RP: Tumbling Down
Date: 1 July, 2005
Characters: Cedric Diggory, Lucy Diggory, Katie Bell
Location: Cedric's cottage, then Katie's flat, then Cedric's cottage again
Status: Private
Summary: Cedric's mother, Master painter Lucretia Diggory, finally arrives in Stoatshead for her anticipated visit -- only to land a bombshell on Cedric that shakes the foundations of his constructed reality.
Completion: Complete
His mother, Cedric thought, looked more as if she were moving in than coming for a month-long visit. After greeting her with a kiss and hug that lifted her off her feet -- tall as she was -- he stared, bemused, at the number of trunks and boxes (however shrunk) she'd arrived at his cottage floating. He had no idea where he was supposed to put all of this. Some of it was no doubt the paintings he'd brought to her to fix, as well as her own supplies for painting the mural in the museum. But it still seemed a bit much.
"Er," he said, glancing around at it all and scratching his head. "Mum -- I don't have a lot of space. Did you really need to bring all this? Can we store most of it at the museum? It looks like you're moving in."
"I am," she replied simply, parting the shrank trunks into three piles with a lazy swish of her wand.
He gaped at her. "What?"
"Well, in truth, it's more accurate to say that I'm moving out, as I hardly expect to live here with you, even if you had the space. I've secured a villa a little south of Florence, and I'll be moving in there the second week in August."
He ... had no idea what to say. He must have heard that incorrectly, or be misunderstanding. "Why have you got a villa in Italy? Aren't you going home?"
Her brow lifted. "It's no longer my home, Cedric."
He didn't answer immediately, just ran a hand into his hair and turned around once in place. A sort of vague jittery sensation had taken hold. He kept swallowing, convulsively. "What are you saying?"
"Your father and I gave each other a divorce for our 30th wedding anniversary."
And again, he was unable to speak. In his center, all his organs seemed to sink and he felt cold in feet and hands. The swallowing continued, but almost as a gag, and for just a moment, he thought he might actually throw up. She just watched him, offering no explanations, no defenses, not trying to touch him either, as if aware that if she had, he'd have jerked away.
"Why?" he asked finally. It was all he could think of to say; his brain had shut down. "Why now?"
In truth, he'd been expecting this for years. He'd never entirely understood why his parents had married in the first place -- they seemed so different. Yet they'd been utterly loyal to one another all through his childhood and youth, and even into his young adulthood. Finally, he'd come to the conclusion that they really must love each other, just not in the ways romance novels touted, and he'd stopped worrying about it.
Only to be met by this.
She shrugged. "It seemed time," she said quietly. "You're grown with a career of your own. You don't depend on us the same way -- "
"Don't depend on you?" he exploded, the numbness falling away to expose something raw beneath. "What the bleedin' FUCK has that got to do with it?"
She reached out to him but didn't move forward. "Cedric -- "
"No!" he shouted, stepping back anyway. "No! I don't understand this. I don't understand it at all! I thought you loved each other. Was that a lie? And if it wasn't, how can you not love each other now?" He knew that was simplistic, but this bolt from the blue had set him so off his mark that he didn't feel able to handle anything complicated -- didn't want to.
"There are many kinds of love," she replied. "Your father and I did -- and do -- love each other, or at least care for each other. We love each other enough to -- finally -- release the other. He wants to live his own life, and so do I, and we've reached a point where it's easier to live our lives apart than together. He was never going to return to Europe, Cedric. He's content in Canada. He has a job he loves, a woman he loves to share it with, and he'll be leaving Toronto for Ottawa -- "
"WHAT?" Cedric bellowed. "He's having a fucking AFFAIR?"
Her expression was both grim and amused. "Cedric, he's had the same mistress for the past seven years. I think he might actually love this one."
His jaw dropped and he couldn't reply at all. "How could you .. How did you -- "
"I had no argument with it. He's had mistresses off and on for the past 20 years, actually. At least the current one he's got something in common with. She works with magical creatures, too."
Gobsmacked all over again, Cedric tugged at his hair now with both hands. "And you just ... let him? You never confronted him about it? You didn't care?"
"It wasn't that sort of marriage, Cedric."
"What? It was a ... a ... marriage of convenience? Like the papers said?" Accusations of that type, along with supposed affairs and wild verbal spats had floated for years in back-alley Wizarding gossip rags. As a boy and even a teen, he'd been shamed by them, but his parents had always assured him they weren't true.
They'd lied.
"It was never a marriage of convenience, Cedric," she said now, voice cool, expression ... flat. Her expression was simply flat, calm, unconcerned, as if she hadn't just blown apart everything he'd thought secure about his childhood. "That implies we didn't care for the other. We did. And do. But we're tired of trying to live together. I'm tired of his ... insistent refusal to return to England, or at least the continent. I told him I was coming back, with him or without. He said it would be without. We decided it was time to go our separate ways."
She regarded him solemnly. "None of that has anything to do with you. We both still love you and want you in our lives. And if I was the one charged with explaining it -- we thought it best to tell you face-to-face -- your father is waiting at the house, in case you'd like to ring him up and talk about it with him."
Down in his gut, it all exploded, the pain, rage and sheer disappointment, the feeling of utter humiliation. "I don't want to talk to either of you!" he bellowed. "No wonder my engagement failed! I had you two for models! How could I possibly know what real love looks like? Dad's like some overgrown, immature puppy with his stupid exaggerations and causes, and you're just a cold-hearted ice-bitch!"
He FROZE, his face no doubt showing the same shock as hers. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that, even if he'd thought it off and on in his life when angry. But he didn't want to take it back. He was too angry -- gut-deep, bone-shaking, blood-freezing furious.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the door, jerking it open -- "Cedric!" he heard her snap behind him but ignored it -- and stalked out into the twilight of early evening. He'd already twisted in place, Disapparating before the door slammed shut behind him.
Characters: Cedric Diggory, Lucy Diggory, Katie Bell
Location: Cedric's cottage, then Katie's flat, then Cedric's cottage again
Status: Private
Summary: Cedric's mother, Master painter Lucretia Diggory, finally arrives in Stoatshead for her anticipated visit -- only to land a bombshell on Cedric that shakes the foundations of his constructed reality.
Completion: Complete
His mother, Cedric thought, looked more as if she were moving in than coming for a month-long visit. After greeting her with a kiss and hug that lifted her off her feet -- tall as she was -- he stared, bemused, at the number of trunks and boxes (however shrunk) she'd arrived at his cottage floating. He had no idea where he was supposed to put all of this. Some of it was no doubt the paintings he'd brought to her to fix, as well as her own supplies for painting the mural in the museum. But it still seemed a bit much.
"Er," he said, glancing around at it all and scratching his head. "Mum -- I don't have a lot of space. Did you really need to bring all this? Can we store most of it at the museum? It looks like you're moving in."
"I am," she replied simply, parting the shrank trunks into three piles with a lazy swish of her wand.
He gaped at her. "What?"
"Well, in truth, it's more accurate to say that I'm moving out, as I hardly expect to live here with you, even if you had the space. I've secured a villa a little south of Florence, and I'll be moving in there the second week in August."
He ... had no idea what to say. He must have heard that incorrectly, or be misunderstanding. "Why have you got a villa in Italy? Aren't you going home?"
Her brow lifted. "It's no longer my home, Cedric."
He didn't answer immediately, just ran a hand into his hair and turned around once in place. A sort of vague jittery sensation had taken hold. He kept swallowing, convulsively. "What are you saying?"
"Your father and I gave each other a divorce for our 30th wedding anniversary."
And again, he was unable to speak. In his center, all his organs seemed to sink and he felt cold in feet and hands. The swallowing continued, but almost as a gag, and for just a moment, he thought he might actually throw up. She just watched him, offering no explanations, no defenses, not trying to touch him either, as if aware that if she had, he'd have jerked away.
"Why?" he asked finally. It was all he could think of to say; his brain had shut down. "Why now?"
In truth, he'd been expecting this for years. He'd never entirely understood why his parents had married in the first place -- they seemed so different. Yet they'd been utterly loyal to one another all through his childhood and youth, and even into his young adulthood. Finally, he'd come to the conclusion that they really must love each other, just not in the ways romance novels touted, and he'd stopped worrying about it.
Only to be met by this.
She shrugged. "It seemed time," she said quietly. "You're grown with a career of your own. You don't depend on us the same way -- "
"Don't depend on you?" he exploded, the numbness falling away to expose something raw beneath. "What the bleedin' FUCK has that got to do with it?"
She reached out to him but didn't move forward. "Cedric -- "
"No!" he shouted, stepping back anyway. "No! I don't understand this. I don't understand it at all! I thought you loved each other. Was that a lie? And if it wasn't, how can you not love each other now?" He knew that was simplistic, but this bolt from the blue had set him so off his mark that he didn't feel able to handle anything complicated -- didn't want to.
"There are many kinds of love," she replied. "Your father and I did -- and do -- love each other, or at least care for each other. We love each other enough to -- finally -- release the other. He wants to live his own life, and so do I, and we've reached a point where it's easier to live our lives apart than together. He was never going to return to Europe, Cedric. He's content in Canada. He has a job he loves, a woman he loves to share it with, and he'll be leaving Toronto for Ottawa -- "
"WHAT?" Cedric bellowed. "He's having a fucking AFFAIR?"
Her expression was both grim and amused. "Cedric, he's had the same mistress for the past seven years. I think he might actually love this one."
His jaw dropped and he couldn't reply at all. "How could you .. How did you -- "
"I had no argument with it. He's had mistresses off and on for the past 20 years, actually. At least the current one he's got something in common with. She works with magical creatures, too."
Gobsmacked all over again, Cedric tugged at his hair now with both hands. "And you just ... let him? You never confronted him about it? You didn't care?"
"It wasn't that sort of marriage, Cedric."
"What? It was a ... a ... marriage of convenience? Like the papers said?" Accusations of that type, along with supposed affairs and wild verbal spats had floated for years in back-alley Wizarding gossip rags. As a boy and even a teen, he'd been shamed by them, but his parents had always assured him they weren't true.
They'd lied.
"It was never a marriage of convenience, Cedric," she said now, voice cool, expression ... flat. Her expression was simply flat, calm, unconcerned, as if she hadn't just blown apart everything he'd thought secure about his childhood. "That implies we didn't care for the other. We did. And do. But we're tired of trying to live together. I'm tired of his ... insistent refusal to return to England, or at least the continent. I told him I was coming back, with him or without. He said it would be without. We decided it was time to go our separate ways."
She regarded him solemnly. "None of that has anything to do with you. We both still love you and want you in our lives. And if I was the one charged with explaining it -- we thought it best to tell you face-to-face -- your father is waiting at the house, in case you'd like to ring him up and talk about it with him."
Down in his gut, it all exploded, the pain, rage and sheer disappointment, the feeling of utter humiliation. "I don't want to talk to either of you!" he bellowed. "No wonder my engagement failed! I had you two for models! How could I possibly know what real love looks like? Dad's like some overgrown, immature puppy with his stupid exaggerations and causes, and you're just a cold-hearted ice-bitch!"
He FROZE, his face no doubt showing the same shock as hers. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that, even if he'd thought it off and on in his life when angry. But he didn't want to take it back. He was too angry -- gut-deep, bone-shaking, blood-freezing furious.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the door, jerking it open -- "Cedric!" he heard her snap behind him but ignored it -- and stalked out into the twilight of early evening. He'd already twisted in place, Disapparating before the door slammed shut behind him.