toward loveless marriages. The Bones’ were well off and well respected, but no so up their own asses that they forgot what was important. Or maybe they’d died before the thought of grandbabies and legacy could drive them mad like the rest of them. 

Edgar distracted himself from his thoughts by annoying his sister. He chuckled as she wriggled delicately in his arm, careful to not harm her dress or cause a scene. His sister, ever the lady. Letting her struggle for a few more seconds, he barked a protest when she stabbed her elbow into his side. 

Rubbing his ribs, Edgar rebuffed with a groused, “And you’re bony as hell. I don’t have to worry about you getting around on your own, not when you can just elbow people to death. Skel-O-Grow is an emergency potion, not a daily vitamin. Please stop.” He chuckled as she smoothed her hair and her dress.

He knew he’d gotten her when she returned his smile in kind. Thank Merlin. The sooner they could put this night behind them the better. Swivelling on his heel, he waited half a step for her to catch up with him again, rolling his eyes at the persistent weight of her gaze as she launched her interrogation. 

“Wince,” he shot back on a scoff, trying --but not really-- to shake her off of his arm. “What wince? There’s a smell in this corridor. Stop looking at me like that.” He was going to have to talk to Moody about whoever trained her to interview suspects. That face was a near identical interpretation to Alastor’s tell-me-all-your-secrets face. 

Edgar glanced sideways at his sister, muttering, “You know, your lack of faith in my ability to sustain an abstinent lifestyle is insulting.” It was also deserved. He didn’t abstain from much, had never seen the point. But, after tonight, he was turning a new leaf. Was it too much to ask to have a supportive sister? “I don’t know. What usually comes standard with a life of forbearance? No sex, alcohol, drugs, fun, desire to live; what do you want from me, Amelia, to cut chocolate from my diet. Is it not enough to remain chaste?”

[apareciumcresswell]

One Too Many || Dirk & Edgar

[elderbonesman]

silenciocresswell​

Dirk completely missed the heavy looks and guilty turn-aways going on around him, he was too busy trying to remember how hum a song he’d heard earlier that day, how did it go? He swayed a little and continued to try and hum it, getting stuck at the same part every time before sticking his tongue out and making a fed up noise.

It was only then he realised Edgar had spoken to him and he blinked at him, a few seconds of delay before a slightly slurred response came out, “Ohhhhhh-kay!” he laughed a little, “Tha’ sounds fun. Paaaaaaaaaaaalte. Words are fun right?” he laughed again, “M’good at words. I like’em.”

Words did loads of stuff, like make people smile, that’s why he said nice ones all the time! To make make people happy!

“Riiiiiiight as rain.” he parrotted with another grin, picking up his glass, spilling a little water, “oops.” But the rest made it to his mouth and he took several big gulps before putting the cup down and a tiny, almost delicate, burp left his mouth, “Ooops again.” he said, sloppily patting his mouth. The water had gone down far too easy after feeling the burn of firewhiskey for the last few hours.

“But you lied!” He said, spinning in his seat to look at Edgar better, his eyes wide, struggling to focus but his words were a little less slurred, like he was paying attention to getting them right. “I look at people a lot, a lot, a lot. And you were happy, but then you weren’t. I’m sorry you’ve not been happy,” he sniffed, looked down for a moment but then looked back up, “I’ve not been happy either! So I get it! I know s’hard and you wanna dissa-” he licked his lips, “Dissp- bleh!Make other people sad. But we can be sad together!” he nodded, patting the other’s leg a few times.

He reached for his water again, badly humming the song he couldn’t remember and finished the first glass of water this time before bluntly carrying on, “C-cause that way when we ca’t sleep o-or wake up super sad we can be fir-” what was the word… “Nakama!” The Japanese came to him first so he spoke it and nodded at Edgar as though he’d get it.

He the continued for a few more sentences trying to tell Edgar what a good idea it was,  going from Japanese, to Mandarin, to Latin and Gobbledgook without realising and eventually getting back to English to say, “And that’s why we’d be the best of friends!” he blinked a few times then laughed, “Friends! Tha’s the word!”

He saw the water had magically refilled as was close to him again, “Ohhh magic water wants me to drink it!” he whispered loudly, picking up the glass with both hands and taking a few more big swigs of it, “Yo’r sister’s cool too! She made me tea n’said I could sleep on her couch but I didn’ wanna be a bother.” he sniffed again.

When Edgar mentioned his hair his eyes lit up and he cheered abruptly, “Yay! You like my hair, I really like my hair!” he said, slipping forward and half falling on Edgar before righting himself, “Whoops.” he giggled, “I was talkin’ to a giant, a giiiiiiiant” he stretched his hand up to help show his point, “’nd he called me Moss Head! Cause o’my hair!” he laughed some more before his belly decided to rumble, “Ohhhhh… I think I’m hungry…”  

Wiping the spittle from his cheek from Dirk’s distasted raspberry, Edgar couldn’t decide between a chuckle or a sigh. The kid was clearly working a song out in his head, without much luck. He nudged the glass of water closer to him. Watching how he swayed on relaxed limbs made him smirk a little. 

When was the last time he, Frank, and Ted had gone out for a pint? It had to be when Doc had been around to join them. Thoughts of Dearborn, of his sudden and prolonged absence, suffocated the warmth Dirk's drunkenness had embered in his chest. Much as he wanted to get back out there and search for his brother, he wouldn’t leave Dirk, couldn’t trust his friends to not let him over do it. The kid was riding a pleasant buzz, and Ed was determined to let him coast that wave safely. For now, he had other, more immediate priorities. 

“Loads,” he agreed, nodding curtly at Dirk’s excitement over words and his being good at them. He smirked distantly as the kid repeated his ‘right as rain’ before realizing the full glass of water in front of him wasn’t a table setting. A huffed laugh brought his smile fully to the surface as Dirk spilled water onto his shirt before managing to gulp down the rest. He was a mess and somehow made it endearing. Protectiveness flared in him as he poured Dirk another glass.

Dirk snapped his full attention onto him again, forcing himself to focus on Edgar and whatever thought had him looking wide eyed and determined. An eyebrow rose at his urgency. He fixed his expression into something neutral, unflappable and aloof. “Is that why you came out tonight, Cresswell,” he mused, “because you’ve not been happy?”

Picking up his own glass of water, Edgar held it up in cheers. “Not the ideal way to make friends, but misery loves company, eh?” He gulped down about half the glass before setting it down on the table again. Dirk was too busy humming to pay him any mind, only he suddenly snapped back into the conversation, got snagged on a word, and abandoned English altogether. 

He blinked as he listened to the kid carry on, switching dialects unawares, talking like he expected Edgar to follow him on his linguistic journey. Pushing the water nearer to him again, he wondered, “How many languages do you know, Dirk?”

A scoff cut out of him. “My sister is most definitely NOT cool. She’s bossy as hell. I’m surprised she didn’t order you to sleep on her couch.” He fought his smirk with every word, knowing full well that Amelia was much cooler than him in most aspects. He also couldn’t imagine Dirk being a bother to anyone.

Edgar watched with some relief as Rosmerta emerged from the back with a plate in tow, ‘mhming’ his way through Dirk’s story as he tracked the witch’s steps. Just as Dirk claimed he was hungry she set the plate down in front of him, and Edgar thanked her with endearments and praise. She handed wrapped cutlery to him and Edgar unrolled it to hand the fork and knife to the kid beside him. 

“What do you say we get some food in you, Cresswell?”

[blueflameremus-deactivated20250]

this old house // open

[elderbonesman]

blueflameremus​

Remus let out a small noise, something approaching a grunt, as he hurriedly scrubbed at the side of his face. “Hot,” he muttered with a self-conscious laugh. He had been categorically told by Sirius Black when they were fifteen that he was an ugly sleeper. But there was something about Edgar’s presence that made Remus feel a bit more at ease than if it had been one of the Prewett’s, or Helga forbid, Frank ‘Remus’-Gay-Awakening’ Longbottom. He just had a face that you wanted to believe in.

The wolf laughed as he followed the older man from the room. In fact, they had more than just hunger in common. Because they had werewolves in common. Edgar’s business and Remus’ little secret which felt a bit strange to think about. And it should have been nice to hear it coming from Edgar, recognition that Remus’ body was a bit fucked, but at least there was a reason for such. But Remus wasn’t good- had never been good- at talking about it.  And perhaps his silence was telling.

The shift in Edgar’s mood, minor but there, reminded Remus of being fourteen and getting called upon in class as the man grew quiet beside him. It smelt of vague awkwardness, as if he’d said too much. Perhaps he had, but Remus knew it came from a place of sympathy.

“Maybe it is both me and the wolf.” He agreed, returning Ed’s gaze and envying the steady confidence of the man. Sometimes he wished he could get drunk. Might help him forget about it all for more than a second. Then a memory caused Remus’ face to light up, hazel eyes growing distant.

“I remember this one time I challenged James and Sirius to a drinking contest. Yeah, I know.” Remus’ grin widened, breaking eye-contact to and dodging right, “Sneaky, right? Somehow, Peter had known about the metabolism thing, knew what I was playing at. Maybe he’d noticed that I never get drunk. He’s perceptive, you know. People don’t give him any credit for it but he’s…”

Subconsciously, Remus pulled his lip into his mouth, eyes dropping as if to search the carpet before them for the rest of the statement. Search for answers. It had been months since Peter’s disappearance and there was something about it that didn’t feel right. Like a tugging in his gut. They had searched for him everywhere, asked everyone who might know something but nobody could even tell Remus that they had seen him the day he was… “Anyway, I won, of course. And they all thought for ages that I had some ungodly drinking powers, when in fact it just means I’m always on babysitting duties.” Remus finished, the memory fresh and hot against his temples. “We were such idiots.” He breathed, the chuckle in his throat dry as autumn leaves.

But the laugh turned to an indignant noise at Edgar’s self-effacing comment. Remus only had to glance at Edgar’s arms to know that whatever the other wizard put in his body inevitably ended up as rippling muscle. “Oh yeah,” Remus said, voice suddenly dead serious. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this Bones, but you’ve really let yourself go.”

The comment landed oddly, like someone might land on their neck, and died. Heat suddenly crawled up his neck and Remus fought back the urge to wince. There were a thousand reasons why Edgar might have trouble with his body image and Remus had to go and put his fat fucking foot in it. “Sorry, that was an awful joke.” Remus said after a moment, his voice laced with apologies. “What I meant was… I’d.. I’d love to look like that.”

Smooth, Moony, you complete tosser. It was true. Remus spent a lot of his time wishing he was somebody else.

They reached the kitchen without incident and despite the awkwardness he felt, Remus struggled to hide his enthusiasm when Edgar offered to cook him food. “Anything is fine, anything sounds great actually.” Remus said, following Edgar towards the room that held the vast quantities of food. An entire room for the food.

“This place is brilliant.” Remus struggled to hide his enthusiasm, sticking his head in the door of the pantry as the cacophony of smells hit him, fresh and processed. It caused his stomach to growl in anticipation. “I think it’s been spelled to know what food you like because there’s absolutely no reason for Moody to have this many tinned peaches. This whole house is like that. Bends around you to suit your needs.” When Remus was in there that morning, the space had been bursting with bacon and other meat. Edgar’s selection was more vivid in colour, rosy tomatoes and garish oranges. In other words, vegetables. (Remus really needed to start looking after himself better.)

“I think I’m going to make some coffee if you’d like some. The house keeps nicking my cups and they always end up back in my sock drawer.” He said, ducking out into the low-ceiling-ed space that was designed for practicality rather than elegance. It had made Remus feel immediately comfortable in a way his four poster bed never had. “Want some?” He called as he set about grinding beans.

He turned his head to listen as Remus recalled a story about a bet with his mates, a smirk coiling the corner of his mouth as he followed along, already knowing what waited for him at the end. The mention of Peter, the memory of his absence, the totality of it, sobered Remus, sucked the warmth right out of his face as he paused to think about his missing friend. Empathy panged loud and true behind Edgar’s breastbone. 

He knew that hurt. He hated that hurt, hated that any of them had to feel it, and that there was nothing he could do to make it right. 

Instinct moved him. Without thinking, without realizing he had moved at all, Edgar reached out between them. The back of his knuckles bumped into the line of Remus’ jaw furthest from him, urging him to meet his open gaze. He didn’t say anything, just dropped his hand to the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze as he nodded his understanding. What could he say that would smooth the crease of his furrowed brow? There was nothing to say. ‘Sorry your mate’s gone. Fuckin’ sucks, right?’

Yes. It sucked. More than anything he’d known. Edgar wouldn’t say more than his parents’ murder, but the pain was up there. Not knowing if their loved ones were alright, if they were even alive. It was an exhausting kind of ache that had only grown with time. How long would either of them have to go on not knowing, assuming the worst because eventually death would be the better outcome than whatever their imaginations came up with. 

Edgar nodded again in wordless solidarity. He gave Remus’ shoulder one last squeeze, resisting the urge to pull him into a hug, before dropping his hand back to his side. They kept going and he listened to the rest of his story with a quiet smile on his mouth. 

“You and Ted would get along, then,” he commented, his smile stretching that much wider as he considered the third leg of their tripod. Casing a sideways glance at Remus, he explained, “Frank and I have always had a sort of competitive relationship. Getting each other piss drunk is, unfortunately, not an exception to that truth, leaving dear old Tonks to babysit.”

He offered Remus another understanding look before changing the topic to his eating habits. Edgar patted his middle and stared down the line of his body with a heavy sigh. “I know,” he agreed, voice as grave as Remus’, expression morose. “Between the stress eating and Molly’s cooking, I’m starting to get soft around the middle. But I’m weak willed and biscuits are so good.” Laughing, he waived off both Remus’ apology and his praise, and led them the rest of the way to the kitchen. 

“I wouldn’t be so eager,” advised Edgar, striding over to the stove as Remus sniffered around the pantry. As he pulled the deep, dish frying pan off of the wall, he muttered the confession, “I’m really only good at breakfast foods that’ll sop up a hangover.” If nothing else it’d be filling, and that’s really all he needed it to be. And good. Good would definitely be an added bonus. Fingers crossed for good.

Glancing over his shoulder, he considered the way Remus leaned into the pantry, long limbed and graceful. He blinked, shook his head, and muttered, “That explains the biscuits.” After dousing the pan with cooking oil and setting it to warm up, he strode up behind Remus, moved around him with a mumbled, ‘pardon me,’ and grabbed some eggs, vegetables, a tin of beans, and some meat. 

“Coffee sounds great,” he replied, glancing over at him again as he set about grinding the beans. “She’s been stealing my books. I’ve taken to calling her Eunice.” Glaring at the walls and ceiling, Edgar grumbled, “She seems like a Eunice,” before he started adding ingredients to the pan.

[silencio-rita]

Accio || E&R

[elderbonesman]

silencio-rita​

She could claim that the notice she took of his responses, how attuned she was to him, was professional, but it would be a lie. Rita had learned over the years the lines of his face, and expressions he made. She knew that when he was uncomfortable, he played with his ear, and when deep in thought, his fingers unerringly went to the ring on a chain beneath his shirt.

Rita hadn’t tried to learn these things about him. Frankly, Edgar had been a lark from the beginning. His illegal activities were what initially made him attractive, showing a depth to them that she had not foreseen when she had dismissed him as a goodie two shoes like his sister. But the years had led to familiarity.

And familiarity breeds contempt.

Well Edgar had loads of that when it came to Rita. Even now, it was on his face, warring with the attraction. She didn’t know why she put up with it, she really didn’t. There were plenty of excellent lovers Rita could have that did not treat her as if she were something particularly distasteful on the sole of their shoe.

Oh, but she liked a challenge, and she liked to watch Edgar squirm. To prove that she was as desirable as ever. Against his will, he came to her, and ignoring her own good sense, she wantedhim to. Time and again.

Although if he squeezed that glass any harder it would shatter. And he would blame that on her too.

The muscles in his jaw worked, and Rita ached to reach out and touch them. Smooth a hand down the side of his face, fingers working into the clenched muscles there. He fought against himself and her so hard, it would be laughable if it wasn’t so damn painful.

“I wouldn’t know, I am one of a kind, darling,” she smiled, refusing to allow herself to be perturbed by his insults. The gaze locked on her exposed skin told a different story. For some reason, the harsh words made him feel better. As if trying to demean her would make his own weakness to her flesh more acceptable.

The shoring up of his body and defences made it seem like he was going into battle. Rita wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or offended. When faced with the choice, though, she always went with flattered. It confused people to know end when she accepted their criticisms with a smile, and thanked them, as if she had been granted the greatest compliment. All water off a Hippogriff’s back.

“You clean up quite well yourself,” she replied, allowing her eyes to linger wherever they wished before moving to meet his. “I was allowed in without it, can you imagine?” she asked, pretending to be incredulous.

She leaned in. “Though if you don’t believe me, feel free to take a look,” she added, gesturing to herself. There were many places to hide something that compact on her person after all. And even though she really didn’t have it on her, Rita would be perfectly willing to let Edgar search.

The huff that left him was humorless. Edgar eyed her warily, appreciatively, muttering, “That’s for sure.” One of a kind. Thank every god and power that be for that. If there were more than one Rita Skeeter he’d be fucked. And not in the way he typically liked to be fucked by her. He blew out a breath, resentment in his exhale. 

Rolling his shoulders, his head on his neck, Edgar forced himself to relax, to breathe in deeply, out slowly, and smother his irritation. Twice now she’d parried his jabs like his words meant nothing to her, had no effect on her at all. That in and of itself was annoying as fuck, but he wasn’t going to keep pressing an attack if she wasn’t going to defend herself in kind. 

If he did it made him the wanker citing a thesaurus every synonym for ‘demon’ while she got away with being the civil one. That was the point of her deflecting and evading. He knew it was. He was playing right into her fucking hands. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? Keep being an asshole while she wasn’t actively giving him a reason to be? She did this shit on purpose.

A guttural ‘hmm’ met her returned complement. He watched her take him in, watched how her crystalline gaze swept over his body, stopping wherever she wanted to drink him in. Edgar gritted his teeth against the roaring in his ears, the upsurge of fire that burned his blood when she looked at him like that. 

Jaw clenched tight enough to send a muscle twitching, he grumbled, “The benefits of having low friends in high places, eh?” His nostrils flared when she leaned in, hairs stood on end when her purring voice caressed down the side of his neck, blood burned hotter as she gestured at her dress, the exposed skin and the rest he knew but couldn’t see. 

Edgar grabbed a hold of Rita’s waist and yanked her closer to him so he could growl in her ear, “Is that what you want, Skeeter? For me to search you?”

[elderbonesman]

To Hell and Back | C&E

@themoralthief

Staring down at the parchment, reading and rereading the scratchy script, he had blinked, clenched his jaw, peered up at his red yarn covered investigation wall, and left HQ with a thought. The only time Edgar had felt this kind of dread was when Alastor had told him that Doc was missing. A “drop everything” message was bad. It was ALWAYS bad. 

He did it anyway. It was second nature by now, to stop everything and come running whenever Alastor called him. It wasn’t enough to just be a soldier in this war, Alastor needed more for him, and he wanted him to know that he was good for it. Even if Caradoc’s abduction had consumed every part of his life not devoted to the WCU or the Order. 

When he’d apparated at St. Mungos he’d asked the receptionist for Ted, knowing that if Alastor was here they were together. A floor was given, a room number listed, and Edgar had sprinted in the given directions, heart pounding with the distant worry that it was Amelia in that bed. Merlin, he should have sent her a patronus, an owl, something. He should have checked if she was safe. With every step through the nexus of hallways he prayed it wasn’t his sister he was running towards. 

Alastor was waiting for him outside of the room, arms crossed and grim faced. 

“Amelia?” he asked, breathless, heart pounding. 

He shook his head, reassurance in his gravely set features. Alastor placed a large hand on his shoulder with a muttered, “She’s fine, Bones. She’s safe.” The Auror gave that news a second to set in before he punched him in the gut. “It’s Doc--”

“You found him?” His focus snapped toward the hospital room, to the closed door, blocking whoever was inside from view. Alastor’s hand on his shoulder was all that kept him from shoving the door open and seeing for himself who was waiting on the other side. Doc. Fuck. He was alive. He knew it. He’d known it all this time. Edgar hadn’t given up on him for a second. 

Alastor’s grip on his shoulder tightened enough to draw Edgar’s gaze up to his dark eyes. His jaw was tight, his brows narrow, there was an inexplicable weight to his gaze as he said, “He was left for us. As a message.”

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Doc was alive and Edgar couldn’t hear the rest of what Alastor was saying, not until he saw the man for himself. His best friend had been missing for months. How he’d come back didn’t matter. Just that he was. 

Alastor must have realized that nothing he said would stick until Edgar saw Doc for himself. The door opened and Edgar cursed viciously. He glared back at Alastor with a demand, a string of questions he couldn’t fully answer because Doc had been death warmed over when they’d found him, and he hadn’t revealed much since getting here. He’d paced and cursed and scrubbed at his face, not able to look away from the beaten and bandaged blond laid up in that bed while Alastor explained everything all over again. Muttering something about needing to speak with Scrimgeour, Alastor had left and shut the door behind him. 

After minutes or hours spent pacing and cursing and swearing to leave the Rebellion in ashes for this, Edgar’s rage had burned itself out. He grabbed the chair from the wall and dragged it over to Doc’s bedside. Plopping himself down in the uncomfortable seat, he stared at his mummified friend and gritted his teeth. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore, knowing that Doc probably couldn’t hear him. “I couldn’t protect you before, but I’m protecting you now. Anyone wants to hurt you, they have to come through me.”

Hours passed and Edgar slumped under the weight of his relief in having his brother back, and his anticipation of Doc opening his eyes, coming to, and seeing that he was safe. As time passed his eyelids grew heavier, and Edgar shut them for just a moment. Arms crossed, chin on his chest, he closed his eyes, and listened to the steady rasp of Caradoc’s breathing, comforted by the fact that he was alive, even as rage for what he’d experienced set his blood to boil.

[blueflameremus-deactivated20250]

this old house // open

[elderbonesman]

blueflameremus​

In the grand scheme of things, it could have been worse. Edgar Bones was a good man, one that Remus had known a while because of his role in the Ministry. It had also been nice when he had just joined the Order to have someone else that knew. About him, about werewolves more generally, and to know that, like Albus Dumbledore, he didn’t intrinsically hate all werewolves for simply existing. Remus’ own opinion was still out on the matter. Telling the rest of Moody’s army was not without its own anxieties and people had looked at him differently despite never openly questioning their general’s choice but Edgar had been something of a lighthouse. Someone Remus could look to and know he wouldn’t see disgust in the sympathetic face, even if they rarely spoke.

“No,” Remus smiled, rubbing his eyes and straightening his t-shirt, “I should get up. I swear I was being productive before you came in.” He added lightly, pretending to scan the book for where he had left off. Venomous plants, was that it? Finding the page he had dog-tagged completely foreign to him, he squinted slightly, before snapping the book shut, defeated.

Looking up, Remus caught Edgar’s gaze, the subtle shift in his brow and Remus fought down the urge to scowl. Yes, he had been beaten half to death by his tormentor. No, he didn’t fancy talking about it because it was embarrassing as much as it was troubling, to run back to base, tail between his legs. Instead he offered the man a smile, liquid and elusive.

"I'm always hungry." Remus said, perking up by way of agreement. He adjusted smoothly, unfolding from the chair to reach for his tea which was unsurprisingly absent.”Bloody house,” He mumbled before standing to  follow Edgar towards the door and out into the sun-washed corridor. It was a joke shared between himself and the Marauders. Regardless of the time of day or month or year, Remus could be relied on to be two steady constants: too warm and very hungry.

"It's a werewolf thing." He said quietly, voice soft in hopes that it would spare him the ripple of guilt that skittered through him as he spoke the words. "At least I think it is," he added, corners of his mouth edging upwards as his eyes took in the portraits that filtered by, "could just be a me thing."

Mullioned windows offered a chaos of light and dark, spring light drifting over the finely polished floor and Remus always found himself distracted by it. “Hard to believe that this ever belonged to one person, isn’t it?” Remus said, making conversation and voicing the thoughts that had been floating around his head since he had arrived. The separation between his small existence in the cottages that his parents chose to rent in Welsh backwaters and the expansive, indulgent lives of purebloods never felt so acute.

“Hey,” Remus tilted his head in the direction of the portraits, “Do you think they’re in a corridor and not some ballroom because everyone hated them?” Remus asked, smiling as his comment was met with dozens of angry stares from the portraits of the lords and ladies, decked out in their finest robes. “No offence meant.” He added to one particularly portly wizard as the pair drifted by, who merely scoffed at him.  

“I doubt it,” replied Edgar, smirking. He meaningfully wiped at the corner of his mouth, motioning for Remus to do the same. Unless Remus considered nap-taking productive, in which case, sure. He’d been making impressive headway, and he was sorry for having interrupted. 

His lopsided simper faded at the edges as he watched Remus’ eyes dart over the page like he was trying to find where he’d left off. There was a familiar weight in his chest as he noted the bruises, ruffled hair, the gaunt face. It was a common look among werewolves, displaced, hollowed out. Lost. In a world that cared about blood purity above all else there wasn’t a lot of room for werewolves. 

When Remus snapped his book shut and met his gaze, Edgar filled his lungs, slowly loosed the breath, and trained his features to something a little more impassive. He didn’t pity Remus, and he didn’t want him to think that he did. So instead of prompting a conversation he clearly wasn’t interested in having, Edgar invited him to lunch. 

He needed a break anyway. If he stared at his red yarn tangled wall any longer he’d go crosseyed and color blind. Nothing greased the gears like a sandwich and a pint. 

“What do you know, Lupin. Me too,” said Edgar, arms folded in front of him, smirking as he watched how he untangled his long limbs and got out of his chair. “To think I was worried we’d have nothing in common. You can always trust mutual hunger to be a unifying force.” He nodded for Remus to follow him out of the study and into the hall. 

His warm tenor had a steady cadence as he equated his hunger to his condition, and Edgar nodded, discerning. “Because of your faster metabolism,” he observed, not in question or agreement, but in understanding. Edgar peered over his shoulder to meet Remus’ gaze and was reminded again of how tall he was. Taller than him by an inch or two. He kept forgetting that fact. Probably because Remus skulked through life with his head down, trying his level best to not draw any attention onto himself. Because bad shit happened when he did.

Ignoring his off track thoughts, Edgar supplied, “Which is also to blame for your wicked alcohol tolerance, and why you heal so quickly.” Holding Remus’ gaze, he smirked despite feeling a bit like a fucking wanker. Was he really explaining werewolf metabolism to a werewolf? For his next trick, he should also explain spiritual enlightenment to a Budhist monk. “So, I guess it’s both a werewolf thing and a you thing.”

Shaking his head at himself, he aimed his gaze forward again and muttered a flat, “I, on the other hand, have no excuse for my excessive eating habits.” Other than his exercise regiment and needing a high calorie count to maintain his physique, but that wasn’t worth mentioning. 

Unsure how to dislodge his foot from his mouth, Edgar kept his focus straight ahead on the path they were walking. Not sure if he should break the quiet that had settled between them, Edgar resigned himself to the comfortable silence. But then Remus’ quiet voice broke it again and he was forced to look about the corridor and actually take it all in. He’d grown up in a similar estate, smaller, but his family had been well off. 

“The thing about old families is that they tend to accumulate a lot of shit throughout the generations,” said Edgar, searching out Remus’ gaze again, the corner of his mouth curling into a small smirk as he regarded him. Hoard enough treasure for enough time, and it was easy to see how a single person could have so many things. It was excess, but that was pretty much synonymous with the pureblood elite.

His gaze was pulled again over his shoulder at Remus’ ‘Hey.’ The smirk on Lupin’s mouth lured a similar one to Edgar’s. He looked away from him to survey the portrait lined walls. An amused huff expelled from him and Edgar shook his head, continuing toward the kitchen. 

A nod was offered at the stout, glaring wizard, watching them with disapproval. “Knowing Moody, it’s more likely that they’re in the hall as additional surveillance,” he mused.

Alastor “Constant Vigilance” Moody likely used the portraits as an additional alarm system; likely a tracking system, too, since they could move through all the frames in the manse. No one moved throughout the estate without them noticing. 

Having survived the trek to the kitchen without incident, Edgar moved toward the pantry, wondering, “You fancy anything special, or do you trust me to throw something together for you?”

[silencio-rita]

Accio || E&R

[elderbonesman]

silencio-rita​

It would have been amusing to see the effect she had on him, if he didn’t also have some effect on her as well. Well, no, it was still amusing. Edgar was always just so pleased to see her.

She watched through half lidded eyes as he psyched himself up to come and speak to her. What did it say of the fluttering in her chest when he did–and at the thought that he wouldn’t? And was it her force of will or his that in the end drew him to her?

Even from across the room, she could see he was angry. At himself. At her.  That was nothing new. There was always that level of anger and frustration surrounding them that made the air crackle all the more in the space between their bodies. He had always resented the invisible rope that stretched taut between them, drawing them into each other’s orbits when they happened to be in the same vicinity.

Her attitude and pose were studiously unaffected as he drew near. For all that he was obviously annoyed, she was determined to appear just as calm. He barely glanced at the waiter darting past, his hand shooting out automatically to collect the drink. Liquid courage to shore himself up against the formidable writer. She managed to keep a bitter smile from her lips at the thought that men needed bravery to approach her. The only thing that made up for it was that all the while, those dark eyes remained on her.

Her own sharp gaze tracked the path of his tongue across his lips, drawn there as if by some magical force. The liquid disappeared in the wake of his tongue, though his lips kept that slight sheen. “Darling, don’t you know by now that virgins are hardly my cup of tea?” she asked. She raked her eyes up and down his muscled chest boldly, thinking all the while how well he filled out those dress robes.

She enjoyed knowing that he noticed her appearance too. Her body heated like that alcoholic liquid likely burning down his throat. She tilted her body so that one hip rose higher than the other, the slit in her dress revealing her tanned leg as she shifted her stance, that same leg crossed just in front of the other. The hand holding her own glass went wider, as if removing itself as a barrier to his eyes.

“They’re not quite as much fun,” she grinned wickedly, throwing him a knowing look.

Steps drawing him nearer to her, like a string was tied around his fucking sternum and she’d given it a hard yank, Edgar’s glare narrowed on Rita’s beautiful face. If she felt it, this high powered magnet between them, nothing in her expression gave it away. Eyelids heavy, expression edged with a sultriness that made his teeth hurt under the pressure in his jaw, she looked pleased with herself and the effect she had on him. 

Edgar’s fingers tightened around his cup and his nostrils flared with his inhale. Rita fucking Skeeter. The spider herself, looking pleased, so Merlin damned pleased. Here they were, again, her web spun and him just hurling himself into it like a fucking git. Edgar knew, he knew, that he should stay away from her. He should turn on his heel and walk away, resist the flame he was flying into, full speed ahead. 

But he never could, could he? Everything about Rita set him off. She was self serving and thoughtless. She only gave a shit about people if they could further her status or career, and fuck all the people she hurt along the way. All of which he could stomach in silence, if she didn’t have a fucking fanbase. For whatever reason, people listened to her, cared what she had to say, accepted it as fact. 

For whatever reason, Edgar huffed a distasted breath as he stopped in front of her and gave her a scowling once over. She was a talented writer and a ruthless reporter, persistent and fearless. If she weren’t such an agent of chaos she could have been a force for good. But no. She’d let the world burn if it meant her article on the front page. 

The article she’d done on Doc’s disappearance had been… unexpected. He might go so far as to call it respectful. It hadn’t changed anything, though. She was still her, and he was still him, cesium and water. A bad mix.

Darling. Her dusky voice was a caress down his spine and Edgar bristled, even as his blood heated to point just shy of boiling. He clenched his jaw harder, hating the memories that came flooding at her tone, at the way she looked him over and the reminder of all his past mistakes, a time lapse of their every encounter in which he was too fucking weak to listen to his better judgement. No, virgins weren’t her cup of tea. Lemon tea was.

He hated that he knew that.

Her champagne flute moved from in front of her, and Edgar’s eyes narrowed. She knew what she was doing, and she knew that he knew, and she didn’t fucking care. Rita was always fucking goading him like this, taunting him, pushing his limits until he had no choice but to act on the… fire she prodded in him. 

“That’s right,” he muttered, shifting his leer from her exposed leg, up the curving lines of her body, to those clever blue eyes. “You do like to play with your food. Is that common among pit fiends, or just special to you?”

Shaking his head at himself, Edgar released a slow breath, downed the rest of his old fashioned, and placed the glass on the next tray that floated past. Pushing his shoulders back, he turned his head until he heard a pop in his neck, then sighed again. He’d been raised with manners. If his mother saw him talking to a woman like this, she’d have boxed his ears. 

On a low, guttural voice, he grumbled, “You look nice. Do you have a press pass hidden in that dress, or did you take the night off?” That was civil adjacent, and the best he could do.

[apareciumcresswell]

One Too Many || Dirk & Edgar

[elderbonesman]

silenciocresswell​

Dirk had lost count of how many drinks he’d had by this point, his friends had said they’d relax him and, well, he felt pretty darn relaxed, all warm and floaty inside, like a pixie all cuddled in it’s nest with it’s brothers and sisters. It was a pretty nice feeling, he should’ve tried this before. He could hear bangs and yells and cheers and none of it worried him, none of it made him want to jump up and go hide somewhere, this was fun, this was nice, this was safe. He hoped it would never end.

And it made him pretty chatty, his friends were all chortling as he took time to tell each of them how great they were at their jobs and how much he liked seeing them everyday. Several pats on the back (and a few on the head) were some of the responses his words got and it only made him laugh some more. He’d have to go see the Merfolk before he went home, they were only up the village in the school!

But the idea was put on hold when he recognised one of the newcomers! “Hmm.. I dunno Mr. Bones,” he blinked a few more times and tried to process, “I’ve been drink’in firewhiskey... ne’er had it before! It’s gooooooood.” he said, laughing a little more, “Said it’d h-help me... help me to relax.” he nodded, head feeling way more heavy than usual and rolling a little before coming back to it’s usual position. “W-whoopsie.” he giggled some, trying to get his bearings.

When Edgar sat down Dirk plonked down beside him and lent his head back, feeling the other’s arm there, “You’re warm,” he said lightly, “I like being warm. H-hey! You’re y’know your’s so good at your job.” he said, a hand coming up, missing the other’s shoulder and landing on his leg, “You do good stuff! S’ready really... good.”

The question again took him a few moments to process, tongue stuck out a little as he tried to think, “Yes! I had a salad! ... while ago.” he added, his other hand gesturing behind him and nearly smacking the wall. “It was green, I like green.” It was his favourite, “You!” he suddenly looked back at Edgar, “You okay? Y’ve seemed kinda... busy at work, I worry but I didn’t wanna bother ya cause you’re so cooooool and m’not.” he said, sniffing once then asking again, “Drink drink?”  

Watching as Dirk swayed, blinked hard, and grinned like a loon, Edgar sighed heavily through his nose and surveyed the table’s occupants. Several sets of guilty eyes looked away from him, turning to his team to avoid the reprimand in his glare. Dirk was an adult, and could do what he wanted, but he clearly hadn’t done this before. 

The kid didn’t know his limits. Plying him with drinks, no food or water in sight, it was irresponsible. If they were going to take him drinking, then they needed to take care of him, too. Maybe it was his years as a bartender that had made him a special brand of jaded on the topic. 

“Firewhisky’s a favorite of mine, too,” Edgar confessed on a grumble. “How about a palate cleanser before the next round?”

Brows bent as he continued to watch Dirk, he understood why they’d thought Dirk needed help relaxing. He and the rest of the Order had been briefed about the details of the Wizarding Statute murders. Seeing a dead body for the first time was never easy, but seeing that. It was no wonder the kid had been wound tight lately. Getting him piss drunk, though? Not the remedy Edgar might’ve suggested. 

Not moving his arm from the back of Dirk’s seat, Edgar winked at the barmaid when she dropped off two cups and a pitcher of water at the table. He filled each, set the pitcher aside, and moved one of the cups in front of the kid, chuckling a quiet, “Cheers, mate. You don’t do half bad, either. Drink up.” He was a happy drunk, at least, complementary and good spirited, but it could have just as easily gone the other way. Edgar reached for his own glass of water, trying to encourage Dirk to do the same, like they were playing a game of monkey see monkey do.

Clenching his jaw, Edgar leered at Dirk’s companions again, all of which quickly averted their gazes and became suddenly entrenched in conversation. A salad? The only thing better than shots of firewhisky was shots of firewhisky on an empty stomach. Thankfully, he’d already locked eyes with Ros and food would be coming to the table shortly. 

When Dirk’s focus snapped onto him with a suddenness that should’ve sent the boy’s head spinning, Edgar frowned. “Me,” he replied, refilling Dirk’s glass with water and nodding for him to drink it. He rolled his shoulders at the question, the observation. His shoulders jerked and Edgar shook his head in dismissal, muttering, “Right as rain, Cresswell.”

Not like his best friend was missing, had been missing for months now, and not only did he not have any new leads he also had spent most of these last few weeks running around in circles, chasing his tail. But, you know. Another day in paradise. 

He still had to chuckle when Dirk called him ‘cool.’ Edgar shook his head, lips set to a half cocked smirk as he said, “My sister might challenge that assessment, mate. Besides, I’m not the one with green hair. Doesn’t get much cooler than that.” He nudged the water nearer to Dirk then glanced toward the bar, hoping to catch Rosmerta’s gaze. Hopefully the food would be out soon, and Dirk could get something in his gut to sop up the firewhisky.

[blueflameremus-deactivated20250]

this old house // open

where: order hq- the library when: current time (in game) with: open to order members 

Of all the luxuries that the old building had to offer- including Remus’ own private bathroom, the extensive larder, and the endless miles of adjacent woodland that he could wander- Alastor Moody’s library was Remus’ favourite. Paneled in dark wood, the space smelt of dust and leather and most days it remained utterly quiet, a forgotten corner of the sprawling mansion that, on occasion, was bursting with life. It was here that Remus spent most of his days off, reading about curses and hexes, studying runes and medicinal plants.

 There was a spirit to the house, a character, though Remus suspected this was the case with all ancestral wizarding homes. He wouldn’t know, of course. Remus had never been anywhere like this in his life. It felt more like a museum than a house. But unlike its ferocious owner, who both worked and lived himself to death, the house was mischievous. Had its own eccentricities. Often, Remus would lay a pen down for a moment and then spend hours trying to find it when he reached for it once more. It became more annoying when it was things such as mugs of tea or spellbooks, but they eventually returned to him, often in entirely different rooms than where he left them. 

This particular afternoon, after fetching a second cup of tea, Remus found himself gravitating to the hazy silence that the room offered. Bare feet made no noise on parquet floor. The pain from his run-in with Fenrir had almost completely subsided as had most of the bruising around his face and chest. He had felt strange slipping into the house with the purpose of staying, strange asking the gruff Moody if it was alright, “just until he had saved some money for a better place.” It was awkward in a way talking about money was always awkward, especially when Moony had never had two galleons to rub together in his life. In many ways it felt like conceding defeat. But the house had its own ideas and the first few days slipped by almost unnoticed to the young wizard. Until it almost felt normal. Almost. 

Grabbing a book from a stack he had compiled,  Remus curled his body into a cushioned window seat with the purpose of reading up on blood poisoning. But the sun was hot on the top of his head and the text in the book cramped and small. He could feel the moment his attention failed him. There was a stillness in his chest that he vaguely recognised as comfort and soon his eyes were closing, and the book slipping from his hands into his lap. Remus didn’t even try to fight it- that was what Sundays were for. 

And then, after what could have been seconds or hours, a noise had Remus scrambling awake, bleary-eyed. “S’time isit?” He slurred. It took a second for the man to realise that he wasn’t alone in the room. His cheeks went pink. Hoping he hadn’t been snoring, Remus ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair, grin sheepish as he scrambled to fetch the book that had slipped to the floor. “Sorry. Must have dosed off there.”

[elderbonesman]

Brows narrow with thought, Edgar rubbed at the crease on his forehead as he considered the wall in front of him. Months and weeks and days of nothing weighed down his exhale and his shoulders. He felt like his knees would buckle under it, under his failure. Raking his fingers through his hair, he cupped the back of his head in both hands and glared at the wall. He had to be missing something. He had to have overlooked something. He couldn’t just be gone. 

Newspaper clippings, photographs, scraps of note paper, and printed reports were stuck to the wall, red tape a spiderweb that connected each piece to another. Edgar had gone back to the week before Caradoc’s disappearance and traced everything the wizard had done, everyone he’d spoken to. He knew  that Doc had gone missing doing a job for the Order, but he wasn’t going to dismiss any possible leads. He’d explore every avenue. Doc was out there, his best fucking mate, and he couldn’t just let it go. He couldn’t go on not knowing. And he wouldn’t sit on his fucking thumb hoping someone would figure this shit out. 

Even though he’d asked him to wait, if not for him then for anyone else, Doc had gone lone fucking ranger anyway. But it was on him to find him and bring him home. Doc was his friend, his brother, he couldn’t give up on him. 

He’d had to move the investigation board out of his flat after Amelia had seen it. She’d said something about ‘driving himself mad’ and ‘letting this consume his life,’ so he’d relocated the thing somewhere beyond the reach of her judgement. Not that this place was inaccessible to her, but he’d at least have some warning before she came kicking in his door. 

An idea came sparked to life in his head, an ember of a thought that made him spin on his heel and walk over to his bed where he’d left a pile of books, manilla folders, old reports. Sifting through the clutter of paper, Edgar cursed. He was pretty sure he’d brought it in here. Where the fuck had it… This fucking house.

“You cheeky little…” Edgar sighed and shook his head. The door shut more loudly than he’d intended when he stalked out of his room. Grumbling a string of curses under his breath as he headed for the library, hoping the prankish house had at least returned the book to the shelf he’d originally found it. 

His agitated pace came to stop when Remus Lupin shot up in the chair he’d been slumped in, dozing. Shaking his head, checking his mood, Edgar glanced down at his watch before providing an apologetic, “Quarter ‘til. Still nap time if I haven’t ruined any chance of that for you.” Edgar eyed the bookshelf a moment, but his gaze was drawn to Remus again as he smoothed his hair and collected his book from where it’d fallen beside his chair. 

There was a yellow splotch at the corner of his jaw, a fading bruise, but it was the dark shadows under Remus’ eyes that made Edgar frown. He stepped deeper into the room, closer to Remus instead of the tall, book lined shelves. Waving off his apology, he gave the younger male a once over and wondered, “You hungry? I was about to go make some lunch.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the kitchen downstairs. Shrugging, Edgar added, “Could use the company, if nothing else.”

[silencio-rita]

Accio || E&R

@elderbonesman

Rita supposed if she had to run into Edgar Bones again, it was just as well that it was here where she looked–dare she say it–even more stunning than usual. The deep purple went well with tanned skin, and sunkissed highlights in her blond up-do.  It had been months since they had last seen each other. Since before his friend–Caradoc wasn’t it?–had gone missing.

The piece she had written on it had been more restrained than usual, though she refused to admit that it might possibly be in deference to Edgar’s feelings. She could have gone off on wild flights of fancy, throwing out suggestions even more ridiculous than the last. And her readers would have eaten it up. She hadn’t, but of course she didn’t expect that he noticed. if he read her column at all it was likely with derision.

Unfortunately, the young wizard’s was only the first in a series of disappearances. With no rhyme or reason, individuals were disappearing. And even Rita, who preferred to remain neutral, had to admit that the majority of disappearances were of Muggleborns, Halfbloods, and their Pureblood sympathizers.

But that was certainly not a thought for tonight. Not when the champagne was flowing, and the war had taken a night off. There were so many attractive people in the room, Rita’s eyes were finding it difficult to focus on just one. As Bella had suggested, she was considering her prospects for the night. No point in her going home alone, after all.

When her eyes met Edgar’s, she felt a flash of something through her body. She raised her glass in a mock toast towards him, a sardonic smirk on her lips. She held his gaze in a challenge, wondering if he would take it up, or turn away like so many before him. Augustus for example. One look from her was enough to send him running to hide behind Bella’s skirts.

[elderbonesman]

Brow furrowed, Edgar checked his watch again. It’d only been two minutes since the last time he had, and he couldn’t decide if that put him two minutes closer to an appropriate time to make his escape. The night had had its moments, but not enough of them to make him want to drag it out any longer than he had to. He wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment, and there was only so much a man could take in one night. 

The second hand tick, tick, ticked by and it was still early enough to get the odd raised eyebrow if he wasn’t accounted for by the right people. Someone would tattle to Amelia, and he really didn’t need that conversation on top of his abandoning her at the door. 

Dropping his head between his shoulders, he tucked his chin to his chest and shut his eyes. A hand lifted from his glass to scrub his forefingers into his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. Doc was out there, alone, and instead of searching for the man he was here, dodging marriage arrangements and orating his autobiography on fucking loop. He just wanted tonight to end. 

Hand wiping down his face, to rub over his mouth, Edgar looked up from the floor only to freeze on the spot. His gaze had immediately snapped to a set of familiar blue, and a curse cracked like thunder between his ears. He pushed off of his knees to lean back in his seat, biting back his groan as he ironed his expression into something humorless and raised his short glass to answer her mocking acknowledgement. That smirk made his hairs stand on end, and Edgar gritted his teeth as he brought his cup to his mouth and threw back what was left of his scotch. 

Edgar briefly glanced heavenward. Karma, you bitch. If you’re going to keep fucking me tonight at least have the courtesy to use some lube. He was fairly certain that a cosmic obscene hand gesture was shot back at him. 

Of course he knew that she was going to be here. Rita was in the wedding party, obviously she’d be prowling the reception, hunting for prey like a fucking jungle cat. He’d just been lucky enough to have not bumped into her before now. The last time he’d seen her… well, he’d hoped that it would be the last time he saw her. But there she was, smirking, all cat-like. He was pretty sure that was a bright yellow feather sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Next item on the menu? Boeuf a la Edgar.

Fuck. Me. Edgar pushed out of his chair and strode over, all too aware of how those sharp, cerulean eyes tracked his every movement, how that smirk coiled tighter with his every step. What the fuck was he doing? Why the fuck did he keep doing this? Anger burned in his blood and, by the time he was standing in front of Rita he couldn’t tear his glare from her face, those piercing eyes, that full mouth. 

Exhale leaving him like dragon’s breath, he grabbed a drink off of a trey as it passed, not caring what it was, only knowing that he’d need a lot more of it if hers was the company he was going to keep tonight. “Rita,” Edgar grumbled, lifting the glass to his mouth. Old fashioned. Not as bad as it could have been. Licking the citrusy bourbon from his mouth, he said, “I noticed that virgin blood wasn’t on the drink menu tonight. Did you have your fill beforehand, or can you go a night without.” Despite his best efforts Edgar’s glare dropped from her face to take in her dress. His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared before he met her smug gaze again.

[elderbonesman]

No Bones Left Behind | A&E

[elderbonesman]

the-underestimated-amelia-bones​

When Edgar appeared out of practically nowhere, Amelia felt it just confirmed her suspicions that he had been hiding for half the night. She threw him a sour look out of the corner of her eye before he slid his arm around her neck. “Where have you been?” she demanded rather than answer his question as she tugged her hair out from under his arm.

“I hope you’ve had more luck dodging the old biddies than I have.” She was cranky that he had left her to deal with the masses of mothers alone. Amelia had no doubt he had been forced to avoid (un)likely prospects as well.  He was rather a catch after all, and it didn’t take Amelia’s bias to see that. But that didn’t excuse his behaviour in ditching her.

Bad enough that it was Bella getting married. Every time Amelia looked at the radiantly happy bride, the proud groom, she felt a twinge in her chest. Because if even someone like Bellatrix Black could find a mate, why couldn’t she?

“Are you?” she asked him hopefully. At the very least, they could be each other’s excuses and she could take off the higher than normal heels she had forced her feet into. Even with magical help, the things still hurt. And it wasn’t as if she had any intention of going home with anyone else tonight. Not that--despite what Augustus had said earlier--anyone had looked her way. Just their mothers.

“You didn’t find anyone to tempt you back to your wicked ways?” she teased, a half smile pulling at the corner of her reluctant lips.

Ignoring his sister’s cutting glare and sharp tone, Edgar shrugged. “Around,” he said simply, knowing exactly how his derisive tone would land. He looked about their surroundings, keeping an eye out for any of the echelon’s matrons waiting in the wings, biding their time, anticipating the most opportune time to swoop in like fucking harpies. 

He glanced back at his sister narrowing his eyes, brow bent in disapproval, as he supplied, “You’ll be happy to know that I haven’t,” he knew she would be, Amelia only asked so that she could hear him admit to having suffered tonight. Well, good news, sis. “These old crones can smell fear, Ames. Fuckin’ buzzards, the lot of them. I’d take a fully shifted werewolf over this shit any day.”

A heavy sigh flattened his chest. Edgar glanced sidelong at his sister then smiled. Closing his arm around her neck, he bent her closer to him and scrubbed his knuckles into her scalp, not enough to do any real damage to her hair, but definitely enough to annoy her. He used his considerable strength to keep her in place for as long as he could before loosening his hold and letting her fight her way free, chuckling the whole time. 

He adjusted his collar, eyeing the exit before turning his focus back onto his sister. “I am if you are,” he said to her non-answer. Slapping a lopsided smile onto his face, offered a shrugged, “We came, we saw, we’re filled with regret,” and started backing towards the door with slow steps, tempting her to follow him so they could hightail it while no one was looking. 

The chill that rocketed down his spine had nothing to do with Amelia’s teasing smile, and everything to do with the too fresh memory of a certain blonde in a beautiful purple dress. Speaking of regret. His smile turned into a wince and Edgar shook the images out of his head. He answered with a P popping, “Nope,” and turned on his heel to face the escape, hoping Amelia would keep up and follow him out. “I’m actually taking a vow of celibacy. So, no more wickedness for me. Just the straight and narrow from here on out.” Because that vow had worked out so well for him the last time.

[apareciumcresswell]

One Too Many || Dirk & Edgar

When: Present Day (Game Time) Where: Hogsmeade - The Three Broomsticks With: Edgar @elderbonesman

It was Friday night and like most government employee’s that meant a looming weekend of freedom. There was always a happy energy around the department on Friday’s that infectiously wormed its way around, leaving smiles and promises for evenings of fun in its wake. His colleagues always invited him along to their pub visits but he rarely went and if he did he wasn’t there long. He’d never been one for drinking much but…

Given how jumpy he was at home lately the idea of being out with friends in a safe space for a good while was pretty appealing; so he’d come along and settled with his friends in the Three Broomsticks while the first round was got. He’d have ordered a butterbeer for himself but what was placed before him was instead a shot of firewhiskey. He’d never tried it before but it would’ve been rude to decline so, with the other’s the threw it back and promptly hacked up a lung on the table to his friends’ good-natured laughter. 

And so the evening bore on for a good hour and a half, it had to be past eight but he wasn’t sure… Things had started getting fuzzy after the sixth round of firewhiskey’s. Everyone was having fun through, chatting and he was happy to close his eyes and enjoy the blur of talking. Till a few cheers from the table had him looking up to see some familiar faces were being waved over to the table.

He blinked a few times (which didn’t make things all that much clearer) but one figure he did recognise and he smiled widely, waving his hand and leaning forward in an unstable bow of respect that made him bump the table with his legs, “Oops.” he mumbled, shaking his head a little, “H-Hello Mr. Bones! You’re looking very nice,” he said, running a hand through his messy green hair, “Are you gonna drink with us? I don’t do it much but it’s fun! I’m alllll floaty.” he waved his hands a little and grinned, then laughed, unable to stop himself.  

[elderbonesman]

“Come on, Bones. When’s the last time you’ve been out for a pint?”

Out for a pint? Weeks. But he’d been doing plenty of drinking on his own in the meantime. Edgar just couldn’t justify it. Doc was missing. Had been missing for months now. Two months, one week, and three days, by his last count. His best mate, his brother, was missing. How the fuck was he supposed to grab a pint when the man he wanted to share one with was in the wind?

He was going to turn his team down again, but then he’d heard Amelia’s voice in his head, spouting wisdom like he had a monthly subscription he kept forgetting to renege. ‘I know you’re worried about him, but you can’t stop living. You’re doing everything you can. We are all doing everything we can. The rest is out of your control. I hate seeing you like this. Please, take care of yourself. If not for you, then for me. Don’t make me worry about you any more than I already do.’ 

She’d looked at him all beseeching-like, and had made him promise to take the occasional night off. To which the only acceptable answer was ‘Of course, Amelia,’ no matter how disingenuous his compliance had been. 

Salute though he had at her request, Edgar had no intention of taking a night off. Not with Caradoc out there, not when he didn’t know if his best friend was even alive. So, he’d been this close to muttering some half assed excuse to get out of it; dead set on hitting the streets again to hunt down Death Eaters or answers. He’d close his night as he usually did these days. By chugging half a bottle of firewhisky to knock himself out before he asphyxiated on his investigation board’s red yarn.

They’d gotten him with the Three Broomsticks, well aware of his soft spot for the place and its owner. With his sister still in his head, giving him that look, he’d resigned himself to a couple of pints and went with his team to the Hogsmeade pub. Roarus cheers met them as recognition struck his team and the Ministry workers already bringing down the property value. Fuck, he missed Doc. 

The groups merged in cheers, handshakes, and comradely shoulder shaking. Edgar managed to smile as he gave into his co-worker’s magnetic cheer, a smile that turned a little wary at the edges at the sight of mussed green hair of the slow blinking, slightly swaying, Hufflepuff. He didn’t know Dirk very well, since his first year at Hogwarts was near the end of Edgar’s tenure, but they saw each other in the Department of Magical Creatures’ nexus of offices and tangled hallways enough times to at least be past the niceties. 

“Dirk,” he said, brows bent as he glanced around the table at the kid’s companions, glaring slightly at the lot of them. When he lifted his gaze toward the bar and met a familiar gaze, he signaled Ros for two rounds of her off menu special. “I’ve never been one to turn down a drink. How’s water sound?” 

With a nod at the man seated beside the kid, Edgar motioned for him to find another seat. Claiming the now vacant chair, he grabbed the back of Dirk’s seat and settled into his own, keeping his arm draped behind him as he made himself comfortable. Glancing sidelong at the content looking wizard beside him, he mused, “You eat anything, Cresswell,” then glanced up to slash a narrowed glare across the table to ‘friends’ that had clearly been plying the kid with drinks all night.

[elderbonesman]

No Bones Left Behind | A&E

@the-underestimated-amelia-bones​

He fucking hated weddings. They hadn’t been so bad growing up, because he and Frank spent most receptions stealing whatever bottles of liquor they could get their hands on and partying somewhere far from their parent’s supervision. Now that they’d been of marrying age for awhile, he couldn’t take two steps without some ancient, liver spotted, geriatric crone blockading his path and suffocating him with her rosewater perfume. 

All night. He’d endured it all fucking night, had thought that ditching Amelia at the door would have saved him from being spotted --since she was the one everyone liked. But no. It’d been a veritable minefield of ‘I have a daughter about your age,’ and ‘my niece is back from studying abroad,’ except for Edgar would’ve preferred a minefield because at least he’d be out of his fucking misery. 

Karma, being the sadistic hag that she was, put him over her knee tonight. His abandoning Amelia had resulted in Ted and Frank disappearing to the godsdamned ether, leaving his dance card to auction, and him with a dwindling list of excuses for why he really couldn’t. Work related injury had been his go to until someone had offered to massage his thigh. 

Now, a lifetime later, Edgar found himself hiding behind the fronds of some potted plant, peeking between the leaves for either a face he recognized or his chance to escape. When his sister came into view he muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to whatever higher powers decided to give him a break, and stepped out from the safety of his leafy sanctum. He made a beeline for Amelia and fell into step beside her, giving their surroundings a quick look around to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. 

He casually wrapped an arm around his sister’s neck, wondering a hopeful, “Are you leaving?” Because if she was leaving, then there was really no reason for him to be here. Merlin, please, let her be leaving.

[silencio-rp]

D O S S I E R: S T A T S

NAME: Edgar Bones AGE: 28 STATUS: Taken FACE: Ryan Guzman HOUSE: Hufflepuff CLASS: Pure Blood AFFILIATION: Order of the Pheonix POSITIVE: Determined, Stoic, Skilled NEGATIVE: Reserved, Violent, Ambivalent OCCUPATION:   Ministry of Magic - Head of the Werewolf Capture Unit

“ Keep on fighting, out of the dark into the light. Hope is rising. Never give in, never give up! It’s not over yet ”

D O S S I E R: B I O G R A P H Y

Unlike his parents and younger sister, Edgar always saw the darker side of being a wizard. He saw first hand what life was like for those less fortunate than himself, the prejudice that affected those born of a certain status unlike his own. It hit him hard, it always had. It’s not to say his sister didn’t care, she was the most empathetic person he knew. But until the day came that their parents lives were violently taken from them, she lived in the shadows. He, did not. Edgar had gone through the Auror training program with Frank Longbottom, had finished top of his class to boot. His potential was limitless, and then his world fell to pieces. On a downward spiral, he dropped out of the Ministry and found Rosmerta. It took him a few years but eventually, Edgar found his way back to the Ministry, when he was personally asked by Head Auror Modoy to lead the Werewolf Capture Unit. When he discovered the Order, there was no hesitation in signing up. Not only is he one of the best wizards they have but he lives for being out in the field and fighting the good fight. He needs the adrenaline, it’s all that keeps him going.

D O S S I E R: C O N N E C T I O N S

Alastor Moody & Kingsley Shacklebolt: The two hand picked Edgar to join the Order when it first started, which suited him perfectly fine because he would have fought for a place on their team anyway. Not only would he get to work under some of the most skilled Auror’s the ministry has ever seen but they’d actively put a stop to the Dark Lord.

Amelia Bones: Though he’s only older than Amelia by a few years, Edgar has always been her towering pillar of support. He is the reason she was able to get back on two feet again, and he would do anything for her.

Caradoc Dearborn: The pair had been best friends for ten years. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the man he looked at like kin. When he went missing, Edgar was lost. A piece of his heart missing right along with him. He stopped at nothing to search for Doc, and when they finally found him… he almost wished they hadn’t.

Mentioned In The Following Bios: Amelia Bones, Frank Longbottom, Rosmerta Gaul, Caradoc Dearborn

[elderbonesman]

An Elder Bones Overview

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Desired Character: Edgar Bones

Why This Character?: Edgar Bones was actually my first character in my Silencio excursions. He’s the domino that started the disaster that’s become my life, and will always have a special place in my heart. I’ve never stopped crying over Edgar Bones, and don’t think I ever will. He’s just a righteous lad, but in a way that we rarely get to explore in works of fiction where things are very clearly black and white, good and evil. Edgar believes in Right and Wrong, fights for and against them at every turn, but he’s also very aware of the shades of grey that make up the world. He’s less worried about the rules and the laws as he is about what is Right, and I just. I fucking love that about him. Okay?

Face Claim?: Ryan Guzman

Ships/Anti-ships: Chemistry, my dudes!

Headcanons: 

Bad to the Bone - Edgar was a bit of a rabble rouser in his teenage years. He was an excellent student and a star athlete, but he also stole bottles of booze from his parents’ liquor cabinet, smoked in the boy’s bathroom between classes, and broke into teachers’ offices after hours sometimes just for the hell of it. He even had a profitable side hustle out of the greenhouses that always made the most money during exam time. Incidentally, he got away with most of it. Excellent at covering his tracks and using his reputation to his advantage, when Edgar got detention it was almost always for fighting. He’s never had any patience for bullies and, since he’s always been the bulkiest boy in his year, Edgar never hesitated to jump in to fight for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. He was good at it, too. REALLY good. The problem was that, sometimes, he just didn’t know when to stop swinging.

It’s the Living Who Suffer - Losing his parents broke the part of him that was able to see the good in people. He knew he had to be strong for his sister, and he was, but on the inside Edgar was fundamentally broken by it. Having recently graduated from junior Auror into an official ranking, Edgar should have been in a position better suited to finding his parents’ killer and making them pay. But it was impossible for him to not bring the anger he felt following their deaths to work with him. His inability to properly separate his hurt from the cases he worked resulted in him resigning before the Heads of the Department could suggest he take a Leave of Absence. He ended up at the Three Broomsticks not long after, a fight with some rowdy patrons resulting in property damage Madam Rosmerta demanded he work off. The pub and it’s matron were the balm his soul needed to come to terms with the loss. As a bartender he could focus all of his energy into being there for his sister, in being the big brother Amelia needed him to be. Two and half years he worked behind Rosmerta’s bar and, all this time later, it’s still home to him. A shift or two makes up the difference for the Ministry’s shit pay.

Werewolf Capture Unit - After two and a half years working as a bartender and security for the Three Broomsticks, it was Alastor Moody that decided it was time for Edgar to come back to work. Aware that Edgar was more than a little disillusioned with the Aurors, the man was also the one to suggest another department that could really use his skills. Edgar agreed, it was time, but only Moody --in all his wisdom-- could have known that he was exactly the man for the job. Even before his parents’ deaths, Edgar had been aware of the wizarding world’s many injustices and prejudices. His lifelong history of fighting for the mistreated was what made him excel in his current career. He understands that werewolves are people, as diverse as any other, not inherently good or bad. Just people. And people that need help. He’s strong enough to wrangle with the worst of them, and compassionate enough to tell the difference between a bad night and a bad person.

A Marshmallow Center - It’s not as well kept a secret as Edgar thinks it is. His glowering, disinterested exterior does a decent job of convincing the outside world that he is not a man to be fucked with. Anyone who knows him, however, knows that there isn’t a better hugger in all of London; probably the world. He’s soft with the people he cares about, attentive and affectionate. His love language is touch, and if he cares about you then he won’t hesitate to spread the love. Platonic hugs, hand holding, forehead and cheek kisses, and cuddles are in endless supply where he’s concerned. He’s also not afraid to make an ass out of himself if it means making his loved ones laugh in the process. If he’s learned anything from his parents’ murder and this war, it’s that life’s too short for pretense and ego. 

His Sister’s Keeper - There is no one in this world that means more to him than his sister. No one on the face of the entire planet that he is more protective of. No one who will go up to bat for her more fiercely than him, either.  Edgar will do ANYTHING for her, all she has to do is ask. Protecting Amelia has always been his job, his priority, and it was always a job he took deadly seriously. Even before their parents’ death. Happy as he was, and remains to this day, to annoy and tease his sister, he’s the only one allowed to. Potential boyfriends had to endure his protective streak and pray to the powers that be that Amelia was the one to break up with them. If he ever caught word that someone had made his sister cry he was happy to settle the score, with her as the only one able to call him off. 

The Three Amigos - Ted Tonks and Frank Longbottom aren’t his friends. They’re his brothers. While he and Frank had the pleasure of growing up together, their brotherhood clicking into place before they were even making memories, it was on the train ride to Hogwarts that they met their third. Try though it might, the universe couldn’t separate them. Even though the Sorting Hat had sorted them into different Houses, they were still together at every opportunity causing trouble and getting each other out of it. He and Frank had planned as children to join the Aurors together and, while life has sent them all on different paths than they’d originally planned for themselves, it can’t break what’s between them. They’re his family. Edgar can’t imagine his life without either of them, and there isn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for them either. 

Order of the Phoenix - He didn’t have to think about it when he was approached about the Order. Moody wasn’t even done with his spiel before Edgar had agreed. Of course he’d join. It wasn’t even a question. The Order of the Phoenix is everything he believes in. Fighting for the freedoms and lives of unjustly hated and persecuted people, people who were scared and couldn’t fight for themselves? It’s his bread and butter. It’s his driving force. Add to that the disappearance of red tape? He was in before he knew what he was agreeing to. The thrill seeker in him couldn’t have turned it down if he tried. Sure, it’s dangerous, but so’s his day job. His parents had safe jobs and they both died violently anyway. If he’s going to go, then he’s going to go fighting for something he believes in.

Please Provide At Least One: - Playlist - Mock Blog - Expand on one or more Traits 

Ambivalent - Not out of genuine uncertainty, but because Edgar knows that you can’t take ANYTHING at surface value. He’s cautious about judging a situation or a person preemptively, but has also learned to trust his gut on certain things. Edgar sees the world for all it’s shades of grey, and sometimes it takes a minute to decide how much darkness is too much darkness, or if the light in a person is enough to turn something around. What he does, both on and off the clock, require judgement calls that could very well end up with someone hurt or dead. It’s not something he takes lightly.

Violent - He doesn’t have a temper. Edgar is actually an incredibly patient person, with an incredibly long fuse. Too long, in some cases. But once that fuse is lit all the way to the base… Once Edgar starts swinging he doesn’t know when to stop. He doesn’t know HOW to stop. He will keep going, and going, and going, until someone either pulls him off or his opponent is too unconscious to fight back. There’s this rage inside of him, burning so hot, and once it consumes him all he can do is let it burn and deal with the aftermath. 

Stoic - It’s a word acquaintances and co-workers are more prone to using. Or, if he’s in a bad mental space, his loved ones might call him it, too. Edgar has some damn high walls built up around him. If you don’t know how to climb them, he’s not going to help you figure it out and he’s not going to give you much to work with either. He’s hard to read and quiet, downright humorless. It’s a little unnerving, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s been called intimidating, either. Amelia’s the nice one. Not him. 

Skilled - A lot of things come easy to Edgar, but it’s more than natural talent. He works hard to be the talented wizard that he is, trains constantly to be the best duelist and fighter he can be. Edgar did great in school because he knew, even then, that talent and skill weren’t the same thing. It wasn’t enough to be good at something. Not when his very blood demanded more from him. 

[pbta-memories]

Edgar and Amelia Bones, forever ago.