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Dax Gordon

I May Have Killed A Guy

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Dax Gordon

"Fletcher, my man, my best bro, I need you not to freak out for a second and listen very, very carefully." Dax would never approach anyone, especially someone he considered a close and personal bro, with his most Serious set of sunglasses unless it really meant business. "I hold in my hand the Most Terrifying of letters," and here he shook the innocuous looking envelope in his hand directly in front of Fletcher's face, "and I need you to be here for me when I open it."

 

His name, on the front, in all of it's full glory

 

D A X T E R L A N E G O R D O N

 

and his mother only used his full name like that when he'd done something very, very wrong. Wrong enough to warrant the Serious Sunglasses, wrong enough to kidnap Fletcher mid-class period to drag him off to a random classroom to have a very uncool breakdown. (He trusted Fletcher with his social life, which was kind of a big deal that he would never disclose to Fletcher.) The ultimate done something wrong letter. "I need you not to panic," as he was also not panicking, "but there's a very real possibility that this is going to tell me that I'm going off to prison for the rest of my life and I'd prefer if you opened it instead of me." Then, at least, he'd have time to come up with some plausible deniability for the whole thing. Whatever it was.

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Fletcher Barrow

Fletcher Barrow did not freak out. Those words weren’t even in his vocabulary. He was the chillest of the chill, so when his best mate came around with an apparent crisis Fletch kept his cool and leaned against a wall, to exude even more chill.

 

“Why, you got a Howler or something?” He asked curiously, almost amused. He had never seen Dax Gordon in such a state before. His friend seemed almost...worried? Was that the right word? It was weird to think that someone as over-confident as Dax would ever worry about anything, and as Dax went on to explain what he thought was in the ominous letter Fletcher couldn’t help but chuckle again.

 

“You what, mate? Prison? Like Azkaban?” Fletcher uncrossed his arms and took the letter from Dax. “There’s no way. You’re like what, thirteen? They don’t chuck kids like us in Azkaban, unless, you know, you’ve done something really bad…” He paused for a moment and cast a suspicious glance over at his friend. Dax sometimes did some horrible things, but surely he wouldn’t go that far?

 

“Let’s just open it and see what it is, yeah?” Fletcher fiddled with the envelope and then stopped. “You sure you want me to open it? What if it’s like, I dunno, something private?” He then squinted at Dax in fresh suspicion. “This isn’t some prank item is it?”

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Dax Gordon

"Does it look like a Howler?" Dax snapped and then snapped again and possibly he was going to crazy. He was a man on the edge with apparently nothing to lose because he was surely in his final moments of life. "No, like prison. Like gross cells with a billion other gross dudes who don't know what Cool means and no ladies and food that's made out of cardboard."

 

There was a good chance that Dax would walk out of this room with grey hair. Every passing second was more stressful than the last and he was sure that he could feel his beautiful skin turning wrinkled and his boyish good looks fading from the sheer stress of it alone. He attempted to distract himself by pacing the small room, around and around and around, pointedly avoiding looking at Fletcher and the letter and what could possibly be in that letter what could he have possibly done--

 

"Fletch, look at me. Do I look like I'm in any sort of state to open this thing myself?" with a vague gesture towards his general being which he was sure was oozing all sorts of Bad Feelings. "Honestly I just need you to be a good bro for like two minutes and take care of this for me." It was without drama that he threw a (dramatic) hand over his forehead and sunk to the floor against the wall. "You're wounding me, you're honestly and truly wounding me. I am here, having a totally uncool breakdown, and you have the audacity to accuse me of trying to prank you?" If Dax were able to cry on cue and didn't think that crying was the lowest form of emoting, he'd be doing it right now to make Fletcher feel truly awful about that very suggestion.

 

"Just open it. I'm putting my entire trust in you, even if you clearly can't put your entire trust in me." After this situation, barring jailing for eternity, Dax would have to seriously consider looking for a new best bro who wouldn't question his genuine feels.

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Fletcher Barrow

Fletcher didn’t know about any other type of prison besides Azkaban, so he simply shrugged and frowned at Dax’s description. If that was what muggle prison was, it sounded pretty bad. Still, it didn’t seem as awful as wizard prison, especially with the Dementors. Bad food and no girls wasn’t a good thought but having your soul sucked out was far worse. None of that mattered here though, because he was sure there was no way his friend could possibly be in for serious jail time.

 

His suspicion towards Dax’s motives faded away once he realized just how unlike Dax Gordon that Dax Gordon actually was. The usual smugness was nowhere to be seen and Fletch swore he could see something in his friend’s eyes that looked vaguely like fear. Either Dax was a very good actor or this really wasn’t a prank and his best mate truly needed him.

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll open it.” Fletcher finally replied and continued ripping open the envelope again. Honestly, Dax’s expressions were getting a bit pathetic anyway. Best to put him out of his misery. Nothing ominous popped out of the letter once it was fully opened, so that had to be a good sign. Fletch looked at the papers in his hand, back and forth, and was almost disappointed that it wasn’t actually a Howler. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to read what was actually in the letters though. It seemed a bit invasive.

 

“Here, it’s open and it’s not screaming,” Fletch said before shoving the contents of Dax’s letter back at him. “It’s probably harmless. Maybe your mum’s just reminding you to wash your knickers or something.” Which would have been amusing but also a waste of paper considering the house elves did their laundry anyway.

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Dax Gordon

Fletcher was way too calm about this entire thing. Dax's entire future could be ruined with this one letter and his quote unquote friend was not nearly as concerned as he was about it. The last time his mom had sent him a letter, it was to tell him that their family dog had eaten through his entire back up collection of sunglasses. The time before that had been from Jak and was an entirely too realistic outline of just how his brother was going to murder him for using his favorite pair of boots for forest time exploration. The time before that had been about how long he was going to be grounded for after his dad found out about one of his many fights at Hogwarts: a very long time, which included being stuck with his stinky aunt while the rest of the family went back to Texas for the summer.

 

A Gordon letter was never a good letter.

 

"Harmless." Somewhere in his terror, Dax found the strength for a full scoff. "I wish I'd get letters about washing my underthings, Fletch. I wish it was something that easy." And then the papers were in his hands and he was trembling, absolutely terrified of what sort of bad news was being bestowed upon him this time. He stared down at the papers, then up at Fletcher, then back down at the papers that were slowly crumpling between his twitching fingers. 

 

"No, no, sorry, I can't do this." He was shoving them back at Fletcher with a nervous sort of energy that could only come from anything involving the Gordon family. "I'm not reading it, Fletch. I can't and I won't. Whoops, guess I'll never found out what I did! Oh no, how tragic. How terrible. It'll be a mystery for the rest of my life." That was certainly one way to deal with it, consequences be damned. "Just get rid of it and let's go do something cool, yeah?"

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