Someday and soon, I'll make you proud of your boy.

[ooc: I'm putting this here so we can better keep track of them <3]

Frank stepped out of a manor on Rarity Row, looking for all the world like he belonged there. But his time was running out. He had gotten what he came for: a priceless neckless once stolen from his client by their overbearing, high-powered employer. Predictably, that rubbish bin of a human was a snobbish rich man who quite obviously did not need what he had taken. Need and want were two very different things, and that distinction was precisely why he had taken the job.

But work like this? It wasn't really what people expected of him. Not the ones who thought they actually knew him. Frank was a cad and an enigma rolled into one, and neither of those helped him bond with his family. It was just hard when your parents were war heroes - especially your dad, who was somehow both heroic and quirky at the same time. Ace was honestly lucky she was still in school -- it was harder for them to check up on her.

Not that he really minded it. He liked knowing that they were thinking of him despite all of his supposed failures, and had begun to wonder if he should just go ahead and tell them what he was up to. But then they would be mad at him for hiding it, right? Maybe not. He was just... really conflicted. Some part of him felt certain they would be proud, but on the other hand, it was risky and unnecessary if he had just applied himself literally anywhere.

So it was with a little bit of reluctance that he returned the jewelry to its owner and packed his things for the holidays. He wanted to be there when Ace got home, because there would be a show no matter how it went down. Either Christian would come with her and their mother would cry. Or he wouldn't, and she'd probably cry anyway. And while he didn't love the idea of his mother getting upset for any reason, Christian was as much a mystery to their family as Frank was, it seemed. The boy tried to be valiant in the stupidest ways, and it had seemingly always backfired. Frank just about relied on something insane happening - especially if he decided to tell them the truth that year. Talk about a Christmas present...

At any rate, he took the floo with his suitcase shrunk to fit in his pocket, which he then resized upon arriving. "Mum? Dad?" He called, dropping the luggage in his old room and wandering towards the kitchen.

"He'll certainly find his own way, that's not what worries me, and he's young. He doesn't need to settle down tomorrow. That's not what I'm worried about. I just worry because... we don't know what he's doing. So what if it's-"

Neville shook his head, keeping his eyes on the vines before him despite his wife having his attention. "No. I know Frank. He's not... wrapped up in anything bad. Maybe some trouble that comes with being young and impulsive, but never something dangerous, no. I know the boy. That's not him."

Hannah sighed as she straightened up, pulling off her gloves to reach up and wipe her head, a nervous tick Neville knew only too well. "Don't you think Teddy thought the same thing about Lily? I just worry because we don't know anything about what he's up to, who he spends time with. I'd be just as worried about Ace for the same thing if we weren't getting letters from her professors about her... quirks. And now that we've met who she actually spends time with - but we just don't know with Frank."

Neville sighed. "I'll talk to him. If that makes you feel better. But I'm sure he's fine."

Her face was still wrought with worry so he let the vines hang from their perch in the greenhouse and moved over to her, pressing a kiss to her temple and rubbing her shoulder. She had allowed that to be the end of it and they hadn't spoken of it since, though she had given him  a significant look today as she headed out for tea with Luna, two weeks after that conversation, the morning he was set to arrive.

The house had been more or less decked out, though the couple had tried to rein themselves in under the idealistic premise that their children (and hopefully their guest, as they had told their daughter to remind the young Zabini that he was always welcome) would want to take part in the finishing touches of the decorations. He had already checked in on all of the plants and one of Hannah's famous honey-bread loaves was cooling on the counter. He had just popped upstairs to switch the laundry over when he heard his son's voice travelling upstairs.

He hurried downstairs and smiled at Frank as he saw him. "There you are. How are you? Want some tea? Your mum's out with Luna, she'll be back by supper - how was your trip in?"

Frank turned back around when he heard his father's voice, finding it easy to muster a smile for him. But that was Frank's way, wasn't it? Ever the actor. Merlin help them all if he ever learned to get along with James. Luckily, he didn't. "Hey, Pop. Tea would be great," he agreed first, nodding and stepping to the side so they could move into the kitchen proper together.

"I just took the floo, so the trip was... well, there sort of wasn't one. But I'm good. I've got a new job," he supplied, a lie though it was. "I figured I'd go for something more-- social, I guess? Starting bartending training after the new year. Not glamorous or anything, but it sounded fun."

He shrugged, leaning against one of the counters. "How's mum? I'm surprised the house isn't full of snow at this point. She does know Christmas is next week, right?" Perhaps, he hoped quietly as he teased, that would distract them away from questions about himself.

As he passed his son, he clapped a hand on his shoulder, heading towards the cabinet to set the kettle to work while he tried to decide on the type of tea to brew. He and Hannah had gotten very serious about tea about fifteen years before and had been successfully growing their own leaves for about nine years. Now, it was up to Neville to keep the plants healthy and thriving and Hannah put them in tea bags and tried to combine ingredients for different ailments or needs. He opened the tea cupboard and eyes glanced across the various tins-

His hand reached for Hannah's favorite, a tin with a homemade sign reading "home sweet home" and reached for two mugs.

His interest was immediately piqued at the mention of a job and his hand slipped, accidentally banging the two mugs together with a resounding clink! "Sorry - slipped, you know how- a new job, ay?"

He somehow felt Hannah pass a gaze of warning his way through time and space - the longer they were married, the more he felt his conscience edged out by his wife's.

Frank had moved on and Neville gave a bit of a sheepish grin as he set out coasters and their sugar bowl, before moving back to linger over the kettle. "She's fine. Staying busy. The house would be more but she was hoping you and Ace and everyone would like to help," he said, shrugging on the everyone as they were all trying not to jink their hope at being joined by a return guest. He relaxed a bit and said. "So... bartending? You know your mother and I had to dabble when we took over the Leaky. Do you like it?"

Frank's eyebrows lifted only marginally as the mugs came together accidentally, not exactly surprised by it. Even if he had been, really, he wouldn't have said anything. He just nodded at the question the first time, but was unable to keep a bit of amusement off of his face at the subtle mention of Christian. Subtle by dad's standards, anyway. It was almost cute. Of course, the more interesting question he found himself asking was not why they didn't just come out and say it, but rather why he found it difficult to just relax and share in his father's holiday spirit. Not that the Longbottom patriarch really seemed all that jovial and relaxed either, to be fair.

Of course, the mention of a job at all was exciting and important news for his family if Frank brought it up, even though he was only twenty-four and even though wizards lived longer than Muggles so really he was still only a young adult if he thought about it hard enough. Not a full-blown grown-up. That was honestly a bit much to ask of him when they didn't know the truth.

So it came back around to the pretend bartending gig, and Frank immediately wished he had chosen something more vague and hard to discuss. What if they wanted to go see him at work? Blast. The last thing he actually wanted was to have to actually get a bartending job. What a step backwards for someone like him. It would be so much easier if they knew he had more than enough money to sit around doing nothing.

"Yeah, that's sort of why I thought of it. I guess it looks fun?" He offered by way of explanation. "I'll get to meet a lot of people, whether I actually care to or not." And then, finally, he managed to crack a smile. No bartender really wanted to hear somebody's issues, did they? "We'll see how long this one sticks, though." Because at least if he said it, nobody else would have to.

The way it worked was that Hannah was the one to initially panic but once that was over, she could keep herself calm and level headed. Neville, after years of panicking, has mastered the art of reacting to scary or bad news with a calm demeanor. But then it marinated. And the stew that came from Neville's overthinking was about as pleasant as his attempts at making actual stew - he wasn't a great cook, if that wasn't clear.

Ever since Hannah had insinuated the nature of trouble she worried their son could get himself into, his mind had run amok with the worst sorts of scenarios, a strung out Frank clutching at the robes of passing wizards, desperate for a sickle or his next hit. He knew that wouldn't be his son. He knew it. But did any parent ever imagine his child growing into a junkie? And yet, there were junkies.

Damn that woman, breathing doubt into his life.

In their family portrait, Hannah was holding apart a smirking twelve year old Frank and a screaming five year old Ace while Neville looked on helplessly. Real life Neville smiled a bit fondly at her.

Neville poured their tea and settled across from his son. "If it doesn't last, that's okay. Bartending can be a toxic place. Lots of addicts, of course. Easy to fall in. So if it ever comes to that, you know... your mum and I are always a safe, er, route. Option. You know."

Frank was listening. He was. But he was also working to school his expression, and that was harder around his father than anybody else in the world. His dad, the war hero who defeated a bloody massive snake and found the sword of Gryffindor in the sorting hat and who earned the points to win the house cup and everything else. His dad: perfect, just like Mum. And then there was Ace, seven years behind him and yet perfectly on track to follow in his footsteps and make them proud, provided they weren't sufficiently horrified at the same time.

But Frank. Stupid, inept, useless Frank. He wasn't particularly good-looking as far as convention was concerned, though he somehow made things work to his advantage if he worked at it. Sometimes. Frank, who was neither stupid nor inept nor useless. But they couldn't know.

Could they?

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it wouldn't cause problems like he sort of expected it to. Pop would be, well, concerned. That made sense. Even Frank was concerned about most of what he signed himself up for. But he had standards and rules and morals that he never broke, because it was the closest he could get to using the few skills he had in some kind of positive way. It was that, or be some kind of actor and do no real good at all. Muggles would probably like him alright, provided he somehow fit the Hollywood-ized standard of humans.

That was neither here nor there, though. He needed to address the fact that his parents evidently thought he was an addict, or had the behavioral qualities for it. Perhaps he did.

"Pop, I've never been that into drinking. And I haven't so much as touched spice or anything like it. I don't know who suggested that. Rose? Or James, maybe? We had a spat recently but it was about as stupid as that word makes it sound. He's a git. He's probably just pissed that he's lonelier than he lets on." Frank rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the counter and leveled a serious look across at his father. He frowned, but steeled himself and decided to try and push, just to see. "Would you be disappointed if I didn't do something normal? If I was... I don't know. Taking risks like the Order does, but not with them? I don't think I play well with groups like that one, and from what I understand it's a complete mess right now anyway. But... I mean, what if I--..."

He looked away, out the window. Would it really be so bad if his father knew? Happy bloody Christmas, eh, Longbottoms?

He tensed but decided to just do it. If they were ashamed or upset, he could deal with that. He'd never been quite right anyway. "Pop, I'm not bartending. I'm not training to. I... haven't done any of the jobs I've told you about. Ever. I've been doing the same job since Hogwarts and... It's not exactly legal, but it's not strictly illegal either. I'd not wanted to tell you, considering. But I know how hard it is for you and Mum to deal with my cover stories. I know how the rest of the family talks. So... if you want to know, I'll tell you. But I'm not sure if I should."

Oh. Okay. Right, so... So here was the problem with... all of that.

Neville... hadn't actually meant to start a conversation. He didn't realize he wasn't ready for this talk until his mind immediately backtracked and demanded to know what he was expected to do now. He wished he could just walk over to the broom cupboard and whirl Hannah out of it so she could take it from there. Wasn't his job spiders and scary plants and maybe assisting with a rebellion of a Dark Lord arose? And hadn't he done all of that? He was pretty certain the rest was supposed to be Hannah's job.

But she was not around, and at the rate she and Luna could talk (mostly about herbs, only Neville could marry and be best friends with the two women in England who who could talk about plants for hours on end) he was going to be stuck with this conversation. Even Ace wasn't expected until the next day and he could just imagine how she would respond to all of this. She would be a more fearsome parental figure than him and Hannah combined.

Neville let out a breath, realizing he had been holding it, and it escaped with an audible shudder of breath. "Right," he said, trying to brace himself. He lifted his head and met his son's gaze square on. "We've always trusted you, you know that? And nothing..." He paused, the sight of rows of cots and dead peers stretched out across the Great Hall before him. "Very little could change that. You've said this much and unfortunately my imagination has gotten... much worse since I've had children. I'd rather know, I think."

He paused. "And then we can decide whether or not we'll tell your mother."

Frank frowned slightly as his father corrected himself, but he couldn't blame him. Neville had no way of knowing what his son was up to. It was just lucky Ace wasn't home, yet, to overhear and make a big deal of it. Or, worse yet, demand that he show her how it worked. Frank wasn't sure she'd want him to, but he already knew he wouldn't involve her in it. Not yet, anyway.

When the request was made, Frank just nodded, and moved to sit down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. If he was going to get into this, he wanted them both sitting down in the hopes that it wouldn't escalate. Not too much, anyway.

"So," he began slowly. "You remember how me and Luke Avery were mates at the start of school? He used to joke about how uncanny it was when I mimicked people. I treated it like a joke, but he mentioned it to his dad and... the summer after third year, they asked me for help. Him and his family, I mean. There was this first year, Erik. From one of the more, uh, ... damaging and dangerous pureblood families." His mouth thinned into a grim line. "Y'know."

Frank shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts of the grandparents on his father's side. That was only partially relevant.

"Point is, Luke said he needed my help, and it didn't seem illegal or anything. He said the Averys were breaking the law, and that I would be able to stop them. And I-- I wanted that. I wanted to be the good guy, like you and mom. So I started learning about Erik and how he behaved. And when we knew he would be out of the house... I used polyjuice to speak with his father. And they pulled my memories... and found out for sure that they were involved in illegal drug trade." He shrugged a little, as though it hadn't horrified him at the time. "I didn't know what they were up to, really, but after that I had people come to me sort of secretly, and they pay, just, outrageous amounts. And I never take jobs that seem sketchy. I've got morals, obviously, thanks to you and the family and school. I probably could've just joined the Order, but my clients like to know that I'm separate. That I don't have to go through a bunch of fighting gits - which, by the way, whatever's going on with that lot is apparently mental lately. But anyway, that's the gist of it. It's like... acting, but I get to interfere with the bad guys in a way that, y'know, isn't just me."

Neville wondered before his son began, just very briefly, if we would go on to regret this moment, and his desire to be let in on this big secret. He wanted to believe that neither of his children could actually do something to disappoint him but he certainly believed they were capable of invoking fear in him. He had seen it in his family around him, the fear of seeing children slip into dangerous habits that parents were powerless to control. Merlin, if things had not been so life or death back in the day, he was certain his youthful choices would have killed his Gran - though she also was not much of a fearful woman, either. He knew that even when his children had been tucked into bed, snug and supposedly safe, he had feared. And that had only grown with age.

And if there was no reason to worry, surely Frank would have said something before.

He tried to maintain a neutral look, calm and patient, nonjudgmental. He felt odd little flinches and twitches in his face though as the story progressed, probably not at the points Frank would have expected either. The concept of "bad guys" and "good guys", something he had labored to teach his children back when the world could be divided that way by innocent minds, but now that they were older, he wondered if that was too absolute, too idealistic. He didn't feel like a "good guy" most days, and he hoped Frank wasn't chasing valor or triumph.

"Thank you for telling me," he finally said, smiling a little as he reached over to pat his son's arm. "I'm... worried, obviously. But this seems to be something you're good at, and-and proud of," he said, searching for words. "Do you have... I mean have you... This constitutes as identity theft, yes? I just don't want to see you limited in your options in the future because you've developed a record. Or upsetting someone with power or influence and putting yourself in danger."