Say What You Will Solo closed

Thomas would find adapting back to muggle life a much easier transition than Hogwarts. It’s easier to live your life when old ladies overdue for appointments at the nail salon aren’t following you around enforcing contracts and blood pacts. Not to say Auntie didn’t have her own distinct charm, having a fun way with words and endearing smooches to the cheek. Careful though, the maggots lurking in between those crooked teeth could find their way into your ear if you let the embrace go too long. Too much?

Of course the transition was not seamless. You don’t skip a couple grades of muggle studies and come back on beat. Not that Maya Galim was lacking due diligence in her teachings. A tough ask to cover the entire curriculum in a single class. Fortunately, his mother was well versed in the educational trends as a representative on the school board for New Romney. After electing to take leave from Hogwarts, daily sessions ensued to help Thomas grasp his new reality in stride.

Having encountered countless perils at Hogwarts and the battle scars to prove it, the rigors of a public high school dimmed in challenge. Life as a freshman could be tough. Though an argument could be made hag branding and distorted reflections carried a tad more trauma. Besides, Thomas was part of the hockey team, joining the ranks of overglorified youth athletes that get a slice of fame and typically peak too early like the writer of this post.

Stablility came with routine, after a few weeks Thomas was well adapted. Wake up at seven in the morning, have a half-assed breakfast and head to school. Classes carry on through late afternoon, followed by physical training and ice time with his hockey club until five in the evening. Ride the train back home, have dinner with his mother and enjoy his personal time. Which varied between a gaming system, watching professional hockey, or staring at his wand in mild temptation to turn the neighbor’s chihuahua into a…much larger chihuahua.

The mental battles did not simply dissipate, as when we tend to ignore our struggles, they return with a vengeance, evolve to piece us apart and deprive us of happiness. Thomas may have been temporarily content in his ignorance, but his mother was no stranger to managing mental health. Bi-weekly visits with the family therapist ensured a safety valve for not only Thomas, but for herself. Intermittently sitting in to help gain an understanding of what plagues him. But as is typical with adults and teenagers, the more we try to understand…the more confused we become.

An alternative to forcing yourself upon them is to establish your ear for landing when needed, not involving yourself unless requested of you. So this is what Madame Lestrange would do, patiently waiting for the time Thomas would come forward, tuning her into his reality the last few years. Silently hoping the day would come for it to come out.

Not that she didn’t get it, being a muggle. The gap of understanding was wide, and Adalynn’s insistence Thomas never return to Hogwarts would be permanent. The boy would not let that happen for Santario’s sake. His closest friend, confidant, and shoulder to cling when the boy could no longer stand on his own two feet. This relationship was the only thing tying him back to Hogwarts, despite his choices to return to New Romney, Thomas understood his path still went through Hogwarts.

Dear Santario,

Disregard our typical meeting place in Diagon, I won’t be on the train this year. I apologize I could not deliver this face to face, my mother insists I need time away from Hogwarts…and all connected to it. She very well may be right this time, but don’t worry, I’m still pretending to take the medication. I haven’t lost it. The school approved my leave for the first few months, hell… I bet they encouraged it, the way things have gone.

Which leads me to ask a favor: Can you cover the assignments and study sheets for our classes? I’ve already purchased everything off the memorandum, I’ll just need the content of each lesson, and homework. Doing everything I can to avoid study sessions with….god, I bet they pin me with Mr.Paine when I return. I’d rather not play guess who every weekend.

Check in if you can, I’d like to know what events lead the school ablaze this time.

Thomas paused for a moment, a progressive tremble in his hand as he considered how to close the letter. His mind traveling back to the day they shared in Jensen’s office. Not the setting, the tidy desk or prominent artifacts along her wall. Just the broken sapphire eyes peering down at him in confoundment, overtaken by a cloud of pain. Staring, piercing his soul until she slowly turned her visage to the side, a single tear rolling down her cheek. I’ll miss you….

His hand continued to shake, dropping his quill atop the parchment to feel his arm. Eyes wandering away, overtaken by his regret. A topic unaddressed to this day, never quite able to muster the strength to apologize. Softened blue eyes traveled to view the picture Thomas retained after their session in the dark room. It was of himself, black on black with a white rim on the bottom of his shoe to underline the appearance. A silent determination overcame the boy, retrieving his quill to sign off, but not with his name. The name he was given, and the name he would come to embrace. Reaper

Fast forward to: 20:00 hours, September 2nd, 2021.

On a late evening within an ice rink in New Romney, the sounds of a physical sport fueled a lively crowd. Skate blades digging into the ice, physical collisions that left the board perimeter rattling, the occasional verbal jabs issued by fussy teenage hockey players with metal cages around their face as per league regulations. Such as, you don’t want these hands.

Thomas was rounding into form, having worked his way to the third line, and a regular on the penalty kill. Yet distractions loomed on this night, his mind elsewhere. The opposing team had recognized this trend of positive play, viewing the boy as a threat. Teenage boys doing as they will, an opponent identified Thomas’ off the ice struggles, utilizing it as a way to get in his head.

Thomas, feeling better than he has in years, unaware that the cycle of highs and lows left the former far more brief… Nearing the descent once more. Thomas looked on from his team’s bench as the puck hit the ice, a collision of sticks battling for possession, sending it back towards his team’s possession. The defenseman took a few strides forward, sending the puck into the opposing zone. On his follow through, his stick caught the skate blade of an opponent, sending the boy down. The referee swiftly raised his arm, signifying a penalty. ”Tripping, two minutes in the box, 84!”

An impatient huff came from Thomas’ coach, eyeing Lestrange and nodding approval for him to hop on the ice for the penalty kill. In one swift motion, Thomas hopped over the boards to the ice, drifting towards the faceoff circle. On his route, an opponent found his shoulder briefly, bumping into him. ”Playing well, Lestrange. Too bad your father never gave a fuck about you.”.

https://youtu.be/l0Woa6p4xkw

Empty blue eyes in unison with unmoved feet, still drifting forward on the ice. Posture slanting down, eyes and head to follow, closing his eyes for several seconds while the offending boy took his place at the faceoff circle across him. Thomas Lestrange was always good at hiding. He’s learned to be. The Hogwarts student body’s series of scrutinizing interrogations, judgement for his decisions, and his allegiances. To be constantly questioned, to be doubted, ridiculed. Remaining blank in the face of adversity was second nature.

Who’s praying for me?

When we believe and embrace our insecurities, we are in a most vulnerable place. What’s worse, allowing our feelings to enclose, dictating our choices. To where there’s no choice to be made, only the reaction… and the aftermath. An emptiness lingered on Lestrange as he neared the faceoff circle, eyes climbing to connect the boy that just spoke to him. A collection of every resentment he’s had embodied in the sinister smirk of this boy.

The chief resentment being himself, he saw himself, staring right back. There was no period of processing this image, the flow of oxygen snipped, a breathless Lestrange undergoing a transformation. Eyes narrowed together with lowering brows to follow, tense fingers curling around his stick. A tightened jaw, pressed lips forming what appeared to be a grimace. The evolution of unfiltered rage, the opposing boy’s head remaining atop those shoulders now impending.

The ref neared to drop the puck, mistaking the look upon Thomas as a spirited competitive edge. When the puck was dropped onto the ice, a few more items fell with it. The gloves that Thomas wore, and the stick he previously held fell with it. In one swift motion, his hands rose to grip the boy’s cage, yanking it with every ounce of body strength he could summon towards the ice. He fell with the boy, though the first thing to impact the ice was the helmet. A sound even the furthest spectator would hear, followed by a collective gasp…and then collective silence. The only sound being impassioned roars from Thomas as he continuously attempted to slam this boy’s head through the ice surface.

Fortunately the ref was quick to tackle Thomas, followed by a few of the opposing players crowding around to get back at him. ”You’re DONE!”. The ref exclaimed, wrapping around a struggling Thomas to keep him down. Onlooking spectators looked down at the scene in despair. A few looks issued towards his mother, Adalynn. Hands traveling up to her head, thumbs placed upon her cheeks with her pointer fingers pressing against her temples..enclosing around her visage, just barely able to peer down at her son’s mess.

Fast forward to: September 3rd, 0827 hours, 2021.

It felt like the aftermath of a tragedy. Like a recovered addict caving to a trigger, erasing months or years of progress. A single moment, a split second decision, undoing countless hour of dedication to grow. Such is the fragility of life.

The morning held an ominous glow from the perspective of house Lestrange, a gloom that even left Adalynn Lestrange to sit up in bed far longer than her habitual morning routine demanded. Thomas no different, back to square one. The two occupied the same room, yet isolated.

What have I done wrong. Why can’t I help him. Please, just tell me what I need to do. I’ll do it.

You’re nothing, no one. You have no place in this world, a rotting crux. A hindrance to your mother’s happiness. A burden to your father. You’re no one.

A cuckoo clock activated at it’s 12 hour cycle, a rather obnoxious creation. A clock that occasionally has a bird pop out and cuckoos at you consecutively. Then abandons you for hours only to pop out again to yell at you. Though it’s not a pleasurable thing, waking up. A reminder we’re…still here. Still trapped in this world, left to cope. But for Adalynn and Thomas on this morning, the cuckoo clock held a significant reminder. A reminder that no matter what happens… life will always go on.

It’s a mindset Adalynn had to embrace for her son’s sake. She would not deny these hopeless enveloping feelings that held her in place, the lingering devilish whispers to simply give up on him. Though it is not who she was, and it is not who she was raising him to be. While the battle remains, so does her fight.

After a silent morning routine that consisted of a few phone calls to the school and hockey association to understand the punishment, she would find Thomas in his room. Unmoved in his bed since he woke, the scenes from the previous night running through his head. The comments from the opposing boy played again and again, as if employing his own torture tactic. How his control steadily dwindled.

She sat at the foot of his bed for some time, knowing the look on his face all too well. ”It’s time I gave you something, Thomas. You remember Alder, yeah?” She forced her lips up into a half-smile. ”He wanted you to have you something. Well, you’ve had it… that portrait of him and your father.” Motioning to a picture on Thomas’ desk, dusty and forgotten, buried behind a collection of scattered trinkets from Hogwarts. ”There’s a slot on the back for a key. I know I know, it doesn’t seem like anything can fit within, it’s too thin. Yet… when I asked him, he just looked at me and said “magic”.” She chuckled softly, shaking her head to herself. ”I should be used to it at this point.”

Thomas’ now trademark empty stare faded into a glance of curiousity over in the direction. ”I’ll get it.” She waved a hand to ensure he remain seated, retrieving the portrait and handing it to him. From her pocket the key she mentioned, presenting it between them. “He wanted me to wait until you were at least 16, but I don’t see how it could hurt at this point. I hope what you learn here gives you closure, Thomas.” She rose from her seat, wandering over to the door to exit, stopping at the door to issue parting words. “I’m sorry I was not strong enough to tell you myself.”

The boy gazed towards the window to consider her mother’s words, then grasped the portrait to view momentarily, twisting it around and placing the key within the slot. The portrait shook in his hand, leaving him to drop it upon the bed, scooting back to give it space. A process was initiated with various clunks of metal ringing from within, a small platform rose from the backside. A seal over the top that opened automatically to reveal….yes of course, another key.

Thomas peered down at the metallic key with a black finish, engraved with what he believed would signify his uncle’s initials. AL. Though when he reached out to touch, his world would quickly transform. The images of his quiet bedroom twisting away in a series of images of family history. From the Big Ben clock tower in London, to the beach front of New Romney, eventually landing him in front of a private residence.

A house that appeared no different than that of a middle class suburbian home. Several acres of land in all directions spanned to make up the horizon. Thomas was in an entirely new place, though still clinging to the key that appeared to identical to the slot at the home’s front door. Not ideal to enter this strange home in his pajamas, though at least he was not sporting his Train slippers on this morning. One foot after the other, he approached the door.

Various faceless NPCs present in this thread.

Trees of various shapes and sizes sporadically planted along the horizon, casting shadows along the bushy fields that vary from a golden yellow to a flourishing green. The setting sun hidden behind the only residence in what seemed like miles. A nourishing silence paired with a light breeze that left Thomas’ moppy brown hair fluttering gently atop his head.

Off behind the residence within a wooden face was a flock of sheep, echoing an alarm of this new visitor. Birds stirring in the trees nearest Thomas, soon to vacate and leave the clinging dead leaves to fall from the branches.

Thomas remained still in posture, tilting his head and circling the residence to ensure no surprises lingered behind. In his hand, the black key that was given to him by his mother. AL engraved, surely the initials of Alder Lestrange. Brother of Thomas’ late father, a man sparsely seen since the boy’s early days.

The prospect of truth drove his decisions from the moment he could process his father’s death. Having been provided a mixture of conflicting stories, closure has always eluded the boy. First told by his mother that the man deceased in a fire, after an attack from a group of men that took exception with his choice of spouse. Not that Adalynn had any baggage, this group disproved of her blood. A cardinal sin to allow a pureblood line tumble, and one his father was made to pay for.

When taken under the wing of a hag coven, Petunia showed him his reality. Visions of his father being kidnapped by school officials, Solomon Lear, Hjordis Jensen, and Alaric Equinox. Taking his father away on a broom, and just before he was no longer visible, he was sent off the broom… presumably falling to his death.

The conflicting stories clouded his perception, allowing his mind to dance away with the boy’s greatest horrors. Like in London, traveling with another Hogwarts student by the name of Aurelia, a sharp Gryffindor with a steady hand. The pair encountered a family boggart the girl was entrusted to contain when using. That night, Thomas saw his father once more, but he was in the garments reminiscent of a death eater.

Everything boiled down to this evening. Assuming Thomas was able to leave this home freely, he would not be the same. The possibility of another hag ploy to draw him in was not something he would ever rule out. Though the prospect of closure too enticing for the boy to exercise caution.

Key tightly gripped in hand, he approached the door. Twisting the key to send the latch aside, pressing his fingers against the glass centered on a wooden frame. The interior was dim, sporadic candles planted on the walls along a short hallway. The hallway would connect to the kitchen and dining room, on the left and right respectively. Notes of burnt bourbon and coffee filled the air.

Thomas would follow the light illuminating the floor through a door crack, continuing to find a fireplace with two steaming cups planted along a coffee table. A man in all black sit there with legs crossed and piercing blue eyes examining the boy as he enters. ”Thomas Lestrange. Come in on, you’re welcome to coffee. Your mother only just notified me of your arrival, excuse the mess.” Thomas’ eyes scanned the contents of the room to find everything in perfect order. Not a crooked frame or dusty crevice to be found.

”Now don’t appear so shy, this is not the first time we’ve met. Alder Lestrange, it is.” His accent was similar to Thomas in his mother, containing British-Welsh notes. Well spoken and clean, a musical quality underlining his pronunciation. The type of voice you’d hear on one of those meditation videos to help you sleep. Thomas complied, nerves muting his tongue in silent anticipation as he took his seat, anxiously peering across at the man.

”No matter, I can carry a conversation. Enjoy your coffee then, allow yourself to get more comfortable. That seat you’re in does recline. Quite nice, I must say. Good after a long day’s work. Not that a boy your age is familiar.” The man’s lips curled up slowly into a warm smile, nodding towards a handle that would initiate the reclining process. Thomas would do as he said, though his mouth remain frozen. The presence of his father’s direct brother left him uneasy, torn on the nature of this encounter.

The man took a deep breath, placing a notebook from his lap and onto the table between them. Thomas would not notice, but on the book’s crest was his own name. The boy corralled his warm cup of coffee, taking a short sip. Briefly picturing a semi-friend in Ami Procoppio, the image of her wasting away coffee atop a Gryffindor boy’s head. An image he found relieving in the moment.

Alder scanned the room in mild impatience, tapping his toes against the floor, stretching his neck in circular patterns, occasionally yawning as the pair sat there in silence. Thomas felt the warm beverage travel down his throat to his belly, offering a slight sensation of nausea and a painful reminder that he has not eaten. Not far removed from the incident on the ice, leaving him sulking.

”Alfred had a mean streak as well, you’ll learn to manage it in time. The mention of Thomas’ father shifted him into focus. His purpose for being here solidified for now, the topic of his father was more than enough to shake him from silence. Though when Thomas opened his mouth to speak, Alder quickly interjected. ”It’s too soon for that, we’re only just getting acquainted. Some of the answers you seek are right here on these walls, why don’t we take a tour?”

Thomas narrowed his eyes, a short nod in agreement as he set his coffee down. Rising up with Alder, following the man to different locations of his house. First, they traveled upstairs to a bedroom. A crib with many miles on it lay in the corner of a room, with various pictures of Thomas, along with his father and mother. In addition, other members of the Lestrange family that the boy was unfamiliar. A bunk bed was situated on the opposite side, a desk centered in between with a chest on top. Much like the rest of the house, the room was spotless.

There was one picture in particular that drew the boy’s eyes, slowly approaching in careful examination. His father stood with another woman that Thomas did not recognize, a baby in the woman’s hands. Also, a young girl standing in front of them, the father’s hands planted along her shoulders. All of them smiling, appearing happy. Thomas’ head turned towards Alder at his side, but eyes remained on the photo as he spoke. “Is that…?” In what was quickly becoming a theme, Alder swiftly interrupted the boy once more. ”The baby? No, that is not you. And yes, that is your father.”

Befuddling prospect, Thomas’ lips slowly parted with a scrutinizing gaze. ”Let’s keep moving.” Before Thomas could ask more, the man turned his heel in a fast pace to exit the room. The next location of interest was another bedroom with a traditional set up, bed in the center, a night stand, and dresser. Spotless once again, a scent of freshly polished wood. Alder placed his hand against the wall, sliding his palm along in search of a slight indent hardly visible unless you were looking for it. He grasped with his thumb and pointer, pulling it out until a metallic click was heard. The wall shifted to create a small opening, just wide enough to fit a man of average stature.

The man led Thomas through a thin hallway, connecting to a study. ”Your father’s place of escape, some of his artifacts remain. Examine as you like, you have his blessing to do so.” Thomas’ eyes lit up in awe, though the confusion would linger. Like a dog reluctant to take a treat. Underneath a glass case that appeared to be subdued by an enchantment, house robes and a wand. There were scattered books and loose parchment, ink wells and old quills piled into a black vase. A picture of just Thomas and his mother in a frame at the desk’s corner. ”I’ll give you some time, find me downstairs when you’re ready to talk.” Alder announced his departure, notably squeamish upon entering the room. An eagerness underlined his tone, followed by a soft hand on Thomas’ shoulder and eventual departure.

With Alder now vacated, Thomas took a seat at his father’s desk. Arms outstretched to rest, leaning back and resting his eyes. He would sit still, and imagine the room as if his father was there in his place. Reaching forward to open a single drawer, finding an envelope amidst scattered paperclips, more parchment, loose change and other useless items he appeared to dump. The envelope had Thomas Lestrange written on it, but when the boy looked inside there was nothing to find. Still, he would store this envelope in his pocket.

Half an hour later, he would find his uncle on the couch he sat prior, legs crossed and coffee in hand. Once again scanning through the notebook Thomas had seen prior. ”You found the letter.” Alder motioned to the empty envelope that slightly stuck out of his pocket. Not that Thomas made any effort to hide it, it was addressed to him after all. ”One of many, it is all documented in this.” The man presented the aforementioned book with Thomas’ name on the crest for him to hold.

”Read the first page, would you. Then I will answer what questions you have, and send you back to your mother before she begins to worry.” When opening the book, Thomas would find the pages of parchment were placed in there manually. Some pages out of place, slightly torn. The first page notably weathered, rife with water stains.

October 20th, 2010

I received another threat on my way to work today. It was not for me, but my wife and son. My fear for their safety grows with each day. Adalynn thinks we should move once more, I know she’s right. For the first time, I’ve hid something from her. The man today made an offer that I must consider. If I leave them both, no harm will come. Renounce the boy as my son, and divorce my love.

”Much like you, your father was a writer. I’ve compiled countless letters addressed to you, withheld by your mother over the years. Thomas, I urge you to consider that everything your mother did was to protect you. She resented your father for his decision to leave for quite some time, now she’s letting go so you can know the truth. She’ll need your support through this. I don’t think she could handle seeing another Lestrange turn their back on her.”

We go on hurting each other


Information overload has a way of dulling our emotions, delaying the release for a time on our times. Much like his normal, Thomas appeared empty, clinging to one thought. “Father is alive?” Alder offered a shy nod. ”Yes, he is alive. He started a new family in Wales with two kids. You have two siblings keen to meet you, but at the proper time. When you’re grown and capable to protect yourself. You will have to remain patient. We have relatives that do not approve, they may take drastic action if you were to be seen with your father. Th-”

It was Thomas’ time to interject, his face has grown sour. Pressing his lips together as is typical when he’s grown impatient. Eyes revealing a glint of anger, but mostly the pain that comes with feeling abandoned. ”I wish he was dead.” Thomas tossed the notebook back to his uncle, rising from his seat in one swift motion. Heart rate accelerated as he briskly walked to the exit. His ears begin to ring, drowning out the sounds from his uncle calling his name.

To be continued.