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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:21:23 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight
Amos had been surprised when he was looking up the waters case for his boss. The case intrigued him to the extent that he was willing to put his nose into it and work over hours. Amos wasn't going to lie, worked overtime anyway, but that was purely the fact that he enjoyed this atmosphere far beyond that of home. Much to the dismay, undoubtedly, of his fiance. He sat in his dim office and put a hand to his head when he came across a particular photo. Taken when Death Eaters killed Harry Potter, it was only a few years prior and while Amos recalled looking at the photograph, it hadn't stuck with him. Furrowing his brow he looked at the younger boy in the photograph of the daily prophet.
The eldest Lestrange felt his stomach plummet, as he desperately flipped over the paper to read the name associated to a face that looked... far too similar to the man he'd met a year ago. "Fuck." he breathed, as the his finger traced over the name of Albus Potter. He slammed the paper closed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. There are some things, he wish he didn't know. Which was why he hadn't gone looking for the man after what happened. Amos just went on with his life, considering it to be fate that they meet and never return to one another.
That night he went home and locked himself away in his office, the image still haunted him, as did the idea that he'd... well he'd shacked up with a Potter. But more than that, there was still a nagging feeling in his stomach that was happy that he found him. Excited to have gotten a name to the face that haunted his dreams. He then began his careful and beautiful script on a piece of paper.
Albus Potter,
He began it but the sudden adrenaline pumping through his veins made his quill fall back to his desk. It was one thing to know. But to attempt to contact him. His death eaters have been working for a year or more to find the man. It'd be unlikely that he would even receive the letter.
Albus Potter,
I found you. On accident, actually. I've also discovered that I prefer black coffee. Amazing what time does, isn't it?
His heart was racing, leaving the coffee thing in there as a way of maybe hinting as to who it was? He felt so alien to this type of thing. Amos, looked around him though he knew nobody would be there. This was wrong, but with every ounce of will he had, Amos sent his owl away with the small note tied on his leg.
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Post by ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER on Jan 16, 2015 23:23:30 GMT
Tap, tap tap.
Albus had dosed off on the couch in his tiny, one-room apartment when he heard the rapping of the window. An owl. No, an owl that he didn’t recognize. Unfamiliar owls weren’t something he saw much of, nowadays. He recognized owls from his siblings and family, but that was it. Those people, and a few of his Hogwarts friends (who weren’t dead) were the people who had access to him. There was a reason he moved often, and the apartment he lived in, in the outskirts of muggle London, was protected by countless charms and protective spells as to make sure he doesn’t get found.
The sight of the owl actually made his heart pound with fear. Was the spell not working? Did he have to leave, now? Or maybe death eaters were outside his door. Despite that, he went to the window and opened the latch with shaking hands, anticipating a flash of green. His left hand gripped his wand tightly.
But there was no dark wizards outside his apartment. It was just an owl. And when Al untied the letter on the owl’s foot, it waited patiently on the window sill. Waiting for his reply.
Albus unscrolled the letter to find a careful script. No signature. But whoever it was knew him. I found you.
Three seemingly threatening words, actually, especially since Al didn’t want to be found. But the mention of coffee brought him back to one year ago. He remembered the man all too clearly, the events, the morning after.
He plopped down on the couch and read the letter again. And again. Then a fourth time. The twenty two little words that he had no idea what to make of. So he’d found out about his identity, and he still didn’t know the other man’s. He wasn’t sure if it was a prank, and the thoughts of danger, the thoughts of death eaters right outside his door came back to his mind. But the mention of coffee… that was a somewhat reassuring thing, right? It was specific. Nobody else could’ve drafted a letter and mentioned that.
Albus got back up and went to his desk. Taking out a piece of parchment paper, he wrote a reply. It consisted of only one word, followed by his first initial:
How?
- A.
If he was to have this owl travel back and fourth between him and the man, he had to make sure he was safe. Maybe he’ll receive a vague reply, or not at all… Reconnecting with the one guy he’d met a year ago and longed to meet again since then seemed too good to be true. He had to be cautious.
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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:24:19 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight Heart pounding, Amos saw the owl on his window before it tapped. Possibly because he'd been staring out of it, making up his mind if, the owl returned with a letter different than the one he sent. But when he had the letter in his hand, he couldn't help but feel his body relax. He opened it and looked at the scrawl, internally going over the two words he could read. Shaking his head, he smiled. How safe. He was a potter, Amos suspected he'd been on the run a while now.
Found an old newspaper. Back when the Potters were famous, put two and two together. I'm a bit smart, you know. Either way, A. Hm, it seems we've got a first initial in common. Don't worry, I have no knowledge of your location.
He sent the letter off to Albus. Turning and glancing at the door before he could help himself. This was wrong. On more than one level. If Albus even knew who Amos was... that would be it, and it would sour. The kind eyes that he found so enticing would look at him with hatred. It was wrong to reach out, but now as the owl was flying away, Amos felt a small twinge in his gut. It would be easier to push him away now, wouldn't it? To never see him again. or talk to him. Amos closed his eyes, pacing the place behind his desk, waiting on a return. No matter how long it took.
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Post by ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER on Jan 16, 2015 23:29:55 GMT
As Albus waited—actually, he had no idea how long he should wait. The longer the better, he supposed, because if it took longer for the owl to return to him, that meant that him and the man were a good distance apart. Well, hopefully. He couldn’t risk being discovered, and he had no idea where the man stood on the side of things. That was why things were better as they’d left it. He was a Potter. And no matter the connection they felt that day, it was entirely possible that he would turn his back on Albus, kill him, give his location away… the list goes on.
He hated his last name right now.
His heart rate was still elevated, even after he closed the window and the owl was long gone. He collapsed back on the couch with a sigh. Next to him, there was a book. He’d been reading up on magic and learning what he could to try to finish his training, to best prepare for the worst… that was what he was doing before he dozed off and before the letter came. Al contemplated picking the book back up. But he couldn’t possibly concentrate on anything else now.
Should he even stay where he was?
So he paced. Waited. And before too long, the owl was back, the sharp rap on the window prompting the twenty year old to open it. He opened the letter to find the similar handwriting. Al let out a sigh when he read that he had no idea of his location. There was no reason he should trust him, at all. In fact, his instincts told him that he should leave, now, leave the letters and the owl and not write back again. But Albus acted against his better judgment. This time, he scribbled a longer response:
your owl suggests otherwise, A. and contacting me was not part of the deal.
what do you want?
There was no reason Albus should trust that this man didn’t know where he was. And he knew he should write a letter to Lily or James right now, telling them that he’ll be gone. And he should leave, just in case there was some sort of… tracking spell on the owl or something. He was at an extremely vulnerable position. The other person knew who he was, and all he had was a first initial. It could be anyone out there.
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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:30:17 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight
He read the letter, his heart pounding. That was it, he'd made a mistake. he should have left it be. But now he was a death eater that contacted a Potter that obviously was running from his kind. Amos didn't pick up the letter for a long time, he stared at a quill debating on even replying. Amos took a deep breath and picked up the quill, glancing at the door occasionally, careful to pick each word carefully and pausing between each, Amos felt his stomach drop.
A,
I'm hardly an owl, though this is smarter than most.
I got caught up in the moment of finding you. I assure you that I will not contact again.
Goodbye.
A.
And where they said 'until next time' the last time they spoke, Amos was very particular about saying goodbye. He had the power of contact now, and he wouldn't be using it. Next time it would be his move, and Amos wouldn't do anything again. He sent the owl away, telling him not to bother waiting a reply and closed his window. He had better things to do, and now he realized it. The moment passed and he felt a wall going up around him, he would return to his guarded self. And whether or not his stomach still fluttered thinking back, Amos was stupid to think anything of it. This was over, and this was every indication of why it would fail. He should have listened to his thoughts before sending the stupid owl.
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Post by ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER on Jan 16, 2015 23:33:32 GMT
With the return of the owl, Al gave it a treat. It’s been flying back and forth a few times. Probably a good distance. He opened the note.
“I will not contact again,” the letter said. But is that really what he wanted? Is he okay with knowing just one letter of his name?
No, he decided. No he wasn’t. Al remembered that fateful night, the way the two of them had connected, the way he had been captivated—no, completely enthralled by that man, and how he had longed for him almost every day since. He’d pushed him out of his mind, tried not to think about it, but it all eventually comes back to him. And now he had the owl. And the letters—three letters, actually. And seeing the words in front of him, seeing the way he dotted his ‘i’s and crossed his ’t’s and all the little nuances in his penmanship after a year… well, it seemed surreal.
So, Al picked up his quill again to write a letter. He knew it was beyond dangerous, beyond impulsive. He needs to slow down and think and logic things through. But what about love is logical?
“Okay, A,” he wrote.
I’m sorry. I’m not unhappy that you found me. To be entirely honest, I was elated. You just caught me off guard. You know my name now, but you didn’t offer your own, and… I’m not in a better position than I was in a year ago. Perhaps worse off. So yes, I freaked out, but I trust you.
I do find myself preferring black coffee over anything else now, too.
A
He didn’t read over it again, fearing that if he did, he would just toss the letter instead. He tried to rationalize, make himself believe it was the right decision. If the man was anyone dangerous, wouldn’t he have killed him the night they met? Tying the letter on the owl’s leg, Al sent him back out.
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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:34:10 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight
Still, even after all of that. He still paced the floor, waiting on the owl. Even if the owl would be without letter, Amos didn't care. He told himself that anyway. Still, he paced, staring at the window as he did and then forced his gaze away. Amos shouldn't care this much. And was it technically cheating? Fuck, he didn't know. There was nothing in the letter to suspect anything, and even as the parchment stacked on his desk, Amos felt uneasy. Without another thought he waved a hand over the pieces of paper, eyes alight with the fire that began eating away at them. He read them enough to memorize them anyways, but even burning them felt wrong- in a different way that keeping them did.
He sat down at his desk, figuring he'd hear nothing ever again. Amos picked up a quill and paused when he heard a tapping at the window. Standing up, Amos moved towards the window and felt his heart leap, with a bit more of excitement than he usually allowed himself to show, amos opened the letter, reading it ferociously. Pulling out another sheet of parchment, Amos took a deep breath and started writing.
A,
Believe me, there's fear on both sides.
Amos had started the letter and felt very strange about saying that. He was too vulnerable by saying that. He was stupid, impulsive. It wasn't a good idea. Amos let out a breath and continued writing against his better judgement.
but still, I am sorry things are so difficult for you. I wish I could help.
Do you drink tea at all?
He would never hear back from Albus if he even considered putting his name. And while that would be good, Amos couldn't help but feel like he wanted to let the man know all. Put all the information on the table and allow him to decide. Until that happened, there was no hope that anything could happen. Not that there should be. But the words on the end of the letter made Amos pause.
I would tell you my name, but I have a sinking feeling you won't like it.
Well, at least that was true.
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Post by ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER on Jan 16, 2015 23:36:45 GMT
At this point Albus was used to the tapping of the window, his racing heart, the piece of paper tied on the owl’s leg, and the tearing apart of the seal as he opened the note. With the beginning of this one though, he frowned.
Fear on both sides… that implied that A was on the other side of things. The side that killed his parents. Or he wouldn’t say that. But why bother with him, if A was a death eater? Once again, Al returned to his previous thoughts of “if he really wanted me dead, he would’ve already killed me.” It was possible that the man was just messing with him. But why like this? Why wait a year? Moreover… Al had reasons to believe he was really genuine. Conversations like that night don’t happen out of the blue.
And even though the correspondence was risky, Al continued to write. He said so himself in their last meeting: things happen for a reason.
A,
Seeing that you’re on the other side… or that’s what it seems like, anyways, you want me dead, do you not? So hit me. I’ve probably heard worse names.
Albus sighed. He was asking for it, yes. Ignorance is bliss, usually, and that was the reason they had kept their identity a secret. Would he have talked to him if he’d known his name? No idea. But he needed to know. If A can contact him after knowing his identity, then… Al supposed that it doesn’t mater as much as the two of them are thinking it is.
He closed his letter with another line:
To answer your question… yes. But tea is not quite as strong as coffee.
A
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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:37:38 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight
Sending away the letter had to be right. Correct? He had to navigate his mind, figure out if that's what he wanted to say. Or how he was going to start to compartmentalize his brain to keep this hidden. What was more important in this situation? His mind? Or that annoying tingling feeling in his stomach that he was almost certain was his gag reflex.
Officially? Yes, I want you dead. Personally, not in the slightest. Though I can't get caught saying things like that or I'll be undesirable number one.
Was that the wrong thing to say? Probably, Amos couldn't help but find the situation slightly humorous. Surely there was no way of preparing for this sort of thing in life. Besides, there was a word for serendipity for these exact moments. He continued writing though didn't quite answer his name yet. Perhaps he was working up the nerve. Albus left a note at the end about tea and Amos couldn't help but like that he
I assume that means you like strong.
Amos wrote it and while he couldn't help but feel a smirk on his lips, he knew the man might not take it the way that his mind had automatically tied it to.
Here's my dilemma. There's a lengthy list of reasons we shouldnt' speak. I'm certain you've realized this before. But you knowing my name is a sure way of never hearing from you again.
That response would do for now, he supposed. Not Ideal, but doable. And even as he sent off the letter, Amos picked up the quill and wrote on the piece of paper, "I am Amos Lestrange." It was just writing his name in this context. There wasn't the pressure, perhaps that was what he needed to do in order to get the nerve to send it back.
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Post by ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER on Jan 16, 2015 23:41:51 GMT
As Albus read the letter, he felt his stomach drop. Yes, the man wanted him dead. “Officially,” that is. Al didn’t know how exactly he felt about that. The excitement that he had was dulled with the sense of fear… though fear could, perhaps, overpower that sense of excitement. It didn’t matter how he felt about him personally. Death eaters kill. That was their job.
Yet, as he read on, there were, he supposed, mixed emotions on the other man’s part. He continued to reply to him. He still evaded the topic of his name. Yet the man wanted Albus to reply almost as much as he does. Then there was the random comment about the tea that Al still wasn’t quite sure the purpose of.
And here’s my response to your dilemma:
Say we were on the battlefield together. It wouldn’t matter how you felt about me personally, I’m gone before I can pick up my wand. Orders. Loyalty. We’re on different sides. Yet I continue to reply to you, despite the fact that your side killed my parents and practically destroyed my family.
Basically—I’m not scared, so why are you? You obviously have the upper hand, I can’t bring myself to kill you if we were ever caught in a battle together, and a name changes nothing. Not the memories, not the connection, not how I feel about… all of this. Why was he pursuing this? Why was he trying so hard to find out who he was? Maybe it was just because he thought about him so often, and now that he was writing letters to him, proof that that night wasn’t a dream, he wanted, desired to know who he was. He didn’t know where that would lead him. Closure, maybe. Or more confusion as to what to do.
back to the subject of tea, though, why do you ask? After sending the letter off, Albus sat down at his desk, sighing once more.
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Post by AMOS DIMITRI LESTRANGE on Jan 16, 2015 23:42:06 GMT
this ain't over , love in the middle of a firefight The paper was ready to send. And while he hold it in his hand, Amos still wasn't sure. He had to send it, Albus had a right to know who he was. But now Albus would have something on him, and Amos both was scared about this... and accepting of it. Amos would keep Albus' location hidden and the other man would have in writing and context that Amos Lestrange had an affair with a man. A secret that had been kept so well for twenty something years. Since Amos knew that, when he actually felt, he felt the same for women as men.
But he read through the letter and, despite his best efforts not to, smiled to himself, the way he was feeling was excellently interpreted by the other man. He felt the same, that how could a Potter get over the actions of his family on a battle field. There was nothing that could outweigh the fact that Amos could potentially be the one behind a family member's murder.
My name is Amos Lestrange. And I suppose it depends on how you define the upper hand. We both have information on each other that could evoke fear. And while I am not entirely afraid, now that you know my name, there's not much holding you here. You can run away from what I've done in the past, and my family's actions as well. I couldn't kill you either.
I ask about tea, because one day I hope that we can get some together. But I understand if that is not the case.
The lestrange sent out the letter and returned to his seat, glancing at the door. He was having an emotional affair. But this time it was the first time he felt like this, so is it really an affair on an equivalent emotion?
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