Continued from: Not Everyone Wants to Go Home

"Welcome back to Arisaig," Nikolas cooed, in a manner about as welcoming as a disgruntled toad thrust into freezing water. He scowled, popping a mint tablet into his open mouth.

Squinting to avoid the sun's merciless rays, Joseph crouched down, scanning his surroundings with a bored gaze. They were in the middle of an open patch of grass, the lush, green turf so long that it gently poked at the squatting boy's knees. Classic Arisaig. One couldn't walk fifty metres without running into another shaggy patch of nothing. Seems like the little village hadn't changed much since he was last here.

Joseph could barely make out a row of woodland cottages in the distance, the only sign of civilisation in the area. Muggle Arisaig, he thought, a flood of memories hitting him like a punch to the ribs. The very place he was forbidden from ever entering. No excuses. Zero tolerance. "Out of bounds," his father had said firmly, shooting Joseph a glare he could have sworn had stabbed right through his then six-year old heart. It also happened to be the place he'd spent much of his pre-Hogwarts years in. Clearly he deserved a certificate for being such a rule-follower.

It didn't make any sense. It never did. What was the problem with muggles? He simply couldn't wrap his head around it. Sure. Maybe they didn't have magic. Maybe some of them were unruly. But that didn't mean they all deserved to be treated like filthy rodents. It's not like wizards were all great either. Many with the "purest" of blood turned out to be rotten down to the core too. Besides, some muggles were nice. Like his friends-

Who ditched you, a clear, crystalline voice sliced through his head, abruptly cutting off his train of thoughts.

Joseph smile faltered, his gaze flickering over to a cluster of withered grass near his left foot. The thought still hurt. Stung. Like a gaping wound he'd clumsily patched up with other stuff like homework, friends and pet rocks. A wound he'd ignored for far too long, but always returned without fail to agonise him.

Shaking the thought out of his head, Joseph rose to his feet, a hand still clutching his pet rock, Astra. The one soul that actually remained loyal in a world full of people who vanish in the blink of an eye. He wasn't going to stay here moping about life. Especially not with his brat for a brother around. He'd much rather have dungbombs for breakfast than give Nikolas the satisfaction of calling him a miserable cry-baby.

"Ready to go? Or should we continue standing here waiting for home to come to us?" Joseph asked, turning to face his brother. Not that he was particularly keen on returning home. In fact, nothing filled the Hufflepuff with as much dread as the thought. But still... some time to himself would be very much welcome. Besides... it felt good to finally not be the brother on the receiving end of the insults. Nikolas pouted, lazily flicking away a beetle he'd been toying with for the past minute. He looked like he was using every ounce of his strength to resist transfiguring Joseph into a useless squid.

"Don't look so smug, kiddo," he muttered, shrugging. "You'd wish you never came home the moment you're there."

That shut Joseph up.

The trek home was silent, Nikolas striding forward with a skip in his step, while his younger, more incompetent brother shuffled along behind him. It was a short journey - their house, after all was only a pet rock's roll (a throw was too violent) away from the little field Nikolas had brought them to.

As they neared the edge of the field, a familiar copse of trees came into view, hunched together like they were trying to hide something. And behind them, half-shrouded in shadow, a building with only a thatched roof and bits of pale concrete peeking out from behind the cluster of trees in sight.

Here they were. The legendary Sims estate.

It wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't a run-down shack either. More of a cosy cottage built to house a pit of cunning serpents. And a slightly out-of-place badger.

It was pretty well situated, he had to admit. Hidden away from plain sight, far enough from muggle territory. You'd have to be a rather adventurous muggle to stumble upon the old unit. Like the boy from years ago. The dark haired child who'd chased a butterfly into danger zone. Some sleepless nights the boy's look of terror as a fuming Dad hauled him away to the backyard came back to haunt him. Joseph always wondered what became of that boy.

"You first," Nikolas invited, gesturing towards the door with a curt nod. His wicked smirk sent a shiver running down Joseph's spine.

Swallowing, Joseph took a nervous step forward. The same rickety door he'd opened countless times in his life stood before him. The door was old, slightly splintered, with traces of green paint clinging to the bits of ancient, broken wood protruding awkwardly from it.

Beside the door, a little statue of a monstrous creature with a huge mane nestled on a stone pedestal, its features intricately carved. Joseph would have flinched under its intimidating glare, if not for the hints of moss hanging from its nostrils like some form of beastly bogey. The statue's gaping mouth was wide open, as though challenging Joseph to a mouth-opening contest. He'd bet a galleon that was one contest he was bound to lose.

"Go on," Nikolas urged, clicking his tongue impatiently. That couldn't be a good sign. As much as Joseph resented having to follow his brother's demands, he'd much rather not spend the rest of summer as a useless squid.

Taking in a deep breath, Joseph politely rapped on the door.

Even before the door opened, he could smell it: the weird mix of burnt herbs, tobacco and parchment hanging in the air. The house hadn't changed one bit. And as it seems, neither had its owner.

Standing at the door was Mr Cameron Sims. Who very unfortunately also happened to be his father.

There he was. Older, definitely. The lines in his face had deepened into harsh creases. His hair was much greyer now - not silver, not soft - but a shade that reminded one of diluted ash. Time had taken a toll on his body. But not his gripping authority.

He stood with his chin high, shoulders squared and the same confident little smirk as though the world was a chess game he had already won. And his eyes. Two bright blue orbs, piercing through Joseph with powerful intensity, as though reading his every thought, every motivation, every desire. As though trying to see if he was still the same unworthy traitor from a year ago. Like a year at Hogwarts might have somehow infused him with the "right values every decent wizard must stand by".

"He was a fine, charming lad," his grandmother had told him years back, taking his hand with a soft, wrinkled smile. "Just like you, darling. You're just like your father. Yet... so different." A faint smile broke out on Joseph's face at the memory. Man, he missed her so much. Why did she have to go? Why did life have to take away everything that mattered to him?

"Joseph."

He blinked, his mind racing to process what was going on. His father had just called him. By name. He never did that.

That was a really bad sign.

"Mister Sims," Joseph said respectfully, his gaze fixed uncertainly on the jet-black cloak draped over the old man's shoulders.

His father paused for a second, as though contemplating whether Joseph deserved to be talking to him in the first place.

"Thanks Nikolas."

He paused again, his breathing shallow and almost inaudible. Joseph could feel his merciless scrutiny bearing down on him.

"Come in, Joseph. I would like to have a word with you."

The tan-coloured walls seemed to close in around Joseph, swallowing him in their warmth. A faint creak came from the staircase above and he flinched, tightening his grip on Astra. The windows were bolted shut. Rows of potted plants lined the walls, the sharp scent of herbs lingering in the stale air. Familiar. Too familiar.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Cameron Sims shouldered past him with a grunt, his heavy footsteps muffled against the carpeted floor. Joseph followed.

They clambered up the spiral staircase, the thuds of Joseph’s trunk against the stairs matching his thumping heartbeat. No words were spoken. His father never spoke unless he had to, and the same was expected of Joseph.

At last they reached the living room. Soft candlelights cast flickering shadows on the blood-red upholstery. Above the couch featured an old framed picture of the Sims family: his father leaned against a wall, arms crossed with handsome stillness. A younger Nik peeked out from behind him, flashing Joseph a cheeky wink. Joseph tore his gaze away. Cradling his then baby sister was his mother, her scarlet lips puckered in a flamboyant kiss. He squinted his eyes. There, a flat-haired boy ducked under his father’s broad shadow. Joseph Sims. The one that never truly belonged. 

Younger Joseph peered back at him, then shook his head. Joseph glanced away pointedly.

For a second, his eyes locked with his father’s. Cameron’s lips formed a thin slit that betrayed no humour. Cold, impassive. Professor Sauber would like him.

“Sit.”

Joseph scurried over to the couch, stealing a glance at the pet rock in his now clammy palm. The couch was disturbingly soft. A dull groan, as his father sank into the armchair facing him. Joseph let out a shaky breath. This was going to be a long talk. He rolled the tip of his robe into a ball as Mister Sim’s deep, powerful voice shattered the silence once more. 

“You know what I called you here for.”

Joseph’s throat dried up. He dropped the cloth ball, not quite ready to meet his father’s eyes again. Pretense was easy to sniff out. Denial would be more disastrous than a three-day trip to Azkaban. What was he here for?

“I’m sorry, f- sir.”

A snort would have been nice. Instead his father cocked his head, peering at him with the curiosity of a wolf before finishing off its prey.
“You’re sorry.” He said, pausing to recline into his armchair. Candle light glinted off the tip of his beard as he moved, shrouding his face in a ghostly glow. His eyes narrowed. “You always say that, but you never mean it. Never. You haven’t changed one bit. Still the same traitor, after all these years.”

Joseph bit his lip, shifting in his seat. The compression in his chest was crushing.

“I let you off while you were younger. Trusted my gift to someday knock some sense into that foolish brain of yours.” Cameron’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Pure blood.”

He drew a long, oppressive sigh.

“But you’ve wasted it. Wasted it like an ungrateful- ”

“I don’t care-”

“SHUT UP!” Cameron roared, and Joseph shrunk back, heart pounding with indignation. “Only talk when I ask.” Joseph’s mouth fell open, but no words left him. His father smirked.

“Good. That’s better.”

He cleared his throat, straightening up. Joseph hugged Astra close to his chest.

“You have potential for greatness. I still believe that. But right now there’s a lot in the way. A lot of childhood folly you must undo. Do you understand?”

There was no warmth in the question, only unspoken expectations. Grudgingly, Joseph returned a simple nod.

That seemed to satisfy Cameron, who sat up with a gruff grunt. He planted his hands on his thighs, studying the boy before him with single-minded focus.

“Okay then. Go.”

Joseph blinked twice. He wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

“I said go.”

He paused for a moment, then jumped up, snatching the hefty trunk laid beside him. He turned to leave, but his father’s booming voice cut out to him once more.

“Joseph.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Y-yes?”

“Remember what you’re doing this for. Remember all that you still stand to gain.”

Joseph’s fingers twitched, heart burning with quiet rebellion. He hesitated, then forced another nod. 

The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, lingering even as he stepped into the hallway.