7 years, 3 months, 1 chance
Location: Greengrass Manor Time: Evening, December 10th Status: Closed, for: @rylandgreen
Seven years of sharing a room with someone makes you believe you know them well. When Ryland had disappeared, Edgar had been one of the first to raise questions. But Edgar was also always the first wishing to answer such questions in good faith, with hope, with too much trust in people. To call him naive would be too much of a stretch, but when it came to people, he did want to believe in the good in them until the very last proof -- or the firm opinion of someone he trusted just as much. In Ryland’s case it was Caradoc who told Edgar to quit dreaming and start seeing the truth. Ryland had switched sides, as to be expected from a Greengrass, that was just how it was, please let us focus on more important matters. And Edgar had done as he was told, ignoring the pull in his veins telling him that seven years of sharing a room with someone couldn’t just be for nothing. Couldn’t make you so wrong about them...
It was only when the rumors had come, months later, quickly proven to be facts, that Edgar raised his questions to Caradoc once more. Ryland Greengrass hadn’t been seen on their side for quite a while either. Either he had left the country, fled -- but why, if it was to escape Death Eater, not tell the Order? -- or he was-... Edgar refused to imagine it. And indeed. Emma Vanity, having heard a thing from someone who had heard a thing from someone who had definitely not meant to hear a thing, then brought the spark of hope. And then, after visiting the Greengrass manor, not just the proof but also the plan: 10th of December, debutante ball, everyone out!
On the 8th, it was proposed to the Inner Circle, by the 9th the plan was a firm one, taking into consideration people staying at home after all, maids and footmen, Phoenix Tags, warning wards, normal but black magic wards, and of course portkey in and out. The only thing lacking was the question of: Who? When the 10th came around and the question was still not answered, Edgar thought about seven years of sharing a room and grasped his wand tight.Peter Pettigrew -- quiet and quick by nature -- and Emma Vanity -- knowing the Greengrass manor better than Edgar -- joined. Assigned? Voluntarily? The lines blurred. In that moment, when he gave a firm nod and the three of them reached for the portkey, he had no time for lines. For reconsidering trust. He had mistrusted the wrong person for too long already, and he was not about to make the same mistake again. “And remember, we'll attract less attention if we don't act like intruders,” he told them, right when they landed in the bushes behind the manor. “If servants see you, Pettigrew, act a beggar, news boy, messenger. Anything. Don’t activate the tags, or your presence will be brought to the Greengrass family. Emma, you just say you got the debutante ball dates messed up and came here to bring a present to the daughter. Lie, relax, don’t bolt, don’t wait for me to get out and home. We don’t have much time, we shouldn’t lose it, but we mustn’t look in a hurry.” The last bit was not at all according to the plan the Inner Circle had come up with, but the lines of right and wrong were blurred. The last thing they wanted was to be surprised by someone who lived there and react with panic... It was best to be prepared for such a thing and know to react casually. “Trust your instinct.” And don’t trust others.
Which was why, when Emma and Pettigrew left to make sure no one would get near the basement, Edgar hoped they’d be quick in thinking in case some Greengrasses had remained home after all. Because other than servants, those people wouldn’t trust them either. Edgar didn’t let himself dwell on that. He followed Emma’s description down to the basement, all the way to where she had stopped searching, and further still. Only that here, he turned off the light of his wand and used it to detect wards instead, activated his Phoenix Tag, and silenced the sound of his footsteps. And more importantly: he stopped looking. The basement was, like Emma had described, not like the labyrinth-like catacombs in the House of Bones, but who knew if special wards had been placed in places where only strangers would walk into as a form of security system. Thinking logic into your path and searching everywhere could be a threat. So Edgar remembered how often had he gotten lost in the House of Bones catacombs. How often had he found out by closing his eyes and singing a song to keep his mind off his steps? This was the same thing. Except that now he didn’t sing, he listened.
Once upon a time, many, many centuries ago, people believed that people who shared their truths with each other also shared pieces of their soul. A trade that was not easily undone, as the fusing of soul pieces was invisible -- even if the book he had read this in had visualized it like colourful clouds around the person’s body. Two lovers would get so close, share so much, that their clouds would melt together and become one, and upon breaking up, forcefully removing oneself from the other, the soul-cloud ripped apart. Not neatly, though, not in a way that each soul returned to its owner, but with remaining pieces of the other forever tied to your own soul as well. And pieces of your own soul, now living with the other person forever. That was how they explained the pain of heart break. And while Edgar had never been this close to Ryland, and certainly not felt heart break over him, seven years of sharing a room certainly had to lead to small trades of truths, no? And so Edgar closed his eyes and listened to the pieces of his own soul that had to be here somewhere, wherever Ryland was.
The tugging in his veins guided him to a wine shelf he would’ve never though to check, and despite his mind telling him this couldn’t be it, he tapped his wand against it, and indeed, instead of green sparks, red sparks fizzled out. That the normal unlocking spell wouldn’t work was to be expected, so Edgar tried a few others, most of them some he made up himself and which wouldn’t cause wards specifically crafted to activate upon noticing the typical unlocking spells, and eventually, click. An entrance gave way. Before taking a step, he took a breath, eased out his breath. Everything within him told him this was it, but, or perhaps therefore, his mind was spinning wild ideas of danger. He had to cancel them out. And when he managed, he went in. And there he was. Ryland Greengrass, already on his feet, fitting the gaunt surroundings of his cell, eyes on whoever would come in.
It was only in this moment that Edgar realised how relief was not something to be felt today. Not now while they had yet to get out. Not later, when the mission would be proven successful. How long had Ryland been here? How much earlier could they have gotten him out if his last name hadn’t made them think he could be a traitor? Was he well? Would he recover? Would he forgive? Edgar pushed all those thoughts aside, grasped onto what needed to be done first: He held up his Phoenix Tag, knowing Ryland would recognise it, while his gaze -- veiled by the spell -- jumped through the cell-complex to see if perhaps others were here as well. He’d also have to check for more wards, possibly some attached to Ryland himself. For now, all that mattered, was that there was no one else, and he could speak: “We’re getting you out.”
