There Will Be Blood
♕- Evening, Oct. 30th, 2025 | Herbology Office, Hogwarts -♕
With the school day come and gone, much of the remaining evening was a lull—just as it had been for the past two months since Alphonse's sorting.
The only difference today would bring was Siobhan's birthday party and the accomplishment of earning a Chaser position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team—which was only a matter of time owing to the Toussaint boy's kinship with a certain Oonagh, procured skill over the years, and tenacity. Attending a school surrounded by family was a reprieve of sorts, offering nepotism that relieved some of the Haitian teen's pressures yet introduced new ones elsewhere.
Despite the bore Hogwarts was, it hadn’t been the typical experience the Gryffindor expected of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; for the Caribbean-bred boy who made nothing but enemies of Hogwarts students last February during an interschool event at Beaubaxtons, the swiftness of Alphonse's acclimation came as a surprise to many. Summer camp could potentially be to thank for the assortment of friends he'd fastly accumulated, or perhaps it was the fact Alphonse wasn't fake like most of the pompous student body.
'Real attracts real'—token advice from one of the boy's deceased friends from Castelobruxo; words that the Haitian teen recited often.
His fingers gingerly grazed Vinícius' silver chain that now hung around Alphonse's neck in efforts to ground himself to the present, yet his wayward cerebral cortex lingered on a few weeks prior. The 14th—the anniversary of the explosion in Hogsmeade that had harshly stolen his best friend's life. In the location where the Toussaint boy had located Vinícius Yareli's scorched and deceased body amid the terrorist attack, he and his mother cultivated a bed of tropical flowers for a small ceremony of remembrance for the amassed fallen; even now, the pubsecent boy's mind still ached.
Gruelling thoughts snapped back to reality upon the arrival of an owl that soared from the Herbology office's open window to drop off written correspondences. His fingers eagerly flipped through the sealed letters, his heart longing to see one parcel addressed to him from his girlfriend in Beaubaxtons. The smile that formed on his caustic features at the thought of Geneviève faded when an unsealed note written in maroon-brown ink addressed to his mother caught his curious gaze.
"I hope this letter finds you in the worst pain you can possibly muster. I hope worse...?" Alphonse recited it in a murmur of quiet disbelief, his brown gaze shifting to his mother who busied herself with sauteeing marinated jerk chicken with bonnet peppers in her Herbology office's kitchenette.
Who was this 'Muppet' who'd send her such an odd threat, and what did they want with Sarai? His fingers trembled with thinly veiled anguish, and before Alphonse could clock his actions, the note was crumbled and shredded into horizontal strips by his hand.
But then another speculation stirred within the deep recesses of the Toussaint boy's mind—was this letter written in code? It was no secret by now that Alphonse, as the eldest of Sarai's brood in attendance to Hogwarts, sunk a greater part of his everyday life within her proximity and oftentimes scoured through her mail to search for his own. As maddening as the numinous Haitian witch was, Sarai was incredibly cunning and furtive—Alphonse's former meddling in search of information on his birth father had exposed himself to his mother's clandestine ways when it came to things she desired hidden from the world.
His rage-filled eyes glanced once more at the shredded remains of the letter. Was this cryptic, code-riddled note from "Muppet" a part of elaborate steps Sarai concocted to conceal anyone from discovering the truth? And if an affair was truly occurring, how long had she managed to maintain this secret from the Toussaint-Fleischer household?
“Kisa sa ye?” came her familiar voice that had gracefully glided behind him. What is that?
He had been too focused on the now-shredded letter and the speculations forming in his mind; the pleasant lilt in her voice and the steamy porcelain plate clanking against the table rattled him to the core. Slivers of the letter from Muppet floated to the floor in a startled response, and his fist tightened around the remaining pieces that Alphonse desperately clung to within a crumbled ball.
Sustenance was the last thing Alphonse craved now—only answers would quell the growing hunger in his belly, but the Gryffindor recognized well that prying would get him nowhere. It never did work before.
"Nothing," he mumbled, looking away from her direction with a hollow but sharp tone. Shoving the aromatic dish away, Alphonse dispersed from the room to go to his dormitory.
4 AM at the Viaducts—that's where this "Muppet" had proposed to meet his mother several hours from now. With some luck and willpower, that is where Alphonse would find himself too.——mentions. Sarai & @Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer, @Elmo Break
——notes. backdating The Winner Takes All
Remedy.
There Will Be Blood
date. october 30th, 2025 ─ location. office ─ hex. #5d6c47
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬Admittedly, the Holticulturist hadn't attended to her Gryffindor boy much that evening, but not out of disregard or malice.
Sarai noticed the subtle signs of his withdrawness once October approached and especially after the departure of his friend Geneviève following Fall Ball shenanigans. Much like herself as a teenager, Alphonse unfortunately inherited her trait of repressing his emotions and occupying the internal void with other things—tonight, it would be his Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. She knew better than to probe or pry the prideful teen, but remained a constant presence in case the pubescent boy requested aid on a question or—so she would pray—opened up about some of the bottled-up emotions on his heart.
While the quiet between them was comfortable at the very least, the latter wouldn't come to much of the woman's disappointment. Amid the silence, Sarai began a brisk dinner for the two of them while simultaneously grading her 5th and 6th-year students' assignments. Their meal was a Jamaican-Haitian fusion dish—one of Alphonse's favorites that the woman prepared the nights when his homesickness was at his most high. Between the pan's steam and the spice singeing her eyes between the chopped onions and peppers, the woman observed from afar as her son eagerly flipped through the owl-delivered mail.
His attention was enraptured by one piece of mail in particular, but Sarai simply brushed it off and assumed it was nothing more than a letter from his Beaubaxtons friend. Though a seed of curiosity had blossomed within the deep recesses of her mind, Sarai forced her curious gaze away to bestow her son some privacy with the parchment—whatever its contents were. Focusing on plating the jerk chicken paired nicely with rice and plantains, she'd ask a singular question while setting the dish before him.
“Kisa sa ye?”—a gentle nudge for conversation.
A gunmetal gaze focused on the palpable wrath ripping at Alphonse's seams, and the Haitian boy's response to Sarai's query was underlain with an iciness and thinly veiled disappointment. With what or why her son was fuming had gone over her head, for he often got sour when Geneviève's letters didn't arrive as quickly as desired.
Before the woman could say or do anything next, her Gryffindor son stormed to what the Haitian woman assumed was his dormitory in a fit of wrath. "Teenagers.." Sarai drawled exhaustively while bending low to collect the shredded letter Alphonse had abandoned in his wake. Surely he should've outgrown such crass temper tantrums by his age now, but the woman would wait for a proper time to address it later.
Gingerly unfurling the letter her son took his anger out upon, the Fleischer woman scanned the little contents available on the ripped parchment. 'et me at the Viaducts, October 31 2025, at 4 in the mor' was all the little shredded slip would say, but it was enough for Sarai to put the puzzle pieces together—her heart swelled with adoration at Fabian's romantic gesture.
Why her beloved husband didn't simply inform Sarai of this impromptu surprise through their binding mark was beyond her, but she nonetheless appreciated the diligent effort of writing this letter—though a wayward part inside wondered what the rest of it said before being mutilated.
The spontaneous and romantic night outs had reminded the Fleischer woman of when they used to casually date as a young couple, and the woman couldn't help but feel giddy again. Whoever was willing to babysit Célienne and Dèlia at such an early time of day, Sarai would make a conscious effort to thank them later.
"It's a date," she whispered with a grin.
Sarai noticed the subtle signs of his withdrawness once October approached and especially after the departure of his friend Geneviève following Fall Ball shenanigans. Much like herself as a teenager, Alphonse unfortunately inherited her trait of repressing his emotions and occupying the internal void with other things—tonight, it would be his Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. She knew better than to probe or pry the prideful teen, but remained a constant presence in case the pubescent boy requested aid on a question or—so she would pray—opened up about some of the bottled-up emotions on his heart.
While the quiet between them was comfortable at the very least, the latter wouldn't come to much of the woman's disappointment. Amid the silence, Sarai began a brisk dinner for the two of them while simultaneously grading her 5th and 6th-year students' assignments. Their meal was a Jamaican-Haitian fusion dish—one of Alphonse's favorites that the woman prepared the nights when his homesickness was at his most high. Between the pan's steam and the spice singeing her eyes between the chopped onions and peppers, the woman observed from afar as her son eagerly flipped through the owl-delivered mail.
His attention was enraptured by one piece of mail in particular, but Sarai simply brushed it off and assumed it was nothing more than a letter from his Beaubaxtons friend. Though a seed of curiosity had blossomed within the deep recesses of her mind, Sarai forced her curious gaze away to bestow her son some privacy with the parchment—whatever its contents were. Focusing on plating the jerk chicken paired nicely with rice and plantains, she'd ask a singular question while setting the dish before him.
“Kisa sa ye?”—a gentle nudge for conversation.
A gunmetal gaze focused on the palpable wrath ripping at Alphonse's seams, and the Haitian boy's response to Sarai's query was underlain with an iciness and thinly veiled disappointment. With what or why her son was fuming had gone over her head, for he often got sour when Geneviève's letters didn't arrive as quickly as desired.
Before the woman could say or do anything next, her Gryffindor son stormed to what the Haitian woman assumed was his dormitory in a fit of wrath. "Teenagers.." Sarai drawled exhaustively while bending low to collect the shredded letter Alphonse had abandoned in his wake. Surely he should've outgrown such crass temper tantrums by his age now, but the woman would wait for a proper time to address it later.
Gingerly unfurling the letter her son took his anger out upon, the Fleischer woman scanned the little contents available on the ripped parchment. 'et me at the Viaducts, October 31 2025, at 4 in the mor' was all the little shredded slip would say, but it was enough for Sarai to put the puzzle pieces together—her heart swelled with adoration at Fabian's romantic gesture.
Why her beloved husband didn't simply inform Sarai of this impromptu surprise through their binding mark was beyond her, but she nonetheless appreciated the diligent effort of writing this letter—though a wayward part inside wondered what the rest of it said before being mutilated.
The spontaneous and romantic night outs had reminded the Fleischer woman of when they used to casually date as a young couple, and the woman couldn't help but feel giddy again. Whoever was willing to babysit Célienne and Dèlia at such an early time of day, Sarai would make a conscious effort to thank them later.
"It's a date," she whispered with a grin.
——mentions. Alphonse & @Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer, @Elmo Break
——notes. --///--
I always knew the wind would blow you back to me one day.