(no subject)
Too lazy to give this a title and everything....and no one really cares cause it's about a character I play elsewhere...but yes. Woo.
I guess I should warn about character death, though. Sad times. I was sad.
Laurence stared for a moment at his son’s body. He tried to feel anything, but all he felt was numb. It still wasn’t real. Avery had brought him back, delivering him to the door. Evan was always his little boy, even when he was a teenager, even when he was an adult. He never understood him, never knew exactly what happened, but it had. His wife had given birth to this little boy and he’d been strange from the first moment Laurence saw him. Small and fragile and so…innocent. Laurence wanted to protect him from everything. Then he started to grow and everything was…different.
He’d been difficult to read, always staring and waiting and absolutely quiet. He rarely threw tantrums - honestly, he couldn’t think of any tantrums, though - and he laughed sometimes, but more often at the wrong times. Laurence never quite understood it. Slowly he taught him that while emotions were a weakness, it was important to understand them so you could protect yourself from others. Even then he was a very calm child. Evan was a quiet, unsettling child, but Laurence loved him all the same. He was his child. Above all else, he was his child.
So, it was to be expected that the sight of his son’s dead body in the arms of one of the other Death Eaters had nearly made his knees buckle. He let out a sort of soft, pained noise. He quickly pulled himself together, his jaw clenched slightly before he quietly thanked Avery for bringing him back. The minute the man was gone, Laurence’s fingers curled tightly around his son’s lifeless body and he shook slightly. He didn’t care that there was blood everywhere. He cared even less that it was getting on his clothes and in his hair.
It was another few minutes before Margaret came into the room where he was. Until then, he hadn’t been aware of the sounds he was making or the fact that he was crying. He hadn’t been aware of anything but the fact that his son was cold and dead and the fact that he felt impossibly empty and in need of a good drink. In fact, he needed more than one good drink. He needed multiple.
His wife’s hand on his back was enough of a grounding force that he allowed himself to pull back. Just a little. She was quiet but he saw the tears on her face. He may not have been able to see the pain as evidently as she could probably see it on his face, but he knew it was there. His hand reached for hers and she held onto it tightly. It was that that proved it more than her expression. She felt it, too. He’d like to have said he felt it when Evan died, but he’d felt nothing. Maybe if he’d had that sort of connection, he could have stopped it…but that was hardly the helpful sort of thinking. It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.
***
The suggestion that they bury his son had instantly drawn him from his thoughts. “He wouldn’t have wanted that,” he said quietly. It was too boring, too lazy. Laurence didn’t like the thought. He’d only washed the blood off because his wife had insisted that it had to happen. He shook his head. “No. As a boy, he hated the idea of being put in a box and put in the ground.” He didn’t care that his wife had mentioned having a nice funeral and the society people would expect one. He didn’t care what anyone else wanted. He only cared about the fact that his son wouldn’t have wanted to be buried in the ground somewhere.
Laurence looked at his wife and he knew she understood on some level. That was why he married her. First it had been a vague friendship, but it was eventually love and then they’d had a child and Evan…Evan deserved to have everything that he wanted, anything that he wanted. Even in death. “What do you suggest, dear,” Margaret asked quietly.
Despite the fact that there was an odd ache in his chest, Laurence smiled. “Let’s give him a proper go out,” he replied. “Something with a bit of fire. A bit of a show, don’t you think?” He knew who to invite and who not to invite and he didn’t give a shit about the ones he didn’t want there. He’d invite the friends he knew Evan liked to have around. “For everyone else, we’ll have a memorial sort of gathering,” he finished his thoughts out loud, not bothering to explain the beginning part of that thought process.
Margaret smiled a little, too, her hand moving to rest on top of Laurence’s, fingers gently interweaving. “I think it sounds lovely, darling. He’d enjoy it.”
***
So when the day came, Evan was rested on top of a wooden structure with a few close friends watching as his father set flame to the structure. Laurence remained composed through it all, waiting for everyone to go home and for his wife to go to sleep before he lowered himself into his chair by the fire. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair and he stared unblinking for a moment at the picture of his son on the mantel.
“Goodbye,” he mouthed, a few tears spilling over his cheeks. The only thing he needed more than a drink at that moment, was for someone to give him an out for his emotions in an acceptable way. He needed to be angry and focus on that. Right now, all of his anger was focused on Moody, but there was nothing he could do for the moment, so he needed someone else to give him an excuse to say mean, hateful things just so that could be what he was focusing on. That was all he needed.
I guess I should warn about character death, though. Sad times. I was sad.
Laurence stared for a moment at his son’s body. He tried to feel anything, but all he felt was numb. It still wasn’t real. Avery had brought him back, delivering him to the door. Evan was always his little boy, even when he was a teenager, even when he was an adult. He never understood him, never knew exactly what happened, but it had. His wife had given birth to this little boy and he’d been strange from the first moment Laurence saw him. Small and fragile and so…innocent. Laurence wanted to protect him from everything. Then he started to grow and everything was…different.
He’d been difficult to read, always staring and waiting and absolutely quiet. He rarely threw tantrums - honestly, he couldn’t think of any tantrums, though - and he laughed sometimes, but more often at the wrong times. Laurence never quite understood it. Slowly he taught him that while emotions were a weakness, it was important to understand them so you could protect yourself from others. Even then he was a very calm child. Evan was a quiet, unsettling child, but Laurence loved him all the same. He was his child. Above all else, he was his child.
So, it was to be expected that the sight of his son’s dead body in the arms of one of the other Death Eaters had nearly made his knees buckle. He let out a sort of soft, pained noise. He quickly pulled himself together, his jaw clenched slightly before he quietly thanked Avery for bringing him back. The minute the man was gone, Laurence’s fingers curled tightly around his son’s lifeless body and he shook slightly. He didn’t care that there was blood everywhere. He cared even less that it was getting on his clothes and in his hair.
It was another few minutes before Margaret came into the room where he was. Until then, he hadn’t been aware of the sounds he was making or the fact that he was crying. He hadn’t been aware of anything but the fact that his son was cold and dead and the fact that he felt impossibly empty and in need of a good drink. In fact, he needed more than one good drink. He needed multiple.
His wife’s hand on his back was enough of a grounding force that he allowed himself to pull back. Just a little. She was quiet but he saw the tears on her face. He may not have been able to see the pain as evidently as she could probably see it on his face, but he knew it was there. His hand reached for hers and she held onto it tightly. It was that that proved it more than her expression. She felt it, too. He’d like to have said he felt it when Evan died, but he’d felt nothing. Maybe if he’d had that sort of connection, he could have stopped it…but that was hardly the helpful sort of thinking. It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.
***
The suggestion that they bury his son had instantly drawn him from his thoughts. “He wouldn’t have wanted that,” he said quietly. It was too boring, too lazy. Laurence didn’t like the thought. He’d only washed the blood off because his wife had insisted that it had to happen. He shook his head. “No. As a boy, he hated the idea of being put in a box and put in the ground.” He didn’t care that his wife had mentioned having a nice funeral and the society people would expect one. He didn’t care what anyone else wanted. He only cared about the fact that his son wouldn’t have wanted to be buried in the ground somewhere.
Laurence looked at his wife and he knew she understood on some level. That was why he married her. First it had been a vague friendship, but it was eventually love and then they’d had a child and Evan…Evan deserved to have everything that he wanted, anything that he wanted. Even in death. “What do you suggest, dear,” Margaret asked quietly.
Despite the fact that there was an odd ache in his chest, Laurence smiled. “Let’s give him a proper go out,” he replied. “Something with a bit of fire. A bit of a show, don’t you think?” He knew who to invite and who not to invite and he didn’t give a shit about the ones he didn’t want there. He’d invite the friends he knew Evan liked to have around. “For everyone else, we’ll have a memorial sort of gathering,” he finished his thoughts out loud, not bothering to explain the beginning part of that thought process.
Margaret smiled a little, too, her hand moving to rest on top of Laurence’s, fingers gently interweaving. “I think it sounds lovely, darling. He’d enjoy it.”
***
So when the day came, Evan was rested on top of a wooden structure with a few close friends watching as his father set flame to the structure. Laurence remained composed through it all, waiting for everyone to go home and for his wife to go to sleep before he lowered himself into his chair by the fire. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair and he stared unblinking for a moment at the picture of his son on the mantel.
“Goodbye,” he mouthed, a few tears spilling over his cheeks. The only thing he needed more than a drink at that moment, was for someone to give him an out for his emotions in an acceptable way. He needed to be angry and focus on that. Right now, all of his anger was focused on Moody, but there was nothing he could do for the moment, so he needed someone else to give him an excuse to say mean, hateful things just so that could be what he was focusing on. That was all he needed.