Absit Omen RPG

“They aren’t Fig’s manky things anymore, Frankie, boy.” Rafe grinned at his son, placing a hand on his head and ruffling up his shaggy hair. “They’re your manky things, now.”

Unfortunately for Rafe, Zelda, his beautiful and intelligent wife, was not an easy woman to get anything by. He should have ordered this to the shop then popped out for a stroll or something. ‘Oops, love, I left something in the office. Catch you later,’. Nope, he’d have had to stay in all day, not risking any random wix catching his owl. Then it all really would be over.

“Underpants.” Well that lie came out of nowhere. It wasn’t like he could say it was a birthday present for the wife who was born in January, could he? Underpants, it was.
“I swear you’ve been trying to feed me up, Zee. Practically bulging out of the lot we bought in December.” Frank didn’t need to know that, and with any luck, Zelda would stop asking questions.

“I’ll give you a little fashion show later, wifey. Best go try them on for fit.” Rafe winked, and brazen as ever, turned to leave the kitchen with his package under his arm.

Each Monday felt like a good day to shut up shop. The weekend flurry of customers hadn’t been missed, and the regulars knew that bright and early on Tuesday morning, either Rafe or his far more stoic wife would be standing at the counter ready to offer any information and help required. Monday, Rafe had told his far more stoic but beautiful and hardworking wife, was to be a day to spend just them. Or well, with Frank when he was home. Zelda had worked herself ragged during Rafe’s incarceration, and he was trying to get her to take as much of a break as she was willing. He was trying to set them up so work wouldn’t be quite so hard, and this was why Monday was secret parcel day.

“Stay in bed, Zee, let me get us some coffee.” Rafe had tried in vain this morning. Or toast. Toast was always good. Crumbs, she’d pointed out to him. No spell could get rid of every last annoying crumb that came with eating toast in bed. Well that told Rafe. That also led to Rafe awkwardly lingering near the living room doorway to hear the owl’s arrival with the morning post. He could hear Zelda and Frank in the kitchen discussing school supplies. Frank wanted to go and throw their galleons around on pretty new books and uniform items when there were perfectly good, if slightly dog-eared ones upstairs left by Fig.

"That's the post," Zelda informed her son. And indeed, it was the post.

Rafe was quick off the mark, pacing speedily through the hallway and into the kitchen where he snatched up the parcel and tucked it under his arm. “Listen to your mother,” Rafe pointed at his son. “I open my coin purse and moths fly out, not galleons. Have you checked what you’ve already got off the list? Fig left his school books for you, lad. Probably barely read them himself.”

“What a sight that would be!” Rafe remarked, pushing himself up from the table. He clapped a hand on Figaro’s shoulder and squeezed. “I doubt mum’s reaction will be any better, Figgy.” Zelda’s ‘don’t talk to aurors’ mantra certainly stretched to keeping away from the press too. It was, no doubt, a grave concern to her that their son had suddenly joined that nosy clan of wixes.

Rafe grabbed his cup full of too sugary tea and half a tea logged gingerbread hippogriff, and moved around the table to pour it down the sink.
“How about you go have a rest? I’ll man the guard station, and you rest up. Not gonna lie, kiddo, you look rung out.” Besides, what else could Rafe say at the moment? Sure, he was softer than Zelda, and could give a great hug, but did Fig really want to be smothered by his dad’s affection then? He looked ready to collapse in a heap. “I’ll wake you for dinner, but be prepared, I spotted cabbage in the cooler. Just saying.” He turned and raised his eyebrows. They both knew what that meant. Best get the nose pegs ready.

Rafe looked up from his teacup to his son’s face. A quizzical expression formed as brown eyes studied a very similar pair. Figaro Sellaphix was very much like his father in many aspects. He kind of sailed through life with a jovial countenance, appearing to be rather unbothered by what people thought. Both wizards enjoyed a good joke and mostly seemed very happy and laid back. Figaro, however, appeared to have become a worrier, definitely not like his Dad. That trait, he seemed to get from Zelda. Only Zelda faced issues head on with a fearless approach. But they both worried. Rafe? He just pretended the problems didn’t exist.

“I’m not not worried.” Father told his son with a shrug. Of course, he was worried. Fig had been singled out and attacked. He’d been used to do a terrible thing. Figaro had been dragged into this catastrophic mess and he certainly didn’t deserve it. Yes, Rafe was very worried. But he’d share that with his wife, not his son.

The tea was lifted to his lips and her took a sip, pulling a face. Smacking his lips, Rafe shook his head and replaced the mug on the table. “Too sweet. Yuck!”

“No point in sitting here fretting, Kiddo. Won’t change what happened. Your best bet is to trust Talisha. Her eye might give you the creeps, but she’s good. Honest. That eye sees way more than ye think, ye know.”

"That's probably a decent strategy for keepin' the visitors away," Kurby replied about the cabbage with a smile. Rafe flashed him as look as if to say ‘You’d think!’. It didn’t work, did it? Two visitors stood here, all wanting to get inside and be visitors. The Sellaphixes didn’t want visitors. Mrs Sellaphix was making the house smell like Mr Sellaphix would want to be elsewhere to be a visitor.

Behind him, Rafe could hear Zelda’s huffing and puffing. He couldn’t blame her. They’d wanted to be left alone tonight. Besides, aurors were never welcome. Aurors had been the reason Rafe had been locked away for 3 years. Now, his own parole officer / friend of his son was stood at the door going ‘Hi Mr. Sellaphix’ as if she’d come to ask if Fig could come out to play in the street with her. Well no, no he couldn’t!

"Fig!" Blake shouted past him, and Rafe turned on the spot to see his oldest stood at the top of the staircase peering down.

“Ugh. Bloody pointless cabbage!” Rafe muttered, waving a hand and stepping back begrudgingly for the two to enter. “Get down here, lad, or they won’t go away.” Or worse, Zelda would make them go away.

“You know I don’t like cabbage.” Rafe grumbled, unimpressed as he peered into one of the boiling pans on the hob. Zelda was trying to sort dinner, and as was usual, Rafe was getting in the way. “Tastes like feet.” He muttered, repositioning the pan lid. “Worse, smells like your feet.” He cast his wife a cheeky grin as she swiped at him with a tea towel. Tensions were up, and as usual, Rafe was playing the joker trying to bring them back down as much as he could.

When the knock at the front door came, the wizard’s smile vanished, and he frowned. They’d sealed the back entrance for protection. Family and friends came that way. With a quick glance at Zelda, Rafe withdrew his wand from his trouser pocket and gave his wife’s arm a squeeze.
“Place stinks of cabbage.” He said. Maybe that would scare off any visitors.

Down the corridor, Rafe pressed his face up to the spyglass. Silver, coffee, Kurby and… Rafe blinked. Auror Blake. Kurby and Auror Blake. The Auror in charge of his parole. The witch friends with Figaro who Zelda had mentioned a few times.

With his jaw tight, Rafe unbolted the front door and pulled it open. His gaze danced over the unusual pair. “Miss Blake, Kurby. We weren’t expecting visitors, Zelda is boiling cabbage.”

Probably right, Figaro suggested. Definitely right, Rafe wanted to correct. He wouldn’t state ‘always right’, because he could clearly imagine Zelda giving a dramatic roll of her eyes and maybe a sharp elbow to his side. Figaro that his parents had a habit of being right, he was a smart lad. A smart lad who was currently, rightfully, smarting from his traumatic night and morning.

Rafe’s expression hardened marginally at the mention of ‘the auror’. Aurors, he was quite convinced, heard the name ‘Sellaphix’ now, and decided trouble. That was Rafe and Zelda’s fault. Something Figaro might now have to carry. Rafe, as such, chose to focus on the mention of Talisha, he delightful one eyed lawyer who’d dragged his tuckus out of Azkaban a couple of years early. She was good, their family lawyer. The sort of witch that people underestimated at their peril. And her eye? Still super cool.

“Yes, you let Talisha handle it, Figgy.” Rafe nodded as he dipped what was left of his hippogriff in his tea. “Do not talk to aurors.” When he pulled his biscuit out of the tea, it broke in half, gingerbread dropping back into the tea with a dollop. “Elf balls!”

As Figaro talked, Rafe watched calmly, his eyes a little sad and concerned. His eldest son was a bubbly sort, an excited puppy that wagged his tail with a little too much vigour and managed to knock over a plant pot or two with the force of it. He was the bull in a china shop, the kid in honeydukes. Figaro Sellaphix was not the sad and lost looking teenager that sat here picking blandly at his chocolate covered hippogriff hooves.

Fauna was mentioned. Rafe, unfortunately, knew Miss Blake from very different circumstances. Sasha, he’d been informed, was the German kid who was studying at a muggle facility (why any wix would want to was beyond Rafe, and he’d told Figaro just that). Kurby, he thought would be angry (Pissed was the word Fig used, which would have earned him a disapproving scowl from his Dad if he didn’t already look so sad). Angry with what? Being a safe house attendant? Being targeted?

“Hey!” Rafe got his son’s attention, slamming his hand down on the table. Then, he pointed fat index finger at Figaro’s chest. “You fouled nothing up, lad. You, Figaro Sellaphix, offered to do a job that no other damn wix wants because it’s scary and you have to smile at the poor people who are bloody terrified and vulnerable. You are an unfortunate victim of horrible people. You stop thinking that any of this is in any way your fault, kiddo.” And just for good measure, “Your mother will boil your insides if she hears talk like that. You hear me?”

He paused, frowning. It was making Rafe’s insides boil, just thinking about what had happened to his son.
“Eat another hippogriff.”

What else could do it? Rafe didn’t really want to go into that with his son. There were, he’d heard, other darker techniques. People always found ways to adapt magic, didn’t they? But a layman, in fact, most people, would refer to polyjuice potion.

So many questions flooded from Figaro, a torrent of perfectly justified inquisitiveness. The boy’s mind was clearly running laps, sprinting while his mouth was struggling to keep up. Rafe sighed and took a moment to chew another chocolatey leg of hippogriff gingerbread.

He didn’t rush in his chewing and swallowing either. It might give his son a chance to slow down. There was no use in going like a top of the range firebolt. You missed things and wore yourself out that way.

“Official answer is no.” Rafe responded to the last question with a shrug. Last question first and work backwards. To Rafe Sellaphix, it made sense. “The legalities are a bit wishy washy, like a lot of potions. We don’t tend to brew it. Opening ourselves to a whole world of problems. Can be nail clippings, hair, dandruff, or worse. I’ve heard of a whole finger being used.” Not what Figaro needed to hear now. Rafe frowned and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You’re best staying here with us for a few days, kiddo.”

Well at least the subject of Figaro going ‘home’ was temporarily abandoned. This was, after all, his home. No matter how long their son lived away, he would always have a place here should he ever need it. Like today, he definitely needed it today, regardless of whether he agreed or not. Momentarily content that that was done with, Rafe took another bite, this time of one of the chocolatey hooves.

“Hm…” He chewed thoughtfully, eyeing his son with a cautious look. It was polyjuice that the aurors thought was involved. His son impersonated by some sicko that had come to…well, he wasn’t sure what they’d come to do.
“What don’t I know about polyjuice, kiddo?” He sat back, placing his now 3-legged, beheaded hippogriff on the kitchen table between them.

“Tricky potion to brew, takes skill, and patience. Not something you just keep in your stocks.” What exactly did his son want to know? Rafe frowned, rubbing his chin through his bushy beard. “What about it? You think that’s what was used? To ah…to look like you?”

Rafe pulled out a seat and plonked himself down opposite his son where he started to pour two cups of hot tea. 2 sugars for him. He’d missed sugar while ‘away’. Ever since his return, he swore Zelda was trying to fatten him up again, and as such, he’d rather become accustomed once more to nice sweet tea. A drop of milk, stir stir, perfect.

“Nonsense.” Rafe shook his head, taking a hippogriff of the plate and dunking it head first in his cup of tea. “I’d rather be 10 years younger with the abs of a beater.” He took a bite of one of the reasons why he had never had, and would never have, the abdominal muscles of a beater.

It was decidedly off putting, Figaro being so withdrawn and quiet. Rafe and Fig, despite their disagreements about his school work and his future, had always been very close. They were two peas in a very silly and obnoxious pod. Having his other pea so off kilter was worrisome, but he wasn’t so sure how to ask his son about what had happened to him today. Was it too soon to talk?

“You can go to work from here, anyway. We’ll sidelong apparate. Just like we used to.” There was no way that Figaro was going back to his little bedsit tonight. “We even have a shower, here. Wouldn’t you know?” Pointedly, Rafe glanced at the teacup waiting for Fig to sip. Tea solved everything, people said. He didn’t know about that, but it certainly helped. “I guess you wouldn’t know, smelly teenager that you were. Stinky stinky.”

On the kitchen table was a pot of tea with a couple of mugs already prepared for the arrival of his oldest son. Zelda had gone to St Mungo’s while Rafe remained at the shop in Diagon Alley. Her mothering instinct in overdrive, Mr Sellaphix was quite certain that his wife would handle the situation adequately forcefully. Rafe, on the other hand, wasn’t the most forceful sort. He was the friendly pat on the shoulder and sigh sort. Well, unless it involved red robes and shiny badges.

Unable to sit still and wait, Rafe had spent the 15 minutes since returning home pottering around with a nervous energy. He was in the living room watering the waterproof cactus on the windowsill when the backdoor opened. He emptied the last of the jug, and hurried back down the small hallway to the kitchen. On sight of Figaro, the jug was deposited on the worksurface and his arms extended, opening up for a big bear hug that only a father could give.

“Come here, kiddo.” Dad said to son, drawing him in and hugging him tightly. “You’re staying here. Has your mother said? Dreadful situation. Poor lad.” The hug went on for a little longer than was normal, before Rafe stepped back and took hold of Figaro’s shoulders with large hands. His gaze danced over the teenager’s face, taking him in before he waved at the kitchen table.
“Tea, that solves everything. Come, sit, sit. We have biscuits. Gingerbread hippogriffs with chocolate hooves, your favourite.” They’d been his favourite when Figaro was six and 5 months, at least.

A small parcel arrives the next day. Inside are a few bits and bobs, including a few pairs of fluffy socks of various colours and a couple of vials of gloopy potion.

Mr and Mrs Sellaphix
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
34 Upper Montague Street
Marylebone
London                                   

Frank Sellaphix
Hogwarts School of Witchraft & Wizardry
Scotland

Francis,

Your mother and I are pleased to hear that you finally arrived at Hogwarts.
We are displeased to hear that you didn’t contact us before.
We are pleased to hear that you have a decent initiative and a brain in your noggin.
We are displeased to hear that you are still unwell.

Please find attached some woolly socks. Cosy feet means a quicker recovery. Trust me, I’m an apothecary. Not to mention, fluffy socks helped me through my time in Azkaban.

Just remember: Toasty toes, no more runny nose.

Repeat it, get it in your head. Toasty toes, no more runny nose.

Don’t just bin the potion. Drink it. You won’t like the taste. That means it’s good for you.

Mum says your lack of magic is punishment enough. You will be pleased to know that I have stopped her from owling your headmaster in anger at not having noticed your missing. I am not inclined to irk Mr Greyfriar as I hear he is a rather splendid fellow.

Take care, son.

Dad

P.S. Mum says you can still do your homework without a wand. No excuses.

“Charlie.” Rafe said to his wife and with his wife after Rosheen corrected the pair. “You really should remember names better, Zelda, dear.” He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Must be the mulled wine she’s been guzzling all morning,” and he did a quick step out of the way in anticipation for a playful swipe.

Everyone wandered off into the living room and Rafe lingered by his blue furry son in the open doorway. Fig started scratching and Rafe was far too amused when Zelda reprimanded him for shedding. A great big arm was lifted and put around his son’s blue furry shoulders.

“It was your mother’s idea,” He fibbed quietly to the lad. “I wanted to get you a jumper. Nice and simple. Normal. She had other ideas. You know what she’s like, Kiddo, just wants you to be warm and cosy. And I can see why; you won’t be catching that cold going around when you’re all warm and furry like that, will you?” A quick ruffle of Fig’s shaggy head, and Rafe stepped lightly into the living room where he eased himself into his favourite armchair. It let out a satisfied creak and the wizard let out a satisfied sigh.

“You really should quit with the puns, Frankie, my boy. You’re on shaving duty later.” He grinned at the younger boy and wiggled his bushy eyebrows before doing his best muggle santa impression, “Ho ho ho, Haaaaaairy Christmas!” A hearty chuckle followed and he reached to grab a scone.

Blue, furry and unable to speak coherently; an unbeatable combination any time. Scrap the apothecary, Rafe Sellaphix should have set up a joke shop to rival the weasleys. There was no limit to the ridiculous potions he could invent. Doubltessly something Zelda wouldn’t agree to. He could suggest it. She’d roll her eyes and pat his shoulder. Pat pat. Silly husband. Back to work.

Either way, Figaro Sellaphix looked bloody damn fantastic all blue and pretty and groaning nonsensical groans.
“You need to lay off the beers, kiddo. There’s not telling what effects they have. Clearly.” Rafe grinned and jumped up from his seat where he’d been innocently awaiting the arrival of his furry oldest son.

“Pranked? Don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank.” Rafe claimed as he followed the family into the teeny tiny now claustrophobically crowded kitchen. “Fig just ate something spicy. Put some extra hairs on his chest.” A wink and a grin before his gaze found the visiting trio.

“Merry Christmas!” Big hugs for everyone. Even the boyfriend. Rafe wasn’t as choosy as his wife. But he did at least follow suit in one thing. “Good to have you here, Christopher.” Had to please the wife somehow, didn’t you? “Come on through. Escuse the giant furball. He’s good for polishing the floors.”