Cambridge Conundrums PV Completed

Alexander would frown. Not sure what to think of what he heard. What they were describing, did not sound like him. It did not sound like him at all, which created new options. New options on how his life got messed up and what brought him to such a low point. Though all options were all confusing and unlikely to various degrees.

The first, and most 'boring' option, was that Alexander had been influenced by some outside force. That some kind of charm had been placed upon him. Or some other kind of unknown magic that could have forced him to do other things. Perhaps something like the Imperio or Confundus. An after-effect of something else perhaps. Something which had been experimented upon him. The info was not clear, but this theory implied that some other force was involved with this. Pulling at his strings directly whilst staying hidden from the shadows.

The second, and perhaps more disturbing theory, (and perhaps the likeliest) was that Alex was practicing. Killing pigeons, killing cat, it was clearly psychotic behaviour. But if such acts served a purpose he could see himself resorting to those at his darkest hour. And with all these acts, there was only one purpose which came to mind to Alex. Practice. In some way, his past self was practicing in the act of killing. Starting with pigeons and cats. Perhaps because those creatures were so agile, and thus better targets for practicing and trying to catch them. To beat an opponent that was faster than him.

And though he was disgusted at the prospect of poisoning his parents, he could see a psychotic version wishing to test what doses of poison was noticeable and not. How he could possibly poison a target over time, which was also quite interesting. Since this implied that the possible target, would be one he could poison over time. Which in turn implied it was someone that he would be in close contact with, so perhaps one of the students. The first person that came to mind was Vladimir, that would be an even more baseless production than he was thinking of right now. But he was the first student that could come to mind.

That or Alex was working on poisoning others. And though it would venture into the realm of conspiracy theory, he might have entered into a contract. He did not know a lot about the magical world, but perhaps daemons and fae were a thing. Perhaps he had made a deal with one of them to do some dark deed in return for something else.
Generally he would not consider himself stupid enough to do something like that, but with such a large part of his past missing, he could not be sure. Anything was a possibility. Including such a pact.

The third option was that Alex had been replaced with a sort of changeling. And that the real Alex had been kept at Hogwarts. Certainly a possibility but an unlikely one. Even though his parents had seen his grave, it felt wrong. Why go through all the effort of replacing him only to die itself. If anything it seemed like something tried to create a false narrative in which he was dead. The real question was of course who and why would they do such a thing. It was all confusing, and seemed so inaccurate. But with so much information lacking, speculation was all that he could do.

Alexander then returned to the situation at hand. His parents, who were clearly under the grips of a certain emotion. It was on the tip of his tongue, and yet het could not place it. For all that he could observe things well, he could not bring himself to truly analyze his parents. Perhaps subconsciously, Alexander decided that in this case ignorance truly was bliss.

His hand went through his hair, as he let out a sigh of pensive frustration. A tick of his whenever he was facing a dilemma. Through the messy and dirty hair (not cut since the events at the kitchen)). Thinking of how to phrase things, how to settle things. To wonder what approach would be best, if perhaps it was best to lie to his parents to settle the situation. The idea filled him with an acrid after taste, yet if it proved to be a necessity......

He then decided to pursue another option. One used since time immemorial. As long as sentience existed, and perhaps even before that. And that even these days was still instinctive human beings.

To delay the problem until another time.

"Look, I know that what has happened is traumatic. And I don't understand what happened either, why I am here and what is truly real. But I can say this, I am better than that and this is a new opportunity. One to forget the past, and to start anew. " The argument sounded weak and sappy in Alexander's own mind. But it was clear that his parents were not at their best mental condition. Perhaps less skeptical and more willing to grasp an opportunity if it was presented before them. Though as he has learned lately, it was perhaps best to assume the worst. And if truly necessary, he still had his wand in his pocket. He truly, truly did not wish to use it. But what he saw before him, were clearly not the same parents he knew before. Who had clearly lost much of their sanity. And he honestly could not say he had not changed for the worse as well. And thus he feared, and silently prayed, that to whatever wizarding god there was. That he could get out of this social pit of hell.

Alexander was left to ponder the what and the why. he had gotten the answers he sought but in learning what he had, he only earned more questions and an unsettling sense that there was something more. Something worse... that and this fear that the former him, the one that he had forgotten, might have conceivably been right. He was left with the worst question of all, what would have driven him to practice?

His parents had been ravaged by both guilt and fear. Guilt over their son's death and the madness such a memory wrought had twisted his formerly 'stable', or at least as stable as most people were, into the crumbled remains he saw before him. They hardly recognized themselves, nevermind their own son. This was a dream, a shared delusion. A painful memory that had manifested a life of its own. That was what it was like to be insane, to see a world that never existed. A personal hell. A private paradise.

It was difficult to even grasp that they were standing, or in this case sitting in the room that they were. The days a blur, fleeting moments of awareness broke up the monotony. It was the routine that allowed them to function - to wake and shower, to eat and work, then return home to sleep and repeat. The therapy did not help with much, it just gave them a false hope that they could cope, eventually... someday.

Even now they had to ponder if their son, their very dead son, was alive. To betray the sense of finality that came with death and to set the world that they knew once again askew. Something that alexander had not considered when he came here seeking answers. Further, if they accepted that he was alive. That he was there. That he was no longer dead. That what they thought and truly believed as a lie, a terrifying notion in and of itself was undermined by the fact that what they recalled of their son was that he was a terror. That he had inflicted such fear in his parents that they reached a point in themselves against all parental instinct to slay their own child.

There was a mixture of emotions, a multitude of questions and this overwhelming sense of dread. Howe far had they plunged into madness? Was their son's death a delusion or was his resurrection the lie? Their heads hurt, his mother started to cry. Her tears like black ink.

His tactic was simply to delay. Delay the questions. Delay the answers. To simply live on. Perhaps save his parents from this pain, that of recollection and guilt. Of fear and confusion. The only problem was, they knew he existed. They both knew. they had seen them. They heard the same questions and the same words. He was wearing the same clothes. There was a smear of blood on the floor where she had fell, her cut already clotted, there was evidence of his presence like a small whirlwind in their small suburban homestead.

"I would like that," his father claimed with a forced somewhat pained smile.

"But what do we do?" His mother asked the room, her forearm wiping away the dark tears. She was asking her husband, despite the stress of all that happened they were not entirely estranged. A testament to the relationship that they had with one another before everything went to hell.

"Yeah, I know," he nodded. This was not their house, well it was his parents but it was not Alexander's. They had moved for the sake of a 'geographical cure' yet they slipped back into the same things. Providence perhaps, there are some things one would want to slip into, such as a family reunited even if it made no sense.

"I never wanted a personal office anyways," he replied with a shrug. There was no remorse or disappointment in his voice, just facts. "We can shop... tonight?" He cocked his head to the side. "Tomorrow?" He let out a sigh, he was feeling sore and tired but his mind was wired, he would never fall asleep. "Get life back on track, make up for the time we lost."

Alexander bit his lip. What he was doing, felt wrong. He knew that he was not making the morally right choice, knew that what he was doing was not solving the issue as much as delaying it. He knew that this would result in hours upon hours of tension. A constant akward silence, one that could not be broken, or rather, should not be broken. A silence born of the fact that reality was entirely warped, acting against everything they had previously known.

Things had already been tense and confusing with magic in general. But with this, his own 'death' it defied all expectations. All sense that one could have. Even now, it was hard for him, to know that everything he knew could be lost. That all the efforts he was now taking with reconciling with his parents could once again be taken away in moments. In a sense, his parents were correct, he had died. Even if the body that was under some grave with his name was not his, he had still died in a metaphorical sense. His connections and all people that he knew had been cut, his beliefs had been shaken, his memories taken. He had become a new person, but probably not a better one. A tense and paranoid child, who suspected everything and did not know what was going on. Whether he was involved in the plot of some grand cabal, or if he had stumbled across some ancient dark secret. One so horrible that he had been forced to forget. Something almost Lovecraftian in nature.

It was scary, disconcerting, to know that something was wrong but not knowing what was. As if he had been dropped into another reality that was not his own. But one thing was sure, one thing he had practiced in his years before school. Whilst further being honed in his time in Slytherin. When it truly mattered, when it was critical. He was a good liar.

As such he conjured himself up a small, hopeful smile. Even as his insides were still filled with a numb dread and great quantities of uncertainty.. He kept up the appearance that he was merely hopeful, eager to get things behind him. Enthusiastic to get things on. An ideal image of his parent's son. Something they could rally behind, something to push forward. Even if it was fake, it could prevent his parents from going deeper into the abyss of their own despair. It would not be nice for him personally, and grate on his soul. But in times like these, he had to commit sacrifices. SO much more than he wanted, but still necessary sacrifices.

As such he somewhat 'eagerly' said. "Yeah, yeah that would be nice."

His father seemed to deflate slightly as Alexander said it would be nice. A relief, no outburst. No fire. No bloody dead animals. There was a tension that was slowly fading away, replaced with a silent guilt. A part of him wanted this to go poorly, he felt that he deserved it. There had not been a single day that he did not regret that moment of madness where he took his son's life.



How was this even real. His head throbbed even more than his heart ached. There was a reality that he was certain of that was now either a lie or he was suffering a fit of delusion. He did not deserve to be happy or forgiven. Yet the human mind is kind, granting flits of hope and light. He smiled, it was a real one but it was sad and hopeful. Was he a terrible man for wanting a sweet lie? For a second chance? An opportunity to live a life where he did not have to suffer the consequence of his poor choices. A do-over.

He decided just as Alexander's mother had, they did not have to ask one another nor would they ever bring it up. The fact that this was somehow a lie. That they were both willing to live it because this reality was preferable. That like so many other muggles they chose to see the world through a rose-colored lens. This was favorable...

The change would come in staggers of course. His parents reticent with each dawn, peering into Alexander's new bedroom as if they expected him to be gone. The evenings they stayed up late, his parents had taken a liking to box wine. Some might call it to excess but in truth it was one of the few things that quelled the demons in their own head and allowed them the respite of sleep.

Alexander's stay would be brief, he would have to return to Hogwarts just as his parents toddled into some semblance of a routine he would have to leave. This fantasy, this convenient lie would have to end. Still, there was a picture of a perfectly dysfunctional family. A large, bushy tree that filled the house with the scent of pine. The colorful baubles that covered every bit of green. A tree skirt that Alexander might recall from his youth, a bit faded with age, it was the age skirt his grandmother had used when he was very small. Home cooked meals, not the heavy fare Hogwarts offered but rather something for the moderately health conscious. His mother would say 'not as young as we used to be.' The exception being cookies, those buttery confectionaries loaded with sugar and cinnamon.

Christmas would pass -- gifts of socks and sweaters. He was one of the few muggle children with a PS4. Perhaps his father killed a second time to ensure that box was beneath the tree. When it was time for him to leave, they did not want him to go. To return to 'that school'. Yet all good things, even dreams, have to come to an end. His mother would cry. His father, had something in his eye. It would be on the car ride back to the station that he would see it, a clue stuffed beneath the seat of the car his father drove. The vehicle being one of the few things that remained unchanged.











There were also words, just a few. The ones that were most striking were the two of men. One read friend and the other read as foe. What an odd little book tucked away in a place that has been rarely touched, home of groceries rather than rears. Was this something his previous self had saved or was this something that was forgotten by a third party? Impossible to say, it could be just a red herring better left forgotten. Alexander had forgotten a great many things already, doubtful he was willing to forget any more.