Francis Pepper couldn't quite believe how much could change, and yet how much could stay the same. For a man who spent his days controlling time and abiding by its strict rules to avoid dire consequence, time always amazed him. Time didn't seem to age Gabrielle Murray-Harker, even though it had been two decades since they had parted as lovers, agreeing to go their own way.

Since then, there had been Claire, and her son Thomas, then their own sons, Ambrose and Timothy. Tomorrow would be the first day of the Easter holidays, and Francis was looking forward to seeing Ambrose and Tim back at home in Biggleswade, having made arrangements to meet them at Kings Cross in the afternoon. It sounded soppy, but hugging his two sons never failed to make him smile.

It was Friday night at the end of a long week, and Gabrielle had suggested they catch up over dinner. Francis had noted lately his dinner invitation count was increasing - something was getting round that he was all on his own in the house without the boys, and had been particularly miserable over Claire's lack of improvement. Not the healers, but presumably he'd been traversing the Ministry like a wet Wednesday.

Even his weirder friends like Johann Storm hadn't been about to cheer him up. Though given what Gabrielle had explained tersely over dinner, her cousin, and also one of her staff, who lived in this very house, had announced he was leaving today and had already left, and taken a week or so's leave from the Ministry. Francis had steered well clear of the subject since. Gabrielle seemed a lot happier not to talk about work, and who could blame her.

Instead, they would reminisce.

Francis was looking at the lines of photographs in the room they had retired to after dinner, interested in the people and also whether there might be one of him lurking in the back - probably with the same hair cut...

"So, you must have all the photos from the eighties, Gabie, surely, I have hardly any. Ambrose and Tim would have found them if they were at home, though could have lost them when I tried to magically improve the loft space of the house - turns out you can't do that on a Muggle built house without damaging the tiles and going through the ceiling in one of the rooms below. Who knew." He shrugged, eyes peering through the lines.

"Its not fair anyhow, you don't seem to age, whereas I'm twenty years older, plus another five by last estimate." He pouted. "Don't tell me its all those magic creams now..." Francis smiled at Gabrielle.

Music Selection, seemed appropriate-ish?

Gabrielle had been a gracious host as usual, content to allow people into her house, especially after the blowup between her and Johann. The blowup that left her dreadfully and awfully alone in the manor once again – she was riper than a summer’s peach with her employee, but she hated the course of actions the two had engaged in. True, Imp kept every possible on him as he wished only to keep Gabrielle safe, but then again, Gabrielle had perhaps been too much of a mother hen to Johann, which seemed to filter back into the workplace. So, now . . . it was the Saturday before Easter and she had asked a few days prior to bring Francis Pepper into her humble abode.

Francis Pepper, a most proper man, very well established in the wizarding world, a business associate as they both were Ministry workers . . . and most of all, yet another man she scorned away all because of fears that still plagued her to this day. Naturally, she was deeply saddened to lose Gwyn, but Francis was completely different. He had proposed – asked her to spend the rest of their lives together and she had freaked out on him.

This was the greatest regret of her life as she recalled the humiliation from not only the posh elite of wizarding society but also from her father. Gabie pressed these matters aside as Francis spoke to her about the wall of photographs. Call her anal retentive, but yes, the photos ranged from all the way back to the daguerreotypes of her great great-grandfather Milton and his family from about 1854 to the most recent being one taken in 2004 when she was vacationing in Wales. Gabie looked over her shoulder, trying to find the ones from the eighties, spotting them after a moment or two – she stood up, walking over to the one that had Gwyn, Francis and her standing together like a bunch of idiotic teenagers.

Which they had been – after all, Gwyn had been class clown, Francis the bookworm, leaving Gabrielle the misfit of the ragmuffin group. “I think you’ll find this one entertaining and as for the ones you can’t find, I’m sure you’ll find them in your sock drawer or perhaps somewhere near your cravats,  aye?” she teased gently, grinning like a cheshire as she nestled back into her chair, still full from dinner, listening to the radio play all sorts of classical music. Waltzes in particular.

“Oh, yes – about the aging? I’ve used the creams before, but they aren’t that grand, I’ll tell you. The secret? A good balanced dose of stressful work and shutting yourself from the outside world has helped me. Then again, maybe my hermitage has made me like Dorian Gray, minus the painting and damning bit.”

"Ho! Look at us!" Francis hooted, as Gabrielle picked out a photo of the three of them as teenagers. It was thirty years or so ago, when they were still at school.

He'd known Gabrielle back then, being the same age, he hadn't known Claire, how things changed as adults. He was still very much friends with Gwydion, though unlike his friends he'd settled down with family - even if it was on a tilt at the present date. Still, he was glad to still know Gabrielle - his first proper love. Having been too preoccupied with mechanics and magic at school and just enjoying her company, at twenty somethings, they'd figured friends could be more when she arrived back from Romania.

Yes, Francis was still quite sad that Gabrielle had turned down his marriage proposal back then, but in reflection, he wasn't so sure they'd have had children, Gabrielle so career driven - but that hadn't made her happy, had it?

"… The secret?" Gabrielle asked, having sat back down, smiling with that irresistible smile that never failed to induce one in him, "A good balanced dose of stressful work and shutting yourself from the outside world has helped me. Then again, maybe my hermitage has made me like Dorian Gray, minus the painting and damning bit."

"Oh good, I was going to ask where you kept your painting in which case." Francis smiled, recalling the Wilde story. "But not good that you spend your days stressed and locked up like a hermit." His expression changed to soft concern.

Beneath their conversation the wireless lilted dances and in the pause of conversation Francis chuckled to himself, remembering.

"Do you remember that Christmas, where we went to the Ministry's ball together? You looked stunning as usual, and charmed my cravat to match your dress and insisted I got a hair cut." He pulled at his longer locks now - back then these curls had been shorter, nearly past his ears at longest. It was in the years after Gabrielle that he'd grown it, considering (whether unwisely) that it was becoming of a man who dabbled in complicated elemental magic. All the best wizards had long hair…

"I think we nearly sat down all night." His eyes flitted up the photographs, wondering if there was one from then - the night he'd decided firmly in his heart he'd ask Gabrielle to marry him soon. The memory still bubbled up the times he had cast a patronus - next to holding Ambrose in his arms for the first time, and Tim, and his wedding day with Claire - only the final memory was tainted now with more vivid memories of her at St Mungo's.

"You still dance don't you?" Francis asked, still stood, but now turned towards Gabrielle. He wasn't a bad dancer himself, but Gabrielle was better. She'd taught him plenty! Tilting his head he smiled and extended his hand, "Go on, prove it."

Gabrielle let out a small squeal of delight watching Francis reminisce about the photograph that he held in his hand. “That was before the three of us went into the Ministry – which, that would mean right before we graduated, so call it coincidence but I think that’s Easter weekend 1983. Wow,” she mused, grinning from ear to ear, surprised that she herself could remember that. “Who took the photo then, I wonder?” she added before listening to Francis continue his teasing about the youthful body she seemingly possessed. She was to be ladylike but that tongue of hers stuck out at him for a moment, blowing him a raspberry as though she were ten years old.

Truthfully, it was what she had said but her father also had mentioned once when she was a teen that women in his family seemed to age slower than the men. Whether that was truth or an old wives’ tale (Gabrielle figured that it was a mixture of both), she truly was rather young looking compared to most of the women and men she worked with, including the ones who were near her age. Blessing or curse, she pondered momentarily before snapping out of such thoughts.

The look on his face made her remember the pain and hurt the two had felt and oh, if Gabie knew she was a memory to fuel his happiness for a patronus, she would melt right there in the chair, gushing and crying happy tears as well as a few sad ones. “I know I shouldn’t – that’s why I suppose I need these small dinners,” was all she could muster to mumble, beating herself internally for breaking their hearts. She knew she would’ve made a wonderful mother and even now, wished she had said yes. If only she hadn’t been so narrow minded and thick headed . . .

The sad spell seemed to snap instantly as a ländler began playing on the wireless, her eyes looking over to Francis. She would swear on her mother’s grave when she went to bed this evening that Francis looked every bit in his twenties when he mentioned the Christmas ball at the Ministry. Gabrielle remembered it just as easily as she did of the painting (Gabie smiled briefly – she did have one now that she thought about it) that Gwydion had made of her. The dress had been a sapphire blue to match with his outfit as well – “yes, I remember. You look lovely with those locks now as you did then.” Gabrielle found herself stopping quickly to not mention had they wed, it had always been her dream that their children would have those wavy, curly locks.

She shuddered at the thought only for a moment as she stood up, grabbing the photo that they had been looking at, oblivious to Francis inviting her to dance with his hand as Gabie was desperately trying to find the ball photograph. Go on, prove it… Gabrielle turned, glad that the photograph wasn’t in her right hand (it was sitting on the edge of the table) as she saw his hand. Her body froze as time seemed to still for them.

Her hand instinctively went into his and soon, she was in his embrace, dancing to the music, transported to a time that she wished she could interrupt so badly. To offer advice to a young Gabrielle to not sacrifice herself because she feared to love and to be loved, to warn to not be foolish when Francis would propose – to reassure that even as her father would break her heart, that loving Gwydion was never wrong and that he only broke them apart because he wanted what was best for his only child. Her head rested on Francis, a few tears falling down as the music continued.

They slipped into the hold as if they had been dancing together all the years Francis had been married to Claire. Francis put it down to Gabrielle being a splendid dancer. It didn't matter they were dancing in Gabrielle's sitting room.

Her head rested on him and he couldn't help but smile to himself and hold her a little closer, his arm around her waist, and his hand caressing her waist and back. For that moment he forgot all about Claire, all about the fact he was moping about an empty house on an evening without his sons, and forgot about his step son. His smile was of memories and the present, being back with the only other woman he had ever loved with all his heart.

Francis looked down, and tilted his head to try and see Gabrielle's face and had the suspicion she was crying. He paused, slowly putting his foot back down instead of dancing in time, and retracted their leading arm, where his hand clasped hers, and outstretched his forefinger from the clench to raise her chin, concerned.

"Gabie, why are you upset?" He asked softly, still with his arm around her waist. Their faces were close, like dancers, like lovers - a closeness even friends could become bashful over.
"Have I said something, has something happened?" He asked, face full of concern.

Gabrielle knew that it was not what Francis had done, it was what she had. "No, you haven't, d-darling," Gabie remarked, soon feeling terribly at ease calling him 'darling,' as though she had been calling Francis that for ages. "It's just ... me beating myself up for being so cruel to you all those years ago."

Gabie sniffled - Francis was in a place where she knew he needed someone there that wasn't family or of close relation. She had beat herself so many times over the years and now it was a full circle moment with him standing in here. With her.

"You've been so kind to me, someone who doesn't deserve it. I ripped your poor heart out and look at you now. I'm so sorry, Francis. I really am."

Francis was momentarily lost for words. Had it been the thought of their relationship over twenty years ago that had upset her, was his presence there upsetting her because it had been a long time since they'd spent time together like this, and he'd brought up memories of when they'd been lovers?

Behind them the music tripped on in three-time, though Francis could only hear Gabrielle explain, the tears running down her cheeks.

"Cruel?" Francis asked. "You weren't cruel at all - you were honest, and that is all I could ask of you, all I could ever ask of you." He assured her, concerned that Gabrielle had been thinking of this for so long, dwelling on the past. Undoubtedly the recent events, and the fact he'd relied on her strength in friendship to get him through the darker months until he began to get his head round being a single parent to two teenage boys while balancing the delicate and essential service of time turners for Britain.

"Look at me? Gabrielle, it is my fault I am where I am, not yours." He withdrew his arm from her waist and clasped both her hands, holding their hands together between their chests, looking into her eyes. "Claire's accident ... if I had made peace with her son, found out what was happening... that would have prevented it." Francis looked away and blinked the tears from his own eyes that were forming and sighed deeply before looking back.

"I have always loved you Gabrielle, and I always will, but we wouldn't have been happy, not back then. I should have been more patient perhaps, given you the space to consider. Reconsider..." Francis shrugged his shoulders, still clasping her hands in his and gave a smile.

"Though, I would be lying to you, if I didn't admit that there are days where I think life would be simpler if Claire's accident had been fatal. Which is terrible of me, but mercy for her I believe. I wouldn't get through these dark days if it weren't for family, friends... you, and for that I am thankful." He squeezed her hands and broke their clasp, wrapping his arms around her, closing his eyes as he looked over her shoulder.

Gabrielle listened to Francis intently, her eyes misty as he explained his pride that she had said no, the accident with Claire, her undying support for the Pepper family throughout this terrible debacle, but all of that had not been what caught her attention. It was two words that the only difference they had were two letters at the beginning.

Consider & reconsider. Her body had shivered with bumps as his lips had professed that - even as Gabie knew Francis madly loved Claire, he needed someone... was she, his first truest love, that one he had been looking for this past year?

Her cheeks blushed deeply, but deepened even more so as the two embraced tightly. Gabrielle was baffled, struck speechless by Francis' words, yet still held onto him as though they were childhood sweethearts.

"I....When I said no, it's because I was ambitious, believing my career was more important than to become a domesticated housewife like my mother had been, which I feared I would become permanently. I wanted to prove that I could be both, but I sacrificed love and duty for passion and glory. I spent so many weeks crying here at the manor like I had when Gwyn & I had been torn...but.

You ... you would fufilled all what I so longed wished for, Francis. You were the one who would've stood by me in sucess, held me in my times of disappointment. We could have been wonderful parents, if we had wished it. But I had said no and now, I look at you and envy what you've accomplish - you're a father and dutiful husband. I'm so proud of you and yet, so very ashamed of myself. All I can do is hope that maybe someday, even if it means no children, I'll have what you are: A man beyond any one person's measure."

"Gabie..." Francis managed to vocalise, not able to react as coherently as he'd like her declaration of how ashamed she was to have turned his marriage proposal down all those years ago. The tears that he'd blinked away were now threatening to break forth.

As she had explained, he'd drawn back from the embrace, all the better to see her face. It was sincere, and she was crying too. He tilted his head and raised his hands to her face, brushing her tears away with his thumbs, the skin a little rough against her cheeks, as he used his hands to work and since Claire had been away from the house, there were none of the little touches like soap that included moisturiser that came from the local muggle supermarket to help.

"You should not be ashamed Gabrielle." He told her firmly, his voice croaking a little and denying his conviction. "What is in the past is there, and I know better than most that even if we go back there, we cannot change things for sure."

They gazed at each other a moment, and Francis swallowed.
"Even if we'd go back there just to find out." He whispered, their faces so close again, and every instinct leaning in to kiss Gabrielle Murray-Harker's lips, until his mind brought forth Claire, looking so lost in St Mungo's and Ambrose and Tim so optimistic she would get better.

Closing his eyes he let out a shuddered breath, resting his forehead against hers.
"I regret it too Gabie, but I can't... not when she's still alive, not when the boys still have such hope." His hands clasped her face a little more firmly for a fraction of a second and then he stepped back away from her, picking her hands up again and mustering a sad smile, clear he too had cried.

"You understand, don't you? You will have your man, it just may take a little more time." Francis squeezed Gabrielle's hands gently.

The continous motion to wipe her tears away touched her deeply, causing a few more to spill from the way he was treating her. He was treating her like a lady of high esteem, as if he worshipped the very ground she walked upon. Francis was far too good to her, far too good and yet he still gave her the uplift of encouragement as he always had. Minus her immediate family and Gwyn, Francis Pepper had been a staunch supporter of her progression through the Ministry and even now, Gabie knew that support was evident.

Upon hearing his voice crackle, her heart sank to her feet, causing her to stroke his face gently to wipe his own tears away. The poor man had suffered so much indeed and for that, Gabrielle felt awful for spilling the truth upon his shoulders. As if Francis really needed it, what with having to deal with Claire's memory loss and the loss of a son who knew the answers.... "If we did go back, I don't think I'd like what I would see," she said faintly, the shame plastered upon her features.

The closeness made her smile but made her frown as well when he stepped away, the frown more of a sad smile rather than just a full blown frown. "I have hope in you, Francis, that you'll find a breakthrough and that Claire will know you. What is there about that anyone could ever miss to see? You're a wonderful father and a loving husband, as I've already said. As for that man, he may or may not come, but I know I'll have you, and I'll have Gwyn, and I'll have Quincy to help guard my heart."

Francis mustered a sad smile, touched by Gabrielle's words.
"Oh I am not a wonderful father and loving husband. If I was, things would not have happened…" Then he paused, looking down at their hands. "But then I would not have spent the evening with you undoubtedly either." Raising his eyes again he gave a little shrug.

"Gwyn, and Quincy, and I, we're always here for you, yes." He nodded, and his ears picked up the tune behind them from the wireless, drawing Gabrielle to dance again with him.

"Ambrose thinks I'm silly to dance. I tell him he'll have to learn one day, but he's at that age when girls haven't quite got his fancy, but I can see it just behind the eyes. I think he'll come back at Easter to tell me his best friend, who's a charming and pleasantly amusing girl, is now his girlfriend." This dance had a tempo a little more brisk, and as tears dried, they allowed it to carry them along.

"You'll have to come and visit our humble abode when the boys are home, help me prove how wrong he is. They'd like to see you - feels like an age since we last invited you." Of course the last time had been Claire cooking, over the summer before last, with Gabrielle and his brother, and friends from their Hogwarts days, and the children, and it had been quite a squeeze given the Muggle house.

Last summer the house had been filled with gatherings of family and friends who stole worried looks at the boys and worst at Francis, who wanted to fall apart and declare himself entirely fine at the same moment of a minute.

"Or are you off around the world with the Department again, do you think?" Francis asked, smiling at her proudly.

Gabrielle began dancing with him once again, grinning quite happily as she held onto the man's body frame for support as they went around the room. This was truly a happier moment to reflect upon as she was calmer around him than in the current predicaments occurring in the workplace... then again, you didn't have antlers growing out of men's heads and disorganization happening with people's estates and the papers that went with them.

She snapped back to reality when he invited her to dinner. "Will you be attempting lamb shanks with mint jelly? Because you realize Claire always makes it, especially when well to do about people come and visit," Gabie said teasingly, even as the thought of Claire's cooking reminded her of Gabie's grandparents as well as her own.

"Though.... I feel I should bring in something for you and the family. Name it and I'll fix it."

"Will you be attempting lamb shanks with mint jelly? Because you realize Claire always makes it, especially when well to do about people come and visit,"

Francis puffed out his cheeks and looked past Gabrielle over her shoulder and thought about it.
"I suppose I shall, it wouldn't be proper not to." He nodded to himself and then looked back to Gabrielle, giving he a brief smile.

"Though…. I feel I should bring in something for you and the family. Name it and I'll fix it."

Francis led them round in a turn, pondering her offer.
"I suppose you could be in charge of pudding…" He thought about it. "I've never been very good at pudding, and the way to winning over the boys if they get worried about their dad inviting the only other woman he's ever loved over for dinner while his wife's in St Mungo's indefinitely, is through their stomachs - well, a starting point at least." He shrugged, turning them round again and smiling.

"I'm sure they won't see it that way, but I'm sure pudding would go a long way to banishing those fears…" Francis Pepper chuckled, imagining his sons looking sceptically across the table at them until presented with something containing sugar, where all would be forgotten.

"Or does the imp do all the cooking here, and you've forgotten?" He asked Gabrielle teasingly.

Pudding? Pudding.

Gabrielle tried her best to not laugh at the suggestion, fearing she would offend one of her best, closest, dearest friends if the sound left her lips. She did grin, however, at the mentioning of being all proper. "Listen to you - sounding all like an Edwardian man while you clearly dress Victorian. That would remain a plus for Grandfather, rest his soul, if he were still living. True, he never minded Gwyn but you impressed him a great deal better than Gwyn & Vedir. Enough about that though!"

She finally did giggle as they pursued a turn, her 'feeling sorry for you and myself' babbble & spill now gone as the mood had returned back to an uplifting one. Gabrielle grinned at the final remarks, playfully smacking him on the second one.

"If Ambrose does find a girl, I know he'll have a loving father who would do anything for him to ensure that his son's happiness is guarenteed. Give him time - he is just a boy, after all, Mr. Pepper."

Cue her dramatic pause and evident smirk.

"Also. I'll have you know I can cook still, Mr. Pepper! I've made wine, chocolates, as well as non sweets. Imp didn't cook tonight's meal. I did as I wanted the satisfication of knowing that you would prefer a woman's gentle touch compared to a hybrid sticking his grubby fingers into the mashed potatoes." Gabrielle grinned. "So, making a pudding should be a walk in the park, yes?" Touche.

"Mr Pepper is it now?" Francis asked with raised eyebrow. The wine was well and truly settling in, as was the comfort of Gabrielle's body so close to his as they danced. He slipped both arms around her instead, a smile broadening across his lips, the two of them almost too close to focus clearly on each other's expressions.

"That's set then, Could-Have-Been-Mrs-Pepper, you'll do the pudding, and I'll do the lamb. The boys will wash, and set the table. You have an imp, I have sons." He chuckled and kissed Gabrielle on the cheek, before letting go.

"I say, more wine?" Francis asked, stumbling round her, laughing at himself. "I can dance but I can't walk six feet to our bottle of wine." Lifting the bottle he refilled both their glasses.

Sighing gently, he thought back to Gabrielle's comment about Ambrose and girls.
"I know you said Ambrose will be fine with a girl, because he's got me, but I always imagined we'd tackle things like that together, with his mother there." A sad expression crossed his face as he passed Gabrielle her wine glass.
"Sorry, I mustn't keep dwelling on things," he sipped his wine and frowned, checking the label on the bottle for the year to satisfy his curiosity.