Closed Holding on for Life solo and PV

Chapter One ★ Atrophy

Even though he had expected some kind of push back, given how upset his parents had been about rooming with Darius the year prior, he did not receive any protest to his idea to spend the summer in Umbria with his father at work. Perhaps it was because it suited them to have him somewhere they could watch, or they found a way to use it against him. Maybe they had returned to apathy. As he left one train for another, erring away from the practiced path home, he couldn't help but feel the same ominous dread he always felt when leaving Hogwarts. It was almost the same as sitting on the bench, knowing you could be called into the game at any moment.

There was a comfort though, he would have his own room, his own cottage. Maybe with fewer restrictions on his schedule, and a warmer, more comfortable environment, he'd finally be able to overcome his tragic sleep cycle. At the beginning of the year, he was in a near frenzy, easy to rile and nearing an outburst at any minor provocation. As the year wore on, and the pain became familiar, he stopped trying to overcome it. He sacrificed his happiness and his health to try to be normal, then got them back at the loss of existing. He retreated from events, people, and hobbies. He felt himself returning to irrelevancy, wondering if he would slip silently off the mortal coil.

This of course was not normal for a boy his age, let alone one as devoted to his fitness and learning as Flash was. Lack of sleep is a monster that could fell any mortal foe, and his only hope was to fix that. Without sleep, he was doomed. Working during the day and having the evening to himself seemed like an elegant solution. He wouldn't have to sleep in the room he hated, wondering whether any of the other family members would see fit to knock on his door and ask him prying questions. He spent the ride in silence, sometimes reading, one time dozing off. At other times, he'd stare out the window, content to watch the landscape skate by with cautious optimism.

Once he had reached the closest station to the stable, Flash would spot a driver holding a sign. It said 'Demetrius.' In the mask of his anonymity yet, he would scowl. At this point, he had lived so much of his life being 'Flash,' it would create an immediate disconnect. He couldn't understand their refusal to call him by the name he preferred, it seemed like pure vanity. What kind of parents named their child 'Demetrius' anyway? The way Flash's life had been going, the issue now felt so trivial. He had half a mind to tell his father off to his face. Instead, Flash would simple approach the man and be led to the car in a polite manor. After all, he had nothing to do with his father's insistence on legal names.

During the car ride, Flash bitterly imagined the plot to a film, where an idealized version of his holiday played out-- his father greeted him at the station, curious to hear about Flash's life. They would go outside, where two horses were hitched, and they would take a long walk back to the stables as the sun set. Flash was very emotional young child, perhaps a bit more than parents their age could handle. Growing up, Flash had always badly wanted his father to be interested in him, had worked himself mad to be impressive and worthy of praise. Now, he couldn't help but see him as another person, one he had not yet truly been given the opportunity to know. How much he would learn about him would depend entirely on him-- Christoph Holmwood.

Most of what Flash knew about his father had been things he was told, usually by his mother, or the staff. He had plenty of occasions to talk to his father as well, but he wasn't exactly a verbose person. Conversations were short. Flash himself understood to some degree-- he was not overly fond of talking to children himself-- but he wondered how their relationship might change as Flash matured. He had never needed to consider it before, never needed to question why they did what they did. It was only after making friends, and realizing how starved for attention he was, that his treatment was called into question. But also, they must have had their reasons. Behavior was predictable, it was a choice people made. Choices were informed by information, and Flash was exactly the kind of curious person who wanted to understand everything.

Of course, there was only so much stress he could handle. It had been quite the stressful year already, and Flash was not looking forward to a continued existence with this curse. It was do or die, and he was going to need to heavily rely on the friends he had made along the way. He had to overcome the fear of disappointing them, had to focus on surviving. He had tried plenty of ways to return to his normal life, but it had been in vain. This was his life now, and he instead started to adapt to it. In a way, it had freed him from much of the pretense he based his life on-- his need to be liked, his attempts to be unproblematic and superior. However, alongside the reality check came a loss of innocence. His trust had been betrayed, his idea of what was too far had stretched.

In short, he didn't know if he'd have the patience to deal with his parents on top of that. For now, he was glad to take advantage of their offer to allow him to stay mostly out of the way. He had received correspondence from his sister Marius not long after his letter to his father, but it had only said that the family had been informed, and that Zarkov would be sent to the stable in Umbria for Flash to continue taking care of. They were always very insistent that Flash spend time with this horse, a thing he partially accepted, and partially detested. He would be taking care of horses either way, so it wasn't as though he'd be adding any extra work by being there, but there was something upsetting about him. It reminded him of when he got him, when he was a fresh-faced young colt, staring him down on the worst birthday of his life.

Many such thoughts rolled around in his head, like pushing a grindstone. He thought about his mother and father, how many children they raised, and what their lives must have been like before he was born. Recent events had made him somewhat more prone to such daydreaming, as he was often too exhausted to do much else. Momentarily he would distract himself by moving Nicodemus' cage to his lap, where he could covertly open the door and pet him on the head with his forefinger. He had experienced worse birthdays since then, and he had even gone so far as to purchase a pet. After a while of dwelling on it, Flash resolved to try to open up to the horse, the same way Bridget had convinced him to open up to his rat.

Once the car pulled up a long road far from the highways, the archway and wooden fences could be seen slowly pulling closer. They would designate the large swath of beautiful open land around them-- Lake District Stables. Flash had never visited this one before, so it would be as alien to him as it would be to any other first time visitor. The atmosphere of one of his father's stables would not be too dissimilar though, as years ago, he used to love being invited to work at one of them. Of course, at the age he used to be, he was hardly really 'working,' so much as he was helping with voluntary menial tasks that weren't too difficult. Delivering a bucket of food, refilling water, handing over a message. This summer promised to be actual work, this time he had been asked to go to his father's office to sign some paperwork.

Once Flash had exited the car however, there were people there to receive him. One person said they would take his things to the cottage and another was there to guide him to the office personally. This was likely commonplace, the cottage was regularly rented out to vacationers, along with two others dotted among the rich mountainous countryside. It was an idyllic area, and the Holmwood family owned stretches of it dedicated to the horses' enrichment. It only made sense to sell that same enrichment to humans at the same time, and was especially popular to rich horse owners who wanted to travel alongside their steed. Flash, as usual, felt comfortable being out in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by nature. The relative quietness of it all appealed to him, quite a change from Valerius' flat.

As far as Flash could tell, it was an almost entirely Muggle-run operation. Before Flash's mother married him, Christoph and the rest of the Holmwoods owned a generations-old bloodstock agency. Once part of French aristocracy, they eventually made a name for themselves throughout history, enough that the wealth multiplied to fantastic proportions. Now, they were diversified and invested. They owned two more stables like this one, and introduced the patronage of the entire magical community. The sheer acreage of land they owned was all the perspective one needed to know how wealthy the family was. Flash had taken it for granted when he was young, as it was all he had ever known, but he was more humble now. He knew the amount of work he was doing would not actually be enough to afford the cottage he was staying in, he was being given preferential treatment. He was lucky.

Once Flash entered the central building, he and his escort traversed up a long set of stairs the the second level, passing several grand portraits of famous horses in heavy paint. Inside the room, there was more muted light through the half-curtained windows and towers of books. It was not very different from his father's study at home, Flash's eyes would flit around in wonder of what kinds of books his father was reading. Before he could read any spines though, he'd be addressed.

"Good afternoon, Demetrius. My lord, look how you've grown." His father would beam at him as he talked.


Naturally, Flash would smile too. All of the morose introspection in the long, quiet car ride would be vanished at the sight of a smile. No matter the circumstance, Flash was grateful. He would walk to the chair adjacent to his father's desk and take a seat. Unlike with Valerius, Flash wasn't sporting a eyepatch on his face. Instead, he had a blue eye contact that he acquired from his retainer. He had managed to secure a shipment of them, along with the eye drops he would need to put them in. Even though Flash had arguably just been taught a lesson about hiding things from other people, he was fine with deceiving his family. So long as it was mutual, he saw no reason to share his life with them.

"Please call me Flash." He would insist, looking at his father directly after having sat down. "It's good to see you. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Christoph's smile would falter, clearly made momentarily uncomfortable by Flash's insistence. Before, Flash would feel ashamed for causing such an effect, but now, he just wanted to know why it was happening.

"Of course. Are you saying you're going to ask the whole staff to call you that?" He would waste no time before addressing the issue. "You do know you have to sign these documents as Demetrius, right?"

Flash would cast his eyes dejectedly to the corner, sighing. "Yes, I know." Then, he'd cross his arms over his chest, ready to be petulant for as long as it took before his parents found it unbearable. Then what... he didn't know. He was just tired of covering up his hurt so that they wouldn't have to be inconvenienced by it.

The conversation would continue on professionally, with Flash being shown and explained the volunteer agreement, the basic schedule, and tasks. Most of it were things Flash was already fairly well acquainted with, and he would always be supervised beyond that. In essence, he was just another set of hands. He would be finishing work around 17:00-18:00 depending on the day, and they would be working on an expansion project while he was there. That was why his father was there in the first place, to supervise and make decisions about the expansion as it was being carried out. He was given a pamphlet that had a map of the buildings, including the secluded cottage he'd be living in.

He'd be reminded again that he was as good as a muggle while out here, but Flash was already prepared for that. He was a physical person anyway, his jogging and Quidditch playing being a constant the last three years. He'd not bellyache about not getting to use magic, as he hardly trusted it to begin with. At times, he wished he was just as oblivious as his father had been before he met his mother. Flash wondered, was he amazed, or was he frightened when he saw?

"Alright. Will I see you at breakfast?" Tucking the pamphlet into his carry bag, Flash would stand up from his seat, long past tired and ready to settle in for the evening.

"I usually eat in my office. Feel free to come and join me once you grab something from the kitchen."

Smiling again, Flash would wave before saying goodbye and leaving. The way the stables were set up, one could ride their horse to their cottage and either store them in a private stall or let them graze there. Since it was late, and Flash was so tired, he did not desire all of the extra work of suiting Zarkov up, only to dress him down again once they reached the cottage. He would deal with that later, and simply walk.