17 Sep 2020, 21:26
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander stood before a door in a residential downtown neighborhood of Cambridge. A generally nice upper-class home in a nice neighborhood. Front yard gardens, back yard gardens, nice roads and a population of mostly middle-aged people. All in all, one of the most stereotypical quiet neighborhoods that could be found in Britain. One where nothing unusual could really happen.@Solomon Lear
And yet he, one of the most unusual things you could find, was standing in front of this door. This wooden door with white paint on it. Creating a vague floral like pattern. One which he would never have paid any mind to if it had been any other house. Any other house that did not have a sign with 'Varellion' besides the front door.
Which had helped a whole lot in the search for this house. Because whatever could be said about the family, it certainly did have a unique last name. One that was not matched by any other in Britain.
A fact which had helped him quite a lot after he had searched in London.
First he had gone to his parents old apartment in London. He had not expected his parents to be there and his expectations were right. When he called the apartment for if any Varellions still lived in the apartment he only got the voice of a man quite a bit younger than his father. Probably around their 30's. Who had responded quietly enough, but who 'did not know anything about any Varellions'.
This had led him to the London public library, where he had used one of the public computers to look up an online phone-book.
He had first asked the librarian if they had any modern phonebooks, but the Librarian had said that they had stopped producing those years ago.
But the online phone-book worked just as well. And with it it was quite easy to find his parents. Since there was only one family named Varellion in the entirety of Britain. Perhaps even the world. And it was nice enough to give him the exact address as well.
That had subsequently led him to return to King Cross station and buy a ticket to Cambridge. One from 7PM-8:30PM, though before he left he did grab some fish and chips. Which had dwindled the amount of british pounds he had. After that, he had just enough left to get a 23 pound ticket to Cambridge. Then after quite a bit of walking he stood , at 9:30PM. It was dark outside and a faint light came from behind close curtains.
On top of that a car was parked in front of his house. Which meant that at least one of his parents were there.
His heart was pumping rapidly, he felt the rhythmic thumping near his addam's apple and he could not remember feeling this nervous before. Not even facing off against the giant spider. A prospect which one would not have imagined scarier than knocking on the door, but was in fact so much more. He could barely even breath now, but he had to do it. He could not run away from his problems, no matter how much he would like to. So instead he took in a final deep breath.
Then he pointed his finger and pushed the button. Moments after he heard the ringing of the bell and his blood went cold.
Adam Varellion née van Leiden (Alex's father):
Reducio
A muggle chemist. Specializes in helping companies with large scale chemical projects. Often aiding with the streamlining of production and assisting in the setting up of production lines.
Is generally a stern person, but kind to Alexander. Has brownish hair (used to have lighter hair in his youth), relatively tall.
Is of Dutch origin
A muggle chemist. Specializes in helping companies with large scale chemical projects. Often aiding with the streamlining of production and assisting in the setting up of production lines.
Is generally a stern person, but kind to Alexander. Has brownish hair (used to have lighter hair in his youth), relatively tall.
Is of Dutch origin
Kathrina Varellion née Möller:
Reducio
A muggle software specialist. Generally works with pharmaceutical companies.
Is blonde of hair and is seen as quite harsh and determined by her co-workers. But was a kind mother to her son.
A muggle software specialist. Generally works with pharmaceutical companies.
Is blonde of hair and is seen as quite harsh and determined by her co-workers. But was a kind mother to her son.
Last edited by Alexander Varellion on 1 Jan 2021, 19:35, edited 1 time in total.
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
18 Sep 2020, 17:59
Cambridge Conundrums
They were home. Alexander would hear a distant voice through the closed door, I think there is someone at the door. There was the usual shuffling about, confused disorganization that came from an unannounced visitor at such a late hour. I'll get it.No, I will get it. A voice in debate with seemingly themselves grew progressively louder. Alexander would know the voice, it belonged to his mother.
The sound of something heavy being moved was followed by the sound of a deadbolt being unlocked as well as a simple lock with the audible spin of a tumbler. Finally the tap of a chain accompanied by a sliding bar. It would seem as if they took security seriously. Interesting, Cambridge seemed like such a nice city.
He could see her silhouette through the frosted glass of the front door. The door would open and the image he saw would not he the image he expected. Indeed, his mother was standing on the other side of the door. Her blonde hair pulled back still, she had spent the day in the office. Her tresses were tired but her hairspray and bobby pins were working overtime. She was wearing a pair of cloth house pants and a plain tank top. In her hands, a baseball bat. It was Alexander's, it appeared to have a new use since his alleged death.
She would never swing the bat. The color would drain from her face as she saw him, Alexander. Her son, who died over a year ago. She remembered burying him. She remembered looking at his empty room, it was absolute anguish. She wanted to keep it exactly as it was, but it looked like he should be coming home any day when she had. It was a lie that kept the wounds open, they were not able to heal. Her head swam, the ground moved and her body went numb. She did not even realize she was tipping backwards, that gravity was pulling her down. "B-but you're de--" she never finished the phrase, she fell backwards, hitting her head on the floor.
"Kathy?
...Kathrina?"
There was banging, shuffling. Something heavy was dropped and it clattered on the floor. Alexander might notice if he was not swept up in his mother's most recent head injury, the boxes that lined the foyer. They had moved in recently, they were still unpacking. On the top of the stairs, he would see a pair of legs rapidly descend. The interloper would see Kathrina first, her fallen, unconscious form. The unswung bat at her side, loosely gripped in her hand.
"OH god," he rushed down the stairs without even looking at the likely flabbergasted boy. He would snatch the bat from the ground and shout as he spun around, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!" Then he would see what Alex had done to her. It was not an act, it was a presence. Not that he believed in ghosts, a rather analytical mind. He was not one to presume that the unexplained was supernatural, despite the revelation that there was in fact magic in this world. Magic to change and transform. Magic to perhaps ... bring back the dead? The bat clattered onto the floor and time would briefly pause. This had to be a joke. A trick. A hallucination.
His hand shook, he did not say anything as his hand felt about his pocket. His cellphone. His link to the outside world. The phone would jiggle in his hand, almost fall to the ground next to his wife. In a shaking voice, his eyes never leaving Alexander he would mutter into the phone. "I-it's happening... a-nother break I think? Kath-y, is hurt this time too. Oh god, what have I done!"
The sound of something heavy being moved was followed by the sound of a deadbolt being unlocked as well as a simple lock with the audible spin of a tumbler. Finally the tap of a chain accompanied by a sliding bar. It would seem as if they took security seriously. Interesting, Cambridge seemed like such a nice city.
He could see her silhouette through the frosted glass of the front door. The door would open and the image he saw would not he the image he expected. Indeed, his mother was standing on the other side of the door. Her blonde hair pulled back still, she had spent the day in the office. Her tresses were tired but her hairspray and bobby pins were working overtime. She was wearing a pair of cloth house pants and a plain tank top. In her hands, a baseball bat. It was Alexander's, it appeared to have a new use since his alleged death.
She would never swing the bat. The color would drain from her face as she saw him, Alexander. Her son, who died over a year ago. She remembered burying him. She remembered looking at his empty room, it was absolute anguish. She wanted to keep it exactly as it was, but it looked like he should be coming home any day when she had. It was a lie that kept the wounds open, they were not able to heal. Her head swam, the ground moved and her body went numb. She did not even realize she was tipping backwards, that gravity was pulling her down. "B-but you're de--" she never finished the phrase, she fell backwards, hitting her head on the floor.
"Kathy?
...Kathrina?"
There was banging, shuffling. Something heavy was dropped and it clattered on the floor. Alexander might notice if he was not swept up in his mother's most recent head injury, the boxes that lined the foyer. They had moved in recently, they were still unpacking. On the top of the stairs, he would see a pair of legs rapidly descend. The interloper would see Kathrina first, her fallen, unconscious form. The unswung bat at her side, loosely gripped in her hand.
"OH god," he rushed down the stairs without even looking at the likely flabbergasted boy. He would snatch the bat from the ground and shout as he spun around, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!" Then he would see what Alex had done to her. It was not an act, it was a presence. Not that he believed in ghosts, a rather analytical mind. He was not one to presume that the unexplained was supernatural, despite the revelation that there was in fact magic in this world. Magic to change and transform. Magic to perhaps ... bring back the dead? The bat clattered onto the floor and time would briefly pause. This had to be a joke. A trick. A hallucination.
His hand shook, he did not say anything as his hand felt about his pocket. His cellphone. His link to the outside world. The phone would jiggle in his hand, almost fall to the ground next to his wife. In a shaking voice, his eyes never leaving Alexander he would mutter into the phone. "I-it's happening... a-nother break I think? Kath-y, is hurt this time too. Oh god, what have I done!"
Some stories should never be told...
27 Sep 2020, 19:39
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander let out a large and tired sigh. It could never be easy could it. It was foolish of him to have expected anything else. To expect that perhaps it would be a happy reunion with hugs kisses and heartfelt confessions. It had never been going to happen and to have thought such was a chilidsh dream. Yet he had still held that hope. That perhaps for a moment his trials and tribulations could be brought to a rest by happy reunion of family.
But the letter should have forewarned him. Warned him of the fact that things were not going to be easy. Otherwise they would not be thinking that he was dead. Really it had been a stupid mistake of him, to carry hope for something so unlikely. A mistake he would have to take care not to repeat in the future. Yet even as he thought so, he could not help but feel his eyes getting wet and feeling the moisture in them. The physical expressions of his sadness. How much had he cried ? He remembered a lot, but really what did that account for. Probably not even a bottlecap really. Yet it felt as if he had cried enough in the last two months to fill a 0,5 liter can.
Now, rather than crying there was only a faint wet sensation in his eyes. He had already cried so many tears.... they were just empty now. So much had been cried that it had lost much of it's meaning, replaced only by the far worse void inside his heart. That emptiness which now haunted him after every new tragic revelation.
Then Alexander straightened and took a breath of air, steadying himself. Because he could not simply wallow in self-pity. Because even though he had been hurt by all that had happened, so had his parents. And by the look of it they had perhaps been harmed even worse. Probably because they thought that he was dead. A pain which he could barely comprehend.
It was bad enough having your parents think that you were dead. But having one's only child die (or their child in general) was a pain he could acknowledge was even greater. Even if that was hard to admit in the current state.
He walked calmly, and with deliberate movement towards his father. He wondered how he could feel so calm, but rationally he supposed that he might be used to this kind of things now. As well as the fact that things would hit even harder when he got a moment for himself and calm. When the adrenaline had retreated from his body.
As he did so he was sure to keep an eye on his father so that he would not take any rash actions. Or so that he could at least react quickly if necessary. He then held his hands out and softly touched and clasped the hand of his father. Looking him straight in the eyes and saying softly. "It's me dad. I am alive. It is all alright. It is all alright."
But the letter should have forewarned him. Warned him of the fact that things were not going to be easy. Otherwise they would not be thinking that he was dead. Really it had been a stupid mistake of him, to carry hope for something so unlikely. A mistake he would have to take care not to repeat in the future. Yet even as he thought so, he could not help but feel his eyes getting wet and feeling the moisture in them. The physical expressions of his sadness. How much had he cried ? He remembered a lot, but really what did that account for. Probably not even a bottlecap really. Yet it felt as if he had cried enough in the last two months to fill a 0,5 liter can.
Now, rather than crying there was only a faint wet sensation in his eyes. He had already cried so many tears.... they were just empty now. So much had been cried that it had lost much of it's meaning, replaced only by the far worse void inside his heart. That emptiness which now haunted him after every new tragic revelation.
Then Alexander straightened and took a breath of air, steadying himself. Because he could not simply wallow in self-pity. Because even though he had been hurt by all that had happened, so had his parents. And by the look of it they had perhaps been harmed even worse. Probably because they thought that he was dead. A pain which he could barely comprehend.
It was bad enough having your parents think that you were dead. But having one's only child die (or their child in general) was a pain he could acknowledge was even greater. Even if that was hard to admit in the current state.
He walked calmly, and with deliberate movement towards his father. He wondered how he could feel so calm, but rationally he supposed that he might be used to this kind of things now. As well as the fact that things would hit even harder when he got a moment for himself and calm. When the adrenaline had retreated from his body.
As he did so he was sure to keep an eye on his father so that he would not take any rash actions. Or so that he could at least react quickly if necessary. He then held his hands out and softly touched and clasped the hand of his father. Looking him straight in the eyes and saying softly. "It's me dad. I am alive. It is all alright. It is all alright."
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
2 Oct 2020, 00:07
Cambridge Conundrums
Nothing seemed willing to go Alexander's way. He had found his parents, they had believed him dead but there he was standing in flesh and bone. What had he expected? His parents had spent months in therapy, both grief counseling and couples therapy. Alexander's death had been a strain on more than their mental health, also their relationship. It was easier to blame each other than themselves but each had developed a sense of self-loathing. Sleepless nights had made their grip on reality fleeting and painful. Often they would think they heard him. Think they saw his likeness in crowds. Saw him in their old home, that being why they moved from Alexander's childhood home.
He was never there, it was not a feat of magic, but rather the product of their grief-stricken imagination. What was before him now was yet another delusion, the lie he so sorely wanted to be true. His instinct was to fight, but to fight what? An illusion? No, deny the reality as it was displayed before him. "No. No. Nope! NO!" A senseless seeming manta, a reminder more than anything. "Dead.Died."
Alexander would approached, his father's grip on the bat would tighten but he would not swing. He wanted to but he could not assail the imaginary image. "Stop it," he hissed with a grimace.
Alexander's fingertips touched his father's hand. He had never felt them before. "It's me dad. I am alive. It is all alright. It is all alright." Alexander reinforced.
Alexander's father would tighten and quiver. "...Alexander?" A nightmare. A dream? It did not matter, he was going to live in it. He wrapped his arms around Alexander and pulled the teen close. He was crying. He did not care. His grip tight. He was sobbing. "Your dead. You're dead!"
He was never there, it was not a feat of magic, but rather the product of their grief-stricken imagination. What was before him now was yet another delusion, the lie he so sorely wanted to be true. His instinct was to fight, but to fight what? An illusion? No, deny the reality as it was displayed before him. "No. No. Nope! NO!" A senseless seeming manta, a reminder more than anything. "Dead.Died."
Alexander would approached, his father's grip on the bat would tighten but he would not swing. He wanted to but he could not assail the imaginary image. "Stop it," he hissed with a grimace.
Alexander's fingertips touched his father's hand. He had never felt them before. "It's me dad. I am alive. It is all alright. It is all alright." Alexander reinforced.
Alexander's father would tighten and quiver. "...Alexander?" A nightmare. A dream? It did not matter, he was going to live in it. He wrapped his arms around Alexander and pulled the teen close. He was crying. He did not care. His grip tight. He was sobbing. "Your dead. You're dead!"
Alexander's mother remained unconscious on the floor.
Some stories should never be told...
8 Oct 2020, 21:39
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander let out a tired sigh. Seeing the state of his father and there was a tugging to his heartstrings. But still, inside him the most prevelant thing was the emptiness. The lack of being. Which might at the moment be for the best, since it made sure that he was calm and not panicking like his parents. He breathed softly.
He would envelop his father's hands with his own, look him in the eye and speak calmly and with clear and honest intent. "Dad, look me in the eyes"
Then he would squeeze tighter and swallow. A small bit of nervousness still making it through. "A lot happened. A lot that I don't remember as well. But I am here. I am alive and I am physically well. We can talk about what happened for hours, but the short of it, is that what happened is because of magic. Even if you saw me dead, it was not me."
A final sigh left Alexander. ""Let's go sit at the couch. Drink some water, calm down and get mom up from the floor. You can pinch my hand and your own hand as much as you want. You can blink, you can rub your eyes and I will still be here. Because this is not a dream or crazy hallucination."
Even as he spoke he could not help but wonder what was really the reason behind all this. Having him lose his memories, letting his parents think he was dead, what benefit did it have ? Why would someone go through all this effort to let his parents believe he was dead. Was it himself or some other force ? What had really happened in those missing years, that period of time which had been vanished from his memories. What was hidden and who tried to hide it ?
He did not know, but seeing the tear-stricken and his deeply hurt father. Someone who was hurt deeply to his core, who had felt the greatest loss a parent could have, it awakened something in him. Something which had been slowly burning in his heart but was now fed and growing. A true hatred, of whoever was behind it. Behind the thing which had forced him through this path. The people who hadn't let him be just another wizard, calmly going through school and having a happy life. But who had instead turned his life into a mess, partially turned him into a mess. He knew nothing of the why's when and how or even if it would happen. BUt if it did..............
Alexander blinked and realized he had drifted off. And was now rapidly breathing. Thus he calmed and gave a small smile and said. "We should probaply move mom on a couch."
He would envelop his father's hands with his own, look him in the eye and speak calmly and with clear and honest intent. "Dad, look me in the eyes"
Then he would squeeze tighter and swallow. A small bit of nervousness still making it through. "A lot happened. A lot that I don't remember as well. But I am here. I am alive and I am physically well. We can talk about what happened for hours, but the short of it, is that what happened is because of magic. Even if you saw me dead, it was not me."
A final sigh left Alexander. ""Let's go sit at the couch. Drink some water, calm down and get mom up from the floor. You can pinch my hand and your own hand as much as you want. You can blink, you can rub your eyes and I will still be here. Because this is not a dream or crazy hallucination."
Even as he spoke he could not help but wonder what was really the reason behind all this. Having him lose his memories, letting his parents think he was dead, what benefit did it have ? Why would someone go through all this effort to let his parents believe he was dead. Was it himself or some other force ? What had really happened in those missing years, that period of time which had been vanished from his memories. What was hidden and who tried to hide it ?
He did not know, but seeing the tear-stricken and his deeply hurt father. Someone who was hurt deeply to his core, who had felt the greatest loss a parent could have, it awakened something in him. Something which had been slowly burning in his heart but was now fed and growing. A true hatred, of whoever was behind it. Behind the thing which had forced him through this path. The people who hadn't let him be just another wizard, calmly going through school and having a happy life. But who had instead turned his life into a mess, partially turned him into a mess. He knew nothing of the why's when and how or even if it would happen. BUt if it did..............
Alexander blinked and realized he had drifted off. And was now rapidly breathing. Thus he calmed and gave a small smile and said. "We should probaply move mom on a couch."
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
10 Oct 2020, 04:01
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander's poor mother was still unconscious in the foyer. Yeah, the sitting room would be better than the doorway. The commotion they were making had not drawn a noticeable crowd, but prying neighbors. Still, he was uncertain. It just was not possible. He had been gone for so long. Gone. Dead. What sort of wizard was he! There was a spark of fear in Alexander's father's heart as he again appraised the boy, the seemingly very much alive boy.
He would approach the front door and shut the door firmly, locking the door with the twist of his fingers. The audible click and he knew the door was locked but all the same he slid the deadbolt in place, looking back at Alexander as if he would disappear any time. That this would be a waking dream, another sign that he had lost his grip on reality.
Alexander was still there and his wife was still on the floor. A trickle of blood, she had hit her head on her way down. "Geeze," he muttered. "So sorry hun," he exhaled as he slid an arm under her limp form and unsteadily attempted to lift her in his arms. She was not as light as she used to be and... his back was not what it once was either. A jolt of pain down an ass cheek and a single leg he took a teetering step forward and then another. A narrow hall, he used the wall to brace them as he made his way into a small but cozy living room.
It was nothing like Hogwarts. If there was a style called "muggle contemporary" this would be it. Clean, bright yet small spaces. Furniture made within the last decade. Modern electric comforts Alexander had not seen in some time, such as a television. What the space lacked however, was memories. This was not the home he grew up in. There were pictures and decorations but there were no photographs. This was a house, not a home.
His father would lay his mother on the couch. Her head on a throw pillow. "Sit wherever you want... Alexander," he hesitated as if the name felt wrong to say. "Tell me what happened? Where have you been?"
He would approach the front door and shut the door firmly, locking the door with the twist of his fingers. The audible click and he knew the door was locked but all the same he slid the deadbolt in place, looking back at Alexander as if he would disappear any time. That this would be a waking dream, another sign that he had lost his grip on reality.
Alexander was still there and his wife was still on the floor. A trickle of blood, she had hit her head on her way down. "Geeze," he muttered. "So sorry hun," he exhaled as he slid an arm under her limp form and unsteadily attempted to lift her in his arms. She was not as light as she used to be and... his back was not what it once was either. A jolt of pain down an ass cheek and a single leg he took a teetering step forward and then another. A narrow hall, he used the wall to brace them as he made his way into a small but cozy living room.
It was nothing like Hogwarts. If there was a style called "muggle contemporary" this would be it. Clean, bright yet small spaces. Furniture made within the last decade. Modern electric comforts Alexander had not seen in some time, such as a television. What the space lacked however, was memories. This was not the home he grew up in. There were pictures and decorations but there were no photographs. This was a house, not a home.
His father would lay his mother on the couch. Her head on a throw pillow. "Sit wherever you want... Alexander," he hesitated as if the name felt wrong to say. "Tell me what happened? Where have you been?"
Some stories should never be told...
12 Oct 2020, 21:40
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander internally winced as he saw his father slowly stumble whilst carrying mom. Seeing the slight shiver and the grimaced teeth. The tense expressions as they both slowly carried his mother.
He always remembered his dad talking about his back problems. But from what he remembered it had not been this bad when he left Hogwarts. Though it could also be attributed to the fact that he was younger and less attentive then. Taking things more for granted. Though a combination of the two was the most likely reason that he had noticed it before.
He would grunt as well as he carried his mother. Though he was young, he had never been strong. Even compared to those of the same age as him. He was studious, nimble and accurate yes, but never strong. But he pushed through feeling the pressure on his arms. How they slowly weakened as they semi-hurriedly went towards the couch. When Kathrina was finally put on the couch Alexander let out a relieved sigh. Put his hands on his hips as he breathed heavily for a few moments. He would then sit on the couch with the window behind it.
He felt slightly uncomfortable sitting there, knowing his back was turned to any danger and with no vision of what could approach him. But to face towards the............what was it, tv ? Yeah tv that was the word. To face towards the tv would mean sitting on his unconscious mother. Which was certainly not a good idea.
But he pushed through the unpleasantness and sat on the couch. Even as he felt the tingle at the back of his head causing him to scratch it. This was followed by another sigh as he slightly leaned into the couch and folded his hands. Carefully listening to his father speak.
After that he would put his hands on his face, around his nose and move downwards. A motion he unconsciously used when stressed out and in an uncomfortable silence. Like back when his parents argued with his grandparents and he had to uncomfortably sit there. Though they were but faint memories now for Alexander.
He considered his answer before speaking. Clasping his hands together whilst doing so and leaning them against his lower belly.
"It........ is a long and confusing story, one even I don't completely understand."
A tense pause for a moment.
"You remember me going to Hogwarts right ?"
He waited for affirmation
((This action will continue assuming he responded affirmatively))
"Well things went normally at first, I made friends, went to classes and then..........."
He took a heavy breath.
"Then sometime in the middle or end of first year something happened. I don't know what, but beyond that point I can't really remember anything. You know you experienced those times, but it is like recalling your memories as a baby when you were first born. They just aren't there, dissapeared."
"This gap continued on until a few months ago. Turns out magical housekeepers had been poisoning me to lose my memories. Or to supress them for some reason, I don't know, they were very cryptic about it. "
"So anyways, whilst being at my 'regular poisoning session'" He would make quotation marks with his fingers. "I recalled my memories of first year. And realized that there was a gap in my mind. I then of course freaked out, left and then....... went to London at the end of the year and then here."
A heavy weight then pressed against his throat. As if something was semi-stuck there and he spoke his voice now shivering a bit. "So now there is this large gape of almost two years where I did Merlin knows what and basically lose all that time." He didn't even notice his use of the word Merlin, rather than the more muggle use of 'God knows what'. Though he did intentionally keep out the bits that might make his father freaking out even more. Like many of the faces he recalled from first year having disappeared. And the part of the elves saying that he would not like 'what he had become'. They would only freak him out even more and he didn't know anything about it either.
He always remembered his dad talking about his back problems. But from what he remembered it had not been this bad when he left Hogwarts. Though it could also be attributed to the fact that he was younger and less attentive then. Taking things more for granted. Though a combination of the two was the most likely reason that he had noticed it before.
He would grunt as well as he carried his mother. Though he was young, he had never been strong. Even compared to those of the same age as him. He was studious, nimble and accurate yes, but never strong. But he pushed through feeling the pressure on his arms. How they slowly weakened as they semi-hurriedly went towards the couch. When Kathrina was finally put on the couch Alexander let out a relieved sigh. Put his hands on his hips as he breathed heavily for a few moments. He would then sit on the couch with the window behind it.
He felt slightly uncomfortable sitting there, knowing his back was turned to any danger and with no vision of what could approach him. But to face towards the............what was it, tv ? Yeah tv that was the word. To face towards the tv would mean sitting on his unconscious mother. Which was certainly not a good idea.
But he pushed through the unpleasantness and sat on the couch. Even as he felt the tingle at the back of his head causing him to scratch it. This was followed by another sigh as he slightly leaned into the couch and folded his hands. Carefully listening to his father speak.
After that he would put his hands on his face, around his nose and move downwards. A motion he unconsciously used when stressed out and in an uncomfortable silence. Like back when his parents argued with his grandparents and he had to uncomfortably sit there. Though they were but faint memories now for Alexander.
He considered his answer before speaking. Clasping his hands together whilst doing so and leaning them against his lower belly.
"It........ is a long and confusing story, one even I don't completely understand."
A tense pause for a moment.
"You remember me going to Hogwarts right ?"
He waited for affirmation
((This action will continue assuming he responded affirmatively))
"Well things went normally at first, I made friends, went to classes and then..........."
He took a heavy breath.
"Then sometime in the middle or end of first year something happened. I don't know what, but beyond that point I can't really remember anything. You know you experienced those times, but it is like recalling your memories as a baby when you were first born. They just aren't there, dissapeared."
"This gap continued on until a few months ago. Turns out magical housekeepers had been poisoning me to lose my memories. Or to supress them for some reason, I don't know, they were very cryptic about it. "
"So anyways, whilst being at my 'regular poisoning session'" He would make quotation marks with his fingers. "I recalled my memories of first year. And realized that there was a gap in my mind. I then of course freaked out, left and then....... went to London at the end of the year and then here."
A heavy weight then pressed against his throat. As if something was semi-stuck there and he spoke his voice now shivering a bit. "So now there is this large gape of almost two years where I did Merlin knows what and basically lose all that time." He didn't even notice his use of the word Merlin, rather than the more muggle use of 'God knows what'. Though he did intentionally keep out the bits that might make his father freaking out even more. Like many of the faces he recalled from first year having disappeared. And the part of the elves saying that he would not like 'what he had become'. They would only freak him out even more and he didn't know anything about it either.
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
21 Oct 2020, 21:10
Cambridge Conundrums
This was possibly still a delusion. The errant hope, the lie that had infested his mind that his son was still alive. Perpetual denial, like a disease that there was no cure from, just temporary respite.
"It........ is a long and confusing story, one even I don't completely understand."
His eyes opened wide, for a moment he had forgotten Alexander was still there. He shook his head and gave a pained smile. A harmless illusion.
"You remember me going to Hogwarts right ?"
There was a long pause. A high-pitched whine that only he could hear in his head. He grimaced and the edges of his thin lips would tug downward. His shoulders would slump. "Yes," there was a tone of bitterness in his statement. "My son,the genius," a bitter laugh escaped his lips. He always knew it was a lie, his son was the best at everything in the eyes of his father but he knew that his son was underwhelmingly average in most regards. That fatherly pride had no weight.
There was a disconnect here. Alexander was with his parents when a Professor sat his parents down and told them that there was another world. A world were magic was reality, not fantasy. His father refused to accept it, demanded proof. Tried to kick the Professor out of their home. His mother more accepting but still doubtful, they were a hard sell. It took the transfiguration of half their household to force them to accept a reality besides the one that they had become accustomed to.
"Well things went normally at first, I made friends, went to classes and then..........."
Alexander's voice trailed off. Odd, hallucinations are often more eloquent.
"Then sometime in the middle or end of first year something happened. I don't know what, but beyond that point I can't really remember anything. You know you experienced those times, but it is like recalling your memories as a baby when you were first born. They just aren't there, dissapeared."
"This gap continued on until a few months ago. Turns out magical housekeepers had been poisoning me to lose my memories. Or to supress them for some reason, I don't know, they were very cryptic about it. "
"So anyways, whilst being at my 'regular poisoning session'... I recalled my memories of first year. And realized that there was a gap in my mind. I then of course freaked out, left and then....... went to London at the end of the year and then here."
"Magical Housekeepers?" he repeated. "Is that what kids these days all drug pushers?" [Due to site rating I am clarifying that there is no actual or implied drug abuse in this narrative.]
Alexander was not quite done yet. He still had more to say regarding his housekeeper-induced amnesia.
"So now there is this large gape of almost two years where I did Merlin knows what and basically lose all that time."
His brow furrowed. "Merlin?" An odd version of a conversation he has imagined a dozen times before.
"Why did you have to get sick," he sighed and shook his head.
"Sick in the head," there was a bitterness to his words. As if his saliva became venom.
"Came back during spring break... broken in the head," his forearm swept across his eyes and his voice wavered. "Your mom saw it right away, that there was something wrong with you..."
He let out a cough before he buried his face into his hands. "Lord I am so sorry!" He cried. "I never meant to kill you."
Alexander's mother stirred with a groan. The room was wavering and her vision still dark. "Hun?" She sounded uncertain. She unsteadily tried to sit herself up. "What happened?" She rubbed her head. Why was her hair matted to the side of her head.
"Stay calm dear," he warned. There was haste in his voice. "Do you see it?" IT was in reference to Alexander.
She blinked. "What?"
"It's Alex."
"Again?" a bleary vision now sharpened she would recall why her head throbbed the way it did. "Alexander?" Her voice sounded weak. "I see him too..." Guilt does terrible things. "We buried you..."
Alexander was dead. Or so that was what his parents believed but there were problems, misconceptions to truths that Alexander knew were wrong. Small facts that did not add up. They knew perfectly well that Alexander was a wizard. That Hogwarts was a school where he would learn how to control his magic. Yet they acted as if they had sent Alexander to some boarding school for gifted children.
But there was a consistent belief - that Alexander was dead. His father even believed that he was in some way responsible. That Alexander had become ill, but not of the body but rather the mind.
"It........ is a long and confusing story, one even I don't completely understand."
His eyes opened wide, for a moment he had forgotten Alexander was still there. He shook his head and gave a pained smile. A harmless illusion.
"You remember me going to Hogwarts right ?"
There was a long pause. A high-pitched whine that only he could hear in his head. He grimaced and the edges of his thin lips would tug downward. His shoulders would slump. "Yes," there was a tone of bitterness in his statement. "My son,the genius," a bitter laugh escaped his lips. He always knew it was a lie, his son was the best at everything in the eyes of his father but he knew that his son was underwhelmingly average in most regards. That fatherly pride had no weight.
There was a disconnect here. Alexander was with his parents when a Professor sat his parents down and told them that there was another world. A world were magic was reality, not fantasy. His father refused to accept it, demanded proof. Tried to kick the Professor out of their home. His mother more accepting but still doubtful, they were a hard sell. It took the transfiguration of half their household to force them to accept a reality besides the one that they had become accustomed to.
"Well things went normally at first, I made friends, went to classes and then..........."
Alexander's voice trailed off. Odd, hallucinations are often more eloquent.
"Then sometime in the middle or end of first year something happened. I don't know what, but beyond that point I can't really remember anything. You know you experienced those times, but it is like recalling your memories as a baby when you were first born. They just aren't there, dissapeared."
"This gap continued on until a few months ago. Turns out magical housekeepers had been poisoning me to lose my memories. Or to supress them for some reason, I don't know, they were very cryptic about it. "
"So anyways, whilst being at my 'regular poisoning session'... I recalled my memories of first year. And realized that there was a gap in my mind. I then of course freaked out, left and then....... went to London at the end of the year and then here."
"Magical Housekeepers?" he repeated. "Is that what kids these days all drug pushers?" [Due to site rating I am clarifying that there is no actual or implied drug abuse in this narrative.]
Alexander was not quite done yet. He still had more to say regarding his housekeeper-induced amnesia.
"So now there is this large gape of almost two years where I did Merlin knows what and basically lose all that time."
His brow furrowed. "Merlin?" An odd version of a conversation he has imagined a dozen times before.
"Why did you have to get sick," he sighed and shook his head.
"Sick in the head," there was a bitterness to his words. As if his saliva became venom.
"Came back during spring break... broken in the head," his forearm swept across his eyes and his voice wavered. "Your mom saw it right away, that there was something wrong with you..."
He let out a cough before he buried his face into his hands. "Lord I am so sorry!" He cried. "I never meant to kill you."
Alexander's mother stirred with a groan. The room was wavering and her vision still dark. "Hun?" She sounded uncertain. She unsteadily tried to sit herself up. "What happened?" She rubbed her head. Why was her hair matted to the side of her head.
"Stay calm dear," he warned. There was haste in his voice. "Do you see it?" IT was in reference to Alexander.
She blinked. "What?"
"It's Alex."
"Again?" a bleary vision now sharpened she would recall why her head throbbed the way it did. "Alexander?" Her voice sounded weak. "I see him too..." Guilt does terrible things. "We buried you..."
Alexander was dead. Or so that was what his parents believed but there were problems, misconceptions to truths that Alexander knew were wrong. Small facts that did not add up. They knew perfectly well that Alexander was a wizard. That Hogwarts was a school where he would learn how to control his magic. Yet they acted as if they had sent Alexander to some boarding school for gifted children.
But there was a consistent belief - that Alexander was dead. His father even believed that he was in some way responsible. That Alexander had become ill, but not of the body but rather the mind.
Some stories should never be told...
27 Oct 2020, 21:41
Cambridge Conundrums
Alexander leaned backwards, his hand folded behind his head. Thinking hard. It seemed that his parents were completely convinced that he had been dead. And that perhaps he went to a boarding school for gifted children ? But they did recall that it was named Hogwarts and perhaps they recalled that it involved magic.
But it seemed him and his parents had two completely different narratives in their head. One that he was not sure which was true. But he did know one thing, either on his end or on the end of his parent magic had been involved. Because he knew for a fact that he was not dead.
There was always the possibility that he was not actually Alexander. That instead he was some kind of clone that held Alexander's memories, but this was unlikely. If cloning technology like that existed it would be used by old and powerful wizards to make clones of themselves or to get organ transplants (if they were even needed). But it would not be used to replace the identity of a Hogwarts kid, such a goal would be far too trivial. Regardless of what he had witnessed.
Which seemed to imply that the narrative of his parents was wrong, though he did not know to what degree. He stroked his chin, feeling a slightly stubble as he thought hard. Trying to construct a narrative in which everything made sense.
What he knew for a fact was:
-He was not dead
-He had a large gap in his memories
-His parents had memories that differed from the original. They remembered him going to Hogwarts because he was a 'gifted child.'
-They thought he had been 'sick in the head', perhaps a piece in the puzzle
-His father thought he had killed him.
-His parents recalled burying him.
All these facts put together there were three feasible possibilities:
Option 1:
The thing that came back from spring break was not really him. Some kind of imposter or spirit, something that acted off. Perhaps a creature that took on his appearance and impersonated him. A changeling perhaps, he did not know if they were real (they had certainly not been on the curriculum) but it was possible. That or some other illusion creature had replaced him after spring break. His dad or something else then killed the thing and it was buried.
Option 2:
Everything his parents believed was wrong. The memories implanted into them by wizards through some manner. He did not know if this was possible, but it seemed highly likely. It would explain how wizards managed to maintain the statue of secrecy, it would at least prevent individuals from recalling what had happened. So some weird group of people had intentionally changed his parents memories.
ANd the most feasible option of them all.
Options 3:
Some combination of option 1 or 2.
He was fairly sure he had not changed the facts to fit his narrative, but it seemed accurate.
He then released a breath he did not recall he had been keeping in. He then used his backhand to swipe away some sweat he noticed had been gathering whilst thinking.
"Alright, so first of all. I am here, I am alive and I am well." He then softly touched the hand of his mother. To help assure her that he was real. SO that she could feel that he had matter. Then he continued his line of thinking.
"So, I have some ideas in my mind of what could have happened. But one thing is sure, the thing that you guys buried, it was not me. But I think I can figure out what happened."
He then turned to his father, trying to maintain his focus on finding out what was going on. Keep his mind on this task so that it did not wander. "Tell me specifically what happened over spring break. I can't recall what happened, every piece of information could be important no matter how trivial."
"Did I mutter/shout anything ? Did I write weird things, was there perhaps a journal ? What was it that seemed off ? Just anything you noticed and that occurred. "
"I don't recall precisely what happened but I know we can figure it out what was actually going on. Magic is inevitably involved, removing my memories and perhaps changing yours. But we are here, and as long as we stay calm we can figure out the truth. "
But it seemed him and his parents had two completely different narratives in their head. One that he was not sure which was true. But he did know one thing, either on his end or on the end of his parent magic had been involved. Because he knew for a fact that he was not dead.
There was always the possibility that he was not actually Alexander. That instead he was some kind of clone that held Alexander's memories, but this was unlikely. If cloning technology like that existed it would be used by old and powerful wizards to make clones of themselves or to get organ transplants (if they were even needed). But it would not be used to replace the identity of a Hogwarts kid, such a goal would be far too trivial. Regardless of what he had witnessed.
Which seemed to imply that the narrative of his parents was wrong, though he did not know to what degree. He stroked his chin, feeling a slightly stubble as he thought hard. Trying to construct a narrative in which everything made sense.
What he knew for a fact was:
-He was not dead
-He had a large gap in his memories
-His parents had memories that differed from the original. They remembered him going to Hogwarts because he was a 'gifted child.'
-They thought he had been 'sick in the head', perhaps a piece in the puzzle
-His father thought he had killed him.
-His parents recalled burying him.
All these facts put together there were three feasible possibilities:
Option 1:
The thing that came back from spring break was not really him. Some kind of imposter or spirit, something that acted off. Perhaps a creature that took on his appearance and impersonated him. A changeling perhaps, he did not know if they were real (they had certainly not been on the curriculum) but it was possible. That or some other illusion creature had replaced him after spring break. His dad or something else then killed the thing and it was buried.
Option 2:
Everything his parents believed was wrong. The memories implanted into them by wizards through some manner. He did not know if this was possible, but it seemed highly likely. It would explain how wizards managed to maintain the statue of secrecy, it would at least prevent individuals from recalling what had happened. So some weird group of people had intentionally changed his parents memories.
ANd the most feasible option of them all.
Options 3:
Some combination of option 1 or 2.
He was fairly sure he had not changed the facts to fit his narrative, but it seemed accurate.
He then released a breath he did not recall he had been keeping in. He then used his backhand to swipe away some sweat he noticed had been gathering whilst thinking.
"Alright, so first of all. I am here, I am alive and I am well." He then softly touched the hand of his mother. To help assure her that he was real. SO that she could feel that he had matter. Then he continued his line of thinking.
"So, I have some ideas in my mind of what could have happened. But one thing is sure, the thing that you guys buried, it was not me. But I think I can figure out what happened."
He then turned to his father, trying to maintain his focus on finding out what was going on. Keep his mind on this task so that it did not wander. "Tell me specifically what happened over spring break. I can't recall what happened, every piece of information could be important no matter how trivial."
"Did I mutter/shout anything ? Did I write weird things, was there perhaps a journal ? What was it that seemed off ? Just anything you noticed and that occurred. "
"I don't recall precisely what happened but I know we can figure it out what was actually going on. Magic is inevitably involved, removing my memories and perhaps changing yours. But we are here, and as long as we stay calm we can figure out the truth. "
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
4 Nov 2020, 13:50
Cambridge Conundrums
What had happened? What was so bad that a father would kill his own son? A seemingly reasonable, albeit troubled and conceivably unstable middle aged man. He appeared to be in mourning. Alexander's memories of him were mixed as they would be for most children. A loving, yet occasionally stern man who was perhaps seen as flawless in Alexander's childhood but as he aged he would see the man as more human, more fallible. But he was not a bad man. Murder felt like a stretch, especially when his alleged victim was beating and breathing.
It was awkward, there was some sort of energy in the air. This unsettling anxiety. Not just the sort of a boy returned from the dead. Perhaps it was guilt. Yet it would not seem right, a close fit perhaps but it seemed a bit forced. No, it was fear.
His mother would stiffen in response to Alexander's touch. "We know already..." Alexander's mother claimed, she even forced a smile. "There is something wrong with you," she repeated what his father had claimed. "We tried therapy and medicine and," she let out a cough. "It helped for a little while."
"Lord son, wetried." his father interjected. Was this what begging for forgiveness sounded like without asking for it?
"I saw it right away," his mother commented. "You became dangerously curious, prone to out burts, angry." This took a dark turn? However Alexander was likely expecting something. Something terrible, but expectations made into words is a very different experience.
"We tried son, we really did. When you killed those pigeons and that stray cat, we tried talking to you. Your mother suggested therapy," his father interjected as he made his way closer to his wife, Alexander's mother and took hold of her hand. It was a comforting but also a protective gesture. Protection from Alex?
"But it did not end there," why would it? "We locked the cabinets, you were adding cleaning products to our food."
"You wanted to see how much you could add before we noticed." he explained.
The house elf had told him that he had done things that he would not want to remember.The only problem now was, who should he believe? It did not make any sense that he would do these things, they seemed absolutely cruel. Moreover, who and why would someone or something compel the youth to do such things.
It was awkward, there was some sort of energy in the air. This unsettling anxiety. Not just the sort of a boy returned from the dead. Perhaps it was guilt. Yet it would not seem right, a close fit perhaps but it seemed a bit forced. No, it was fear.
His mother would stiffen in response to Alexander's touch. "We know already..." Alexander's mother claimed, she even forced a smile. "There is something wrong with you," she repeated what his father had claimed. "We tried therapy and medicine and," she let out a cough. "It helped for a little while."
"Lord son, wetried." his father interjected. Was this what begging for forgiveness sounded like without asking for it?
"I saw it right away," his mother commented. "You became dangerously curious, prone to out burts, angry." This took a dark turn? However Alexander was likely expecting something. Something terrible, but expectations made into words is a very different experience.
"We tried son, we really did. When you killed those pigeons and that stray cat, we tried talking to you. Your mother suggested therapy," his father interjected as he made his way closer to his wife, Alexander's mother and took hold of her hand. It was a comforting but also a protective gesture. Protection from Alex?
"But it did not end there," why would it? "We locked the cabinets, you were adding cleaning products to our food."
"You wanted to see how much you could add before we noticed." he explained.
The hell Alexander.
The house elf had told him that he had done things that he would not want to remember.The only problem now was, who should he believe? It did not make any sense that he would do these things, they seemed absolutely cruel. Moreover, who and why would someone or something compel the youth to do such things.
Some stories should never be told...